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almostempty · 1 month ago

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too good to be true (frankie x f!reader)

Too good to be true (frankie morales x f!reader) | wc: 9k | other fics | Ao3

summary: frankie, a regular at your coffee shop, is there for you when your boyfriend joel breaks up with you and disappears practically overnight. despite not knowing each other long, frankie just seems to be perfect for you and you fall hard and fast

note: this was supposed to be for the accidental adultery trope for @auteurdelabre 's trope challenge from last month. i thought accidental adultery was more like the wrong bed trope so--you can find that here with Dieter's party, but it turns out accidental adultery is more like ..when you thought ur lover died in the war or something and you start a new life with someone else and then they show up again. that didn’t interest me- soooo (spoiler) in my version reader doesn’t know that joel only left her bc of frankie

warnings/tags: mdni explicit, smut, dark!frankie, stalker!frankie, dubcon, lies, deceit, coffee shop au gone wrong, accidental adultery, ex bf Joel, abandonment issues, anxiety, breakup grief, using sex to avoid processing emotions, face fucking, masturbation, crying, love bombing aka emotional manipulation/abuse, frankie doesn’t have a job bc he nefariously acquired a large cash settlement from his return trip to the jungle– or maybe he has a military pension idk don’t ask questions, revenge porn, jealousy, delusional reader, jealous and possessive frankie, if i missed something important pls let me know,

standard weds warnings: unprotected sex with no consequences bc it’s fiction so it’s free to imagine it raw; f!reader is able-bodied otherwise, no specific descriptions; no y/n, likely many mistakes and i accept that 🫡

You don’t remember the first time you met, but you remember when you started looking forward to seeing Frankie. He was a quiet regular, didn’t ask for much, but was always polite. Kind. He’d come by at the same time, get the same coffee, and sit at a table in the lobby reading the news on his phone. Most mornings, you were busy enough that you didn’t even think about starting a conversation, but you’d sneak a glance here and there as he sat. Sometimes, he caught you, and you’d both flash a quick smile.

He was a fun little fantasy to look forward to. You weren’t single or looking anyway, but it didn’t hurt to have something to help you crawl out of bed at 3:30 AM. It was always quiet until just after 6 AM, when the commuters started coming through. Frankie usually came through the lobby just as the morning rush was picking up, curls still damp from his post-workout shower and a soft smile just for you.

Until it changed. He started showing up even earlier. That’s when you began to get to know him bit by bit. In the quiet dark of the early mornings, while the espresso machines warmed up and the

You learned that he moved into town this year–not in this neighborhood, but he likes the coffee here, so it’s worth the morning drive. He’s single. Ex-military. Sticks to a routine. Likes your name. Remembers details. Asks follow-up questions about your weekend plans on Monday mornings.

Did you and your boyfriend see that movie you were thinking about? Did you get to sleep in like you’d hoped? Did he take you to the farmer’s market? Did he like the recipe you wanted to try out?

It was sweet. And infuriating. Someone you barely knew always remembered your plans or the little throwaway comments you’d make. You knew it wasn’t intentional, but it always stung when he’d ask about your plans, and you were left coming up with excuses for why they never seemed to happen. You carried the discomfort home with you until it spilled over into your relationship.

And, thanks to Frankie really, it forced you to talk about it. Your boyfriend, Joel, had been drifting away. Complacent and avoidant. He’d been staying late at work, canceling on your weekend plans, always too tired to fuck, generally just a bad-tempered brick wall rather than a boyfriend. But after a serious conversation and some threats you hoped you wouldn’t have to follow through on, he’d agreed to make changes.

It was working, too. You made date nights a priority. You sent flirty texts during the day–even if neither of you had time to respond right away.

When he had long days during the week, you’d give him a back massage. You’d sit straddling his ass, rubbing down his shoulder blades, kneading circles with your thumbs, and savoring the view of his broad back and the warmth of his body under yours. You would pull the stress and tension away from his neck and spine, eliciting low groans of pleasure from Joel that would stir up the heat pooling in your core. You’d keep it up until you lulled him to sleep–or on your favorite nights–he’d flip over underneath you and watch you ride him until you were both slick with sweat, panting, and needing another quick shower before succumbing to sleep.

It’s those tender moments that make it hurt that much more now.

To think he could just throw you away like this. That he didn’t think you were worth the face-to-face conversation. Worth the closure. Just leaving you a fucking note, like you were a business transaction. Here’s your memo letting you know he no longer requires your services.

Fucking coward.

You re-read the letter for the thousandth time. It’s real, and you aren’t insane. You shove it back into your apron pocket. It’s your token. A reminder that this hell is your reality.

