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chrollohearttags · 4 months

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TRACK 01 ❥ RIDE • J. KIRSCHTEIN

your love with jean didn’t start out with perfect beginnings but he’ll make certain it has the story book ending.

❥ content + warnings: paramedic!jean, patient liaison reader (black coded), mentions of illness, pain, etc, very brief mention of infidelity, Jean being a complete lover boy, he has a heavy country/creole accent (he speaks French once or twice) hotel sex, alcohol use, fingering, foot play, bondage, dirty talk, squirting, blindfold, wax play, pet names (my love, my girl, sweetheart) daddy kink + heavy dom, nipple play, breeding/pregnancy, mating press

word count: 6.2K

“Take off those heels, lay on my bed…whisper dirty secrets while I’m pulling on your hair..”

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there were so many words that could be used to describe the enigma of a man that was Jean Kirschtein. For the longest, he was a mystery to you..not being able to take him one way or the other. You couldn’t quite figure him out or really see him for who he truly was. And just when you’d thought you had him all figured out; pegged as one thing, he swayed your mind in the opposite direction. Granted, that was before you knew him beyond being your ex’s homeboy. Keeping yourself at arm’s bay from any man that wasn’t him as to not make him jealous. Of course, that was prior to learning that it wasn’t Jean or anyone else you had to worry about. It was him. It was only a year and a half ago that you learned the heartbreaking news of your ex’s infidelity and by the mouth of none other than Jean himself. It came as such a shock to you that as he spoke, you found yourself almost collapsing onto the pavement but he quickly caught you. You’d never felt so humiliated and betrayed before in your life. The weight of it was almost too much for you to bare..that was until Jean caught you within his grasp and never let go! He assured you that Connie or no other man would ever harm you again as long as he was around. A promise he kept true to..even severing ties with his best friend altogether. It was easy by no means and you felt guilty for being the reason their friendship ended but the only thing you were met with was laughter and a very simple statement in response:

“Any man that could hurt a beautiful woman like you could never be my friend.”

that wasn’t all though..as Jean explained, the two of them began falling out over his constant womanizing and cheating. Granted, he was no saint himself and the two of them were no strangers to having multiple ladies in their lives or even having threesomes with them. But all of that changed when Connie got with you…or so he claimed! Turns out, he only amped up his infidelity through the roof and left you in the dark about all of it. Jean, although a bit of a ladies man himself, couldn’t sit idly by and allow you to be harmed by his actions. But honestly, none of that mattered now. Hell, it all seemed like a far off past that you had but repressed from your memory. Especially when Jean had all but spent this last year and some change not only atoning for Connie’s mistakes but treating you like the absolute goddess you were. The two of you were both employed by the same hospital; you worked as a patient liaison who saw to the non medical needs of the patients. Ensuring that they knew how much they were being billed and offering assistance if it were needed, making certain that their rooms were up to par, even helping out with diet plans..if someone were vegetarian or pescetarian, you’d relay the message to the kitchen staff and make sure they’d have those options for them. It was equally as important as their medical care and it was a job you did exceptionally well. It most certainly took a special person! Which Jean appreciated and respected when he watched you work..always so kind and empathetic. It was no wonder why he felt the innate sense to spoil you in return.

he himself worked as an EMT. Transporting patients to and from the hospital, dealing with high stress situations and quite frankly, enjoying every bit of the adrenaline rush that ensued. Sometimes, it was so intense, he questioned if he were meant to pursue this. But you were his safe haven and once he was with you, he felt as if he could conquer the world!

however, just for the evening…you were setting aside your workplace concerns and stories to be solely devoted to one another. It was a rather special occasion, for many reasons. One being Valentine's Day. And the other? The six month anniversary since you guys began seeing one another officially. When he asked you out after a late night shift and you found yourselves at one of your favorite spots to eat. He handed you a small gift and asked properly; despite hooking up several times prior. Stating that he knew it wasn’t ideal by any stretch of the imagination, but he just couldn’t wait to make you his. It was so thoughtful, you nearly burst into tears right there. Fast forward and life only got better! You had never experienced love the way you had with Jean..endless affection, fancy dates when permitted, small gestures to brighten your day and of course, sex on an entirely different level! This man knew your body like the back of his hand and he always knew the right things to do to make you tick and turn you on. Still, he’d always have his reservations. He wanted to prove that you were worth far more than late night rendezvouses and backseat hookups. He wanted to give you the absolute world on a platter. A goal he had in mind as he made his way to your place; a small house you shared with an older sister and nephew. He pulled that blacked out two seater up to the curb of your driveway..hopping out to open the passenger door just as you made your appearance!

“Well..my my..and they say goddesses don’t walk this earth. I’d hafta’ disagree..not when my baby exists.”

your face completely flushed in a sheath of warmth and your stomach fluttered with butterflies as you flashed that pearly smile and strutted closer. He wasn’t exaggerating because to say you looked divine, wouldn’t be an understatement! Face done up in the most beautiful shimmers and red lipstick that complimented that beautiful dark skin tone, those normally tight curls styled into an updo and gleaming jewelry he had brought dangled from your neck and ears. Dressed in a thigh length red dress with a slit on the right side, tall, strappy heels that wrapped around your calves and a handbag to match. However, you wouldn’t be opening that unless it were to touch up your makeup. Because he had plans that involved spoiling you rotten in more ways than one..and best believe he wasn’t empty handed when getting out to greet you either. No, he was brandishing what seemed to be the largest bouquet of roses he could find!

“You’re way too sweet, baby..thank you!”

“No such thing..here, these are for you, my love. Happy Valentines..and anniversary.”

delicately lacing your cheek with a peck..accepting them, you’d thank him once more and right there, in return..shove your tongue between his lips whilst caressing his cheek. Jean would feel the rush of ecstasy that came with your touch rush his veins. Each kiss, hug and caress took his breath away. Needless to say, dinner was merely the appetizer to the main course to which his pallet desired!..

“Ready to hit the town, my lady?” Garnering quite the adorable giggle from you. He was such a charmer..constantly wooing you despite the relationship nearing a year old.

“Well of course, sir. Lead the way.” you’d return his sentiment, grinning from ear to ear. With that, he’d make haste in opening the door and allowing you to take your seat in the passenger’s side, easing you in. And afterwards, he’d make his own way back to the drivers to start up the ignition. Tonight was sure to be one that would forever be embedded into your memory and heart for many years to come..

page break and time skip

“Jean Rene Kirschtein, I don’t know what I’m going to do with you..dammit, and I said I wasn’t going to cry tonight.”

the only response that you could muster at the moment as you cupped a hand across your mouth, feigning tears and hysterics as you glared down at the crushed velvet box, seated in your lap. Inside, resided a sparkling ring..glistening with princess cut diamonds and a twenty four karat silver band. It was absolutely gorgeous and not to mention..all yours. A piece of jewelry that set him back about nine hundred or so dollars but it was fitting for a promise ring. Not to mention all the other countless gifts he had bestowed upon you tonight. Once he dropped to that knee, there would be no expense spared. He’d grasp your hand as he reached across the table and intertwined your fingers. After he slipped it on for you.

“Well, you could start by drying those pretty eyes of yers’…no need to cry, baby. You deserve this and so much more..” the words permeated your ears and heart like arrows shit directly from Cupid himself. Currently, the two of you were at the rooftop restaurant stationed at the Blaise Hotel, located on the opposite side of town and near the outskirts. It was so lavish yet so intimate at the same time…dim blue illumination outlined the cursive sign hung atop the building. Marble and gold embellished the lobby and everything was so beautiful. It was rather apparent that Jean had spared no expenses when it came to making this night as special as possible. To say you were grateful would be an understatement. “Listen..I know that you and I didn’t exactly start this thing off right and hell, maybe in another life, ya’ would’ve been mine in the first place. But (y/n), baby. I promise I’ll do everything I can to make sure that I’ll be your last. One day, I wanna replace this with the real thing. I wanna marry ya’, have some babies..grow old together. The only thing I want is to spend the rest of my life making you happy. I love you.”

and you knew that he meant every single word that left his mouth. Unlike your ex, there was no doubt that you were his one and only. And you were about to see the great lengths he was willing to go to just to prove that!

“I love you more, Jean..thank you, for making this past year or so, the best I’ve ever had. You pulled me out of a dark place when everyone else was willing to let me sit there..you did things for me that you didn’t have to and I’m forever grateful. I don’t know what I did to deserve to be this happy but…I hope it never ends.” Ending your speech by hoisting your glass, in hopes of not becoming emotional once more. The two of you would toast and take generous swigs of that red Cabernet. Sweet yet strong and the perfect beverage for an occasion like this. “Well..it’s as my granny used ta’ say..’ Même toutes les étoiles du ciel ne pourraient pas briller aussi fort que toi, ma bien-aimée.” Meaning that you shined brighter than any star in the sky and he wanted to spend all night showing you just how special you were to him. Because unbeknownst, there was a second portion to your surprise. One that would undoubtedly embed this night in your mind for a very long time.

“Say, why don’t we get outta here and head upstairs? I gotta lil’ something for you.” Whilst you were finishing up the remnants of your wine, Jean stood from his seat; righter leaving both the bill and hefty tip inside of a black leather booklet. There was no need for you to concern yourself with it or the price inside. This was your night..to be celebrated, to be spoiled and to be loved properly. Something he planned to do in more ways than one. Grasping your hand and the cusp of your arm with the gentlest touch, he’d help you from your seat and pushed it back in. The signs of a true southern gentleman if you’d ever seen one. You knew that his folks had raised him right in the way he carried himself. Although you’d seen Jean act the fool as any twenty something year old boy would, he was always so polite and respectful. Always holding doors, never making you lift a finger to do anything and of course, charmed you to no end. “A lil’ something, huh? Something tells me you went all out..again!” Teasing him as the two of you exited the rooftop to take an elevator down to your suite. Hand in hand with your free one occasionally raising up to stroke his chest. As his own, cradled your waist..holding you close.

“Now now, sweetheart…a man never reveals his secrets. You just relax and let me worry about everything.”

honestly, there was no attesting Jean once he got something set in his head. He was stubborn but there was never a moment where he didn’t see something through to fruition. He also had the habit of sparing no expense to take care of someone else. Maybe that’s what made him such a great first responder..and lover. He was a dominant man. Not the possessive or overbearing type but rather the kind to step up to the plate and handle business without so much as a second thought. Which is why you felt so safe and secure around him..for once, it felt nice to be soft..vulnerable. To let your guard down and let someone else take the lead. So with that, accepting his answer, you’d await patiently as the elevator descended and the down arrow illuminated. Finally, it would come to a halt on the fourth floor..where Jean stepped out first to offer up his hand so he could guide you along. Your heels clicked briefly against the tile flooring before it quickly transitioned to carpet. The hall was decorated with vibrant white and blue paints, vivid imagery plastered onto paintings and sleek, modern lighting illuminated the path to the rooms stationed on the right side. Although Jean’s chivalry seemed to be never ending, there was another reason as to why he was so adamant of stepping ahead of you.

“Before we go inside…there’s one more thing I have for ya..turn around.”

414. The room number in which you two would be residing for the evening..although, you were certain not much sleeping would be taking place. You were stopped in your tracks right by the door as he grasped your hand. Even so, you’d do as your man instructed and spin until your back was facing him. It was then that he’d instruct you to step forward and fully devoting your trust in him, you knew he’d guide you in the right direction. With those strong hands cradling your waist, you’d step forward until you heard the door close behind you. A couple more steps and you could hear soft music playing..until you felt your calves graze what seemed to be a soft cushion of sorts.

“Take a seat, sweetheart..I’m right here.” That deep drawl ringing out in your ear and sending shivers tingling up your spine. Upon bending down to let your backside hit the bed, you’d await his next command. Patently and completely devoted to him. You trusted Jean, more than anyone. So you’d do exactly as he instructed. With your hands resting on your thighs, (y/n) sat straight upright as you felt his fingertips grazing your shoulder blades. You could feel his breath against your neck and his stubble just barely grazing your skin.. “..you’re so beautiful, baby. Ya’ know that? God, I feel like I don’t ever get to say it enough.” His voice dropped to a low vibrato as he continued caressing you. Soaking you in, drinking in your scent and just enjoying being in your presence. Taking his sweet time to fill your head with all of those beautiful words..affirming the things he felt about you on a daily basis. Whilst he did so, Jean’s lips trailed further south. Going from your neck to your shoulders..where he removed the straps of your dress and slid them down gently. His hands trailed the sides of your body and every square inch where he removed an article of clothing, he replaced it with subtle pecks. You couldn’t see a thing but you could feel it all..the warmth of his breath against your flesh, your ensemble slowly slipping away from you and his hands roaming around your torso. Including those supple breasts. Your nipples had begun to stiffen up as he toiled with them between his fingertips. You’d raise your hand to caress his head as it rested on your shoulder. Whilst toying with your newly exposed tits, Jean continued nipping at your ear and rattling off in it. Only this time, his words were far more risqué than before!..

“..ya’ know..I planned this night out in my head several times. I thought of all the ways I wanted to make love to you. How I’d be all gentle and sweet with ya’..but I gotta be honest, sweetheart…”

it was in the midst of his speech did you feel that same hand snake down between your legs and part them with a single pop to your thighs. His movements switched from delicate to a slightly bit rough in only a matter of seconds! He couldn’t hold back any longer..he needed you. He craved you..and desperately!

“..I just wanna fuck the shit out of you. I know that’s not all sweet and romantic. But I can’t help it..I just wanna give you what you deserve. The type of dick you should’ve been getting a long time ago, baby.” Whilst his words seeped to your head, your core was feeling the effects as well. With that center exposed as he tugged your thong to the side, it was no secret that you were already leaking from the sound of his voice and teasing alone. That was exactly where he wanted you! Vulnerable, soft..melting within his grasp. “..Jeannn…” “shh, shhh it’s okay..” He didn’t want you to do a thing. So much so, it wasn’t long before you felt your wrists being bound together in front of you as well. Right now, you were completely under his control and you could bet, that trust you placed in him wasn’t something he was going to take lightly or abuse. He would spend every waking second he had within this room pleasing you to the utmost of his ability.

“..god, those titties are so pretty, sweetheart. I just wanna suck on those nipples, get them hard.” Declaring as he gently grabbed your already sensitive buds and squeezed. He could sense that your body was already coming undone and he hadn’t even begun to toy with you yet! But alas, you had all night and you could fall apart as many times as you needed to..he’d be right there to put you back together! “And this pussy…fuck, it’s so wet for me already…” it was blatantly obvious that he was in the mood to play the long game. To spend hours if needed to build you up to your breaking point, only because he knew the release would be that much sweeter. “Yer’ gonna feel so good, I just know it..” In a sheer moment of haste, your lover would tear that dress from your body as if it were nothing more than a slip of paper. Soon, every other article of clothing would follow suit shortly after and Jean was quick to make his next move. Pulling you back towards his chest; still clothed with the black button down, he’d snake that tattooed arm down the center of your torso. Where he’d revel in toying with your slit. Spreading those puffy lips apart with his index and middle fingers. The sensation of cool air immediately made contact with that dripping warmth and needless to say, you were shivering instantly. Whimpering and huffing as he massaged that clit. Rubbing yourself against those finger pads and grinding on it. Pushing up and slowly gliding back down when he added a single finger. With just that one digit alone, you began writhing and begging him for more but it wasn’t time..you weren’t ready. “Baby, you can barely even take my finger right now…look at how she’s squeezing me.” Chuckling as he watched your movements. You had a habit of being restless..once you became aroused, nothing could tame that salacious appetite except the most intense, passionate sex that he could offer. “I knowww, but pleaseee—“ “..if you know then let me take care of you. Cut it out.” cooing into your ear and reaffirming his point with a gentle hand around your throat. “So are ya’ gonna relax and lemme handle it, sweetheart? Tell me..” and with that subtle dominance, what other choice did you have? That unwavering resolve of his wore you down rather quickly. “Yes, daddy..please take care of me..” “..that’s my pretty girl..” But alas, the foreplay and teasing was far from finished! Keeping you reigned to his chest, Jean continued to work that little cunt over with calculated touches and subtle pushes. Pressing into that sensitive core..his knuckles would become coated in that sticky sex, hoping to drum up more as he persisted. For now, he was ready to move on to his next task on the docket! His movements would come to a halt and suddenly you’d find yourself spasming on nothing more than air. It left you with a yearning..a longing for more. As you awaited his next move, he’d prompt you to open your mouth before placing those fingers between your lips and allowing you to not only clean them off but pacify those pathetic whimpers. “Taste yourself..there ya’ go. So fucking sweet..” You were still shielded from all the surroundings, your eyes covered by that satin cloth. Drool would seep from (y/n)’s jaws and shallow breaths escaped your throat. It was apparent that you were close but prolonging that orgasm would only make the moment that much better. For now, he had but one simple command:

“Hands in front of ya’, sweetheart.” The sharp tone in his voice causes a tingle to trickle down your spine. But naturally, you complied..submitting yourself to him entirely. Once you place your arms to your stomach, you’d find your wrists bound and tightly secured. You were completely at his will and before he proceeded, he’d reposition you to the mattress, placing you flat on your back..as you laid there, sprawled out and completely exposed, the gentle, familiar brush of his fingertips grazed your cheek yet again. Your arms, now outstretched and lying dormant above your head. You had no way of telling what it was that your boyfriend was planning..no sense of your surroundings but that was the entire point. He wanted complete autonomy over you..ensuring that you could trust him and for the next thing he had planned, he wanted you to be fully submissive to him.

“M’ gonna need you to hold still f’r me. Okay, sweetheart? You’re gonna feel a lil’ something dripping..and I want you to let me know if it hurts. You trust me..right?” without a shadow of a doubt, the answer was clear but he wanted to hear you say it. He needed that explicit consent that you wanted this just as badly. Just above your swollen, erect nipples, something hovered about you. It felt warm..which led you to one conclusion:

“Yes..please. Do it.”

and with that, he’d proceed! Brandishing in his hand was an already illuminated candle..one of which was already flickering upon your arrival to the room, as he had requested. This one was beginning to melt but to help speed up the process, Jean retrieved a lighter from his pocket. The same one he used to ignite his cigarettes and blunts on very rare occasions. A sterling silver one with his initials engraved..sparking the flame, the sandy blonde took both items and dangled them only inches from your body. Your frame wiggled around on the bed in anticipation; your chest heaving but breath shallow…you could sense what was coming and for a brief moment, the room fell silent. That’s when it happened…

plop!

the single sound of a wax droplet making contact with your flesh. Your reaction followed a split second later as you sucked your teeth and whimpered. He had to make certain that it wasn’t painful to you. But all reservations subsided when underneath the flicker of that flame, he’d watch that gorgeous smile appear and suddenly, he was at ease and confident that he could keep going! “How’d it feel, mama? That didn’t hurt, did it?” Cooing with a swipe of his thumb across your cheek as he awaited your response. “Y-yeah..but it felt so good! Please…more.” And he didn’t hesitate! Jean continued whittling down that candle with his flames. Soon, the beads multiplied as they fell and before long, your gorgeous dark complexion was marked with cream colored, hardened splatters of wax. Akin to a portrait, you were like a masterpiece..one he wanted to frame and keep forever. Your tits gently swaying as you squirmed around and the sounds of your adorable giggles, along with the lilt in your voice was satisfying enough for your boyfriend. Those beautiful nipples protruding and hardened beyond belief, only caused you to squirm as he grazed them. “That feel good, my love?” “Yes! So good..thank you!” That single show of gratitude made the tent in his pants grow larger..as well as his desire for you! He was fighting the urge to strip down and fuck you senseless right now but he was almost where he wanted you. Where he needed you..

“Good..that’s all I wanna hear..”

just then, Jean would kneel into the mattress to propel himself up. Only after he set aside the candle and lighter, extinguishing both. Where he’d begin to undress. Peeling off his clothing layer by layer. You’d hear the sound of that designer belt buckle clinking as he unfastened it. Tossing it to the floor first and his pants followed suit. Next was his button down he undone. His shoes and everything until he was sporting nothing but that gold Rolex and rings that looked so aesthetically pleasing as it contrasted your skin. Lying a flat palm on your thigh when he crawled back up and parted them. He had been waiting for this moment. Biding his time in anticipation for what was to come..he’d often spend his shifts thinking about you. Trying to feign off his thoughts and desires because he knew he’d have you soon enough. There were so many things he wanted to do with you. On one hand, slow, sensual lovemaking underneath the candles…feeding you gentle strokes. And on the other hand? Pounding you into this mattress until you made a mess of him! Squirting and leaking all over this bed until you convulse of one too many powerful orgasms..

“So tell me, sweetheart? What is it that you want now? Just looking at ya’…I can tell you’re hungry for more. You’re leaking, baby..” teasing as he brushed over that mound and only a mere inch away from that clit. He’d resort to spreading you open again just for his own pleasure. Whispering and murmuring as he sucked his teeth in awe of the sight. He couldn’t believe it..how silky and wet you were.. “..goddamn..look at that. So beautiful..would look even better with me inside of you. Don’t ya’ agree, baby?” Prompting you to lick your lips and nod profusely. You were so needy, you were practically rutting yourself on thin air..seeing as how he refused to directly touch it. Afraid it’d send you flying over the edge if he did. He needed that reaction strictly for himself. He wanted to see you twitching, squirming and writhing all on his cock. “Yeah..fuck..I do..” those pathetic little whines only fueling him more. So much so, as he kept you speaking, he’d coil the base of his shaft and stroke upward as he awaited his answers. “Then convince me, baby. Tell me where ya’ want daddy to put it. Where you need me right now. C’mon, talk to me..”

and you spared no details! You’d quickly plead for him to spread you open and fill you full of his cock. To stretch you out and make you conform to his shape. What couldn’t fit, he better make you take it..that nut? He knew exactly where you wanted it. You wanted him to completely wreck you tonight!

“So that’s how it is? That’s what you feel?” “Yes, baby!..come fuck this pussy, please..” it was obvious that you were becoming anxious and Jean was aching so badly from his own edging that if he didn’t get inside of something soon, he was going to explode. So with one forceful tug, he’d bridge the gap of space between your bodies before placing a leg on your shoulder and folding you back.

