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sshewonders · 3 months

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WARM BODIES

Chapter 08: Bit of Banter

chapter synopsis: You and Daryl share banter as he carries you through the woods back to camp. Despite his stoicism, your camaraderie grows. As evening nears, Daryl suggests a rest, and you promise not to fall asleep, leaving the both of you with a sense of trust and companionship between you two.

chapter warnings: The chapter contains mild language, emotional discussions, physical injury, carrying scenes, humor, character development, and survival themes in a woodland setting.

word count: 1.9k words

author's note: Okay, I seriously hope that this is not cringe, and I had written it as I'd imagined it in my mind. And oh, by the way, don't be too comfortable and wishing for a softer Daryl; you know the saying, "be careful what you wish for." Anyway, enjoy reading.

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You nervously gnawed on your lip as he persistently attended to your ankle with a massage. Occasionally, you couldn't help but emit either a contented sigh or an exaggerated groan, prompting him to shoot you a disapproving look and simultaneously cease his ministrations on your mildly sore ankle. To be brutally frank, your ankle wasn't in agonizing pain, but who in their right mind would turn down his, albeit somewhat coerced, offer to play ankle masseuse? It's like refusing a free ticket to the foot massage carnival.

"Why were you looking for me, anyway?" You began, "So much for the 'Ain't nobody got time to babysit you.'" You echoed his words, reminiscent of a little over a month ago.

Daryl halted the ankle massage, releasing a sigh as he nibbled on his bottom lip. "Knew you were gonna be here, deep in them forest."

"Really?" You shot him a puzzled look, your nose scrunching up a bit. Daryl nodded before resuming the ankle massage. "How did you know?"

Daryl paused the ankle massage and, with a gruff sincerity, said, "You're the type who'd rather spill your guts to the trees than start a conversation with someone, even if you know 'em pretty well." He continued massaging again.

“Oh.” You could feel your cheeks warming up with embarrassment. Were you really that obvious or was he really that observant?

"No need to be embarrassed. I'd do the same. Nowadays, it ain't easy trustin' folks, even if you think you know 'em well enough."

After a few minutes of quiet, only the serene sounds of the river, splashing fish, and birds' melodies surrounding the both of you, Daryl completed the ankle massage and settled down beside you. You both found yourselves captivated by the picturesque view of the river.

"Thanks, Daryl," You broke the silence. "For the ankle massage and for wandering through the woods to find me. I know I can be a real pain in your ass sometimes."

Daryl grunted, a nonchalant acknowledgment. "Ain't nothin'".

A pause lingered before Daryl cautiously broached a different topic, "Didn't mean to make you cry tha' night, back when we first talked."

You furrowed your brow, puzzled. "How'd you know I cried?"

Another grunt from Daryl, "Stood outside your tent. Was gonna apologize, heard you sniffle and sketch. Just stood there 'til I heard you crumblin' papers. Then, I left."

The revelation left you surprised and contemplative. "You...you were outside my tent that night?"

Daryl affirmed with a nod, his gaze still fixed on the river. "Yeah, I was."

There was a silence before you spoke up, "Sorry for asking about stuff I shouldn't have, Daryl."

Daryl stayed silent, letting you continue.

"I just... I wanted to learn how to be useful, y'know? Before all this happened, I felt useless. Still feel pretty much useless in this new world of ours." You took a deep breath. "I gotta figure things out for myself now. My brother's gone, and I can't trust anyone these days."

Daryl listened, his gaze fixed on the river.

"But when Glenn and I found you, everything sorta settled for me. It felt like I had a plan for my future." You paused, looking at Daryl. "And now, I don't even know where to start."

Daryl asked, "Why me?"

You shrugged, "I don't really know why. Just seemed right, I guess."

"Your brother, what was his name?"

You replied, "Rick Grimes. He was a sheriff's deputy, like Shane."

Daryl nodded, "Dipshit told you he's dead, didn't he?"

You smiled, although sad, and nodded back, "Yeah, he did."

Daryl leaned in a bit, "You don't really believe that, do you?"

You kept your sad smile, "Nope, not really. Wouldn't believe he's dead unless I see his body with my own eyes."

"Tell me about 'im."

You rambled on about your brother, "My brother was...well, he used to think he was some kind of superhero, always trying to save the day. Sheriff's deputy, he was. I swear, he thought he could rescue the world from bad hair days or something. Used to bug the hell outta me, but now I'd give anything to hear him ramble about his 'heroic' escapades again."

You chuckled, catching Daryl's eye, "And you'd think being a deputy, he'd have some epic stories. Nope. Most exciting thing was probably catching Mrs. Henderson's cat stuck up a tree. He'd go on and on about it like it was a damn mountain rescue."

You continued to talk about your brother, your words weaving through memories like a melancholy tapestry. "You know, Rick used to tell me stories when we were kids. Silly tales about superheroes and brave knights. He'd promise that as long as he was around, nothing bad would happen to me."

Your voice carried a weight of nostalgia and sorrow as you shared these fragments of the past with Daryl. "He became a sheriff's deputy, because he wanted to be like our Dad who was the previous Sheriff. Always looked out for people. But now... now it feels like he's gone, and I can't shake this feeling of being lost."

Unexpectedly, Daryl offered you his crossbow without saying a word, leaving you confused.

"What're you doing?" You asked.

Daryl replied, "First part of hunting is knowin' how to properly hold a weapon."

You chuckled, "Excuse me, I'm an archer too. I know how to use a bow."

Annoyed, Daryl retorted, "You want me to teach you or not?"

You grabbed the crossbow, admiring it, and teased, "Do I need to ask your beloved crossbow for permission before I press the trigger?" You laughed.

Daryl kept a straight face. "Shut up," he said, proceeding to instruct you on how to use the crossbow.

Daryl began instructing you, "Alright, listen up. First, you gotta have a steady grip. Hold it firm but not too tight. Feel the weight of it."

You followed his lead, adjusting your grip on the crossbow.

"Good. Now, your posture. Sit comfortably, back straight. Gotta be steady, or you'll miss your shot."

You nodded, ensuring your sitting position was solid. Daryl continued, "Next, line up the sights. You see those notches? Align 'em with your target. Take a deep breath, exhale slowly. And when you're ready, squeeze the trigger, don't jerk it."

You focused on the sights, taking a deep breath as Daryl had instructed. "Like this?"

Daryl nodded, "Yeah, that's it. Practice it a few times. Get the feel of it."

As you practiced, Daryl observed, occasionally giving pointers on your form and aiming. After a few tries, he suddenly said, "Hold up. Don't press the trigger just yet."

Confused, you looked at him. "Why not?"

Daryl explained, "If you're practicin' your aim at prey, it should be moving. Let's simulate that. Track something with your sights, follow its movement. Don't press the trigger till you get a feel for aimin' at a moving target."

After a session of aiming practice that left you feeling tired as hell, the sun began its descent, casting an orange hue across the horizon. It dawned on you that you and Daryl needed to make your way back to camp before darkness settled in. Daryl, always practical, stood up, collected his belongings, and suggested to head back.

Nodding in agreement, you decided to rise to your feet, only to end up sitting back down with a thud. The pain from your sprained ankle made standing an impossible feat. Daryl, observing your attempts with hands on his hips, witnessed the struggle. Sitting on the ground, you sighed, admitting defeat. "I can't stand," you acknowledged.

Expressing his annoyance, Daryl rolled his eyes, pivoted to face away from you, and knelt on the ground, patting his back as an invitation. "Come on," he urged.

Your curious "What?" prompted Daryl to respond, "Can't carry ya. Got things to carry. And don't get any ideas; didn't say you're heavy." He quickly countered your gasp, playfully insinuating the thought you were heavy.

Rolling your eyes at his teasing, you retorted, "You better not be calling me fat."

Daryl smirked, "Nope, not at all. Just practical. We both got stuff to carry. But since you can't walk, piggyback's the most sensible way to get ya back to camp."

Worried about being a burden, you hesitated, "I'll try to stand and walk."

Annoyed, Daryl glanced over his shoulder, muttering, "Get on my back before I decide to leave ya alone in these damn woods." Gulping, you secured your bag and bow on your back before gently climbing onto Daryl's back. As he rose to his feet with you securely on his back, he grunted, signaling the start of the walk back to camp.

As Daryl trekked through the woods, carrying you on his back, the unexpected conversation unfolded. Out of the blue, you proposed the idea of serenading him with a song. Daryl, in his usual straightforward manner, swiftly shut down the notion with a simple "Nope."

Unfazed, you shifted gears and suggested sharing a joke, earning nothing more than a grunt from the taciturn hunter.

Undeterred, you playfully remarked, "Must be tough for you, not being able to crack a smile."

Daryl, ever the stoic one, coolly replied, "I got a sense of humor, you know."

You, feigning skepticism, shot back, "Really? I don't see any evidence of it."

Daryl, with a hint of amusement, retorted, "You haven't said somethin' funny." Quick on your thinking, you teased, "Your face is funny." Daryl, surprisingly, looked over his shoulder, your faces in close proximity, and he maintained a deadpan expression.

"Hey, Daryl, ever hear the one about the squirrel who took up acting?"

Daryl, with a raised eyebrow, grunted, "Nope."

You chuckled and said, "He was a real nut case!"

Daryl's deadpan expression remained unchanged, prompting you to add, "You know, for a tough guy, you could use a laugh or two."

Daryl, without missing a beat, retorted, "Your jokes need some work."

Pouting playfully, you shot back, "Oh, come on! I bet even the geeks would crack up at that one!"

As Daryl trudged through the dense woods, you, still reveling in your own humor, couldn't resist another attempt at cracking a joke.

"Alright, Daryl, one more for you," you grinned. "Why did the geek join a gym?"

Daryl, in his usual monotone, replied, "I don't know."

"Because he wanted to improve his dead-lift!" You burst into laughter at your own joke.

Daryl, not sharing the same enthusiasm, simply grunted in response. You, wiping away tears of laughter, decided to shift the conversation.

"Hey, Daryl, do you think we'll run into any geek stand-up comedians out here?"

Daryl raised an eyebrow but offered no verbal response. You, however, continued your comedic musings.

"Maybe they'll have a killer routine!" You added, chuckling at your own pun.

Daryl, looking ahead, remarked, "You sure have a way with words." You beamed at the back of his head, proud of your comedic prowess.

As you both continued the journey, Daryl broke the silence, suggesting, "You might wanna rest for a bit. It's gonna be a long walk."

You, with a touch of pride, declared, "I won't fall asleep, promise."

( divider by @cafekitsune )

@celtic-crossbow @maackiimoo @duckmania127 @xmaeyonaiise @richardsamboramylove55 @snailss

#norman reedus #norman reedus x reader #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x female reader #twd fanfiction #twd fic #warm bodies

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00ops1e · 10 months

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Sunshine for Everyone pt.2

Pricefield! Fluff!

Life is Strange - Max Caufield x Chloe Price

After saving Chloe at the expense of Arcadia Bay, our favorite girls are forced to flee their hometown. It soon becomes apparent that while they can run from the storm, running from their desires just isn't plausible.

click here for part one

“I swear I could sleep forever,” Max mutters, cuddling into the blanket further. The motel had proven to be a good idea, using someone else’s hot water and blankets was always nice. The pair were too tired to even notice the television only had four channels, or that the mattress was a little lumpy. Maybe things just weren’t so bad if they had each other.

“We can stay as long as you'd like,” Chloe trails off, “s’cheap enough anyways we deserve a vacation.” she babbles with eyes half closed, no longer sure of her words. The girls lay in bed, inches between. The last room available happened to be a single, and she had managed to haggle the price down, so fucking score again. When the man in the office mentioned the single bed, Chloe felt something flutter deep in her gut. It was a giddy, childlike feeling, but muddled with some sort of anxiety.

Max shifted in the bed, mind still racing, “Will you hold me?” She heard the words fall from her lips before they even registered in her brain. The question appears to catch both girls off guard. It hung in the air for a moment, Max began to babble, face growing red, “I- 'm sorry I really didn’t mean to… I just, I can't stop it's all too much. I don’t know what's w-wrong with me.”

Without hesitation, she pulls the smaller girl into her arms, as if rehearsed, as if Chloe had been waiting a lifetime. Instantly the tension evicts Max’s body. The sweet musk of her shampoo, perfume, whatever it was completely enveloped Chloe. Holding her tight just felt natural, like all was well with the world. Comforting others has never come easy for Chloe, always awkward, never knowing what to say or do. Not with Max though, she made everything easy. Existing with her felt like hearing an old song and singing along perfectly, yet recalling none of the lyrics. She traces small circles into Max’s back, the smaller girl somewhat buried in her chest.

“There is nothing wrong with you,” Chloe starts, angry at the world for putting her max through all of this, “y-you didn't ask for any of this. You shouldn't have seen even half the shit you did. Max, I swear to you if there was a way I could take it all away, I’d do it.” Max looks up at her, tears in those beautiful blue eyes threatening to spill. A pang of fear hits Chloe right in the gut. Did she say something wrong? Did Chloe cause those tears?

She begins to ramble, “Shit, I’m not saying I'm not glad I found you again, or that you shouldn’t have saved me or-or anything like that,” a sense of urgency laced her tone, god she was supposed to be helping not making it worse. “I just- I wish I could fix it, seriously Max. I am so so fucking happy you’re with me again. I don’t know, I guess, i-i just feel like it's all my fault” Her voice thickened towards the end, holding back a sob. ‘This is not about you Chloe,’ she thinks, reprimanding herself for being so selfish. But the guilt had been festering, gnawing at her organs like some feral dog with a bone. She was the reason the whole world had turned upside down.

“C-Chloe,” Max mumbled, sitting up to look at her properly. With shaky hands, she took the girl's face in her hands. Forcing Chloe to meet her eyes, hands lingering on her cheeks a bit too long before pushing the messy blue hair behind her ears. Her hands rest languidly on Chloe’s shoulders, reassuring her somehow. Max sat and contemplated her next words before answering, “None of this was you, okay? This is some freak-supernatural stuff okay? I do not blame you. Do you hear me? Please don't ever think that. I’d go through it all again if it meant I had you. Chloe, you're my best friend.”

It was like Max was able to reach inside and undo the knots in Chloe’s stomach. No one had ever done so with such ease, such grace. Not even Rachel, though that hurt to admit. Max just knew her, regardless of the years apart. Deep down, way below the rough punk girl exterior, Chloe was still the same little girl Max had grown up with. A soft smile inched its way to the surface, god how could she not smile looking at her? The way her hair fell, perfectly framed those soft doe eyes. Those fucking freckles and long lashes. The way Max would look up at her, eyelids heavy, how could anyone keep a straight face? Chloe hadn’t realized she was staring until she felt a soft squeeze on her shoulder.

“Thank you,” Chloe mustered up, embarrassment pricking at her cheeks. She shifted in place, yearning for closeness once more. These feelings, they can't be normal. Max’s words reverberate in her skull, ‘my best friend’ they stung a little. Those ten letters formed a lump in her throat, a pit in her chest. The words had some sort of mal effect on her, and she just couldn’t pinpoint the reason. Chloe once again chalked it up to just feeling weird about Arcadia.

The blank look in Chloe’s eyes prompts Max to speak. Whatever had her in such a trance could not possibly be kind. Max used a shaky hand to brush the girl’s cheek, “Do you think we could get some sleep now?” she proposed, pulling Chloe from the complexities that danced in her mind.

She nods silently and lays her head on the pillow, wriggling slightly to settle in. Max drapes an arm around her shoulders, pulling that mess of blue hair onto her chest. Upon feeling the weight on her chest, Max lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. This was a comfort unknown to her, never before had she felt this light. An absentminded hand travels to Chloe’s hair, despite all the bleach and dye damn it was soft. With her fingers tangled in the blue locks, everything felt right in the world.

“Everything that happened was so terrible,” Max breathes, wanting to offer one final comfort before slumber claimed them both, “It was so terrible, we’re not okay. But we’re gonna be. We can work through it Price, we’re a team and-and we can heal together. I’ll help you, we don't have to face things alone.” max consoled, her voice wavering ever so slightly.

“It's you and me against the world Caufield, now and forever,” Chloe assured, tightening her grip on the smaller girl, as if afraid she’d get snatched away, “seriously max, what would I do without you?” she let out a small chuckle before closing her eyes and passing out, still entangled with her best friend.

I have yet to begin writing the rest of this (call of duty brainrot is taking over my life) but i promise my google doc has many many ideas. stay tuned ig? lots of love, liz

#life is strange #lis 1 #lis #life is strange fanfiction #chloe price #max caulfield #chloe x max #max x chloe #pricefield #rachel amber #kate marsh #friends to lovers #sapphic #syd matters #obstacles

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a-wolfs-bad-moon-rising · 1 year

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Modern Teacher Buddha x Depressed Student Reader

I can’t even remember what day it is. Yes I can, it’s Wednesday. I just don’t care. I don’t really want the weekend to come. I hate school at the same time like being here over home. I had friends, but they didn’t understand. I started feeling bad years ago, so they haven’t noticed I’ve been off for so long. My parents of course just think it’s my age. And maybe it is. Well not mostly that’s for sure. Yeah the anxiety and worsening body image probably didn’t help. But I know it was before that. I am so bubbly at school though.

Sometimes I wanna kick myself for saying ‘I’m fine’ or ‘I’m doing well!’ whenever someone asks me how I’m doing. Like no I’m not. And sometimes I just wanna stop and say ‘You know what I’m not fine’

I just want to cry and get it all out. But I don’t. I just carry on. School, home, some after school or weekend stuff. It all blurs. Sometimes I feel my best in my religions class. It’s an elective I had to take because I waited too long to select my classes and all the other ones were closed. Even if I don’t really care what we’re learning that day, I love my teacher. Buddha we call him but his last name is Mr. Guatama. He’s just such an interesting teacher. He’s so casual and laid back. Sometimes honestly he’s a little lazy about his teaching, but I love his class so much I don’t care. He’s so friendly to me. One time I took some candy off his desk from this bowl he had and he came in and IMMEDIATELY noticed it was gone. He threated to give us a quiz and give us all F’s for it if no one came forward.

I was really surprised the next day I came in and my grade was a lot lower. So after school I went and bought him a bag of candy and kept it in my bag until everyone left. Then I went up to his desk. I can still remember the conversation.

‘M-Mr. Guatama?’ He usually didn’t make me nervous because he was so nice but the fact he actually punished everyone, I thought he was really mad. He looked up at me his eyes a little confused. I kept to myself a lot and didn’t usually talk in class unless he forced me.

‘Yes (Y/N)?’ He asked. I held up the bag and looked away.

‘I b-bought you some new candy, because I took yours yesterday.’ The other part was barely audible.

I think he actually forgot about it because he didn’t get it at first and looked at me up and down. Then it clicked.

‘Ohhhh it was YOU?!’ He said in his loud voice. I nodded

‘I’m sorry I thought it was for everyone. I didn’t mean to’ I said sheepishly. He laughed

‘Oh my dear I forgot about that’ He laughed again ‘You could’ve gone the whole year and I never would have caught on.’

I tilted my head at him.

‘But you said you’d fail us and then our grades were lower today.’ Now he looked confused.

‘Eh?’ He went through his computer and after a few clicks he said ‘Ah here you are.’ He looked for a few seconds and then looked back at me taking his glasses off.

‘Oh you forgot to turn in three assignments’ He said.

I deadpanned. ‘Oh…..’ He erupted again laughing and wiped his eyes.

‘(Y/N) I WISH I could do that.’ He kept on

‘Thank you for the candy I do appreciate it,’ I felt my heart swell, ‘Here y’know what just turn in what you missed and I’ll fix your grade it’ll be like nothing happened.’ He said smiling and I got all flustered.

‘Thank you I’ll do that tonight!’ I told him

‘Alright get on home then’. He said, giving me a wink. I blushed and ran out muttering another goodbye. From that day on, he would target me. Sometimes embarrass me in class but never in a way that humiliated me. And he’d say hi to me in the hall. It felt nice having that.

Whenever he was eating the candy I bought him, he’d give me an ‘angry’ stare and eat carefully.

Yeah his class helped a lot with what I was going though. I needed more of that comfort. Sometimes I wanted to go to him and spill my guts to him.

I just felt so much at ease and my anxiety would dissipate when I was in his class. I wanted a dad like him.

Things were getting worse lately and it made my mood more depressed. I dragged my feet more. My focus was bad and if I did talk it sounded dull. I didn’t think anyone noticed, I barely felt like I was there.

Today was the worst and I couldn’t hide anything. In Buddha’s class, I sat with my head in my hand barely keeping up. I don’t think I heard a word of what he said. Which was surprising. I hadn’t seen it but he kept looking worriedly at me all class long. He also didn’t poke fun at me. No one really noticed because he poked fun at a lot of people. When class dismissed I stood up and trudged towards the door. I was moving slowly, even packing up my bag so everyone was almost out.

A hand clamped on my shoulder. I jumped at the contact and faced Buddha. He looked shocked at my violent reaction and moved to shut the door. He pulled a chair next to his desk.

‘Sit down.’ He said softly. I perked up at this, he usually spoke so boldly, I never heard him sound so…careful.

I sat down and dropped my bag to the floor. I felt awkward looking at him.

‘(Y/N) are you okay?’ I looked at him for a bit, I was shocked he paid that much attention.

‘Just all week you looked so quiet and upset. I always thought you were shy, but you look exhausted.’ He said. I opened and closed my mouth. I felt the tears coming but I held out.

‘And I just touched your shoulder and you looked so frightened I didn’t expect such a bad reaction.’

‘T-There’s just a lot.’ I started. ‘I d-don’t know how to…how to explain it, I’m. I’m just uh, going through a hard time.’ I looked away from him. I turned my head up to stop the tears for a moment. I didn’t know what else to do.

He put his hand on my knee and I jumped again. He pulled back. He looked really upset himself.

