#i do a chapter every other day the only is exception is this week and next week since midterms
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touches | Remus Lupin x Reader
Pairing: Remus Lupin x Reader
Word Count: 12.8 k (yeah, I don't even know how this happened, but damn do I love the final result)
Warnings: smut, teasing, dry hump*ng, finger fucking, hand job, masturbati*n, P in V, lots of praise, consent is sexy, lusty!Remus, he literally can't take his eyes off you. His big, sexy destrous hands make you quiver.
Prompt: Inspired by the sense of touch, this fic tells the story of Remus being absolutely head over heels for you and his obsession with a particular picture of you in a sundress. A picture, that unleashes his most lecherous, and debaucherous self.
Mutual Pinning, Idiots in Love, smut with a plot
sights is part of The Five Senses: an anthology series where each chapter will be a stand alone story, inspired by the different ways we have of perceiving the world around us.
♡ NSFW: Smut under the cut
You had had crushes before, but whatever this thing you had going on for Remus Lupin was something else entirely. Enticing, addicting, almost like a drug, no, not almost, Remus Lupin was most definitely like a drug to you.
The smell of his cologne was intoxicating, you could actually tell he was coming in your direction just from the sheer scent that would hit you before his beautiful face did, and you would instantly perk up, and try to act as natural as possible when he passed by. It didn’t help that every single time he saw you he would smile so brightly, you felt like your entire world was being illuminated. He’d then walk closer to you, greet you, and place an arm over your shoulders, especially if you had to go to the same place, and most of the time you were going to the same place, the library.
You would sit across each other and no matter how much fucking attention you tried to pay to whatever book you were reading, or to whatever it was you were trying to study, you’d continuously get distracted by him. By the way he flipped the pages of his book, by the way he shifted on the chair, by the way he fucking breathed. You weren’t sure it was a crush anymore, since it started feeling like a bIoody obsession instead.
There was something about the way his rich brown eyes looked at you that made you feel so fucking high, you might have as well held the record of the person with the most feet above the ground while flying a broom.
The absolute worst part was the dreams you were having, it all started one time you were all chilling in the common room and for some reason you ended up with your feet over his lap, you didn’t even remember how it happened, but you certainly did remember how it had felt. The sly wolf had placed his stupid hot hands over your legs, and as he was talking to everyone, he started gently –and absentmindedly you assumed– rubbing small circles over your knees. And then his hand had traveled a bit upwards, just above your knee, nothing indecent really, just a stupid friendly hand, a friendly hand that was so big, and strong and dextrous that you couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Even days after it happened you were still thinking about the ghost of his hands ever so present in your head. But it wasn’t until exactly one and a half weeks later, that you solidified your obsession. You had a dream in which the exact same thing happened, except this time the rest of your friends weren’t there, and Remus' hand continued to travel upwards, and upwards, until it reached the place where you had wanted it the most.
And he had done so many filthy and nasty things in your dream that when you woke up you weren’t only blushing for what had happened, but your panties had been so ruined that you had to change them before anyone noticed what had happened. Next time you saw Remus you were so fucking mortified you couldn’t even look at him in the eye.
Remus Lupin wasn’t much better either. He had thought of you as beautiful from the day he met you, stunning even, but that had been that. You were all just kids and all just friends. In fact, he thought James was weird for having a crush on 12-year-old Lily. Who has a crush when you’re 12?, he’d thought, girls are dumb and entitled.
Yeah, perhaps Remus didn’t have a crush on you from the very beginning like James had fallen for Lily, and he might have even thought he didn’t even like girls at some point, especially when he took into account his misadventures with Sirius and other boys in 5th year. But one day you were all having dinner, and then you bit into the juiciest plum he had ever seen, some of the sugary liquid spilling down from your lips as you took the fruit away from them, and something fucking snapped in Remus.
You noticed he was staring, and gave him a bright smile “This one’s insanely good, wanna bite?” you’d asked him as you pushed the deep red fruit towards his face. On the inside, it was a lighter hue of red, and Remus swallowed when he noticed the bite marks on the side of its skin, your bite marks. ”I promise you’d like it,” you said as you dangled the fruit over his face. The boy did eventually lean in and gave the fruit a bite, his nose accidentally brushing against your hand. You blinked a couple of times when he peered through his lashes at you mid-bite, really trying to swallow the nasty thoughts that came into your head.
Remus didn’t so much as manage to do that, after the bite he pulled back, placing a napkin over his mouth to clean up the sugary wetness left by the fruit, and nodded, yeah, it had been a bIoody tasty fruit “Delicious.”
“Told you,” you’d responded with a smile and gave it another bite, moaning just a little at the flavour. If Remus Lupin’s pants were already making him uncomfortable, the way you fucking ate that fruit all the way ‘till the end, could have been his elegy.
“Dеad for lusting over his friend” he imagined his grave would say, feeling miserable over having such nasty thoughts of you. When you crossed the table to tell James something about a prank, Remus didn’t think much of it, he just sank a little deeper onto the chair and placed his robes over his lap to try and mask what was actually going on. He tried imagining Dumbledore naked, and it seemed to have worked at least a little bit, but after you were done you placed your hand on his shoulder and leaned over to him with a soft smile on your face.
“I’m going to the library to go over some charms, you coming?” you asked him.
He barely managed to muster a tight-lipped smile and shook his head “I’m… I’m not feeling too good, I’ll be going to the dorms,” he somehow managed to say.
“Oh, all right,” you smiled, letting your hand draw from shoulder to shoulder, brushing just for a second over the skin of the back of his neck, and that just made another shiver run down his spine, “I’ll see you around then!” You said just before melting into the crowds of students as you left. Remus had to stay on his seat for a good 15 minutes after that.
"Moony, you’re not coming?" James asked him as he stood up and started walking with the boys.
Sirius burst out into a devilish smile “Oh he is cumming, all right!" the boy said. James didn’t get the joke, but Remus groaned and let his head fall on the table. Sirius knew now. BIoody fantastic!
Next thing Remus knew, he was getting the most random boners whenever you were around, and he felt like absolute shit. Especially since you weren’t doing anything that should be causing those kinds of reactions on him. Or at least you weren’t doing them to get him turned on. Leaning down to pick up a pencil that had fallen to the ground and flashing him with the short shorts you wore under your skirt as the two of you walked towards the library shouldn’t have gotten his cock to twitch and yet he had to lie to you and tell you to get ahead of the two since “he had forgotten something”.
He also shouldn’t have gotten a boner when you pressed yourself against him in a hug to wish him a happy birthday, or when you gave him a small kiss on the cheek after he won the Wizards’ Chess contest. To be fair, you weren’t even sure where you’d mustered up the courage for that one, since you had turned so red you had fled the place before you even noticed the small tent on his pants.
He shouldn’t have gotten one when Bins had you cross over the classroom and used you as a teacher’s assistant to write down things on the board. But he could’ve sworn your shirt was shorter that day, nothing more than a few inches, but there was definitely a lot more skin to see.
The one time he had a boner in the library because he dropped his parchment and leaned in to get it, realizing that for some reason you hadn’t worn your usual shorts and instead under your skirt he could actually see your knickers, was the time he thought it was acceptable. Especially when he did a double-take after he noticed the lacy pattern on your black underwear. Regardless it did nothing to make him not feel like a perv, even less when you leaned down on the table and gave him a rather concerned look “You okay Rem?” you asked “Did you find your parchment?”
He coughed a couple of times, thankfully the parchment had fallen a bit away from his grasp, and he somehow pointed at it. You nodded in comprehension and extended your leg to kick the parchment towards him, flashing him even more in the process. He had to avert his gaze as soon as your eyes turned back to him “thanks,” he said, voice strained, both of you were back over the table in a second.
You frowned “Sure you’re okay?” you asked again, leaning in closer with your extended hand just inches away from his face, but you pulled your hand away from him when you realized the apprehensive way he was staring at you. He was thankful, he was sure he might have cum in his pants had you actually placed your hand over his cheek the way you sometimes did.
Lily had come and get you from the library and he had just stayed there, face hidden under his arms as he cursed himself for being a perv. Then he felt a hand over his leg and almost jumped from his seat, realizing it was just Sirius.
The blue-eyed boy was looking at his friend with a knowing smile, Remus pulled back just a little “I’ve seen what’s been happening to you.”
“You haven’t seen shit,” Remus responded defensively which just got a laugh from Sirius.
“Moony, if you think I haven’t seen the way you shift in your seat whenever she’s around, or the way you subtly place your bag over your lap in class sometimes, or the way you stayed down the table for a little longer than you would in any normal situation, then–”
“–Shut it, shut it, shut it,” he said as he attempted to place his hands over Sirius, the other boy just laughed again.
“I’m here to give you advice,” the other boy said calmly as he grabbed Remus’ wrists to stop them from accidentally hitting him.
Remus eyed him suspiciously “What advice?”
“Wank it off,” Sirius said with a shrug.
Remus deadpanned “I’m not gonna,” he started and then added in a hushed tone “wank it off!”
“It’s the only solution I see, that or you tell her you have the hots for her.”
“That’s not happening either.”
“Could do it for you,” the boy shrugged again. “Seduce her and bring her onto your bed.”
“Sirius, you’re most definitely not going to seduce my crush.”
“But it’s painful to see you like this,” the other boy said, pointing at the bulge in Remus’ pants that was only now starting to subside.
“Well then don’t look!” Remus said pointedly, pulled a book from the table and started reading it. Sirius knew it was useless to say anything after that, but he also knew he had somewhat been successful, the idea had already been planted in his friend’s head.
And really, it’s not that Remus wanted to think about it, but when he got another boner over you just walking past him, he knew he had to find a solution to his problem. And, in the end, the solution found him instead. You were just walking away from the library when something dropped from your bag, “hey wait you…” he leaned over to pass it on to you, but he noticed then that it was a picture of you. You were wearing a sundress, a milkmaid sundress, pale yellow with small pink flowers, and you were smiling towards the camera as you moved and looked back at the castle behind you. He realized quickly it was Bayern, the castle you told him you had gone to visit on your last summer vacation that had a rather complicated German name he hadn’t cared to memorize.
And while the castle was definitely an impressive feat of architecture, it was half as impressive as you in that sundress. You had shown him several pictures of your trip, but you had never shown him that one, he almost felt like he had been robbed of something from not being able to see you in that dress before.
“You said something?” You asked, turning around to look at him. He quickly pocketed the small picture and shook his head, pulling the pencil he had been holding on his other hand.
“Just dropped this,” he said with a tight-lipped smile, trying not to let the guilt consume him.
“All right, see you at dinner,” you said as you turned around with a shrug and started walking away from the library.
He could feel the soft edges of the small photograph in his pockets with his hand still inside it, he was aching to get to see you in that bIoody sundress again, so after giving it some thought, that being exactly four seconds, he decided he’d have to skip class that day. Consequences be damned, he had to get to his room.
In what could easily be considered record time, Remus was already in the common room, running up the stairs and opening the door to his shared room, he walked inside and looked around, trying to make sure there was no one in there. Score, room was empty, even the bathroom. While he started walking to the bed, he started having second thoughts. “You can’t do this” a little voice in his head said “It’s wrong, you’re betraying her trust”.
Remus tried to shove those thoughts away as he continued feeling the edges of the photograph still safely tucked inside his pocket. He flipped his fingers over one of them and heard the small thump of the paper muffled by the fabric of his pants. Is it really wrong if I…? He wondered. It’s not like you had given him the picture… it's not like you had trusted him with it and he was about to do something heinous with it. In fact, he had stumbled into the picture, it had been all an accident, a coincidence, so if it were to actually wank it off with it, he wouldn’t be doing anything wrong, would he?
He approached his bed, he’d made a decision, he was sure, a few steps towards it and he was taking another step back, still fidgeting with his hand on the pliant photograph paper. And then he remembered the stash. He leaned under Peter’s bed –where they all kept their shit– and went straight for one of the playwizzard magazines. He started staring at the pictures of the beautiful nude witches, with their huge assets and their surprisingly hot movements. He sat down on his bed and continued staring, making sure to use a spell to lock the door as he started unzipping his pants.
But the witches were doing fucking nothing, nothing compared to what you did with 4 layers of clothing, nothing compared to his reaction to seeing you in that sundress. “Fuck!” he whispered-screamed frustrated as he threw the magazine to the floor, it falling back into place under Peter’s bed. He let himself fall on it and stared at the ceiling. The fucking photo he knew was still in his pocket weighing like led, he imagined you moving around in it, he remembered how the dress hugged your perfect soft curves from the seconds glimpse he’d gotten at it and… he felt the rush of bIood flowing downward.
“Just this once,” he said to himself as if he really thought he’d be able to stop afterwards “Just this once,” he repeated as he shut the curtains around his bed, out of shame rather than a bigger need of privacy, “just this once…” he repeated as he pulled the picture from his pocket, the back was facing him, there was a small legend on it, written in elegant cursive handwriting, your handwriting. He brushed his finger over it as he read “Neuschwanstein, Summer 1976”. So that was the name of the castle, he thought as he moved his other hand to his trousers.
He didn’t turn the picture, not yet, he hoped his imagination would be enough, he hoped that if he didn’t actually look at the picture while doing it, he’d have the moral high ground. He also knew that that was all bullshit from his own head trying to justify his actions. He started rubbing his hand over his trousers, feeling how hard the thought of you had made him. The nude witches from the magazine hadn’t done half that, it had been you.
“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath as he started rubbing, not taking himself out. Not yet, he had to engrave that picture of you deep in his brain before starting, as if it hadn’t been done the moment he spotted it on the floor of the library.
He continued to rub until he was panting and he stood up, kneeling on the bed instead of sitting down, undoing his button and pulling both his pants and briefs down in a surprisingly swift motion. He was so hard, there was already a bit of precum coming from him. He took a deep breath and placed his hands around himself, he gulped when he did, and then reached forward, flicking his finger over his tip, spreading some of the warm liquid over it, but it wasn’t enough. He brought his hand up and spit on it, using that as a lubricant as he started to move his hand up and down along his shaft. Slow at first, trying to remember the way you looked, but the more he pumped, the foggier his brain got, it was like he couldn’t hold the picture of you in his brain.
On the spur of the moment, he made a decision he thought he wouldn’t be doing that day, he really, really thought he had an ounce of self restraint until he gave up, and flipped the picture. “Fuck,” was the first thing that came out of his mouth when he saw you, he was fucking thankful the pictures couldn’t talk like portraits did. He continued to pump himself, panting as he started to thrust into his own hand instead. There was something about the movement of his hips that made it more real. He swallowed thickly as he stared at you, your dress rising ever so slightly as you twirled to see the castle behind you. It wasn’t even more than what he had seen when your skirt rode up, or what he had seen that day at the library but it was doing things to him regardless.
He grabbed a pillow and placed it in front of him, settling the picture over it carefully, still staring at your beautiful smile as he continued to thrust “so fucking gorgeous,” he whispered in between pants, she’s so bIoody stunning, how is it even possible?
His mind was filled with praises when he finally came, but he was so erratic, so sexdrunk that he didn’t even manage to catch his cum in his hand like he usually did, instead it spilled past his hands and onto the pillow he had placed in front of him, onto the photo.
When Remus managed to regain a little bit of himself and he noticed what had happened he panicked “What have I done?” he wondered as he pulled the picture up and attempted to clean the sticky hot liquid with the sleeves of his sweater –it was like he had forgotten he was a wizard altogether– but instead of helping it only spread out even more, now being all over your chest. And that, that sent another rush down his body, his gaze darkened as he stared, lips parted, not believing what was going on.
He looked down, the twitch on his cock hadn’t been his imagination, it had actually fucking happened “What the bIoody fuck!” he whispered as he went to pat himself again, he would be sore as fuck later that day, but he didn’t give a bIoody damn about it. Completely forgetting his initial worry, he went at it again, when he was done, he came even harder, over the picture again, but this time, it had been intentional. Something about ruining that dress made his brain tick. When he was done, he just let himself fall on the bed, face down, not caring to adjust his pants, only turning his pillow around so he wouldn’t be sleeping directly over his cum.
As he laid down face looking to the side, he pulled the picture from the side and stared at it, he was fucking spent, and yet he felt his cock twitch yet again as he saw your figure covered in his seed. You were fucking stunning in that dress. He fell asleep like that. Pillow with cum underneath, half-naked, and with your cum filled picture standing right next to his face.
When he woke up again, it was because he heard someone trying to open the door. He jolted awake, pulled his pants up and used his wand to clean the bottom of his pillow and some of his shirts, some of it was sticky, while other bits were just staining the sheets with a cloudy white stain. He pocketed the picture, the one he didn’t care to clean, and walked towards the door.
“Remus?” Sirius asked when he opened the door “Why weren’t you in class today?”
“I was feeling off,” Remus lied, standing right in front of Sirius and blocking his view of the bed. It was clean, really, but he had forgotten to undraw the curtains “Had a headache.”
“But we’re pretty far from that time of the month,” Sirius said casually, then he spotted the edge of the magazine under Peter’s bed, and Remus’ bed too, the one his friend had been so adamant to clock out of his view and he smiled “Should’ve told me,” he said with a smirk and pointed at the magazine “I’ve got better ones.”
Remus gasped “No I didn’t… I didn’t use that,” he shut his own mouth and cursed under his breath when he realized what he had involuntarily admitted to doing.
“No problem,” Sirius said with a smile “I was starting to worry about you and your obsessive little crush.” Remus gave him a reproachful look, Sirius just ignored it “She’s in the common room, you know? She was worried about you.”
“She was?”
“Said she was waiting for you at dinner,” Sirius responded with a shrug. Remus looked at his friend surprised and turned to the clock on the wall “It’s that fucking late?”
Sirius nodded, and smiled as he saw Remus walk past him and towards the door again “Go get her lover boy,” he said as he waved Remus goodbye with a smile.
That day, since you hadn’t seen him, you’d brought him food over, and the two of you had some snacks by the fire, you had leaned into him a little, craving his warmth since the night had gotten cold, even if it was already spring. He thought he’d be giving you your photograph back that day, but he just couldn’t, not while it was still stained with his cum, so the picture stayed. Safely in his pocket as you waved goodbye and walked up to your room with a soft smile on your face.
The picture had almost become part of his routine, whenever he was feeling too uneasy around you, or turned on for that matter, he sneaked to a private place in the castle and took matters into his own hands. At first, he was shameful for it, cheeks burning as he stared at you, but the more he did it, the less shame he felt.
Eventually though, he heard you talking to Marlene about having lost a photograph that you really liked, and that you would straight up kiss anyone who found it because you had to give it back to your mom, who said she’d get you a duplicate if you really wanted it.
Remus felt terrible, he’d been using the picture to wank while you had been looking for it because you had to give it back? That night, he shut his curtains, used muffliato all over and he did it one last time –technically a couple of them– and fell asleep staring at the picture, trying to memorize it completely, especially the dried blotches of cum and how they looked over you. Fucking pervert, he thought as he finally used his wand to clean it up, leaving it like brand new.
The next day, he approached you on your way to the library, “Hey little witch,” he said as he approached you.
You loved it when he called you names, it made you feel special. You turned around trying not to grin, which was almost your automatic reaction to hearing his voice “Hey Rem,” you responded with a smile.
“I’ve got something for you,” he said as he bit his bottom lip.
You gave him a surprised look and approached him “You do?” He nodded. “What is it?”
“I found something you were looking for,” he said as he pulled the picture from his pocket.
“Remus!” you said, not bothering to hide your excitement “You found my picture,” you smiled “I was worried it’d end up in the wrong hands…”
Remus averted your gaze, yeah like mine, he thought, but then turned to you with a smile, he decided to tease you “And where is my reward?” he asked with a cocky smile, you looked at him puzzled. “Didn’t you say you’d kiss whoever found it?”
You gave him a smile, not sure whether he was joking or not, but decided to oblige him, pulling him down by placing a hand on his shoulder and standing on your toes just a little before placing the smallest little peck to his cheeks “Thank you, my hero!” you said with a smile as you pulled away, a slight sarcastic tint to it.
All thought he’d asked for it, he was not expecting for you to actually go through with it. He coughed a bit and smiled, pointing at the picture as he tried to regain composure “the dress,” he said, “it looks really nice, you should wear it more often.”
And those words were all you needed for him to say, you knew you had a Hogsmade outing on the weekend, so no matter what, you’d have to find that dress. You had been rummaging through your bottomless trunk for at least an hour when Marlene finally turned to you, looking at the mess of scattered clothes all around, and noting your distressed little expression.
“What’s wrong darling, you lost something?” she asked.
“Sort of,” you said, “I’m looking for my dress.”
“Your dress? Which dress?” she asked.
You pulled the picture and handed it over to her. She took in her hands and gave you a low whistle “You look stunning, luv. Who do we want to impress?”
Your head snapped towards her with a small gasp “Impress!?”
Marlene just smiled “Come on,” she said, “you wouldn’t be looking for it so frantically if it wasn’t for the fact that you wanted to garner someone’s attention.” She sat on your bed and stared at you, head tilted “Is it Remus?” You flushed. “It is Remus!” she added excitedly.
You shook your head as you sighed, not bothering to hide it from her and nodded “he found the photo, he said the dress looked good on me.”
“Bet he did,” she said, diverted and leaned in closer to notice the slightly worn edges of the picture, she turned it around a couple of times before noticing a small rip. She shuddered and let the picture fall on the bed. Looking at you and the photo and then back at you with shock “How long did he have it?”
You shrugged in response, still dipping your head inside your trunk and pulling piece after piece of clothing “Not sure, he said he found it and brought it over.”
Marlene looked at you suspiciously, not daring to take the picture again, were you that naive? “How long was it lost?”
“‘Bout three weeks or so, I think…” you said as if it didn’t matter now that you knew where the picture was “fuck, it’s nowhere!” you whined as you continued to throw pieces of clothing behind you.
“Honey I think he…” she shut herself. And looked back at the pic, not taking in her hands again. She frowned, trying to decide whether to tell you or not.
“hmm?” you said, turning to her.
“I think you’ll look stunning in it,” she said, opting not to tell you “Come on, let me help,” she said as she stood up and walked beside you, helping you dig through the trunk until you found it. It was better if you didn’t know what he had been doing with that picture. All though, knowing you like she did, you might have been turned on by the idea anyway.
She was the one who found it, she stood with it and helped you carefully hang it on the bed as she used a steamer spell to get rid of the wrinkles. All the while you were using some levitating spells to put all the clothes back on the trunk. You’d told her you’d make sure to clean it up later.
The boys were already at “The Three Broomsticks” since they had promised to get in ahead of you to find a table. And you had promised Lily you’d go to the hair stylist with her. You weren’t there to get anything done, but somehow she convinced you to let them style your hair in a nice way. She thought a bit of extra magic would look really nice with your dress “So you can woe Remus.” she’d said. As Remus needed anything other than your sole existence to be wooed.
When you were both done, her red locks were perfectly done up and cut, your own hair styled in a way that you looked just like a princess, the two of you finally walked towards the spot you always shared with the boys. Marlene, and Mary were already there. Marlene was talking about Quidditch with James and they were waiting for you to ask you some things before the next match in a couple of weeks while Remus and Sirius were talking about something else.
Sirius was the one who spotted you come in through the door, and him being Sirius, whistled shamelessly, garnering the attention of every single person in the table, and even some from other people around them “Look at them go, you look stunning girls!”
Remus was about to reprimand Sirius for his crassness when he turned to see you. And when he noticed exactly what you were wearing, his mouth went dry, a rush of bIood going straight down his body. He never expected to actually see you in that dress in real life. To him, it was like a dream, a fantasy, but now it was real, and it made him grow pale, and hold his breath as you walked towards them and he saw the fabric ripple around you as you walked. Is that a– the dress has a leg slit?, he thought as he stared, swallowing hard and trying to snap himself out of the trance.
Marlene noticed, of course, she noticed. And she tried to hide a snicker, by drinking some water but ended up coughing instead. Remus, who had been sitting next to her, didn’t even notice, so she hit him lightly “asshole,” she said. He turned to her rather confused. “I almost choked?”
“Oh… really? Didn’t notice… want me to get you a napkin?” He asked politely, his eyes turning to her only briefly before going to you and then back and forth.
Marlene rolled her eyes “No need, ooze at your little witch instead.” She made sure to use the nickname he had given you in a rather mocking manner.
He snapped his head towards her now, paying full attention “I wasn’t– I mean I…”
Marlene just shook her head and stood up, a wicked little smile appearing on her lips as she grabbed your shoulders “Take my spot, will you?” She said with a smile “I’m going to the bathroom real quick, that way we don’t move everyone when I’m back.”
“You sure?” you asked, catching the fact that she had been sitting next to Remus.
“Positive,” she added with a smile as she basically pushed you next to Remus and took off. You turned to her with a reproachful stance but took a deep breath and turned your head back around, rising in your seat just a little bit as you tried to accommodate the dress. The slit and the harsh way in which she had pushed you inside the booth caused one side of the dress to dip behind your leg, exposing it completely.
Remus noticed, and his gaze lingered just for a little bit before turning towards the front, glaring holes at the napkin holder as he tried to both think of a naked Dumbledore to cool down and etch the curve of your legs in his brain for later use.
Sirius, the other person at the table who knew what was going on, was a nice enough friend to hand Remus a glass of cold water. When Marlene came back, she had brought over some Butterbeer for everyone, and Lily had stood up to ask for some snacks at the counter. Marlene had sat an awful lot closer to you than she needed when she came back, with one sole purpose, to press you into Remus.
“Sorry,” You said, looking up at him when the girl laughed and you ended up shoulder to shoulder.
He looked down at you, staring with the softness he always used on you and smiled “No problem darling.”
Marlene smiled, and when she saw Frank and Alice she called them over “Sit with us guys,” she said with a wicked smile. Alice gave her a look, knowing she was up to something just by looking at her expression. So even if she originally planned a date with just Frank, she decided to pull him along.
“I’ll go get a chair,” the boy said as he approached the table.
“Don’t be silly, we all fit in here,” Sirius said when he figured out what Marlene was doing, “I’ll just sit on Prongs’ lap,” He said before the two of them accommodated, allowing Lily and to move over and subsequently for Mary to do the same, successfully making enough space for Alice to sit in there.
Remus was throwing pleading looks at his friend when Mary spoke “Careful Lils, Sirius might steal your man.”
She chuckled, “he can keep him for all I care,” she joked, James pouted in response.
“I guess I can sit on Frank’s…” Alice started.
“Don’t be ridiculous luv!” Marlene said “You’re our guest,” she said, “(Y/N) can sit on Remus’ lap.” You threw her a look, and she just gave you an expectant smile.
“Well as long as it doesn’t bother you,” you said, turning to Remus who swallowed but shook his head. Sirius was holding his need to laugh when you kind of stood up and placed yourself over Remus’ lap. And he wanted to laugh because Remus’ face was just priceless. He had his eyes shut tight, and he might have also been holding his breath. Sirius just honestly hoped you didn’t find one of those surprises that Remus often had when you were around.
“So, what were you planning guys?” Lily asked as everyone started to get comfortable. Remus had placed his hands on the table, close enough to yours so they were brushing against each other, it made you feel butterflies.
“We were just going to have dinner and then walk around a little bit. Alice wanted to restock on her strawberry gum before going back too.”
“Yeah, we didn’t have any strong plans, what about you guys?” Alice added.
“Well Zonko’s is our mandatory spot, but we went there earlier,” Sirius responded as he pulled one of the breads from the center and split it in two, “Want some?” he asked looking at you and you nodded and handed it over, then he turned back to Alice.
You took a bit of your bread to bring it over to your mouth and turned back to them “Lils and I went to the hair salon.”
“So that’s why you both look so stunning,” Alice said, by then, Frank who had stood up earlier had brought back two other butterbeers, one for himself and the other for his fiancé.
You then turned to Remus, who you realized was grabbing onto the edge of the table “Are you okay?” you asked him, concerned. Freaking Marlene, she didn’t even consider Remus might be uncomfortable, you thought.
The boy looked at you, focusing like he had been thinking of something else and nodded “Yeah sorry, don’t know what to do with my hands,” he admitted, pulling them slightly from where they were brushing against yours.
You looked at him, and grabbed his hands in yours, pulling them towards your lap, not quite wrapping them around your waist, but almost “You can put them there, I don’t mind.”
Remus gulped but nodded. He could barely stop thinking at the way you felt pressed against him. Your legs on top of his were already enough to drive him crazy, but now his hands on top of your legs? He had to grab the butterbeer and bring it up to his lips to cool himself down again, drinking about half the bottle in one go.
You pulled another piece of bread to your mouth and realised he had been staring at your hands, mistakenly, you assumed it was because he was hungry, you grabbed another bit and hovered it just about his mouth “Want some?”
Remus just leaned in and took the piece you offered him munching on it as he tried to concentrate on the flavour. Other than the fact that he was struggling not to make it obvious how turned on he was, he thought the domesticity you were showing was overly nice.
But then you leaned in to grab another piece of bread from the far side of the table, and the smell of your hair got all the way to him, and then he looked at your soft smooth looking back that was a lot more exposed than normally and he fucked up.
When you leaned back in your place, you felt it. You almost gasped. But then realised that it must have been your imagination. Surely there was no way you leaning onto the table like that would garner such a reaction from him. Right?
Regardless, you were too curious to just let it slip by, so you repeated your action. This time you noticed his breath catch on his throat as he emitted the quietest little gasp you’d ever heard. And so when you went back to your spot, you just grabbed your bread and started munching on it as you tried to keep a straight, not completely surprised face.
You thought about not moving at all for a while, so Remus could sort out whatever was going on by himself. Really, it would have been the merciful thing to do. To freeze in your place, let him cool down and pretend it never happened. Unfortunately for him –or perhaps fortunately– you had never been merciful, not when you were playing quidditch, not when you were destroying your opponent in magic chess and you certainly wouldn’t start then.
Besides, if he really had been turned on by you and not by some other external factor, then you doing what you were about to do might have been all the proof you needed to know if Remus actually liked you back.
At first, you didn’t want to make it obvious. And pretended you hadn’t noticed his reaction to you, which had him relax, if ever so slightly. But then you leaned in again, this time to Lily, and you made a small little gesture with your hand to have her lean into you too, telling her something silly about the homework. Leaning back toward Remus and then repeating the same action while pretending you had forgotten to say something.
When you went back to your place, you pressed yourself against the boy a little harder, smiling when you realised that it must definitely have been you the one causing such a reaction in Moony. Your resolve only solidified when you felt his hands – which were still lying atop of your tights, ball into tight fists, his whole body tightening under you, in fact.
Still, the boy hadn’t noticed you were doing it on purpose and he hoped to the heavens you hadn’t noticed what was going on with him. The possibility that you thought what you were feeling was keys or something else in his pockets was at least comforting.
You smiled, almost wickedly as you thought of yet another excuse to roll your hips atop of his, “Please stop moving,” he whispered in your ears after he grabbed your arms and forced you to lean closer to him.
“Am I too heavy? Sorry…” You said aiming to stand up but going back down a second later, pretending it had been accidental. Remus cursed under his breath, feeling like shit for being so turned on over you… just existing.
“No, you– you were just squeezing my tight.” He said, voice rougher than usual.
You revelled in the reactions you were getting from him. “Oh sorry,” you said and rolled your hips to the side, his breath hitched in his throat, “This better?”
“I-“ he started, not quite being able to emit a full sentence.
You held a smile and tolled your hips to the other side “And this?” you asked, still in an innocent tone.
“fuck…”
You bit your lip to not smile, turning your body to him and leaning on one of his legs instead, placing your hand on his cheek “Are you okay?” you asked, fake concern laced in your words, he was too far gone to notice.
“Yeah, sorry I just, I feel like I should… Perhaps I can…”
“Want me to stand up?” You asked with a small pout “If I’m making you uncomfortable the just–”
“–No!” he said a little too suddenly, “I’m fine, you’re fine, everything’s fine.” At least with your ass pressed only to only one of his tights, he was starting to relax again. Even if the slit of your dress had repeated its action from earlier and had your leg a lot more exposed than before. He noticed, and you noticed he noticed.
And so, doing the boldest thing you had ever done in your life, you spread your legs open just a wee bit more, letting the slit fall further behind and letting your leg show just a tad more. Remus swallowed thickly as he stared “discreetly”, which just made your mouth dry.
You then turned back to the front, since Peter had arrived with the food, fish and chips and some other casual dishes. You moved yourself again, this time facing the front and pressing your ass straight to his crotch. You didn’t care for pretending anymore, you wanted to see how far you could push him, so you rolled your hips against him once. Leaned down for a fry and then rolled them again, two times this time.
Remus’ breath was heavy, he was looking at you in shock, at this point he was so hard there was no way you hadn’t noticed. He saw you lean forwards, your movement different from the first time you’d done it, you were perking your ass against him, and when you leaned back you rolled your hips three times, basically grinding onto him as you did.
That’s when he realised, and the next time you leaned for a chip, he pulled his hands from your lap and wrapped them around your hips tightly before pulling you back onto him, harshly, making sure to press you against him in a way that made you gasp in shock, he leaned onto your ear “Thought I wouldn’t notice little witch?” he whispered.
Your mouth went dry, you weren’t sure anything anyone had ever told you made you feel that turned on in your life. Still, you decided to continue playing your own little game “Whatever do you mean Rem?” you asked innocently, turning your head to him, feeling his hot breath against your cheek.
He chuckled, tightening his grip on your hips before pushing you down onto him again “Stop pretending, or this won’t stop till I’ve had my fill.”
Your eyes shone at the idea, you tried to roll your hips against his again but his grip was way too tight “Is that… a promise?”
Remus chuckled again before forcing your hips to roll against him again, pulling his head in a bit of an angle so he could whisper in your ear without anyone realising it, “It was a threat, but you can call it whatever you like sweetheart.”
You smiled wickedly “Then I still have no clue what you mean,” you replied with another of those innocent smiles of yours, while you pulled the dress a little bit higher.
Remus held back a groan as he looked at you, teasing him like you didn’t know any better. Like you didn’t know how many dreams of railing you in that dress he’d had in the past couple of weeks.
In the middle of your little rendezvous, Sirius noticed something was going on, it was in the way Remus was regarding you really, same stare the wolf used often, fucking famished. “Hey Moons! Didn’t you say you had to go to the castle early for that potions project of yours?” he asked, eyeing Marlene.
“Right, same one you’ve been working on, isn’t it darling? You should go together,” she said, turning to you.
Remus shot a small little sneaky smile at Padfoot and nodded “You’re right,” Remus said calmly “Both of you,” he said giving each of them a look, and then turned to you, “shall we go?”
You gulped, eyes as dark as his own “Yeah, we should.”
Frank, Marlene and Peter got off from the booth so you could both get out, you were the first one up and Remus followed, placing himself behind you so no one could see the tent in his pants, but also because he enjoyed pressing himself onto you a little too much.
You pulled your wallet and took out a couple of bills, “Remus’ is on me,” you said with a smile.
Sirius snickered when he thought, Well, he certainly will be. Which was rather similar to what Remus thought as his eyes darkened.
“If I help you with your homework will you also be paying for my butterbeer?” James teased.
You smiled “How many butterbeers do you owe me then Prongs?”
He gasped at your bold little response and you waved at everyone with a smile. Remus had placed his hand on your neck, Thumb brushing against your spine as he turned the both of you around and prompted you to move forward. Once outside you saw a small little alleyway that seemed just dark enough for the two of you “Remus, look–“
“Not there,” he said, “too dark.”
You turned to him a little surprised. “What? You want to do it out in the open then?”
He leaned over “Little witch, I haven’t been dreaming of you in that fucking dress for weeks so we end up fucking in a dark little corner where I won’t be able to see it properly.”
The shiver those words sent down your spine was unprecedented, that was until you realised exactly what he had said. Weeks? That must be a mistake. “Does that mean you had the photo for…”
“Yes, weeks,” he confirmed, not even caring to hide it anymore. “It’s clean now, don’t worry,” he added.
“What do you mean it’s…” the words died out in your mouth, you knew exactly what he meant “Remus!” you admonished, half shocked, half complaining, but totally turned on.
“Got a problem?! Don’t leave you’re fucking photos laying in the ground for anyone else to see.” He said, the fact that he was using such crass language, something he tended to avoid around you was proof enough of how out of control he was at the moment “Coud end in the wrong hands.”
You looked around “Where are you taking me?” you asked when you noticed you were walking towards the forest.
“To a place almost as beautiful as you,” he said simply. Your bIood rushed to your cheeks. Fucking Remus John Lupin, he had you and he had you bad, “you do trust me, right?” he added leaning into your ears.
This was definitely revenge for what you had done to him back at the pub. You somehow managed to nod and he smiled. The two of you walked along the forest for a couple of minutes, until you saw some light, the darkness and trees opened into a small circle, there were small floating pollen spores that you could only see when the sun hit them right, and the shadows the tall trees cast on the ground made the entire place look like it was something out of a fairy tale. Even the air… it smelled of magic. Perhaps the fairies would fly away scared after the two invaded their home, terrified of the debauchery that was about to occur… or perhaps they'd see the two of you together, looking so merry, that they would dance and party along with you, from their small little nooks hidden inside the roots of the trees.
The beauty of the place made you almost forget why you were there all together. Almost. Remus had brought you closer to him, wrapping his fingers around your waist and pressing himself onto you. He was still hard. It hadn’t been a long walk but you assumed that… Well, perhaps you didn’t know shit about male anatomy, let alone werewolf anatomy. You pressed your hips against him and he stifled a moan.
You turned around and placed your hand on his cheek again, echoing the action you had done at the pub, but this time using it to bring him down for a kiss. First, it was just a small little one on the side of his mouth, but as you were pulling away he grabbed the back of your head and pulled you back in.
It started slow, he started slow. Like he was savouring every inch of your lips before pressing his tongue against them, you let your own part, and the two of them started dancing against each other. You tried to deepen the kiss, to make it faster, but Remus was slow and steady and demanding. He was not about to let you rush him through this.
No, Remus Lupin had dreamed of this moment for way too fucking long to let you be fast and desperate about it. “Remus I…” you whined.
“Shhhh little witch…” he coed “We need to take our time, make sure you’re ready–“
“I am ready,” you said as you pulled his hand from your neck and dragged it towards your core, when his fingers brushed over your wet panties he could not stop the curse that slipped through his mouth.
“So fucking wet already. And just for the kissing–”
“No.”
“No?”
“It’s been like that since the pub.”
Remus chuckled, diverted at your boldness before he stared at you, at the dress again. Half of him wanted to rip it apart to see all of you, but the other one, the one that had made him fuck himself into his own hands so many times, wanted you to keep it on. He wanted to fuck you in that dress until it was filled with grass and dirt and cum. He wanted to fucking ruin you. You weren’t making it easy for him to hold back either.
You noticed the way he was staring and placed your hand on the back of the dress, starting to unzip it when he placed his hands over yours and dragged them away from it, pulling the zipper back up and whispering in your ear “Keep it on.” It wasn’t a question, it was a command.
“What? But… you won’t be able to– Will it be enough?”
Remus looked at you in disbelief, raising his eyebrows as he nodded towards the tent in his pants “More than fucking enough.” He pulled you back in towards him, gliding his hands down your tights and sliding one of them through the slit, “I didn’t know the dress had a slit when I was using it to get off,” he whispered, hot breath against your ear making you shiver, you were about to crumble onto him “I imagine I would have… let my imagination run wild with it.”
“Let your imagination run with it now,” you replied and pulled on his hair to bring him back to your mouth. He groaned at the harsh movement, and you almost fucking melted into him after he made that sound. “Remus! You’re too tall,” you complained in between kisses and you pressed your hands onto his shoulders to bring him further down. He smiled onto the kiss, but allowed you to push him down until you were both kneeling on the soft mossy grass. He was still too fucking tall “sit.”
“Sit?” he asked diverted, raising an eyebrow teasingly.
“Yes, sit,” you said again, pushing him on the chest just hard enough to have him tumble back, ass on the ground as he stared at you, amusement evident on his face. Of course, had Remus actually wanted to stay up, your small little blow to his chest wouldn’t have done shit, but he liked how desperate you were.
He looked up at you, still on your knees as you looked back at him, eyes blown with lust “I like it when you take charge like this,” he joked.
You scoffed diverted “Shut the fuck up Moony, I’ll–“
“Make me,” he interrupted you, brattily.
How many fucking romance novels had this boy read? “I’m sorry?”
He just smiled wider, he knew what he was doing. He knew exactly what he was doing to you and he was getting a kick out of it. “I said… make me.”
You wanted to scoff, but instead, you climbed on top of him pressing yourself against his cock and leaning in for a kiss, but not allowing your lips to touch. It’s what he wanted, really. You knew because you had probably read those same novels. Instead, you rocked your hips into his, and he gasped. Remus leaned in to kiss you but you pulled back and brushed your cheeks through his as you leaned over to whisper in his ear, rocking your hips against his once more before speaking “You were saying?”
His mouth went dry, he was not expecting so much push and pull with you, he almost always imagined you as a little bunny he would ruin, but it seemed like you were as much of a wolf as he was, which was somehow even better, hotter, it made his whole fucking body feel like it was on fire, which was exactly what you were feeling as you felt his crotch rub straight against your wet panties. The friction making you feel things you didn’t consider possible.
“Fuck,” he whispered, which only furthered your conviction “Darling if you-“ he groaned as you ground against him yet again “keep this up, I’m not gonna– not gonna last,” he somehow managed to get out.
“Then stop me,” you said with a wicked smile. Remus pulled you back, to stare at your face, you still had that expression and he quirked one of his eyebrows. “Must I repeat myself?”
Remus scoffed, biting his lips when he felt you roll your hips against his again, which got a hiss in return. When he was sure you were okay with it, he placed his hands on your hips and pulled you back on his legs, just enough so you wouldn’t be able to continue grinding against his crotch. And then he lifted you up with remarkable ease before laying you on the mossy grass floor.
Your hair sprawled around your face, your cheeks were flushed and your eyes so blown with lust they almost looked black, he wasn’t sure you’d ever looked prettier in his life. He hovered over you and you opened your legs for him, pulling them up to try and chase his, but he pulled them back, you gave him a desperate pout. Which made you look even more adorable.
Remus placed one of his hands on your hips to hold them down and brought the other one to your legs, he was taking his sweet time as he brushed it over your leg, savouring the feeling of your soft skin against his hands, pressing lightly as he brushed over your calves and brushing your inner thigh with utmost care, you felt like you were at the common room all over again. The recurrent dream you had coming back to you in an instant.
“Remus,” you whined, as you tried to push your hips up only to be stopped by his dextrous hands. You heard him chuckle, voice hoarse still.
“Let me enjoy the view darling, you don’t know how pretty you look right now.”
“Well, enjoy while touching,” you said, pulling the dress as far as you could and placing your hand over the one on your hips to bring it down to your core.
There was no shame in your movements, there was no fear, you’d let him touch you wherever he wanted and that made Remus’ cock twitch in his pants “Perhaps you shouldn’t be putting so much trust in a wolf’s hands…” he said as he rubbed his thumb over your wet underwear. Failing to keep up his smug grin when he realised just how wetter you’d gotten them, the small little surprise eased a smile on his face. And since you were looking so attentively at it –at his beautiful, perfect, licentious face– you noticed.
Deciding to tease him further you rolled your hips against his thumb, feeling the way the rest of them pressed against the top of your slit, warm and kind, even as they pushed you back down again with relatively strong force “Maybe you’re just a sheep in a wolf’s skin,” you whispered breathlessly.
“Isn’t that saying meant to be the other way around?”
You started to laugh, easily being shut up by his thumb sliding to the side and back again, this time dipping inside your panties and rubbing through your hole “Shit,” you breathed.
Remus smiled, realising how much you whimpered when one of his scars brushed against your clit. He tortured you with it for a few seconds before he pressed his thumb against it, earning a gasp from you. “A sheep in a wolf’s skin, eh?” he asked as he loomed over you, one hand still on your clit and the other one to prompt himself up, looking at your elated little face, and the microexpressions you made whenever he did something right.
You managed to somehow regain back focus, just enough to smirk in between a moan, “just a sheep,” you repeated. And he inserted a digit against you. You gasped again.
But he was just as shocked as you were, “So tight,” he whispered, “It’s not going to fit…” he said more to himself. You pushed your hips against his finger, wanting to feel some fiction.
“It will,” you reassured “Please Remus…” you begged then.
He almost came there and then. You were pleading for him to continue, fucking pleading. He complied. He started moving his finger inside and out, careful and soft at first, like he didn’t want to hurt you, keeping his eyes trained on your face to make sure you were okay as he dug deeper inside you. Your face was dazed in pleasure, almost too far gone when you felt another finger.
You frowned, and he stopped moving “Hurts?” he asked concerned laced in his tone.
You took a deep breath “No… just, give me a second…” You said as you tried to adjust to the feeling. After just a couple more seconds, it was you who was pushing against his fingers. You hadn’t even realised when he had pulled his thumb and replaced it with his index and middle finger, but they were longer, and they reached places they hadn’t done before. You only figured it out when he started rubbing circles against your clit like he had done at first.
And you moaned his name as he picked up the pace. The pleasure was so big you didn’t even realize he was actually preparing you, slowly moving his fingers as he rubbed and trusted so he could stretch you out, so he could actually fuck you the way he wanted.
He reached a point you hadn’t even managed to reach yourself ever before and you bit your lips so hard you drew bIood, he figured it out in a second and continued to rub against the spot until he had you wrapping your hands around his tightly, he knew you were close, so he smiled and continued pumping even as you tried to reduce the friction, which had you coming undone after a couple of seconds. Your breath was ragged, your hands loosened as you lost yourself to the pleasure. He helped you down from your high, still pumping his fingers in and out, slower now, almost painfully slow.
When he finally stopped, he pulled them out slowly and then brought his fingers straight to his mouth, and the guttural moan that escaped his lips when he wrapped them around his fingers and tasted set you ablaze yet again. You reached your hand for his crotch and started grazing your delicate fingers against him. He was still looming over you, and you smiled when his stance faltered.
You went straight to the button of his dress pants, and then pulled the zipper down, pressing your hand over his briefs, and you finally understood why he thought it wasn’t going to fit. Your fault for falling in love with such a tall boy. You heard him whimper above you and it only made your resolve strengthen, you pulled your hands inside his briefs now. When he felt your hands around him, not his rough hands- but your soft, small hands, around him he crumbled into you, his face buried into the crook of your neck as you stroked him.
You were soft, and kind to him, at first… But you started picking up the pace when he pressed his mouth to your neck and started sucking against the soft skin, and against your collarbone, and then further enough to reach to the valley of your breasts. He looked up at you, lust filled his eyes as he leaned his cheek into your chest but he did nothing.
You were almost too far gone to realise he was asking for permission, but he used his mouth to nudge the string that tied the section that gave the “milkmaid dress” its name and you instantly understood what he wanted. You nodded and he used his mouth to pull the small little bow you had made earlier undone. Using the now-added space to trail his mouth to the valley of your breasts. You tightened the grip around him when you felt his hot breath against your nipples, and you did it again when you felt his mouth wrapped around one of them.
“fuck,” You whispered. He hummed in response, his own moans being drowned out by your soft skin, as he licked and sucked and nipped to his heart’s content. But then you did something that almost got him over the edge, and he bit your soft skin almost a little too hard. You had moved your hand up and had started to rub his tip. You might have known shit about male anatomy, but if books had taught you something, it was that, that was the most sensible part of a man’s cock. From his reaction, it was just the same for a werewolf.
“Okay, that’s enough!” he said roughly as he pulled your hand off him and pushed it over your head, taking the other one somewhere along the way and keeping them both in place with one of his own. He was still accommodating one of his hands to carefully hold both of yours down when you chased your hips against his. He gave you an impassive look and you just repeated the action again, a teasing smile dancing on your lips. He narrowed his eyes at you and you had the nerve to shrug innocently in response, or at least attempt a shrug, since both of your hands were still stretched over your head.
He chuckled at that, shaking his head as he used his free hands to tug your underwear down. The cold caused you to shiver, but it didn’t last long, he was already rubbing himself into your entrance. The feeling made you quaver, you were desperate to have him, but you also understood what he was doing. He was coating himself in your slick.
After a few more thrusts to your slick and he lined himself against your entrance. When he was ready, you pulled your hips up and his tip slewed over you and graced your already sensitive clit, you did it again, but then he pushed you down, hands digging into your flesh as he set your hips back on the grass, giving you a warning look.
You smiled teasingly and attempted to do it again, but his hands were digging against your pelvis and you barely managed to squirm under him, “please just fuck me,” you said with a pout.
“I was about to do that when you decided to tease,” he responded, a fake annoyance laced in his words. You let out a sigh but you felt him line against your entrance again. Your breath hitched in your throat and stopped squirming, allowing him to move his hand from your hips to guide himself inside.
He was slow and didn’t go all the way in at first, paying close attention to your face as he slid inside, breath heavy “You’re so fucking tight,” he whispered. You were panting as well, but managed to bring your hips up to help him bury more of himself inside you, he gasped, and dug his hands back on your hips, forcing you to still. Fucking Remus and his fucking werewolf strength, you thought as you attempted to writhe.
Remus was damn thankful he had played so many scenarios in his head as he touched himself, he wasn’t sure if he would have lasted half as long as he had if he hadn’t already pictured you in so many different ways. But even with so many, he hadn’t expected you to be so damn tight. When you kept squirming, he jerked forwards, dipping himself entirely inside you.
You moaned, your face in that mix of pleasure and pain he hadn’t yet managed to decipher “You okay?” he asked to your ear, his voice a mix between a whisper and a groan.
You nodded and clenched around him in response, he cursed under his breath. He wasn’t sure if he wasn’t moving because he was letting you adjust, or because he was trying not to instantly cum. You just felt so fucking good.
He could feel you breathing under him, your belly rising and falling almost alongside his, and he closed his eyes, just enjoying the feeling of being so close to you, so impossibly close. But you weren’t as patient. You hadn’t had as much practice with your own hand like he had, and you were desperate for him to move again. You tightened your muscles one more time. He cursed under his breath, and then you tried squirming under him.
“Please, little witch,” he begged, he wasn’t sure what exactly he was begging for, when his head decided to cooperate he managed to speak again, still in your ear “let me adjust.”
You squirmed under him again “adjust while fucking me.”
He bit his lip, pulled back slowly and thrusted back in with a lot more strength, you gasped, but relished on the feeling of him finally moving “Such a crass language my luv,” he said in between another of those harsh trusts. You were squirming under him again, this time it wasn’t on purpose. You pulled your hands under his sweater, you wanted to feel his skin.
He faltered at that, like it was a part of him he didn’t want you to see, let alone to feel, but when your fingers started brushing over one of his scars, in such a fucking adoring way, he couldn’t help but melt into you, he was sure he’d let you do whatever the hell you’d wanted to him.
You started bucking your hips against his, meeting his rhythm as best as you could, he was still being mindful of you as he continued his thrusts, too scared to hurt you. It was only when you fastened your pace that he did the same.
You whined his name, a little more desperate now, he knew you were close but he wasn’t sure the angle was enough for you, so he leaned closer “Would you,” thrust “mind it if I–” thrust “flipped you around?”
You wrapped your hands around his hair, letting them roam over him as you brought him over for a sloppy kiss, he instantly knew that was your answer. He took you out of him, you chased your hips back to his almost unwittingly, and you saw his resolve falter, but he got it back as quickly and used his strong hands to wrap them around your hips and flip you around. You had your face against the grass, turning your neck to try and see what he was doing when he took off his sweater.
He leaned over you, you could feel his cock pressed against your ass, but he was carefully bunching the soft fabric, raising your head with his hand and cautiously placing it under your head. Fucking sheep in the skin of a wolf, you thought, he’s too freaking kind.
You were still nursing that line of thought when you felt him thrust against you again, a lot harsher now, you straight up moaned at that, and he smiled as he continued his thrusts, in and out, until you were mindlessly pushing yourself against him again. You felt one of his hands slide in between your thighs, he started rubbing circles to your clit, repeatedly. You were losing yourself to him. To his hips thrusting into yours with a lot more force, to his heavy breaths and panting, to every moan and gasp and whimper and groan he emitted. They all sounded so beautiful to you.
He continued rubbing, he was determined to make you come at least a couple of times, he had come enough to your photo, he wanted to return the favour. He realised your hips were chasing his skin and he took off the soft cotton shirt he was still wearing when he leaned over and placed his hand around your waist, pulling you up to his chest.
You let your head fall against his shoulder as he continued thrusting, you weren’t sure you’d be able to form a coherent sentence even if you tried, so you just leaned in and placed sloppy kisses on his jaw, or to the section of it that you had access to now. He heard you moan when he quickened the pace of his hands on your clit, the other one still tightly around your ribs pushing you flush against him.
The feeling of his skin against your back was immeasurably perfect, you almost wished you could take off your dress to feel more of skin against you. You supposed it’d have to be for another time. You whined when he brought you to your climax yet again, the way your muscles clenched around him making him almost feral, he leaned in closer to you, “I’m going to…” he groaned into your ear.
“You can, inside if–“
“–No.”
“No?” you asked in confusion. He pulled you off of him and laid you back on the ground, still leaning over you when the first spurt of white warm liquid came out of his cock. You were still hazed, mind foggy and muddled from your orgasm but you realised what he wanted, and smiled reassuringly “It’s okay, I can buy another one.”
Remus groaned, letting his hand fall next to your head as he leaned in and continued to pump the rest of himself over you, over the dress. When he was finally done, he was so tired he wanted nothing more than to let himself fall over you, but he pulled back a little, still panting, but wanting to appreciate the mess he’d made.
You smiled at him, biting your lip, as you saw his lustful expression, your dress was coated in him, his sweat, and yours causing it to cling awkwardly to some part of your skin, but he absolutly loved it. He loved that he could practically smell himself on you, mixed in between the earthy and mossy aroma of the fores,t and the smell of sex. There was some cum near your breast, some over the left side of your waist, and some just over your entrance, that was still exposed to him. You looked even better covered with his cum than he imagined you would.
“Fucking gorgeous, wish I could take a picture,” he mumbled.
You smiled, pulling him to crash onto you, he complied, leaning his head against your chest like he had done earlier, you started brushing your fingers over his hair, especially the back of his scalp, he almost purred into your chest when you started scratching softly.
“You can keep one around the next time…” you whispered “but I’ll be taking some as well.”
He chuckled at your boldness, yet again. After what seemed like too little time but must have been close to an hour of the two of you just cuddling in the grass, you both knew you had to go back. So you stood up, Remus cleaned your dress with a swipe of his wand, almost lamenting the way his cum disappeared from it, but it had been pulled and dragged regardless. He wasn’t sure you’d be able to fix it.
“Here put this on,” He said, passing you his sweater over your arms.
You smiled as he bent back the sleeves to fit you better. And then he passed his fingers over your hair as if he was trying to make you look less sex drunk. You bit your lip “Do I not look like I’ve been railed to the heavens by a werewolf anymore?”
He chuckled, letting his hand linger on your cheek, “Thought I was a shep.”
“Hmm… You are, sometimes.” He smiled at your answer, and at your teasing smile. He stared at you for a second, he realised he was so unbearably in love with you it was absolutely insane. He wondered if you liked him a similar amount, judging by your reactions earlier, you might have.
When you leaned over to get your panties, which had been discarded somewhere over the grass, he beat you to it. You expected him to pass them over but instead, he pulled them to his face, giving them a sniff before placing them in his pocket. “Remus!” you admonished.
He shrugged, “It’s an exchange, you keep the sweater,” he responded with a rather dismissive wave of his hand.
“I never agreed to– bedsides, you're the one that ruined the dress!”
“And you’re the one that ruined the knickers, your point is?”
You scoffed, diverted at his answer and rushed towards him to try and get your underwear from his pocket but he veered off your grasp with ease, “Remus!” you said in between a snigger “You can’t expect me to go back to the castle all commando…”
He shrugged, “It'd be easier to go for another round if you did.”
You bit your lips in disbelief, and he wrapped his arms around yours, pulling you to start walking “Come on, hopefully, you’ll look less sex drunk by the time we’re back in the castle.”
“Speak for yourself,” you said as you pulled his jaw in between your hands to see his face better “You’re still all flushed.”
He shrugged “how could I not be? I have my arms around the prettiest little witch in the entire universe.”
You were sure you were the most flushed between the two after he said those words.
A/N: Did this one get out of hand in the length? Maybe... Do I love the final result? I definitely, definitely do. Remus and Reader's teasing and banter is my favourite thing ever. The Five Senses was born as a way for me to practice writing smut for my brand new Wolfstar x Reader series that's currently being posted on a weekly basis. If you have feedback, please leve it in the comment below. I absolutely love reading your comments <3
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The People We Became (Bakugou x Reader)
masterlist | ao3
Pairing: Bakugou x Reader
Summary: Zombie Apocalypse Au.
The world fell apart almost a year ago and you refused to go with it. Left alone and to your own devices in a world full of monsters, where the dead come back to life, you believe that maybe surviving isn't living.
When Katsuki finds you alone in the woods and on the precipice of collapsing from exhaustion, he decides to bring you back to the house his group calls home. Against your better judgement and hesitancy to become attached, you decide to stay. In this world, everyone has lost someone. No soul is spared the violence, and you start sleeping with Bakugou Katsuki to dull the ache. Somehow, peace finds you anyway, but not without sacrifice.