You slip back to the front counter, plastering on your best customer service smile.

But of course, it’s fucking Frankie. The concern is written across his face before he even gets to the counter. Are you that easy to read? You’re never going to make it through your shift.

“You doing okay?” he asks softly as if he might spook you. Stupid big brown eyes. Just like Joel’s. They make you weak. You can’t be weak. You try to shift into a more defensive mode–chest forward, shoulders back.

“Why? Do I look like shit today?”

“No, never,” he tries to reassure you. Always so sweet to you.

“Sorry, I just mean, I wouldn’t be surprised. I feel like shit.” You grumble as you grab his drip coffee and set it on the counter between the two of you.

“I take it he’s still gone then?”

You can only nod back in agreement. Can’t even look Frankie in the eyes; you just linger on his mouth and scruffy jaw where it seems safer to stare. Until his mouth shifts into a sympathetic frown.

“You deserve better, you know,” he says like it’s a confession. Only meant for you and his coffee to hear.

“Sure,” you sigh. Maybe he’s right. You deserve someone that can look you in the eye when they break up with you. Explain in more than a few sentences why they’d block you and disappear like a fucking ghost. Maybe you never really knew Joel at all if he could do this to you.

You can feel your eyes welling up again, your face is still swollen from crying all night, and you’re sick of the emotional whiplash. Did you miss the signs the whole time? Was it something you did? Will you ever know? The cafe starts to blur as your heart rate increases.

“Hey,” Frankie murmurs, “breathe.” It’s soft, but the timbre of his voice draws your attention. You focus on inhaling and exhaling, willing away the sobs. Just as you steady, they almost start all over again when you think about how pathetic you must seem to him. Standing at the register, sucking in shaky breath, and trying not to have a complete breakdown.

But Frankie assures you he doesn’t think you’re pathetic. And somehow, you get through the morning. And the next. Day by day, you crawl through the week against everything inside of you that wants to scream and hide in bed for a month. By the end of the week, the only thought that gets you through the opening routine is that it’s your last shift before the weekend.

There’s no way you could survive another shift just going through the motions like an undead barista. You know you’re on the edge, fragile and raw. You can just get through today and then spend the weekend locked in your bed wallowing, ugly crying, binge eating, anything.

Your flimsy resistance almost crumbles when Frankie shows up with flowers for you. It’s too sweet. He seems so concerned. He claims he wanted you to have something to help cheer you up over the weekend.

His thoughtful gesture is overwhelming. Having someone care about you, think of you, worry about you? And worse, to know that it could be so easy for someone to show you they care.

To know that you aren’t hard to love.

He notices the way your eyes shine, tears threatening to roll down your cheeks. He apologizes, “If it’s too much, you don’t have to take them. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, and I definitely didn’t want to make you cry.”

You assure him they’re lovely and that you appreciate the gesture. You give him your warmest smile through your misty eyes. And you take the flowers home.

You stare at them all weekend.

Your favorite flowers. How did he know? They make you think of Frankie all weekend. His smile, how reliable he is with his routine, his thoughtfulness, how kind he is to you.

The qualities you thought you had found in Joel.

You let yourself embrace your agony for the weekend. Determined to make it through at least the first stage of grief. As if you can allot a number of hours to it and just check it off your list.

A part of you admits that there’s something comforting about knowing you’ll see Frankie again Monday morning. That someone will check in on you.

And he does.

Reliable as ever, he shows up in the dark cover of the early morning. You greet each other with your deep morning voices, and there’s something about the fact that you’re the first person you both speak to every morning that draws a genuine smile from you.

You keep going to work. Frankie keeps showing up. The world keeps turning.

Days pass and you can start to fall asleep without having to exhaust yourself completely. Some of the weight on your chest sloughs off when your ribs shake with laughter at Frankie’s jokes. His charm brightens your dark days.

One afternoon, as you’re dropping an armful of grocery bags onto the counter, you notice the flowers he gave you. They’re starting to wilt. You hesitate to toss them for some reason. Convinced they’ve got another day in them, at least.

You sweep up the fallen petals and pollen, spinning the vase to find the best angle left. The flowers may be fading, but Frankie is beginning to occupy a permanent residence in your mind. You find yourself keeping mental notes of things you want to share with him the next morning. A joke about a show you both keep up with, something you saw on your walk home, a question you forgot to ask the day before because you were distracted.

Distracted by things that don’t sound like they could possibly be distracting. Like the curve of his bottom lip or the space where his neck meets his shoulder. Or worse, the way he smiles so wide you can see his dimples when you double down on an argument about a movie, TV show, or the best takeout on this side of town.

