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wosoamazing · 8 months ago

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Bad Timing

Warnings: Endometriosis, Passing Out, Vomiting

A/N: IDK how good it is, can’t decide if I like it or not but yeah…. (also I tried to make this as accurate as possible in terms of the medical things but IDK)

It was your first Lionesses camp, which you were dreading, if you weren't nervous enough your period was due during this camp, and to say it wasn’t easy was a massive understatement, you had just recently been diagnosed with endometriosis, after what felt like years of being told you were over dramatic. You were rooming with Leah, Sarina had said something about “broadening horizons” or something by switching up the rooms slightly, it meant nothing to you, it was your first camp. However this made you more nervous and scared about getting your period. Leah was really nice and kind, and you really enjoyed playing at Arsenal with her and you always took on any tips she had for you, but you were worried she would see you as weak after seeing how you were on your period. You knew she also had endometriosis and for the one and a half years you have been at arsenal she had not once taken a day off, making you feel like you just weren’t strong enough. You missed training almost once a month and Beth even forced you to pull out of a game one day, insisting she stayed with you missing the game as well. To be fair Leah had done her ACL a week before you signed for arsenal however you still never once heard her complain about it.

Training had been going well, even though you had a dull ache in your abdomen and you had a headache, you knew it meant you would be getting your period pretty soon but you thought you would be in clear at least for now and that you could make it through training, you just had to try and ignore the pain, that had slowly been increasing in intensity.

You were having a drink when a hand was placed on your shoulder, “do you have another pair of shorts?” It was Leah, “no,” you replied quietly trying not to cry, how did you manage to not bring a spare pair, of course this happened, you had travelled from your hotel on the bus to training so it wasn't like you could just go up to your room. “Okay, well why don’t you go to the locker room and I’ll just tell Sarina what is happening and then I’ll come to you, I have a spare pair.” “I should probably go get my tablets from the medics” “Do you-” you cut her off with a nod knowing what she was going to say before a wave of stabbing cramps caused you to hunch over slightly and clutch at your stomach. “It’s okay, I will do all of that, you just go to the locker room.” you nodded before you turned around and walked into the locker room.

Leah had noticed things not many people would, first it was how you missed a training session from the same week 3 months in a row, then it was the fact that you bled through more than you would’ve liked, and the last one was that you would always sit with your knees to your chest in meetings and breaks during the week that your day off fell into.

____

“Sarina, I think Y/N has just started her period, I’m just coming to tell you because she needs to change her shorts and doesn't have any but I do, so I was just going to go with her.” Leah says as she walked over to Sarina, who nodded before walking away from the other girls getting Leah to follow her, “She has endometriosis, the medics have her tablets and from what her doctors reports say it gets bad, it’s only a friendly, I might get someone to take you both back to the hotel, so we can make a judgement on how we approach this long term, I don’t want to risk her health. Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah, I think that might be good. Thank you” “No, thank you Leah. I know you will take good care of her, it might not just be a coincidence that you are her roommate.”

____

Once you got into your room you changed out of your training gear and Leah went down with one of the medics so she could get some things you may need.

Once you had changed you started to walk over to your bed when a shooting pain ran down your back and legs sending you to the floor. You were curled up on the floor of your room, holding your stomach tightly, just wishing Leah came back soon, maybe she could help. You really hated how your periods just started like a tidal wave, giving you no time to prepare. You felt like someone was squeezing and twisting your uterus, whilst your back cramped.

“Oh tiny,” Leah said sympathetically as she walked back into the room, she placed the items she had gotten on the bed before she crouched down in front of you.

“Do you want me to move you to the bed?” you gave her a weak nod, and she placed a hand on your shoulder before rolling you over slightly so she could pick you up, the slight movement caused you to whimper before the swift movement of her picking you up caused a heavy stream of tears to fall from your eyes, “I know, I know, I’m sorry”. She gently placed you down in the middle of your bed, before getting in next to you, her upper body was propped up slightly from the pillows as she laid down next to you. She silently handed you a hot water bottle which you placed on your stomach before curling up into a ball on top of her, your head resting on her chest. “Do you want one on your back too or no? I can keep it there,” “yes please,” you said weakly, she grabbed it and softly placed it on your back before holding it there.

“I have a sick bag if you need it, and please ask me for anything at all, I promise I wont judge you, I just want to help.” you just nodded slightly and she wrapped her free hand around you, you managed to fall asleep but even asleep Leah could tell you were still in pain.

____

“How is she, is she okay?” Beth panicked as she rushed into your room concerned for her favourite little person, she had obviously been informed by Sarina or one of the other staff. You had known Beth since you were born, you were very close family friends, your Dad’s knew each other from when they were young kids and even though you were 11 years younger than her you both always got along well. So when you moved to Arsenal it was a no-brainer that you would move in with her and Viv, it also meant they would have someone living with them to help. When her Mum died it hit you hard, June had been a big part of your life, always looking after you for your parents when their work caused them to be away, she would always show up to your weekend games if she was available and even came to your grandparents day at school, when your grandparents couldn't come but you didn't want your parents to go, when the teacher suggested you could bring an adult friend you had asked her and she happily accepted.

“Yeah she is okay, I think she is in a lot of pain though, it's kind of worrying me,” Leah said as she looked at you, noticing a fear tears were now leaving your eyes even as you slept.

“y/n” Leah softly said as she brushed her hand against your cheek causing your eyes to flutter open, “Beth is here,” you opened your eyes to see Beth sitting on Leah’s bed, “Can I go to the toilet?” “Sure, do you want me to help?” you nodded shyly and Beth helped you off Leah before steadying you as you walked into the bathroom, just as you entered the bathroom, you felt light headed and dizzy, everything was going blurry and there was a ringing in your ears.

“Beth-” your voice was laced with panic and pain “It’s okay, don’t worry, let's just sit on the floor,” Beth said calmly as she lowered you to the floor knowing what was going to happen, as soon as you were on the floor your body went limp against Beth’s and everything went black. “It’s okay, you’re okay, we’re here, we’ve got you,” you heard Beth say as you came back to, opening your eyes slowly so they knew, “Are you okay?” you shook your head as you closed your eyes again. All your body weight was still being supported by Beth, as you took some deep breaths “do you think you might be sick?” you nodded your head, and Leah quickly got the sick bag from the bed and handed it to Beth, “I’ve got a bag, okay. You’re going to be okay though, I promise, I’ve got you, no matter what happens,” Beth reassured you, a few minutes had passed and thankfully you hadn't been sick yet. “Are they always this bad?” Leah asked to which you nodded slightly before letting your head fall back against Beth’s shoulder, she brushed away the pieces of hair that were stuck to your forehead before giving you a small kiss on your forehead.

“Have-” Beth shook her head, “They wont do anything more Leah, we’ve been to extensive appointments, she is too young for them to look into more drastic things yet apparently, and due to her age she is limited on the strength and type of painkillers she is on but some months they are a bit better but they also can get a lot worse.”

#woso community #woso fanfics #woso #woso imagine #woso x reader #lionesses x reader #lionesses #leah williamson x reader #beth mead x reader

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igot-the-juice · 1 month ago

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Blood of A Rose - Part 2 (Art the Clown x Fem!Reader)

Masterlist

Summary - Following the events of their night together, (y/n) and Art explore their dynamics together to form a perfect duet of blood and beauty.

Notes - Was requested to expand on the relationship between Art and the reader and will happily oblige! It’s honestly so fun to write Art’s character, I hate how little there is out there for him. My man needs attention.

P.S - Might branch this into a series of one shots showing their relationship more and whatnot either from my own ideas or requests from you guys for what you’d like to see with them. Hell, might even make a whole blog based on them. Thoughts?

Word Count - 4,091

Warning(s) - Blood, gore, violence, morally ambiguous reader

Song Inspiration -

Cody Frost - Process

Screams were heard all around them, piercing and agonizing. Everything was set ablaze, yet she felt no heat. She felt no pain. Even as the smoke clouded, she could breathe without struggle. (Y/n) craned her neck to look up at the clown before her, eyes wide with wonder, with trust. Her life was in the hands of a murderer and yet she felt safe. She felt protected.

His usual grin did not show, yet he didn’t frown. His face remained neutral while his eyes said it all, filled with an untamed obsession, possessiveness and dare she say adoration. His gloved hands rose to her jaw, cupping it delicately as he guided her to train her eyes on him, to ignore all that happened around them. As she stared up at him, her hands came to rest over his own, and with a look of his eyes she was told -

He would be her past, present and future.

(Y/n)’s eyes fluttered open, greeted by the soft light of the moon that peaked through the boards of the window. The colder air bit at her skin through her sweater and she shivered.

She sat up and looked around curiously, seeing that she was now in the makeshift bedroom from before. She then looked down and saw that she was on the mattress, however a tattered blanket now lay on top of it beneath her, shielding her from whatever mold and rot had been on it.

Her legs closed when she felt a light breeze brush against the tear in her pantyhose, heightening the chill. (Y/n) stretched her arms out and stood, then heard what sounded like someone hammering from a different room. Her mind raced with the events of what she assumed was still the same night. Her face burned, stomach fluttering as the ghost of Art’s caress tickled her skin.

She took a deep breath and left the room, quietly making her way to where the sound came from. Mindful of the debris on the floor as she grew near, she entered the room with the workbench, Art hunched over it on the stool as he hammered away at something.

When (y/n) stepped closer he paused. Her breath stilled as his head slowly turned to the side, yet not over his shoulder to look at her, letting her know that he knew she was there.

Once he returned to work she released the breath she held and made her way over to him, seeing as he hammered a screw-eye hook of sorts into the end of a chair leg.

His face was focused, not smiling or putting on his usual dramatics as he worked. It felt strange to her, seeing him this way. It reminded her that even if he was a murderer he wasn’t excused from putting in the work to make it happen, whether it was a hobby of his or not. It reminded her that he still had interests and needs just as everyone else. It was oddly humanizing and she couldn’t help but feel privileged to see him in such a state.

He motioned to a nearby corner and (y/n) turned to see another stool placed there, then moved to bring it over and sat on top of it to continue to watch him. He then motioned to her - conversing as he worked - then symbolized sleep as if to ask how she slept, then proceeded to pick up an average sized chain.

“It was actually quite nice. Best sleep I’ve had in a while.”

With chain in hand, he clapped excitedly, happy with her response. He hooked it to the screw, bending and twisting the metal to make sure it was secure as (y/n) watched casually, as if it was just another day.

“Is it… Is it still the same night?”

He shook his head and her eyes widened. Art turned to see it and began to laugh to himself.

“How long has it been?”

He held up a finger after his laughing fit died down, going back to his work.

“One day…? But how?”

He nodded and glanced over at her, watching as she looked down, growing more and more confused. He patted her shoulder and she looked up at him, seeing him point to himself, then her.

“Because of you?” Her brow furrowed, then her expression changed as she chuckled. “Are you saying I slept for so long because of what we did?”

Art shrugged and made a cheeky expression, but she became confused again when he then shook his head. He motioned to himself again, then pointed to her head.

“You… forced me to stay asleep?” He eagerly nodded, smiling and pointing at her to say she got it. “But how? Did you knock me out?” His head shook. “Did you drug me?”

His head shook again and he rolled his eyes, arms falling to his sides in exasperation. He then motioned to his entire body, pointed to his head with both fingers, then to her head again.

“You were in my head…?” He nodded and clapped. “How is that even possible?”

Art shrugged dramatically with a mischievous smile. (Y/n) paused and slowly met his eyes.

“The dream…?” She asked, and in the back of her head she already knew the answer.

The clown only solidified it with a raise of his eyebrows, mouth forming an ‘o’ and shrugging as an ‘oops’. (Y/n) could only laugh, not knowing how exactly to react to someone with such supposed supernatural abilities.

She wasn’t sure if she had finally grown to become insane or if it was all a hallucination, all in her head. But as she thought to the night before she found that it all felt too real, too vivid to be fake.

(Y/n) suddenly felt exposed and crossed one leg over the other, tugging down the skirt of her dress as her face grew warm. Art looked over at her, face twisting into mischief as his eyes squinted with his smile. He wiggled his eyebrows when she looked at him and she turned her face away bashfully.

He reached over to grasp her chin, coaxing her to look back at him. He nudged his head in her direction, grinning to encourage her to do the same. Once her smile returned and she giggled, he playfully booped her nose and turned back to his workbench, his smile now remaining on his dramatized face as he worked.

The minutes seemed to drag on as he worked, but not once was she bored. She watched eagerly, fixated as his hands toyed and shaped the weapon he was creating. His actions were all well thought out and deliberate, masculine yet graceful as his fingers caressed the wood and metal.

Deeming the weapon satisfactory, he raised it by the handle - the chair leg - and examined it carefully. Three chains hung from the screw-eye, knife tips, nails and spikes decorating the length of them.

“Is that a flail?” (Y/n) gasped.

Art’s head whipped over to look at her and patted her thigh, the hand holding the weapon shaking excitedly as he nodded. He watched as she eyed his new creation, then an idea formed in his head. His gaze shifted to look over at her, now smiling sadistically. She caught the change in his expression and she began to smile, catching on to what he was thinking.

“I’ll get the camera!” She hopped off of the stool.

After some convincing from her end, they stopped by her house for her to quickly change into something more comfortable. It wasn’t until she began to beg sweetly that he finally agreed, unable to say no to her more innocent nature, regardless of her interests.

Not a person was in sight as they were shielded by the dark of the night, hardly any street lamps in the area they currently wandered.

“Does the bag ever get heavy for you?” (Y/n) asked as they walked through the ghosted roads.

Art shook his head, using his other arm to exaggerate flexing his muscles and she laughed.

“I bet that bag is the reason you’re so strong, lugging it around everywhere and all.” He waved her off at the compliment and tickled her ear with his finger. “I’m serious! You make it look like it weighs nothing.”

As they walked, they began to see the edge of the town ahead of them. Or rather, Art saw it. (Y/n) was too focused on the clown beside her, taking in all of his features under the starry night, the moon perfectly accentuating every curvature and jagged edge, every -

She was suddenly yanked to the side of the sidewalk he walked on and she gasped, looking over to see a pole that she nearly walked straight into. She looked back over at Art who had a hand on his hip with a frown. He pointed at her, his eyes, then the direction they were walking in.

“Sorry…” She giggled as she blushed, nervously fiddling with the camera hanging around her neck.

He pulled back his arm and reached for her, pulling her to stand on the opposite side where he was previously walking to prevent it from happening again. He motioned for her to continue walking, rolling his eyes from behind her before he set his pace next to her again.

As they reached the town, Art began to look around carefully, more alert in the brighter area while (y/n) had a mind of her own. While he kept an eye out for his next victim, she focused on finding her next inspiration. She supposed they went hand in hand, but she was never one to strive for the bare minimum.

He then paused, holding his arm out for her to do the same, knowing she very well would’ve kept on walking. Hearing the voices of what seemed to be a couple arguing, he listened carefully to find where they came from.

Then he spotted them.

A man and woman arguing next to a car. The man was halfway in the driver’s seat while the woman stood next to it, flailing her arms.

Art then heard a shutter sound from beside him, slowly looking over to see (y/n) holding her camera up, taking photos of the argument before them. She looked over at him and shrugged innocently.

She put down the camera and the two of them watched the pursuing argument, equally invested in the exchange. The man then slammed the car door shut.

“They just broke up for sure.” (Y/n) whispered to Art and he looked down at her with a widespread grin, wiggling his eyebrows then nodding towards the woman who was now making her way into what seemed to be her villa.

Art crossed the street, making his way over with (y/n) in tow and walking up the small set of stairs leading to the front door. He looked down at her, then turned to the door in front of them and tested the door knob, unsurprisingly finding it locked.

He gave (y/n) a ‘wait’ signal and set down his bag, cracking his neck and stretching his arms out in front of him with linked fingers. Art then gave her a side smile, then suddenly kicked the door open. She froze with wide eyes, yet her stomach betrayed her as it flipped at his show of masked strength.

He picked up his bag again and grabbed her wrist to pull her inside with him, closing the door behind them. Footsteps quickly descended the staircase in front of them and they looked up to see the same woman from before, chest heaving in fear at the sight before her.

While (y/n) quickly snapped a photo of her expression, Art dropped his bag again and wiggled his fingers at her in a wave with a menacing smile. He then held up a finger to her and began to look through his bag as the woman remained frozen like a deer in the headlights, watching as he pulled out a scalpel and the new flail. He turned to (y/n) and raised his eyebrows, then bolted upstairs after the woman who fled.

As they thumped around upstairs, she began to explore the villa, looking for things to use in her next piece. The woman’s screams and shrieks were muffled behind the door of the room they were in and were drowned out, inevitably useless.

(Y/n) eyed a smaller box TV that sat on an entertainment stand in the living room, an idea popping into her head. She walked over to it and unplugged it in preparation, resuming her wandering when the noise above her suddenly stopped.

She heard a door open upstairs followed by footsteps descending the staircase. (Y/n) looked towards it, seeing a now bloodied Art giving her the ‘ok’ to go upstairs when she was ready.

“Could you do me a huge favor?” She asked as he made his way over to her, shaking off the blood on his hands and nodding. “Could you help take the TV upstairs for me? I want to use it as the head.”

Art made a surprised expression, clapping his hands giddily at the idea. He then paused with a finger up, making a sawing motion and asked for her to wait a moment, disappearing upstairs. Not long after, he returned with his saw and put it back in his bag, happily walking over to the TV and tipping his hat at (y/n) when he walked by. He then picked it up as if it was nothing but a feather and made his way back upstairs, (y/n) following closely behind as she giggled.

They entered the woman’s bedroom, her body splayed out on the bed with small to large chunks of her skin and fat missing, head nowhere to be found.

As he placed the TV where the woman’s head used to be, (y/n) admired the slashes left from the flail. Some were rather deep, others shallow. Their marks tore at the dress that the woman wore, some simulating claw marks while other areas were simply shredded.

“Could you move the arms to look like this?” (Y/n) posed her own arms to grab the sides of her head. Art carefully took note of the angle and position, then moved the victim’s arms to reflect it. “Perfect.” (Y/n) smiled, looking up at the ceiling to see LED lights lined along the edge.

Art watched as she wandered to find the remote, smiling to herself once she found it and changed the color to red and turned off the main light. She looked around the floor, watching for anything she could trip on before lifting a foot onto the bed.

Art’s face twisted into panic and his hands shook, stepping next to her and helping her up onto the bed.

“Thank you.” She responded softly, one of his hands still holding her waist to help steady her as she readied her camera. He followed her as she captured different angles, some standing while others she crouched.

(Y/n) took his hand to help herself down, smiling up at him as he grinned at her excitedly. Just as the night before, she flipped through the pictures she took, and just the same, she felt his closeness.

The only difference was rather than nerves, she felt relaxed. She felt calm and comfortable despite the mess around them that he caused. His hand that rested on her far shoulder radiated heat through her layers of clothing and she subconsciously leaned into him, head pressed against his chest while he pointed at the photos he favored.

His silent presence, twisted grin plastered on his painted face, drew her in like a moth to flame. (Y/n) found herself unable to refuse, an invisible pull guiding her to him.

At first, their following encounters were just a few hours in the night together. Art would appear when (y/n) least expected, showing up at odd hours, his silent insistence drawing her out into the dark. However, she began to notice her sleeping pattern slowly change. She grew more tired sooner, falling asleep earlier and earlier, waking up in a strange nocturnal rhythm.

At night, she would wake to find him waiting, patient but always silent, eager to lead her deeper into his world. (Y/n), feeling a strange sense of peace in his presence, began to follow him without question. And after only a few weeks of their odd relationship, she began to grow used to it. Comfortable with it. Comfortable with him.

“Hey, Art.” (Y/n) greeted him as she yawned, fresh out of bed to find him rummaging through her kitchen.

He looked up at her and waved, a widespread grin bringing out her own smile in her vulnerable, post-dream state. He gushed at the sight, elbows resting on the countertop with his chin in his hands, blinking dreamily at her as she walked over to him with her arms out.

Art popped up, engulfing her in his arms as she sighed happily at the feeling. He rocked the two of them slowly, the rhythm almost putting her back to sleep.

Slowly, (Y/n)’s life became consumed by Art. The gruesome art pieces she crafted from his handiwork grew bolder, more disturbing, as if the dark side of her creativity was being unleashed by his influence.

In her dreams, she would see him. His painted face looming over her, silent but omnipresent. At first, the dreams were disorienting. But over time, they became comforting. She would wake, feeling a strange longing for him, for the connection they shared in the darkest corners of her mind, weaving its way to the forefront.

As the days bled into nights, (y/n) found herself thinking of Art constantly. He was always there, even when he wasn’t physically present; a haunting figure in her thoughts. His silence, once goofy, became a form of comfort. She began to crave his presence, yearning for their time together.

And so (y/n) found herself growing dependent on him. Whether it was for her art or simply her attachment to him, how safe she felt with him. He understood her in a way no other person could, and she reciprocated.

The way he was so brutal and aggressive with others, yet gentle and thoughtful with herself only drew her closer to him. He treated others as nuisances, problems to deal with and get rid of while he treated her as delicately as the rose that brought them together. The contrast was endearing to her, and she couldn’t help but be entranced.