Chapter Content Warnings: fem!reader, gender neutral pronouns, strangers to lovers, violence typical of zombies, blood, gore, romance, slow-ish burn (for the emotional stuff), angst, kissin', questions of identity, loss, grief, graphic depictions of death and/or violence, mentions and descriptions of starvation/exhaustion typical of an apocalypse setting, very slight implications of possible sexual violence typical of an apocalypse setting, derealization, depersonalization, weapons (guns, blades, and traps), loss of identity
All content warnings can be found on ao3 with the rest of the series.
Word Count: 14.4k — 53k total on ao3
A/N: it's finally done... i'm sweating. i screamed. i cried. i bled. you know the drill. i am posting this a little differently than my other fics and series. only the first chapter will be posted here on tumblr (this post), with the rest of it broken up into chapters and posted on ao3.. purely because it was originally meant as a one shot and i don't like posting chapters on tumblr. it's not built for that and im tired. anyway, im nervous this is my new baby and im pretty sure my soul is somewhere in here. if u read this, pls come tell me what you think.. it fuels me. enjoy, cry, sweat, or whatever else you do when you read. as always, thank you and i love you.
Two hundred and seventy six. It’s been two hundred and seventy six days since the world completely went to shit. You don’t really count the initial outbreak. The initial outbreak was relatively contained once people found out about it. You quarantined. You stayed inside. All it really took were a handful of idiots. Someone selfish. Someone who panicked and ran instead of facing the world honorably, and that was it. It only took days to lose almost every semblance of a normal life and a week to lose everything else.
The light of your fire is dim, embers burning low as you sit in a foldable chair beside it. The chair is from a friend, someone you’re not with anymore and who went somewhere you couldn’t follow, and you've got a metal spatula in your hand. You're not sure why you grabbed it when you fled, but panic does weird things to the mind. You absentmindedly wonder why you’ve brought it along with you all this time. There’s no logical reason for you to tote the thing around. A friend had told you how strange it was that you thought to toss it into your bag and continue carrying it. This, along with a few other oddities, are all you managed to take from your house when the world fell to ruin. Everything else are things scavenged along the way or from people you'd met, joined, and lost.
Maybe it’s because the spatula is somewhat normal, like somehow when you cook the game on your makeshift tin over your shitty fire, you can pretend you’re in your kitchen. A smash burger sounds good right now, with grilled onions on a brioche bun like the ones from the place by your apartment.
The night is near silent and trees creak and crack like the hulls of great ships under heavy pressure, but the birds don't sing and nothing in the crowded wood you're taking shelter in makes a sound. Well, except for you and the gentle crackle of your fire.
It’s easy to miss the noise that used to irritate you when the world goes quiet. You used to hate the sounds and lights of passing trucks when they’d cross on the street below your apartment window. Now, you’d do anything for the familiar comfort. The world is so dark and quiet, like it’s holding its breath and waiting for this to be over. The silence is almost too much, so loud that it hurts your ears. You huddle closer to the fire, craving its quiet sound. Focusing on it lessens the anxiety of the other noises. The ones you don’t want to hear.
Your head is on a swivel. It has been for months. Ever since the outbreak, ever since the dead rose and began consuming and infecting the living, you've kept watch. A paranoid, never ending cycle that you suppose—if left on your own—will burn itself out. You swallow thick and return your attention to the fire, watching the tree line just in front of you for any hint of movement or monsters.
A branch cracks just behind you. A swift sound, followed by rapid footsteps. You stand, quickly turning your head, only to see a figure a few feet away from you. They move quickly and the dancing light of the fire obscures their features from view. Their eyes, most importantly. You can always tell if someone is dead or alive based on their eyes and the sounds that their joints make. In this light, should this stranger have that milky white film over them, you wouldn't be able to tell.
You make a small noise, something between a whimper and a shout, as the person comes to a stop in front of you and holds a flashlight directly into your face. You squint, panic in your veins as your eyes adjust as best they can to the sudden assault. It takes you a moment to realize that there is a gun pointed directly at your forehead. The living. This person is alive. You're not sure yet if encountering one of the dead would have been worse.
"Shut up and drop your weapon," he says in a hurried voice. It's aggressive and threatening. It comes from deep in his chest, like somehow fear has gripped and mutilated it into something violent.
You raise your shaky hands to your head quickly at the order, screwing your eyes shut in the beam of the flashlight.
"It's not a weapon!" you shout, voice cracking. "It's a spatula. It's a spatula."
The words are rushed and heavy, fear seizing your chest as you look down the barrel of the gun. The flashlight turns off, sending you back into the dark. Your eyes fight to adjust, catching the firelight that glints off of the barrel, and you begin to makeout the man’s features. He's big, blonde under the grime, you think. A man, not the best thing to encounter alone at night in times like these.
You see him hesitate for a moment, eyes darting between you and the silver kitchen item in your hand. You drop it quickly, hoping to appeal to his humanity.
"Do you have a weapon on you?" he questions, voice a little less urgent.
You shake your head in response and then shakily look beside the chair, choking out the word “ground”. There's a knife there and a pistol with no bullets. You're a poor shot and you had run out of ammo the previous week. He glances at it, the gun still raised at you, and sidesteps to grab the two items. When he does, he cautiously lowers the weapon and you start to lower your trembling hands.
Then, as if struck by some realization, the man stomps towards the fire and you jump as he does.
"The fuck are you doing lighting a fire this late?" he says angrily, opening the clip of your pistol. "And with no fucking bullets. Those things may be dead, but they can still fuckin' see. That's a good way to get yourself killed."
He stomps out the fire as he talks, urgently stamping out what's left of the low-burning logs.
"I didn't think there were many in the area," you justify, furrowing your eyebrows as you step away from him.
"And that's a risk you want to take?" he says indignantly. You wonder briefly what business he has worrying about you.
"What do you want?" you snap, "My food? Weapons? Life? What is it?"
The man scoffs, "Jesus, none of that. I don’t want your shit."
You narrow your eyes and take a step back. One thing this world has done is remove trust from every chance encounter, and that was already hard enough when the place was sane.
"Not all people who camp out in the woods are good," he says. "But I sure as shit didn't expect to find someone like you alone lighting a damn fire. Stupid."
"There were others," you say indignantly, like somehow that makes it better. "Force of habit, I guess."
The man pauses for a moment as understanding passes between the two of you. It's a relatable feeling. Everyone has lost someone now.
"Got a name?" he asks.
You hesitate in giving it to him and the pause causes him to roll his eyes. “You want me to call you Idiot-with-no-bullets instead?”
You give him your name and the man nods as if he likes the sound of it, turning it over in his head before inhaling.
"I'm Katsuki," he furrows his eyebrows. "You're alone?"
You nod, swallowing down the grief that pushes at your throat.
"Wasn't always," you respond, "but yeah. Now, I am."
He nods his understanding.
"Come with me."
"Where?" you say instinctively, a defensive edge to your voice. Katsuki looks at you as if you’re stupid, or maybe it's pity, like you're a wounded animal. Probably both.
"Where the fuck do you think?" he retorts. "We've got a camp a little ways from here. I saw your fire from the watch post we have stationed."
You look at him like he's a little crazy for even thinking to bring you. Kindness, especially the selfless type, is so rare now and you find it difficult to believe that he’s willing to take you there at no cost.
He scoffs and rolls his head over his shoulder. "Look, we've got men and women," then he pauses. "Used to have children. We're not gonna hurt you. World's gone to shit, do you really wanna keep at it alone?"
He's probably right. You've been alone for weeks now, exhausted for longer, and though your common sense tells you not to go off with a strange man in this kind of world, the promise of rest is far too tempting. You nod and glance back to your camp. A measly collection of supplies haphazardly put together. You suppose that it doesn’t look so promising.
"We'll come back for it when it's light," he says. "I don't know about you, but I'd rather not spend longer in these dark ass woods than I have to."
"Okay," you say. The presence of another person both sets you on edge and makes you feel the press of fatigue even more. A gun's barrel on your nose followed by the promise of safety and you're going with him? You must be stupider than a horror movie protagonist. "Do you take in a lot of strays?"
Katsuki looks over his shoulder and you think you see him smile a little at the phrase.
"If that's what you want to call it," he says begrudgingly. Then, with a softer tone of voice, barely noticeable with the quiet whisper you both have been speaking at. "I'm sure the others won't mind one more."
You nod a little and follow him through the wood, stepping over obstacles. Your eyes have adjusted to the dark, but you feel unsteady on your feet. Everything you’ve ever learned about this world tells you that maybe you shouldn’t go with him. What if they’re dangerous? It’s easy to lie about women and children, about a community that doesn’t exist. Or worse, it’s easy to fool yourself that where you are is good, but you don’t know yet if he’s the type to delude himself. He doesn’t seem it.
The two of you walk for what feels like forever, even if it is only a little over half a mile. Your feet have been aching for days and every step you take feels like a blade into the heel. Katsuki seems steady, his gun secured at his hip and a large knife in his dominant hand. He doesn’t have the flashlight out, but he seems sure-footed and takes every step in stride, as if he’s too heavy to be swayed by any missed step.
As you move, you can barely make out his back in the white tank top he wears. You use it as a landmark, following the glowing white as it catches the light from the moon. Like chasing a ghost through the trees.
Then, the wood eases up. The trees grow sparse and the suffocating humidity of the forest eases into a more breathable, open-air breeze. Katsuki steps out into a clearing. It’s relatively small, for how large the world is, but it’s some of the most open space you’ve seen in a while. The feeling of stepping out into the tall grass, where you’re both visible to any wandering thing, sends a rush of fear through you.
By the edge of the clearing, there’s a small house with a short steeple. It almost looks like a Christian church, but you get the sense that it’s likely a barn. That must be the watchtower and you wonder just how good the view of the forest is from up there if Katsuki managed to see the light of your fire. How many other people had seen your fires over the weeks and not made it out to confront you? How close had you come before to safety or annihilation?
"Hey!" a girl's voice calls. "He's back!"
In the near distance, you can see a large and dimly lit house. It looks a little worn down, but soft and hardly noticeable light emanates from it in a way that makes it seem inviting.You can’t make out its exact silhouette and night blurs just how broken-down it is, but you can tell that people live there in the same way you can tell when someone has just left a room.
Someone runs across the field to you both. It looks like a man and a woman, maybe around Katsuki's age. They move quickly through the tall grass and for a moment, the urgency that they move with frightens you. You worry that your presence will ignite some protective sort of panic. You linger back, letting Katsuki grow a little farther from you as they call out to him.
“Yeah, yeah," he half-shouts, no longer seeming to care about keeping quiet. Guess that's what happens when there's a group. "I found the fire I mentioned."
The two come to a stop in front of him, resting their hands on their hips as they catch the breath they lost.
"We started to get a little worried," says the girl. She's pretty, with big eyes and curly hair that looks like it probably used to be dyed. "You've been gone for a while."
"Well, I'm back," he says.
"And you brought a friend," the other man says, sounding shocked. His tone is noticeably kind. The boisterous type of kind and when he smiles, you can see that he has sharp canines. His hair is straight, sticking out in different directions, and tinged with red in this light.
"More like an acquaintance," Katsuki says. “I found them in the woods with a fire and an empty clip. Felt like their blood would be on my hands if I didn’t bring them back.” The red-haired man gives him a telling look and Katsuki scoffs in response and turns to the girl. "Get them settled, Mina, will you?" The girl called Mina nods and Katsuki takes off toward the house without another word.
"You're lucky," she says, pausing when you flinch as she steps closer. "You're gettin' the last solo room in the place. Kirishima, is it set up?"
Kirishima shrugs his shoulders. "You'd have to ask Izuku. He'd know all about that, but I can go check."
Mina shakes her head and turns her attention to you, giving you a quick once over with her eyebrows pulled together.
"You must be tired.”
When you nod, she gives you an empathetic smile and motions for you to come with her. "We'll fix that. You hungry?"
"What do you think?" you manage, saliva pooling in your mouth. "Do you have food?"
"Plenty," she smiles. "not quite enough for leftovers just yet though, don’t tell anyone."
You smile awkwardly. Who on earth would you tell?
"Sounds like a good deal," you say.
You follow Mina up to the house. Around it, there are a few parked cars. They look like they could pull out at any moment, and through the dust covered windows, you can just make out supplies in the back seats as you pass. In the distance, you can see the fuzzy silhouette of the barn you’d assumed was a watchtower in the dark of the field and you figure that maybe it used to be a place to keep livestock.
Mina doesn't say much to you as you pass through the field, and when you walk into the door, the first thing you notice is a large group of people seated at a dining table. They all look up at you when you enter and it's with a bit of shock that you register their faces as healthy. Well, healthier. These people live well. Something stirs in your chest, both anxiety and excitement at the thought of possibly having found somewhere safe. They blink at you for a moment, exchanging looks that all end up landing on Katsuki.
"This is the group. Well, most of us," Mina says pleasantly and with a light huff. "That's Izuku, Denki, Ochako, Sero, and you already know the handsome guy on the end there. Kiri's probably checking to see if the room is half decent.." They all greet you with a glad murmur. "Group, this is..."
She looks at you expectantly. When you tell them your name, you can't help but look at Katsuki who already knows it. He raises his eyebrows unconsciously and turns his attention to the glass in front of him.
There’s an awkward pause as you stand in the doorway, suddenly conscious of just how dirty you must look. Remnants of an older world, you suppose. No one really worries about things like that anymore.
“Uhm…” you search for something to say, but your people skills seem to have left you.
“You’re okay,” Mina says lightly. “Plenty of time to get to know you when you’ve rested and had something to eat.”
Mina sits you down at a chair that she pulls in from the other room. It doesn't match the other ones in the dining room, but you suppose no one is really thinking of the decor in their house anymore. It's only now that you realize the house has electricity.
"You have power?" you say incredulously, looking at the center light in the dining room on its low setting.
"Mhm," Mina hums as she sits down next to you and spoons a helping of vegetables onto your plate. "It's got a generator. We got lucky finding this place. I don't think many of us would be alive if we hadn't."
Those listening in the group nod their affirmation.
"It draws from well water too," she adds. "With the right care, the place practically runs on its own. Hard work but what isn't nowadays?"
“Like you do any of the heavy lifting," Sero scoffs across from her.
"That's not fair," Katsuki adds with a slick smirk, "you know damn well none of our vegetables would be so well socialized if she didn't use them like a damn diary all day."
The group laughs a little and Mina rolls her eyes and sits back in the chair. You avoid looking at anyone, shoveling the food into your mouth. You’re salivating an almost embarrassing amount, struggling to eat at a normal pace. There’s something about food cooked inside, about the way food tastes when you can smell it wafting in from the kitchen.
"Don't worry," she turns to you, as if you’re at all concerned with the implication that she doesn’t do much work, "they know we’d hardly have vegetables at all if it weren't my job to tend them. I used to garden quite a bit before all of this."
Sero tosses her a sideways glance and you get the sense that maybe it isn’t just her doing it.
"Mina does a lot of the garden stuff," Ochako pitches in, her voice hesitant. "We all sort of just do what we can."
You can’t really keep up with the conversation and instead just blink at her for a moment before turning back to your food. Maybe that’s rude, but you don’t have the energy to consider it. There’s food in front of you. Food that doesn’t taste like it’s been poorly slaughtered or rotting in a cabinet for months.
The group at the table with you shifts back into what you feel is their normal conversation and you watch them through your peripheral. You can’t relax yet, maybe you never will. Always on watch with your guard up.
They pass the dishes around the table, plates going from hand to hand over mismatched sets of silverware. The action feels strange to you. Your chest squeezes at the thought. Just a few weeks ago, you’d done this around a fire with the people you loved. You’d passed a too-hot-to-touch pot around a circle of friends, laughing quietly at the little moments of joy you could find. It feels far away now and jealousy rouses beside hope as you sit.
“So, where did you come from?” Izuku at the end of the table asks.
It takes you a moment to realize that he’s talking to you and there’s an edge to his voice that has everyone at the table sitting up with curiosity. You stare at him for a moment, exhausted and defeated and unable to muster the words.
“Leave them be,” Katsuki says, looking up from his plate. “They just got here. They’re probably freaked out.”
The table goes a little quiet, a hush falling over it. You look around as glances are exchanged before Mina stands up quickly and quietly claps her hands together.
“I think,” she says with an awkward laugh, “it may be time for bed.”
Mina turns to you. “I’ll show you where you can sleep.”
You nod, standing up and turning to the group with furrowed eyebrows. You want to thank them, to tell them that you’re grateful for the meal and their kindness, but the words don’t come. Instead, you meet Katsuki’s gaze, grateful for the intervention, but suspicious at such forthcoming kindness. He scoffs a little and turns away.
—
“It’s just up here,” Mina says as she guides you through the house.
You pass rooms with their doors ajar. They are lived in, with unmade beds and glasses of clean water on nightstands. It’s like something out of a life gone by, with a few less amenities. You can imagine a family moving through this house. Girls in school uniforms calling through the halls about a stolen hair clip. Now, you picture these people doing that. Living and not just surviving.
“The bathroom is across the hall,” she says. “You can take a shower if you want. I’ll leave a towel and some clothes in there just in case.”
You nod.
“No worries if you don’t,” Mina adds in a whisper. “When I first met everyone, I didn’t undress to bathe for days so… take your time. We won’t be offended.”
She shuts the door behind her when she leaves and you stumble back onto the bed, shocked by just how soft it feels after spending weeks on the floor. It’s not much, but it’s nicer than anything you’ve experienced in the last nine months, and there's a working shower. You haven’t had a shower since everything fell apart and the layer of grime on your skin is so thick that you can feel it. You haven’t felt safe enough to properly wash since you’d lost the rest of your group, only stopping to rinse your body in streams you pass if the thought occurred to you. The idea of running water and a shower is near euphoric.
You probably shouldn’t. It may not be wise to shower tonight. You still don’t know these people or what they’re capable of, but the temptation of being clean is too great and as soon as you hear Mina close the bathroom door and walk away, you hurry across the hall on the balls of your feet.
The bathroom looks old and the sink is white porcelain, eggshell now with a lack of care. The shower has a bathtub in it and though it’s cloudy, there’s a mirror over the sink where you catch the first clear glimpse you’ve had of yourself in weeks.
You don’t know who you’re looking at. The person in the mirror is nearly unrecognizable. Their eyes are wide and frightened, wild like an animal’s, and their face is covered in a layer of grime that looks like it can never be washed out. Their hair is unruly, sticking out in some areas and matted down with blood in others. This is a person you’ve never seen or met before. Someone you would have avoided only a year ago if you’d ever encountered them.
You reach up to touch your face, running your hand over the dried blood that has made a home on the underside of your jaw. How long has it been there? Have you always looked so unwell? So sick in mind and body? The promise of a shower grows unbearably pleasant.
The knob squeaks when you turn it, screeching as the pipes hum and clang to life. Water spits out in a few bursts before raining down from the faucet and hitting the back of the tub in a steady thrum. It sounds a little bit like music to you, constant and heavy, and it gives the impression of normalcy as you begin undressing.
The fabric of your clothes sticks to your skin, peeling from your body in an unbearable and disgusting way. You don’t look at your body in the mirror. In fact, you avoid it entirely. Not recognizing your face was enough, but your body—a part of yourself you never really recognized—would drive you over the edge.
Then, you pull the shower curtain back and stick your hand under the water, stepping into it fully with a deep sigh. The water is lukewarm. They probably turned off the heater to conserve power and allow the main generator to function for longer. That’s fine. Beggars can’t be choosers and everyone is a beggar nowadays. Besides, it’s warm enough outside that the water isn’t too cold as it is. In the winter, you probably wouldn’t be able to shower and the pipes might freeze entirely until the following spring.
There’s a normalcy that you settle into as you wash your body. You return to muscle memory, running your hands over your skin and scrubbing the grime out. It’s simultaneously like the first shower of your life and as if you’ve been doing it every day. You return to a state of pleasant, familiar humanity as you wash away dirt that has built up for weeks. You feel as it pours off of you, see it run down your body onto the porcelain of the tub and swirl down the drain. It’s dirt and dried blood that has been caked onto your skin. You worry that even after washing, it will leave a permanent mark.
The person in the mirror when you get out of the shower is in stark contrast to the person who went into it. They’re someone that you recognize. You could almost convince yourself that nothing ever changed. Your water-soaked skin is so familiar to you, that you could be getting out of the shower and dressing to go to work. If it weren’t for the look in your eyes, you could have fooled yourself. Something undefinable has changed in you, something that you will carry with you forever. You glance at yourself in the foggy mirror and think that there is no going back.
The house is quiet when you dry yourself and open the bathroom door. You step across the hall on the balls of your feet, careful not to make any noise, and when you push the bedroom door open, you do a visual sweep to make sure that it’s safe out of habit.
Your body is exhausted. You are so thoroughly tired that you think you could collapse at any moment, but when you sit down on the bed in your fresh clothes, you find yourself restless. This place is new to you and you’re unsure if the safe feeling is your mind playing desperate tricks on you or the real thing. The lamp by your bed is on, casting a yellow glow across the bedsheets and the dark wood furniture. Come to think of it, you didn’t get a good look at the house when you came in and the thought starts to bother you as you stare at the closed door to the hallway.
Someone could be behind it. They could be waiting for you to lay down, to sleep, before doing something awful. You almost feel guilty for thinking this way about them. They’ve fed you, given you a shower, given you fresh clothes. Luxuries you weren’t sure even existed anymore, yet you’re sitting here doubting them, wishing you had your pistol or knife.
The bedroom door creaks as you open it. You wince, nervous that you’ve disturbed the quiet peace of the house and that everything will come crashing down as quickly as it seemed to come together. The hallway is dark, save for some light coming from under two doors at the end of the hall. One of them turns out as you creep past it to the stairs, and you hear the distinct sound of box springs squeaking as someone crawls into bed. You let go of the breath you’d been holding, straightening up as you relax into the late-night environment.
The house looks old even from the inside. It gives the impression of having once been dirty and in near disrepair. There are dust stains and dull spots that no amount of scrubbing could get out. You can almost picture how this place may have looked when they found it and it’s entirely possible that it had been abandoned before the actual outbreak. Someone run out of their home for lack of money. What a trivial thing now.
The stairs are sturdy, probably held together so well by the foundation of the house, and they’re made of dark wood. They’re steep too, the kind that a baby or old person might trip over, and you hold the railing to calm the shaking of your legs as you slowly feel your way down. You can see the light on in the kitchen from around the corner, spreading out onto the floor of the old fashioned drawing room. Dishes clink in the kitchen, like someone is washing them, and you jump a little at the noise as you creep around the corner.
Kirishima is standing at the sink with his back to you, whispering something to someone beside him. The expanse of his back is broad, moving every time he goes to run his hand over the dish in front of him. Then, he turns to look at you and you see Mina pop her head around the corner.
“Oh,” Kiri says, “did you need something?”
You shake your head. “Not really, I just couldn’t sleep.”
Kiri nods sympathetically as if he knows the feeling. “Well, you look like you feel a little better at least.”
You pad over to where he’s doing the dishes and Mina offers you a soft smile and a knowing look. It all seems so normal. Doing the dishes, whispering quietly as they do. Something about it screams a kind of humanity you haven’t experienced in a long while, even with your last group.
“Are you sure we can’t get you something?” Mina says, furrowing her brows.
“Why are you all being so nice to me?” You ask. “You don’t know the first thing about me.”
“Is there some reason why we shouldn’t be nice to you?” Kiri says over his shoulder.
“No,” you shake your head. “I just think it’s reckless, that’s all. I could have been anyone.”
Kirishima and Mina exchange a look. They glance at each other, like they’re debating on saying something, and then Kiri turns and rests his palms on the back of the sink. He looks at Mina.
“We don’t usually decide to do this so quickly,” she admits. “We’re friendly, but nobody’s that friendly anymore.”
Kiri nods his agreement and you listen quietly, trying to determine if they plan to toss you back out into the woods in the morning.
“But, Katsuki doesn’t usually bring people in,” she continues.
“He’s a little more closed off than the rest of us,” Kirishima adds. “He’s a good guy, just takes a while to warm up, is all.”
“Mhm,” Mina says.
“What does that have to do with me?” you ask. “This is nice and all, but I’m sure you get why I’m wary.”
“He’s a good judge of character,” Kiri adds earnestly. “He doesn’t bring people in often, but when he does, he’s usually right.”
You nod, not quite understanding. Sure, you don’t plan to do anything terrible. In fact, you’re content to accept their kindness and stay, if they’d let you. Anything is better than being alone, but their blind trust in one man’s judgment of character makes you uneasy.
“He was alone for a really long time,” Mina adds. “A lot of us were. I got lucky meeting Kirishima early on, but Katsuki’s luck was a little less fortuitous.”
“So you all just… happened upon each other by chance?” You ask.
“Yeah, pretty much,” Mina says. “It was me and Kiri for a long time. Just the two of us. We’d found Izuku and Katsuki together a while later, but they didn’t seem to like each other all that much. We still haven’t really figured that out, especially because they’re so close now. Ochako and Sero ended up cornered together by accident. We found them just before we found this place, and Denki just sort of showed up here one day and promised to fix the generator in exchange for safety. That was months ago. We’ve been like this since.”
“So you’re all strays,” you say and Mina laughs a little and looks at Kiri.
“Sure,” she says. “We’re all strays. There were others too. Shoji. Jirou. She was Denki’s girlfriend.”
“I’m sorry,” you say with a frown. It feels pointless to apologize for the dead, if you get caught up in it, you’d be apologizing forever.
“Don’t be,” Kiri adds. “But best not to bring her up. It was pretty recent and Denki’s only just started to get over it.”
You swallow thick and nod a little.
“Anyway,” Mina says, “we can’t really explain it. We just trust him. We trust Katsuki. That’s all.”
“Hm,” you hum, understanding that to a degree.
You trusted the people in your group. If they believed in someone, you were willing to as well, so you suppose you can understand a little where they’re coming from.
“What are you talking about,” Katsuki rounds the corner, walking into the kitchen and putting his water bottle under the sink.
“Nothing really,” Mina says.
Katsuki furrows his eyebrows and then looks at you. He gives you a once over, taking in your new clothing before scoffing lightly.
“Don’t you look cozy,” he says. “You get settled?”
“When can I go get my stuff?” You ask.
“Someone’s eager,” he says through lightly gritted teeth. “Didn’t I tell ya we could go in the morning? Besides, what’s there really to miss in that lot of junk?”
“Katsuki!” Mina quietly chides.
“I have things I care about there,” you say. “Things I’m not ready to lose.”
Katsuki blinks at you for a second before swearing under his breath. “We’ll leave when you get up in the morning.”
“You don’t have to come with me,” you say, frowning a bit at his sour attitude.
“Like hell,” he scoffs. “What if the dead are waiting back there for you?”
“I made it this far on my own,” you respond.
Katsuki nods for a second. “I’m going. Come find me in the morning.”
He walks off and around the corner. You hear him go up the stairs, followed by the distinct click of a bedroom door shutting.
“Don’t pay too much attention to that,” Mina says. “It’s past his bedtime.”
“You’ll get used to him,” Kiri adds.
“Right,” you say, swallowing down your frustration in favor of trying to be appreciative of the help. You sway on your feet a little and then steady yourself. “I’m going to go to sleep. Thank you for the meal and the bed.”
Mina and Kiri nod, but you don’t stick around to hear a response. Fatigue creeps up on you. It ambushes your senses and you go from feeling dream-like to delusional in a matter of moments. You make your way up the stairs, your body feeling heavy as lead, and wobble your way into the bedroom they’re letting you stay in.
When your head hits the pillow, you’re out. The world around you fades to dark and just before you sleep, you swear that you can hear the sounds of cars passing on the highway. A busy night, Saturday maybe, and people go about their daily lives outside of the window the way that they always have. They live, never the wiser to just how quickly things fall apart and how little it takes for our humanity to leave us.
—
Mornings in this place are boisterous. The sun coming through the lone window in your room wakes you up and you can hear the calls of busy people getting to work outside. There are voices from the porch out front that your window looks over and though you can’t see them, you get the sense that they’re having a pleasant conversation.
As you rouse, you come to the realization of just how exhausted you’d really been. They probably saved your life by bringing you to this place, feeding you, and offering you a bed. In hindsight, it’s easy to see just how little you had left in you. You get the sense now that you’d been running on an empty tank for days, slowly coming to an inglorious, gruesome, sputtering stop.
Things seem a little clearer, like the sunlight is somehow less bleak than it had been the days previous and you feel a little bit like you have a new lease on life. There are no big emotions, no swells of hope or humanity just yet, and you dread the moment you are rested enough to let grief consume you. Right now, you can’t feel it, but there is a fear in you that as you get to know these people who live relatively beautifully in an ugly world, it will weigh you down so much that you’ll never be able to outrun it.
You wonder if they’ll let you stay. They very well may not, even with the way they were talking last night. Strangers are more dangerous than they’ve ever been and if they ask you whether or not you’ve killed someone, you refuse to lie to them. Sitting up on the bed, you mull over the very real possibility that you could be back out there on your own again in a matter of days and you don’t even have that many good acts under your belt to plead your case. You’re just a person and you’ve done what you needed to in order to survive. Now, you’re not sure if that’s enough.
You swallow thick, wandering over to the mirror on the dresser. It’s fogged, though less than the bathroom mirror, and you can make out your features a little better than you could last night. You feel a bit more sane, though you still don’t recognize the frightful and distrustful look in your eyes. Like a wounded animal. Inside your head, you acknowledge that you are completely different from the person you were two hundred and seventy seven days ago.
The voices grow louder as you climb down the stairs, more secure on your feet than you felt last night. You can hear them talking about the generator, as well as a name you don’t recognize.
“He should be back by now,” a woman says. “Shoto’s never gone longer than a day or two, max.”
“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” another woman says with a worried bite in her voice. Mina, maybe? “We’re only a few hours into the day. He probably got holed up somewhere.”
“Someone needs to go look for him,” a man says.
“And what? Risk getting yourself killed?” the first woman says. “No, it doesn’t make sense. We need you here.”
“You’d rather we leave him to die on his own?”
“No one’s fuckin’ dying.”
You recognize Katsuki’s voice.
“He’s perfectly capable of going on a gasoline run,” he continues. “He’s done it before.”
“I should have gone with him,” says the same woman.
“On that leg? You wouldn’t have made it halfway to town, let alone there and back,” his voice raises a little. “Don’t be stupid. He’ll be back.”
You clear your throat and step around the corner. The group turns to face you quickly at the sound, their eyes wide for a moment before relaxing. You can’t sneak up on anyone nowadays.
“Sorry,” you say, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Is everything okay?”
It’s not your business, but you ask anyway, wondering for yourself about the safety of Shoto.
“Fine,” Izuku says, shaking his head. You recognize him to be the one who'd vouched for going after their friend. Katsuki takes a step away from the broad man as he says this. “Nothing for you to worry about. Did you rest?”
Izuku smiles gently at you, his chest inflating a little at the question. The movement broadens his shoulders and you realize that he stands almost a head taller than Katsuki. You look briefly between the two of them before nodding.
“I did,” you say. “Thank you.”
“Nothing wrong with a little hospitality now and then,” he smiles and you can’t help but furrow your eyebrows at the distinct hesitance in his voice.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” the woman standing across from Izuku says. “I’m Momo. Sorry I wasn’t there to meet you last night. I’ve been a little under the weather.”
You introduce yourself to her and glance down at her leg. Her ankle is swollen and wrapped in a bandage. Her sneaker laces are untied at the top to make room for the swelling and you can see that she’s guarding that side of her leg.
“Is it…?” you grimace, taking an instinctive step away from her. You almost feel bad for it, but sometimes good people make bad decisions when loved ones get bit.
“No,” she says quickly, “no, it isn’t. Caught an edge in an old chain link fence on the property a couple days back.”
Momo smiles slightly at you as if to reassure you. She’s really beautiful, with thick dark hair pulled back into a somewhat messy ponytail. Her eyes are bright, like she’s engaged in lively conversation, and you find yourself feeling a little sad for her. She’ll need medicine soon, if they can get it. Infections set in easily these days and you get the sense that even she knows that she may not have long without it. Maybe that’s something else their friend Shoto set out to find.
“I assume you’ll be wanting to go get your supplies?” Katsuki says, cutting the conversation short. Maybe he could sense the sour turn of thoughts.
“Ready when you are,” you respond with a nod.
Katsuki glances at Izuku, who gives him a slightly disapproving look.
“Someone get them something to eat,” Katsuki says. “...I’ll get my shit ready.”
“Fig jam…” Mina mumbles as she motions for you to follow her to the kitchen.
You oblige her, not exactly jumping to turn down a meal. She walks you into the kitchen and opens up a cabinet, where she pulls out a jar filled with a dark and seed filled paste. It’s a jam, sealed in a jar that looks older than what’s inside of it. The seal breaks open with a pleasant pop.
“This stuff is so good,” she says to you over her shoulder, pulling out a package of crackers that have likely gone stale. “You won’t believe it.”
She spreads the jam on a few crackers and sets it in front of you on a plate, pushing it across the counter towards you.
“It’s fig jam,” she says with a smile. “Homemade.”
You look down at the plate, your mouth watering at the prospect of something sweet like this. It’s been so long since you've had fresh jam. It could be as long as 10 years. You don’t think you’ve had it since you were a kid, when jam came easily and you preferred the processed brands at the supermarket to the ones your mom used to make sometimes.
You raise the cracker to your mouth and stuff it in with little grace. The sweetness spreads across your tongue as soon as you bite into the stale cracker. It fizzes and pops almost, the sugar melting across your tongue as the seeds crack softly between your teeth. The smile that hits your face is completely involuntary and though you know that nine months ago, this jam wouldn’t have been much, today it is something extraordinary.
Mina nods a kind of girlish agreement, like the way people used to when they had their friend try something at their favorite restaurant.
“We got here in the fall. I want to say late October or early November?” she offers. “We were starving and there wasn’t enough food to feed all of us. By that time there were like… nine of us.”
You listen as you eat your crackers.
“This place was in such an awful state,” she laughs. “I mean, really terrible. But, it was big and there was a fig tree in the back. A little thing, probably only a few years old and it had fruit on it. We ate so many of them that if the world were normal, we’d have sworn off of them forever. When we realized that the house actually had some old food in it,” she interrupts herself “-nothing good, canned stuff mostly- we decided to jar up the rest of the figs so that they didn’t rot.”
She smiles at you like it’s a pleasant memory, but you can only think about how hungry they must have been. Your stomach growls as you eat.
“I know it doesn’t sound like much,” she says, “but for some reason it’s a really nice memory. Honestly, we’re lucky we didn’t die.”
Mina laughs a little.
“I mean,” she continues, “we didn’t even clear the area before we started pulling at the figs and throwing them into our mouths.”
You tilt your head at her and furrow your eyebrows with a small smile.
“You’re really forthcoming with information.”
“You just seem a little hesitant, is all,” she answers.
“Can you blame me?”
Mina shrugs her shoulders but doesn’t really offer an answer. You assume it’s because she can’t, because Mina has the same doubts everyone carries with them in this world. All of the what ifs people would think about before they slept have become more prevalent than anyone would have ever liked.
“The jam is good,” you say, trying to be friendly in the same way she is. “Even if it is months old.”
“Things keep well in jars,” Mina defends softly, smiling a little as she gets another out of you.
This place feels like a little slice of paradise. A blessing from whoever lived here before and kept a garden stocked with vegetables. From someone who lived in an old house with stables and well-water, who kept canned food past its expiration date. It feels almost too good to be true, like these people live in a bubble bound to pop.
“You ready?” Katsuki thuds into the kitchen with an empty backpack slung over his shoulder.
You turn, startled by his sudden appearance and nod as you quickly finish chewing the last cracker. Katsuki furrows his eyebrows as he watches the way you scarf it down.
When you stand from the table, Katsuki turns on his heel to make for the front door and you follow with a light step. Mina says something about staying safe, but you don’t respond, glancing once over your shoulder at the girl.
It’s strange, the world has made you wishy-washy and uncommitted. You never used to be like that, never so distrusting as to second guess someone’s kindness the moment your back is turned to them, and you’re certainly not the type to be friendly one moment and closed off the next. Now though, you find that doubt creeps in easily through cracks and any foundation that didn’t exist before, seems to be swallowed before you can finish building it.
Katsuki leads you back across the small clearing you’d come through the night before. It looks different in the day, almost romantic, and it lacks any of the ominous feeling it had the previous evening. He steps over mounds in the dirt from moles and gophers that have made lawns their new home and you try to mimic his steps, sinking occasionally into a particularly soft patch of dirt. Every now and then, Katsuki glances behind him to check that you’re still there and you offer him a forced smile that he never returns.
You catch up to him when you hit the trees, sticking close at his side like something will come and take you away if you’re not. It’s unintentional, but you don’t have a weapon on you. Your knife is back at your makeshift camp, along with the unloaded pistol and your trusty spatula.
“How do you know where we’re going?” You ask in a whisper.
Katsuki tosses a look at you over his shoulder. “I’m good with directions.”
His tone is clipped, like he’s pissed about something, and your expression sours at it. Sure, you get it but it irritates you to some small degree. You hadn’t asked him to come along. In fact, you’d have been fine getting back here to collect your stuff on your own. You’d have asked for a knife and set out without a second thought, if only because being alone in the woods with some guy was less preferable than doing it by yourself. Of course, some guy also probably saved your life, but you’re not quite ready to relinquish your trust completely.
“Thanks for coming,” you decide. A peace offering.
Katsuki doesn’t answer and you furrow your brows a little bit. You wonder if he’s always been like this or if the end of the world brought on the loss of his manners.
Then, he stops, taking you by the arm and pulling you down beside a bush. You gasp and he puts his hand over your mouth to silence you. There’s the urge to bite him, to catch the fleshy bit connecting his thumb and pointer finger between your teeth and bite down till he bleeds, but you stop when you catch what he’s looking at.
Two of the living dead crouch by a tree, clicking their tongues as they eat something just out of sight. You furrow your eyebrows, eyes widening at the horror of it. For some reason, seeing them always brings about a round of momentary shock. You’ve yet to let go of the hounding thought that they used to be people and sometimes have to reorient yourself to the world you’re in now.
You catch Katsuki’s eye behind you, his calloused hand still clasped over your mouth, and nod your head. It’s a silent communication that you’ve seen what he has and he removes his palm from your face to grab a knife tucked into his belt, passing it to you quickly.
The two infected haven’t noticed the two of you yet, but they will soon, if only by the smell of your flesh which has yet to rot. You hear Katsuki let out a breath, as if to calm his heart, and do the same. There’s time to look at them like this and you’re struck by how human you can pretend they are in your head. Well, you suppose they were human once, now they’re a disease using someone’s skin as a mask.
Infected people aren’t quick, that’s one thing to be grateful for. Back when the outbreak first started, the CDC had released information on what to look out for in those who might have contracted the virus. The first was obviously a bite wound from another infected person, but you can tell from other symptoms. Early symptoms are average. Body aches, fever, lethargy, and delirium. All things you might see with a nasty flu. Then, infection of the wound site, twitching, foggy eyes—like low-grade cataracts—that develop within a matter of hours or days, severe disorientation, aversion to food, insomnia, with the final symptom being a coma that no one ever wakes up as themselves from.
These are the symptoms that people are conscious for. The ones they feel. The sickness that people tried to nurse others back from. There is no coming back though, not alive at the very least. The virus attacks the nerves throughout the brain and body, that’s what causes the twitching and convulsions. It’s what ultimately kills us, and it's what they think causes the bodies to come back.
Most infected will crack when they move. It’s the cartilage breaking down as the bones grind together and crack as they’re weakened from the marrow out. They twitch like rabid animals, unable to keep masterful control of their bodies because they are run like puppets from the brain stem. You don’t know if they think. If somehow the people they used to be are still in there, unable to stop themselves from consuming and spreading the virus to others. All you really know is that they twitch and click, functions of the brain that still remain. Tiny impulses sent through the synapses. You imagine it to be like the way you twitch when you sleep, an arm here or a leg there, the way someone might call out with their voice to a room with no one in it.
Maybe the infected think they’re dreaming. A nightmare that they never wake up from, like those of us who have to put them down. You could see it as a mercy from that perspective. You have an easier time rationalizing putting a knife in someone’s skull if you convince yourself that they’re silently begging for it.
Katsuki shifts his weight and looks at you. He mouths the words no guns and you nod, briefly wondering where the fuck he thinks you could have gotten a gun from.
Then, you kick off and run with Katsuki towards the infected. They don’t really have time to begin moving towards you both. You’re faster than them, but you hear the crack of their legs as they stand from their crouched positions, pulled in at the idea of their next meal.
Katsuki takes the farther one, sinking the knife into the soft spot of its temple with relative ease. You switch yourself off and take the one closest only a few moments later, sending your blade through the top of its skull. That happens to you when you have to do this. You turn yourself off for a bit, just so that you don’t have to remember the way it feels to hit the soft part of someone’s brain. You didn’t used to do that, only starting when you realized that there’s no going through this world anymore without it.
Katsuki wipes the blood on his pants. It’s brown, no longer oxygenated, and the area around you begins to reek. You notice, but for some reason the smell of decomposition doesn’t register in your brain and you continue on behind him.
There are a few beats of silence, save for twigs breaking under your feet, before Katsuki speaks up.
“You okay?” It’s barely above a whisper and you wouldn’t have caught it were you not listening for the distinctive crack of human bones.
“Yeah,” you say, continuing forward.
The campsite rounds into view and in this light, with your full night’s sleep under your belt, you can see just how pitiful it looks. A tent that you’d hastily put up before nightfall, the remains of your stamped out fire, the folding chair which has since been knocked over, and your weapons on the floor covered by a few leaves disturbed by the wind.
You snatch them up and move to grab your backpack out of the tent. The inside is shitty too and your torn sleeping bag hadn’t even been rolled out yet. You pick up the bag, returning to the folding chair as Katsuki begins to take down the tent. The polyester and nylon blend zips together as he makes quick work of folding it. Then, he kicks some dry brush over the remains of the fire, like he’s covering your tracks.
“The next person that comes through here might not be alone,” he says plainly. “And they may have more bullets than you did.”
“Right,” you respond. Your voice sounds a little far off and you settle your backpack on your shoulder in one quick motion.
“Got everything?”
You nod, following him as he heads out in the direction you both came from. The two of you pass the bodies of the infected you’d killed. The smell has permeated the air, lingering like how it does in cities, only less pungent. Their fogged eyes stare blankly at nothing, expressions plain and unreadable. You pass and try not to think much about it.
Katsuki is a few feet ahead of you and he doesn’t glance back to make sure you’re following. You could leave now and never get attached to these people. You could head off in another direction and never have to think twice about it. No more worrying about who you could lose, about who’s next to become one of the sick masses. Just you by yourself. Then, when you finally kick the can, someone else can put you down the way you did to those strangers.
Is there really a point to it anymore? To community or living in general. No one is as they once were. Does that make it fantasy to live in their beautiful bubble? Could you even find it in yourself to pretend again, to make nice and play house in that place? They saved your life, sure. They fed you, clothed you, bathed you, but for what point? Tomorrow, you could end up back in the woods, lighting fires with twigs you found in the brush, paranoid that someone would find you or the fire would spread.
You watch Katsuki’s back as he moves, shoulders shifting with each step. His shirt is stained, white turned eggshell from the wear and tear of time. It seems so off to you that he looks relatively clean, like he lives well.
Fear strikes you as you realize that your rambling thoughts have merit. Anything you fear now has become real and loss is so tangible to you that you can squeeze it in your hand. They could turn you out. Tomorrow night you could begin the starve and step all over again, moving from place to place, talking to yourself, filling your hours with paranoid thoughts like these that plague you when you’re alone. Is that worse than loss? If you’re alone long enough, you’d probably forget what you’re missing. Losing anyone else could make the wound fresh. For now, the hunger wins out.
Katsuki jogs ahead of you to get to the house. Momo is on the porch waving him in and he hurries up the steps and bursts through the front door. As you approach, you can hear voices, some of which are relieved, others hurried. When you enter the room, you find a man standing there whom you’ve never seen before, Shoto maybe.
“A plus one,” the man looks up, tilting his head at you in an odd way.
“Katsuki’s,” Kiri says with a low smirk.
Shoto’s eyes widen as he peers at his friend, clutching what looks like an injured shoulder. Katsuki just huffs his irritation.
“Well, that’s rare,” Shoto says.
“What’s rare?” Katsuki spits. “They were in the woods with a fire. What was I supposed to do? Let ‘em die?”
“Maybe,” Shoto says, a light smile creeping onto his features. Then, he turns to you. “What’s your name?”
You give it to him and he nods his head, tilting it at you again.
“How long are you staying?”
You’re not sure how to answer that question. In fact, no one is, and it feels like more of a test than it does a genuine inquiry. Kiri and Mina exchange a glance and Katsuki tosses a somewhat dirty look towards Shoto. Ochako gives Shoto a knowing glance and Sero and Denki shift uncomfortably on their feet. Then, Momo clears her throat, spurring Izuku to say something.
“Shoto,” he says. “You’re probably hungry, you should eat something and lay down. Ochako? Could you take a look at his shoulder?”
“Sure,” the girl says softly, giving a closed mouth smile to Shoto as she takes him by the arm.
She glances at you as she passes, almost like she’s too embarrassed to look at you fully in the face. You suppose this is what happens when people are forced to think about whether or not they will potentially leave someone else to die. It’s like the trolley cart question and though in this case there is always the possibility of a better outcome, it’s not likely in this world.
“Just until I’m rested,” you add with a small tilt of your head. “A few days.”
Shoto looks at you over his shoulder and gives you a small smile. It’s funny, you can see kindness there. His actions aren’t kind, but you can feel that he has kindness in him, though his rudeness stems from something different than Katsuki’s, you think. Like he’s strange in some way.
“I’ll start on dinner,” Sero says. “Kiri, give me a hand.”
The group disperses and you head upstairs without speaking to anyone else. A few days to rest and then cut the first people you’ve spoken to in weeks loose. What sort of idiot gives up something like this to avoid a little awkwardness? Not that you necessarily had your mind made up. You wonder briefly if you’ve just sealed your own tomb.
—
After dinner, you go upstairs to sleep after eating as much as they would offer you. Your stomach has ceased its constant growling and the shakiness that comes with hunger has receded almost entirely into the background. The bed is soft, with a slight dent in it from whoever slept in here before. The thought unsettles you that they’re probably dead now, but you try to push it from your mind as you steel yourself for what comes within the next few days.
You had volunteered yourself to leave. To what? Save yourself the embarrassment of pleading? Did you even want to plead? Why are you regretting not asking to stay? These people don’t know you, what trust can you have built with them in only a few days? Your skin crawls at the expanse of possibilities in front of you after so many weeks without any.
You think that if you let yourself walk away, you’ll probably die. You’re out of bullets and don’t know where to find any food except by luck. You can try to catch prey, but prey hides whenever infected are around, and they’re everywhere nowadays. It’s spring, water wouldn’t be a problem, but running water has its clear comforts. Then, there’s the possibility of loss. You’d come to care for these people if you stayed, you know it.
You furrow your eyebrows and look at the ceiling. There’s really no choice to be made. You’ll let them make it for you, even if you don’t know them. It’s their house and you won’t walk in uninvited or try to take it. You’re not about to become a monster just because the world is full of them now.
The darkness grows and your eyes drift to the dim light wandering in under the crack of the door. Hushed voices whisper in the living room, you can hear them. It’s a heated discussion, lively, but deliberately quiet. It’s been hours since everyone went to bed, yet you get the impression that many people are chiming in. You’re too nosey to leave it be.
You open the bedroom door silently, turning the cool knob with a wince as it clicks out of place. When you peer into the hallway, every upstairs bedroom door is open with the room empty. The light is coming from down stairs and around the corner, and you can see shadows move as you inch closer to the source.
You pause at the top of the stairs, knowing that they creak, and crouch by the bannister to listen. You’re out of sight. The only way they’d know you’re listening is if you made a sound, but you won’t. You’re good at being quiet.
“We don’t even know them,” someone says in a rushed whisper. “We don’t know what they’ve done before.”
“Everyone’s done things they’re not proud of now, Shoto,” a woman adds. It’s Mina. She’s spoken enough to you that you recognize her voice.
“I agree with Shoto,” says another woman, her voice higher pitched. She sounds guilty and her voice is tight as she speaks “We have no clue who they are. They could be dangerous.”
“You mean like me, Ochako?” A man adds. “I could have been dangerous.”
The group grows quiet for a moment.
“No,” Momo says. You recognize the cadence of her voice. “Shoto might be right, Denki. It’s been nearly six months since you got here and the world has changed a lot. We don’t- we can’t know for sure.”
“Can we really know anything for sure?” Another man adds, Kiri.
“What about you guys?” Shoto says, presumably to the rest of the group.
“I don’t know.”
“I’m hesitant, but I don’t know either.”
“Jesus,” another man with a baritone voice, harsher than the rest. That’s Katsuki, the first voice you’d heard of the group. “You guys make me a little sick.”
“That’s not fair,” Ochako says.
“No,” he interrupts. “It is fair. You guys want to… what? Send them back out there to die?”
“It’s not like that,” Shoto says.
“It is like that,” he says, raising his voice and then lowering it back to a whisper. “You didn’t see them when they got here, Shoto. They- they didn’t look… shit. The rest of you, you saw them. You really want to send them back out there to fuckin’ waste away? I don’t know about you all, but I won’t do that to a person.”
There’s a pregnant pause.
“Katsuki’s right,” Izuku says with a bit of conviction, like he’s finally made up his mind. “Sending someone out there alone is a death sentence. How does doing that make us any better than the people we’re trying to protect ourselves from?”
“What if there are more of them?” Ochako says quietly. “What if they’re not alone?”
“Trust me,” Katsuki says, “They were alone.”
“But what if they’re not?” She insists at a whisper, a bit of shame creeping into her voice. “What if people come for us?”
“See?” Shoto says gently. “There are so many what-ifs.”
“That works the other way too,” Mina adds.
You don’t listen to hear the rest of their conversation. They’re going to run themselves in circles debating about you. They’ll go around and around and land on whichever argument ends with the most votes. They’ll convince each other of one thing and it will happen totally out of your control.
The bedroom door shuts with a low click that makes you wince again. You think about the people who went to bat for you and the people who didn’t. You don’t blame those who opposed. You’d have probably reacted similarly if your old group were still alive and you understand very clearly why they do it. One person’s stupid reaction can be catastrophic and they don’t know enough about you to be certain that you’re not one of those stupid people. It’s how the world went to shit in the first place and though nine months ago you’d have surely condemned someone for making the same decision, you know that fear has warped humanity beyond comprehension. You didn’t get it until you lived it.
Still, Katsuki’s humanity feels intact somehow, more so than yours at least. His response is something you probably never would have said under the same conditions and you can’t help but feel some sort of fondness bloom in you for him. Call it connection, gratefulness for his willingness to stick his neck out for you, a trauma response. You still feel it. Mina and Kiri had said that Katsuki was a good judge of character and that’s why they were willing to back him. You wonder briefly if maybe Katsuki sees something in you that you don’t recognize in yourself anymore, or maybe something you don’t expect other people to recognize. What is it that he wants so badly to protect?
Someone stomps down the hallway, heavy boots against the old creaky floors. You hear the steps recede down the hallway, maybe a door or two down, before it shuts quickly. The sound makes you wince and you listen as the house grows quiet and then hums quietly with the sound of others coming upstairs a few moments later. Someone pads to the end of the hall, pushing the door open.
You hear a woman’s voice, so muffled that you can’t make out what she’s saying. Then, you hear the sound of a man’s affirmation before the bedroom door shuts and the visitor moves back down the hall to a separate bedroom. Information passing through the house.
Someone is moving around in a room below you and you figure that there are probably bedrooms downstairs as well. From the outside, you’d never guess that the place could house ten people. Inside though, the bedrooms are small. That’s probably why so many can fit. You’d guess that the place used to have multiple generations living in it, or maybe even rented out rooms to people for a few months. It sort of has a boarding house feel to it, like many people have come and gone even before people stopped staying in one place.
That’s a good thing to call it, the boarding house. It certainly has that sort of feel to it, many of its spaces undeniably communal.
You turn over in the bed, facing the bedroom door. The lights have gone out completely now and the house is quiet save for the occasional creak or thud from someone preparing to sleep. It’s been a long while since the sounds of living have been so prevalent near you. You’re eased by the sounds of the house settling, a familiar reminder of what living used to be. Your group had been on the road long before you lost them and the comforts of an interior are almost overwhelmingly nostalgic. You’re better rested to notice it now and shutting your eyes, you savor the feeling.
—
“Need some help?” You say.
Denki turns around, grease smeared across his nose where he likely wiped it with his dirty hands. He’s holding a wrench in a glove so tattered that it hardly counts as a glove anymore. He looks startled, amber eyes widening before he uses his forearm to brush stray hairs out of his face. The rest of it is pulled up into a messy ponytail, revealing the moist back of his neck.
“Oh, sure,” he says, a bit surprised. “Do you know how generators work?”
He crouches back over the machine and you step up behind him.
The machine is rusted near the bottom and between the exposed winding pipes. Its paint has chipped away, leaving the weather-damaged metal open for you to see. On the side, a fan-like piece spins slowly in circles and the machine whirs and sputters softly as it… generates power, probably.
“Not quite, but an extra pair of hands is always helpful,” you say softly, passing him a tool he’d been reaching for. “Did it break?”
“No,” Denki says, “but it’s probably on its last legs. The thing’s almost as old as we are, probably older, so it’s good to tune it up a bunch.”
You hum your agreement, tilting your head as you stand and watch him work.
You’re not necessarily comfortable with Denki, but he feels like a safe person for some reason. Maybe it’s because he’s got a sort of ditzy, non-threatening vibe to him. You can almost distinctly picture him tripping over his own feet and something about that makes you feel considerably safer than someone who wouldn’t. That and he was the first person you’ve come across this morning who you don’t think distrusts you too badly.
“Are you dodging something?” Denki smirks up at you from his crouch.
“Who on earth would I be dodging?” you snort a bit defensively.
“Shoto,” he says with a light smile. “He put you in a tight spot the other day.”
“Yeah, well,” you say, glancing over your shoulder. “It wasn’t anything he didn’t have a right to ask.”
“Right, but it sure was rude, huh?”
Denki laughs to himself a little and you’re surprised by how easygoing he is. You subconsciously begin to categorize him with Mina and Kiri. The dichotomy of this group baffles you a bit, but you can certainly see all nine of them as a collective. Tightly knit and well acquainted with the habits of others.
“Oh!” He exclaims, “I have something you can do for me.”
You tilt your head.
“There’s a bucket over there,” he says, pointing absentmindedly to a shitty plastic bucket against the side of the house. “We use the water from the creek as coolant. It’s not factory grade, but it does the trick. You wanna go fill it up and bring it back for when I’m done tuning this thing up?”
You furrow your eyebrows, not sure where the creek he’s talking about is.
“The creek is just over there,” he points behind the house to the edge of the treeline. “I know you can’t see it from here, but if you walk in a straight line, you’ll hit it. Katsuki should be down there too, so you can use him as a landmark.”
When you don’t immediately answer, Denki whines a little.
“I mean,” he says, “I’d go myself, but-”
“I’ll do it,” you laugh a little and Denki seems surprised that you do.
“Really?”
“Yeah,” you shrug. “I’d like to pull some weight at least while I’m here. Plus, I offered.”
Denki mumbles his pleasure and you walk to the bucket without another word and set off in the direction Denki pointed. You’re much more willing to go out to the treeline now that you have a knife back at your side.
The walk to the trees is longer than it looks, like how sometimes the horizon looks like something you could reach out and climb up onto. The walk stretches with each step you take and you become a little more understanding of why Denki didn’t want to do it himself. But the walk is actually pleasant, the warmth of mid May collecting evenly on your skin as the humidity grows more intense with the sun.
You wonder what Katsuki would be doing by the creek. Maybe he’s fishing, or crouched over himself sharpening an arsenal of knives that you think he might keep in a roll attached to his belt sometimes. You’re not sure why, but Katsuki sort of has that expression to him. He’s handsome, but the scowl projects something hostile that makes him seem unapproachable.
As you cross through the middle of the clearing, you could almost imagine that this is a normal day. Humidity collects on your skin, making you sweat a little as you dodge gopher holes and soft spots of dirt. It almost feels like summer camp, if it weren’t for the looming idea that you’re contributing to something you may not be a part of. Denki’s attitude though, has you hoping for a more favorable outcome, if you want to call it that.
You’re only a few steps into the line of trees when the earth dips into a sand-lined ravine. The trees leave room for the sun to beat down on warmed rocks, making the area seem brighter with their subtle reflection of the light. The noise of the creek drowns out the sound of your footsteps and you shuffle toward where the earth flattens just before the water starts. A little ways to your right, you can see Katsuki sitting on a rock in the sun, his hands dipped into a large bucket. You narrow your eyes as he pulls what looks like a cloth out of the water, rubbing the fabric together before dipping it in the cool water of the creek.
As you approach, you realize what it is that he’s doing. It’s laundry. On the other side of him, you can see a bin of what look like dirty clothes and water-soaked clean ones. Talk about misjudged character.
“Katsuki,” you say as you approach him, the bucket still empty in your hand.
He squints up at you, shifting his face so that it's in your shadow.
“You’re still here,” he says plainly, returning to his task.