The next morning he has fresh flowers for you. It’s as if he knew you were hesitating to get rid of them, to lose the physical evidence. You squint at him with a playful accusation of how did you know they were on their last legs? He reasons it’s been a week already. A week. It feels like it’s only been a day, and at the same time, it feels like a whole month has passed.

It helps.

The following week is much of the same. Morning chats with Frankie. Busy shifts with rushes and endless cleaning tasks. Running errands, trying to keep in touch with friends, trying to keep yourself too busy and distracted to fall back into the sharp pain of loss. Of coming home to an empty apartment. Of waking up alone. Of the way Joel erased himself so completely from your life, you have to find tangible reminders that he was ever real.

You loosen your grip on the hope that Joel might show up with an apology or even respond to the text you had sent. He can’t even hear you out or answer a single question? You give up altogether on the idea that the whole thing might have been some confusing mistake.

There’s still a hole rotting in your heart, but if you stay busy enough, you can ignore it. Mostly.

You stick to your plan, steadfast that time will heal your wounds. Days pass, and you find yourself once again asking Frankie what he has planned for the day. But this time, he hesitates.

Frankie tells you he’ll be out of town for a few days. You aren’t sure why, but it feels like he jammed his fingers into that hole in your heart when he tells you. Don’t abandon me. Please.

He must see right through you.

“Here,” he says, holding out his hand. “I know it’s only a few days, but I was thinking I don’t want to miss out on your remarkably accurate reality TV predictions. You take the napkin with his number written on it. How old-fashioned. It makes your heart flutter. “Keep me updated.”

You swallow the butterflies and turn the energy into a smirk. “You’re so going to regret this,” you tease.

You feel lit from within, glowing and floaty for the rest of your shift. Getting the hot regular’s number gives you a rush. It’s not like he asked you on a date or anything, but still, it feels good to have someone want to keep talking to you.

Until you clock out and immediately start spiraling. Should you text him now just to give him your number? Wish him a safe trip? Play it cool and wait until tomorrow morning? Or maybe he’s busy in the morning? Shit. You never even asked what his trip was for.

……

It’s early afternoon when Frankie’s phone buzzes. Your shift must have just ended.

You: it’s me!

You: figured it’s only fair you get my number now, too

Frankie: Hey you :)

You: hey :)

You: i hope the trip goes well

Frankie: Thanks, it’ll be better now.

You: how come?

He underestimated you. He thought he wouldn’t hear from you until tomorrow. Thought it would take longer.

Frankie: Well, I just got this pretty girl’s number. Now I’ve got her updates to look forward to.

He shakes his head to himself, pocketing his phone and stretching out on his sofa.

Maybe he didn’t need the ruse of being out of town at all. You don’t need the absence to suck you in any deeper; you’re moving on faster than he thought. Good.

He sprawls out across the couch like a lazy dog in the sun, TV on mute, still fully dressed. He drags his eyes over the bare walls of his apartment. He’s going to need the next few days to make the place seem a little more welcoming. More like a place you’d be happy to wake up in.

He checks the notes hidden in his phone of places you shop, your favorite color, the way your apartment is decorated. He already knows what you want. What you need. With that thought, he drifts off, satisfied, into a long nap.

He doesn’t wake until his evening alarm goes off, checking his phone to see what reality show you’re going to be glued to tonight. MILF manor. Who comes up with these? He rolls his eyes, stretching, yawning, and traipsing across his apartment to find some cold pizza in the fridge.

Holding one slice between his teeth and the other in one hand, he debates whether he should take a drive through your neighborhood or stay in for the night. His phone buzzes again, and he figures it’s a sign. He drops his pants near the hallway and scarfs his cold dinner as he settles back in the living room, unmuting the show and opening your messages.

You’re funny.

Sending quick-witted observations and callbacks.

You force him to pay attention. You’re sharp. If he doesn’t watch, you’ll know. You always call him out for missing the nuance. You challenge that he could predict the next winner if he paid closer attention.

When you get frustrated with him and huff about how he missed something completely obvious, he memorizes your expressions. The fire in your eyes when you’re passionate. You feel so deeply and express your emotions so freely.

He likes that about you. Funny. Smart. Bold. Passionate. Sexy.

Perfect.

He lets his mind wander as he leans back. The room glows from the light of the TV, flashing brighter and dimmer. The look on your face when he said he’d be gone for a few days pops into his mind, how your eyes flashed wide and the soft pout that tugged at your bottom lip.

You need him. It’s so clear. And you’re so perfect.

The show is just noise. Static.