Though such treatment came with an undisclosed amount of protection and possessiveness, to which she learned rather quickly.

“It just came out wrong, I’m sorry!” (Y/n) giggled. Art mocked her, rolling his eyes as his mouth and hand mocked her talking. The culprit of such a fit?

She called his nose cute.

“Your nose is attractive, is what I meant. Believe me, you’re still as frightening as ever.”

He threw her a side eye, then dramatically sighed and waved it all off.

“Hey!” She stopped them in the middle of the sidewalk, a lit street lamp looming over them as they faced each other. “I’m sorry.” She gave him her best doe eyes, then stood up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

His grin slowly returned, hand coming over the top of where she kissed him and she giggled. He then took her hand in his own, continuing their nightly walk.

Later on, they heard slurred conversation ahead of them, seemingly male in nature. (Y/n) tried to slow their walk, but Art looked back at her and encouraged her to keep up with him. As they grew closer, they passed an alleyway that held a small group of drunks, hearing a whistle of a cat call.

The clown immediately stilled, and (y/n) quickly grew worried.

“Hey, where ya goin’ babes?” One of the men called, stepping out of the alleyway with a bottle in hand. “Not with the mime, I hope.”

Art and (y/n) slowly turned to face the man, their hands still interlocked as she gripped his tighter and stepped closer to him, practically hiding behind him like a scared child.

“Oh, come on, don’t tell me you actually wanna be with the guy!”

“Ey, c’mon man, stop messin’ with them, she’s not worth it.” Another man stepped out, followed by a third to watch the scene play out. Art’s eyebrows furrowed in anger, twisted grin remaining as he set down his bag and quickly reached into it.

“Obviously not if -“ Two shots suddenly pierced through the night air, the second and third men collapsing to the ground while Art aimed a handgun at the first who initiated.

(Y/n)’s hold on his hand moved to his arm, clutching onto it as the bodies began to puddle with blood beneath them. She looked up at Art, his grin replaced with a frown and it sent a chill down her spine. She had only seen him genuinely angry maybe once or twice, and whatever followed was far from pleasant, to say the least.

“H-hey, I was just jokin’ man, I was just jokin’!” The drunk held up his hands in surrender, but the clown wasn’t buying it.

As he continued to ramble and apologize, begging for his life, Art kept the gun pointed at his head. He watched as the man slowly broke in front of him, growing increasingly desperate. Art’s grin then slowly reappeared, giving the man a glimmer of hope.

Then Art suddenly aimed at the man’s thigh and fired, doing the same to his other until he fell to his knees. Art tossed the gun into his bag and rummaged through it further, his face twisting into a sadistic expression when he pulled out a box cutter flashing it to the man as a tease before stalking over to him.

(Y/n) turned around, facing away from the chaos and gore as she plugged her ears to drown out the noise. Even still, the sound seeped through as the man struggled and cried out helplessly. His fight was futile compared to Art’s strength, and the latter simply ragdolled him as if the man was just a child.

When the noise stopped, she unplugged her ears and felt a hand pat her waist, turning to see Art wipe off his now bloodied hands. She turned to see his mess, and his face suddenly grew concerned when she pouted.

“I don’t have my camera.” (Y/n) nearly whined, and Art mimicked her frown.

At first, (y/n) resisted the growing dependency, confused by her attachment. But he began to seep into her thoughts with concerning frequency. The dreams became more vivid, more intimate, filled with his silent adoration as he twisted her perception of reality until he became the center of her world, the only constant in her life, planting seeds of affection until it became impossible to imagine her life without him.

His obsession with her only grew. He would stand over her while she slept during the day, watching her with an almost childlike fascination. When she woke, his silent attention made her feel adored, special. The way he looked at her, possessive yet affectionate. His presence was her comfort, his protection her shield.

Eventually, (y/n) could no longer distinguish where her own desires ended and his began. The thought of being apart from him was unbearable. She began to seek him out during the day when she should have been resting, desperate to be near him.

When they were together, it was a twisted dance of blood and beauty. A duet that no one else could understand. She would create art from his chaos, and he would watch her with silent adoration, the two of them locked in a world where only they existed.

They grew to share a dark, intimate bond. (Y/n), once a quiet and reserved artist, had become consumed by Art - both his work and his presence. He had molded her. And she, willingly or not, had come to love him for it.

As their connection deepened, (y/n) knew that she could never return to the life she had before. The darkness was too intoxicating, the bond too strong.

She belonged to him now, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

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runariya · 3 months ago

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Y(E)ARNED (JJK) • 2

pairing: alien!Jungkook x human seamstress!female reader genre: alien!AU, S2L, slow burn, angst rating: 18+, MDNI warnings: poor handling of sadness and fear, a lot of hurt, phone call with Namjoon, talk about bonding, tears, OC is rather dramatic, a little bit of fluff, JK calls OC "princess", showdown repeats itself, angst, hurt, sadness, a lot of tears, resignation, smut, oral (f.receiving), f!ngering, big d!ck JK, unprotected s€x (pls don't do it), doggy style, minor tentacle involvement, possessiveness, minor dirty talk, "good girl", hair gripping, lmk if I forgot something pls word count: ~5.3k

a/n: part of the "Dice With Destiny" project by @thebtswritersclub and @creativepromptsforwriting | I just couldn't help but dice again 🫣 sry

a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

1 • masterlist

In the days that follow, you find yourself lost in a fog, unable to fully grasp the transformation that has occurred between you and Jungkook, no matter how many times you turn it over in your mind. It is as though the foundation of your relationship, once solid and easy, has shifted imperceptibly beneath your feet, leaving you both fumbling for a balance neither of you anticipated needing. And yet, despite this unspoken gulf now separating you, Jungkook appears determined—fiercely so—to drown the cracks with a wave of affection, as if by loving you more intensely, he could somehow compensate for the void that can never be entirely bridged, no matter how much either of you wills it so.

But the weight of it all begins to smother you, it’s a constant undercurrent, tugging at your every breath, pulling you under until the smallest things set you off without warning. You retreat, bit by bit, as your emotions swell and break uncontrollably. Tears fall from your eyes in the most inconvenient moments, anger flares up for no tangible reason, lashing out at those around you even when you know deep down they have done nothing to warrant it. It’s as if the shock of everything has numbed you to rationality, and yet the pain remains unbearable, a needle against your tender heart, piercing at both you and Jungkook alike. You can see the toll it takes on him, the hurt swimming in his gaze when he looks at you, though he tries so hard not to let it show. But what can you do? The aftermath of this storm offers no remedy, no balm, only a bitter reminder of what cannot be undone.

Your days blend into each other, and more often than not, you fall asleep hunched over your laptop in your shop, exhaustion overtaking you after hours spent desperately scouring every corner of the internet for some hope, some solution to this cruel fate. Is there truly no way for a Seraphenti to bond with someone of another species? The information you find is dishearteningly sparse, frustrating in its lack of clarity. Only six cases known. Six. Six Seraphenti who managed to bond with partners outside their own kind—yet even then, the bond wasn’t what it should normally have been, not in the way it’s supposed to be, not in the way you hoped it to be. The Seraphenti in those cases had not bonded directly with their partners; no, biology saw to that. Instead, they had bonded with themselves, two of their tentacles intertwining in an act of resigned finality, signalling that their search was over—though their true connection, the one to another soul, remained forever out of reach.

You reach out to these apex Seraphenti, hoping against hope that one of them might hold the answer you’re so desperately seeking. But five immediately pushed you towards the last one—Namjoon. He speaks to you in a voice that carries both understanding and kindness, a voice that you can’t help but find calming despite the ache coursing in your chest. “I believe it has to do with the love I have for her,” he tells you, his words careful. “And, of course, a great deal of willpower. I spoke to the others, and the common thread between us all seems to be just that—love, an unshakable love for our partners, and a strength of will that perhaps goes beyond what is typical. There’s no doubt in our hearts, none at all.”

His words, though kind, do little to soothe the ache biting away at you, the ache that grows more aggressive with each passing hour. Jungkook is as stubborn as they come, more determined than anyone you’ve ever known, and his willpower is unmatched—he’s accomplished everything he’s ever set his mind to, so how could this, of all things, be different? How could this be the one thing that eludes him? And then, the thought worms its way into your mind, an unwelcome intruder that refuses to leave: perhaps it’s not a question of willpower at all. Perhaps, despite all his love for you, it simply doesn’t reach the level required for a true bond. Perhaps it’s his love, after all, that falls short.

You don’t say this aloud, of course, though Namjoon seems to hear the unspoken despair in your long, weary sigh. “I’m sorry,” he tries gently, the regret in his voice evident even through the line. “I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear. But if there’s a way for him to bond with you—well, with himself, really—I think you don’t need to worry so much. I can tell how deeply you love him, and love… love is never wasted.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, the words barely a whisper. They hang in the air, heavy with resignation, as though you’re thanking him more out of habit than genuine belief that he might be right.

“No worries,” he replies, his tone warm. “If you have more questions, or if you ever want to meet up with me and the others, don’t hesitate to reach out. We’re here for you.”

“All right,” you whisper, forcing back the tears that threaten to spill over your red eyes. “Thank you. Goodbye.”

As you end the call, the silence that fills the room seems louder than it should be. You rub at your eyes, your face, trying to chase away the exhaustion that clings to you like a second skin. You want so desperately for things to work with Jungkook, for this cruel twist of fate to somehow resolve itself. But the fear is there too, circling in the back of your mind. What if it doesn’t? What if, no matter how much you want it, it simply can’t be? You’re not sure you could bear to stay in this place, to remain on this planet where every street corner, every familiar face, every stray memory would only remind you of what could have been but never was.

You had thought, for a fleeting moment, that you had found your home—not just here on this planet but with Jungkook. And now, it seems as though perhaps your destiny lies elsewhere, forever moving, drifting like a leaf caught on the wind. Maybe you’re not meant to belong anywhere, not to any one place, not to any one person, but only to yourself and your sewing machine, crafting a life from fragments as you pass through it. A quiet sob escapes your lips as you rise from your chair, gathering the scraps of fabric strewn about your workspace, though this time you don’t return them to their rightful places on the shelves. Instead, you fold them carefully, placing them in the moving boxes still scattered throughout your storeroom.

The act feels final, a quiet resignation, a silent acceptance of the hurt you know can’t be undone, no matter how much you might wish it could be. Perhaps this is the only option left to you—leaving it all behind, even Jungkook, so that he might find the happiness he deserves, even if it’s not with you.

And then, just as he does every evening, you hear his footsteps, soft yet unmistakable, on the old wooden floor of your shop. The sound sends a pang through your chest, knowing he’s come to take you home, to ensure you don’t walk alone in the dark all by yourself.

“Hey, princess,” he greets you softly, his voice warm yet tinged with the sadness you wish you didn’t have to see there, hurting you even more than it already does. Knowing that you are the cause of this, that his suffering stems from you when all you want is for him to be happy.

You don’t turn to face him, your hands still busy folding the last of the fabric, your gaze fixed on the boxes before you. “Hey.”

“What are you doing?” he asks, stepping closer, his hand resting gently on your back, its warmth both comforting and unbearable at once. His eyes, you know, are on the boxes.

“I’m packing,” you reply simply, your voice devoid of emotion, though the tears are already sliding silently down your cheeks.

“Why?” he whispers, and you hear the crack in his voice, the heartbreak so tangible it nearly breaks you too.

You can’t answer him, not really. All you can do is shrug, helpless against the tide of emotions threatening to pull you under, your gaze remaining fixed on the boxes that hold more than just fabric—they hold your resignation, your acceptance of what cannot be changed.

And then, without warning, Jungkook pulls you up into his arms, holding you tight against his chest as if he could somehow keep you from slipping away. His voice, broken, pleads softly against your skin, repeating over and over again, “Please don’t leave me.”

But there’s nothing else you can do but nod, eyes glazing over, lost in the space just behind his shoulder, seeing nothing but the shadows of a love slipping away.

The following morning, Jungkook convinces you to take a step back, to shut the door of your shop for just a day, to close yourself off from the world and let the noise, the tension, the suffocating weight of everything that has been gnawing at your heart, dissipate into something softer. And at first, it does—there’s a glimmer of peace in his words, a balm in the simple idea of spending the day with him, untethered from all that binds you both in knots. You agree, if only because it feels like the right thing to do—because, for once, it feels like you’re choosing something together, rather than trying to unravel the tangle that fate has made of your lives.

You sleep in, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the morning light filtering lazily through the curtains as if the universe itself has decided to take a pause, allowing the two of you to rest in this fragile pocket of serenity. You bathe in each other’s presence, letting the quiet intimacy between you unfold like something sacred, something tender. For the first time in a long while, it feels right—like the two of you are simply existing, not worrying, not striving, but just being, together.

Later, you venture out for a leisurely stroll through the nearby park, the air warm against your skin, leaves rustling in the trees above as you walk hand in hand. There’s a lightness to it, a sense that, perhaps, you can both breathe a little easier today. You can feel the tension within you, and within him, slowly beginning to ebb away, like a tide retreating from the shore, leaving behind only the faintest traces of its presence. The hurt that has wrapped itself so tightly around your hearts seems to loosen its grip, just a little, and you find yourself grateful for this fleeting respite from the storm that has raged between you for so long.

It's a tentative first step towards something resembling normalcy—a small, almost imperceptible shift in the air between you, a whisper of trust that just perhaps there’s a future where things might be all right again. You glance at him occasionally, his eyes softer, his smile less weighed down by the burdens of sadness and uncertainty. Even his tentacles, usually so motionless when you’re together, seem more at ease, their movements languid and unhurried, as though they’ve finally begun to acknowledge your presence in a way they hadn’t before. It’s as if they’ve come to sense you too—recognising, in some quiet way, that you’re not just passing through but are perhaps someone who will remain by Jungkook’s side for a long time yet.

The day feels effortless at first, a gentle rhythm of comfort and routine, until it comes time to venture to the grocery store. It’s a new one, not far from the park, and the unfamiliarity of it prickles at the back of your mind. There’s a moment of hesitation as you both step inside, but you push through, determined to hold onto the lightness that has graced your day so far. You and Jungkook move together through the aisles, your fingers entwined, his hand warm in yours, though you can feel the slight tension creeping back into his grip as the crowd around you thickens. The store is bustling with Seraphenti, more than you’re used to seeing, and the sight of so many of them stirs something uneasy in you, an undercurrent of anxiety that starts to gnaw at your calm. His hand begins to sweat slightly, the grip tightening, and though you don’t want to admit it, your heart begins to race just a little too.

You try to shake it off, to keep yourself grounded in the moment, reminding yourself that you can’t live in avoidance forever. You can’t hide from the world just because the risk of something going wrong exists. You tell yourself that this is just a regular day, just an ordinary task, something that you both should be able to handle together. But the unease remains, no matter how much you try to silence it, and you can sense the same tension rising in him as he steers you away from the busiest aisles, his eyes darting around in search of something—perhaps escape, perhaps reassurance.

It’s when you’re standing before the cooling section, the faint hum of the refrigeration units filling the space around you, that the nightmare you thought you’d left behind comes rushing back with terrifying clarity. You’re looking at the yoghurt options, trying to decide on something that will be addible for both you and him, when she appears—an ethereal Seraphenti, gliding through the aisle with an elegance that makes everyone elsestop in their tracks. She’s beautiful, in that otherworldly way that Seraphenti often are, and though she shares a vague resemblance to you, it’s clear she belongs to another realm entirely, one you can never hope to touch. Her presence seems to hold the entire store captive, every gaze drawn to her as she moves with effortless grace, matching Jungkook’s usual self.

She comes to a stop beside Jungkook, reaching for some yoghurt as well, and that’s when it happens.

Jungkook swallows dryly, skin paling in seconds, and the yoghurt he holds begins to tremble violently in his hands as he whispers frantic, broken “no’s” under his breath. His tentacles, which had been so calm mere moments ago, suddenly rise of their own accord again, twisting and writhing towards hers in a movement that feels almost inevitable. She notices it too, her own tentacles responding in kind, and when her eyes meet his, they soften with a hope that nearly brings you to your knees.

You stand frozen, the world tilting on its axis as your heart hammers painfully in your chest. Tears prick at your eyes, your hands trembling as you struggle to maintain even a semblance of composure. You reach out for the yoghurt in Jungkook’s hands, more out of instinct than anything, placing it back in the cooler before it slips from his grip and shatters on the floor. You don’t know what to do—how could you, when the very thing you feared most is unfolding right before your eyes—again?

You take a step back, the weight of the moment pressing down on you with a force that threatens to crush you entirely. Your mind races through the memories of all the moments you’ve shared with Jungkook—the laughter, the tenderness, the quiet pillow talks of the mornings spent wrapped in each other’s arms. You think of all the time you wasted, mired in hurt and sadness, wishing you could turn back the clock and hold onto those fleeting moments of joy. But now, standing here, watching as his tentacles dance with hers in a way that feels so natural, so effortless, you know that those moments are slipping through your fingers like sand, and never to be reclaimed.

And then, before you can retreat any further, Jungkook moves with a desperation that breaks your heart all over again. He grabs hold of you, pulling you against him, his body trembling with the force of his emotions as he wraps you in his arms. He’s crying, silently but violently, his shoulders shaking as he presses his face into your hair, his voice a broken whisper against your skin. “I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, the words tumbling from his lips again and again. “I never wanted this. I love you. I love you.”

You clutch at his shirt, your fingers gripping the fabric as though it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. You want to tell him that you love him too, that you always have, but the words lodge in your throat, stuck behind the tears that blur your vision. You can’t bring yourself to say it—not now, not when it would only serve to twist the knife deeper into your heart. Instead, you hold onto him, letting this be your last moment together, the last time you will feel the warmth of his embrace, the last time you will ever be this close to him. You shut your eyes tightly, blocking out the sight of their tentacles intertwining, blocking out the cheers of encouragement from the crowd around you. You try to drown it all out, but then comes Jungkook’s cry—a sound so raw, so full of anguish that it shatters the air around you.

And in the sudden, shocked silence that follows, all you can hear is the sound of your own sobs, mingling with his as the two of you hold each other, broken but unwilling to let go.

It takes every ounce of strength you have to pull away from him, to step back and release your grip on his shirt. His hands fall away from you too, without hesitation, as if he knows that this is the end. You can’t bring yourself to open your eyes—you don’t want to see what comes next, don’t want your last image of him to be one of him finding happiness with someone else. But before you can turn and walk away, his hand catches your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

You turn, slowly, your vision still blurred with tears, but as you force yourself to look at him, what you see is not at all what you expected. Jungkook stands before you, tears still streaming down his face, his nose red from crying, but there’s a peace in his expression that you’ve never seen before. He smiles at you—warm, genuine—and though it breaks your heart to see him like this, knowing that his happiness isn’t because of you, it also heals something deep within you. Because at least he’ll be happy. Even if it’s not with you.

“I love you,” he whispers, and this time, the words hit you square in the face and chest, knocking the breath from your lungs.

You blink, confused, and glance behind him, expecting to see the female Seraphenti, her tentacles still entwined with his. But instead, you see her standing there with tears in her eyes, clapping, her tentacles floating freely around her, untouched. The crowd around you erupts into applause too, their cheers ringing in your ears, but all you can do is stare at Jungkook, your heart pounding in your chest as you force him to step sideways, looking past him, to where his own tentacles have coiled around one another—bonded, not with hers, but with themselves.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, the words escaping you in a rush of disbelief and overwhelming relief. You collapse to the floor, your hands covering your face as sobs wrack your body—tears of joy, of disbelief, of a happiness you never thought you’d feel again. Jungkook falls to his knees before you, wrapping you in his arms as the two of you cry together, holding onto each other as though you might never let go.

How you manage to finish the grocery shopping and return home with Jungkook by your side remains a mystery, one you have no desire to unravel, as if the details of that journey are irrelevant now, lost in a haze of pure unreality. What truly matters, what holds your attention with fierce power, is the longing that pulses through you, a desire that takes shape in the form of Jungkook’s body—every inch of him calling to you like a siren’s song, tempting you towards the only thing you now wish to explore fully and consciously.

You find yourself pressed against the wall that leads to his bedroom, your back arching as Jungkook’s larger frame towers against you, his hands mapping the landscape of your body with an eager hunger, his touch both desperate and tender. Your fingers weave through his hair, pulling him closer with an intensity that suggests you may never let go, as though in this moment he is your lifeline, the very air you breathe, and somehow he truly is. He lifts you with ease, carrying you as though you weigh nothing more than air, laying you down on his bed with a gentleness that makes your heart race even more. There is something in his gaze, a reverence that leaves you awestruck, your heart fluttering as you marvel at the sight of him.

With one quick movement, he pulls his shirt over his head and discards it, revealing his bare chest to you, every inch of him chiseled and breathtaking. Your heart stutters as you drink in the sight of him, the rise and fall of his chest, the faint red marks on his neck where your fingernails had scratched moments before, his lips swollen and flushed from your kisses. The sight of him undoes you entirely, a pulse of heat spreading through your core, the ache between your legs becoming almost unbearable. And yet, despite the haze of lust that clouds your mind, it’s his tentacles that draw your gaze, now bonded with themselves in a way that makes your body react instinctively, a fresh wave of desire coursing through you at the sight, making you pussy cream and clench without restraint.