“Clearly,” you respond, watching as he runs his fingers over the next piece of clothing in the bucket.
“Why are you down here? Did Denki pawn the generator water onto you?” He says, like he’s somewhat frustrated. “He does that shit to anyone he can.”
You shrug your shoulders and continue to stare at him.
“Are you just gonna stand there?” He huffs out.
“You’re doing laundry.”
“Yeah?” he furrows his eyebrows and looks at you. “So?”
“Nothing,” you say. “I just didn’t expect that.”
“Yeah well,” he stops for a moment like he’s struggling to find the words. “It needed to be done. Figured I might as well.”
“How progressive of you,” you joke with a straight face.
He looks at you out of the corner of his eyes and sighs, not justifying your comment with a response. You find yourself smiling a little bit.
“If you’re going to linger, sit down and do it,” he says. “You’re creeping me out.”
You oblige him and sit down on a rock next to him, far enough that you’re not touching, but near enough to hear him if you speak in a low voice. For some reason, you feel a sort of kinship with Katsuki. You’d thought longer than you’d like to admit about his willingness to vouch for you and find that you want to live up to his expectation of your goodness, even if it’s not what you believe yourself to be anymore. Maybe it’s because you’ve slept well the past few nights and feel more like yourself, but there’s a certain casualness to conversing with him that you enjoy. He’s not looking at what you could be, but rather what you’re showing him that you are. His lack of doubt in that is something you find relatively attractive.
You watch his arms out of the corner of your eye in between gazing at the treeline and the sky. Your field of vision catches on them, his sleeves cut short to expose his biceps, a bit muddied near the elbows where the mud has begun to stick.
Katsuki doesn’t seem all that bothered by your presence, but now and then you’ll catch the sideways glance he gives you, almost like he’s trying to figure out exactly why you’re lingering.
“How long have you been with them?” You ask, more as a way to fill the silence.
Katsuki’s hands pause as he thinks about answering, then, they continue their steady pace.
“A decent amount of time,” he says. “I met Izuku first, probably in November just before Mina and Kiri. The rest came later.”
You furrow your eyebrows.
“No offense,” you start, “but you don’t really seem like the group type.”
“And you don’t seem like the type who’d be alone,” he retorts, like your statement was stupid.
You press your lips into a tight line, not really knowing how to respond.
“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head a little.
“Were you?”
“What? Was I sorry?” He furrows his eyebrows at you.
“No,” you shake your head. “Were you alone? Before Izuku.”
He goes silent. You’ll take that as a yes, but you regret asking a little. It had just slipped out. If someone were to ask you something like that, you’d probably react the same way. That’s just as well, you don’t really need to know him like that anyway.
You wonder briefly if anyone does. He seems closed off, but Mina and Kiri spoke about him a few days prior like they knew him well. Well enough at least to allude to a history you’ll likely never be privy to. Then there’s Momo, who whispers little things to him that he answers in kind. Curiosity gets the better of you, if only to tease.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” you ask and Katsuki’s response is to rest his elbows on his knees and let out a dry laugh.
He turns his head and looks at you from the side. “And what the fuck are you asking me that for?”
“Just curious,” you say. “Is it Momo?”
“Momo?” He makes a sour face at you. “Yeah, right.”
“She’s pretty,” you say.
“Sure is,” he responds dryly. “If you’re into the mom type.”
“What? You’re not into moms?” You grin a little and Katsuki furrows his eyebrows at you.
“So you do have a personality,” he scoffs a little.
There’s a pause. You haven’t felt this in a while. The feeling of bonding with someone new, compatibility on the human level that feels nearly instant.
“I’m kinda serious though,” you say, tilting your head down to catch his eye. “Do you?”
You’re leaning a little closer to him now.
“You seen any nice restaurants to take a person out to these days?” he questions, clearly a little frustrated with you in the way someone gets when they’re a bit amused.
“You don’t have to take someone out to a restaurant to fuck them, you know?” You laugh a little.
Katsuki’s lips part and he swallows like his mouth has gone dry.
“Yeah, well,” he starts, looking away from you. “I’m a romantic. Sue me.”
He’s just full of surprises, isn’t he? You find that you’re captivated by this feeling, this humanity, that exists in him. It’s something alive between you both, something left behind from the old world, and you crave it the same way you crave food.
Katsuki continues scrubbing the clothes, rubbing the fabric together and then dunking it in the bucket before plunging it into the freshwater creek. You’re not sure why you do it, but the next time he looks at you, you kiss him.
It’s not as if you like him, but it’s something to feel. Some remnant of the butterflies you used to feel on dates and the kiss makes you feel like you could be close to human again. You pull away almost as soon as you put his lips to yours and you can tell that the expression on your face is one of surprise.
Katsuki blinks for a second, looking at you with his brows knitted together. The expression doesn’t leave him as he places a wet hand on the side of your face to kiss you again. It’s an anxious kiss, confused and slow but—like someone riding a bike for the first time in years—it quickly becomes something familiar. Muscle memory that you both let yourselves sink into.
You can feel his expression as he kisses you, something between confusion and desire, like his own actions are perplexing. You feel the same way, hesitant, but reaching in the dark for the promise of some sort of normalcy. You want to feel like a person again. You haven’t felt it in so long and you push yourself against him as the ache swells in you.
The two of you continue like this for a moment, Katsuki’s fingers pressing lightly into the skin of your neck. You moan softly as his tongue slips into your mouth, taking a sharp inhale at the sensation of skin on skin. The sound of the creek drowns out the clicking of your mouths, but you can feel the way he hums into your mouth. They’re little sounds, involuntary ones driven by the nervous, desirous feelings inside of you both.
Then, Katsuki pulls away, swallowing thick as he takes his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. You appreciate the way they look. They’re swollen, anxious to continue and keep forgetting where you really are. He drops his hand from your face with a sigh and almost seems like he comes back to himself. You do the same, moving back into an upright position.
“Denki will want that water soon,” he clears his throat and motions to the empty bucket by your feet.
“Oh,” you say, laughing a little. “Right.”
You stand, dusting off the back of your pants and dunking the bucket into the water. It sloshes, the liquid hitting the back of the plastic with a satisfying elastic sound. You begin to walk away without another word, heading down the way you came to climb up the gentler part of the slope.
“Hey,” Katsuki calls softly. “You should stay. We talked it over last night. You can if you want to.”
The last part, he says facing the wash, his hands moving as if he hadn’t said anything at all. You don’t respond, knowing that the obvious answer is already yes.
Dread settles in your stomach. It’s an icky, swirling feeling that threatens to make you double over. You climb up the bank, the water in the bucket sloshing as you move through the trees and enter the clearing. The feeling doesn’t dissipate, growing as you leave the cover of the trees. You probably wouldn’t have kissed him if he’d asked you that earlier.
The boarding house comes into view and you can see Denki sitting beside the generator, conversing with who appears to be Shoto. They turn and Denki waves you down, Shoto turning away and starting around for the front of the house.
Denki jogs to meet you, taking the bucket from your hand. You flex your fingers as the weight is removed, wincing a little at how stiff they feel.
“Jeez, what took you so long?” Denki laughs and with your new information, you understand his willingness to be friendly with you a little better.
“I asked Katsuki for his life story,” you respond dryly, following him back to the generator.
Denki looks over his shoulder and laughs at you. “Did he tell you?”
You pause for a moment, watching as Denki unscrews something and pours the water in.
“Nope,” you say. “Not a thing.”
Click Here to go to the second chapter and find the rest of the series on ao3. The remainder will not be posted on tumlbr, but please feel free to reblog!
#bakugou x reader#bakugou katsuki x reader#mha x reader#bakugou smut#bakugou x reader smut#mha smut#bakugou fanfiction#mha fanfiction#my hero academia#bakugou katsuki#apocalypse au#tw.violence#tw.blood#tw.loss of identity#tw.derealization#tw.depersonalization#tw.exhaustion#cal.writing#char.bakugou
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10. cranberry cocktail
frankie morales x f!reader | chapter ten of do me yourself
summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.
wordcount: 3k
chapter warnings: SMUT. 18+. jo's bad use and knowledge of DIY. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n.
an: this one is called jo made herself horny. see author note at the end.
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It’s difficult not to smile as you approach.
His voice, mid-singing—almost competing with the radio that lingers under his voice—had been travelling out as you walked up to the building. Louder when you pulled open the door, sliding the sunglasses from your face.
A few blinks and your eyes capture his, singing dying out, leaving the original artist blaring around in the background.
Still, you're unable to stifle the smile. Not as you walk closer or as he puts down the tool in hand; least of all when you realise he's looking only half as abashed as you would be if he caught you mid-rendition, watching him dial down the volume on the radio as the door closes behind you.
Frankie had shown you this place once before. Your voice, light, teasing, hand in his: “You’re showing me where the magic happens?”
“I’ve shown you where that happens.”
“Not that magic—or, well, I hope you’re not about to tell me there are even more videos on a different site I need to watch. I’ve been forced to rewatch things lately.”
He’d explained, with a soft smile and a twinkle in his eye, how he’d turned the garage into a workshop. The hours, the pieces he’d started with and the things he’s managed to build, find or bargain for along the way. Even lingered his thumb over the height chart for Luca, the one he told you he began when he first bought the run-down house he made a home.
It was impressive then, but you hadn’t appreciated it as much as you do stepping in today.
You'd been too busy then, watching, studying him. Spotting the way he trailed his thumb across his bottom lip, eyes widening as they tried to smile before his lips as he pointed out highlights he knew you’d have seen from certain videos you’d mentioned.
Now, it's all lit by soft, mid-morning sunlight, looking homely, loved, worn in and appreciated—everything you’d expect from him.
Even if things are out, such as plasterboard and wood leaning against odd edges, everything else has a place. Just like the scent that wanders around and flows as if there’s a constant candle burning, one which includes notes of freshly applied paint, the essence of sawdust and leather. A blended aroma that subtlety clings to his clothes—and then lingers inside your own. A thing which brings comfort, until it seeps in sadness upon the realisation that it's faded from a sweater, bedsheets or your throw after a few days of not seeing him in person.
"Hi, handsome."
He grins, a hello escaping out as his knuckle tips your chin up, your smile back presses to his mouth. Tasting his lips, how they’re tinged with coffee. Frankie planting it more intently as your hands find their way around his waist, heightening it, fingers grasping your cheek.
You swear you could kiss him forever. A thought you know you have continuously, almost every time his mouth finds yours. But you mean it.
Completely. Utterly.
Your palms sliding around, fingers brushing over dry, hard paint specks buried into the soft, beloved cotton of his tee.
“So,” you say when you pull away, teeth biting your lip—finding yourself staring at him, as though his face alone answers everything.
In some ways, you're adamant it does. In others, you know it will.
A feeling that thrums more and more intensely as weeks rack up into months, as your heart flutters in your chest when his eyes hold yours for a second longer than normal.
“What has prompted this little requested visit?”
Grinning, he traces his thumb along your jaw. “Thought you could drill some holes—for your cupboards?”
Smirking, dragging your tongue in a sweeping motion across your lip, you tap your fingers on his waist. “Drill, ay? I didn’t… exactly come dressed to be in your workshop.”
“Wait,” he says, eyes widening, mouth pulled into a line as he brushes his fingers down the fabric of your summer dress that rests along your collarbone. “This isn’t an everyday DIY outfit?”
Grinning, you nudge into him, head shaking—hand grasping a handful of his tee. “No.”
“Don’t worry,” he says, voice dropping, charm encasing each letter as his hands find a home on your hips, “I’ll make sure you don’t get messy.”
A soft laugh escapes you, feeling the way his thumb continues its gentle circling on your cheekbone.
“You on cleanup duty, then?” you reply, the words muffled against his lips. He hums in response, a sound of agreement that sends a pleasant shiver down your spine.
Without pulling away, he gently guides you towards the bench—hands on your side as his chin rests on your shoulder.
One glance at him, and he offers you a comforting smile. Before it comes over him, that voice—the one from the videos. All lightly, but sternly instructing you. Talking you through the steps, before he tells you to pick up the black and orange drill from in front of you.
A lick of warmth slides up your spine, a soft whimper escaping your lips as you press closer to him, your body beginning to buzz from the way he’s pressed against you—his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your waist.
“We’re going to begin with drilling the holes for the handles.”
Rolling your lips, you rest your head against his. “Okay.”
“What you’re gonna do is lightly ease the drill in.”
“Is that so?”
Clearing his throat, you swear you hear your name, it followed quickly by a “Stop.”
“Stop what, Frankie?”
It’s a grunt. A thing buried in his throat before he takes a measured sigh. His hand rises, gripping the top of the power tool before lining the drill bit with the marked wood.
“Being a tease—now, lightly pull the trigger.”
Blanking your face, staring at him with confusion. “So, push it in and out?”
You watch it hit him—slowly. It washes over him in a few blinks, your hips wiggling against his before he groans again. “You’re killing me.”
“I’m very innocent, Morales.”
“Mierda. You’re the opposite of innocent. And no, it’s straight down. Not in and out—we’re not… we’re not fucking it.”
Giggling, you bite the inside of your cheek, adjusting your stance as you swear his groin pushes into your ass on purpose. Finding a way to mumble an okay, you shift your shoulders in preparation. Asking, finger hovering over the trigger of the drill, if you squeeze it lightly as you feel him nod.
Swallowing, you give it a test. A little click. Hearing it, before you see thin crinkles of wood coming away from the pressure.
“Like that?”
Somehow, all beyond you, you manage to keep your voice steady. It all unwilling to tremble—even though his breath is dancing over your neck. Even though his hold on your hip is tightening.
Then there’s the heat pulsating through your dress—the warmth settling into your bones, skin and muscle from his touch. Your body remembering, recalling—able to know just from his presence what he can do, what he has done, how he can unravel you and make you become a mess all from his fingers, mouth and—
“Bit more pressure this time, baby.”
“You can’t say that.”
Snorting, the air dances over your skin as you swear you feel him smirk. “Oh, Rainy. I can.”
You swear his voice drops an octave.
Sweeping the words over you, making your body tense, muscles twisting in on themselves as you try to focus on the drill in your hand. Stare down at the piece of wood he’s set up for you until it’s a blur. Nodding. Finger over the button, knowing you just need to squeeze—
Perfect, he whispers.
And fuck it makes your thighs press together. Makes something rumble inside of you at the same time as the drill fires to life.
The noise is all loud, alarming—deafening. A hole deepening in the wood.
“That's it, just like that. Perfecto, hermosa.”
Even with how loud it is, you can only hear him.
How he layers so much emphasis on the P, the letter is still skating over your skin by the time the rest that follows it has left his tongue.
You can only swallow. Remaining aware, and yet focused in, on how his hand slides down, fingers teasing the end of your dress—a quickly thrown-on thing, an easy option that meant you could arrive here sooner.
“You’re perfect,” he says, kissing it against your neck as his hand slides under your dress, palm flat to your thigh, dragging it up, and up.
Some part of you, all distant, feels him take the drill, hears a click, before it’s out of sight, out of fucking mind.
Then it’s just thick fingers you focus on, how they slide, rub, torture over your underwear—feeling like minutes, hours, days before he manoeuvres. Before he’s forcing elastic to cut into your skin, before you feel him trace along the places you need him desperately.
“Frankie…”
He drags his nose against the side of your face, feeling the exhale flutter against your jaw before he makes you gasp before it grows into a shameless whine.
“This not what you wanted?”
Swallowing, your eyelids quiver. Some part of you, a present part of you that isn’t lost in the way he’s stroking up and down your slick folds, occasionally catching your clit, that he isn’t going to let you come like this.
Even if he's told you he likes the way you sound, has confessed that he likes watching you unravel; his favourite pastime, his favourite movie and soundtrack.
“Need to hear you, Rainy?”
“Want you,” you pant, breathless.
He fans hot breath on your skin. “Want me to fuck you here, baby? On my bench. Hmm?”
You’re fluttering, desperately to squeeze him—fingers or cock, you’re not in a frame of mind to be fussy.
Mind changing, singing, practically bellowing: please, please, fucking, please. Body thrumming, vibrating, legs desperate to shake—if not for the fact they’re keeping you upright. Your fingers find a place on his bench, digging, barely making a mark against the rest on his workbench. But it’s stable, rigid.
“Tell me, baby,” he says, softer, dripping it into your ear like honey—all encased in air that seeps inside of you and makes you forced to chase his lips.
It’s against them you say please. Kissing a y, an e and a s against his mouth, licking past his teeth, hips rocking into his fingers as he circles and circles and circles—
Then, nothing.
Retraction, emptiness. A desperate whine emerges, rising from the back of your throat until it fuses with the air.
An explanation almost demanded, but his belt buckle undoing silences you. His clothed cock presses against you, feeling how hard he is, the size of him making you clench your thighs as cool air kisses the back of your legs when he grabs a fist full of your dress.
“Gonna get rid of these.”
It’s deft, his finger—hooking in the band of your panties as he drags the soaked fabric down your thighs, letting it fall the rest of the way as the fabric finds a home around your ankles. For a moment they just remain there, not entirely confident you can step out of them until he holds you steady, talks you through it:
One foot, then the other. That's it, baby.
Because your body is on auto-pilot, doing things for you, for him. Like parting your thighs as his hand rests on your back as he softly urges you down. Your forearms find the bench, hingeing at the waist, lying your chest flat on his bench, sawdust filling your nose and stitching itself into the upper part of your dress as you turn your head, flakes sticking to your cheek.
And for a moment, an expanse of time, you forget how to breathe, how to be, where you are as you stare at him.
This man, this person who one day you didn’t know and the next you did—is now yours, all yours. Mine, he’d said in bedsheets after the conversation in the kitchen. Like that you’re mine, Rainy. A man you trust, like, lov—
Frankie, who is all handsome, broad and fucking kind, is now looking at you as if you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted to devour in his life. Do it, you silently plead, beg, metaphorically getting on your knees as he washes you in almond-brown eyes.
He’s a sight you couldn’t have ever made up, least of all this one. Fingers, thick—one wrapped in a bandaid—pulling down on the brim of his hat, hiding his eyes, casting half of him in a shadow that makes you almost moan. There’s just the tip of his nose, just his mouth on show, lips spread and curled into a smirk as he lines his cock at your entrance.
You sure? He asks, fingers brushing over your hip, keeping the fabric back, as you smile, nod, and whisper for him to make you feel good before he eases the head of his cock in. It's then your mouth parts around a silent cry of his name, pussy welcoming each inch of him, opening, as you let him slide all he wants to give.
“Know you can take me,” he hushes, “I’m good at measurements, calculations—“
“Fuck.”
“Fuck, you like that.”
Whining his name, he smirks. Because both the feel of him and the act is something you couldn’t have ever concocted. Fuck, a year ago you wouldn’t believe the person you are either. Not this confident being almost laid down on his workbench, feeling this good, this attractive, all bold—asking for this, for what you want. No flicker of shyness or nervousness.
Then there’s him. A sight your mind is struggling to process. Frankie with his teeth glistening with spit as he stares down at you, as he sweeps that burning gaze over you and grunts at the feel of you. One hand, large, slightly calloused, finding meaning on your waist, the other holding your dress up your spine, pressing down, light, but firm—don’t move, baby, stay still.
As if you ever would.
The stretch is welcomed, a dull ache answered, all buried to the hilt. Remaining there, still.
“Move, please—fuck, Frankie, I beg of you.”
He chuckles. A low laugh.
But he does, pulling out before driving back in, making your vision swim, blur. It all overwhelming. Both the sensation and everything else—scents, sounds and touch. His hips slowly moving, his belt buckle clanging and it’s easier to find yourself draped over the bench, cheeks on the wood, inhaling it—the scent that lives in his clothes, in his fingers and aura.
Frankie, just Frankie. Your Frankie—
“So g—fuck—good for me.”
Your fingers dig, grasp—his cock kissing that spot inside of you that forces your toes to curl in your shoes, your mouth managing half of his name before it fades to a moan. All breathy, doused in whimpers and yes’s falling in a verse that leads to a chorus.
“Feel so—oh, good, Frankie.”
“Yeah?”
“Perfect. Feel perfect.”
He moans—low, tinged in a grunt, a hiss, your name etched somewhere in the sound—as he pulls almost all the way out, drawn out, an emptiness beginning to register before he thrusts in. Somehow deeper, somehow filling you more perfectly as you squeeze your grip on the bench.
And you’re close, all light and boneless—but heavy and alive, so alive you feel like fire courses in your veins and you could become more flame than a person.
“Come for me, baby. Right on my bench—fuck, you feel good, so tight—need y’to come. Right here.”
And it crashes against you, all of it. Suddenly unable to smell a thing, hear a thing—you just feel. Feel the sensation of just him and the tip of him hitting that spot which makes you arch as pleasure, all blinding and molten lava rushes through your blood, and flows into your muscles.
All numb and yet tingly.
It takes a moment, but your senses come back one by one, panting, breathless—muscles tired and depleted—as you feel his hips stuttering, the strained noises from behind forcing your eyes open.
He’s a picture, a work of art—a statue that should be carved by someone with talent. Sun streaks in and basks him in a golden hue, illuminating that heart patch on his jaw—the way his tongue is pinned between pearly white teeth, and the vein in his neck throbs angrily as he reaches his own climax.
You clench, aware of it, ogling and admiring pushing him over the edge as he curses, tensing, rigid, pace lost as he spills inside of you, happily taking it all, wishing to wring him dry and ensure he’s empty. Greedy, desperate and fucking needy.
Before his body finds refuge on top of yours, heart hammering against your spine—hat falling, tumbling off onto the floor as the two of you catch your breaths. His hand finds your cheek, stroking his thumb against it.
“Never… I’ve never done that before.”
Smiling, you gaze at him as best as you can. “I like how you drill,” you say, playfully, feeling his laugh rumble through him before he kisses your hairline.
It’s light—perfect.
Feeling the laugh bounce from bone to bone inside of you before he turns and eases you up, chest to chest, murmuring against your lips about a shower, about cleaning you up. And you keep smiling, even more so when he checks your chin and cheek, the pad of his thumb tracing over and over.
“You promised me I wouldn’t get messy.”
Thumb pausing on your cheek, he smirks. “I can clean you up, baby?”
Smirking, you shake your head, heat flooding your cheeks. “How are you planning on doing that?”
He tilts his head, before slowly grasping the bench, descending to his knees. Your mouth unable to stop itself from falling open, all wide, surprised as he presses a kiss to your knee.
“Might want to hold onto something, baby,” he says, writing it against your inner thigh. “Might take me a minute to make sure you’re all cleaned up.”
NEXT CHAPTER ->
an: while we still have some more chapters of these two, I've been experimenting with a few things and while it won't have any bearing on the main series, there will be some smutty-one-shots that can be read as and when, and if so people wish. they won't require reading of the series, but rather allow anyone to enjoy two people who are becoming comfortable with one another, exploring a few different things. i'm not sure on when the first will be out, but it won't replace normal uploads for them. but rather just be small little things i'd love to include but would feel shoe-horned into my plan. also if there's anything you'd love a bit more of, whether it's a bit more on rainy/frankie or their relationship, my inbox is always open. thank you for letting these pair into your heart.
#frankie morales x reader#francisco morales x reader#frankie morales x reader smut#frankie morales x f!reader#frankie morales smut#francisco morales smut#frankie morales x you#frankie morales#triple frontier x reader#francisco morales fanfiction#triple frontier fanfiction#pedro pascal characters#francisco catfish morales x reader#catfish morales x reader#pedrostories#jo: dmy#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal character fanfiction
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Another Love | Part 4
Summary: you've been hopelessly in love with Han since you were children. One night you confess your feelings to him.
Words count: 6,639
Warnings for this chapter: angst(as usual)
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
A/N: I'm sorry it took me a bit longer to write this part, I'm just in a weird place right now. I'm doubting a lot about my skills as a writer and that leads me to believe everything I write sucks so this was a bit harder to write, I hope you all like it though.
Jisung has been dreaming about you lately. Going back to every little memory he has with you, watching all the signs you gave him while he was oblivious to you, to your feelings.
It's been almost a week since Han ended things with Lia. The things she said are still stuck in his head, he can't be in love with you. Not after rejecting you. Not after everything you went through to get over him. Not now, when you're happy with someone else.
Things are going back to the way they were before, except that now your roles are reversed, he's the one hanging on your every word and movement, all the little details about you look fascinating to him. He's never felt this way before.
You're not avoiding him anymore. Things fell into place slowly, you started having dinner together again, talking about your day. Then you got back to making coffee for him in the morning, waking him up with the nice scent so he wouldn't be too grumpy woking up so early.
He has a mission now: to stop these strange thoughts he's having. Even if he is indeed feeling this way about you, he lost his chance. He knows he did. Right now, he wants to focus on being a good friend to you, the same as he was before the confession happened.
Jisung just didn't expect how he would feel seeing you with Jeongho again. You invited all your friends to dinner in a nice restaurant, to officially introduce your boyfriend to everyone.
This must be how you felt seeing him with all his previous partners, you must have felt this ache in your chest, as if someone was holding your heart and squeezing it to their heart's content.
You look pretty, hair tied in a ponytail and a dress he never saw before, maybe it's a gift from your boyfriend, he wouldn't know. He avoids talking about your relationship, too selfish to handle the same pain you did for so many years.
Your friendship is getting back to what it was, even though he screwed up really badly, you were the bigger person and forgave him, so he has no right feeling this way about you.
Jisung knows it would be better for you and for him if you didn't come back to the apartment but he's too greedy, he wants you close to him.
This whole problem began because he was greedy, afterall. He didn't want to stay away from you, then he hurt you again and again trying to fix things. Now he just wants to make things right, he just wants you to be happy.
You're smiling so brightly it actually makes his heart skip a beat. He sips from his drink, trying to calm his heart a bit and watch as the others try to make small talk.
“So how did you meet y/n?” Chan asks Jeongho.
“I had the biggest crush on her in middle school but she mercilessly rejected me”, Jeongho answers, looking at you and smiling playfully.
“I thought he had lost a bet or something”, you defend yourself.
“Why would you think that?” Han asks, surprised and you stare at him for a second before shrugging. Of course Jisung was not the only reason for you to reject Jeongho, you were just learning about your feelings at that time. You just couldn't get your head around why someone older and handsome like Jeongho would want to have anything to do with you.
“Y/N was one of the prettiest girls in our school”, Han comments, not understanding why you would feel like that.
He always thought you were pretty, that's why he always complimented you and gave you clothes saying they would look good on you.
“I think teenagers are just insecure. I guess it's part of growing up”, you sip from your wine glass.
Jisung never thought you were insecure about anything by the way you carried yourself with your head high, always so sure about everything you put your mind into. Maybe there's too much he doesn't know about you.
The rest of the dinner goes well, your friends are being nice and trying to make Jeongho comfortable, you're happy about it. Everything seems to be falling into place with your best friend by your side being his normal self and your boyfriend, the guy you're falling in love with being just perfect. Your heart is finally healing, you're moving on, things are working out. You couldn't wish for anything else, you just want things to stay like this forever.
“Are you happy?” Jisung asks when you're outside the restaurant, Jeongho stepped out to take a call from work and left you and your friends alone. One by one they called it a night, saying their goodbyes and leaving you and Han alone.
You stare at him for a moment before answering.
“Yes, I am”, you're not sure why he wants to know and not even sure why you're thinking so much before answering.
Jisung smiles, a sincere and bright smile.
“I'm glad”, he says, “I want you to be happy”
You are a bit taken aback, you didn't expect him to react this way, he almost sounds like a grown up now.
“Thanks, I-”
“I'm sorry I kept you waiting”, Jeongho's voice cuts you out. He slides his arm over your shoulders pulling you closer.
“I should get going”, Jisung says, turning his gaze away from you and your boyfriend.
“Aren't you going home?” You ask and he shakes his head, he's not sure if he can stay at the same place with you two for much longer. “Oh, are you going to Lia's?”
There's not a bit of discomfort in your face, so he just nods. He's not sure if now is the best moment to tell you about his situation with Lia.
“Okay, see you tomorrow then”, you hesitate, not sure if it's appropriate, but you try not thinking too much, throwing your arms around him, squeezing him into a hug. You would never think twice about hugging him before your confession, there's no need for you to make it awkward now.
You're trying to get things back to the way they were and Jisung notices that, he's grateful. So the only thing he can do is wrap his arms around your waist, hugging you back.
Jisung didn't want to lie, but he's afraid it may be uncomfortable to you if he says he's not with Lia anymore. And he's afraid you'll be able to see right through him, see that he is giving in to the strange feelings he's trying so hard to avoid.
He ends up sleeping on Chan's couch, if he could call that ‘sleeping’. Everytime he closes his eyes, you show up in his mind, smiling, making a joke, just looking at him. Everytime he finally managed to fall asleep, you would be there, together with your boyfriend, giggling and kissing him while Jisung just watched. He would wake up sweating and stare at the ceiling for at least ten minutes before trying to sleep again.
>><<
After pondering what he wanted to do from now on, Jisung decided he should have some closure with Lia. He didn't like the way things ended with her, he really liked her until a certain point and above all, she is a good person. Even though he didn't want to, he ended up hurting her and he should apologize for that.
Awkward. That's the best word to explain the situation that Jisung finds himself in right now. Lia is on the other side of the table, glaring at him like she could kill him with the power of her mind.
“What is it that you want?” She asks, coldly.
He clears his throat, trying to gather some courage.
“I want to apologize”, he says, “I shouldn't have lead you on even though I already knew something was not right”, sighing he looks at her, biting his lower lip, “I'm just… confused, I ended up hurting you in the middle of this mess and I'm really sorry”
Lia looks at his eyes, staring deeply. She can feel his sincerity but she's not sure if only an apology is enough to make up for the pain he caused. She's not crazy, she knows people can't control how they feel most of the time. Maybe if he just admits he likes you, she'll feel at ease.
“So, have you finally accepted that you're in love with y/n?”
Jisung thinks for a bit, trying to put what he is feeling into words.
“I don't know if love is the right word”, he says, fidgeting with his fingers, “but I'm feeling some weird things around her, when she smiles or laughs, or even when she's doing nothing”, he covers his mouth with his hand in a slap, wide eyes, realizing he is talking about being in love with someone else with the girl that likes him.
Lia chuckles.
“It's alright, I'm pretty sure that's the definition of love though”, she sighs looking at Jisung. “Maybe you never felt that before”
It's not easy for her to be kind and comprehensive at the moment, but it's not like being mean is going to make him like her back. She's not actually even sure if she wants that anymore. Maybe her heart just accepted things ended, maybe she was already preparing herself for this since Han started acting differently, but the pain is not as great as she thought it would be. Maybe seeing him naively admitting his feelings made her have some sympathy for the mess he made of his relationship with you, maybe she didn't like him as much as she thought.
Since the beginning, there were too many maybes in this relationship. Lia knows she deserves better, she deserves someone who's sure about her, no maybes.
“I think I can forgive you, yeah”, she chuckles seeing Jisungs shocked face, “not now, obviously”, with a sigh, she looks deeply into his eyes, “you were always great to me before things started going wrong and I know you're not a bad person”, she stands up, “I'm actually feeling bad for you, with the mess you created I have no idea how you're going to fix it, but I'll cheer for you”, she puts her hand in his shoulder, squeezing it in reassurance. Lia leaves Jisung there, stuck in his head once more. At least that is something they both have in common, because he sure doesn't know how he's going to keep these strange feelings under control while fixing his relationship with you.
>><<
If Jisung had to rate his acting skills, he would be proud to say he deserves an award. He's succeeding at pretending not to be in love with you while maintaining a healthy friendship.
It's almost the same as it was before, except Jisung has to watch his every move. He's trying to act normal while trying to crush the onslaught of feelings in his chest everytime you laugh at one of his jokes, or when you just talk about your very normal day.
You both do your things during the day, have dinner together and talk or watch something before sleeping, that's your routine when Jeongho is not visiting.
You've been watching your phone lately, more than usual, is there something wrong? He's sure you're just waiting for Jeongho's call. Jisung has lost count of how many nights he spent listening to your laughs on the phone with your boyfriend, wishing it was him making you happy like that.
It's true, he's struggling. He's not sure how you managed to like him for so long without freaking out, because he's about to collapse and it's been just about a month since he came to terms with his feelings.
He feels bad just thinking about how much you must have suffered because of him, before and after your confession. Guilt is eating him alive, along with heartbreak.
He's been watching you for a while now, you are washing the dishes while talking about these kids you tutor and how smart they are, he's staring at you with heart eyes—you're not seeing—while he dries the dishes.
“I'm sure they can only learn so fast because it's you teaching them”, Jisung says.
You giggle to his compliment, bumping a shoulder into his.
“Should we watch a movie before going to bed?” You ask, drying your hands on your apron.
“I'm actually kinda sleepy”, Jisung laughs, he can only keep his feeling bottled for so long, he doesn't want to get careless and blurt out everything. He knows that if he gets too comfortable he'll feel at ease and you were always too good at making him tell you what's on his mind.
“Let's do it another time then”, you shrug, taking your phone out of your pocket and smiling when the screen brightens with Jeongho's name.
Han feels his chest tighten, he wants to throw up, he wants to cry, he wants to plead for you to not like someone else. But he can't do any of those things, not when you're so happy. So he won't be selfish, he'll think about you first and keep his distance.
>><<
It's been almost a month since the last time you saw Jeongho. He was not able to come by on the usual weekends because the company he works for is opening a new branch somewhere and he is involved in the project.
He's been busy, texting less and not even calling, so you start getting insecure. What if he's getting cold feet about your relationship? Maybe he met someone more interesting who's near him.
No. Jeongho wouldn't be like that. He would break up if he didn't like you anymore, you know him enough to know that.
When he calls saying he's coming to see you, you feel excited once again. You knew you were mistaken, it's not right to presume the worst just because he's a bit more busy. It must be nothing.
You just can't shake the feeling that you were going through the calm before the storm and now the bad weather is finally coming.
He's waiting for you at the restaurant of the hotel he's staying in, Jeongho is fidgeting with his fingers nervously, looking around until his eyes land on you. You smile at him, waving at him but he doesn't smile back.
“Hey”, you say, dropping your bag on the chair and sitting, “is there something wrong?”
“I received a promotion”, he says suddenly, he doesn't look happy about it.
“That's great”, you smile, taking his hand into yours to hold it, not really understanding his reaction.
He stares at your hands together, taking a deep breath before speaking again.
“Actually, the company wants me to go to Europe”, Jeongho says, fidgeting with his hands.
“Oh”, you frown, “for how long?”
“They are not sure about the exact period, but-”, he clears his throat, looking around, “they are projecting it to be between five and eight years”, he replies, feeling his breathing quickening.
“They want you to move there?” You repeat it to yourself, trying to absorb the information.
“They are trying to make an entry in the European market, so a team is needed there to develop the new branch”
“Okay, yeah”, you feel dizzy, “we can work with that, hm, I can- we can visit each other”, you nod, trying to organize your thoughts.
“Y/N-”, Jeongho starts, his voice fails and he stops for a moment before continuing. “Long distance works right now because we are a 2 hour flight away from each other, not 12 hours”
“What are you saying?” You feel all the air in your lungs escape, knowing exactly what he means but choosing not to believe it.
“I don't think we can keep doing this, I'm not sure our relationship is going to survive and-”, he sighs, running his hand through his hair, “I won't ask you to come with me”
“Why not? Why won't you ask me?” You plead, feeling tears brimming in your eyes. It's not logical what you're asking of him, but you don't want to hurt anymore, not again.
“How could I? I can't make you leave your whole life here, your family, your friends or college to go to a country where you know no one but me”, he explains, “I’ll be in charge of a large project, I'll have to stay late probably everyday and you're going to stay alone, how could I do that to you?”
“Don't you think that's for me to decide?” You ask, feeling your hands shaking. You put them in between your legs, trying not to show him the sight of your broken heart.
“I can't- I can't carry that guilt with me”, he says, “not knowing how happy you are here, if you go with me and things end up not working out I could never forgive myself”
“What if things work out? What if we are happy together forever? Did you consider it for a moment?” You ask, he's not looking at you. Jeongho is trying to hold his own tears, trying to be strong for you, “I guess this relationship is not worth you considering it”, you stand up, grabbing your bag.
He lifts his eyes to look at him, finding your quivering lips and the tears flooding from your eyes.
“Well, good luck then”, you tell him, turning around and walking out.
After walking far enough from the hotel, you let yourself crouch on the floor, scaring the people walking by. You are sobbing, trying to wipe the tears from your eyes, but they keep coming continuously.
You stand up again, walking, what are you supposed to do now? When are things going to finally get better for you? Since you confessed to Jisung things got worse over and over, you should have never told him about your feelings, maybe your life would have stayed the same.
The hurt you felt seeing him with other people was a pain you were already used to, but this? This is excruciating, it's the same all over again, the same as when Jisung rejected you. Will you ever feel complete again?
It's 3 a.m, Jisung went to the studio to work for a bit and to try to forget about everything else. His phone buzzes in his pocket, when he looks at the screen, your name is there. He doesn't think twice about answering, just to find your drunk voice on the other side of the call. He can't understand a thing you're saying just that you'll share your location with him.
He grabs the keys to his car, running to the parking lot, he drives for about thirty minutes until arriving where you are. The bar is empty, there are only employees cleaning and you're laying on the counter, unconscious.
“It's been a while since we closed, but we let her stay inside since it looks like she went through something”, the bartender tells Han when he gets closer.
“Thank you”, Jisung says, before trying to wake you up with no success. He sighs, looking around and thinking about what to do.
He slides one of your arms around his neck, putting one of his hands behind your back for support and the other underneath your knees, lifting you up.
Your face is puffy, he can see it now that he's looking so closely, you probably cried a lot but what would make you cry like that?
Jisung glances at you a few times during the ride home. You groan, whining something in your sleep, even crying a bit. That makes him even more worried.
He repeats the process of picking you up when he parks in front of your apartment, carrying you inside. You whimper all the way to the apartment, he knows you can wake up at any moment.
Han sits you on your bed, taking your coat off and helping you lay down, covering you with a blanket after taking off your shoes. Your makeup is all smeared, so he picks a wet tissue and starts rubbing your face, trying to take off everything he can.
You open your eyes slowly, seeing Jisung with a focused expression while whipping your face.
“What are you doing?” You ask, making him jump. He was so concentrated he didn't even see you waking up.
“I was trying to take your makeup off”, he says, “it's not good for you to sleep with it on your face”
“How did I come home?” You look around, stumbling a bit over your words.
“You don't remember calling me?” He asks and you shake your head. “I went to the bar to pick you up”
Jisung is still whipping your face while he talks, that's when you remember why you were in the bar in the first place and tears run out of your eyes again.
“What happened? Why are you crying like this?” He asks worriedly, helping you sit on the bed.
“I don't- everything goes wrong for me”, you say, sobbing. “Maybe I'm the problem”
Jisung sighs, pulling you into a hug and holding you tightly, feeling your tears soak his shirt. He's worried and doesn't know what to do, should he call Hannah? Or Jeongho? Jisung knows you went to meet with him earlier… wait, did that guy do this to you?
After you stop sobbing for a while, Jisung realizes you fell asleep in his embrace. He lies you on the bed, covering you with the blanket once more. He leaves a glass of water and some hangover medicine on your nightstand so you can take in the morning and prepares his bed on the floor.
You wake up to the bright sunlight coming from the window, your head hurts like crazy and you're so thirsty it seems like a thousand years since you last drank something.
You take the hangover medicine and the water, while sitting down, still a bit dizzy. When your feet touch the floor, it's not the hard ground they meet but something soft. Why is Jisung sleeping by your bedside?
He doesn't look a bit comfortable, although he seems fast asleep. You start poking him, trying to make him wake up, causing your friend to jump and hold your arm.
“Are you alright?” He asks, eyes widened.
You frown at the sight, it's been a while since you last saw Jisung this startled.
“Yeah”, you answer and he can finally let out the breath he didn't even notice was being held. “Why are you sleeping on the floor?”
He looks around for a bit as if he didn't understand why you were asking such a thing.
“Oh, I- hm- I was afraid you would need something so I stayed here just in case”, he tells you and you nod.
It's not an uncommon occurrence for you two to do this kind of thing, even when you were living with your parents. When one of you got sick, it was a tradition to stay by each other's side until the other felt better.
When you moved in with him, naturally, your drinking habits grew since you didn't have to worry about your parents anymore. Jisung was responsible for taking care of you when you came home wasted after partying with Hannah or even when you drunk with him and the boys, he made sure to stay sober enough to still be able to take you home and help you get to your room safely.
“Oh”, you answer, “thank you”
He kept staring at you, waiting for something you're not sure what is.
“Do you want to talk about the reason you got wasted last night?” He asks, awkwardly and the pain comes back all at once.
It was so nice, the period of numbness after waking up from a deep sleep, you wish you could keep feeling that way. Now, your hands are trembling again, just like last night, tears are brimming in your eyes and your lips are quivering. It's obvious to Jisung, you're trying not to cry.
He gets up, collecting the things he used to sleep, without looking at you, he doesn't want to make you any more uncomfortable.
“We don't have to talk about it”, he says, putting the blanket and pillow back in your wardrobe. “Do you want me to call Hannah?” He asks and you stare at him for a moment, nodding to his question, not really wanting to look at your phone.
You're scared Jeongho contacted you, you don't want to see him. But more than anything, you're scared he didn't try talking to you at all, because that means everything is really over.
It's pathetic, you know that break ups happen. But Jeongho was the first guy to ever make you feel the closest to what you ever felt for Jisung, no other could do that and you're scared no one ever will.
Hannah gets to your place about an hour after Jisung called her. She's huffing, hair messed up and puffy face.
“Were you sleeping?” You ask her and she takes a deep breath, seeing that you're okay.
“I'm going to kill that guy”, she yells out of the door to your room, “he made it seems like you were dying or something”
“If I was dying I'm pretty sure he would have taken me to the hospital”, you point out.
Hannah rolls her eyes, dropping her bag on the floor. Closing the door, she walks slowly to sit on your bed, she can clearly see that you cried a lot.
“So, did something happen?” She asks, you avoid her gaze, looking at anything but her face. You find your fingers much more interesting than any part of this conversation, actually. So you pay attention to them, playing on your lap.
“It's nothing”, you answer.
Hannah sighs, if you don't want to talk about it, it means it's bad.
“We don't have to talk about it right now”, she stretches her hand, taking yours and squeezing it. “But you will have to talk about it eventually”
It's your time to sigh now, she's right, you know that, but talking about it makes it real and you don't want it to be real.
“Jeongho broke up with me”, you rip the bandaid all at once.
Hannah gasps, she's speechless. How can this be? She thought he was head over heels for you, so why?
“His company is sending him to Europe and he doesn't want to do long distance”, you feel the tears brimming into your eyes again, voice cracking, “or take me with him”
It's the first time in her life Hannah doesn't know what to say. Your love life is such a mess, worse than hers, so she doesn't have any advice or any comfort to give you.
“Honey, I…”, she tries, but what is she supposed to say? ‘I am sorry?’, that's not it, ‘he is an asshole?’ nothing of the sort.
Looking from outside the situation, Jeongho is being logical, they still are in their honeymoon phase of the relationship, everything is perfect at that time. For most people, problems start to arise after some time. However, when you're in love, you don't want logical outputs, you want what your heart wants.
Hannah is saved by a knock on the door. Han's head pops inside the room and he observes for a moment trying to assess the situation.
“I bought some things you like”, he says, “I'll be going out, so you have the apartment all to yourselves”
He wants you to feel comfortable right now, he doesn't know exactly what happened but you're sad. Jisung knows just letting you enjoy your afternoon with Hannah in the apartment is not going to make things better for whatever is making you feel so down, but he knows you are going to feel livelier after some time with Hannah.
He goes out with Hyunjin, who's buying a present for his mother. It's hot, so if his friend didn't ask very nicely he wouldn't have accepted to go to the mall, since they have to wear hoods and masks. The fact that you're home, crying your eyes out for something he has no clue about, made him want to go out too. It hurts seeing you sad and it's even worse because he can't do anything about it, not when he doesn't know what's happening.
They are looking at bags, maybe he should get you something? You are not really a materialistic person, he's not sure if giving you an expensive present is going to help at all, maybe he should get you that webtoon print you've been talking about, they should definitely have it in the bookstore next door.
When Jisung turns around to tell Hyunjin they should stop at the bookstore, he sees Jeongho. He's looking at bags too, trying to figure out which one he should choose.
Is he giving you a gift too? Maybe he did something and you fought, that's why you were crying so much. Even remembering the way you cried as soon as you woke up makes his heart ache.
Jisung walks to Jeongho, not sure how to initiate a conversation but he feels like he should try and help in some way.
“Hey”, he says, watching Jeongho turn around and look at him.
“Jisung, how are you doing?” He asks, arms crossed in front of chest.
“Fine, are you choosing a gift for y/n?” He asks, awkwardly, “I don't think she likes purple”, he points out observing the bags Jeongho was looking at.
“It's actually for my mother”, he clears his throat, frowning, “didn't y/n tell you?”
“Tell me what?” Jisung asks, confused and Jeongho nods.
“So she didn't”, he sighs, “we broke up”, he struggles to say it.
Jisung's eyes dart directly to Jeongho's face, now he can see the eyebags on his face and how tired he looks.
“Why?” Jisung panics, you shouldn't have to go through another heartbreak.
“I don't think it's something you should know about, if she didn't tell you”, Jeongho shrugs.
“Well, can't you fix it? Whatever it is that is wrong?” He asks, carefully.
Jeongho sighs, he wishes there was something he could do about it, but he's a coward who's too afraid of taking such a big step in the beginning of a relationship.
“I’m afraid I can't”, he says, “take care of her”
Jisung is speechless, he has no idea what to do, so he just watches as Jeongho chooses a gift and walks tiredly out of the store.
Jisung arrives after killing some time outside, he was out for almost the entire day and hopes that you could enjoy a bit of your day with Hannah. He doesn't know if he should bring up his encounter with Jeongho or if he should talk about what your, now ex, boyfriend told him.
He shouldn't mention it, if you didn't tell him about it, it's because you're not ready for you to know and he gets that. Han is not sure about what he's feeling. It hurts his heart to see you in so much pain but he doesn't want to overstep the boundaries you're setting.
So when he enters the house, he sees you and Hannah watching a movie, he greets you both and goes to his room. You clearly cried more since he left and he won't be able to stay in your presence without trying to comfort you.
>><<
Things are difficult for you at the moment. Even though your love for Jeongho never got to its full potential, it's still love. You're mourning what you could have had with him had things been different, you wake up in the middle of the night and can't sleep anymore, feeling your chest hurting and remembering it's over.
It all sank in when he didn't contact you anymore, you're sure he's hurting too but you had hoped that you two could find a solution around this cruel puzzle.
“Should we go out?” Hannah asks while you're watching a drama, burying your sorrows in ice cream.
“I'm not really in the mood”, you say. You haven't cried for some time now, you're too tired, maybe your tears finally dried up.
“I know you don't feel like it”, Hannah sighs, looking at your apathetic face, worriedly, “but I think you should have some fresh air, you have been stuck in this apartment for a week now, it's not healthy”
You sigh, she's right, you know she is, but you can't really find the strength to doll up and go out.
“We don't have to go to a party or anything crowded”, she says, seeing the resigned look on your face. “We can just go to a cafe or something, anything”, she pleads.
You nod, sighing in defeat, maybe a walk can really lift your mood a bit.
Hannah jumps out of the sofa, taking the ice cream from your hands. She talks excitedly about what kind of things you two can do but can't really follow what she's saying, your head is still numb.
You walk around for a bit, looking at clothes in the stores nearby, doing just about anything to think of anything but your break up.
It's already night when you two decide to eat something, there's this restaurant that's kinda hidden so there's not many people eating when you arrive. It's not the first time you eat there, it's a nice and cozy place so you come by when you're needing a little bit of peace.
“Y/N?” You hear a familiar voice calling you, making you turn around to find Lia. She's smiling, there's a man accompanying her. “It's been a while”, she says after telling the man to look for a place for them to sit.
“Hey, yeah it does”, you smile politely. Lia can see the huge eyebags you have and the wide eyes your friend has looking at her.
“Are you alright?” She asks, noticing you barely touched your food.
“Yeah”, you lie, “what about you?” You ask, eyeing the guy who's now looking at his phone while waiting for Lia.
“I'm okay”, she smiles shyly, “it's not easy, you know? But I'm trying to move on, meet new people”
You frown, not really understanding what she's talking about.
“I hope we can still be on friendly terms even though Jisung and I are over”, Lia says, regrets immediately when she sees your eyes widen. He didn't tell you. Shit.
“I didn't know you guys were not together anymore”, Hannah is the one to talk, stealing Lia's attention from your shocked face.
“Yeah, hm, it's been a while actually. I thought he would have already told you everything by now”, she says apologetically. “Well, Han Jisung, let's say that now we are even”, she thinks.
“I should probably go!” Lia points out to the man who's staring impatiently. She waves goodbye to you and walks towards him, afraid she'll tell you something more she's not supposed to.
You find yourself in the dark, seated at the sofa, arms crossed in front of your chest. You can't believe you had to hear from someone other than Jisung about his relationship status. You're mad at him, you were making an effort so things could go back to the way they were so why isn't he acting like he wants that too?
Before, he would tell you everything about his romantic endeavors and even though it hurted, you felt special, knowing every little thing about him. Now, you feel like you know nothing, he's spending less time with you and every time you try doing anything just the two of you, he avoids it like you would jump his bones or something if you stay alone with him for more than two hours.
You may have not gotten over him completely, but you're fine now and for years you could behave yourself, so you're not sure why he's acting like that.
You hear the door being open, Han’s voice comes out in a discussion, he's on the phone. He walks in, putting his phone in his pocket while trying to find his way in the dark. He jumps at the sight of you on the sofa, staring at him with a scowl.
“Jesus christ, y/n”, he says, putting his hand above his heart, “what the hell are you doing there in the dark?”
He turns on the light, turning back at you. You're still staring at him in silence.
“Why didn't you tell me you and Lia are not together anymore?” You stand up, waiting for his answer.
“W-what?” His standing falters and he takes a step back. “How did you know?”
“Clearly I didn't find out from my best friend”, you scoff. “Did you think I would try making a move on you if you are single?”
Jisung frowns, how the hell did you get to that conclusion?
“No, I-”
“I'm sure you already figured Jeongho and I broke up”, you point out, “but you rejected me, I'm over that already”
“I can see why you would think that”, Jisung says carefully, “considering the way I acted when you confessed, but it's not that, I can assure you”
“I'm trying to have a normal relationship with you, you know, but you're just not the same. You don't spend time with me anymore, you don't talk to me about what's on your mind, the only thing I can think is that you're scared of me”
“I'm sorry I made you feel that way, I'm trying to act normally too, it's just-” Jisung cuts himself off, not sure what to say. At the same time he doesn't know what to say to make you stop thinking like that, he's not sure things will get any better if he tells you the truth.
“What's it? Just tell me so I can fix it, please I-”
“I'm in love with you”, he blurts out, hand instantly going to his chest and clenching the place above his heart. “I'm so in love with you it hurts”
You stumble back, almost falling. Did you hear it right?
“I don't think I understand”, you say, frowning, trying to make sense of his words.
“I feel terrible, I rejected you and made you suffer just for me to feel like this now?” He scoffs, “I'm sorry I made you think you are the problem again, but you're not, I am. I'm the one who can't stay close to you because I'm afraid I'll do something that will ruin our friendship”
You get up, trying to function properly after this sudden confession. Never, in your wildest dreams did you think there would come a day when Jisung would actually love you in the way you most desperately once wanted. You fantasized about it for years but you never really thought it would happen for real.
“I can't do this right now”, you say to him, seeing his shoulders slump. The sad look in your face is what he most feared. Jisung didn't expect you to still like him, but it would be a lie to say he didn't have any hope of you telling him he still has a chance.
“I don't expect you to like me back”, he says, voice cracking a bit when he tries to say the words he least want to, “I just don't want you to think I'm avoiding you because of you, it's because of me”
You nod slowly, still not fully recovered from the shock. You walk past him, not saying anything anymore, just entering your room and closing the door silently. This was definitely unexpected.
A/N: If you like what I write please reblog or let me know in the comments, feedback give me motivation to keep writing. Also, you can buy me a coffee.
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@hhwangsmoon @weareapackofstrays @shycreationdreamland @adestayskz @skizmee @ca11me3mily @realviviboss @sofix-hc7 @starsandrqindrops @its-hannjisung @redstayrosie @mae-is-cute98 @blithevix @astro-doll-the-star @vlctorriaa @captainchrisstan @rag-iii @notastraykid @jisunghannie @applepie-macaroon @stayingdelulu @sundayysunshine @kidrauhlschik @wolfennracha @meloncremesoda @hanschimpmunk @realrintaro @teejisung @maexc @gyustarzzi @ivaneedssleep @chaeryred @daemon-bunny @broken-glowsticks @ch4nniebang @sleepyleeji @seukijeuxq @luvbangchan @lovesunshinefelix @hyunjins-dimples @castielsfrillywhiteknickers @armystay89 @literallyjustwanttoread @jisunghannie @jungkookies1002 @diorggukie @channieandhisgoonsquad @mamabymychem @ladylexis @bmnyy
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don’t delete the kisses - college!rafe
summary: Rafe loses all his confidence when it comes to the girl he’s been pining after for years but maybe her plan to be alone with him will help give him the push he needs. Or maybe the guy that flirts with her and doesn’t take no will be his final straw.
warnings: MUTUAL PINING, fluff, self doubt, alcohol, friends to lovers kinda, college au, semi creepy guy, fem reader, she/her
wc: 4.3k
an: HI FRIENDS!!! guess who’s back fr this fine. I started a very new chapter of my life recently & kinda went through a little depression but I’m doing much better now & much more adjusted. I missed writing sm but I’m a little rusty so uh sorry if it's bad LOL
p.s I turned 23 last week. ik my bio already says 23 but I lied & was 22 but now I’m 23. LOL. also I’m not a gemini but I have a gemini moon.
Rafe was confident. Some would say he was a little cocky, but he never saw it that way. He saw it as knowing what he wanted and never stopping until he got it. Whether it be being the best at soccer, taking out the hottest girl, or getting a 4.2 gpa. Rafe’s charming personality always got him far in every aspect in life. Parents loved him, teachers admired him, girls practically threw themselves at him. Of course he had no problem talking to girls, it was almost what he was best at.
Except when it came to her. She made his words get stuck in his throat, all his thoughts leaving his head when his eyes would meet hers. Whenever she was in the room he couldn’t function, something their friends had started to notice. Rafe’s sophomore year y/n started coming around with one of his friend’s Wren. She inevitably integrated with the group. Y/n would go to the frat parties at the boys frat and Rafe couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. Yet never once did he attempt to flirt with her.
Ever since Wren had introduced her to them he was gone. Her shy smile and wide excited eyes had reeled him in. She was sweet and a constant ray of sunshine. Which makes it an even bigger mystery as to why he can’t talk to her. It’s not like she’d be mean or reject him, but somehow he can never get any words out. Always turning into a clammy, awkward, stuttering mess.
Now that it was his senior year attending frat parties became less frequent and going to bars was more common for them. This just made his problem worse. Because now at bars guys would hit on her and he couldn’t do anything. He’d watch with a glare as some guy clearly not good enough for her tried to get her number. She’d always say no, he wasn’t sure why but he was definitely glad she never gave anyone the time of day.
Y/n was sick and tired of never having Rafe’s attention. She’d see him effortlessly talk to Wren and the other girls they were friends with but when it came to her it seemed like he tried to avoid conversation. He would make up an excuse to leave the conversation or would only give short answers. She figured it was to get her to stop talking to him, but she was not giving up that easily.
She wanted his attention because he was just so Rafe. He was smart, athletic, kind, and funny. Maybe he didn’t talk to her but she was always listening to him. When they went on a road trip last summer she sat in the back seat happily in silence because Rafe was talking to Mason almost the whole ride. Plus he is so handsome she swears he could be a disney prince. Y/n had a plan to get to spend some time with him. She wanted him to like her so desperately it was starting to hurt.
It was a Friday night and they were all going out to the bars and she had so graciously offered to host the pregame at her apartment. Everything was going according to plan as her friends all said they’d be there and said what alcohol they were bringing. Even Rafe had sent a text in the group saying he’d be there and that got her stomach fluttering with butterflies. Of course she had the perfect outfit to hopefully impress him and get his attention.
She was setting out shot glasses and solo cups when the first guests knocked on the door. With a giddy smile on her lips she walked over and opened the door. Of course Wren was a part of the group to first arrive.
“Y/n! I’m so happy you’re hosting!” Wren exclaimed as she hugged her. The other three behind Wren took their turn greeting her with a hug as well.
“What you don’t like our place?” Tyler, one of the guys she came with, asked.
Wren gave him a sour look, “Not really into houses with four boys who don’t clean after themselves.”
Kelce gave her an offended look, “Hey we do clean before you guys come over.” They all gathered in the kitchen around the breakfast bar starting to look at the different alcohol options.
“I wouldn’t call wiping down the counters with baby wipes cleaning,” Mariah rolled her eyes at the pair of boys. Just then another knock came from the door.