He closes out of your messages. Opening up his photos. Scrolling through pictures of you. Some from social media, and some taken while you were working and unaware.

Perfect.

His eyes fall shut as he tips his head back, relaxed and comfortable as he sinks deeper into the cushion.

“Perfect lips, perfect mouth,” he mutters to himself as he sets the phone aside altogether.

It’s a simple but effective scene that plays out in his mind. A go-to fantasy since the day he first laid eyes on you.

He wedges his boxers down just far enough to free his half-hard cock. He tries to start slow, with languid strokes as he imagines the heat of your mouth sucking him deeper. The sight of you looking up at him with your lips stretched around him.

“Just perfect,” he groans to himself. He can’t hold back his urgency at the thought of you, quickly amping up the speed of his wrist and the strength of his grip. It’s minutes, or maybe seconds before his muscles are tensing and jerking as he comes to the thought of you.

It eases the tension, but he still needs you. Soon.

……

The rest of your week passes quickly.

Your head is in the clouds over your new texting buddy. You check your phone on all your breaks but send yourself into another spiral, trying to work out the balance between enthusiastic but not needy. Responding quickly, but not being too much. You don’t want to come off as crazy.

It fully absorbs your attention. The excitement and the anxiety. The rush when you get a new message and the anguish over every word you type. Rereading your messages until you get a response. Worrying yourself over your silly jokes and banter. But when he responds, it’s addictive. You’re smitten when he matches your energy or sends a flirty quip.

It makes you smile so hard your cheeks burn. You get distracted taking orders. It’s all-consuming.

………

Frankie keeps tabs on you the rest of the week. When you walk home from work, when you run errands, when you’re out with your friends. He picks up things for his apartment while you’re at work. At night, he drives down your block. He watches you watching TV. Until dark, then you diligently shut your curtains just as the last dregs of the sunset disappear.

Tonight, he lingers, still parked across the street from your apartment building. He sends another text, and his eyes flick to your curtains like you might open them back up just for him. You’re such a good girl for that, though–not letting anyone else watch.

Frankie: I’m back tomorrow. You have weekend plans?

You: that’s great! no plans for me

Frankie: You want to watch tomorrow’s episode together?

You: that would be fun!

Frankie: Perfect :)

………

You don’t know why you offered to host. You feel like your place has been a mess. Since Joel left, you’ve been letting your depression piles calcify. You shove your laundry into the washer, toss your unopened mail into a drawer, and do your best to make it look like you’re a fully functioning adult.

Something about having Frankie over has you feeling pent up.

You’re nervous. Excited. And you’re still unregulated and exhausted from the emotional devastation of Joel disappearing on you. You’ve been letting yourself sink into the distraction of making a new friend. A hot, new friend. But as helpful as the distraction is, you still haven’t really processed the pain.

Maybe it’s too soon to let yourself think about Frankie all the time. Maybe you need to really feel your misery and figure out what you missed. What you did wrong. No, even your body rejects that idea, sending a shiver of anxiety through you.

Fuck it.

You’re both single adults. There’s no rulebook that says you can’t entertain a new crush. So what’s the harm? You’re hoping that seeing Frankie in person will help you get clarity on the flirty vibe of his texts. Are they truly flirty, or are you just delusional?

You do your best to find a casual “just watching trash TV” type of outfit after your everything shower. You bought enough snacks to feed a high school football team, you know, just in case. You flutter around your space, hastily cleaning anything else you can think of, worried about details that only an evil in-law would scrutinize you for.

Despite your frenzy and feeling on edge all afternoon, the concern all seems to vanish when Frankie shows up at your door. You welcome him in and swoon a little over the fresh flowers he brought you. You still have some nerves that don’t relent, but they’re the smiley, giggly, butterfly type of nerves now.

As you get settled, it all feels surprisingly easy.

You make each other laugh. You offer your insane spread of snacks, and he settles next to you on your sofa before the episode starts. He appreciates all of your commentary and banters with you over your strongest opinions. It feels surprisingly natural to be spending time together like this. Without an espresso machine between you.

You’re taken with his presence. He balances you. Even when he debates your controversial takes and unpopular opinions, he doesn’t get worked up like you.

His calm demeanor is grounding. His nearness and steadiness relaxes you.

The stress let down makes your head feel heavy, and without thinking, you rest your temple against Frankie’s shoulder with a deep sigh. It feels comforting until you realize how forward you’re being and snap your head back up.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you blurt out, scooting away. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay,” he reassures you, voice soft and low.

He’s staring at you so intently. You feel the heat in your face, embarrassed at acting so comfortable with him and self-conscious under his gaze. You still don’t really know what he wants. And you don’t want to fuck anything up. But he doesn’t seem bothered. In fact, you swear his eyes drop to your mouth before they flick back up.