“Of course, pretty girl. Whatever you want..this is your dick after all.” Chuckling with a smile on his face, it didn’t take long before his tip was brushing against your slit and casually rubbing on that bud to further stimulate you. “So take it..” suddenly, that subtle teasing turned into full blown penetration! You’d find yourself stuffed to the brim and the gasp and expletives that simultaneously left both of your mouths signified just how good it felt. His thick length throbbing inside of your heat and that tight cunt clutching him upon entry. As if you two were designed for one another. “F-fuck..gonna start moving, baby..you ready?” He didn’t have to see your eyes to know your reaction..it was written all over your facial and body language. You’d give him the go ahead and seconds later, Jean would grasp your waist to keep you steady as he began thrusting up into you. Sounds of smacking skin along with faint moans arose and filled the air. He had to pace himself..go far slower than he would like to if he were going to last any amount of time. Long, deep, well paced strokes were the best move right now. And did he make certain you felt each one!

“G’ahh..so tight, baby..this pussy’s squeezing me..” tossing his head back on his shoulders, Jean would persist and push through the tight bundle of nerves..the sensation constricting his shaft and making him even more so vulnerable than before. He’d consistently dote on you, telling you how pretty you were taking his dick..how good you were opening for him and how he couldn’t wait to fill you up. Saying everything you needed to hear..cream began to pool around the rim of your opening; a result of the slow repetition of his cock slamming into you. Meanwhile, your legs and ankles rested on his broad shoulders. They’d tremble within his grasp as he laced them with sensual kisses. “You have any idea how good you make me feel, my love? How wet you are right now…I just wanna fill you up..I swear. Hell, I think you’d look so beautiful with my baby inside of ya’…” the low vibrato and his accent making the statement even sexier when he uttered it. The response was you twitching around him but not out of pain..you loved the idea. Being stuffed full of his seed, even if you weren’t exactly ready for the latter yet!

“Mmmph...I love when you nut in this pussy.” Declaring with your lips only inches apart. Eventually bridging the gap with soft, sensual pecks. Tongues swirling around and clashing with one another as strings of saliva formed between them. “Yeah? That’s what you want?” “Yes, baby. Keep fucking me. Make me take that dick!” Steadfast in your words, you’d claw at the pillows behind you..the only thing within your confined grasp as his movements progressed. He’d begin to speed up that dormant pace and get deeper into your core. It would seem that your lecherous words had pushed him to the next level..driving him to repeatedly stab at your sensitive core with deep, sharp, unrelenting thrusts. On top of rolling his fingers against your clit, drumming up more of that slick. The moment was perfect..the way your round tits swayed with each thrust, your skin riddled with wax and sweat, your legs coiling his waist..the only thing missing were your nails clawing into his back and marking him up. “J-Jeann…mm, gonna cum! Fuck!..” So he’d make the decision to untie your wrists and lift that blindfold. He needed to see your pretty face whilst he was in it. All of those authentic reactions..

“Then come, baby!..and look me in the eye when you do it.” Prompting you to release that shower of sweet rain all over him and while he was still buried to your hilt nonetheless. Only pushing him back when you could no longer keep him inside, and he’d retract to tap that tip against your slit. “I love when you squirt on this dick..feels so fucking good.” But your boyfriend wasn’t letting up..he was still vying for his own orgasm. Desperate and utterly desiring to fill you full of his seed. Repositioning once more, Jean hovered over your frame and pinned all your limbs back in one fell swoop. He couldn’t pretend to be composed any longer and that suave romantic had shifted to a salacious deviant..hungry to claim your womb for his own. That much apparent by his brutal thrusting and incessant growls as he took full dominion over you. Your feet and wrists were once again restrained as to avoid any attempts to stop him. But he knew you were equally aching for it..aching to be bred and stuffed full, so he’d persist. Spouting off lewd remarks and sloppy kisses to quell you. The bed jolted around with the headboard smacking the wall. Your bodies entangled as he folded you into that mating press. “You're gonna take it f’r me, sweetheart?! Take all this nut..it’s all yours..just tell me where you want me to put it, right now.” Through gritted teeth, he’d plead and try to maintain the last semblance of dominance he harbored because just as his resolve was fading, his stamina was slipping as well. Those thrusts became sporadic in rhythm and he was faltering in his speed. That once deep voice was a sending in pitch and Jean was on the brink of collapse as he held out for a few more strokes. “Gah! Fuck..so tight, I’m coming, baby!—“ “Nut in me, please..give it to me!” And with that command, he no longer felt the need to restrain himself. Coming to a complete halt, you’d watch those deep set eyes become wider and his body stiffen up. He was frozen in place but that long rope of warm semen spilled into your womb. He’d release your hands and you’d be quick to quell him with a palm to the face, thanking him for it and telling him how amazing it felt.

“I need a kiss, c’mere..”

“Of course…”

finally back into reality and consciousness, you’d join together one more time for a searing, passionate peck that solidified your love. Right here in this room, he made certain that you knew you were his forever and always. Regardless of your pasts, who may have been in it before or otherwise. What mattered most was the here and now.

“I’m starting to think I should’ve skipped the promise ring. I wanna marry you right now.” Prompting you to chuckle into your hand before stringing a finger down his chest. “Well that’s quite the jump.” But rest assured, you’d be right here until the actual day came along. Proposal or not, you knew who you wanted to spend the rest of forever with so for the time being, you could revel in his presence and never grow tired. You could definitely get used to it.

“I love you, Jean..” “I love ya’ more, sweetheart.”

and he’d spend all night of the rest of his life proving so.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

@honeybleed @spaceforher @dezibou @nanamiscunt @sweethoneycream

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sky-scribbles · 12 days

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There's some kind of connecting thread - and I can't quite articulate what it is - between Laudna's reaction to Bor'dor's betrayal, her reaction to Ashton taking the fire shard, and Orym carrying Otohan's sword.

In all three situations, someone deeply, deeply hurt did something that was grounded in their personal grief. And in all three cases, Laudna's reaction was of extreme, personal betrayal. (This isn't critical of Laudna, btw; she's a fascinating character and I think Marisha is doing an incredible job of leaning into the reality of how trauma can make you act in heightened, messy ways that are very difficult for everyone around you.)

Everyone was hurt and shaken by what happened with Bor'dor and Ashton, and understandably so, but I think it's telling that Laudna phrased both events as, specifically, a betrayal. 'I can't be betrayed again,' as she drains the life from Bor'dor (as opposed to, say, Orym's attitude toward killing Bor'dor, which was less 'we need to kill him because he betrayed us' and more 'this is a grim necessity, because we are at war.') Ashton does something incredibly ill-judged, and Laudna's interepretation of it is 'they betrayed us.'

Orym takes Otohan's sword, and Laudna sees it, again, as a personal affront. She challenges him for having the audacity to carry it. The sword killed her. (It also killed half the people in the room, including Orym.)

Something... something about how Laudna saw Ashton trying to absorb a powerful magical artefact because he'd convinced himself it was the right thing to do, and felt so injured that she ran into the forest for a night. Something about how Laudna tried to absorb a magical artefact because she'd convinced herself that it was the right thing to do, and felt injured by Orym's defiance.

I don't have a clear point here; Laudna isn't a character I've studied as closely as some others (and I would very much appreciate anyone who has been analysing her more deeply offering any input!) But one thought I had is this: Laudna once said that the worst thing that could have happened to her has already happened. And I think maybe Laudna sees what happened to her as the worst thing that could happen to anyone. It seems hard for her to understand how much the actions of those around her - be it Bor'dor being radicalised, Ashton going about their attempt to understand themself in entirely the wrong way, Orym trying to reclaim a painful piece of his past and turn it into a promise - can be rooted in a pain that might be equal to her own.

Of course, it's hard to tell how much of it is Laudna at this point and how much is Delilah, but... honestly, it is such a bold choice for Marisha to do this. Because this is what trauma does. It makes things feel personal that might not be directed at you at all. It makes your grief into an enormous monolith that towers over your life, and can overshadow, in your head, anyone else's. It makes you want to protect yourself in every way possible when a flicker of it occurs again.

And... I think it's another sign of how much Delilah is taking from Laudna. Because who in this story has been fixated on their own grief and loss, to the point of ignoring the pain they cause in their attempt to fix that loss at any cost, than Delilah Briarwood?

#gonna keep thinking about this because i'm sure there's a clear connection and I can't quite put my finger on it #again: this is not critical of laudna as a character! please don't take this as an attack on her #just... trying to get inside her head y'know?#her actions are hurting people. i want to analyse what's up!#critical role #cr spoilers #cr3 spoilers #laudna #my cr meta

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akindplace · 2 months

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Living with a chronic illness has made me develop a mix of a wistful way of looking at life itself at the same time I have a whimsy feeling about surviving despite of my condition which is something that still makes me look at the world with wonder.

Yes, I do struggle with a lot problems that a lot of people my age don’t, and yes, I have suffered way too much from my illness. But I still have hope. And I still keep going, even when things are hard, despite how difficult it can be to accept the fact that I will have to be dealing with this for the rest of my life. I am well aware of all the challenges of living with a chronic illness when the world is not always welcoming to people who have disabilities. But I’m going to keep going. Despite the pain, despite cruelty, despite the differences that sometimes made me feel isolated.

I’m still fighting. I’m still here. I’m still alive in the face of everything, and it’s very exhausting to keep trying, but I am here. And life itself can be so beautiful even when I’m in pain. Those two things can and do coexist. And surviving so much it’s a statement that my body might be different, but I can be strong in other ways.

So if you’re dealing with a chronic illness, I’m telling you I am so glad you’re in this world and that being different does not make you any less worthy of being here, of taking space, and that you deserve happiness. And that happiness is not something you have to earn by enduring pain and pushing yourself past your breaking point, but because you’re just as human as everyone else, and as equally valuable.

#cw chronic illness #cw chronic pain #self-acceptance #self-worth #on being human #original writing #had to edit my this a few times because I’m tired #very very tired but very very alive #sorry for the all the editing but yeah I’m very sleepy while writing this #it’s been hard lately

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spectral-snippets-and-drabbles · 10 months

Text

A Martyr From the Ashes

For everyone in the fandom saying saying that Danny thinks Martian ManHunter is cooler than Superman, we don't really see it all that much in writing.

I'mma try and fix that...

~•~•~•~•~•~

The Martian Book of Legends held the heroic tale of Saint Da'han'yul Fen'tuun of Mars, a sickly albino priest of a small town that held marriages, sermons regarding life and how it should be enriched and lived to its fullest, and specialized in funerals that used cremations with fire, a feat thought to be physically impossible by the masses. As people saw him look into the flames without fear while others cowered, rumors spread that the young man was blessed by H'ronmeer himself, the Martian God of Fire, Life, and Death.

People spoke about how Da'han'yul turned down all attempts at courtship, for he had decided to dedicate his life to bring light in the darkest times to all lives in the name of his God. He was a thing of beauty with a gentle soul and shy demeanor, even the Red and Green skinned who had still held a firm belief on the caste system could not deny his charm. How the terminally ill Martian carried on his mission with a smile, nobody knew.

However, tragedy struck on the day that should have spelled the beginning of the end for the Martian people. A parasitic species had invaded the Martian Homeworld and was causing untold havoc. As civilians fled from the threat and prepared a counter offensive, it was Da'han'yul Fen'tuun who charged into the danger headfirst to save his people from becoming prey.

As others pleaded for him to run away, in a great bright flash of light, a gigantic Martian loomed over the enemy emerged where the ill Martian stood, coated in flames in a form they've never seen before with a halo and body that burned a haunting green.

The deafening silence still held as the enormous creature brought a massive fist on the giant pale walker that was destroying homes. A wave of its hand sent a wall of green flames raced towards the foot soldiers, reducing them to ash while his people and buildings were not harmed in any form without an ounce fear of these fires the creature used to purge the enemy. Within the hour, the threat had been neutralized and peace was brought back to the red planet.

As the Martian people looked to the titan, they knew. H'ronmeer's had chosen his most loyal servant, Da'han'yul, as the avatar of his wrath to smite those who would bring his people harm. The people hugged and wept tears of joy and cheered for the priest and H'ronmeer for saving them, but the tears soon became tears of sorrow.

The giant groaned in pain as he fell on one knee as it began to crumble into ash before the people's very eyes. Like a flame, Da'han'yul Fen'tuun had burned his brightest when life needed him most, and now death called to him as it slowly extinguished it to give him peace. With a final message, he pleaded to his people to come together as one and to not see one another as lesser or greater than, but as equals who can help one another in the darkest of times and the hardships yet to come. With his final moments gone, a final telepathic embrace was given to all before he fell silent for the last time.

The massive pile of ash that were his remains was brought back to his little village and made into a beautiful garden of ash in the temple where the newly titled Saint made his home in, where it would be made a holy site that many would come to give their thanks and pay their respects for H'ronmeer' and his champion alike.

And for centuries, peace was held before it was shattered by Ma'alefa'ak, who unleashed the Fire Plague to take vengeance on his people for his inability to experience the psionic way of life that was the norm. His smile as his people screamed in anguish was knocked off his face in the most literal of terms when a Martian struck him down and had him by the throat.

A Martian with eyes burning in anger as Ma'alefa'ak failed to break free and was being beaten severely for his crimes against the people of Mars. A Martian made entirely up of ash and green embers.

Saint Da'han'yul Fen'tuun had returned, if only for a moment longer. And he was not happy.

Quickly, one by one across the planet, the martians set ablaze burned a gentle green that healed them. In this miraculous act of divine intervention, not a single Martian had lost their life. Most were now unconscious with labored breathing being heard.

J'onn watched on as his brother screamed in agony as his body burst into green flames as a pool of ash began to swallow his brother whole. Before disappearing entirely, Da'han'yul told him the punishment his brother would be facing.

"Ma'alefa'ak's psionic abilities have been awoken. He will be sentenced to become a living flame until he has lived the collective life span of all that he has tried to extinguish."

J'onn was too stunned to speak. With how long a Martian can live, it was the equivalent of telling him his brother would be suffering for an eternity. It seemed unethical, but he knew his brother had dug his own grave the moment he saw the reanimated remains of Da'han'yul Fen'tuun's ashes take swift action.

"Everything will be ok now, J'onn. Go to your family and tend to them.

"Da'han'yul...Thank you. I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you when you were still alive." J'onn solemnly uttered as he looked to the ground, unable to look at his deceased youngest brother.

"Nonsense J'onn, it's not your fault...The caste system...it–"

"I could've done more! Instead I saved myself instead of being there when my brothers needed me most!"

"J'onn...you were just a child."

"It makes none of it right!"

He was right in that aspect, but it still didn't feel right. Ma'alefa'ak' was ostracized by society, was treated like a freak of nature for lack of natural gifts and he wanted to burn society to the ground in the most literal of terms because of it.

While Da'han'yul, the forgotten youngest brother, was treated horribly for being albino and treated cruelly. He contracted a deadly disease when he separated himself from the family to live in isolation with other albinos that made him sickly and cut his life expectancy down severely. Knowing what befell him, seeing him struggle to move and hold down food at times while J'onn and their parents did nothing.

These tumultuous emotions sat in J'onn for so long. The way he wanted to go and help them both, but the fear of association and social punishment for merely being seen with his brothers made him cry when he younger for being so weak willed. It wasn't until their parents bragged about the sacrifice their forgotten child had made, the sone they purposely scorned made him snap.

"J'onn, promise to keep my message alive for me. Help our people become whole again."

"Of course, brother." Is what J'onn tells him as he watches his little brother vanish again for a third and final time.

#danny phantom #justice league #dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc prompt #martian manhunter #The extinction of the martian people was never sullosed to happen #So Danny decided to fix it and was reborn into martian society #He was severely disappointed by the caste system so decided to dk something about it #Danny reincarnates into a little brother for Martian ManHunter because he still sees him as cool #H'ronmeer was the last dying god of Mars and accepted Danny's help to save his people.#M'gann is the first to find out that Danny is her uncle Da'han'yul Fen'tuun and she's going to pass out from shock #Danny is just going say 'hello J'onn' and just combust into green flames and go for the hug #Everyone is freaking out but are more surprised to see that he's hugging back with the same intensity and crying just as hard #Imagine being told that your coworker's little brother is a minor deity in his planets religion who saved Mars TWICE

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jinkiezzsstuff · 2 months

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Hi hi! I have a request^^

Can you write about a fem!bratty (optionally bunny) reader and how they would handle them? Sitting on either Alastor, Vox or Val's (whomever you're most comfy writing about💗) lap and how they would react to that, ending up in spicy scenes? Only if you're okay with writing that sweetheart.

ouuu i really wanted to do val because i’ve never done him before! and i think it’s obvious but just so we’re all clear laddies i do not like valentinos abusive behaviour however he’s got personality in the show outside of that, that’s what we like not the abuse. this didn’t get too spicy i hope that’s okay! just a little teasing, maybe ill do a part two who knows. :)

warnings: toxic relationship on both sides, aphrodisiac mentioned but not the trope, bunny fem reader, exhibitionism, briefly mentioned that valentino has hit reader - she likes it, brat reader, yall are both fucked up fr fr, i don’t know vals sexuality whether it’s gay or bi but here he’s bi, reader is a princess too, whiny like me fr, and a porn star although not explicitly explained

word count: 999

Valentino was the veteran of brats, so he wasn’t surprised when coming across them, however he knew how to take care of them; you however were an absolute pain. You made Valentino equal amounts of horny and enraged, you forced yourself into the princess role within the studio, you would whine and cry whenever you didn’t want to do a certain scene or role. If you’re cute little bunny self hadn’t made him bucks- he would’ve gotten rid of you long ago, you opposed him at every given chance and met his angry while cheeky grins and coy remarks. It infuriated him, he had no idea how you behaved in your life but it was clear a little bruise and fear wouldn’t put you in your place- but rather invoke more disrespect. You were hoppin on thin ice.

Ears drooping, you sat at the booth, arms crossed, lips pouting as you looked at your boss lounging with both men and women sinners alike, while you were being punished for being snooty on set. He found the best way to give you a proper punishment was to give you nothing at all, regardless of whether it was cruelty or kindness you liked having his attention, so instead he would take it away. Thumping your foot against the floor you watched as he ogled at the women and men, whispering vulgarities to them while simultaneously trying to hook them up in the industry.

It boiled your blood, Valentino was your game, your fun, and when he wasn’t there to play with you, whether it be violent, casual or sexual, it was all your mind could think about. You liked being Valentino's little princess, his little brat. Your bunny nose twitched, smelling the hot pink aphrodisiac smoke that wafted toward you. You admired Valentino from the small distance across the table as he lounged back, two of his arms across the back of the booth seats, one holding his pipe and the last on his drink. Valentino was no doubt crude, but he was also comedic, that’s what continually pulled you back in, was that he had such a personality despite being so hyper sexual and abusive.

You sipped your drink, picking at the salt on the rim with your bedazzled nail. Your eyes never left him, but he wouldn’t even meet your eyes, purposefully glazing over your figure. It was so frustrating, you could feel your heart rate increasing as your thoughts took off, fantasising about all the ways you could get him back. “We gotta go daddy, so sorry,” One sinner cooed before her and the other two women with her stood, said their goodbyes and left. Now it was just Valentino, two other guys and yourself. For the first time tonight a cute little smile graced your face, while mischief flooded your mind as you plotted to get Valentinos attention.

Standing from your seat, your every move was very intentional, your hand dragged across the table as you slid yourself out, nails scratching softly as you did. Slowly and purposefully, you made your way to the other side of the table where Valentino sat, your movements slow as you watched his body language. He wasn’t back down, instead busied himself with conversation, asking silly little business questions with the other incubus’. Sliding back down, Valentino didn’t stop you when you nudged yourself into his lap. Instead two sets of arms opened encasing you instantaneously making a dangerous warmth bloomed through you.

Valentino continued to pay no mind even as you played with the rings on his fingers, even when you seductively dipped you finger in his cup and sucked it clean. His buddy’s did though, eyeing your deceptively cutesy bunny form, watching you blink up at Valentino with yearning in your eyes wishing you were looking at them like that. Growling, Valentino tried his hardest to ignore your tactics, however it progressively got more difficult as you wiggled around on his lap.

“Bunny, don’t make me show you not to test me.~” Valentino sang out, one of his fingers caressing the side of your face. Looking behind your shoulder up at him with your big black bunny eyes, you innocently blinked up at him, your ears twitching. “What do you mean papi.” You whined slightly condescendingly, fluttering your lashes definitely tempting fate. “Oh please, I’ll have you bent over this table for testing me in public, you wanna play? Let’s play.” He hunched down and stuck out his tongue to flick up your neck. You shivered at the feeling of his warm tongue, his pink saliva staining your skin. You shivered in delight intoxicated by the smell of his smoke and potent cologne.

You obviously didn’t stop, and Valentino got progressively more frustrated at your defiance. One on his hands danced down the curves of your body, when he reached then hem of your pants, he lazily slid his hand down to cup the entirety of your mound with his long hands. You whined, circling your hips, unashamed at the two other men watching. Valentino continued to talk to the two guys about getting some new furniture for different scenes, completely ignore you as his fingers and palm lazily moved along your vulva.

Gripping the table, you groaned, leaning back onto Valentinos chest. “Look at you being such a little whore, all for me mm how erotic.” Valentino dragged out his words with a playful hint to his voice but only because he was playing the game, your guys’ favourite game. His fingers trailed up to lightly circle your clit sending shockwaves up your body. Valentino lowered his pipe to your lips and without hesitation you opened and inhaled his toxins letting whatever he had infect you. With a sigh your body melted into him, your legs spread wide for his access, you could already feel yourself soaking the fabric covering you. You simply leaned back and enjoyed the pleasure lost in the haze of his smoke and touch.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel oneshots #hazbin hotel smut #valentino hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel valentino #valentino x reader #hazbin hotel valentino x reader #valentino smut #x reader #xreader

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nsharks · 2 years

Text

nightmare | simon “ghost” riley

words: 1.3k

plot: simon has a nightmare and accidentally hurts you. mostly fluff. I like fics about sad!boy simon.

tags: fem!reader, blood tw

_______

It’s not rare for Simon to wake you up with his body thrashing around and low groans leaving his lips.

No matter how many times it’s happened, it never gets less painful for you, waking up to him having a nasty nightmare in the bed beside you.

You had a routine down pat by now. You’d gently touch his shoulders, careful not to surprise him, and then coo sweet things until his eyes fluttered open and his body relaxed under your hands. You hadn’t told Simon “I love you” yet, given the ill-defined nature of your relationship with him, but you often whispered other affectionate words to get him back to sleep.

Tonight is no different.

You’ve blinked your own slumber away, groggily rubbing your eyes before realizing what was happening. He’d been home for nearly a month now, and this was only the second nightmare of his. Your heart sinks as you sit up in the bed and reach over to touch his shoulder.