You waste no time in peeling off your clothes, your fingers trembling with impatience as you bare yourself to him, your lips bitten red in anticipation. Jungkook watches you with darkened eyes as he follows your movements, his lips parting slightly as his tongue sweeps across them, as if starving for days on end. He’s undressing now too, pulling off his remaining clothes with a slowness that only heightens the tension between you, and when he finally stands before you, fully naked, the sight of his Seraphenti dick makes your thighs press together instinctively, rubbing them together to feel a little bit of friction you desperately need. His length is enormous, veined with red and dripping steadily from the pointed head, the sheer size of it enough to make your breath catch in your throat and saliva collecting in your mouth. But even as a small thrill of apprehension flickers through you, there’s no denying the deeper, primal need that overrides everything else—you need him, desperately, more than anything.

With a strong grip on your ankles, Jungkook pulls you effortlessly towards the edge of his bed, your legs dangling over the side, your weeping pussy now hovering just out of his reach. The lust in his eyes is unmistakable as he kneels before you, his gaze locked onto your slickened folds with an intensity that nearly sends orgasms through your whole body. You force yourself up, sitting just enough so that you can reach out and grab him by the hair, making sure his eyes meet yours. For a moment, the lust in his expression softens into something deeper, more profound—a look of pure devotion that melts your heart even as your arousal surges to new heights, leaving you dripping with need.

“I’ve loved you since the day I met you, Jungkook,” you whisper, your voice breaking with emotion, your heart swelling with colours you’ve never known existed. His face splits into a radiant smile, teeth flashing, his front two slightly protruding in a way that only adds to his charm. That smile revives something within you, a sense of purpose you thought you lost, a promise you make to yourself—to keep that smile on his face for as long as you live, no matter what it takes.

“I love you too. With everything I am,” he murmurs, but even as the words leave his lips, his expression shifts into something far more dangerous, a smirk that promises both pleasure and adoration. Before you can react, he pushes you gently down onto the bed, his hands guiding you to lie flat as he positions himself between your legs.

There’s no hesitation in him as he kisses your slit, his tongue soon following, dragging slowly along your folds before he begins to devour you with a fervour that leaves you gasping. His mouth latches onto your clit, sucking and licking with a need that borders on desperation, the wet sounds of his tongue mixing with the obscene squelching of his finger as it plunges into your pussy. Your mind spins, the room tilting as pleasure surges through you in waves, your body trembling beneath him as his deep groans vibrate against your sensitive flesh. His muscles flex and ripple beneath his skin, his back arching with each movement of his head, and you can’t tear your eyes away from the sight of him—this beautiful, otherworldly being who worships your body with such raw intensity.

And then more of his fingers enter you—two at first, then three, stretching you in a way that makes your eyes water with a delicious burn, your walls tightening around him as your mind begins to cloud with the promise of an impending high. His fingers scissor inside you, spreading your slickness until it coats his entire hand, glistening in the light of the room. “You taste so fucking divine,” he moans against your clit, and it’s all you need to fall over the edge, your pussy clenching hard around his fingers as you come with a force that has you gushing all over his arm.

“Such a good girl for me,” he praises, his voice rough and low, sending a new wave of shivers down your entire body as he continues to suck on your clit, slurping up every drop of your release before it can add to the mess on his skin. When you finally come down from your high, your vision slowly clearing, you look up to see Jungkook hovering over you, his thick cock in hand, leaking with arousal as he licks the remnants of your cum from his fingers, sucking each one clean. The sight nearly makes you cum all over again, and you feel a fresh surge of creamy wetness between your legs, your body already eager for more.

But before he can move over you, you roll onto your stomach, pushing up onto your knees, your ass high in the air as you present yourself to him, your breasts spilling onto the mattress, back arched in the way you know he loves. You know his kind bonds sexually from behind, and you want him to claim you, to make you his in every possible way. Jungkook freezes for a moment, his breath catching as he stares at your ass, transfixed by the sight of you bent over for him.

“Make me yours, Jungkook,” you keen, your voice breathy and desperate as you shift your knees to find a more comfortable position, your ass now taunting him even more. His hands are on you in an instant, strong fingers kneading the flesh of it lovingly as he positions himself behind you. He leans down, kissing a slow trail along your back, his tentacles following the path of his lips, their cool touch making goosebumps appear across your skin until he reaches your ear, his breath warm against your cheek, his hand gripping your head to make you look at him.

“Should I get a condom?” he asks, his voice strained with need.

“No,” you whisper, your voice trembling with anticipation. “I want to feel everything of you.”

“As you wish, princess,” he groans before pressing a kiss to your lips, his tongue sliding into your mouth with a possessiveness that leaves your pussy gasping. He positions himself at your entrance, his cock massive against your hot folds, and with a slight movement of his hips, his tip slips into you, the stretch immediate and oh so good as he pushes deeper.

The moan that escapes your throat is swallowed by his kiss, his hands caressing your sides before they settle on your hips, gripping you firmly as he begins to thrust slowly into you. He rises to his full height, towering over you as he fucks you with slow, measured strokes, each one pushing you closer to the brink of insanity. His tentacles trail up your arms, brushing over your skin in soft, teasing strokes, while his fingers dig into your hips with a possessive strength that leaves you feeling utterly claimed. “You’re made for me,” he groans, his voice low and primal. “Fuck, princess, I love your little pussy so much.”

“Jungkook,” you cry out, his name the only coherent thought left in your mind as he pounds into you, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body. His pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more frantic as he chases his release, his tentacles toying with your clit as your vision blurs with stars.

He leans over you again, his hand again gripping your hair as he forces your face to the side, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re mine,” he growls, his voice rough with possession. “You hear that, princess? You’re mine.” His pace increases, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate, and you can feel your orgasm building, coiling tighter and tighter until you’re nothing but a trembling, incoherent mess beneath him.

“Say it!” he demands, his voice a guttural snarl. “Fucking say it.”

“I’m yours, Jungkook!” you sob, your body convulsing as your orgasm rips through you, your walls clenching around his cock with a force that sends him over the edge. He lets out a low, primal moan as he spills into you, his cock twitching violently as his release floods your pussy, hot and thick.

Jungkook collapses on top of you, his body trembling as he struggles to hold himself up on shaking arms, his breath coming in ragged gasps. But still, he peppers your shoulder with kisses, his lips soft and gentle against your skin, while his tentacles stroke your sides, legs and arms in soothing patterns. “I’ll never let you go,” he rasps between breathes.

“And I’ll never leave,” you whisper, your throat dry but your heart full.

As his tentacles come into view, glistening in your juices on the mattress beside you, you reach out to pat them gently, making both of you giggle, the sound light and full of love.

And so, after all that time, all the yarned threads of fate tugging you this way and that, pulling, twisting in their maddening ways, you find yourself where you always were meant to be. No more yearning, no more restless nights; only the serene, almost melodic understanding that every piece has fallen into place just as it was always meant to be. Always meant to be Jungkook.

1 • masterlist

a/n 3: hope you've enjoyed this little two-shot👀 lmk what you think in any way you like! I physically couldn't keep up with the analogies like I did in part 1—sryyyy

a/n 4: please send me a message, ask or comment if you would like to be tagged for eventual bonuses 💕 also - character asks and drabble requests are open

Like what you read? Check out my other work here!

taglist: @dumbheadblog, @darkeneddiary, @jksusawife, @justjkkkkk, @fluttershy-vanilla, @nikidream24, @ericawantstoescape

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girlgenius1111 · 11 months ago

Text

you don't have to pretend with me

ona x reader -sickfic ish

from a request- the req was for r with chronic pain but i've never experienced that and i didn't want to write it incorrectly, so i changed it to something i have some history with :)

You hadn't had a real period in years, having been on birth control since you were a teenager. It really limited the effects of your horrible symptoms. It was simple- a shot in your ass every three months was something you could handle. However, you'd completely forgotten to get it this time. Normally you planned your next visit at the end of your appointments, but the secretary had been out, so you were supposed to call to schedule the next appointment. It had completely slipped your mind, and by the time your realized your mistake, it was too late, and they told you that you had to wait 3 months from when you were supposed to get it, in order to not mess up the cycle.

It didn't really make much sense to you, but you didn't have a choice. All you could hope was that it wouldn't be as bad as you remembered it. The first month wasn't bad, barely more than what you usually dealt with on the shot. The second month was worse, but still, manageable, especially considering it came during an off week. You were quickly approaching the third month, and you knew it wouldn't be as easy this time.

2 days before you were supposed to get it, you found yourself in a heinous mood. You'd been short with everyone, all day, even Ona. Ona, your girlfriend, who had literally no idea what was going on. It felt ridiculous to you, to complain about what was going on when every other woman dealt with it to. You'd never heard Ona complain about her period, and you didn't want her to think you were weak.

More than that, you weren't sure she'd believe you. In your last relationship, anytime you were sick or in pain, your girlfriend didn't believe you, or told you that you were being dramatic. You didn't really realize how this affected your relationship with Ona, but as you hadn't told her this, she didn't know you'd been hiding almost any sign of weakness from her.

So, you just mumbled something about having an off day when she asked why you were so grumpy. She pretty much left you alone the rest of the day, giving you the space she assumed you wanted. The only time she spoke to you was to come into the living room where you were curled up on the couch, and wish you a goodnight, leaving a soft kiss on your forehead.

-----

You woke up in the middle of the night to the sensation that someone was standing on your abdomen. It had been so long since you'd actually had cramps, you were almost alarmed, until you realized what was going on. You didn't want to get any blood on the bed, nor did you want to wake Ona up for something so trivial, so you quietly padded into the bathroom, changed your pajama shorts, and then headed out into the kitchen in search of some painkillers.

Every step was agony, and you were walking hunched over, as what you could only describe as lightning strikes of pain rippled through from your belly button down to your core whenever you tried to straighten up. You didn't make it to the cabinet you kept the medicine in, instead collapsing into a chair at the kitchen table. As soon as you sat, the zaps of pain were replaced by a continuous ache across your stomach, and around to your back.

You couldn't help the groan you let out, as you twisted uncomfortably in your seat to try to relieve the pain. It didn't work. You knew what would work, but you were absolutely sure you couldn't stand up again and make it to the medicine cabinet. Instead, you put your head in your hands, feeling tears slowly leak out of your eyes. That only made you more frustrated, which in turn made you cry harder, until you were trying to stifle sobs with your hands at the kitchen table, in the dark, at 1am.

-----

Meanwhile, Ona woke to an empty bed. She remembered you climbing in with her after she'd already gone to sleep, waking up just enough to roll into you and smush herself as close as she could. This time, though, your side of the bed was empty and cold, and Ona was disgruntled. Sleepy Ona was a grumpy Ona, something you knew very well, and she squinted her eyes open, looking over at the bathroom door, seeing if you'd just gotten up briefly. The light was off in there, though, and your side of the bed wasn't warm, indicating that you'd been up for at least a couple minutes. Sighing heavily, Ona sat up, intending to wait for you, arms crossed, to return to bed. When she saw no lights were on in the rest of the house, though, she decided to get up and find you.

The only thing she could think was that you'd gone to sleep on the couch, which didn't make any sense. You'd been grumpy yesterday, sure, but you'd gone to bed with her, and allowed her to snuggle up to you, which you wouldn't have done if you were angry. Walking down the hall, heading for the living room, she heard an odd noise in the kitchen.

She changed directions, turning right instead of left, and discovered you, slouched over at the table, crying softly into your hands. Ona was immediately distraught at the idea of you getting up in the middle of the night and leaving your bed to cry by yourself, no matter what the reason, and not waking her.

"Cariño, qué pasó?" she asked, voice raspy with sleep. At her words, your head snapped up, looking at Ona with pain etched clearly across your face. "Amor," she says sympathetically, moving forward to stand by your side.

"Oni, go back to bed," you try, attempting to sound firmer than you felt.

"Not until you tell me what is wrong." Ona replies, actually succeeding in being firm. She brushes a loose strand of hair off your face, then combs her fingers through you hair. You melt at her touch despite yourself, before you hunch over again, another wave of pain shooting through your abdomen; you'd straightened up to much. You whimper quietly, and Ona's hand pulls off of you, worried she'd done something to hurt you. That gets you talking, never wanting Ona to think she's the cause of your pain.

"It's just cramps, Ona, I'm fine," you insist, even as your face scrunches uncomfortably, and you grit your teeth through another jolt. Though confused, seeing as though she'd never known you to have bad cramps, Ona wraps her arms around you without another thought, lifting you easily to carry you back to bed. She may be short, but she prides herself on being strong enough to carry you easily, despite your many objections. "Oni," you whine, yet still, you clutch onto her tightly, resting your head on her shoulder.

"Shh, let's get you back to bed."

Once Ona gently places you back on your side of the bed, she stands back, looking at you with a determined expression. It's almost funny really, the girl standing in front of you, wearing a baggy t-shirt and shorts, wavy hair wild around her head, trying to look stern. Ona couldn't look stern, she wasn't capable. She could only ever look adorable, at least to you.

"What will help you feel better?" She asks.

You bite your lip for a moment, before the pain wins out over your independence. "Paracetamol, please," you murmur.

She nods once. "Anything else?"

You're sure there's something you're forgetting, but it's been so long since you've had cramps like this, and it hurts too bad for you to think straight. "I don't know," you whisper finally, tears spilling over again.

"Okay amor, relax, I will take care of you," the brunette says gently, leaving you with a peck on your forehead. She's only gone for a few minutes, but when she returns, you've curled yourself into a little ball on the edge of the bed, as far from her side as you could get, obviously trying not to bother her. Ridiculous, considering she wasn't going back to sleep until after you did.

She gives you the medicine, handing you a new cold water which you accept gratefully. Then, before you can tell Ona to get back in bed, she leaves the room again. She returns fast this time, holding something in her hands you don't recognize.

The defender doesn't explain, either, even though she notices the questioning look on your face. Instead, she climbs onto the bed behind you, and nudges you out of your ball to lay in between her legs, head resting back on her chest. Still silent, she rolls your shirt up, massaging the skin of your abdomen lightly. Her warm hands feel so good, you let out a sound of relief. Smiling to herself, Ona places the heating pad she brought with her across your abdomen, clicking it on. You soften completely against her, letting out a long sigh.

"Thanks, Oni," you mumble, and she kisses the top of your head in response. She isn't done with you though, patting your arm lightly when your eyes flutter close.

"Do you normally have cramps this bad?" she asks, because the thought of you hiding this from her, like you'd been doing tonight, once a month for the entirety of the time you've been dating, makes her nauseous.

"No," you tell her sleepily, briefly explaining the situation you'd found yourself in. Ona is quiet for a few moments.

"Why didn't you tell me? And why didn't you wake me up tonight?" she wonders, not able to fully hide the hurt in her voice. You're fully awake now, almost reading her mind as you realize what she's worried about; that you don't trust her.

"I didn't think it was a big deal," you say quickly. "And I didn't want to bother you with it, with something that every woman deals with," you justify.

"Amor, you hurting will always be a big deal to me." Ona insists. "You should have woken me up. Do you... do you not trust me? Did I do something to make you thing I would not take your pain seriously?" the brunette asks, and you wince at the question. This was your problem, not Ona's. Could she not see that?

"No, Oni, of course I trust you. It's... it's not about you." You pause. "I didn't want you to think I was being dramatic or weak."

"Why would I think that? Why would I not believe you when you say you are hurting?"

All she gets is a shrug in response, and she feels you shutting down again. Unwilling to let that happen, she presses you further.

"No, amor, tell me. Did someone make you feel that way? Like you could not be honest about how you were feeling?"

You don't respond for so long that Ona thinks you've fallen asleep, or just aren't going to answer.

"My ex. She used to tell me I was being dramatic when I was sick. She was right though, I was," you rush to justify.

Ona's arms tighten around you slightly, and it reassures you. When she responds, you recognize an angry tone in her voice, but also a protective one.

"That is not what a good girlfriend does. I will never do that. You are allowed to be in pain, and be sick. You are not being dramatic for feeling things. It does not make me think any less of you, and it certainly does not make me think that you are weak." Ona declares.

"Are you sure? I'd understand if you thought I was exaggerating." you say quietly. At this, Ona tilts your chin up and to the side, so she can look into your eyes.

"I found you crying at the kitchen table, you were in so much pain. That is not dramatic, not to me. I am sure." Ona promises, and she feels you relax against her, if only slightly.

"I love you," you say quietly, voice cracking on the last word.

"Te amo mucho, cariño. Mucho mucho." Ona pairs her words with several gentle kisses pressed into the side of your head.

"Ona?"

"Sí?"

"Can I go to sleep or will this light on fire if I don't turn it off," you ask seriously, referring to the heating pad laying across your abdomen. You've never used one before, and you aren't sure what the safety requirements are. Apparently, this is a dumb question, because Ona bursts out laughing, disturbing the quiet murmur of voices you both had been keeping to.

"Sí amor, you can go to sleep. I'll put you out if you light on fire, te prometo," she tells you, still laughing. You roll your eyes slightly before allowing them to flutter shut, even though you know Ona can't see the gesture.

"Wake me up if it starts to hurt again?" she asks, seriousness returning.

"Te prometo," you say, echoing her words for just a second ago. A grin tugs at Ona's lips at your spanish use.

"Bueno. Goodnight my pretty girl," Ona whispers into your hair, her use of an english term of endearment making you blush.

With that, both of you allow yourselves to drift off. You're sure, now, that Ona will not care if you wake her up. Ona is sure that you will wake her up. Or, that she'll wake up if you do, seeing as though you're sprawled on top of her. She doesn't expect perfection, or for you to start coming to her with all your problems right away. She finds that she doesn't mind having to demonstrate her love to you, though. If there's anything she loves to do, it's remind you, everyday, that she loves you unconditionally.

-----

#woso #woso imagine #woso x reader #ona batlle x reader

584 notes · View notes

willows-escape · 3 months ago

Text

My Angel - 1990!Erik x Reader

Pairing: 1990!Cherik x AFAB!Reader (gender neutral pronouns/language)

Summary: You woke up that morning expecting a peaceful, regular day, but you were quickly proven horribly wrong as things began to travel down south. Fortunately, Erik is there to try and relieve some of the pain - even if it is excruciating.

Warnings(/Tags?): menstruation, descriptions of extremely painful periods (adenomyosis/endometriosis), erik is dramatic but its okay he has an excuse, nausea, mentions of vomit but no actual vomiting, early 1900s appropriate period shame, blood and heavy bleeding, brief mention of reader not eating all day but it's only due to lack of appetite, reassurance, fluff!!!!, like TOOTH ROTTING sweetness!!!!

Words: 6.9k

Notes: this isn't what i originally planned to post today, but i have adenomyosis and when my periods come they come bad and the pain is making me feel very sorry for myself. and i did promise something soon. so this is just self indulgent fluff in the mean time.

the other thing i was writing will be entirely gender neutral, so people who do not at all identify with menstruation or just don't want to read about it will hopefully enjoy that when it's done!

DISCLAIMER - this is based off of my experiences with periods, which will not look like most because I have a gynaecologic condition. but if you do 100% relate to this, go see a doctor! like, yesterday!

The morning began like any other, with a restless night's sleep behind you. As you stirred awake, you found yourself alone in bed, but a smile crept across your face as you noticed the lingering warmth on the sheets beside you - a subtle reminder of a certain someone’s recent presence.

Succumbing to the lethargy that clung to your limbs, you reached for the nearest available outfit. The garments were wrinkled and well-worn, but they served their purpose of preserving your modesty. You slipped them on, grateful for the barrier they provided against the cool morning air, despite their less-than-pristine condition.

As you emerged from your bedroom, you stumbled, the door slamming shut behind you with an echoing thud. Your body felt leaden, each limb weighed down as if filled with concrete. Shafts of light piercing through the stone crevices assaulted your eyes, intensifying the dull throb that had begun to pulse at your temples.

"Erik?" your voice cracked, barely above a whisper. The name came out as a hoarse, groggy mumble, hardly recognizable even to your own ears.

Despite your feeble attempt at calling out, Erik appeared before you almost instantly, as if summoned by your whisper.

"Y/N! You're up," he said joyfully, his body adorned in one of his special going out outfits, "much earlier than usual, may I add. I was in the middle of preparing us a picnic before you have to go back up but-"

His gaze finally narrowed onto your hunched form, his previous relaxed expression shifting to one of concern. Your dishevelled appearance was evident - your hair in disarray, your eyes glazed over, bloodshot, and unfocused. It was clear that you were far from your usual self, and to put it lightly, appeared extremely unwell.

"What is the matter?" he asked. You hadn’t noticed it before, but the picnic basket he had been holding clattered to the stone floor, forgotten in an instant as his full attention focused on you.

As though his question was the trigger, a wave of nausea crashed over you. Your chest constricted, forcing you to hunch over even further. Your skin flushed hot in an instant, beads of sweat forming and quickly multiplying across your skin.

