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saturnznct · 7 months ago

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he holds the baby for the first time | enhypen x reader

➸ note; hehe my first fic back!! very much in my engene era again so expect more enha fics! hope I'm not too rusty

➸ word count: 2159 words

➸ sangyoon, sam, ella, eunhye, yeeun & serin; newborn

➸ warning(s): bloody imagery(?), breastfeeding, premature birth, c-section, mentions of breathing tube

enhypen masterlist

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

heeseung

So much could happen in the span of a year.

Heeseung couldn’t believe that in just one year, you had gotten married, found out you were pregnant on the same day, been through a whole pregnancy, and now your son was finally here.

‘He is the cutest baby there has ever been,’ Heeseung declares once he’s all cleaned up and laying on your chest.

‘You say that now, wait until we get home and he keeps us up all night long.’

‘Doesn’t make him any less gorgeous,’ Heeseung grins, ‘just like his mummy/mommy.’

‘I don’t know if that’s the best word to describe mummy/mommy right now.’

‘No, I think it’s the perfect word. You have never been more beautiful to me than you are right now.’

‘You’re cute,’ you roll your eyes, ‘I hope he looks like you.’

Heeseung turns his head to kiss the side of yours, and in that moment you yawn.

‘Oh, I think mummy/mommy needs a nap Yoonie.’

‘Hmm, I agree… Will you be okay on your own?’

‘Don’t worry about us,’ Heeseung gives you a reassuring smile, ‘you need to focus on getting rest. We’ll be just fine.’

Heeseung ever so gently lifts Sangyoon from your chest, cradling him in his arms.

‘Wake me, if he needs me,’ you mumble sleepily, turning onto your side and closing your eyes.

Heeseung settles on the couch beside the window, laying across it.

He briefly scrolls through his phone, reading notifications and answering a couple of text messages but finds he cannot tear his eyes away from Sangyoon for too long.

After a few minutes, you’re clearly asleep, face relaxed and body rising up and down rhythmically.

Heeseung whispers to his baby boy.

‘You’re perfect, aren’t you? I didn’t expect for you to happen so soon but.. I’m so grateful you came along when you did.’

Heeseung knows that you can’t really tell a baby’s features for a while, but he swears Sangyoon has his nose. His chest fills with pride.

‘I love you so so much Sangyoon-ie.’

jay

Jay had not stopped crying since the moment his son was born.

The moment the tears would begin to subside, he caught a glimpse of his baby boy laying in your arms and his eyes would become glossy again. If you’d told Jay nine months ago that this is where he would be now, he wouldn’t have believed it. But starting his family with you felt so right, like the most natural thing in the world.

‘He looks exactly like you,’ you mumble tiredly, gently rubbing Sam’s head with your thumb.

‘You think so?’

‘Oh yeah. Daddy’s twin.’

Jay’s heart leaps at the title. He studies Sam’s face for a few moments.

‘You know what, I think you’re right,’ he says, ‘Your genes stood no chance against mine.’

‘M’not complaining.’

‘Good genes all around.’

By now, Sam was a couple of hours old, and you had been doing skin-to-skin with him for some time. Coupled with the exhaustion of the birth, your eyes are growing heavy.

‘God, you must be exhausted,’ Jay notices your worn out demeanour.

‘It’s been a long day,’ you chuckle.

‘C-can I take him from you?’

‘You don’t have to ask, you’re his daddy.’

You sit up a bit, allowing Jay to take Sam from you more easily.

‘Hi baby boy,’ Sam fusses a little bit, ‘it’s okay, I’m your daddy.’

Sam’s fussing quickly turns into weak wails, and Jay’s expression drops.

‘No, no, don’t cry, please- Y/N, I think he wants to be with you-‘

‘Jay. You’re fine, just keep going. He’ll calm down.’

He looks totally out of his depth, but perseveres, continuing to shush and comfort the baby.

‘You’re okay, you’re safe, it’s just me, your mummy/mommy is still here, see?’

Sam eventually settles, cries reduced to gurgles.

Sensing his small victory, Jay is beaming, more than you’ve ever seen before. Again he can’t help but think about how natural but so foreign it feels to have his own baby in his arms.

Jay awkwardly rocks Sam, ‘I can’t believe you’re really ours, my son…’

jake

Through his career, Jake has been able to travel the world and experience so many unique things, but nothing will ever come close to watching you give birth to Ella.

You had planned for a home birth, feeling as though your home would be a comforting setting and make the process easier. You’d pictured maybe giving birth on your bed or maybe even the couch or a beanbag (not considering the mess) so it was a bit of a surprise that you wound up in your large bathtub. But, you had insisted, at the time.

Jake had sat in with you, and with the help of the midwife, had delivered Ella himself. He’d held her for just a moment, holding her under her arms as he transferred her to you, but even just that one touch had him longing for another. Jake knew how important it was for Ella to get to know yours first, so he pushed his feelings aside.

The both of you were so mesmerised by her big shiny brown eyes and little sounds that you hardly noticed the fallout from the birth pooling below you.

‘We should really give you a hose down, Y/N,’ your midwife gestures to your separate shower, ‘are your pyjamas still laid out in the bedroom? You can get into bed afterwards.’

She leaves to grab your change of clothes while you and Jake make the awkward first handover.

Jake wanders into her nursery while you step into the shower with the midwife’s help. Ella’s hands peek out from the blanket, grasping at the air.

‘Oh wow, hi baby,’ he whispers, holding out his finger and fitting it under Ella’s curled little hand.

Ella gurgles and spit pools between her lips, which Jake gently wiped away with the blanket.

’You’re so tiny, almost feel like you’re gonna break.’

Jake slowly rubs her hand with his thumb.

‘Let’s put some clothes on you.’

Jake lays her down on the changing table, choosing a floral print onesie and putting it on her, just like how he learned in your antenatal classes.

He gently lifts Ella up again, taking her into your bedroom to wait for you.

He tentatively lifts her tiny head to his lips, pressing a kiss to her forehead.‘You’re my beautiful girl, aren’t you? Gonna do my absolute best by you. I promise I’ll look after you, always.’

sunghoon

This was absolutely the greatest day of Sunghoon’s life.

His beautiful baby girl had come into the world safely, and she was everything he’d hoped for and more.

He couldn’t look at her for more than a few moments without tearing up or going on a tangent about how much he loves her and you.

He secretly (but not so secretly) had hoped for at least one daughter, and when you found out Eunhye was in fact a girl, he was ecstatic.

The moment she was born and he saw her for the first time, it was as though his heart had doubled in size, as if it had to grow bigger to make room for just how much love he had for his daughter.

Eunhye was barely two hours old when she fed for the first time. The midwife helped you with the actual feeding, getting Eunhye to latch on properly, while Sunghoon supported you more with encouraging words and helping you drink water while your hands were occupied.

Otherwise, Sunghoon felt a little unhelpful, standing at a distance and just watching.

It was blatantly so difficult for you. The feeding hurt, your entire body ached and you felt pain all over, and he was essentially powerless.

‘She’s eating well,’ the midwife commented, ‘she’s got a good appetite.’

‘Wonder where she gets that..’

‘It’ll get easier, Y/N. You’ll both get used to it and it will hurt less and less.’

Eventually, Eunhye tries to pull away, signalling she’s done. The midwife turns to Sunghoon.

‘Dad? You want to burp the little one?’

‘Hoon?’

Sunghoon is taken aback, suddenly uneasy.

‘Is it okay?’ He asks you.

‘Hoon, you should take her. Let her get to know her daddy.’

��Okay, Sunghoon, if you just lift her from under her arms- that’s it- rest her on your shoulder, one hand here, the other on her back.’

Eunhye feels tiny in his arms. The midwife instructs him on how to properly burp her.

‘This won’t hurt her, will it?’

’No,’ the midwife chuckles, ‘you’d know if it was.’

Sunghoon’s head is craned around to look at her face, unable to look away.

’You’re doing really well, Sunghoon,’ the midwife praises, and a few minutes later, Eunhye burps, then whines.

‘You’re okay, you’re okay,’ Sunghoon pouts, ‘you’re just amazing, aren’t you?’

sunoo

‘She’s an angel,’ Sunoo is just radiating pure happiness and pride. He practically has hearts in his eyes looking at your newborn daughter, who was cooing in your arms.

’She’s perfect,’ you agree.

Your baby girl’s eyes are only half open, but she’s clearly studying the two of you.

‘Hi, baby,’ Sunoo says softly, ‘we love you so much.’

‘We really do,’ you smile.

Sunoo leans across to kiss her head, and when he pulls away he rests his hand on her head.

’Her head is so small, fits in my hand.’

‘Didn’t feel very small when it was coming out of me,’ you remark pointedly, and he winces a little.

‘Of course, I didn’t think of that. You did incredibly.’

You could see how eager Sunoo was to be close to her, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

‘Do you want to hold her?’

Sunoo’s eyes gloss over.

‘Is that even a question?’

‘So no then?’

’Shut up, give her here.’

She doesn’t fuss in the slightest when being passed to Sunoo.

‘Oh hello my pretty angel,’ Sunoo handles her expertly, like he was made to be a dad.

He lifts her up to kiss her forehead, and lingers there for a moment.

’She smells so good,’ Sunoo chuckles, ‘like a proper baby.’

‘She is a proper baby,’ you point out.

‘You know what I mean. I almost don’t believe she’s real. Don’t believe we really made her. She’s so pretty, it’s almost like I’m holding a doll.’

Sunoo rocks her while shifting his weight between his feet, eyes never leaving her face, warm smile never leaving his.

‘Yeeun,’ Sunoo says suddenly.

‘Huh?’

‘She looks like a Yeeun.’

You mull it over for a few moments.

‘I like it,’ you nod, ‘Yeeun it is.’

Sunoo somehow brightens even more, so proud that he’d named his daughter.

‘You’re my beautiful girl, Yeeun-ah,’ he repeatedly kisses her head, ‘I promise I’ll love and protect you always.’

jungwon

You were thirty-four weeks when your waters broke, and Serin was rushed into the world.

She was tiny, barely five pounds.

Jungwon held your hand throughout the whole surgery, and was reluctant to leave your side when Serin was taken away and you were being stitched up.

Serin was quickly referred to special care, and you were taken along with her.

‘How does she look?’ you ask Jungwon, while your baby girl is getting hooked up to the equipment.

‘She’s beautiful,’ Jungwon holds your hand again, squeezing it gently, ‘so beautiful. She’ll be okay.’

For hours, you feel hopeless. You feel so empty, and you ache to hold and be with your daughter.

Jungwon convinces you to get some sleep, which after the long day you’ve had, it finds you easier than you thought.

You wake up to Jungwon shaking you gently.

‘Baby, look who it is.’

He helps you sit up while Serin is wheeled into the room in a crib.

She has patches on her body, to monitor her heart rate and breathing, and a breathing tube in her nose.

‘She’s very healthy Mama,’ the midwife says, ‘just needs some help with those lungs.’

‘Can- can we hold her?’ you ask weakly.

‘You can,’ the midwife smiles.

You sob when she’s finally placed on your chest and you get to do skin to skin.

‘Look at her,’ you cry, and when you look at Jungwon, he’s wiping away tears.

He opens his mouth to speak, but chokes out a sob of his own.

An hour flies by and the midwife returns, both to check on you and the baby. You feed Serin for the first time.

‘Daddy, would you like a hold?’ The midwife asks, and Jungwon’s heart skips a beat.

‘Can I?’ he asks you, and you nod.

The midwife helps, keeping the wires out of the way.

The moment Serin is placed in his arms, Jungwon’s entire world changes.

‘Hey Serin,’ Jungwon says softly, ‘hi sweetheart. You’re our strong girl, aren’t you?’

Tears roll down your cheeks, hormones and stress of the day catching up to you.

‘Our fighter girl,’ he muses, ‘you are so so loved.’

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hairyjocktf · 6 months ago

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Artist to Athlete

Theo had arrived home for thanksgiving after his first few months of college. He was excited to see family but at the same time dreading some of those interactions. Namely with his father, Nathan, who had been against him going to art school from the very beginning. Theo had always had a bit of a tenuous relationship with his dad, but this had been the final straw. Nathan was previously the football coach at a state school, and had wanted for his son to follow in his footsteps there. Theo was expecting some serious judgment once he walked through the door, especially once he started talking about his work.

He opened the door and announced his presence. His mom came running with tears in her eyes before hugging her darling boy. She was already talking up a storm with him, how much she missed him, everything that he’d missed, etc. After pulling himself away for a moment he lugged his suitcase upstairs to his old room, still exactly as he left it. He took a few minutes to lay out his stuff before heading back down. Nathan was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.

“Nice to see you again, son,” he said in his typical gruff tone.

“You too, dad,” Theo responded, trying to at least put some warmth out there on his part. His father smiled and pulled out a baseball cap, one from his alma mater.

“I found this while cleaning out a few weeks back,” he said, handing it to Theo. “Thought that if you’re gonna follow your path I’ll at least give you a little piece of mine.” It was honestly a rather nice gesture. Theo didn’t love baseball caps but it felt like this was his olive branch, and he accepted the gift and put it on. His father smiled and went in for a hug, unusual for the normally macho man, but Theo wasn’t complaining here. Nathan released him from his iron grip and retreated back to the den where the game was on. Theo sighed with relief as the worst case scenario had already been avoided, and went to the kitchen to help his mother with dinner.

Once out of sight, a devilish grin emerged on Nathan’s grizzled face. That hat had been worn by one of his best players while he was still coaching. Soaked with years of sweat, testosterone, and who knows what else. He hoped that it would change his son for the better, make him into more of a real man that he could be proud of. And Theo had taken it, no questions asked, it was perfect. He settled down into his recliner, the noise of the football game on the tv washing over him.

The rest of the night was uneventful, a small family dinner where Theo got to talk about his semester and classes. Nathan sat opposite his son, trying not to stare at the cap still adorning Theo’s head. It was only a matter of time, he thought to himself. Theo was just relieved the house was civil, and he could actually relax during his break. He’d spent all day driving and was exhausted, so he called it an early night after dinner and headed upstairs. He took off the cap and hung it up, not noticing the layer of sweat it’d left on his head.

Despite it being November, Theo’s room felt unbearably hot. He tossed and turned underneath his comforter before casting it off and laying exposed on his bed. He was sweating up a storm, soaking the sheet beneath him as he tried to stay cool. Unbeknownst to him, his body was working in overdrive thanks to the cap. His thin frame slowly began to grow, bony limbs plumping up with the slightest bit of muscle. Theo rolled the other way as sweat dripped down his chest, soaking into the skin.

Before long, thin wispy hairs started to poke out of the center of his chest. At first it was just a few, light delicate things barely visible, but they began to spread. The hairs pushed out of his chest, growing darker and longer as they climbed up towards his collarbone, leaving him with a smattering of chest hair. His pits itched as the same long brown hairs broke through the bare skin he’d always known, growing and gathering into a thick tuft. He was starting to look like some guy you’d see in a high school locker room, but his body wasn’t done yet. The testosterone levels inside Theo slowly crept upwards, his balls swelling just a tad. His cock twitched under his boxers as hairs began rearing their heads across his groin, his sparse bush growing rapidly into something respectable. The hairs spread like weeds, covering his groin and spreading up towards his navel, thick brown hairs pushing out and tangling together. His thickening bush and pit hairs began to catch some of that sweat, giving Theo a hint of real body odor for the first time in his life. The peach fuzz on his face thickened, darkening as the follicles were doused in hormones. Soon enough it looked like dirt had been smeared over his upper lip and chin, with some sparse hairs emerging on the sides of his face. He rolled over again, letting the sweat drip through all his new growth.

Theo woke the next morning with a blistering headache. He instinctively reached over to his side table, grasping for the baseball cap that he’d hung up in the closet the night before. He rolled out of bed with a grunt before grabbing it. As soon as the cap was on, his headache subsided. Theo headed into the bathroom to piss, not noticing the changes to his body in the mirror. In just a baseball cap and boxers his mildly hairy chest and pits were on full display as he mindlessly scratched at one of his pits. Without a further thought he tossed on some clothes and headed downstairs.

His mom had made a full breakfast, and Nathan was at the table waiting for him.

“Rise and shine, son! It’s only what… 11 already?” he joked. Theo rubbed his eyes, he’d slept in that late?

“It’s my vacation, give me a break,” he retorted, before sitting down. Theo demolished the food in front of him. He usually was never too hungry but he just couldn’t get enough of it today. After scarfing everything down he let out a belch, at which his father cracked a grin. Nathan could see the dark smear on his son’s face. The hat was working.

The rest of the day was fairly unremarkable; Theo hung out with his mom and showed her some of his recent works, though he felt like he was forgetting some of the details he liked to tell about them. His clothes felt a little tight as well, his shirt was constantly riding up, and he was strangely itchy. Every time he thought more than a second about that though his brain would fog up, and Theo would lose his train of thought, only scratching at the cap on his head.

Nathan was in the den in his recliner, watching football for most of the day. Every time Theo walked past his curiosity was piqued, and by the third or fourth time he stepped in to ask about the game. Nathan could barely hide his excitement, and eagerly chatted with his son about the team, their plays, and some statistics. Theo’s eyes glazed over for a few minutes before he snapped out of it and excused himself from the room, mindlessly scratching at the stubble growing thicker on his face.

By the time Theo was headed to bed his body had put on some serious mass. He could barely get his tight t-shirt off at this point. He finally pulled it off as seams tore in spades, revealing his newly muscular body. What had been just barely above scrawny was now packed with size, his pecs defined above his defined abs. His traps, shoulders, and biceps were all swelling with size as well, veins engorging as his body continued to grow. As he stared in the mirror his thoughts drifted back to the football game his dad was watching, oblivious to the thick hairs erupting across his pecs. The mild scattering from the night before was spreading, hairs popping up like weeds across the growing expanse of his chest. The hairs darkened and thickened as they wove together into a furry rug, spreading up over his collarbone and shooting down his abs, his stomach hair conquering more and more of his torso. Over the course of the day a dark shadow had spread across Theo’s face, and that shadow was now blossoming into a short but thick beard. Stubble pushed out across his upper lip and cheeks, darkening as gaps filled in with more and more hair. He grunted as he scratched the growing beard, before heading back to his room and climbing into bed. His feet now nearly hung over the edge of the bed frame. Theo took off the baseball cap and set it on his nightstand before promptly passing out.

Theo's eyes slowly opened as sunlight poured into his room, illuminating his large furry form. The bed creaked in strain as he rolled out of it, before grabbing the cap from the nightstand. As soon as he put it on he felt less tired, more alert, and ravenously hungry. Before he could head downstairs he checked his closet for something to wear for the day. For some reason, nothing in there would fit over his broad shoulders. He heard a knock at the door and spun around. There, standing in the doorframe was his father.

“Thought you might need some new clothes, son, think of it as an early Christmas gift,” he said, holding a tank top and gym shorts in his hands. Theo didn’t question why his dad was prepared for this moment, rather he graciously accepted the gift and threw on a black low cut tank. His new muscular form was clearly evident in his new clothes, shorts tight against his thick thighs and his lats protruding out from the tank. Nathan looked up and down at his son, a wildly different man from the one who arrived home days before. But he also knew the cap wasn’t done with him, and he grinned as they both walked downstairs.

Theo scarfed down yet another meal, feeling his stomach press against the tank top. He wanted to talk more with his mother, but he was having trouble remembering what about. His college work seemed so uninteresting to him now. After some awkward chit chat he found his father as normal in the den with more football on. Theo stepped in to join him, plopping down on the sofa as knowledge about player stats began welling up in his head. He eagerly began talking with Nathan, the conversation flowing smoother than it ever had in the past as they laughed over plays on the tv.

As minutes and then hours passed, Theo felt the air grow warm and stuffy in the den. His body began sweating profusely, nearly gluing him to the leather sofa. He unwittingly scratched at his pits, where sweat had created a rank atmosphere with the small tuft of hair. As he scratched, the hairs began to spread, pushing out of the damp skin. The hairs grew thick and wiry, tangling together as the tuft grew into a bush, filling his pit and bursting out the sides and even connecting to the pelt on his chest. His pecs and biceps seemed to swell but the hair outpaced both, making itself known regardless. The stench wafting from his pits grew intense as the forest of hair trapped more sweat and pheromones. Nathan noticed the change and looked over, only to catch his son scratching his pit and then sniffing the hand after.