Simon was equally as hesitant about taking off his clothes as he was about taking off his mask. But he’s grown more and more comfortable around you, and tonight he’s sleeping with only his grey sweats on. His scarred chest is bare. When you touch his shoulder, the skin feels cool with sweat and the muscles beneath your fingers feel tense and knotted.

You’re about to whisper his name when he suddenly shouts out yours.

“Y/N,” he speaks hoarsely, eyes still closed. He’s moved around so much that his painted balaclava has shifted against face, a piece of his hair poking out from the cut-out for his eyes.

Your eyes widen. He whimpers out your name again.

“Simon, sweetheart,” you are gentle with your words. Somehow you get the feeling this dream is worse than the ones before. Beads of sweat percolate his brow bone and his skin looks ghastly under the moonlight seeping in from the window. You swallow, throat feeling narrowed, and touch his shoulder a little firmer.

“Simon.”

This one wakes him up. His eyes fly open and he shoots straight up, knocking his head against your lip in the process. His hands grip the blanket which has bunched around his hips as he breathes heavily. You hiss an explicative under your breath, pain shooting across the spot he’d just head-butted.

“Ow.”

Touching your lip, it feels hot and damp.

Simon hasn’t even come to his senses yet. His body is still in high-alert, the muscles of his back flexing as he shoots his eyes around the room, as if surveying for any signs of danger. Under his mask, it looks like his nostrils are flaring with each heavy breath he takes.

Then, his eyes land on you.

They are wild at first. Angry and intense and almost scrutinizing. But then the sight of you holding your lip, an unassuming tear rolling down your cheek, seems to bring him back to reality. Simon’s eyes soften drastically, painted with confusion until he starts to put the pieces around him together. His body is covered in sweat. You sitting up beside him. He’s not actually being threatened. He’s in his own room, his bed, and you’re sitting there hurt because of him.

“Christ,” he whispers gruffly, swiping the back of his hand over his bleary eyes. “I did that?”

You don’t give an answer. He did and he didn’t. It was obviously an accident, but that doesn’t seem to change the way his frame turns into a visibly frustrated one. Simon closes his eyes, huffs out a breath, and then reaches for you.

“C’mon, pet, let me fix this.”

You don’t get a chance to protest before he scoops you up in his arms and carries you to the bathroom. He sets you carefully on the sink counter, your butt settling at the edge of it, as you sit there quietly and continue touching the place that he’d accidentally split your skin.

“Let me see it,” he orders lowly. He touches your hand and beckons it away from your mouth. “Fuckin’ hell, I got you good.”

The sight is bloodier than he thought, but he can already tell it’s not very deep. Puffy, a bit of a bruise forming already, but nothing he can’t fix up for you. He is quick to find the first-aid kit he keeps in the medicine cabinet, scrummaging around for a cotton pad and getting it damp under the faucet.

He’s cleaned far worse wounds before. That’s the only thing you can think about as he concentrates on touching the damp pad to your lip, collecting all the blood. How much blood has he seen? You wonder to yourself. How many times has he tended someone’s wounds like this, only for them to lose the life in their eyes moments later?

They are dark thoughts. But they are tough to ignore, even though there is a shirtless, big man standing between your parted legs as he nurses you.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you finally. Throwing the blood-stained pad away, he picks up another one. Simon has never said he loves you, the words a bit tough for him to admit, but his gentle touch seems to say it with each dab to your wounded lip. “I was dreaming, huh?”

“Nightmare,” you correct him quietly. Your eyes meet his and the memory of him calling out your name seems to stare back at you. “You… you said my name.”

“Did I?”

You nod. “Yeah,” the word barely making it out, “I know you don’t like talking about them. But just… I was in it this time, wasn’t I?”

Something flashes across his lidded eyes. Something dark, haunting, and you wish he would let you see whatever it is he is seeing.

Surprisingly, he admits, “Yeah, you were. You’re in a lot of them now days.”

He throws away the cotton pad and returns between your legs. He is observing you intently, grabbing your face in his hands and inspecting the wound he’s cleaned up. There are many thoughts that haunt him, but the thought of you hurt tops the charts. He never imagined being the cause of your pain and it makes his anger flicker dangerously, like a stubborn candle he just can’t blow out.

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

“Stop,” you shake your head. You’ve still got that lone tear on your cheek and he wipes it. “Don’t… don’t do that. Don’t get all angry at yourself for something you couldn’t control.”

Once you started saying the words, they seemed to find a way out on their own terms. Your statement hangs heavy in the cramped space of the bathroom and Simon can’t even begin to reflect on how goddamn true it is. Your words measure beyond this moment, beyond the pathetic cut on your lip, and they take him back to everything he blames himself for. Everything he carries with him, so heavy and burdensome and nightmarish.

“Simon,” you whisper, and your soft voice brings him back to the here and now.

He splays his hands on your thighs.

“Y/N.”

“You good?”

“Peachy,” he tells you, and it’s full of sarcasm, but you rather it be that than something darker.

You touch his masked cheek and whisper out a sleepy request, feeling ready to get back in bed now that the blood has stopped.

“Kiss me?” you ask.

There was a time, in the beginning of your “relationship”, where Simon kissed you sparingly. He was so hesitant, reserved. But now, sighing away the bad thoughts, Simon peels up his mask just enough to lean forward and ever so carefully kiss your injured lips. It’s soft, despite the roughness of his mouth, and it is just what you both needed before heading back to bed.

#simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #fluff #cod #john soap mactavish #fanfiction

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hypnoneghoul · 4 months

Text

Do Not Go Away

WC: 13k

Relationship: Rain/Dewdrop, Rain/Everyone, not rel. focused

Tags: Disability, Chronic Illness, EDS, POTS, Lots of Crying, Angst with a Happy Ending, Passing Out, Depressive Episode, Abandonment Issues, Self-Hatred, Marriage Proposal, Unreliable Narrator, Mild Suicidal Thoughts, Panic Attacks

"You finally did it, you pushed us all away. Congratulations, Rain. You are free." Or how Rain's body finally gives up and he gives up with it.

Notes: This is me expanding on this post in a heartbreaking way. Also making my worst fears come true for Rain, sorry not sorry, but at least at the end of the day he's not alone, right? While it's not my best work it's the most important and personal to me, I hope you'll like it. It's multi chaptered on ao3 so it's easier to grab a hold of an read bit by bit.

Read under the cut or on AO3.

Now with art from Nono and Felix

Nobody really knows what went wrong with Rain’s summoning. Nobody really knows if it all originated from it, anyway. At least he’s not the only one, Zephyr is still there. What a thing to bond over, they have.

Rain was never doing good. Never good, just decent. He was tired all the time. And in pain.

“It is what it is,” he always said, shrugging. “It’s what comes with a faulty vessel.”

He was used to it already. Or was he?

He could deal with it, mostly. Sometimes it was better, sometimes it was worse, but in general he was okay. He had his pack, he had his music. He was okay.

Until he was not.

Until all he could do was lay and stare at the ceiling, without any power to move, with a lump in his throat, because everything hurt, the world was spinning and he was too exhausted to even cry. His phone was thrown somewhere next to him or on the bed, battery either already out or just right about to be. He could have grabbed it and sent a text—would his fingers manage? Hell, he could have even screamed—to someone, anyone, ask for…

For what, exactly?

Help? Help in what? There’s no helping him, is there? He’s broken and that’s it.

That is why he would just lay there, unable to move, unable to cry, unable to fall asleep, listening to his own shallow breathing and racing heart and feeling all the pain coursing through his damaged body.

Until it would be decent again.

Until the day when the decent would not come back.

This day was near, and Rain knew it.

The tour has never seemed so long. Maybe it never was, but Rain wasn’t bothered enough to actually check the dates and do the math. It’s not like it would change anything, would it?

He was a ghost. He was just there, barely present, just doing what he absolutely had to, and that was it. He was in pain, and despite the exhaustion he saw what it was doing to his packmates. They all had their own aches and they were equally tired, he hated that he was causing them distress just by… by existing.

Rain tried to convince himself it wasn’t his fault, he was summoned that way and most of the time he was careful as to not make it all worse. He knew his limits and usually did not go beyond them. Usually.

He hated that he was like that, broken, whether it was his fault or not. What did he do to deserve it? Most importantly, what did his packmates do to deserve to be burdened by his existence? What did Papa do?

The water ghoul tried his best to not be bigger of a bother than he already was. Swiss and Dewdrop usually called him a dumbass for that, told him that he was a bother only when sulking around with a frown on his pretty face. He always smiled at that, but when they looked away that frown always returned. No matter how much he appreciated the jokes, they weren’t fixing anything.

That was back home, in the Abbey.

Now, well into another tour, the rest didn’t even try the jokes. If they saw Rain needed them, they’d just quietly slip their hands into his and pull him away onto a couch or a bunk and hold him, sometimes letting him just cry it out. He used to feel better after that, just being with them, whoever it was. It was hard to believe that they still loved him, despite all, but some part of Rain’s brain knew it was the truth. It was what kept him alive.

He wanted to give them something in return, but he simply couldn’t. There was nothing but his body, the same one that caused all the problems in the first place. He didn’t have the energy for sex, not even the softest moments with one of his mates, not even if they’d do all the work. He knew they’d do anything for him, but he also knew he’d pass out the moment any of his blood went to his cock. The exhaustion and pain took away any potential need he might feel, anyway.

So Rain just was.

The only time he was something more, not just surviving but living, was when his aching fingers touched the sleek, shiny body of one of his basses. When his arms shook under its weight when he slung it over his shoulder. When he ran a finger over the thick strings. When he felt note after note vibrate through him.

It was what kept him sane.

He kept wondering for how much longer.

It was bad.

Three shows of the tour left. Rain didn’t think he’d make it. He was always doubtful, but this time it was the worst he’s ever been. He saw everyone around was worried, he wasn’t blind, even though they tried so very hard to not be obvious. They knew he wouldn’t listen or accept help, anyway.

He just had to focus, sleep as much as he could, eat well, stay hydrated, take painkillers and wear his braces and he’d be fine. He was a ghoul, for Satan’s sake, a literal demon, he wasn’t going to just– just fail. He was not failing anyone, even himself.

Rain didn’t help with unloading the gear or soundcheck this time. Not on purpose, he always helped, he was just asleep the whole day and no one woke him up. They did so just in time to eat something and get in costume for the show. The water ghoul would love to have helped, despite all, but his body was certainly grateful for just that little less work.

The show started out as usual, without much struggle, probably due to adrenaline, which—no matter how many times someone would play in front of thousands—never left. Rain started zoning out and trusting his muscle memory by the third song. Which one even was it?

He remembers tripping—nothing new—and maybe he even fell over once. Or twice?

Someone had to gently push the water ghoul in the general direction of his tech when the show ended and he didn’t notice. The bass was taken away from him and he was dragged around some more. He was so dizzy, he couldn’t really see, he realized then.

Rain couldn’t bend down for the bows, he’d pass right out. His back also wouldn’t like it much. He felt Cirrus and Papa gripping his hands for dear life but he couldn’t focus enough to squeeze them in return. He didn’t know if it was him swaying or if the stage was moving. Probably the former, he couldn’t see much and it wasn’t because of the mask. Maybe he was shaking, too? Most likely.

He nearly cried out when Papa and Cirrus let go of his hands. He knew he had to move, he couldn't just stay there standing in the middle of the stage like a deer caught in the headlights.

Rain tried, he directed all and any energy towards his legs and willed them to just work. He managed to take two impressively wobbly steps before someone—Swiss, his brain provided—wrapped an arm around his waist and took the majority of the water ghoul’s weight onto himself.

“I’ve got you,” Swiss whispered, and Rain tried his best to cling to his body as tightly as he clung to those words. He didn’t really register their way to the backstage area, having to focus on not collapsing. At least not yet. He nearly forgot about his back and hip and knee and ankle and–

“Can you stay here for a second? Just a second, I promise,” the multi ghoul asked him and he, somehow, nodded and Swiss let go of him before sprinting away, yelling something to someone. Rain could feel his eyes stinging and cold tears trailing down his cheeks and soaking into the balaclava. He tried to keep on his feet, he really did, Swiss promised he’d be back in a second, he could make it, but– he didn’t.

The water ghoul ran out of breath. He thought he saw Swiss running back in his direction but he couldn’t be sure, it was getting darker and darker all around. Was someone messing with the lights?

“Rain, shit– Phantom! Mountain! Move your asses someone!” Rain thought Swiss was yelling, but he couldn’t be, it was too quiet, muffled. When did he… when did he end up on the floor? Was Swiss holding him? His back hurt a lot now, legs too.

“I’ve got you, princess,” the multi ghoul muttered. Rain opened his mouth to reply, to tell him I know you do, but nothing came out.

He knew that was it, that was The Fail.

His eyes closed, and he floated away.

Rain was done.

Dewdrop got to them first, of course. He must’ve felt something was very wrong with Rain through their bond. “What the fuck happened!?”

“He just– he fucking passed out, I’ve no idea!” Swiss was panicking. Truly a rare thing for him but the way Rain looked, the way he felt, the way he lay there limp in his arms terrified the multi ghoul. Rain has had his fair share of fainting spells and multitude of accidents, but this was different, and both Swiss and Dewdrop could see it.

“Give him to me,” the fire ghoul growled, throwing himself onto his knees, but the anger in his voice was not directed at Swiss. He carefully moved Rain so the other could hold him. He knew Dewdrop needed it to not freak out himself. “Help me with the mask.”

The multi ghoul obliged, taking it off with shaky hands, as well as the balaclava. His lips curved in a frown when he saw how pale Rain’s face was, how sunken his cheeks were.

“Get Phantom,” Dewdrop ordered. “Or find a medic or something, I don’t know, just– just get help.”

Swiss turned on his heel, ready to bolt and get someone. As he did he could hear Dewdrop mumbling to himself, voice shaking, and the multi ghoul’s heart squeezed painfully. “I don’t– I don’t know what to do, Angelfish, fuck…”

Rain came back to reality slowly. First he registered the warmth all around him, but not the uncomfortable, overheating warmth. No, it was cozy and safe and it felt like–

“Dew?” he mumbled, trying to look around but his sight was, somehow, still not back fully. The warmth tightened around him—arms—and he felt and heard a purr from behind him.

“I’m here,” Dewdrop said, and indeed he was, laying with Rain between his legs, his back to the fire ghoul’s chest. Rain hummed and tried to twist so he could nuzzle into his partner, but the slight movement immediately caused a wave of pain to wash over his lower body and a whine to leave his lips. “Don’t move, shhh.”

“Wh– what happened?” the water ghoul asked quietly and tried not to wince as Dewdrop was the one to move and adjust so Rain could see him.

“Well,” he sighed, “you were exhausted and sore well before tonight’s show. Then you fell over during the ritual. Twice. I guess that’s what made your legs and back so bad. At the end you passed out. For a few hours, it’s three in the morning now.”

“Fuck,” was all Rain could manage to choke out. Tears began gathering in his eyes, and Dewdrop, still carefully, scooted closer so the other could bury his face in his chest and hold onto him. “I– I’m sorry, we have two shows left, but I– I can’t, I hate it, I’m s– sorry.”

“Shhh, don’t apologize, don’t you dare,” Dewdrop cut him off and cupped the back of his head, bringing him closer.

“B– but the tour, Papa–”

“Papa is not angry. No one is,” the fire ghoul didn’t and wouldn’t let him babble about something everyone but Rain found absolute bullshit. “If anything, we’re all disappointed you haven’t said anything about how bad it was.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think–”

“We’re not disappointed that you don’t trust us enough, I know that’s not the case. We hate to see you in pain, that’s it.

“I’m so–”

“Stop,” Dewdrop spat, but there was no venom in it. Quite the opposite, his voice nearly cracked and Rain thought he felt his heart cracking with it. He should’ve told them, asked for help. Now he made his lover upset and he was just a fuck up, he should–

“Stop,” the fire ghoul repeated. Rain took a deep breath, trying so hard to not burst into tears like a child. It was his own fault, he had no right to complain or feel bad about it.

He cleared his throat and whispered, “Where even are we?”

“In the girls’ nest,” Dewdrop told him. “Back of the bus.”

“What about them?”

“You need it more now.” He shrugged and another wave of guilt washed over Rain. The ghoulettes always slept together and the bunks didn’t allow that, so they had the nest. He’s taken it away from them. “They offered, they don't mind.”

“What about the rituals?”

“Playback. We’ve got recordings for everything, you know that.” He did know it, but he also knew it was nothing like live playing. The fans would be disappointed, he knew they loved each and every one of them. He remembers what happened when Sunshine and Aether didn’t show up when everyone had expected them, when everyone was excited to see them among the rest. Now, after a few years without any changes, the fans expected all of them and Rain knew he might be a favorite for many of them. He’d disappoint thousands.

“Stop thinking, Angelfish,” Dewdrop said. His voice was stern but not angry. If anything, it had a wet tone to it, as if the fire ghoul was on the verge of tears, too.

It took a few moments of silence, interrupted only by Rain’s sniffles, Dewdrop’s purr and the bus’ rumble, for the water ghoul to compose himself a bit and speak again, “Everything hurts.”

“Oh… I know, love.” Dewdrop was sure he could hear his own heart breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t– I can’t even say what’s messed up, ‘cause it feels like… everything.”

“As far as I'm aware, after Phantom’s rough evaluation when you were passed out on the green room’s floor,” the fire ghoul sighed, “one of your hips is dislocated, I think one knee, too, and possibly an ankle, plus one wrist from you falling on it. You also most likely slipped a disc and something’s up with your ribs.”

“Oh.”

“Maybe it feel like everything because–”

“It is everything,” Rain sobbed. “I’m fucking done, completely broken, D– Dew, I– I can’t…”

“Shhh, Rain, breathe,” Dewdrop’s voice was shaking, for once he sounded out of place and Rain hated himself so much for it. He tried to do as he said, but it was so hard, everything hurt and he was suffocating under an avalanche of thoughts that he couldn’t stop. “Breathe, Angelfish, breathe with me.”

“D– Dew, I’m– I’m scared,” he cried out and he could feel Dewdrop’s own tears dripping down onto his face before the last word even left his mouth.

The last two shows of the tour Rain spent on the bus sleeping. He could’ve been backstage, but he didn’t think he’d be able to bear listening to everything and not… not being there. Alone on the bus he could’ve at least cried his eyes out in peace, until he’d gotten a headache so intense from it he’d passed out. Two days in a row.

Then it ended, officially, and the next two days were a blur of traveling by bus, by plane and then by bus again, until the noise of wheels over a smooth asphalt turned into a crunch of them over the Abbey’s gravel. Rain pretended he was asleep, let Swiss believe he was waking him up when they got back home and let himself be carried away to his room. They carried him around a lot lately, most of it against his will. He refused to use crutches, so they started to just hoist him up like a child, not caring about his protests. He didn’t have the strength to physically fight it, so he ended up just limply hanging off of whoever pulled the shortest straw.

Now, the water ghoul was carried out to his room, where he spent the night alone, cold, in pain and miserable. He hasn't slept alone in ages.

Rain didn’t know what time it was when he woke up, but it wasn’t particularly important anyway. It’s not like he had any plans and that made him angry.

He found himself not… scared, or sad, anymore. No, he felt so much rage, he felt like he was burning with it. He hated himself, he hated the world, the Clergy, Lucifer, his pack, Dewdrop. For what?

How could he?

The realization of how awful he was hit him like a freight train and bile rose in his throat. Rain closed his eyes again and hoped the sleep would return to him, so that he didn’t have to face the reality he’s found himself in just yet.

When he was roused from sleep again it was by a warm hand on his bare shoulder, making him gasp softly. “Rainy?”

“Mhm… Droplet? W’time is it?”

“Seven. In the evening,” Dewdrop mumbled, as if he wasn’t too proud of Rain’s achievement in sleeping for around twenty hours. Maybe it would be an achievement if he wouldn't be a water ghoul who can turn off his need to piss for when he sleeps. “Aren’t you hungry? Or dehydrated?”

“No,” Rain told him, simply, and yawned. He was annoyed.

“Still tired?”

“Mhm,” he hummed and snuggled further into his—somehow still cold—sheets. His eyes fluttered close and Rain hoped it would be a message clear enough for Dewdrop to leave him, but the fire ghoul seemed to have different plans. Rain heard him sigh and then felt the mattress next to him dip. He couldn’t have really prepared for the warm body suddenly glued to his side.

“What’r you doin’?” he barely held a growl back when Dewdrop started cuddling in even closer under his arm. Why did Rain feel like… like this? Dewdrop didn’t do anything wrong. Quite the opposite, he was doing his best to help, he didn’t deserve even a playful snarl to be thrown in his direction. If anything, it was Dewdrop who had the right to be bitter, aggressive and angry, not Rain. The fire ghoul went through things so much worse and he didn't act like a royal asshole about it. Not anymore, not towards his packmates.

And Rain? He was bitching around for nothing.

Where did that sudden rage come from? He felt like he despised Dewdrop but… no– no, he loved him. When did he manage to lose that sense of himself?

“Sleeping,” the fire ghoul answered, and Rain didn’t dare open his mouth again, lest he hurt his lover worse than he already did, not even realizing it. He swallowed it down and this time his eyes had to be forced to close, his body had to be forced to relax and sleep had to be begged to take him. Rain didn’t sleep well that night.

In the morning he was the first to wake up, too. He spent the next five or fifty minutes staring down at the ghoul in his arms. That beautiful, kind, pure creature that didn’t deserve any hatred and maltreatment he experienced over the years. The man that Rain gave his heart and soul up for, and begged him to let him do so. The one the water ghoul loved more than anything, both Topside and in the Pits, in his immortal life.

And yet…

And yet Rain couldn’t wait for Dewdrop to wake up, get up and leave.

No, he didn’t want him to leave, that was… it was his worst nightmare. He never wanted to be alone, he was afraid of being alone, of being left behind and forgotten, of not being touched, of not being loved, what–

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Rain wasn’t sure how long it took for Dewdrop to wake up. Wasn’t sure how long he spent drowning in thoughts that weren’t his own. What would they be doing in his head, then?

The fire ghoul got up and left—finally, Rain’s mind provided—claiming it was going to be a busy day for him. Something about post-tour gear maintenance and paperwork related to it. Dewdrop proposed he’d find someone to keep Rain company, but the water ghoul insisted he was fine on his own. It was possibly the biggest lie that had ever escaped his mouth, but Dewdrop left it alone. Left Rain alone.

He promised he’d be back by the end of the day, that he’d come back to spend the night with Rain again. In his mind he both begged Dewdrop to fulfill that promise and to never come near him again.