"Angel, what's wrong?" Erik's voice trembled, his words tumbling out in a rush. Had you been more lucid, you might have felt a pang of guilt for causing him such distress.

"I'm fine," you mumbled unconvincingly. His hand gently rested on your shoulder, and instantly your body betrayed you. The comforting touch seemed to signal to your system that it was safe to let go, and suddenly, you felt overwhelmed by a surge of nausea and dizziness.

A dull ache blossomed in your lower abdomen. Your breath caught in your throat as you instinctively pressed a hand against your stomach. The discomfort flooded your senses as your face contorted, a grimace etching itself across your features as you struggled to maintain composure.

Within moments, the discomfort escalated from a mild annoyance to an all-consuming agony that left you immobilized.

Shivers began to wrack your body. Your legs turned to lead, a numbing sensation creeping up from your toes. Simultaneously, a searing, deep-seated ache took root in your lower back.

If Erik was worried before, he was panicking now. His eyes widened with alarm, his breathing quickened, and his usually steady hands began to tremble visibly. The calm composure he typically maintained crumbled in an instant, replaced by an overwhelming sense of dread and urgency.

Your legs buckled beneath you, your vision blurring as you felt yourself wilting towards the unforgiving stone floor. Erik sprang into action, his arms shooting out to catch you. The world spun as he scooped you up, your body limp in his grasp. A sharp cry escaped your lips as the sudden movement sent a jolt of agony through your core, the comfort of his embrace overshadowed by the searing pain that threatened to consume you.

With swift strides, Erik navigated the winding halls, cradling you protectively in his arms. He retraced your earlier path, arriving at the door you had just exited moments ago. With a forceful kick, he flung it open, revealing the familiar sight of your shared bedroom.

"I'm going to set you down onto the bed," he explained slowly, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. "I’ll be as careful as I can."

When he gently pulled back the blanket on your side of the bed, you felt a slight jostling. Your attention, however, was abruptly drawn by a sharp intake of breath, his gasp cutting through the silence of the room.

"Erik?" you mumbled weakly. Your words were abruptly cut off as another wave of pain tore through your abdomen, causing you to cry out involuntarily.

Once more, you felt yourself being moved, this time to Erik's side of the bed. Confusion clouded your mind - why the change? But as you weakly lifted your head, the reason became starkly clear.

"Oh god-" you gasped, your eyes widening in shock at the sight before you. The vivid crimson stain on your side of the bed was impossible to ignore, its stark contrast against the pale sheets making your stomach churn with a mix of embarrassment and dread.

“I need to go find Gerard, you need to be seen by a doctor,” he declared, voice urgent and desperate.

He finally lowered you onto the clean side of the bed, and your eyes instinctively sought his face. It was then you realised his mask was off, likely because he hadn't anticipated you waking so soon. Without the barrier, you could clearly see the stark pallor of his unmarked skin and the unmistakable fear etched across his features. His typically composed demeanour had given way to raw, unfiltered concern that was both touching and unsettling.

He turned to leave.

"Erik, wait," you gasped, your hand shooting out to grasp his arm. "The pain is... excruciating, I won't lie. But I don't think—"

Your words were cut short as another wave of agony crashed over you. A strangled whimper escaped your lips as you curled into yourself, your body trembling uncontrollably. The pain was all-consuming, leaving you breathless and disoriented. You clenched your eyes shut, willing the torment to pass, knowing all you could do was endure until it subsided.

"Where's the pain? Can you pinpoint where you're bleeding from?" his eyes darted across your form, taking in your dulled complexion and the sheen of sweat on your skin. "You're burning up. Do you have a fever?"

His questions came in rapid succession, but his touch remained gentle as he brushed your damp hair away from your forehead.

"I... um..." you hesitated, struggling to articulate through the pain. The situation presented a dilemma: discussing such a private matter with a man felt improper, yet the severity of your discomfort and the alarming amount of blood made it impossible to simply dismiss. You found yourself caught.

Another intense surge of pain rose in your stomach, but this one more overwhelming than the last. Your ability to speak fully vanished as your eyes clenched shut. Soft whimpers escalated into frantic, muffled cries as the relentless throbbing in your lower abdomen intensified, twisting your nerves and leaving you gasping for breath.

"Angel, please, tell me what’s going on," Erik pleaded, tenderly taking your hand in his. The desperation in his eyes was palpable as he watched you struggle to form words. “I really believe you need a doctor, please just let me-”

"No, please," you winced, your voice barely audible through gritted teeth. The words came out strained, a mixture of pain and embarrassment colouring your tone. "It's... it's not something I can easily explain," you paused, taking a shaky breath before adding, "it's rather private."

"Private?" he echoed, his voice a mixture of disbelief and concern. "Forgive my being impolite, but you are currently writhing in agony and bleeding profusely- how on Earth is that private!?"

"Erik," you implored, your eyes silently conveying your discomfort with the subject. However, his concern for your well-being trumped any social niceties. Undeterred by your unspoken plea, he persisted with his questions, determined to understand and help.

"If you explain what's happening, I might be able to help," he insisted. You gave him a sceptical look, but he pressed on, "my years in isolation weren't idle, I've acquired a vast array of knowledge from the countless books that have kept me company."

"It's just not appropriate for me to discuss this with you!" you cried in refute, your voice strained with both pain and embarrassment. Despite your best efforts to remain composed, your tone came out sharper than intended.

You silently prayed he would forgive you, considering the fact that you were enduring mind-boggling amounts of pain. Not only that, the fact you could distinctly feel the familiar warm leakage of blood trickling down your thighs and onto the bedsheets below was driving you utterly insane.

Shame coursed through you as your eyes fell upon the stark evidence of your debilitating pain staining the otherwise white sheets. Averting your gaze, you felt utterly exposed and vulnerable. An overwhelming desire to shield yourself from Erik's concerned stare gripped you, making you wish you could simply disappear.

However, your discomfort eased as Erik's touch changed. His firm grip on your hand softened, his fingers now tracing gentle patterns on your skin. Despite the worry in his eyes, you sensed his effort to stay calm for your sake.

Your heart tugged in your chest at the realisation.

"Y/N," he began, his voice tender yet hesitant as he tried to hold himself together. His gaze locked onto yours as he struggled to maintain his composure. "Please, put your shame aside for one moment and let me in- if only so that I can help you. It kills me to see you like this."

His ignorance of the situation was evident in the way his chest heaved and how he chewed the inside of his cheek with a vengeance. It was clear he believed you were in grave danger. You knew you needed to say something to ease his mind, even if it went against everything your instincts were telling you to do.

"Oh," you breathed, wincing as another wave of pain crashed over you. "It's... it's a delicate matter. Not something typically discussed in polite company."

"Do I look like polite company to you?" Erik's sarcastic retort was accompanied by a growing urgency in his previously calm ministrations. His eyes started to dart frantically between the blood staining your skin and your tired, visibly distressed face.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for Erik's potential upset. Despite your fears of his disgust or anger, of him calling you dirty or telling you to leave until you return to normal, a small part of you hoped he might be more understanding than expected. It was this glimmer of optimism that gave you the courage to finally speak.

"Erik," you began hesitantly, "are you familiar with the concept of... menstruation?"

The prolonged silence following your question spoke volumes. When Erik finally shook his head, it only confirmed what you had already suspected.

"Well," you began hesitantly, searching for the right words, "it's a process that occurs in people with uteruses. It involves bleeding and a lot of pain, typically happening monthly for one week out of the month. I don't really know much about the biological reasons behind it, but-"

Your explanation was abruptly halted as another shock of excruciating pain engulfed you. Erik, sensing your distress, quickly offered his hand. You latched onto it, your grip surprisingly fierce. As the agony intensified, your body convulsed against the sheets, and muffled sobs escaped your lips. You desperately willed the torment to stop, but it seemed endless despite your determination to endure.

"Fuck!"

Erik looked taken aback by your cussing, but seeing as you were squeezing his hand so hard he felt like your aim was to tear it off, he didn't focus on it too much.

Eventually, the pain faded back to its baseline ache - which was still extremely unpleasant, but manageable.

"I apologize," you coughed through your tears, your voice strained as you brushed away the beads of sweat trickling down your forehead.

"There's no need to apologize," he reassured, his voice filled with compassion. "I'm deeply concerned for your wellbeing, but I trust your understanding of this situation. If you say it's not life-threatening, I will trust you."

“Yeah, I'm definitely in no life threatening danger," you assured him, "but the pain is so intense, it almost feels like I am."

"It hurts so badly," you whimpered, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over. "Ever since I was young, I've had to live with such excruciating pain and such heavy bleeding that I can barely function or even leave my bed. It's so exhausting and I've lost count of the times I've passed out on dirty floors, lying in my own vomit because of this."

"I know, I know," he murmured, not truly understanding and internally slightly horrified but wanting to comfort you regardless. He gently wiped away your tears as they fell, his touch tender and reassuring.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. "This is terribly embarrassing. You shouldn't have to witness this. You tried to regain composure, but the combination of physical discomfort and emotional vulnerability made it impossible to stem the tide of tears.

Suddenly, Erik began to move. Your attention was so focused on the hurricane of emotions swirling around your body that you barely noticed him shifting to your side of the bed. It wasn't until he began to lower himself onto the mattress beside you that panic set in, causing you to react instinctively.

"No, wait!" you exclaimed, your sudden outburst causing him to recoil in surprise. Realizing your tone, you softened your voice. "I'm sorry, but please don't sit there. I... I don't want you to get dirty."

"Dirty?" Erik repeated, his eyes flickering to the stain beneath him. A soft chuckle escaped his lips. "It's just blood, I mean really- it's not like I haven't been covered in my own fair share of the stuff. This small spot is hardly cause for concern."

"Erik, please, it's not just blood!" you insisted, the shame taking over as you looked at the spot where you'd bled. It didn’t help that you were in too much pain and felt far too weak to even do anything about it!

He raised an eyebrow at you. "How can it be 'not just blood'? Does your blood contain arsenic?"

You couldn’t help but groan at his sarcastic retort.

"Menstrual blood comes from a person's private areas," you grumbled, your cheeks burning with embarrassment as you tried to convey the gravity of the situation.

He paused for a moment, then replied, "well, that certainly wasn't the answer I expected, but it doesn't change my opinion. Blood is blood, no matter where it comes from. Besides, fabric—and people—can always be washed. You don't need to be moving around for the sake of preserving meaningless things, you need to rest."

"But!-"

"Now that that's settled..." he shrugged off the jacket he’d been wearing and eased himself onto the mattress, inching closer to your awestruck form.

You were utterly speechless. He just- and then he- and he said-

"May I hold you? I won't if it causes you pain," he asked, his voice earnest and gentle. His tender concern only added to your bewildered state.

Words failed you as Erik gently pulled you into his embrace. The warmth of his body enveloped you, offering a comfort you didn't realize you so desperately craved. Despite the momentary twinge in your abdomen as he carefully adjusted your position, you found yourself melting into his arms. In that moment, his presence was a bandage to your pain-wracked body and troubled mind.

"Is this position comfortable?" He inquired. His arm gently supported the back of your neck, while his other hand rested lightly on your upper arm, providing a comforting presence without applying pressure. You managed a small nod in response, grateful for his attentiveness.

"Good. Now, where does it hurt?"

As his hand began to drift lower, more particularly towards your thighs, you suddenly realized the direction his thoughts were taking. Your eyes widened in a mix of surprise and mild alarm.

"Wait, not there!" you exclaimed, immediately regretting your sudden outburst as a fresh wave of pain surged through you. You winced, silently chastising yourself for your impulsive reaction.

"Oh. My deepest apologies," Erik said, his voice tinged with embarrassment as he blinked sheepishly. "I wouldn't have touched you anywhere without permission, but when you mentioned the blood's origin, I assumed—well, I thought—"

"Yeah, I know what you thought," you laughed breathlessly, wincing as another flash of pain assaulted your insides. "But contrary to your guess, the pain is mainly in my lower abdomen. Still, I appreciate your... eagerness to help."

His hand, which had been hovering uncertainly, now settled gently on your stomach. The warmth of his palm seeped through your skin as he watched your face intently, searching for any sign of discomfort. Finding none, he took your relaxed expression as silent permission and began to move his hand in slow, soothing circles.

Your mind went blank.

The warmth of his hand on your stomach felt heavenly. The sensation was unlike anything you'd experienced before. While it didn't eliminate the pain by any means, it soothed the intensity more than you thought anything ever could. As his fingers traced slow, deliberate circles on your skin, you felt your entire body relaxing, tension melting away with each careful movement.

Your tears, once born of shame and torment, now flowed from sheer relief.

"Thank you," you sniffled, peace washing over you whilst your body finally began to relax. As your muscles slowly unclenched, the bed beneath you seemed to transform, becoming a soft, inviting cloud that cradled your aching form.

Erik could sense your growing ease just from the shift in your demeanour. He was well aware that the mattress and bed sheets were likely ruined, but your comfort and rest took precedence over any stains—especially ones that no one else would ever lay eyes on. And it wasn’t like he couldn’t always procure new clothes for you if your current ones were beyond saving.

"Rest now, angel," he murmured softly, his hand continuing its soothing motions. "I'll be here when you wake up."

As you drifted off into a peaceful slumber, Erik decided it was probably time to delve into those medical journals he'd long avoided.

What? He just preferred reading fiction, that's all.

As evening fell, you stirred from your sleep, immediately noticing the emptiness beside you. Your hand brushed against the cool sheets where Erik had been, confirming your suspicion—he had left your side some time ago. Disappointment creased your brow as you pondered his whereabouts.

You laid motionless on the mattress, your gaze fixed on the spot where Erik had been before you drifted off. The pain in your lower abdomen persisted, but it had noticeably diminished compared to earlier. Your skin felt clammy, and your throat parched, yet overall, you felt surprisingly okay.

"You're awake," a familiar voice called from the corner of the room.

Your frown melted away as you realized he hadn't left at all. True to his word, Erik had simply shifted to the corner of the room, maintaining his vigilant watch over you.

"It's 7:30 PM, which is quite an unusual time to start your day, don't you think?" he teased. You sat up, observing him sitting comfortably in the chair you two kept in the room for convenience's sake.

This time, he wore his mask, unlike earlier when you had awoken. Your gaze drifted downward, landing on the enormous tome in his hands—the bulkiest book you'd ever laid eyes on. Curiosity piqued, you gestured silently toward the literary behemoth he cradled, wordlessly urging him to elaborate on the book in his grasp.

"I know—this is definitely a hefty one. Thank god for chapter indexes," he remarked, weighing the book in his hands. "However, I must say, its contents are appallingly lacking in knowledge."

"How so?" you prompted.

"Well, this is supposed to be a medical journal, and yet, when I look for information on menstruation, it's woefully inadequate," he scoffed. "It merely states that menstruation is linked to the reproductive cycle and helps the uterus prepare for potential pregnancy. That's all."

"Well, that's still more than I knew before," you said with a shrug.

"It's obscene. I read in another book that it happens to half the population from around ages 16 to 50, and yet so many people have gone their whole lives not knowing why?" He shook his head in bewilderment. "And I thought science had come much further than that."

“You read another book? How many of these have you read?” you asked, astonished by his dedication.

“Oh, just whatever I had lying around. A couple dozen or so,” he replied, as if everyone just had dozens of books on medical knowledge floating around their abode. “But some of them were so old they attributed menstruation to miasma, so I didn’t pay much attention to those. And I also busied myself with books on herbal remedies and pain relief- apparently there’s this new medicine called Aspirin on the market? Exciting, but I can’t get a hold of that right now, unfortunately.”

As he rose from the chair, you noticed the stacks of books surrounding his feet. He hadn't exaggerated when he mentioned "a dozen or so" - they were all massive, thicker than any you'd ever seen! You racked your brain, trying to recall where in the cellars he might have been concealing these enormous volumes, but you couldn't remember ever spotting them before.

"I may be mistaken, but you seem to be feeling better than you did this morning," he observed, neatly arranging the books into orderly stacks rather than leaving them scattered haphazardly.

"Definitely," you nodded. "The pain is still present, but it's significantly less intense now."

"That's good," he replied, humming as he pushed his first pile to the side to work on the next. "You did give me quite a fright earlier. I thought... Well, I'm not sure what I thought."

"It's understandable. I mean, I'm not sure why, but I expected you to have some... slight awareness of the subject," you admitted, awkwardly averting your gaze.

Even though you knew Erik wasn't raised with the same rules and expectations as you, discussing menstruation still felt like breaching a taboo. The topic remained uncomfortable, despite your rational understanding that it shouldn't be.

"I do feel quite foolish for not being aware of it sooner. But then again, how many women do you think I've encountered in my life? Besides my mother, the answer is none. And even that meeting was brief," he said matter-of-factly.

You didn't really know how to respond to that, so you let a comfortable silence settle between you. Erik swiftly finished organizing his books, then hurried out to return them to their proper places. He reappeared within moments.

"Now, unless there are other aspects of your anatomy I should be aware of," he said with a hint of amusement, "I believe a bath is in order." His eyes darted meaningfully towards the bed, drawing your attention to the mess you had somehow overlooked. You were mortified as you realized the extent of the stains, which had spread far beyond where you'd expected, creating abstract patterns on the once-pristine sheets.

"Ugh, yes," you grimaced, suddenly noticing the uncomfortable layer of blood on your skin. "A bath is definitely overdue. But what about you? Have you had a chance to clean up?"

"You've been out for eleven hours. I bathed ages ago," he stated. "Just give me half an hour or so to boil some water for the bath. That way, you won't be freezing in there."

While you appreciated Erik's thoughtfulness, the sensation of dried, itchy filth on your skin was unbearable. The prospect of waiting even a moment longer to cleanse yourself seemed more daunting than enduring the bite of cold water.

"Don’t bother," you cringed, "I can't bear this feeling any longer. I need to wash off immediately, even if the water's cold. The discomfort of icy water is preferable to this... filth."

“Have some patience. It’s the late evening in a cellar right next to a lake, you’ll die from cold exposure,” he deadpanned.

Though you understood the logic behind his words, you couldn't suppress a playful pout. Erik's eyes rolled with amusement as he approached you on the bed. Leaning over, he tenderly pressed his lips to your forehead, the gentle gesture melting away your feigned disappointment.

"Are you sure you're not in too much pain right now? Tomorrow I'll ask Gerard to procure some herbs, but until then I have a few remedies I can try with items lying around," he asked, straightening up to look down at you with a raised eyebrow.

"It's bearable," you affirmed.

"Good," he said, moving towards the door. "Stay here while I set up the bath. If you need anything, just call for me."

“Trust me, I won’t be going far anytime soon.”

Thirty minutes later, Erik returned as promised. During the wait, you occupied yourself with daydreams and silent lamentations about your bodily predicament. You couldn’t help but be stuck on the thought that you’d be stuck like this until you were 50—you weren't even halfway through!

"Can you walk alright?" he asked, concerned about you putting any unnecessary strain on your body.

After considering your current condition, you replied, "I think I could manage, but would you mind carrying me to the bathroom anyway? I've heard blood leaves quite stubborn stains on stone."

Wordlessly, he obliged, gently cradling you in his arms. One arm supported your back while the other nestled beneath your knees. As he carefully lifted you, his eyes fell upon the crimson stain left behind. The sight of such copious bleeding caused a flicker of concern to cross his face, though he tried to conceal it.

You were supposed to bleed that much every month for a week straight without dying?

Pushing aside his alarming thoughts about your potential demise, he carried you carefully to the bathroom, his movements slow and deliberate. As he cradled you, you realized this level of attentiveness was something you could easily grow accustomed to. You made a mental note that future menstrual cycles would be spent here in the cellars, rather than hiding from him in the Opera Populaire as you'd done before.

"Thank you for today," you whispered, your voice filled with gratitude. As you spoke, you instinctively burrowed closer, finding comfort in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

He let out a low chuckle, tinged with self-deprecation. "Thank you? I've barely done anything noteworthy," he scoffed, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. You couldn't see his expression, but you sensed the frown in his words. "To be honest, I feel rather inadequate. I wish I could have been more helpful to you in this situation."

"Don't say that," you insisted, nudging his chest with your head in retaliation. "You've gone above and beyond what most people would do. You've read dozens of books today just to understand me better. You've prepared a bath for me and prioritized my rest over your bedding. Most men would have either shooed me away or fled in your position."

A door creaked open, plunging you into momentary darkness as Erik gently lowered you to your feet. Your voice softened with emotion as you whispered, "your kindness and attentiveness mean more to me than words can express."

The gas valve hissed softly as it turned, gradually illuminating the bathroom. As your eyes adjusted to the light, you noticed a plush black towel draped over the edge of the tub, ready for use. On a nearby rack hung a set of fresh clothes—their style unmistakably reminiscent of Erik's wardrobe—waiting patiently for you to don them after your bath.

He cleared his throat loudly, a gesture you'd come to recognise as his way of masking his flustered state. "It's nothing extraordinary," he mumbled, his voice tinged with a mix of modesty and discomfort at the praise, "just basic human decency."

“But-“

"Is there anything else you need before I go to clean up?" he abruptly asked.

You sighed, giving him a pointed look for interrupting you. Deciding to let it go, you allowed the shift in conversation.