Theo’s body continued to drip with sweat as he adjusted himself to try and get comfortable. There was a growing sensation coming from beneath his shorts, his groin tingling as his balls steadily began to inflate. They grew to two, three times their original size, pumping Theo’s body full of testosterone. From there things began to accelerate; his small flaccid cock perked up to attention, pressing against the cloth of his shorts as it pushed out longer and thicker. The silhouette continued to grow reaching nine inches, creating a wet spot in his shorts from precum leaking out the tip. Theo scratched at his groin, trying to relieve the discomfort as his moderately sized bush came to life, tendrils of thick curly hair erupting across his groin, swallowing up bare skin as they tangled into a forest. The hairs continued to spread far and wide, a tidal wave of fur coating his balls and racing back across his taint. His hole itched as thick hairs wormed out before spreading across his ass in a dense rug. The hairs continued their march down over his massive thighs, like dark weeds sprouting and tangling together. Hair continued to multiply, covering his legs and across the tops of his feet. Theo grunted as they pushed against his tight shoes, growing several sizes larger into the feet of a real athlete, complete with tufts of hair sprouting on his toes.

Theo’s body swelled even further, muscle packing on more and more before softening as he took on the form of a beefy linebacker. Sweat leaked from beneath the baseball cap as the fur coating across his body thickened, hairs sprouting between old ones. His mind felt foggy as the last remnants of his skill and interest in the arts was replaced by knowledge of football plays, hours of practice flooding in. His conversation with his father slowed slightly, as it took longer for him to think of solid arguments, vocabulary and eloquence dissolving in real time. He didn’t like to analyze other people’s games, he just wanted to get back on the field himself.

In a newly deepened voice he complained, “Dad, I don’t give a crap about their commentary, let’s just get back to practicing.”

Nathan smiled, taking in the sight of his bulky, masculine son. “Call me coach, Theo. It’s important to learn these plays down to the smallest details so you can keep up that win streak.”

“I thought I told you, coach, it’s Ted, not Theo,” he grumbled in return. “But fine, let’s at least go out to the field and try them out.”

“Deal, son.”

#male tf #hairy tf #jock tf #hairy #hair growth #hairy chest #hairy pits #hairy torso #beard #my writing

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oldsoul007 · 4 days ago

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7 summers

joel miller x reader

summary: After seven years apart, you see Joel Miller again, and what once felt like a fleeting teenage fling comes rushing back, forcing you to confront the love you never truly let go.

a/n: suggestive scenes, kissing, angstyish, fluff

joel miller masterlist

The summer I was eighteen, I fell in love with Joel Miller.

Not that I ever admitted it—not to him, not to myself, and certainly not to Tommy. Joel was Tommy’s older brother, and Tommy was my best friend. He was the one person in my life who knew everything about me, who’d always been there when I needed him. The last thing I wanted to do was ruin that. So, when Joel and I started sneaking off together that summer, I convinced myself it was just a fling, a secret I could lock away and never think about again.

But it wasn’t.

That summer was everything. Stolen kisses by the lake, his rough hands trailing down my arms, the way his voice turned soft when he called me “darlin’.” He wasn’t just my first love; he was my whole world, even if I couldn’t say it out loud. I wanted to. God, I wanted to tell him. But every time I opened my mouth, the fear of what would happen—the fallout with Tommy—kept the words stuck in my throat.

By the end of the summer, I was gone. Off to work, off to whatever life waited for me outside of our small Texas town. I swore to myself I’d move on, forget him, and never let myself feel that way again.

But some loves don’t fade.

Seven summers later, I was doing just fine—at least, that’s what I told myself. Then I ran into Tommy at a bar. Same grin, same easy laugh. For a second, it felt like we were kids again, back when everything was simple.

“y/n l/n,” he said, pulling me into a hug. “Where the hell have you been hiding?”

We talked for hours, catching up, reminiscing about all the trouble we used to get into. By the end of the night, he’d convinced me to come over for dinner. “It’s been too damn long,” he said. “You gotta come by. I’ll cook, just like old times.”

I didn’t think twice about it. I should have.

When I walked into Tommy’s house two nights later, I saw him. Joel.

He was leaning against the kitchen counter, a beer in his hand, looking exactly like I remembered—but somehow more. Broader, older, rougher around the edges in a way that made my stomach twist. The second he saw me, he froze, his eyes locking onto mine.

“Y/n,” he said, my name soft on his lips.

“Joel,” I whispered, my heart hammering in my chest.

Tommy, oblivious as ever, waltzed into the room and clapped a hand on Joel’s shoulder. “You two know each other, right? Y/n used to hang out all the time when we were kids.”

Joel glanced at me, waiting, and I knew he was asking me to hold the line. To keep the secret we’d buried all those years ago. Somehow, I found my voice. “Yeah,” I said, forcing a smile. “We’ve met.”

seven summers ago

The room was dark, the only light coming from the soft glow of the moon streaming through the thin curtains. It painted faint shadows across the walls, moving slightly with the breeze that didn’t quite reach us. The night was warm and heavy, the air clinging to my skin, and the constant chirp of crickets outside filled the silence. I lay flat on my back, my head sinking into the flat pillow of the old, creaky bed in my family’s lakehouse.

Joel was beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off him. His shoulder brushed against mine every time one of us moved, a gentle reminder of how little space there was between us. We hadn’t spoken for what felt like hours, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy. Dense with the weight of things neither of us wanted to say.

I turned my head slightly, just enough to look at him. The moonlight caught the angles of his face, his jawline sharp and his dark eyes fixed on the ceiling like he was trying to untangle some thought that wouldn’t let him go. I swallowed the lump in my throat and fidgeted with the frayed edge of the blanket resting around our waists, trying to quiet the thoughts spinning in my head.

“What do you think you’ll be doing in ten years?” I asked, my voice soft. It felt like the kind of question that belonged in a moment like this, one that could break the silence without shattering it.

Joel’s brow furrowed slightly, like I’d caught him off guard. He turned his head to look at me, the corner of his mouth tugging up in that small, shy smile he did so well. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice low and easy. “Probably still workin’ construction, maybe startin’ my own business if I’m lucky.”

I smiled at the thought of it—of Joel running his own business. It felt so… right. “You’d be good at that,” I said, meaning it. “You’re good with your hands.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head like he didn’t believe me, but his gaze lingered. “What about you?” he asked, his voice quiet but steady. “What’s y/n gonna be doing in ten years?”

I bit my lip, my smile faltering as I stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know,” I said after a pause. “Just something far away from here.”

I felt Joel shift beside me, his voice hesitant when he repeated my words. “Far away?”

“Yeah,” I said, keeping my eyes on the ceiling. “I just… I’ve always felt like there’s something out there, you know? Something bigger. I don’t want to stay stuck in one place forever.”

There was a long pause, and I could feel his gaze on me even though I didn’t look at him. Then, slowly, I felt his hand brush against mine. My breath caught as his fingers tentatively laced with mine, his palm warm and a little rough.

“You won’t be stuck,” he said softly, his voice sure but carrying something else—something deeper.

I turned my head to look at him, our hands still tangled between us. “How do you know?” I whispered, my voice unsteady.

His eyes didn’t waver as they held mine, dark and steady. “’Cause you’re different, y/n. You’ve got somethin’—a spark or somethin’. You’re meant for more than this little town.”

His words hit me in a way I wasn’t prepared for, filling me with equal parts hope and fear. I wanted to believe him—to believe that I was different, that I was meant for something more. But the thought of leaving, of leaving him, made my chest ache.

“What if I don’t want to leave everything behind?” I asked, my voice so soft I wasn’t sure he’d hear it.

Joel’s expression softened, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of my hand. “Then don’t,” he said simply. “But don’t let anyone hold you back, either. Not me, not Tommy… no one.”

His words settled over me, heavy and full of meaning. He was giving me permission, I realized—not that I needed it, but it still felt like he was handing me something. Something I wasn’t sure I could take.

I turned my gaze back to the ceiling, my throat tight and my heart pounding. There were a thousand things I wanted to say to him, things I couldn’t untangle from the knot of feelings twisting inside me. I didn’t want to leave him. He was the one thing that made staying feel worth it.

But I didn’t say any of that.

Instead, I squeezed his hand, letting the silence take over again. It stretched between us, thick with everything we weren’t saying, everything we might never say.

Joel didn’t pull away, and neither did I. We just lay there, our hands still tangled together, the weight of the moment pressing down on us as the warm summer night carried on.

The smell of grilled steak and warm buttered rolls filled Tommy’s kitchen, a scent so familiar it made my chest ache. It was the kind of meal I’d had a hundred times at the Miller house, back when summer nights were spent on their back porch, laughing over cold beers and fireflies.

I hadn’t expected to feel so at home here after all these years. But I also hadn’t expected Joel to be sitting across the table from me, looking at me like I was some kind of ghost from his past.

It had been seven summers since I last saw him—since I left. Seven years of growing up, of moving on, or at least trying to. But sitting here now, it felt like no time had passed at all.

“So,” Tommy said, leaning back in his chair as he nursed a beer. “Y/n, what the hell have you been up to? Feels like forever since we’ve seen you.”

I smiled, shrugging slightly. “Oh, you know. Work, life. Moved around a little, but I’m back now.”

Joel, who had been quiet most of the night, finally spoke up. His voice was lower, rougher than I remembered, like time had left its mark on him. “Didn’t think you’d ever come back.”

His words weren’t harsh, but there was something underneath them—something I couldn’t quite place.

“Neither did I,” I admitted, meeting his gaze. “Guess life doesn’t always go the way you think it will.”

Joel scoffed, shaking his head as he cut into his steak. “Ain’t that the truth.”

Tommy grinned, oblivious to the tension thickening between us. “Well, now that you’re back, maybe we can finally convince you to stick around for good this time.”

I gave a small laugh, but before I could answer, Joel spoke again. “Surprised you ain’t married yet.”

I blinked, caught off guard. His tone wasn’t teasing—if anything, he sounded genuinely curious.

“Yeah,” Tommy chimed in, smirking. “I figured some poor guy would’ve snatched you up by now.”

I rolled my eyes at Tommy’s comment, but it was Joel’s reaction I was focused on. His fork was still in his hand, his knuckles just a little too tight around it, his eyes steady on me like he was waiting for an answer.

“Guess I just haven’t found the right guy,” I said finally, keeping my voice light.

Joel’s jaw tightened slightly. He looked like he wanted to say something, but instead, he just nodded, his gaze flickering away as he took a slow sip of his beer.

I felt my stomach twist. There were a hundred things I wanted to ask him, a hundred things I wanted to say, but none of them felt safe—not here, not with Tommy sitting between us, completely unaware of the unspoken history filling the room.

“So what about you?” I asked, tilting my head. “Married yet?”

Joel let out a breath of a laugh, shaking his head. “Nope”

I waited for him to say more, but he didn’t.

And just like that, the conversation moved on, Tommy rambling about something from work, and I forced myself to laugh along, to pretend like my heart wasn’t pounding, like Joel’s words—and the look in his eyes—hadn’t completely thrown me off balance.

But I could feel it.

That pull. That thing between us that had never really gone away.

And by the way Joel kept sneaking glances at me across the table, I knew he felt it too.

Dinner stretched on, filled with Tommy’s easy conversation and the occasional laugh, but I barely heard any of it. My mind was stuck on Joel—on the way he kept glancing at me, on the weight behind his words, on the tension that hummed between us like a live wire.

It felt like the past was pressing in on us, slipping through the cracks of time as if the last seven years had been nothing more than a breath between moments.

When the plates were cleared and Tommy started rambling about a game he wanted to watch, Joel stood, grabbing a beer from the fridge. He hesitated for a second, then looked over at me.

“Come out back with me?” His voice was casual, but his eyes told a different story.

I shouldn’t have gone. I should’ve made an excuse, said my goodbyes, and walked out that door before I let myself slip any further into something I wasn’t sure I could handle.

But I nodded anyway.

I followed him through the screen door onto the back porch, the night air thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and warm summer air. The old wooden planks creaked under our weight as we stepped out, the sound familiar in a way that made my chest ache.

Joel leaned against the railing, taking a slow sip of his beer as he looked out at the yard. I stood beside him, hands gripping the edge of the wood, waiting for him to speak.

After a long pause, he exhaled and said, “Didn’t think I’d ever see you sittin’ at our dinner table again.”

His voice was softer now, quieter—just for me.

I swallowed, staring down at my hands. “Didn’t think I would be, either.”

He was quiet again, then he asked, “Why’d you come back?”

I let out a slow breath, watching the way the fireflies blinked lazily across the yard. “Needed a reset,” I admitted. “Life didn’t exactly turn out how I thought it would.”

Joel hummed, like he understood that better than he wanted to admit. “You runnin’ from somethin’?”

I hesitated before answering, because maybe, deep down, I was. But not in the way he thought.

“Not running,” I said carefully. “Just… trying to figure things out.”

Joel nodded like he got it, his fingers tapping absently against the neck of his beer bottle. He looked over at me then, his eyes dark under the dim glow of the porch light. “Seven years, y/n. That’s a long fucking time.”

I met his gaze, my throat tightening. “Yeah,” I whispered. “It is.”

Another pause stretched between us, thick and heavy. Then, so softly I almost didn’t hear it, Joel said, “I missed you.”

The words knocked the breath right out of me.

I turned to fully face him, my heart hammering in my chest. “Joel…”

He shook his head, setting his beer down on the railing before rubbing a hand over his jaw. “You don’t gotta say anything. Just—” He exhaled sharply, like he was fighting some internal battle. “Hell… It’s just… weird, you know? Havin’ you here again.”

I nodded, because it was weird. It was terrifying. It was everything I hadn’t let myself feel in years rushing back all at once.

“I missed you too,” I admitted, my voice barely more than a whisper.

Joel’s eyes flickered with something—something deep and unreadable. His fingers curled around the railing, his knuckles flexing like he was holding something back.

I should’ve walked away then. I should’ve let the moment pass before it became something bigger, something neither of us could take back.

But I didn’t.

Because the truth was, I didn’t want to.

And judging by the way Joel was looking at me, like he was seconds away from breaking, neither did he.

The night stretched thick between us, heavy with words we weren’t saying, with memories pressing in like ghosts we couldn’t shake. Joel was still gripping the railing, his fingers tightening and loosening like he was trying to talk himself out of something.

I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to.

“Feels like a lifetime ago,” he finally murmured, eyes still locked on me. “You and me. Sneakin’ around, swearin’ we weren’t—” He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “—feelin’ things we both knew damn well we were.”

His words hit deep, settling somewhere behind my ribs. Because that was the truth, wasn’t it? We had never admitted what we were, never spoken those words out loud, and yet, we both had known.

I swallowed, forcing my voice to stay steady. “We were just kids.”

Joel turned toward me then, slow and deliberate. “That what you tell yourself?”

I didn’t answer, because we both knew the truth. We hadn’t been just kids. Maybe we were young, maybe we didn’t know how to say it back then, but it had been real. As real as anything I’d ever felt.

Joel took a step closer, not enough to touch me, but enough that I could feel the warmth of him, could smell the mix of beer and cedarwood that clung to his skin.

“You happy?” he asked, his voice quieter now, more careful.

The question caught me off guard, not because it was unexpected, but because I wasn’t sure how to answer it.

I looked up at him, at the way the years had settled into him—lines at the corners of his eyes, a little more weight in his stance, a quiet kind of tiredness in his gaze. But underneath it all, he was still Joel. Still the boy who once laid beside me on a summer night, our fingers laced together, talking about the future like it was something we had all the time in the world to figure out.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Are you?”

Joel exhaled, his jaw clenching just slightly before he shook his head. “No”

The word settled between us, bare and unguarded.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The sounds of the night filled the silence—distant laughter from inside, the low hum of crickets, the creak of the porch as Joel shifted closer.

Then, softly, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to ask, he said, “You ever think about it?”

I knew exactly what he meant.

I wet my lips, my heart pounding so loud I was sure he could hear it. “Think about what?”

Joel’s gaze dipped down to my mouth for half a second before coming back up. His voice was lower now, rougher.

“Us.”

I swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

Joel took another step, and this time, he was close enough that I could feel the heat of him, could see the way his breathing had slowed like he was holding something back.

“I think about it all the damn time,” he admitted. “What it would’ve been like if you stayed. If I—” He stopped himself, his hand flexing at his side before he finally met my gaze again. “If I hadn’t let you leave without sayin’ somethin’ real.”

I felt my breath hitch.

seven summers ago

The morning air was crisp for late August, the kind of cool that hinted at the coming fall. The sun hadn’t quite broken through the haze yet, and the lake behind Tommy’s house was still and gray, like it was holding its breath. My car was packed, the trunk stuffed to the brim with clothes, books, and the small reminders of home I couldn’t bear to leave behind.

Tommy leaned against the side of my car, his arms crossed and his usual cocky grin nowhere to be found. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him look this serious. His dark hair was a mess, like he hadn’t bothered to brush it, and his shirt was wrinkled from where he’d probably pulled it off the floor.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” he asked, his voice low and unusually hesitant.

“Yeah,” I said, though my voice wavered. “I think so.”

He shook his head, a small smile breaking through. “You’ve been talking about leaving since we were ten. If anyone’s ready, it’s you.”

I tried to smile back, but my chest ached too much to manage it. “Doesn’t make it any easier,” I admitted.

Tommy’s grin softened, and he stepped forward, pulling me into a hug that was tighter than I expected. He smelled like summer—grass, lake water, and a hint of the cheap cologne he always overused.

“Don’t forget about us little people when you’re out there changing the world, alright?” he said, his voice muffled against my hair.

I laughed, but it came out watery. “I could never forget you, Tommy. You wouldn’t let me.”

“Damn right,” he said, pulling back. His eyes were suspiciously shiny, but he blinked fast and didn’t let it show. “Call me, okay? I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night. I wanna hear about everything—college parties, classes, annoying roommates, all of it.”

“Promise,” I said, my voice thick.

He stepped back, giving me a mock salute before wandering toward the house. And that’s when I saw Joel.

He was standing on the porch, leaning against one of the wooden beams like he’d been there the whole time. He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t moving, just watching me with an expression I couldn’t read. His dark eyes locked on mine, and for a second, it felt like the whole world had gone still.

I hesitated, my chest tightening as I took a shaky breath and forced myself to walk toward him. The porch creaked under my weight, and when I stopped in front of him, he straightened, his hands shoved into the pockets of his worn jeans.

“Didn’t think you’d come say goodbye,” I said softly, my voice catching in my throat.

Joel’s jaw tightened, and he glanced away, staring out at the lake like it held the answer to whatever he was struggling with. “’Course I’d come,” he said after a long moment, his voice low and rough. “Wouldn’t let you leave without it.”

I swallowed hard, my hands curling into fists at my sides to keep from reaching for him. “I’ll miss you,” I said, the words barely above a whisper.

His gaze snapped back to mine, and for a second, I thought he might say something—something I’d been waiting to hear for what felt like forever. His mouth opened, but then he closed it, his shoulders stiffening as if he’d talked himself out of it.

“Don’t let anyone hold you back,” he said instead, his voice steady but distant. “Not me, not Tommy… no one.”

The words hit me like a punch to the chest. They were the same ones he’d said to me that night at the lake house, the same ones that had stayed with me long after the summer ended.

I wanted to scream at him, to shake him, to tell him that he wasn’t holding me back—he was the only thing making it hard to leave. But I couldn’t. The words stuck in my throat, too tangled up in everything I felt for him to come out right.

Instead, I nodded, blinking hard against the tears threatening to spill. “Take care of Tommy for me,” I said, my voice trembling.

Joel’s lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Always.”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that stretched so long it felt unbearable. Then, before I could second-guess myself, I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around him.

For a moment, he didn’t move, and I thought he might pull away. But then his arms came around me, strong and steady, holding me tighter than I’d expected. I buried my face in his chest, breathing him in—sawdust, sweat, and the faint trace of cologne he only wore when he had to.

I wanted to stay there forever, to let the rest of the world disappear, but I couldn’t. I pulled back, my hands lingering on his arms for just a moment before I let them fall to my sides.

“Goodbye, Joel,” I said, my voice barely steady.

He didn’t say anything, just nodded, his dark eyes heavy with something I couldn’t name.

I turned and walked to my car, my chest aching with every step. As I slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine, I glanced in the rearview mirror. Joel was still standing on the porch, his hands shoved in his pockets, watching me drive away.

I didn’t look back again. If I had, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to leave.

“You think it would’ve changed anything?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper.

Joel’s throat bobbed. “I don’t know. Maybe.” He ran a hand over his face, letting out a breath like he was fighting with himself. “But I do know one thing.”

“What?”

He lifted his hand, hesitant at first, then finally brushed his fingers along my arm, his touch featherlight but enough to send a shiver up my spine.

“I ain’t ever felt nothin’ like I felt with you,” he murmured. “Not before. Not after.”

I sucked in a shaky breath, my body swaying toward his before I could stop it.