He wanted to be alone, but the moment the fire ghoul closed the door behind him Rain whimpered and if he had at least a fraction of strength in him, he’d throw himself onto the floor and crawl after Dewdrop and beg him not to leave.

He didn’t, so there Rain was, submerging bit by bit in an ocean of thoughts that he desperately wanted to not be his, to not come true. Why couldn’t he swim?

Another day.

Rain woke up alone and cold. Dewdrop didn’t come back.

His heart hurt, but he couldn’t blame him. He must’ve felt the negativity pouring off of Rain in waves, he must’ve known what was going through his head, he must’ve seen the change in how he held him.

The water ghoul didn’t know the time again. The curtains in his windows were shut, he couldn’t really estimate. It was probably more of an afternoon than a morning, but he didn’t care. He found himself not caring about a lot of things nowadays.

He opened his eyes with a sigh and tried his best to turn over onto his other side without causing himself any pain. He managed relatively well, only groaning a bit, but something set in the corner of his room, that wasn’t there before and wasn’t supposed to be there, caught his eye. A growl rose in his throat as Rain grabbed his phone and furiously found Swiss’ nickname in his contacts.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty, you need anything?” the multi ghoul’s disgustingly sweet voice sounded from the speaker after a few seconds.

“Come here,” Rain snarled and hung up.

He knew Swiss would burst through the door in seconds, scared he might need help. In the short meantime the water ghoul threw his legs over the edge of the bed and got up. He padded over to that offending thing, and leaned against his desk next to it, glaring at it with gaze so fiery it could rival Dewdrop’s own.

“What’s wrong?” Swiss all but ran into the room, not being too careful about the door. He paused in the middle of it, taking in Rain’s fury.

“What the fuck is that?” he spat.

“It’s… uhm, it’s a wheelchair.”

“I can fucking see that!” the water ghoul shouted. Did Swiss think he was stupid? Did he think it was funny? “What is it doing here?”

“I brought it down from the infirmary.” He shrugged, brows furrowed at Rain’s raised voice. So he was right, it was his brilliant idea. “Can be useful.”

Silence fell for a moment, and Swiss thought Rain was thinking it through, that he was trying to be reasonable. But then he lifted his head and the multi ghoul felt like he was about to drown in the depth of anguish in Rain’s eyes. “Get it out.”

“What?”

“Get it out!” he blew up, spit flying from his mouth and tears clinging to his lashes. Before Swiss could make a move to do as he said, Rain snarled and turned to kick the wheelchair. It turned over a few times before ending up on the other side of the room, the multi ghoul’s eyes following it, but his head snapped back to Rain when he heard a thud and a painful moan from him. He put too much weight onto his bad leg when kicking that damned thing and nearly folded in on himself as he went down to the floor.

“Raincloud, Lord Below…” Swiss gasped, coming closer to help the other, but another growl—this time obviously being supposed to be threatening—escaped Rain’s mouth, curved into a pained frown.

“Don’t!” he yelled again. “Don’t fucking touch me, just– just get out.”

“Rain, I don’t–” Swiss tried, reaching a hand out. It hurt him so much, seeing Rain in pain, seeing him so– so miserable and broken. He’d never wished anything in his life as bad as to be able to take it all away from the water ghoul.

“I SAID GET OUT!” Rain still tried to sound relatively collected, act like it was only rage that was consuming him, nothing else. It was a fool's errand, of course, especially in front of Swiss. He could see right through him.

“Do you want Dew?” the multi ghoul asked quietly, not looking at Rain anymore. He let out a pained whimper, as if Swiss had just put a knife through his heart. He took it as a no.

The multi ghoul didn’t see a point in upsetting Rain any further. He nodded—pity pouring off of him—and turned on his heel to leave, shutting the door behind him. Leaving the flipped over wheelchair in the corner of the room.

Only when Rain couldn’t hear Swiss’ footsteps in the distance anymore did he break, tears flowing down his cheeks like waterfalls as he choked on them sobbing, curled up on the floor.

He cried and cried, sickeningly reveling in the pain increasing and enveloping him and the anger swallowing him up, until all he could do was stare at the scratched and dirty hardwood and desperately gasp for breath like a fish pulled out of water. In a way he was, and he began daydreaming about sinking to the bottom of the lake and never coming up again.

He’d miss the music and his pack but… would they miss him?

Dewdrop was spending most of the week following their return from tour busying himself with chores, sleeping with anyone but Rain and crying. Usually into Swiss’ or Mountain’s shoulder.

He didn’t know what to do and he hated it. He hated seeing his partner in pain so much he stopped going to see him at all after two days. He just couldn’t bear it.

What he couldn’t bear even more, though, was the glint in Rain’s eyes and the tension in his body that told Dewdrop he hated him now. He tried so hard to not blame the water ghoul for it—for anything—to understand, to let him feel whatever it was that he was suffocating under in peace… but Dewdrop was always self-conscious, contrary to a popular belief.

He was terrified.

Terrified of Rain leaving him, of becoming a stranger to the man he loved above anything else in the universe. That’s what would kill Dewdrop.

Aether told him it would never happen, that it was physically impossible. He said he saw and felt the bond between Rain and Dewdrop and that it was something unbreakable, even if Lucifer Himself decided to try. He said the water ghoul would come around when his denial and anger would slowly turn to depression, then bargaining and finally to acceptance. Aether told Dewdrop that Rain loved and needed him, even if not right then.

“I need him, too, Aether,” the fire ghoul had said, and left. Aether seemed to not understand, even though he was supposed to be the one who understood everything. It all seemed… fake to Dewdrop.

He promised himself he’d never hate Rain. That no matter what he would do, what would happen, no matter how hard it would be, Dewdrop would be there. He would wait, even if it meant waiting till the damned end of the world. He would wait.

Another day—how many has it been?—of Dewdrop crawling into Swiss’ bed with his body, mind and heart all exhausted. The multi ghoul welcomed him with open arms again, crushing him to his chest, and let him whimper quietly.

“I miss him, Swiss.”

Even though Rain was right there, just behind a wall. Somehow that made it all worse. The fact that he was so close, yet never farther.

“I know, kitten,” Swiss sighed. “I do, too. But it’ll be alright.”

“I– I don’t know what to do.” Even though Dewdrop was saying those words over and over again, like a prayer, over the last few days, he couldn’t seem to get rid of his guilt. He was supposed to be there for Rain no matter what and what was he doing? Hiding in other’s arms because of his fragile feelings when his partner was in pain and alone.

“It’ll be alright,” the multi ghoul whispered, as every time before that. There was nothing else to say.

Then, as usual, after some time, some more whines and some tears Dewdrop fell asleep, Swiss following shortly. Dewdrop loved Swiss and Swiss loved him, they always slept well together, but those nights they both seemed to not get any real rest. Weighted down by the feeling of their lover, their friend, their family rotting.

When they woke up in the morning—Dewdrop first—they talked again. The fire ghoul always got ideas overnight, something he put all the remaining scraps of hope into, and shared them with Swiss, hoping for approval.

“You’re killing yourself over him, you know that?” he usually said instead.

And Dewdrop thought, what if this time it’s a good idea? This time he was sure, actually.

“Swiss, what if– I was planning something and maybe…” he trailed off, tracing his fingertips over the expanse of Swiss’ stomach, “maybe I should do it now, maybe it’d make him understand that I’m here. That I’m… you know, not going anywhere?”

“Let’s hear it,” the multi ghoul said, but there was a tinge of hesitation in his voice already.

“We’re together, technically, but what if… he always wanted to… to do something more human, you know? I planned it, but I’m a fucking coward and…”

Swiss floated away for a moment, not really listening to what Dewdrop was saying anymore. He knew what the plan was, it wasn’t the first time it was mentioned to him. He wasn’t sure it would work. Besides, how was anything supposed to work? What did that even mean? Maybe Dewdrop was right, maybe he should do it. Rain would cause—was causing—a lot of harm but there’s no way he would hurt Dewdrop that bad, if he… no, he wouldn’t, no matter what.

“...could go and–”

“Do it.”

“W– what?” the fire ghoul sputtered. “You like the idea?”

“I’m not sure,” Swiss sighed, nuzzling his face down into Dewdrop’s hair, “but I’m not sure about anything Rain-related right now, and this seems like something that could finally… snap him out of it.”

“Promise me you’re serious,” Dewdrop quietly begged into his neck.

“I just– I just don’t think we can come up with anything better, kitten. We gotta get him back.”

“We gotta get him back,” the fire ghoul agreed. “We gotta get him back.”

Dewdrop didn’t think he had ever been as nervous as now. He wasn’t just nervous, it wasn’t anxiety, it wasn’t stage fright. He was terrified that it wouldn’t change anything. He was terrified that it wouldn’t fix anything.

Still, he was not giving up.

He wanted to do it immediately. The fire ghoul parted with Swiss and ran to his own bedroom to prepare. As much as possible, at least. It wasn’t something one could really prepare for.

Dewdrop took a shower—boiling hot—got dressed in something that wasn’t a stretched out or stolen band t-shirt and bent down by his wardrobe to fish the most important part out. His hands were shaking, and he cursed himself out under his breath.

The fire ghoul shoved it into his pocket and stormed out of his room. Before he blinked he was already by Rain’s and he suddenly lost all the remaining scraps of courage he had.

It was a stupid idea, Rain didn’t need that now, he’d be annoyed, it wouldn’t work, it was a bad moment, he should just–

“I can hear you breathing over there,” the water ghoul’s muffled voice came from behind the door. Dewdrop flinched, cold sweat dripping down the back of his neck.

“C– Can I come in?” he asked, trying to hide the shake in his voice.

“Sure.” He cleared his throat, wiped his hands on his pants and grabbed the handle. Dewdrop slipped inside and nearly stumbled backwards as he got hit with a stench of… pain. Mental and physical anguish were hanging thick in the air and tears suddenly gathering in the fire ghoul’s eyes wasn’t just his body’s defensive response.

There was a mess on the floor, everything one could think of thrown all around the room. Curtains were half shut, barely letting any light inside. Rain was in his bed, sheets crumpled over the lower half of his body as he fidgeted with his own fingers and avoided looking at his partner.

“Rainy, do you–”

“It’s alright,” the water ghoul didn’t let him finish, glancing up briefly as he tried to muster up a reassuring smile. Dewdrop had never seen a thing so fake. “What did you need?”

He managed to forget what he came there for when he took in the ruin Rain was in. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. The other wasn’t looking at him and Dewdrop felt as out of place as ever.

“Dew?” Rain said quietly again. The fire ghoul cleared his throat and squeezed his eyelids to banish away the tears of fear.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he whispered and put a hand back into his pocket, fingers wrapping around the item put away in there. “I have a… question for you.” Rain hummed in acknowledgement.

Dewdrop took a shaky step forward, kicking away a crumpled water bottle to make space, and took one last deep breath.

He lowered himself to the floor, kneeling.

Only then did Rain look at him again, “Droplet, what are you–”

“You always talked about how you love human traditions,” the fire ghoul’s voice was quiet but wobbly, as if he was to burst into tears any second. He just might, really. “That you think they’re cute and… and I know it’s not the same with ghouls, but–”

He paused. Rain was looking at him with his brows raised and his expression unreadable. It made Dewdrop even more terrified but he wouldn’t stop now. He pulled out the little box from his pocket. “Rain, I want to marry you. Like a human. Will you? Will you marry me? Will you be my mate?”

The water ghoul’s lips parted, mouth hanging open in shock. And something else. He stammered, eyes wide, “D– Dew, wh– what?”

“I know it’s stupid and cheesy, but I don’t care. Rain, I need you, I love you more than anything, you know that.” It was silent for a few moments and Dewdrop had never felt time go as slow as it did then. His face was burning and his heart was racing so fast he felt it shake his entire body.

Finally, Rain broke the silence, but with… with a scoff. “Really? You’re so desperate to cheer me up, or whatever, that you’re, what, proposing?”

Dewdrop’s ears started ringing, there was suddenly a crushing pressure on his chest and a sting in his eyes. Physical pain all over. He was sure the world was starting to crumble under him. “W– what? No– no, of course it's not like that, Rain–”

“Yeah…” he sighed. “You just suddenly got a dream of being mated to a cripple, sure.”

“Rainy, p– please, don’t–” the fire ghoul was crying now, fat and hot tears running down his cheeks.

“Oh, maybe it’s a charity kinda thing? That’d be fun.”

Dewdrop let out a choked out sob and scrambled to get up, dropping the ring under the bed in the process. Not like it would be needed now, would it?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, throwing himself at the door and pulling it open. He paused, just for a second before he ran out and slammed it shut. “I planned it for months.”

The silence that suddenly surrounded Rain again was soul crushing.

What the fuck did he just do?

Rain had no idea what happened to Dewdrop after he… left. He couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t hear anything, nobody came to talk to him. About this or anything else.

He dared to check his phone, this one time. All he found was a single text message from Swiss. Rain wasn’t hoping to find any words of consolation or assurance, he wasn’t that delusional. He found exactly what he expected.

man I know you’re in pain and all, but you fucked up

He knew he did. The worst he ever has, no doubt. He wished someone would come and yell at him—maybe beat him up, if he was lucky—but that would be mercy he didn’t deserve. What he was doing to himself was worse, anyway.

Rain didn’t think there was any coming back from this.

How could he? He didn’t mean any of it. He knew Dewdrop loved—used to love?—him, they talked about this months ago. He knew what the fire ghoul did was genuine, brought up by nothing but the sickening amounts of love he was harboring for Rain in his broken little heart.

If he knew all that… why did he do what he did?

What the fuck was wrong with him?

Everything was the simplest answer. The truth.

There was nothing to be done about it apart from rotting in pain, the misery of loneliness he sentenced himself to on his own and the self hatred for doing so.

It appeared Rain couldn’t cry anymore. He had neither the tears nor the energy. How low he must have fallen, how far away from who he was, that even his beloved water decided to turn her back on him.

So he lay there on the floor surrounded by thrash—he supposed he was fitting in—staring at the cracked ceiling with unseeing eyes, as if his empty gaze could fill the cracks in the ceiling and the hearts of his packmates at the same time.

It could’ve been minutes, it could’ve been days. The physical pain was nothing anymore, compared to the self inflicted mental anguish. The dull and somehow simultaneously sharp ache that was spreading in waves through his broken body was rewarding, in a way. Punishing, Rain supposed. He deserved every bad thing that has ever happened to him and that would be to happen to him for just this one horrible mistake.

He didn’t deserve the respite of sleep. When he felt it finally taking him, all he could do was pray to Lucifer to not let him rest.

His prayers weren’t answered. Of course, why would Lucifer side with him? He hurt Dewdrop, the one He had protected so fiercely all his life, the favored one. Rightfully so. Dewdrop deserved the world and Rain did not deserve to be even a grain of sand under the fire ghoul’s feet in that world.

He woke up with a start and a splitting headache to a harsh knocking on his door. It wasn’t asking, it was– “I’m coming in.”

Rain let out a grunt, but made no effort to move from his spot on the dirty floor. Swiss’ scent hit him as the multi ghoul loomed over him. It was a mixture of sadness, anger and… grief, Rain thought. What would he be grieving?

“I brought snacks,” Swiss announced and Rain heard something being dropped onto his bedside table. “I don’t care what excuses you’re cooking up in that head of yours, I’m coming back tomorrow and I better find them eaten.”

With that he turned around on his heel and returned to the door. He paused, though, and the water ghoul heard a sigh.

“He’s not really angry at you, you know?” Swiss said. Silence answered him. “I think it’s physically impossible to be angry at you, he’s just… you know how hard vulnerability is for him. He was planning it for quite some time mostly because he was nervous, and then he finally managed to do it and, well… you know what happened. He just needs a little space. He’ll come back, and he’ll come back soon, because that dumbass can’t live without you. You better be ready when he does. I’ll kick your ass myself if you won’t.”

Rain stayed quiet, trying to not let his mind hang onto Swiss’ words. He failed.

He heard the door opening, but before it was shut the multi ghoul spoke again, “Now get yourself the fuck together.”

Rain expected a deafening silence once Swiss left. Instead all he could hear was the pounding of rain outside, the noise of it pattering against the window. Rain scoffed at the irony of his namesake falling down just as he was falling apart.

He thought maybe he should reunite with it, let it soak into his dehydrated skin and make him feel like himself again. Even if just for a moment.

Rain groaned with pain, sinking his claws into the hardwood floor and rolling around. He bent his arms under his body and pushed himself up. His heart raced, head spun, but soon he was standing.

Swiss was right. Dewdrop would come back, he was too stubborn not too, and the least Rain could do was not hurt him any more than he already did.

He limped to the door, gritting his teeth against the pain radiating mostly from his hip, but hesitated with his hand over the handle. Maybe he should…

The water ghoul looked over his shoulder at his desk where a cane was laying, already covered in dust. He bit his lip so hard he drew blood.

Rain turned around.

“That’s an interesting choice of weather to finally go out,” Rain heard a familiar voice from behind him.

“Well, uhm… a bit ironic, too,” the water ghoul muttered as he turned around, coming face to face with the other. He hasn't seen them in ages.

“You could say so,” Zephyr shrugged. “I’d say it can be symbolic.”

“I need it,” Rain sighed, feeling tears welling up in his eyes. He gripped his cane’s handle tighter, eyeing the other’s own.

“I understand. Good luck.” The air ghoul winked and took a step to the side, intending to go on about their day.

“Zephyr, how…” Rain took a deep breath. “How did you survive? How are you surviving?”

“I’ve got my pack,” they answered with a soft smile painted on their face. They looked happy. “When I really think about it, they’re all I truly need.”

Dewdrop felt his heart clench when he caught sight of Rain outside through the common room’s window. He wanted to smile and cry and scream, overwhelmed with all the emotions known to man. He couldn’t have known if Rain being out there, in the rain, meant anything, but he didn’t care. Limping through the garden with a cane clutched in one of his hands, Rain was out there.

Dewdrop stormed out of the den, running out into the downpour with no care in the world apart from his ghoul. He ran until he was just behind him, pausing with a heaving chest as the world rumbled all around. “Rainy?”

The fire ghoul could see the deep breath he took when he turned around. Dewdrop didn’t even get a chance to blink before Rain was on him, cold nose pressing into his neck, arms wrapped tightly all around the smaller ghoul.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed.

“Don’t have to be,” Dewdrop sighed, bringing him even closer. “Don’t have to be.”

Rain truly wailed at that. His knees buckled but the fire ghoul held him up, and it meant more than a thousand words. He’d always hold him up, wouldn’t let him fall. They both knew that.

“F– forgive me… please.”

“I already did, Angelfish,” he said and there was no hesitation in his voice.

“Can– can I… with you… stay with you t– tonight?”

The fire ghoul’s heart clenched tightly. He pressed a kiss to the top of Rain’s head. “Of course you can. Always.”

“But not yet,” he whispered, barely heard over the noise of rain. “Need it.”

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s stay here for a bit.”

So they did, clinging to each other and waiting for the sun to set as rain washed down over them.

When Rain started shivering Dewdrop carried him back inside and to his room, peppering kisses all over his wet face on the way, his heat kicked up to not risk the water ghoul catching a cold. He helped him dry himself and change. It was a quiet process, neither of them having words to spare. They didn’t need them anyway. Not yet, at least.

What they needed for now was each other, and they finally had it again. Rain didn’t protest when Dewdrop patted his bare chest in invitation once they were in his bed. The water ghoul scooted over and glued himself to the other, curling an arm around his waist. Tails and legs tangled together.

They both haven't slept as well as that night for what felt like ages.

A few days had passed since that evening in the rain. Dewdrop has not stepped away from Rain for a moment over those days, always by his side, touching. Support both mental and physical.

Not much changed, really. Barely anything. Rain was still hurting, plagued by the pain his body was subjected to and the one his hurt body caused his mind.

But he smiled again. He took care of himself more. Well, Dewdrop took care of him, mostly, but Rain let him. He wasn’t fighting anymore. It was a slight improval, but an improval nonetheless.

“What do you think about breakfast?” Dewdrop asked as they were laying in bed one morning, lounging lazily and drinking each other in. Rain had the fire ghoul tucked against his side, lithe fingers brushing softly through the golden strands. He was about to open his mouth to agree, but the other spoke again before he could, “With the others?”

While the two of them did come across one or a few of the others over the last couple of days, Rain still hasn’t really talked to anyone. He felt guilty and doubted he’d be able to handle them all at once. But maybe… with Dewdrop…

“I– I, uhm…” he mumbled.

“It’s okay, we don’t have to,” the fire ghoul quickly added. “Just a proposition. We can wait as long as you need to.”

“No, I…” Rain sighed and swallowed thickly. “I want to. I miss them.”

Dewdrop tilted his head, looking up at him with his brows furrowed. “Really? You sure? We don’t ha–”

“I’m sure,” he smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to the other’s forehead. “What time is it?”

The fire ghoul turned to take a look at his phone. “Nearly ten. I’ll text them we’ll be coming down, okay?”

“We should get going, then.” Rain started to gather himself up to crawl out of their nest. Once he did and the obligatory dizziness had passed, Dewdrop grabbed his hand, pulling him in between his legs where he sat at the edge of the bed.

“If you’ll feel overwhelmed or simply change your mind, just tell me and we’ll leave, okay? They’ll understand. I just don’t want you to stress out for no reason,” the fire ghoul said, drawing circles on Rain’s hand with his thumb.

“I’ll tell you,” he agreed and with a pull on his finger prompted Dewdrop to stand up and fall into his arms for a hug. He kissed the top of the smaller ghoul’s head before they parted to get dressed.

Soon, they were slowly walking down the corridor to the common room, hand in hand, and the closer they got the faster Rain’s heartbeat was. Still, Dewdrop held onto his hand with an iron grip and wasn’t planning on ever letting go.

“I love you,” he whispered into Rain’s ear as he got onto his tiptoes to kiss the water ghoul’s cheek.

“I love you, too,” he muttered back, just before they walked into the common room.

“Hi, Dew!” Phantom noticed them first, grinning as he realized Rain was there, too. “Hi, Rainy!”

At his, not very subtle, announcement, the rest of the ghouls turned their heads in the pair’s direction. Rain had his head hung and Dewdrop squeezed his hand reassuringly as they padded further into the room. Apart from the initial surprise—a positive one—on the pack’s faces, no fuss was created. They greeted Rain and Dewdrop normally and proceeded to go on about everything as if nothing had ever happened. The water ghoul was overwhelmed, but grateful for this small mercy of not being the center of attention.