Kelce who was closest to the door went over to open it. Topper walked in first dapping (an: I cringed too) up Kelce. Behind him followed Mason and Jasmine who all took their turns greeting everyone. Then last but certainly not least Rafe’s tall frame walked through the door way. He smiled brightly as he greeted Kelce and moved on to everyone else. Once he got to y/n who was the last one left his wide smile turned into a closed lip grin. Instead of giving her a side hug the way that all the guys did and the way he did to the other girls he just gave her a small wave. She couldn’t lie and say that it didn’t hurt her but it wasn’t going to deter her from her plan.
Rafe had been a nervous wreck ever since that text she sent inviting them over. Kelce had turned to him knowing his best friend would be looking as pale as a ghost. Rafe didn’t know if he was excited or mortified. The hours before the pregame he had been trying on different outfits and making sure his hair looked okay. Why do I even care so much? is all he kept thinking as he finished spraying on cologne.
He cared so much because he was going to y/n’s. Every time he went in with the mentality that it would be different. He would be his usual self and be able to talk to her. But then when he’d see her all his confidence would disappear and he’d be trying to get away from her as soon as possible. He hated the effect she had on him, he hated feeling so defenseless.
After he chickened out of giving her a hug when he came over he lost complete hope for the rest of the night.
They were going to be leaving for the bar soon and all he had been doing was stealing glances at her every five seconds. She was sitting on her couch with a couple of the girls talking about who knows what. He knows that whatever it was it was making her smile big. She was glowing and radiating so much light he almost couldn’t look away. He loved how she blushed whenever talking about something she was passionate about, something he noticed she did. He also noticed how she constantly touched her hair when she was nervous.
His grip on his cup tightened as he thought about her. He wished he could be the one to brush her hair away or hold her hands when she felt nervous. He sighed and looked away, trying to pay attention to whatever story Topper was telling.
Y/n rolled her eyes playfully while smiling, “It’s a good plan guys! I’ll ask if he can stay behind to help me clean so then we can finally be alone together. God I hope he doesn’t say he’ll leave.”
Wren looked at her friend with sympathetic eyes, “This man has no idea what he’s missing out on.”
“You’re going through all this effort for the biggest player at this school,” Jasmine reminded her.
Y/n shrugged a shy smile on her lips, “But it’s Rafe. We know him, he’s-he’s a good guy.”
“She’s not wrong. He is a good guy,” Wren agreed.
Jasmine laughed, “Well let’s hope he actually tries to pull a move tonight. I’m tired of seeing you reject every guy for him.”
Y/n sighed, “If nothing happens tonight then I’ll give up and it means he really hates me.”
Wren put her hand over hers, “He doesn’t hate you babe. I promise you he doesn’t.”
“Ladies I think it’s tiiiime to head out,” Mason said as he walked over. The buzz he had clearly showing.
The three girls looking at each other before standing up. Y/n cleared her throat, “I-I think I’m gonna stay behind a bit.”
“Dude what? No you’re coming out tonight,” Topper said as they all walked into the kitchen.
“I’m coming out tonight Top. I just wanna stay back and clean a bit,” she gathered all the courage she could, “Uh Rafe could you stay back and help me?”
Rafe turned to look at her with furrowed brows. His kind was racing with reasons as to why she would want him to help. He was also fighting with himself to say no.
He looked over at his friends who were all smirking at him. He huffed a dry laugh, “uh yeah yeah sure.” He gave her a tight lipped smile. As soon as he saw her play with her hair and that smile form on her lips he knew she deserved a million yes’.
After everyone left Rafe and y/n started silently cleaning the kitchen and living room. Rafe glanced up at her every so often, catching her eyes a few times. A subtle heat would creep up on her cheeks when his blue eyes met hers.
She brought over a few beer bottles to the kitchen to recycle as she cleared her throat, “so Rafe how is uh soccer?” She needed something to talk to him about, the silence was killing her.
He looked up at her from where he was wiping the counter. The light buzz he had was making him feel a bit more like himself, “It’s good, season finally starts next week.”
She leaned against the end of the counter, “That’s good. I expect big things from you Rafe, you won the championship last year.”
He chuckled nervously, “Now I really have motivation to do good.”
She smirked, “well you’re like insanely talented so I regardless you’re going to kill it.”
“I will if you come to some games,” The words left his mouth faster than he could stop them. But he was glad he couldn’t stop himself. The blush on her cheeks and the way she looked down fighting a smile made any embarrassment he felt worth it.
“Of course I’ll be there,” She smiled at him, “thanks for helping me clean Rafe. I really didn’t want to come home to a messy apartment.”
“Anything for you,” He shrugged with a small smile.
Her heart was pounding in chest as she spoke, “One more shot before we go?”
He chuckled, “let’s do it.”
She looked around for shot glasses, “Uh I think we used all the shot glasses.” Her suspicions were correct when she opened the dishwasher seeing them in there.
Rafe’s stomach twisted at the idea that popped into his brain. He rubbed his hands on his pants anxiously as he spoke, “I can just pour it in your mouth like a couple of freshman.” He tried to joke hoping he didn’t make her uncomfortable with his suggestion.
Her eyes lit up mischievously feeling like a genius as her plan was going better than expected, “Only if you let me doing it you.”
He nodded laughing, “Fair enough, so what’s your alcohol of choice?”
“hmmm tequila,” She smiled.
He picked a bottle from the counter opening it and looking over at her with a smirk, “Ready?”
She chuckled nervously, “uhhh you first.” He handed her the bottle.
She looked up at him, his tall frame towering over her, “Okay you’re gonna have to lean down or something Rafe you’re too tall.”
He walked around to sit at one of the stools. His knees pointed to her, long legs spread. Without thinking she stepped towards him. Practically standing between his legs, “Get ready Cameron.” She smirked hoping to hide just how dizzy he was making her feel. She’d never been this close to him and it was overwhelming.
He tilted his head back opening his mouth. Her face felt hot as she started pouring the liquid in his mouth. She shouldn’t have been as attracted to it as she was. She pulled away after a few seconds. When Rafe was done drinking he looked at her with a smirk, “That was more than a shot.”
She shrugged feigning innocence, “Oops.”
He let a breathy sigh, a smile still on his lips. He couldn’t find any words to say because when he looked at her for too long he got nervous.
“uh it’s your turn,” He stood up taking the bottle from her hands. It was then he realized how close she was. She smelled so good he wanted to lean into her. He wanted to push her hair back and tuck his face into her neck, kiss her pulse as he breathed in her perfume.
Y/n opened her mouth and tilted her head back a bit. Rafe’s hands moved before he could think. He placed his hand on the side of her face, his thumb going under her chin tilting it up gently. Her mouth opened wider on it’s own accord, something in her wanting to do exactly whatever he wanted. Rafe noticed it too and his jaw clenched as he thought about her in ways that aren’t very gentlemanly.
She couldn’t even taste or feel the alcohol starting to go down her throat as she stared at him. Rafe looked incredibly hot as he stood over her. His lip tucked between his teeth as he concentrated not spilling all over her. The few seconds felt like minutes when he was this close. Rafe pulled the bottle away. As she closed her mouth swallowing the remaining liquid Rafe’s thumb wiped away a drop from the corner of her lip before pulling away. She quickly took a drink from the soda she had opened, trying to get the tequila taste out of her mouth.
He cleared his throat as the tension in the room was palpable, “So uh we should um catch up with everyone?” He said as a question because he didn’t know what to do from here. He wanted to do whatever she did.
Y/n wanted him to bend her over the kitchen counter. But she kept her composure nodding her head, “Uh yeah yeah.”
She stepped away from him instantly missing the closeness as she grabbed her purse. He waited by the door as she walked over. His eyes watched her every move. He held the door open for her as she walked out. He never once looked away as she turned her back to him to lock her door, he enjoyed this view of her. The skirt she had on could barely be considered a skirt, it made his pants suddenly get tighter.
He shifted between his feet as she turned around, a tight lip smile aimed towards her. Of course she returned a toothy grin with a short laugh, he was so cute she couldn’t get enough.
Y/n thought her plan was working, she felt like she was really getting him to open up to her and like her. But whenever she felt like she was getting somewhere his awkwardness would return and that feeling in her gut started blooming. The one that made her doubt herself, what if she had come on too strong back inside and that’s why he was being awkward?
-
Rafe watched her from where he stood by the pool table. She was waiting for the bartender to finish making someone their drink before ordering her second round when some random guy went up to her. From what Rafe could see it seemed like she wasn’t really enjoying the guy’s company.
He gripped his beer bottle in his hands as the guy stepped closer to y/n. She was giving him polite smiles and nods as he went on about who knows what.
The walk to the bar was mostly quiet between the two. A somewhat comfortable silence that was filled with small talk. Even after the moments they had pouring liquor into each other’s mouths they couldn’t be normal around each other. Especially Rafe. Anytime his shoulder would brush against hers he’d step over a little not wanting to make her uncomfortable. When in reality she wanted him to wrap his arm around her because she was cold and because he smelled good. The tequila hadn’t had much of an affect on him anymore so any confidence he had with her was diminished.
“Dude it’s your turn,” Topper nudged him trying to get his attention.
Rafe turned to him trying to act as if he’d been watching him try to get the ball in the pocket. He rolled his eyes, “Eager to lose Top.” Topped chuckled shaking his head not wanting to call out his best friend on his staring problem.
He set his beer down and slightly leaned over the pool table as he aligned the stick with the ball. He still had a clear view of y/n, of course he was still looking up at her every second as he adjusted his position. He pulled the stick back as before pushing it forward between his fingers he looked up and his heart rate picked up.
The guy that has been bothering her had put his hand on his girl. He had put his hand on the small of her back, his body pressing against her side as she uncomfortably shifted away from him. It was clear she didn’t want him near her and he wasn’t getting the hint. What made if even clearer was when y/n’s eyes met his from across the room, a desperate look in her eyes.
Rafe could hear his heartbeat in his ears as he grew more angry. He dropped the stick onto the table not bothering to say anything to Topper or anyone else. He took long strides over to them not wanting her to be in that situation any longer. He bumped into a few people on the way but he didn’t care enough to apologize, his eyes zeroed in on her.
Once he was standing behind her Rafe shoved himself between her and the creep. At first y/n was worried it was another creepy guy but as soon as she smelt the familiar dior cologne she knew it was Rafe. The whole time this guy James was talking to her she had been hoping Rafe could read her mind of her pleading him to help her. She had seen him watching them and for a second she felt a sense of pride as she saw a hint of jealousy in his eyes. She hoped she wasn’t wrong about that.
Then the guy noticed that she wasn’t too into whatever he was talking about and decided to touch her to get her attention. Y/n had been leaning on the bar watching the bartender make her drink not full turned to him to hint that she wasn’t interested. When she felt the hand on her lower back she tried leaning away, him thinking that means he should get closer. Panic filled her eyes as she felt helpless, usually ignoring them or politely turning them down would turn guys away but not this one.
Before he could get even closer is when she smelt that amazing dior cologne. Rafe gave the guy a shove, not too hard to where he’d draw attention. He didn’t want to make y/n more uncomfortable by getting the whole bar’s attention by starting a fight.
“Hands off my girlfriend,” Rafe said his voice laced with venom. She stepped to the side but still behind Rafe to look at the scene in front of her. Her eyes widened at his words, cheeks beginning to feel hot like she just took another shot of tequila.
James scoffed putting his hands up in defense, “Dude she was the one coming on to me.” Y/n scoffed glaring at him in disgust.
She was opening her mouth to say something when Rafe laughed mockingly, “Yeah I doubt she’d give you the time of day even if she was single. Go the fuck away now.”
Rafe turned around to her, barely any space between them. His brows furrowed in concern as he took in her glassy eyes and pink cheeks, “Are you okay?”
He looked even more handsome when he was worried about her. She wasn’t even thinking about the situation she was just in all she could think about was Rafe. Maybe her plan had worked.
She cleared her throat trying to find her voice, “uh yeah. yes. Can we actually go outside?” The room had started to feel too hot and stuffy, or maybe her body was just over heating from their closeness.
He nodded, “Come on, follow me.” He grabbed her hand and led her through the crowd. His much taller and wider frame creating a path for her.
Once outside she felt like she could breathe again until Rafe turned to her again and her eyes met his. He was so beautiful it hurt her to think about how maybe he just said what he said to help her. Maybe it didn’t mean anything. She wished he would just talk to her like he talked to everyone else and flirt with her like he did with every girl or like he did a couple hours ago in her kitchen.
“Y/n are you okay,” He asked her again letting go of her hand not wanting to make her uncomfortable. He immediately regretted it and wanted to reach for her again. Rafe wanted to move her hair out of her face and stroke her cheek.
She gave him her best smile even though he could see a sadness behind her eyes, “I’m fine Rafe, I could have taken that guy. It was just hot in there.” She tried to play off.
“You’re lying,” He said softly, “why do you seem sad? I can go back in there and punch the guy.”
She couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, “I’m not sad about that.”
“Then what is it? I can help.”
She huffed not really wanting to tell him but knowing she had to rip the bandaid off at some point, “Rafe why don’t you like me? Well I think you like me now. But before why was it only me you never talked to or even any ounce of attention to? But then you like step in and save me from a weirdo and act all concerned so I’m just confused.” She felt like a weight lifted off of her shoulders finally getting what’s been bothering her off her chest.
Rafe stood dumbfounded and feeling the world’s biggest dick. He didn’t think that she had noticed how weird he was around her and now he’s finding out she thinks he hates her. He should be punching himself. It takes him a few seconds to find the right words to say.
“Y/n you’ve always had all of my attention. I-I am always looking at you, in the least creepy way possible,” He sighed finally confessing, “Whenever I’m around you I-I can’t be that Rafe everyone expects of me because you make me nervous. You’re perfect. You’re so nice, funny, beautiful, the smartest person I know, and gorgeous. I was afraid I’d do something stupid or mess up and you’d think I was just some dumb jock.”
She stepped closer to him leaving no distance between them. She put her hands on his chest and looked up at him, “Rafe I’ve liked you since I met you. I-I have been dying for you to do something for so long now, please don’t keep me waiting any longer.”
How could Rafe say no? Her big eyes staring up at him with her warm palms on his chest that were now sliding up his shoulders to wrap around his neck. He grabbed her waist firmly bringing her impossibly closer. That nerve racked Rafe was gone as soon as he heard her say she liked him. He felt like himself now, moving with confidence as he walked backwards pressing her against the side of the bar.
At the same time that her back hit the wall he leaned down and connected his lips with her soft plump ones. She let out and soft moan at the feeling she had been craving since she saw him for the first time. Y/n didn’t even care that her back and hair were pressed agains the dirty wall because one of Rafe Cameron’s hands were sliding up her body and wrapping around her throat gently.
He kissed her with fervor trying to make up for lost time. And oh boy was Rafe already planning on just how he was going go make up for it. After a few minutes they pulled away breaths mixing together as they stayed close to each other.
“Wow,” She whispered before a giggle slipped past her lips. She had finally kissed him.
He laughed with her feeling the same giddiness she did. He reached up brushing some strands of her eyes, “I’m sorry I’ve been an idiot. Let me take you home and make it up to you.”
She nodded shyly. Suddenly not knowing how to act around the Rafe she had been praying to see, “Yes please.”
He smirked leaning forward and pressing a kiss below her ear. He nudged his nose against her ear before softly saying, “Please? Well aren’t you a good girl.”
#rafe cameron#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron x reader#rafe fic#rafe cameron au#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron fanfic#rafe cameron outer banks#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron x fem!reader#rafe cameron x female reader
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Little pieces here and there (4)
Pairing: Buggy x Fem!Reader (One Piece Live Action)
Parts: one, two, three, five
Word Count: 4,2K, i should ask for forgiveness
Warnings: flirting, pinning, (FUCKING) FINALLY, unprotected sex, buggy detaching parts of his body during sex like the freak he is
A/N: i've been building this moment so long that i was, once more, inspired by god to make this chapter the longest ever, i hope you all enjoy and that the awaited smut doesn't disappoint and delivers (let me know, anxiety is killing me, love u all, see you in chapter 5, the final (until season 2) of this series) (again i'm really really sorry for any grammatical mistake!)
Day 5 after what happened during the Arlong Park fight, or what is the same for her = 5 AAP, (Y/N) is sure about three things:
1. With the choice of leaving her mercenary life behind, comes her new position as the ''strategist'' of the Straw Hat crew, a group of very unique people that after a couple of stops along the way, would arrive at the Grand Line.
2. Their next destination is Loguetown, which excited her; she loved the city, she never turned down an assignment that involved working there. They would arrive in a couple of days and stock up on everything they would need before beginning the greatest adventure of their lives.
3. Buggy's nose was real. Very real. And she missed him. Just a bit.
To be more precise, that bit of tension and constant sarcasm around her. She knew he was a pain in the ass, and that his staying on the ship wouldn't have lasted much more than an extra day and a half because one of her crewmates -Zoro- would have unceremoniously thrown him overboard anytime.
But it was really fun for her, so from time to time and in particular, when she passes by the helm, she finds herself remembering that annoying talking head and smiling a bit.
And so, after an entire week, they arrive at the famous Loguetown, the tomb of the most famous pirate of all time, a refuge for mercenaries, pirates and bounty hunters from all corners of the East Blue! No matter what, everything your heart could desire -except for the One Piece- you could find there. Jewelry, weapons, food, alcohol, a good bed to sleep and rest in, or other darker, macabre and adult types of entertainment.
Ah, what a city. Anyone could get lost among its endless alleys packed with people. That's why when the crew splits up, they do it in pairs, making sure that Zoro, who they had already discovered, lacked complete and utter sense of direction, wouldn't be left alone and lost among the city's infinite tide of pirates. (Y/N) is the one who goes with him, both heading to the largest armory in the city to replace his destroyed katanas while Sanji and Luffy take care of the food, and Usopp and Nami go around to do… she doesn’t really remember what. Trying clothes she believes.
She must say, however, that this swordsman is not exactly the most talkative person in the world even though their friendship has considerably grown and deepened during their little journey. Apart from sharing small notes about the city, how many people there are, or what they should do, they don't really talk that much; in her case, because she is absorbed in her surroundings, soaking in every possible detail. Him, silent because his reputation as a pirate hunter is famous around all the East Blue, and of course, in Loguetown there are only pirates. He prefers to stay alert to avoid future conflicts and have a peaceful morning. Not for him, but for his crew.
That's why when a gloved hand flies out of a dark alley, and violently covers the girl's mouth and nose, preventing her from screaming, while another grabs her by the waistband of her pants and yanks her back, forcing her to get in said alley, Zoro doesn't even notice, he continues calmly walking, minding his own fucking business, heading to only God knows where.
Farewell, mosshead.
In a blink, (Y/N)'s back collides with a strong torso, and with her heart in her mouth and adrenaline running wild in her veins, she stretches her right hand to reach the knife she has in the holster on her right thigh to destroy the asshole that dares to try to steal from her. Or murder her. Or that's her idea until she hears a familiar voice murmuring an “I got you” behind her, before turning her head and discovering the biggest, reckless buffoon she's ever met.
Buggy.
Eyes wide open, she screams against his palm, pissed off by the way he scared the shit outta her. Extremely angry, she yanks his hand away from her mouth, turns her entire body around and looks at him with what he would swear, is the most annoyed expression he ever saw in his entire life. Before the clown can excuse himself and his lack of manners, just as she begins to see that stupid smile appear on his stupid face, she slaps him so hard that for a second, he thinks his head will detach from the rest of his body.
Then, and pushed by an outburst of passion that comes out of she doesn’t even understand where, a mixture of adrenaline, surprise, her desire to kill him with her own hands and the -sexual- frustration with which he abandoned her the last time, she grabs his vest, pulls and kisses him. Again, all before Buggy can even react.
The kiss is brief. Really quick, but intense as hell, and she manages to leave him breathless. Yes, him. Only him. Because the moment they separate, when (Y/N) pushes him back, she spits out a heartfelt “You're an idiot!”
What a fucking rollercoaster. He doesn't even remember what he was about to say anymore to greet her. He's in fact, too stunned to speak. Did she slapped, kissed, and insulted him in less than a minute? Oh, she's a freak, just like him. The only difference between them is that she knows how to pretend the opposite. But she can't hide it from him. Not to the king of the freaks.
''I missed you too, baby'' he admits with an amused smile, moving his jaw a little from side to side, as well as his neck; that woman is stronger than he expected.
''Yeah? Because I really didn’t.’’ she spits once again, taking a deep breath. ''Liar'' he retorts, eyeing her up and down. ''Liir'' she instantly mocks, still recovering from the tsunami of emotions that just passed through her. ''What the fuck are you doing in Loguetown?''
''I came looking for my sorry excuses for a supporting cast,'' his crew. Were they still alive? Would have sworn Zoro destroyed all of them but who knew. ''and turns out I found the perfect, shiny, little new supporting star for my show'' he adds, as flirtatious as always around her, approaching (Y/N) again.
''Oh, I feel flattered but as I already told you, I don't like being in the spotlight. I relate way more to the shadow around it.”
He rolls his eyes but nods in understanding, reaching out to grab the girl's waist. ''Mhm. What about a private show, then? We have a play to finish, If my memory's not betraying me.'' He whispers honeyed, closing the distance between the two just a bit more. Cannot stop himself, neither he wants to. He knew as soon as he recognized her on the street, he would not let her go without putting order in their outstanding matters.
She’s about to add her usual sarcastic and smartass remark saying something among the lines of ‘without inviting me to dinner first?’ but she chooses not to. Just for once. ''I could agree to that.'' The girl admits, tilting a smile. ''Not here, tho.'' Pressing the clown's chest with her index finger, signaling for him to stay still, (Y/N) runs her tongue over her upper teeth, taking a couple of seconds to think.
In the end, she raises an eyebrow, and with an amused smile, she asks: “Do you trust me?”
''Not in a million years''
''I knew you would say that.'' She still takes one of his hands, that was still on her waist, and starts walking quite fast towards the other end of the alley, pulling him with her. He doesn’t object at all, despite not knowing where the hell is she taking him, and simply follows her lead, unconsciously squeezing her hand to not to lose her in the crowd.
Not many minutes later, after climbing some stairs and turning a few streets, there they are, in front of a beautiful tavern with windows decorated with ornate dark wooden planks, designing patterns of small squares, offering a beautiful view of its interior. The building was not one of the largest in the area, but it was not one of the smallest either. She knew from experience* that the floors above the tavern were rooms rented to the pickiest pirates. They had enough space to rest comfortably after a long voyage at sea, with a good bed and several locks on the doors and windows to prevent intrusions, attempts at robbery or murder, or a drunken idiot making a mistake and entering the wrong room.
*She knows this because a couple of years ago she needed to sneak in during the night to steal a jade seal from a famous pirate captain, who had previously stolen it from the temple it belonged to a few months before. Getting in wasn't easy at all.
Walking to the side of the building, where the windows of the rooms can be seen better, (Y/N) looks right, then left, making sure there’s no one nosing around.
‘’Here we are.’’ She announces, looking at him with a devilish smirk on her face. ''Now pay attention, here's my brilliant, unique and exceptional plan. It will absolutely blow your mind.’’ He cracks a genuine smile after hearing how she praised herself. She sounded almost like him.
“First step: Throw your head up to that window over there,” she points said window with her index finger, two floors above their heads, “and tell me if there’s someone sleeping inside. Or if you see any sign someone rented the room.’’
Confusion is the feeling that crosses his beautiful face for a second, looking at her with a raised eyebrow and lips pressed into a small incredulous smile. She wants to sneak through the window without being seen and not pay a single berry? Exactly what a true pirate would do. He was starting to fall in love with her.
Without a second thought, his head separates from his body and floats to the open window, slightly sneaking in to check as she asked. And as fast as it goes up, it returns back down, just like a yo-yo. ''Clear'' He confirms, amused.
''Perfect, second step: now throw your right hand, same window, and leave it there.'' And he does as she says, no questions asked, because he could not do otherwise. Because he wouldn't want to do otherwise. He was not made to follow orders and still, deep down, he knows he would follow hers. Or better said… he would follow her around. She was, maybe, not a theatre kid like him, but to his eyes, she shines brightly.
Not as much as him, tho.
Once Buggy's right hand waits patiently on the window frame, (Y/N) grabs the clown by the shoulders and strategically positions him under the window. Then she takes his left hand, bringing it forward. "Third step: with this hand you propel me into the air, with the other you grab me and you help me sneak in."
''And the final step?'' Getting very close to his face, the girl rubs her nose against his and whispers, voice low and lustful, ''You float to the window and meet me inside for that private show you mentioned before.'' He already knew the goal of that whole improvised plan, but he almost purrs when he hears her say it.
Then Buggy throws her upwards without prior notice, way stronger than she expected, and a sweet, genuine laugh escapes (Y/N)'s lips at the lack of gravity and that distinctive tickle in her stomach that rises to her throat. Not even when he uses that floating hand to catch her and guide her to the room, her feet on solid ground again, she’s able to stop laughing.
She expected this whole forbidden getaway to be entertaining, but not so, so fun. There was no point in denying the obvious: the complicity, the chemistry between them is criminal, asphyxiating, palpable, and so, so /real/. It's not only about physical attraction and sexual tension anymore, they were actually really compatible, which could only, and is already, making things one hundred times better.
As soon as she's inside, still giggling a bit, she's quick to reach the door and securely close it, fitting the bolt with a pair of lockpicks that she had on her. On the other hand, as soon as Buggy gets inside the room he chooses not to lose a single second, because every second he wastes is one less that he can enjoy that fantastic woman who is driving him crazy; before she can return to the center of the room, he has already recovered his right hand, thrown his hat to the floor along with his coat, and has rushed towards her, kissing her again, this time without a hurry, but voraciously, passionately, with the irresistible yearning he has been suffering for almost two weeks. He wants-- no, he needs to make her his. The desire making his blood boil. Her warmth, her smell, the taste of her lips-- even her laugh. It was too much. Too intoxicating.
(Y/N) welcomes him, sighing deeply against his lips, tilting her head a little, melting in the kiss, her hands flying to his hair to take out the bandana and pull at his blue locks, to which Buggy responds by grabbing her from the back of her thighs, lifting her up and carrying her to the bed, near the window. He lets some of his weight fall onto her, loosely holding himself on his knees on the mattress. She closes her legs around his waist, pressing him even a little closer against her body, excitement coursing through her veins like poison.
All that little game with the clown was just flirting, huh? Yeah, sure.
For a minute, everything is kisses, stealing each other's breaths, strong caresses on arms, legs, and back over clothes. There are bites at each other's lips, seemingly incapable of getting enough of the other, the attraction between them driving them both so absolutely insane than getting some distance to get naked seems impossible.
“Baby,” raspily, he press his crotch between her legs to let her feel his growing erection under his pants. ''I suggest you getting naked before I rip your clothes off by myself.''
She moans in response, wetter, more aroused by every second passing, unable to even think about playing hard to get this time. ''Aye aye captain'' she manages to whisper back mischievously, separating her hands from his body in order to pull her own shirt up and throw it somewhere in the room.
He grunts, but makes the titanic effort to separate himself from her, standing on his knees in front of her laying body, licking his lips, breathing heavily, eyes half-closed, already fucking her in his thoughts. Of course, seeing her undress for him is quite a show.
After her shirt comes the button and zipper of her pants. Although before getting rid of these, she pulls the scarf around the clown's neck, forcing him to lean over her again, and after it goes his vest. Given the girl's haste, he lets escape a hoarse laugh that reverberates inside his chest and decides to help her with whatever’s left between them; shoes, pants, gloves, and underwear.
''You're gorgeous'' he breathes, taking in her image in front of him. “You’re almost making me feel guilty for what I'm about to do.”
Before she could even ask, or threaten with a ‘don't you fucking dare’ or something among those lines, one of Buggy's hands flies to her own, and pins her wrists against the bed with such force, she hisses, heart in her throat, deafening her ears. She remembers herself, this was all too good to be true, and that damn clown promised to make her beg. He wasn't going to forgive her so easily, was he?
Her fault.
''Sweetheart, open your beautiful legs for me, will you?'' Returning to the bed, the clown settles between the girl's thighs, running -with the only hand still attached to his body-, one of her legs, from the knee to the hip bone in a slow and tortuous caress.
''Now, I'm pretty sure I warned you about what's about to happen last time you took advantage of my... uncomfortable, kinda-hostage situation on your stupid little boat. When you decided to push me to my limit.''
She is too aroused, too turned on to think clearly, her mind clouded by the same rush of hormones that’s making her incredibly wet. Having him now naked between her legs, threatening her in that low tone of voice, exposed helplessly in front of him, doesn't help at all; it is, as a matter of fact, making things way worse.
''You wanted me to beg, right?’’
''Exactly. It's that easy.'' After a couple of strokes, he grabs his erection and runs it slowly through her wet folds, both of them barely containing a moan in their throats at the sensation. He, perhaps, better than her, because (Y/N) involuntarily pushes her hips upwards, trying to get some more. ''Ah-ah. Want me to fuck you, sweetheart? Just beg for it. Beg for /me/.''
Being the proud woman she is, it's not exactly easy for her to seriously beg for something. Joking? Of course, any time, even sarcastically, but something is telling her, her sixth sense probably, he won't settle with a sarcastic remark and dove eyes.
Closing her eyes tightly, she lets herself be carried away by pure and absolute desperation every time he runs his erection through her, lubricating himself with her fluids. He is silent, already tasting the sweet victory he’ll feel when he manages to break her and make her beg. Although this doesn't happen as quickly as he would have preferred.
''(Y/N)'' He warns, and it's the first time he says her name out loud. The first time she hears him, with his raspy voice and his beautiful accent, pronouncing her real name instead of some compliment or silly nickname to call her.
Welcome, breaking point.
''Beg--''
''I need you,'' she interrupts him in a low whimper, lifting her hips. ''Bugs-- Buggy, I need you to fuck me. Now.”
Usually, it's moments like this particular one in which the clown enjoys recreating himself, making others beg a little more, -sex, mercy, forgiveness- doesn’t matter-, taking his good time listening to her moans and cries of desperation. But he can't help it, the second he hears the girl call him by his name, telling him how much she needs him, and that silly attempt of an order at the end, he knows it’s game over, and he decides to give her exactly what she wants, penetrating her suddenly the last time he runs slowly through her folds. A sweet moan of relief and pleasure escapes from (Y/N) chest along with a "Fuck, Buggy--". From him, a hoarse grunt. A shiver runs down their spines, and quickly, Buggy recovers his other hand, freeing her from his grip, to aggressively pull both of her thighs to bring her closer to him, and begins to thrust hard, all shreds of self-control escaping from his body lightspeed.
He pushes into her as deep as he can in no time, burying himself between her legs, face hidden in the crook of her neck, hands keeping her legs open, close to his hips.
She doesn't know what she likes more, the erratic sound of his breathing and panting in her ear, the desperation with which his whole body seems to search for hers or each penetration sending an ecstasy shock through her nerves, but she soon becomes a puddle of sweet moans, whimpers and breathing as heavy as his, one hand pulling hard at his blue hair, the other resting on his abdomen, nails digging slightly his skin with each thrust.
''Oh god, Bugs--’’
''Moan my name louder baby,'' he breathes before biting her shoulder, leaving the mark of his teeth imprinted on her skin. ''I want them to catch us. I want them hearing you scream my name.”
And she does. She moans his name again, just not as loud as he wants. Which means there is something, something he can do better. Something to push her to her limit, to make her a believer, and make her /his/.
Summoning all his willpower, and not before one last, violent thrust, the clown stops and suddenly pulls out of her. (Y/N) complains with a loud cry, opening her eyes to ask what the fuck is he actually doing, how dares he to stop. Thank God, she doesn't have time to threaten him before he speaks.
''On your knees.'' And of course she obliges, on all fours, the simple idea making her completely lose her mind. Only thing, Buggy doesn't intend to keep her like this for a long time; as soon as she exposes herself for him again, he buries himself once more inside her as deep as he can and starts thrusting again, slowly but strongly, ending each thrust with a loud slam. This time, both hands separate from his body, one reaching for her delicate neck, which he circles with his fingers and presses to lightly cut off her breathing. The other one flies to her mouth, pushing between her lips with two fingers that she soaks in her saliva.
(Y/N), unable to articulate a single complaint, sucks, bites and licks them, muffling against them every sound that escapes her throat.
A pleasure shock, like a lightning bolt, forces her to arch her back the moment that same hand flies to her clitoris and starts masturbating it, overstimulating her.
Buggy is really determined to make her his, to not let her forget about him, to become the legitimate protagonist of each of her erotic fantasies, so to finish driving her crazy, the hand he has around her neck lifts her up, pulling her until he forces her back against his torso in a beautiful reference to the day they met and the first time he felt that magnetic attraction inevitably pulling him towards her.
''So. Much. Better,” he manages to whisper between grunts and raspy moans, surrounding her abdomen with one of his arms to keep her in place, close to his chest, sacrificing penetrating her as deeply as he would like but without caring in the slightless because he knows, she is quickly reaching her orgasm. He can feel it in the way her walls contract around his cock, in the beating of her heart in her throat against his hand, and in how her hands reach for anything, trying to support herself; in this case, his arm around her, nails scratching his skin.
''C'mon baby, cum for me.'' He groans, refusing to fall headfirst to his own orgasm because he doesn't plan to finish before her. Under other circumstances he would have done it, he has never been the kind of generous lover who thinks of his partner's pleasure before his own. This woman is breaking some old habits and patterns just being the way she is. And he doesn't care at all.
A few more thrust, the lack of enough oxygen in her lungs and that wonderful pressure on her clitoris, and (Y/N) explodes in an orgasm so strong she begins to breathless moan Buggy’s name over and over again like a mantra, which obviously feeds his ego so, so much, it ends up sending him over the same edge, moaning her name under his breath, resting his forehead on her shoulder, hugging her body tightly as they ride their climax.
…
''Told you I would make you beg'' he cracks a devilish smirk, wrapping his right arm around her shoulders when he finally lies on the mattress.
''Yeah'' she giggles, although sarcastically, recovering by the second, enough clarity to recompose her own ego. ''You also told me you would make me find the One Piece without going to the Grand Line and I cannot see it anywhere yet.''
What a subtle way of asking for a second round, he thinks to himself, clearly pleased -instead of offended- for the way his smile stretches even more, looking intently at her.
“You're right.” He would have liked to lie on the bed for a while, getting back some energy and attack again, but damn him if he ever dares to reject a provocation as bold as that one. He wouldn't forgive himself.
Getting out of bed almost as quickly as he lay down a few minutes ago, Buggy cracks his neck from side to side, and taking one of the chairs next to the table in the room, he turns it in the air, leaving it pointing towards the girl.
He then sits down, leaning on the backrest, relaxed, exhaling an erotic, slow sigh as he exaggeratedly separates his legs in a clear invitation for her to come closer and sit on them.
"What did you say the other day? About liking a man with his entire body, capable of fucking you in his lap and making you scream his name?"
#buggy x reader#buggy the clown#buggy one piece#buggy the clown fanfiction#buggy x you#op buggy#one piece live action#one piece x reader#captain buggy
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Master List
Sixteen
Synopsis: in a world where alphas, betas, and omegas live along side modern humans as second class citizens, you've fallen through the cracks of a society that wants to take everything wonderful from you. Luckily a timely encounter with the boys just might save your life.
Chapter summary: getting closer with the pack means you'll have to learn to live with Kim Namjoon.
Warnings: drinking, breaking things, yknow namjoon stuff.
WC: 7.6K
After both your heats, you and Hoseok were nearly inseparable. When you were home, you followed him around like a little puppy, and he absolutely adored it. He appreciated how well you had taken care of his home and everyone in it while he was off his feet. When he told you as much, you assured him that it was your pleasure, and you would gladly do any chores he needed from you.
But your housework wasn't the only thing Hoseok had come to love.
You had become his new favorite cuddle buddy, much to your tiny pack's annoyance. Any time he could get his arms around you, he'd have you settled right against him with a proud smile on his face. And you certainly weren't complaining. You'd never known that omegas' cuddles were the best. Soft and warm and sweet smelling. Being held by Hobi was bliss. You wouldn't admit it to anyone, but you felt a bit of jealousy every time you scented Jin's sweet, nutty smell on Hoseok's skin, knowing that he had gotten to hold your omega all night long.
It wasn't until you came home from work one afternoon a few weeks after your heat and Hobi pulled you onto the couch, insisting you take a nap, that you realized something was different. You could still smell the light fragrance of Hoseok's body wash, so you knew he'd showered a few hours ago. But he smelled like praline pecans. Nutty like Seokjin, and different from Hoseok normal brown sugar. A new blend of the two.
"I'm going to stop working," you said suddenly.
He pulled back so he could look down at your face. "That would be great, but why so sudden?"
You shrugged and nestled back into his chest. "I just want to help you here more. It seems kind of silly to be cleaning for other people when I should be here cleaning with you."
He couldn't argue with that. Yoongi had told him about how you had called their house your home after your last heat, and it made his heart soar. He certainly wasn't going to deny you the domestic bliss he had always wanted to share.
"I like the sound of that," he murmured into your hair. "I would love to keep you here."
You were anxious to tell Yoongi about your decision, but when he got home he looked stressed and dejected. His shoulders hunched in a way you hadn't ever seen before. Seeing him look so weary made your heart ache. You approached him quietly as he took off his shoes in the entryway.
When you took his hand, one look into your sympathetic doe eyes was all it took to bring a genuine, lighthearted smile to his face. Somehow, one look from you and your tiny hands around his large one manifested energy from thin air. He pulled you closer and cradled you against his chest. Silent, except for a soft happy rumble in his chest, he held you like that for several minutes, but you wouldn't move for all the world, content to gently sway in his arms.
"Was it a bad day?" You asked softly. He hummed. "Come sit down, and I'll get you something to eat," you told him as you pulled away, ready to take his hand and guide him down the hall to the kitchen. But he pulled you back, unready to allow so much space between you. He picked you up by the backs of your thighs and hoisted you up, leaving you no choice but to wrap your arms and legs around him.
"In a minute," he mumbled into your neck, where he took deep breaths of your scent, allowing it to fill his lungs and soothe his nerves.
You complied and let him carry you to the couch as if you were no more than a child. Even if he was tired, holding you was nothing, not compared to the benefits.
"What happened?" you pressed gently after a moment.
"Nothing, really." He didn't need to burden you with the DOA he'd had today. Car crashes could cause such carnage, and he didn't need you to think of that. "I asked my supervisor if I could switch to a permanent day shift, but he denied me," he said after a moment of toying with your hair between his fingers.
"Oh. Why did you want to change?"
"I was hoping it would allow me to spend more time with you," he admitted. "I hate that I'm not able to see you. One of us is always working."
"Oh." A smile tugged at your lips and you cleared your throat. "Well, actually, I was thinking…" He lifted your chin gently with his fingers to see your eyes and waited for you to go on. "I want to quit my job. I-if that's okay."
"Really?" He asked excitedly as he pushed you away to look at your face better.
"Yeah, if it's not a problem," you answered quietly.
Yoongi pulled your hips tighter against him. "Of course it's not a problem! I was never going to tell you to quit, but I was always hoping you would. But why now? Did something happen at work?" His expression turned serious in an instant.
You shook your head. "No. Work is fine. I just feel like it's time to help Hobi out. And I can take care of you and Jimin. You're my pack after all."
"We don't expect you to cook and clean for us, princess," he said, tucking your hair behind your ear. Even though he meant it, he felt his heart flutter knowing you might want to.
"But it's my job."
"It isn't. That's not why we want you here. It's not why we're keeping you around. It never will be." His tone was serious. His eyes looked intently into yours. Heat flushed all over your body, and you tried to backtrack.
"I know that, Yoongi. I actually wasn't thinking that way, which is kind of funny because normally I would. This isn't a-take-care-of-alpha-before-he-throws-you-out thing. I just care about you and I think about taking care of you a lot. Want to know if you're eating well and sleeping well."
Yoongi's smile returned, and he pulled you closer, resting his forehead against your cheek. "Good. That makes me more happy than you'll ever know."
"Aish. I'm not really doing it for you," you teased. "I want to stay home and help Hobi."
"Ah, yes, you're new BFF," he teased back. "That's fine. I'm sure he'll be happy."
You nodded. "I'll put my two weeks notice in tomorrow."
"Why bother? Just quit. You're never gonna need another job again." He grasped the back of your head and pulled you into a passionate kiss, leaving you breathless.
"Aren't you gonna eat something?" You asked hazily, a long moment later.
"Yeah," he grinned. "I'll eat you,"
"No!" You screamed amid your giggles as he playfully tried to bite your neck, tickling your sides at the same time. When you were gasping for breath, he scooped you up in his arms again and carried you into the kitchen. He set you down to sit on top of the kitchen counter.
"I'll fix something for you," you told him as he walked toward the refrigerator.
"You stay," he ordered as he looked inside. "Did you cook this?" he asked, showing you a container of the leftovers from the evening's dinner. You nodded. "Then your work here is done," he said before placing the meal in the microwave.
"I heard the sound of a happy pup," Jimin said as he entered the kitchen. You blushed when he stood beside you. He had been sitting in the pack's nest with Namjoon and Jungkook when they heard your screams and laughter. He wasn't the only one curious, but he was the only one who ventured out to see what was going on.
Yoongi beamed. "Y/N has decided to quit her job and stay home."
"Oh, good thing you made that choice before Taehyung started courting you," Jimin responded slyly.
"What do you mean? Court me?" You stared at him in confusion.
Yoongi nodded. "It's true. He asked me for my blessing already. I told him I don't mind. He said he's going to take it slow, not jump into anything. But now you'll have plenty of time to get to know each other." Yoongi wriggled his eyebrows.
Your voice caught in the back of your throat. Too many feelings swirled deep in your stomach, and you couldn't parse them out. "You don't mind?" you finally asked.
Yoongi gave you a soft smile and lifted your face to meet his eyes. "As much as I love our little pack, I've always known it wouldn't always be the three of us. I mean, I hoped. There's no rush, but I think some day it will probably be all eight of us. And that will be great, too."
You tried not to think about that possibility too often. It made your head spin. Seven packmates. Four alphas. You weren't sure you could handle it. "But I only want you to be my alpha. If Jin–" you cut yourself off abruptly.
"If Jin what, princess?"
"If Jin wants to claim me, won't he be my pack alpha? But I only want you to be my pack alpha!"
Yoongi couldn't bear how childlike you sounded. It made his heart hurt to hear you so anxious and confused. He smoothed a hand over your hair and pulled your head to his shoulder.
"It's okay, baby. Jin will never be your pack alpha. I'll always be your number one. You really think I'd let anyone take my place in your heart?" he cooed.
"What are you so worried for?" Jimin chided. "Who's talking about Jin? It's just Taehyung right now. He's a great alpha. You'll see."
You sniffed and pulled away from Yoongi when the microwave beeped. "Why did you say it was good I'm quitting my job because of him?"
Jimin smirked. "Taehyung could never allow his omega to work outside the home."
"Why not?"
"One, it's too dangerous. It would drive his anxiety crazy. Best to keep omegas safe in the den. Two, it would hurt his pride. He makes more than enough money to support you and Hobi all on his own. And three, Taehyung may have the disposition of a golden retriever, but even the sweetest dogs don't like strange dogs looking at their bones." Jimin grinned deviously.
You pushed his shoulder. "I'm not a bone!"
"Oh, yeah? Just wait until he starts gnawing on you!" Jimin picked up your arm and pretended to bite it much like Yoongi had before, and again, you thrilled them both with your shrieks and giggles.
While the days got longer and hotter with more sunlight, it seemed that each workday dragged on slower than they ever had before. You were diligently waiting your two weeks, but by the time you were nearly there, you wished you'd taken Yoongi's advice to just quit. You were aching to be at home every minute you were gone, and that was a feeling you had never known before.
When Yoongi brought you home on your next to last day of work, you walked into something you'd never seen at the house before. It was something of a party atmosphere, and they were all celebrating the end of the school year alongside Namjoon. Jin and Jimin had yet to return home, but Jungkook and Namjoon had beers in hand, chatting cheerfully at the kitchen table while Taehyung put out snacks on the counter. You walked carefully past them to wash your hands before you sidled up beside Hoseok where he was forming beef patties between his delicate hands.
"Hamburgers for dinner?" You asked.
Hoseok smiled down at you and gestured to the side with his head. "You can slice those onions and tomatoes," he told you before you could ask to help.
When the rest of the pack came home, you all accompanied Hobi outside on the patio while he grilled the burgers. Yoongi anxiously held you back from getting too close to the flames, nervous you might hurt yourself. The afternoon was lovely, and you all decided on eating outside to enjoy the spring weather. You spent most of the time clinging to Yoongi, either in his lap or next to him, holding his hand. He didn't mind in the slightest, nor did he mind the jealous looks he received from Taehyung, who tried to make the both of you jealous by fawning over Jimin. All of them were oblivious to the true reason for your clinginess.
Namjoon tended to stand quietly on the fringes of Seokjin's pack. His status was never in question, and he didn't shy away from sharing his thoughts and feelings, but whenever you were all together, he simply allowed others to take center stage. But tonight was different. Tonight was his celebration for another completed school year, and he felt no need to stay to the side and listen to others. For once, he dominated the majority of the conversation, discussing funny memories from the school year and a few complaints he usually tried to swallow. As the night grew longer and he drank more, his voice boomed louder across the large backyard and you pressed yourself closer to Yoongi.
When it got dark and the air turned chilly, everyone moved back into the kitchen. You were exhausted, but decided to help clean up before you tried to excuse yourself to go to bed. Everyone was having a good time, all of them drinking a little even though you didn't, and you didn't want to bring the mood down, but you were growing tired. When you finished washing the dishes you went to stand by Yoongi, who was laughing heartily to the story that Namjoon was telling. You could wait a few more minutes, but you didn't really want to go to bed alone, and you didn't want to miss out, listening to all their laughter from your room while you sat alone. As Namjoon continued his story, he gestured wildly with his hands. The condensation on the beer bottle made it slick, and the brown glass suddenly flew out of his hand, whizzing past your head in a blur. You were hiding under the counter by the time the glass hit the wall, shattering to pieces and dumping its liquid all over the floor. Shards of class popped around the room as you buried your head in your knees and covered yourself with your arms. A scream built in your throat, but you knew better than to let it out.
Don't scream. Don't scream. It'll only be worse if you scream.
The whole room went silent and motionless for two seconds as they registered what happened. Then at once everything was in motion. Yoongi got out of his chair to check if you were alright, but Taehyung was quicker. He didn't take a moment to ask how you were or assess the damage. He simply gathered you into his arms and lifted you off the ground, careful not to bang your head on the granite countertop. He carried you directly up the stairs and to your room, with Yoongi behind him and Jimin bringing up the rear.
In the kitchen, the remaining two alphas stood, frozen in shock, but Hoseok didn't waste any time putting on shoes and grabbing the broom.
"Hobi, let me," Namjoon tried to say, reaching for the broom when he finally came out of his stupor.
The omega pulled away. "I got it. You stay over there until I get this all cleaned up. There's lots of glass."
The flat, subdued tone of his voice hurt Namjoon as much as the way Hobi wouldn't look at him. "It was an accident," he whispered.
"We know that, Joonie," Jungkook assured him with a light smile. "It's not like it's the first time you've broken something around here. It's just…" His eyes drifted toward the stairs.
"I would never throw something at her," Namjoon defended.
"I know, babe, I know. But she doesn't. It's natural for her to be scared. Don't take it too personally. She's just skittish," Jungkook tried to convince him.
Hoseok felt a tug of war within himself. He was usually always the first one to comfort Namjoon when he accidentally broke something or made a mess. But now he really wanted to check on you, to make sure you weren't hurt or scared. He wanted to hold you in his arms, but he knew if he ran off with the others it would hurt Namjoon, and he knew that it wasn't really his fault. Namjoon was just clumsy, some might say cursed. He never meant to cause chaos, but he did anyway. You would get used to it, eventually, but right now the omega could understand perfectly why you were afraid Namjoon might hurt you without even intending to. His head swirled with competing worries as he swept up the glass and dumped it into the trash can.
"Are you hurt?" Yoongi asked as Taehyung set you down at the edge of your nest. He shouldered the younger alpha out of the way to examine you. You were still too stunned to answer, but it didn't really matter; Yoongi was going to look over every available inch of you regardless. He gently tilted your face this way and that to make sure it was unscathed before he moved onto your arms, lifting and twisting each in turn to ensure your skin was unharmed. There was a small cut on your forearm and he frowned. It wasn't even from the incident that had unfolded moments before. It was from work earlier today, and the blood was already dry—you hadn't even felt it at the time.
"Jimin, go get the first aid kit from the bathroom," he instructed, holding your arms carefully.
Feeling Yoongi's steady hands on you helped to ground you and bring you back to your body, out of your shock and panic. You took in a deep breath and breathed out, "I'm okay."
Jimin shuffled back into the room carrying the first aid kit and handed it to Yoongi. The alpha plucked out an alcohol pad and ripped open the packet with his teeth, spitting out the torn piece.
"It's gonna sting," he whispered, but you didn't react as he swiped it over your skin. "It's dry." You looked down to the very minor wound he was tending to.
"That was from work. It's fine," you told him, but he didn't seem to hear you. He had already taken a bandage from the kit—neon pink—and gently but firmly pressed it over your cut. "Yoongi?" He looked up into your eyes and you could see his own were full of worry. He shrugged.
"It makes me feel better."
You cracked a genuine smile and it lifted some of the weight off his chest.
"Are you sure you're okay, sweet little?" Taehyung asked. His hands were still shaking from the course of adrenaline when he thought you were in danger.
You nodded. "I'm okay. I was just scared. I'm not hurt."
"You shouldn't be scared at home," he replied.
"Come sit with me," you said softly, patting the spot next to you. Your heart ached to see how distressed he was over you. Taehyung lowered his head and came to sit near you, not quite in your nest, but just outside of it. When he got close you realized something the rest of them hadn't. They'd been too worried about you to assess their own well-being.
"Tae, you're covered in beer."
He had been standing closest to where the bottle had hit the wall and, as a result, had gotten sprayed with the contents as well as some glass.
"You're bleeding," you added. "Yoongi, your patient is right here."
Your alpha smiled weakly at how brave you were trying to be. He could tell by the way you were still shaking that you weren't as calm as you pretended to be, but he would talk to you about it in a little while when things settled. For now he turned to Taehyung. Without a word, he began to clean the man's wound, and you held his hand while he winced through the burn on the alcohol. You pulled a neon pink bandage from the box beside you and handed it to Yoongi to apply.
"Now we match," you told him, and it brought a bright, boxy smile to Taehyung's face.
"Why are you the one comforting me?" He asked, bumping your shoulder.
"Why don't you go clean up and get changed? Then maybe you can come cuddle me in the nest?" You offered. "If you want to," you added quickly.
Taehyung nodded enthusiastically. "Be right back," he said before scurrying out of the room.
"Yoongi, you need to go downstairs and see if everyone is okay down there," you told him.
He growled softly, mumbling, "They can take care of themselves."
"Alpha," you cooed, reaching out to touch his cheek, "don't be like that." He pouted for a moment, but nodded and gathered the pieces of trash from his work before he took the first aid kit downstairs.
"What about me?" Jimin stood proudly in front of you, fists in his hips, waiting for his instructions.
"You come cuddle me until the others come back." He didn't waste a second, shucking off his pants and shirt. You'd gotten used to the fact that Jimin preferred to sleep only in boxers. Who were you to force clothes on him if he slept better without? After your heat, it had ceased to make you the slightest bit uncomfortable. He quickly climbed onto the bed, wrestling you into the nest and underneath his body, where he could get the upper hand on you and make the last of our distressed scent disappear as quickly as it had come.
When Yoongi reached the bottom of the steps, Namjoon turned anxiously to look at him. He was cleaning the last of the beer off the wall, looking rather like a pup with his tail between his legs. This was hardly a rare scenario for him, cleaning up his own mess no matter how Hobi tried to tell him to leave it. It wasn't the first glass he'd broken nor the first drink spilled. Namjoon was a walking disaster. He knew that. It couldn't be helped, and everyone knew that, too. But normally, everyone would stick around to help and cheer him up and comfort him when he made a silly mistake like this. This time, half his pack had disappeared up the stairs with you, and he couldn't help feeling a bit hurt about it. He regretted it. He always did, but he couldn't take it back, and he just couldn't change. He opened his mouth to explain to Yoongi, but nothing came out.
"Is she hurt?" Hoseok asked from the sink, after Yoongi and Namjoon had stared at each other for several tense seconds. Yoongi's face was a cold mask of stone, revealing nothing but disdain. Namjoon looked utterly crestfallen.
"She's not hurt. Just scared," Yoongi answered, shaking his head when he finally broke eye contact with Joon.
"That's a relief," Namjoon sighed, and his face showed his relief was real.
"Taehyung got cut up a little bit," Yoongi said sharply. It was petty, but he didn't want the younger alpha to feel as if there was no harm done, and he didn't expect Namjoon to care that you'd been shaken up.
"Is it bad?" Jin asked, looking concerned.
Yoongi shook his head again. "I patched him up. Y/N invited him into her nest to make him feel better, I think." He paused for a second, thinking about your behavior. "She sent me down here to see if anyone was hurt."
"We're all fine, Yoongi. Come have a seat," Jungkook replied, pulling out the chair beside him.
"I should go back to her."
"Yoongi." Jin's voice wasn't raised, but it was loud and firm enough to have Yoongi freezing as he turned away. He hugged the first aid kit to his stomach and dropped his chin. "I'm sure Jimin and Tae are taking perfectly good care of her. Come sit for a minute."
Yoongi hated the way it felt like he was in trouble, when he knew he had no reason to be. He hadn't gone and ruined a perfectly nice evening, or spooked his very nervous omega. But he turned and walked slowly to the table to sit anyway.
"You know it was an accident," Jin said calmly.
"I know," Yoongi answered curtly.
"Just let him apologize." Jin's voice was the slightest bit pleading, as if he were desperate to avoid more conflict between his alphas.
"I really am sorry, Yoongi. I would never–"
"You don't need to apologize to me," Yoongi interjected. "I'm not angry. Maybe if she'd been hurt…but I know you can't control your body. You've never been able to. I get that. But she doesn't know. She's terrified you will hurt her, just by accident. And with you accidents are bound to happen."
"I–" Namjoon began, but the other alpha didn't let him finish.
"Do you know how it hurts me to see her afraid? After all the horrors in her life, I only want to keep her from feeling afraid. I don't just want her to be safe. I want her to feel safe. And if she can't then we…If she can't feel safe with you…" The look of pure devastation on Yoongi's features hurt Namjoon more than any other thing could have.
"What can I do, Yoongi? Tell me. I'll make it right," he begged.
Yoongi sighed, desperate to keep himself together. "If you and her are going to live in the same house…if you're going to spend the whole summer together, you have to try to be gentler. Please try."
Namjoon reached across the table to lay his hand over Yoongi's where he clutched the kit still.
"I will try. I promise. I'll be more careful," Namjoon assured him. Yoongi merely nodded silently, unsure if that would be enough to settle all your nerves about the pack's largest alpha. As if he could read Yoongi's mind, Jin cleared his throat.
"I think, maybe, Y/N might feel a little more comfortable with us if she could see that you're comfortable with us," he suggested quietly. Yoongi's eyes flickered to the pack alpha's and then back to his hands.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean," Jin sighed, "you're still holding us at arms length. I get maybe you still want to punish us for what we've done. I don't want to tell you how to feel or to get over it. But how could she ever trust us if she knows you don't?"
"She'll come to her own conclusions,"Yoongi mumbled.
"So you admit that you still don't trust us? You're still angry with me?" Jin sounded frustrated, but Yoongi could hear that really he was just heartbroken. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, knowing that his distance was hurting Jin. He wasn't really angry anymore. He hadn't found the time or energy to be angry. Any spare thought he had went directly to you. Maybe it was unfair, because he knew clearly in this moment that he still carried plenty of love in his heart for Jin and Namjoon.
"I'm not angry," he answered. "I just don't know what you want me to do. I've stayed. I've brought her here—sometimes against my better judgment—I don't know what I'm meant to do to fix things. They just have to heal in their own time." He shrugged.
"But how can they when this is the longest conversation we've had in weeks?"
"I don't know, Jin. It's just not my priority right now!" Yoongi snapped.
"Okay!" Hoseok interjected, coming closer to the men seated at the table for the first time. He'd been hesitant to interfere in the alphas' problems, but he knew both men well enough to see they were on the verge of saying things they didn't mean and would regret later. As soon as he approached, Jungkook's linen scent fluffed through the room, easing away the alphas' tension. "It's all okay. We don't have to solve it all tonight. It's late, and I think we should all just go to bed. Hm?" Hoseok put his hands on Jin's shoulders and gave a squeeze, satisfied when his shoulders relaxed.
"Yeah, fine," Yoongi answered. He stood quickly, scraping the box along the table before he picked it up and moved toward the stairs. He didn't want more conflict. He wasn't trying to prolong their distance. But it was impossible not to want to keep them away when he wanted so badly to be close to you, and to keep you safe.
Yoongi stopped in the bathroom, relieved to hear the giggles of you, Jimin and Taehyung coming through your door. After tucking the first aid kit back into its spot under the sink, he brushed his teeth. Hoseok met his eyes in the bathroom mirror when he stopped outside your door, but neither said a word before the omega slipped into your room to see for himself that you were unharmed. Yoongi remained quiet when he joined the four of you. Jimin had managed to get you into a pair of pajamas and your hair was an adorable disaster from being rolled around in your nest. You'd settled now between Jimin's legs with your back to his bare chest, your attention on Hoseok until Yoongi walked in, but you only spared him a glance. He wondered if even Jimin could tell how hard you were forcing your smile and your happy scent. Had he noticed that your eyes lacked the shine they usually got when the beta scented you silly?