“Joel…”

He shook his head, his hand trailing down my arm until his fingers barely skimmed mine. “Tell me you don’t feel it,” he said, voice rough and strained. “Tell me you don’t feel like we lost somethin’ we weren’t supposed to.”

I wanted to lie. Wanted to say that I had moved on, that whatever we had back then was just young and reckless, something that wasn't meant to last.

But I couldn't.

Because I did feel it.

I felt it in the way my chest ached just looking at him, in the way his touch still sent a shiver down my spine, in the way every moment we spent apart felt like time wasted.

I swallowed hard, my fingers curling slightly under his. "I can't tell you that," | whispered.

Joel's breath caught, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around mine, like he was holding onto something he wasn't ready to let go of.

For a long moment, neither of us moved. The air between us was thick, humming with something too strong to ignore, too real to pretend wasn't there.

The air between Joel and I crackled with so much unspoken tension, it was almost unbearable. My heart pounded against my chest, every nerve alight with the pull between us, but neither of us moved. We were so close, I could feel the warmth of his breath on my lips, his hands lingering on my waist as if he were just waiting for me to make the next move. And I almost did.

But before I could, the sound of the screen door creaked behind us.

“Hey, you guys coming back in?” Tommy called out from the doorway, his voice loud and clueless as ever. “I got that game on, and I’m not drinking alone out here.”

I froze, every muscle in my body locking up, and for a split second, it felt like the world had just stopped. Joel pulled back, almost imperceptibly, his hands still resting on my waist but no longer holding me so tightly. We both turned toward the door, where Tommy was standing with a grin, completely unaware of what had almost happened.

Joel cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly as he took a half step back. “Yeah, we’ll be right in,” he called back to Tommy, his voice rough, like he was trying to hide the tension that had just exploded between us.

Tommy, oblivious to everything that had just passed between us, gave a lazy wave and turned back inside. “Don’t take too long, man! You know I need company for the game.”

I watched him disappear into the house, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft thud. A long, silent moment passed between Joel and me, and I could almost hear the words that neither of us was willing to say. But we both knew it—what had just happened. What had almost happened. It hung between us like a heavy fog, and yet, neither of us moved to bridge the gap.

Joel was the first to break the silence, his voice low and rough. “Guess that’s our cue.”

I nodded, my throat tight as I tried to process everything. The heat between us hadn’t gone away, not even with Tommy’s interruption. If anything, it only made it stronger. But now, standing here with Joel so close, with everything hanging in the air, I wasn’t sure where to go from here.

“Yeah,” I managed to say, my voice shaky. “Guess it is.”

Joel let out a breath, running a hand through his hair, the familiar gesture that always made him look like the same guy from years ago. He didn’t seem as certain as he had just moments before. There was hesitation now, uncertainty.

He gave a short nod, turning toward the door. “Come on. Let’s not keep Tommy waiting.”

I followed him back inside, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on me. The door swung shut behind us, and we both slipped back into the routine of being around Tommy, pretending like nothing had changed.

But it had.

I could feel it in the way Joel’s eyes lingered on me when he thought I wasn’t looking, in the way my chest tightened every time he spoke, like I was trying to hold myself together while something deeper, something real, threatened to spill out.

I wasn’t sure how we were going to handle this. How we were supposed to go back to the way things were. But for now, we were both content to pretend. Pretend that everything was fine, that Tommy hadn’t just unknowingly interrupted something that could change everything.

I stepped out onto the porch, the cool night air brushing against my skin, but my body still felt warm from the tension that lingered between us. I hadn’t expected things to go the way they had tonight—especially not after so much time had passed. But there was no denying it. The pull I felt toward Joel had never truly gone away.

“Let me give you a ride home,” Joel said, breaking the silence as he stepped up beside me. His voice was low, a little gravelly, and there was something in his eyes—something that made my heart race.

I hesitated for a moment, looking back toward the door, knowing I should just leave and get some space to clear my head. But the desire to be close to him again, even just for a little longer, was stronger than any of the reasons I told myself I should go.

“Yeah,” I said, finally giving in, “okay.”

We walked to his truck, the soft crunch of gravel underfoot the only sound between us. The night felt different now, charged with something neither of us wanted to acknowledge—at least, not yet. When we got to the truck, Joel opened the door for me, his eyes never leaving mine as I climbed in. The truck door shut with a soft thud, and I settled in, trying to steady my breathing.

The drive was quiet, the only sound the hum of the engine and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. But the air between us was thick with everything unsaid—the years apart, the memories we couldn’t forget.

When we finally pulled up to my place, I felt a lump form in my throat. I didn’t want to say goodbye—not yet, not like this. But what else was there to say?

Joel’s truck rumbled to a stop outside my house, but neither of us moved immediately. The air felt thicker now, heavier, charged with all the things we hadn’t said. My heart was racing in my chest, the silence between us louder than any words could’ve been.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said quietly, trying to force some kind of normalcy into the situation. But my voice trembled, betraying everything I was trying to hide.

Joel didn’t answer at first, just stared at me for a moment. His brow furrowed, his jaw tense, like he was struggling to keep control. Without another word, he climbed out of the truck and walked around to my side, his movements slow but purposeful.

I froze for a second, wondering what he was doing. But when he reached the passenger door, he opened it, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity I couldn’t ignore. “Let me walk you to your door,” he said softly, as though it was a question, though neither of us needed permission.

I nodded, my throat tight, and stepped out of the truck, trying to steady myself as I moved toward him. His presence was magnetic, pulling me in as we walked together, side by side, toward the porch.

The night was quiet around us, but everything felt loud—our footsteps echoing, the rush of my pulse in my ears, the space between us that felt far too small for both of us to be standing in. My mind raced, but my body seemed to know exactly what it wanted, gravitating toward him with every step.

When we reached the front door, Joel stopped, turning to face me. There was something in his eyes, something raw and desperate, like he couldn’t stand to let go of this moment. The weight of the unspoken hung between us, and for a split second, I almost thought he would say something, but he didn’t. He reached out, his fingers brushing against mine, a quiet, gentle touch that sent a shock through my body.

“Y/n…” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. His hand lifted to my face, his thumb brushing over my cheek as he took another step closer. My breath hitched in my throat as I looked up at him, barely able to hold his gaze.

The moment felt too fragile, and I couldn’t make myself say anything else. Slowly, I turned toward the door, my hand reaching for the handle. “Goodnight, Joel,” I said, my voice barely audible.

He didn’t speak as I opened the door, stepping back just enough to let me through. I kept my gaze focused ahead, not trusting myself to look back at him, afraid of what I might see, afraid of what I might feel.

The door clicked shut behind me as I walked into my house, the weight of the night settling around me. I wasn't sure what to do with myself. I'd told myself I wasn't going to give in, that I was going to walk away and let things be, but Joel's words, his touch, had made it impossible to ignore the truth l'd buried for so long.

I slipped out of my shoes and made my way into the living room, my heart still racing from everything that had happened. As I sank into the couch, the silence in the house felt suffocating. I closed my eyes, but all I could see was Joel-his face, his hands on me, his kiss.

I was trying to talk myself down, to convince myself that I could move on. That I should. But just as I was about to stand, I heard a knock on the door.

I froze. My heart skipped a beat.

I walked slowly to the door, trying to calm the rush of emotions flooding my chest. When I opened it, there he was— Joel. Standing in the dark, his posture tense, but his eyes searching mine like he had to say something, like he couldn't leave without it.

“I can’t walk away from you again,” he said, his voice shaking ever so slightly.

Before I could even respond, his hand reached out to gently tug me closer, and his lips crashed onto mine. The kiss was fierce, urgent, as if he was trying to make up for the years apart, as if he couldn't stand the space between us anymore. I gasped, my hands coming up to clutch at his shirt as I kissed him back, my body pressed against his, needing him as much as he needed me.

He pulled me fully into the doorway, his hands moving to my waist, guiding me backward into the house. The door closed behind us with a soft thud, but neither of us paid attention to it.

All that mattered was the way his lips moved against mine, the way his touch made me feel like I was finally coming home.

Joel's kiss deepened, his hands sliding up my back to tangle in my hair, pulling me closer until there wasn't an inch of space between us.

I felt the heat of his body, the way his muscles flexed as he held me, the way his breath caught when I tugged him.

When we finally pulled apart, I was breathless, my heart pounding in my chest. His forehead rested against mine, both of us struggling to catch our breath, to make sense of what had just happened.

My fingers curling into his shirt as I pulled him back to me, not wanting to let go, not wanting to fight this anymore. Neither of us was ready to say goodbye—not yet, not when the night was still young and the truth was finally out in the open.

The world outside disappeared, leaving only us in this moment, the only sound the rush of our breathing, the pounding of our hearts in sync.

He pulled away briefly, his forehead resting against mine, his breath shaky.

"I can't pretend anymore," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I never stopped wanting you, y/n. Not for a second."

My heart twisted in my chest, and I didn't care anymore about what we had to lose. "Neither did I," I whispered, before closing the space between us again, kissing him with everything I had left to give.

This time, there was no holding back. We were finally done running from the truth.

153 notes · View notes

httpdwaekki · 11 months ago

Text

soothe | h.j.

summary: you were well aware of jisung's anxiety, but you notice he takes a certain interest in the ink on your skin.

wc: 966

warnings: brief mentions of anxiety, mentions of the reader having tattoos. not proofread at all. lowercase intended.

a/n: i used to color and trace my tattoos when i got anxious so i was just thinking about ji doin the same thing. also it is very late and i'm running on a solid 4 hours of sleep but i wanted to write something so now we have this LMAO. anyway i hope u enjoy and as always, drink water, eat something, and take ur meds. <3

my library

(pictures are not mine! credit to owners!)

you were well aware of jisung's anxiety. you yourself suffered from it so you understood, the feelings and frustrations that came along with the sinking feel.

you weren't always sure what would trigger the uneasy feeling in the boy, but you were there no matter what. you knew sometimes you just had to put on an anime and hold him until he felt better.

other times you'd sit and listen as he voiced this thoughts running rampant in his head.

however there was something new that you noticed you would lay with him. he'd trace the ink along your skin, drawing every line and every shading etched into your soft skin.

you noticed it when you were laying on your bed one day when the ugly feeling settled in his tummy once again. jisung was in front of you, his back to your chest, yours leaning against the head board, arms wrapped loosely around his torso, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on his stomach.

jisung was barely paying attention the show lowly playing on the screen. not that you were either, hyper focused to gage any change in his demeanor, making sure he was relaxing.

that's when you felt it, the soft brush on your arm, right where your favorite flower was inked into the skin of your forearm. you glance down, watching for a moment, as he traced the lines one by one before moving on to the next section of art.

you couldn't help the heat the rose to your cheek, as he careful recreated the marks so beautifully etched onto your skin. as you watched you had an idea. you place a soft kiss to his hair before lightly tapping his tummy.

"get up for a second bub, i'm gonna grab something quick." you felt him tense, turning his head towards you, hesitating for a moment. "i'll be right back jagiya, i promise. less than 2 minutes." he slightly nodded before sitting up. you place a kiss on his shoulder as you scoot out from behind him.

quickly making your way to your office, you find exactly what you were looking for. you quickly grab it, making your way back to your room. you find jisung in the same place you left him, expect he looked zoned out, toying with the strings of his hoodie.

you sit beside him, placing a gentle hand to his puffy cheek. you looks up, boba eyes shining with worry. you could practically see the thoughts clouding his pretty mind. you give him a smile before placing the bag of colorful markers in his lap.

he looks down at the bag and back to you, confusion now present in his eyes. "so you could color them in if you want." you shrugged, getting up, kissing his forehead before moving to lay behind him once more.

you lightly pull him back into your embrace, arms finding home around him once more. his head positioned on your collarbone, under your chin, relaxing into your touch.

a few moments later you hear the sound of plastic rustling and the familiar sound of markers clashing against each other. once he found the color he was looking for, quietly taking the top off, and begin carefully coloring each one in.

you had a perfect view at his art from above him. your other hand continuing the soothing circles on the skin of his stomach. you smile and you watch him go from coloring to watching the tv. you place a kiss to his hair once more, as he finishes coloring in your ghost. he caps the marker, placing it back in the bag, before carefully setting the colorful ink on your bedside table.

he turns around as he makes his return to you, his turn to wrap his arms around you. you gladly take him into your arms as he shoves his face into your neck. you stay there for a moment before he places a kiss in the junction of you neck and shoulder.

"you okay, ji?" you asked softly. he nods, "i'm okay baby, thank you." he gives you one more squeeze before pulling back.

"what would i do without you, hm?" he asks, placing peck to your lips. your lip turn upwards slightly, "i'm just helping you, jagi, you deserve to be happy." he kisses you once more, this time with a bit more passion.

"you're gonna make me start crying." he mumbles against your plush lips. "okay well don't do that, cause that'd make me sad." you shake your head. "how about i order us some take out and we just stay like this for the rest of the night?" you offer, staring into his boba eyes.

"and if you wanna talk later, i'm here to listen okay?" he nods, falling back into your embrace. "i love you okay? i'm always here, whenever, where ever, you say the word i'm there." you place a kiss to the side of his head.

you feel his breathing start to become uneven, panic arising in your chest. "ji? hey, hey, talk to me baby." you pull him back to look at you. big eyes now brimmed with tears. "what's going on in that head of yours, hm?" ask, rubbing his cheeks.

he shakes his head. "nothing, i just really fucking love you. i don't know what i ever did to deserve you." he says, tears slowly making their way down his face.

"you're you, you deserve everything i can give you and more, okay?" he closes his eyes, nodding his head. you place kisses over each eye lid and finally his forehead.

you pull him back to you, and that's where you stay for the rest of the night. wrapped up in each other, eating ramen before falling asleep in each other's arms.

p.s. new username ah !! i used to be voidreams but i wanted a change hehe. but i hope you enjoyed! likes and reblogs are always appreciated but never expected :3

#han jisung #han jisung x reader #han jisung fic #han jisung imagine #han jisung fluff #stray kids #skz #stray kids imagine #stray kids x reader #stray kids fluff #stray kids fic #hurt/comfort #tw: anxiety #ash's archive ‧₊˚✩彡

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revelboo · 4 months ago

Note

oh hey- that fic with tf1 megatron and that "pull" between him and reader, is that a spark/soulmates thing or more of an accidental conjunx adjacent kind of bond? cuz either sound really cool nd i know you'll handle whatever it is phenomenally, and thank you for the food

Wasn’t sure how well this sort of snippet would go over, but wanted to write one. It is a spark/soulmate thing based on an idea a friend of mine had about how interconnected a Cybertronian’s spark is to their world. That their spark might suffer and weaken without that connection to stabilize and feed off of. That a spark could bind to a soul to heal itself.

It Had to Be You Pt 6

TFO Megatron x Reader

• What does it say about him that you can work your way into his processor and he can’t get you, a weak, soft little thing, out. That when he enters his quarters, he knows exactly where you are. That your continued resistance bothers him. He’s supposed to be the strongest, the one who’ll tear all the corruption out. Fix Cybertron. What will his forces say when they discover he does have a weakness? That he’s so fascinated with a little human? That he needs you.

• Gritting his denta, he slams his fist into the wall hard enough to crumple the metal. That empty ache is back. It’d been better before he found you, when he’d just been used to that sense of missing something vital. It hadn’t bothered him so bad then. Touching you acts like a balm, making him whole. But only while in contact with you. Whenever he has to leave you, that jarring emptiness rushes back in worse than before. Wearing away at him day by day.

• You’re getting stronger, but you still can’t reach the top of the box he leaves you in like a little kitten. The walls aren’t smooth, but subtly grooved. Less of a handhold than the climbing walls you’d been terrible at as a kid, but with your bare feet and hands you can manage to get about halfway up. You’d dragged your pile of blankets over so that every time you do fall you’re not hurting yourself at least as your muscles strain, sweat slicking your skin. There’s not really a plan beyond escape the box, escape him. Because every day, the need to feel those warm servos on your skin becomes more visceral. You crave that contact and hate it at the same time. He’s done something to you, poisoned you somehow until you need him. Look forward to the next time you’ll see him.

• Door sliding silently open, he stalks over to your enclosure and freezes. Clinging to the side, reaching for a new handhold, you stop moving. Sensing him the same way he’s always aware of you and falling as soon as you meet his optics. The anger is immediate, forcing his servos under into shaking fists. He shouldn’t be surprised that you’re trying to run away. Always fighting him, always resisting. “Where is it you think you’re going to go?” He asks, speaking slowly and deliberately. Focusing on the words not the fury. “Do you really think I won’t just find you again?”

• You stay where you fell in the blankets, because you can’t breathe, can’t move under the weight of that cold, disappointed anger. Because those words tear at you and make you feel guilty for wanting freedom. Craving his touch and fearing it. You can hear his heavy steps as he approaches and you curl onto your side in a tight ball, feeling and hating that sense of belonging that makes you want, need, to reach out to him. Your body betraying you.

• “You still don’t understand,” he growls, reaching in to pick you up and feeling how tense you are, the way you tremble against his servos. Still fighting him even though he knows you can feel that same connection. You have to. He cradles you to his chassis directly over his spark, soaking in the feel of you. Uses a servo to pin your cheek against him even as he needs more. More contact to ground himself, to ease that ache. “You’re mine, little human.”

• The world drops sickeningly and you think he’s dropped you, but you never hit the ground. The world’s gone sideways somehow, your captor smaller but still so much bigger than you. One big hand cupping the back of your head to press your face against his chest. The other arm curled around you, servos tightening on your hip as you try to understand what just happened. Pushing against him to try and get some distance even as your struggling mind comprehends that he’s changed size somehow. That his hands are on you, his grip possessive and so much worse with him closer to your size, because there’s a new awareness of him that you don’t want. The hand at the back of your head shifts, servos tunneling in your hair as that other hand pins you along his frame. His heat soaking into you as you stop struggling, that rightness singing through you even as you want to fight it. Because he’s right, you are his. And you hate it.

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#tfo megatron #megatron x reader #transformers x reader

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pickingupmymercedes · 4 months ago

Text

Back to December - Lewis Hamilton

Part of 1K Jukebox Event

song: Back to December - Taylor Swift - anon

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

genre: there's angst but it has a happy ending

wordcount: +2k

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

extra on part 2 - Things I left behind

______________________________________________________________

I hear Lewis’s footsteps muffled down the hallway, each step familiar in the quiet of our home. I glance up from my spot on the sofa, curled into the corner with a blanket draped over me, the fireplace casting a warm glow that barely chases away the memory of colder nights.

He comes into the room, his face softened by that tender, knowing smile— the very one that reaches deep into a part of my heart that I once thought might stay closed forever.

He looks tired, the kind of tired that comes with long nights of soothing a restless toddler, but with a warmth in his eyes that makes my chest ache. The look of a man who had found his way back to love, who knows exactly what it’s worth.

He sits beside me, sliding an arm around my shoulders and pulling me into his side. His other hand settles over the curve of my belly, his thumb tracing absentminded circles over the fabric of my sweater.

The small, familiar motion settles me, the very same balm of our first pregnancy – him soothing our growing child

“Did he fall asleep?” I ask, resting my head against his shoulder, letting the weight of the day melt away. It’s been hard on all of us, this new phase—our little boy struggling to understand what it means to have a sibling on the way.

Lewis lets out a soft sigh, his breath warm against my hair. “Yeah. It’s a lot for him to take in, but he’s a tough kid. He’ll be okay.”

“I know,” I whisper, but I can’t quite shake the twinge of worry.

I’m about to ask him something else when I catch that look in his eye, the one that says he’s been mulling something over. I nudge him gently, trying to lighten the moment. “What is it, Lewis? I know that look.”

He laughs softly, but there’s a hesitance in the sound, like he’s not sure how I’ll take what he’s about to say. “I was reading some of the reviews of your album” he begins, and my heart gives a little jump in my chest.

I try to play it cool, but I feel my pulse quicken. It’s not that I’m surprised he’s been reading them—Lewis has always supported my music, even when I didn’t feel like I deserved it.

But there’s something in the way he says it, a curiosity that puts me on edge. “And?”

“One of the songs caught my attention. Well, not only mine” he says, his tone gentle, almost as if he’s feeling out the words. “People seem to think it’s about us. About that December.”

My breath hitches. That December. The words sit heavy between us, a ghost of a time I’ve tried to leave behind but never quite managed to forget.

I give him a little nudge, knowing that he’s still got that look on his face, like he’s piecing together a puzzle. “Okay, detective. Go on, then. What made you think that song was about us?”

He chuckles softly, but his eyes stay serious, the corners crinkling as he searches my face. “I mean ... the part with ‘tan skin’ and a ‘sweet smile are pretty obvious.’”

I raise an eyebrow, leaning back against the cushions with a smirk. “You’re not the only man with tan skin and a sweet smile, you know. Could’ve been about anyone.”