Then he put his hand back on my knee and said. ‘I’m sorry’ Right then I felt like he understood.

‘You can always talk to me.’ He said never looking away.

‘Really?’

‘Of course’

‘Even right now?’ He nodded at me and squeezed my knee. And then I began

For a bit I tried dancing around what I really meant, but he connected the dots and asked me the truth. I told him. I told him so much and God the more I said the more my heart felt free and less heavy. I held in so much for God only knows how long and he listened to every word. Every now and then he said he was sorry or squeezed my knee again.

Then I started crying. My voice kept quivering but until the end I held my tears back. Then the shame kicked in and I stopped talking and cried into my hands.

He stood abruptly and pulled me up. I still didn’t look at him as he pulled me into a hug. He held me against him, one hand rubbing my back the other holding my head. After a while I moved my hands from my eyes and hugged him back. I kept crying into his shirt. Then he kissed my head. And I stopped crying. He did it a couple more times until I calmed down. When He pulled away to look at me I could barely look back.

‘(Y/N), you’re a smart, beautiful, young woman. And all that you went through just makes you stronger. Please don’t hold back you can vent to me whenever you need it.’ I nodded at him and wiped my nose. I panicked when I saw the mess I left on his shirt.

‘I’m so sorry!’ I felt so guilty

‘Oh don’t be’ He was trying to reassure me

‘I’ve had worse squirted on me.’ We were both quiet for a second.

‘Okay FUCK that came out wrong.’ And I laughed. Hard. He looked at me surprised.

‘You have such a cute laugh when it’s genuine.’ He commented. I blushed at him.

‘Thank you Buddha.’ I said. Now he really laughed at me.

‘Whaaat?’ He asked. I blushed again.

‘That’s what you call me that’s great.’ I laughed with him. Then I got a little sad.

‘I guess I should go home now.’ I said he looked at me empathetically.

‘I’m always here for you (Y/N).’ He told me hugging me again.

‘Promise?’