Dewdrop kept a hand on his thigh at all times, additionally giving him a warm squeeze to his still aching hip or knee. Breakfast was uneventful, a true blessing. Everyone had their own quiet conversations going on with a giggle rising up over the voices from time to time. Rain kept quiet but he enjoyed the background noise of his pack. Of life.

At some point Phantom truly burst out laughing, nearly choking on his juice. Swiss patted him on the back as he grinned and tried to not laugh himself.

“What’s so funny?” Cumulus asked with her eyebrows raised and a soft smirk.

“Bug finally found the video,” Swiss sighed. A series of snorts sounded out around the table.

“What’s the video?” Aurora asked, the only one clueless as to what was so hilarious.

“The one where he–” Mountain started but Phantom cut him off with more booming laughter and wheezed out words.

“Where he falls off the fucking stage!” he all but yelled. “Like a fucking starfish!”

“Oh, I saw that one,” Aurora giggled.

“Everyone did,” Aether scoffed, returning to his food.

“I know it looked funny.” The multi ghoul folded his arms across his chest and pouted dramatically. “But it was very serious! I was bruised for two weeks!”

Rain felt something in his heart souring, but he focused on his toast and the comforting warmth radiating from Dewdrop.

“Oh, I bet.” Phantom put a hand over his heart, as dramatic as Swiss. “It must’ve been so scary!”

The water ghoul gritted his teeth as the rest of the table laughed at Phantom and Swiss’ little act. Rain tensed up, thousands of words slamming against his brain now. Why did it even set him off? It was nothing, it meant nothing, they were just joking it–

“You’re so brave, Swissy!” Phantom laughed and Rain snapped.

One moment the room was filled with laughter as he sat by the big table, the second it was dead silent as he limped away with a snarl on his lips and stinging tears in his eyes.

“Rain!” Dewdrop called after him. He was so stunned at the water ghoul’s outburst he didn’t follow him right away. “Angelfish, wait–”

He slammed his door shut and locked it as soon as he reached his room, right in Dewdrop’s face. He threw himself onto the bed and curled into a ball, hands pressing into his ears so hard it hurt, to not hear the fire ghoul’s muffled, hurt voice, pleading with him to open the door.

Not this time.

Dewdrop shuffled back to the common room after a few minutes, knowing that lingering at Rain’s door would do no good. He ran a hand down his face with a sigh. Back by the table Swiss was consoling a crying Phantom as the rest pointedly stared at their plates.

“It’s not your fault, Ant,” Dewdrop told him. It really wasn’t. “He’s in a fragile state now, but he knows it was just joking around and not even about him.”

“B– but I–” the quintessence ghoul sniffled.

Dewdrop forced himself to smile softly, reassuringly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Okay?”

“Okay,” he mumbled and let himself be pulled closer by Swiss as he wiped off his tears. The tension in the room could be cut with a knife as the fire ghoul plopped down onto a couch. He wasn’t hungry anymore.

Dewdrop dropped his face into his hands and tried so hard to not just… break. He took a few shaky deep breaths trying to compose himself. He felt the couch dip next to him, then, and Aether’s scent enveloped him as the bigger ghoul wrapped himself around him.

“It’s okay, firefly,” he whispered. “You’ll be alright. Both of you.”

Oh, how bad Dewdrop wanted to believe it.

Rain didn’t sleep well without Dewdrop again. He kept tossing and turning for hours, and even after he did finally manage to fall asleep, he still woke up frequently. That’s why he heard the suspiciously quiet knock on his door in the morning. “‘s open.”

The door squeaked and Cumulus’ fluffy hair came into Rain’s view. “Hi, pearl.”

“Mhm,” he hummed in greeting, pulling the covers higher up over himself.

“How are you feeling?” The ghoulette came closer and closer until she sat at the edge of the bed. “Did you sleep well?”

“‘m fine,” Rain grumbled and shuffled away, not even trying to be discreet, when Cumulus’ hand hovered over his legs under the covers.

“Glad to hear,” she smiled, but the water ghoul wasn’t neither stupid nor blind. “Do you need anything? I can–”

“I said I’m fucking fine,” he growled, snapping his teeth. Cumulus flinched and quickly scrambled off of the bed. Rain could smell her scent souring in real time.

“Oh, uhm… I’m– I’m gonna go then… goodbye, Pearl,” she murmured and stumbled out of the door, still being careful and considerate enough to not slam it. Rain sighed, burying himself under the covers fully. She didn’t deserve it, there was really no reason for him to–

“No, you fucking don’t!” Cirrus yelled, out of nowhere. She, on the other hand, slammed the door so hard it was surprising the frame didn’t splinter. Before Rain could register what was happening the bedding was ripped off of him and it was his turn to flinch. “You’re either going to get yourself the fuck together or we’re going to leave you here to rot in your own misery.”

Her teeth were bared as she stood over him, fuming. “You’re in pain and depressed, we get it, but it’s not our fucking fault. It’s not yours either, but stop making it worse for yourself and us by being a little bitch.”

Cirrus was right, Rain knew she was. He was silent, but he hoped she’d rip him to shreds as she continued to growl and snarl. “Dewdrop didn’t do anything to deserve what you said to him, Phantom didn’t mean anything by what he said and you know it, Swiss was only trying to help because he cares for you.”

“Look at me,” she spat, kicking the bed frame. He couldn’t look her in the eyes, he was a filthy coward. “Cumulus was crying her eyes out feeling sorry for you at night and wanted to simply offer company in the morning. I understand everything, I really do, but that’s fucking enough, Rain.”

He felt like a child, being scolded as he fidgeted with his hands, no power to talk back. Cirrus was right, about everything. Rain hurt everyone, even though all they tried to do was help. He was a monster. He didn’t deserve to as much as live in the same building as his pack, those kind, caring and compassionate ghouls that were nothing like him, the miserable cripple poisoning everyone’s lives.

He’d do everyone a favor if he just… disappeared.

It could’ve been a day or a week again, as Rain continued his rotting. He didn’t have any will, energy or reason to do… anything, really. Once in a while he’d stumble to the bathroom to piss, but how often could that be happening if he didn’t drink anything? That was another thing, he was drying out, not only inside but outside, too. He was a water ghoul, for Satan’s sake.

Rain didn’t see a point anymore. He tried, he thought it was about to get better, he thought it was about to get fixed, he had Dewdrop again and he fucked it all up. Again. He didn’t deserve more chances.

Rain lost.

He flipped over on his bed, groaning at the pain shooting through his body at the movement after so long of being stuck in one position. The water ghouls stared at the ceiling, the moonlight dancing on the flat surface. He longed to feel the peace of it again.

It was cold when Rain woke up again. He didn’t think he had ever been so cold.

Something was wrong, he wasn’t– it wasn’t just cold in his room, he was freezing inside. Heart feeling like a block of ice.

His hands were shaking, his knees ached.

Rain noticed a bass laying next to him. How did it get there?

He tried to reach out for it with a whine, but he couldn’t… he couldn’t move. His body wasn’t listening to him. He was stuck.

“Please,” he whimpered, eyes stinging. He tried one more time.

His fingers twitched, then his wrist, but before he could grab the bass, it was gone. Vanished.

A shuddered sob left his throat and he brought his hand back to his chest, as if it got burned. Why did it… where did it go?

Rain got up, legs wobbly. Pain shot through his entire body, but he didn’t stop. He left his room, he wanted to find someone. He didn’t know why, he avoided them all, after all, but he suddenly needed them.

He walked slowly, holding onto the wall, wincing with every step, his jaw clenched. First door, Swiss’ bedroom. He knocked.

No answer.

Rain swallowed thickly and pressed down on the handle, opening the door with a squeak. He looked into the room but it… it was empty. Completely bare, no furniture, no belongings. No Swiss.

The water ghoul’s heart sank.

He closed the door and moved on to another one. Mountain.

The shaking of his hands was worse now, anxiety rising. Mountain’s room was empty, too. Rain’s heart was racing, fear engulfing him completely. Did they… leave him?

He limped from door to door, finding each and every bedroom in the same state of nakedness. The den has become a wasteland and Rain felt like he had slept right through it.

Tears were flowing down his face, his breathing was shallow and his head was pounding as he stumbled down to the common room. It was empty, too, but there was a piece of paper on the big dining table, covered in dust. Rain didn’t want to read it.

He did, though. He couldn’t not have.

You finally did it, you pushed us all away.

Congratulations, Rain.

You are free.

Rain woke up with a cry on his lips, body covered in sweat.

Did he really wake up?

His body hurt all the same. He was alone all the same.

He supposed that was it. His nightmares finally came true and it was nothing he didn’t deserve. He truly did this to himself.

Rain lifted an arm to move his damp hair out of his face with a sigh. When he dropped it he hit something that was laying next to him on the bed. Something like paper. He grabbed it, brought to his face and tried to see what was on it, squinting in the half-dark room.

A pain sound left his mouth as his heart sank impossibly deeper when he made out the words in Papa’s clean handwriting.

Rain tumbled out of bed, his knees hitting the floor. He scrambled up and with tears adding to the wetness on his face ran out of his room with energy he wasn’t able to find in himself for the last… well, he still wasn’t sure how much time had really passed since the tour had ended.

But now he ran.

“Even you can’t convince him to give up touring,” Mountain sighed, running his fingers through Dewdrop’s hair where his head was resting on the other’s chest.

“I know, but Aether–” he sniffled.

“Aether wanted it, it was his idea,” the earth ghoul reminded him. This was the third—or thirteenth—time they were having this exact conversation. Mountain wasn’t annoyed or exasperated by it, no. He just wished he was able to tell Dewdrop something else. “Sunny, too. This is a very different situation, Fire Lily.”

“Fuck, I know, but I– I just can’t see him like this, but I know not playing will be equally bad, Mounty. If not worse. ”

“Yeah… yeah, it will,” he whispered. It was the truth, everyone knew it. Rain and his music was something… it was one. It couldn’t be separated, Rain without music was an empty shell, a ghost. He needed it to survive just as much as he needed water.

Silence that fell after that was soon interrupted by a single vibration of Mountain’s phone. He reached out for it and Dewdrop could hear and feel his heart speeding up under his ear.

“Oh… I– I don’t think any of us will have anything to say about it,” the earth ghoul said.

“What do you mean?” Dewdrop perked up, anxiety rising in him.

Mountain showed him his phone, the band’s group chat open. The single text message from Papa hanging over the bright background was like a knife piercing the skin of Dewdrop’s chest.

Good morning, my dear ghouls. I am sorry for not informing any of you in advance, but I thought it best, considering the… circumstances. I hope you can understand my decision. All of you, please come down to the summoning chamber as soon as you get this. We are about to summon a new ghoul.

“They’re about to summon a ghoul now?” a choked off whimper left Dewdrop’s throat. That would… it would kill Rain.

“Seems like Papa made a choice a while ago,” Mountain grumbled and pulled the shaking fire ghoul closer to his chest, neither of them ready to face the reality. They both hoped the messages that came soon in quick succession after the first wasn’t Papa hurrying them. It was worse.

dew

my office

now

its rain

This made the fire ghoul scramble out of Mountain’s arms and throw himself out of the door without a word. The earth ghoul understood, he slowly climbed out himself and began to get ready. After all, the new ghoul would have to be welcomed no matter the state their pack was currently in.

Papa expected Rain to show signs of life as soon as he would wake up and see the note left on his bed. He knew it wasn’t likely for him to see the message on his phone. What the man didn’t quite expect was how he burst through his office’s door shaking and crying.

“Papa, please–” were his first words, let out in a breathless whine as the water ghoul stood in the door, clutching the handle for dear life. He looked like he was about to collapse.

“I’m sorry, Rain,” Papa sighed, leaning back against the desk and trying to not make the pity show on his unpainted face. “I made my choice.”

“I’m fine, I just need to rest,” Rain pleaded, coming closer on wobbly legs. Papa reached out for him. “I can still tour, I won’t disappoint you any more.”

“You have never disappointed me, not once. I’m removing you from the project for your own good.”

A hurt noise left Rain’s mouth before his knees hit the ground. Before Papa could so much as blink the ghoul crawled over to him and wrapped himself around his legs, begging as if for his life. In a way he was.

“Please… Papa, don’t–” his voice was breaking, barely understandable, “don’t take this away from me.”

“I am sorry, my ghoul,” Papa said, meaning it. It was a hard decision for him, too, he knew how it would impact not only Rain himself but the entire pack, but he was the head of the church now. He was responsible for his ghouls. In the long run, this was the better choice. Lesser evil.

Papa lowered himself to the ground and wrapped his arms around Rain—still babbling out his pleas. He held on tight, letting the ghoul cry into his shoulder. Rain clung to the man as if he was a lifeline, the last remaining scraps of normality in his life.

Not letting his grip falter, Papa dug around for his phone. As clumsy as it was, he managed to send a few quick texts to the chat, hoping that the fire ghoul would be bothered enough to open them and come as soon as possible.

How could’ve he doubted him?

“Rain,” Papa whispered into his ear after what felt like hours. “Dewdrop’s here.”

The water ghoul’s head shot up so quickly he nearly gave himself whiplash. Through the tear-blurred vision he saw Dewdrop’s silhouette as he stood over the two of them.

“Angelfish,” he sighed and before anything else could leave his lips, Rain threw himself at his feet, wrapping weak arms around his calves and clinging hard as he cried into the fabric of his jeans.

Dewdrop knelt—rather clumsily with how the other was holding him—and buried his fingers in Rain’s hair, bringing him close to his chest. He turned to Papa for a moment, gently asking him for space and the man left with a compassionate smile on his face, closing the door behind him.

“Rain… Rain, look at me. I’m here. I’ve got you, it’s okay.”

“You– you’ll go away, you’ll l– leave me,” Rain sobbed, clinging to Dewdrop’s shirt with white-knuckled grip, as if he’d really leave if he let go even for a split second.

“Angelfish, I won’t, ever,” the fire ghoul tried but Rain was so far away, spiraling so hard that nothing was getting through to him. Dewdrop was shaking now, too, Rain’s pain and sadness choking him like they’d be his own. Worse. “Please, Rainy, stay with me, I’m not going to leave, I’m not going anywhere.”

“D– Droplet, I– I can’t–” his breathing was nothing but short, choked off gulps of air that he greedily swallowed but spat back out with another wave of tears after a second. Dewdrop frowned, the sound going straight to his bruised and cracked heart.

“Rainy, breathe. Please, breathe for me, please,” he begged him, on the verge of tears himself. He couldn’t cry, there was no point, he just had to– he just had to help Rain. “Please, baby.”

“I– I can’t… can’t D– Dew,” he wheezed out and it made panic flash through Dewdrop. It was too empty, he was… he sounded like he was suffocating and the fire ghoul could do nothing about it. “Dew, I– I’m s– scared.”

“I know, baby, it’s okay, it’ll be alright. Just breathe, please, Rainy.”

“Can’t…” Rain whispered without air, so quiet Dewdrop could barely hear it.

The water ghoul went limp in his arms, fingers letting go of his shirt, head thumping against his collarbone.

“Fuck, fuck, R– Rainy?” Dewdrop’s tears fell as panic rose in his throat like bile. “Rainy, please, wake up. H– hey, hey, Rainy, wake the fuck up, please, I’m begging you. Please…”

But Rain couldn’t hear him.

Rain came to surrounded by warmth. Nothing overwhelming and nothing… dry. He was in the water. He felt his limbs twitch, his chest slowly rise and fall.

“Hi, fish boy,” he heard a whisper and felt a breath on his ear. His brain was slowly catching on, registering his surroundings. Rain was in a bath. Dewdrop was with him, holding the water ghoul between his legs, against his chest. Chin hooked over his shoulder.

Rain tensed, breath hitching, but Dewdrop only tightened his arms around him. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ll look after you, it’s okay.”

No, no, he didn’t deserve it. He couldn’t take it.

“Rain, stop,” the fire ghoul sighed as if he knew exactly what he was thinking. He must have had. “It’s not true. I love you, let me take care of you.”

“D– don’t. Don’t say that.”

“Rainy… you’re such an idiot,” Dewdrop chuckled. It threw Rain off so much he stopped squirming, mouth nearly agape.

“W– what?”

“Just… just stop fighting everything, okay? It’ll be alright, just stop fighting. Please.”

Rain didn’t know how to answer, but after all the hurt he had caused Dewdrop, the least he could do was to obey. So he did.

“That’s it,” the fire ghoul hummed. “I’ve got you. Relax.”

Rain took a deep breath, letting his eyes fall shut, and tried to follow the simple instruction. He’d be able to if he’d just stop thinking. His thoughts were racing.

“It’s okay, you’re safe,” Dewdrop murmured, a wave of comforting warmth washing over Rain. He wasn’t sure if it was the fire ghoul’s warmth or just his words. They were like sedatives for him.

“Can you…” he cleared his throat, “please, Droplet, keep talking.”

“Of course, baby.” The water ghoul could hear the soft smile in his voice as Dewdrop traced his warm fingers over the skin of Rain’s stomach under the water. “My pretty, brave boy.”

“‘m not…”

“Hush. You asked me to talk, let me talk,” he scolded him. “You behaved like an ass but you are my pretty and brave boy.”

The fire ghoul nipped at his earlobe playfully. It nearly made Rain smile. “Tried so hard to get rid of me, didn’t ya? It’s not so easy, Angelfish, should’ve known that.”

Rain let his body go slack again, truly relaxing now that everything seemed normal for a moment. If he tried hard enough he’d be able to forget how he hurt, how hard he messed up and how bad he felt about it. Dewdrop continued talking, mumbling soft words into his ear, pressing kisses to his damp skin in between them. Some things were hard to believe, some made him feel warm, some made his heart clench painfully, but Dewdrop continued talking. That’s what mattered. Rain didn’t even realize how much he had missed his voice alone.

He could fall asleep in that bath, cradled in the fire ghoul’s arms. He nearly did, stopped only by Dewdrop shifting, reaching for a bottle of shower gel and a loofah. Rain panicked, heart suddenly in his throat as he grabbed the other’s arm tightly. “Hey, shhh, it’s alright. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving, Rainy.”

Dewdrop nudged him to sit up once his initial fear had passed. The tub was huge, they could not only fit in there comfortably together, but also maneuver all they needed to. The fire ghoul smoothed a hand down Rain’s back, soothing him as he wetted and lathered the loofah with gel.

“Can I?” he asked, making sure Rain was okay with what he wanted to do.

He nodded, muttering, “I’m a mess.”

“Well, you have a nose,” Dewdrop chuckled. “I’m not gonna be lying to you.”

He was right, of course. It was hard to not end up a mess without taking care of oneself for weeks and that’s exactly what Rain did.

He smiled, though.

Barely a hint, the corner of his lips raised upwards by quarter of an inch, but it was a smile.

Dewdrop leaned down to press a kiss to the top of Rain’s spine before bringing the sponge to his skin, starting to gently wash him. The water ghoul closed his eyes again and relaxed, finally letting himself be taken care of, letting himself feel all the love the other had for him through his tender touches.

No matter how far Rain would come, one thing would never change and it would be the fact that Dewdrop was simply too good for him. Too good for this world.

“Droplet?” he whispered after some time, when the fire ghoul settled in between his legs to wash his chest.

He smiled up at him sweetly and Rain’s heart swelled. “Hm?”

“Would you…” he swallowed thickly and felt his cheeks heat up. “Is there still a chance for us to… you know?”

“What, Rainy?”

“Mate? Get married?”

There were a few moments of silence, but Dewdrop didn’t stop the light scrubbing. Rain hung his head, now burning with shame. How stupid it was to ask that. “You don't have to say anything, don't have to agree, I just… I need to know if you can still… consider it after all I've done. Just tell me if there's a chance.”

“There's more than a chance, Angelfish,” the fire ghoul looked up at him again. There was no lie in his glowing eyes when he spoke. There was only love.

“R– Really? You still want–”

“Of course I do, idiot,” Dewdrop scoffed. “I can't live without you. And you aren't that bad.”

“Fuck…” Rain felt like an impossible weight was just lifted off of him. His eyes were stinging but at the same time he couldn’t keep his lips from finally forming a full smile, something actually bright and real. “I love you so much, I can't live without you either, I'm so sorry, I was awful and–”

“Stop,” Dewdrop stopped him with a finger over his chapped lips. “It's behind us, it's okay.”

“I love you,” he repeated, breathless.

“I love you, too,” the fire ghoul shook his head with a grin. “Now are we calling the girls to help with the planning or…?”

Rain furrowed his brows in confusion. “W– what?”

“We're getting married aren't we?”

“You want– now?”

“Why wait?” Dewdrop shrugged and Rain could cry. He just might.

“Oh… oh, okay,” he mumbled instead, “yeah. Good point.”

The fire ghoul purred and pressed his lips to Rain’s own and it was another thing he hadn't realized he missed to a point of physical pain until he was given it again. Dewdrop pulled away way too soon, but Rain wouldn’t complain. Not yet, at least. “D’ya wanna get out? Go to bed and rest?”

“Soon,” the water ghoul sighed. The other nodded and rearranged himself in the bathtub, ending up with Rain against his chest again.

Dewdrop kicked up a purr and muttered into his ear, “You’re wearing a dress, right?”

“I am?”

“Are you not?”

Rain sighed with a smile, “I am.”

The tour ended two months ago.

It has been over a month since Rain started to get better. Not physically—nobody knew if that would come—but mentally. It is a road full of bumps and curves and turnarounds, but most of the tears and grief are left behind. Whatever will happen in the future, Rain has his pack. Enlarged now. He has Dewdrop.

And Dewdrop finally has Rain. All of him.

Whatever will happen, they will get through it.

“Hey, Bambi,” Swiss snaps Rain out of his thoughts. “You ready?”

“Nearly, I just–” he grunts, fumbling with the zipper on his side. “Can’t close this thing.”

“Lemme help,” the multi ghoul chuckles as he comes closer and swats Rain’s hands away from the offending zipper. He fixes it quickly and pats him on the shoulder, taking a few steps back to look him over. “Well, well…”

“What?” Rain scoffs with his eyebrows raised, ringed and manicured hands smoothing down the silky fabric of his dress.

“Nothing, I’m just proud of you,” Swiss mutters. “Now let’s go get your man."