"I can manage from here, thank you," you hummed. "But would you mind fetching my sanitary belt from my bag? I'll need it after the bath."

“Sanitary belt?”

"Yeah. It's a belt that wraps around your waist and holds a sanitary towel in place to collect the, um, blood," you explained, awkwardly gesturing with your hands to illustrate. "You'll recognize it when you see it."

With a tender kiss on your forehead, Erik departed, promising to return with what you need.

The moment he left, you wasted no time shedding your clothes and depositing them in the nearby basket. Eager for relief, you eased yourself into the bathtub, a contented sigh escaping your lips as the pleasantly warm water enveloped you. The soothing heat melted away any lingering discomfort, allowing you to immerse yourself fully in the task of cleansing. With meticulous care, you began to wash away the day's troubles, savouring the unexpected comfort the bath provided.

He returned shortly after, placing the belt on the rack alongside your other necessities. Once again, he inquired about your well-being, prompting you to playfully scold him for his constant concern. Nevertheless, you reassured him that you were fine, adding that the warm bath water provided more pain relief than you had anticipated.

He seemed on the verge of making a sarcastic comment—likely along the lines of "I told you so"—but thought better of it. Bidding you a final goodbye, he left to strip and prepare the bed, allowing you to finish cleaning up in peace.

You continued this until the water was doing you more of a disservice than it was cleansing you. Pulling the drain cover open, you allowed the dirty water to flow out and empty the tub. Silently, you thanked Erik for installing this modern convenience in his home—one of the few upgrades he'd chosen, despite his ability to afford many more.

A chill crept over your damp skin, urging you to hasten your routine. Goosebumps prickled across your body as you quickly patted yourself dry with the towel, appreciating how he'd made sure it was black and not white. You then clumsily secured the sanitary belt around your waist, wincing at its familiar discomfort.

Immediately after, you slipped into the night shirt he had provided. The loose-fitting trousers were a blessing, their gentle embrace and soft material accommodating your tender midsection without adding pressure. Once you finished dressing, a sense of satisfaction gleamed in your chest. You felt refreshed, clean, and rejuvenated.

You made sure to brush your teeth before finishing up in the bathroom, when the horrific cramps returned once again. Doubled over and jaw clenched, you shuffled towards the door with painstaking slowness. Your quivering hand fumbled with the gas valve, finally managing to shut off the light. The room plunged into darkness as you walked out, door falling shut behind.

Groaning softly, you shuffled back towards the bedroom, where you found Erik fluffing the pillows on your freshly made bed. He wore his night attire, and despite your discomfort, you couldn't suppress a smile. Even doubled over in pain, the sight of him warmed your heart.

He swiftly noticed your presence, helping you onto the bed to spare you the effort of weakly propping yourself up. He then approached the dresser, where a mysterious lump lay concealed beneath blankets. Unfolding the coverings, he placed his hand on the hidden object and nodded with satisfaction.

He refolded the blankets over it before walking over to you. Curious and confused, you tried to maintain an inquisitive look while fighting off the storm raging in your abdomen.

"I anticipated the pain would return once you started moving again," he said, gesturing for you to lift your shirt to reveal your belly. You complied, though your confusion deepened. "This is called a 'hot water bottle,’ a recent invention. Gerard suggested I try one to ease some discomfort from my... condition. It doesn't help me much, but it might work for you."

"How does it work?" you asked, flinching slightly as the bottle touched your skin.

"It's made of rubber and filled with hot water to transfer heat efficiently," he explained, helping you pull your shirt back down over the bottle to keep it pressed against your skin. "Since you mentioned the warm water helped, I thought this might be worth trying."

"So it's like a hot water pig, but made of rubber instead of stoneware and more convenient?" you hummed thoughtfully, resting your hands over the bottle for an extra layer of added security.

“Precisely,” he nodded.

As the warmth from the hot water bottle gradually permeated the blankets, you found it soothing but not quite potent enough to fully alleviate your discomfort. The heat offered a welcome respite, yet you yearned for more intense relief from the persistent ache.

"It does take the edge off the pain," you admitted, biting your lip pensively, "but would it be possible to remove the blanket? I think more intense heat might help even more."

"Absolutely not," he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. "Direct contact with the bottle could result in burns. The blanket stays."

After a moment's consideration, you decided that the risk of burns did indeed outweigh the potential relief from your cramps—at least for now. You nodded, opting to keep the blanket wrapped around the water bottle, appreciating its safer warmth.

A sense of contentment washed over you as you marvelled at how this day, which had started so unexpectedly, had blossomed into something truly special.

You were with the love of your life, freshly bathed and dressed in his clothes, tucked into a clean bed with a soothing hot water bottle warming your skin and fighting against what usually was traumatic levels of pain. Tears welled in your eyes as pure bliss coursed through your veins, overwhelming you before you could even process the feeling.

As the first tear rolled down your cheek, Erik instinctively sprang into action. You couldn't help but laugh through your cascading tears, raising your hands to signal him to relax. Though hesitant, he wordlessly complied with your wishes.

"I'm okay," you sniffled, your words punctuated by small sobs. "I don't know why I'm crying. I'm just so... happy. I think I'm really, truly happy."

His eyes widened behind the mask, a mixture of surprise and awe flashing across the few of his visible features. Unable to resist, you reached up, gently grasping his hand and guiding him to lay beside you on the bed. He remained motionless, seemingly caught between disbelief and anticipation. Your heart racing, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his in a tender, affectionate kiss that conveyed all the emotions words couldn't quite express.

Wiping your eyes with the sleeves of your night shirt, you clutched the water bottle tighter and rolled onto your side. You nestled into his chest, his arm instinctively wrapping around you as you melded into his trembling form. Yearning for closeness, you draped your leg over his hips, your body seeking every possible point of contact.

"But—" He stammered, shaking his head in disbelief. Bewilderment dripped from his voice as he continued, "You haven't eaten all day. Surely, I should prepare something for you—"

"No," you replied, your tone firm yet affectionate.

"You must-"

"Nuh-uh," you teased.

"Really I should-"

"Shh." You leaned closer, your faces mere inches apart as you rested an arm over his waist. He tensed at the contact, despite the familiar porcelain barrier between you. "Just stay with me like this for a little while, please? Afterward, you can make all the cold meat sandwiches your heart desires."

"You told me you liked those," he grumbled in playful accusation.

A soft laugh escaped your lips as your eyes shimmered with unbridled affection. If Erik were to meet your gaze, all he'd be able to see was the pure, unadulterated euphoria radiating from your smile.

"I do," you agreed with a nod, “but only because you make them with so much love."

"So, you don't?"

You hummed thoughtfully, tilting your head back as if deeply pondering the culinary merits of cold meat sandwiches. "They're good, but they could use a little something extra," you mused. "Maybe some cucumber for crunch? Or a slice of mozzarella for creaminess?"

He scoffed in mock offence, "That completely distracts from the flavour of the meat."

"Flavour?"

"I'm glad you agree."

You pursed your lips before releasing a long, deliberate sigh. Your eyes flicked from his face to the clock. The time read 9:45 PM, yet an unwelcome wakefulness clung to you—undoubtedly a lingering consequence of your excessive eleven-hour nap.

"I’ve completely ruined my sleep schedule, haven’t I?" you mumbled. "It’s late in the evening, and I’m nowhere near tired.”

Erik paused thoughtfully before replying, "I can make you something to aid with sleep, if you'd like."

"What do you have in mind?" you asked, curiosity evident in your tone.

He thought over the matter before deciding.

"I have some dried valerian root that I can steep into a tea," he offered. "I've tried it on rare occasions. It's quite bitter, but I can add some chamomile to sweeten the taste."

"You're so lovely," you giggled, unaware of how he tensed at the compliment. "So kind and thoughtful—you call me an angel, but I think the real angel here is you. My Angel."

He paused, visibly stunned by your words.

His voice was soft and hesitant as he asked, "you believe that?"

You nodded, a soft hum of agreement escaping your lips. "I do," you said sweetly, your voice brimming with unwavering certainty.

You felt the rise and fall of his chest as he took a deep breath, seemingly trying to steady his racing heartbeat. His hold tightened around you, drawing you even closer. A radiant smile spread across your face.

"So," he stammered, clearly flustered by the compliment, "is that a yes to the tea?"

"I'd love some tea," you nodded eagerly. "But could you stay with me for ten more minutes first?"

He nodded, and you both settled into a comfortable silence—a respite he seemed to appreciate. Your fingers traced idle patterns on his palm, while his gently wove through your hair.

Ten minutes passed in this tranquil state, and you quickly realised that maybe the tea was unnecessary after all. Every thirty seconds or so, you found yourself stifling an uncontrollable yawn—a gesture you noticed Erik unconsciously mirroring.

Your eyelids grew heavy, the combined warmth of his body and the water bottle proving irresistible. You drifted toward sleep at least five times, always jolting awake at the last moment before you fully succumbed. Despite your drowsiness, you yearned to savour this moment just a little longer.

"Do you still want that tea?" Erik asked, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

You shook your head and nestled closer to his chest. "I'm fine now," you murmured contentedly.

"Good," he replied, his hand gently smoothing down your flyaway hairs. He seemed on the verge of saying more, but fatigue clouded his thoughts, and he let the moment pass.

He yawned once more, momentarily pulling away from you. You whined in protest, but he shushed you as he reached behind his head to untie his mask. Attempting to place it carefully on the bedside table, he misjudged the distance, and it slipped towards the floor.

The mask remained intact, though the sound it emitted was sharp enough to make you flinch. To your astonishment, Erik seemed unconcerned by the possible harm. Instead, he calmly readjusted your position so you were laying as before, then closed his eyes. A surge of emotion swelled in your chest.

Erik had grown comfortable with you seeing him without his mask, though he typically preferred to keep it on unless taken by surprise or during the quiet hours of the night when you were both sleeping. His current indifference toward the mask could mean one of two things: either he was too exhausted to notice its near demise, or he had become so deeply at ease with you that he no longer felt the need to shield himself behind it.

Erik possessed other masks, but they could never replace his favourite. His primary one was treated with the utmost reverence, as fragile and irreplaceable as a feather. It was the one he felt most secure in and allowed him the most normalcy, therefore it was always his first choice regardless of other options. Yet now, without hesitation or concern, he had allowed it to fall away, as though its significance had vanished entirely, as if the bond between you had rendered it unnecessary.

You felt the urge to cry again, but not wanting to disturb his sleep, you suppressed your tears as you contemplated the significance of this moment for both of you.

"I love you," you whispered, your voice cracking with emotion. Though it could be mistaken for tiredness, the tremor in your words betrayed your overwhelming desire to burst into tears of joy.

After a moment, one bleary eye opened as he turned to face you. His lips curved into a genuine smile as he whispered, "I love you too."

'hot water pigs' are what people used to call hot water bottles, or at least their versions of them, just so you know lol. writing these fics always requires so much research into old terms and the existence of things that are now regular everyday items, it's kind of crazy. like trying to figure out how much was known about periods in the late 1800s early 1900s was a challenge.

#phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera musical #phantom of the opera x reader #erik destler x reader #cherik #erik the phantom #erik destler #gaston leroux #poto #musical #1990 phantom of the opera #phantom of the opera 1990 #poto 1990 #poto x reader #cherik poto

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purplecoffee13 · 7 months ago

Text

Nemesis with Benefits - Part 2

Summary: “You come over to help your friend with setting up their new couch, but soon you find out that you weren’t the only one

Wc: 4.6k

Tropes: enemies to lovers

Warnings: mention of blood and cheating. loads of banter and tension…

A/N: Hey guys! Here is the second part of Nemesis with Benefits! The tension is brewing and it’s stirring up nothing but confusion!!! I’m so excited about this series, and I’m so grateful to see it getting such a good response. Enjoy!!!

General Masterlist

Series Masterlist

From Benjamin:

HELP I CANT GET MY COUCH TOGETHER😭

Can someone pls come over and help?

You stare at the text messages Benjamin sent in the group chat. You are quick to open your agenda app to see if you are free to help your friend. Before you can even text Benjamin that you're available, and will come over soon, he calls you. You pick up.

"Help!" Benjamin's panicked voice sounds from the other side of the line. "If I have to tackle this couch alone for one more minute, I'm gonna kill someone. And since the couch and I are the only things in the room, it's probably gonna be me!"

You stifle a laugh. "I was just about to text you that I'll come over. Stay there. Don't move, and don't kill yourself."

"I'll try." Benjamin whines dramatically. You roll your eyes as you hang up on your friend, and grab your headphones and jacket.

Within two minutes, you are outside your building and walking to Benjamin's apartment. He moved into an apartment building off campus this summer. A couple of weeks ago his couch—which was already on the verge of breaking—broke, and he had to order a new one. Not that he minded; he loved shopping for anything. He'd always join you whenever you would run errands.

It takes no more than ten minutes to get to Benjamin's apartment building, though, because it is quite close to campus. Plus, you are a fast walker, so you are always a couple of minutes faster.

You ring the doorbell and Benjamin lets you into the building. After riding the elevator, you walk to Benjamin's apartment. He is already waiting in the doorway and gives you a big hug once you're within reach.

"Oh thank God you're here!" He exclaims, hugging you so tight that it is getting hard to breathe. "You are truly the only reliable friend I have around here."

"I'm happy to be of help, babe." You choke out a laugh, pulling out of the embrace, and walking past Benjamin into his living room.

“Now, let’s see what this evil couch is about…”

************************************************

30 minutes later

"How did you manage, out of all couches in the world, to buy the most complex and pain in the ass one?!" You huff, a drop of sweat running down your forehead. You are sitting crisscross applesauce, hunched over, trying to figure out the way this stupid couch is set up.

You managed to get halfway before getting stuck. Step 17 was the devil in disguise, and it had you developing lower back pain and a stress induced headache. Still, you were determined to figure it out. Benjamin asked you for help, and if the help couldn't manage to assemble this couch, you knew he would leave this unfinished for weeks.

"The people at the store said it was easy!" Benjamin protests with a sigh.

"Yeah, maybe for people who sell couches for a living. Not for broke students who prepare all their food in the microwave!" You say, frowning at the couch. Benjamin's killing comment from earlier isn't seeming as dramatic as it did before. You might just throw this couch—or yourself—out the window.

There's a faint knock on the front door. You aren't sure if there is even someone there, but the way Benjamin skips to the door washes the doubt away.

"Hey! What are you doing here?!" Benjamin's voice sounds slightly distressed. You look up to see who he let in, and your face falters immediately at the sight of Harry walking into the living room.

"You said you needed help, so I—" Harry stops talking once he spots you too, and he sighs. Your eyes widen. He has the nerve to actually sigh? What a douchebag!

"I'm going to the bathroom." You say, glaring Harry down as you move out of the living room. You hear some footsteps behind you, and you know that Benjamin is following you. You let him enter the bathroom with you, and turn around as he closes the door.

"I can't believe you would let him come over while I'm here!" You cross your arms. You are quite upset with Benjamin, but even more so with Harry. The sole sight of his smug face sets you off. He annoys you to no end.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know! I texted him, and he never responded. He just comes over without warning a lot. This wasn't intentional, I swear." Benjamin explains, and you can tell that he's sincere. Benjamin can be almost as much of a pain in the butt as his stupid couch, but he would never intentionally hurt you. But Harry would, and he did.

"I just..." you take a deep breath before you make the confession you've been bothered with for a while now. "Harry hurt me, a lot. And you're still friends with him..."

It's Benjamin's turn to sigh. He grabs your arms and levels with you, searching for your eyes.

"Harry is on the bench." He tells you, like you are supposed to know what that means.

"You know we're building you a couch, not a bench—"

"No, dumbass!" Benjamin interrupts you. "Harry's on the friendship bench. He was demoted to second string. He ain't playing in the game that I call my inner circle."

You sigh. "Okay, could you just leave the metaphors for a second and tell me what you mean—"

"I punched him." He shrugs as if it is as simple as ever. You, however, have your mouth hanging wide open.

"You punched Harry?"

"Of course I did. What he did to you was beyond shitty, and he totally deserved it." Benjamin confirms, and your heart sinks at the fact that you doubted his loyalty to you in the first place. "But Harry has been one of my best friends since high school. And what happened— well... let's just say that the story is not totally black and white."

That makes you feel a bit offended. "What is not black and white about this situation? Dylan cheated, Harry participated."

"I agree, that part is black and white. That's why I punched him." He nods his head. "Now, you can go home, and I will try and assemble this stupid couch with him. I totally understand that you don't want to stay here."

"No!" You say angrily. Benjamin's eyebrows crease into a frown, almost as surprised as you by your drive to stay here.

"But—"

"Why?! So he can brag about the couch that I basically put together?!" You murmur as you cross your arms, eyes squinting a bit at the thought of him walking around with that inflated ego of his. There is absolutely no way he is getting another something of yours, again!

"Y/N, it's just a couch—" Benjamin tries to argue, but you won't hear of it.

"This is not about the stupid couch!" You blurt out. This shuts him up. He stares at you for a few seconds with this look in his eyes that reads 'go home, don't do this'. But you don't feel like listening, so you walk past him, out of the bathroom and back into the living room.

"I don't think this is a good idea!" Benjamin calls out from the bathroom.

"Too bad!" You call back. Benjamin is right on your heels and right next to you by the time you stand in front of Harry again. He has already seated himself in the place where you were sitting just now. He's got the manual in one hand and a screw driver in the other.

"I fixed the problem. You were using the wrong screws." Harry says, the comment more directed at Benjamin than at you. But you take it personally anyway, because you are the one who selected the screws. You walk over to him and snatch the manual out of his hands.

"I read it five times, I definitely used the right—" upon reading step 17 for the fifth time, you finally see the name of the screws you were supposed to use. Your brain tends to mash up words after a while, and all the screws' names really read alike.

When you look up from the piece of paper, you see Harry smirking at you. He knows he's right, and he knows you know he's right, and that makes you incredibly angry. He shouldn't be allowed to be right, ever. Not in front of you, at least.

With a groan, you sit yourself down next to Harry and snatch the screwdriver out of his hand before burying your nose into the manual again. You mutter a small profanity under your breath, and Harry just scoffs at the sound of it.

This is gonna be a long evening...

************************************************

"Fuck." Harry curses, mainly to himself, when the leg of the couch doesn't stay in place once again. He has tried three times now, not letting you help him.

"I told you to—"

"Shut up." Harry growls, not even sparing a glance at you. He is heavily concentrating on his failing work.

"This could be solved quicker if you'd just listen to me." You tell him, reaching towards the sofa table where you've put all the screws and other necessary stuff for building this couch.

"No. This could be solved quicker if you'd just let me look at the manual." Harry responds. You squint at him, even though he can't see you. He'll feel the hate of your withering stare nonetheless.

You don't say anything, though, keeping yourself as you sort out the screws that lie in front of you. It has been an hour of sitting with Harry and trying to piece this couch together. So far you have had the upper hand, mainly because you have the manual.

Benjamin tried to help the first 30 minutes, but after being snarled at too many times, he resigned to cleaning his kitchen. So now you are sitting alone with Harry.

"Okay... done. What's next?" Harry asks, looking at you and the manual in your lap. You don't return the glance, still focused on counting the amount of screws you need.

"Wait."

Harry rolls his eyes. "If you'd just give me the stupid manual—"

"Damn it! Now I lost count." You look up and glare at Harry. "Could you shut up for a second?"

"Nope. Give me the manual." He crosses his arms. Leaning against the wall behind him. You shake your head. There is no way he is getting this piece of paper.

"No."

You go back to counting the screws, when all of a sudden the manual is snatched away from your lap. Your mouth falls open and your eyes follow the way Harry's hands take it away. You are about to cuss him out, when Benjamin's voice announces something from behind you.

"Guys, I have a class in twenty minutes, so I have to go. C'mon, I can finish the couch another time." He says and you don't miss the relief in his voice. He's probably already happy that his apartment didn't blow up in the first ten minutes of you and Harry being in the same room.

"It's fine. I can finish it up. Won't take long, now that I've got the manual and everything." Harry offers with a smile. Jaw clenched, you swallow his stupid comment and also turn to your friend.

"I'll stay too. Have to finish what I started."

There is no way in hell you're letting Harry get away with acting like he built this whole couch by himself, when it was actually just the step 17 and about five others after that.

"Oh, that's very sweet, but I don't know if—"

"We won't kill each other, I promise." I try to reassure him, hoping to get some backing from Harry about this.

"We won't?"

You turn around and give Harry your greatest death stare.

"I'm just saying, you were being pretty aggressive with that screwdriver just now." He puts his hands up defensively. You sigh, redirecting your attention back to your friend.

"Fine. I promise to refrain from impaling Harry's head with a screwdriver until we're outside of the apartment." You say.

"Yeah, that sounds more believable." Harry murmurs approvingly.

Benjamin looks at the two of you, thinking it over for a bit. Everything about his face reads that he thinks this is a bad idea. You don't blame him the slightest, but you let your eyes plead him to let you do this anyway. You need it. The exact reason why, you don't know. But... you just need this.

"Okay." Benjamin finally says, earning a smile from you. "Help yourself to whatever is in the fridge. I'll be back in about two hours."