“More than okay,” he adds, and your stomach flips at his honesty. “Here,” he shifts and invites you to scoot under his arm. You get comfortable, resting your head on his chest.

You try to watch the TV, but you can feel Frankie watching you. It makes you restless and unable to think clearly. You peer up at him. It’s a charged look; maybe it was already obvious, but you hadn’t felt confident enough to put the pieces together until now.

“What?” You whisper, unable to fight the smile pulling at your mouth.

“You look beautiful,” he murmurs.

Uh oh. Your breath hitches, and something in you cracks. A tear slips from the corner of your eye, and you try to hide it, whispering thanks into his chest and looking down.

“Hey,” he tilts your chin to look up at him. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” you choke out, trying to will away the emotions that bubble up inside of you. “That’s really sweet of you.” You steady your breathing, slower and deeper. What is wrong with you? You expected something flirty. You didn’t expect something so.. heartfelt?

The more you slow your breathing, the more it feels like you’re inhaling the essence of Frankie. Whatever combination of laundry detergent, deodorant, body wash, whatever it is is all combined it’s soothing. Nice. It calms you.

But why? How does just breathing against him make you feel safe?

You can’t even think about safety. You can’t count on anyone else. What if he leaves out of nowhere, too? Your thoughts pick up, racing. Falling deeper into your anxieties. You aren’t even on a date; you shouldn’t be worried about this guy abandoning you.

Your fears eat at you, worsening your fragile state. Your body shakes gently as you try to breathe through the anxiety.

Frankie runs his hand along your back. He’s so warm, solid, and strong.

You feel like you must seem insane, which makes your emotional flooding worse. He just keeps murmuring at you about how you’re okay, and he pulls you into his arms to give you a firm hug, regulating you. Fixing you.

When you lean back to apologize for crying on him, he shakes his head in disagreement.

“Don’t apologize,” he says it like he means it, like he won’t be taking questions or arguments. You sniffle as you do your best to accept that. “You still look beautiful,” he says, pulling you back towards him.

It’s everything you didn’t know you needed to hear. Your face nestles against his neck. Delirious with your state of mind and his flattery and reassurance. You can’t stop yourself from kissing his neck. The exact spot you’ve been so distracted by on so many mornings. His skin is soft and warm; you can taste your tears, wet and salty on your lips. You do it again before you freeze. What are you doing?

Frankie’s hand slips up the back of your neck, cradling your head in his warm palm. It feels like encouragement. You test your theory, pressing another gentle kiss to his jaw where his scruffy beard tickles your nose.

The TV might still be on, but all you can hear is your breathing and his. The sound of your lips against his skin. And the low-pitched noise in Frankie’s throat that urges you on. Provoking a needful fire within you. Intense and frantic. You nip at his ear before stamping open-mouthed kisses back down his neck, pulling back only to breathe hot and humid against his skin.

You hesitate, a frenzied desire has you wanting to straddle his lap and take more and more, but something makes you pause. Frankie knows. He feels your weight shifting and makes the move for you, pulling you onto his lap.

“I know,” he says as his large hands wrap around both sides of your jaw. “Keep going.” The encouragement pours over you like warm honey. Face to face, you wrap your arms around his neck. The last thread of your doubt snaps and you close the gap. Pressing your lips together. Softly for a second, before your mouths are parting and your tongues and teeth work fervently to express your desire.

Then it becomes a desperate blur, your fingers curling into his hair, tugging until he’s groaning into your mouth. His hands slipping under your shirt, hot against your skin, snaking back down to knead the curve of your ass while you roll your hips, grinding into his lap in search of friction.

You feel him hardening beneath you and a molten hot thrill radiates between your legs. There’s a raw quality to your movements as you bite at his lip, scratch at his shoulders, and whine with a frustrated edge.

You’re taking out all your emotional distress on him. Or, rather, you’re begging him to erase it all, to bite back harder, to use force, to dominate. You keep trying to use your body instead of words. Just teeth, nails, and needy writhing. Anything sharp, forceful, rough. An offering.

Tears still roll down your cheeks, hot with anger, anguish, and everything you can’t name. You aren’t interested in exploring your emotions. You need something more visceral.

You sit back, hands shooting towards Frankie’s belt, chasing more, when he stops you in your tracks. His hand possessively grips below your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

Your cunt throbs at the look on his face. The soft, gentle Frankie is gone. His face is hard and dangerous as he studies you. For some reason that makes you want him even more.