"Come to bed so these kids can get to sleep," Hoseok said to Taehyung while Yoongi changed into his pajamas.
Taehyung whined softly. He'd only just been invited into your nest, and he wasn't ready to leave it already.
"Go on, Tae. Joon needs to know you're not upset with him," Yoongi encouraged quietly.
"Maybe I am," Taehyung mumbled. Hoseok reached for his hand and took it into his lap.
"You know he can't help himself, Tae. Give him a break, okay?"
The alpha grumbled wordlessly, but you nudged him with your foot.
"Go on, Tae Tae. I will be okay. My alpha is here." Taehyung's low rumble turned into a real growl, but you knew it was playful.
"Two alphas are better than one."
"Three are better than two!" Hoseok added. He stood from the edge of the bed and tugged on the youngest alpha's hand to come along. Tae allowed himself to be dragged off the bed, but pulled back to give you one kiss on the top of your head.
"See you tomorrow, sweet little. Sleep tight," he murmured, and then he was gone.
Closing the door, Yoongi turned off the lights before crawling into bed beside you.
"Goodnight," Jimin said, leaning over you to kiss Yoongi, making sure you got properly squished in the process.
"Goodnight," you whispered with a giggle when you received your own kiss.
You said nothing to Yoongi as the two of you cuddled together. Your head laid on his chest, listening to his slow, steady heartbeat as the house slowly went silent. You laid there, but didn't close your eyes, and Yoongi watched you without saying a word. You let the minutes stretch on until you'd been there for almost half an hour.
"How come you aren't sleeping?" you asked softly.
"You aren't sleeping either," he replied. You shifted slightly without moving away and traced his stomach with your fingertips.
"It's hard for me to sleep without your snoring." You felt his chest rise and fall with a huff and looked up to see his gummy smile for just a moment. Then he looked down at you seriously.
"You don't have to pretend for me. You don't have to pretend for anyone, but especially not me." You shifted again, but this time he could tell you were putting space between you.
"I don't know what you mean."
Yoongi grasped your wrist gently before you could move away from him. There wasn't far to go before you would run into Jimin, but he could only bare for you to move as far as it would take for you to look at him eye to eye. He rolled over and scooched down so his gaze was level to yours.
"You don't need to act as if Namjoon didn't scare you. You're still scared now. I don't think I can convince you that you're safe right now, but you are. I'm right here."
Your chest tightened at his words. You whispered, "I know," but it didn't stop your eyes from watering. Yoongi gathered you close, pressing you into his chest.
"I'm so angry."
"It was an–"
"I'm angry with myself. I shouldn't have brought you here." He felt you try to pull away, ready to argue, but he held you tight. "I should have taken you somewhere else. The three of us could have gotten an apartment. Shouldn't have kept you here with such clumsy, stupid alphas." At this point he sounded as though he was talking to himself, mumbling out the thoughts he'd been repeating in his head for the last hour.
"It's okay, Yoongi. I didn't get hurt," you tried to tell him.
"But you got scared, and that's just as bad in my eyes." You managed to pull away from him enough to look up at his face and touch his cheek. "You're still shaking. Do you think I can't feel that? Jimin and Tae scented you, but you didn't feel safe enough to let yourself get all dopey. Do you even realize? I can't stand this, and I hate that you're pretending just so we don't feel bad."
"Yoongi," you frowned and stroked your thumb over his cheekbone. "I'm not pretending because of that. I'm trying to be brave because I want to stay. Namjoon terrifies me, but I like it here. I like living with Hobi and Tae…and you and Jimin here. I'm still scared, but not enough to leave. So let me pretend, okay?" Yoongi sighed, a sign he wasn't accepting this yet. "I may not feel completely safe, but I feel happy. I'm like a stray dog. I may never feel safe, not completely. I might always be a little jumpy. But that doesn't mean I don't love my new home, or that it's not a good home."
Yoongi laughed almost silently and buried his head in your neck. "Don't call yourself a stray dog."
"That's what I am," you replied, combing your fingers through his hair. "I came up to you with big puppy eyes and asked you to stay."
"That's definitely not how it happened," he mumbled. But when he pulled you closer and inhaled your scent, you couldn't help smiling.
"I won't let anything happen to you," he breathed as he relaxed against the nest at last.
"I know," you replied. "So I think we can sleep now."
"Go ahead. I'll watch over you."
Your last shift ended fairly well. The library staff even brought donuts to wish you well. A couple of them who were betas even confessed that they were glad to hear you had settled in with a pack and would be staying home, because they often worried about you. You waited outside the library at your usual spot, pacing and checking your phone as minutes ticked by and terrible thoughts began to creep in.
What if they got into some kind of accident?
What if they dont want you, after all?
Just as you began to spiral into your worst thoughts, a familiar vehicle pulled up abruptly in front of you. Although you'd never ridden inside of it, you could still recognize Namjoon's blue volvo without looking at him, which you only did for the briefest of glances, just to be sure it was really him.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," he said, sounding out of breath as if he'd run instead of driven here.
I wasn't waiting for you, is what you wanted to say, but you merely stood still and stared at him with eyes as wide as saucers.
"Um," he began awkwardly as he got out of the car without killing the engine and walked toward you until he was only a couple yards away. He scratched nervously behind his ear as he tried to start again. "I know you were expecting Taehyung, but he cut his foot on a piece of glass that wasn't cleaned up from last night, and Hobi took him to the emergency room about twenty minutes ago. Didn't they text you?"
You shook your head, remaining silent.
"Yeah…so I was the only other person home so…here I am." He looked anxiously at the car, like he wished you'd just get in and save him the embarrassment of standing here in front of you. "I promise, I'm a good driver. And we don't have to talk or anything, if you don't want to."
You stared at him for a moment longer before your tongue unglued itself from the roof of your mouth.
"Does Yoongi know about this?"
Namjoons throat felt like sandpaper, and he seemed to shrink an inch. He shook his head. "I tried to call him but he didn't answer. He must be busy."
You hadn't moved an inch since he arrived, and he couldn't help wondering if he was really that terrifying.
"I promise, Y/N, I'm not going to hurt you." The idea that you ever thought he would hurt him in a way he couldn't account for. He knew he wouldn't, but the idea that you couldn't believe that cut him deep. What would he do if you never learned to trust him? If you never let him close to you? It wasn't something he ever gave himself permission to want, so why did not having it wound him so? He shook his head clear of the questions. "You can sit in the back and pretend I'm just the chauffeur."
You lifted your chin in his direction and narrowed your eyes. "I think I'll just take the bus."
Namjoons eyebrows raised. You can't possibly think he's that scary, could you? But instead he used what he knew was the only way to convince you.
"Do you really think Yoongi would approve of that?"
Your jaw tightened. You knew he was right. Looking down at your phone, you hoped for a notification from Yoongi, but there was one from Hoseok instead. You swallowed thickly when you read it.
Sorry, pup! There was an emergency. Namjoon should be there to pick you up. I promise it will be okay.
"How do you know you'll take me home and not somewhere else?" You finally asked. Namjoon's eyes grew wide and he actually took a step back. He rubbed his hand over his hair as he tried to process your question.
"What makes you think I would do something like that? What did Yoongi say to you?" Your brow furrowed at the strange question.
"Yoongi didn't have to say anything for me to know you don't want me around," you answered, an edge of bitterness lacing your words. Namjoon nearly choked.
"Y/n, that isn't true."
"If it isn't then why didn't you ever tell yoongi where I was when you knew I worked here? You and Jin didn't want him to know. You don't want me in your pack. I get it. It's fine. But you should know that Yoongi does want me, and if I don't come home there's no telling what he'll do." You were surprised by the firmness of your own voice as well as how sure you felt of your own words. Yoongi did want you, and you knew that was as fierce an attachment for him as it was for you.
Namjoon took several full breaths before he responded. "Y/N, I promise you, all I'm trying to do right now is take you home. I won't lie to you. I didn't want you to become a part of our pack at first but things have…changed. You're a part of our lives now either way. And I wouldn't risk losing Yoongi over you. I never would. So please. Just come home with me," he begged. While the two of you maintained eye contact—for longer than you had ever done before—he fought the instinct to grab you and put you in the car if you continued to protest, but he knew that would only hurt his cause. Just when he was about to lose this staring contest to you, your phone began to ring with Yoongi's ringtone.
"Hello?" You answered, only dropping your gaze from the alpha in front of you for a moment.
"Princess, are you okay?" He asked, sounding out of breath from the way his heart was pounding.
"I think so," you mumbled.
"I got a message from Joon that he was going to pick you up." You narrowed your eyes on the man in question.
"Yeah, he's here." Yoongi sighed in relief. "What should I do? I can take the bus."
"No, princess. Just go home with him, okay? I promise everything will be fine."
"I'm scared," you said so softly that Namjoon couldn't hear it.
"I know, and I'm sorry, but you don't need to be. You'll be safe with him, and I'll feel better if you go with him than on your own. I've got your location on. If anything happens to you I'll be there as soon as possible. But you're going to be okay. Trust me?" It was that simple, really. If Yoongi was asking you to trust him, then you would. As long as Yoongi promised you'd be safe, you'd make yourself believe him. He wouldn't let you down.
"Fine."
"Good girl. I'll be home in a few hours and I'll give you a reward for being so brave." Your cheeks heated at his words, but you couldn't deny loving it when Yoongi sometimes treated you like a child. No one had ever treated you with such gentle care before, and it felt like real love.
"I'll be waiting." You hung up and looked at Namjoon again. He looked back expectantly. "Yoongi said to go home with you. So I guess that's that."
You walked around the vehicle to sit in the back passenger seat, as far from him as possible. Namjoon didn't say a word as you got inside his car and buckled yourself in. As he pulled away from the library, you kept your eyes out the window even though you could feel his gaze on you through the rear view mirror. He chewed nervously on his lip as he glanced back and forth between the road and the mirror, but he kept silent until he was on the main road between the library and the house.
"We should try to be civil, at least," he said at last, speaking as if you'd been privy to the conversation in his head instead of coming into the middle. You didn't respond, so he went on. "We're going to be home together a lot this summer, and it would be easier on everyone if we tried to ease the tension." He finished softly, perhaps knowing he sounded ridiculous to you.
"I'll do my best to keep out from under foot, if you try not to throw anything at me again."
Namjoon deflated with a sigh. "I swear it was an accident."
"That's why I said try."
"I'm just clumsy. I never meant to hurt you."
"Do you honestly think I haven't heard every excuse in the book?" You rolled your eyes. "It just slipped. You ran into my fist. You really should be more careful where you're going."
"Y/N," Namjoon interrupted, trying hard not to become distressed as he drove, but honestly, your words were tearing him apart. Did you really have no idea the effect you had on him? "I'm sorry. I realize I haven't apologized to you directly for last night. I'm sorry for being so careless. I really will try to be more cautious. But I'm also sorry that other people have given you reasons not to trust them, or alphas, or me." He pulled to a stop at a red light and turned in his seat to look at you. "I get that you have no reason to trust me, and that I have to work for it. That's okay. I don't mind. But can you give me the benefit of the doubt and trust that Yoongi wouldn't have me in his life at all if you couldn't trust me?"
At last, you turned your head to look at him. "Why does everyone always pull the Yoongi card on me?"
"Because it always works," he smirked.
"Fuck," you muttered, because he was right. For whatever reason, you trusted Yoongi implicitly. And Namjoon had a point. Your alpha wouldn't have a dangerous person in his life, let alone trust them to be around you. So you merely nodded to his request, and the man turned forward just in time to see the light turn green before he drove you the rest of the way home.
A/n: I don't feel like this has been my best chapter, but I would love to hear your thoughts on it! Thanks for reading!
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#bts fanfic#bts abo#bts omegaverse#bts poly ot7#bts ot7 x reader#bts yoongi#bts hoseok#bts jin#bts taehyung#bts jungkook#bts jimin#bts namjoon#bts a/b/o#bts angst#bts fluff#bts au#bts x reader#bts fic#bts fan fiction#bts series#bts poly au#bts alphas#bts#lone wolf
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heart, body, soul
cowboy like me chapter thirteen
surprise! happy friday eve. here's some cowboy to get you through it.
life has been a little tough on me lately. sorry for the terribly long wait. but the end is in sight, dear readers. tighten the stampede string on your hats. we're coming in to land.
pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader
summary: you and joel are at an impasse. you resolve it the only way you know how
warnings: age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing, alcohol consumption, mention of dr*g use, titty appreciation, face sitting, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, major fluff, major angst
word count: 14.4k (y’all ask. mother macfrog delivers)
series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🧡
You sigh. “I don’t want you…with…anyone else. I want you to…only want me.”
His brows straighten. You sit in silence, staring at one another. Both daring the other to be the first to talk. But it’s his turn, and he knows it. So he swallows, and says –
“I don’t want nobody else.”
And that’s a thing. A great big, terrible thing.
It’s been a week since you last saw Joel. Blurred, tilting, pulling to-and-fro across your vision. A week since you last heard him; his low voice like the hum of an electric wire, tired acoustics drumming weakly through his chest into your heavy hand, laced through his own. Fingers draped softly across his swollen knuckles. You wonder if they’re still marked seven days later.
A week since you felt him. Felt your body lean towards him – gravity or dizziness or something stronger – as his weight dipped into the bed beside you. The way it has only a handful of times now, but enough to score it deep into your memory. Enough that you know the difference between him and anyone else, even with your eyes closed and your heart bleeding.
Enough to ensure that, for as long as you live, you’ll know and see each difference between him and every other person you ever meet. They won’t lower their head the way he does, or lift the corners of their mouth like him. Your name won’t sound the same, won’t sound as complete, coming from someone else’s mouth. Your body won’t magnetize to anyone, the way it does to him.
And that’s fine. The separation. The fact that he was a fleeting moment. The fact that it was over before you felt it leave, before you heard the door close behind it. It’s fucking fine.
Still, you let it hurt a while. Just a little while.
The gash on your calf has healed up, your hangover had subsided by Saturday evening. But your chest still feels tight, your hands are still restless. You lie awake staring at the ceiling, surrounded by the clothes you have of his; breathing in the ghost of his scent and breathing out pathetic, aching sighs. He’s all you smell, all you touch.
Except – he’s not anymore, is he? He saw to that well enough.
So you let it hurt. And you think you can just about make do with that.
“Hey, hon,” you dad gently calls, hanging on your doorframe. Your room is dark, drapes closed, the only light source the white light from your laptop.
“Hi,” you reply, with a break in your voice. Your eyes don’t lift from the screen. Jim just told Pam he’s in love with her, but she’s engaged to Roy. But she really loves Jim, she just won’t admit it. It’s cathartic, okay?
Dad steps into the room and awkwardly stuffs his hands into his jean pockets. “Awfully, uh…awfully quiet lately, hm? Everything okay?”
“Fine. Everything’s fine.”
It’s not a lie. You are fine. You’re so fine, you’re actually numb to it.
The problem is that for the last few weeks, you’ve been more than fine. The best you’ve felt in months – maybe even years. The most you’ve smiled, the hardest you’ve laughed. The warmest the blood has ever run through your veins.
And then you’re just – fine again. Back to nothing.
He shuffles between feet. Stares at the floor, where his shadow sprouts from his toes. “I was gonna head into town, grab a few things. You wanna come? Sit in the car with a book, maybe?”
“I’m good, Dad. Thanks.”
“Sure? Whatcha watchin’?”
“The Office.”
He nods. “Right, right. I, uh, I was thinkin’ of askin’ Joel and Sarah over for dinner tonight. You always have fun when they’re around. You and Sarah could spend some time together, y’know?”
Your heart nosedives straight from your chest into your stomach. The thought of seeing him again, this time crystal clear and not while under the influence of alcohol, drugs, or worse, sinks its sharp claws into your shoulders and sinks you deep underwater. His voice gets lost somewhere in the space between you. And when you finally come back up for air, back into the room, you gulp back whatever string of senseless words your empty chest initially offered up.
“Hm…” You pretend to consider the thought, then head straight for passive. “Whatever. Sure.”
Your dad’s mouth opens to respond, and you cut in again.
“I’m kinda tired,” you say, yawning. Trying to make him leave.
He’s not great at taking hints. “Kiddo, I am really worried about you. Weren’t you s’posed to be working this mornin’?”
“You ain’t gotta worry about me. I’m just a little tired, is all. Wasn’t feeling up to restocking tools and dealing hardwood to your buddies.”
It’s only the second truth you’ve told him since he set foot in your room. You never feel much like work, not Sal’s-fucking-Hardware-kinda work, anyway. But the thought of standing for seven hours with a bared-teeth grin plastered on your face, hands blistering from tearing open box after box of stock, shoulder slowly coming up in a bruise from the number of customers tapping on it…you figured Sal could do without you for one fucking day.
“You wanna look some more at other jobs?” Dad asks, and finally you look up. The blurry, luminous silhouette of Jim and Pam is strung in the dim air before him.
You shake your head. “Not right now. I have some bookmarked I can show you later.”
He takes a deep breath, unsure of which angle to come at you from next. Finally, with an air of resignation and defeat, he settles for, “You know where I am if you need me,” and closes your door as he leaves.
You’re staring intensely at the face of every character onscreen. The pixels burn into your eyes. You’re trying harder than anything to get him out of your head. It’s not working.
His hand through yours, his arms around you – warm, safe, protective; the way he smelled, sweet like whiskey, sharp like pine; the way he’d mumble, lips against your head, sweet nothings pressed into your hair; the feeling of his lips on yours, hungry for something only you knew how to give him. The look in his eyes, tender, knowing, loving.
And because he was the only other person fluent in your little secret language – a look, a nod, a tug at the corners of his mouth. His eyes settling on yours only for a nanosecond, one tiny moment in time laced with a thousand words that you translated as quickly as his glance moved across you. It all meant something. It all meant so fucking much.
All of it. You feel all of it as it sinks through your skin, through bone and into your brain. As it curls around your ribcage, holds tight around your heart. Every thought and feeling that flutters through on full display for him to read. And you’d let him, because it’s him. You trusted him. You – you might’ve even –
I mean, what the fuck, right? When the fuck did this happen?
Joel Miller. Joel fucking Miller.
Is this what you thought would happen that very first time you looked at him differently? Tidying up after pizza, leaning into you, telling you you’re nothin’ but trouble? Did he know then, that this was where you were headed?
Did you?
Your phone buzzes. You glance down at it through your tears.
Sarah: wtf is going on ???
You craft a reply as nonchalant as you can manage. Three little letters.
You: Wym?
Sarah: are u good??
You: Yeah lol. Why wouldn’t I be good
Sarah: idfk. weird. my dad’s on the phone to yours rn
That’s great. That’s just fucking great. He’s probably telling Joel right this second how miserable you are. That’s all you need.
You want to hold onto your pride, keep an air of casualness about you impermeable to even Sarah – but you desperately want to know what’s being said. What she’s listening to him say.
You: Yeah? What are they talking about?
Sarah: well now it’s just some andrew guy
Sarah: sounds like a loser
Sarah: we’re coming over for dinner tonight btw
You: Nice. See ya then
Sarah: u wanna come over here before? we can watch love island
You: I’m good. Gonna go for a nap
Sarah: you can nap here. come over!!!
You bury the phone under your pillow without replying. Sarah is like Joel in many ways, but her persistent nature is one avenue in which they drastically differ. Joel would – and has – give you space, let you mope; Sarah will probably text you all afternoon until she’s on your doorstep, takeout in one hand and a telling in the other.
So you drag your phone back out and put it on Do Not Disturb mode. She’s already sent two more texts since her last.
Sarah: seriously. would you come the fuck over. im only on episode 5 i gotta catch up
Sarah: even my dad is worried about you
Yeah. Good one, Joel. Fuckin’ asshole.
----------
They arrive at six on the dot, armed with pizza and a crate of beer. The doorbell rings once, you lean over a degree to glance down the hallway, and Sarah’s stepping over the threshold, her shadow of a father at her heels.
He’s rugged. Hair amok. He kinda looks a mess, sorta looks how you want him to after almost two weeks of no you. But he’s here. He’s right in front of you. And this time, the shape of him isn’t swimming across your glassy eyes.
Your heart swells with relief to see him again, only until it twinges from the wound that he caused, and it hurts all over again. You turn back in your stool to face the kitchen island, making some noncommittal noise when Sarah’s hand presses between your shoulder blades in greeting.
“Tyrique and Ella are kinda cute, but I don’t trust him. Dude’s gonna fuck her over for sure,” she mutters, shoving the box over the counter towards your dad, who accepts the beer from Joel with a pat on his arm.
He’s standing across the kitchen – Joel – as far as he can get from you. You’re sure his eyes haven’t lifted from the floor yet. But you scan him all over, from the loose collar of his shirt down to the cuffs, rolled halfway up his forearms; from the rough hair of his beard down to the soft tufts decorating the skin just below his clavicle.
You scan him all over. The body you know just as well with the flannel and jeans over it as you do without them. The body you’ve squeezed, and scratched, and bit and kissed – and the same one you’ve thrown curses and insults at as it follows you through his house.
If he looked you dead in the eye right now, you’re not sure you could look away. You’re not sure you could stop.
That is, until Sarah presses a chilled beer to your arm, startling you, and silently nods towards the dining table.
She sits on your right, opposite your dad’s seat. She resumes chittering about Love Island. Joel and your dad are still in the kitchen, stacking plates, cracking the caps off their drinks. And then he pushes off the counter, and slowly wanders over.
You watch his every move. Study him, like you’re about to be tested on it. Which foot he steps forward with – always his left – and which chair he’ll pick once he’s at the table – the one opposite you, ‘cause it faces the TV for when he and your dad watch baseball while eating.
Two for two.
He lifts the chair, pulls it back, and angles it to face Sarah’s. He places his beer gently on the mat. When he sits, he doesn’t pull in any closer. Doesn’t risk your legs crossing paths under the table. You pull your knees up, let your shins rest against the wooden ledge. Your dad takes Joel up in conversation.
“So, this Andrew. He’s the brains of the operation?”
The pizza is slowly pulled apart over the course of an excruciating hour-long meal. Sarah puts the next episode of Love Island on while you eat, points out her favorite couples and nudges you to ask your opinion on the girls’ outfits.
“Wouldn’t have gone with those heels,” she mutters, chewing, pointing with her pizza crust to some six-inch ankle-breakers.
You lean past her shoulder every now and then to pretend you’re as engaged as she is. Pretend you’re listening. Your left ear is tuned into the conversation happening across the table.
Your dad thinks Andrew Curtis is fucking hilarious. Hoots with laughter when Joel tells him about his untucked button up. Says, Oh, jeepers, when he hears about the way the guy tripped jumping down from his truck.
The storyteller doesn’t sound so lively opposite. Your dad’s slapping his thigh with laughter. Joel’s shoulders are jerking at best. You dare a glance at him, and he’s already facing your direction. He turns away before your eye reaches his chest.
Soon, the episode ends. The atmosphere dies arm in arm with your dad’s attempt at another conversation. There’s a thick silence between the four of you. You haven’t opened your mouth the entire meal, but even if you did, the tension would clamp its heavy hand over your lips, blocking any words from making their way out of your windpipe.
Sarah clears her throat, manages a tentative, “I –” and then the phone rings, piercing through the awkward mist like a bolt of lightning.
Your dad pushes himself up and trots over, grabbing the handset a little too hastily. “Hello? Oh, hi, Rita. Hi. Yeah. Yep, Joel’s – Sarah? She’s here, yep.”
Sarah’s head drops, hand gripping her glass frozen in mid-air. “Fuck,” she whispers, and Joel shoots her a look across the table.
“She’s – oh, yeah? Well, let me ask ‘er.” Your dad covers the bottom of the handset with a huge palm. “Rita has some…cross –”
“Cross stitch, yeah, I know,” Sarah says, and thuds her glass down. “I said I’d help her out with it. I bet she’s seen your damn truck across the street!” She jabs a furious finger at her dad.
Joel shrugs. “Ain’t my fault the woman has eyes.”
Your body jerks as if to laugh. You don’t catch it in time. He notices.
“She’s on her way over, Rita,” your dad continues, nervously smiling at Sarah as she pulls her jacket over her shoulder. “She’s – oh, sure, I’ll let her know. Alright, now. Bye, Rita, bye. You’ve to bring your glasses. ‘pparently the pattern’s pretty small. You even wear glasses?”
She huffs in response. “I’m gonna be there all damn night. I’ll just get you at home.”
Joel opens his mouth to protest, goes to warn her that she ain’t walkin’ home alone in the damn dark, but your dad holds his hand out.
“We’ll give you a ride home. You come back here once you’re done.”
She nods gratefully and struts off down the hallway. The door slams shut behind her.
Your dad lightly chuckles, sauntering back over to his seat. “And then there were three…” he says, sitting back down.
But the loss of Sarah only cranes the spotlight over to you. Only you. No one else to split it with. No one else to lend it to. You can feel your dad’s eyes on you, waiting for you to make a move, some song and dance for your company.
He lifts his beer to his lips. Nods to you. Makes a song and dance of his fucking own, when he says, “Guess who’s been lookin’ at grad jobs?”
Joel stares at him for a second, like he’s waiting for your dad to reveal who it is he means. Like it can’t possibly be the only she in the room. His thumbs tap around his own bottle. “Oh – yeah?” he stammers, and throws a haphazard glance in your direction. He seems to mean to address you.
You sit forward, choke out a, “Yeah, uh – it’s – well. Kinda.”
“Film?” he asks, and you hear the rest of the question in the tone of his voice. Somethin’ you like, ‘n not just your dad’s suggestion?
You nod, but he’s not looking. He’s studying the label of his beer.
“Film,” your dad confirms. “Shut me the hell up, didn’t she? Came downstairs with her laptop the other night. Where is it, kiddo – New York?”
Your breath catches. The answer cowers at the back of your mouth, terrified to show itself. You force it forward.
“LA.”
Joel’s eyebrows lift.
“I said she might be better goin’ back to school. Reapply for next year, right?” Dad looks to you, and your lips pull in an awkward smile. “…but she didn’t wanna wait around. Told you the other day – this place is like prison.”
He chuckles, but Joel isn’t laughing. He’s staring at his beer, his brows slowly lowering from arched and curious to dark and furrowed. And you want to reach for his hand, want to shoo your dad off and spill your guts to his best friend. Want to explain yourself, show him the webpages and application forms you’ve spent the last few days surfing through – want to justify yourself to him.
But so long as your father is sat here, bumbling to himself about the prices of college courses these days – none of that happens. You simply sit in a stalemate opposite one another – a million thoughts racing through your head, a million and one racing through Joel’s.
“…might change her mind, but who knows? She’s skittish, this one, she –”
Another bleating ringtone cuts what you’re sure would’ve been an endearing compliment short. You say a silent prayer of gratitude for whoever’s at the other end of the line. Your dad sighs and heaves himself up again, swiping the phone from the kitchen counter.
“Hello? Hi, hi, Richard. No, I’m not – well, it’s – sure, sure. What’s –?”
His head falls in much the same way Sarah’s did ten minutes ago. He sighs.
“Right. No, that’s quite alright. I can be there in ten. Yep. Alright. See you in a – hello?”
He drops the phone back into its cradle and runs a hand down the back of his neck, growling.
“Kelman?” Joel asks, jaw turning to his shoulder.
“You bet. Misplaced the damn keys for his site. You two alright if I head on over there ‘n lock up for ‘im?”
“He familiar with Andrew Curtis at all?” Joel quips, and then waves your dad off. “Go on. I’ll be outta your hair by the time you get back.”
In a frenzied blur, your dad’s tying his laces, grabbing his keys, tossing a jacket over his shoulders. He apologizes a total of four times to Joel, thanks him for dinner, promises he’ll pay him back next time he sees him. And then he’s jogging off to the front door, and taking every ounce of comfortability with him.
And then there were two.
You slouch back in your chair, listening through the silence as your dad’s car engine fades down the street. When the quiet humming disappears, Joel’s head turns back to face you.
You’re alone again. For the first time in a week. This is the closest you’ve felt him, even separated by the dining table and a fog of conversation that you have no idea how to begin clearing. There’s more weight to the silence between you than words could ever bear, you know that much. More to be communicated between your eyes than your tongues know the language of. But still, you can see him through it.
Like a lighthouse, shining bright and beckoning you to the shoreline. You can feel him again, as if there’s an electric pulse radiating off of him. And you feel drawn in, like you always do; feel that magnetic pull in your chest, only ever satiated by the meeting of Joel’s.
You shift in your seat. His eyes flit up. Your heart jumps, like it’s a sign he’s really still in there. And then they drop back to his lap, and your chest sews itself back together.
Your eyes start to burn with fast-forming tears. Your throat tightens, tightens, tightens, pushing them higher and higher until they pool across your waterline. Blinking doesn’t help, just drops them onto your cheeks, to be quickly swept away by the sleeve of your hoodie.
All you want is for him to look you in the eye, whisper, C’mere, baby, scoop you up and hold you in his arms forever. Fuck everything you said about the distance being good. That was when he was in his house, and you were in yours. He’s here, right now. He’s sat across from you. You’re finally on your own again. And he’s not fucking looking at you.
You let your legs down and sit up straight in your chair. It’s small, but it feels like a necessary step to silently tell him that you’re in the room with him. You’re here.
It lifts his eyes again. Not to you, but to your empty plate. Then, to the wet stain on your sleeve. You hope it stabs his heart a little.
From the shaky breath he sucks in, it seems to hurt just enough. He clears his throat. Pulls his gaze higher, higher, a little higher, until you’re eye to eye.
A wave of feeling, either burning hot or freezing cold – you can’t tell the difference – stretches across your body. It’s unnerving, and yet calming. It’s soothing on your wound, and irritating all the same. He’s looking at you. You wonder if he can see you.
You stare at one another for a few moments, drinking it all in. You can see him clear as day. You can almost see the shadows of his thoughts as they dance across the frosted-glass windows of his hazel eyes.
He blinks. Breathes in deep through his nose. And then speaks.
“LA, huh?”
You scoff. You don’t fucking mean to, but it’s the opposite of what you expected – and kind of wanted – him to say. Your whole body relaxes, though – finally relieved of the tension of the last seven days, even if only for a moment.
You feel lighter, like someone kicked the door down and this is the first gulp of clean air in your lungs. It’s small, insignificant even, but it does what it needs to.
Which is – it gives you the energy to answer back.
“It’s not a concrete plan. Yet.”
“Yet,” he repeats.
“I’m not running from you, if that’s what you’re thinking. Get your head out of your ass.”
He wants to laugh. He should’ve expected it.
“I didn’t say anythin’. I think…I think it sounds like a good plan. ‘n you’d be close by to Sarah, so.”
This conversation feels like you’ve been left alone for ten minutes with your dad’s buddy. Sanitized. Surgical. Which would’ve been what it was little over a month ago, but it’s not now. Now, it’s totally different. There’s more than just that one neat string between you.
You’ve held his hand. You’ve kissed him. You’ve touched him, in ways you’ve only ever touched a handful of people. And even then – none of those times have been anything like the way you’ve touched Joel. You’ve tasted him, you’ve felt him as he climaxes somewhere deep inside you. You’ve pulled him into your body, over and over; you’ve let him have you in ways nobody else has.
There exists a complicated, messy web of history and emotion, woven tight between you. The weight of it bears down on the surface of the dining table.
And he’s talking to you about fucking grad jobs.
“Could you just – stop fucking with me?” you ask, sincerely. You’re not angry, you’re not hurt. Not anymore.
Joel lifts his chin. Studies your face. “I’m not fucking with you.”
“Yes, you are. You’re talking to me about some job, like there’s nothing else to talk about. Like there ain’t nothin’ else we might have to discuss.”
His response is resigned. Bored, even. “What else do you wanna discuss?”
You narrow your eyes. “Oh, um, I don’t fucking know. Last week?”
Joel takes a swig of beer. You take it as reply enough.
“I don’t have any clue where you’re at, Joel. You pick me up from Frank’s, beat a dude up for me, put me to bed, ‘n then when I wake up, you’re gone. Oh, but you left your fuckin’ shirt. By accident? Or for me? Who the fuck am I to know?”
He holds back a smile. “I had work.”
“Right,” you nod, “Andrew Curtis.”
“That guy’s an idiot. You’d probably like ‘im.”
“I bet. I’m fond of idiots, apparently.”
This time, he can’t hold it back. A smirk spreads across his lips, soft and shy, but there. Right there. You could reach out and fucking touch it.
And then he nods. Leans back in his chair, folds his arms, and nods. The smile begins to fade.
With it, goes the breathing space between you. The fog starts to thicken again. The web tightens some more. Your chest begins to ache. Things feel normal for all of two minutes, and then they’re back to awkward air so heavy that you can feel it on your shoulders, feel it forcing you into a slump in your chair.
This whole thing is built on lies. Lies on top of lies on top of lies. The only truth there has ever been has been between the two of you. Two lonely figures, wrapped in each other’s arms in the eye of a storm. So –
Fuck it.
You sniff. “I thought – that the most we were risking was my dad. I thought the worst that could happen was him findin’ out.”
Your voice is quiet. Unsure of itself. One word carrying you to the next, not totally sure where you’re going with it.
“I didn’t know I was risking losing you, too, and now…now, you’re just gone. Like, you don’t wanna talk to me, you barely wanna look at me. I don’t…I don’t have you anymore, and it’s all fucked up. Do you know, I – I wouldn’ta done any of it if I thought you’d go?”
Joel flinches. Tightens the hold on his arms.
“I want you to come back,” you say, stronger this time. Louder. Clearer. You’re ignoring the tears sweeping across your vision. “Just come back. You don’t even – you don’t even have to touch me or nothin’. We can just hang out and talk, we don’t have to…we don’t have to do anything.”
Your voice wobbles by the end. Your lips tighten around it, shutting it off before you can say anything more to embarrass yourself.
Joel’s still quiet. He watches wordlessly as you stand, pile the plates atop one another and make for the kitchen. As you place them gently into the sink, you feel the weight of him behind you, reaching over to set the bottles alongside them.
“I ain’t gone anywhere,” he murmurs, and you twist to face him.
“Joel. This is the most we’ve touched in two weeks. Putting dishes in the sink.”
He repeats himself. Adds, “I’m still here. I still care about you.”
You shrug. “Then – show me.”
He steps back. “Show you,” he scoffs. Your expression doesn’t shift. “Show you? Like I didn’t just almost break my damn knuckles defendin’ you? Take you home in the dead a’ night, deal with all your drunk bickerin’?”
Your head tilts. He’s right. But you want more than that. More than spitting threats and leaving flannels behind. You want his hands, and his lips, and his voice. You want –
“…Lord, mighty me.”
Your dad’s voice follows the sudden jolt of the front door opening. You and Joel are already five feet apart by the time his body appears around the corner, one hand leaning on the wall, the other pinching the bridge of his nose.
“How on Earth that man has his own construction company, I have no idea. Called me halfway to the site ‘n said he found the keys in his damn pocket.”
“Always the scatterbrains,” Joel says, leaning casually against the counter.
“Sure is. You ‘n me oughta start our own, show ‘em all how it’s done. Anyways. What’d I miss?”
Before you can answer, Joel’s speaking again. He sounds in a hurry. “Just tidyin’ up. We were talkin’ about graduate programs, actually. You know what,” he turns to you, “I’m sure Sarah has some old brochures from UCLA. Might have some stuff worth checkin’ out. You wanna come get ‘em?”
It takes a second for you to realize he’s talking to you. His eyebrows are arched, his thumb pointing over his shoulder. He came up with the lie so damn quick, you have whiplash.
“I – yeah, sure. Yeah.”
Your dad runs his tongue between his teeth. “UCLA. Huh. Well, don’t keep Joel too late.”
“I w…I won’t,” you reply, following at the heels of the swaggering figure towards the door. You dodge his eye contact and dip your head behind Joel’s shoulder, thankful for his protective stance in front of you.
Your dad doesn’t say anything more – instead, he stands back and lets Joel lead you out. You steal a glance back at him as you slip through the door. His face unreadable, his eyes stick on Joel; locked tight on the flannel wandering down the driveway ahead of you. The word loops in your head as though the phone’s ringing again. Guilty guilty guilty guilty guilt–
But then the night breeze is dancing across your cheeks, and you’re following at the heels of Joel again, and you feel light as air in the wake of him. You climb into the passenger side of the truck and watch as he settles alongside you with a sigh. He pulls out of the drive, and his right hand sits idly on his thigh. You think to take it. Joel reads your mind.
He sits it on the armrest between you, palm facing up. You stare straight ahead and let your fingers slip through his. He knots your bodies together, thumb rubbing gently on your knuckle.
Another pound of weight lifts from your shoulders.
----------
Joel drives for twenty minutes before pulling up in an empty parking lot across from a church. It’s pitch-black and deserted. There’s a single streetlight over by the corner, illuminating a trashcan and not much else. You’re shrouded in darkness, save for the soft glow from the lights on the dash.
He switches the engine off and sits back in his seat. Your hands are separated. The distance between you slowly starts to grow again.
“LA,” he says, for the second time tonight, staring at the ceiling of the cabin.
“LA,” you echo, staring at him.
He looks down to you. Smiles. There’s something behind it. You can’t tell what.
“It’s not a grad job,” you say, forcing something up. Your fingers are twisting around the drawstring of your hoodie. “I was lookin’ at grad stuff, but there wasn’t anything I was into. The LA thing is a six-month temp job I saw.”
Joel nods. “What’s that look like?”
“Production assistant. Lots of behind-the-scenes stuff.”
“Mhm. Sounds like your thing.”
Your brows jump as you pull the tie around your finger. The tip turns white. “Might be. Job ad closes on Monday.”
He sucks in a breath. “Better get applyin’, then.”
Your head cocks. “So eager for me to go?”
“Eager for you to do somethin’ you love,” he corrects.
“But it would get me outta your hair.”
“I don’t want you outta my hair.”
A smirk sneaks its way across your lips. You nod to the view from the windshield. “Why are we way the hell out here?”
“Because your dad bombed our conversation, ‘n I figured we weren’t done.”
“Then talk.”
He licks his lips. Folds his arms, settles deeper into his seat. He turns a little more to face you. The single light from outside catches in his iris, like that same lighthouse beacon you could see earlier. Distant, far off, but there. Still there.
“I owe you an apology,” he says. “I…I thought what we were doin’…What I was doin’…I thought I was causing you more hurt ‘n harm than good. I was scared it’d gone too far. Scared it wasn’t okay anymore.”
“Was it ever okay?”
He shifts again, uncomfortably. In the dim light, you see his face pull. He squints, wobbles his head in consideration. “No. It wasn’t. But we did it anyways, you ‘n me. We made that decision together.”
“Right. And then you went and made the complete opposite decision, alone.”
He’s nodding. He knows. And you think you know, too. It fucking sucked, losing him – but you get it. What was the big plan? How far were you going to let it go? Someone had to pull the plug at some point. Someone had to cut the thing loose.
You lean closer to him. “I just…I wish you’d let me fight back a little. Wish you’d heard me out more. I know what we’ve done isn’t right. I know that. But I – I fucking –”
You sigh. It leaves your mouth shaky and unsure of itself.
There’s something more. Something at the back of your tongue, itching to separate into the dense space between you. Bigger. Stronger. Heavier.
“I missed you,” you concede, shaking your head. “That’s all.”
Joel’s eyes fall shut with a wince when you say it, like it physically hurts to hear the words come out of your mouth. But he’s clearer, now – the fog is slowly shrinking away. The words behind his eyes seem to light them in a warm glow. Missed you too, baby.
His hand opens up on the armrest again. Yours falls into it instantly.
He clears his throat then, and says, “Also owe you an apology for – for the Lois thing. I know I should’ve explained a lot sooner, ‘n I’m sorry I had you thinkin’ what you were thinkin’. I didn’t – I didn’t know it was such a big deal to you. Thought you’d know I wouldn’t…do that.”
“I think I did,” you tell him. Your nails run up and down his fingers. “Deep down. Wasn’t so much about her as it was about me.”
“About you?”
You shrug. “Yeah. Me, us, this. It was more of a, Why wouldn’t he want someone like her?, y’know? No lying, no secrets. And she’s old, like you.”
“Easy.”
You smile. “She’s nice. I know she is. My dad went on for five whole minutes about how good you’d be together when I asked ‘im. So – why wouldn’t you wanna be with her, right?”
It’s rhetorical. Joel knows. But he answers it anyways.
“She is nice,” he agrees, “but I ain’t interested. To tell you the truth, darlin’, I was a little preoccupied worrying my ass off about you to even look twice at the woman.”
You freeze for a second. Stare at the outline of his jaw, the jagged bristles of his beard; the soft sweep of hair silhouetted by the moonlight outside. He’s still Joel – even in the darkness, even in the fog. Even when you can’t see, hear, or touch him – he’s still there. Thinking about you. Worrying about you.
“Well,” you sniff, “you don’t gotta worry anymore. I just…I didn’t like the thought of it.”
His head tilts. Beckons you to continue.
You sigh. “I don’t want you…with…anyone else. I want you to…only want me.”
His brows straighten. You sit in silence, staring at one another. Both daring the other to be the first to talk. But it’s his turn, and he knows it. So he swallows, and says –
“I don’t want nobody else.”
And that’s a thing. A great big, terrible thing.
“But,” he continues, almost immediately, “this has gotta be – I’ve gotta do right by you. Gotta be honest, now –”
“Wait,” you interrupt, “can you just – stop acting like it’s all you?”
Joel falls quiet. His brows knit together.
“Stop saying things that make it sound like you’re the only one in this. I’m in it, too. I want it. I want you.”
“Baby, it’s not as simple as –”
“Joel,” you take his arms and pull yourself closer to him, legs propped against the center console, “I want you. This. I want us. All of it, I want all –”
Your body is being tugged closer to him, lifted nearer, and his chin bumps against yours, and his eyelashes almost brush against yours when your foreheads link, and his breath sweeps hot and needy across yours, and he – he kisses you.
You stop breathing. You don’t care whether or not it ever comes back. Oxygen replaced by him. Everything replaced by him.
His tongue slips past your lips, his hand glides across your hair to cup the back of your head. He locks you into his body, lets you rest your arms across his shoulders. Your lips find a rhythm against one another; warm, wet, tender.
His free hand cups your cheek, holds your mouth to his just a second longer, before he pulls away, and gives you one last kiss. Softest of them all. Seals the fucking deal.
“We okay?” he mumbles, and you lift your head from his palm. You sit frozen for a second, just looking at him. Looking and looking and looking.
“We’re good.”
He smiles then. A genuine smile. “I thought,” he whispers, glancing around the quiet parking lot, “I could take you on a date.”
So that’s why he brought you out here.
“A date?”
“Mhm. Never been on one, have we?”
“Never could.”
He nods in agreement. “Just ice cream. For now. Thought I’d show you some of my moves.”
“You got moves?” you snicker.
“I’m a catch, darlin’. The ladies swoon for me.”
“Alright, never say that to me again.”
Joel laughs. “There’s a place right around the corner. ‘s go.”
He climbs out of the truck and wanders off towards the sidewalk, and you follow. He looks down at you as you walk. His cheeks swell with the smile on his face, dimples at the edges of his lips.
It’s quiet; quieter than you’d expect, not that you’re complaining. With the sun almost set, you’re doused in light only when you wander under a streetlight. So, it’s no surprise when Joel’s eyes quickly scan the street up ahead, and his hand reaches down for yours.
Your stomach flips. You’re doing everything you can not to let him feel your pulse in your wrist, but you’re pretty sure you can, because he leans his shoulder against yours and asks if you’re okay.
“Good,” you choke out, relieved to have just passed a streetlight that might give away the blush on your cheeks.
Approaching on the right is a sickly-sweet, pastel-painted store front; fairy lights decorating the window, wireframe tables and chairs dotted outside. A bell dings when Joel pushes the door open, holding it open for you to step inside.
It’s…dainty. Sweet. Everything is either teal or pink or white. There’s a giant ice cream cone stood in the corner. There’s a gumball machine opposite it. The lighting is a little garish – kind of reminds you of sitting in the dentist chair, eyes squinting up at the bright white light overhead.
You’re fucking surprised to be stood in here with Joel Miller, of all people. He sticks out like a sore thumb; his worn jeans and crumpled flannel against the minty gleam of the parlor like an earthy tree sprouting in the middle of that same dentist’s office. It makes you giggle, as he leads you over to the counter.
A boy with a teal uniform meets him over a glass case full of different ice cream flavors. His name badge reads Ben. “What can I get you?” he asks, scoop in hand. Your lips press against one another to stop your laugh from escaping.
Joel turns to look at you. He nudges you with his elbow when you don’t return his glance, too focused on Ben’s pink baseball cap, the logo of the shop printed on top.
“Uh,” you consider, glancing down, “I’m good with any.”
Joel sighs, lips thinning. “Am I gonna pick a flavor, ‘n then you decide you don’t like it?”
“Nope. Promise.” You smile innocently, and he turns back to the server.
“I’ll take one scoop of the cookie dough, and, uh…one of the coffee, please.”
When Ben dips to scoop the order into two little tubs, you mock gasp at Joel.
“What?”
“Coffee?”
He shrugs.
“I took you for a vanilla man.”
Ben stands straight and punches some numbers into the cash register. Joel hands him a ten.
“What about me makes you think I’m into vanilla?” he asks in a low voice.
You bat your eyelashes at him. A dark thought crosses your mind, but you think better of voicing it and save Ben the embarrassment of potentially hearing you.
Joel thanks him and takes both tubs in one hand. You make for a booth by the window, but his hand quickly slinks around your waist, diverting you back to the door.
“Nuh-uh.”
“What?” you ask, spinning around.
Joel continues walking, backing you out of the shop. “I am not sittin’ in here. Got a fuckin’ headache already from five minutes in the place.”
“But it’s so cute,” you protest, giggling. “You don’t want your picture taken with the giant cone?”
“Get the hell out,” he mumbles, shoving you across the tiled floor back out to the sidewalk. He can’t mask his own grin, spilling out behind you, taking your hand in his.
You snort as he drags you back along the street. “Maybe I should forget about LA and get a job in there. Drive myself insane.”
“Maybe you should,” Joel agrees. “Least then you’d have an excuse for it.”
You slap his chest. “Where are we goin’?”
“’s just go back to the truck. Quieter. Less fluorescent lights.”
He unlocks it a few paces away, but you stroll past your door.
“What are you doin’?” Joel asks when you pull yourself up into the bed.
“C’mon,” you call back, settling against the back window, “it’s a nice night. Who are we hiding from?”
He tosses it over in his head and cocks one eyebrow. Fair enough. He climbs up and passes you the ice cream, shrugging his shirt from his shoulders. He throws it over your bare legs and sits down beside you, grunting as he does.
You smirk when he rests back.
“I’m almost fifty, darlin’,” he warns, reaching for his tub.
Your lips curve and you nod, digging the little plastic spoon into your dessert. You stretch your legs out and cross your ankles, watching in quiet contentment as the cars roll by, squealing to a halt at the traffic lights. Lights are coming on in windows, curtains are being drawn. Joel’s legs lie against yours, joined at the hip, shoulders brushing off one another.
This is the most peace you’ve had in a fortnight. Sat in the back of his truck, no eyes on you, watching the comings and goings of some back street in the city. You talk about nothing, for the first time in what’s felt like forever. You talk about films, and music, and all the stuff that seemed so unimportant before. Now, it all feels imperative. Feels like a life-or-death thing. What’s your favorite movie? You know my favorite movie, baby. But tell me again. Just so I know for sure. Just so that – if anything happens.
You listen when he answers. You watch his mouth as he says the words. For all the times you took it for granted before. For all the times you thought it was insignificant. It’s all significant, now. It all means something. It’s just more strings to the web between you, each one knotting you closer and closer together.
And you talk about what you’ve missed. The two weeks you’ve spent apart. You catch him up as if he was only gone on vacation. As if he was always meant to come back in the end.
“The guy with the weed – same guy you punched – he was –” gulp, “– what was his name again? Knicks? No –”
Joel snorts, spoon scraping around the edge the tiny pot in his huge hand. “Knicks?”
You close your eyes, waving your hand like it’ll urge him to remember the name of a guy he took no time getting to know before he floored him. “No, it wasn’t Kn…Knox! It was Knox, and he –”
“Kind of a fuckin’ name is Knox? Knox?”
“Are you gonna let me talk, or what?” you quip, and Joel brings his wrist up to his mouth to mask his laugh.
“Sorry, sorry, sweetheart. Go ahead. Knox had the weed.”
“Knox had the weed, and…he…Fuck, I can’t even remember where I was goin’ with that.” You shake your head and lean it back against the windowpane.
He laughs. For real. A Joel laugh. His shoulders jerk with the force of it. “You were gonna tell me about his friends, I think. Somethin’ about his friends.”
It sparks back up in your brain – the memory. “Right! Right. His friends – that dude with the glasses? That was Zack.”
Joel stares at you blankly, tongue in his cheek. “Zack?”
“Big guy, red face. Buck teeth. From Costco?”
His jaw slackens. He remembers. “I fuckin’ – I knew I’d seen that kid’s face before. That was him?”
You nod. Uhuh.
“Damn.” He chuckles. “He looked at me like I was a wild bear.”
You toss your head, roll your eyes. “Well.”
He laughs again. Knocks your legs with his own.
“Good call, by the way,” your lips mumble around the shape of your spoon, “cookie dough. it’s nice.”
“Wanna try mine?”
“Really?” Your face contorts, eyes screwing. “Coffee?”
“’s good. Here.”
He holds out a spoonful.
“Yeah, nice to you, who drinks, like, thirty of ‘em a day.”
Joel responds by pushing the spoon to your lips and you oblige, opening up and letting him feed you the ice cream.
It’s not bad. It’s ice cream, it can’t be bad. But it definitely isn’t good, and the way your lips purse and your neck jerks lets Joel know exactly how you feel about it. He scoffs, wiping a little from your lips with his thumb and sucking it clean.
“You don’t like it?”
“Why is it…bitter? Eugh.”
He laughs to himself as he loads up another spoonful. “It’s an acquired taste.”
“Well, I am not interested in acquirin’ it. You want some of the cookie dough?”
He shakes his head. “You enjoy.”
You both turn back to the street ahead. Joel’s arm is warm at the side of yours, his shoulder right there for you to lean your head on.
He places a kiss to your head when you do.
“What do you think he’d do if he found out?”
You’re not sure where it comes from. Neither is Joel, apparently, from the way he clears his throat and squirms ever so slightly. He knows exactly who you mean.
“I, uh…I don’t like to imagine.”
“It scare you?”
He takes a deep breath. “Naw. I just got better things to do with my imagination, is all.” He prods your arm with his. Picturin’ you.
“Ha. You reckon he’d kill you?”
“Probably.”
“He couldn’t kill you. Wild bear.”
“Well, I reckon he might try.”
“I think he’d call the cops.”
Joel’s head lifts from yours and falls back against the truck with a laugh.
“Help, Officer,” you mimic your dad’s twang,“my grown adult daughter is sleeping with someone!”
Joel’s shoulders slowly stop moving.
“Is that all we’re doin’?” he asks.
“Huh?” You lift your head and look at him. His dark eyes reflect the city lights in the distance.
“Is that all we’re doin’? Sleepin’ together?” His voice is gentle, honest. Genuinely asking, seeking out what you think.
You consider it, tryna sound casual. You know what he’s getting at.
“That’s all we’ve been doin’. Help, Officer, my daughter’s grabbing ice cream with someone? Better?”
He hums. Looks down at the empty tub in his hands. Looks back up to your lips. Draws nearer to you, holds your chin with one finger, looks you dead in the eye, and whispers,
“How about, Help, Officer, my daughter made someone fall in love with her?”
Your breath catches. Your hands fall limp into your lap. You blink away tears.
“You – No, that’s – You gotta say it. You gotta actually tell me, ‘cause I’m not – I don’t wanna misinterpret – We haven’t –”
You’re buffering. Your brain malfunctioning. Your tongue can’t decide which of the words at the back of your throat, all desperate to escape, to let through first.
Joel’s just smiling, watching you stutter and stammer your way through a sentence that leads you nowhere, desperately trying to compute what he’s just said because he’s finally fucking admitted it. He’s finally letting you know, giving you access to a part of him he’s been keeping from you for who knows how long.
Even though all this time it’s been the one thought running through your head that hasn’t passed your lips, it reverberates around your ears like it’s the last thing you ever expected him to say.
Joel’s hand moves to your neck, just below your ear. “Baby,” his thumb rubs your skin, “you know I love you.”
A gasp flees from your lips. Your ice cream is thrown to the truck bed, probably spilling over, and you don’t care. You leap into his lap, arms around his neck, and kiss him all over.
Joel’s laughing, returning what kisses he can, squeezing you with his big hands.
“I love you,” he says again when you come up for air, and it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard in your life. You sit your forehead against his, whispering breathlessly,
“Fuck, I love you, too.”
You two stare at each other, eyes scanning every part of the other’s face, mapping every mark, line, scar, like it’s the first time you’ve ever seen each other.
Guess it is, right?
This is the first time you’re looking at the man you love and you’re not afraid of it. The first time your chest swells and you don’t gulp it back, the first time you let him feel your heart pounding against the wall of your chest.
It’s the first time you look into his eyes, dark eyelashes and fine lines decorating deep warm brown, and think those three words…and know you can say them. Know neither of you will be spooked, neither of you will try to push them back down where they came from.
I love you. That’s all there is between you now. Your cards are flat on the table, Joel’s, too. Game over. You know everything there is to know about each other. You know each other.
You’ve sunk down his body, turned so your back curves into his chest, his chin resting on your head. Safely encased in his body, sat between his thighs. His hand runs up and down your thigh, lighting drawing lines and circles and writing words you don’t care to guess, ‘cause you probably already know ‘em.
Love hums between the two of you, keeping you warm; your bodies pressed together, hearts beating just inches apart. You blink your eyes open and the single streetlight sails back into your vision – bright as the moon, stirring you from your tranquil bliss.
“Do you,” you turn, and Joel fixes your hair, presses his lips to your forehead, “do you tell all the girls that on the first date? Was that just one of your moves?”
He snorts, and answers by pulling you in to give you a tender kiss.
No. Just you.
“You ready to go?” he asks when your lips part.
“Mhm. Take me home, cowboy.”
----------
His house is dark against the dusky sky. The headlights illuminate the garage door as he pulls up in the drive, squeezing your hand once as the truck comes to a halt.
“And then…” Joel says, holding a finger up to you. Wait right here.
He gets out of the driver’s side and you watch the shadow of him jog around the truck, stopping at your door. He opens it, and holds a hand out for you to take.
You choke on a laugh. “That is…”
“That is what?”
“…so cheesy. You really do that?”
“Uhuh. C’mon.”
Your fingers lace through his and you hop out of the truck. Joel shuts the door behind you and extends his elbow, and you link your arm through his. His hand warmly rests on top of yours.
You both wander over to his porch where he stops, letting you walk up the steps alone. When you reach the top one, only just taller than him on the path, hands still interlinked, you look down.
“Then I say, Thank you for a lovely evenin’, and,” he lifts your hand, pressing his lips to your knuckles, “then…” Joel holds his arms out. Voila. Just like that.
“Wow. I feel…honored.”
“You should.”
“Not even a proper kiss?”
“I just kissed your hand, baby. You didn’t like that?”
“You don’t ask to come inside?”
He scoffs. “Nope. What would I want to come inside for?”
You grin. Shrug your shoulders. Start walking backward to his door.
“Well, I am exhausted after our date, Mr. Miller. I do think,” yawn, “I should be gettin’ ready for bed.”
Joel lowers his head, eyes trained on you, smirk growing on his lips. “Is that so?”
You nod.
He starts to climb the steps.
“I’m sure I’ll be expectin’ a call from you,” you mewl, exaggerated Southern accent crooning to him. Your back bumps against the front door. Joel’s on the porch now. You bite your lip.
“Oh, I’m sure you will,” he returns, his shadow creeping over you. He reaches your body and his arms come to rest on the frame right above your head.
You hook your hands around his shoulders.
“You really don’t wanna come in?” you whisper, and his jaw ticks.
“I wouldn’t want to be ungentlemanly.”
Leaning in, lips against his ear, you whisper soft enough to shake the breath as it falls from his lips.
“And what if I asked you, nicely, to take me inside and fuck me good ‘n hard until I can’t walk?”
Joel’s eyes pool black when you lean away, head resting back on his door. Your gaze is heavy with lust, eyelashes batting slowly.
“Hm,” he grumbles, body beginning to press against yours. His head cocks. “You don’t wanna be treated like a lady?”
“Nope.” You smirk, hand falling down to cup the bulge quickly forming below his belt.
“Want to be treated like a fuckin’ whore, do ya?”
Chest heaving, you nod, massaging him.
“So dirty, darlin’, feelin’ your date up on the porch,” he tells you, dipping his jaw to run his lips along your neck. “What ‘m I gonna do with you?”
You shrug again, and your fingers find the door handle at your hip. You push, and the wood behind you falls inward.