"Aye aye captain." You joke, giving your friend a hug before returning to the floor alongside Harry. You hear the rattling of the house keys Benjamin grabbed from the counter, and watch as he walks to his front door.

"Don't get blood on my new couch." He shouts just in time for the door to slam shut. You take a deep breath, the fact that you are alone with Harry now really kicking in.

It's fine. You can do this. He sucks.

"Can you tell me how many screws I needed again?" You ask, attempting to be as polite as you possibly can to the guy your boyfriend cheated on you with.

"I don't know, can I? Oh wait, of course I can. Because I have the manual." He taunts, flicking the pages to step 25. He reads and reads, and a smirk forms on his face as his head lifts up.

"Guess."

"Don't be an asshole. Just tell me, I want to get this over with." You say, your head tilting. The look in your eyes radiates seriousness, and for a moment you think Harry understands how you're feeling.

"Erm, that wasn't a guess, that was just words."

If it was physically possible to exert steam from your ears, you would've looked like an old train. You groan and lean forward to snatch the manual away from Harry, but he is quick to move it out of reach. He holds it over his head.

"Aw c'mon, it was just a joke!" Harry teases even further. You are seeing red with rage and it takes everything to not scream every foul word in the book at him.

"It's not funny!" You try to grab the paper again, but Harry is too swift for you.

"It kind of is."

"No it's not! Nothing about this is funny!" You suddenly snap. "I don't want to be here with you. I just want to finish building this stupid couch and go home, so please give me the manual."

"Then why are you still here?!" Harry inquires firmly, a deep frown knitted onto his face.

"Why are you?!" You fire back, frustrating grown with each second that your eyes bore into his.

"I asked you a question, Y/N. I told Benjamin I'd do it myself, you cannot stand me. There is no logical reason for you to still be here, so why the fuck are you?"

"Because I can't let you take another thing from me!"

You blurt out confession before you have a chance to stop yourself, and your cheeks instantly go red with embarrassment. Harry's mouth hangs slightly open at the collection of words that just left your mouth. You avoid his eyes burning onto your skin as you try to steady your breathing. Your heart is pounding out of your chest.

"Just give me the stupid manual." You mumble, snagging it from his unsuspecting hands. You open the little book to your page, but the hiss that leaves Harry's mouth has you looking up at him. Your eyes widen at the sight of blood.

Dripping from Harry's hand is quite a bit of blood. Shit, you gave him a huge paper cut. Guilt washes over you, and you rush to the kitchen and back to give him some paper towels. Out of instinct, you wrap the towels around his hand. You are closer to Harry than you would normally be, but it's an emergency—one that you caused—so there's a necessary reason for it.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to— let's get you to the kitchen." You put some pressure on his small wound and drag him to the kitchen. Harry doesn't say anything, but he lets you lead anyway. It is like your confession has shut him up, which is very rare because Harry never shuts up.

You put Harry's injured hand under the faucet and let the water wash away the blood. You get a better look of the cut and can deduce that a little bit of bandage would be best to keep a bit of pressure on it for now. You tell Harry to keep his hand in the same place, and reach for the first aid box you bought Benjamin as one of his housewarming gifts. This one was more of a joke, but it comes in handy now.

By the time you've collected everything you need, you turn off the faucet and dry Harry's hand with some new paper towels. It is completely silent between the two of you as you dap the towels onto his skin. But you can feel Harry's stare. It doesn't surprise you very much when he speaks up.

"I'm sorry."

Your body stops everything it was doing and takes in the apology for a few seconds, then resumes back to drying Harry's hand

"I'm gonna put some bandage around your hand. It'll keep pressure on the cut. You'll be able to switch to a band aid after a while." You casually explain, choosing to ignore his words. You don't really have the mental capacity to deal with it right now.

"Y/N, I'm not just saying it. I mean it, I'm sorry." Harry almost pleads. You look at him and hate the sincerity that flashes through his eyes. You'd prefer it if it wasn't there. It's gonna turn out to be bullshit anyway; he shouldn't be saying it like he means it. "What I— we did was stupid, I shouldn't have done that. I was just... I was in love, and I thought—"

"I don't want to listen to your excuses, Harry." You interrupt him. "You may have your reasons, but you did what you did. It already happened, you can't talk yourself out of it."

"I'm not trying to talk myself out of it."

"Then what are you doing?"

"I'm trying to tell you the truth." Harry grits through his teeth.

"So what? So I can feel bad for you about stealing my boyfriend?!" You respond, the condescension in your tone dripping over the words you speak.

"You stole him first!" He growls very loudly. You are taken aback by the sudden aggressiveness.

"What?" The questions almost comes out like a whisper. You are utterly lost. What is this guy talking about? Harry huffs, looking away from you. He is clearly embarrassed.

"Nothing."

"No, tell me." You demand, wrapping the bandage around Harry's palm. "You owe me, at the very least."

Harry sighs, shaking his head. His eyes flick between yours and the his wounded hand. He exhales deeply before finally beginning with talking.

"We were... sleeping together, Dylan and I. It was casual; he said he didn't want a relationship, that he wasn't ready. Then about three weeks after saying that, he started dating you."

You don't open your mouth, instead focusing on processing the information that Harry is throwing your way, which is proving to be a bit difficult. You shake your head.

"That's shitty of him." You simply say, deciding to not want to offer him any pity. It is indeed a fucked up thing to string someone along and then date someone else, but it doesn't excuse what Harry did.

You focus on finishing up with the bandage on Harry's arm, and smile at your work. You could definitely be a nurse if you wanted to.

"Okay. Let's go back to that devil of a couch." You say, and the air feels a bit lighter now. It isn't so heavy with unresolved tension as it was before. There still is loads, but it is easier to breathe than before.

"Alright." Harry agrees, walking behind you to the living room.

************************************************

One and a half hour later

"I'm never doing favors for anyone ever again." You say, staring wide-eyed at the couch you and Harry finally managed to put together. It took you long enough—thanks to Harry—but you're finally done.

"Gotta agree with you on that one." Harry nods, hands on his hips as he analyzes the couch.

"Of course you do. I'm always right." You shrug, and Harry rolls his eyes.

The past hour and a half have been strangely good for you and Harry. You still hate him, and you are pretty sure he feels the same way about you, but there is kind of a non-negotiated truce now. That doesn't keep you from seizing every opportunity to insult him. You haven't lost your edge.

You flop down on the couch, and Harry follows suit. You sit in silence, staring at the white wall in front of you. That's when you see something on the sofa table, and you can quite literally feel the blood drain from your face.

In the table lay a ziplock bag of screws. Ones that you were supposed to put somewhere in this couch, but you didn't. All freaked out, you start looking for the instructions again.

"Where's the manual?" You question, aimlessly scanning the room. When your glance goes past Harry, you see the little white book in his hand. You lean forward to grab it, but he moves it away from you very quickly.

"Come on. It wasn’t funny the first time, it’s not funny now.” You tilt your head and reach out your hand, hoping that your motherly tone will make him put the piece of paper back in your hand. But he doesn’t, only shrugging at your tiny lecture. Your lips break into a slight smirk, and you heave a sigh.

“Fine. You want to play foul, then foul it is.”

Then, in a matter of seconds, you’ve thrown yourself over Harry, grasping the manual. You have managed to get a hold of it, clearly having caught him off guard. But that doesn’t hold for long, as he’s regained his senses quickly and puts an arm around your waist, lifting you up and throwing you off the couch. You land on the rug with a small thud, and although it doesn’t hurt much, there is fire in your eyes when they meet Harry’s cocky face. He’s holding up the manual behind him as he laughs at you lying on the ground.

Without thinking for another second, you charge at him, jumping on him and snatching the manual out of his hands. You lean back to get away, but almost fall backwards. That is until an arm around your waist catches you. You are pulled into Harry and his action to save you leaves the both of you very close to one another. You are still breathing heavily from your ‘attack’, but then you feel something else.

The beating of your heart at the proximity between you and Harry; it stresses you out to be this close to him. Suddenly, it becomes apparent, too apparent; Harry’s fingers are dug into your waistline.

You blame the way your body reacts to the fact that you haven’t gotten laid in a month, yet you can’t seem to tear your eyes away from Harry. He shares your troubles, his gaze fixated on you like you could fade away at any second.

Your eyes widen ever so slightly when Harry leans forward. A couple inches, but forward nonetheless. No matter how radical and ridiculous your mind finds this action, your body doesn’t do a thing to stop it. There is a spark that radiates off Harry and enters your veins through the touch of his fingers, the heat of his breath, and the feel of his stare.

His eyes dart from yours to your mouth, asking without asking, as he inches closer with every few seconds. You feel those sparks morphing into a flame as Harry’s lips brush yours ever so slightly, and your heavy eyes flutter shut.

“I’m back!”

You jump off Harry’s lap in an impressive short amount of time, just in time for the door to shut and Benjamin to walk through the door. His eyes travel to the counter, where a partly bloodied paper towel still lies. A gasp leaves his lips.

“YOU STABBED HIM?!”

His eyes fly to you and Harry, and he sighs deeply at the sight of the both of you unharmed, well… mostly.

“I can’t believe you’d think I’d stab him.”

“Why did you think she was the one who stabbed me?”

You and Harry responded at the same time. You flick Harry a look before explaining the situation to your friend.

“I accidentally gave him a paper cut.” You point to Harry’s bandaged hand, which he is holding up. “But thanks for thinking I’m vicious enough to stab someone, I guess.”

“Yeah, and thanks a lot for thinking I’m not.” Harry adds with a frown, his arms crossed. Benjamin stifles out a laugh.

“Well, thanks for the couch. I owe you guys.” He smiles, pulling you into a hug. “D’ya wanna go for a drink together?”

“No!” You call out as soon as Benjamin finishes his question, earning a pair of confused looks from the two boys. “I— uh, I have to go. Assignment. I have to do an assignment.”

You stumble over your words and steps as you grab your jacket and headphones, heading for the front door.

“Okay… will I see tonight?!” Benjamin shouts the question which reminds you of Tyler’s birthday party tonight. Tyler is a friend you got to know through Benjamin. Almost hooked up with him once.

“I’ll let you know!” Is all you say before walking out the door, shutting the door behind you. You rush to the elevator, not wanting the boys to catch up with you. You put on your headphones, taking a deep breath before putting play on the music.

You need some time to think about what the fuck happened back there.

#harry styles #fanfic #writing #blurb #fanfiction #harry #one direction #mini series #harry styles x fem!reader #enemies to lovers #bantering #purplecoffee13

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mischiefmaker615 · 8 months ago

Text

Go Away

Summary: Enemies to Lovers

Rating: R

Requested By: Daddy_Dracos_Slut (wattpad)

Note: Sorry for the long wait, real life stuff can be a pain sometimes but i hope the length of this one makes up for it *sweats*

i curse under my breath as the elevator seems extra rough going up the floors today. my hand clutches the rail while i keep my eyes closed, focusing my energy on my breathing rather than my stab wound that left a pretty nasty gash on my side. What happened?

SHIELD loves to throw me into fights they know they don’t have enough man power for. Why? “Your training should be enough to help you handle it just fine” okay dip shit- not against HYDRA! The mission was successful but of course they had to throw in a rookie for me to bring along as well. Result? Saving their ass cost me the next couple of days to heal.

“you should go to the medical bay-‘’

‘’it’s fine, I’ll just have Loki heal it.’’ the biggest lie I’ve ever told.

There was no way in hell i wanted to get near the psycho that attacked New York, but i hid my resentment well for SHIELD to buy my answer and not force me into a pointlessly long medical appointment.

Ironically as soon as i arrived back at the tower, the ‘not so bad’ wound in my side decided to give me a lot more pain than what i was originally feeling earlier. i probably just needed to clean it and it would be good as new.

Finally the elevator granted me the mercy of reaching my floor and i got out, my body crouched and hunched as i took a deep breath and looked around. No one around.. good. i didn’t like to show weakness, even though in this business you all get hurt, its nothing new, but my stubborn ass still tried to tough it out. Which is why as soon as i heard someone coming, i sucked in a breath and straightened up to my height, making sure my jacket was hiding my blood-stained shirt while Loki turned the corner, and we both shared the same expression. Of course, he probably didn’t enjoy my company just as much as i did for him, but he still took the opportunity to tease me whenever he could to get a reaction.

‘’why are you walking like that?’’ he asked, just a question, no concern in his voice.

‘’why do you look like that.’’ i say as i took a scrolling pace down the halls while he pressed the button to the elevator. i didn’t even look back at him but i felt his eyes on me.

‘’you’re hurt.’’

‘’and you care?’’

Loki’s eyes narrowed as i cast a glance over my shoulder at him in annoyance. ‘’I wish to make sure you are in proper health so you can get out of my way in a sufficient pace.’’

‘’oh, you do care.’’ i say in a sweet voice, placing a dramatic hand on my heart for effect which only revealed my bloody shirt where his eyes flicked down. i could have sworn his gaze changed to something else.. but for a split second until he looked like an asshole again.

‘’you’re bleeding.’’

Now, a sarcastic comment would have just proven he was right. Not that he would tell anyone, he probably didn’t care. this was all just probably going to be used to call me a weak mortal or whatever who doesn’t know how to properly fight. So the only unfortunate answer that spilled out of my mouth was ‘’spilled ketchup.’’ Smooth.

His eyes slowly traveled down to the ‘ketchup stain’ again before they flicked back up to mine. ‘’hmm.’’ He hummed, turning back to the open doors now for the elevator before his gaze could get a chance to make me nervous- wait what?

I make sure I walk as casually as possible, regardless of how painful it may be until I heard the elevator doors close before I hunch over again and draw in a sharp breath and resist the urge to clutch my side. Judgy bastard.. looking at me as if I’m scum in his way.. but what was that split second look? Never mind- just need to get the first aid kit and see exactly what I’m dealing with.

After it seems forever until I get into my room, I shut the door behind me and throw my jacket to the side, glad to have it off before I fold the end of my shirt up so it was over my chest, almost like a make-shift crop top. Damn.. it’s pretty deep, going to need minor stitches.. clean it up..

I slowly make my way now to the bathroom, my balance thrown off with the lack of blood and I could already tell before my eyes hit the mirror how pale I am. Nausea comes in mild waves as well but anger and frustration takes over when I open up the cabinet to find my first aid kit was missing. What the hell! I used it a couple days ago and I’m to OCD to not put things back..

I run a hand through my hair as I think about what I need to do. We have vodka at Tony’s bar downstairs, it’s the best thing we have currently to clean a wound. Another first aid kit in the kitchen, not to far from the bar cabinet. Not to bad- if people weren’t awake. I check my phone, it’s 8pm. Its usually quiet and people head to bed in 30 minutes do to the fact that we need proper rest in this field.

Grabbing a small towel, I run it over warm water and nearly cry out as I begin cleaning what I could, pain shooting through my body as I push through until I feel like I would faint. Setting the towel aside, I carefully.. carefully manage to change my shirt but put on an actual crop top so nothing had its change at touching my new body scar soon-to-be. Only 10 minutes pass.. 20 might be to long as I stay on the bed trying to control my breathing. I’m stupid, I know..

Once I check the time and hear more doors close in the hall, indicating people are hitting the hay, I go over to the door. No point in hiding the wound if everyone is in bed and the less clothes I ruin the better. However I nearly woke the whole house if I didn’t shove a hand over my mouth to find Loki waiting outside my door, leaning on the wall with a now smirk by my reaction.

‘’the hell are you doing here like a creeper?’’ I hiss at him but realize hiding the wound was to late as his eyes dropped and so did his expression as he straightened.

‘’norns Y/N- how did you manage that?’’ somehow there was no emotional indication in his voice, let alone his expression so I shrugged to see if he was actually concerned or about to laugh.

Figured there was no use hiding as I walk around him with a hand on the wall to support myself. ‘’comes with the job sometimes.’’

‘’and I’m sure they taught you how to properly take care of it- which is why it’s strange that you find yourself here’’ he says and walked along side me, making me raise a brow in wonder at why he was following.

‘’I can take care of myself, thanks.’’ Sarcasm was potent as I side eyed him, indicating I wished to be left alone before my body jolted at a wave of pain, making me practically double over with my nails digging into the wall.

‘’you need a doctor-‘’ Loki started, his hands quickly returning to their sides as I took a sharp breath and looked at him.

‘’I said I’ll be-‘’

‘’Y/N!’’ Barton greeted as he turned the corner, his smile fading as he glanced at Loki before he smiled again at me. ‘’you should have been here hours ago- I thought he would have healed you by now-‘’

‘’I don’t know what you are talking about-‘’ I panic, giving him a sharp look to shut up while Loki raised a brow.

‘’earlier when you said you’d just ask Loki to-‘’

‘’I’m handling it Clint, I’ll see you tomorrow though good as new’’ I fake smile, looking like I’m about to punch him as I feel Loki’s eyes on me in amusement.

‘’don’t you worry Agent Barton, she’s in good hands.’’ He said gently, lacing his fingers behind his back as Barton gives him a hard look.

‘’I’ll see you tomorrow then Y/N’’ he says, never really registering Loki whenever they did have to speak and brushed past him on his way to his own room. Most of the time that type of rude contact would have earned an almost-fight between Loki and Clint, but I suppose Loki found himself to busy smirking at me to really be concerned about it.

‘’so what is it exactly you wished to ask me Y/N?’’ Loki said sweetly, milking the opportunity to tease me as I roll my eyes and make my way down the halls towards the elevator before I could be any more embarrassed.

‘’go away.’’

Loki’s eyes narrowed as he watched me walk away from him but I busied myself with waiting for the damn doors to open. I heard nothing behind me, and I made the mistake to believe he had actually listened so to my annoyance, he slipped into the elevator with me before the doors could close.

‘’you were going to ask me to heal you?’’ he asked, no emotion indicated in his voice as I made myself busy by pressing the correct floor.

‘’I merely said that to have everyone off my back, apparently it seems to be doing quite the opposite.’’ I mutter and lean myself against the wall, drawing my eyes closed as I focused on my breathing.

Even with my eyes closed, I could tell Loki was staring at me. He’s annoying, but I’m sure he wouldn’t be half bad of a person if it wasn’t for the fact that he attacked new York. That’s probably where our enemy relationship stems from.. could I be nicer? Sure, he just.. draws something out of me.. he’s not a bad looking guy either, my emotions run different when I’m around him compared to the others. Tony teased me once and called it denial of something perhaps more I was feeling towards him, but there was no way I would have fallen for someone that attacked-

‘’if you would just let me heal you then perhaps your mind will stop being so loud.’’

My eyes snap open as Loki rubbed his temple as if he had a headache. If it wasn’t for the damn gash in my side, I probably would have killed him right then and there as I gawked at him.

‘’the fuck were you-‘’

‘’Y/N,’’ he starts, sincerity in his eyes and voice that somehow made me still. ‘’yes I’ve done those things in the past, I should hope that the time I have been spending here has given me a good chance to have changed and perhaps provided a door for a fresh start..’’ he starts, his eyes darting to the floor and slowly back at me as my muscles tensed by another wave and I hold my side, staying silent still. ‘’I do not blame you for your negative emotions towards me, and I am not asking for a second chance,.. all I’m asking is to just heal you.’’

My eyes slowly travel up to his after they had descended to the floor. God of lies, it was taught to tell if he was being honest or not. Though honestly, what did you have to lose? Nausea was already hitting your gut and light headedness was already reminding me how much blood I was losing. Yet the fact of the matter is,..

‘’..why do you care?’’

Loki almost genuinely smiled and I noticed his muscles were straining. Raising a brow, I noticed the elevator had not once moved since the doors had been closed. My eyes were next to narrow at him.

‘’what are you-‘’

‘’ask me Y/N.’’

I blink at him, knowing exactly what he wants me to ask but even now he’s being a stubborn ass??

He gave me a look at the name and I immediately just decided to focus on the pain instead to block him out. He was just as stubborn as I was, there was no point in asking him about the elevator, let alone avoiding the question. Taking a deep breath, I clutched my side and looked at him with all the dignity I was clinging on too.

‘’fine.. w-would you-‘’

My words cut short when my vision blacked out and all I remember is falling to the ground.

A cold hand pressed to my forehead, the temperature feeling cool where I practically lean into the touch before opening my eyes.

And then I want to die.

My cheeks heat up as Loki sat by my side as I lay in the bed located in our medical bay- aka Tony’s sometimes hangover room.

‘’how are you feeling?’’ he asked, looking a bit drained himself as I took in the scene.

I felt no pain.. something in my chest stirred, something that was hard to identify as I glanced down at myself. The gash in my side was completely gone- not so much as a scar behind! I look up at Loki wide eyed and he merely gave me a gentle look as I tried to speak but shut my mouth quick as redness heated in my cheeks.

How could I thank him? .. I never shared a kind word to him before, we had a sharp relationship.. and yet he still went out of his way to do this..

‘’Loki I- .. I.. I don’t know what to say..’’ I say pathetically as he chuckled.

‘’glad you are looking like your regular self again love.’’