‘I promise’

~~~~~Time Skip~~~~~~

‘Omg omg omg omgggg!!!’ I exclaimed running up to Buddha. I jumped onto him and hugged him. He chuckled.

‘Good news?’

‘The best!’ He waited for me to answer.

‘I got into my first choice college!’ I was so excited. He spun me around

‘Ayyyye I knew you could do it.’ It was him though, he helped me boost my grades and with applications and gave me constant reassurance. He had given me his number so I could text him when I needed him.

‘I need to pack, I need to get my books I need to BUY BED CURTAINS.’ I spoke dramatically He laughed at me.

‘(Y/N) it’s not until the fall calm down’ He said ruffling my hair. I smiled up at him.

‘Thank you so much’

‘It was all you.’

‘But I needed your help’ I told him.

‘Promise you’ll come visit me?’ I asked looking up at him.

He smiled.

‘I promise’

#buddha x reader #fiction #modern record or ragnarok #ror #shuumatsu no valkyrie #teacher buddha #student reader #highschool au #buddhaxreader

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jjuniehao · 2 years

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[01:02 am]: choi yeonjun.

what i said. we’re done, i’m breaking up with you. get out of here. this sentence keeps echoing in your head while you hastily try to pack all of your belongings in a way too small bag, tears spilling over your cheeks.

two years.

two whole years you spent with him, loving and supporting him, looking past his crass comments and “jokes” he would make at your expense. two years you wasted on a person like him.

two years you could’ve spent with yeonjun.

it seems wrong; your first thoughts being about another man after being broken up with mere minutes ago. not just any man - one of your best friends, the one person that always had your back. even in moment where you retrospectively were in the wrong, he still stood by your side. you should’ve just listened to yeonjun. two years ago when you told him about your new boyfriend; when he told you that you shouldn’t do it, to just trust him this time, that you would get hurt. you didn’t listen.

you also didn’t listen when he told you to break up during those past two years. you told him that he wouldn’t understand, he’s not in a relationship. everyone fights. fights are normal, they’re healthy. maybe you’re just a little to sensitive. he has dark humor, his jokes are a little out of pocket. it’s fine.

but still, yeonjun was there. he dried your tears, promisesd you to help you if you wanted to leave. you could stay with him, he can take care of you while you find a new place to stay. maybe you can just move in with him, he has enough space for a roommate and barely uses his guest room anyways. he’d always be there for you.

even when you decided to go back. every single time.

until now, because instead of you breaking up, choosing to cut out this person poisoning your life, you’re the one being thrown out by him. like you’re an old piece of furniture he doesn’t need anymore.

but it’s fine. you have yeonjun. you’re not even crying anymore; you just want to see him. you want to apologise to him, tell him he’s been right. he always was. rushing out of the apartment you once called home you’re on your way to yeonjun’s place.

he’ll help you.

he loves you, obviously he will help you.

imagine your surprise when yeonjun opens the door in just his boxers, hair messy and bruises on his neck.

bruises?

“y/n? what are you doing here?” yeonjun asks, and you don’t miss the way he holds the door a little closed. almost as if to hide something. maybe he just doesn’t want the wind to get into his apartment.

“he broke up with me. threw me out. you were right, i-…i-m sorry, i should’ve listened to you,” your voice got weaker and weaker, eyes filling with tears again, panic finally starting to set it. the expression on yeonjun’s face is complicated, there’s sympathy in his eyes but his brows are furrowed, almost like he’s debating with himself in his mind.

“i’m sorry to hear that, y/n. but still, what do you want here?” the wrenching feeling in your gut is so much more worse hearing these words coming from yeonjun; it feels so cold, so dismissive. “i…i thought-,“ and before you can explain yourself, yeonjun, your yeonjun, loses his cool with you for the first time ever.

“you thought what, y/n? you thought that i would forever voluntarily play second fiddle to whatever you and that fuckhead had going on? every single time he hurt you i was there for you, taking care of you, letting you into my home, trying my best to piece you back together myself piece by piece. and every single time i had to sit back and watch you go and let yourself be destroyed, over and over again. he hurt you, but it hurt me to see you cry and beg for someone that has so little love and care for you. i’m sick and tired of being strung along. we both know i love you, god, i’m so fucking in love with you and still, you would rather go back to him and have your heart broken and psyche fucked with than let me help you heal, than letting me love you. i’m done. please, go find someone else to help you, because i’m tired,” his voice was hoarse and raw, the emotions he’s been bottling up for two years all spilling out at once. his eyes are teary and he looks so, so incredible hurt it makes your heart bleed; it’s your fault.

you dragged him into your mess, strung him along for your own comfort, and realising it makes you sick. you stay silent and just nod absentmindedly, muttering a quiet apology while scrambling to get your things. yeonjun’s watching you and his heart hurts so bad, it makes him want to crawl after you, begging for forgiveness on his knees; he never would turn you away, he loves you, he wants to protect you, you’re safe with me.

but he knows it’s the right thing. because at the end of the day, he’s sure that you’ll be back with your ex the second he beckons you over. and yeonjun isn’t sure he would survive it this time around.

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prismatica-the-strange · 7 months

Note

3 (“Well, I’m sorry I fell in love with you, okay? But it happened and I can’t do shit about it.” “You… What?”) and 6 (“…This is why I knew I shouldn’t have gotten close to you.”) both feel like such Cori/Blaine vibes they are always on the verge of either a total meltdown in the relationship or running off to elope

The Things That We Were

Warnings: 18+, Angst, Alcohol, Blaine being the king of self-sabotage

She just wants to drink away her pain

Word Count: 1.1k

Song: Coriander by Voyageur

Dividers by @saradika

"Alright lady, you're done," The Bartender says.

"Fuck you," Cori slurs, "I'm done when I say 'm done."

She reaches over the bar for a bottle and he shouts, "Hey! Either you call a ride, or I call the cops! You can sober up in a drunk tank."

She scoffs and pulls out her phone. She leans against the smooth wood as she waits for Ravi to pick up the phone.

'You've reached Ravi Chakrabarti, I can't answer the phone right now-'

She groans and hangs up, dialing Major's number.

'Hey, this is Major! You know what to-'

"Why is no one ever available when I need them?"

She stares at his number, the reason she's here in the first place, trying to drink away his memory.

She sighs and hits his contact.

"Hey, I got a call that my friend needed a ride?"

She lifts her head at the sound of his voice and sees the bartender point at her.

"What are you doing here?"

"You called me?" He says, hands in his pockets.

"I thought you didn't want to know me?"

Pain blossoms in his chest when she throws his words back in his face.

"We were friends once, I'm not gonna leave you stranded at a bar."

"But you're fine saying to my face that you're glad you can't remember me."

"Let's get you home," He hooks his arm around her and helps get to her feet.

She scowls when he touches her because she can't tell if she loathes or loves the feeling of being in his arms again.

He helps her into her car, hands gentle as he buckles her seatbelt.

The ride is quiet. She doesn't want to talk and he's afraid he'll spill his guts.

He clears his throat at the third red light.

"Do you want me to stop for food or something?" He asks, "I mean, are you hungry?"

She is. She wants-

"I could stop at Mcdonalds and get you some fries or something."

He grips the wheel tighter when he glances over to see her soft, drunken eyes.

"Yeah, that... That sounds good."

She's already starting to doze off when they pull into the drive-through.

"Here you go, two large fries."

"Thanks, baby," She murmurs, taking the bag from him.

"'Course sug-" He stops himself, adoring smile falling from his face. He swallows his regret and pats her leg, "No problem."

The only sound from them is the periodic crinkling of paper as they share their greasy snack.

"You need me to help you inside?" He asks, coming to a stop across the street from Major and Ravi's house.

"Did I do something to make you hate me?"

"What?"

"Because I'm what you made me," She says, "You made me what you needed and then you left me like I was nothing, again. And I... I don't know what I did wrong."

"I'm sure you didn't do anything-"

"Then why did you do this to me?" She cries, "I gave up everything to be with you! My family, my home, my humanity! And you still chose her!"

It's not like that. It was never like that... was it?

"Being me was never enough for you, neither was being what you wanted! So why- why do you jump through all these hoops to keep me around? Can't you see how it's killing me?"

“Because I fell in love with you, okay? I'm sorry, but it happened and I can’t do shit about it.”

“You… What?”

"Baby," He turns as best he can to hold her face, "All those times I left? It wasn't because you weren't enough."

He sighs, hating himself for making her feel like this for so long.

"You make me happier than I've ever been my whole life and that feeling? It terrifies me," He admits, "It gives me so much to lose, so much to fuck up that... That I fucked it up on purpose. If I left, then you couldn't leave me."

"I wouldn't have-"

"I know," He chuckles, "And that's why you deserve so much better than the man who only breaks your heart."

She surges over the center console, taking his face in her hands and kissing him desperately. He lets her, savoring the likely last time, she loses herself against him.

"Coriander," He breathes, pulling away to press his forehead to hers, "You make leaving you impossible."

"Then come back to me," She whispers, "Let me love you like we both want to."

"I'll just hurt you again."

"I don't care."

Her breath shudders, head falling to his shoulder, "I'm so tired."

"I know, sweetheart," He holds her close while he still can, "I know."

She falls asleep like that, face nuzzled against his neck, leaning awkwardly over the console, a strange feeling of comfort in her heart, and too drunk to realize he all but admitted to faking his memory loss.

He's stuck between hoping she's too drunk to remember this and praying she remembers how much he cares about her.

He lays her back in her seat and watches her for a moment. She looks so beautiful and tragic. Peacefully asleep with cheeks wet from tears.

He squeezes his eyes shut, chuckling in disbelief. He reaches into his inner coat pocket and pulls out a syringe.

He'd grabbed it on a whim, not even sure why.

He pulls up her sleeve and uncaps the needle before pushing it into her skin.

He can't believe he's dosing her with a potential million dollars worth of zombie cure.

If she's human she has more choice. She can leave Seattle, and hopefully find someone who loves her enough to not hurt her like he has.

He gets out of the car and walks around to pick her up. He cradles her in his arms, protecting her from the night air as he walks to the door.

He uses her key to unlock the door and brings her to the couch, gently laying her there.

"I knew I shouldn’t have gotten close to you," She mutters in her sleep when he pulls the throw blanket onto her, shattering what's left of his heart.

"I know."

She wakes up the next morning with the feel of a kiss on her forehead still lingering.

She's not sure how she got home or when.

Her head is pounding as she sits up and she groans.

"Sounds like sleeping beauty is up," She hears Major say from the kitchen.

"I made you some coffee if you want it-"

Ravi freezes in the doorway, eyes going wide.

"What?"

"Cori, your hair," He says, "You're human."

#prisma self ships #blaine debeers #blaine mcdonough #izombie #prisma writes #prisma answers #ask game #bite me

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saulocept · 1 year

Text

house of cards

pairing: ayato kamisato/reader

rating: m

summary: He can love. He can. And he won’t stop proving it to you, over and over until you see it, too.

notes: this is a rewrite of one of my older pieces, so if it seems familiar, i guess thats why? features yandere ayato + a gender neutral reader.

The first time he lays his eyes on you, he’s certain he’ll love you for the rest of his life. He knows it as an instinct, some sort of gut feeling – an emotion that comes off as slightly surprising. It’s not rational, he knows, illogical to the point where he won’t be able to answer where it comes from. Even the warmth that blooms inside him feels startling; it’s the first time he’s ever felt like this, and though it’s strange, unfamiliar, he finds that he doesn’t dislike it.

In fact, it’s a feeling he’s quick to welcome. He stares at you from a distance, watching you with a growing interest. Bright-eyed, curious. There’s something about you that screams naivete, a wild-eyed wonder he’s certain he’s not seen from anyone else. As though you’d only stepped into the world the first time, eager to experience everything it has to offer. Even the way you move seems to magnify that wonder; there’s an excitement in your gait, a spring in your step that quickly endears him to you.

He walks over to where you are, uncertain, at first, what he should do. There’s a brief second where he wonders about approaching you, make your acquaintance, but that decision is quickly taken away from him when he finds you stumbling into him: accidental, awkward. He catches you at the last minute, one hand shooting up to grab your wrist and steady you just before you hit the ground.

His breath stops, catches in his throat. Your skin is warm, solid; that simple touch is enough to wake something in him. Taking root, growing teeth, alive and electric. He feels more than alive, more than real, as if he were not a creature in a dream, but out of it.

He opens his mouth, tries to say something, but there’s a second where everything moves slowly, as if in a dream. He isn’t even sure if he’s moving, isn’t even sure if the words are spilling out of him. But then you’re looking up at him, smiling sheepishly, and it’s as if the spell’s broken, everything moving normally again.

He hears your voice: mumbling an apology under your breath. He waves it off with one hand, clearing his throat as he speaks. His hands dangle uselessly against his sides; he clenches his hands into fists, stops himself from reaching for you again.

“Are you alright?” he asks, giving you a once-over, careful not to let his gaze linger on you for too long.

“Ah, yes.” You smile at him once more, distracted. You scratch the back of your neck, glancing around you before turning to him once again, not quite meeting his eyes. “I’m sorry,” you say again, and he frowns, because there’s no need for you to apologize. “It’s my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

He waves off your apologies, reaches out to touch your arm, reassuring. It startles you a little, and this time, you look up to meet his eyes, lips parting open as if in surprise. He smiles at you, pats your hand gently, before finally pulling away. “It’s quite alright,” he replies, smile growing a fraction wider the moment he sees your expression relaxing. “You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No!” You shake your head, giving him a thumbs-up and a smile. He nods at you, pleased. Here, the conversation falters; silence grows between you: awkward, tense. He watches you quietly, studies your face, the expression that flits in your eyes. You’re fiddling with your hands now, as if you’re not quite sure what to do with them.

“Um, if you like,” you begin after a moment, scratching your cheek almost sheepishly. He raises an eyebrow, waits, curious to see what you’d say next. You turn your head to the side, refusing to meet his eyes once more as you mumble, “I could… treat you to some coffee? Just to make up for it?”

An offer. A way out, but also a way in. You sound embarrassed, and as adorable as he finds you to be, he’s aware it’d be rude to laugh. He bites the inside of his cheek, watches you with a quiet amusement. “Ah, it’ll be my treat, of course!” you continue, when he still isn’t responding. You’re babbling now, trying to mask the awkward silence that’s fallen between you, growing longer by the second. “So, you don’t need to be worried about anything…”

“Of course.” There’s a second where you seem almost surprised by his response: looking up, staring at him, eyes wide. He locks his eyes with yours, gives you a gentle smile. “I would like that.”

“Oh, good.” You breathe out a sigh of relief, smiling faintly. “For a second, I was worried I’d scared you off for good.”

You can never scare me off, he thinks, though he doesn’t say it out loud. Instead, he only smiles at you, playful, teasing. “I’m afraid that’s not the case at all.”

You laugh. “Good, good.” You beam at him, excited, and he’s convinced that there’d never be a reward greater than this: the twinkle in your eyes, the smile on your lips – genuine, warm. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

He stares at you, startled, but you’re off before he can even say a word of goodbye, turning back one last time to give him an enthusiastic wave before finally disappearing into the crowd. He stares after you, watches until you’re nothing but a smidge in his vision, uncertain if he’s made you up, dreamed you into existence.

He shakes his head, turns away, still smiling. It doesn’t matter.

He draws you that night, in a piece of paper he’s supposed to read, sign, closing his eyes as he recalls images of you: sharp and vivid. The brightness of your eyes, the color of them. The curve of your lips as you smile at him. The way your hair flutters about in the wind, wild and carefree.

In a short while, he learns everything about you. The name of your cat who died when you were nine, in an accident that had left you afraid to get another one. The book you’d read and reread for nearly your whole life, the pages folded and creased, notes written on the edges of the pages, the words in varying shades of colors: red, blue, black, your thoughts exposed for everyone to see. The way you make your coffee in the morning: black, with a little too much sugar, a combination bitter and sweet.

He knows where you’re from, why you’d left. Why you’ll never come back again. He’s confident no one else will know you as much as he does. After all, you are meant to be.

And now, he can’t wait for you to be his.

Everything happens just a little too quickly. Like a whirlwind, a raging storm, moving too fast that no one knows for sure what’s going on until it’s already happening. What forms between you is an easy friendship, filled with casual affection (from you, mostly) that leaves him breathless, aching for more. You invite him to different places: cafes in the neighboring cities, restaurants all over the region, diners in unexpected parts of the town, trying out new desserts each time, getting to know him in between conversations and laughter.

And in return, he invites you out to places he knows for sure you’ll like. A theater in a different corner of the world, famous for its unbelievably expensive entry prices, as well as its controversial performances.Or thought-provoking, as he knows you’d always say.

He rents out a booth, huge enough for three, with plush seats and velvet curtains thick enough to allow for complete privacy. This way, no one else will disturb the two of you. This way, he’s the only one who’ll see your reactions, watching them unfold right before his very eyes. Even the thought of it is enough to make him shiver in excitement, and it’s almost a struggle to keep still when all he wants to do is savor every moment of this, of you.

“Seriously, Ayato,” you say, shaking your head as if in astonishment. There’s a glimmer in your eyes, a smile on your lips. Excitement radiates off of you in waves, and he can’t stop himself from smiling back at you. He leans forward, rests his chin against his palm, stares at you intently. This close, he could see you clearly, watch your every move, every emotion that flickers in your eyes – all the little things he could add to his ever-growing memento of you.

You lean forward then, meeting him halfway, your smile growing wider, brighter. It reminds him of the stars – one bright thing in the sea of darkness: alive and shining. And all for him to see. It feels like a present, something godsent; if he were a little more religious he might weep, jump in joy. But he remains where he is, still and seated, watching you with bated breath.

“You’re amazing!” You’re beaming at him now, eyes alight, twinkling, “How’d you know what I like?” You motion around you – a vague gesture he easily understands. You mean the play, of course; you’ve never mentioned the kinds of performances you like, but he knows you well enough to guess. He’d spent days poring over your favorite book, handling that beat-up copy he’d secretly stolen from your apartment last summer like it’s a treasure, something fragile, precious, reading every annotation, studying every underlined passages just to know how you think, how you see the world around you. It’s a little exciting to know that all his research had paid off, though it’s something he’d rather keep a secret, leave you guessing for a little while longer. After all, there is power in secrets. (Besides, he finds that he rather likes the reactions you make each time he surprises you like this, likes it enough to keep him wanting to do it more.)

He shrugs, gives you another smile, tries hard to make it look casual. “A lucky guess.”

You shake your head, click your tongue. “Stop being so humble!” You chastise, though you’re smiling. “Clearly, that’s not just a lucky guess.”

He leans even closer, bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smirking. “What do you think it is, then?”

A taunt, a bait, phrased into a harmless question you’ll have no choice but to answer. The truth, of course, is simple enough, hidden into the depths of him still, waiting for the right time to show itself, because he can’t tell you how much he loves you yet, can’t prove it to you yet in fear of scaring you off.

I know everything about you.

He runs his tongue along his teeth, stares at you, waits.

Here, your voice has grown softer, your gaze suddenly warmer. In an instant, the atmosphere between you changes, grows from light, easy to tense, charged. There’s a weight between you now, heavy as a loaded gun, amplified by your brief silence. You smile at him, gentler than he’s ever seen it, keeping your gaze locked onto his as you speak, your voice soft as a whisper, “I’m convinced we must be soulmates in this life.”

His breath stops, catches in his throat. He blinks at you once; for a second, he wonders if he must be dreaming, making this whole thing up. But you’re staring at him still, the gentle smile still glued on your lips as though it’s never left. Slowly, you reach for his free hand across the table, holding it in yours, loose enough that he can pull away, and yet he knows he’d never want to.

He laces your fingers together, tightens his grip as though he never wants to let go. You grin at him, though you don’t pull away. “No one knows me as much as you do.”

And no one will. He smiles at you in response, tries to hide the fact that the only thing he could hear is the pounding in his chest, loud as a wardrum. Here, finally, every piece of the world falls away, disappears until there’s no one but the two of you left, separate from the world, together.

It’s a struggle to hide his disappointment when you finally pull away from him. His hands, all of a sudden, feel very cold, the ghost of your touch still lingering long after you’d let go.

He reaches for his glass on the table, lifts it to his lips, takes a sip of his drink. He could only vaguely taste the wine, the sweetness of it swirling on his tongue, grows warmer as he lets it linger. Cloying, sticky. He swallows it down, and still, the sweetness of it lingers, sticks to his tongue like glue the same way the warmth of your touch does.

“Yes,” he agrees quietly, lifting his eyes up from the glass to meet your eyes again. He gives you a tiny smile: secretive, conspiratorial. As though he’s telling you something only you are allowed to know. “We’re soulmates indeed, aren’t we?”

Your grin widens, enough that it nearly splits your face into two, and here, in this space and time, he’s convinced that he can’t ever love you any more than he does.

The conversation lulls after that. The voices around him fade into a background noise, and everything, however brief, is light, comfortable. You reach for his hand again on the table, giving it a gentle pat, and he grabs onto it at the last second, just before you can pull away, holds it firmly in his like he’ll never have the chance to do so again.

A look of surprise flickers into your face, though it’s gone as quickly as it appears, smoothing out into the easy expression he knows and loves too well, too much. You smile at him, a little sheepish as you entwine your fingers together, loosely yet still just right. He smiles at the sight of it – your hand, his hand: pieces of you that’s combined now into a single entity.

It’s hard then not to be amazed at how perfectly your hands fit together. How the spaces between his fingers feel like they’re made to fit the gaps between yours. He’s certain then that he could say the same thing about your bodies, your souls. Are they not made of the same thing, same substance. Is this not what it means to be soulmates?

Soulmates, he repeats the words again, as if to test them. He likes the word, the meaning behind it. How you’re both meant for each other, always. He smiles at you again, squeezes your hand. You squeeze back, an automatic response, quick as an instinct. And it’s perfect, everything’s perfect. He’s always known it’s going to be like this: the two of you together, perfect in every way.

And now, he just has to make sure it stays that way, forever.

“Ah, before I forgot,” you say, and the sound of your voice snaps him out of his thoughts. He blinks, gives you a distracted smile as he waits for the rest of your words. You lean forward, squeezing his hand again. Warm, too warm. He’ll never get used to this: the whole galaxy in your eyes, the sun in your touches. “Thank you. For today.”

“Of course.” He places his other hand on top of yours, encompassing the warmth of it. He leans even closer, locking his eyes with yours as he smiles. “Anything for you.”

He watches you from the gaps of his windows, not bothering to hide the frown on his lips. He hates it, despises it with every ounce of his being, seeing you with another man who isn’t him. He hates it even more to see you laughing: jovial, carefree. Like he isn’t the only one who knows everything about you.

He crosses his arms over his chest, narrows his eyes into a glare. He leans against the windowsill, watches the two of you for a few more moments, a little distracted. Alain. The name crosses his mind, quick as lightning, bitter as a rotting fruit.

He knows everything about him, the way he knows every little thing about you, though it’s a knowledge born out of need than anything else. He knows his family’s secrets. His worst vices. The kind of debt he owes but could never pay back. The things he could never escape from, no matter how hard he tries.

He’s no good for you, in the way that you’re too good for him. Surely, you must know this, too? But of course he knows you well enough to know that you won’t think the same way. You’ve always been too naïve, too clueless as to how the sound works. He steals another glance at you, frowns when he sees you laughing at something Alain has said. A joke perhaps, or something equally as silly, and he hates it, hates the sight of your smile, your laughing face, hates the two of your laughter, how it echoes in the silence, haunts him, follows him around like a ghost.

Wild, carefree. He’s heard you laugh like this before, a thousand times and more, and it sounds so different now that he knows it for someone else. He closes his eyes, sighs, shakes his head. He takes a deep breath, lets his eyes flutter open, forces himself to watch the two of you with gritted teeth, clenched fists.

There’s a wire between his ribcage, barbed and sharp as a knife. He hates how that other man has your full attention, as though there’s nothing else around you, no one else. Alain – even now, the name brings a bitter aftertaste to it, as though he’s swallowed something awful, something bad – leans in to whisper something in your ear, and he hates how close that awful scum is, how casually he touches you, as though you’re his property, something to own, and not something to be treasured, worshipped. He doesn’t. He never will.

He digs his nails into his palms, as if the sharp pain that comes with it will be enough to sober him up, calm him down. It isn’t. Still, he watches, feels fire brewing in the pit of his stomach: hot, molten. You’re laughing now, smiling, refusing to pull away even after that scum puts an arm around your shoulders, pulls you close, leaning his head against yours, and he hates it, hates you even more for allowing it.

There’s a fragment of the sun in each of your smiles, and it’s almost maddening to know that they’re not all for his. When you stare back at him – Alain,his brain supplies bitterly, ever the beacon of truth, there’s a part of him that wishes he could pluck them out, crush them between his fingers, just so no one else would ever have them again. No one but him.

You’ve never even looked at him like that, not after that. There’s always a wall between you now, a distance that wasn’t ever there before. Even the memory of it makes him wince and there’s a part of him that wishes he could just erase it from his memory forever, cast it away like a dead skin, something not worth carrying.