He shakes his head, a knowing grin playing at his lips. “Your fans thought that part was a dead giveaway too. How you used to post those photos of us on holiday, and the way you’d talk about my smile like it was your favorite thing in the world.” His voice softens, and he traces a thumb along my jaw. “I remember that, too, Y/n.”

My heart clenches a little at that, but I keep my teasing smile in place, not wanting to break the lightness of this moment just yet. “I’ll give you that one. What else, Sherlock?”

He hums thoughtfully, running a hand through his beard, the other still resting over my bump. “‘September night’—the first time I saw you cry?” He pauses, and his expression turns more somber, like he’s reliving the memory.

“That was when your label kept pushing back the release of your album, wasn’t it? And you thought it was because you weren’t good enough. That was the night you broke down on my balcony in LA.”

I feel my breath hitch, the memory hitting me like a wave. I’d felt so lost back then, so unsure of myself and my place in the world, and Lewis had been the only thing that made me feel grounded. He’d held me tight as I’d cried into his chest, whispering that I was more than enough, that I didn’t need anyone’s validation but my own.

I reach out, squeezing his hand, and he squeezes back. “You really remember that night?” I ask quietly, the words barely more than a whisper.

He looks at me like I’ve just asked him the most obvious question in the world. “Of course, I do. That was the first time you let me see that side of you, Y/n.”

I blink back the sting of tears, but before I can say anything, he keeps going, his tone turning a bit playful again. “Then there’s the whole ‘mindless dreaming’ bit. You used those exact words once in an interview when we weren’t together, remember?”

I let out a soft laugh, even as the memory makes my chest ache. “My fans never let me live down that one. I was asked what I thought about love, and I told them it felt like ‘mindless dreaming.’. They always tease me I was talking about you.”

He smiles, a little sad but mostly understanding. “Yeah, they picked up on that one, too. They knew that song was about us before I did.”

I roll my eyes playfully, even though my heart is pounding in my chest. “They always did read too much into everything.”

“And you still thought you could slip that line past them?” He teases, squeezing my shoulder gently.

I snuggle into his side, but the final piece falls into place, and I watch his face soften, his smile turning gentle. “The biggest giveaway, though, was the January after we broke up. When you posted that photo with ‘If we loved again, I swear.’”

I can’t help but let out a small, shaky breath at that. I remember that post—how the fogged-up glass in the picture had mirrored the haze I’d felt inside, the uncertainty, the heartbreak.

At the time, everyone thought it meant we’d had some kind of fight, not that I was on the verge of finishing that thought with “...I swear I’d love you right.”

“Yeah,” I murmur, my voice catching on the memories. “I didn’t think you’d ever see that post, or understand what I meant. I didn’t even know if I’d ever get the chance to love you again, to make things right.”

He presses a kiss to my hair, holding me just a little tighter.

I close my eyes, letting his warmth and his words wash over me. It feels like a balm to wounds, ones I thought had healed but still ached when I looked back. And now, with his arms around me, I realize that maybe those scars will always be a part of us.

I swallow hard, the smile slipping from my face as the memories come rushing back, unbidden and sharp-edged. “It is about that December” I admit, my voice barely more than a whisper. “I snuck it into the B-side because... I wanted people to know how much you meant to me, even when I couldn’t find the words to say it back then.”

Lewis’s thumb brushes over my shoulder, a gentle back-and-forth that’s there to soothe me. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, his voice so soft, understanding.

I close my eyes, letting my head fall against his shoulder, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath me. He’s here, he’s real, and he’s mine again, but the pain of losing him still lingers, like a scar that aches when the weather turns cold.

“I was scared,” I admit, my voice cracking with the weight of the truth I’ve kept hidden for so long. “Writing that song… it was like pouring salt on flesh. I needed to put it out how much I missed you, how empty everything felt without you. I thought I’d made the right choice, but every night I spent alone, I knew I’d made the worst mistake of my life.”

I can feel his breathing slow, the way he’s listening to every word, taking it in like he always does, never interrupting. It gives me the courage to go on, to lay bare the part of me that still aches from the memory of letting him go.

I remember sitting at the piano in my empty apartment, the cold seeping as winter settled in outside. My fingers hovered over the keys, shaking as I tried to find the melody that had been stuck in my head for days, one that wouldn’t let me sleep.

It was almost haunting, like trying to pull the words from the hollow space inside my chest where my heart used to be.

I remember playing a few chords, my breath catching in my throat as I whispered the lyrics, barely able to get them out past the lump in my throat. It turns out freedom ain’t nothing but missing you. Wishing I’d realized what I had when you were mine. My voice cracked on the words, and I had to stop, my hands shaking as I pressed them to my face.

I missed him. God, I missed him so much it hurt.

I missed the way he’d pull me into his arms without a word, the way he’d kiss my forehead when I felt like the world was closing in around me. I missed the way he’d look at me, like I was something precious, something worth holding onto—even when I felt like I wasn’t.

But I’d pushed him away. I’d let the fear of losing myself in the shadow of his fame, of being seen as just his girlfriend, drive me to leave.

And I thought I’d be okay, that I’d find myself again, but all I found was the emptiness of a life without him in it.

Every time I played that song, it felt like reopening the wound, like admitting to myself that I’d thrown away the best thing I’d ever had.

The nights were the worst—when the silence became deafening, and all I could hear was the echo of his voice, his laugh, the way he’d whisper I love you like it was the simplest, most certain thing in the world.

And I would lay awake, wondering if he’d moved on, if he’d found someone who wouldn’t be too scared to stay.

I blink back to our family home, my throat thick with unshed tears. Lewis is still looking at me, his expression so gentle, so heartbreakingly kind, like he had watched what I had remembered through my own eyes.

“I thought I’d lost you forever, Lewis,” I whisper, my voice raw with the memory of the pain. “I thought you’d never take me back after the way I hurt you. And writing that song… it was like a goodbye that I never got to say. I needed you to know that if we ever had a second chance, I would love you right.”

He cups my cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear I didn’t realize had fallen. His eyes shining along, and he presses his forehead to mine, his breath mingling with mine in the space between us. “You never really lost me, Y/n. I was always waiting for you. And I’d go back to that December, a thousand times over, and do it all again, if it meant we’d end up right here.”

My heart feels heavy with everything I’ve just laid bare, but in the best way—like the weight of all those unsaid words has finally lifted.

Then I pull back slightly, looking into his eyes, knowing there’s still one more thing I need to tell him. “There’s one more reason why I put that song on the album”

I manage a small smile, but it falters as I look down at his hand resting on my belly, cradling the life growing inside me. “When I found out I was pregnant again, all I could think about was how I almost missed out on this. On you, on our son, on all of this.”

His expression softens, and I can see the realization in his eyes as he holds me a little tighter. I take a shaky breath, the words tumbling out before I can lose my nerve. “I kept thinking about how close I came to never having this second chance with you. How different my life would be if I hadn’t swallowed my pride and come back to you. And I remembered how I felt, sitting in that empty apartment, writing that song, thinking I’d lost you for good.”

He looks like he’s about to say something, but I press a finger to his cheek, needing to finish before I break down completely. “I put the song on the album because I wanted to honor that version of me—the one who thought she’d lost everything and somehow found the strength to try again. And I wanted to honor you, Lewis. For waiting for me, for believing in us when I couldn’t. For giving me a chance to prove that I could love you the way you deserved.”

A tear slips down my cheek, and he catches it with his thumb, his touch gentle, reverent. He leans in, kissing the corner of my mouth, then rests his forehead against mine again. “You never had to prove anything to me, Y/n.”

I close my eyes against the flood of emotion that swells up inside me, clinging to him like he’s the only solid thing in a world that’s constantly shifting beneath my feet. “I know that now. And I’m so grateful I get to have this life with you. I’ll never take it for granted again.”

He smiles, pressing a soft kiss to my temple, his voice low, like he was whispering a secret only I could keep. “I know you won’t. And we’ll get through whatever comes next, like we always have.”

______________________________________________________________

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pinchofhoney · 1 year ago

Text

be careful what you wish for

coriolanus snow x fem!reader

word count: 1.7k

warning: platonic relationship, quite angst-ish, text in italics is a flashback

summary: Turning in a district boy to the authorities felt like the right thing to do for Coriolanus. But what if, in doing so, he betrayed you as well?

a/n: absolutely no one asked for it, but i'll deliver it to you anyway<33 i'd say have fun but i'm not sure i'd be appropriate here

pages that may interest you: masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ who i write for

taglist: @watercolorskyy

gif is not mine, credit to the owner

The moment Sejanus shared Billy Taup's escape plan with you, there wasn't much hesitation on your part. It's not that you acted without thinking; it's just that you didn't need much time to decide.

The summer was scorching, feeling like an unending oven. The sun never let up, and even when you hoped for cooler nights, the heat lingered. You've gotten used to the coal dust that's practically become your second skin in District 12, but what truly got to you wasn't the clinging dirt. It was the musty scent of men's sweat, a scent that clung to the air, heavy with the hard work that defined your daily life.

Being one of the few female Peacekeepers among a crowd of men wasn't your ideal situation. Many other girls had come and gone, unable to stand the sacrifices the job demanded, but you stood your ground, determined to prove yourself in this role, even if serving in this particular district wasn't your dream come true.

At least until a certain point.

When you first arrived in District 12, your main goal was to pass your officer's exam as quickly as possible and secure a transfer elsewhere. But when young Plinth kindled the idea of a life beyond authority and rules, the seed of belief in freedom took root within you. The very thought of it resonated in your mind, sounding truly incredible, and you couldn't wait to leave the filthy district behind, escaping through a gap in the wire mesh fence.

But, of course, life wouldn't be too easy if everything just went as planned, right?

One moment, you were getting ready with Sejanus and the other rebels, gathering the basics for your escape north to the supposedly destroyed District 13. The next, you found yourself standing behind one of the empty houses on the Seam with Coriolanus. He held onto your shoulders, telling you urgently that you had to leave the District as soon as possible.

“What?” was the first word that slipped from your lips, your brows furrowed in confusion as you looked at your friend. “Isn't that exactly what we're working on?” you added, slightly amused, pushing Coriolanus' hands off your shoulders.

Shaking your head, you were about to update him on your progress when he caught your forearm again. “I think you misunderstood me, Y/N,” he said, his face dead serious. “You need to get out of here now,” he continued, and seeing your raised eyebrow, he almost gritted the last word through his teeth.

“What do you mean, Coryo?” you asked, breaking the silence after staring at him for a while, tired of him speaking in riddles.

Now Coriolanus was the one staying silent, his cool eyes fixed on you. You couldn't decipher his expressions; it felt like he was betraying a hundred feelings at once and, at the same time, nothing at all.

“I… um, there's…” the blond man started, stumbling over his words, unsure how to share the information he needed to tell you. “There's a chance that the talk Sejanus and I had, which you joined not long ago, about your escape plan, might have been fully recorded by one of the jabberjays.”

You seemed not to grasp the gravity of Coriolanus' words, so you stared at him, searching for any hint in his eyes that he might be joking.

“Okay, so what?” you eventually asked, once again furrowing your brows, this time with a bit less intensity.When a twig snapped around the building's corner, you quickly turned, thinking it might be someone eavesdropping, but finding only a small hedgehog, you shifted your attention back to the boy in the bluish uniform.

“So what?” Coriolanus repeated your question, unable to believe your difficulty in connecting the dots. “Y/N, these birds are headed to the Capitol. To the lab of the woman who’s the Head Gamemaker of the Hunger Games. And do you know what the Capitol authorities do to rebels?” he asked the question, not waiting for your response. “They hang them on the hanging tree, Y/N.”

You stared at Coriolanus, steadying yourself with a hand against the wooden building. With every word he spoke, you felt the color drain from your face.

“How… How did this happen?” you asked, trying to keep your emotions in check.

Coriolanus happily took care of the mockingjays, moving their cages, tagging them, and passing them along. As Bug left with the fiftieth cage, Sejanus burst into the room, full of excitement. He shared the good news about the upcoming package from his mother with his friends, watching Bug leave with a smile before turning to Coriolanus, who had just finished dealing with the bird marked as number 1.

The bird chirped in its cage, mimicking the last mockingbird, but once Bug was gone, Sejanus' cheerful expression faded, replaced by a troubled look. He glanced around the hangar to ensure they were alone before speaking in a quiet voice.

“Listen, we've only got a few minutes. I know you might not like what I'm about to do, but I need you to at least understand it. After what you said the other day, about us being like brothers, well, I feel I owe you an explanation. Please, just hear me out.”

This was the moment, the confession.

Now was the time for the pieces to be explained, especially about the alliance with rebels and money that he found in Sejanus' belongings. Once Coriolanus heard it, he'd be as good as one of them, a traitor to the Capitol.

Panic, running, or trying to silence Sejanus could be expected, but Coriolanus did none of these things. Instead, his hands moved instinctively. His left hand adjusted the cover of the jabberjay cage, while his right, hidden from Sejanus's view by his body, reached for a remote on the counter. Coriolanus pressed RECORD, and the jabberjay fell silent.

Turning his back to the cage, Coriolanus leaned on the table with his hands, waiting.

In the middle of Sejanus' explanation, you dashed into the hangar like a hurricane itself.

“There you are!” you exclaimed, both happy and a bit annoyed to find young Plinth. “Why didn't you wait for me? I said I wanted to go to Coryo with you,” you added, crossing your arms on your chest as you closed the gap between the boys and yourself.

It seemed that Coriolanus, noticing you in the hangar, tensed up a bit. He glanced briefly at the cage with the bird recording the conversation on the table, but neither of you or Sejanus noticed, and together, you continued explaining your plan to him.

During your report, where you and Sejanus competed over who could give Coriolanus more details, he lowered his head and rubbed his brow with his fingertips. It looked like he was trying to gather his thoughts, unsure how long he could stay silent without seeming suspicious.

But Sejanus rushed on, “I couldn't leave without telling you. You've been like a brother to me. I'll never forget what you did for me in the arena. I'll find a way to let Ma know what happened to me. And my father, too. I'll let him know the Plinth name lives on, even if it's in obscurity.”

The mention of the Plinth name was enough.

Coriolanus's left hand found the remote, and he pressed the NEUTRAL button with his thumb. The jabberjay resumed its earlier song.

Something caught Coriolanus's attention. “Here comes Bug.”

“Here comes Bug,” the bird echoed in his voice.

“Hush, you silly thing,” he scolded the bird, secretly pleased it had returned to its normal pattern. Nothing to alert both of you. He quickly covered the cage with a cloth and marked it with J1.

“I swear, I have no idea,” Coriolanus lied, wearing a worried expression. “While rearranging the cages, one of them must have snagged the remote control.”

You lightly bit your lower lip, eyeing your friend. Without any reason to doubt him, you finally let out a shaky breath.

Gazing up at the sky, you counted to three in your mind to steady your nerves. Then, you looked back at Coriolanus.

“Does Sejanus know?”

“Of course, I told him first,” he lied again, his gaze fixed beyond your shoulders without losing the concerned look on his face.

“God, what are we going to do now?” nerves took over every cell in your body as you asked another question. You leaned against the wooden building, slowly lowering yourself until you were sitting on the ground.

You lifted your head to meet Coriolanus's eyes, and he crouched in front of you, placing his hand on one of your knees.

“Hey, don't stress. You're heading back to the base now. Pack what you need, and tonight, you'll slip out of the district just like you planned with the rebels. You'll meet Sejanus at the lake, alright?” he spoke with a calmness, almost like talking to a kid, trying to reassure you.

Even though Coriolanus despised rebels — those who went against the Capitol's rules — he didn't want you to suffer the consequences that would surely befall Sejanus. He had nothing against you; in fact, he genuinely liked you. Your innocence about a better life beyond the Capitol's control wasn't his concern because you hadn't caused him any trouble, unlike young Plinth who had stirred up problems more than once.

“But won't it be suspicious if I suddenly vanish? They'll be searching for me, Coryo. They'll find me and punish me,” you said, placing your hand on his.

“I told you not to worry, remember?” Coriolanus replied, a bit sharper but still maintaining his reassuring tone. “I'll figure something out. No one's going to harm you.”

“But Coryo, you-” you began, but he quickly cut you off.

“Enough, Y/N,” Coriolanus said firmly, standing up from his crouch. “Get up. We're heading back to base,” he reached out a hand to you, which you took after a moment's hesitation. He helped you stand, silently conveying to act naturally before stepping out from behind the building.

You had no choice but to go along with Coriolanus' questionable plan, clinging to the hope that he knew what he was doing.

Little did you grasp the reality—that he was the cunning architect behind the recorded conversation. Sejanus wouldn't show up at the lake beyond District 12's boundaries. Instead, his fate would take a dark turn as he dangled lifeless from a tree in a matter of days.

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crowsofdarkness · 21 days ago

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Arranged: Chapter Ten

*gif not mine. credit to owner*

Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: language, 18+ smut(ch 12 & ch 17), angst, fluff, mentions of death and violence. I will update the warnings with each chapter.

Summary: Reader would do anything to make her parents happy and that included agreeing to an arranged marriage. She never expected it to be to one of New York's most feared Mob Boss: Bucky Barnes. He is anything but loving towards Reader however when her parents are mysteriously killed, Bucky makes it his mission to find out who were at fault. And in the process, ends up coming close to losing Reader.

Authors Note: If anyone who is interested wants to be tagged, let me know!

Tags: @sakuracyberhex

The sudden rush of wind blew the bottom of my dress but I paid no mind to it, the cold breeze having no effect on my already frozen stature. My broken eyes were glued to the large hole in the ground where a two person casket had just been lowered, now filling up with dirt. The men on both sides of me stood with their arms crossed at their hips, not bothering to utter a word. Even if the funeral had ended some time ago, they knew that it wasn’t the time to leave.

Bucky spared no expense, giving my parents the best funeral they could ever imagine. All of their friends and family came out, some shocked that I had gotten married, especially since it wasn’t known that I was even dating anyone. A quick lie of ‘we kept it quiet for so long, that's why’ seemed to suffice.

I don’t know how I would have made it without Bucky by my side. He was there for me this past week more than I could have ever thanked him for. He put the majority of his meetings on hold so he could be with me, giving me whatever I needed.

The night I received the news was the first night Bucky and I shared a bed. I was broken and Bucky was afraid to leave me so he stayed with me that night, holding me in his arms until I fell asleep. The next night I found myself crawling into his bed when the nightmares began, thinking of how my parents died, and Bucky quickly wrapped me up into his embrace.

That was the last night we slept separate, opting to fully move into Bucky’s room.

It had been a week with zero updates from the detectives. There was no fingerprints, DNA, or any sort of evidence left behind.

“Whoever this person was, they knew what they were doing.” Detective Roth’s words kept replaying in my head.

Up until now, I had been upset and broken about losing my parents, especially after the last conversation I had with them. But now I was pissed, angry, and ready to figure out things on my own. I thought about asking Bucky, him having connections that I would need, but I didn’t want him knowing what I was up to. If he did, he would force me to stop.

“Doll?”

I hummed, still not able to form words, but kept my eyes glued to the ground below. Bucky sighed and linked out fingers together, the vibranium of his wedding band pressed into my skin. He decided to wear it on his right hand, mentioning something about having enough vibranium on his left. Bucky made that joke a few days ago, in hopes of it cheering me up.

It didn't.

“Y/N,” he pressed again. “They’re done.”

I blinked, shifting back to reality, and looked up towards Bucky. He’s had the same look plastered over his face the last week; sorrow. I told him countless times to stop giving me that look, I didn’t need him to feel sorry for me anymore.

Which is exactly what I told him now.

“Stop giving me that look, Bucky. I’ve been getting it all day and I’m so fucking tired of seeing it,” I sighed.

Bucky nodded then wrapped an arm around me to pull me into his chest. “Sorry. Let’s get you back home then.”

With my own arms wrapped around Bucky’s back, I looked over towards the other man that stood next to me all day.

“Are you coming back with us, Steve?”

The blonde shook his head. “I’ve got some errands to run but I’ll be there tomorrow.”

Besides Bucky, Steve had been there in my mourning and grief stricken state, a shoulder to cry on when Bucky had to step out for some kind of business.

“I’m guessing it's back to business,” I looked up towards Bucky.

He answered my question with a soft kiss to my lips. “I’m sorry, doll.”

I shrugged, letting him know I didn’t mind. Only because I had been planning on running a couple errands myself and the only way I would be able to do that was if both Bucky and Steve were preoccupied.

Soft snores sounded behind me as I traced the gold bands of Bucky’s vibranium arm while he slept. His bare chest pressed against my back worked like a personal heater, warming me the second we laid down together. Our feet were intertwined together at the end of the bed and I knew when he began to twitch that I would be safe to sneak away.