His fingers dig into your cheek eliciting a sharp inhale from you, parting your lips into a small “o” shape, before he releases you. You know you’re a mess. Teary, panting, wild-eyed–but his lips curl into sinful grin. Reflexively you tilt your pelvis, drawing the heat of your core along the ridge of his erection. Your eyes flutter shut, as you aim to forget yourself and focus on the sensation.

But his chest shakes, jostling you in his lap, with his rumbly, dark chuckle. It’s condescending, startling you and stilling your hips. You blink at Frankie. The charged air is thick. The rest of the room has faded. Your brows furrow as you wonder, but your thighs tense.

“Keep going.”

It’s a demand this time, not an affirmation or encourager. His sinister smirk is gone, replaced by a frighteningly blank stare. His carnivorous eyes drop, watching your fingers as you work open his belt and jeans.

Shit. You can tell he’s big as you trace your fingers along his cock, over his boxers, savoring the heat in your palm. The damp fabric at the tip pleases you, and you peel the waistband down to reveal the glorious vision that has you wetting your lips.

“Shit,” you repeat out loud this time. A primal, hungry need possesses you as you admire his cock. The glistening head, thick shaft, and dark patch of curls at the base. Just the sight of him is intoxicatingly masculine and dominant.

You need him in your mouth.

You slink off his lap, sinking to your knees between his legs. Excitement flutters in your pussy and you feel like you’ve fallen into a into a trance. Your body moves faster than your mind, tugging at his jeans as he repositions at the edge of the couch.

“I know,” he mutters under his breath as you wrap your hand around the smooth skin. “I know what you need,” he continues. You can only hum in response. Preoccupied by the slip of your thumb dragging a trail of precome down along the underside of his cock.

He cups the back of your head, urging you towards his tip with a commanding open growled down at you. You want to pout for not getting the chance to tease and savor the moment, but you don’t have the time when he slides past your lips and hits the back of your throat.

You choke, sputtering around him and pulling back. His hand encourages you to try again and you’re eager to take it like he gives it. Refocusing on controlling your breath, you look up to see the fierceness in his eyes on his otherwise blank face. A confusing mix of warning and excitement stirs in your core, making you squirm on your knees.

The discomfort makes something flicker across his face.

You try again, determined, like you’ve got something to prove. You pull his other hand to your cheek. Please lead. You catch the start of a smirk on his face before he’s guiding you once again. It makes your mind blank; all you can do is breathe and focus on relaxing your muscles. It’s a welcome release from the stress. Grounding you in the present. You can only think as fast as he can glide along your tongue.

As you build a rhythm, he verges on brutal, but when you’re rewarded with the delicious sound of Frankie groaning because of you the intensity means nothing. Your eyes water as you refuse to gag out of sheer willpower. His thumb smears your tears across your cheekbone, and he pulls you off of his cock.

He takes in your swollen lips, ragged breathing, and wet lashes like he’s committing the details to memory as you catch your breath, before he’s tapping at your cheek. You open wide for him and he rests the head of his cock on your tongue, shallowly tipping you back and forth.

Your jaw could be aching or your knees may be digging into the rug, but it doesn’t matter to you. It’s much easier to meditate on the weight of his length slipping along your wet tongue. Centering yourself on that thought, your eyes flutter shut.

You wonder if this side of Frankie has always been lurking beneath the surface. Chillingly collected, but with something viscous bleeding into the edges. You wonder if maybe you’ve called to this part of him with the mayhem of your state of mind.

“Yeah,” Frankie rasps in his gravelly tone causing you to blink back up at him. You wonder if he can read your mind; if he was answering you. The hint of a smile remains on the corner of his lips when you look up, “Making you feel better already.” He’s presumptive but accurate.

You give a muffled affirmation that vibrates in your throat as he slides past your lips and you take him deep as he can be. All your senses are filled with Frankie when you inhale, when you swallow, when you blink. You give, pliant for him, trusting him with the control. You don’t worry about how obscene you might look with tears rolling down your cheeks. You just want to hear what other sounds he might make for you. His thumb drags over your cheek again, wiping away the wet streaks.

“This is the only reason you ever cry for me.” Frankie’s voice is dripping with affection. And possession.

It makes everything foggy. The sentiment, the delivery, the authority. He doesn’t let you dwell on the unspoken commitment in his statement. Doesn’t give you the time to question him or spiral inward.

Your head swims until he pulls you up, strips you, and settles you back onto his lap. Some action movie autoplayed after your episode ended. The crashing and explosions of the chase scene in the background don’t ruin the moment, in a twisted way it’s almost a fitting soundtrack for the two of you.