His heart throbs, aches. He feels hollowed out, as if something’s carved out of him, vital enough that it leaves him half-dead, filling up a void too endless it swallows everything like a vacuum.

Once, he’d told you of his feelings, waited for the perfect moment to bare a piece of his soul to you, pressed into your palm like a gift, an offering. He’d asked for your hand in marriage then, because what else could come after this? Love, isn’t it? Acceptance, some form of happily ever after he’d read from children’s books, and he’s sure he’s done everything right, and all that’s left for you to do is say yes, tell him you love him, too.

He's wrong. He remembers it clearly, like reopening a wound too raw to close, still bleeding. A sorrowful smile, a quick turn of the head, eyes glued to the ground, as though you can’t bear to look at him. A whisper in the dark, almost mournful in the silence. “I’m sorry. I think we’re better off as friends, wouldn’t you agree?”

Some attempt at levity – jokes he could barely remember in detail because his heart’s broken and his ears are ringing. An echo of the apology inside his head, reverberating inside his skull until he’s certain he’s about to go mad from it.

The touch of your hand, bringing him back. Dead, half-dead. (Is he even alive?) That sad smile still on your lips, sympathetic, comforting. “We’ll always be friends, won’t we?” Three gentle pats – a gesture meant to be reassuring. But he doesn’t want your reassurance. He wants your love.

Instead, he nods his head, smiles at you. Of course we’ll always be friends. He isn’t sure how he’s managed to keep his composure all night, noticing how distant you’re being: the casual affection gone, the touches now light and fleeting, careful not to overstep, be overly familiar, but he does.

And now you’re in love with someone else, a man who’d never know you as much as he does, who’d never willingly make the effort to, and he hates it, hates everything about it.

He shakes his head, sucks in a deep breath, promptly draws the window shutters in front of him. Blocks you out, pushes the thought of you away. He turns away, walks over to his desk, the echo of your laughter haunting him still. He takes a seat, picks up the quill, dips it into the ink beside him.

He writes slowly, deliberately. Carefully. Neat brush strokes against the paper, the letters too clear to be mistaken for something else. In the morning, everything will disappear.

In the morning, everything will be perfect again, just the way he’d planned it. The pieces will fall into their proper places, and everything will be right, perfect. Because the two of you are meant to be, aren’t you? Always, and he’ll make sure of that.

He knows you well enough to know where you’d be at this time of the day. He’s quick to find you, sitting in the corner booth of your favorite café, staring off into the distance, lost in thoughts.

He slides into the seat across from you, says your name, quiet at first, then louder when he realizes you probably couldn’t hear him. You blink, turn to look at him, giving him a faint smile. “Hi.”

This close, he could see how awful you look: dejected, sad, like someone’s broken your heart. Your eyes are puffy, bloodshot from too much crying. There are bags beneath them, made worse, of course, by your obvious lack of sleep. The sight of you like this brings him a flurry of emotions he isn’t sure he can comprehend. A part of him wants to comfort you: hold your hand and tell you everything will be alright, but the other spiteful part of him wants to rub salt in the wound, tell you how right he’d been from the beginning.

He dismisses the thought, swallows everything that comes with it, including the sudden guilt, made physical by the lump forming in his throat. Everything will fall into place soon, and he won’t have to see you like this. Ever. It’s the thought of it that brings him comfort as he stares at you.

He clears his throat, tries to catch your attention again. You’re drifting away from him every second, floating and lost in the ether, alone. All alone. It’s up to him to bring you back, tether you into something solid enough so he wouldn’t lose you again.

You turn to look at him, staring at him blankly. Here still, but only barely. He gives you a gentle smile, keeps his voice soft as to not startle you too much. “What happened?”

You turn away from him, shake your head, drawing in a deep breath as you close your eyes. You relay the whole story, recalling bits and pieces of conversations you’re not too keen on sharing. Then, with an almost angry sigh: “He’s getting married tomorrow.”

Ayato nods sagely. He already knows about it, long before it’s set into motion, even if he’d never dare tell you about it. “I heard. Word travels fast around here.”

Vaguely, you nod your head – a near-automatic response, like you’re only barely listening. He reaches for your hand across the table, catching your attention. He holds it firmly in his, thumb stroking gentle circles along your skin. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

You stare at him for a long time, quiet. Then you shake your head, turn away from him. You stare at the coffee cup in front of you: cold, untouched, glaring at it too hard he’s a little afraid it might break. With a sigh, you open your mouth, speak. Your voice is too soft, too quiet; for a second, he can’t tell if you’re talking to him, telling him about another memory, or simply talking to yourself. “Three nights ago, he’d told me he loved me.”

You laugh. Sharp, bitter. Venomous. It slices through him like a knife. “He’d even asked for my hand in marriage.”

“I’m sorry,” he says again, softer this time. It’s all he can think to say. He holds your hand a little tighter, squeezes it once in a show of reassurance.

You shake your head, giving him a faint smile. “Don’t be. I was the one foolish enough to believe him.”

“You’re not foolish,” he rushes to tell you, because the truth is that you aren’t. Just naïve, clueless, but he lets the rest of the words go unsaid, lets the silence fall around the two of you like a curtain, grows longer by the second.

You shake your head, give him another faint smile. Weak still, tiny, but it seems more genuine than the previous one you’d given him. “Thank you, Ayato.” You squeeze his hand back, and it feels nice, familiar. “For being here. For everything. To be honest,” A pause, a quiet laugh, sheepish, awkward – and still very much like music to his ears, “I’m not sure what I’d do without you.”

You wouldn’t have to, is what he wants to say, but it’s too early for another confession, another secret to bare. He smiles back at you instead, hums under his breath as he continues to hold your hand in his: firmly, without the intention of letting you go. He leans forward, meets your eyes. “Anything for you.”

Your smile grows warmer, widens into a fraction, and everything falls exactly into place.

Everything comes quickly together after that: little chess pieces aligning on the board to create a perfect victory. You are his in a matter of weeks, faltering under the weight of your loneliness, your grief. He bares his heart out once more, asks for your hand in marriage, seals it with a kiss, primal and hungry.

Everything else is a whirlwind, done in a single night. The wedding happens at night, in the same day you’d said yes, agreeing to marry him. It’s a quick ceremony, private, witnessed only by the moon and her stars. Plush seats draped in white, soft, silken. You walking down the aisle, not crying, but smiling. Laughing, nearly, with him, as though he’s part of a joke you refuse to share with the rest of the world.

Moonlight catching in your hair, your skin. You look beautiful: elation solidified, compressed until it can fit into a single person. Radiant, practically glowing. Like something from a dream, or maybe something even better.

The distance between you and him, growing shorter with each step, until finally, finally, you’re standing in front of him, and then beside him, smiling, eyes bright like the stars above your heads.

His name on your lips. The warmth of your touch, the feel of your skin against his. The words “I do” spilling out of you, and that little smile on your lips. How everything seems slow, as if in a dream. And how everything’s over, everything moving quickly, normally again.

He kisses you then, slow and gentle at first, like he’s savoring the moment, does it again as if to make sure, and again, just because he wants it to feel right. You’re smiling, kissing him back, and everything’s perfect, too perfect that he’s almost certain he could see the stars smiling, the moon smiling, every little thing around him smiling too as if to congratulate him.

They say all things must come to an end, at one point or another. He’s been a little complacent, too relaxed in his new life that he’s failed to see his ruin coming along in the form of a letter. A carefully mailed one, sneaked in between the pages of a book in the library, hidden enough that he doesn’t see it. And now it’s too late, and there’s no taking it back, redoing it all over.

He knows, for sure, that there’s something wrong the moment he steps into the room. There’s a weight in the air, a tension that wasn’t ever there before, magnified when you finally turn around to face him. You’ve never looked at him like this before: anger beyond words, and repulsion that soaks through his bones, leaves him bare and exposed.

It’s almost chilling, but he presses on, calmly, leans against the door, waits. This time, you don’t even try to hide your disgust when you say his name. He doesn’t respond to it, just stares at you again, waits. It’s clear you have something more to say, waving the letter in your hands, practically seething. “How could you do this?”

He blinks, tilts his head at you. Innocently. “Do what?”

In response, you throw the letter to him, glaring, a near-guttural scream bubbling in your throat. He catches it mid-air, unfolds it to see an unfamiliar writing. He frowns, skims over the words, finds a familiar name beneath.

All my love, the signature says, Alain.

He hums thoughtfully under his breath, rereads it again, makes sure to catch every word this time. Here, Alain (rotten fruit, horribly bitter) writes about the “truth”: his marriage, his debt. Things he can’t run away from, even in the end. He spends the next few paragraphs talking about his supposed love for you in detail, how it’s the only truth he’s ever known in his life. At the near bottom is an apology, and a promise to meet you in the next life, and love you still in that.

He stops reading then, crumples the letter in his hands, shoves it in his pocket, out of your sight, away from your reach. Emotions well up in him, but he isn’t sure what those are yet.

He turns to look at you then, keeps his voice flat and toneless. “Alain killed himself.” Simple, straight to the point. A declaration of facts, nothing more, nothing less. “I did not order him to do it.”

“Did you not fucking read it?” You’re seething now, angry, unable to keep your voice down. Tears are welling up in your eyes; on instinct, he reaches for you, but you take a step back, glare at him. Your voice grows higher in pitch, angrier now than ever. “How could you even do this? You knew he loved me. You knew I loved him!”

He crosses his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow. “Why does it matter? Do you still love him?”

You clench your jaw, balling your hands into fists. Angrily, you wipe your tears away with the back of your fists, sniffling. “You know very well that’s not the point!”

“It is to me.”

“Tell me, then.” Your voice has grown softer now, teetering on the brink of despair, or else: visceral rage. “Why did you do it? Is this all a game to you?”

He shakes his head. “I did it because he didn’t know how to love you. He wouldn’t know how.”

“And you would?” You laugh: bitter, venomous. It cuts through him, sharper than any blade. “Don’t make me laugh, Ayato. You don’t know how to love. You have no idea how.”

He remains quiet for a second, lets the words sink in. He takes a step forward, narrows his eyes at you. In response, you grow more alert, tense, taking another step back, as if on instinct. There’s a frightened look in your eyes, and he hates it, hates how you look at him that way, as though he’s a stranger, some sort of a monster.

He wants to make it disappear, kiss it away. Make everything right, like before. Wasn’t everything perfect, before?

He takes another step forward, and you take another step back. The dance continues on for a while, with you seeming more and more like a cornered animal with every step. It stops, when your back hits the wall; quickly, he closes the distance between you, cages you in before you can even think of escaping.

(He has you now, and he won’t let you go. Never.)

There’s that frightened look in your eyes again (he hates it, hates it, hates it), mixed with uncertainty, a little of desperation. He gathers you in his arms then, holds you close, not letting go even as you struggle against him, trying to break free. He kisses the top of your head, says your name, calms you down, even as you refuse to.

“It’s alright,” he says, repeats the words over and over, as though it’ll somehow be enough to convince you, make you see the truth.

“It’s not,” you reply, shaking your head. You’re beating your fists against his chests (but it’s useless, futile), and he shushes you, pulls you closer. You’re crying now, your sobs muffled by the fabric of his clothes, “You’ve ruined my life. You’ve ruined everything.”

He soothes you through your tears, lifting your chin up with a finger, forcing you to look at him. Here, he peppers your face with kisses, presses his lips against every inch of your skin, willing you to calm down, forget.

You claw at his back then (useless, futile), pleading for him to let you go. But he shakes his head. He can’t let you go. He won’t. He presses another kiss against the crown of your head, your hair, holds you even tighter against him, as if to show you his resolve, unwavering even now, unfaltering. He won’t give up on you, not now ever, because isn’t this what love is?

He can love. He can. And he’ll keep it proving it to you, over and over, no matter how long it takes, no matter what it takes, because is this not what love is?

#renwrites #ayato kaisato x reader #genshin impact x reader

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one-way-dream · 2 years

Text

o|-< man

#sorry m about to spill my guts here again #but i did talk to my therapist abt reinitiating therapy but im put on a waitlist till i get another appt and like #past 2 days ive done ok holding everything back and today was going well bjt every single time i thjnk abt home #or going home i mean iiiii feel like throwing up #just. some of the most intense anxiety ive ever felt in my life i dont want to go home for the weekend bc im scared #and i feel sick. thinking about it but i cant avoid it or act differently bc i dont want to make thjngs worse and #staying neutral is the only thing i can do. but doing so has its own set of problems but #if i get anymore involved ill fuck up everythjng more bc i cant mediate this properly when one person is emotionally blackmailing me and #the other is Also doing the same in a way and promises to burn all our bridges and never look back for good #like shes serious #and i cant take sides here its impossible they Need to talk but ones so angry i idk whay she'll do (not violence or anythjng but. worse?)#sorry i keep coming on here to vent like again i. dont have sny other place without potentially being found #i just feel so sick and anxious and i feel like being a coward and running away but #its hard when my life n existence revolves around them i just fucking wish theyd talk like normal people #i have promises to keep and rships to rebuild and i just Cant abandon either of them i cant snd #i get accused of being two faced bc i cant speak my mind on the spot and you know whay thats fine #i stopped having mental breakdowns in the bathroom at least so thats nice FJSHDKS #but i need to talk to a therapist rright the hell now and sort out that like #vile empty but anxious feeling thats in my system almost Constantly unless i busy myself with fiction or something #aaaaaaaaaa AAAAAA god whatever im so.#all this isnt as bad as what folks go through but it also fucking feels like my life and everything ive worked towards is falling apart #so thats neat?#anyway ANYWAY SORRY this was ridiculously long n i am at work and got curbstomped suddenly #i dont want my family to talk to me i just want them to be like. Normal this weekend. just one weekend.#m going to lose it h #vent /#tee.xt #also will delete this later if i remember

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shig-a-shig-ah · 2 years

Note

okay since requests are open,,,how about some filthy noncon with a really mean shigaraki 🥺👉👈

Mean Shigaraki is not my forte but for you, anon, I tried. (And sorry it took so long.) Also, obligatory shout-out to every Shigaraki home invasion fic I’ve ever read, because I def drew inspiration from them all.

» pairing: shigaraki tomura x fem!reader » contains: gn!pronouns, noncon (including the word ‘rape’) home invasion, wrist binding, mild violence, kidnapping, degradation, body shaming (specific reference to tit size but you don’t have to take it literally), choking, crying, a sprinkle of piss, oral sex (m!receiving), vaginal sex, and orgasm denial in the sense that he doesn’t even try to get you off. 18+, minors DNI. » words: 1.7k

Tomura comes prepared—slips in while you're sleeping and zip-ties your wrists before you can so much as stir, though that's a decision he half-regrets if he's being honest, because he thinks he'd like holding you down. Finds some primal satisfaction in the idea of using his own brute strength to restrain you, and to muscle you through the warp gate that so conveniently delivered him here.

But grappling with your thrashing form would mean sacrificing other forms of touch, ones he needs, and thrash you do. You might not wake until it's too late, but he has to admire the way you try to fight the moment you blink back sleep and see him standing over your bed. You kick and writhe, eyes so wide and full of terror that it has his cock twitching, and then you try to run despite your bound hands. Scramble to your feet and dart towards the door, and Tomura allows that pitiful attempt for a moment, just long enough to relish the adorable stab of hope that crosses your face when you slip past him.

It's a false hope. His reflexes are sharp—far sharper than yours—and his arm darts out at the last second to snatch you by the hair. He watches with satisfaction as your head snaps back and your feet lose purchase, a sharp cry spilling from your lips as his grip on your roots becomes the only thing keeping you from falling completely.

You cry out again when he throws you back on the bed, and you follow it up with a pitiful, pathetic whimper—one so delectable that for a moment he's light-headed, a sharp stab of heat pulsing in his gut and faint spasms wracking his hips, and it isn't until he notices the sticky damp against his pelvis that he even realizes he came, untouched.

Oh well. He planned for this—planned and planned for weeks, despite Kurogiri's reservations and his Sensei's mocking amusement—so who can blame him for being excited? For feeling the unparalleled thrill of seeing it all come together just how he envisioned it? And this is how he envisioned it—you look just as good as he knew you would, with your feet struggling to find purchase against the sheets, and tears tracking down your cheeks.

You try to scream when he takes a step closer, and he's on you immediately, slapping one hand over your mouth with his pinkie carefully extended, forcing the whole of his weight into you to pin you down, and you stop struggling then. Freeze entirely like a deer in the headlights, like prey that has only just realized they're in the presence of a predator. It's cute, if he's being honest, has his cock stirring in his pants again already.

He can feel you panicked breathes—sharp rapid huffs in and out through your nose as he starts to let his free hand wander, groping at your breasts through the thin fabric of your shirt, and pinching lightly at your inner thighs just to savor the way you jolt and let out a muffled squeal. It's tempting to take you right here—to tear away the thin fabric of your panties and bury himself inside you, and for a second he almost does just that. His hand reaches to cup roughly between your thighs, fingers exploring the contours of your clothed folds, and then you're going taut, shuddering oddly as his palm is being coated in a flood of wet warmth.

It takes him a moment, in the dim light and the haze of adrenaline, to understand what's happened. Isn't until he feels your lips quivering and sees your eyes wide with embarrassment instead of fear that it clicks: you've pissed yourself.

A throaty giggle bubbles up at that realization. "That scared of me, huh?" he rasps, not quite able to help the throaty giggle that bubbles up from his throat at the thought, and he punctuates the question by prodding at the soaked seat of your underwear. Then he's clambering off of you, four fingers grabbing you roughly by the arm as he jerks you towards the waiting warp gate. "You should be."

He'd had grand ideas, before, about what he might do once he had you where he wanted you, alone in his room with all the time in the world to avail himself of all you have to offer, but Tomura's impatient by the time he's shoving you down on his dirty sheets. He only yanks your still-bound wrists above your head and climbs to straddle you, once again relishing the way you whimper and your eyes widen with fear.

That look only intensifies when he shoves down the waistband of his sweats so that his cock can spring free, and again when he grabs a fistful of your flimsy shirt and sends it disintegrating. Then he's groping at your breasts, cupping that plush flesh and shoving it together.

"I thought your tits would be bigger," he mocks, rutting forward to rut against your sternum, and then giving up almost as quickly, interested in far more tantalizing things. He nudges his tip against your quivering lips, and when all you do is whine he lets two fingers find the joints of your jaw, squeezing hard until your mouth opens.

"Stick out your tongue," he orders and, obedient thing that you are, you do as he asks despite your obvious revulsion. He taps his spongy tip against your tongue as he issues a warning. "If you bite me, I'll hurt you."

He doesn't wait for acknowledgment after that. Just plunges himself deep in a single thrust, groaning at the heat of your mouth. Your tongue tries to fight the invasion, pushing against his cock in a way that has him shivering, and though part of him wants to savor it he doesn't have the patience—can't do anything except hump into your face erratically, relishing the way you choke around him. There's something cute again about the way you struggle for air and try not to retch as he slams himself against the back of your throat, your eyes watering as you sputter.

He can't say how long he lasts—is too lost in the haze of how good it feels and how perfect you look gagging beneath him—but he knows it's not long. A minute, maybe two, and then he's fisting one hand in your hair.

"A-ah, fuck!" he grits out as he comes down your throat, watching you struggle to swallow all of that slick, bitter offering, not that he gives you a choice. His cock softens too, but only slightly, and only for a second, and he wastes no time repositioning himself between your thighs, one calloused hand reaching down to stroke himself hard again. It borders on too much, but he knows his limits, knows that he's not even close to them, and the way you whimper only helps his efforts.

His free hand moves down to grip at your piss-soaked panties, sending the last of your clothing to ruins, and then he's teasing at your entrance, so slick and warm he can barely hold back.

"You know what I'm gonna do to you?" he asks, and when you only turn your head to avoid his gaze, his fingers find your chin again, forcing you to look at him. "C'mon," he pants, "say it."

"F-fuck me," you whine, and Tomura giggles. You're not wrong, but the way you're even struggling to speak is too perfect, too easy to mock. He leans in—lets his forehead rest against yours. "Yeah, but that's not what it's called when you don't want it, right? So what else am I gonna to do to you?"

Your eyes widen, your brows knitting in a way that's comical, as though that question, of all things, it's what's finally offended you. For a moment you seem like you won't answer, too, but when he wraps one hand around your throat for encouragement, pinkie carefully lifted, he feels you swallow hard. Then you're telling him what he wants to hear.

"R-rape me."

The meek way you squeak out the words has sharp heat sparking in his gut, and Tomura drags his tongue over your cheek, lapping at the salting tears spilling over there. "That's right."

He punctuates the statement by driving his hips forward, hard enough that you cry out, not that the sound deters him because fuck, it's even better than he expected—has all the breath rushing from his lungs as he's suddenly enveloped in that snug heat, and he can't help but laugh. "A-ah, shit, least your tight."

You struggle against the invasion at first, hips bucking, elbows bending as you try to shove him away with your tied hands, and he lets you at first—enjoys the extra friction of you squirming beneath him, enjoys the way he has to chase your hips to keep himself firmly inside you—but after a few minutes he can feels his balls tightening, pressure building, and then he's pinning your arms above your head again easily, his other hand tightening around your throat. You fight harder for a moment, but then your pallor is changing as you struggle to breathe and you're going still in submission, your instincts for self-preservation obviously outweighing your desire to fight him.

Tomura's lips split into another grin as he lets out a dry chuckle, and his hips work faster. "Guess you're not—ngh—not as stupid as you look."

He ruts into you harshly. Keeps his eyes firmly fixed on the way you grimace and let out tiny, pained sobs every time he bottoms out inside you. Still, you don't struggle anymore, not even when he's going taut and his hips are starting to move erratically, not even when he's driving himself roughly as deep as he can and his cock is twitching, flooding your abused cunt with his cum. You only squeeze your eyes shut tight, tears still tracking down your cheeks, and then whimper when he rolls off you.

He ignores that. Ignores the way the mess he's left between your thighs dribbles down to stain his sheets, too. He's already slumping down, catching his breath, thinking about all the things he'll do with you next.

Taglist: @dabisqueen @kiwiimochi @simultaneously-sick-and-calm @fgkween @nonobadcat @tirzamisu @httptamaki @toughbook @xxjesshuxx @lawfulrhi @doomsthotstash @wifetotomurashigaraki @evilmortytrapremix @sunasb3tch @handvillain @tomurastrashpanda @kinjuutsu@nao-cchi @pestlaege @get-shiggy-with-it

#shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #tomura shigaraki x you #shigaraki smut #shigaraki fanfic #ghuleh.writes #tw: noncon #tw: choking #tw: kidnapping #tw: home invasion #tw: crying #tw:orgasm denial

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etherealeeknow · 3 years

Text

the fwb rules

• rated m for mature

• pairing: fwb!hyunjin x fem!reader

• wc: 4.559

• tw: explicit language, light characterization of an insecure reader, unprotected piv sex (stay safe, lovelies!), fingering & oral (f), nipple play, cream pie— i think that’s all, please do tell me if you find more c:

• note: last time i said long fic isn’t my forte and this time i’ll still say the same hahahahaha. but still, i hope i don’t disappoint 🥺 please kindly note that english isn’t my first language. therefore, i apologize for any mistakes. feedbacks are always appreciated because i’d love to grow! thank you for waiting and enjoy 💞 pretty banner made by my bestie!! ilysm 😽😽😽

• tag list: @charlieshelves @es-kay-zee @formidxble @oh-my-sparkle @bobateastay @http-hyxnjxn @lyralurexrattle @hyunsluvv @healinghyunjin @sailorhyunjinz

—

what happened to the rules?

it didn’t start off like this. you can’t remember when exactly you started wondering about the five word question. all you know is that you were one bite away from gobbling a spoonful of jisung’s ice cream when it struck you: since when did you and hyunjin stop going by the rules? he’s been occasionally texting you out of the blue lately just to know what you’re up to, and today he even asked you to stay the night at his, and as much as you want to believe they’re all normal, again, it didn’t start off like this. from the beginning, you and hyunjin have come up with three rules so your relationship can work: one, be very casual. two, no strings attached. three, no fucks given outside of the, well, literal fucking. but look at you now, lying naked and out of breath under his blanket while facing his ceiling, driving yourself insane over the haunted question. you have to get it off your chest somehow, but how?

“hey, why so serious?” asks the culprit behind your overthinking, causing you to jump slightly over his sudden appearance and your hands instinctively pull up the blanket to cover your naked chest, which as a result, makes him chuckle. cute. “here. it’s my cousin’s,” adds the topless man as he sits on the edge of the bed and hands you a white shirt that even under the dim light, you can already tell won’t fit you.

“your cousin? the model? hyunjin, she’s tiny,” you utter, hands still gripping onto the blanket. “i’m—“

“you,” he cuts you off, placing a hand on top of yours while carefully glancing at you to make sure you there aren’t any signs of discomfort. “are fine, y/n. now hurry up. i’m sleepy,” he adds before letting go, leaving behind a lingering warmth on your knuckles.

nodding, you turn your back on him to change, and the room falls silent, causing you to hear how fast your heart is thumping even more than it should have. is it because you had too much coffee this morning? or it can probably be because the shirt is too tight that it’s cutting off your air circulation, right? right, of course. you tell yourself because as much as you dislike both reasons, they are still far better than having hyunjin as the cause.