As you plunge into the dark house, Joel’s rough hands clamp down on your waist, taking you in his tight grip and throwing you against the wall. His lips find your neck, teeth scraping the sensitive skin, tongue caressing tenderly as he sucks a bruise into you. Heat spreads across your core. You clench your thighs around the feeling.
“Joel,” you whine, hands surfing through his hair. “Fuck, take me upstairs.”
He hums. He’s going to. He’s just not doing it quick enough.
You lift your leg to his hip, and his left hand scoops under your ass. He pulls your center flat against the swelling in his jeans, ruts slowly against your body. You hear a deep groan from his throat.
“Upstairs,” you say again, growing impatient, and he growls, taking you with both hands and lifting you two steps at a time towards his bedroom.
He kicks the door open, loosening his grip on you as he walks over to the bed. Light streams across the room in splinters, peering through the shades from the streetlights outside. Your legs drop and you dance along on your toes, turning him midway until his calves hit the bottom of his mattress.
Your lips part for mere seconds, allowing one reflected expression between you, before you’re pushing him by the chest onto the bed. His body springs when he hits the sheets, staring back up at yours between his legs. His breath courses from his mouth, thick with want and need.
You lay him flat on the mattress, knees either side of his waist, hands curved over his shoulders. His own find your waist, holding on tight as you straddle him, playing with the tie of your shorts when you settle.
You dip your head and brush your lips against his. One long, sweet kiss, and his hands are at the hem of your hoodie, pulling it free, lifting it over your head. You groan as it separates your bodies, let your tongue find his again as quickly as it was pulled apart from it.
“Let me see,” he whispers against your lips, hands slipping beneath the fabric of your shorts to rub circles into your hipbones.
You smile as you straighten, fingers dancing along the hem of your tee.
“Let me – see,” Joel grunts, when your core grinds into his.
You peel the tight fabric from your stomach, higher, higher, until it lifts your breasts, catching on the curve of them, and as you whip it over your head, they bounce back down. Joel groans from below, staring at the perfect peaked shape. He lifts one hand to cup your tit, runs his thumb over the quickly-hardening nipple.
“So fuckin’ pretty, baby.”
“I know,” you tell him, watching as his thumbpad circles the delicate skin. Your back arches into his touch.
And then his hands sink into the mattress either side of his body, pushing himself closer to you. He wraps a strong arm around your back and pulls your chest to his mouth, lips pressing wet kisses to the valley between your breasts. His teeth graze across the round shape up towards your nipple again.
His tongue slips over the hard bud, swirling and soaking all over it. Your head falls back, fingers grip onto his hair. Your mouth falls open, but no sound comes. Joel sucks harder.
“S– fuck,” you whisper, nearly voiceless. His tongue is flicking now, lips pulling more of your body into his mouth. “Fuckfuckfuck, I need you, I need you,” you whimper.
He releases your sweet skin, lips shining with saliva. “Tell me where.”
You writhe on top of him, hands pushing your shorts down over your hips. “You know where.”
Joel holds your body steady. “Tell me.”
You whine, trying to rock against him. He doesn’t let up. “Joel, fuck. Betw– between my – fuck.”
“Between your legs?” he taunts, pushing you harder against the hard folds of denim below his belt. “That where you need me? Between those pretty legs, babygirl?”
Your fists ball around the fabric of his shirt, clinging on to him. “Ye-ah,” you whimper, and his weight falls from your grasp.
You feel your shorts tug over the crests of bone by your hips. “Step out of ‘em, baby,” he instructs, and your knee lifts.
He pulls the cotton down one leg at a time, telling you to shift your weight as he curls a finger around the lace of your panties and tugs them down after. Before you can think about it, you’re naked, soaked cunt making a mess over the crotch of his jeans.
He looks up at you expectantly.
“What–?”
He flicks his fingers in a beckoning motion, a Come here, either side of your thighs. You hesitate.
“Darlin’. Up.”
“Joel.”
“Up.”
You take his open hands and shuffle up the mattress, knees pushing into the soft sheets either side of his head. You glance down at him.
“I don’t know –”
“’m not gonna tell you again.”
And he doesn’t have to. You steady yourself, locking your fingers through his behind your ass, and slowly lower yourself down to him. His jaw lifts to meet you, and you think about pausing again, telling him he doesn’t have to do this, asking instead to do something else, something he’ll enjoy as much, something you can both –
But then his lips open around the sweetest part of your body, and your lungs freeze. His tongue slips between, daring where you need him most, and your body sighs in equal parts relief and pleasure.
You’re so fucking wet. You can feel it, leaking onto his lips, spreading around your own as he kisses you, licks you, takes in every drop of you. Your back curls, lips fall open to the ceiling, breath comes in short wisps.
It’s been almost two weeks since the two of you felt like this. Hot, wet, needy. Two weeks of waiting for the other to come back, two weeks of reaching for the phone and deciding against it once the number’s dialed, two weeks of nothing.
And now – everything. Everywhere. Every part of your body ignited for him. You feel him fucking everywhere.
You lean all of your weight onto the palm of your hands, pushing all of it into Joel’s. He’s steady, strong, letting you rock and swirl your hips as he laps at your core.
“Right there,” you whisper, head rolling back. “Keep – keep – oh, fuck, Joel. What the f–?”
He slowly lowers his hands, letting you untangle your fingers and place them on the bed. His own come to hook around your thighs, clamping you as close against him as you can possibly be.
Two weeks of nothing. And now, five minutes of everything. The shards of light from outside blur across your vision; heat starts to prickle up your spine, tickling the back of your neck. You’re smiling, filthy and desperate.
“I’m gonna –” you breathe, and Joel hums. “’m gonna c– come.”
You can hear his response, though he doesn’t say a word. Then, come.
Your hips motion forward. Tighten. Clamp. Inhale. Joel’s tongue slips between your folds, warm on the inside of your cunt. And you rock back. Unwind. Unfurl. Exhale. His bottom lip puckers against your clit.
“J-oel. Joel, I’m – you’re – fuck.”
He moans against your sex. His hips shift behind you. Buck upwards, carefully.
Tighten. Clamp. Inhale. Tighten – inhale. Unwind. Unf-url. Ex-hale. Tighten. Inh– clamp. Fuck. I’m there. Unwind. Warm. Wet. Tongue. Exhale. Tongue. Tighten. Clamp. Inhale. Joel –
Your fingers curl around his bedsheets, nails dig into the cotton. Your orgasm sends a flood of hot pleasure across your cunt, rains down over Joel’s lips, and sets fireworks off through your body which explode into the dark room in the form of a throaty moan.
You’re not sure when you come to. You’re not sure your arms can bear the weight of your body. But when your eyes blink open, he’s kissing the inside of your thighs.
His mouth is glistening. Moustache and beard covered in you. Soft lips pearlescent with your spend. Your body feels heavy, unbearable. You lift your leg and tumble onto the mattress by his side, pussy throbbing when you land.
“I love you,” you whisper, and not for any particular reason. Not because of what he just did. Not because you’re naked in his bed.
But maybe because it feels like this is what you were made to do. To love and to be loved – by him. It feels like this entire thing has been, from its genesis, an exchange. An understanding. Immediate and certain. Here are all the parts of me. You know what to do.
As if there needed no further explanation. No instruction, no tutorial. You just knew.
He pushes himself up, leans over your frame. His jaw lowers, and he licks into your mouth tenderly.
“Gotta be inside you, baby,” he says, and at the same time, your fingers find the buttons of his shirt. “Gotta feel you again.”
You nod against him. Fuck me fuck me fuck me.
Joel’s hands are on his belt, pulling it through the loops, dropping it to the floor. Your help him tug his jeans off when he undoes the button. The material of his underwear rubs against your sex; your creamy arousal smears all over the black fabric. You can feel the weight of his stiff cock beneath. It dizzies your head.
He lets your fingers sneak below the elastic, lowering it until he springs free, slapping against the bottom of his tummy. You could fucking drool at the sight of him – the pink tip, beaded with precum; the thick vein on the underside of the shaft; his balls below it, heavy and waiting. Your hands wrap around him and pump slowly as he drags his boxers down, kicking them off at the foot of the bed.
He groans, hips thrusting gently into your palms as you squeeze him. Your fingers slip between your folds, collecting your own slick, coating him in it as you fist him.
“So good, babygirl,” Joel breathes, leaning down to kiss you. “You gonna take it all?”
“Mhm,” you reply, tongue slipping against his.
“Yeah,” he says, “my girl can take it.”
You let his hand shadow over yours, the two of you guiding his cock towards your entrance together. It glides between your dripping folds, the head sifting effortlessly from your clit to your tight hole and back again. Joel laughs, teeth clashing with yours, as he dips in and out, teasing you.
Your ass lifts from the mattress, any movement to draw him nearer. “Stop,” you gasp.
Joel pauses. “Stop?”
“No,” you bleat, “don’t stop. Just – fucking do it.”
“Do what, darlin’?”
“Fuck me.”
And he sinks in.
You’d be lying if you said all you’d done for the last two weeks was cry, mope, and stare at the ceiling. That’d be discrediting everything that this little affair was built on. It’s impossible to forget how the thing fucking started – your hands between your legs, Joel watching from the doorway.
In the moments you didn’t feel the mind-numbing tsunami of heartache overcome you – you felt something else. Memories of his hands on you, the trail of his tongue between your legs, the swell of his cock deep inside you. You tried to replicate it a handful of times with your hands. But nothing – not your fingers, not two, three, or four – nothing stands a chance against him.
He pushes in slow at first, drawing out when he’s halfway, and then in again as he covers himself in the wet his tongue left behind. When he’s soaked, glistening and gleaming, he thrusts. Hard. His tip catches on your cervix, and your back arches in a mix of pain and delight.
Something throbs deep inside as he bottoms out. You feel your opening stretch around his base. You feel your legs widen as if by instinct, accommodating the size of him, the width of him, the pace of him.
You throw an arm over his shoulder, elbow hanging on the nape of his neck. His sweaty forehead sticks to yours, and your hand cups his cheek.
“Harder,” you tell him, and he listens.
“Fuck, baby,” he pants, “fuck, you’re so tight. Oh, my – I ain’t gonna last.”
“Don’t – want you – to,” you cry, body jumping as he fucks you quicker, quicker, harder, deeper. “Want to – come – together.”
Your head tips back against the bed, and Joel’s lips attach to your neck. He’s moaning into your skin, teeth biting down, breath hot and quick. He’s not gonna last he’s not gonna last he’s not –
“F-u-ck, Joel,” you sob, your walls starting to close in around him, “feels so – f-fucking good, oh!”
“I know, darlin’, I know. C’mere.”
He takes your cheek and pulls your face back to his, lines his lips with yours and kisses you. It’s messy, haggard, fucking all over the place as your bodies bounce together, but he tastes like sweat, and sex, and you, and him.
“Missed this so fuckin’ much,” he grunts, hips pounding. “Missed bein’ inside you. You know how bad I needed you?”
“Tell me,” you slur, echoing his own words back to him.
He smirks. “Best fucking pussy I ever had, sweetheart. Best – I ever – had.”
“Don’t pull out,” you hum against his lips, and his jaw pulls back a fraction. “Don’t.”
“Baby,” he says, strained, and your head tilts.
“Need it,” you tell him. “Please. Need you.”
He nods, leaning back into you, letting you connect your mouths again. His lips shudder when you pull away, the thought translated clear as day from your mouth to his. And he knows, and he drives in harder, and he fucks the image from your mind. Who the fuck is Lois, when you’re under him and he’s this deep between your legs?
You look up into his eyes, and you find your answer. She’s nobody. There’s only you.
Your body feels liquid, your mind like fog. You pull him into your body, deeper and deeper, until you’re sure you’re one, and there is no place where he ends and you begin, and you’re sure this is what it feels like, this is what those words feel like, not just the sound of them, not just the way his lips move around them, but the shape of them on and in and around your body. Something deafening, something blinding, something screaming from the pits of your lungs as you come all around him, and you feel him come all around you.
His warmth spurts deep inside you, filling you up, dripping down your walls as he collapses into your shoulder, a loud moan drilling into your collarbone. He slows, thrusts in and out gently, pushing his spend deeper and mixing it with yours.
It's everywhere. The feeling. The pulsing, the humming, the singing. He’s everywhere. Him. In your brain and in your lungs and in your body and in your cunt. And you want to keep him there, hold him there, keep your bodies together for five more minutes, just five more minutes.
But then he’s panting into your skin, pressing kisses into that little dip between your collarbone and your chest, and he slowly slips out, come dripping from where he leaves.
He presses his palm deep into the sheets by your head, lifts off of you – but your arm is still around his neck, and you lean with him. Tilted on his mattress, holding onto him, letting him kiss your head; letting his hand move across the surface of your stomach, mapping the gentle slope over your belly button and scaling the tiny mountains of your hipbones. Kneading softly into the skin over which his seed sits, warm and snug, deep inside you. It’s new. You think you love it.
And he’s whispering, “Good girl, did so good for me,” and he nuzzles his nose into your hair, and he tilts your chin back until he can see your face, see your expression, and he smiles with relief when he clocks your doe eyes, your blissful smile, the sweet tinge of red on your cheeks.
“I love you,” he tells you, and you’re staring at his lips.
“Again.”
“I love you.”
You look up to his eyes. “Again.”
“I love you.”
You smile. It breaks into a laugh. “Again,” you whisper, and he kisses you.
Slowly, only once you pull away from him and your breath steadies, Joel takes your body and carefully shifts. He turns onto his back, settles you on his chest, your hips between his thighs. He runs a gentle hand over your hair and you lie against his sweat-shining chest, his heartbeat whispering sweet nothings into your ear.
Love and sex, as far as you knew, were always two different things. Separate. One, you weren’t even sure existed. The other, nothing more than a need to be satisfied. Something deep within you, something no one had ever managed to touch. And then Joel. And his lips, and his tongue, and his hands and his cock.
And suddenly the two – love and sex – begin to blur, their edges touch frantically. They bleed into one another, until there are no longer two distinct forms; instead, one big shape which has the curve of your hips and the cut of his jaw.
You love him. And he loves you. You’ve heard it translated between your minds longer than you care to admit, and now – you’ve felt it. Transferred between your bodies. You love him. Jesus, you love him.
It’s as terrifying as it is thrilling. Enamoring, and yet dangerous.
“So,” you sigh, “what’s next?”
He glances down, lifts his eyebrows and gives his head a shake. His hand lifts off of your shoulder with a shrug.
“Like, your next move. What happened with the other eight?”
“The other eight?”
“Mhm. Me, Sarah’s mom, makes two. There are eight others, right? What’d you do afterward?”
“Kicked ‘em out.”
You lift a heavy hand and slap his chest. He shudders with laughter.
“I dunno, baby. Wasn’t all like this.”
Your brows knit. “Like what?”
He takes a deep breath. Your head rises as his lungs fill. “Lyin’ in bed afterward. Talkin’.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
“What?” he asks, smirking.
“Who even were they? I wanna know.”
“Why?”
“Just do. I wanna hear about ‘em. When was the last one, before me?”
Joel’s eyes drift off to the ceiling above you, thinking. “May.”
“M–?” You jump up, pushing yourself off of his body. “May?” you repeat, eyes wide. “That’s…so recent.”
“Recent?” He chokes back a laugh. “When’s your last?”
You furrow your brows, dropping his gaze. “We’re not talking about me,” you mumble, thumbs twiddling.
Your last had been two nights before you flew home. You’d gone out with your roommates and dragged home Matteo, an exchange student who you’d worked with on a group project for your screenwriting class. He was three inches shorter than you. He bent you over your kitchen counter and fucked you until he came. Then he made himself some cereal, ate half of it, and left.
Joel doesn’t really need to hear about him, you think.
“Do I know any of them?” you ask in attempt to change the subject.
Joel pulls a face. His lips tighten, teeth clench. His eyes narrow to a thin line, looking at you through his eyelashes. He nods tentatively.
“Shut the fuck up. Who is it? Who?”
“I dunno if you know her, but she knows you.”
“What’s her name?”
“Your dad gave us a ride home from the bar. She ‘n him got to talkin’, and he said he had a daughter –”
Your fist lightly drops onto his chest. “Joel, if you don’t fucking tell me who it is, I –”
“She’s an elementary teacher. Long, dark hair. Good few years older ‘n you. Think she said her little sister went to your school.”
“Who – was – it?”
He makes the face again. This time his eyes close over, waiting for the penny to drop. His head shakes lightly.
“You –? No, Joel. Come on. Please don’t…Are you fucking serious? You don’t remember her name?”
“It was a long night, alright?”
“How did you forget her damn name?”
He shrugs. “I don’t fuckin’ know. I was drunk, baby.”
“Elementary teacher? I don’t know anybody whose sister teaches elementary.”
“Guess we’ll never know.” Joel shrugs, and you shake your head at him.
You’re picturing Joel stumbling out of Frank’s, arm in arm with a brunette, heavy feet dragging along the sidewalk while your dad chitters in his ear about the Rangers, or about some rude bartender, or about…you. The brunette turns, and her face is yours. Your features, your smile. Your hand linked through Joel’s. C’mon, baby. ‘s go home.
You chase the image away. It slips from your mind like dust cleared from a countertop. Would never. Could never. Should never.
You replace it with something lighter. Something to make you forget about the dust.
“Does…Does my dad ever go home with anyone?”
“What?”
You don’t answer. He heard you.
“That’s…No. I ain’t answerin’ that.”
“Oh, come on. If you’re takin’ women home left, right, and center, he’s gotta be seein’ that. Does he?”
“I was not takin’ home women left, right, and – No, darlin’, no. It’s inappropriate.”
“Yeah, you’re right. And I’m known for my appropriate behavior, y’know,” you gesture between your naked bodies, “I’m known for the good life choices I make.”
“This,” Joel hooks his hands under your arms and drags you up until your chin meets his, “is a good life choice.”
“Yeah?” you ask through a giggle, your nose bumping his.
Joel smiles softly, runs a hand over the back of your head. Looks between your eyes, a twinkle in his. Yes.
Your lips crash together like waves on the rocks. You’re the sea; he’s the stone. Two different worlds, suddenly married in some unforeseen twist of nature. And when you pour over him, your body lighting him in a twinkling glow of ocean, it’s as though you never existed apart from one another. It’s as natural as the waves on the shore.
“Alright, darlin’,” Joel mumbles against your skin. “Speakin’ of inappropriate. I gotta get you home.”
“Why can’t I just stay the night?” you complain. “Like last time. Tell ‘im we’re watchin’ a movie again…”
Joel’s head rests on your arm. “He’s worried sick about you. Ain’t no way he’ll let you spend the night here. You know that. Plus, Sarah’ll be long done with Rita’s cross stitch by now.”
He sits up and you roll into his lap, head resting on the soft skin of his belly. He looks down at you, head tilted, eyes glowing hazel.
You stare right back. The dimples in his cheeks dig deeper when you whisper, “Kickin’ me out right after we finally make up. I see how it is, Miller.”
Joel’s shoulders hunch. “Happens to all of ‘em. Warned ya.”
He shifts off the bed and begins gathering his clothes. You sit up and watch as he pulls his boxers snug over his hips, swipes his tee from the carpet at his feet. As he drapes it over his scruffy chest, your half-naked form meets his at the foot of the bed.
His fingers knot in your hair. You lean into his arms, legs giving as he kisses you gently, breathing you in, stealing any more words of protest from your tongue.
“I love you,” he whispers when he pulls away, tip of his nose brushing off yours. “You know that?”
“Somebody told me somethin’ to do with that, yeah.”
He smiles. “Get dressed.”
You pull the rest of your clothes back on in silence, tossing socks and jeans across the room to one another, giggling like a pair of kids. After all you just did, the palpable pleasure you just sent hammering through one another – this is the part you wish you could bottle. The laughter, the love. The attempts to keep holding onto him, even as he tries to pull his arm through the sleeve of his shirt, even as he links his belt back through his jeans, as he bends to tie his boots.
The fun of it. The hope of it.
The foolish, foolish hope.
“Hoodie.” Joel flings it up towards you, crouched as he tightens his laces.
You pull it on over your bra. Flatten your flyaway hairs, stand straight before him.
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
“You got your phone?”
Your hands instinctively pat your body down. “Oh, nah,” you realize, “musta left it at home.”
Joel nods and heads into the hallway, you at his heel. At the bottom of the stairs, you glance around his house, like it’s the first and last time you’ll see it wrapped into one. It looks different; two weeks of absence and you notice things you hadn’t before.
His coat hanging by the door, probably untouched since early spring. The bowl on the side table where his and Sarah’s keys live. The guitar in the corner of the room, the books in the shelves above it. All him. Every little piece of it. He’s reflected in every object in the room. He’s reflected in you.
You drive back to your dad’s place in silence. Comfortable, sweet silence. Your fingers ghost across his palm the entire time, watching out the window as the dark neighborhood soars by in a blur of porch lights and mailboxes. All too quickly, you’re back in front of your own house.
“What do we do now?” you ask, and through the darkness you see Joel’s smile fall.
After a moment’s silence, heavy and contemplative, he looks back up. Softens when his eyes land on you.
“We’ll be alright,” he tells you, and you believe him.
You lean forward and press a quick but tender kiss to his lips, and your fingers latch around the door handle. Joel’s hand finds the back of your head, keeping your mouth on his.
“Gotta – let me – go,” you mumble between kisses, and he hums a laugh in response. “Joel.”
“I know,” he whispers, finally pulling back. “I know.”
You smile, head tilting into his palm. “I’ll text you.”
He nods once. “See you, babygirl.”
You slip out of the truck and wander past to your front door, twirling as you click the handle. Joel laughs, and the truck reverses back onto the street. You wait for it to disappear before closing the door, and step into the unlit hallway.
The TV lights the living room at the opposite end. You stop by the kitchen, feeling the grumpy rumble of your stomach. Your dad’s armchair is sat facing the screen. You lean over to double check he’s not sat in it, fast asleep while Rangers highlights play on loop before his eyelids.
When you swivel the plaid pattern towards your knees, its only occupant is the remote. You flick the TV off and pad back over to the kitchen, filling a bowl with some chips. You’re hunched over at the refrigerator when his footsteps clunk slowly down the stairs, and he materializes like a specter around the doorway.
“Hey.”
You straighten up, lit in a nervous blue hue from the fridge. “Hey, yourself.”
“Joel gone?”
“’bout ten minutes ago. Where’ve you been? You left the TV on.”
“Just…y’know. You get those brochures?”
Fuck. You were at Joel’s under the premise of picking up fucking UCLA pamphlets – and you’ve come home empty-handed. The lie doesn’t form on your tongue as quickly as Joel’s did earlier. Something else on your mind.
“…sure. Some…interesting stuff.”
Your dad nods. “Good. Good, I’m glad. We can take a look in the mornin’.”
Your eyebrows flinch. “Yeah. That’d be – yeah. I’m…gonna head to bed, alright?”
“Sure,” he says, nodding.
With a can of soda under your arm and your bowl of chips in the other, you nod and cautiously shuffle towards him. His lips are a thin line. You duck by him and trot upstairs, and make it as far as the landing before he’s calling out again.
“Oh, hey.” He holds a hand out, and disappears in a jog towards the living room. You drop back down a couple steps, watching him swipe something from the dining table and pace back over. “You left your phone.”
He’s presenting it like a jeweler shows a Rolex – or maybe more like an investigator handles evidence. Holding it out in almost trembling fingers, afraid to mark it with his fingerprints. Your eyes flit from the phone to his, unsure which of the two frightens you more.
That’s not where I fucking left it.
You lean over and take it from his palm. “Thanks…”
“I think maybe you got a text, just then. It was lit up. Maybe I’m seein’ things.”
You force the corners of your mouth upward. Your cheeks inflate with nerves and shame. “Thanks,” you repeat, and then: “Everything okay, Dad?”
“Everything’s fine, kiddo. Sleep well.” He makes back for the living room.
As you turn, you unlock your screen.
Joel: Left your shirt here, and your bikini from last week. This mean I get to be the one wearing your clothes now?
Panic spills over your head, a wave of freezing cold washing over you when you read his words. Did Dad read them, too?
You continue walking, feeling the weight of your dad’s strange voice on your back as your feet drag you one by one up the stairs. When you make it back to the landing, your cool flees you, and you take the rest of them two at a time until you’re leaning against your bedroom door, panting.
You: Problem. I think my dad saw that text
Joel: How so?
You: When I got home my phone was next to his chair, and he’s being so weird
You: Joel I think he knows something
Joel: I’m sure he doesn’t. He wouldn’t read your phone baby.
He’s trying to reassure you, telling you he wouldn’t even know what it means, maybe he’ll think you spilled something on it, but no matter how many ideas Joel comes up with, none of them slow your heart rate.
You sit down on the edge of your bed, and the anxiety bubbling in your stomach forces you straight back up. Pacing doesn’t help, knowing your dad is directly below you probably hearing the floorboards creak with every step you take.
Your head dizzies with doubts, fears, worries, all frantically throwing themselves against the walls of your skull. You lean your forehead against the cold glass of your window, eyes screwing shut, stars in your vision. Nothing is calming you down.
Joel takes too long to reply back, whether he’s running out of explanations or just fucking forty-eight with an iPhone, but every time your phone buzzes with a new attempt at comfort from him, it only convinces you even more that – no, it wasn’t a stain, it wasn’t a joke, Joel has your top because you took it off for him an hour ago, and then let him fuck you in his bed.
And your dad fucking knows it.
#joel miller#joel miller fic#joel miller x reader#the last of us#tlou#tlou fic#dbf!joel miller#dbf!joel#dad's best friend#joel miller smut#pedro pascal#pedro pascal joel miller#cowboy like me#smut#fluff#angst
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on the run | prologue
♤ summary: she's an infamous bank robber, and he's the only detective that's been able to get close to her. he was never apart of her plans. but he's got his clutches in her and she can't let go. a geto suguru au
♢ warnings: this story will contain descriptions of violence, destructive behavior, toxic behavior, illegal activities, sexual content, death. use of weapons. forbidden romance
♧ currently: completed
♡ taglist: closed
♤ wc: 1.4 k (they will get longer I promise)
♢ carlile speaks: hi everyone! welcome! I was working on chapter one, and the mood boards (yes boards, there are two more bc I'll do anything to avoid writing even though I love doing it) and this idea popped in to kind of give you a beginning thought as to how they officially met. But chapter one is coming! enjoy this little insight, and I know it definitely is little right now!
you are here | next part
Seventy seconds. That’s all you had until the silent alarm blared at the local police station. But lucky for you, you only need thirty of those seconds to get what you needed. A simple in and out procedure was always how you operated.
In through the front door, dressed to impress. A Bag under your arm and an umbrella in your hand. The umbrella is the key. Literally.
Bank managers always approach you from first entry, wanting to impress someone who looks so lavish; we must keep our high end customers happy. You’re led to the safety deposit room, with the intent of placing your precious jewels into a box.
Until the handle of the umbrella is twisted and a knife is drawn.
The knife held to the manager's throat while he opened every single box he could in the 30 second time span. But you know exactly which boxes to open. You've been surveying this area for weeks now. Camera hacking. One of your specialties. Every customer who entered this room in the last month, you’d seen and known what to take. Totally under wraps; never to be seen until the job needed done.
When the managers think they can overpower a girl like yourself, the gun stashed in your waistband makes its appearance, deftly putting the men in their places.
This was always how you operated. Never the cash; always the safety deposit boxes. Sometimes the items placed inside were of monetary value, but some were of unmatched value; precious family heirlooms that could get ransomed for way more than any cash vault would hold. That’s always what you were after. Sometimes, jewels were involved and that was a plus. A girl can never have too many diamonds. They are your best friends after all. But the ransomed heirlooms, some of kings and queens of the corporate world: that was your MO. You were the Red Queen.
Were.
Suguru was not something you’d anticipated. Suguru was your biggest flaw. He was now your weakness. But he was also the enemy.
He’d been tracking you for months; been minutes from you so many times. You were his biggest project that he’d never been able to get his hands on. You were a myth at this point. Never actually seen, except by the bank managers who were never able to give a good enough description.
“She had big sunglasses, bright red lipstick and a killer smile.”
He knew that much. That was it.
Until now.
He had you.
You walked out five seconds too late.
He had you.
A hand harshly grips the back of your upper arm, spinning you around. Your fist instinctively reaches up, elbow colliding with the person in question; a cracking sound fills the air as your arm connects with their face. You’d successfully knocked their head back. Killing was never your objective when it came to defending yourself, a body leads to problems. You don’t have time for problems. Suguru’s used to combat though, with gritted teeth he takes the blow. Cracking his neck, his other hand reaches to grasp your other arm, flinging you down onto his car's hood as pedestrians continue on their day. Most stop for the show, but others see the badge hanging from his neck and don’t question anything. Your back comes in contact with the car, your head bouncing off the surface; ears ringing from the loud bang. Your arms are braced in front of you as you feel the handcuffs being placed around your hands.
He had you.
Nobody could ever get you. You were like a ghost in the nighttime; but he found you out. Who was this guy? Why does it kind of turn you on? But it also definitely terrifies you.
“We finally meet,” he grins down at you. “I’m Detective Geto, and you’ve been my biggest foe for almost a year,” You just stare back at him. “But you can call me Suguru.”
You were in the back of his car in minutes. Hands cuffed in front of you while he stared at you in the rearview mirror. Unbeknownst to you until now, he’d lied about catching you. He said you’d gotten away again.
He watched you walk into the bank this time. He was the one who was ahead. He finally had the upper hand.
And he liked it.
“No, sir. She got away again.” you heard him say flatly in the front seat. “Yes, sir, I get that but if–” he stops, pressing his thumb and pointer finger into his eyes. “Sir, if i can just speak for a minute,” you can hear yelling through the speaker, but no words can be made out.
Why isn't he telling him you’re right here? What is going on?
“Sir, I had her. She got away. I’ll get her again.,” he pauses again, “Yes sir, I understand. Thank you, Chief. I got it. I’ll handle it. Thank you.”
He’ll handle what? What is happening?
Suguru’s eyes catch yours in the mirror. “You’ve been eluding me for the longest time, Y/N. Or should I say The Red Queen.”
“Call me Ruby. I don’t use that name anymore,” you mutter. Unsure why you’re even responding. What does he want with you? He lied about you to his boss.
“Ruby,” he swirls the name around his tongue, “Pretty,” and he’s starting the car.
“Where are you taking me?” you question, fingers reaching down to pull one of the bobby pins from your boot. You’re always prepared.
“Even if you free yourself, the doors are locked,” he smirks at you in the mirror. You catch his gaze, offering him a glare. “I’m not a threat to you. Not right now.”
What the hell does that mean?
“You’re literally a cop, and you’re not telling me where you’re taking me.”
“I just want to talk to you before I decide what to do next,” his eyes fixed on the road again. You notice the white in his knuckles from gripping the steering wheel so hard. He’s nervous. You could use that to your advantage. Wherever he was taking you, you were going to use your biggest asset: yourself; to get what you needed.
Your freedom. Your biggest job was coming up soon, and you needed to be prepared.
This cop obviously had an attraction towards you. If only he wasn’t a cop, you could entertain the thought of a relationship if he hadn’t been. But honestly, it would probably hold you back.
“Where are we going? Why did you lie? What’s going on?”
“So many questions, Ruby. Live a little,” he chuckles at you. Was this guy insane? A cop isnt taking the opportunity to turn you in? He’d be decorated for the rest of his life.
“Live a little? Do you hear yourself? You said I’d been eluding you for nearly a year, why arent you taking me in? Don’t you want the accolades? Detective Geto takes down the Red Queen,”
“Thought you didn’t go by that name anymore?” He questions, a smirk on his lips.
“I don’t,” you grumble. “But word obviously hasn’t spread yet,” your eyes roll.
“Besides, I'd rather get to know you first,” he says nonchalantly.
“Are you insane?”
“Maybe. But you are too,” he eyes you, making your face redden like your lipstick.
“You don't know anything about me,” you bite out at him. Who does this guy think he is?
“I do,” he states matter of factly. He states your full name. Your fake secured social security number. The list of aliases you use to book hotels, rental cars whatever you needed. He knew what he needed to know. But after seeing you in person, he needed to know more.
He put two and two together based off your appearance. A long black Chanel coat. Big black sunglasses. Dark red lips. The umbrella.
He just knew it was you. He watched you walk into the bank.
“Count to thirty,” he thinks to himself. He’d studied your tactics. He knew them like the back of his hand.
And waited. You were late. One. Two. Three. This might actually happen for him. Four. He’s sweating. Five. You’re here. You’re right here. If he just reaches out—
And now here he was, you in the back of his car driving you to his safe house.
Where he’d get to know what he wanted—needed—to know.
He would figure out a way to know everything.
♧ tags: @celestie0 @lostfracturess @carlacujo @alwaysfreakingout @shervinss @jaelahh @gojolvrr34 @shesplendl
(pls make sure your settings are right to get tagged!)
#jjk suguru#getou suguru x reader#suguru geto smut#geto suguru#geto x reader#jjk geto#jujutsu geto#geto smut#suguru geto#suguru x you#suguru x reader#jujutsu kaisen suguru#suguru geto x y/n#suguru geto x reader#suguru geto x you#geto suguru x you
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Wednesday
joel miller x fem!reader
Summary of the fic: For the last 5 years, every Wednesday you watched a handsome man walk by your street with a lilac bouquet in hands. Except he doesn't stroll on your street this Wednesday, he shows up at your grief support group. 🐾
read on AO3 | masterlist | previous chapter
Warnings: No outbreak AU, Grief and its implications, Reader lost her mom, Reader's mom has a name (but no physical description), Group therapy, Grief support group, Parent grief, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Fluff, No use of y/n
Word count of the chapter: 3,7k
A/N: For the longest time I've thought "What if Joel lost Sarah anyway?" and this became the answer to this question. I have no clue about how big this series will be, but I do know I want to explore grief and loss with these two in the most delicate way possible. Hope you enjoy it 🐾
I. LILAC
Coffee. Sketchbook. Balcony. Five years of waking up early on Wednesdays, grabbing a cup of coffee, and sitting near the railings to wait for him. Like a clock, at 8 am sharp he appears by the street corner with a lilac bouquet under his arm.
His strong profile will be the only thing in your vision for a few minutes as he walks by. You drew it so many times that you could do it with your eyes closed. The man will walk by at a steady pace without looking around (brows deeply furrowed in a “don’t fuck with me” kind of sign), focused on his way down the street.
Tall, dark hair and a patchy beard with a square jaw… He is dreamy, but also out of reach. Where is he going? Why the lilacs? Are they for a woman, his wife maybe? Every Wednesday at 8 am, never a minute late, both he and you.
As you took a sip of your coffee, you glanced over the watch marking 7:58 am, he would be here any minute. You prepared the table in expectancy, what outfit would he be wearing today? You hoped for the green shirt, but the blue one wouldn’t be as bad.
7:59 am. His hair is a little overgrown now, but you like the way his curls frame his face. The broadness of his shoulders and how tall he looks next to the other pedestrians. You aren’t sure of the color of his eyes from afar, maybe green or brown.
8:01 am and no signal of him. This is a first. Maybe you mistook the day of the week, check your phone, and… No, Wednesday still. You squirm in your seat, impatiently looking for him. 8:07 am, he never got so late. Should you keep waiting? You don’t even know his name.
At 8:30 am you give up. A wave of melancholy fills the air. Oh god, be for fucking real, are you really sad because a strange man and his stupid lilacs didn’t walk down your street?
“Don’t forget: 9 am at the gate”, you reread your grandpa's text.
You couldn’t be able to forget it, but deep down wish you could avoid it. Cemeteries aren’t your thing, the constant reminder of the death surrounding you. However, they are Grandpa’s way of dealing with it and who are you to judge?
The sketchbook is opened at the last page you drew, with the man staring in front of him fully angered. How did you end up with over 200+ drawings of a man you never met? The doctor said finding a hobby would help and so you did: drawing. “You see what no one else sees”, your mom used to say and you decided to take a test. Too bad your eyes landed on a strange man walking down the street, holding on tightly to a lilac bouquet. Even worse he had been doing the same path for five years right in front of your balcony. The only things in your sketchbook are his face, his hands, and the bouquet. This is your third one since you kept running out of pages.
As you put the sketchbook away, your mind drifted away to your mother’s (possible) commentary. ���Don’t be silly, he will come by later, I’m sure something happened” and she, most likely, would be right. She was always right. 8:50 am and with your chest tightened from “talking” to her inside your mind, your feet landed at the cemetery’s gate.
“No flowers? Really? Who raised you, pigs?”, your grandpa said narrowing his eyes at you.
He, of course, was an impeccable mess in his hat, black coat, thin-framed glasses that gave him a Bond villainesque look. In his rugged hands a white rose bouquet, carefully made and held by.
“If I remember right, and I do remember it, we are talking about the same woman who said that flowers are for the living, not the dead.” He rolled his eyes in response but in good fun. “Why the flowers then?”
“My biggest mistake was to raise a woman a little too avant-garde, wasn’t it? C’mon, we don’t have the whole day,” he deep sighed while showing you the way.
You knew the path, but your feet seemed to avoid getting there, that’s why you followed Grandpa’s steps in the hope of not turning around and leave. It was a little ritualistic if you were honest: Grandpa would have some kind of gift in his hands that he would leave at the tombstone, and you would pretend to do not care as you deeply cared about it. She wasn’t there anymore, she hadn’t been for a long time.
Behind his glasses, you could see a lost man driven by grief. His hands shaking as he cleaned her name at the tombstone, the gaze avoiding yours. He would always wear black on cemetery days, as if the time never passed and it was the first visit yet.
“Want to go first?” He asked, you sighed in response. “Don’t know why I still ask.”
“It’s… Fine. You know she was a Buddhist, right? She believed in reincarnation. I feel a little silly talking to her,” you confessed while chewing the lip corners.
“Oh, trust me: I knew her the same amount as you, maybe even more. She was my daughter, for fuck’s sake.” Startled, you looked at him in shock at the rare occasion he would curse. Shit. “I’m not here because of her beliefs or lifestyle. Do you quote her inside your head? Because I do too, I too remember every small detail of her. I’m here because it’s how I tell myself she isn’t fully gone. So sorry if I’m too old-fashioned and feel like talking a few words at my daughter's tombstone with my grandaughter who, honestly? Could show a little more love towards her right now. I want to talk with her like we used to at the kitchen table on Sundays, I want to bring her flowers just like I did on her birthday and there is no Buddha, Allah, or a flying horse that can stop me. Now, can you open your fucking mouth and say something nice to your mom about your week?”
Silence took the space for a second before you simply replied with, “Better?”
“Yes, a lot. Thank you for asking, now go on, please.” He adjusted his hat and cleared his throat. You hummed, getting a little courage to look directly at the tombstone.
“Hum. I got a new couch last week, a velvety green one. A little too sexy, if I might, but you would probably say I need something sexy to attract someone even sexier. Am I rambling?” You asked, raising your eyes from the stone, but he made a motion for you to continue it. “Let me think, oh, the cat hunted a pigeon. It was somewhat disgusting because of the amount of feathers in my apartment…”
“Did the pigeon survive?” He asked, in his eyes with a slight curiosity.
“Yes, but by a thread. It was her cat, a little savage just like her!”
The conversation went on easily after it. Grandpa had found some old notebooks of your mom, including one with a cake recipe he would later send to you. You wouldn’t tell him, it did feel better not because you were speaking to her, but because you could watch him relax in his uptight perpetual state. In the blink of an eye, your mind wandered to the strange man and if he ever relaxed like that.
Grief is a strange thing. It took a little encouragement from your therapist and the need to move on, but you had started to go to weekly meetings of a grief support group at the local church (the only thing that made you enter that space). The first months were awkward, you went but avoided it at the same time. Slowly, it grew on you. Five years of not missing a single Wednesday, even on vacation.
Your grandpa tried once, but it just wasn’t for him. He didn’t want to move on or find a meaning for it, he needed to feel his grief as second skin. You needed it to stop suffocating you, to scream and shout about that weight in the hope of someone taking it from your back.
This Wednesday wasn’t any different. You entered the church's back door with some cookies in hand, even if you were well aware that most people couldn’t eat as they exposed their pain, it was more of a sweet gesture than a necessity. The white walls and the cross in front of you completed the scenario.
“Cookies? You never eat anything,” Henry questioned while taking a bite. His dark eyes staring suspiciously at you.
“My grandpa found an old cookie recipe from my mom. How does it taste?” You replied as you watched him bite. You couldn’t bear to try it first, too anxious about it.
“Your mom was definitely a writer, not a chef. Taste like an old sock.” His face contorted as he spat out the cookie. Well, you tried something new.
“Yeah, no wonder I survived out of Lucky Charms and BTLs.” Henry laughed as you let go of your shoulder’s tension a bit.
The grief support group had grown and shrunk over the years. Sometimes people would feel good enough to leave the support, those were the lucky ones: grief was a period of their life, not an everyday thing. In other cases, they would get too depressed and leave before making some actual change in their being. You, unfortunately, were addicted to bond with the pain part of it.
Well, you and them. Henry was the first you met, totally wrecked after losing his little brother, Sam, to leukemia. He almost left college due to the weight of grief but kept it together, you even went to his graduation a few years back.
Tess came later. First, her kid died and then, in a stroke of bad luck, she found out she had a terminal disease that would, eventually, kill her. She wasn’t there to deal with the death of others, but her own. She was slowly dying and it was scary as shit. Not that you would know it from the outside, she had more strength (both physically and mentally) than most.
Frank was the group leader, conducting the discussion and creating the safe spaces. Everything you had said while hugging him, no matter how bad, never came back to hunt you. Which was odd on its own, but even odder considering his grumpy husband, Bill, was the exact opposite. Everything you did said in Bill’s direction came back to hunt you right after it came out of your mouth.
People come and go, but you stay there. Grabbing your regular place at the circle, putting the name tag on your shirt, and drinking some water just in case you cry. Except today you have someone new seated across you.
His strong nose and patchy beard hint someone you do know. His square jaw tensed up, brows deeply furrowed in a “don’t talk to me, I want to go home” that you could draw with eyes closed. The name tag reads “Joel”. You were right, his eyes are brown.
It feels weird to look at him without a pen and paper in hand, but it feels just right to see his features up close. Tess brings him coffee - black, you noticed - and gives him an eye silently saying “Don’t fuck it up”.
The meeting starts, Frank asks who is there for the first time. Joel and a woman, Hannah, raise their hands.
“It’s tradition to introduce ourselves at our first meeting. You don’t need to tell the details of why you are here or who you are, just simple information that people can distinguish you from the rest of the group.” Frank explains to a tired Joel, who sighs in response while Hannah overshares who she is.
Of course he doesn’t want to be there. Nobody wants to. You wish you could leave every time you cross the door, but know that the moment the meeting starts to develop you will want to continue in that deep state of pouring your heart out.
“I’m Joel, my friend Tess convinced me to come. That’s it.” He simply states, loud and straight. You catch Frank laughing.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to push you a little on it. Why did you accept to come here?” Joel furrows even deeper at the provocation.
“I didn’t. She trapped me.” Tess raises her very blonde eyebrows at him, who snaps. “You did trap me. Call me saying it was an emergency, I go to your house expecting the worst and you lock me inside there until the time to come here after I said I wouldn’t go to a grief support group.”
“See? He is an asshole, he needs this.” She answers Frank, making sure he gets her points. Your mom was right, something had happened to him.
“So, Joel, why are you here still?” Frank subtly asks.
“I beg your pardon?” Joel’s eyes are softer now, getting caught off guard. He doesn’t have any argument for it.
“Yes Joel, why are you still here? I’m not trapping you in this char, nobody is holding you down.” Tess retorts her mouth in his direction, that scoffs and looks around the room. When his eyes look into yours, you smile coyly unable to retain yourself.
“Sir, please continue.” Accepting defeat, Joel crosses his arms around his chest, fully ignoring Tess's triumphant smile.
“You are free to leave at any point, no need to tell us why. But I guarantee that if you stay, you might learn we aren’t that bad.” Frank nods in his direction, gaining a hard sigh. “Let’s start. Before every meeting, we say out loud the names of those who have gone to allow ourselves to think about them without shame, remorse, or guilt. You know the drill, Henry?”
“Sam,” Henry says firmly.
“Abigail,” you speak loudly.
Another silly little gesture, but you do allow yourself to think about her after it. Every single time. It’s almost as if the weight of her, the one that you carry around all day and pretend isn’t there suffocating you, comes to sit by you, not on you.
“Teresa,” Tess points at her.
“Sarah,” Joel almost murmurs looking at the ground. His hands are fidgeting, his mind in another place.
You have been there, you know how strange it is to say it for the first time out loud after a while, sounds forbidden and partly awkward. You aren’t supposed to say it to strangers, it’s sacred just for you, and yet, here you are saying it to whoever wants to share this pain with you.
You wonder if Sarah liked lilac flowers.
Some people speak about how they dealt with grief during the week until Frank asks you how the cemetery visit went. The group knows that meeting your grandpa there gives you a chill up the spine.
“I think I forget that he is allowed to grieve as he needs. I know all these little parts of her, how she lived her life. I’m quick to fight because she isn’t here to defend herself. I’m not even sure she would like for me to defend the memory of who she is… Sorry, was. Of who she was.” You swallow dryly, trying to ignore the miswording. “He bought her flowers. She always said that flowers were for the living, not the dead, and yet, he bought her a bouquet. I got frustrated, felt like he was trying to put her in a box of who he wanted her to be.
“He put me in my place quickly, even said fuck.” Henry makes some noise in surprise, you nod agreeing. “Exactly, it dawned on me: the flowers are for him, not for her. Just like his grief and how he needs to express it is only for himself, not for me to judge. I think he misses her more than he tells me. If I could go back in time, I would have implored him to cremate her and stop this nonsense of going to her grave, checking her tombstone, giving her damn flowers.”
“Maybe the flowers are his way of saying out loud that he cares too. She was his daughter before being your mother.” Joel speaks out loud, getting your full attention. His arms are still crossed, but now his eyes are lost in thought, almost as if he didn’t want you to hear it.
“Maybe. I just wish he allowed himself to stop pretending she is still here. I want to think of her without feeling guilty that she isn’t. He is too busy missing her to notice that I’m missing him.” You answer locking eyes with Joel, who chews the corners of his mouth, once again deep in thought.
“Maybe he doesn’t know how to do it, need help.” His voice soft, just like his eyes.
“Maybe.” You give in, feeling that Joel isn’t speaking about your grandpa. You swallow as you remember the lilacs.
The meeting runs smoothly. The group finishes by drinking coffee before parting ways. Frank is chatting by the corner with Joel, who is running a hand by the nape of his neck. Curiosity gets the best of you and, before you can stop, you question Tess.
“Who is Sarah?”
“A million-dollar question, huh?” She teases as she sips her sugary coffee. Henry looks between you two, waiting for a response. “You both haven’t heard from me, I’ll deny til death that I’ve ever said it. His daughter, she died a few years back. He hasn’t been the same since. That motherfucker goes to her grave every fucking Wednesday.”
“He visits her every Wednesday?” The number of drawings of Joel walking down your street early in the morning with a lilac bouquet makes more sense. His face, his fast speed, how he ignored everyone that walked by, how he never noticed you at your balcony.
“Yes, she died on a Wednesday, he relives that event every week since.”
Frank walks in your direction, Joel right behind him looking everywhere, except your face. If he only knew how much you have looked at his face before.
“I recall you haven’t been a mentor yet, right?” Frank starts and you nod, curious about where he is going. “Amazing! You’ll have your first newbie. Joel, you’re in good hands.”
He leaves before you can say anything, whether yes or no. Fuck. Joel is confused as well, still looking like he would rather leave. You open your mouth and go grab your phone.
“Sooooo… How was your first meeting?” Flipping through your phone until find your own number isn’t a good move to show that you are smart, trustful and worthy but right now you only want to avoid his brown eyes.
“Pass.” You blink at him. “I won’t keep chit-chatting. Cut to the chase.”
“Oh damn, I thought you had softened a little with time.” He fights the urge to roll his eyes and you smirk at him, reading him like a book. “I’ll give you my number in case you need someone to talk to. And yes, you can call me anytime you want to. And no, I won’t get your number. You come to me or I won’t come to you.”
That entertains him a little. It was the first rule of your mentor, she made sure you would look for her and not the other way so you could understand when and what triggered you. Joel just nods as he saves your contact.
“When did you first contact your mentor?” He questions, sounding genuine in his curiosity.
“Diet Coke, couldn’t drink.” The furrowed brows are back, so you continue. “My mom would mostly only drink Diet Coke, after she passed away I would buy canes just to open and hear the sizzling. Couldn’t drink otherwise would vomit from stress. It was really hot and I craved one, made that call and drank it.”
“And you drank the whole thing?” His soft eyes are back and you feel a little foolish for thinking that he could have green eyes, not when the dark brown suits him so much.
“Yes and vomited right away. Still, it was worth the shot.” You smile and for a fraction of time, he smiles too.
He doesn’t call right after and neither shows up at the grief support group. You still draw him, but from memory, the last time you watched as he strolled your street it was three months ago. Something about his grief seems too personal and you feel awkward invading that space, instead, every Wednesday at 8 am you find another thing to do. It isn’t as easy as it sounds, ignoring his handsome profile and the lilacs on his hands, but you allow his privacy.
The only reminder of your favorite habit is the sketchbook at the table and the fresh lilacs decorating your balcony.
Time goes by slowly and too fast, the weight of your mom still at your back as the life surrounding you goes on its course. You almost forget about him until a Wednesday morning, 8 am sharp, your phone chimes and you pick up at the first beep.
“I can’t eat pancakes. I hate pancakes, but she loved it.” He softly says and you stop everything to listen.
“You made from scratch or store-bought?” You phrased it like it is an important question. He hums back on the phone.
“Store-bought, don’t know how to make the batch. She straight up bought only the mix.”
“Would you eat with her, despite not liking it?” Your hand slides the paper, creating his silhouette line after line.
“Yes.” He simply answered, as if it was the most common question in the world.
“What are you waiting for? Take a bite.”
And he does. The chewing sound from the other side fills the phone, your hand keeps drawing him in his overgrown hair, almost as if you could see the scene right before your eyes.
“So, was it worthed?” You ask looking at the draw as he finishes his plate.
“Still taste disgusting.” He soft replies after a second, you snort and he laughs. The sound is the most delicious thing you’ve ever heard.
next chapter
#joel miller#tlou fanfiction#joel miller fic#joel miller x original character#joel miller x reader#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x you#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fic#pedro pascal fanfic#the last of us#the last of us hbo#wednesday series
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x. make me yours
frankie morales x f!reader | chapter ten of i like the way you
best friend! friends with benefits! frankie morales summary: what starts off as an offhand remark, quickly becomes a regular, scheduled 'stress relief'. the only problem is, both of you are in denial that you feel anything outside of friendship for the other.
warnings: friends with benefits. fwb! rules. flirting. idiots who are so in love it’s stupid. feelings/love confessions. smut - p in v, mirror sex, praise (for both) worshipping frankie's cock. happy ending in more than one way.
word count: 4.6k
an: thanks to @thetriumphantpanda for being here every step of the way, holding my hand. to @secretelephanttattoo for the comfort over the last week since i finished and to you, amazing readers, for putting trust in me once again that i could write something. i was so nervous after late night texts i'd never deliver a thing you'd all love, but here we are. thank you.
There’s a calmness to an early morning—especially one where you feel his legs tangled with yours.
Your room splayed in the glow of a new day, it fluttering through the slit of the closed curtains. Just enough for you to know it’s morning, but not enough to convince you that you need to rise.
Especially when he’s beside you.
From the steady, faint way the tips of his fingers seem to trace up and down your arm, you can tell he’s been awake for a while. The world around all so silent, just his breath and yours—the soft thudding of heartbeats and the occasional moving of limbs brushing against your sheets.
It’s enough to soothe you back to slumber, faintly hearing him whisper I’ll be right back, just awake enough to mumble an okay as the mattress dips and your cocoon of warmth begins to cool without him.
All of it perfect, almost picturesque—doing all you cannot to ruin your own delusion or fantasy with thinking about last night.
When you finally move from your sheets, you listen for him. The heavier footsteps, the way he occasionally bumps into the corner of your counter—a thing he’s done ever since you moved here.
But, there’s none.
Not even as you layer on a jumper, or pull on some socks from your bedside drawer—nothing flooding the silence except the water down the drain as you brush your teeth, as you make eyes at the bleary eyes coming back to you in the mirror.
It’s only when you leave the haven of your room, do you see him walking back in through your front door, his keys joining yours in the bowl on your side table—jacket hung beside the other, hat thrown onto the sofa.
And it makes your heart squeeze, makes your chest tighten for a moment. Because this is what you want. This. Him. His things being all messily arranged around yours, your things moving for him. A morning like this, down to the sheepish smile he gives you.
Lifting the paper bag, he begins to grin—all soft, gentle—lines beginning to appear near his eyes as he does. “I got us breakfast.”
Biting your smile, you nod, moving from the doorway to the kitchen—helping. It being all you can focus on, breaking the things down into small tasks, because it’s that or fall apart. It’s that or spill to him a mess of words you’d rehearsed for last night.
Swallowing them, the two of you move instead. All in a fluid motion, grabbing plates, a mug for him and a glass for you. The scrunching of the paper bag is all that can be heard, not the clatter of your hand against the plate as it shakes or the way you keep swallowing back a lump. One which sounds awfully like I don’t want to lose you.
He must know—be able to tell. Always able to read you like you’re the most obvious flight plan laid out for him. Because he nudges you, just ever so slightly:
“We’re okay, alright?”
You’re not sure if it’s the years of being let down by others or the sheer weight of your feelings for him, or the odd combination of both, but it crashes together inside of you, dissolving the lump, making fresh tears rise to your eyes. One falling, unable to cling itself to your lashes—unable to hide it, disguise it, not quick enough in turning before he’s already seen it.
“Hey, hey, don’t cry,” he whispers, all soothingly.
It’s similar in tone to the one he used in the Heli that one time. Close in relation to the voice he used sometimes when he had his hand between your thighs, pleading with you to give him another, because you can do it, hermosa, you can.
Covering your face with your hands, you bite down on your cheek—the tide of pain enough to halt the fallout of tears. The pitter-patter on your cheeks, fingers sliding them down, smoothing them out over your skin as you take a breath, remove your palms, lashes lifting.
His brows are pinched together, one thick line, surrounded by a few others—eyes wide, all brown, glistening in worry and concern.
“I don’t want breakfast.”
Blinking, his eyes move around the room, before landing back on you. “O-okay, that’s—that’s okay—”
“I want you.”
It isn’t anything you like you rehearsed.
Nothing close to the script practised in mirrors and as you chopped, prepared and cooked the dish last night. It’s more an array of balled-up words which hastily leave your lips—chest rising and falling, a pang in your chest.
“I want you—and admittedly I do actually really, really want breakfast. But I want… this, the whole thing, not just the food, the act. I want the morning we began having—I…”
Your voice trails off. Keenly aware that your body has begun to tremble, the enormity of it all rising inside of you like a snake—slithering, clotting, making it hard to breathe without focusing in on it coming up your throat.
“I’m not—this isn’t making much sense. I want mornings like this. I know you saw what I did—and I don’t know if you cleaned it up because you don’t feel the same and that’s your wonderful, gentle way of telling me. And, I’m not sure if you came to fetch me out of some guilt, just like I’m not even sure if you lay with me because you wanted to make sure I wasn’t sad…
“But, Frankie, I like you. I like the way you make me feel lighter and happier, that you don’t even pretend to have all the right words. I like that you show up, that you make me feel…”
His head tilts, eyes fixed on you—unwilling to move.
Captivated. Enchanted.
It makes your skin warm and the nerves seem to settle as you take a settling breath.
Swallowing, you smile. “I like the way you make me smile. That you make me feel good, incredible even. I like you, Frankie. You.”
You watch him roll his lips, gentle movements, brain likely whirring a mile a minute under his curls. Ones you want to run your fingers through—soothe him, comfort him.
But you remain where you’re stood. Feet planted, unwilling to move closer. Not prepared to bend and curl into him, even if everything in you is screaming too.
The fear of him rejecting you keeps you still, braced—waiting and watching, studying each micro-inflexion for an insight into whether sun or rain is going to come and land on your parade.
Then, he whispers your name.
It sounds so jagged—sharp in places it is usually soft. It hits your ears wrong, not matching the look on his face, as a hand reaches inside of your chest and squeezes, while other parts of your crumble.
“Do you… not want to be with me?”
You shouldn’t ask, but you have. It's more pitiful when you replay it back, worsened by the look he gives you. It’s one you assume he’d wear if you’d slapped him. Half-wounded, half-irritated. As though what you had just proposed was the most stupid thing you could ever say.
“Fuck, no. I just—”
“Just, what?”
His jaw slides from side to side, fingers picking at the bread he’d just gone out to fetch. “I just think…
“Think what?”
“That you deserve better, alright?”
Your face falls.
Inch by inch of it shifting, feeling it do so—as though a mist has washed down over you, clinging to your features, dragging them down. From your eyebrows to your upturned lips.
Slowly, you press your spine into the back of your kitchen counter, hand resting on the top of it, not moving, not circling the pattern or tapping against the side.
“Frankie…”
“No, listen. You deserve someone who has their shit together, someone who can take you out—spoil you—give you the life you want. I… I can’t do that. But someone else, someone like—“
“Like Will?”