Love.. that nickname.. why did it make me feel.. something? I glance at the clock, seeing how a couple hours have passed since I most likely had passed out. Leaving plenty of time to make sure it wasn’t a trick, a spell, or some type of cruel joke.. he really did help me..

‘’norns Y/N, I’m not that cruel to just leave you to bleed or taking your injured state into advantage for mischief’’ he sighed and leaned himself against the side rails of my bed, his body still sat close enough where I found feel him pressed against my side and I give him a tired, irritated look.

‘’before I thank you, I would request you stop reading my mind from now, call it an exchange for some future moments where I will take it easy on you.’’ I lightly joke, leaning back in the sat up bed as I hear him laugh.

‘’an exchange then? Alright, I will leave your thoughts be for some decent time from your kind heart,’’ he said with a tease. ‘’but is it hardly a fair exchange when our moments have been clearly even?’’

I sigh, knowing regardless of it all, he’ll always he so stubborn. ‘’and what is it that you want?’’

‘’a proper thank you.’’ he said calmly with a smile, it widening as I raise my brows.

I was half expecting a sarcastic, clever comment, but all he wanted was a true thank you? easy. ..or was it.. he clearly saved me from bleeding out to death, I’m pretty sure a ‘thanks’ wouldn’t be good enough as my fingers played with the fabric of my blanket mindlessly. ‘’..in what way?’’

‘’that is for you to figure out love.’’ He said gently, the mischief fading from his eyes as he seemed to stare at me like an honest man.

What? Buy him lunch as a thank you? a hug? A good word to Fury to help his probation at the tower? From his eyes, it seemed like he was just expecting words of affirmation, a from the heart type of thank you. yet why didn’t that feel like enough? My mind raced, everything seeming to be shouting things all at once as I tried to calm my emotions. What was this feeling? My mind paused as I felt him move and my eyes looked up to see him beginning to stand.

‘’it’s alright darling, you are tired and its been quite a long da-‘’

He stared at me with the same shocked expression as I had on my face as my hand grasped his before I even realized what he happening. He was still, his hand making no move to grasp back but remained still as I held on. My heart was pounding, and before I knew it, my arm was pulling him back and down.

His expression was now unreadable, as was mine I hope.. but something felt right about it- and I prayed I wasn’t reading the room wrong because despite his unreadable expression and closed off personality.. there was always something off between us, off where there was almost a secret enjoyment to our fights and banter.

So I took a gamble and pulled my hand towards me and his boots could be heard slowly moving towards me, allowing his hand to be guided before he came closer to my side on the bed. Our gazes never left each other, almost daring each other to look away but neither of us did.. not even as I pulled his hand a bit down to where he now slowly bent his height down and I lean forward. All movements were careful, my hand slowly releasing his as he moved it beside my arm and moved his other hand to do the same on the other side- caging me in.

As he leaned down, our eyes fell slightly closed, expressions relaxed as we seemed to melt in the moment. my lips slightly parted, our soft breaths could be heard as he leaned down and my hands moved to his shoulders to take over and guided him down finally so I could kiss him.

My lips brushed against his gentle, finding them soft and welcoming. He let me set the pace, my arms bringing him closer so I was able to deepen the kiss in which he eagerly returned with restrained gentleness. He gently moaned against my lips, as did I as we seemed to fit perfectly like a glove. My mind went still- relaxed, as if nothing mattered anymore, all quarrel forgotten and memories faded.

With my eyes closed, I felt his knee gently rest beside my thigh, followed by the other one as I felt his presence hover above my now. There was a strange temperature to him, not frost bite necessarily but a lack of human warmth. Well.. he’s not human anyway. His kiss became more needy as he ran his slender fingers through my hair and I couldn’t help but tangle mine in his. His locks are silky, not at all oily like one would think at the mere look of them. I hear a low growl as I tighten my grip on them, the mere vibration sending a wave of arousal through my body as I feel the need to close my legs.

‘’L-Loki.. I need.. we need..’’ I pant, staring up at him as he gazes back down at me, his pupils dilated with arousal himself as I feel his bulge just barely pressed up against me. If I were to raise my hips right now, I’m sure it would be like touching a boulder.

‘’I know darling, I know’’ he whispered, his thumb stroking my cheek as he lowered himself ever so slightly so our bodies were almost close to touching. ‘’are you sure you want this?..’’

My mind was in complete submission, my sharp tongue completely dulled to how I see him now. I wanted him.. this had all been denial.. but now I’m sure. I want him. my eyes gently looked up into his and my head nodded.

‘’use your words darling..’’ he held back a smirk but I knew it was there. Even now his personality didn’t change much, he probably enjoyed seeing me submit as my cheeks reddened as I look up at him.

‘’I want you’’ I whisper, eagerness being held back as my body began shaking in anticipation. That earned a small brush of his body lowering to feel mine, my hips rising for more of him but he raised up again.

‘’not yet darling, I don’t think you’re ready for me.’’ He sighed, almost as if saying ‘oh well’ and I look up at him in shock.

‘’no I’m ready-‘’

‘’you need a good amount of prepping first love, if you don’t want to be torn apart’’ that last part he whispered against my ear, I could feel his breath brush against my skin where it sent chills over my body.

‘’what are you-‘’

My words cut off when his hand gently began kneading my breast over my clothes, the action catching me off guard where a gasp left my lips and he took that opportunity to insert his tongue.

He was a skilled lover, one would assume so just by the mere sight of him but the thought was always shook off when I didn’t want to accept my true feelings.. any type of relationship causes me to panic, the mere doubt or thought of me messing up always just made me want to push all of it away.. but I suppose hate is what grew this connect. A sick, sad way of bonding but it got us here, it only took me getting stabbed for me to stop denying myself.

He was reading my mind again, the feeling of like a poke in my brain as he pulled up my shirt to place his mouth over my breast to ease my thoughts away. I think to much, and this was a damn good distraction as he moaned against me, my back arching as gasps left my lips. His other hand gave my other breast attention, pinching and kneading before his hand and mouth switched to give equal attention.

‘’you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for you Y/N..’’ he murmured against me, his lips navigating up my chest to suck just above my collarbone that was a promise to leave a mark.

‘’i.. I thought you hated me..’’ I struggled out as my hands gripped his shoulders, a tingling under my fingertips as I glanced down to see the remaining shimmer before noticing his armor was off, leaving him just in his leather and cloth.

‘’I went along with your denied feelings but I sensed the truth way before I decided to enter that naughty little mind of yours’’ he smirked, his eyes flicking up to my own as his finger tips played with the button of my jeans.

My cheeks heated up as my nails practically dug into his shoulders out of shyness, almost as if I was curling up if I didn’t feel his knee between my legs to prevent them from closing. ‘’how long have you been doing that?’’ I whisper, shuddering as he began rubbing his knee gently against my sex, even with the blanket still between us.

‘’whenever I felt like it. primarily when you walk away after using your sharp tongue and yet your thoughts betrayed you, thinking the complete opposite of me. I was able to glance into your true feelings just enough before you pushed them down.. but I think we both know the truth’’ he whispered, his lips caressing my neck now while his hand gently moved my hair away to give him more access while his other unzipped my zipper.

‘’it was only a matter of time but I couldn’t wait forever.. I was going to perhaps wait longer on telling you how I truly felt about you but after you got injured..’’ his movements paused at the memory, raising his head slowly to meet my widened eyes. ‘’I thought I wouldn’t have gotten the chance to tell you if I lost you..’’

Of gods.. norns I think I love him..

A small smile spread across his lips as I look away from him. ‘’stop that..’’

‘’as you wish darling, I’m sure things are clear now nevertheless’’ he chuckled, attacking my neck again while my head was turned, earning a squeak to leave my lips when I felt him begin to nip and his fingers slowly dipped passed my panties.

My lips part as my eyes flutter close, making no moves to stop him as his finger tips ghost over my sex ever so slightly to take my breath away. I feel his tongue against my neck and his teeth now and again before his lips begin to suck and mark. Just before I could even think to rise my hips to find more friction, his finger tips begin playing with my clit, causing me to shudder and the knot of pleasure to begin forming within me.

‘’so sensitive.. so responsive.. how long has it been since one has touched you properly..’’ he whispered, not asking a question and I probably wouldn’t have been able to answer it anyway.

He began rubbing circles, a slow pace that began picking up when I began rising my hips, practically trying to shamelessly hump his hand if his other didn’t grip my hip to hold me down. a silent gasp left my mouth as I raised my head back and my back began to arch. His thumb took over on my clit so his two fingers could tease my entrance, dipping ever so slightly in and pulling out when my hips strained to rise.

‘’patience darling, be a good girl and take what I give you’’ he practically growled against my ear before he began to nibble on my lobe.

Goosebumps rose on my arms and I began to squirm until he slowly inserted his two fingers, causing me to moan his name slowly and shamelessly. I didn’t even care where we were or who could walk in but I was sure somehow Loki would have used magic to somehow provide us with a bit of privacy. I could feel his rock-hard bulge against the inside of my thigh, rubbing himself against it to match his rhythm while his fingers thrust into me In a faster pace.

‘’gods Loki…’’ I moan, feeling my orgasm get closer and closer and my eyebrows furrowed with my eyes fluttering closed. I was so close..

‘’cum for me darling.. ‘’ he whispered, his pace quickening on my clit as he pushed his fingers into me to the knuckles, causing me to tip over the edge as I reached my orgasm.

‘’LOKI!!’’ I practically scream as I moan and hold onto him, my body fluttering and clenching down on his fingers in a vise grip that has him practically moaning while he presses his lips to mine once more.

His movements slowed down ever so slightly, helping me ride it out as I was a panting mess, my body shaking and my eyes drunk like before he slowly pulls his hand out of my pants, his mouth licking my essence with no shame and a smirk where my cheeks heat up again.

‘’shy not darling, you taste absolutely wonderful.’’ He purred and adjusts himself as he backs away down my body while a hand slowly removed the blanket.

I slowly sit up as I catch my breath, just seeing the mischief in his eyes as his hands grip my pant legs and I give him a smile.

‘’in fact, I think I should help myself to a proper taste..’’

#loki odinson #loki x reader smut #loki god of mischief #loki laufeyson #loki fanfic #loki x reader #loki #loki smut #loki fluff #lokifluff

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jinnie-ret · 1 year ago

Note

Heyyyyy could you do a hyunjin x twin sister reader where hyunjin plans a suprise for her (which is introducing her the members cause why not and he thought that she doesn't really listen to kpop much because he knew she would focus more on studies then that) but he finds out by seeing you try to sing one of there songs. Sorry if this is too long lol and if it makes zero sense

2hwang

stray kids x reader (platonic)

genre: fluff

content warnings: none

word count: 1k

summary: hyunjin's twin sister finally meets skz, and much to his surprise, she's a big fan.

I hope you enjoy! I might have gone a little off topic from what you requested but it still has all those ideas! :)

If enjoyed please like, reblog or comment! And if you want to be added to the taglist then let me know!

MAIN MASTERLIST

"Keep up!" Hyunjin teased his twin sister Y/N as they raced up the stairs in the apartment block.

"What, is, wrong, with, you?" Y/N huffed as she trailed behind, only a few steps of course but that didn't mean she'd give up.

"There is nothing wrong with wanting my sister to see where I live!" Hyunjin raises a brow whilst stood hunched over, catching his breath as the palms of his hands rested on his knees.

"Not with that, you idiot! I swear there wasn't a sign saying the lift was broken..." Y/N trailed off.

"Oh that's because there wasn't," Hyunjin shrugged like it was nothing.

"Today will be the day you die, Hwang Hyunjin," Y/N dramatically stormed up to him, yet all possible intimidation was lost when she tripped over the last step.

"Woah! Hahaha," Hyunjin helped her balance herself as he caught her by the arms, and then immediately recoiled. "Ew you're so sweaty. And plus you can't kill me before I see your reaction, Hwang Y/N," he smirked, unlocking the door and opening it.

"See my reaction to what? Your art? I already know you're a hopeless romantic, what else could there be to- oh..." Y/N rambled back before standing still in her tracks at the sight of all the members of Stray Kids sat around on the sofas.

"Surprise!" Hyunjin imitated Lee Know's iconic moment, just without the party blower this time.

"H-hi..." Y/N quietly said, and automatically it was assumed by her twin brother that it was because she didn't know who they were.

In fact, it was the complete opposite.

The boys greeted Y/N with polite bows and greetings, before they all sat down and got comfortable.

"You remind me of someone..." Changbin thought, stroking his chin as if he had the wise beard of a wizard.

"It's probably Hyunjin," Seungmin rolled his eyes, jokingly crying out in pain when Changbin shoved him away.

"Yah you pabo! Of course he doesn't mean that!" Han exclaims.

"Seungmin is just teasing, Hannie," Chan facepalmed, whilst Lee Know, Felix, Jeongin and the twins merely observed from the other sofa.

"Are they always like this?" Y/N whispered to herself, yet Jeongin heard.

"Yes they are, noona... can I call you that?" Jeongin shyly asked.

Y/N's eyes widened.

"What's the matter?" Felix asked curiously.

"Oh nothing haha... but um, yes," she awkwardly answered.

"Hmm you two are very similar," Lee Know observed keenly.

"Ew don't compare me to her!" Hyunjin scrunched his nose and side eyed Y/N.

"There it is haha, the same flustered antics," Lee Know clapped his hands.

"Oh I totally see it," Felix nodded along.

"I don't get flustered!" Hyunjin folded his arms and huffed.

"You just did," Y/N shoved Hyunjin, smirking much like he did to her earlier.

"Yah!" Hyunjin pounced.

"Children! Don't fight!" Chan shouted above all the ruckus that had unfolded in simply ten minutes since the Hwang twins entered the apartment.

"Yes dad," they both rolled their eyes in sync and folded their arms.

"Woah, creepy," Jeongin shuddered, causing Y/N to fondly smile.

"Ah! I got it!" Changbin suddenly clapped his hands.

"Indulge me," Y/N smiled lightly as she sat back down.

"You look like Yeji!" Changbin smirked proudly.

"Oh from ITZY?!" Y/N beamed, excited at the comparison.

"How do you know ITZY?" Hyunjin gasped, shocked at his sister's sudden knowledge, assuming that she swerved away from KPOP all because of one time she stated she wasn't really listening to it anymore.

Which by the way lasted for like 2 hours, Y/N just couldn't find a song she wanted to listen to in that moment and ever since, Hyunjin thought that still applied to this day.

There's a reason he's in Paboracha.

"I love KPOP! Duh!" Y/N facepalmed, looking at Hyunjin with an incredulous look after.

"Hyunjinnie, did you lie to us?" Lee Know also turned to the younger twin, a glare taking over his features. Of course, he didn't really mean it.

"You said you didn't listen to it anymore!" Hyunjin defended himself, holding his hands up.

"Why else do you think that I was so awkward when I came here, Jinnie?" Y/N shyly admitted.

"Oh... Oh!!!" Hyunjin suddenly got excited.

"Oh no..." Y/N sighed.

"Why oh no?" Han laughed at the expression on Y/N's face, one he had often seen painted on Hyunjin's too but because of something he did.

"He's up to something," Seungmin chuckled lightly at Hyunjin's excited expression.

"Y/Nnieeeee, sing our song!" Hyunjin proposed the idea that had gotten him so excited.

"No way! That's so embarassing," Y/N turned away from her brother and hid her face.

"We won't judge you noona," Jeongin tried to reassure her, making her heart burst.

"Ah Jeongin you're too cute!" she let her inner fangirl out and squealed.

"Oh no, she really is like hyung," Jeongin's eyes comically widened as he referred to Hyunjin's obsession with him.

"Come on, Y/N, Hyunjin has told us you like writing, the talent must run in your family, just a little bit of singing?" Chan did his best to convince her and it worked.

"Ok, fine, fine," Y/N scratched the back of her neck wondering what.to sing before she couldn't help but fall into a fit of giggles.

"Come on, don't leave us in suspense!" Felix exclaimed, unable to hide his growing smile from her infectious giggles, ones that mirrored Hyunjin's but more high pitched and slightly quieter.

"Hoodie hoodie negan shim toga ji boogie boogie iepon kogo dance groovy groovy," Y/N perfectly imitated Hyunjin's viral part that had made it into many memes. This of course caused everyone to burst out into laughter.

"Wow she really is a true fan!" Lee Know applauded her approvingly.

"She's better than Jinnie," Changbin smirked.

"It's true," Y/N nodded, ignoring Hyunjin's shrieks in protest.

"Remember who was here first!" Hyunjin shouted emotionally, like he was part of some sort of kdrama. And ever since then, with Y/N being able to join in on their teasing, it was like she knew them from the start.

taglist: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @hannahhbahng @backintomykpopphaseagain @sakufilms @hanjiquokkaaa @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z

#skz #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids #skz fluff #skz angst #straykids imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #skz fic

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slowdivinqs · 10 days ago

Text

Something Like This

Chapter 1 : the long haul

Series Summary:

Two guarded individuals trying to navigate a goodness within them they see unfitting.

Or, Joel takes you in as stray under the guise of a ranch hand after you run away from home.

Chapter Warnings : none besides mental turmoil and smoking. reader can be seen as an OFC but isn’t written that way. no use of y/n. Can be pedro or game joel

W/C: 2K

A/N: first time trying to write a series. these two own my heart.

series masterlist

————————————————————-––—————————

No one is going to find you.

The words have started to sound fake with the number of times you’ve repeated them in your head - just like when one thinks about the word ‘the’ too hard and starts to doubt its security. There’s a fine line where reassurance turns into doubt, and your little mantra is beginning to teeter.

But if you’re being entirely too self-aware like you usually are, you know that the reality of your statement is that no one is going to look for you - you know that you don’t like the pinching sadness it leaves in your stomach, so you rather make it seem like some great escape. Like you’ve done something bad and not that something bad has been done to you.

In something not quite like hindsight, you contemplate whether your actions are dramatic. At the same time, you think it’s nice someone of your calculating nature is doing something spontaneous. You’d like to think it’s a choice and not a reaction to the whirlwind following you down this empty road since you left, like a storm chasing you instead of how it’s supposed to go. Maybe the storm’s in the car already. Regardless, it’s there and it’s approaching languidly.

If anyone were to peek into the leather bag stationed on the passenger seat of your shitty car, it would appear to be nothing more than an artsy college student’s day-to-day needs. If they were to check your outfit, maybe you’re going to a formal meeting at a gallery - brown trenchcoat, work shirt, and stetson flared jeans.

If they were to check your glove box, maybe you’re running away from something real bad.

Life in a town from buttfuck nowhere in the middle of a state that consists of mainly empty land can only be labeled as boring. Knowing everyone by name but not truly knowing anyone at all. Not knowing anyone except for every inch of the consciousness currently thinking in your skull.

Your hands tighten around the leather wheel. Stomach churning in a way that’s almost painful.

Not realizing you had already eaten the leftover snacks you had in your briefcase in a haze of however much time has passed, you soon look out for somewhere to stop. You need gas, sleep, and food. Then you need to just keep moving.

You’re keenly aware of the fact that you’re deflecting. That you’re running and limiting your mind to fowardness so that storm doesn’t come breaking through your windshield. You can’t think about it. Not yet, but later.

But there’s that daunting feeling - that fear, the storm - that’s telling you there’s no hiding from something like this.

Stupidly, when you walk into the gas station, which is rather nicely attached to the 70s-style open diner, you look at the chunky TV in the corner like you’re in some action movie. Like James Bond, Rambo or maybe even the Termimator is chasing you down. You approach a sticky booth, watching the grey sky.

Luckily, Arnold Swartzenegger isn’t approaching - the impending doom of your psyche is a different story.

The air was thick with the scent of coffee, bacon grease, and a hint of something fried to death hours ago.

You scanned the room, eyes flitting over the few patrons: a pair of truckers nursing black coffees, a tired waitress with a notepad tucked into her apron, and then—a man, broad-shouldered and hunched, studying the contents of a glass fridge filled with beer.

Your eyes lingered on him for a moment longer than intended. He was older, with salt-and-pepper hair that looked like it hadn’t met a comb in a while. There was a ruggedness about him, something in the way his worn jacket fell over his frame and how he stood as if carrying an invisible weight. His gaze lifted suddenly, meeting yours. You quickly looked down, heat creeping up your neck as you focused on the sticky menu.

“‘S gon’ rain soon.” The older woman says as she comes by. Auburn hair that’s clearly had a roller ripped out of it, flushed cheeks and drawn-in eyebrows.

“Hope not.” You murmur, quickly flipping through the options before choosing something that will hopefully settle your stomach.

A big breakfast near evening time, the best time to eat breakfast food. Pancakes, waffles, toast, sausage, eggs, tomatoes and mushrooms. Black coffee served from a pot.

You can tell your mountain of food amuses the woman, but you pay her no mind, digging into the pancake like it will be your salvation.

Glancing at the TV again, you wonder if anyone back home has noticed something is amiss. For your sake, you hope not. You wonder if any of that really matters anymore.

You can feel him looking at you when you approach the cashier. He’s big, older than you by far. Worn, his broad shoulders slump and curve like they’ve been beaten there. Kind eyes that seem to be dulled by sadness. Maybe he’s a lumberjack or a cowboy. Whatever he is, he looks like a typical, gruff, middle-aged man.