once you’re done, hyunjin already has his back lying against the bedhead, his head tilting slightly to the side, avoiding the light coming from the night lamp on the bedside table, while his eyes bore deeply into yours. unbothered that he’s been caught staring, he averts his gaze downwards till they reach your chest and spot how your nipples are sticking out through the thin fabric.

“see? it fits you just fine,” he says, turning his vision back to your face as he opens his arms and motions them at you, only to have you remain in the same position with your increasing heartbeat.

“aren’t you gonna, uh, wear something?”

instead of a proper answer, all you get is his laugh—hyunjin’s contagious laugh that usually always succeeds in making you laugh too. but today hits differently. has his laugh always sounded this lighthearted before? no matter what the answer is, one thing for sure is that despite how sweet hwang hyunjin and his laugh are, they have never made your cheeks burn like this before, and this is forbidden. it’s against the rules.

“an hour ago we were naked while sucking each other’s face, y/n,” he finally answers after a while. “besides, i always sleep like this. now, come on,” he adds, repeating the same gesture, except this time his hands are open wider, eager to have you near him again because the space around him is starting to make him feel lonely.

complying with him, you fall into his embrace and hyunjin immediately lets his hands travel to the exact places of where they want to be—one around your head and the other around your waist. despite the room turning less cold with his warmth directly passing onto you, your heart and cheeks conditions remain the same especially since you can hear how hyunjin’s heartbeats are beating just as fast as yours when he lets you lay your head on his chest.

“hyunjin,” you call out, hands fiddling with the collar of your shirt.

“y/n,” he replies, replacing the collar with his fingers instead, intertwining them with yours.

what happened to the rules?

“do... do fwb do these?” you ask, the bravery in you finally decide to show up, even just for a little.

“do this?” he asks back while squeezing your hand with all his might, as if he’s nervous.

no. not ‘this’, but ‘these’. not only the hand grabbing, but also the fact that he asked you to stay the night, that he’s cuddling you to sleep, and that you’ve been getting unusual symptoms over them until this very moment.

“yes, this,” you nod and hyunjin becomes muted, but his heartbeats are growing louder, and his grip on you has become tighter.

after what feels like forever, he whispers, voice slightly cracking, and hands getting a little colder, “yes. yes, they do.”

then the two of you become muted, but both heartbeats keep growing louder, and everything stays that way until sleep eventually takes over.

—

as a homebody, you’ve always against the idea of sleepovers. you believe home is the sweetest place and your own bed is the comfiest even when your mattress is older than a decade and your favorite plushie has had too many holes here and there. but waking up in hyunjin’s bed has broken your stigma—never in your whole life that you’d have thought someone else’s bed can provide you twice the comfort.

“looks like someone had a good sleep,” chirps jisung as he sits beside you, causing you to wipe off the smile on your face before going back to your laptop.

“wow suddenly my best friend’s a psychic?”

“hey, that’d actually make a great drama title!” he exclaims and you roll your eyes. “please do spill the tea though. what happened?” he adds.

“what happened?” you ask back, eyes still on the screen, but the corner of your lips are on the verge of breaking into the smile, knowing full well he’ll complain—which he does by lamely calling you a meanie.

laughing, you tell him nothing happened, but the way he rolls his eyes is a sign he’s not taking any of your bullshit. you are telling the truth though. besides spending the night with each other, nothing really happened, right? it was just another casual fucking session. yes, it was amazing, but that’s no news for jisung. the guy’s practically your wingman—setting you up with hyunjin was his idea because he believes you should, “live your life. have that dreamy college sex orelse you’ll regret it like my old man changbin!”

right on cue, a notification popped out on your big screen, and the sender’s name makes your heart pop too.

“aha, see!” jisung points at it. “y/n, where are you?” he reads out loud, earning yourselves all the eyes from every other student in class.

“oh my god, jisung. shut up!” right when you’re about to log out from the chat app, hyunjin sends another one.

“can i call you?” jisung reads once more and you’re only one second away from smacking his head, but your vibrating phone holds you back.

shooting jisung a glare, you make sure to close your laptop before leaving the class, answering hyunjin’s call even when you’re still half way through the door. right when you’re about to greet him hello, hyunjin beats you to it—his voice a bit raspy, but the softness in his tone still lies within, and it creates endless questions in your mind.

has he just woken up? so is this how he sounds in the morning? why is he calling?

and the list goes on because this isn’t like hyunjin at all. sure, he’s not validating the rules, but he’s breaking his character despite already alarming you to anticipate morning booty calls from him at times. he’s never actually done that though.

“hi,” you reply, startling yourself with how small your voice came out.

“you left,” says hyunjin and you can hear him sighing from the other line, which somehow causes a slight pang in your heart, wondering if perhaps he is disappointed. “can you come back? wait, actually, let me go to you instead.” he says and you can hear the rustling sounds coming from his side.

“hyunjin, i have class. that’s why i left. i—” should you apologize? but why should you? casual, no strings attached, and no fucks given, remember? “i’m sorry.”

“oh.” hyunjin stops on his track before plopping back down onto the bed, smiling. “i’ll pick you up after class then. when will you finish?”

unconsciously, a smile creeps up your face too, but the realization hits you right after, then followed by the five word question, and you know—you know this is your guts telling you that now’s the time to ask him about it, but your heart hates confrontation. plus, wouldn’t it be rude to reply to someone else’s question with a question? “hyunjin, are you, uh, horny?”

just like yesterday, hyunjin laughs, and with the raspiness in his voice still present, he doesn’t fail to make you laugh along, but at the same time waking the butterflies in your stomach and makes you rethink your decision. mayhaps, you should’ve left him a note or told him that you’ll leave early in the morning; or even, you should’ve ditched classes today and stayed so when he wakes up, you can get him a glass of water, not leaving the boy uncared for like this. but who are you to do so?

“isn’t it normal for a guy to have a morning wood?” he jokes before quickly adding that he’s not horny. “i just want to see you so let me go get you.”

pressing your lips together, you contemplate on whether you should let him. if you do, won’t you be turning whatever the two of you have right now into something far more complicated? but it’s only until hyunjin adds a desperate “please?” that all of your dilemma disappears, as if you’re being cast into his spell—“okay.”

—

while heading to the gate, you have the biggest urge to book a massage appointment. dodging jisung’s questions and running away from him after the first period was draining, but having to spend the day running back and forth between two buildings because thinking that volunteering as the lecturers’ teaching assistant was draining on a whole new level. other than feeling like your legs are gonna come off, your mind also feels like it’s gonna blow off—you can’t stop recalling all the things you need to start working on as soon as possible, but stepping into hyunjin’s car turns everything to 180 degrees.

you’d like to think that it’s because of the faint lavender aroma coming from his car freshener along with the heavenly cool air conditioner, but no. you know full well it’s because of the way hyunjin’s smile lit up, his eyes disappear into two small crescent moons, and his blonde hair which is becoming one with the warm orange sky that brings peace to your heart.

“hi,” he breathes out the moment you close the door, and you do the same except for looking at him, which causes hyunjin to furrow his eyebrows while speeding away.

the way home is silent, just the way you like it, but you know full well that it’s not hyunjin’s cup of tea. he doesn’t need to say it, his action is showing it all as he’s been fidgeting non stop, wiping his sweaty palm along his jeans while occasionally licking his plump lips. hyunjin’s a very vocal person. he’s talkative and loud—including in bed. you press your warm cheeks over the realization of your own thoughts, embarrassed. you can’t possibly suspect hyunjin for being horny in the morning when you yourself are being like this in the afternoon. it’s uncalled for.

noticing you from the corner of his eye, hyunjin calls out, asking you if there’s anything wrong, totally catching you off guard. what should you say? lying is not your forte, but being honest clearly isn’t the best option right now, at least, not before you shower and appear presentable in front of him—but wait, since when did that matter so much? a few months ago, you even fucked after you ran a marathon.

“y/n?” calls hyunjin for the second time.

“look, hyunjin, really, it’s okay if you’re horny. you can pull over and i can, uh, relieve you and i can just take the bus home after,” you spit out shamelessly while looking at him straight in the eyes, eager to get far away from hyunjin as fast as possible before you go out of your mind.

just like the night before, hyunjin laughs. and just like the night before, his laugh hits differently and it does nothing other than burning your already burnt cheeks for the worse.

“i swear to god, y/n, i’m not horny. i genuinely want to take you home. nothing more,” explains hyunjin, head straight at the road but eyes repeatedly stealing glances at you. “and nothing less,” he adds, voice barely audible but you caught it.

“o— oh.” is all you manage to respond before the ride quickly turns quiet and hyunjin’s hands begin fidgeting again, all the while you’re trying to decode what he has just said—what does he mean by genuinely wanting to take you home? do fwb do this too? what happened to no fucks given?—and it goes on until hyunjin hits the break in front of your old apartment building.

“we’re here,” says hyunjin, breaking the silence by unlocking the car door.

“we’re here,” you repeat after him, already opening the door and setting a foot out. “uh, thank you.”

“don’t mention it.” hyunjin shoots you his signature smile the moment you lower yourself to meet his eye level from outside the car; this time, you have no choice but to fall under his spell.

“hey, uh, you wanna come in?” you ask, biting your lower lip as a way to punish yourself for being so indecisive. one second you want to run away from him and the next second you want to be near him. come on, get a grip.

as if the punishment isn’t enough, hyunjin declines your offer, all while chuckling with his head thrown back. “for the third time, y/n. i’m not horny. go in and rest up.”

“if you say so.” you shrug, giving him a small smile before turning around, making sure not to look back, only to fail when you hear the engine driving away.

—

you can’t quite tell—no, you can’t tell. you don’t get it. there’s an unexplainable empty space in your heart that is caused by hyunjin’s rejection. is it because you’re just not used to see him without having to fuck him? or is it because you’re hurt over the fact that he’s not in the mood to touch you? is it because of last night? is he finally sick of your flaws? things would probably be different if you had retouched your makeup or at least combed your hair before seeing him, would they? either way, you’re fully aware you shouldn’t be torn over your friend with benefits, yet your aching heart says otherwise.

and so when the doorbell rings only a few seconds after you get in and the figure you see through the peephole is no other than the man in question, you spare no time to swing the door open. hyunjin, in return, spares no time to lock his lips with yours right after he utters a brief apology. just like the way hyunjin sneaks his playful hands down your ass, you sneak your tongue in his mouth, and your action makes him smile into the kiss as he leads you back into the room and kicks the door shut with his long legs.

the way to your bedroom is actually pretty short, but with your tongues moving in sync, bodies pressing—glued, even, and eyes continuously closing in pleasure, the short way to your bedroom consists of endless stumbling, tripping, and bumping the door. once inside, you break the kiss and are about to undress yourself when hyunjin beats you to it, settling you down on the bed as he begins taking off your attire one by one ever so effortlessly. and in just a matter of seconds, his lips are back on yours again, floral scented hair falling and brushing against your cheeks, leaving you no time to wonder over the fact that it’s the first time hyunjin has ever undressed you.

as the kiss continues, you can feel yourself gushing more and more that you start grinding on him mindlessly, needing to feel more than just his bulge poking you. your hands leave his blonde strands to tug on his hoodie, only to have him stop you—one hand around your grip and the other rests on your hip.

“what do you think you’re doing?”

“need you. need to feel you,” you mumble, desperation so visible through your cracked voice.

“what happened to the girl who was all flustered to sleep with me last night just because i was shirtless?”

autumn nights aren’t supposed to be hot, but hyunjin has proven he has the power to make the impossible happen just with his words and mocking smirk. but the rising heat on your cheeks is nothing compared to the emptiness you feel below, clenching around nothing surely isn’t the best feeling.

“please, jinnie,” you whine, tugging on his hoodie once more, hips moving against his hold.

“fuck.” is all he manages to say before getting off the bed to disrobe himself—hoodie and track pants thrown across the room, now showcasing his toned body and thighs altogether as he hovers over you.

“please take this off too. it looks suffocating,” you say, index finger running faintly through the bulge forming from his tight boxer, making it stand up even more and hyunjin has no choice but to obey you. “put your hair up too please,” you add just when he’s about to dive right back in, and again, your wish is his command.

biting to pull off his hair tie from his wrist, hyunjin smoothly ties his hair back and you’re only given a few seconds to admire his feature before his plump lips coming in contact with your hardened nipple while he toys with the other using his fingers—rubbing and pinching, making your breath hitch over the sensation, fingers digging into his bare shoulders because you don’t want to mess up his hair, and hyunjin’s low grunts pretty much indicate he’s loving it.

“more, please. give me m—”

hyunjin retreats his hand and tongue away from your breast, moving them to your naked pussy, drawing circles on your outer labia with his middle finger. he teases you just enough and quickly slides in his digit and at the same time sucks on your clit right before you’re about to complain, making you tingle from head to toe.

“you hear that?” he asks, voice muffled, the effect of being too tongue tied from licking every part of your heat, but finger working its magic perfectly, creating loud wet noises from your fluid. “drenched. my pretty y/n is drenched,” says hyunjin, and as much as you want to comment on him for the pet name, you’re too caught up on how his lips vibrate against you the moment he starts palming himself with his unoccupied hand. if he keeps it up, you know you would come undone there and then, and you don’t want that—not yet. so you ask him to stop and he instantly does as told.

“what’s wrong? did i hurt you?” there’s fear written across his expression and heard from his tone, but you’d like to believe your eyes and lips are just playing tricks on you.

“n— no. i just,” you pause to avoid his gazes, but something within you pulls your attention back on him. “i wanna cum with you inside me,” you confess, voice barely audible due to embarrassment; all this time, it’s always been hyunjin to say such things, but perhaps, all the strange tension lately has finally gotten the best of you. you hear him mutter a low “fuck” while his pupils shakes for a brief moment before they somehow appear a shade darker. licking his lower lip, hyunjin pulls you by your legs and rests them on his shoulders, and proceeds to align his tip with your entrance, once again teasing your throbbing core.

the moment you whine is the moment hyunjin pushes himself inside ever so gently, but the stretching still has you throwing your head back, while hyunjin letting our airy moans upon your walls clenching around him. none of you can tell how it’s possible for your vagina to remain so tight after all the countless fucking session for the past half year, but hyunjin doesn’t find that troubling. in fact, he lives for that and it shows from the way his eyes roll to the back of his head as he begins thrusting in and out of you—slowly but steady, veiny hands secured on your hips, vision goes back and forth from your half-lidded eyes to your parted lips.

hyunjin leans down to kiss you for a couple of seconds, and when he lets go, he quickens his pace—leaning down once more so his length can go deeper in you, hitting your g-spot. at that very moment, you mentally praise yourself for placing the bedroom mirror right across the bed. it presents you with the magnificent view of hyunjin’s rounded, firm ass bouncing rhythmically whenever he snaps his hips, and placing your hands around them, squeezing them, nearly makes you drool over the sight. with hyunjin constant thrusts, the familiar knot in your abdomen starts to bubble up.

“oh my god,” the two of you whimper in unison as hyunjin begins to lose his tempo, moves also grow sloppy, but never once misses your spot.

“y/n, i— ah— i’m so close. fuck,” he breathes out, sweat forming on his forehead, wetting his baby hair down to his neck and chest, and you can only drool helplessly at the sight.

“me too. please cum inside me, cum with me, hyunjin, please, please,” you beg, voice a pitch higher, almost sounds like you strain your throat, and it stays the same. when you feel hyunjin twitch inside you, your hands automatically reach for the bed sheet again, but it only lasts for a second before they’re being taken by hyunjin’s own hands—he has never done this. while intertwining your fingers, his cock twitches again and his eyes roll to the back of his head, jaw falls open as he calls out your name—you naturally do the same, fingers pressing flat against his white knuckles

“hyu—”

“cum, baby,” he cuts you off, averting his hazy eyes on you, and that’s all it takes for you to break—your orgasm washes over you like waves and you cum undone around hyunjin, shaking and mewling altogether while feel the wet coldness around your inner thigh. hyunjin follows right after, shooting his hot cement inside of you; the man can no longer keep his eyes open as he buries his face on the crook of your neck, his choked moans bring music right to your ear all a while his hot breaths bring goosebumps to your unrecovered body.

after riding out your highs, none of you move. hyunjin stays on top of you, his chest rises and falls according to your hard breathing. somehow, it’s calming you down, but it shouldn’t.

“hyunjin, you’re heavy.”

“oh, sorry,” he chuckles and even without looking, you can tell his eyes are smiling too. with his remaining strength, hyunjin pushes himself up and rests on your thighs to pull his dick out of you, momentarily admiring the mixture of his juice and yours dripping down your cunt before fixing his eyes on you to study your face—also something he has never done before.

“i’m sorry,” he mutters a few moments later, eyes now on you.

tilting your head, you sit up, resting your upper body with your hands on the bed. “all of a sudden? i came? you always make me feel good.”

“that’s what i’m sorry about. i— i didn’t mean to— i mean, i—”

you reach out to him, gently patting his thigh. “hyunjin, calm down. this isn’t like you,” you whisper the last sentence, knowing that perhaps, now’s the time to talk things out, to stop whatever is going on, and go back to how things are used to be, maybe? your heart’s just been restless for too long and apparently, hyunjin seems to be in a similar situation too.

“i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to keep using you like this. i genuinely meant what i said. i only wanted to take you home, but we ended up here and—”

“isn’t that what fwb do?” you pull your hand off his thigh, and a frown painted across his face as if he’s questioning your question. “that’s what we agreed on. we have our fwb rules, remember?”

“one, be very casual. two, no strings attached. three, no fucks given outside of the, well, literal fucking,” says hyunjin, proving he has memorized every words to the back of his mind.

nodding, you carefully bring back your hand to his thigh, repeating the same movement you did before. “exactly. so you don’t have to be sorry. don’t worry, i’m not feeling used at all.” you end it with a smile.

hyunjin mirrors you, he smiles too; his eyes fall to where your hand is. “but what if i’m breaking them? the rules,” asks the boy whose cold hand is now on top of your warm one. “what if i like you?” his eyes find their way back to you, and that’s when you know. the difference between your temperatures; the difference between your smile and his—the sadness that lies within.

that’s when you understand. everything finally makes sense; every one of hyunjin’s unusual acts. the constant texts and calls, the undressing, the pet names, the facial expression, the hand holding.

what happened to the rules? feelings. that’s what happened. to hyunjin, it’s his feelings over the rules.

but you, what about you? the butterflies, the irregular increasing heartbeats, the flushing cheeks, the overthinking, the disappointment at some point.

“y/n,” hyunjin calls out and you don’t get to get back to him because he’s already an inch away from you, momentarily eyeing your lips before he closes the distance. once again, his blonde hair falls down, brushing against his cheek before meeting yours and it tickles you, but not in the same way as how his kiss tickles your heart; giddy.

what happened to the rules? unwanted feelings. that’s what happened. to you, it’s the unwanted feelings against the rules. and for now, the unwanted feelings are too strong for you to push him away, so you pull him close instead. for now.

—

gen’s masterlist

repeating this!! special note: HUGE THANK YOU for my awesome bestie for the banner 🥺💞💞 ily, bish!! thank you for being my beta reader too 😽😽😽

#gen writes #hyunjin smut #stray kids smut #skz smut #hyunjin hard thoughts #hyunjin hard hours #stray kids hard hours #stray kids hard thoughts #hyunjin fic #hyunjin scenarios #hyunjin imagine #stray kids fic #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagine #hyunjin imagines #kpop smut #kpop fic

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scuttle-buttle · 3 years

Text

WC: 2261

Rated: M

Tags: angst, medical issues, pregnancy complications, hurt/comfort, anxiety, brief mentions of medical procedures but no gore, nothing is technically sad, fluff, papa laszloooo

A/N: honestly tho I am sorry. also i maybe cried a little writing this, which is a first. also also everybody is fine in this it's just emotional

Blame @hardlyinteresting

🧠

"Three weeks…. Three weeks little bean…" you mumble as you rub your protruding stomach after a particularly harsh kick to your ribs. The chair was a sweet relief to your ankles after a long day at work and doing some light chores around the house all afternoon. You had three weeks until you hit 39 weeks into your pregnancy. As much as you were anxious you were ready. Ready to not feel like a bloated whale. Ready to not have sore feet. But most of all, ready to hold your baby girl.

Laszlo had been trying to convince you to take it easy and start maternity leave early, but you resisted. The last thing you were about to do is nothing. Most first pregnancies went late anyway, you'd argued, so you didn't worry about it yet. I’m pregnant, not dying - give me another week, you'd told him.

What you didn't tell him was about the headaches. Or how sore your legs were. Or how absolutely exhausted you'd been feeling the last couple weeks. Whenever he would ask if you were alright or offer a foot rub you would just brush it off as third trimester woes. You didn't want to worry him.

You were sat in an armchair in the parlor, feet propped up, damp rag over your eyes. The droning from the tv had your nerves on edge. All you wanted to do was take some tylenol and feel better, but you had been knocking back more than was probably safe the last few days so you went without.

A sudden pain shoots through you causing the rag to fall onto your chest. “Ohh...ow? OW!” You sit up straighter as the ache persists; the dull throbbing in your upper abdomen unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. Were you in labor early? Did she just kick in a bad spot? No no - surely the pain would’ve died down by now had that been the case. Unless? Can babies kick so hard they rupture something? Did my kid just bust my liver? Your thoughts run rampant as you wait, in vain, for the pain to go away. The pricking behind your eyes and in your temples only made it more hellish. Pressing your palm to the spot does nothing, nor do the breathing exercises you had been taught.

When five minutes have passed by without relief you make the choice to call out for your husband. “Laz?” No response. “Laszlo!” A beat passes; nothing. You swallow through your building nausea.

“I swear to fucking-” you growl as you snatch your phone from the end table to your left. You use all your concentration to dial his number.

It rings four times.

“Bärchen, why are you call-”

You don’t let him finish. “Something’s wrong.”

______

Head thrown back into the flat, starchy hospital pillow you groan in frustration. “permanent bedrest?” You scrub the hand not clutching your belly down your face.

The emergency room Obstetrician gives you a pitying look. “I’m afraid so - your blood pressure is high and we want to keep it under control to prevent outcomes such as pre-eclampsia. I recommend doing as little as absolutely possible; get rid of as many stressors as you can.” He flips through your chart. “You said you’ve been having headaches and fatigue for nearly two weeks? Why didn’t you come in sooner?”

Huffing, you tell him “I thought it was just part of the third trimester. Everyone always complains about how bad it is.” He hums in response.

“Well. I’m going to go take a final look at your labs, make sure everything else is fine before we discharge you. I’ll send in my Nurse Practitioner to give you the run down and anything else you’ll need to know. And should anything else like this happen again - get in here immediately.” He pats you awkwardly on the hand before nodding at Laszlo and leaving the room.

Laszlo.

Sparing a glance from the corner of your eye you see him looking towards his lap, his weaker hand cradled in the other. He’d been quiet since you admitted when your symptoms had first begun. Every single time he’d asked you how you were feeling you had lied to him. Granted, you didn’t technically know you were lying. But it makes little difference when you’re sitting in the ER. He had every reason to be upset.

“Laszlo honey,” you reach over to him. Slowly he takes your proferred hand and stands, coming to stop beside the bulky bed frame. His thumb caresses your wrist.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve examined the signs, kept a better eye on you.”

“Laz-”

“-No-”

“-I didn’t want to worry you, okay?-” Your voice breaks as you defend yourself.

“-I could’ve done something, maybe- I don't know!” His slightly raised voice startles you quiet. The pain in his eyes only makes you feel guiltier. He licks his lips. “I took the liberty of calling your mother. She will be here tomorrow afternoon and will be staying in the guest room as long as we need her.”

Now you look away, indignant. “I don’t need to be watched like I’m a child.” The tears behind your eyelids rush in; a lone drop trailing down your cheek as the embarrassment settles within your gut. You knew that at some point it was likely you would need her here. However you imagined it to be under happier circumstances. A deep inhale fails to calm your sobs. “I just- I don’t want to be a burden with all this.” Your tears flow freely now.

“My dear you could never be.” Laszlo sits on the edge of the bed. He rests his right palm above the swell of your child, his left cupping along the curve of your jaw. He tilts you to face him. “But the health of you and our girl is what is most crucial now. Let us take care of you. Please.”

A gentle kick underneath his palm from your daughter is answer enough.

__________

Two weeks. 14 days.

Lying in bed, sitting in the same spot for hours on end was actually going to be the death of you. You were sure of it.

Your mother truly has been a huge help since arriving. Laszlo wanted to start his paternity leave, but you insisted that he stay until you were closer to your due date. Which couldn’t come fast enough, you might add. Both Laszlo and your mother were prone to pestering you about some things, but at other times if you truly wanted to be alone they gave you your space. Now was one of those times. Laptop to your side, you watch another episode of Grey’s Anatomy. A knock sounds. You turn to see your husband standing in the doorway, the blood pressure monitor in arm.