End notes: Thank you so much for reading. Like I said at the beginning, this work is very important and special to me, I hope you liked it. I'd really appreciate feedback if you did, whether just a like/reblog or a whole ass essay. It wasn't easy to write and yeah, I'd really appreciate it <3

#hypnone writes #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #rain ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #hypnone's disabled ghouls

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mrsnancywheeler · 5 months

Text

the lakes (11) // finnick odair x f. reader

summary: it's supposed to be over, you and Finnick are supposed to spend the rest of your lives helping each other heal. living as peacefully as possible, but the the third quarter quell throws a wrench in your domestic bliss.

previous chapter/next chapter

midnight rain

4.2k words

warnings: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, gore/violence/death, poisonous fog, mental illness, paranoia, self-hate, terms of endearment, manipulation of someone's feelings, unedited, no use of Y/N

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Although his hands were sweaty and the last thing you needed was extra body heat, when Finnick’s fingers played with the ends of your hair and rubbed your shoulder you refused to let out a complaint. You would have rather died of heat stroke than rid yourself of his comforting touch. Especially since he'd insisted you needed to rest and this was helping you, even if the paranoia was going to keep you on edge. Your eyes stayed glued shut in an attempt to just listen to what he said, but it was too hot, and your thoughts were too loud.

The pain in your head had pretty much ceased, but the threat of infection was extreme. What would Finnick do if you died that way? Would he let himself die to protect Katniss, the rebellion? Even if in the hypothetical you would be dead, the thought made your heart still with guilt. It has consumed you more recently, the idea that like how you couldn't live without Finnick, he couldn't live without you. Of course, it didn't make any sense to you. He was him, so much to give, to offer, so beloved that there was so much more out there for him. Yet, the way he talked increased your fright that that's not how he saw himself. When his burning hand pulled its contact away from you, it snapped your head back into reality. Eyes opened as you watched Finnick walking away and heard the ringing sound of a sponsor gift.

Your hands, equally covered in perspiration, went to wipe your face of it, all in vain. “I think it's a spile." Katniss finally said, grabbing whatever item had arrived and walking to a nearby tree. You hadn't a clue what she was talking about. Were you losing it already? What was a spile?

“A what?" Finnick asked, following her. It was good at least to know you weren't delusional. Whatever it was must not be something of use back home if you both had no idea what it was. Peeta had raised from wherever he'd been laying to follow to accompany them as Katniss tapped the item into the tree. She looked at it expectantly and you weren't sure what had happened at first when they all gasped excitedly. Then Finnick was in front of you again, “Let’s get you up, angel, there's water.” Maybe that's what all this confusion was, dehydration. Without effort he had pulled you to your feet.

It was like a miracle to see clean water pouring out of the spile and Peeta pulled away to let you have your turn. The moment it hit your tongue it was so refreshing, you'd gone so long without a drink your body had almost tricked itself into forgetting how dry your mouth had been. But the water brought instant relief, you splashed some on your face before pulling yourself away to make room for Finnick.

Unexpectedly being hydrated and having the ability to drink more whenever needed calmed you more then you'd anticipated. Regardless of how exhausted your body was when Finnick urged you to lay down and try to rest once again, you were reluctant. Even if it was unlikely, part of you asked, what if you fell asleep and it was the last time you saw him?

“Finnick, I'm fine! I'll keep lookout too, you've been taking care of everything all day, you've got to be exhausted." He sighed at your refusal.

"You're so sweet, that it's infuriating. Please, angel, you need to rest. I will be less tired knowing you're not.” His ocean eyes begged yours, hand stroking your cheek softly.

“That's not how that works." He deserved rest, to lay down. You were perfectly capable of staying there with Katniss. The darkest depths of your paranoia asked you why he wasn't comfortable letting you watch over, if didn't trust you. However, the thought was gone as soon as it made its appearance, if there was one thing you knew it was that you trusted him.

“Please." He whispered and you sighed before mumbling an agreement, there was no way you'd win this argument.

“Will you lay by me?"

He stared at you for a second like he was contemplating, “I’ll just be a few feet away, just on watch.”

You wanted to ask him why he couldn't just do that while laying with you, but you knew he wouldn't say no if there wasn't a reason. Maybe he planned on trying to gain more of Katniss’ trust by staying up with her. Regardless it's not like you would be able to fall asleep if he wasn't there anyways, you couldn't remember the last time you had. It was as if the moment he was away you lost all body heat and couldn't rest unless he was there.

The idea of even verbalizing that made you feel guilty, so you just rolled your eyes and began walking in the other direction to lay down. "Fine."

You could sense his own eye roll at your dramatics and you found yourself a spot between the roots in one of the trees. Staring at the sky through the tree branches when Finnick’s voice reached you through the still air, “Your eyes are still open." You turned your head his way to throw him a glare which he simply laughed at before turning to walk closer by Katniss. It was easy to get lost in your thoughts, the sounds of insects chirping and buzzing somewhere. It was almost peaceful, if there hadn't been the looming fear of death.

This was interrupted when a banging noise cracked through the arena, you shot up, but there didn't seem to be any actual danger. You could see Katniss and Finnick looking up at the sky which quickly ceased. With no threat at hand you cautiously laid back down. Not long had passed before you heard footsteps coming in your direction, you turned your head to the noise.

“You're supposed to be resting." Finnick remarked, laying down by you.

“I'm trying." You scoffed and he raised his eyebrows with a knowing look in his eyes, “Aren't you supposed to be keeping watch, or did you feel guilty for refusing to comfort your wife?"

“If she's going to stay up and keep watch then I might as well sleep. Shows her I trust her too.” His warm arms wrapped around you as he gazed at you. The paranoid voice was back, gnawing in your brain, asking why he wouldn't let you keep a lookout with them. “You okay?" He asked, brows furrowed.

“Yeah." You muttered, shaking away the intrusions. “Well that's good because I couldn't have slept without you anyways." Snuggling deeper into his arms as your noses touched.

“Glad I could be of service then, Mrs. Odair." Finnick pressed a kiss to your lips. Tucked into his arms you were finally able to push away most of the fears, to act like it was just you in Finnick’s arms, falling asleep under the stars. Like you were at home, just the two of you in love. Maybe if you thought about that long enough you'd find the few and far between relief of a sweet dream about the two of you. You tried to convince yourself that you were on the beach with him, that he was keeping you warm as the salt air grazed your face. That the moonlight would shine on the ethereal waters and brighten your face. Eventually you were able to drift into sleep thinking about those fantasies, or maybe they were memories, who knew your brain felt like it had been on overdrive. However, your comfortable rest was interrupted when Katniss was screaming in pain and urging you all, desperately, to run.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

“We should start staking out the Careers, find a plan of attack." This was the beginning of the end, you told yourself, once they were gone the four of you would have to do the same to each other. But Marlowe was still right, as a team you needed to get rid of the biggest threat.

"How are we supposed to find them?” Birch asked, looking around incredulously.

"The arena can't go on forever, plus they'll be confident enough to start fires and be louder.” You sat on the muddy ground, throwing your knife into random spots. The arena had begun to warm up on day 5 and the rain had become progressively warmer until day 7. Although the lack of pouring rain was a blessing, it was also a curse since it made finding water a priority once again, and there wasn't much iodine left.

Besides natural causes you'd assumed the other tributes who's faces you'd seen in the sky at night probably died at their hands. It was almost harrowing to think about how you could very soon die at their hands as well, but you had to trust that your group could overtake their’s.

“They're probably at the Cornucopia, that'd be typical." Conway’s arm was resting lazily on one of your shoulders. Marlowe nodded her head in agreement. “We should eat and then head that way."

You pulled a backpack closer to you, “I'll get the net."

“Marlowe and I will go check on the snares if you guys try and get fish." Birch and Marlowe headed off as you pulled the net out of the bag. Rising off the ground to find the nearest body of water.

You listened to the birds chirping before Conway broke the silence, “I don't know if I can do it." His admission was quiet, like he was nervous to say something.

“Do what?" You turned your face to look at him, his eyes glued to the ground.

“Kill them, the Career pack."

“You had a higher score than some of them and you're plenty strong, I'm sure you'll be fine."

Conway exhaled, he looked at you incredulously, "Not like that. I mean I don't think I can kill them, let myself kill them.”

"You killed in the Bloodbath."

"Only once and it's eating me up inside."

You stared at him in silence for what felt like an eternity, but was really just a few seconds. Before you tore your eyes away from him to look at the scenery around you, "Then don't, I’ll do it.”

"You've changed a lot, you know.” This caught you somewhat off guard, but you kept a straight face as you walked.

"I don't think I have, really.” Except in matters of paranoia and distrust which had greatly expanded, it really felt like at your core you were still you.

"With respect, princess, I don't think you would be as willing.”

"At home we weren't in these circumstances.”

"Seems there's a lot about you I don't know then.” The sound of his footsteps had stopped, so you turned to look at him. The two of your stared at each other, he seemed to be coming to terms with something and that made you nervous.

“I'm not saying I want to, just that sometimes you have to do what it takes to survive. Even if it's difficult or-”

"Untrue?” Conway finished, your stomach knotted. What was he getting at?

You sighed," Yeah, I guess.” He stared at you longer before he nodded his head and walked forwards. His aura was all off and it made you somewhat panic. “I'm sorry if that upsets you that I'm doing what it takes to go home." Your voice was more frustrated as you followed him. Finnick would have understood, the longer you went without him the more you longed to be with him, to be with someone who really got you.

He stopped walking and grabbed your arms, “It's okay, I understand. It's just hard to come to terms with when you remember that this is all designed to bring that out in us. To see the other side, not through rose colored glasses.” It was like he was having a different conversation that you weren't being let in on. An echo in your voice told you were done with your facade, that he'd figured it out, but you quiteted it. You'd done everything you could think of, why wouldn't he believe you?

Conway leaned in and kissed you, it was soft, sweet, like he'd never be able to kiss you again. He pulled away and gave a small frown as he looked at you longer, “We should go, we’ll probably find a pond of something soon." He began walking off and you stood still for a few seconds, mind trying to grasp what was going on. But you followed and he fell back into conversation about home as you netted for fish.

Eventually you'd all returned with your goods to eat before setting off towards where you'd assumed the Cornucopia must be and therefore, the Careers. It was a long, boring, pain seeking them out, observing their moves, planning your attack.

“Maybe if we wait them out they'll just turn on each other." Birch was crouched down in the long grass. “We could hit them when they're already untrusting." His thoughts were interrupted by a piercing scream. Your heads all snapped to look across the opening where the noise had come from. One of the Career’s was running towards the two waiting, as she ran a cannon went off. You couldn't hear what she was saying, but she looked frazzled, like she'd been running for her life.

“Looks like our window now, then." Marlowe muttered as she began trudging through the mud. You weren't sure that would be a great plan, that any of this was, but everybody else seemed to agree. Hiding the bags in the grass as they followed her. This wasn't well thought out enough. You tried to appear as though you agreed as you walked behind.

“Come to kick us when we're down?" One of the boy’s, Otto, yelled out. You cursed everyone for not trying to be more sly, not waiting until they were more off guard.

“What happened?" Birch asked, hatchet firmly in his hand. He nodded his head to the girl from District 1, Satin, who was shaking, legs covered in mud.

“There's these horrible crocodile creatures in the swamps." Satin's voice was shaky, she was forgetting herself, that she could die, and you pitied her. You recalled seeing her volunteer, but here she was struggling to maintain composure due to some Capitol mutants, it was gut wrenching to think about the shift between the glory and terror that must have occurred. Finnick had ensured that any Capitol propaganda about the Games and their respect was uprooted from your brain the moment he could.

“They got Aulus." Arria, you believed her name was, the female tribute from 2, said. Her voice didn't even quiver, but you could see some sadness in her eyes, that would've been her last connection to home.

“I'm sorry." Conway was so sincere and everyone stared at him for a second. You didn't know what it was in, respect for his kindness, disbelief because he was just another obstacle in winning, anger because he was a threat.

“Thanks for not just attacking us though, I’ll remember to say how compassionate you all were when I'm on my Victory tour." Otto’s scalpel chain was lunging forward, and unassuming Birch who'd stepped too close by got nicked across his arm as he tried to move out of the way. Hissing as he threw the hatchet at Otto, who turned to miss the weapon. Regretfully all you could think about was how much of a coward the boy was when he made a run for it as Birch scrambled to gather his weapon back.

“Get him Birch!" Marlowe screeched out as he followed. Then Conway was groaning as Arria slashed at him with her sword. Insticinually pushing his spear forward which caused her to shriek as it planted itself into her leg. You hated how slow everything felt like it was going, usually the climax of a Game's felt more rushed to watch, maybe this wasn't the real climax though. She slipped a bit as she tried to pull the spear out and stab at him with her sword. He had the clear upperhand now, to kill her, but he wasn't taking it. Just staring at her with pity.

‘I’ll just have to do it,’ you told yourself and threw the knife into her head. Conway’s face was hit with the splatter of blood and he stared at her body with shock as the cannon went off. Looking at you as you pulled the knife out of her head. You were disgusted with yourself, but desperate time called for desperate measures and you were so close to being able to go back home, see Finnick, feel the ocean, give to your family, to let that all pass up because he didn't want to kill her.

“Somebody had to do it." You muttered out numbly and then looked away at the yells of Marlowe and Satin. A pitchfork had been used to create a nasty hole in Marlowe’s leg and there was a bleeding gash in Satin’s side. Marlowe was able to plug the machete in just deep enough before Satin had gone back to her with the pitchfork and there was that terrible canon again.

“Come on." Conway’s hand tugged at yours and before you could ask questions he was pulling you along as he ran.

“What are you doing?" You asked when you finally gained comprehension.

“We have to go, Birch is gonna kill Otto and then it's just us left." You were back in the long grass, “We'll prolong this if we go hide, here, put the knives in the bag and we'll go find a new place to camp." Conway said breathlessly.

“It would be more fair for us, too all just fight it out now, all together."

“I heard them talking, they were gonna gang up on us and they're so strong, especially together." Your heart was starting to race, maybe he was right this surely was starting to feel climactic. You couldn't help that you were looking at him with suspicion though.

He must have sensed this though because he kissed you, “Trust me." Conway whispered out, hands taking the knives from you to place them in the bag. You nodded, if he was still kissing you he must believe you, and the Conway you knew wouldn't kill someone he loved. Then another cannon went off, either Otto or Birch, “Let's go." His explanation still didn't feel right but you nodded and followed. Blindly following your childhood best friend, the man who loves you and you could love back that way, into the marshes to try and keep you both alive for just a little bit longer.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

The screams of pain were instantly enough to stop you from being any sort of tired when you awoke.

“The fog is poison!" Katniss screeched and ran forwards. You could see the cloud of it rolling down towards you all and Finnick was immediately pulling you up, urging you forward.

You were all sprinting as fast as you could, eyes desperately searching for somewhere new to aim for. The fog seemed to be everywhere, like it was getting faster and surrounding any place you could have thought to sprint. You could feel your heart pounding in your skull as you scrambled. Willing yourself not to pause when you heard Katniss cry out quickly followed by Peeta. Your blurry vision is still able to make out their figures though which helps you keep going. Suddenly Finnick had tripped on one of the many vines and was yelling.

“Finnick!" You were screaming, trying to pull him forward out of the fog threatening to completely engulf him. He stumbled forward.

"Come on, angel.” Despite the searing pain he must have been in he grabbed you and then the fog hit one of your calves. You nearly fell forward as you howled out at the harsh, burning that blistered into your skin, enough pain to make you feel like you were going to throw up. Finnick yelled your name and forced you to keep running in any direction away from the fog which seemed to be in any direction you turned.

“Peeta!" You ran towards Katniss, Peeta was on the ground. Motionless besides the twitching muscles around the areas where the boils had taken over. “I can't carry him." Her voice was broken.

Finnick nodded, “Keep up." He looked at you somewhat sternly, but it was more coughing it out. Katniss and Finnick supported Peets and began moving forward as the looming cloud of death crept up. It was hard to move forward, your legs felt like they were going to melt off into a burning sludge. You felt guilty when you arm gripped onto Finnick's free one, trying to keep balance. Then the agonizing pain took over again, unbearable and shooting across your back. You swore that you could hear your skin sizzling in the fog, it was hard to keep your eyes from falling shut, from letting yourself collapse into the ground. Until you were rolling down a hill, the feeling was so harrowing that you let yourself tumble down and then lay dejected, waiting for the fog to consume you.

Katniss’ cries didn't even make you move, the fog must have got her, and this was all for nothing. We'll all die in the arena and the Games will go on next year and every year after that without incident. “The water, it helps!” She called out and you finally pried your eyes open, wincing at the excruciating feeling when you tried to move. Eyes trying to adjust as you crawled forward, trying to silence your whimpers, the pain felt nearly unendurable.

“Finnick." You croaked out, searching for him amongst the roots. Peeta and Katniss’ exhales of relief signaled to you where the water could be, but it wouldn't have felt right to help yourself before you could find him. Your eyes adjusted enough to see a figure laying not far in front of you, “Finnick!" Fingers clawing into the dirt as you pulled forwards not even wanting to think about what it would be like to try and stand again. Hands eventually landing on his chest, trying to shake him awake, he wasn't responding, and whatever pain you'd felt physically was somehow overwhelmed by the harrowing panic settling in. “Come on, Finnick, we have to go.” You tried to drag him towards the water, gasping out in pain as you tried to pull your own scorching body across the ground with his. “I can't get him." Your voice was hoarse and Katniss and Peeta was by you.

“Go wash yourself off, it gets rid of everything and Katniss and I will grab him." Peeta tried to reassure, crouching down. You tried to shake your head, nothing felt reasonable right now, you were too panicked, gripping onto Finnick tighter.

“Finn, you have to wake up. Please, I need you, please wake up." Hands were trying to grab your arms and you weakly tried to stop them. "I can't leave him.”

"You're not, we need to get you washed off and then we'll get him too.” Peeta said, pulling you up to lead you to the water.

“Get him first." You choked out, the physical pain, the emotional pain, all of it compounded was too much.

Then Katniss was pulling you forward from where Peeta had gotten you, she cupped her hands in the water, not dragging you in. She poured some of the water onto your arm and you could have sworn you saw steam leaving your skin as you nearly yelled at the increased pain before the relief.

“Come on, this is good, you can help grab him once you're better." She reassured, helping you pull yourself the rest of the way in. You nodded now and shrieked when the water overwhelmed each blister, the wisps of the poison leaving your body.

“Thank you." You stuttered out, but she was gone and Finnick was being dragged in by her and Peeta. He was screaming when he hit the water and you grabbed his shoulders as he tried to fight against it. “It's okay, it'll feel better, it's getting rid of it." You tried to reassure as he kept fighting back. “Finnick, Finnick, you're okay, this is helping.”

“We need to get our weapons." Katniss said to Peeta who ran off as you kept holding Finnick in the water. Finally Finnick’s eyes fully opened and you signed, letting yourself smile.

“I thought you were gonna die." You stopped holding down his shoulders to wipe away all the tears that had fallen from everything and the water itself.

He stood up, laughing, “Don't be too disappointed, I am in fact, still breathing."

You laughed in disbelief before wrapping your arms around him as tightly as you could, terrified that in a moment this could all melt away into a reality where he hadn't woken up. “Good.” Finnick kissed the top of your head and didn't think you'd ever be able to tear yourself away.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

thank you so much for reading, I'm so sorry this took so long to get out I've been swamped recently. all the support has been appreciated so, so much and I love you all 💕 feedback, likes, comments, reblogs are all greatly appreciated, my ask box is opens and I'll be getting to some of them soon to branch the time between the next chapter. thank you all so much and I hope you enjoyed this chapter 💋

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#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #finnick odair x y/n #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair angst #finnick odair x reader fluff #finnick odair x reader angst #finnick odair x you #thg #finnick odair fanfic #finnick imagine #finnick x you #finnick x reader

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netherfeildren · 10 months

Text

Greener Memories of Better Men

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Best Story of the Day! South Austin elementary school started a “Breakfast With Dads” program but many dads couldn’t make it and several students didn’t have father figures. The school posted fliers at the local YMCA’s for 50 volunteer fathers… 600 different people from all backgrounds showed up…

Joel Miller is one of them.

-OR-

Sarah’s gone and Joel wants to feel close to her again. He reconnects with someone he used to know along the way.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No outbreak; Grief; Child loss; Emotional hurt/comfort; Angst; Fluff and smut; Unprotected sex; Creampie; Oral Sex (f!receiving); Size Difference; Size kink; Dirty talk; Truck sex; Praise kink

A/N: This was planned for a long time, and then just happened all at once today without prior thought. Enjoy! :)

Word Count: 10.8K

Read on AO3

When she got very sick, towards the end, they used to listen to “The Weight” by The Band all the time. He’d sit at her bedside playing it for her over and over again, and he’d watch her breathe. For hours, he’d sit there and watch the rise and fall of her chest, the slow, weak thrum of her pulse in her neck beneath the wan and clammy skin, listen to the sound of her fight to continue existing. Sometimes, when she was a little more on this side of lucid, when she’d let him look at those gorgeous green eyes, she’d mouth the words at him through cracked, parched lips. Hey, mister, can you tell me where a man might find a bed? The still beautiful sound of her laughter, not made any less lovely despite its weakness now, when she adapted the lyrics to suit herself, take a load off, daddy.

And sometimes, when she was keen on showing that superior and tremendous wit, that intelligent mind, the eye she had for seeing within and through him, she’d say that Fanny was the friend they’d always needed, but had never had. Like she knew, she knew there were times, only sometimes, where there was something missing, an imaginary figure that would have been nice or helpful, that was sometimes wished for. A mother, a wife, a partner, a friend, something they might have both needed or liked to have, perhaps, even especially, now, at the end.

It had been a slow crawl towards death, for a long time, and then, suddenly, a mad dash to the finish line she’d seemed desperate to win.

At times he’d been angry, angry and resentful and so fucking filled with a rage so deep it terrified him at the unfairness of it all. Sometimes there were parts of Joel that wished it was him lying in that bed, rotting away from the inside out by that invisible poison crawling through his little girls veins, but then the idea of Sarah being the one left behind, the one left alone, seemed an equally terrible fate, and he could not discern which was the worse of the two evils. And so he was left with nothing but this terrible impotence warring inside of him against his equally terrible anger.

If he could have carried the weight of her illness for her, he would have. If he could have bore the pain and suffering of it, he would have. He would have eaten his own heart, cut off his own limb, forsaken everything he’d ever known, to have taken her suffering from her. He’d told her they’d be brave together, that they’d get out of it together. Eventually though, that mad dash had ended, and after it was all done, she’d been the only one to be brave, and he’d been the only one to get out of it. If that’s what it could even be called. Sarah had died and Joel had been left with nothing more than whatever half life he pretended at now.