Frankie allows you to pull his shirt up, over his head, and time slows. The warmth radiating between your bodies is nothing compared to the searing heat of Frankie’s gaze. It’s dizzying, between his torrid expression and his grip on your hips as he guides you closer.

You go entirely mindless when the head of his cock nudges your clit, gasping as he slips along your wet seam. It brings everything into focus for you, and you reach between your bodies to guide him directly to your deplorably empty cunt.

“Oh, fuck,” your word turns to a groan as he breaches your entrance, and you tense at the stretch, holding still.

“Keep going,” he orders lowly, and you inch down until he impatiently takes control, slamming you down until you meet his hips. Your mouth hangs open at his move and the immediate fullness. His hardened look softens as your walls ripple and flex, adjusting to his size.

At least until you start moving, grinding against him, slowly at first. Then the sharp sternness returns. You’re unaware, chasing the friction as your clit rubs against the dark hair surrounding the base of his cock.

“Knew you’d be perfect,” he says it more like an I told you so to himself than praise for you, but the words affect you just the same. Your chest rises, swelling with pride, and you chase his approval instead of your pleasure.

You ride him until your thighs burn. His hands are everywhere. Rolling your nipples between his fingers, squeezing all of your soft curves, spreading your legs wider to watch where he disappears inside of you. You bounce eagerly for him, spine arching to draw his eyes to the way your tits ripple from the force of your body colliding into his.

You whine in disapproval when he interrupts you, pulling you flush against his chest, grazing his teeth along your neck. “Give it to me,” Frankie demands, his voice rough and raw, breath hot along your sweat-damp skin.

He runs his hand down your body, thumb circling your clit, adding the pressure you need. You edge closer and closer, body taut with anticipation. “Come for me,” he commands. It’s the authority and his gravelly voice rolling through you that launches you into a shuddering release.

Frankie continues talking while you’re disoriented by the overwhelming pleasure. “For me,” he grunts through clenched teeth as your pussy contracts around him. “I know that’s what you need.” You can only moan as you cling to his broad shoulders. “Only me.”

You figure he’s just rambling until he grabs you by the jaw again, demanding you respond. Demanding you repeat it for him. And you do. With glassy eyes and you mutter his words back to him. Declaring you only come for him. That you need him.

Your words unlock something within Frankie. “Good,” he approves. “Good girl.” He praises you gruffly as he holds you steady, pounding into you with an untamed strength. You’re floating, starry-eyed and softheaded at his praise. Murmuring sentence fragments and his name, conjuring throaty grunts from Frankie until he stills, coming deep inside of you. “Only me,” he echoes and you confirm.

“Only you.”

In your unguarded state, it’s a welcome commitment. Maybe you haven’t had any real dates yet, but he knows you. He wants you. He tells you he wants to take care of you, and that feels fucking good.

You collapse against his chest, matching his breathing. The movie playing behind you reaches a tragic twist, setting the third act in motion and solidifying the protagonists dark path. You run your tongue along the column of Frankie’s throat as the score of the film hangs unresolved on a dissonant chord. He pulls you to his lips, kissing you possessively and captivating you.

Your bodies flow, connected and attuned. In his lap, in his arms, with his tongue slipping between your lips, you feel wanted. Assured. Content to accept that he knows what you need.

And he’s unrelenting. Determined to prove it to you. Again and again.

All night. On the couch, in the shower, in your bed.

Until the night bleeds into the morning and he doesn’t disappear.

You take turns waking and watching one another sleep. Verifying he’s real. Watching your chest rise and fall before drifting off again. Until the sun heats your room and you wake again to find yourself curled into his broad frame. His chest to your back as he draws his fingers down your along the dip and swell of your waist and hip.

“Did you mean it?” you ask, in a strikingly solemn tone for the soft setting. Breath shallow as you stare off toward the window. Not ready to turn and face him in the daylight.

“Every word.” He punctuates his affirmation with a tender kiss behind your ear. His reassurance satisfies you; warmth blooms from your chest spreading to your fingers and toes.

You spend a lazy Sunday together. Eating, laughing, fucking, and gazing at each other like lovesick teenagers. It’s too sweet to end. Instead, you become inseparable, taking turns staying at each other’s places until you have to go back.

The world feels bright again. Lighter.

He had paid such close attention as you got to know each other. He’s almost suspiciously perfect. Picking up your favorite takeout meals, putting on your favorite movies, and keeping your flowers fresh as the weeks pass.

You feel like you can never get enough of him somehow. You think about him all day at work, even though he still visits you every morning like clockwork. Your heart swells when he meets you at the end of your shift to walk you home.