“Marlboro reds please, and the breakfast.” You say softly, despite feeling queasy after eating instead of the comfort you’d hoped for, the teenager languidly grabs what you’ve asked for, and the beer-eyeing man is now standing next to you near the till. Clearly trying to assess you in the most respectful way possible.

His presence was heavy, an unspoken tension filling the room as he stood just a step away. You could feel him, a shadow at your periphery, glancing your way as you reached for your wallet. The cashier, a gangly teenager, moved at the speed of molasses as he rang up your bill. The man shifted his weight, the rustle of him cutting through the low hum of a radio in the background.

You look at him directly, and he turns sheepish now that you’ve made eye contact with him. He’s handsome. Very handsome. dark eyes, a scruffy face. A manly face. A scarred nose and a corduroy jacket. He looks like he’s probably not used to seeing new people around here - assuming he lives here instead of passing through. He looks like he’s not used to seeing people at all.

“‘Scuse me,” he said, voice deep and rough around the edges, sounding like he doesn’t use it much at all. Your eyes catching the flicker of hesitation in his. He shifted the six-pack in his hand, the grip tightening like it was an anchor. He seems startled that you looked at him, as if he expected you to ignore him entirely. Like he’s been living his life as a ghost for longer than he can remember. “You, uh, you got somethin’—” He gestured vaguely at his own head. “Egg. Right there.”

A startled laugh escaped you before you could rein it in.

“Well, I’m sure this looks super appealing, thanks for saving me.” You say with a deflected smirk that always seems to grace your features you said, brushing your fingers through your hair until they found the sticky culprit. His gaze darted away, the faintest hint of a smile, of boyish sheepishness, cracking the hard lines of his face before it vanished just as quickly

You’re not happy that someone has noticed you, and you realize you’re sticking out like a sore thumb when you should be blending in, passing by unnoticed. The teenager hands over the pack of Malboros. You turn back to the kid who is probably only a few years younger than you. “Could I get a room at the motel, please?”

“Sorry miss, the motel hasn’t been open in a long time, it’s all..well…shitty.” He mumbles, glancing over at corduroy jacket standing on your left. The weight of your exhaustion pressed down hard, a sinking feeling settling in your stomach. You shifted your gaze back to the stranger, finding him watching you again, jaw working like he was chewing over a thought.

“You know any places nearby?” You ask him, and he almost seems overwhelmed by the 2 comments you’ve thrown his way. Blinking slightly and adjusting the six-pack in his hands. Nothing about talking is natural for him. It almost seems like existing isn’t natural either.

“I got a farm, thirty minutes from here.” He murmurs. Seeing you raise your eyebrow, he sighs and looks to the side, the demeanor of a kicked dog. “I got a maid quarter and no maid, so…”

He shuffles slightly, glancing at the teenage boy with a defeated look like maybe the ginger can save him from his own mouth.

“I ain’t-, I uh- never mind.”

“Mr.Miller has lived here for years, and helped to build the new schoolhouse.” The cashier supplies, and you grin at the resume you’ve been given on Mr. Hair inspector.

A room sounds nice. This man, Mr.Miller, seems safe enough.

“A maid quarters with no maid sounds great.”

His name is Joel. He looks like a Joel, you think. Reminds you of your earlier musings about a lumberjack or cowboy. There’s a ruggedness to him, an air that suggests he’s spent more time outdoors than in, weathered by sun and wind.

You follow his red pickup to his farm from your sputtering, shitty little car, bouncing along the bumpy gravel surrounded by thick trees that thin out near the road. The sun slowly shines through the trees, making that pretty pattern on the ground you love so much. You glance in the mirror one more time, making sure there’s no more egg in your hair, how it got in there, you’ll never know.

When the trees part, his farm comes into view. It’s beautiful: a two-story house clad in natural wood, a wrap-around porch lined with flowerbeds bursting with late summer blooms. The sight stirs something inside you, a feeling you can’t quite name.

He shows you the maid quarters, a modest little cabin on the outside. Furnished with wooden furniture, quilts, and a toilet he says he has to inspect before you use it. It’s warm and homey. Much like everything of his seems to be. There’s a guarded expression in his gaze, as if weighing each thought carefully.

“I don’t have much to pay you with.” You state as he’s about to leave you be and retreat to the main house. He turns and stuffs his hands into his pockets.

“If I was expectin’ you t’pay me, I woulda told you that from the start.” He says in that rough voice of his, each word thought out and calculated.

“You’re just gonna let me stay here for a week, for free? You a fairy godmother or something? ” You ask incredulously, taking an unsure, subtle, step back. You’ve heard horror stories of men expecting more than just money.

Joel doesn’t miss your movement or your tone and takes a weighted step back himself. Eyes narrowing slightly.

“‘F you wanna be a temporary ranch hand that’s fine by me. You do your shit and I do mine.”

“You’ll hire me?” You try not to sound so hopeful, but hiding away as a ranch hand in a quiet town like this for a few weeks to observe how things go sounds like a dream

“Sure.”

As the wooden door to the shed creaks shut behind him, his expression hardens, shifting into something distant and pained. He is the most foolish man in the world. Why he did this? He doesn’t know. He’s been alone for years, kicked anyone who tried to come near out with a snarl. Now there’s some girl on his farm that’s going to stay, indefinitely. Sweet Jesus, he’s a fool. He should kick her out in the morning, tell her he was drunk- or high, she won’t believe it but he shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t.

Lumbering up to his house, he curses himself, watching the lights dim out in the shed that’s remained dark for years, ever since it stopped being her play house.

He grimaces, takes a large swig of the whiskey on his dresser, feeling it burn down his throat. The bed groans as he collapses onto it, eyes squeezed shut. He knows the real reason he offered her the space so quickly: the look in her eyes—haunted, desperate—a look he recognizes all too well.

———————————————————————————————

if you enjoyed please make sure to reblog and comment! Thanks for reading ◡̈

don’t repost or reuse my work anywhere, thanks.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x y/n #pedro pascal #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x you #pedro pascal x reader #the last of us #joel miller x f!reader #joel tlou #something like this #slowdivinqs #something like this fic #the last of us part one #fanfic

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zer0pm · 2 years ago

Text

Imagine Luis using a jacket to protect you both from the rain.

“I’m back! Did you miss me?”

Your head snaps up at the sound of his voice and you rush over to his approaching form with haste. Luis spreads his arms wide, ready to accept your warm embrace with sincere enthusiasm. What he got knocked the air out of him. Literally- his breath escapes him as your fist connects with his gut.

“Mierda… that’s a good one…” he groans, hunching over in pain.

“You asshole!” you scold him, ignoring his snark. “I thought you were dead! I saw Mendez dragging you away!”

“C’mon, my friend. Have a little faith,” Luis huffs, his signature grin returning to his face once he recovered to a standing position. “So long as they know I’m the one who hid The Amber, I’m untouchable.”

You had an unamused expression on your face, reaching up to poke at the evident bruise swelling on his forehead. The man winces under your touch but does not move away, a slightly guilty smile on his lips.

He shrugs, “Yes, well- uh, mostly untouchable.”

Although you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the Spaniard’s breathtaking talent for witty remarks in dangerous situations, you were mostly relieved that he was okay. The feeling of water droplets pouring on your head brings you back to awareness of where you both were standing. Lowering your hand from Luis’ head, you latch onto his wrist.

“We should get out of the rain. Hide it out somewhere safe until we figure out our next move.”

Luis nods in agreement, “An excellent idea. Oh, un momento-”. Taking advantage of your grip, he effortlessly pulls you closer to his side. The weather was damp and the air was chilly, but Luis’ breath upon your cheek warms you.

The sudden closeness throws you off guard and you were about to question his actions until a distinctive shadow looms over you both, blocking out the downpour. You glance up to see Luis’ hands holding some sort thick faux fur lined with leather over your heads.

“Stay close,” he advises, each word fanning down the skin of your neck and cheek. “I don’t plan on separating from you again.”

Against the chilly wind and rain, your temperature grew hot, both from the dark-haired man’s close proximity to you as well as his words that made you shudder with heat. He thought you were shivering and inched himself closer against your side. You had no choice then but to wrap your arms around him to stay under the protection of the-

Huh?

Now that you were looking at it, Luis was using a jacket. A jacket that was most definitely not his. The fine brown leather and fur lining was a tell that it most likely did not belong to any of the locals either. The style was too modern. So where did this come from?

“Luis,” you began to ask, “what is- whose jacket is this?”

You hear him chuckle under his breath, the sound coming off like he was revisiting a funny memory. When you glance at his from your peripheral vision, you spot a glint of intrigue in his reminiscent eyes, matching the lopsided smirk characteristic to his sly demeanor.

For a good minute, he doesn’t answer you. When he finally does, there was no mistaking the amusement laced in his voice. “My new friend. Sancho Panza.”

That’s all he said. Of course, you follow-up with more questions, but Luis was a master at evading inquiries with vague responses. The only information you were able to gather was that this new friend came to the village looking for someone but your companion purposefully leaves out the details of how they met as well as how they separated. Eventually, you two come across an abandoned house and that was when you dropped the subject for time being.

Once inside, you moved to detach yourself from Luis, but he stops you. Maneuvering his arms in an almost elegantly dramatic fashion, he drapes the jacket over your shoulders. At his insistence, he helps you slip your arms through the sleeves. Thanks to your shared body heat, the inside was pleasantly warm, a welcome relief against the drafty chill in the air. The dark-haired man then tugs at the fur collar, securing the jacket on your frame, pulling you closer in the process.

At the sight of the blooming blush on your cheeks, the suave man winks at you before stepping away wordlessly. You had to stop yourself from leaning in after him, but your slight tilt did not go unnoticed. His smirk widens.

After the two of you secured the area, you settled down in the first floor and indulged in the brief respite. Luis’ capture threw a wrench in your shared plan to escape, but Luis, ever the optimist, assured you that you were still on course. As you hashed over the details on how to recover The Amber and meet up with Luis’ informant for safe passage, gunshots and screams were heard from the distance.

You rise up from your seat in alarm and look out the window to see two blonds, a man and a woman heading your way, both ardently being chased by a mob of infected villagers. “Luis, look! Survivors. We have to help them.”

Your companion leans his head over your shoulder to follow your line of sight. Against your ear, you hear him curse softly in his native tongue.

“You were bound for an introduction, I suppose.” he scoffs. You didn’t get a chance to ask him what he meant as he left your side to rush over to the door. He pries the wood open and waves at the running pair to come inside. Not long after they were ushered in the house and you and Luis barricaded the door, the blond man takes note of your companion’s presence.

“You,” the man glares, disdain dripping in his firm tone. He stomps towards Luis, the latter backing up with each approaching step.

“Hey,” Luis greets nervously, playing up his sly charm you oft see him use to get himself out of trouble that he’s landed himself in. “Listen, about earlier-”

The angry blond pins the Spaniard against the far wall with a strong fist, “Yeah, about that.”

Curiosity got the better of you, “Luis, who is this?”

Your voice rips the blond man’s attention away from Luis, redirecting it now towards you. His cold eyes scan over your face with analytical wariness until they relented to something akin to genuine surprise upon noticing the article of clothing on your person. His expression filled in the details that Luis purposefully omitted behind the story of the jacket. The gears in your head clicked into place. It was your turn to throw an accusatory glare at the Spaniard.

“Did you-” you started before sighing, pinching the bridge of your nose. You approached the two men, an apology on the tip of your tongue as you shifted to remove the jacket and give it back to the stranger as a show of good will, but Luis’ voice stops you in motion.

“No hagas eso. Keep it on, it looks good on you.” The Spaniard interjects, grinning playfully at you. His grey eyes then glance back at the blond expectantly who still had his uncertain gaze on you. “Our new friend thinks so too. Eh, Sancho?”

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writing-till-i-am-dead · 6 months ago

Text

Marcille x Fem!Reader - Sick Day

May I interest you in some lesbian fluff?

Chilchuck walked over to the party, his face painted with mild concern.

"Hey, guys. I, uh.. think there's something wrong with Y/N."

Laios looked over curiously and could only get out the words "What do you-" before Marcille cut him off.

"What do you mean!? Is she ok? What's wrong with her?" With each sentence, she got closer and closer to Chilchuck, her eyes wide with worry.

"I just think she's sick!" Chilchuck said, raising his hands defensively.

"Sick!?" She turned to glare at Senshi and Laios. "This is your guys' faults!"

"Huh?!" Laios exclaimed. "How is it our faults?!"

"That jackalope you cooked last night! It was so undercooked!"

Chilchuck nodded in agreement. "Ya. Not your guys' best work."

Senshi looked down in shame and Laios sniffled a little before saying, "Then how are we not sick?"

"Because you two are built different, that's why!" Marcille clenched her fists. "Y/N only ate that meal out of pity as to not hurt your feelings!"

She dramatically turned. "I'll go take care of her."

Chilchuck shrugged. "Try not to get vomited on."

Marcille shuddered and turned to him and quietly said, "Don't you ever say that to me again.." She shook her head and entered Y/N's room.

"Y/N.. are you ok?"

Marcille heard a groan of pain and saw Y/N's sleeping bag shift around. Marcille sighed a little and walked over, gently shaking the sleeping bag.

"Y/N.." she said softly.

Y/N poked her head out and Marcille clicked her tongue. "You definitely got food poisoning."

Y/N groaned and rolled on her side, grumbling and her stomach making gurgling noises.

"Take deep breaths," Marcille guided, her voice soft and gentle. She stroked her hair as a means to help try and alleviate the pain. Due to not having eaten the meal last night, nor had any breakfast this morning, Marcille has no mana to try and heal Y/N. Welp. She'd have to do this the old-fashioned way, then!

"Want me to get you some water?" Marcille asked.

"Wouldn't I just vomit that up?" Y/N asked.

"Oh, well, I.." Marcille thought for a moment. Would she just vomit it up? Marcille actually had no idea. She's never actually tried to help someone feel better without using healing magic (even though she was really bad at it and usually ended up making the person feel even worse with healing-pains).

Y/N stared at her with a waiting expression. She always did get so grumpy when she was in pain. Marcille learned that a long time ago.

"Um.. uh.. I-I'll ask Senshi for some advice! I'll be right back, ok?" Marcille said before quickly getting up and running out.

"Senshiiiiii!!" Marcille called out, panicking a little. "Do you have any advice on how to make someone feel better from food poisoning?"

"Hmmm." Senshi thoughtfully stroked his beard. "Well, don't let her eat for a couple of hours. Try and have Y/N drink tiny sips of water every few minutes or so, to avoid dehydration. After a while, try and get her to eat some bland, nonflavored foods. Like crackers or toast!"

"But we don't have crackers or toast.." Marcille said, hunching her shoulders.

"I'll whip some up. We still have some flour from the orcs-"

"Oh no! Your food caused this, Senshi!"

"Oh, it was one slip up. I only didn't get to cook it properly because you lot were rushing me."

Marcille crosses her arms, considering her options. Well, not like she had any other choice. "Fine... do what you can, please."

Senshi nodded before reaching to his toolbelt and pulling out a ladle. "Here you go," he said and got to work to gather what he needed. Marcille then took to gathering water from the nearby well. "This should be enough," she said to herself, looking at the bucket of water full to the brim. "Maybe a bit overkill.."

She started to waddle back to Y/N's room, doing everything she could to not spill the water.

"I'm back!" she said, plopping the bucket down before letting out a "phew!" and wiping her brow.

Y/N looked over, her face extremely pale.

"Oh dear.." Marcille said, rushing over. "Did you..?"

Y/N nodded a little before glancing over at the corner of the room where there was some vomit. Marcille crinkled her nose, grosses out before looking back down at Y/N, who had let out a whimper.

"I'm sorry I'm gross right now.."

"No, no! It's not your fault. Don't apologize!"

Marcille reached over to rub Y/N's eyes, hoping to wipe any tears away, Y/N leaning into her touch, causing Marcille's heart to flutter. Just a little.

"Well, uhm... I brought you some water. Senshi says you can drink a little at a time.

Y/N nodded and forced herself to sit up with a pained groan. Marcille grabbed the water bucket, lifting the ladle to Y/N's lips.

She hesitated, at first, before softly sipping, coughing a few times and after around 5 sips, Marcille decided that should be enough for now.

"Thank you, Marcille."

Y/N reached out to pull her into a small hug of thanks, getting a squeak of surprise from Marcille, who stayed frozen in place during the entire embrace. Once Y/N let her go, she lied back down, seeming to feel a little bit better. Y/N sniffled a little bit, still a bit embarrassed about the whole situation. She was embarrassing herself in front of Marcille. She looked awful, and the room smelled awful because of when she threw up, and this whole situation was just awful!

And yet...

Marcille still wanted to take care of her. To make her feel better. Y/N buried her face into her arm, wiping away the tears and ignoring the rumbling in her stomach. Marcille really was amazing.

Marcille stared at her for a moment before scooting away to lean against the wall and watch over her.

She watched as her eyes slowly closed, her lashes long, and beautiful, all of her features beautiful, even with her sickly complexion. Marcille doesn't think she could ever, under any circumstances, find Y/N unattractive. It just didn't seem possible.

Y/N's eyes fluttered open again about 30 minutes later. "Can I have some more water?"

"Ya, of course."

Marcille scooted back over to her to spoon her some water. She didn't cough as much this time, nor groan in pain, so that was hopefully a good sign.

Marcille eventually set the ladle down and checked her own vitals for a moment. Her mana was back, only a little. Enough for one, small spell.

She scooped some water into her hands and quietly muttered a magic chant, a very faint blue glow illuminating her palms. She then turned to Y/N, who was watching with enchanted eyes.

"Um... Here. This water has a weak healing spell. It's all I can manage right now." She brought her hands to Y/N's lips, her looked rather nervous.

"I have to drink from your hands?"

"Ya. Sorry, I know it's not ideal, but-"

"No, no, it's fine." She looked down at the water in Marcille's hands, blushing a little. "Really fine.."

Y/N tilted her head back, feeling Marcille's hands press against her lips. That was all she could really focus on, not the water or the magic coursing through her body now. Nope. Just the skin-to-skin contact. Oh dear, does that make her a pervert?!

She tightly closed her eyes, but quickly opened them when she felt Marcille's hand gently touch her hairline.

"Do you feel any better?"

Y/N was too much in a trance to respond. Wow, she was pretty. Eventually, she managed to squeak out, "Y-Ya. I'm fine. Thank you for that, Marcille."

Marcille smiled at that. She loved being able to help people. Especially Y/N. She loved seeing that shimmer in her eyes.

"Glad to hear it."

The door opened and Senshi stood there, holding up a plate of homemade crackers and toast.

"Are you up to eating anything, Y/N?" he asked with a good-natured smile.

Y/N nodded, and Senshi set the plate in front of her.

"Get to feeling better."

Y/N nodded gratefully and began to nibble lightly on some toast.

"Don't eat too much, mkay?" Marcille said, her voice soft.

Y/N nodded, blushing a tad as she looked down at her food. Crumbs dotted her face. This did still kind of upset her stomach, but not as badly as it would have before. Must be that magic at work.

Marcille leaned her head over to look at Y/N. "You doing good?"

"Ya, thankfully."

"Hm?" Marcille gave her a curious look before her eyes softened a little. She leaned over and used her sleeve to wipe some crumbs from her face.

Y/N's eyes widened, and she could've vomited from sheer panic at that very moment. Her touch was so... gentle!

"It's funny.. usually you're never a messy eater, haha."

"Ya, well.. I'm too ill to worry about proper etiquette."

"Yes, of course, I know."

She paused before saying quietly, "Though, you don't have to act so proper around me..."

"What was that?"

"Oh, nothing, haha!"

"Hmm..." Y/N set the cracker she had been eating down. She looked at Marcille, and Marcille looked back.

"What is it, Y/N?"

Y/N hesitated. She should kiss her, right? ...No. She looked ugly, she smelled bad, her breath was awful... These were the definition of the worst situations to kiss someone in.

"Just.. wanted to thank you. For aiding me."

Marcille blinked a couple of times before smiling. "Of course!" She gently took Y/N's hand in her own before gently kissing the top. "I want to make you feel better."

Y/N's eyes turned as wide as saucer's and she froze, the only word she could get out being, "Why?"

"It was just a small healing spell.." Marcille said with a shy smile. "It can only be transferred by the lips."

"A-Ah.. I see.." Y/N paused before smiling at her.

They sat there for a moment before Marcille quickly hoisted herself up with her staff. "Well, I, uh, should let you rest. You get better now, hahahaha!" She slammed into a wall, rubbing her head before laughing again and running out, closing the door with a slam.

"So," Chilchuck said, giving her a knowing look.

"I.. uh.. She... She's fine. She is perfectly fine."

"Are you fine?" Laios asked.

Marcille smiled a little manically before letting out a little chuckle. "Not when she smiles at me like that.. Oh, never when she smiles at me like that."

Divider by @cafekitsune

#marcille dungeon meshi #marcille dunmeshi #dungeon meshi #dunmeshi #delicious in dungeon #marcille donato #marcille x reader #fanfic #y/n #lesbian #lesbians #sapphic

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