It’d been a year and a half since then, five hundred and sixty seven days since he’d put his only child in the ground. Days of living his life as if a thousand raging gladiators screamed and readied for battle in his mind while he lay limp and motionless in their midst. While he lay limp and motionless as the rest of the world went on around him. He failed all the time now, it seemed. Failed at being a father, a man, a brother, in his waking hours and in his dreams. And sometimes he wondered or worried at what she’d think of him now, if she saw what he’d let himself become. A limp and useless thing in the shadow of the memory of what he’d always been or wanted to be.

But he remembered love, he remembered loving her, and he thought that if he held onto that, perhaps, he could be something again. Certainly not himself, or who or what he’d been before, but he could find the wherewithal or the strength or the conviction to be something, surely, he could be something again. How could death have the ability to touch such perfection? He could not understand. So, if he could no longer be a father, Sarah's father, then he could find it in himself to at least be alive, couldn’t he? For her, at least, for that memory of loving her.

He sees the flier at the YMCA one evening, after he’s finished his workout. For months he’d gone from work to bed and bed to work. Gotten soft and lazy and horrible, half dead, but he’d had a dream a few weeks ago, a memory of them at Lady Bird Lake when they’d go and feed the ducks. She’d wanted to burst into the water after them, catch one for herself. Skinny little arms and legs flailing as he caught her around the waist, stopping her from rushing in after the poor things as they paddled madly away from the lovely little terror that she was. The thing he was now was not the man, the father, he had been before, not even a fraction. And he’d felt disgusted and ashamed and frightened with himself at the thought of her ever seeing the creature he’d become. He’d gone for a jog that evening after work. As exhausted and beaten down from the day as he’d been, he’d tied on his sneakers and forced his body to move. It had felt terrible and cathartic and he’d thrown up in his front yard afterwards, pathetic, heaving sobs wracking his body as he emptied the contents of his stomach in the overgrown grass and tears dripped down the tip of his nose, right there for the whole world to witness. But he’d gone out again the next day and the next and the next, and then he’d gone and gotten a membership for the Y, paid the thirty dollars and promised himself he’d make it there a few days every week. Pushed himself week after week to exhaustion and tears, even, sometimes. Wilting into bed at the end of the day like a felled weed, but he couldn’t stop.

Don’t stop to think, don’t interrupt the scream.

So he tried to not think, and he tried to keep going.

They used to walk down there all the time before, to the Y, Joel, Sarah and Tommy. She loved to swim, and the three of them would jump in the pool together and play for hours every summer. They were good memories he knew he needed to keep fresh in his mind, like a muscle that needed to be exercised constantly. He couldn’t, didn’t want to lose them.

The flier called for volunteers to show up for an event at Sarah’s old elementary school, “Breakfast with Dads” requesting fathers who could show up for those children who didn’t have a father figure in their lives. He’d stood still as a statue, reading the poster over and over again for almost ten minutes there, in the middle of the bustle of the busy gym around him. He could still remember the last time he’d picked her up at school with perfect clarity, the way she’d looked, curls bobbing around her, green eyes shining, shooting out the double doors towards him. She’d always been good in school, smart and lovely and friendly. He’d had to make the difficult decision to pull her out almost a year before she’d died, when she’d started getting too weak from the treatments to continue going in person. He’d not been back to the place since. Didn’t know if he was capable of walking through those halls she used to walk through, where she’d been happy, had friends, been a kid.

He thinks about it for days afterwards, afraid and unsure and awkward with himself. Worried the children will be able to smell the deceit on him, the fact that he isn’t really a father anymore, lying on the soft purple rug of her perfectly preserved bedroom. A mausoleum to her memory that he meticulously cleans every Sunday to maintain exactly as she left it, staring up at the stick-on stars of the ceiling. He thinks that perhaps it would be good for him, that perhaps he would like the chance to feel like a father again, to remember what it is to have some spunky little kid talk at him for hours on end the way Sarah used to. And if nothing else, he thinks that there might be some child out there without the commodity of a father, the way he is without the blessing of his daughter, who would appreciate the fact that he’d shown up. Perhaps, he can make some kid not feel as alone as he always feels now.

The morning of the breakfast dawns bright and warm, but with the faint scent of impending rain in the ether. She’d died on the same kind of sunny, tremulous day, and Joel’s hands shake as he walks up the steps of the elementary school. Flashes of the memory of her running out of these same double doors, skipping down the steps, curls flopping and gap toothed smile more luminous and sillier than any sight he’d ever beheld before. His heart beats like a hummingbird in his chest, hands clammy and shaking and ridiculous. He cries all the time now, at any and everything and it embarrasses him but is also so strangely freeing. He’d watched that ridiculous, but not really, movie Uptown Girls last night and had wept like a child at the end of it, all throughout it if he’s being honest. Huge mistake for the night before he was supposed to show face bright and early and have some kid inspecting him. Tommy’d shown up this morning with coffee and burritos and told him his face looked swollen, fucking asshole, and he’s once again ridiculous and embarrassed and awkward and shaking with nerves as he takes a few deep, calming breaths, before stepping into the Sarah’s old cafeteria.

The large room is loud and chaotic, the bright sound of children’s voices and laughter and commotion, and people, there are a lot of fucking people. Two different lines of men, traversing the entire wide room, starting at a long table on one end and snaking through the lunch tables. It seems he wasn’t the only one who’d seen the posters, who had felt the need to come here today. He’s inspecting the lines, deciding which one seems to be moving faster when he hears his name, soft and breathy and incredulous, voice like a fucking angel: “Joel?”

He turns and there you are. “Joel Miller?” You almost stumble towards him, hand almost outstretched, eyes almost swimming. The last time he’d seen you was the last time he’d picked Sarah up here, and there’d been real tears in your eyes that time as you got to your knees, and his daughter buried her face in your neck, your soft hair, as she cried and told you how much she’d miss you, how much she didn’t want to go. You’d been her last teacher before she’d had to leave school – she’d never gotten to finish the year with you, and it had been a painful and difficult parting for the both of you. One he’d not appreciated fully in the moment, but now, looking at your shocked face, like you’ve seen a ghost, the memory rears its head in his mind, the sound of your voice trying to soothe her, trying to remain strong, stifle the sound of your own tears. You’d gone to the hospital once, near the end, the nurses had told him, in the quick hour he allotted himself to go home and shower every day, to say goodbye to her. Had sat at her bedside and laughed with her, brought her a card and a bright bouquet of yellow daisies in a pretty, blown glass vase from her entire class. It had been near the end of the school year, what would have been the end of Sarah’s second grade year, and he’d been glad, after the nurse had gushed about the pretty young woman who’d come in, made Sarah laugh and smile, perked her up for even a few brief moments, he’d been so fucking glad he’d missed you. He hoped he’d never have to see you again, could avoid the memory of his daughter in your care, the way the two of you looked at each other, like you shared a secret, a friendship, a connection, that of pupil and teacher, but also just two girls, something special and sacred. He envied it and resented it and was glad he’d missed you and grateful he’d not had to see you, but he was also grateful for the fact of you, that you’d been able to give her something she’d needed and he could not provide.

He whispers your name, and you finally reach him, hand fully outstretched now, not an almost anything anymore, and your small, delicate fingers grasp at his thick forearm. The soft touch burns.

He places his big hand over yours, completely engulfing you, and when he whispers your name back he feels a tremble in your limb. “Joel, I’m so glad to see you,” said with so much sincerity he feels the backs of his eyes pinch. He did not think the hardest part of this day would be seeing you again, a person who’d known and cared for his daughter so deeply.

“I– I’m glad to be here,” he chokes, coughs, tries to take a steadying breath. “I saw the posters– just thought… I just thought it’d be nice for me to come around.”

“Yes,” you squeeze his arm gently, “Yes, of course. Welcome, please, I’m really so glad to see you here. There are so many great kids here today–” you cut yourself off, and your face does a funny sort of uncertain thing, you shake your head, try and give him a small smile. A deep breath, and then: “There are so many kids here that need someone. It’s a real good thing you came.”

“Yeah, well… I just wanted to– to feel– to remember–” he shakes his head too, unable to continue, but he sees that you understand. You slide that small hand into his, wrapping around two of his thick fingers and pull him around and further into the room. Nodding your head and smiling back at him like you’ve got the best sort of secret you’re about to let him in on. “Of course. Come on, I’ll show you to your seat. I know just the person for you.”

“Joel, this is my niece–”

“Who the fuck is this guy?” All the sass in the world and a scarred eyebrow to boot.

“Ellie,” you say nice and slow, voice soothing as if trying to calm a wild banshee on the verge of revolt, it makes him smile a small smile, “We’re gonna be nice. You promised this morning.”

“Ugh, fine,” she drops her head back on her neck, and he can see the whites of her eyes flash as she rolls them as far back as they can surely go. “Stick me with the dinosaur, what do I care?” Christ, he mutters under his breath, trying to hide his scoff of a laugh with a rough cough. He turns his head to rub his chin against the hill of his shoulder, running a hand over his whiskered face.

“Ellie– Mom said you can’t go to the sleepover tonight if you aren’t nice. Right?” You try and reason with her.

“Fine. Whatever – nice.” And she flashes a big old, saccharine grin, wagging her eyebrows at you.

“Okay,” you turn back to him, bringing your hands together in a soft clap beneath your chin and giving him a small and painfully sweet little smile – worried and probably a little afraid for him. He shakes his head, “It’s alright, we’ll be okay,” he says low, distracted by the sight of your small hands, fine and delicate looking, and the dainty gold necklace that sits at the hollow of your throat, a little golden pendant of your initial.

You nod your head slowly, turn back to give the kid, Ellie, one more stern look, and then turn to walk away, leaving him to face her alone, and no, he most definitely does not glance at your ass as you walk away from him.

He turns back to look at the kid, and she rolls her eyes again, turning back to flip open the book she’s got infront of her on the lunch table, a one Will Livingston’s No Pun Intended: Volume Too.

He snorts a little, sighs and settles into the cramped bench made for a child, thick thighs barely squeezing into the space between the table’s edge and the seat, knees bumping the underside. “Well aren’t you a pleasant one.”

“Yeah, a ray of fuckin’ sunshine. What’s your problem?”

“Jesus, kid. How old are you?”

“Thirteen. How old are you?”

“Forty eight.”

“Old.”

“Yeah.”

“So, why'd you get stuck with the leftovers? Where's your kid?”

He clears his throat, “Uh well, she– she’s not here anymore. Or I mean– she doesn’t go to school here anymore. She died. A while ago.”

“Oh, shit.” She’s quiet for a beat, looking down at the open page of the book, It doesn’t matter how much you push the envelope. It’ll still be stationary. “That sucks, man. I'm sorry.”

He supposes the correct response is: “Thank you,” he nods his head awkwardly, still unaccustomed to going through the motions of having to tell people and accept condolences. He doesn’t think it’ll ever be something he gets used to.

“I think…” she tilts her head side to side, letting the thought slide between her ears, flips to the next page, I walked into my sister’s room and tripped on a bra. It was a booby trap. “That my dad is dead, or at least a dead beat or something,” she snickers. “Don’t know. My mom never talks about him.”

Dead or a dead beat, he mutters, shaking his head, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s hard– being a parent, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah… hardest thing in the world–”

“Is it like – like weird… to not be one anymore?”

He feels his stomach drop out from under him, coughs roughly, “Dunno… I guess– I guess in ways I still feel like a parent. Think I’ll always feel like that. But in other ways, yes, it’s… weird.”

“Yeah… I guess that makes sense. You don’t forget how stuff feels, right?”

“Yeah, you don’t forget how stuff feels.”

“Do you like space?” she asks suddenly, very seriously, knocking her head to the side, looking up at him with big, baleful, hazel eyes. His heart twists in his chest.

“Sure, yeah. Space is alright.”

And then another seeming one eighty: “If you could do anything you wanted, where would you go? What would you do?”

“Don’t know, never really thought about it. Maybe… an old farmhouse, some land, a ranch.”

“Cool. What kind?”

He shakes his head, Jesus, I don’t know… “Sheep. I would raise sheep.” She nods, doubtful, unimpressed look on her face, and he frowns at the look, “They’re quiet, do what they’re told.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. So, just you and a bunch of sheep. Romantic,” she says sarcastically.

“What about you? What would you do?”

She points a single finger up towards the ceiling, ah, space… “Probably because I’ve always been here, never left Austin, single mom and all, ya know– I’ve read everything I could in the school library… Neil Armstrong, Buzz Aldrin, Jim Lovell. But you know who my favorite is?”

He could understand her on this. He felt, too often, like he was still right where she’d left him. “Sally Ride,” he says, of course.

“Sally fuckin’ Ride!” She slaps her hands down on the table, “Best astronaut name ever,” Shakes her head, whistling through her teeth appreciatively.

He nods his head, yeah, figures. “So, your aunt…” and he feels a hot flush spread over the tops of his cheekbones, real smooth, Joel. At least he’d waited this long.

“She’s my mom’s sister. She’s great. The three of us live together – kind of like my second mom, I guess. Or like they take turns being mom and dad. We’ve always been together.”

“That’s great, kid. She’s great. She– she was my daughter’s teacher, I’ve known her for a while now.”

“Yeah, she really is. I punched this girl last year,” she says way too excitedly, “Bethany,” rolls her eyes, “For being a huge dick, man, like seriously, she was. And she got me out of it. Backed me up with the principal, Mr. Kwong. No one else would’ve stuck up for me that way.”

“Yeah, I can see that. Seems like her style–”

“Protective,” she snickers.

“Yeah–”

“And good. Her and my mom, they’re a unit, the three of us. Don’t know, I’ve never seen anyone take care of each other the way they do. Sometimes…” she looks away a little shyly, “I misbehave,” she says slowly, “Like the fighting. For no reason, I guess. And I know it worries them. But I’m trying to be better, not fight as much. My friend Riley, she’s a good influence. She stops me when I get too riled up.”

“I reckon it’s a lot easier said than done, but the fact that you’re trying to be good is what counts, is what I’d say. I’m sure being thirteen is difficult,” he says a little sarcastically, but giving her the approximation of a small, warm smile.

“Fuck you, man,” she laughs, “It’s difficult as shit.” It hits him then, suddenly, that the kid just needs someone to talk to, someone other than perhaps her mother or her aunt who she knows love and worry for her so much. A third, impartial party. Joel had come here today and been able to be that for her, and as inconsequential as it may seem, after all he’s lived through, it’s everything to him.

The teachers and school administrators begin the process of handing out the breakfast: pancakes and bacon and sausage and fruit, and Ellie tells him about her book, full of terrible puns he pretends to frown at but also can’t really help but laugh at with her, and about a comic she loves Savage Starlight. Endure and survive, she tells him, is the motto, and he can’t help but think the idea is far reaching and significant in its truth. They sit and talk and laugh together, and it’s easy, this surly kid who pretends at being angry, hiding her charm with a potty mouth and a scowl, but who’s really nothing but sweet. It makes his chest ache and his throat go tight. So much so, that after a while he needs to excuse himself. He tells her he’s going to the restroom and runs off like a coward, the devil and his memories on his heels to take a few deep breaths, a moment alone to collect himself.

He rushes out of the cafeteria, bursting through the double doors and out into the hallway, scurrying to find a lone corner to hide himself and his shame and grief away in. He makes it to a shadowed alcove at the mouth of an empty hallway of classrooms and presses his hands to the concrete blocks of the wall, painted a soft blue color. He stares at the pockets in the aggregate and tries to take deep breaths, feels the air pass through his lungs, inflate his belly, and then back out, transformed into the world as something else. Sometimes he wishes he had the ability to transform his grief into something else – a non-memory, perhaps. Sometimes he wishes he could forget the whole thing, a terrible, selfish, disgusting thought. But pain makes terrible creatures out of us sometimes, and Joel has existed in a pool of such pain these past five hundred and sixty seven days that sometimes it’s difficult to recognize himself anymore, his desires, his goals, if he even has those anymore. Like he’d said to the kid, it’s a lot easier said than done, but the fact that you’re trying to be good is what counts, and he was trying so very hard to be good, better.

“Joel?” That soft voice again, a shiver claws its way down his spine, and he shakes his head at the wall, letting his hot, pinched eyes fall closed.

He coughs, trying to clear his throat, “M’fine. Just needed a second–” Coughs again. And then he feels that small hand from before, at the small of his back. You rest there, gifting him that brief, comforting touch, and he reaches behind himself to clasp you around the wrist, keep you there with him, silent for a moment while he tries and fails to collect himself. His fingers wrap entirely around your wrist and something different and hot and alive flutters deep in his belly.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I can’t talk about it. I’m just– It’s overwhelming being here. I’m sorry. I’m okay,” he rambles.

“It’s okay, Joel. Just take your time.” Your voice is too soft and gentle for a hard and broken thing like him.

“She’s a good kid,” he tries and fails to keep his voice steady, comes out all hiccupped and cracked instead, and he feels you step closer, not touching him anywhere else, but he can feel the heat of you against his back.

“She is,” you whisper.

“S’got a fuckin’ mouth on her.”

“Yeah…” You try and laugh, fail.

He cracks and splinters: “I didn’t think it would be like this coming back here… seeing you,” voice breaking, “She was sick for so long, and I knew she didn’t want to leave me. I knew she was so fucking tired, but she kept holding on just for me. And I told her it was okay, I told her to go and that I’d find her again one day, and now I don't know who I am or what I’ve become, and all I can think about every single day is that if she saw me now I worry she wouldn't recognize me anymore.”

“You’re trying, Joel. That's all that matters. I know you are. I can see it now even just here today, you being here–”

“I wish I could see her smile again, just once–” he cuts you off, not really listening. His ears filled with static noise, chest heaving. Your other hand comes to his flank, and it’s too much: this place, your touch, the kid, all of it, all of his memories and all of his grief, and he shouldn’t have come here today. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, and for a second, right before he pushes you away, he squeezes your wrist tightly, as tight as he can without really hurting you, lets the heat of your skin burn him, and then lets go of you, harshly shaking you off.

“I’m fine. I shouldn’t have come here today, I’m sorry. This was a mistake.”

“Joel–”

“Tell Ellie I’m sorry, but I have to go.” And like a fucking coward, like a man his daughter’d be ashamed of, he leaves, runs away from you and the memory of her and another child who needs something he is not equipped to give.

He listens to the sound of your voice calling after him, and he is nothing but sorry and nothing but too much of a man he wishes he’d never been made into.

You’re on your second margarita when he walks in. Trailing his brother, serious, sullen look on his handsome face. When you’d seen him this morning, after all that time, after the last time which had been so painful and so sad and so full of regret for the circumstance of it, you’d felt like your heart was about to burst through your chest. You thought about him so often, about her, more often, probably, than was warranted or healthy, but the experience of having a child such as that in your care, such a special little person, and having to witness the extinguishing of such a bright flame… Well, calling it a tragedy was entirely inadequate in the face of all it truly was.

Anna was kind of dating the bartender that worked here, and with Ellie away at a slumber party tonight, the two of you’d decided to have a girl’s night out that you were almost certain was going to turn into a slumber party for Anna with her bartender, Ben, as well.

You eye the two brothers as they find their spot at the far end of the bar, watch as Tommy, you remember she used to talk about him all the time, flags down Ben to order them two beers, appreciating the way Joel pulls on the glass bottle with that soft, frowning mouth of his.

He’s so sad. There’s no other word for it. Sad and hurt and made into a sort of tragedy of a man that you wish desperately, and even though it’s not your place, that you could do something to help. The sound of him choking back tears this morning, the sight of him laughing with Ellie, she’d warmed to him immediately which was a miracle all on its own, and he is, you think, a man with so much tenderness to give that has nowhere to go now. And it is nothing but the gravest and saddest sort of tragedy.

“Hi, Joel.” Eventually, you muster up enough courage, after one more margarita, to approach him. You think that, perhaps, he’ll be annoyed to see you again, another reminder of his past and the difficulty of the morning, but you need to just talk to him one more time. To thank him again for being so brave, to reassure him that he’d done good. Tommy’d abandoned him to brave the waters of the bar a while ago, and he turns in his stool at the sound of your voice to peer over his shoulder. You love his beard, thick and lush and so soft looking, his thick, dark curls, slightly threaded with silver at the temples, and his ridiculously broad back. He’s wearing a dark green button down that brings out the colors in his eyes, tight around the swell of his thick biceps. He’s gorgeous and so fucking hot, and he makes you feel silly with nerves and fizzy bubbles deep in your belly.

“Hey–” he clears his throat, says your name softly, with a hint of apology. “Hey.”

“I saw you come in earlier, and I– I just wanted to come over and say hi and thank you again for this morning. It was a real nice thing of you to come today.” You try and swallow the shyness and nerves in your voice, but you’re pretty sure you fail spectacularly, can just picture Anna’s mocking giggles as she watches you twist your fingers and fidget in front of the man.

“You already thanked me,” he says gruffly, “And besides there’s nothing really to thank me for.”

“I know, but again, or anyways,” you stutter, “And there is.” There’s absolutely no reason for these nerves, you know this man, have known him for years, “It was a good thing of you to do. Ellie really liked you–”

“You gave her my apologies, right?” He cuts you off, a thing akin to desperation and worry coloring his tone.

“I did, don’t worry. She understood.” He looks like he wants to ask what excuse you gave her but forces himself into silence, looking down at his hands in his lap sullenly. “I don’t know… I just wanted to say thank you again.”

“Alright. And I’m sorry too, about earlier – after. I was an ass.”

“You weren’t. I shouldn’t have gone after you, should’ve given you your privacy. I’m sorry. I was nosey.”

He shakes his head, looks up at you with those hazel eyes, “No, I wanted you to come after me.” His voice is rough, like it costs him something to admit this truth to you, “Thank you.”

You have to look away, glancing back at Anna who gives you a wide, cheesy grin and a thumbs up, followed by a much more inappropriate hand gesture. You roll your eyes at her, a hot flush burning your cheeks. “That’s your brother, right? Tommy?” You turn back to him.

“Yeah, it is… You wanna sit?” He gestures to Tommy’s empty stool.

“She used to talk about him all the time.” You take the offered seat, nervous for a second that he’ll resent you bringing her up, react badly, but he gives a soft laugh, looking after his brother. “Yeah…” he says slowly, “They were real close.”

“That’s really nice,” you say sincerely. You catch Ben’s eye, and he nods his head at you, turning to get the two of you another round. “You two having a boys night out?”

He gives a short laugh, bringing his beer to his mouth again, pressing the lip of the bottle to his smile, “Guess he was just trying to do the same thing you are right now, distract me, make sure I’m alright or somethin’,” a quick shake of his head, and then takes another drag, and you watch the thick muscles of his neck work as he swallows. You have to look away from the sight, cross your knees together tightly, pulling down the hem of your wrap dress to keep it from riding too high.