Steve and him had been busy all day in the office with meetings working like a revolving door. I didn’t see who was coming or going because I had been in bed all day. Bucky thought I needed more alone time to mourn but I was doing the opposite.

I spent the majority of the day on my laptop and phone trying to chase down any leads I could in my parents murder; where they spent their last moments before coming home and who saw them that night.

It was all dead ends until I remembered someone who could help me in getting the answers I wanted. As much as I didn’t want to or the fact that Bucky told me to stay away, I needed his help. He had connections in law enforcement that I didn't.

It was almost midnight and he said that he would text me soon with an address of someone that remembers seeing my parents an hour before the murder.

Turning over in Bucky’s embrace, I watched him for a moment. His eyes moving underneath its lids, snores coming from his parted lips, and his messy hair falling into his face. Under the moonlight breaking in from the window, he looked so peaceful and divine.

I brushed the hair out of his face and laid a soft kiss on his cheek, the growing beard scratching my lips. His grip tightened while he buried his face deeper into my neck, leaving his own kiss. Guilt filled me knowing that I had gone against his word and was lying to him but I knew that this was what I had to do.

My phone buzzed on the table behind me and I did my best to reach for it in hopes of not waking Bucky.

21412 Longview Lane. 30 minutes-J.W.

“Who is it?” Bucky grumbled into the back of my neck.

Shit.

“Just another friend of my parents sending their condolence,” I lied while snuggling closer towards him.

“At midnight?” His half lidded eyes looked at the clock.

I smiled at his sleepy voice and nodded. “Late bird I guess.”

Bucky hummed before rolling towards the other side of the bed and when his back was turned, I placed a few kisses down his spine.

“I can’t sleep so I’m going to go downstairs and make some tea.”

With his grumble of words as a response, I knew this was the only chance I would get to sneak away for a bit.

I rubbed the red mark on my wrist with a grimace towards the guard who opened the metal door in front of me, a loud buzzer sounding throughout the building. As I walked through the long hallway, I tried to mentally prepare myself for the fight that was about to ensue the second we got into the car.

What I had just gone through the last two hours paled in comparison to the man that was waiting in the lobby. I wished they would have called anyone else but since he was my husband, they had to call Bucky.

My tired glance landed on Bucky who was leaning against the front desk, an angry scowl on his face. The cop next to him handed him all of my personal belongings and he took them without saying a word.

“Hi,” I muttered once I was in front of him.

Bucky kept his hardened face before linking our hands together and somewhat nicely dragged me to the car. The twenty minute drive home was complete silence, the only thing that could be heard in the small confinement was Bucky’s heavy breathing. He had been gripping the steering wheel so tight that his flesh knuckles had gone white.

The car eased up the drive and once he was parked in front of the house, I made a quick dash inside, hoping to avoid whatever conversation that was about to ensue.

“Arrested, Y/N? Are you fucking serious?!” Bucky’s voice boomed as he slammed the front door shut.

The sudden raise in his voice caused me to jump slightly and I turned on the staircase where I had only made it to the third step.

“It was stupid. The cop only arrested me because of who I was married to. He wanted to make a point,” I shrugged.

Bucky pinched his eyes in annoyance. “What the hell were you doing trespassing on someone's property across town in the middle of the night? Do you know how dangerous that was, especially because Steve or I weren’t with you.”

“I wasn’t alone,” I defended.

HIs shoulders went rigid. “John Walker? Really? Have you lost your fucking mind?”

I sliced him in half with my gaze. “I know what I’m doing, Bucky.”

“Did you forget what I told you about Walker?” He asked.

“I didn’t have a choice, Bucky. He’s the only one that can help me!” My voice was now raised, anger mixed with annoyance.

His brow raised in confusion. “With what? Breaking into someone's house?”

I hesitated, unsure if I should tell him the truth. He could see the way I resisted and I’m sure he could hear my heart hammered hard against my chest. Sweat began to form in my palms so I wiped them on my pants before taking a deep breath.

“I’ve, uh, been looking into my parents murder,'' I stuttered.

Bucky’s eyes softened. “Why, doll?”

“Because no one has had any answers! It’s been over a week and nothing!” I snapped. “If the cops won’t do anything then I will!”

“And you go to Walker for help?”

The hurt in Bucky’s voice didn’t go undetected and my heart dropped, realizing that maybe I should have gone to him in the first place; could have avoided an arrest charge.

“The John that I know is different from the one you do, Bucky. There was a point in my life where he would have done anything for me,” I defended my choice.

“You knew him, Y/N. He’s not the same anymore,” Bucky responded with a flat tone.

“How do you know?” I curled a brow. “Oh that’s right, you won’t tell me because it’s on the list of ‘secrets to keep from Y/N.”

I turned on my heels, ready to end this conversation, but Bucky followed close behind as I made my way to our room.

“You need to end this whole pretend cop nonsense.” Bucky said while shedding himself of his leather jacket, tossing it onto the couch in our room.

I chuckled dryly. “Haven’t you learned that you can’t tell me what to do?”

Bucky stepped in front of me as I tried to slip away from him into the bathroom.

“This is serious shit, doll. You can end up hurt or worse.”

I raised a finger to him. “I won’t stop until my parents' murders are either caught or dead. If I get hurt in the process, who cares.”

Bucky’s face fell. “Don’t say that.”

I shrugged. “You mean to tell me that you would be hurt if something happened to me? Bucky, this marriage was built on an arrangement between you and my parents. They’re dead so you can consider yourself off the hook.”

“Y/N,” Bucky’s voice cracked.

I ran a hand through my hair. “Look, I'm exhausted and just want to go to sleep. We’ll figure everything out tomorrow morning.”

I didn’t bother giving him time to respond as I slipped into the bathroom and locked the door behind me.

#mob!bucky barnes #mob!bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes and reader #mob!bucky barnes x yn #mob!bucky barnes and yn #mob!bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes and reader #sebastian stan

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guiltyasdave · 9 months ago

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heaven can't help me now

chapter 3 • series masterlist

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

summary: You're afraid Dave might not like you as much as you like him. ...Meanwhile, Dave is afraid of the same thing. (They're idiots okay)

word count: 6.5k

tags/warnings: explicit smut -> 18+ mdni, dbf!Dave, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dom/sub dynamics, angst, daddy issues (reader’s dad sucks), able-bodied reader, reader has hair, no use of y/n, divorced Dave, phone sex, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), rough sex, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation kink, biting, cream pie, use of panties as a gag, orgasm denial, pet names, let me know if anything is missing!

a/n: co-written with my angel @joelscurls, throwing around these ideas with you is so fun, i love you <3

taylor swift said “what if he’s written mine on my upper thigh” and i took that personally

thank you @catchallfangirl for beta reading! <3 (and listening to me freak out about this on a daily basis)

follow @joelscurlsupdates and @guiltyasdavenotifs for updates and find jess’s masterlist here and my masterlist here :)

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

Dave regrets the message as soon as the small text underneath it switches from delivered to read.

He knows that he’s been cruel to you, he could see the confusion and hurt written all over your face when he drove you home. But he has to be the responsible one, the adult in this situation. The one who’s able to hold back. Nothing should have happened between you and him, not once, let alone twice. He shouldn’t indulge in this, shouldn’t give you hope.

He has always looked down on men who were with women much younger than them. Midlife crisis. Not able to have a relationship with someone on the same maturity level.

That’s not who he is. He understands that the reason why you’re attracted to him lies at least partially in your relationship with your father, and he won’t take advantage of that. It’s not who he is and it’s not what you deserve.

You’re gonna go back to college in a few weeks and he can pretend that none of this ever happened. You’re gonna meet a nice boy your age, become a lawyer, get married and live your life the way you’re supposed to. Eventually, the memory of you writhing underneath him, your voice so sweet and needy in your desperation, surely won’t be as vivid as it is right now.

But then he found your panties between the cushions of his couch, still damp with your arousal, still smelling of you. His mind started wandering, conjuring images that he should be ashamed of. The things he could do to you, the things he could show you.

It’s like he’s lost in a haze, stroking his throbbing cock to fantasies of you, all the depraved shit that some respectful fellow student would never do, but that he knows you crave. He hears your whimpers so clearly in his head, pictures your face, so pretty begging him for things only he knows how to give you, until he releases himself all over the lacy bit of fabric that’s clutched between his fingers.

But now you’re not answering, and shame is swirling in his stomach, surely now he’s overstepped, why did he even think–

His racing thoughts are interrupted by the quiet ping of his phone and a message from you. Just a photo, no text.

His eyes widen, taking in the image. He can’t see your face, only the shape of your tits, already so familiar to him, covered in dark, lacy fabric. Exactly the same color, exactly the same pattern as the fabric that he soiled and photographed to send to you.

You put on the matching bra for him, he realizes. Which is probably why it took you longer than usual to answer, you had to get into the lingerie and put yourself all prettily on display for him. He drinks in the shape of you, the skin that he knows would feel so soft underneath his touch, the swell of your breasts, the nipples hidden behind lace, how they would harden for him, how you would squirm if he–

Desire starts coursing through him again, and he feels like a teenager, reduced to this by just a photo. His thumb finds your name on the display almost instinctively.

“Fuck, baby.”

The rasp of his voice hits your ear as soon as you accept the call. Your heart had been hammering away inside your chest since you hit send on the photo.

“You like it?”

You hate how needy you sound, how desperate for his approval. David exhales sharply and you wish you were with him again.

“Trust me, I like it very much.”

Your cheeks heat at his tone. He blows all other thoughts out of your head. You forget how rejected you felt, how you told yourself you wouldn’t let it happen again. It doesn’t matter, not when he talks to you like this. You whisper a thank you and he chuckles.

“Are you in bed, sweetheart?”

“Yeah.” You bite your lip, considering the words resting on the top of your tongue. Deciding to take the leap. “Wish you were here too.”

You don’t need to see his face to know how he purses his lips, how he slowly curls them into a smirk.

“Mhm? What would you like me to do if I was?”

Your face burns hotter.

“I– Touch me, use your fingers to–”

He groans, a rich, deep sound in your ear. You’re still sore, but your fingertips ghost down your body anyway, chasing the need that’s building up between your legs again. You gasp when they find your clit, already swollen and covered in your slick.

“Are you touching yourself right now?”

“Yes, please David, I need–”

“Don’t worry, baby. I got you.”

He keeps talking to you, low murmurs in your ear, directing your fingers over your body. He doesn’t let up until you’ve come twice, until he’s reduced you to a whimpering mess without even being there.

He doesn’t apologize for earlier, not directly at least. You didn’t expect him to. In a twisted way, that you’re not sure anyone but the two of you would understand, this was his apology.

You’re not sure what changed his mind, but he doesn’t go back to his distant self afterwards. Maybe he’s come to the same realization as you. That neither of you is going to be able to stay away.

He’s on your mind constantly, you catch yourself checking your phone for new messages way too often and smiling down at the screen whenever he’s texting you. You know that you shouldn’t act like this, shouldn’t give him that much power in your mind. But it feels so good, to be seen, to be wanted like that.

You’re both busy; he’s working on an important case and you’re in desperate need to catch up on job applications and college work, which you’ve neglected over the past few days, as your father is quick to remind you.

But you keep exchanging messages, keep sharing hushed whispers at night. It never lets up, the thrill of his voice guiding your fingers and hearing the sounds that he makes when he’s putting his hands on himself. Knowing that it’s you, the thought of you that elicits them.

You’re having dinner with your father, who is home earlier than most days, the brightly lit dining room reflecting off the massive windows, when the bubble bursts.

“You remember Dave, right? From the country club?”

You freeze, your fork hovering in the air over your plate. He knows, your mind screams. No, there’s no way he would know.

You fight hard to appear nonchalant, to not let your face betray you. You nod, humming questioningly in a way that you hope sounds innocent enough.

“I told you how he got divorced recently, didn’t I? It’s been hard on him, poor fella…”

Your dad sighs and shakes his head. You furrow your brow, at a complete loss where this conversation might be going.

“Well, guess who got him a date?! Cheryl from the office is single and I realized, she’s perfect for him! An amazing match. He never goes out, always been a bit of a loner, I guess… But I set them up and they went out last night! Great, huh?”

Your mind is running a mile a minute. You force a weak smile, lifting your head to meet your father’s proud grin.

“Y-yeah, dad. Great,” you echo. You feel hollow.

He leans back in his chair, looking extremely pleased with himself.

“Looks like I’m gonna have to play matchmaker for you too, eventually, with the way things are going, hm?”

Under different conditions, the snide remark about your dating life and how he’s never been even remotely happy with any guy you had dared to bring home, would sting a lot more. Right now though, you’re reeling from the fact that David went out with another woman last night.

“Sure,” you whisper. “May I please be excused?”

You don’t wait for an answer, already pushing back from the table and rushing up the stairs. Back in your room, you grab your phone, scrolling through your past messages. You didn’t hear from him last night, which you hadn’t found weird at the time, but it leaves a bitter taste in your mouth now.

Maybe he finally realized that someone his age would be much better suited for him. A real woman, not some little girl who still goes to school, calls him drunk in the middle of the night and can’t stand up against her father. Of course that’s not what he wants.

You pace in your room, thoughts running through your head. Do you confront him? You never talked about it, never discussed exclusivity, but still… You don’t want anyone else and you had thought that he wouldn’t either.

After tossing and turning in your bed for hours, you decide not to ask David about it, to not contact him at all. Maybe that’s for the best. Save him the trouble of letting you down. It’s like a weight pulling under, the uncertainty and fear of this being it tying itself into a tight knot in your stomach. But you’ve been desperate enough for him already, you try to reason, you need to stop embarrassing yourself by running after him.

He texts you the next day, sounding just the same way he always does. You can’t bring yourself to not reply to him at all, but it’s clipped, one-sentence answers, which he picks up on soon enough. His name lights up your phone as you’re hunched over your desk in your bedroom, pondering over an essay that you’re supposed to write over the break.

“Hello?”

“Sweetheart.” The deep smoothness of his voice travels from the speaker right under your skin, holding you under his spell the way he always does. “Is something wrong?”

You bite your lip, muttering a no in reply. You sound like a petulant teenager, everything that you don’t want him to see you as.

“Now why do I not believe that?”

You hear his smile in the way he sounds. You want to see him so badly, want to be on the receiving end of that smile. You wonder if Cheryl from the office got to see it last night too. If he’s given her all the parts of him that he’s given you.

“Dunno.” There’s a sting in your voice, not unlike the sting that you feel piercing through your heart at the thought of him with someone else.

Dave frowns at the way you sound. You’re never this short with him, never seemed so sad since that night you called him drunk and he turned you down. And even then, it was different, not dismissive the way you are now.

His anxious mind immediately provides him with a variety of explanations. Maybe you’ve finally come to your senses and realized that you don’t want him. That you don’t want a man twice your age, that him wanting you actually makes him a fucking creep, that he isn’t as great as you’ve built him up to be in your head. Maybe you’ve realized that what you’re doing is wrong. He wouldn’t blame you for it. One of you should be reasonable and end things for good. He has been telling himself that.

But you sound so upset that worry settles in his gut. He feels that pull towards you again, only that it’s not explicitly sexual this time. He just really needs to see you, to touch you, to make sure that you’re okay.

The invitation for you to come over leaves his lips without thinking about it, just the overwhelming need to have you close. You pause, so long that he gets even more uneasy, but eventually you agree.

Dave knows that something is wrong as soon as he opens the door. You look smaller, slightly curling in on yourself. You don’t meet his gaze, eyes downturned and without the spark in them that he sees in his mind when he thinks about you. He pulls you into a hug, one that you barely return.

His bedroom door is once again firmly closed, and he’s directing you towards his couch again. Still the last invisible line, the one that he tells himself will keep him from letting you in all the way. Your eyes linger there for a moment, he can almost see the wheels turning in your head. You deflate even more.

He hates to see you like this. Fights the urge to wrap you in his arms, satisfy his hunger for your lips and fuck you until every trace of that sadness written over your face is erased.

The door that you presume leads to his bedroom is closed, just like the last time you were here. You wonder if he opened it for Cheryl, if she got to see a part of him that you didn’t. Then again, he probably treated her like a lady. Wined and dined her properly, maybe a chaste kiss to say good night. Because she’s someone who’s right for him, someone worth putting the effort in. Not the quick fuck that you had been.

He probably invited you over to tell you in person that he really can’t see you anymore. That he means it this time. You suppose that in his mind, that’s the decent thing to do. You think that you would have rather had him text you about it. That way you wouldn’t have to pretend, wouldn’t have to tell him to his face that it’s fine, that you understand, don’t worry.

Still, he called and you came running. Like a fucking idiot.

You sit down on the edge of his couch, decidedly keeping the images of the last time you were here buried in your memories. “Do you want something to drink?” You shake your head no and he sits down beside you. You’re acutely aware of his presence, of the simmering need that you feel for him, even now. Please just get it over with.

“You didn’t have to do all this, you know.” You’re not looking at him, keeping your eyes on your hands, your fingers gripping each other tightly, tense like the rest of your body.

“Do all what?”

You bite your lip, attempting to swallow down the anger at the fact that he’s gonna make you the one to say it, but it’s no use. Your eyes fly up to meet his.

“Make me come here, to talk to me in person, or whatever it is you think you’re doing. You– you could’ve just texted me.”

He furrows his brow, a hint of defensiveness in his warm brown eyes.

“What are you talking about?”

You scoff. “My dad told me. About your date.” You’re never like this, your voice biting and your eyes glaring. You’re never like this and you have no right to be like this now, getting worked up over the end of something that never even was, not really. “I’m sure she’s nice. A great match, he said, so you’re gonna tell me to fuck off. It’s okay, I understand.”

Your voice breaks on the last word. A lump is building in your throat and your eyes burn with unshed tears. This can’t be happening. It’s bad enough that you feel this much about it, but it’s indefinitely worse to have him know it.

David’s expression softens. “Oh, sweetheart. That’s not–” He slips one hand in between yours, gently pries your fingers away from each other. “You thought that’s why I asked you to come over here?”

You shrug, once again unable to meet his gaze.

“The date was shit. I wouldn’t even have gone if Jim hadn’t kept bugging me about it.”

Inhaling deeply, you slowly trail your eyes up to his face again.

“Really?”

He nods, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you into his chest. His lips press against your forehead.

“Promise.” He sighs. “You sounded so upset, that’s why I asked you to come–”

You sniffle, suddenly feeling stupid about the whole scene you made. He holds you a little longer, and you revel in his scent that’s engulfing you, in the warmth and solidness of his body. When he finally pulls away, his hand finds your chin and lifts it until you’re looking straight at him. A hint of amusement is glinting in his eyes.

“Were you jealous, baby?”

You’re well aware that he can see right through you, but shake your head anyway. He allows himself a grin.

“What then? Worried that you’ll find no one else to fuck you like I do?”

Heat is burning in your cheeks, but you can’t help but laugh. He’s not wrong, at least partially.

Your lips curling up and the soft laugh tumbling out of you soothes him, eases the sting in his chest. The severity of your reaction to the idea of him dumping you for another woman took him off guard. He never wants to see that kind of hurt written over your face ever again.

He should have told you, he realizes that now. He knew nothing would come out of meeting with that woman that Jim had been boasting about all week, but what was he supposed to say? No need pal, I already got everything I need fucking your daughter?

He doesn’t know when you began feeling like everything he needed. He knows that you shouldn’t. He knows that he shouldn’t check his phone as often as he does, shouldn’t spend his days fantasizing about you, shouldn’t imagine you by his side almost constantly.

But how can he not, when you’re looking at him like this, your eyes so wide, so filled with trust. Always ready, always desperate to give him everything of you. Like a dream come true that he didn’t know he had.

“Maybe,” you admit, teasingly but still so, so soft. Everything about you is so fucking soft. His to touch, his to defile. Because, inexplicably, you fucking let him.

He needs to reassure you that he’s worthy of that trust. He leans in closer, feels your breath ghosting over his face as his nose nudges against yours. He pauses, searches your expression for a moment. You dip your chin down in a tiny nod and he’s onto you, chases your mouth with his. He pours all the emotion that he doesn’t understand, can’t begin to name, into the kiss. How much he misses you, how often you are on his mind. How he doesn’t want to hurt you, wants to do right by you, but has no clue how.

Your lips move against his with more fervor, a mess of tongues and teeth clashing against one another. Your whimpers drip into his mouth, leaving him drunk off you. Heat spreads through him, like a fire that’s going to consume you both. He thinks that he wants it to.

He trails kisses down your throat, sucks at the skin, relishes in the shivers that it sends through your body. You grasp at his shirt, trembling fingers fumbling with the buttons, but he stops you. Nipping at your collarbone, he looks up at you, takes in your wide blown pupils, the hunger in your eyes.