He gives you a bright smile. “How are you two on this fine afternoon?”

“Cut it with the attitude, bucko. Let’s get this over with.” The words, while harsh, had little bite to them. His brow raises but he says nothing. You honestly felt bad that you’d been in a pretty foul mood since being discharged. On more than one occasion you’d said as much to Laszlo and your mother - they didn’t deserve your ire. Thankfully they understood why you were so frustrated.

You held the strap in place as he secured the velcro and started the machine. Buzzing filled the overall quiet room. Closed eyes you wait. Some days your results were higher than others. Unless you became higher than a certain threshold the doctor said you were safe to be home. At the sound of a beep Laszlo unhooks the cuff, reporting that your levels are within the acceptable range. When he goes to leave you alone you clutch at his sleeve. He waits as you peer up at him. “Stay?”

He never could say no to you.

______

Little bean’s ruthless treatment of your bladder had you up for the second time that night. You waddled to the bathroom to attend to your business and wash your hands. Glancing at the circles under your eyes in the mirror you sigh. “I love you baby bean but you’re giving me a run for my money here, kid,” you whisper as you rub your stomach. Three days, you remind yourself.

The floor creaks as you shuffle back to bed. Suddenly, an odd warm trickling sensation travels down your legs. “What the fuck?” Looking down around your bulging bump you find yourself standing in a small puddle, the glint of the bathroom night light reflecting off the surface. “Shit okay…ah Laszlo? Hey, I need you to wake up.”

He grumbles. With a roll of your eyes you walk over and shake him awake. “Hey- what-” he sits up instantly and blinks at you. “Is everything alright?”

“My water broke.”

He hops into action right away. Moving you to sit on the bed, he pulls out his cell phone to call your doctor. As he talks you watch him move around the room, the phone wedged between his ear and shoulder, as he collects your hospital supplies. You feel useless as you sit. Yet, you know that your priority needs to be keeping yourself calm and that moving around could exacerbate your condition.

He hangs up. Coming to stand in front of you he presses a kiss to your forehead; “I’ll go wake your mother. Don’t move, Liebling.”

As you sit you blow out a long breath. You look down at your bump. “Guess you decided you’re ready to go, huh kid?” The tip of your fingers brush along the side of your stomach. “I know we’re ready for you too. We’re going to love you so much, and your daddy? He’s gonna be the best, you’ll see.” Placing your palms flat she nudges you from within.

_____

The doctors decided that a c-section was the safest route. You both knew it was a possibility, but you had hoped that after weeks of bedrest that your blood pressure would balance out enough for a natural delivery. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. They monitored you for an hour before your contractions began, officially confirming you were in fact in active labor and dilating. After the fourth hour your blood pressure began to spike again. That’s when they decided to prep you for the procedure.

The operation went smoothly. The atmosphere of the surgical suite was tense with your nerves, but Laszlo’s calming words and his hand squeezing yours kept the anxiety from spilling over. You even found it in you to poke fun at how ridiculous he looked in the puffy blue elastic hair cap he wore.

When the first cries rang out you nearly tried to hop off the table to see your baby. The doctors worked quickly to ensure you were in proper condition while the infant was cleaned.

“Dad? Would you like to come and cut the cord?” one of the nurses calls out.

Laszlo looks back at them before turning to face you. He searches your eyes for a moment; “go,” you nod with a smile. You watch as he did what the nurses instructed as best you could, her soft wails echoing in the small room. He returns to you right after while they finish wrapping her up in a blanket.

“She’s beautiful my dear,” your professor confesses. He leans to give you a lingering kiss. “I’m so unbelievably proud of you.”

“I love you so much.”

“As I love you.”

The doctor interrupts your moment. “Would you like to hold your baby girl?” The question is directed at you, but you look over to your husband. The man you love more than life itself. He stares at the little bundle as if she’s the most incredible sight he’s ever laid eyes on. He can’t take his gaze off her. His irises sparkle with unshed tears as he looks on with wonder.

“Laz?” Finally he breaks away. “Hold your little girl - she’s been waiting to meet her Papa.”

Carefully the doctor shifts his hold on the babe to slide her into Laszlo’s waiting arm. He swallows as he pulls her to his chest. Something caught between a sob and a laugh leaves him. You blink through your own tears at the sight of your husband and daughter, a sight so far beyond perfect there could be no words. Laszlo held her with such delicacy, such reverence. It was as if any moment she could slip away as though a dream.

“Hello there my little dove, I’ve been waiting a very long time to meet you.” He doesn’t bother to wipe away the streams that fall from his eyes. “I’m your Papa and I-” he sniffs, looking towards the ceiling and blinking rapidly to clear his eyes. You rest your hand on his bicep. “I love you so very much. I would give you the world if I could. Your grandfather didn’t...he was not....” he pauses to gather himself. “To me you are the greatest gift I could ever receive. I will be the best father I can for you. A father worthy of you. Mein Gott, Ich liebe dich my darling dove.”

He continued to hold her in his arms until it was time to take you into the recovery room. When he had asked if you wanted her you simply shook your head. You would get your chance, you had a lifetime to do so. But your Laszlo needed this. He needed his little dove.

Tag list

@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @greeneyedblondie44 @unbeatablecurlgirl @apparrio @marchingicenotes7 @anteroom-of-death @bruhidaniel @lemairepstuff @thehuiabird @zemosimp05 @alindeluce @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @laura-naruto-fan1998 @trelaney @boneheadduluc @i-am-dead-inside-666 @fictionlandslanddreams @that-one-fandom-kid @hb8301 @fandom-princess-forevermore @foggycandywitch @creme-bruhlee @andy-rocks @nonamec0s @everythingbeginsineternity-blog @uncomfortablebagel @rachelicouss @wisia02

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cherrycheridarling · 3 years

Text

'someday maybe' | t.h.

tom holland x singer!reader

warnings: one swear? fluff and angst? kisses

summary: you're so close to finishing your second album when your manager pushes the deadline, your ex tom helps you write the final track.

{listen to someday by michael bublè and meghan trainor (if you want)}

wc: 2.1k

"Someday maybe when we're old and grey,"

"Yes, yes. I know. You are not being a very helpful manager right now, Noelle." you spoke to your phone as you paced around the living room, "Okay. I'll get working on it. Bye." you huffed and threw your phone against the couch.

Your album was due to be released in two months and you needed one more song to tie it all together. Your manager, Noelle, was pushing you to finish the song so she could start the promo of the album.

You were incredibly grateful for your career, but the pressure weighed down on you everyday. Never ending.

With a final groan you picked up your acoustic guitar and sat on the couch. Picking at the strings, trying to find a melody. You hit record on your voice memo app before strumming away.

"Someday maybe when we're old and grey, we can be in love once more. 'Till then I won't give my love away. Darling, I'm forever only yours." you sang softly.

You and Tom had a joyous relationship. A love that only ever existed in movies and fairytales. The type of love story that gets told for generations and onwards. But alas, all good things must come to an end.

Your breakup was calm, serene and clean. A mutual agreement as if your whole relationship had been a business deal. There were no loose ends or jealous passive aggressive remarks made. Just maturity and respect for one another.

Your pinky still held the promise ring he gave you. A token of appreciation. A reassurance that he'd always be there for you. And he lived up to his word.

Tom walked in and sat across from you, startling you, "Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you. Whatcha writing?"

"Need a final song for the album. Sorry for showing up unannounced. I just get better inspiration here, with all the memories, you know?" you timidly looked back down at the guitar.

Tom nodded, "No need to apologize. We gave you a spare key for a reason."

You couldn't stop yourself from spilling the words from your lips, "That was when we were together."

You could hear the awkward silence start to fill the room before he spoke again, "Still our best friend, Y/L/N."

The pain that crossed your features was instant. Being addressed by your last name felt like a stab to the gut. Especially by Tom.

You nodded before playing again, "Can I help you write it?" Tom asked as he sat next to you.

"Dancer, gymnast, actor and now songwriter. How many hidden talents have you got, Holland?" you teased making him laugh.

He shrugged with a smile, "It's kind of like writing a poem, right?"

You pondered on his analogy before slowly nodding, "Yeah, it kind of is. Give it a go."

You began playing the melody and he listened intently for a few moments before singing, "I love seeing you happy. I miss seeing that smile. It's been such a long time. A– Nope. Nope. Nuh-uh. I can't do it." he shook his head aggressively with a loud laugh as you stopped playing.

"No!" you quickly protested, "That was amazing! Don't leave me hanging, c'mon." you nudged him with your shoulder before strumming again.

"Alright, alright." he ran his hands down his face, "And although I don't have you, I know now that I need to?" he paused and gave you a skeptical look before you nodded again, "Somehow make you mine. Mmm."

"Oh, okay. He's giving ad-libs and all. Get it." you nodded as he laughed.

You were so engrossed on Tom actually writing a song with you that you didn't focus on the lyrics he was singing.

"And I won't lie, it's hard seeing you with him 'cause I know he can't hold you like I can." his mood seemed to drop by a thousand as the words left his lips.

"When can we meet this boyfriend of yours?" Harrison flicked your forehead from across the booth.

You, Harrison, Tom and Tuwaine were all sat in the local pub. Pints of beer in front of each of you as loud music and chatting filled your ears.

You shrugged, "He's picking me up, so possibly tonight."

Tuwaine's eyes lit up, "Fina-fucking-lly. I swear you've kept him hidden for years."

"We've only been together for three months, T." you laughed lightly with the group of boys.

And they met him. It wasn't the smoothest of introductions, but an introduction nonetheless.

"Boys, this is Kai. Kai this is Tom, Harrison and Tuwaine." you gestured to the parties as they all shook hands and gave polite greetings.

"So," Harrison started, "What do you do for a living, Kai?"

Kai cleared his throat, "I'm a Senior Resident at Kingston Hospital. Working towards being Head of Pediatrics."

Tuwaine and Harrison both nodded, impressed by his profession. Tom's face remained expressionless as he stared at Kai with cold eyes.

"Do you have any siblings, Kai? Any psycho ex-girlfriends? Any wacky cousins?" Tuwaine joked making everyone laugh. "'Cause Y/N has a lot of wacky cousins."

"We could be in love once more,"

"Hey!" you gasped with a laugh.

Kai pulled you closer to him as he laughed, "No, no wacky cousins or psycho exes, but I do have an older sister and a younger brother."

This game of ask and answer continued on for a few more minutes. Tom didn't say a word, just sipped his beer and burned holes into Kai with his eyes. If looks could kill, Kai would be six feet under.

Kai was a sweetheart, but you two ended ages ago. His work got too much for him and your job had you touring and travelling every second.

You picked up after him with the chorus before diving into your own verse, "I remember that love song. I sang every word wrong, but you didn't mind, no, no."

"I love the things you do. It's how you do the things you love. Well it's not a love song, not a love song. I love the way you get me, but correct me if I'm wrong. This is not a love song, not a love song!" Tom belted the 'Austin & Ally' song from the top of his lungs.

"Your turn!" he pointed the pretend mic in your direction.

You laughed, not knowing any of the lyrics, but still wanting to participate, "I love that you not a licket! And you own a watch and chicken! We got a car!" you sang with full confidence, making Tom burst with laughter.

"Yes! Sing it, darling!" he cheered you on, "Absolutely butchering the lyrics, but sing it!"

"Being stuck inside a car. If it's not a doe, don't kiss it! I can't hear a missing, when there's a shoe inside the ceiling! If you really need to fart, you can lunch on a pig farm! Love song! Love song!" you couldn't even hear the song in the background, your voice overpowering it.

Tom was hunched over from laughing before he came back up and planted a soft kiss on your lips, "You are one hundred percent ridiculous and I love it."

You brought yourself back to reality and sang again, "And I'll admit that I miss you, but only if you do. 'Cause you know that I'm shy. And I can't lie, it's hard seeing you with her. 'Cause I know she can't love you like I can."

Tom's eyes met yours as the words fell from your gentle lips. His mouth was slightly agape as you continued to strum.

"You are absolute rubbish. Imagine coming in eighth. Embarassing." you laughed as you crushed Harrison in a game of Mario Kart.

He shoved you with his shoulder, "You're such a try ha—"

"—It's always the same, Tom! How can I trust you? You follow gorgeous models on Instagram and expect me to trust you?" Nadia's voice cut Harrison's words off.

You looked at him with wide eyes, his expression matching yours.

"Those women that I follow have been my friends for ages. Who I follow on a stupid app shouldn't effect how much you trust me."

You paused the game, cutting off the theme song, "How long have they been fighting like this?"

Harrison sighed, a long groan following, "A few weeks. I think it started when she saw that he liked your Instagram picture?"

You stammered, "M-my post? She got mad about my post?"

Harrison nodded before opening his mouth to speak, but Nadia cut him off again, "And she practically lives here! How do you think it makes me feel seeing my boyfriend play house with a superstar?!"

"Aw, a superstar? I'm flattered." you joked making Harrison stifle a laugh.

"I've been friends with Y/N since we were in nappies!"

"I can't be with you if you're going to be friends with her."

Your laughter abruptly died at her words. Harrison stiffened beside you.

"Y-you can't be serious. You can't make me choose between you and her."

"Why? Because you're gonna choose her?" you could hear her voice crack.

"I-" Tom couldn't make out a sentence for a few moments, "Yeah. I'm gonna choose her."

Your heart fell from it's place, stopping at your feet. Harrison brought a hand to his mouth, "H-he chose you. He chose you!" he whisper shouted before you shushed him.

"Of course. I don't know why I expected anything different. I think I'll be going now." Nadia's footsteps approached the living room.

You and Harrison scrambled to look as if you weren't eavesdropping on their argument/breakup.

Tom followed close behind her, "I'm sorry. I really am."

She nodded, hand on the doorknob, "I know. Goodbye." she stepped out of the house, slamming the front door shut in the process.

Tom let out a breath of relief before turning to you and Harrison who were staring at the Mario Kart home screen with the infamous tune playing.

"You guys are terrible actors."

"'Till then I won't give my love away,"

"I'm forever only yours." the both of you finished the song in unison.

There was a moment of silence before you reached over and ended the voice recording.

"T-that was really good. You can change what I wrote, I know it isn't as good as anything you would've written, but I tried. And it was actually pretty fun and I never knew how difficult songwriting was un—"

"—Kiss me." you cut Tom's rambling off.

His eyes grew wide, "W-wha—"

"—Kiss me, Holland."

He swallowed, a small smile stretching on his lips, "Thank God."

And with that, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. Interlocking like missing puzzle pieces. Moving in sync like waves in the ocean. Soft and sweet, but filled with passion. You could feel his smile against your lips causing you to grin.

His hand came up to pull your face closer into his. Caressing your jaw, fingertips playing with the hairs on the back of your neck. His other hand holding your hip in a tight grip. Pressing the pads of his digits into your flesh, scared that you might slip through his fingers again.

One of your hands was pressed flat against his chest. Steadying yourself, the heat of the kiss threatening to throw you off of your axis. Your other hand tangled itself into Tom's curls. Pulling and tugging lightly causing small groans to fall from Tom's lips. Your fingernails scratching his scalp. Pulling him impossibly closer to you.

"I want my ten pounds." Harrison's voice snapped you and Tom out of your make out session.

Him and Tuwaine stood in the doorway, shit eating grins on their faces.

Tuwaine laughed before placing a ten pound note in Harrison's palm, "You guys couldn't have waited until next month to get back together?"

"You two were betting on us?" Tom laughed at his mates who nodded.

You shook your head with a smile, "Absolute idiots, all of you."

Harrison let out a happy sigh and pocketed the money, "Today was a good day. Had a sick ass shoot. Got ten pounds. And my best friends are finally together again." he waltzed into the kitchen with Tuwaine, leaving you and Tom alone again.

Tom's shy expression met your gleeful one before he spoke, "Someday came a lot sooner than expected, huh?" he chuckled.

You nodded with a laugh, "It certainly did and I am not complaining."

He sent you a wide grin before cupping your face and connecting your lips to his again.

"Darling, I'm forever only yours."

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brandyllyn · 3 years

Text

Validation

Summary: Santi comes home early to find his new roommate a little undressed.

(Santiago “Pope” Garcia x f!Reader) Part 2 : Corroboration

My Masterlist

Word count: 5600 (I don’t know what the fuck happened). Read it on AO3.

Rating: NC17 (Explicit)

Warnings: oral (m & f receiving). alcohol.

Santiago slammed his truck door shut, leaning forward for a moment to press his forehead to the steering wheel. He needed to stop online dating. The chicks he picked up after hours in bars might not be the kind he ended up keeping around - but at least there he knew what he was getting into. The woman he had met tonight was using a picture of her granddaughter on her profile. And yeah, he didn’t have a problem with older ladies, but twice his age was really too much.

He groaned as he started the engine, swearing to himself and backing out of the spot. All he wanted to do was go home, get drunk, and maybe watch some basketball in his underwear. But he couldn’t.

Because you were there.

The light turned red and he coasted to a stop, mulling the issue over. It was a favor for Frankie. Put his sister-in-law up for a couple of weeks. Maybe a month while you were looking for a job in town. They didn’t have room at the Morales house, what with the baby and all, and Frankie had begged Santi to let you use his guest room for a bit. He’d agreed. 'Cause he was a nice guy and Frankie was a brother.

And to be honest, you weren’t exactly a horrible roommate. You cleaned up after yourself, spent most of your time in your room, and just generally gave him his space. Unless it was one of the nights you offered to cook, he barely saw you.

Which was a shame because you were exactly his fucking type.

"Do not fuck her." Frankie’s warning had hit him like a fist to the gut and he’d looked at the other man incredulously.

"Fish, you think I’d do that to you? She’s fucking family."

Frankie had eyed him dubiously. "Damn right she is. You fucking remember that when you meet her hermano."

It had taken approximately three tenths of a second for Santi to realize why Frankie had given him the warning. Standing on his front steps with a bag in one hand and a wide smile on your face Santi had had to resist the urge to throw you up against the front door and claim you then and there. The first day he had been a mess, alternating between staring at you and avoiding you. He knew you must have thought he was strange but he didn’t know what else to do.

And then you’d come out to get coffee the next morning wearing a tank top and a pair of tiny cotton shorts and every ounce of blood had shot straight to his cock and never come back.

Tonight was supposed to be a relief. A fucking date, his first since your arrival. But the octogenarian was a bust and he was pressing the button for the garage by barely eight thirty. He was home much earlier than he expected. Earlier than he had told you. He didn’t think about that fact as he parked his truck and entered the house through the side door. Didn’t think about it when he toed his boots off and wandered through the laundry room and into the hall, making a beeline for the kitchen and the bottle of tequila on the shelf there.

Maybe he should have.

If he’d have thought about it he might have called ahead. Texted to let you know he was going to be back sooner rather than later. Given you a heads up so that he didn’t walk in on you sitting in his favorite armchair wearing the skimpiest lingerie he’d ever seen in his life and about to take a photo of yourself.

There was just a moment before you noticed him. A moment where the phone blocked him from your view entirely and he couldn’t help how he froze, his eyes scanning over your body. And then your hand dropped, your brow furrowing as you looked at the picture. Another second ticked by before you looked up at him and then you screeched.

Santi spun on his heel, turning to face the wall and squeezing his eyes shut for good measure. "Fuck, sorry," he said, the words spilling out as he pressed one hand through his hair. He could hear you scrambling, muttering curses under your breath for a minute before your laughter shocked him out of his secondhand embarrassment.

"For Christ’s sake, turn around Santi."

He did so slowly, half hoping that maybe you were still… but no. You had a robe on, sash tied tightly around your waist. Yet even then, it was short. Barely covering the tops of your thighs. He’d seen that much leg before, those little shorts that made his fingers itch. But there was something about this expanse of skin. Of knowing that if he lifted the hem of the robe you’d be wearing just a lace-

"I thought you were going to be out late?"

Your voice cut off his train of thought and he tried to slip into his normal charm like it was a mask. "Yeah, date was a bust." He shrugged, walking past you into the kitchen. He really needed a drink. He slammed a cabinet door a little too forcefully while he searched for the bottle he swore he just bought.

"Want some wine?"

He raised an eyebrow when he looked at you, then at the nearly empty bottle of wine you were offering him. Well, that made things make a little more sense. You didn’t seem the type to take nudes - but maybe after a bottle of wine…?

He took the bottle, emptying the remainder into a glass and clinking it to yours before taking a sip. "Sorry I startled you."

You shrugged and the sleeve of the robe fell down your arm, exposing the wide straps of whatever the hell it was you had wrapped around your neck and dipping down to your breasts. It wasn’t a bra. Santi had seen hundreds of bras in his life. Whatever it was you were wearing did not qualify for the name. You pulled the sleeve back up with a casual tug, but now the front was gaping open and Santi could see the hint of your breasts.

"Sorry you walked in on that."

He wasn’t. In fact he was already mentally planning how he might set up this same situation again. What else might you do in the living room if you thought you were alone for the night? "Don’t worry about it, I told you to make yourself at home." Jesus Christ had he really just said that? "Who’s the lucky guy?" He grinned to cover the slight note of envy that crept into his voice.

"Who?"

"Whoever you were taking photos for," he gestured at your phone.

You bit your lip and then shook your head. "No, it’s not… there’s no he."

"She," Santi corrected with a shrug. "I don’t judge."

You laughed and Santi watched the way your throat worked. His beer at dinner and the wine now must be interacting in some strange way because he felt drunk. Light-headed. Like he wanted to lean into you and make some very bad decisions that Frankie would fucking castrate him for.

"No, it was… for a friend," you clarified.

Santi’s eyebrow rose. "You send your friends nudes?"

"They’re not nudes," you corrected him with a glare, "they’re just. You know… you send your friends photos and they hype you up. It’s validation." You sighed softly, "And it’s been a while since I got that."

Santi did not know. At no point in his life had he sent anyone he knew photos of himself. With clothes or without. Hell, he’d never even sent anyone a sexy message - he knew too well how much information someone could find on you if they wanted to. He kept things simple with a 'Mind if I come over' or if he was feeling particularly adventurous 'wanna fuck?'

No one ever complained.

"Validation," he repeated, rolling the word in his mouth. "Huh."

You sighed, setting your elbows on the kitchen island and leaning towards him. You didn’t seem to notice how the action pressed your breasts together or that he could see it in the way your robe gaped open. But Santi noticed. Santi noticed every detail.

"Not that you’d know anything about that." You said with an eye roll. "But some of us aren’t as cocky as you are. Some of us need our friends to reassure us we’re attractive."

Santi opened his mouth then paused, thinking about the next thing he was going to say. You didn’t seem to notice, finishing off your wine in a gulp and moving over to the sink to drop your glass. He shouldn’t do what he was about to do. He knew it - in fact he had promised he wouldn’t. But that had been before. Before he knew you or what your laugh sounded like or the way you smelled. Before the opportunity to do more than just want you had landed squarely in his lap and Santi was left with the easiest decision of his life. And he was nothing if not decisive.

After all, there was no harm in looking right?

"I’m your friend."

You froze in place and Santi swallowed, staring at the back of your thighs and what he thought might be the start of the swell of your ass. He let the words sit there before he said them again. "I’m your friend, querida."

You turned back to him, hands braced on the counter behind you. "What do you mean?"

"If you needed validation, why don’t you ask me?" Your lips parted as you stared at him, the soft gesture enough to send blood rushing to his cock. As if he weren’t already hard enough.

Finally, after what felt like eons, you smiled, huffing a laugh and moving to walk past him. "Funny."

He moved just slightly, not enough to block your way, but enough to force you to have to work to avoid him. He breathed deeply, smelling your soap and a faint overlay of something richer. "I’m a red-blooded man," he pointed out. "I think I can be reasonably counted on to appreciate a woman’s body."

You were so close. Close enough that he would only need to lean in to taste you, to run his tongue along your plush lips and sink inside of you. You blinked, looking away, and Santi realized that maybe he was coming on a little strong. Especially for someone who until recently had expressed no interest in you whatsoever. In fact had gone out of his way to give every impression of not being interested.

He held his hands up, moving to make plenty of room for you to continue by. "I’m only saying, if you’re looking for someone to admire your lingerie I’m right here and willing." He waggled his eyebrows exaggeratedly, hoping the comical effect would lighten the mood and thank God it did. Your nose crinkled when you looked back over your shoulder at him, stopping near the kitchen table.

"I mean, I suppose you are my target audience," you mused out loud and Santi resisted the urge to adjust himself. He knew what you meant - but damn the idea of you buying lingerie for him was like gasoline on an already raging inferno.

He leaned his hands back against the island, facing you now. Feet crossed in front of him to hide the bulge in his jeans. He shrugged nonchalantly, listening to the blood rush in his ears, his eyes glued to your face. "Only if you want."

Your fingers were hesitant for just a second on the tie of your robe and Santi held himself still, keeping his eyes on yours. He wanted to see you. Fuck he wanted to see you. But he wanted you to want him to see you even more. Wanted you to feel the sense of power in turning him on. He was already there, you just hadn’t seemed to notice yet.

He saw your lips part. Saw the moment your lips quirked, as though you were laughing at yourself for even thinking of doing this. But your fingers pulled the sash and you shrugged and both it and the robe fell to the floor in a heap at your feet.

Santi tried. He really did. He tried to keep his eyes on yours until he saw that you were ready. That you were comfortable. But one of your hands twitched up to cover your stomach for a moment and his eyes followed the path immediately and then he couldn’t look away. There was probably a name for what you were wearing. He should definitely ask you at some point because his porn for the next month was going to feature this thing and it would make the search easier if he knew what it was called.