His chin lifts, his eyes landing on you. Fear and panic eroding away the earlier irritation.
You’re breathing heavily, seething and panting. Adrenaline darts through you, making your back straighten and your fingers want to close into fists.
“Yeah, I know. Surprise, surprise, you don’t need to be military-trained to know that you’re being a dick to him because you’ve created a narrative in your head. Which, by the way, is all that is, because I don’t like Will like that. Never have. He’s… he’s not my type for one.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes. I like you.” You chew your cheek, staring at him, sighing. “Frankie, I don’t deserve better.” Trying to blink away tears that begin to spring, feeling them practically stinging. “What is even better than you?”
He shoots you a look, lips rolling, before he pushes a heavy breath out through his nose.
You don’t care if it’s childish, you fold your arms. Anger suddenly crawls up your throat, wanting to throw whatever you can at him.
Narrowing your eyes, you drop your voice, “So, what? You’re good enough to be my best friend, to have a key to my house, to sleep with me—fucking regularly, by the way—but not to put a different label on it?”
He says your name, soft, barely in a breath. Eyes all dark, swarming with things you can’t begin to work out.
And it rises in you again. The feeling from last night.
The matted mess of emotions that rumbled out of you in floods of tears as your glare intensifies, your heart aching as you dig your stare into him with all you have.
“No, Frankie. No. You know I like you. I always have. It’s… it’s always been you. And, I think you know that, just like we both know this hasn’t just been fucking.” Straightening your spine, you take a more measured breath. “So, if you don’t feel the same, that’s fine—but I’d like you to go.”
The latter comes out more shaky—a crack in your resolve. Each syllable all practically broken by the time it hits the air, eyes unwavering in their stare at him, watching, studying. Easily able to spot the slight shift of his jaw, the tick of it to the side, and the way his throat bobs as he contemplates it—whatever he's fighting inside his head.
Then, he takes your hand and moves it from being around your other bicep, unfolding your crossed arms.
It’s simple to take your hand. Easy. A gesture he hopes says more than it does.
From your glare, he’s not sure it does.
So, he takes a moment. Weigh it up, tries to align up the words which will make the most sense, and have the most impact. Holding your fingers in his. Allowing himself to feel the little bones that make it up, the knuckles and the way your hand just instantly fits inside his own.
If anything, it’s only more evidence of how long this has been in front of his face. A thing he now can’t unsee or unnotice. Because with you it’s never forced, not the way he feels or the way you fit. A place there for you, growing as he did, especially made for you inside of him.
He beats for you.
A realisation he really only accepted last night when he stood in your home—the one littered with the little quirks he’s been around to witness take shape. Like your obsessions with fake hanging plants, because you can’t keep real ones alive; that you like black and white images over colour, because it doesn’t matter what colour the room is.
“I think…”
Your brows rise, pulling your eyes with it—making them wider, more like pools. There’s hesitance embroiled in the rest of you, appearing so close to unravelling that it hurts his heart.
But it’s your eyes he focuses on. He’s always found them beautiful, and expressive—a thing he could happily dive into and contently live inside of if allowed.
“I think we make new rules?”
His grip tightens on your hand, and he feels your fingers slide with ease between his. Letting yourself soften to him, come to him—like you always do.
It would be easy for someone else to admit it all, to tell you that he wants you, likes you, practically fucking needs you. That you’re important, the most important thing, if anything—that he couldn’t leave you, not ever.
It had already pricked at him before the of you began all of this. When the two of you were nothing more than just best friends. It being there, ready to pierce him when he leaves for work, when he says goodbye; when he’s in a different city reading your text messages.
The idea of leaving, leaving, would kill him. Would be worse than a bullet ripping through flesh or a knife plunging into muscle. It would ruin him, end him.
Because you’re the light that leads him back. The hands that somehow find all the pieces of him that have shifted from their places, able to solve him, complete the puzzle. You see him, bloom inside of him, force away the darkness and add little beams of sunshine when it had only ever been shadows.
“We can’t see other people—”
“Frankie—I already know this.”
He gives you a look, a pointed one. A give me a second kind of look, and you relent, mouth clamping shut, eyes narrowing a touch.
Tracing his tongue over his bottom lip. “And, one of the nights I’m back—we go out. Whether it’s for a drive, for dinner, for a movie, something—anything. I… I wanna take you out.”
Your face flickers, attempting to shift. “Okay… I think I can do that...”
Taking a half-step closer, he watches your other hand fall to your side, allowing him to slide his hand over your hip. “And, I want you to cook for me. Baby, I miss your cooking so fucking much. I miss the little smile you do when you see me take a second bite—I… I miss it.”
“You gonna turn up for it?”
Smirking, he pinches your side. “I deserved that.”
Nodding, you smirk, and he takes the opportunity to look at you—really look. The shine in your eyes having returned, the slight upturn of your lips.
Seemingly, and obviously, coming to the conclusion he’s offering—and he’s sure if he could tell you what he thinks, what he said to Will, it would shift into a grin.
Holding your hip, he takes another half-step, the gap gone, faded, vanished. “And, I’m going to buy you wine—because… well, hand it to you, I never actually stopped.”
“Wait. What? What do you mean?”
Letting his hand release yours, Frankie instead cups your cheek, thumb stroking against it in a soft line. “Couldn’t help it. Each time I went to the store, I ended up buying it anyway. I have been for months, since we first began our arrangement. It’s just…. stored away. My cupboards are full of it, my truck even—it felt wrong not to buy it for you.”
Glancing down at you, he quickly spots how your eyes have begun to fill, water filling at the bottom that he already feels is different from the way they had done earlier. The sun catching them, twinkling, practically shimmering with something he hopes is joy.
It’s why he reaches his finger to brush out over the corner of your growing smile, feeling it, basking in it.
Clearing your throat, you bite your lip before saying, “Can I stay at yours—'cause your bed is so much nicer than mine.”
Laughing, he feels a grin explode across his face. “Can stay over at mine whenever baby.”
“Because I’m yours?”
The question makes his throat tighten, just a touch before his body floods with warmth. “Because you’re mine.”
And fuck, the way you look at him as the words hit you, it’s like nothing he can ever explain. No words able to describe it, no phrasing that can properly explain it. It’s like a thousand things all flickering over your face.
It’s why he kisses you, needing to feel it, taste it. Finding you moving your fingers around his neck, nails scratching lightly at the base of his hair.
“I like our new rules,” you whisper, mouth hovering over his.
“Yeah?”
Nodding, you bite your lip, twirling a curl around your finger before tugging ever so lightly.
“Yeah. I agree to all our new rules.”
As he smirks, you must want to feel it—because you press your lips back to his, deepening it, tongue sliding past his, licking behind his teeth as his body presses you more to the counter. So reminiscent of that first time—your words coming to him.
That is—if you didn’t find me so repulsive.
He groans against you, keeping you close, flush. “Fuck you must really like me, querida.”
Licking your lips, he hears you let out a soft breath. “I do, actually—in fact, I love you.” Lifting his brows, knowing they’re cutting into his forehead, likely all deep lines appearing as his eyes get even wider. “Have done for a stupidly long amount of time.”
“How long?”
Needing to hear it—needing it to coat him.
Shrugging, you smile, his hand rising, taking yours from around his neck and pressing it against his cheek. “Too long to not have said anything.”
“Me too.”
He wants to tell you it all. The speech that barely makes any sense. How his feelings for you are something akin to love at first sight, but not. Like an ache, a need. A purpose to make you smile, to make you happy—a thing he tried to do at all the chances he had.
And at some point, between then and now, he’d fallen, head over.
And fuck was he glad. More so as he has the opportunity to dance his breath along your lips, feeling the softest flicker of your hammering through his chest.
“Been crazy about you for ages,” he says, instead. “Made it easy to be too. Nothing about you has ever been difficult.”
“Not what I’ve heard you say in bed.”
Smirking, he purposefully slants his mouth over yours, wishing to paint your lips in the feelings that rage and flow throughout him. That he wants this, you, for the rest of his life.
“Thought I could never deserve you.”
“Fra—“
Your chastise is swallowed, muffled against his mouth as he silences you with his lips. Moving you, walking you—happy that you let him, as he twists his body, the two of you walk back to the room the two of you had woken up in. The one he wishes he gets to wake up in many more times.
“Tell me again.”
He knows he’s not specific, but he hopes you know. Not hiding the doubt he knows that usually strums inside of him, offering the chance for you to brush it away, remove it. Like you have done so many other times, but just never like this Your brain is cruel to you, Morales.
“I love you, Francisco.”
He kisses you, a groan vibrating against his lips as your body smothers his—all welcomed, a weight he’d missed.
“I love you so much, Frankie,” you whisper again, closer to his ear, his mouth on your neck, finding that spot.
Lifting the bottom of your jumper up, his thumb brushes over your soft stomach as he pulls it up off your body—unveiling you, smothering you in soft yellow as the sunlight tries to peek through your curtains.
“I love you, querida.”
He speaks it, then he burns those three words against you. Right under your ear as he casts your clothing to a corner, then against your pulse as he cups your breast, thumb brushing over the hardening peak as you whimper, before he does it a millimetre from your lips, watching you fix your gaze on him.
Your body is slowly smothered with his, letting himself feel you, all that he can. The few items the two of you are wearing are removed, falling in a littered pattern against the floor, until it’s just a skin-to-skin—the cool air pebbling both of your skin.
It’s your turn: say it again.
And he does. Not just with his lips, but with everything he has. Warming you, making you smile against his mouth as he slides his hand between your thighs, feeling it, how much you want him, how much you love him. Coating his fingers in it, that honeyed slick that he would feast on forever—almost tempted to drop to his knees and draw each letter of those three words against you.
“Wanna try something,” he whispers, instead.
Your eyes pinch, before smoothing out as he slides two fingers inside of you, easily up to the knuckle. Feeling enveloped, delving into silken warmth that welcomes him like you have done since the beginning.
“Wanna show you how pretty you are.”
His thumb catching your bundle of nerves, your pussy fluttering around his fingers—tightening, pulling him in. A gasp of his name leaving his mouth, already so wet, all beautiful, a sight to fucking behold as the tension fades and you relax around where he’s touching you.
“Can I?” he asks. “Show you?”
Yes.
I love you, he responds.
And you grind into him at the words, chasing a high from the fingers buried inside of you. He wants to say it more, let it be all he says to you today. Press it to every part of you, make sure you know only those words—
Your hand wraps around him, gripping him, thumb sliding over the head of his stiff, leaking cock as he grunts—and you grin. Twitching in your hand, mouth open as he rests his forehead against yours.
“Y’have the nicest cock, Frankie.”
“Fuck, baby.”
His eyes clench shut, your name falling from his mouth.
“Love how it feels inside of me.”
“Y’want it now, baby? Want my cock inside you?”
Please, you whimper. But, it’s only when you moan his name does he move, shifting you, removing his fingers from you, noting the whimper at the loss of him, as he guides your body in front of him, shifting until the two of you are standing in front of your mirror.
That mirror.
The one he’d thought of nothing else since you’d begun sending the photos, the phone call, the noises he was able to pull from you even miles away.
“Haven’t stopped thinking about your mirror, baby,” he whispers, nipping at your ear lobe. “Thought of taking you in front of it.”
Your head tilts, eyes meeting his, lust there—
And you sink to your knees without hesitation, staring up at him, waiting. That wave of whether he deserves you darting through him, but he stuffs it away, easily able to do when you offer your hand to him.
Following behind you, your back to his chest, a hand planted on your hip, the other guiding, leading the head of him in until you’re sliding yourself down on his cock. He buries himself inside of you, hissing as he does, as you take all of him, hearing the noticeable gasp as you do.
You’re so right, tight—so perfect. Moulded around him, adjusting, stretched just for him.
“So good for me.”
“I like it when you say that to me,” you whisper, eyes locking with his.
His fingers are on the base of your neck, staring at you in the mirror, letting his gaze wander up and down your naked frame. His hips slowly moving—cock sliding in and out. All slow, deliberate strokes that are so deep you whine in the base of your throat each time he leaves just the tip in.
“You look so beautiful taking me,” he hums, fingers flexing on your hip. “Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Me or—fuck, Frankie—my—“
He doesn’t let you finish, nipping your ear lobe. “You, querida. Always you.”
Your hand coming up around his neck, gripping, digging your nails into him as you move with him, hips slamming back into his—thrusts increasing, the noise the two of you are making together filling the air, a poignant reminder that it’s real, this, the two of you.
“I’m yours,” you croak.
Heat pools in his stomach, more so when he watches you in the mirror as your fingers slide between where the two of you are conjoined. Moaning, whimpering as your fingers move just above where his cock pistons in and out of you.
“All yours—always yours—“
Your walls tighten around him, fluttering, sucking him in and he wants nothing more than to fill you. Taking in each moan, noise, gasp you emit as your fingers begin to draw circles, his eyes focused on it, lasered in on your movements—knowing your eyes are on him.
“Gonna come, Frankie—so close—“
He’s tight, fingers grasping as his hips snap to yours, his mouth on the space between your neck and shoulder, licking, kissing, biting.
“Please, baby, please—“
“Let go for me, baby. Show me, let me have it.”
It’s heaven.
Getting to both feel it, watch you in awe of yourself as you do, while still getting to enjoy a view of you as your body tightens and then snaps. Your body arching into him, nails likely cutting into his skin, but he doesn’t care. Wants a bruise, and desires little half-moons scarred on his skin—evidence of the marks you constantly leave on the inside of him. The ones he welcomes, thankful for.
M’gonna come.
It leaves his mouth all foreign, your eyes opening, landing back on him—in awe, like he’s something you’ve fantasised about and found truly exists. And it’s all he needs, the look in your eyes, so close, impossibly so, flames dancing through him, all twisting, becoming an inferno.
“I love you, Frankie.”
His eyes lock with yours, your words hit his ears—and he comes hard. Shivering from it, shaking from it. Blissed out and fucked out as your name rips from his throat, painting the air in the same way he paints your walls.
Then he breathed, twitching, one last roll of his hips as he dragged your chin to face him, kissing you hungrily, desperately.
“I love you too,” he says, breathless, but very much fucking content.
At some point, you’re led back from the carpeted floor, back to the sheets you both woke in. His mouth sliding over your shoulder, fingers looped in yours.
The breakfast he had bought long since cold, but devoured, his hand on your knee as he grins at something you say, and you want to find your phone, open the camera and snap it.
It isn’t until the two of you are lay, silent, your hand inside his, head on his chest.
“When are you taking me on a date then?”
Hearing him snort, you look up, finding his eyes already on you, watching. “You free tonight?”
“I think I could move things around.”
And you smile, mirroring the one which slides across his—your heart thumping, all in a pattern it has been since the very beginning. I love you. I love you. I love you. Excited, thrumming with energy that slides against contentment, because—
“Really glad I’m yours, Frankie.”
Feeling his fingers fan out across your jaw and cheek, you let your eyes trace his smile.
“Glad you’re mine too, baby.”
Body curling into him, you let your fingers slide across his chest, you let the beat of his heart hammer against your wrist, smiling. Brain ticking, thinking, suddenly coming to a thought.
“Since Will knows. How long do you think it’ll take Benny to figure out we’re together?” you ask.
Staring off, you watch his eyes narrow as he begins to smirk. “Wanna see?”
“Oh, most definitely.”
#frankie morales x reader#francisco morales x reader#francisco morales smut#Frankie morales x reader smut#frankie morales x f!reader#frankie morales x you#jo: iltwy#triple frontier x reader#francisco morales fanfiction#triple frontier fanfiction#pedro pascal characters#francisco catfish morales x reader#catfish morales x reader#frankie morales smut#triple frontier smut#frankie morales x f!reader smut#pedrostories
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When the End Comes | ch 2 (jjk)
☆summary: Seven years after you've started dating Jungkook, long distance creates a wedge in your relationship. When the only solution seems to be breaking up, you go your separate ways even though love still lives in the two of you. Will you find a way back together, or has the end come for you and Jeon Jungkook?
☆pairing: photographer!Jungkook x lawyer!female reader
☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, there is mature content in every chapter)
☆genre: breakup!au, slice of life!au, angst with a big A, smut
☆warnings: moving, curses, alochol, explicit content: female and male masturbation, pain kink (Jungkook), mentions of blowjob and penetrative sex
☆word count: 8.7k
☆series masterpost
☆a/n: I don't even know what to say about this chapter, just that I FEEL their pain so much :'( justice for my babies
☆a/n pt2: Thank you to @moonleeai for beta-ing this, you are the best <3
☆Read The Forgotten Spaces here, the prequel to When the End Comes! It does not need to be read to understand When the End Comes, but I think it still should be read first to have a better understanding of the characters in general!
☆Add yourself to the taglist here (if you were on the taglist for The Forgotten Spaces, you're already on the taglist for When the End Comes!)
☆☆☆☆☆
But love never leaves a heart,
where it found it, found it
You found it
Someday, I'll fall into you
That's where I'll be now when the end comes
When the End Comes, Andrew Belle
☆☆☆☆☆
Thursday, July 6th
Days and weeks have passed. Apparently, even months have. Jungkook hasn’t really noticed – he’s been stuck in a daze, stuck replaying your breakup over and over again. Wishing he’d begged you to stay, though he could tell that nothing would have been fruitful.
You had made your decision already.
He hasn’t done anything since you left. Hasn’t left your apartment except for looking for a new one, when Yoongi forced him to go. Because alone, he can’t afford the one you had together. And it’s too filled with memories anyway.
All the pictures on the shelves by the window, turned towards the wall the night you left. The echo of your laugh, in every room he steps in. The ghost of you, just a silhouette he can’t ever reach when it’s dark and his mind is playing tricks on him.
The night you left, he thought it was a joke. A sick, twisted prank, and he believed you’d come back. When hours passed and dawn approached, he got up from the spot where he was sitting in, near the door, and turned the pictures towards the wall before heading to bed.
He hadn’t been able to sleep in the bed, and he’d slept with Bam directly on the floor.
A few nights later he’d made an actual bed with blankets on the floor, and he’s been sleeping there since then. But not tonight – tonight he’ll try sleeping in bed, in his new apartment.
A space that shouldn’t remind him of you too much.
He’s packed almost everything before today. He had nothing else to do, and it served to keep his mind busy during the long hours of the day. At night he usually has nothing to keep his mind from going to you, and he thinks he’s stuck in the moment when you left.
It’s a looped film in his mind, a horror movie that will forever haunt him.
The boys are helping. They brought most of the boxes he’s packed to his new place already, a small studio in the same building as Yoongi and Kiko. It’s on the other side of town, far from where he built a life with you, and he really hopes your ghost won’t follow.
Though he doubts he’ll ever escape it.
Everyone is currently doing a trip to the other apartment, except Jungkook and Yoongi. Mostly because Jungkook has been standing in the empty living room, save for the pictures on the shelves.
You left with the couch and the dinner table, telling him to keep the TV even though you were the one to buy it years ago. And that day you came to pick up your stuff…
Another haunting moment to add to the long list that’s been tormenting him since you broke up.
He shuts his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, jaw clenching as the familiar ache takes over his heart. He doesn’t want to cry today – at least not before he’s alone in his new place. Because he hates how his friends are concerned, hates that he can’t just stay home alone.
None of them understand the sorrow that’s been plaguing him – hell, all of them except Jimin are happily dating. A dirty, ugly part of him hates them for it, and he’s been trying to distance himself.
“You good?” Yoongi asks, startling him.
Jungkook’s hand falls to his side, and he forces his eyes open. Yoongi is next to him, an eyebrow cocked in question. “Yeah.”
“Do you want me to put these in a box?” Yoongi enquires, and Jungkook clenches his fist as Yoongi’s pointing to the pictures.
“I can take care of it.”
It takes him a few seconds before he does get in motion, and he heads to the shelves. There’s already a box waiting for the frames, one Taehyung put there earlier before Jungkook told him not to touch anything.
“Do you want help?” Yoongi asks carefully.
Jungkook steels himself as he grabs the first picture. He already knows which it is, from its placement on the shelf. It’s one of his exhibit’s pictures. The one he titled ‘Where I found hope again’. It’s the sunset from the living room of the apartment he’d found for you.
Seeing it hurts, but he barely pays attention to it, carefully putting it in the box before grabbing the next one. There you are, cheeks red and smile bright in the snow of December, and he feels like dying as he remembers the name of that one.
‘Where I learned to love again’. It feels like it’s laughing at him right now, like life is having a good laugh at his expense. He wants to throw it away, to burn and watch your beautiful form crumbling into ashes.
Instead, he puts it away, before moving to the next one. He thinks he goes blind – he doesn’t see the next pictures. Doesn’t focus on any of them, and lets the ache take over his action, over his heart. When he’s done, he realizes that the apartment is once again filled with voices – none of them being the right one, and he wishes to be alone.
Wishes to be allowed to crumble, to let himself be carried by the wind.
The rest of the day is a blur. He barely remembers getting to his new place, riding shotgun next to Jimin while Taehyung and Namjoon talked about something on the backseat. Jimin was silent, respecting Jungkook’s need to not speak, and maybe it’s for that reason that Jungkook says yes when Jimin asks if he wants some company when the others finally start filing out at the end of the day.
They all hug him tight, tell him that they love him and hope he’ll like his new place. With everything placed, Jungkook knows that he’ll always hate it, because it lacks the only thing that he truly wants – you.
And he’ll never have that again.
“Want to order something?” Jimin asks.
Jungkook is sitting on a kitchen chair, watching the condensation on his glass of water when Jimin speaks. He raises his head – his friend is scrolling on his phone, and he shoots Jungkook a look as he remains silent.
“Sure,” Jungkook finally answers. “Did you have anything in mind?”
Jimin nods. “There’s this great dumpling place nearby, and they deliver.”
“Oh.”
If Jimin notices Jungkook’s lack of enthusiasm, he doesn’t mention. Because Jimin is a good friend – he’s been one of Jungkook’s closest friends for years for a reason after all.
“Pork and green onion works for you?” Jimin asks.
“Sure.”
“I’ll get the marinated cucumbers too.” Jimin pouts at his phone as he focuses, and then his gaze darts once to Jungkook. “Anything else you want? They got bobas too.”
Just thinking about drinking boba makes Jungkook feel nauseated, so he shakes his head no. Jimin purses his lips, nods curtly and then says the food is on its way.
His statement is followed by silence, until the front door opens as Yoongi returns with Bam, as promised. Kiko was taking care of him all day, since she and Yoongi live in the same building. Yoongi promises that Bam was a good boy, and then he leaves again, nodding his head at Jimin.
As if to say ‘thank you for being here’. Jungkook hates the gesture, hates that he let Jimin stay, but he figures he can always just ask him to leave when they’re done with the food.
He had to eat anyway, right?
Needless to say, his appetite has been off, since the day you left. He’s been working out more though, something to keep his mind busy, but he’s been unable to eat like before. Jimin forces him to eat half the dumplings though, and Jungkook reckons that even after everything, dumplings still slap.
Not a lot of things in life still slap without you around.
One thing that does suck is, Jimin tries to make conversation through dinner. He asks Jungkook if he has any project coming up, if he ever plans on returning to Europe. The answer is easy, and Jungkook gives it without an ounce of hesitation.
“No.”
Jimin cocks an eyebrow, as if surprised by his answer. “Why?”
Jungkook grits his teeth, but offers no answers. He thinks it’s obvious – he’s been hating the European continent ever since the night you left because he can’t bring himself to hate you instead. So he directed it to the place that took you from him, and so far it’s been keeping him going.
“You know…” Jimin carefully says. “We’ve all been avoiding talking about it. But how are you even doing, bro? Every time I see you it’s just…”
Worse. He’s convinced that’s what Jimin was going to say, and he doesn’t blame him. It’s worse every time because he has been getting worse. As if adding another mark on the calendar equals to adding another on his heart, and the wounds haven’t had time to heal.
He doesn’t think there’s enough time in a lifetime to heal from losing you.
“I’m okay,” Jungkook lies easily.
Bam offers him salvation, barking by the door. As he rarely does, Jungkook gets up, a frown moving on his features. Jimin lets him go, even as Jungkook mumbles he’ll take the dog outside. His friend remains silent, and Jungkook is able to slip into the evening without Jimin pressing him about the lie.
As Jungkook had assumed, Bam just needed to pee, and probably barked because of the unfamiliar environment. Jungkook debates taking him on a walk, hoping Jimin would be gone by the time he comes back, but it feels too cowardly, even for him.
So he takes Bam in right away – the walk would have been hell anyway.
Jimin hasn’t moved while he was gone, and Jungkook tries to avoid the conversation by cleaning the table, putting away the empty dumpling container in the recycling bin after he’s rinsed it thoroughly. He feels Jimin’s gaze boring into the back of his head, but he does his best to ignore it.
“You shouldn’t drop your job in Europe,” Jimin suddenly says.
Jungkook whips around from his spot by the counter under which the recycling bin is. “What?”
“Isn’t it…” Jimin winces, shaking his head slightly. “Listen, this will be tough love, but isn’t it losing everything if you just… drop it too?”
Jungkook sees red. “Get the fuck out.”
“Bro.”
“Get the fuck out,” he repeats, putting emphasis on each word.
“We’re just worried about you,” Jimin says carefully, still not moving from where he’s sitting.
Jungkook has half a thought that he could carry his friend out if he wanted to, but surprisingly enough his heart breaks in his chest, tears blinding his vision.
“I just can’t go, okay?” he chokes out, and his nails dig in the palm of his hands as he clenches his fists hard. “I just can’t.”
Jimin watches him carefully, before sighing deeply. “Okay. It’s okay. There’s plenty of stuff you can do here too.”
Jungkook gulps, blinking the tears away until Jimin is clear in front of him again. “Can I…”
He stops, because he knows he shouldn’t ask. Knows he shouldn’t care, yet he can’t help himself. Jimin doesn’t press, waits for him to be able to speak. It takes longer than Jungkook thought possible, and he has to shut his eyes and lean against the counter before he finds words again.
“Can I ask how she has been doing?” he voices, words falling softly, almost soundlessly, in the space between them.
“Jungkook…”
“Just,” Jungkook lets out, eyes shooting open. “Please tell me she’s okay.”
Jimin’s silence is telling enough – you must be going through it too. It fills Jungkook with bitterness, with something vile and disgusting that tastes like bile on his tongue. Because you don’t get to be suffering, you don’t get to have made this decision and suffer from it.
Why the fuck did you make that decision then?
“You know,” Jimin starts carefully. “You guys were together for a long time.”
“Why?” Jungkook asks. “Why did she do this?”
And then the tears are moving freely, and Jimin quickly gets up to hug him. Jungkook rests his forehead against his friend’s shoulder as he breaks in the embrace, like he’s been doing for weeks now.
“It’s going to be okay,” Jimin promises when the tears recede and Jungkook stops trembling, as if his body, too, is too tired to keep on breaking.
Strangely, he gets the feeling there’s nothing left to break anyway.
“How?”
Jimin remains silent for a while, as if searching for the exact right words to say. Jungkook doubts they exist – how can someone repair a broken heart such as his?
“Life finds a way,” Jimin eventually chooses to say. He pulls away from the hug, though he still holds onto Jungkook’s shoulders. “Life always finds a way.”
Saturday, July 15th
You’re tired. Have been tired. Think you’ll forever be tired. A relentless exhaustion has settled over you like a mantle of snow settles on the land during the months of winter. With it comes an unshakable cold, and even though it’s summer you’ve been cradling your hoodie to your frame, draping yourself with it as if it’ll chase the cold away.
The cold is never going to leave. You think your heart turned to ice in your chest, and it pumps freezing blood into your veins. You’ve been trying to warm up, but heat is a mirage to you, an illusion you can’t reach.
Heather and Bridget are hosting a dinner at their apartment today. You’d wanted to avoid it, but considering they offered you a room for a few weeks before you found a new apartment, you couldn’t say no. Yet you dread the moment you’ll be faced with the other girls, some of them your friends because they are dating… his friends.
You’ve been trying not to think about him too much. It’s hard – he’s lurking at the back of your mind, a reminder of your failures. Of the places where you went wrong, the mistakes you committed. Not that the breakup was a mistake – you think you made the right decision, or at least you’ve been trying to convince yourself that you have.
But you didn’t lie to him – you love him. Still do, though now it’s more like grief. Though, what is grief if not the next step in the eternal timeline of love?
You worry at your lips, bury your hands in the pocket of the hoodie. You fumble with your keys as you wait in front of the door, as you try to knock but find you’re unable to. Because it means talking to them, it means pretending that you have been able to eat or sleep for weeks.
You reckon Heather and Bridget know, to a certain extent. Saw you wither like a flower when autumn comes, though you think now you’re settled in deep winter.
You think it’ll pass. You doubt a pain like this can last – no soul can withstand it forever. But that would be admitting that he was your soulmate, and you aren’t stupid.
Soulmates don’t exist. Because if he was, why then was the distance enough to break you up?
You sigh, eyes falling to the ground in front of your feet. You take a steadying breath – it does nothing to help.
You’re a coward. You’ve become a coward, and you think it might be because you put all of your courage in that night weeks ago. It broke you, broke the steel you used to be able to drape yourself with.
Now you’re stuck in the never-ending winter, withered and lifeless.
“Y/n!” Jo says, and you startle.
You turn your head to the side to see Jo as she’s walking around the corner, and she smiles at you as she makes her way towards you.
“Hey,” you reply as your throat goes dry.
If he has a best friend, or at least a female one, you think it’d be her. They’ve been friends since before you reconnected with him, since before you even knew her. Seeing her feels like it’s wrong, but then again everything has been feeling wrong lately.
“Did you already ring?” Jo asks as she stops next to you.
You purse your lips, shaking your head no. “Huh,” you let out. “I was about to.”
Jo nods, and you think she immediately senses your unease. She’s a good person though, and an even better friend. She doesn’t say anything, and she rings the door for you.
You don’t know what to tell her. All that you can think of is, if someone has news about him, it would be her. She’s the only one you believe there’s a chance he’s been honest to.
Before you can say anything, the door opens and Bridget ushers you inside. You realize that you’re the last ones to get there – you usually never are. Usually always make sure to be the first, only so that you can help the hosts.
It seems losing him changed that.
You greet everyone half-heartedly, quickly moving towards Jiho. Jiho hugs you, tells you she’s happy you came. You can’t return the sentiment, so you offer her a tight-lipped smile as Heather announces that dinner is ready.
Their chatter is lively. You feel like you’re watching the scene through a frosted window. Like you’re stuck in a blizzard, watching people reveling in the warmth of the other side, wishing somehow that they’d share it with you. And it’s not that they don’t try; multiple times throughout dinner the other girls try to talk to you.
You reply, you always do, but there is just so little to say, so little words your brain can conjure up. It’s like your thoughts are slower – you’ve been that way at work too. You’re lucky, you haven’t been working on anything big in the last few weeks. But next week you will be, and you don’t even know if you’ll be able to do it.
At least Harrison is on the case with you. As one of the most talented junior partners of the firm, you think he’ll be able to manage the case even with you at his side.
You eat what you can, though you’ve run out of appetite before you even broke up. You force yourself, mostly because you don’t like how Kiko’s looking at you. How you notice her leaning to speak in Jo’s ear more than once during the meal.
You’re aware that they’re speaking of you – do they hate you as much as you hate yourself?
You doubt they can.
When dinner is over, you offer to clean the dishes. Jo ends up on washing duty with you, and you work in silence, water sloshing around as you rub the plates clean while she dries.
You’re cleaning a wine glass when she says, “How have you been?”
The question is a simple one. The truth isn’t so, and you wonder if you should lie. You think it’d be a mistake. Jo’s perceptive, she’d see right through the lie.
“I’ve been better,” you answer, shrugging your shoulders as if it doesn’t matter.
That much is a lie, because everything about him mattered.
“I can understand.”
Heavy silence follows, and you pass the glass to her. You hope she won’t speak more, hope she’ll offer you kindness and let you dwell on your mistakes, but you know it’s unlike her.
Indeed, she speaks up after a minute. “You know…” She pauses, and you glance once at her to find her features troubled. “I was wondering… what brought you to this decision?”
You freeze, hands in the water. It’s hot enough that your skin is turning scarlet, yet you barely even feel it. “What?”
“If you don’t want to speak about it it’s fine,” she gently says. “But I’m just concerned about you.”
“Did he ask you to ask me this?” you enquire, accusingly. You frown at the tone of your voice, and apologize as you resume washing the glass you’re holding.
“No,” she answers. “He hasn’t really been talking to anyone.”
You shudder, with horror and compulsion at the person that you were weeks ago, the one that caused him to isolate himself.
“Oh.”
Jo waits a moment, but when it’s clear that you aren’t going to speak again, she says, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t prod.”
You wet your lips, swallow around the lump in your throat. “It’s okay.”
Perhaps that’s also a lie. Perhaps you believe nothing is okay, nothing will be okay again. But you don’t voice it – it’s all your fault anyway.
“It’s okay if it isn’t okay, you know,” Jo gently says as you hand her a glass.
Your vision blurs, but no tears fall. No tears are left – you cry them to sleep every night already.
“Long distance is a bitch,” is what you eventually say. “You think you can make it through everything, and then long distance happens.”
You want to clench your hand around the third glass, want to feel the shards of it cutting through your palm like the shards of him have been stabbing through your heart. You force your grip to remain loose, lest you stain the sink with blood.
“Like for real, without it we would have been fine.”
You’ve told Jiho the same thing. You think you’ve told him the same thing, but you barely even remember the breakup. Just remember holding onto him at the end, and then winter seeping in through the crevices in your soul.
“I’m sorry.” Jo looks at you kindly when you glance her way. She offers you a sad smile that you want to hate, yet it just makes you want to break. “I’m really sorry it came between the two of you.”
You take a deep breath to tame the aching in your chest, nodding once. “It’s whatever.”
“It’s not.”
She’s right, so you remain silent. Choose to seek solace in a wordless moment, one you spend finishing the dishes. And when you’re done, and she’s wiping the last one, you find yourself asking, “How has he been doing?”
She stops moving, meets your gaze before letting her gaze drop to her hands. “As I said, he doesn’t really speak to anyone.”
“Which means he hasn’t been great.”
You know him enough to know that. She does too – she nods, before shrugging her shoulders. “Jimin and Tae have been making sure he’s okay though. Surviving.”
Because sometimes all there is to do is survive.
You’re relieved that his friends are there for him. It lessens the pain somehow, to know he’s not alone. You aren’t either – Jimin is your friend too and, even though she’s a mom of two, Jiho has been there for you ever since the breakup.
The first time Lisa asked you where Jungkook was though… felt like heartbreak uttered in an innocent sentence. Like the universe had gone wrong, like left and right were interchanged. You were lost then, and you still are today.
All at your expense.
“Good,” you answer.
She looks conflicted, pained – you understand why when she asks, “What about you?”
You clench your jaw out of reflex, as if it’s an accusation. As if admitting that you’re going through frozen hell is wrong of you, somehow. You think it is. After all, this is supposed to be better than the distance.
“I’ve got Jimin too, and Jiho,” you reply, voice strained. “Bridget and Heather too. They’ve been helping.”
Jo nods. “Good. Don’t isolate yourself.” There’s a pause, and her features turn pensive. “And you know, you got me too. You have all of us.”
Tears blur your vision, but like your soul they turn to ice before rolling down your cheeks. “Thank you.”
Smile apologetic, she nods again, as if her job here is done. And it must be – Kiko and Bridget walk into the kitchen, and they clearly don’t sense the atmosphere that’s clinging to you. They strike conversation with Jo, happily, and her stance switches to one that’s more relaxed.
You decide to leave them alone, because these three have always been a little closer to each other than you to them, and you return to the other room, where Chaeyeon, Valeria, Jiho and Heather are lounging on the couches. You debate leaving, debate claiming that you have to work early in the morning, but somehow you choose not to.
Is it a sign that you’re moving on? You don’t know.
When you do leave, later that night, at the same time as Jo and Chaeyeon do, you find yourself walking next to Jo as you head to your respective cars. Lance is picking Chaeyeon up, and she waves you two goodbye as you walk away.
You stuff your hands in the long sleeves of your hoodie, as if the air outside is remotely cold. It is not – there’s been a heatwave around for a few days. Luckily enough for you, a freezing heart seems to be a good remedy for the heat, and you still seek the comfort of your hoodie.
“I was wondering,” Jo says as you near where your car is parked. “Are you still planning on coming to the wedding?”
The forsaken wedding. The thing that set everything in motion – the spark that caught fire on years of your relationship.
You purse your lips, shrug your shoulders. “I think so,” you voice. “Yeah. You two are my friends, even if…”
If you’re closer to him. You don’t say as much, but it’s needless. Jo nods, understanding as ever, and she tells you that you don’t have to, if you don’t want to.
You think she’s a fool for believing that you wouldn’t want to go. Because… what’s wrong with wanting to make sure he’s okay with your own two eyes? What’s wrong with needing to see him in another context than this never-ending winter?
That night, you lie awake for hours. Picturing him behind your closed eyelids, only to find emptiness where he should be. The blankets are cold, the fan overhead not needed, yet you can’t bring yourself to turn it off.
Can’t chase the feeling of his absence from your heart.
You seek solace in memories of him, in the thought of his lips on yours. Of the featherlight kisses you used to exchange in the dead of night, when sleep was evading you or him. You must be half asleep – because suddenly you can almost see him here. Can almost hear his voice as he’d call you baby, mouthing the word against your neck before he’d suck on it.
Your heartrate picks up with the memory – they’re flooding in. The smell of his skin, the taste of his lips, the inebriating sweetness of his kisses. You remember the weight of him on you, the press of his knee between your legs.
And then you seek solace with a hand between your thighs, trying to remember how he touched you. How his long fingers always dragged you to a land of pleasure, how he’d managed to keep you there until you were insane with his taste.
You breathe out his name, a soft moan, though it’s almost a plea. A plea for him to appear, for him to never have been gone.
For you to never have pushed him away.
When you come down from the high that finds you in your memories, you lie on your side, holding one of your plushies to your chest. They don’t replace him; they never have.
You end up crying yourself to sleep over the memories, over the July night sky and the dance crew and every night you took for granted, believing that he’d be yours forever.
You cry for your decision, no matter how right it was. Because you know it’ll always feel wrong.
Friday, July 28th
There’s something about work that’s been setting you on edge. That’s been making you want to pull your hair out of your head – if only that was possible. It’s strange; you’ve been thinking about the breakup less now that you’re neck deep in work.
Now that you spend hours upon hours at work, after the usual closing time.
Luckily enough, you’re almost never alone. Harrison accompanies all of those late evenings as you work through the case, as he tells you what to do and you tell him you don’t need his help. He laughs at that – Harrison has an easy laugh. It makes its way to his lips whenever you speak, and it’s been like a ray of light in the otherwise dark land of your heart.
He’s a good coworker. Someone that’s noticed just how bad you are, but that’s decided to not treat you differently. To let you nurse your heart in peace, while he offers you the normalcy of what work should be.
Today, at lunch break, he suggested going out for dinner and drinks, along with the rest of the team that’s been working on the case. Mostly because you’re finally closing in on something that is clearly going to be good, and he believes it’s important to celebrate. You don’t have it in you to say no, and that’s how you find yourself squeezed between him and Anna, the paralegal that you’ve worked with the most, in the booth of a nice pub near the firm.
You’ve been sharing a nacho plate with Harrison and Ian, another one of the junior partners of the firm, and you’re sipping on a glass of the pitcher of sangria that Anna ordered for you and her. The buzzing of chatter and laughter makes the pub into a lively place, and you reckon you like the atmosphere.
You like the plants that cascade from their pots on shelves in the walls, like the hanging lights that shine brightly onto the tables, like the brick wall that gives the pub a nice industrial vibe. It just feels right, different than your usual.
Or maybe it’s the fact that the crew is different. That you aren’t with people that inevitably remind you of Jungkook, even though they shouldn’t.
Harrison’s English accent catches your attention as he says something to Ian – something about leaving work related conversation to the firm. As you turn your head towards the man at your side, he offers you a glance.
Harrison has clear blue eyes. Pale, like they hold the Caribbean sea in them. His eyes are beautiful, sparkling, and you offer him a smile.
He’s quick to smile back, and then he continues his conversation with Ian, who’s decided to speak about sports instead. You decide to join in, even though you know practically nothing about sports, and the two men tease you for it.
There’s no bite to it, yet it feels familiar. Reminds you of someone that used to tease you all the time, and with the sangria coursing through your veins, you decide to jump on the occasion. To let the past be the past, and live in this moment, for once.
Perhaps it holds some sort of salvation for you.
“It’s not my fault if football is boring!” you insist. “It’s just dudes throwing a ball. Who cares about that?”
Harrison nudges you with his elbow. “Hey come on,” he says. “They don’t only throw a ball, sometimes they kick it too.”
He’s got a teasing smile on his lips, and to your surprise you find yourself rolling your eyes. “And the point system? Stupid.”
“It isn’t!” Harrison says, faking offense. “You wound me.”
You cock an eyebrow as Ian laughs, before turning to speak to Sam next to him as the guy asks him a question.
“Aren’t you British anyway?” you ask him. “Why do you watch football?”
“Because I like dudes that throw balls,” he jokes, before realizing that his sentence sounded wrong as you burst out laughing. “Well, not like that.”
“No, of course not,” you tease back.
“It’s just a fun sport,” he insists. “Used to watch it with my step-dad when I was younger.”
Now, the revelation eases the teasing mood that you’ve been diving into, and you offer him a small smile. “Sounds like fun.”
Because you can get that. You can understand the need to love something because someone you loved introduced you to it – dance was that for you, once upon a time. When your mother had introduced you to it, when you were too young to realize that to her, you dancing was just going to be an accomplishment.
Until it became a curse, as you chose to not pursue ballet the way she wanted you to. But that’s old history – even though you still don’t talk to your mother all that much, the hatred you’ve held for her for years after she’s kicked you out is lesser now. Practically non-existent, and you have your therapist to thank for that.
Years of therapy really did help, eventually.
You realize, tonight, how you haven’t really been living since you broke up. You’ve been a mere ghost, a mere winter wind, but tonight you think the air warms up. It warms up into a tentative spring breeze, and you cling to it.
You say yes when Harrison suggests heading to a club after, a VIP one where he’s a member along with Ian. Say yes to the shots offered to you, and you ignore the texts in the group chat with the girls saying that they want to meet up for lunch tomorrow. You focus on the now, focus on the fact that he’s not all you’re thinking of.
No, his big, doe eyes barely exist in your mind right now, replaced by ocean blue and an English accent. At least that’s what you tell yourself as Harrison says he’s a shit dancer, and you admit you were on a dance crew for years.
He cocks an eyebrow, says you’re full of shit, and that’s how you find yourself pulling him to the dance floor, not caring that his hair is paler than your usual, that his smile rings different.
Harrison is not a good dancer. He’s awkward, clumsy, and he steps on your feet more than once as you dance face to face, swaying to the beat of the club music. The flashing lights feel like a haven, like you don’t have to hide in the darkness left by Jungkook’s disappearance from your life.
You let Harrison put his hands on your waist, let him pull you closer, until he’s resting his forehead on yours. Your eyes shut from the proximity, and you can smell the alcohol on his breath. Somehow, that’s what makes you remember – not the dancing, but the intimacy of the position. It makes you crave another, makes you need to forget, and you’re the one that closes the gap.
You’re the one who kisses him first, and he kisses you back all wrong. There’s something missing – the piercing, perhaps – but you don’t let it deter you. Focus on the swipe of his tongue on your bottom lip, and you sigh as you let him in.
But Jungkook is there, in your mind. When Harrison’s hands tighten on your waist, it’s in Jungkook’s hair that you want to thread your fingers through. When he groans softly in the kiss, as you bite his lower lip, it’s Jungkook’s lips that you want to be sucking on.
And you think it’ll always be Jungkook. He’ll haunt you forever – a reminder of your weakness, when it came to the distance. A reminder that, after everything, you’re the one that ruined it.
You’re the one that put an end to what was supposed to be forever.
It aches, coldly. You think your heart barely knows how to beat anymore. It’s erratic, painful, and when Harrison pulls away from the kiss, his blue eyes finding yours, you think his irises are made of ice.
“Hey,” he says gently.
“Hey,” is all you can think to reply.
If he sees the torment in your eyes, he ignores it. Guides you back to the table, where he leaves you with Ian and the rest claiming that he’ll get a water for you. And he does – he comes back with two bottles of water, and he hands you one as he sits next to you.
You think that’s what undoes you. That’s what breaks you, spills the content of your aching soul right there on the club’s floor. You don’t know who’ll pick up the mess – the one it belongs to is far away from these flashing lights. Far, yet closer than he was when the ending came. Somewhere in the city, you believe, because you don’t think he’s gone back to Europe yet.
Would he answer, if you were to call him? Would he pick up right where you left off, whisper sweet nothings in your ear as if you haven’t destroyed his beating organ?
You hate it. Hate how, weeks later, the torture hasn’t diminished. Hate how you believed it’d be just a few rough days, when it’s been weeks and months and winter hasn’t changed.
So you do what you do best. You escape. Tell the table that you have to go, and make it outside before Harrison catches up to you. He asks if he can walk you home, which makes sense because you live in the same complex anyway. Not the same building, but Harrison lives in the one across the small square-like courtyard between the three condo towers where you’ve found a place to rent after Jungkook.
Up above, stars twinkle in the sky. They seem unaware that, after that cataclysm of a July night, the story came to an end. Like the universe never meant it, when it put you and him together. Or maybe it’s you – maybe you created a new cataclysm. Wrote your own fate, and all that crap.
You’re getting dizzy. Both with alcohol and spinning thoughts, but luckily enough the walk is short. Harrison grants you silence, sensing that you need it, probably. Because he’s gentlemanly. Not that Jungkook wasn’t – it’s just different.
And you shouldn’t be comparing him to Jungkook, but it’s far too easy. Especially as your treacherous little mouth asks him if he wants to share a drink in your apartment, as you tell him that you feel better now that you’ve breathed some air.
He says yes, though he seems unsure. He seems unsure all the way up to your floor, and even more so as you pull him in a kiss when the door closes behind you and him. Especially as you breathe against his lips, “Do you think you can make me forget?”
After everything is done, and you lie awake next to his naked form, both of you staring up at the ceiling in silence, you know the answer to that question.
And it’s quite simple – no. Because no one will ever be able to make you forget the one you were supposed to be with until you turned to stardust. Until all that would have been left of the two of you was etchings on a stone, and memories in the space between this life and the next.
Harrison is kind – he tells you that he senses you shouldn’t have done it, gently. Tells you that the only person that can make you forget is yourself, and time. And when he leaves, he tells you not to worry about anything. That he can be a friend, if you need it, but that he doubts you want anything more.
He’s right, and you cry yourself to sleep holding onto Totoro and Appa, hoping weeks ago you would have listened to Jungkook when he’d said not to break up. Hoping to turn back time, cursing the linearity of it. Remembering the punctuate events of you and him, wondering how the distance was enough to undo your timeline.
The sun winks at you when it rises, mocking you as night ends, with no answer for you. The what-ifs shine as brightly as the rays of the morning, all of them piercing through your darkened heart.
You shiver and hide your face in Totoro, hoping one day you’ll be able to evade winter.
Friday, August 18th
Jungkook’s first thought when he steps into the restaurant is that it’s too loud. Too bright, with happy couples and smiling families sharing a meal as if life’s never ended, three months and ten days ago. He feels like an imposter – he hasn’t smiled since you left, and hasn’t laughed since before that.
He doesn’t know why he agreed to this, when Taehyung suggested it. Maybe because Taehyung and Jimin can be firmly persuasive, when they decide they’ll do something. Though, this time around, they’re not doing anything.
Anything other than having set this blind date with one of Taehyung’s coworkers.
Jungkook decides to find solace in his thoughts. Away from the bustling crowd of the restaurant, into the cool darkness where he’s been evading since he moved to his new apartment. Somewhere where the pain is lesser, where he doesn’t cry all the time.
That’s where she finds him. A shy smile, rosy cheeks as she voices, “Jungkook?”
He meets her gaze, finds her long lashes as she looks up at him innocently. He’s struck – she’s way out of his league. But so were you, and he’s got a whole story to tell about you now. He looks around as if to make sure the girl was speaking to him, as if she didn’t say his name, before he answers, “I assume you’re Emma.”
Another shy smile, and Emma nods her head. “The one and only.”
Jungkook wets his lips, and when the server comes to bring them to a table, he lets his gaze drop to the ground as he follows behind Emma.
He sits in front of her, feeling odd as she blushes and looks through the menu. Her shyness makes him feel awkward, and he doesn’t know what to say.
With you, he always knew what to say.
He shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath and then lets his eyelids flutter open so that he can look through the menu too. He thinks, he just has to make it through the evening. Doesn’t have to see the girl again, even though her shy smiles are cute.
She is cute, but she’s not you. No one will ever compare to you.
He takes a deep breath once more, tries to push you out of his thoughts. For the first time in weeks, it’s not as hard. Maybe because his awkwardness is winning over, making him all too aware of every glance the girl throws his way.
They order, barely exchanging a word, until the girl throws him a lifeline. She asks about his photography, admits Taehyung told her about it, and Jungkook settles in his comfort space as he tells her about it, as he answers her question.
It’s impersonal, almost professional, but at least it keeps the pain at bay for a while. He even thinks he’s enjoying himself – by the time they’re eating and he’s drank half of his beer, he does feel lighter. Like he can finally breathe, like the hand clutching his heart in his chest has loosened.
Or maybe he’s just been getting too good at burrowing his feelings deep inside of him. Still, he barely smiles, barely laughs. And he knows none of his smiles quite reach his eyes, and he knows the girl must have noticed. She doesn’t say anything though, focuses on telling him what she does for work, and then goes on to tell him about what it was like for her growing up.
He zones out, nods when he figures he has to, tries to smile when there’s a lull in the conversation. He’s clearly not good at that – he’s never really gone on dates before. Except with Laura, before you, but even that barely counted as a date. Perhaps because he already knew Laura, and he’s struck thinking that the girl in front of him is a stranger. A stranger, yes, but she’s kind. So when she suggests sharing a bottle of wine, claiming that it’s her favourite and that she’s wanted to drink it in a long time, Jungkook doesn’t have it in him to say no.
Even though they’re already done with eating. She does order dessert, and he watches her eat as he nurses his glass of wine, taking sips from it once in a while.
He hasn’t drunk in a long time, and the effects start to be felt faster than usual. Or maybe the beer he drank before the wine was strong. Either way, his head starts swimming with alcohol before they’re out of the restaurant, and he relishes in the feeling.
Revels in Emma’s suggestion to take a walk to clear their head, along the small river near the restaurant. The evening air is fresh, though clouds hide the stars from view. It smells of rain – there are leftover puddles from earlier today – but it doesn’t seem like the sky will cry again tonight.
A soft breeze plays in Jungkook’s hair. He hasn’t cut it in a while. It used to be a lot longer, but he’s not used to it anymore, so it feels weird whenever strands of his hair pass in front of his eyes. He tries to push them back but to no avail: the strands stubbornly always fall in front of his eyes again, and he ends up giving up after a moment.
Turns out Emma is a gamer. She suggests playing some games together the next time they hang out, and Jungkook doesn’t have it in himself to tell her that they, as a matter of fact, won’t see each other ever again. Not because she isn’t sweet – she’s just not what he wants. And he doesn’t even want the distraction.
He did that once, and it didn’t serve him good. Even if he managed to have you in the end.
“What’s your favourite game?” Emma asks as she stops next to some railing overlooking the water. She leans against it, forearms resting on it as she looks at the water, eyes following the ripples in the river.
“I don’t game as much anymore,” he admits. He shrugs, tries to ignore the way his lungs burn.
Because he used to game with you next to him, and he doesn’t need reminders of you.
“Mine is Valorant,” she says, and she smiles at him as if she expected that to make him happy.
“Oh,” he lets out. He offers her a tight-lipped smile, and feels bad when her face falls a little. So he quickly adds, “I took you more for a Sims girl.”
She fakes offense. “What? Why?”
There’s a twinkle in her eyes, and he’s struck silent as he watches it. She seems to take that as a cue for something else, because she takes a step closer to him, eyes dropping to his mouth.
He thinks he’s frozen on his spot when she tilts her head back, tiptoes, and presses a featherlike kiss on his lips. Eyes wide opened, he watches her, until he figures he should be kissing her back.
So he does, hesitantly, as lead forms in his stomach, making him think that he’s going to be sick. Because she kisses him all wrong. Tastes all wrong too, and suddenly you’re burning in his mind, bright magma that moves in his veins until pain suffocates his lungs.
He takes a step back, and Emma’s eyes shoot open, as if startled. They stare at each other for a time, and then she gulps.
“I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t care for her apology. Doesn’t care about anything other than the fact that he feels disgusted with himself. And for what? It’s not like he owes you anything anymore. As a matter of fact, he should be enjoying this. Should be enjoying that even though he was his most awkward self, he still was able to get the girl to kiss him.
Instead, he burns and he chokes on his saliva as he tries to swallow. He wonders why his vision is blurry, and he furiously blinks his eyes trying to keep Emma in focus.
“I’m so sorry,” she repeats. “Gosh, I read this all wrong. I…” she pauses, shaking her head slightly, and it seems she’s been wearing a mask all evening, because it crumples into nothingness. “I just got out of a long relationship, Tae said you too and I just… Fuck I just assumed we could comfort each other?” When he remains silent, she continues, “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”
She’s rambling, and Jungkook just hears his blood pumping in his ears. When he still doesn’t speak, she apologizes once more, and then tells him that she should go.
He doesn’t try to stop her, doesn’t even look as she walks away, head hung low in what he assumes is shame. All he feels is the deep burning sensation, as it settles under his skin. Like a sunburn – he wants to scratch at it, wants to rip it from his skin, but he can’t.
He can’t because you’re gone, and this ache is all that’s left of you. It’s all that’s left, so he clings to it. Tries to keep it close to his heart, where you belong. Picks at the scab, at the wound, until he’s bleeding all over again, breaking out in the city, where anyone can see that he’s lost you.
He doesn’t know how he makes it home. All that he knows is that he’s in the shower, later, head pressed against the tiles as cold water runs on his back. It mingles with the tears streaking down his cheeks, mixes with the saltiness of heartbreak.
It doesn’t cool the sunburn ache, doesn’t ease the pain in his chest. And you’re everywhere then – in the cracks on the wall, he believes he can see you. Believes he can reach out for you, though what he ends up doing is cranking the temperature of the shower up, until it’s not cold anymore.
Though he reckons he barely can feel it anymore.
So he forces his eyes shut, chases memories of you like a dog chases its tail – round in round, in a circle, because he thinks he’ll always circle back to you anyway. He imagines you, in all your glory. Imagines you’ve never left, imagines you’d still run your hands on his back, still dig your nails in his skin.
He doesn’t even know how his hand finds its way to the base of his dick. Doesn’t even know why he’s horny, why the pain makes him crave you more. Why it makes him touch himself, imagining it’s your touch. And with his eyes squeezed shut, you’re everywhere. The goddess of the land of his mind, and he can almost believe you’re still here.
He grunts, perhaps in pain, and picks up the pace on his dick. He remembers words whispered on your skin, your spit on his dick as you’d swallow around the tip. He remembers your tight walls, clutching him, holding him in as you’d ride him like there was no tomorrow.
He remembers a hot tub and the night that followed, remembers breaking and healing with you. Remembers the darkness of the accident, and the light you’d shine on him. The light is gone now, and only darkness remains. It’s not the same – it’s lonelier, somehow. Because he had everything, and now remains nothing. Just the ghost of what once was, and he wishes he could be taken back to the night on the hotel rooftop, wishes you’d never left.
And when he comes, it’s your name that he moans. Like a blessing, though now you’re a curse. A curse to him, and he wishes the pain would go away, wishes it would stay. Wishes it would bring you back, yet knowing he’d push you away. Because he doesn’t think there is pain as great as what you caused him, and then he curses himself for the thought.
That night, he lies awake in sheets cold as winter, weakened by his broken heart as he chases sleep that never comes.
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folklore: the 1 ✩ jake sully
masterlist ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ folklore masterlist
summary: widowed!jake sully x female!reader, no use of y/n, angst, marriage of convenience, smut, penetration, p in v, TW!! eluded to death due to child birth
word count: 4,258
yawne (n) - beloved ; oel ngati kameie - i see you
sempul (n) - father ; sa’nok (n) - mother
‘ite (n) - daughter ; ‘itan (n) - son
comments: i love this chapter so bad, i did cry like several times lmao but she's so special to me >:( i hope you all enjoy it as much as i do, minors dni!!! okay byeeee mwahhhh ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚
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- pandora, awa’tula, 2169 -
The kids instantly picked up on the awkward tension that surrounded their parents. It had been weeks since the celebration of the Tulkun arriving, weeks since their parents were carefully treading around each other. Neteyam watched as you picked up around the mauri, paying no mind to Jake as you busied yourself with chores. Jake on the other hand was watching your every move, almost silently begging you to turn and look at him.
It caused an uncomfortable feeling to nestle into Neteyam’s chest as he saw the flicker of sadness swim in his fathers eyes. Truth be told, he had always known something was off, what was wrong about your union he did not know but it was palpable even now. Tuk was trailing behind you, talking excitedly about how she caught several fish that day and all the kids could tell you were not paying attention to the small girl, something that was so unlike you.