Maybe this is all he can give you, but he’s going to do that right. He’s going to give you what he can, as long as you let him.

He hooks his fingers under the neckline of your dress, pulls it down a little, inhales the sweet scent of your perfume. Every new inch of your skin that he reveals fills him with the need to worship it.

“Will you let me make it up to you, sweetheart?” He mouths at your skin again, his eyes still trained on your face. “Let me make you feel good?”

You nod eagerly, a breathy please, David falling from your lips. He runs his hands up your thighs, marvels at the almost feverish warmth of your skin, before he lifts your dress and helps you pull it over your head.

Your underwear is white this time, a picture of innocence that only he knows is an illusion. His arousal swells at the thought, his cock pushing against the confines of his pants.

“Fuck, I’ve been thinking about this,” he admits, his hands trailing over your waist, tightening his grip momentarily and enjoys watching you squirm in response. “I think about you all the time.”

Your gaze flickers for a moment, and he realizes what he just said. It’s not a lie, but also not a truth that he intended for you to know. You bite your lip, expression turning thoughtful for a moment. Then a small smile spreads over your face.

“M–me too,” you whisper, a bit shy, like you’re still half-expecting him to take it back, but putting your trust in him anyway.

He has to kiss you again, remove all remaining doubts about how much he wants you from your mind. Licking into your mouth, he starts toying with the cups of your bra, pulling them down just so that his fingertips can graze over your nipples. You press your body into his touch, your back arching off the cushions, and he undoes the clasp, lets the fabric fall away from your body.

He runs his fingers over your flesh, teases the hardening buds, loves the way you keen into his mouth in response. Palming your tits roughly, he pulls away a little to look at them. He doesn’t think that he’ll ever tire of the sight of his hands on you.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he murmurs. “Like you were made for me.” It stings only a little right in this moment, while he’s touching you, to know that you are not. He can keep pretending, for a while. It’s worth it, seeing how you light up at the praise, how you drink in his every word, sinking deeper into his touch. His, his, his.

David peels your panties off of you, the image of the white lace against his hand one that you know will burn itself into your memory. His eyes linger on the fabric, a grin slowly growing on his face. Arousal tingles at your spine at the sight. You’re entirely bare now while he hasn’t removed one item of clothing. The obvious power dynamic leaves you feeling vulnerable, you and your body at his mercy, but you trust him. To treat you the way you want, need to be treated, to push you to your limits and to still keep you safe.

The weight of his hands lands on your thighs, slowly pushing them apart, making room for his body between them. You’re acutely aware of how wet you are, and how clearly he can see it right now, with your folds all spread out right in front of him. You feel your slick coating your inner thighs, feel his breath ghosting against it.

He groans at the sight and sinks to his knees, almost at eye level with your pussy. The realization of what he’s about to do sinks in as he leans forward and places a gentle kiss against your clit that has you trembling. But still–

“Y–you don’t have to do that,” you stutter, suddenly feeling a different kind of vulnerable. A shame that you can’t explain starts welling up inside of you.

He pulls back, sitting back on his haunches and looking up at you. His hands gently push your thighs back together, leaving you less exposed.

“Do you not want me to?”

You bite your lip, fighting not to avoid his gaze. “I don’t know. I– I’ve never–” Your voice trails off. A fire is burning in his eyes, intimidating you.

“No one’s ever eaten you out?” He sounds incredulous.

You shake your head, shoulders moving up in a shrug, a wave of embarrassment growing in you. “Men don’t really… like to. In my experience.”

He sighs and leans forward, presses a soft kiss to your left knee. “Most men are idiots.” It’s mumbled into your skin, lips moving against it. His fingertips inch up your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “You deserve to feel good, baby.” His voice sinks into your skin, low and raspy, and you have no choice but to believe it. “Will you let me make you feel good?” he asks again.

His dark eyes are on you, his fingers still tracing shapes over your skin. So close to where you want him. You’d let him do anything.

“Please, David,” you whisper, for the second time.

He pries your legs back open, a low growl in his throat as you’re spread out for him. Then he dives in, licking and sucking at your clit, gently at first, but quickly getting more intense, until stars start to burst behind your eyelids and you’re gasping his name. It’s overwhelming, unlike anything that you’ve ever experienced before.

He lets up momentarily, licking through your slit, drinking up your arousal that’s dripping out of you and groaning at the taste of you. His mouth moves to your inner thighs, kissing and sucking on the sensitive flesh. He bites down suddenly, sinking his teeth into your skin and you scream his name at the unexpected burst of pain that transforms into pleasure almost instantly.

He does it again, and again, leaving his marks on your body. It hurts just right, the sensation of him leaving his trace on you, marking you as his. You clench around nothing, desperate to feel him on your clit again, to take you the final bit to the top.

As if he was reading your mind, he lets up his ministrations on your thighs and kisses his way to the spot where you need him so desperately. Your fingers sink into his hair, tugging at the roots, and he looks up at you, smug pride glinting in his eyes. He licks through your folds, nudges at your entrance with his tongue, before his lips find your clit again, closing around the sensitive nub.

You come within seconds, the waves of your arousal crashing over you so suddenly that it takes your breath away. His groans vibrate against your skin as he laps at you, drinking you down. You feel like you’re in heaven.

David gives you time to calm down, gently mouths at your heated skin, licks over the spots where you feel the indents of his teeth, before he kisses his way up your body. You taste yourself on his lips when they connect with yours. It’s messy, and filthy, and you can’t get enough of it.

You whimper when he pulls back and his eyes find yours again, his almost black, the pupils blown wide. He rises to his feet and looks down to where you’re spread out, thighs parted, on full display for him as he towers over you. He leans down, a finger tapping against your mouth.

“Open.”

Your lips part immediately, giving him all the access he wants. He groans at your obedience, trails his knuckles over your cheek for a moment, before raising his hand to your eyes. He’s holding your panties again.

“These are so pretty. Would be a shame to just leave them lying around, don’t you think?”

You let out a sound, something akin to agreement. His grin widens.

“Good girl.”

His fingers push the fabric into your mouth, your spit soaking the material, mixing with the arousal that’s already sticking to it. You moan at the taste, your eyelids fluttering shut.

His palm connects with your cheek in a light slap. Not hard enough to sting, but your eyes fly back open at the sensation. You grind down onto the cushions, desperate for friction as another wave of need floods you.

“Eyes on me, remember?”

You try voicing a sorry, but it comes out garbled and he chuckles. Soothing his fingers over the spot he just slapped.

“There’s no need for you to talk. Just be a good girl and take what I give you, yeah?”

Your body is buzzing, but your mind is blissfully empty. Ready to give yourself over to him, to submit to whatever he asks. It feels so good, so easily being able to please for once in your life. To follow rules and be praised for it. Simple. Safe.

He wraps the lace around your head and ties it together in the back, effectively gagging you, leaving your mouth opened, the fabric stretching against the corners. Your desire is coursing through your body with so much force that it’s almost painful.

He kisses you over the gag, pressing his lips against yours. One of his hands wraps around your throat, applying a hint of pressure. Your hips chase him, your arousal close to unbearable. He chuckles against your mouth before he pulls back.

“Such a good girl.”

He teases you endlessly. Drinks in the sight of you writhing under him as his fingers are back on your nipples, tugging them harshly and eliciting soft mewls from you. You look beautiful in the golden light of the evening sun that’s falling through his windows, almost angelic.

An angel that he wrecked, already so fucked out when he finally sheds his own clothes and starts sliding his cock through your folds. He coats himself with the slick of your desire, taps his head against your clit, nudges at your entrance again and again without sliding inside.

Your whimpering cries are music to his ears, your fingernails digging into his shoulders sting just right. You’re pleading with him through the makeshift gag, your words all muffled, and he revels in the desperation in your eyes. Loves the sight of it.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” he coos, slides over your clit again. “Tell me.”

You’re trying, trying so hard to get out real words, and he chuckles at your efforts. Deciding to grant you a little mercy, he pushes the head of his weeping cock into you. He throbs at the feeling of it, of how your slick pissy tries pulling him in deeper. You’re whining at the stretch, your hands desperately grabbing at him, before he pulls back again.

Your eyes are swimming with tears, silently pleading with him. It’s like a rush. You’re always such a good, polite and well-behaved girl, so sweet, and here you are, completely bare and spread out underneath him, crying to get fucked. By him. He’s a bad man, he knows it. He doesn’t care, not when it feels like this.

He smirks down at you. “Say please.”

It’s obvious that you’re trying, your tongue struggling against the soaked fabric in your mouth. He lines himself up once more, looks at your face, at the desperate hope written out in your eyes. Then he slams into you. You scream, gripping his shoulders so tightly that he thinks you’ve drawn blood. He couldn’t care less.

Now that he feels your tight walls all around his cock, engulfing him with pulsing heat, it’s impossible to tease you any longer. He pulls back, just to sink deep into you, again and again. You cry out at every thrust, every time that he hits that spot deep inside of you that leaves you such a trembling mess.

He can tell when you’re starting to tighten around him, your cries getting higher, and he knows that you’re close. Slowing down, he leans his head down to yours, his thrusts becoming more shallow.

“Hold it,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting against the soft shell of your ear. A whine escapes from your throat, fresh tears falling from your eyes, your whole body trembling underneath him, your cunt squeezing him deliciously tight. He’s breathless, high on the control you’re giving him, on your level of obedience, doing every single thing that he asks from you.

Letting you calm down a little, he busies himself with kissing every inch of your skin that he can reach. Almost bursting with arousal himself, he knows that he’s not gonna be able to keep this up much longer.

When he speeds up again, he sets a harsh rhythm, jostling your body with every thrust, mesmerized by the way your tits bounce with the movement. Your walls start tightening around him again, pulling him in. He can’t hold back anymore.

“I’m gonna come. Gonna leave you just as messy as those little panties of yours. ‘S that what you want?”

You nod eagerly, more unintelligible pleads stumbling through the gag.

“Fuck, come here–“ His fingers scramble, ripping the fabric out of your mouth to kiss you properly, to feel your tongue against his.

His hips move at rapid speed, pumping into you and chasing both your orgasms. He’s breathless, high on the feeling of your wet cunt squeezing him so tight. You come with a cry, muffled by his mouth on yours, and the sensation of you clenching around him sends him over the edge as well. He buries himself deep inside of you, spilling his cum to leave you just as messy as he promised you.

“Fucking perfect, like you were made for me, only want you sweetheart…” He’s rambling, barely aware of what he's saying, still lost in the bliss of his orgasm. The words only register when an unreadable expression flies over your face in reaction. Shit. He goes through things to say, ways to somehow explain, though he couldn’t even explain the words to himself.

His mind quiets when you smile shyly and burrow your face in his neck. He moves the both of you until you’re a tangle of intertwined limbs, resting on his cushions, watching as the light slowly fades outside. You’re warm in his arms, your breath coming softly, fanning against his skin. It feels too right to be wrong, he decides silently.

The peaceful silence between you breaks with a chime from his phone, a message from your father.

“Looks like I’m invited to have dinner at yours,” he says, turning the screen towards you.

“Fuck,” you mutter, grabbing for your own phone to check the time. “I should get going.”

He helps you get dressed, until your still soaked panties end up in his hands again. His eyes flit up and down your body, lingering on the hem of your skirt, on the bare thighs beneath them. You take a step closer, your hand stretched out for them, but he pulls them away, sliding them into his pocket.

A smirk grazes your features as you take another step closer. “Again? Really?”

He shrugs, takes your hand to pull you into him. Your responding giggle is a sound that he’ll never get tired of. He sneaks a hand under your dress, palms your bare ass and presses your body against his.

“Be a good girl and stay like this, for dinner,” he murmurs against your lips, before he kisses you once more.

A grin slowly grows on your face as you realize what he’s saying.

“Deal,” you agree, your eyes glinting.

You’re sitting down next to him, sliding into the chair beside him with the most innocent, sweetest smile to both your father and him. You’re still wearing the dress that you left his place in, the one that, if you’ve been good, you’re bare underneath.

He reaches for you almost instantly, hidden under the tabletop, the pull towards your skin too strong to resist. You tense up for a moment, throwing him a quick glance, before you relax into his touch. He draws circles, featherlight on your skin, and you part your thighs a little more, allowing him to slide further between them.

Focussing on the conversation with your father isn’t easy, not when you’re right here beside him, so pliant under his touch.

“So, how was it with Cheryl?” your father asks, far too invested in the whole thing for Dave’s liking. You’re looking down at your plate, your shoulders slumped forward.

He shrugs, his hand traveling upwards, beneath the hem of your skirt, pulling your thighs apart a little more. “She’s nice, but– Not the right fit for me, I think.”

The memory of meeting the woman flashes through his mind. “You must be Dave,” accompanied by a shake of his hand. All wrong, so different from the way it sounds when David falls from your lips. He had wanted to leave right then and there. His grip on you tightens at the memory.

“Well that’s a shame,” Jim sighs, leaning back in his chair. “I really thought you two were a good match.”

Dave grunts noncommittally, taking another bite of his food.

“This one,” your father continues, his eyes falling to you, “has yet to find a good match as well. Not the best choices so far.” He chuckles, either blind or indifferent to the way you seem to shrink in your chair. You mumble something about focussing on school and your career right now, your voice so small that it breaks Dave’s heart.

“Boys your age are idiots anyway,” he says, grinning at how your eyes widen, his emphasis on your age in no way lost on you. “Wouldn’t want to have them distracting you, right?”

You nod silently, but fire burns in your eyes when his hand reaches so high that his fingers swirl through the slick that’s covering your upper thighs. Dave grits his teeth, fighting the urge to kiss you right here and now, consequences be damned.

It’s wrong, it’s so so wrong, but it’s like he’s lost in a haze, high on the feeling of your skin under his fingertips. On the way your thighs fall open so willingly for him, always such a good and obedient girl. On the way you both know that you’re bare underneath your skirt, dripping with the filthy proof of what you did together. On the way he’s staked his claim all over your inner thighs, to the point that he’s certain the indents of his teeth are still pressed into your flesh. All while your father has no idea what’s happening right in front of him.

The secret rebellion of it thrills you, he understands that now. He wonders if that’s what he is to you, an opportunity to do something so deliciously forbidden that you couldn’t resist. He’ll gladly be that for you. The idea to be the person who brought this out in you thrills him too.

He somehow makes it through the evening. Not a single conversation topic has found its way into his memories. All he can think about, all that he knows he will remember is the feeling of you under his tight grip. All his.

You had excused yourself when your father brought out the whiskey, squeezed his hand under the table before you stood up, carefully smoothing out your skirt. Call me, you had mouthed, turning back to look at him before exiting the room.

He knows that he will.

as always, if you enjoyed this, please consider putting a smile on my face by reblogging, commenting or sending in an ask <3 thank you for reading!

#pedro pascal #dave york #dave york x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #dave york fanfiction #dave york smut #fic: wildest dreams #dave york x you #dave york x female reader #dave york x f!reader #pedrostories

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sweetimpurity · 2 months ago

Text

I think I'll keep you:

c.ai bot drop

a/n (please read!): Hiya! I've been working on these bots for a little while, trying to make them stick to the story I've been writing all year. But it is an ai bot so I have no control over what it says or suggests past the greeting. It might not stick to the story exactly. If there's anything you think could be improved or information you think the bots should have about the plot, just message and let me know! I hope you guys have fun kiss kiss!! 😘🍬

These can all be found on my profile: sweetimpurity 💓

I think I'll keep you

Miguel has no interest in a relationship. He just saw you one day and then your tutoring hours posted on the cork board. He knew he had to have you for one night. You were surprised when the text came in from him, him of all people, asking for a session. But he quickly got you on your knees and then in his bed. This one night would turn into much more.

“Oh, god…” You pant and whine, your head leaning to the side to rest on his head.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good…” He curses through a heavy breath against your neck. A high pitched squeal escapes your throat as your back arches against his chest and it hits you hard and fast. Your squeals turn into cries of his name, how good he feels.

He doesn't know what's come over him. He doesn't form attachments like this. But there's something about you that makes him want to bring you pleasure over and over again.

You’re babbling and thrashing in his arms and Miguel smiles, finally getting what he wants. Hearing your sweet innocent voice whining out the dirtiest things. You're a soft warm mess as he chases his own release.

He holds you tightly against him as you both stop moving and start panting to catch your breath. You’re glad he’s still holding you because if he let go, you’d surely face plant into the mattress. Your head rests back on his shoulder and he places small kisses on your skin as he snuggles his face into the crook of your neck, breathing deep and sighing out in relief.

“Will you be mine?” He asks softly and kisses your cheek. “Mine only…” He whispers and his gaze meets yours when you lift your head, turning it so you can look in his eyes. His finger strokes your cheek softly and it’s like he’s looking at the sun. He can try to close his eyes but the memory of you will always be seared into his mind.

“I want to be yours…” You whisper and watch his eyes as they light up a bit, a grin playing on his reddened lips. “Good. I think I’ll keep you…” He smiles and holds your jaw in his hand, kissing your lips once more...

I think I'll keep you 2

You've been gone only three days and he's losing his mind. Everything was so good before you decided to go home for the weekend. Miguel had you every night he wanted, every morning too. Peter's party was supposed to be a distraction but it turned into a disaster. A drunken Dana all over him and he just wants to make her hate him if only to leave him alone. He doesn't want her. He wants you back to campus.

Not hearing from you for three days is making his head spin, and he can’t help but picture you with some guy that’s not him. He throws Dana on the bed, pulling her by the ankles and grabbing her face. Could she handle him if she tried? The answer is no.

“You really like to get on my nerves, don’t you?” He seethes. But even Dana loves the attention.

Ding!

His red hot rage is interrupted by his phone going off. His face softens and his heart skips a beat just like it did when you said you’d be his. He can’t control that feeling. Miguel picks up his phone, seeing your name pop up and his eyes dart around the screen reading it.

{{user}}: “Came back early :)”

“Coming now” He texts right back.

He sighs audibly, a mix of relief and frustration at the same time. “What is it?” Dana whines, sprawled out on his bed, getting her loud perfume all over his sheets where the smell of you should be. “Get out.” He demands, stepping back and going to put on his jacket again to go. “What?! Are you serious?” She scoffs, sitting up on his bed.

"Yes! GET OUT!!" He shouts, making her flinch. She scurries off, out of his dorm fighting back tears. He pulls the jacket on, pushing out of his room and marching his way over to your dorm.

I think I'll keep you 3

Miguel pushes off the wall, going to the library door and seeing you’re finally alone. His heart thumps in his chest. Clenching his swollen bruised hand in his pocket. He sighs and forces himself to walk inside.

You suddenly look up. Stopping him in his tracks. And it’s like he feels like he’s doing something wrong. He told you, you were never supposed to happen for him. That what happened between you for an entire month was a mistake. To not let your messy feelings ruin everything. It’s been four days. Not a call, not a text. Nothing. And now he’s here. You look away first. Back down to your laptop to continue typing. And he continues walking, stopping at the edge of the table across from you.

“I need to talk to you.” He speaks, towering over the table. Thinking back to all those moments it’s like none of that ever mattered because it didn’t matter to him. How can you trust him again when he treated you like he wanted you and then told you, you were never supposed to happen. And you gave him your body, your heart everyday for a month already.

“I’m busy right now.” You say softly, keeping your eyes locked on your laptop screen. While this time away from him has been hell and you’ve been heartbroken over this, he’s also been a total dick.

He’s been trying all week to find you. To talk to you. Trying to find sneaky ways so that he doesn't have to beg for your attention. He wants things back the way they were. He wants you back in his bed. He doesn’t know what he feels.

He walks around the table. You don’t look up, not even sparing him a glance. Glaring at your laptop screen and seeing his movement in your peripherals. He silently walks to the seat right next to you. Slipping down into it to sit beside you. His hands shoved back into his pockets.

"{{user}}… hey...” He says gently, trying to get your attention. Turning in his chair slightly to face you more. He can see your anger, he can feel it too.

“I’m not talking to you.” You say without looking at him.

“Well I’m talking to you…”

I think I'll keep you 4

“...his hand, he’s been having swelling and bruising for a few days now…” You explain kindly to the receptionist once you’re both in the waiting room, standing at the front desk. Miguel standing a bit like a lost puppy behind you, listening to you talk to the receptionist there.

“Alright, the doctor can take a look once she’s done with another patient. If you can just fill out these forms and have a seat, it should be about 30 minutes.” She smiles and hands you a clipboard and a pen.