A wide band of lace - maybe two inches, in deep blue - starting behind your neck and running over your breasts to cover each nipple. The lace continued downwards, framing your stomach before meeting and disappearing between your thighs. There were small straps that went from the lace behind your back, out of sight, that must be holding the thing in place. In the front two sets of straps criss-crossed, one just below your ribcage and the other between your breasts. And right there, right between two of the most beautiful breasts he’d ever seen, was a ribbon tied into a bow. Like a present.

He wanted to pull it apart with his teeth.

This… outfit had no practical use. If you moved too quickly you’d be falling out of it six different ways. It’s only purpose was to frame your body in the best light possible. To take your assets and offer them to someone else. To entice someone to commit several different sins with you all at once.

Santi was fucking enticed.

He realized abruptly that your fingers were twitching at your sides and more importantly, he had been just staring at you with no expression at all for what felt like several minutes - although it probably wasn’t that long.

"You’re beautiful," he blurted out.

Oh fuck, it wasn’t the right thing to say because you’re laughing and the motion is doing frankly amazing things to your breasts. But you were also crouching down and gathering your robe and yes that was definitely the wrong thing and he stepped forward, reaching out and grabbing your wrist before you could move further.

"Sorry, that was… you look…" he tried to find words that weren’t going to make you run away but all he could think about was how much he wanted to fuck you and if that lace actually joined together over your cunt or just skimmed around your thighs. "Fuck," he finally bit out.

"Well, that’s better," you said, picking up the robe with two fingers and standing up again.

"It is?" He asked incredulously and you laughed again.

"Santi, if I wanted someone to call me beautiful I’d take a photo on a Sunday morning and send it to my mom." You tried to make a gesture with your hands but he was still holding your wrist. You both glanced at it but he didn’t let go. "I want to hear I look hot. Like I’m smoking. Like you think you’ll come in your pants just seeing me." You gave him a wry smile and started to pull away. Started to put your robe back on and Santi rushed to stop you.

"Querida if you knew what I was thinking…"

You paused, partially turned away, and gave him an assessing glance. "Oh?"

His thumb stroked across your wrist while he considered his next words. He wouldn’t ordinarily. Fucking hell you were Frankie’s sister-in-law and he’d already been promised consequences for messing around with you. But your pulse was wild beneath his fingers and you were standing there looking like that and he just couldn’t bring himself to care about the consequences.

"You look like a fucking wet dream."

You dropped the robe, turning back to him fully. But he was too close. Too close to see you so he took a step back, then another, not letting go of your hand but holding it up between you while he let his eyes crawl over you.

"I’m going to jerk off later thinking about you," he said simply, watching you so closely he saw how your breath stuttered at the words. "Think about twisting my hands into that lacy bit of nothing and using it to hold you to my mouth. Is it scratchy or is it soft?"

"Soft," your reply was so low he barely heard it but it flowed across his skin like honey regardless and he didn’t bother biting back his moan.

"Fuck, of course it is," he nearly spit the words out, his fingers clenching around yours. "But you look even softer. Can I see the back?" He tugged on your hand as he asked and you didn’t hesitate before spinning around.

There was nothing there.

Well, not nothing. But five pieces of string no wider than fucking scotch tape was so close to nothing as to make no difference. He wanted to touch. Wanted to snap those strings against your body. Get on his knees and bite the globes of your ass that were perfectly exposed to him around the lines of what might charitably be called a thong.

"Fucking hell querida, I want to bend you over that table and fuck you until you can’t remember your own name."

You moaned. He heard it, clear as a bell in the room and he turned you back to face him. "When I say you look beautiful, that is what I mean. That I want to lose myself inside of you and not come out for days."

"That’s…" you trailed off, lips parted, your breath lifting your breasts in rhythmic motion.

"Validation?" He asked with a grin and laughed when you smiled in return.

"Yeah."

You were still holding his hand and he was sick of standing so far away from you. He pulled in the same motion he stepped towards you, encouraging you closer to his space. Looking down he could see your bare feet just a scant inch from his toes. If you took a deep breath your nipples would brush his shirt, hell if he took a deep breath they might. Ever so slowly he raised his free hand, hovering it over your chest before asking, "May I?"

"Please."

He groaned. Not 'yes,' but 'please' - said with a breathy moan that struck right to the heart of him. You were begging for his touch, your mouth slightly agape and your lips trembling with each breath. No man on earth could fault him for giving in. When his fingers touched the band of lace you took a shaky breath, eyes closing.

"It is soft," he commented, slipping his hand beneath to rub the fabric between his fingers. He slid his hand down, gently tracing over the lace until he felt the hard peak of your nipple pressing upwards. He paused for a second, lightly stroking, your entire body shifting underneath his touch, before he continued the path downwards. Over your stomach, your hip, just barely stroking at the top of your cunt.

"Soft," he said again and pressed his fingers a little harder, slipping between your lips and nudging at your clit. Your head fell back on a choked gasp and Santi’s control snapped. His hand wedged further, feeling your wetness coat along his fingers and forcing you to take a step back. Your ass hit the table behind you and he gently nudged your knees apart with his own. Now he had his answer, the lace never did join together between your thighs. There was absolutely nothing to stop him from twisting his fingers and pressing them up inside you.

You gasped again, his name this time, and he let go of your wrist to cup the back of your neck, jerking you forward and into his mouth. His tongue thrust inside, met immediately and enthusiastically by yours. Your hands came up to clutch at his shirt, twisting the fabric so hard he heard a faint rip at the seams. His lips quirked as he pulled away, his free hand falling to your wrist again.

"Seems I might be overdressed."

You nodded so earnestly he couldn’t help but grin, swooping in to kiss you again and pressing your hand to the buttons of his shirt. He could do it himself but that would mean pulling his fingers out of the hottest and wettest cunt he’d ever had the pleasure of being inside. And he wasn’t ready to do that yet. Instead he traced his fingers over the bow between your breasts, pulling gently before breaking away to ask, "What happens if I undo this?"

You had his shirt pulled free of his pants, the buttons undone and the fabric pushed back over his shoulders. He’d be more cocky about the lusty look on your face while you stared at his chest but he wanted an answer to his question so he tapped beneath your chin and forced you to look up. "The bow? What happens if I pull it?"

Your brows pulled together and you glanced down. "I think it’s decorative."

He hummed to himself and pulled, slightly disappointed when you turned out to be right. The sound of you undoing his belt hit his brain before he fully processed what your hands were doing and he finally pulled his fingers away from you, catching both of your wrists in his grip. You pouted, lips pursing and brow furrowing. Chuckling, he brushed his lips over yours and let you go, leaning down slightly to cup under your ass and lift you the few inches up onto the table.

"You got me distracted," he scolded, hooking one of the dining chairs with his foot and pulling it over. "I promised you my mouth, didn’t I?" Your eyes were hazy and he pressed a kiss to your temple before sitting in the chair, using his hands to spread your thighs wide. He stared for just a moment and then looked up at you, your breasts right at the level of his face. Never losing eye contact, he leaned forward and set his teeth to your nipple.

Christ, you made the most delightful faces for him. And noises too. He reached up and cupped your jaw in his hand, running his thumb along your lower lip where your teeth were digging into the soft flesh. He groaned when you pulled it into your mouth, your tongue caressing it and then sucking softly. He pressed his forehead to your chest, taking a deep breath.

"Lie back." He didn’t move as he said it, just mumbled the words into your cleavage. But he followed you when you did, catching a set of straps with his teeth and then letting go to turn his cheek to lay on your stomach. Slowly, he drew his fingers out of your mouth and down your body, grinning to himself when you shivered beneath his touch. Ticklish - he’d have to remember that for later.

He pressed a quick kiss to your navel and sat up, pulling your knees over his shoulders in one movement. You arched beneath him and he wasted no time tangling his fingers in that lacy bit of nothing you were wearing and pulling you closer to the edge of the table. He could see how wet you were, hell he could fucking smell it. That heady scent of arousal that made his cock jerk and his mouth water.

Santi moaned when he tasted you for the first time. It was partially technique, he knew the vibrations would riot across your nerve endings and drive you wild. But it was also just because he couldn’t fucking help it. He slid his tongue through your folds, pressing his tongue flat to you and burying his face into your cunt. He loved this. Loved making a woman squirm and moan for him. Loved the feel and taste and sound of it.

Loved that in this moment you were his.

He jerked his fingers tighter into the straps of your lingerie, digging into your hips and holding you still while he worked you with his tongue. Pressing his lips to your clit and shaking his head side to side, flicking his tongue over it, pulling it between his lips and humming. He pulled out every trick he knew, watching you heave and thrust and arch in his hands while he learned what you liked, what you didn’t like, and what drove you absolutely wild.

When he found that he kept at it, driving you higher and higher. Listened to you calling his name out while he coaxed your orgasm out of you. He wanted to be inside of you, wanted to feel the clench and pulse of your muscles while you came on his fingers. But before he could consider it, before he could try to untangle his fingers from your lingerie, your back arched a final time and he felt you get even wetter, your thighs clenching on his head.

Santi kept his mouth pressed against you while you came back down, gently licking deep inside you and staring up your body. You rose, propping yourself up on your elbows and giving him a bemused half smile and a huff of laughter.

"That was…" You started to say but he thrust his tongue inside you, pulling you closer and grinned when your back arched and your head fell back. "Fucking hell Santi…"

He turned his head to each side, placing soft kisses on your thighs before leaning back to look at you. "What else are friends for?"

God you were beautiful when you laughed, your eyes crinkling and your face breaking into a huge smile. "I feel very validated," you commented wryly and he nipped at your stomach, watching you flinch away from him and try to move backwards along the table. He twisted his hands in your outfit tighter, pulling you back.

"Now now," he tsked. " Where do you think you’re going?"

You stared at him and then sighed, reaching out and brushing a curl off his forehead. "You’re too close."

Santi felt his brows pull together. "What do you mean?"

Sitting up fully, you cupped his face in your hands and leaned down to kiss him, tongue stroking along the seam of his mouth. Tasting yourself on him. You pulled away with a small hum. "You’re too close to the table, I can’t fit in your lap."

The screech of the chair legs was loud in the room but it was covered up by the sound of your laugh. Santi pulled you off the table and onto his thighs, catching the joyful noise with his lips. You wrapped yourself around him immediately, settling onto him like you’d done it a thousand times before. This was… all of your bare skin. On him. Around him. At his fingertips.

He groaned when you pulled your mouth away. "I know there was talk of bending me over the table…" Okay, yes, he was listening. "But I was thinking maybe a softer surface, something more conducive to taking our time…"

The hesitancy in your voice hit him hard and he squeezed your sides and pulled your mouth back to his. "That is a fantastic idea," he mumbled against you. "I know of this great place just down the hall. King size bed. Just changed the sheets yesterday."

Your giggle sent pulse points of sensation through his body and he helped you stand up, unable to stop himself from leaning forward and pressing a kiss between your breasts before he did the same. He motioned you ahead of him down the hall. By all rights he should be leading - it was his room you were going to - but he couldn’t resist the opportunity to walk behind you. To watch all of you dip and sway as you sauntered in front of him. He reached out and cupped under your ass, pinching slightly and watched you jump and turn around right in his doorway. He didn’t stop, kept walking, shrugging out of his shirt and letting it drop to the floor. His hands fell to your hips, holding you close and dipping his head down to kiss you while he continued to back you up towards his bed.

He had a moment of disappointment when you ducked out of his embrace before you got there, side-stepping him and trailing a hand across his chest while you moved behind him. He leaned back against you when you wrapped your arms around his chest, groaning as your hands glided over him. You pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, licking up to his hairline. A shudder wracked his body and his hands covered yours, pulling you tighter around him.

"I want to see you," he heard you murmur into his ear, dropping one hand to his belt. "Help?"

"Anything you want," he promised quickly, pulling the belt free and jerking his pants and socks off together. He was left in only his black briefs and his thumbs hooked on them before he felt you stop him with a light touch. You ran your hands around the band, toying with it slightly. His fists clenched at his sides while he resisted the urge to turn around and toss you over onto his bed.

"May I return the favor?"

"What fa-" he started to ask but the words ended in a groan when you slipped your hand beneath his briefs and cupped the hard length of him. Fuck yes. Whatever the favor was you could return it as many times as you liked. As long as you kept stroking along him with those soft fingers and your other hand pushing his underwear down, down, down… much further down than you should be able to reach. It wasn’t until he felt you nip gently just at the top of his thigh that he realized you were kneeling on the floor behind him.

He turned without prompting, kicking his briefs off and nearly fell to the ground himself when you immediately took him in your mouth. "Oh Jesus fuck querida," he moaned, cupping the back of your head in his hands, "you’re going to kill me."

The pleased little hum that vibrated along his cock made his spine tingle. It turned into a shudder when you slid your mouth down him and felt himself nudge the back of your throat for a moment before you pulled away. Your hands were on him, thumbs pressed to the tops of his thighs as you guided him into a slow steady rhythm. Fucking in to your mouth and your tongue working against him.

He ought to close his eyes. The visual of you kneeling on the floor, that scrappy bit of nothing that was going to haunt his fucking dreams, your lips wrapped around his cock - it was too much. He jerked one hand off your head to grip the base of his cock tightly, giving you a half smile when you stopped sucking on him and gave him a quizzical look.

"You’re too good at that," he said with a shrug.

There was no way he could miss the pleased expression on your face, or the way you took the tip of him back into your mouth, swirling your tongue around him. Your hand knocked his out of the way, guiding it back on to your head and then going back to stroke along him. It felt like you were taking all of him - every last inch into that perfect mouth. He let go of his tightly held control and just surrendered to the pleasure. Mentally cataloguing the sight and sound and feel of you and the best goddamn blowjob he’d ever had.

When he came it was sudden, he didn’t even have time to warn you. His toes curled and his eyes rolled back in his head and he grunted - the only sign before he was coming in to your mouth but you didn’t seemed phased, just sucked and fucking hell swallowed as he shuddered and cursed and stroked your face.

When the last drop of pleasure was wrung out of him he stumbled backwards, knees hitting the bed and he sprawled across it. His chest was heaving, one arm over his eyes while he tried to remember what his name was. He peeked out from under his forearm in time to see you rise to your feet, wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb and licking it.

"Fucking hell woman," he groaned, lifting his head slightly to look at you.

Your hands rose to the neck of the lingerie you had on. "Should I-?"

"Don’t you fucking dare," Santi growled, pointing at you for good measure and flopping back on the bed. "I’m not done with you," he said to the ceiling. "Just give me like… thirty minutes."

Your laugh floated across the room to him and he felt your weight shift the bed to each side of him. Suddenly his vision was you, straddling his waist and leaning over him. "Thirty minutes huh?"

He grinned and reached out to pull your hips closer. Smiling to himself he ran his fingers under the lace, rubbing it between his fingers. "With this thing? Maybe ten."

Frankie was going to murder him.

Somehow, he couldn’t make himself care.

Part Two : Corroboration

#santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x you #triple frontier #fic #smut

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brendashmenda · 2 years

Note

hi um i’ve had a really bad week and armin is literally my comfort i was wondering if you could write something where he comes home to reader crying alone in the dark and comforts and praises them i’m sorry i’d write it myself i just dont have the energy

I’m so sorry to hear about your bad week, hope you are feeling better now <3

armin set his bag down on the table, wondering why it was so dark inside, and where you were. Usually when he came home you were playing loud music, and doing your favorite hobby, but today you were nowhere to be found. Which was more than a little unsettling to Armin. he called your name, wondering if maybe you’d decided to take a nap and that was why the lights were off and it was so quiet. He didn’t hear any response, so he decided to investigate.

your shared bedroom was empty, but there was sounds of water running from the bathroom. Filled with relief, he decided to go in, you probably wouldn’t mind even if you were showering, he just wanted to ask what you wanted to do for dinner. “Y/n?” He called softly, “I’m coming in,” and he slowly pushed open the door. He was concerned to see that it was just as dark in the bathroom as it was the rest of the house, and his heart surged in worry when he saw that you were not in the shower. in fact, the water was running but it was empty, you were just sitting on the floor in front of the sink, knees tucked into you chest.

at his entrance, you’d lifted your head up, revealing tear streaked cheeks and bloodshot eyes. you coughed, wiping at your face, trying not to worry him, although it was far too late for that. he knelt down beside you, gently reaching out to caress your cheek. “baby, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” His eyes diligently scanned your body for any signs of damage, but you shook your head, “m fine. Please, don’t worry. Just go change, and I’ll- make dinner.”

his eyebrows furrowed. “i don’t believe you. Tell me what’s wrong,“ he sat down next to you on the floor, shoulder to shoulder. you slumped into your hands, taking a deep breath. “S fine, Armin. seriously, I just- don’t worry.” he studied you for a moment, piercing blue eyes searching yours, and he knew that wasn’t true. “did you have a bad day?” he asked softly, wanting to know what was wrong. “yeah,” you sighed.

”d’you wanna talk about it?”

”no.”

”alright,” he nodded, respecting your boundaries. he smiled when you leaned your head to rest on his shoulder, still sniffling quietly. he took your hand and held it between his, squeezing tightly, then bringing it up to kiss your knuckles sweetly. “do you ever you feel like you’re just not good enough?” you said abruptly.

he winced at the question, turning to look at you. “all the time,” he replied, somewhat hesitantly. “Or at least I used to feel that way. But then I met you, y/n. And you showed me that I have value. That I’m a human being, same as everyone else, and I’m not a waste of time or space here on this earth,” he smiled softly, eyes searching yours. “and the same goes for you. You’re always good enough, simply because you’re alive, right here, and it takes guts to be on this earth. Some days are hard, and that’s what makes you so strong. We all have bad times, but you need to know that you’re good enough. And if other people try to put you down, just know that you’re enough for me, at the very least. cause I’ll always love you, for the amazing person you are, y/n,” he finished his statement, gripping your hands tightly in his. you looked down at the floor, tears threatening to spill over your eyelashes again.

“You really mean that?”

”course I do.“

you smiled a little bit, wrapping your arms around to hug him. “Thanks Armin. I really don’t deserve you. look at me, such a mess, crying on the bathroom floor,” you said with a lighter tone, joking a little now. “ah we’ve all been there,” he said, retuning the embrace., ”now how about some dinner? Im thinking takeout...I don’t know about you, but I sure don’t feel like cooking tonight...”

#armin arlert #armin arlet imagines #armin arlet x y/n #armin arlet fluff #armin x you #armin arlert drabble #armin arlert x reader #aot x reader #aot #aot headcanons #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #snk x reader

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igotathingforvampires · 3 years

Text

Anon Ask | Caius Volturi x F!Witch Reader: Punishments

Canon Divergent Dora is true mated to Renata because I <3 Renata Fight Me

Reader is a Witch.

You are a human. Who managed because of a latent heritage of being a Witch to wander past Heidi into the Throne Room thinking it’s a tour.

You’re not stupid, you walk right in and get near the dais and look around and realize that this is not just a tour.

Sighing, you glance around and face palm. “Ahhhhhh Fuck My Life.”

The Kings of Volterra are eyeing you with amusement.

You sigh, and glare UP at the throne of a very, very gorgeous almost elfin, platinum haired King who’s GLARING back at you with a raised brow and a scowl.

“So ah do I get to pick who offs me?”

All vampires just PAUSE.

“Because okay, if I’m gonna die.” You point at Caius. “That one. You. You’ve got dibs Sir.”

Caius is Shooketh.

This little human has got some guts.

He hates humans. HATES humans.

So why when he snatches you up and you just look at him with those big eyes, and a small smile “just make it quick hm?”

You wait, eyes closed.

Caius pauses, growling and suddenly NOPE you’re picked up and ZOOM.

Aro: The fuck just happened?

You’re tucked away in his inner sanctuary of his rooms, sat down on a chair. “Sit RIGHT here human. If you move I shall be displeased, you won’t like what happens if you make me angry.”

“Uhhhhhh kay.”

Caius goes and feeds and after he sits amongst his brothers. “I’m keeping it.” He growls

Turns out he can keep you because you’re not human! YAY!

“So am I like a bunny.”

“Less than a Rabbit you’re human.” Caius would growl at you.

“Mmmkay.”

How things Go:

You are the chillest bitch to ever chill. Life has not been great, in fact it’s been a horror show, Aro of course sees this and he scolds Caius for treating you like a piece of furniture rather than a person.

Aro knows you’re just feeling Caius out, watching because there are moments— the very few moments— when he is oh so gentle.

You shiver, a blanket is flung at your face. “My luck you’d catch pneumonia.”

Your tummy rumbles, the chef brings a five star meal. “I don’t need you dying.”

You’re bored, suddenly you’re in front of the TV and given access to ALL the shows. “You’re being a pest.”

Aro also knows your temper is starting to appear the more Caius pushes you away.

Caius isn’t sure what to even do with you— he is FEELING things, things he’s never even felt with Dora. And Dora is berating him alongside Marcus for being an utter nitwit.

“Cai for all your brilliance for strategy you’re an idiot in romance.” Dora says.

He knows it’s true. He’s an asshole.

And angry.

All the time. But when you’re around he’s not angry anymore.

But at one point you’re still fidgeting with your hands. “What is the problem now.”

“Ah…well…” you fidget some more, “c-can I have some water colors?”

Caius freezes. “You paint?” He seems curious.

You nod. “I do digital art but I like canvas art too!” You show him your phone of photoshop collages, watercolor, digital paintings and such.

“You do this on a computer?” He tilts his head. He hates technology. So seeing that one can create art this way is astounding to him.

“Yeah I had to sell my iPad a while ago so sadly I can’t do much right now but if I have some water colors that would be a good start!” You bounce on your feet.

You have the a massive iMac, a Wacom Cintiq 24”, an entire selection of Derwent colors and crazy amounts of canvases and anything else you might need that an artist can think of.

Caius is utterly stunned when you tackle him and kiss his cheek thanking him.

His heart explodes into confetti.

Art is how Caius communicates his gentler side. His art is beautiful, evoking deep emotions, and his hand is gentle and fluid enough in motion to capture even the most minute details.

You both grow exceptionally close, till Marcus one day pulls him aside to inform him of the Mate Bond that is between you two.

The Kiss:

You’re modeling for Caius, it’s a random request and you feel utterly embarrassed dressed in flowing robes and sprawled on a chaise lounge half hanging off, your hair spilling onto the marble floor.

You can’t quite help but notice how his gaze is pitch black and devouring you.

“M-Master Caius?”

“Caius.” He grumbles.

“Huh?”

“I think it’s about time you can call me Caius y/n.”

He can hear your heart thump an erratic beat as magic swirls in your eyes. It’s slowly been coming back to you, being cared for, like a plant long neglected, your magic has begun to grow under the tender albeit aloof care of the vampire King you’re so utterly in love with.

But you know it’s silly, there’s no way it’d work—

He’s suddenly next to you, hovering nose to nose, pulling you towards him, “you consume me.”

It’s the last thing he says for a long while as you both end up staying on that lounge for a— ahem lengthy amount of time.

Punishments:

Caius is a sadist.

But he’s a loving sadist.

He has so many kinks he doesn’t know what to do with them. And luckily for him— surprise surprise you’re kinky too.

But you tend to be mouthy. And Caius does not like when he is disobeyed. “Be a good pet and go sit.”

“But—“

“1.”

When Aro counts it’s for orgasms.

When Caius counts it’s for paddling or the crop.

Or it’s for forced orgasms and overstimulation.

The dynamic between you is quite lovely, boundaries are discussed whenever needed, although Caius can come across as gruff and uncaring, at one point during punishment play you had said your safe word rather quickly, and everything stopped. Oils, bath, rub down, talks, blankets, snuggles, and so many kisses to the forehead. “Bunny, oh my little bunny what happened?”

As someone who does not cry.

Ever.

Aro has attested to this.

It astounds Caius that you’d trust him enough to do so.

He realizes that he’s earned a trust that has not been earned by anyone in a long long time, knowing that feeling, he would never break it by overdoing things or going past your boundaries.

Punishments are talked out. Explained. Rules are fairly discussed and you ALWAYS have a say in vetoing or staying off for another day.

If it’s a topic that has yet to be discussed it is tabled, and discussed for what an appropriate response should be.

Punishments include:

Caning

Paddle

Crop (your favorite)

Being suspended and teased.

Leashed. Yes he will have you walk behind him with a leash and collar. And yes he will sit in the Library with you on a leash and your head in his lap. “Good Bunny.”

You are a very good bunny.

Caius has only had only lost his temper with you once. And never will again.

It was due to negligence on your part, you had disobeyed him when it was imperative for you to listen, not aware of the danger of a local coven’s very out of control member. “But Cai why—“

They had heard your blood sing to them.

Caius had torn the individual to pieces in a fit of utter rage before turning on you with a shout, “I told you NEVER to disobey me.” he roared at you, the energy coming off him practically feral as his eyes were murderous.

Seeing you shrink back; the fear in your gaze at him almost broke his heart when the dread kicked in as to what he had done. He had frightened you.

He was supposed to be your comfort and safety.

of course you wouldn't understand vampire's ways of doing things.

or what a singer was...you were a witch...

But before he could even think to reach for you...

You had fled.

Hidden away in Dora’s rooms you tucked yourself away in her bathroom in the tub with a blanket curled up and wept.