Tuk whined, “Sa’nok, you are not listening to me.”
“Yes I am, ‘ite.”
Tuk crossed her arms across her chest, angry tears welling in her eyes as you continued with your task, “Sempul pays attention to me.”
Your back went rigid, you weren't sure why the small girl's words hurt you so deeply, but they did. It might have been all the pent up feelings that were consuming you, you felt that you were being dramatic but you could not help it. Your ears pinned against your head and your eyes were flooded with tears. Tuk had never talked to you that way, none of the kids had.
They had never made you feel like what you were doing wasn't enough, but ugly thoughts swirled your mind that maybe you weren't. Maybe you had never been doing enough, insecurity after insecurity rising to the surface as your hands trembled, “M’sorry Tuk.”
Everyone noticed the wobble of your voice, Lo’ak stood rapidly making quick steps to get to you, “Sa’nok, what is wrong?”
“Nothing Lo’ak, finish your chores so you can head to bed.” You forced a smile onto your face and patted his arm. He scanned over your face and it was as if Lo’ak was seeing you for the first time. Eyes welled with tears, a smile that never reached your eyes. His eyes shifted to his father, something similar to guilt etched into every crevice of his face and it caused a deep anger to bubble in his stomach. He just knew this was his father’s doing. “What did you do?”
Jake’s ears pinned back at the accusatory question, eyes widening at the anger that dripped from his younger sons voice, “Lo’ak-”
Fear settled into you as you noticed how angry Lo’ak was, and despite the scoldings and frustrations he had with Jake, he never spoke to him that way, “Your father has done nothing wrong. Please-just let it go.”
“No! You both-God you both have always been so strange with each other! We all feel it, and it is only getting worse the years that go on.”
Jake had never felt worse, not only had he been hurting you but as well as his kids. He watched Neteyam shift uncomfortably on his feet, Kiri was picking at spare pieces of fabric and Tuk’s head was dipped low, ears tightly pinned to her head and he could tell the small girl was crying.
“With the exception of Tuk, none of us are small children and I for one want an explanation.”
It was so silent you could hear a pin drop, neither you or Jake willing to speak up. Kiri cleared her throat, “There are rumors going around. That you are not really mated.”
You felt like you could not breath, something thick and rough curling around your throat.
Lo’ak turned to look at his sister, “What are you talking about, Kiri? That makes no sense.”
The silence was deafening, both Neteyam and Lo’ak were waiting for the both of you to protest, but it never came. Tears leaked from your eyes and Jake stood there stunned. All the air from his lungs was sucked out of him, he never thought this was going to happen. “Sa’nok tell Kiri she is wrong.”
There was another stretch of silence and Lo’ak’s anger faded into deep melancholy, he felt lied to, betrayed as none of you corrected her. “Fuck this!”
“Lo’ak!”
Jake gripped at his youngest son’s arm, he wanted to apologize to him. To all of you, Neteyam shoved at Jake’s arm, pulling his brother to him. “You have both lied to us.”
He turned to look at you, angry tears streaming down his face, “Was any of it real? Do you even care for us as you say you do?”
“Of course, ‘itan!” You were trying so hard not to cry, his words were harsh, accusatory. “I love you all so much, none of it was fake.”
“Except you two being mate’s? That seems like a pretty big thing to lie about.”
“It was not your Sa’nok’s fault.”
Everyone's eyes jumped to Jake, he looked so unlike himself. Unsure, scared. “When she and I-'' He didn't even know what to say. Lost for words as his mind raced a million miles a second.
Your voice was raw, thick with tears, “Tsaheylu is very important, when you mate with someone it is for life. Your father and I-we did not wish for our union with each other. Neytiri was like my sister, your father and your mother loved each other and we did not. It would not have been fair to force that upon each other.”
Your response was diplomatic, clean and simple. But you were not being truthful, Jake was not sure he could love you more. You were sparing him, how mean he was to you all for the sake of the kids. “That has changed though.”
Your eyes locked onto Jake’s, pleading with him to stop talking. “I love your Sa’nok, I have for so long but I was scared.”
He was speaking out loud, for everyone to hear but his words were meant for your heart to feel. “I was a skxawng and I let so many years pass by, and I am reaping those consequences now.”
There was another beat of silence and you felt like you were suffocating in your home, anger, sadness, so many harsh feelings being exchanged between all six of you and it was too much, “I need some fresh air.”
Everyone began to protest, but you didn't listen. Walking quickly out of the mauri and Kiri was quickly following behind you. “Kiri-give her sometime.”
“I am going to make sure my mom is okay, something you have failed to do all these years.”
Jake’s words dried up, head hanging low out of pure guilt.
Kiri found you quickly, you did not stray far from your mauri but even in the darkness of the beach she could see you were crying. Your body was shaking as she sank down beside you. You had spent years caring for everyone but no one cared for you. Kiri’s head rested on your shoulder, her own tears falling from her eyes. She has always been so observant, she was not sure how she missed your sadness. Guilt settled into her chest as she realized how much you had given up for them. “Sa’nok, why did you do it? We took so much from you.”
After a few moments you calmed yourself, wrapping the young girl into your hold as you tried to soothe her, even now in your own despair you tried making her feel better. “I knew what I signed up for, sweet girl. I loved your Ma’ so much, and I know if the roles were reversed she would have done the same for me with no hesitation.”
You sniffled quietly, “You have all given me so much, you all made me a mother and despite Jake and I not being mated before Eywa, I have always been happy. You make me happy, Tuk, Lo’ak and Neteyam. I would go through this all over again if it meant none of you ever felt alone.”
“You deserve so much more.”
Your eyes watered at her words, blinking the tears away as you both found comfort in each other's presence.
Jake felt like his throat was on fire, watching his oldest daughter leave behind you and his two son’s pace the mauri. “I’m sorry.”
No one commented on his apology, Tuk making her way to Lo’ak as she felt his frustrations. She was trying to calm him down, “You need to fix this.”
Lo’ak’s hands were pointing wildly at Jake, “You need to make it right between the two of you or let Ma’Sa’nok go.”
Neteyam nodded his head, agreeing with his younger brother. “It is not fair to her, Sir.”
Jake’s eyes widened at the words from his sons, how could they even suggest that? “You would let her go? You would let her leave us?”
Tuk cried against Lo’ak, hiding behind his back. “If it meant she was finally happy, then yes.”
Jake shook his head, desperation consuming his heart. He needed to find you, he needed to start patching up all the damage he had done. “I-I need to find her.”
He was practically stumbling over his own two feet as he made his way outside, looking for any signs of you and his eldest daughter. He walked along the beach, eyes blurry with tears. He made out the shape of the two of you, wrapped in each other's arms and speaking quietly.
His ears picked up on the words exchanged between the two of you, “Do you love him, ma?”
You sighed quietly, “I do.”
Jake’s heart was pounding against his chest, “Do you believe that he loves you?”
You were quiet, unsure of what to say and Jake wanted to scream. Yes! Of course he does! “I-I do not know, ‘Ite. He says he does, but I am scared.”
Kiri nodded against your shoulder, “I do not know if I can give what is left of my heart to him.”
Jake’s ears pinned back roughly, your words were so hard for him to stomach. He cleared his throat since none of you had heard him. Your back tensed and Kiri turned to look at him. Her eyes were filled with trepidation as he approached the two of you. “I need to speak with your Sa’nok.”
Kiri turned back to look at you, silently asking you if it was okay. You pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, “Go ‘ite. Make sure your siblings are okay.”
She hugged you, arms wrapping around you so tightly it was hard to breathe. “No matter what, you will always be my mom.”
Your lips trembled as you pulled her in tighter, “I am not leaving, ‘ite.”
She nodded her head, pulling away from you and walking back to the mauri. Jake sank down in the sand beside you, watching you closely but you refused to look at him. He cleared his throat as he turned from you to look towards the ocean, the waves crashing against the shore eased the ache in his heart a bit. “I have never been good at expressing what I feel-”
He sighed through his nose, “The fear that I have of losing the kids-It causes me to be harsh, and scold. But it is out of fear I will be too late to help them.”
Your ears twitched at his words, pulling your knees towards your chest as you remained silent, “I was scared of loving you. So I set up barriers from the beginning and refused to open myself up to you. It was easier that way.”
Jake swallowed roughly, a lump forming at his throat, “But then I just-it was like I finally woke up and all I saw was you.”
Tears pooled at his eyes as you turned to him, “You took up so much of my mind, of my heart and it scared me. For so many reasons, I was scared you didn't feel the same way for me, I was scared of losing you. And to be frank, I felt so much guilt. I felt like I was betraying Neytiri.”
Tears fell from your eyes as you watched him, he was unable to reach your eyes. He didn’t think he could get the words out if he looked at you, scared of what he would see. “When everything happened with Tsu’ltan something switched inside of me. Yes-I can admit that my actions were flawed but I have wanted you for long and my actions were driven by fear but I do care for you. Everything I told you that night still stands strong, I see you.”
He finally turned to look at you, and he knew. He saw it in the way you looked at him that you finally understood him. Understood his actions and why he did what he did. “I am scared you will change your mind. That you will regret it after it happens.”
Jake shook his head and reached for your hand, tangling his fingers with yours and he pressed a kiss to your hand. “I will do whatever it takes to get you to see how much I mean this.”
Your heart thumped hard against your chest, tail swishing behind you. He was so earnest, no falsehood behind his eyes and you believed him. You didn't even have to say it. Jake was up swiftly, pulling you with him. Neither of you said anything, just hands tangled with one another, and pressed tightly as you walked through the forest. Jake could not stop the giddiness that settled into his chest to feel you so close to him. He made his way deep into the forest, clicking his tongue to call for his Ikran. “Where are we going?”
“Just want us to be alone together for a while.”
Bob appeared in front of the two of you moments later, nuzzling his head against Jake’s chest. Jake let your hand drop before he mounted his Ikran, extending his hand towards you to take.
When you settled comfortably behind him, Jake’s hand gripped at the back of your thigh. He kept you close to him as he silently instructed Bob to take flight.
You spent hours flying, Jake told you stories of his life before making it to Pandora, and you confided in him how much your life changed after Zewlay was taken from you. It was beautiful, it felt like the two of you were the only people that existed in the whole world.
When you landed you felt dizzy, out of pure happiness, euphoria settled into every crevice of your body. A quiet laugh left your throat as Jake patted Bob’s head, an annoyed huff left the animal as he flew away.
A comforting silence fell before the two of you, and you shifted between your feet. All you wanted now was to feel him near you, on any part of you and before doubt could settle into you, you leaned up to him to press a soft kiss to his lips. Jake’s tail thumped behind him at the feeling, one hand cupping your face to bring you closer. Your lips parted for him and his tongue slowly tangled with yours, fighting against each other as his other hand gripped at your waist, pulling you closer. He pulled away from you, forehead pressing against your own as he took a deep breath, “We don’t have to do anything today, Yawne. We can take our time.”
You shook your head no, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him in again, “I have waited so many years, Jake. I don’t want to wait any longer.”
Your lips pressed against his, hard and passionate, almost bruisingly and Jake felt your desperation. He felt it too. Without his lips breaking from yours he sank down, pulling you with him and trying to remove any space from each other. He leaned back and pulled you onto his
lap, his legs extended outward and your thighs straddled his waist. You instinctively pressed down onto him, rolling your hips up and a quiet moan left your mouth.
Jake’s hands fell to your hips, helping you rock your hips onto his hardening cock. Jake mumbled against your lips, “Oel ngati kameie.”
You clenched around nothing, rutting your hips harder as you kissed along his jaw, “Oel ngati kameie, Jake.”
He let out a watery laugh, tears pooling at his eyes once more as he heard the words fall from your lips. His hips thrusted upward and another moan fell from your lips, grinding down harder. Jake pressed you against him harder, gripping at the back of your thigh, “Gonna turn us around, Yawne.”
A small laugh left your throat as your back hit the ground, “Ow!”
His head dipped down to press kisses against your chest, moving your chest piece to suck gently on your skin. He left small bruises from his lips all along your chest, marking you as his and it caused your thighs to clench together. Tension settling high between your legs. “Jake, want you inside.”
You were pouting softly, biting down on your lips as he parted your legs. He pulled his own loin cloth off, your eyes widening at the sheer size. “S’big.”
Your cheeks colored as Jake laughed, his hands massaging your hips before he began to untie the material. “Well go slow, yeah?”
You nodded your head, excitement settling at the bottom of your stomach as Jake gripped your thighs, pulling you to him. His fingers carefully pressed against your clit, a small hiss left your lips out of pure sensitivity. His fingers rubbed small shapes into your mound, pressing down every few seconds and you felt yourself clench against nothing. Your desire became more evident with how easy it was for him to slip a long finger into your entrance. Your hips bucked slightly, clenching at the intrusion. His thrust was soft, gentle as he eased you up, the tension leaving your body the more he continued his movements. Jake was so grateful you were so far away from the beach, it was just the two of you and he could soak up all the noises that left your mouth.
When he felt you were ready he eased a second finger into you, his pace increasing. His eyes were stuck to where his fingers were, amazed by how you just sucked him in. His cock was hard, tail swishing with excitement. You whined his name, hips stuttering and he could tell you were close, you clenched around his fingers with every thrust. “Jake-stop.”
His fingers stilled inside you, eyes filling with concern as he watched your chest heave roughly. “What’s wrong?”
Your hands covered your face, clenching lightly against his fingers that were still inside of you. Your whole body colored in embarrassment, the words barely leaving your mouth. You mumbled something that Jake could not understand, his ears twitched. “Hmm?”
“Oh Eywa-I said I don't wanna come yet. Wanna do it with you.”
Jake’s tail thumped harshly, you were still covering your face. “Wanna see you, baby.”
Your hands slowly fell from your face, your cheeks were flushed and a small smile littered your features. Jake parted your legs even more, inching his hips closer to yours. He grabbed at the base of his cock, pumping a few times before letting the heavy muscle rest against your slit.
One hand gently gripped at your hip, while the other lightly pressed himself closer to you, your hips swiveled instinctively as he thrusted gently, using your slick to coat the underside of his cock. He thrusted the head lightly into your clit and your hips bucked, whimpering quietly at the sensation. Jake’s ears pinned back, you were so warm, and so wet and it was all for him.
His fangs dug into his bottom lip, relishing in the feeling as he repeated the motion a few more times. His cock-head caught with your entrance, and your breath hitched. Jake was watching your face, making sure it wasn’t too much for you. “M’ready.”
The hand that was on your hip moved to tangle over your own, lightly towering over you as he slowly sank in. You clenched around his cock as he eased his way in, your hips were squirming slightly, only stopping until he bottomed out. His hips keep yours in place, pinning them against the ground.
He gently maneuvered one of your legs to wrap around his waist, pulling you impossibly closer. You felt so full, tears pinched at your eyes. You had longed to be so close to him for so long, and now that you had him you were so overwhelmed. So happy to feel just as wanted, just as needed. You were not aware you were crying until Jake untangled his hand with yours and gently wiped at your tears, “Why are you crying?”
His voice was filled with concern as you sniffled gently, “Happy tears.”
Jake’s face eased up, a smile littering his features as he straightened out, wrapping his arms around your back to lift your hips. He pulled his hips back, thrusting into you gently and your whole body shook with his thrust.
His pace remained soft for a while, enjoying how your body relaxed against him. He gave a particularly hard thrust and a lewd moan left your parted lips, his cock twitched inside of you at the sound. His hips snapping with each thrust and you reached for him, trying to feel all of him. He understood what you wanted, letting his weight fall over your body as his face nuzzled into your neck. Moans leaving his lips as your fingers tangled with his. His pace increased as you clenched around him, nipping and sucking softly at your neck as you cried out his name.
“Love you so much.”
A quiet sob of pleasure ripped from your throat, wrapping both legs around his back as he pushed in and out, hips snapping roughly into yours. Everything was so perfect.
You felt so much tension building up in the pit of your stomach, Jake removing his face from your neck to let his lips fall onto yours. Kissing you with so much intention, like he was trying to pour all his love for you into the kiss.
His hips never stopped, pushing you so close to your release and your name fell from his lips as he told you how good you were doing, how you were made just for him.
“Wanna be on top, Ma’Jake.”
His hips stuttered, moaning quietly as he gently slipped out of you. You clenched around nothing, missing the feeling of him being inside of you. Jake sat on the floor, legs extended and ready for you to do what you wish with him.
Your legs straddled his own, gently gripping at the base of his cock as you sank down. He was even deeper than before, a small bulge protruding at your lower stomach. Jake’s finger slightly traced over the dent his cock was creating in your abdomen. “So pretty.”
You clenched around him, lifting your hips to slam back down onto his cock. With one hand on your hip, Jake helped guide you onto him. You breast bounced in front of him, body flushed a darker color and mouth parted as you chanted his name. With his free hand he reached behind him, bringing his thickest braid to you. Your bounces halted, you lazily grinded your hips into his.
Jake saw the small flicker of insecurity glaze your eyes, but you reached for your own braid.
You both inched your queues closer to one another, pink tendrils fizzing lightly at the close proximity. Once they were near enough they tangled together. Your body slumped against Jake’s slightly and a quiet sob left his mouth. He felt it all, all your sadness, your pleasure, everything. All of you consumed every last crevice of his body, his mind and heart, his very being was completely made up of you.
You pressed a kiss against his shoulder, tears falling from your eyes out of pure euphoria. This is what you had been longing for all your life and it was finally yours.
Jake’s hands wrapped around your waist, pressing your chest deeper into his. His arousal intensified ten fold because he felt your own run through him. His hips began to piston themselves into you. He was so snug inside of you, warm and wet and you sobbed out in pleasure. “I’m so close, Ma’Jake!”
“Me too, baby-fuck!”
Your lips pressed against his, it was messy, tongues fighting against each other as you swallowed each other's moans. The coil in your tummy finally snapped, cumming so hard around him, “Gonna come baby, let me do it inside of you.”
You nodded your head, orgasm being prolonged as his hips sloppy crashed against yours. You roughly met his thrust, clenching tightly at the overstimulation and that caused Jake to release into you. His moans were loud, whispering how much he loves you as he comes down from his high.
You slowly removed yourself from him, shivering at the sensation of no longer being so full. He wrapped his arms around you, patting your hair soothingly as you relaxed into him. “I love you.”
Your face grew hot, nuzzling deeper into his chest, “I love you too.”
#jake sully#jake sully x reader#avatar jake sully#avatar jake sully x reader#avatar x reader#avatar the way of water#jake sully smut#neytiri#kiri sully#loak sully#neteyam sully#tuk sully#avatar 2009#avatar smut#avatar#avatar twow#avatar 2022#avatar 1#avatar 2#jake sully angst#jake sully fluff#folklore: jake sully ୨୧
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First Sight / Chapter 2
Chapter 2 of 2. Part five of the Sassy series. First chapter here.
Simon Riley/female reader - soft dad Simon Riley
4k words - AO3
Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI, PTSD, PPD, mentions of blood and violence, reader is a new mom, tenderness, fluff, complicated feelings, mentions of Percocet (no addiction or abuse), feelings of fear and anxiety, emotional hurt/comfort.
Simon is here. Theo is here. There is nothing to fear.
The house is quiet. Practically silent, except for the ebb and flow of Simon snoring, the broad expanse of his chest combined with the crook of his elbow making a very comfortable sleeping spot for Theo apparently. It’s like white noise, you guess. You've heard of babies being lulled to sleep by the sound of the ocean, or rain, or even a vacuum cleaner, but you didn’t have to resort to any of those, the crackle coming from Simon’s nose more than enough.
Which is great, because you’re exhausted. Or at least, you think you are. It’s hard to tell right now. Your abdomen is still sore, giant incision finally starting to close after six long weeks, and your brain never turns off, the darkness pulling at the edge your mind dragging you through hell almost every day, the bright spots few and infrequent. You feel haunted. You feel like a husk.
Ten fingers, ten toes, ten pounds. You stare at Theo in awe, his little face perfectly serene while he sleeps in your arms, and you lower your own to the crown of his head, skimming your nose across his tiny tuft of hair. You hold him close, pointer finger tracing as lightly as possible across the apple of his cheek, back and forth. It’s hard to believe he’s even real. Or that he’s here. That the two of you made it through, and that he now has a birthday, a name, ten fingers, and ten toes.
This, whatever it is, is the strongest concentration of love you’ve ever felt in your life, that you’re sure of. Things that mattered before, don’t anymore. Things you were worried about in the past, don’t exist. The only thing that’s real is this baby in your arms, your baby, Simon’s baby, and you blink rapidly to hold back tears at the realization.
“What do you think, mom? You ready for some pain relief so you can get some sleep?” The nurse asks, and Simon nods but doesn’t speak. You know he wants you to get some painkillers, that he’s having a hard time watching you wince and bite your lip to the point where you draw blood, but he also wouldn’t dare speak for you, even though you’re sure he wants to take over, take charge and make sure you get what you need.
You did just have major surgery, and the other drugs have worn off, leaving you with searing pain in your stomach and cramps in your legs.
But the idea of taking a Percocet makes you nervous, lights some uneasy fire in the back of your mind, and irrational but completely real fear buzzes in your nervous system. If you’re drugged, you’ll be loopy, and it makes you want to say no. The amount of pain your body is in fights against the resistance, and you glance at Simon hesitantly. Like he’s reading your mind, he reaches out to place a gentle hand on your thigh.
“Nothing is going to happen if you take a pain pill. I promise.” He says encouragingly and you relent with a sigh.
“Okay, yeah.”
“Sass?” It’s Simon, standing in the doorway, Theo in the sling that is his giant forearm. He sits comfortably there, perfectly snuggled against his dad, and it makes your heart clench. Simon is looking at you warily, like he doesn’t recognize you. Which is fair. You don’t even recognize yourself. “What’re you doin’ out here?” Where? You blink, processing the question. Here? Your toes wiggle, in grass, and you look around. Why are you in the backyard? At night?
“Oh. I don’t know.” He’s holding his hand out to you, large fingers reaching for yours.
“Come inside.” He presses his thumb to your wrist, eyes closing before speaking again. “I think you should call the shrink.”
“No.”
“Sass. There’s nothing wrong with it, if you need to talk to someone.” You laugh weakly.
“That’s rich, coming from you.” You spit, tone edged in an eagerness to fight, and he tenses. Fuck. “I’m sorry.” Your shoulders slump. Stop being such a bitch. He’s doing practically everything for you right now. “I’m sorry. Really. I’m just… out of it.” You step closer, leaning your forehead into his chest, blinking down at the wriggling baby in his arm. Your son. You feel Simon’s nose in your hair, and then a heavy palm rests at the small of your back.
He inhales deeply.
“I know.”
Ten fingers, ten toes, ten pounds. You repeat it over and over for assurance, even though your son is sleeping comfortably in your arms, safe and healthy. Ten fingers, ten toes, ten pounds. It’s hard to believe you’re a mom now, someone who has a tiny, defenseless little human depending on you for everything.
Well, not just you.
You eye Simon, asleep in the chair less than a foot from the bed, head tilted back, mouth open. There’s a large white spot of baby vomit on the front of his black sweatshirt, and he’s sporting some serious undereye circles from being up with Theo as much as possible. He doesn’t let you lift a finger, which is fine considering you can’t even really get out of the bed without help, your giant incision still wrapped up and body still exhausted from surgery, two days later.
On top of everything, something felt off. There was this feeling, a dark, lonely thing pulling at your limbs, trying to wring you out over and over, dragging you down into the dark of the deepest waters. You were frightened of it, the cycle of thoughts spiraling through your mind every time you closed your eyes, the inky blackness of dark feelings overtaking you from every direction. Were you going to be a good mom? Would you be able to take care of Theo? What if Simon wasn’t here? What if something bad happens? What if you die? What if Theo doesn’t love you? What if Simon leaves? What if you don’t like your own baby? What if you can’t bond with him? What if you suck at this?
Theo gurgles, a small noise, and you try to shift to alleviate some of the pressure on your back. Pain zings through you, the sting of your muscles seizing, and you gasp, loud enough that Simon is jerking awake, eyes scanning the room until they land on you and your hopeless form.
“Need help?” You nod miserably, and he lifts Theo away from your body while you try to get situated. You watch him rock the baby easily, settling into a natural rhythm like it’s nothing, and try not to feel irritated. He’s a natural. How is possible that Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley is so good at this and you’re a failure? Tears prick along your waterline, and you slam your eyes shut, but not before one escapes down your cheek. “Hey, what is it? What’s wrong?” A big, warm hand envelopes yours, and your emotions surge inside of you, sadness and love and anxiety swirling in your heart until you’re sniffling.
“I’m sorry.” You sob and he looks stricken.
“Sorry for what?”
“For being such a mess.”
“You just had a baby, Sass. And you have a huge wound in your stomach. You’re gonna be a mess for a bit.”
“Yeah, b-but I can’t even take care of my… my own baby,” The words are slurred, pieced together through tears, and you try to catch your breath. He folds his hand around the back of your neck and leans forward, bringing Theo between your two bodies while your face nestles into him. “and you’re being so nice to me.” You cry aloud.
“Shhh. It’s alright, sweet girl. You’re okay.” TWO babies. There are two babies in this stupid hospital room. You take a deep breath through your nose while Simon rubs your back, Theo blinking up at the two of you silently. “Did you get any sleep this morning?”
“N- no.” He sighs as he pulls away, lips dragging across your temple gently and then up to your forehead to press a kiss there, soft and slow, lingering as long as he can.
“I think you should try to get some sleep,” you shrug and wipe your eyes. “I’ll turn out the lights.”
“Wait.” Your hand shoots out to latch onto his in a panic. “Si. I- don’t go anywhere. Please?”
“We’ll both be right here.” He assures you, folding your hand back into your lap with a squeeze before moving to flick the light off. “We’re right here, okay? Close your eyes.” He slides the reclining chair another half a foot closer to the bed, easing down into it with Theo secure in one arm, holding your hand with the other. He traces a thumb over the skin of your knuckles, and your eyes slip closed.
You’re home. You’re not in danger. Simon is here. Theo is here. There is nothing to fear. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, the straggly ends of your hair, the rise and fall of your chest beneath Simon’s t shirt. You’re home. You’re not in danger. Simon is here. Theo is here. There is nothing to fear. Your head is pounding, a headache ripping across the front of your brain, your stomach churning like you’re going to vomit up the breakfast you ate this morning. Your legs feel weak, or maybe it’s your body that feels heavy, but either way, you can hardly stand, leaning against the bathroom countertop for support. You focus on your breath, in and out, counting inhales and exhales, but there’s a buzzing sound in your ear, and the room suddenly feels dark, like your vision is cloudy.
When you close your eyes, you see a teenager walking towards you, a bomb wired to the vest he’s wearing.
You see Soap’s blood on your palms, you feel it slicking your skin up your forearms, you hear his grunts of pain as you pack his wound.
You see Simon outside the tent after you left, staring up at the helicopter as it took you away. You remember the unadulterated rage that coursed through your veins, the overwhelming feeling of anger that consumed your entire existence.
You see the faces of the first infantry troop you deployed with in the desert. The fresh-faced lieutenant, begging you to make sure his wife and kids get his death benefits while he dies in front of you, torso blown open, organs shredded by bullets. The private, from Louisiana, whose parents were long dead, but he told you about how sweet his baby sister was while the two of waited for a field medic that would be way too late.
You see your dad, the last time you ever saw his face, putting you on a plane to a country you knew nothing about while you screamed, your mother crying in his arms. The silver of the cross around his neck glinting in the afternoon sun.
You’re home. You’re not in danger. Simon is here. Theo is here. There is nothing to fear.
There’s a knock on the door and you snap to attention.
“Sass?” You fix your face in the mirror as well as you can before answering.
“Yeah, coming.”
It’s the familiar ring of a facetime call that wakes you, your head foggy with the cotton of deep sleep. You squint at the caller ID, Johnny’s name popping up across the screen accompanied by the soap emoji.
“Hi.” You answer, voice still a little groggy. Simon is already lifting Theo from the bassinet, depositing him on your chest gently, and giving your shoulder a squeeze before he slumps back in the chair.
“Sassafras, look at ‘im.” Theo’s just visible in the screen, and Johnny is grinning, hand partially covering his face because his eyes are suspiciously wet. “You did a grand job lass.” You smile at him in thanks, and Simon grunts from the chair right next to the bed. “Where’s the big guy?”
“He's here.” You angle the camera, and Simon cracks a small smile under the mask.
“Hey Johnny.”
“Ghost! Yer a lucky man, LT.” Simon looks to you, something soft shining in his eyes before it disappears.
“Yeah.” He reaches over, hand laying gently over top yours where it rests on Theo's back.
“He’s ready to meet Uncle Soap, whenever you get leave next. Feel free to come over this way.” You chime. “We, uh actually wanted to talk to you about being his godfather...”
“No, we don’t.” Simon barks but you shake your head, moving the camera back to you.
“Yes, we do. Ignore him. It was his idea, Johnny.” You shoot him a look.
“Ah you two, I’m honored.” There’s a noise in the background, something loud, and Johnny looks away quickly, before returning to the screen. “Gotta run. Miss ya Sassy, and the grumpy bastard.”
“Bye, Soap. Be safe, stay frosty.” Theo cries just as Johnny hangs up, and you pat his back slowly, murmuring above his ear.
“What is it?” You soothe. “Hungry?” You bounce him slightly, all you can do from the bed, before looking up at Simon imploringly. “Si…”
“C’mere” He pulls the baby from your arms, tilting him onto his back at a good angle for the bottle, before settling down next to you on the bed. “Like a champ.” He says proudly, and you can’t help the grin that tugs at your lips.
“He’s got a good appetite.” You push your finger into his tiny fist, and he grabs onto it reflexively. “Like his dad I guess.” You tease and Simon smirks, leaning down to plant a kiss across your cheek.
Theo is screaming on the monitor. Both of you jolt awake, and Simon is out of bed before you can even say anything, hall light flicking on and floorboards creaking under his feet.
You glance at the clock. 3:32 AM. Well, at least he made it three hours. There’s a beeping sound inside your ear, and you cringe, shaking it away as you fully wake. Anxiety immediately blooms in your mind, and you take deep breaths to calm your heart. You’re home. You’re not in danger. Simon is here. Theo is here. There is nothing to fear. You sit up slowly, shifting your hips until you’re fully upright, and Simon comes back.
“Hungry, I think.” He’s got Theo against his chest, blanket over his shoulder. His hair is all a mess, like the baby’s, and the sight of them together nearly makes you start crying. Your boys.
“Here.” You clear your throat. “I’ll take him, you grab the bottle?” He rubs his face sleepily and you rock Theo, trying to get his cries to calm down while you wait for the formula. “Shhh.” You make the hushing noise near his ear, to no avail.
The song comes easily. It’s not a lullaby, and you’re a shit singer, but since he was born, singing works better than humming, though you’re not sure why. You rock him in time with the beat you’re conjuring in your head, closing your eyes and imagining your voice is not terribly off key.
“I am not the only traveler, who has not repaid his debt. I’ve been searching for a trail to follow, again. Take me back to the night we met.” Theo cries, but more softly, a little hiccup shaking his chest. “And then I can tell myself, what the hell I’m supposed to do. And then I can tell myself, not to ride along with you.” You press a kiss to his forehead, stroking across the baby soft skin of his cheek. “I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you. Take me back to the night we met.” He’s gone silent, just looking up at you with big wide eyes now, and you smile down at him in the dim light of your bedside lamp. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, haunted by the ghost you. Take me back to the night we met.”
When you look up, Simon’s standing in the doorway again, bottle in one hand, burp cloth in the other, frozen to the spot, staring at you.
“Hey.” He startles, like he was off somewhere else, and takes big strides until he’s sitting at your side, handing the bottle over. “Thanks.”
“Y-yeah.” He stutters, and you frown.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Just tired.”
“I can put him back in the crib, if you want to lay down.” You gesture to his side of your bed, but he shakes his head.
“No, no. ’s fine.”
“You sure?” Theo sucks the bottle down with ease, and you prop him on your shoulder over the burp cloth. Simon leans forward, and presses his lips to your brow, hand resting on Theo’s back. He holds himself there, for a second, then two, and three, until he pulls away to touch his forehead to yours.
“I’m sure.”
The woman says your name, nodding at you from where she sits to the left of your bed.
“I’m Dr. Moreno. I’m a resident psychologist here, but I also do work for the VA.” You fight the urge to tell her to get the fuck out and choose to smile politely instead. “I understand you have some concerns about postpartum depression.”
“Yeah.” Suddenly, you wished you hadn’t been so painfully honest on the questionnaire your OB gave you.
“Are you currently receiving any treatment for your PTSD?”
“No.”
“Are you interested in receiving treatment for PTSD?”
“Not really, I’ve done therapy before.” She nods thoughtfully.
“Did your doctor go over everything with you about C-section recovery?”
“Yeah, she did.” Somewhere, in the very back of your mind, something tells you to be more forthcoming, to be more open with this shrink, but it gets shut down before it can become a full thought.
“Okay. I am going to give you my card. It has my office number on it and my email. You can reach out to me anytime you need to.” You give her another polite, lackluster look. She sighs. “Being a new mom can be hard, even for those who don’t have histories of trauma. There is no shame in needing help.”
“I know. Thank you.” You hold the card up like its proof that you’re listening, like you can be trusted to call if you think you’re in trouble. She gives you a sympathetic smile as she makes to leave, reiterating that she wants you to call her if you need to.
A heavy knock sounds on the door, and then Simon is standing in the room, medical mask on his face, sleeping baby cuddled against him. Just the sight of him holding Theo cleaves your heart in two, and you hold your arms out to them both, anxious to be near them. He gives the doctor a look when she passes, and then raises an eyebrow at you.
“You alright?” Theo cries and you motion with your hands so you can hold him.
“Yeah. Just usual shrink stuff.”
“Alright, come off it. It’s not that funny.” Simon’s jaw flexes as you try to hold back the laughter and fail. It hurts your stomach, but at the same time, it feels great. It feels real.
“Oh my god. I’m so- sorry. For laughing, it’s just-“ you stare down at the mess of burnt food in the pan, eyebrows creasing in sympathy when you look back up at him. “You’re so sweet. Thank you.” He scowls.
“I’ll order takeout.”
“No, no you don’t have to. We can make something else.”
“No.” He turns to stalk away, and you’re hit with a wave of emotion out of nowhere, so strong that it nearly knocks you off balance, almost steals your breath. It feels familiar. It feels like Belize, and every second afterwards until he sent you away, it feels like waking up in the hospital to his face hovering over yours, it feels like watching him press his ear to your belly when Theo was still inside you. It feels like that night when the two of you sat on the roof of the safehouse in Belarus, after the botched extraction mission, the one that left him with twenty stitches in his thigh and you got that really bad burn on your arm. The roof where the two of you traded secrets, where he told you about his dad and you told him about yours. It feels like the night in Uruguay, when you and Johnny and him all went out and found a bar, when you got drunk and he pressed you against the brick wall in the alley, your legs wrapped around his waist, his face buried in your neck, whispering words you couldn’t quite hear under his breath. It feels like watching him cry in the operating room when he saw the baby for the first time, watching him become a dad, watching him beat the vicious cycle of trauma and abuse right before your eyes.
You wrap yourself around his waist before he can get too far away, molding your body to his back, and his hand comes down to where yours rests on his stomach.
“Sass?”
“Don’t. Just, stay here. Like this. For a minute.” He shifts, turning while keeping you pressed against him, until you’re resting your cheek on his chest, and he’s rubbing your back.
“You alright?” His voice is gentle, he’s always gentle with you now, and the realization makes the feeling grow even stronger.
“Yeah. I’m… Simon. I-“
Theo cries on the baby monitor. Insistent. Bossy, as Simon enjoys telling you, like his mum.
You step away with a sigh.
“I’ll get him.” He kisses your forehead before heading up the stairs.
When he makes it back down, you’re scrubbing the pan out, charred food already deposited in the garbage can.
“There she is.” Simon says from behind you, and you turn to see Theo blinking in your direction, eyes wide and making little garbled cooing noises.
“Hi baby.” Simon shuffles him into your arms, and you sway side to side slowly. “You’re hungry.” You deduce, and he agrees with you, making an impatient crying sound, tiny fist swinging into the air. “I know, I know. Hang on.” You soothe. You settle yourself on the couch with a bottle, brushing against his cheek lightly to trigger the rooting reflex before plopping it in his mouth. He drinks greedily, eyes trying to slip shut once he’s had his fill, and Simon laughs from where he sits next to you.
“You’re good at this.” He says quietly. You balance Theo on your shoulder while you burp him, and then look at Simon like he’s off his rocker.
“Me?”
“Yeah, Sass.” He pauses. “And ya look good, holding my baby.” Your cheeks heat, and something clenches in your stomach. You shoot him a look and he grins like a fool, real happiness stretching across his face in spades. It’s beautiful, he’s beautiful, and you- “I know you’re struggling right now,” he pulls you out of your train of thought, eyes pensive, grin morphing into something bittersweet. “and it’s been hard, but… I’m here. For you. For Theo. I want us…” he trails off when Theo burps and you shift, cradling him back into a sleeping position. “I don’t know… what will happen, in the future, and I know I still got a lot, of making up to do. But I want this. With you. I want us to… be a family.” You study his knuckles, fingers bunched together with tension, the height of his shoulders under his ears. You expect to feel the unraveling force of your anger, the swell of rage towards him that has been lurking under the surface for so long, but it never comes. It simmers in the distance, cool and unprovoked, sitting silently and uneager. You wonder if it's temporary, if you’ll ever feel it again, the way you used to.
Instead, when you look at him, all you see is Simon. Theo’s dad. All you have is that feeling, the strong emotion that makes your head spin, and while you can’t get your mouth to form those three words, you feel the full force it when you look up at him with softness in your gaze and say,
“I think we already are, Si.”
#sassy series#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#reader was pregnant#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost riley#simon riley#cod mwii#cod mw22 fanfiction#cod fanfic#cod mw2#ghost cod#tw pregnancy#soft dad simon riley#reader is referred to as mom#simon x sass#ghost x reader#peaches writes
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❝ 𝐂𝐎𝐙𝐘 ❞
𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 — 𝐋𝐇𝟒𝟒
˖ ࣪⭑ - pairing: lewis hamilton x fem!oc
˖ ࣪⭑ - summary: imagine you go for dinner at your neighbours house and you’re told you’re getting married? you better get cozy for this one!
˖ ࣪⭑ - warnings for this chapter: none
˖ ࣪⭑ - saint’s team radio: hey y’all…. i told you guys i don’t have a planned schedule for this series and i’m really starting to think i should 😭. i hope you guys enjoy this and lemme know if you wanna be tagged 🤭
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"Renaissance yachtin' in capri!" Nadia sang as she entered the driveway of the Hamiltons only a week after the first dinner. Knowing her mother's dramatics, Thembi had once again requested her presence at the home except she had to drive straight to the Hamiltons house. Finding the situation weird but not giving it a second thought, she parked next to the all black G63, one of her many dream cars and one she hadn't seen the last time she was here. Thinking it was just a simple visit (and Thembi hadn't given her a chance to dress up after the phone call), Nadia fixed the Nike tee and adjusted the biker shorts she had worn throughout her chill Saturday morning.
Knocking on the wooden door felt weird, given that she was welcomed into the house before but she felt like something quite suspicious was going on but she couldn't even figure it out. Rubbing her eye whilst waiting for someone to answer the door, she wrote a few reminders on her phone to not forget to complete the work she had to take home from the previous day.
"Well aren't you a ray of sunshine?" Nadia had recognised the voice to be Nicola, adding a little laugh after her sentence. "I woke up late so this is valid." Nadia replied, giving a smile as she entered the house with Nicola making room for her to walk in. After the first dinner, the two women had kept in touch because of the growing friendship and Willow, who would send a voice message every day to say hi. But this time, Nadia couldn't hear the kids laughing or playing around the house.
Oh, this was serious.
"Is that Nadia, darling?" Linda's voice chimed through the entrance hallway leading to the living room. "Hello Mrs Hamilton." The young woman greeted, giving Linda a side eye as she held a glass of water in her hand. "Please Nadia, rather call me Linda. Do come through, my dear!"
"We're out by the patio, need the bathroom before we start?" Nicola asked, making Nadia way more confused the more footsteps she took. "Start with what?" She trailed off, seeing Nicola just smile and head into the direction of the patio with her following. This was officially starting to get weird but Nadia chose to push her thoughts aside for this lunch.
"Oh she's here! How was the drive, Nads?" Her mom spoke up as soon as Nadia's foot hit the wooden floor of the large patio. Different types of charcuterie boards were placed with juices and waters to accommodate everyone but the atmosphere seemed so different from the dinner last week, it rather felt like a meeting.
"Helloooo." Nadia dragged out the greeting as she eventually found an empty seat, once again, next to Lewis. The man was genuinely a sight to see as the sun shined on him as he sat comfortably on the patio bench chair. Wearing a black NY cap, a graphic tee once again with a pair of jeans this time and his jewellery on display, Lewis smiled up at her with a toothy grin.
After personally greeting everyone around the table and answering their fast questions, she plopped down onto the chair with a few of her bracelets clanging together. The familiar scents of each other from the last time they met fused together as they both studied each other once again.
Nadia's tattoos were finally on display, each dainty artwork fluttered around her skin with a few being inked in red. The most noticeable thing being her hair as she changed the colour to black and it reached past her back. The makeup was very simple and she only carried her phone and lipgloss in her hand as she placed the overly cracked device onto the table right next to Lewis'. When she smiled, he noticed a small gem on one of her front teeth and he definitely admired her style, not one he would regularly picture on a high school teacher.
"You know Nadia, we were just talking about how odd it would be to suddenly become famous within a matter of hours." Linda started, grabbing the large jug of grape juice to give the girl a glass. Helping the older woman, Nadia lifted herself off the chair and gave Lewis a look, non verbally asking if it was true and his eyebrows furrowed whilst pursing his lip upwards, making Nadia smile a little.
"Really? In what aspects?" She sat back down, lifting the glass to her gloss covered lips and only taking little sips. "Oh just how you'd maybe have to close off social media for a while and suddenly having people around you to help with everything." Linda said, taking her glass of water and eyeing Nadia's mom after her sentence. Tilting her head in confusion, she made sure to sit comfortably as this was definitely an interesting conversation.
"I never really thought about it like that actually. The way teams assemble within a matter of hours is something else but I always hear my students say that they're one hundred percent ready for fame." Nadia watched the two older women constantly look at each other with the older men being suspiciously quiet. "Oh and don't even get me started on the scandals you're put through." Nicola submerged from the house, holding a fresh pizza on a wooden board with an extra plate.
"Lewis, you'd know a thing or two about these things right?" Nicola smirked as she placed the plate on the opposite side of the table. Snapping her head towards Lewis, he sighed then nodded before straightening up his posture as it was before. Now Nadia was incredibly confused. Although she spent at least two hours in conversation with Lewis, she never really found out what exactly he does for a living even though he knew what she did as she went on a whole rant about her day with the teenagers. The way he had carried himself whilst speaking with everyone and just how he listened made it seem like he could be a businessman of some sort that clearly made his money and he made it well as he wore jewellery pieces that she could only dream of seeing.
A beat of silence passed and a knock on the door was heard. "Oh, that must be Gerald." Anthony got up in quite a hurry, with the table falling into conversation to detour the previous topic. After the man was welcomed onto the patio, he placed his small briefcase next to him on the chair with Nadia's suspicions growing more and more.
But what if he was really just there for lunch?
The word 'deactivate' kept being thrown around between Nicola, Thembi and Linda for several minutes, snapping Nadia and Lewis out of their conversation on her tattoos. "Nads, come here really quickly and bring your phone." Her mom ordered as the young girl walked to their side of the table. Standing over all three women, she held her phone in front of her mom's face. "How do you deactivate your Instagram? Nicola here made one for me but i don't want it anymore." Thembi asked, once again eyeing Linda.
Showing the directions on her own phone, Nadia then became distracted by her stepdad's question. "Nads, do you know when Rea's flight lands? Will you be okay to go?" He asked, slightly jumping at something. "Yes, I'll be fine. Her flight lands at like two in the morning so after here I'll just finish up some work then go to the airport early." Nadia responded, feeling her hand move a little as she spoke to James.
Thembi tapped her daughter's hand as Nadia focused back on her phone. Seeing her instagram page now logged out, she groaned at the thought of her completely forgetting her password to it. Plopping back into her seat defeated, Lewis eyed her then her phone that she placed on the table. "You good?" He asked, turning his body to look at her. "I think I accidentally logged myself out of insta and i forgot where i wrote down the password." Nadia frowned a little as she clasped her hands together. Even though he didn't want to seem like he was smiling at her misery but the little pout she had on her face was adorable and obviously he wasn't going to admit that anytime soon.
"Okay, I cannot do this anymore." Anthony announced out as he sighed which caught everyone's attention. "Dad, what's going on?" Lewis asked worried, he had noticed his father was quiet most of the time but he brushed it off knowing that his father was usually like this.
"Son, listen. I know what I'm about to say will sound insane but I need you to listen very carefully. Along with you too, Nadia." Anthony stated. Linda then stood next to her husband in terror. "Wait, Anthony. Are you sure you want to do this right now?" She muttered.
And now the uneasy feeling came right back.
"Lewis, you know I care for you deeply however these past few weeks have been tough for you... and pr." His dad started off, earning a sigh from Lewis and a pinch on the bridge of his nose. Seeing Lewis stress like this was weird for Nadia and what exactly did his father mean by PR? Anyone could tell that he wanted to say something but chose to keep quiet.
Now sitting up properly, Nadia was intrigued with the entire situation and wondered how famous Lewis actually was.
"Linda and I, along with Nadia's parents and Nicola have decided that we wanted to help you to clean up your image a little more even though you are a private person. And for that, we've come up with the concept of a fake marriage between you and Nadia." Anthony concluded and took his seat.
It was as if the blood from Nadia completely left her face after that very last sentence however her face stayed extremely neutral. Her face rather snapped towards her parents who were avoiding eye contact with her.
The silence was so loud, the birds chirping ever so slightly as if they were part of the plan as well. Looking at everyone's face, anyone could tell that this had probably been discussed many times before. "What?" Nadia being the first one to say something, spoke in a monotone voice.
"Look we wanted to see how you two would get along when you first met and it had seemed to work very well. We're only really looking out for you, Lewis. These rumours have kinda taken a toll on you." Nicola voiced, seeing that their faces were stoic yet burning daggers into everyone's skulls.
Finally looking at each other, Lewis and Nadia's eyes met with no source of attraction to each other in that present moment. "This is crazy." Lewis muttered to himself as he shook his head whilst looking down at his shoes.
"Okay." Nadia said, crossing her arms and looked at her mom directly. "Okay?" Lewis grumbled with slightly narrowed eyes to the girl. "Yeah. Clearly this is important and stuff so I'll do it." Nadia responded with a calm facade but she was truly screaming on the inside, her leg shaking underneath the table. Shocked as he was at her nonchalant response to the situation, he slumped back and chose to not speak up in front of guests. Lewis wasn't frustrated in the slightest but he was just extremely confused.
"What about the details?" Lewis sighed, feeling through his beard and accepting his fate.
"Wait, you're actually doing this?" Thembi expressed. If anything, Thembi felt embarrassed to even coming up with this suggestion thinking that it was going to help the driver and his many social problems. "Ma, please tell us the details before we rethink doing this for you guys." Nadia deadpanned, grabbing a grape from one of the charcuterie boards displayed.
"Well. You would have to tell the world that you've been married for at least a year or two and I've already told your PR team, Lewis, to get everything ready before you announce. For now, you're only allowed to tell your closest friends and coworkers about this so that it doesn't seem suspicious that your friends didn't know of your marriage." Nicola started.
"Nadia, because you're now affiliated with Lewis, security and a team will have to assembled to be at your beck and call. Marie from Lewis' team will come over to help you choose potential candidates for your everyday team. Now the difficult part. You two have to be married legally because you know how people get, Lewis. They'll want evidence. And that's Gerald is here for." She concluded, gesturing to the guest to open his briefcase but god, did he feel awkward.
"Uh, hello. Here's the marriage certificate you two are meant to sign for the court to recognise it as an actual marriage." The poor man was red in the face as he shakily placed the certificate between Nadia and Lewis with a pen. With her freshly manicured hand, the girl picked the pen and signed underneath her name officially as a Mrs. She took a quick glance at Lewis' name and it seemed so familiar but the thing that intrigued her the most was the 'Sir' before anything.
Lewis had a good look at Nadia's side profile as he watched her sign the official papers. She didn't seem bothered with anything that was said, it was as if everything just defeated her and she just accepted it. If there's one thing he noticed was that it looked like she didn't have a clue about who he was at all and that was so fascinating to him.
She handed the pen to him, their hands touching a little with the warmest touch as they made eye contact. They both couldn't read each other's eyes, only dark brown pupils staring into each other's souls. Lewis then also signed with a bit of hesitation, the reality falling on him as he dragged the pen to the very last of his signature.
"Congratulations, Mr and Mrs Hamilton." Gerald broke the silence as he uttered his words. He quickly packed his briefcase and walked away from the table with a small wave to everyone to escape from the awkwardness of the lunch table.
"You only have to do this for a year or so then you can either divorce publicly or privately. And the living situation has to be changed. Nadia, you will have to be almost everywhere with Lewis now that you've signed that certificate so I am not sure how you will handle this at your workplace. Do you have an active passport?" Anthony ended with his question to which the quiet girl just nodded.
"Wait, where am I going to live?" Nadia asked, eventually snapping out of the quiet demeanour she had. "Well you'll have to speak to your husband about that." Linda smiled at the two, the smile slowly falling when seeing their deadpanned faces.
Sighing out for the final time, Lewis sighed and lightly tapped Nadia on the arm signaling for her attention. He held his car keys in his hand and she knew that she had to go because being there any longer would've suffocated her. The newly married couple simultaneously stood up and gathered their belongings, making everyone's faces grow into confusion.
"Where are you guys going?" Thembi asked, standing up as well with a worried expression. All Lewis did was shrug as he fixed his shirt and move out of the way so that Nadia could walk before him. "Bye everyone! Your charcuterie boards looked amazing by the way, Linda." It was as if someone completely different had greeted the group goodbye because her mood changed in a matter of seconds as if nothing happened.
"What the hell did we just do?" Nicola asked, rubbing her forehead as she watched the two walk away and out of the house.
-
"You've arrived at your destination." The automated voice rang through the large car as it approached a large black gate behind an elegant building.
The drive to the unknown destination was not as quiet as they thought it would be. When entering the car, all Nadia could do was to laugh as soon as Lewis entered the car so much so that a few tears of laughter came out. It was a sound that he appreciated to hear and he joined her in her laughter. They couldn't believe that they even went through that, mainly laughing at the fact they went into the house for lunch and left as a married couple.
It was quite the lengthy drive but it seemed much quicker as they spent the time speaking about what happened at lunch yet they never got to the topic of his job and also because they decided to play music to get rid of the negative mood they both had.
“I thought you were going to kidnap for a second. I still do.” Nadia joked as he playfully rolled his eyes at her. “Where are we even?” She looked out of the window to see the back of the large building, eventually spotting a small yet visible sign on the wall reading ‘Harrods VIP parking’.
Letting the smallest gasp escape her mouth, she gazed at Lewis once again who was typing on his phone and wondered what he did for a living for him to be able to decide to park his car here. The rumours from this department store were unbelievable so to see them bloom in real life felt surreal to Nadia.
Lewis definitely saw Nadia to be a good friend to him and could keep her around his circle and vice versa. It was a sign that a friendship was brewing between each other and they’re somewhat grateful for that although it happened so quickly.
“Seriously bruv, where are you taking me? I have to get home to watch catfish.” She asked, flicking her hair back and he laughed once more. “Bruv?” He said in between his giggles. “Okay my pookie wookie buddy bear, where are you taking me?” She said, fluttering her eyelashes at him which made him burst into so much more laughter.
“Since you want to know so badly, we’re going to Cartier to get our wedding rings.” He smiled a toothy grin, turning off the ignition of the car while looking at her stunned expression.
“…what?”
taglist: @non-stop-imagines @folkloresthings @tispys-blog @userlando @lorarri @thisismeracing @thatsdemko @myescapefromthislife @slytherinjimin3nthusiast @jamie2305 @like-fire-love-blog @sugardontbesweet @simpfortoomanymen @mauvecherie-writes @queenshikongo3 @eugene-emt-roe @deepgothfiremuffin @18754389 @cherry2stems @anubisnoir @goldsainz
dividers by: @cafekitsune
faceclaim for nadia: @/unclewaffles_ on ig!
all pictures from pinterest and ig!
#☆ ‧₊˚ saint’s media pen#lewis hamilton#formula one x black reader#x black fem reader#f1 x reader#x black reader#formula one x reader#f1 x you#lewis hamilton x black reader#lewis hamilton fanfic#lewis hamilton fic#lewis hamilton x reader#lewis hamilton x oc#f1 x black!reader#x black oc#lewis hamilton imagine
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Public Displays of Affection - Azriel x Reader
Chapter summary: This is a Christmas themed oneshot of a series I'm working on (Bird of Prey masterlist), but it can be read as a standalone! It's set a few years after the end of the series, but it doesn't spoil the main story.
Warnings: None! Just a lot of fluff
Word count: 850.
Sidenote: Accidentally posted this on my personal blog at first! this is the re-upload on the right account <3
Winter Solstice was rapidly approaching. If the bite of frost in the air didn’t remind you of the fact, the extravagant amount of decoration in the House of Wind did. They’d started appearing a few weeks ago and now covered most surfaces, admittedly bringing you more joy than you let on every time you went to the library to pick up a new book. Solstice felt bittersweet to you, but you let yourself enjoy the parts you could.
You watched Azriel as you leaned in the door frame of the sitting room as he helped Feyre and Nyx make what looked to be garlands, although the latter’s work might be considered an abstract representation of one. You smiled gently as the ease with which he laughed with the others. You were glad he’d become more confident alongside you.
He glanced up, as if reading your thoughts. Your heart skipped a beat at the wide smile he gave you, still so affected at the sight of him, despite the years. He always could manage to get your heart racing from the most innocent of gestures. When you thought back, you could see it clear as day: he was always the one you were meant to be with from the first day, despite what you felt then. No one had managed to break through the walls that had numbed you to the world except for him, even if it had initially been through confrontations of anger.
Azriel whispered a few words to Nyx, the young boy giggling at his words and rushing to his mother’s side, before walking over to your side, circling around you so he held your back against his chest. He swayed slowly with you to the soft beat of the music surrounding you both.
“Penny for your thought?” he whispered, soft breath tickling the skin behind your ear.
“I don’t think you can afford all of them right now, Az,” you chuckled, turning your face to his and raising a hand to brush a wisp of hair straying on his forehead. “But I’ll give you one for free if you want.”
He hummed, eyes fixed on yours and his hands rubbing slow circles against your hips. “I’d empty Rhys’ entire vault for you, love, don’t tempt me to do so,” he said. You laughed, turning to put your hands around his neck, his hands finding their way around you and flattening against your shirt in the sensitive spot between your wings. You sighed in contentment, a shiver running down your spine. “But I’ll happily take what you’ll give me.” he continued quietly.
“I’m thinking that I never truly thanked you for sticking by me through it all.” You kissed him softly, pulling your head back with a chuckle as he tried to follow. “I couldn’t have hoped for someone more perfect than you.”
You felt his grin against your lips, smiling back at you. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to yours. “And I’ve been the luckiest in Prythian to see you shine, my love.”
You went to speak again, but your words were interrupted by the sound of something whizzing through the air, but no sound of impact came, only a smacking sound across the room and an undignified squeak. Azriel did not move from his position, arms tightening, but rolled his eyes and raised his voice. “Cass, if you don’t put down that second wreath you’re holding, I won’t hesitate to tell Nesta what you got her for Solstice this instant.”
A feminine laugh rang across the room.
“You guys are no fun together.” Cassian muttered, more laughs ringing from the others around you. Your cheeks reddened and tension ran through you, not unnoticed by Azriel. “Want to get out of here?” he whispered.
“Please, before he decided to move on to more intimidating weapons.” you snickered.
“I’ll have you know that wreaths are perfectly acceptable projectiles when you two lovebirds are being-” You were grateful for Cassian’s indignant protest being cut off by darkness surrounding you, you and your lover disappearing to your shared bedroom.
Your wings spread on instinct when your feet caught solid ground, and you immediately caged Azriel against the wall, your hands resting on his defined pectorals. “I believe Cassian might need to learn to be grateful of our discretion in public, love.” he muttered playfully.
“We could always show him exactly how much we restrain ourselves in their presence,” you purred. You were always more playful when you two were alone. “I’m sure a little demonstration might remind him of the fact.”
You shuddered as his hands trailed down your back, over your rear and to your thighs, tapping them slightly, and you jumped with a single beat of your wings, obliging his silent demand. He caught you, spinning you around and leading you to the bed, softly laying you down.
Not a single word was uttered about your public displays of affection again.
If I'm being honest, I was planning on finishing up Bird of Prey before Christmas and was hoping to post this as a follow-up, but finals got the best of me. I should be posting more during the holidays!
Banner created by the amazing @saradika!
#azriel x reader#azriel#acotar#acotar x reader#acotar fanfic#azriel fanfic#azriel POV#azriel x you#azriel x y/n#acotar winter solstice#bird of prey
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