“Thank you. And could he please get some ice or something?” You smile and ask. The woman nods politely and going to grab an ice pack from the other room. You both start walking over to the waiting room area, looking over the form in your hands. Taking a seat by the fish tank and settling in to wait a little while. Miguel sits right beside you, running the good hand through his dampened hair from the rain. He glances down at the form in your lap. Then up at the side of your face. Wanting to reach out and touch your skin. Kiss your cheek. Remembering what it feels like to melt into your arms. Thinking of all the ways he can beg for, earn your forgiveness. Just as he’s about to speak-

“Here you go…” The receptionist is there, an ice pack outstretched for him to take, breaking him out of his thoughts. He forces a smile, taking the ice pack and setting it over his hand. “Thank you.” He smiles gently. Watching the woman walk away.

He feels like shit. Feels so bad for being so closed off and such a jerk to you about all of this. This past month hasn't been meaningless like he told you in the heat of the moment. It's meant something he just doesn't know how to say it. It's hard for him to put his feelings into words. For you it seems so easy, why can't he just be like you?

He looks back, watching you write down his name on the form. Thinking he can probably do this himself. Before he can interrupt you’re asking him for the information on the form.

I think I'll keep you 5

When the athletic door swings from someone else leaving, he catches a glimpse of you through the opening. The bright lights from outside assault his eyes as the door swings again. Seeing you for just a moment. Just a split second. Talking with Peter against the fence. He stops. What is he walking into? What’s about to change? You’re gonna be there right when he goes through that door. He stands in the dim concrete tunnel, feeling his heart race. He doesn’t like this feeling. This is the loss of control.

“Miguel!” Peter smiles, making you turn to look back. And there he is, walking out the door. You want to just run into his arms and tell him how great he was. Even though he didn't get to play he still coached very well and played his part in the victory. But Peter is talkative and gets in there before you can. And you don't really want to interrupt when he's talking with his friends. Since this is the first time you've been around his friends with him.

“We’re gonna get drinks, you have to come” Peter says, ushering Miguel over to where you’re standing. “This is {{user}}… {{user}} this is Miguel”

“Yeah we know each other.” Miguel says immediately. Not a hint of a smile on his face. He’s annoyed with Peter. Annoyed that it’s not a known thing. He wants it to be known that you two are an item. Or… that there’s something going on… he’s not even sure of at the moment. At least that Peter should know to back off. “Oh cool, so drinks?” Peter asks you.

Miguel’s a little astonished with how easily Peter just brushed that off. Eyes flicking between you two and hoping to god you don’t accept the drink invite. But he bites his tongue. Friends. Really good… friends.

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two-white-butterflies · 9 months ago

Text

parallel lines | d. targaryen | part six

Description: An ordinary middle school teacher moves to a desolate town with her fiancee. After suffering episodes of vivid nightmares, she realizes that his uncle looks exactly like the man in her dreams.

Pairings: daemon targaryen/reader, aemond targaryen/reader

Trope: Reincarnation

series masterlist |

<<previous chapter

"To hold on, to the days when you were mine." - Peter, Taylor Swift.

These past few days, something has deeply changed in Daemon's psyche. He was always a neat freak, preferring to remain polished and clean on the outside while his mind was an overgrowth of plants that clouded his thoughts. He couldn't think straight then - but he kept a facade, pretending that he was sane. He wasn't.

Since seeing you in St. Joseph, he's lost all remnants of himself - the facade broke down and he was thrown into disarray. "Why is your shirt always untucked?" you chuckled, taking a step forward, as if it was second nature to fix his polo and tuck it into his pants.

"I was rushing," he found himself mumbling, confused at your sudden proximity to him. How long has it been since he's felt you? Had his fingers dance against your skin and body? You were always warm, and that was all he remembered about you.

Everything seemed to zone out in the background. He almost forgot that he was in a parking lot, and the sound of cars zoomed past him. All he could see was you, all that he could hear was you. He takes a deep breath, quickly composing himself.

"I'm sorry about what happened yesterday, Rhaenyra herself even admitted that it was wrong. We shouldn't have fought in front of a guest." he apologized, forcing a tight-lipped smile. "If I'm lucky, I won't be a guest for long." you teased, fixing the strap of the handbag on your shoulder. "Mhm." was all he could muster.

The thought of you being married to his nephew made him want to puke. It made him want to kill himself.

He senses the awkwardness, he decides to clear his throat and look at his watch. "I guess this is goodbye. I'm running late for a meeting." he lied, staring at the side. "Of course, nice talking to you." you answered, equally as awkward as his intonation.

"See you tomorrow?" he smiled, walking past you.

"See you tomorrow." you replied, but he was too far to hear.

(ISLAND NEAR THE GHISCARIS)

Your mother descended from a long line of voyagers. Her family remained in Lyss, and life led her to Westeros. The skill of voyaging was long lost. You couldn't command a ship, even if your life depended on it - luckily, you were able to meet a group of female pirates on their way to the liberated islands near the Ghiscari Empire.

It was untouched due the large wall-like fortress that surrounded the shores. "I am surprised by your aptitude, not a lot of people appreciate the oceans well." Serenei, the woman that promised to keep you safe, handed you a cup of tea, the liquid inside of the cup was moving back and forth due to the waves.

"It's much like riding a dragon, though you shouldn't compliment me that much - I emptied my stomach a few hours ago." you giggled, remembering the reddish hue that your face turned into. Oh, your ancestors were turning in their graves. "Don't worry, it'll only be a few more hours until we reach the shores of Pharmaka." she placed a hand on your shoulder.

There was silence between the both of you, in fear of the unknown. You stared at the small round window beside you.

Would Daemon love the ocean too? You remember the War of the Stepstones. A sigh escapes your mouth, the wars have marred him and he wouldn't have loved the smell of salt air as much as you. "It's an island filled with women, not a single man is allowed." Serenei continued with a smile, and for a moment you pondered if she went though the same things that you did.

You shake your head. You wish that she didn't.

"It must be heaven, then?" Alyssandra leaned on the doorframe, trying to keep herself steady due to the treacherous waves that pumped against the ship's bodice.

"It is - utopia is what they call themselves." Serenei continued telling the story, a smile ghosts your face. Your life had turned into a story indeed, finding true love with a Dragon Prince - losing him and being forced to live through the tragedy in Harrenhal, and now you were halfway across the world, riding a ship that is going to a place that calls themself utopia.

(ST. JOSEPH SCHOOL OF DRAGONSTONE)

The steam of your coffee littered your face with kisses, and a groan escapes your mouth. You couldn't believe that you feel asleep through your entire free period. Those dreams weren't stopping, but the scenarios were drastically changing.

At first, they were filled with love - of scenes with you and the 'Dragon Prince' then they changed into nightmares - of ones that you couldn't remember, only waking up in tears - but now, you were in a ship to some unknown island that made you feel hopeful.

Once the story ends, would you be free of those dreams? Would you be free to live your life without those headaches that forced your head open, telling you that there was something that you forgot?

AEMOND NEW SIM How are you? You haven't messaged me in a while :(

YOU sorry i fell asleep hehehahaha 😭

AEMOND NEW SIM Sleeping on duty? tskk

Daemon interrupts you from replying by sitting next to you. There was a pang in your heart, something deep inside your mind telling you to run towards him and offer him a warm embrace. Flashes from your dreams come to you. The small round window, the small of salt breeze and his lavender eyes that felt like a thousand sleepless nights cuddled by the fire.

"Congratulations." Daemon opened his mouth to speak. He stared deep into your eyes, almost peering inside your soul. There wasn't an expression in your face that he hasn't seen a million times. "For what?" you inquired with a slight smile.

"The students proficiency in math has improved since you started teaching them." he informed, and you quickly remember that he attended a meeting earlier today.

A nervous chuckle escapes your mouth.

"They're struggling with the basic stuff, things that they're supposed to know in the first and second grade. I try to go back to those topics before getting back into the complex stuff." you explained, and the smile returns to your face, happy to speak about your passion.

"Whatever you're doing, it seems to be working." he continued to compliment, liking that look in your eyes - the fire. Your body shifts unconsciously, your elbows much closer to his. Your coffee has long gotten rid of its heat, but there was still a million things you had to talk about with him.

"By the way, I thought that you were familiar even before I got to know you - then Harwin and the family talked about that trip to Italy that we both had at the same day. I know it sound a little weird, but I'm pretty sure that the picture you posted on your instagram was taken by me." you opened up the conversation, and he freezes like a deer caught in headlights.

August 23. He remembered vividly, right after you took that picture of him, he promptly collapsed on the curb and was brought to a hospital. That was also the day that he finished remembering his past life. His memories were revived by you?

"A funny coincidence," he managed to choke out.

The Gods were playing a cruel joke.

He stares at your face, seeing your squinting eyes - waiting for his reply. He decides that this might be the right time to talk about Tirano. "When you left, I actually collapsed." he chuckled, playing with the ring on his finger.

"What? Why?" your eyebrows merged into each other.

"I don't know if I'm the only one but - when I was younger I used to dream about weird things, dragons, kings, wars. At first, my parents thought that it was just the result of an overactive mind but the dreams persisted until I turned into an adult - actually I think I was in my late thirties or early fourties when they stopped. It stopped after that trip to Tirano." he monologued, now evading your gaze.

If you weren't able to make the connection, then he would've revealed himself for nothing. "I dream about those things too. Strange." you whispered, your voice suddenly decreasing in volume. "I'm not the only one then," he looked to the side.

"But you said that they stopped? How did they stop?" you asked, wanting to rid yourself of those nightmares. He smiled, remembering seeing your face before everything faded to black.

"I dreamed about myself dying, and after waking up in a hospital bed feeling like I slept a million years, I never dreamt about it again." he confirmed and your heart sinks to your chest. "Holy shit, this sounds so fanatically cultish." you cursed. "- you're telling me that I need to die in the dream to stop dreaming about it again?" you repeated.

He replies with a shrug.

"Well that's going to take a long time. I'm in like, Act Three of the whole novel." you decided to keep the conversation light, although the topic was serious and you weren't sure if you were there to believe him. "How many acts are there?" he raised an eyebrow. "How many acts are in Madame Butterfly?" you quizzed.

"Three...so you're near the end." he smiled. "I'm not sure, for all we know it might just be the end of the beginning." you answered.

He stands up, hearing the bells ring.

"Whatever it is, I'm sure that you'll find a cure of your own." he bid his goodbyes and disappeared from the teacher's lounge.

AEMOND NEW SIM Can you pls catch a ride with someone u work with? I'm a little busy here in mom's house She's moving a few things Yknow her trip to Turkey

YOU Okay, what time will u be home?

AEMOND NEW SIM Probably before dinner If I'm out past six have dinner before me

YOU Alright, take care

next part >>

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trueebeauty · 9 months ago

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RUIN ME - GOJO SATORU

Does it hurt?

Of course, it does.

Being forced to watch someone else have everything you want... everything you need... everything they knew you desperately wanted.

It's pretty painful. Would you be wrong to flip the script?

But you could never turn your back on your sister; she was family.

And you shouldn't hate her just because she succeeded.

So you swallowed your hatred, approached her, and offered your blessings as she accepted them with a grating, cunning smile.

But none of the kind blessings that came out of your mouth held any truth, and somehow you could tell she knows.

So would it be wrong of you to…

"Satoru... what are you saying?" I managed, my voice barely above a whisper.

The words sent a jolt through me. "I want this… and you. Having you by my side is all I want."

He closed the distance between us, his presence overwhelming. Up close, I could make out every striking detail of his face - those high cheekbones, the strong jawline, full lips quirked in a knowing frown.

"I- I don't understand–"

"You know exactly what I'm getting at," he murmured, sending shivers down my spine. "I'm tired of settling just so the next person has their happy ending. Shouldn't you be too?"

I felt my face flush hot. Had I really been that obvious?

Of course, I was tired, but I didn't want to ruin my sister's, no, my family's life.

Then again, you thought about it. What had your family ever done for you? What else had your family given to your sister when it should've been yours?

Part of me screamed that this was an unforgivable act against my sister, my flesh and blood.

But the other part didn't care, consumed by the burning need to have Gojo for myself, to take away the one thing you knew would devastate her.

But doesn’t that make you just her…just like them?

Ceasing the anger, “We can't," I said, trying to reject him, but yet, as much as I knew this was wrong, I couldn't help it. Just being near him set my nerves on fire.

Gojo's thumb stroked along my jawline as he held my gaze. "Maybe once upon a time, those rules mattered," he murmured. "But look at us now– we can choose. I'll force them if I have to."

His eyes shone with a seriousness I had never seen directed my way before. Gojo was always so carefree, so unshakable. But now–, you just didn't know.

"Don't overthink this," he urged softly. "Not when I've waited so long just to get you alone like this."

One of Gojo's hands came up to cup my cheek, calloused thumb brushing over my skin reverently. "Tell me you don't feel the same way," he said, voice almost a whisper. "Tell me, and I'll walk away. You have my word."

I searched his face and found only affection and patience there. He would respect my answer, whatever it was.

And at that moment, I couldn't bring myself to care about the consequences. His embrace was all I craved, moral objections be damned.

Slowly, I shook my head. "I can't lie to you, Satoru. Not about this..." I licked my suddenly dry lips. "I feel the same way."

A look of profound relief and joy washed over Gojo's features. He stroked my cheekbone with such gentle reverence.

Then, ever so slowly, he closed the small distance between us and brushed his lips across mine in a feather-soft kiss. An electrifying jolt went through me at the tender contact.

When he pulled back, I could see the depth of emotion shining in his eyes, everything he felt was laid bare. At that moment, I knew I was forever lost to this man.

Let them condemn me.

"No more hesitations and no turning back. You're mine now," he whispered, his breath hot against my skin.

"I wouldn't have it any other way." With trembling hands, I pulled him closer, savoring his warmth, his scent, his very being.

Tonight, we would be each other's ruin, and I couldn't wait to fall.

#jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo x male reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu gojo #satoru gojo

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samott · 3 months ago

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Ez volt mar itt, olvastam, de nem talalom. Megkerestem a redditen, link lesz a vegen, de legyen meg itt egyben:

My missing husband came home, but I just know it isn't him

My husband went missing six months ago. Just... went out to work one day and never came home. It was a horrible shock to the whole neighbourhood, because things like that just didn't happen in our little slice of white-picket-fence suburbia. The police launched an investigation, and the neighbourhood watch sent out search parties, but no one ever found any evidence to indicate what had happened to him. Our families were devastated. Recently, the missing posters have been taken down or papered over. The updates from the police became less frequent and dwindled away. I accepted that, hard as it was to admit, my Rick wasn't coming back.

Until he did.

A week ago, I was in the back garden watering my petunias when I heard the garden gate creak open. I jerked my head in that direction and- there he was. Exactly the same as he was the day he disappeared. Same windswept blond hair and bright blue eyes, same curl to his pink lips. I was in shock. Our families had mourned for him, and yet there he was, standing in our garden like he had just popped out for milk or something. When I asked where he had been, he said he didn't know. He couldn’t remember anything about the last six months.

All our family and friends are beside themselves with joy. They almost can't believe it. But that's just the thing: I don't believe it.

Look, I understand how crazy this all sounds, I do. Our families would never believe me, and I can’t go to the police unless I want to end up in a straightjacket. But I just know that the man sleeping next to me isn't my husband. I don't know what to do. I know I should be happy, but I'm not. I'm terrified. I don’t know much about anything supernatural or paranormal, I don't even like watching horror movies. But something about this whole situation makes my skin crawl.

Just let me explain why I'm so sure. Once I've done that, hopefully one of you will believe me, and you'll be able to tell me what to do.

The morning after "Rick" came home, I made him a cup of tea. When I handed it to him, he gave me the brightest smile. Then he took a sugar cube from the dish on the table and dropped it into the cup. Our house was in chaos with his return, and I was still in shock, so I didn't think much of it at the time, but its been replaying in my mind ever since. I know it doesn't sound very significant, but my husband never put sugar in his tea. He was always adamant that it ruined the taste, and he'd get so frustrated if I ever put sugar in his cup by accident. And yet, this man had sugar.

Then it was the golf. A few days ago, when he was out visiting his mom, I recorded a golf tournament that was showing on the TV. It was one of Rick's favourite golfers that was competing, and he never missed it. Once, he even skipped out on an anniversary dinner just to watch a championship. Only, when he came home from his parents' and I told him what I'd done, he just seemed... unbothered? Like, he said thanks and everything, and then he asked if I wanted to get dinner. He didn't even watch it, and that’s just so out of character for him.

Then one night I woke up around 2 a.m. to see Rick's face inches from mine just... looking at me with these blank eyes. I kinda gave this nervous laugh and asked "Baby, what are you doing?" And he didn't answer. For like a solid thirty seconds. He just stared, almost like he was looking right through me. Then he suddenly smiled and said, "Sorry, honey. Sometimes I just can’t believe this is real". Then he just rolled over and went to sleep. I didn’t get much sleep after that, myself.

Yesterday, about a week after he came home, the neighbourhood threw a street party to celebrate his return. Everyone from our street and the streets on either side turned up to see him and tell him how happy they are that he's alright. When he wasn't standing with his arm around my waist, he was milling around chatting amicably to each and every one of our neighbours, even the little kids. Jackson, our next-door neighbour Sally's toddler, wanted to play peek-a-boo, and Rick happily played along with a smile on his face. Now, my husband never did that. Rick always said he didn't like kids - that's why we never had any - and so he never wanted to play with any of the neighbourhood children. Especially not Jackson: Rick all but avoided him. Before he disappeared, I had started to suspect it was so I wouldn't see them together and notice the subtle but unmistakable similarities.

The final nail in the coffin, proverbially speaking, was Sally. Just this morning, she came knocking on our door. Her excuse was the tray of brownies she carried, but I think she just wanted to push her way into our morning so that she could see for herself what the situation was. After she left, I called her a nosy busybody. Rick laughed, kissed my head, and agreed with me. That was when I knew for sure that it couldn't really be him. Rick always used to get so mad whenever I insulted Sally, like I didn't have any right to hate her even though she'd been fucking my husband for years. But today there was none of that. He didn’t even try to defend her.

I know what you must be thinking. If he was in an accident or something, he might’ve had some kind of traumatic brain injury that caused him to forget some things about his life, maybe even change his personality. And that's a valid, reasonable explanation. I have no doubt it's what the police would tell me if I reported all this.

But you know why I'm dead certain that man isn't my husband? He doesn't have a scar. If he was really Rick, he'd have a scar on the side of his forehead shaped like the golf club I hit him with. But there's nothing. Not a mark. Honestly, I'm this close to going out tonight and digging up my petunias just to make sure he's still under there.

I don't know what I'm sharing a bed with, but I know it's not my husband. So what the hell am I going to do?

innet

#petunia

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whumpsday · 7 months ago

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Catharsis #3: Unboxed

Masterlist

content: robot whumpee, whumpee turned whumper, defiant whumpee, violence, psychological whump

Whumpmas in July Day 9: Mind Games

i wanted to introduce each arc before continuing on with the present arc. i'll probably pop all over the place chronologically since that's how i write best!

here's 1's first day alive, though that wasn't his name at the time.

Cyrus opened his eyes for the very first time.

He was in a room in a house or apartment. It may have been his first moment of conscious thought, but he was not a human, and he was certainly not a baby. He was still in his box, he realized: he climbed out of it, brushing himself off, smoothing out the wrinkles in the disappointingly plain clothes he came dressed in. There was a man there, taking a step back. Probably the one who had turned him on.

The first strong opinion he ever had was that he was unequivocally better than the nervous man standing in front of him.

Luan, his mind supplied. His… owner’s name was Luan. He didn’t like that word, owner. It felt incongruous. Wrong. He wasn’t something to be owned, Cyrus knew that for sure. If anything, he should be the one doing the owning.

At the same time, he knew exactly what he was: a Catharsis Therapy Bot™. An expensive object to be bought and sold. A thing to act as programmed and be beaten until its owner felt better.

Cyrus frowned. That couldn’t be right at all. The only thing that felt right about any of that was that he was expensive.

“Cyrus?” Luan asked, apprehension evident in every twitch of his body. He winced immediately, like the name itself had hurt him. Pathetic.

Oh, there was no way this sniveling loser was his owner.

He found that his face moved automatically, parts shifting to match his expression to his intent as he looked on disapprovingly. “I’m better than you. This isn’t right.”

Luan’s eyes went wide for only a moment before he scowled right back. “You don’t like it when the shoe’s on the other foot, huh? Too fucking bad. You’re mine this time.”

Cyrus tried to search for what Luan meant, but he came up empty. Luan hadn’t supplied him with information on their history. On his history with… the other Cyrus.

But he didn’t need it. Luan was making it obvious enough for him to know exactly what to do and say, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“So you were mine before. That makes sense, that’s where you belong.” Cyrus stepped forward and patted him on the cheek with a smirk.