Dora and Sulpricia beat the shit out of Caius.

He had sat outside the door pleading with you for hours.

He knew he had utterly fucked up.

He had a horrid temper, he knew it, and the idea of you being drained dry right in front of him had been far too much for him to think of. “Y/n please talk to me. I'm so sorry please forgive me.”

You had unlocked the door with magic…. And he had merely crawled into the tub with you, curled around you underneath the blanket and held you while you cried into him and smacked at his chest. “Don’t do that ever again!!!”

“I know, I know bunny I know. Never again. I'm a bastard I know.”

You calmed down and glared at him.

“Would you like to delve out a punishment?”

You blinked, confused and then realized what he was offering.

“Yes.”

And that is how you ended up quite happy with your vampire begrudgingly, and amused sitting at your feet in your shared rooms with GOOD BOY on a thick leather collar.

Turns out Caius likes being punished too.

“Also a masochist hm?” You laugh at him and grip him by his hair.

“So it seems.” He muses kissing your knee and nudging your legs apart. “But the reward is worth it isn’t it bunny?”

#caius volturi

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juletheghoul · 3 years

Text

Oblivius Chapter 7

This is a CHONKY BOI. THE BACHELOR 'PARTY' IS HERE PEOPLE.

This is by far my longest chapter and I had most of it written before I even posted the second chapter of this story. Makes me SOOO happy how pumped all of you are to read this, it has taken over my life. Keep messaging! Keep sending me asks! 💖

Would love to do little drabbles, memories - anything to do with these two (except spoilers of course)

Likes & reblogs are appreciated

Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Pairing: Frankie x F!Reader

Word Count: 5.4K

Warnings: TW: INFIDELITY 👀 Angst, yearning, kissing, **18+ [no minors] SMUT** p in v (sex wrap it up) Oral, F & M receiving, language (Please let me know if I forget anything)

Masterlist Series Masterlist Prev Part Playlist

---------------------

Age 28:

“I just love her, I love her so much and there’s nothing I can do.” He was drunk and in a bad way.

“I know Fish, it’s tough from here but maybe when you get back you can talk to her.” He knew Pope was trying to make him feel better, but when he’d spoken to his mom earlier in the week and he’d heard that she was seeing someone- it had broken his heart.

He didn’t know what he’d been expecting - she’d never promised anything but he had this hope that she’d wait for him. That she’d be there to greet him with the love he’d always craved from her.

“She’s with someone else, I just want her to want me.” If he kept going down this road he was going to cry. He couldn’t cry here. Not in this bar and not when it was crawling with other soldiers.

“I think you should just talk to her when you get home, Fish - things might change when you see her again. Or do the grown up thing, and move on.” He looked at him, regret and heartbreak on his face.

“There’s no one like her.” He said it more to himself than Pope but he heard it all the same.

There was a pretty girl walking over to him now, a shy smile on her face.

“Hi - I’m Claudia - can I buy you a drink?” She wasn’t Spills, but she was very pretty.

-------------------

**Present Day**

The week leading up to the wedding was a blur. It simultaneously flew and crawled by. Schrodinger's week.

The dinner was coming up and with it a curious feeling was settling itself in your stomach. A strange mixture of desperation and acceptance. The acceptance told you that if Francis wanted to get married then you should keep your mouth shut and let him get on with his life.

The desperate, possessive part of you reminded you that he was your perfect match, that you shouldn’t let Claudia have him when he so obviously belonged to you. How would you accomplish that though? How could that be done without him hating you for ruining his wedding?

When you were sitting in the restaurant surrounded by the wedding party both those thoughts plagued you. They kept you quiet and pensive, present, but secluded within your own mind as they fought for dominance.

Benny sat next to you like always and you got the sense he was gearing up to make a move and you didn’t exactly know how to feel about it. Your mind was battling over that too.

Do I go out with him and try to get over Francis? Or do I turn him away, and keep pining over a soon to be married man? Choices.

Claudia was almost trembling with excitement, everything she said, everything she did was grating. It all irritated you and you felt the need to dampen her spirits. A malicious little part of you wanted to bring her down a peg. Maybe it was her attitude at the Bridal store. Maybe it was just plain old mean-spirited jealousy. With the dinner almost up, with the bachelor party still to come you couldn’t help it.

It was like a compulsion. The words crawled up your throat and the possessive, angry part of you had to spit them out.

“Oh my God Francis, remember our pact?” Your face was a mask of innocence - just reminiscing with an old friend.

Frankie’s expression changed then, from the same tentative joy he’d been wearing all night to something forced and fake.

“Barely.” His eyes were boring into you, the intensity seemed to be demanding you to shut up about it. While everyone else was still relaxed and unaware of the land mine you’d stepped on, you saw the look Pope was giving you, he knew.

“What pact?” Claudia asked with a breezy laugh.

“It’s silly really-” Frankie cut you off.

“It’s nothing, just bullshit we talked about when we were kids.” He tried to smooth it over with her but she didn’t like that. She sensed his hesitation and when Pope tried to engage them in conversation she challenged him.

“If it’s nothing, then Spills can tell me.” It was said with a bitter sweetness, she had seen through his avoidance and she wasn’t interested.

“Well, when we were in our early twenties - Francis and I decided to make a marriage pact.” You were smiling as though it was nothing and Claudia laughed along with you but you heard the edge in it. She wasn’t amused, and neither was Frankie.

“See honey? It was dumb. Just something dumb kids do when they don’t know any better.” He pulled her close but you could see the stiffness in the way she held herself. You didn’t expect his words to hurt you like that, and all of a sudden you regretted bringing it up.

What seemed like a good way to rile Frankie up was just a cruel little jab at a relationship that you didn’t belong in. A relationship that would go on despite you; in spite of you. You got quiet after that and you saw that he couldn’t bear to look at you.

The battle in your mind was over, and acceptance had won.

You quietly excused yourself to grab some fresh air, the shame at your ploy to ruin Claudia's night sat in your gut and you felt horrible. This wasn’t how you were raised, despite your feelings about her or Francis it was cruel to do this to her on the night before her wedding.

Fuck, now he’ll leave with her for sure. What have I done?

“Hey - thought I’d find you out here. You okay?” Benny had come out looking for you and you smiled at him.

“I’m okay - just needed a minute away you know?” He sat beside you and you tried to focus on him. On his handsome face, how tall he was. If you’d met him a few years ago you would have been all over him.

“Yeah I get that.” He scooted closer to you, until your legs touched and smiled at you. “Look, I know you’re close to Fish, but I’d really like to take you out.” He blurted out the words and you couldn’t help but let out a surprised oh!

He was smiling and he took your hand in his, he was looking at you intently now, making his move.

He was closing in and for a moment you forgot about your shame, about everything except Benny’s mouth. The kiss was soft, tentative. He was testing the waters with you and it was nice. His hand came up and rested on your face softly. Feather light touches on your cheek with the very tips of his fingers.

Objectively speaking, it was a lovely kiss, but it did nothing for you and he felt it.

“I’m sorry.” You rested your forehead on his and he sighed, the air moving the hair framing your face slightly.

“Don’t be, it was worth a shot.” he smiled sadly and you kissed him on the cheek. You both had your answer. The door slammed, breaking you out of your moment with Benny and you saw the back of Francis’ head as he stalked back inside.

----

He wanted to get drunk. He wanted to punch Benny, he wanted to knock his teeth out. He wanted to walk out there, grab Spills by the back of the head and kiss her until she finally understood what she meant to him.

When they walked in together his guts twisted up with rage, it clawed its way up his throat and instead of lashing out he ordered three shots of liquor to burn it away. He drank them quickly, one after the other.

“You and me, outside. Now.” Pope was dragging him away and he wanted to fight but Claudia was asking him what was wrong and he didn’t have an answer for her. Not one she’d want to hear so he let Pope drag him outside. He could see Spills staring at him and he couldn’t look at her.

“What the fuck are you doing right now?” Pope spoke calmly, but his voice had an edge.

“Drinking. It’s my bachelor party, I’m supposed to get drunk aren’t I?” He was pacing, the rage making him restless.

“Why are you marrying Claudia?” Pope stared at him.

“What are you talking about?” The question stopped him in his tracks.

“Do you think that no one can see it? It’s painfully obvious that you’re nowhere near as in love with her as you should be. You’re hung up on Spills and she’s obviously hung up on you.” He was trying to speak calmly and Frankie was pissed off all over again.

“It doesn’t fucking matter how I feel about her - she’s out here with Benny and I’m getting married tomorrow.” He was spiraling.

How the fuck did I get here?

“She’s out here with Benny, because you’re supposed to be getting married tomorrow. If you want to continue with Claudia I’m not going to get in your way, but get your fucking shit together and control your emotions. Figure out what the fuck you want and remember that Benny isn’t your enemy.” He approached him and clapped his arms onto Frankies shoulders. “Fish, you have to figure out what you want here, make it work with Claudia or let her go - stop this living in between shit. It’s not fair to anyone.” Frankie shook out of his grip, too upset to see reason.

He knew he was wrong, he knew he had no right to react this way but it was too much for him. All the little moments he’d thought they’d shared - what had they meant?

What does it matter? You’re getting married, she isn’t.

He ignored her gaze when he approached their table, Claudia was approaching him.

“You okay babe?” She was approaching him with open arms and he embraced her. Eyes closed - trying to feel something other than anger. He focused on the smell of her hair, on the feeling of being buried into the crook of her neck. She sighed loudly and ran her fingers through his hair, soothing and smoothing it out. “It’s just pre-wedding jitters babe, tomorrow everything will be perfect and we’ll be married.” She was whispering into his ear and it was meant to be reassuring.

He felt nothing.

You’re not her. No matter what you do, you’ll never be her and I have to be okay with that.

“I’m okay babe - see you tomorrow.” He kissed her, really kissed her. Tried to muster up whatever he thought he felt for her before and she responded but it was useless. All he felt was anger; she pulled away smiling and said her goodbyes. He glanced at Spills and the look on her face made him feel ashamed.

“Let’s get fucked up.” He said it with a fake smile plastered on his face and everyone except Pope and Spills cheered.

---

His hostility was astounding. He barely looked at you the whole night and you had a feeling it had to do with Benny’s kiss. You had to talk to him about it, a part of you hoped he’d be jealous and realize that you belonged together but maybe that was all in your head. Maybe he didn’t like his friends dating you, or you dating them but that didn’t make sense. Why would that bother him?

You’re the one getting married to someone else here, you dick.

Will and Benny were keeping up with him but as the night wore on everyone came to the realization that tomorrow would be a very long day if they didn’t quit now but Frankie wanted to keep the party going. He wasn’t belligerent, but he was being more aggressive than you’d ever seen. He told the boys that he wanted to continue drinking when they all got back to his house and they agreed but when you all got there it was obvious that Benny and Will were down for the count.

“I’m going to get these two into bed, can you make sure he’s okay and that he doesn’t get too fucked up?” Pope was herding the brothers into the basement where they’d been staying. He gave you a curious look then, a narrowing of the eyes that screamed talk to him.

---

When you walked into his old bedroom he was sitting on his bed, bottle of alcohol to his lips and you’d had enough.

“Francis that’s enough, you’ve had too much and you’re going to be sick.” You were trying to take the bottle away from him but he was stronger than you and he was in a foul mood.

“You don’t get to do that, you don’t get to pull that shit and then baby me.” His tone was vicious and you pulled back.

“I’m not trying to baby you, you asshole- I'm trying to make sure you’re not hungover for your wedding tomorrow.” He scoffed loudly at your words. “You got something to say Francisco?” You were angry now, his attitude was pissing you off big time. Your question set him off and he unloaded onto you.

“Oh I got plenty to say.” He put the bottle down and towered over you. “You fucked up Spills, you knew how I felt about you this whole fucking time and YOU were the one who shut it down. Making this stupid pact so you would be guaranteed someone who was crazy about you while you went off and did whatever and whoever you wanted and then bring it up in front of everyone like it was a joke.” The anger was burning away the alcohol in his system and there was nothing but raw honesty left. “And now what, you’re going to date my friend? So is it anyone who shows you attention except me?”

The expression on his face was angry, but there was a raw hurt in his voice. An old wound that he was blaming you for opening up.

“I have loved you since I was fucking fourteen, and you never gave a shit. You used me and you kept me dangling on a string but guess what, I am not a last resort. I have found a woman who loves me and you’re going to have to live with that.” The words were knives to your heart because for the most part they were true.

You couldn’t stop the tears at his onslaught of painful truths but underneath the hurt his words caused, you were fucking angry.

“You want to tear into me because I’ve been a fucking idiot fine, have at it, but you do not get to shame me for having a moment with someone who likes me. You’re getting married! Am I supposed to stay celibate and alone for the rest of my life because you gave up on me? I was waiting at the airport to tell you that I love you. That I know I’ve wasted time and that I want you.”

“Gave up on you? Are you fucking kidding me right now? So when I call to see how everyone is doing and I find out that you’re seeing someone - I'm supposed to just know that you’ll figure it out? I have been putting off finding someone in hopes that you’ll finally see how devoted I’ve always been to you. I am so fucking pissed off at you and you want to know what the worst part of it is? The fact that I still fucking love you. Even though I’m hurt and so goddamn angry. Even though I have her and I know she’s head over heels for me, you’re the one in my head. I still love you and seeing you like this is breaking my fucking heart Spills. It should be you I’m marrying tomorrow. It should have always been you.” You could see the tears in his eyes now and that hurt even more.

Every single fibre of your being screamed at you to run to him, to wrap your arms around him. Instead you responded with your own truth.

“I wish it was me tomorrow. I know I couldn’t expect you to wait for me forever but I don’t want anyone else. Benny is sweet but he’s not you Francis.” You were well and truly crying now. Everything you’d been holding in came bubbling up, spilling out of you and there was nothing you could do to stop it, it had to come out.

“I should have kissed you back like I wanted to. I shouldn’t have been afraid, I should have seen it and dealt with my own feelings for you. I’m sorry Francis. I’m sorry it took so long for me to realize how perfect we are for each other. I’m sorry I was too late and I’m terrified that you’ll leave me behind and marry her, and that I’ll be here waiting for you forever.” Your voice was cracking and high, barely a whisper at certain points with how hard you were crying.

His legs brought themselves to you in three long strides and then his mouth was on yours. Your tears mixing where your faces touched; pure adrenaline coursing through your veins when his hands buried themselves into your hair. It was nothing compared to the inexperienced albeit enthusiastic kiss you’d shared as teenagers. This was all-consuming. His mouth trapping your bottom lip roughly and biting softly to draw out a whimper. His tongue using the sound as the invitation to plunder the inside of your mouth.

He tasted like honey and alcohol, like the gum he chewed and tiramisu. He tasted like all the things you loved in this world and you never wanted him to stop kissing you.

He trailed his kisses down to the line of your jaw, the long column of your neck and up to the place beneath your ear and all you could do was frantically clutch at his hair.

“We’ve been so stupid Spills, driving me crazy.” He was whispering the words into your neck, his hands a vice grip around your waist.

“I’m sorry Francis, I love you - I love you so much.” The both of you couldn’t get the words out fast enough, fervent breathes as you kissed; both trying to make up for lost time. His wedding in a few hours was forgotten, his fiancé didn’t exist. It was just the two of you in his old bedroom where his first kiss had been denied.

You were rewriting that now.

His hands lowered and grabbed at the flesh of your ass roughly and you moaned into his mouth. He brought his kisses to your neck as he decisively pulled your dress up.

“I’ve been wanting to fuck you for half my life Spills, it was you I thought about while I was away. I would fuck my fist every single fucking night thinking about you letting me taste your pussy.” His eyes were dark with want and you gasped at his words, the alcohol and the honesty making him braver; the words were shooting directly into your cunt, making you weep for him.

“It’s always been you, look at what you do to me, what you’ve always fucking done to me.” He grabbed at your hand roughly and pressed into the sizeable bulge at his crotch. It was hard to form words. It was hard to articulate how you felt now that this was finally happening.

“Will you let me baby? Will you let me bury my tongue in your cunt? I want you to cum all over my face.” He was rubbing at your clit through your panties and it was like you were suspended in amber. Dumbstruck at his words, his confidence - his need for you.

“Yes Francisco, please.” You were gripping his hair frantically as he pushed you onto his bed. His big strong hands pulling your underwear down and tossing it over his shoulder. The same hands pulling your thighs apart to find your slick seeping out of you, all glossy and wet. He moaned at the sight.

“Look at that- so fucking pretty for me.” He made himself comfortable between your legs, grinding into the mattress as he studied your body. He kissed your thighs as he brought his face closer and closer to your clenching core. His facial hair tickling you as he trailed them up up up. You watched him propped up on your elbows, your hands automatically reaching out to run through his hair.

“Bet you taste so fucking good, like peaches.” He ran his finger along your seam, smearing your slick all over your lower lips. He was going too slow. You tried to move your cunt closer to his face but he smiled almost cruelly and held your hips down.

“My greedy girl.” He spread your lips apart and spit into your clit, you felt it sliding down towards your opening but he dove in cat-quick to lap it up before it went further.

His tongue was heaven. You threw your head back as he licked from your opening up towards your clit, over and over. “Eyes on me, I want you to watch me.” It was too much and you whimpered as he let the saliva drip from his mouth and into your clit. Focusing his tongue there, moving it up and down over and over and over. The wet glide of it too much and the string holding your sanity together was too tight, it would surely snap and let you float away soon.

He groaned onto your skin, his eyes steady on you as he slid two thick fingers inside you. Curling them in a way that had you tensing up. He could feel your thighs clenching as he scissored them inside you, stretching you open while his tongue pushed you over the edge. It was too much and when he wrapped his lips around your clit and gave it a long steady suck, you shattered.

He held you down and licked you through it. Lapping up the waves of arousal, drinking you down deep while his fingers pistoned in and out of you with a wet squelch.

You had to push him away.

“You taste so good honey, I wanna eat you for days, until you’re a wet little puddle in my bed.” He crawled up towards your limp body and kissed you roughly, his facial hair irritating your skin but it didn’t matter. Not when you could taste yourself in his mouth, not when he’d made you cum harder than anyone had any right to.

His hands were a blur as he tried to get his jeans down and you helped him. You could see your slick on his fingers, then his jeans and your hip where he held onto you. A little trail of you wherever he touched.

You frantically pulled both his jeans and his boxers down, his cock freed and bobbing between your thighs. You could see the sticky tip of him, angry and red with how hard he was and your mouth watered. You had to taste.

He was surprised when you flipped him over, the startled look on his face quickly replaced with a hungry smile. You took off his jeans and his boxes fully to lay between his legs. You rested your head on the strong muscle of his thigh as you lazily stroked him, the velvety skin of his cock encasing the iron beneath. He watched you with a look of rapture and his breath hitched when you pulled away to scoop some of your own slick from between your legs to make your strokes more fluid.

“You can’t possibly know how many times I’ve imagined this - fuck - give me your mouth baby, please.” He was thrusting up into your hand. You licked a wide stripe from the base of his dick up to the tip, circling it with your tongue. He groaned at the sight of you and he grabbed at the hair at the base of your skull to guide your movements.

You took the tip into your mouth and hollowed your cheeks prettily while he watched you, taking a bit more each time you lowered your head. You were ravenous for him, the soft sounds he was making, the control you had at this moment was intoxicating and it pushed you to take him further.

You took him as far as you could, swallowing around him as your nose brushed up against his curls and the tears leaked out when you let go to take a breath.

“Holy fuck baby, yes - look so fucking hot with my dick in your throat. Let me see you do it again.” He guided you down and you held there as long as you could before you sputtered and coughed, spit and his precum connecting your mouth to his cock.

“Fuck baby - so fucking good, if you do it again I’ll cum…” he left it up to you, taking his hand away from your hair and as tempted as you were to watch him come apart in your mouth your cunt was achingly empty and you needed him inside you.

“Next time you can cum in my mouth or on my face, wherever you want, right now I need you to fuck me.” You crawled up and he kissed you, he was frantic and he licked the spit off your lips and it was so primal you moaned. You found yourself on your back again and he was holding your thighs open while he rubbed his length through your folds.

“I’m going to cum inside you. I’m going to pump you full of me, fuck it into you. I wanna see it dripping out of you when I’m done.” He was lining himself up and when he slid in all the way, everything was right in the world. This was how it was supposed to be, the thick stretch of him was perfect, you were so fucking full - your cunt, your heart - every part of you.

“God baby, you’re so tight and wet - feels so fucking good.” He was speaking into your mouth and all you could do was wrap your arms and legs around him. Incoherent whimpers and sounds spilling out of your mouth with his movements. Sweat was beading on his brow, his fingers traced your hairline almost tenderly. His movements are equal parts filthy and loving.

His thrusts were hard and fast, not being able to control himself. You heard the wet, obscene sound of them and it made you wetter. You raised your legs higher, bracketing his ribs while he snapped his hips.

“I’ve wanted this for so long, love you - let me love you.” His words were curt and he wasn’t going to last long so you yanked the straps of your dress down. He leaned onto one arm, reaching down to rub perfect circles onto your clit while he took your nipple into his mouth. Your orgasm crashed into you out of nowhere and he groaned when he felt you clenching.

He brought his hand back up to grab at your hip roughly for more leverage while he fucked into you two, three - four more times before he was spilling into you.

He made good on his promise. He fucked his cum into you. A couple more shallow thrusts even though he was too sensitive and he watched himself do it.

“Look so fucking pretty like that, all puffy and full of my cum.” He watched as it slid out of you and down your ass onto the bedding.

Is this what I’ve been missing out on? Francisco Morales; sex god.

You were too blissed out to move but he went to work, taking off the rest of his clothes and then stripping you of yours. It was difficult to articulate how you felt in that moment, on the one hand this was everything you had wanted. The sex had been amazing, he didn’t just fill your body - he filled every single ounce of you. Your heart swelled when he tucked you into his side and covered the two of you with his blanket.

On the other hand, the postcoital bliss was wearing off and the implications of what had transpired was a weight growing in the pit of your stomach.

Your body and heart wanted to soar; a kite flying higher and higher. Your conscience was the string, and it was being shortened fast. He loved you, he still loved you even though he was engaged and he’d been thinking of you the whole time. You wanted to cry with happiness; with guilt as well.

The guilt was present, reminding you consistently that this man was supposed to be getting a good night’s rest for his wedding tomorrow. Instead the two of you were laying in bed, curled around each other. His spend slowly seeping out of you.

It was hard to focus on it though, especially when his skin was so warm under your cheek. When his hand rubbed at your arm and your legs were a tangle underneath the blanket. You couldn’t help but reach up and run your fingers through the hair matted on his forehead and he made it even harder when he captured the same hand and pressed kisses to your fingers. He broke the silence before you could though.

“I’m still pissed off at you.” He had a dreamy look on his face despite his words.

“I know. I’m pissed off at me too.” You buried your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. The scent of his body-wash mixing with his own sweat. You couldn’t get enough and he curled himself into you as you ran your fingers through his hair. Your hands are constantly moving, touching every bit of each other you could.

“We’ve wasted so much fucking time Spills.” There was a deep sadness in his voice, it sliced into you because you knew he was right.

“I know Francis, I’m sorry it took me so long.” You were scratching at the wiry hairs on his cheek, trying to map out the face you loved so much. He sighed loudly. “What's going to happen tomorrow?”

“I don’t know - part of me thinks I should pack up the truck, throw you in the back and drive away. Another part of me wants to forget this whole thing happened and follow through on the commitment I made.” He wasn’t holding back with his words or feelings and although they hurt you couldn’t force him to do anything he didn’t want to do. You kept quiet, at the end of the day the decision was his. “I have to tell her the truth. I have to tell her that we did this, I cannot show up there tomorrow and pretend like I didn’t.”

You could see the guilt on his face now, the implications dawning on him a little later than they had for you. He scrubbed at his face with his hand and groaned.

“How can I just break her heart like this?” He was spiralling. “She doesn’t deserve this.” You felt like an intruder then, suddenly the closeness wasn’t there, he was pulling away from you emotionally if not yet physically.

“What do you want to do Francisco?” The use of his full name snapped him out of his train of thought and he looked at you then.

“What do you mean?” He looked at you in confusion, as you pulled away from him reluctantly.

“I know it took me way too long to get to this point, and you have every fucking right to hate me. If you tell me now that you want to make it work with her I’ll support your decision. I’ll keep my mouth shut and we can pretend this never happened. I would do that for you because I love you, and I will no matter what. You tell me what you want to do.” The tears were coming down your face as you said the words and as much as it hurt to get them out you meant them.

You couldn’t stay here - you wanted him to make his choice without influence and he said nothing as you quickly dressed and walked out of his room, instead you lay on the couch in the living room, crying softly to yourself. Sleep was nowhere in sight and in a few hours, you’d know for sure what would happen.

----

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