Ben comes around at that moment to place two shots in front of the two of you. “Here you go, baby girl,” a wink and that smarmy little smirk that makes Anna lose her head, for some inexplicable reason, “Tequila for you and your friend here.”

“Baby girl?” Joel eyes you, as you push the shot towards him.

You roll your eyes, “Ignore him.” He takes the shot from you, fingers brushing yours briefly and you swear you feel a slight jerk move through him. You want him to want you so badly, you think suddenly.

“Shall we?” you wiggle your eyebrows at him, and he gives you a soft laugh.

“Seems I don’t got much of a choice,” before clinking his glass against yours, touching the base of it to the bar’s surface, and then shooting it back, not even an insinuation of a grimace as he swallows the strong alcohol, while your face puckers ridiculously.

Gross. You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut and sucking on the lime Ben had left also. “He sweet on you or somethin’?”

“No, not at all.”

“Huh, not so sure about that,” he eyes your sister’s boytoy almost sourly, and you get brave or reckless or something, all of a sudden, when you press right up to his ear, your breasts against his arm, emboldened by the liquor or the soft hazel of his eys, or the breadth of his shoulders when you whisper right into the peach fuzz covered shell of his ear, “He’s fucking my sister. Not me.”

He freezes, a soft, masculine sound rumbling deep in his chest before he clears his throat. He sets the glass down, and then slowly turns to face you, gripping your knee briefly as he spins on the barstool to bring your legs between the space of his spread thighs. He’s so thick everywhere.

“Is that so?” The place on your legs where he’d gripped you burns and throbs and the other, softer place between your thighs drips and aches. You nod your head at him, temple resting in your palm propped on the edge of the bar. Ben walks by again, snagging your attention from Joel’s molten gaze, “Gimme permission to come over tonight?” he says as he passes.

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh after him, and you swear you feel the whisper of Joel’s touch on the curve of your bare knee again. When you turn to look back at him he’s staring down at you, a flush sitting high on his cheekbones.

There’s something slightly bold or desperate or sad stirring inside of you, and you need to hear the sound of his voice. You wish you could make things better for him. You wish that perpetual look of grief didn’t sit so deeply embedded in his gaze all the time now.

“You know that feeling of knowing someone, but not knowing them?” He asks you suddenly. “You and I, we’ve known each other for years. You were Sarah’s teacher, and she talked about you all the time – her last teacher – and I felt like I knew you, even though I didn’t really, not in a way that mattered, not in the way I would have liked, if I’m bein’ honest, but we knew each other peripherally. And I wanted you, all that time ago,” he laughs a boyishly shy little huff of laughter interrupting the rush of his confessed words, the crests of his cheeks flushing bright, “In that way you want someone you don't know but see all the time and want to know better. And now, it’s like… like we’re meeting again for the first time, but in a different way, in a way we’ve never met before, and yet you know so much about me already. You knew my daughter, spent time with her, you cared about her – it’s… I don’t really know what it is I’m trying to say, to be honest. I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, another unsurely shy laugh, and you reach out to set your hand softly on his knee, rubbing the thick, muscular ball of it. It’s okay, you nod and shake your head at him at the same time. Confused also, with what you’re trying to convey, but knowing you want him to continue anyway. “You knew me before in a different way, and I’m not that man anymore. And I don’t know who I am now, or I’m beginning to relearn, but I’m not there just yet,” He trails off, and then softly: “Have you ever not known yourself?”

You tilt your chin slowly, watching the slow rove of the leftover tequila in the glass as you roll the base of it along the grain of the bar. “I’m… I’m not sure. Would it be very naive or arrogant or shallow to say, no? That I’ve always known myself, that even when I was lost or afraid, I was still certain of who I was, or at the very least, who I wanted to be? Like… like sometimes when you’re uncertain of the next step, or– or of what it is that you want to do next, but you still know the direction, maybe? Or what ending you’d like?” You give a brief huff of laughter, not really meaning to laugh, but expelling the air anyway, glancing down at where you’re still gripping his knee. He lays his own large paw over your much finer hand, calluses on his palm that you can feel on the back of your knuckles. “I think now we’re both, maybe, not making sense. But I think that sometimes happiness is only the peripheral thought, the peripheral ending, like obviously we all always want to end up happy. I was always open to the journey, open to the different avenues my life could take, but all I’ve ever wanted was for me and Anna, and then later, Ellie, to be okay, to be happy. Nothing else matters after that. The way I get there, the way I’d make it happen never mattered. Only that, in the end, we’re okay.”

“No… I know exactly what you mean.” His brow caves in on itself, “I know exactly what you mean because I failed at that. That was all I ever wanted too, and look at what I ended up with. She’s gone, I failed her.”

“But you didn’t, Joel,” you say with all the fervor you can pull from your heart, all the certainty you absolutely know that he’s wrong with. You bring your other hand to his other knee, leaning forward to make absolutely sure he’s understanding. “You can’t honestly say that. You’re right, I did know her, and that little girl was an exceedingly happy child. If anything, you were nothing but a triumph, and you need to hold on to that, and think of it every single day for the rest of your life. You were triumphant in that girl. Never forget it. There is not even a shadow of failure in the memory of that child and the life she led.” And this does not seem like the appropriate environment to be having such a conversation, but you push on. His hand tightens over yours almost painfully, his blunt rough nails digging into your soft skin. “When she died – was she scared? Or peaceful?”

“She was so fucking brave,” he chokes. “She was so fucking brave. There wasn’t an ounce of fear in that heart. I’d swallowed all of it. I’d swallowed all the fear either of us could ever carry. She’s the one that held me while I fell to pieces. While I lied through my fucking teeth and told her it would be okay, that I’d be okay, that she could rest, she could go. And held me and tried to soothe me and told me she’d see me again one day, but not too soon. Eight years old, dying and comforting her father, cracking jokes. She was so fucking brave, and I’d promised her that we’d both be – that we’d both have courage and both get out of it, and in the end, I ended up being nothing but a goddamn liar.” And there are tears in his eyes, and maybe you shouldn’t and maybe you’re overstepping and maybe it’s the alcohol, but you lean forward in your barstool, that boldness and that desperation and that sadness pushing you along so that your knees are sliding further between his spread thighs to wrap your arms around his neck to hug him tightly to yourself, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, big hand coming up to cup the back of your head.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, even though you know the words are redundant. Even though he’s probably heard them an antagonizing amount of times. You are so sorry, and you have to tell him that you wish you could help him in some other way, that he’d not have to bear this alone, that he’d never have had to live it at all. I’m so sorry, Joel. I’m sorry that you lost your daughter, and I’m sorry you’re alone now, and I’m sorry we didn’t know each other better before, but maybe we can know each other now. I’d like to know you now more than anything else.

You feel the rattle of his wide back as he takes in a shaky breath, and you slide your hand soothingly up the broad expanse to tangle in the curls at the nape of his neck.

“I’m sorry,” he laughs wetly into the warm space beneath your jaw, rolling his forehead against your shoulder, “I’m killing the mood,” and you feel the wet press of lips to the soft spot beneath your ear, right at the vulnerable hollow. Your heart stutters, and you shiver a syrupy sweet little jitter down the line of your vertebrae in the clutch of his arms, letting your head fall to the side to open yourself further to him, you smell good, whispered into your skin, but the two of you are sitting at the center of the crowded bar, industriously dedicated patrons hooting and hollering around you, and you can feel Anna’s nosey gaze zeroed into the back of your head so you pull away, letting your hand on the back of his head drag around along the edge of his jaw, fingernails pulling through the soft whiskers of his beard so that you can feel the snick, snick, snick of each bristle beneath your nail.

“Let’s go outside,” you whisper, made only of boldness and desperation and want now. Wetness pooling at the center of you.

He pulls back, and his hand slides to grip your jaw in his wide, rough hand. The architecture of you feels inconsequential and without strength or steel in his grasp. “For what?” Voice serious but also knowing, also provoking.

“I wanna kiss you.” Might as well be honest now that you’ve got his hands on you.

“I think that if we go out there, I’m gonna do more than just kiss you. You prepared for that?”

“Yes, let’s go,” and you’re already pulling him out of his barstool before the words are even fully out. His hand goes to your elbow to steady you as your feet meet the ground, and you can’t help but give him a small laugh. “Are you okay?” Just making sure.

“Yeah, I’m okay, sweetheart. Are you?” His gaze is so warm.

“Yes.” And you can’t help but smile widely up at him. He gives you a huff of laugh through a half crooked smile that looks a little bit like the sliver of the moon when it’s nothing but a silver crescent in the sky, hand wrapping entirely around your bicep to tug you closer. You feel a little bit out of control when you slide your hand over his belly, and his eyes go immediately dark and molten, rubbing slowly up his chest. He makes a deep, rough sound, low in his throat. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.” He pulls you along behind him, and as you’re making your way together out the door, you hear the sound of Anna whooping and whistling loudly behind you right before the bar door slams shut.

He tugs you along behind him, and then passes you gently in his hands to walk in front of him as he weaves through the crowded parking lot, his wide chest, smoldering hot through his clothes, pressed up against your back, big hands wrapped around the soft of your hips. You feel him nosing into the curtain of your hair, smelling you and humming appreciatively, and you realize that he’s steering you towards the back of the parking lot, his familiar truck tucked into the far dark corner, and you twist, suddenly, in his arms, walking backwards and reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. His hands go to the small of your back, bunching your dress in his hands tightly so that you feel the humid night air against the uppermost backs of your thighs. The look in his eyes is so dark, so wanting, and he presses you tight against his chest, your breasts squished up against the hard planes of him. He’s not even looking where he’s going, and your feet are barely touching the ground anymore as you tiptoe backwards, guided by his embrace. One of his hands comes up to grip the curve of your jaw, and then you feel the side of the truck against your back. He hoists you higher up towards his mouth, “I’m going to kiss you now,” he says, and before you can even think about saying yes, yes, please, finally, he’s swallowing your breath in his mouth, eyes still slightly open to watch you as he does it, pushing his tongue into the wet gleam of you to taste everything you so desperately want to offer him. He nips at your full bottom lip, then laps at it soothingly, and you moan for him, head falling back on your neck to open further for him, cradled now in the palm of his hand. Your hands smooth down the sides of his neck and then curl to scrape your nails down his stomach, and he groans into you, one thick thigh shoving between your knees. One of his palms slides over your hip to grip the curve of your ass, the other coming up, gentle yet unyielding, to circle your throat and tip your chin up to him as he pulls back to look down at you. The hand on your ass tips your pelvis into his and pulls your core along the broad expanse of his thigh so that your pussy slowly rides the hard muscle, once, twice. “Joel–” you gasp.

“Back seat,” he orders, tugging the truck door open and hoisting you inside. Are you really about to let this man fuck you in the back seat of his truck in a crowded parking lot? Yes, yes, you are. He follows in after you, and then slams the door shut behind him, encasing the both of you in this quiet, paused moment before he’s pulling you forward to straddle his lap, spreading his legs wide to widen your own stance perched atop him. You listen to the sound of your panting breaths as he runs his hands over your curves, squeezing and kneading as he goes, and you plant your palms on his strong chest, smoothing them down over his belly, reaching the line of his belt to tuck them inside, he growls low, leans forward to lick at your throat and you feel the tug of his fingers at the tie of your wrap dress, then the pull of the fabric as he bares you for his eyes. You pop the first few buttons of his shirt as his wet mouth moves down the thrumming line of your neck, over the wing of your clavicle to the tops of your breasts where he pulls back to take you in. You’re wearing a soft pink lace bra and a matching thong, and as his eyes move down the length of you, the fire already smoldering within seems to ricochet up to a burning inferno. There is something about the look in his eyes, compared to before, compared to the usual look, that is even more thrilling than just the fact of him gazing upon your naked body. He’s always so serious, melancholy and sad and straightforward, in a way. But taking him in like this, the way he’s looking at you now like he wants nothing more than to devour you, to push inside of you, it makes it all the headier. “Fuckin’ gorgeous, look at you,” he murmurs, smoothes his hand over your breasts, thumb catching and flicking at your nipple, down the soft swell of your belly, stopping at the little bow at the front of your thong. He pushes the sleeve of your dress over one shoulder and tugs you forwards, you feel him lift the back of your dress over the curve of your bottom, his hand following the path of bared skin, taking in the tiny scap of lace disappearing between your asscheeks, and he makes a breathy, desperate sound, “Where the fuck are the rest of your panties, little girl?” He pinches the lush of your ass, smoothes his hand down and around to cup you between your legs, and you’re sure he can feel the soaking wet there because you listen to the sound of his gasp, and then he’s pressing there, seeking out your clit and rolling gentle circles to the swollen, throbbing nub. You run your hands up his chest into his hair, gripping there, pressing your nose into the thick curls to take in the scent of him and then running them down the heavy swell of his biceps. He’s so masculine, hard in all the places you’re soft, and wet, for him. His other hand grips your hip to pull you closer, rolling you onto the thick line of his erection, and oh God, he’s big. You can tell just like this, thick and long. Your hand moves to his belt buckle, pulling at the leather and the zipper of his jeans, and then you’re slipping your fingers beneath his boxers and wrapping around the thick heft of him. “Jesus, fuck–” he gasps.

You fist him tightly, squeezing at the thick root of his cock and sliding up to the fat head to twist there gently. His fingers move beneath the line of your panties, finally making contact with your bare skin.

“Fucking wet little cunt. Shit, you’re soaked for me, baby.” All you can do is moan as you pull him out of his jeans. He’s heavy in your palm and your mouth waters as you take in the sight of his big cock. Thick and long, wide, drooling head an angry red verging on purple. He hooks the gusset of your panties to the side and slides the underside of the shaft through your swollen lips, pressing the fat tip to your clit, and then sliding along your slit to catch softly at your opening. “Joel, please–” you moan. The head of his cock catches again and again, and you’re so wet, coating his thick length in your slick. He reaches to pull both cups of your bra down, exposing your breasts to his gaze and when his mouth latches onto one peaked nipple, sucking sharply, his other hand wrapping around the heavy weight of your other breast you cry out, fingernails digging into his thick shoulders. You use your grip on his shoulders to drag yourself along the length of his shaft while he sucks and nips at your breasts, pulling back to gently slap the full side of one, sending a jerking shiver through you while he watches how it jiggles and sways for him. “Shit, you’re too fuckin’ pretty,” he groans, and you’re about to come just from this, just the feeling of his thick cock sliding through the lips of your sex, and you tell him so, wet mouth presses to the arch of his ear, you tell him you’re about to come, but he changes the angle, presses his hips up and then the tip of his cock is breaching the dripping mouth of your cunt, stretching you wide to take him and you both pant and gasp, burying your face in his neck as one wide hand presses at the base of your spine, forcing you to take more of that impossible length. You feel the pinch and snap of your thong around your hips as he rips the scrap of lace off of you, and you think you must shake your head or something, make some soft sound because he tuts his tongue in a gentle reprimand, “All of it, baby. The whole thing.” He squeezes your breast, strums at your nipple, presses a feather light kiss to the hinge of your jaw, and you feel your cunt flutter around him, sucking him deeper so that he can wedge that thick cock further inside of you. “Yeah… Fuck, yeah. Just like that, good girl. You asked for this, sweet girl.” You hitch and sob into his neck, clawing at his shoulders as he finally forces you down all the way onto him, buried balls deep in your weeping, fluttering pussy. “Now you’ve gotta take the whole thing, no cryin’” He sounds like he’s spitting the words through clenched teeth, struggling to get them out despite the demand of them. “You’re doing so good,” he whispers, “Taking my big cock in this tiny little cunt.” He kisses your ear, your throat, pulls back to suck on your nipples, all while his hands on your ass start to rock you on his length, working you loose and wet and pliant.

“Fuck– fuck, Joel–”

“I know, I know, it’s so much, isn’t it? But you can take it– deep breath, you can take it.” He fucks up into you, holding your hips steady as he feeds you his cock over and over again, and you drip down onto his balls and the leather seat beneath. “Does that feel good, sweet girl? Tell me–”

“It’s so– it’s so good. Wanted it so bad–” you slur, wet cheek pressed to his shoulder, you mouth at his neck, little teeth digging into the thick line of muscle so that he’s growling, thrusting up quick and a little painful into your cunt, tip punching right at your cervix.

“Lemme see you– I’ve gotta see you,” he says suddenly and presses you back. You reach back to plant your hands on his spread knees, arching your back to present yourself to him. His gaze is almost manic, licking over your skin, your bouncing tits as he fucks up into you, the swell of your tummy glistening with a fine sheen of sweat, down finally to the place where he’s fucking in and out of your swollen, blushed cunt, stretched obscenely around the base of him. “You’re so goddamned lucky we’re in a car right now,” he growls. He jerks you back into him, both hands squeezing your ass in each palm and rolling you hard and fast onto his impaling cock, your swollen clit presses into his pelvis on every thrust in, and you feel your cunt pull tight and then go loose as you start to come around him. Yes, yes, yes, fuck, yes – just like that. His cock kissing your g-spot with every press inside. You sob into his neck, pull at his hair, scratch at his shoulders and neck as you gush around him.

He surges up then, orgasm not entirely abated, and flips you over onto your back, laying you down on the truck’s bench. He pulls his dripping cock out of your still grasping clutch to kneel down on the floorboard, hulking form entirely too large to fit in the tight space, and drags the broad, flat of his tongue through your drenched sex, tasting the echoes and throbs of your climax, sucking your clit and your come into his mouth while you sob up into the roof of his truck. He pushes your knees up to your chest, displaying you for himself entirely and devours you. “Fuck, there ain’t enough room in this fuckin’ truck to eat your cunt the way I need to,” his accent suddenly heavier, a sharper twang cutting off the end of his words, lost to the taste of you and the feel of you and the scent of you. You lean up onto your elbows, sweaty face burning bright hot with shyness as you take in the sight of his mouth wrapped around your clit, lapping at your leaking sex. He looks up at you, reaches up to wrap one hand around your breast, one of your legs is hanging down the length of his back over his shoulder, the other hooked at the bend of his elbow to keep you open and spread wide for him, and the two of you hold gazes for a moment. His eyes flash with something… different to desire or lust, something more in tune with whatever it is that’s happening here between the two of you right now, something more than just a quick fuck. You whisper his name, and his eyes flash again, predatory and desperate, and he’s pushing up, the wet sound of his mouth unlatching from your pussy and crawling back up onto the seat bench, pressing his slick wet mouth to yours and licking into you, sloppy. “Taste–” he orders, he pulls back, fists the root of his cock and feeds it back into your gaping cunt, “That’s what it tastes like when you come for me.” His voice is a growl, something like a commandment or a promise, something else that hums beneath the mere words, something that says this is happening again, I need this to happen again, I’ve wanted this longer than I can say. He fucks into the very end of you, and you squeeze your eyes shut, let him maneuver and manhandle you to his liking so that both of your ankles lay limply over his shoulders, pressed entirely in half for him to pound into you.

“Open your fucking eyes,” he pants. “Look at me,” he begs. You do, and you watch a bead of sweat roll slowly down his temple, over the curve of his jaw to the point of his chin, and then drip and splash down onto the swell of your breast, seep into your skin.

He’s so deep like this, right at the heart of you, and it hurts and it feels good and you can’t help but think about the next time already, hope that this can happen again. “Yes, Joel,” you gasp, “Please, don’t stop.”

“Yeah?” He grits, lifting one hand to hold on to the edge of the window above your head, the other gripping at your ass to pull you onto him harder. “Yeah, just like that– Taking me so well, baby. Taking the whole thing like such a good girl.” He’s so big, maybe too big, and he pounds into your cunt, forces you to take the entire thing, thick thighs bracketing your frame, cock punching at your womb over and over again. You feel cock drunk, Joel drunk, and you turn your face to press into the back of the seat crying, telling him you’re about to come again.

“God, yes, yes, you’re such a good girl. Come on my cock again, one more time for me.” His thrusts speed up, harsher, stronger and he’s saying your name while you sob out his, while you leak around him. “Hey,” he grips your jaw, gives your head a little shake, “Hey, baby– you gotta tell me where. Where can I come? Inside? Can I come inside?” It sounds, a little bit, like he’s beginning.

You nod your head, yes, gaze delirious, unfocused, the swell of his anchoring bicep is so thick and distracting, and you start to milk his thrusting cock inside of you, muscles squeezing tight, fluttering loose – please, please, please, come inside of me, please, I want it so bad. He groans, grits a curse, your name, something that sounds like gratitude, and then he’s filling you, thick cock kicking and jerking and spitting his come right at the mouth of your womb, inciting your own orgasm to throb again, again, harder, deeper.

He drops his head to the damp crook of your shoulder, takes in the heady scent of your sweat and sex, licks a path up the side of your throat. He’s careful not to ask you to bear the full, heavy weight of him, and he pulls his hips back, shivering at the sensitive slide of his spent cock falling from your wet cunt. He sits back, grasps your knees to keep you spread and watches the flutter and clench of your hole as the thick white leak of his spend starts to drool out of you. He gives a low, appreciative hum, and then bends forwards to press his face into your tummy, nuzzling there softly. Your hands come to his hair, panting chest heaving, and he mouths and sucks at the skin of your stomach, the undersides of your breasts as you both catch your breaths. He looks up, then, suddenly, a thought occurring to him, “You’re going to have dinner with me, right?” Voice a little frantic.

You give him a slow, lovely smile, eyes sparkling, “Think we’ve gone and done things a little out of order here, haven’t we?”

He frowns in mock severity, then presses his face back into your tummy, another soft kiss, and shakes his head slowly, “No,” another kiss, this one to your hip, “Not at all. This morning counts as breakfast together.” He looks up to give you a quick, boyish grin. “How I see it, that’s actually an extreme dedication to order. Breakfast, sex, dinner.”

You sigh, laugh softly, “You know… I’m actually a little hungry right now,” you say contemplatively.

“Burgers? Fries?”

“Milkshake?”

“Well, we’ve gotta have somethin’ to dip ‘em in, right?”

“Of course.” Your fingers twist in his hair, pulling him up towards your mouth, “You’re so smart.”

“Very true. You’ve gotta stick with me now, I’ll teach you everything I know.” A kiss, another and another.

He rests his face back on your belly, looking up at you, and you run the pad of your thumb over the fan of his lashes, and he feels so happy.

It’s been months since then… and still even now, when he looks at you, all he knows is that he’s sure you saved his fucking life.

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