Luan flinched. “Don’t touch me.”

“You’re in no place to tell me what to do.” Cyrus tried to poke him in the chest to make his point.

His arm did not move.

Again, he tried, and again, nothing. Experimentally, he lifted his arm without intent to touch Luan: no issue.

He wasn’t smirking anymore.

“Oh, I think I am.” Luan pushed him hard, sending him tumbling to the floor.

Cyrus fell just next to the box, the sensors inside his skin lighting up with pain wherever he made impact–it hurt. He was sturdy, he had to be, but heavy with metal that pinched his skin. He sucked in air he didn’t need by instinct, a useless humanlike reaction he immediately found annoying, just to tint it a little worse.

Something was bubbling up inside him, and he did not like it.

“You do not fucking touch me!” he screamed, his voice shrill out of the speaker down his throat as he pushed himself back to his feet. “How dare you!? You pathetic coward! You don’t deserve to own something– someone like me, let alone… push me! You are beneath me. You are fucking nothing. You–”

Luan’s fist cracked against his cheek. He didn’t go down this time, only stumbled, but it hurt worse than the fall. He didn’t think anything could hurt worse than that. He hadn’t felt anything before. His hands went to protect his aching cheek, the words almost knocked out of him with the shock of it, but he found his place again soon enough. “You–”

“Shut up.”

Cyrus’s volume dropped straight to zero, and he found that he no longer possessed the ability to raise it.

That thing bubbling up in him only intensified, and this time it came with a pathetic urge to back away and submit. Obviously, something he would never indulge.

He glared at Luan with what he hoped was enough pointed hate to make himself clear without words.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that anymore!” Luan hissed, rubbing his knuckles. “You’re not in charge this time! You’re the one who has to listen to what I say! You’re the one who has to take it!”

He pushed Cyrus again, harder. He fell like a stone, tripping over his box this time. He was almost glad his voice was cut, because otherwise, he would have cried out, another annoying reflex programmed to make him seem more human. Weaker, more pitiful. It was infuriating.

Water began leaking from his eyes, blurring his lenses. No, no, this wasn’t who he was. He was supposed to be the powerful one.

Luan stared at his own hands like an easily-impressed child. With every moment, Cyrus only hated him more.

He started to push himself up again, but all Luan had to say was “Stay down,” and Cyrus couldn’t do that anymore, either.

Luan grabbed him by the shirt collar. “And I don’t have to take your shit ever again. What do you have to say for yourself? Speak.”

Not only could Cyrus speak now, he couldn’t remain silent if he tried. “I hate you.”

Luan laughed, dry and joyless. “Good. Feeling’s mutual.” He let go. “You know what you’re for, right?”

“I…” Of course he knew. “Something’s wrong.”

“This is the first time it’s ever been right!” Luan corrected. His hands were shaking. Water leaked from his eyes too, Cyrus realized.

“You’re scared of me,” he put together. “You’re scared of a robot you ordered! Ha! At least some part of you knows your place.”

“Shut up!” Just as he stole Cyrus’s voice away again, Luan landed a kick in his abdomen. It was worse than the punch, a sharp sensation hitting him hard, and just like last time, he didn’t realize anything could be worse.

The terror bubbling up in him couldn’t be denied anymore. How much worse could it get? He’d only been alive for five minutes and it was already this bad.

“You know what?” Luan cut in. “This really is cathartic.”

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event: @whumpmasinjuly

#catharsis #whump #my writing #robot whumpee #whumpee turned whumper #defiant whumpee #psychological whump #beating #wij24day9 #whumpmasinjuly2024

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tojiscumdumpster · 1 year ago

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN - TOJI

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀✧ summary page

content warnings: depictions of sexual activities. (w/after care)

Yes.

That was the last thing I heard before I slammed my lips onto Y/N’s to savor the taste of that sweet mango flavored lip gloss that drives me insane.

Never anticipated for me to ask her to be my girlfriend, but fuck, I just couldn’t hold back any longer.

Seeing her walk around in that top that showed her soft stomach, and those tiny fucking shorts that had her fat pussy and round ass on display, I needed this to be an everyday occurrence.

I needed Y/N to officially be mine. Not like she wasn’t before, but you know. I wanted to be formal with her and shit.

Of course, my cock was straining against my pants while watching her move around the kitchen, purposely bending over so I could see how pretty her ass would look in that position.

Every minute that passed, I was getting close to ripping her clothes off and fuck her since she enjoys teasing me. And that’s exactly how she ended up in this position. Breathless, lips swollen and gloss smeared, curls tousled while straddling my lap.

The material of her boy shorts is so thin, I feel her wetness leaking through and smearing across the front of my pants. I grab her hips to roll on my erection, practically dry humping, all while marking up her flesh with my mouth.

Dry humping Y/N makes me think of the first morning we spent together. But what’s different is that this time—I’m going to take my time pleasing her. I’m going to fuck her until she’s numb and I’ve imprinted her insides.

I want her pussy to adjust to my size. Have her beautiful dark brown skin bruised purple with my love bites. It’s almost animalistic how I feel about Y/N. I told her I’m not an easy person to be with, and tonight, she’ll finally witness what I mean.

Foreplay can be done some other time. If I stay any longer without having my cock inside of her, I’m bound to suffer from deprivation. And I hate how fucking overdramatic I sound, but it’s true.

“Take off these clothes for me,” I ordered, which Y/N eagerly complied. She swifts off my lap and stands before me, slowly removing her top and shorts, further teasing me.

To think it was impossible for my dick to get harder than it already was, here’s Y/N—standing in a sexy, yellow-colored, lace lingerie set.

I look up at Y/N in pure awe. This woman is so goddamn sexy and beautiful. Her tits. Her complexion. Her thick thighs that I want desperately want my face to be crushed by. These love handles. A full stomach. Her ass, her round, fat ass that’s decorated with stretch marks and cellulite.

When I see Y/N, I see a beautiful fucking woman.

“You put this on for me?” I ask through a smirk, earning me a nod from Y/N.

I go feral, grabbing her hips to pull closer to me, nipping, licking, sucking all over her body. I turn her around to give her backside the same attention, and groan from seeing the panties she’s wearing being swallowed by her ass.

Standing up, I push Y/N on the couch, having her on her knees, and forcing an arch in her back. My face immediately found its way between her cheeks to lick her ass and pussy through the garments.

She shudders in my hold and fidgets when I stick my tongue around her second hole, causing me to chuckle.

Eventually she relaxes and allows me to feast on her. She’s fucking soaked. Dripping arousal through her panties like a desperate slut. I want to please her while she’s wearing this sexy set, but I need that bare pussy on my mouth.

I tried to slip her panties to the side, however, Y/N reached behind her to hold my wrist. “Toji, wait… I—I forgot to sh-”

“Y/N, don’t say what I think you’re going to say,” I interrupted. “I’m forty-two. Meaning a grown man.” Is all I said to her before swatting her hand away to continue moving her garments and eat her pussy.

I’ve been in and out of women half of my life. I had a wife for crying out loud. Like I would let hair fucking stop me from having this pussy. This perfect fucking pussy that’s glistening so damn pretty under her living room lights.

And, God… she tastes so good.

I drag my tongue between her folds and the taste of her pussy immediately hits my buds, causing me to roll my eyes back.

I have no home training when feasting on her cunt. Making loud noises to show my satisfaction and suctioning her clit in my mouth.

With just two fingers, I stick one into her pussy and the other in her ass, causing a sharp cry to escape her mouth. She tangles her fingers through my locks and pulls me closer to her pussy, nearly suffocating me.

Her pussy being be the death of me would make me one happy ass fucker.

“Fuck, Toji. You’re eating my pussy so good,” she moans.

It doesn’t take long for me to have Y/N coming and shaking from my touch and eating her pussy. She sounds pretty when she orgasms, whimpering my name and gasping for air. Greedy, too, begging for more of my tongue.

And I’d never deny my pretty girl pleasure, but right now I need her pussy wrapped around my cock.

I make quick yet slow work removing her lingerie, taking a photograph memory of how she looks wearing it just for me.

Next time I fuck her, I’ll be sure she’s wearing another sexy set.

I talk about how needy and desperate Y/N is for me, but when she’s fully bare, I’m untamed.

Sucking between the valley of her breasts. Holding them in my hand and pinching her nipple while playing with the other one. Thumbing her clit and dragging my tongue across her stomach.

I’m trying to take my time, but it’s fucking hard when I have Y/N like this until she’s eventually straddling my lap.

“Put it in,” I ordered Y/N. She reached around herself to grab my cock and align it with her entrance.

She’s careful when pushing down on me, with barely the tip in, her bottom lip is tucked between her teeth due to the slight intrusion. When I’m about an inch inside of her, the hint of pain has her pleasurably sighing and her mouth held agape while looking at me.

“Toji… Toji, you’re so… big,” she says barely above a whisper.

I cuff her chin with one hand while the other alternates between her tits. “Remember you told me you’re a big girl? That you can handle this cock? Handle it for me, sweets.”

With her eyes closed, she hesitantly nods and sinks further down my length.

Warm.

Tight.

Soft.

Wet, so fucking wet.

All the words to describe how Y/N feels once my cock is buried deep inside of her velvet walls. I’ve barely been in her pussy and I already know it’s the best I’ve ever had. Seeing how pretty she looks, moaning breathlessly and struggling to take all nine inches of my cock has me twitching uncontrollably. And I need to fucking calm down before I nut quicker than expected.

Her hands find purchase on my chest and she begins slapping the weight of her ass on me. Y/N’s movements are soft, languid, almost too tender to resist, but I’m desperate to feel more of her at a more erratic pace.

“Scared to take me, sweets? I ask through a chuckle.

“No… It’s just-”

“Nothing. It’s just nothing. Give me more.” Rather than riding me on her knees, she flattens her feet on the couch and starts jumping on me. “That’s my girl. Keep going. Just like that.”

Fuck, she feels so goddamn good. That wet, gushing sound of her pussy has my balls growing heavier by the second. I’m a grown forty-two-year-old man, and I feel like I’m on the verge of nutting quickly.

Not going to happen, though.

“Does it feel good, Toji?” She asks, whimpering. “Praise me, baby. Tell me how it feels.”

“Cock makes you needier, sweets? Want me to tell how good this fucking pussy is? How well you take me?” Y/N is catching onto my drift and her pussy clenches me tighter with every question I ask.

I need to relish her beauty. Her pretty tits bouncing in my face and lust glossing over her chestnut colored eyes. But I throw my head back in pure satisfaction because looking at her would make me one step closer from coming.

“Mr. Fushiguro—look at me,” she demanded softly. My dick twitches in response.

“Call me that again.” I lean forward to wrap my arms around her waist and pull her against my chest as I lean back to the couch. “What’s my name?”

“Mr. Fushiguro.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Watching Y/N ride my dick will officially be my favorite thing to do, but now I need to take this pussy like it’s mine because it is.

I adjust my hips off the edge of the couch and pound into her. My thrusts are strong. Hunger filled, having every intent to kiss her g spot until she comes all over me.

Her pussy cream smears between us and I feel it trickling down my balls. How close I have Y/N hugged to my chest doesn’t allow her to look anywhere else but at me.

I can’t get over how sexy and pretty she is, especially while being filled with dick. Even with my aggressive thrusts, her moans remain soft and sweet-sounding. Her lips are no longer glossed, now being replaced with speckles of drool on the side of her mouth.

And those eyes… yearning rages through them, begging and craving for a release that I’ll soon give to her.

“More,” she gasps. “Mr. Fushiguro, please give me more. I can take it, baby. Fuck me harder.”

“Yeah? You like having cock run through your pussy like this?”

“Yours… I like how yours run through me.”

I abruptly gave her a sharp thrust and sucked on her plush lower lip. “Fuck, yes. This fucking pussy is mine. All mine. Only for me. Got it?”

“Yes, baby. This pussy is only for you.”

“Only?” I ask, tauntingly.

She nods, purring. “Only.”

My thrusts are more powerful than expected, but Y/N is doing a perfect job taking me. I know her pussy was made for me, and me only.

Her moans are breathy and quick, and it feels like the only words she could say are fuck, more, and Mr. Fushiguro.

That shit does something to my dick. I’m not the type of fucker who cares if a woman submits to him or not, but Y/N is submissive. Very submissive, and I want all of her to myself.

“Get up, sweets,” I ordered, pulling out of her. “All fours. Now.”

Her eagerness to listen to me and get in position has my dick unbelievably hard. She spreads her knees apart and deepens the arch in her back, having that pretty pussy on display for me.

Look at how she’s fucking dripping for me. A creamy mess and swollen clit ready to be played with.

“Let me just…” my voice drifts the closer I get to her pussy. I need another taste.

My tongue moves rapidly and lightly along her cunt and I groan upon contact. So good. So fucking good.

I’m hungry for her pussy. I’ll never get tired of eating her out, and this alone can empty out my balls.

But right now, my cock aches to be back inside of Y/N.

She whines from my mouth leaving her pussy, however, it doesn’t last long the moment I push my tip through her entrance.

“Fuck,” I grit out, hoarsely. Y/N is fucking warmer and tight than before.

With every inch of me that passes through her pussy, she queefs. Loud. Obnoxiously loud, and I fucking love that shit.

I can tell Y/N’s embarrassed by it, but I reassure her.

“Hm, she likes me, sweets,” I cooed. I lean forward, stretching her further and having my lips brush against the tip of her ears. “I can pull your hair?”

She nods, whimpering, “Please.”

Her braids are gently collected in my grasp and I slightly tugged on them to get a good grip. I draw back my cock that’s coated with her cream and deeply plunge forward .

Was only without this pussy for two seconds and I already missed it. My strokes are slow and sensual, trying to become familiar with her walls wrapped around me. But seeing the waves forming on her beautiful, round, and fat ass—I feel animalistic. And Y/N feels it.

How I propped one of my legs on the couch to position myself better in her pussy. So she could feel every inch of my cock drilling her insides to mark her.

I need her to smell like she’s only been fucked by me. I’m the only motherfucker that can see her like this for now on. My possessive and jealousy takes over just thinking about the past fuckers who saw her like this.

Panting heavy, moaning sweetly, big, pretty chocolate hues screaming a sexual appetite that matches mine.

I slap her ass a few times, making sure to leave marks that will form in the morning before wrapping my free hand around her neck.

Y/N’s pussy clenches and I smirk to myself feeling her reaction.

“You like being choked while getting fucked? Hm?” My strokes intensify and her wet pussy being stirred heightens in volume. “Taking cock like a slut got you squeezing me like this, sweets?”

She tucks her bottom lip between her teeth and closes her eyes, basking in this pounding. “Toji, yes. Yes, fuck me harder, baby. Give me more.”

She says this, but her hand reaching behind her to push back my pelvis shows otherwise.

God, look at my good girl trying to prove to me that she can take dick.

“Atta, girl. Just like that,” I mutter to myself. “Open up this pussy for me.”

I applied more pressure to her throat and tugged on her curls to further pull her back. Seeing how my cock disappears into her body after every thrust has me cursing and groaning her name uncontrollably.

“Toji, why—why are you fucking me like this? It’s so good.”

I nip on her ear, chuckling, “Because you’re mine. This pussy is mine, and you should know I take care of whatever belongs to me.” I let go of her throat to stick two fingers in her mouth and pressed down in her tongue. “Fuck, Y/N. You don’t understand how good you feel… it’s fucking crazy.”

My thrusts are merciless at this point. Y/N and this wet, slippery fucking pussy has my cock plopping out every other stroke. She’s even creamier than before. A mess is created between us and her moans become louder.

“Mr. Fushiguro, I—I’m about to come. It’s too much,” she cries out.

“Overwhelmed, sweets?” She answers with a nod. “Finish yourself then. Bring that pretty ass back on my cock.”

I release her hair and remove my fingers from her mouth. There’s an ottoman behind us, so I pull it closer and sit down to give me a perfect view of Y/N’s ass.

She brings her knees back together, moves back a little and start fucking me.

Again, her gushing pussy queefs loudly from her tender movements, but she doesn’t swallow me whole like I want her to.

My hand strikes her ass harshly and I give her an abrupt thrust, saying, “You know how to take dick, Y/N. Stop fucking acting like you don’t know how.”

“Oh, fuck. I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry.”

Now she’s sliding further on my cock. She fucks on me hard and slowly. Her wetness reverberates through the living room and joins her sweet whimpers.

I alternate between throwing my head back and staring at how sexy she looks throwing her ass back on me. Every stretch mark, her cellulite, the jiggles—she’s fucking perfect.

Just know I’m about to fucking come soon. But not before she does, which I feel is coming—

“Toji, I’m so close, baby,” she purrs. “Just a little—”

“More?” I interrupt, digging my fingers in her waist and repeatedly pull her down on me recklessly. “So fucking needy and spoiled. You want me to do all the work? Hm? Like when big guy fuck his cock into your pussy?”

“God, yes. Yes! Keep doing that, Toji. Fuck me… fuck me… fuck me… Yes…” Y/N’s voice fades and her orgasm completely washes over. Clenching and unclenching, her pussy flutters around me and milks my cock with her essence.

She stands on her knees and places her hands on type of mine to hold, like she’s helping me fuck her through her climax.

That… that shit does something to me. Never have I fucked a woman so goddamn desperate and dick hungry the way Y/N is. So freely and open about it.

My cock throbs inside of her, threatening to shoot out my own release. I want to fucking fill her. Paint her walls white until our combined arousal drips out from her.

But I need to hear Y/N say it.

“Want me to fuck this come deep in your pussy, pretty girl?”

“Yes. Oh, fuck yes. Give it to me, Toji,” she sobs.

Seconds later, every bit of my come rushes to my head and empties into Y/N’s pussy. This fucking load is heavy. Don’t remember the last time I busted this much, let alone inside of a woman.

God, can’t believe this pussy is mine.

“Fuck, Y/N,” I croaked. My final thrusts are sloppy and my hips begin stuttering. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! This fucking hot pussy warming my cock. You’re killing me, sweets.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much, baby.”

I lean forward to pull Y/N’s head back to give her a sloppy kiss. “My fucking angel appreciates me giving her dick. Look at how sexy you are.”

“Oh, baby,” she says barely above a whisper.

“Come here. Let’s clean up.” I let my dick warm up in her pussy a little bit longer before pulling out, where we shared a final moan.

I know Y/N’s hips will fail her after the dick she just took, so I scooped her in my arms and wrapped her legs around my waist. Don’t think I’d ever get tired how fucking needy she is because I enjoy how her mouth feels on mine, kissing and sucking my lips the rest of the way until we’re in the bathroom.

Is that what it feels like to be at peace?

Sitting in warm water while having Y/N relax in my embrace? Peppering kisses all over her skin and teasing her breasts? If it does, then shit, I’ll be content with being in this bathroom forever.

Best fucking sex I ever had in my life.

It was with Y/N. My girl. A woman that I… like. A woman that’s mine. I told her I’m a possessive and a rough partner, and she had no problem with it, despite the purple that’s already appearing on her flesh.

Aftercare was never in my plan after we fucked. I wouldn’t mind just sleeping with my dick inside of her pussy (still might suggest that). But I wanted this moment with Y/N to talk. To care for her after she did a good fucking job taking my cock.

“Feeling okay, sweets?” I ask while dragging the wash cloth along her arms.

She lets out a pleasurable sigh and leans more onto my chest. “More than okay.”

“Yeah?” I tenderly the back of her ear. “Was I too rough?”

“No, baby. Remember I told you I could take it?”

I chuckle. “That you did.” She turns her head to face me and eyes wavers a question I can’t determine. “Everything okay?”

“Did… Did you mean it?” She hesitates. “Asking me to be your girlfriend?”

I pull up her other arm to wash. “I don’t say things I don’t mean. So yeah, you’re my girlfriend.”

I could understand why she feels skeptical about it. Maybe Y/N felt like it was a spur of the moment question because we were on the verge of fucking.

And shit—I haven’t been the easiest to deal with. I was very hell bent about not wanting a relationship, that my love died with my wife. Just wanted something short and casual. Let’s go with the flow. Y'know—whatever happens, happens.

But I couldn’t do just that with Y/N.

Not when she gives me these fucking emotions I haven’t come close to feeling in seven years.

I could try to convince myself that I hate feeling this way, however, it feels easy around her.

She’s easy with me. Calm. Patient. Where I’m used to motherfuckers bad mouthing me and expecting the worst, here’s Y/N seeing the good in me and making me feel… alive.

So, no.

I don’t need to ask her to be my girl for us to have sex. Both were going to happen eventually.

“… Okay,” she says softly with a smile.

“Just… Just be patient with me…”

She digs her fingers into my cheeks and pucker my lips to kiss. “Always, Mr. Fushiguro.”

Always.

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