You find yourself canceling your happy hour dates with friends to stay in with Frankie instead. Postponing and rescheduling, you’ll see them soon. It’s like there aren’t enough minutes in the day to get your fill of Frankie.

You’re insatiable, always needing him in your mouth, between your legs, fucking you through the mattress, on the counter, any surface you can find. You’re never too much. He’s equally infatuated with you, a mutual obsession. Fulfilling your darker desires and unleashing fantasies you’ve never felt safe enough to explore. He’s greedy and hungry for you. Making you feel wanted and desired.

With your head in the clouds, all you can see is how much he cares about you. He texts you whenever you’re apart, picks you up after your shifts, shows you off to his friends.

You barely have to do anything for yourself. He’s always thinking of you, predicting your needs before know them yourself. He picks up your mail for you, runs errands before you get home, and stocks his apartment with all of the products you use and love so you don’t have to go home for days at a time.

Things are so good that it’s rare when something goes wrong.

But when it does, it really fucking hurts.

When you get into an argument, a real one, he doesn’t fight with you. He leaves, swiftly and without another word. He doesn’t respond to your texts or calls. It feels like you’ve been torn in half; you sob and shake alone in your bed until your alarm blares and your headache throbs.

He doesn’t respond the following day, doesn’t come in for coffee, and doesn’t show any signs of existing. You move through your shift like a hollow corpse haunting the cafe. Time drags agonizingly slowly.

Every time the door opens your eyes snap towards the entrance, hoping to see the familiar curls and broad shoulders, but it’s not him. You restart your phone just on the odd chance there’s something wrong with it. He wouldn’t abandon you. He knows that would destroy you.

The void in your chest is cold and dark. Anger simmers somewhere inside of it, but it’s not strong enough to set you off. When Frankie shows up at the end of your shift, the anger is snuffed out completely. His presence immediately reverses your heartbreak, and suddenly you’re apologizing to him before he gets a word out.

You have to. He has to know you wouldn’t do anything to make him leave. He can’t. He’s calm, accepting your apology and taking you home where he erases your pain. With his hands, and mouth, and cock. Until you forget what the argument was ever about, and what it felt like to watch him walk away. Until it’s back to normal.

Every day you rely on him more and more; you can’t breathe without him. But when he’s with you, everything feels easy. Right.

Not many things can throw the two of you off. Your friends seem happy enough for you, despite their questions and insistence that you come out with them more often. You get along well with Frankie’s friends. They’re quick witted and welcome you genuinely.

They treat you like family, but it doesn’t stop Frankie’s jealousy from flaring up. If Benny smiles at you for too long or if you rest a hand on Will’s bicep when you laugh it only takes minutes before Frankie’s fingers dig into your arm and he whisks you away.

It gives you a perverse thrill every time.

When he folds you over the bathroom counter at his friend’s house. Demanding you watch in the mirror as he reminds you with a fierce snarl and devastating thrusts that you’re his. When you can still hear his friends horseing around outside, but he pounds into you with such force, you can’t quiet yourself. He slaps a hand around your mouth to silence you, growling into your ear that you’ll take it quietly, like a good girl.

Sometimes you aren’t even sure what triggers him.

Like when he fucks you against the side of his SUV in the parking lot of the trendy bar Benny had invited you both to. All you can piece together is Frankie muttering something about your dress as he yanks the top of it down letting your tits spill into the cool night air. He’s reckless and animalistic, claiming you roughly under the stars and streetlights before you can even get into the car let alone through your front door.

…..

Tonight, you both know exactly what got under his skin. Maybe not the why of it all, but he’s sure you know how he feels, and he wants to hear you say it.

It started this afternoon. He picked you up from work, like usual, and you chatted in the car as he drove to the grocery store. You sighed, tiredly as you recounted an exchange with a rude customer, but when Frankie pulled your hand towards his mouth to press a gentle kiss to the delicate skin on your inner wrist.

Predictably, it brightened your features. Knowing your buttons doesn’t dull the intoxicating effect you have on him, though. He loves the way you light up so easily for him and it serves to deepen his conviction time and time again. Like a constant affirmation that he is where he is supposed to be. That everything he does for is exactly what he should be doing. Exactly what you need.

He was still ruminating on this as you led him through the aisles of the grocery store. Unbothered that you had to double back to the produce section after forgetting some fresh herb you determined was crucial to the dish you planned out. You dashed around the corner in front of him, with a giggle when Frankie’s heart stilled.

He didn’t have time to distract you. Your laughter cut off immediately.

“What the fuck?” you muttered and Frankie grabbed your hand.

Joel’s pace quickened as he brushed past you. Your head turned, calling his name once, but Joel carried on as if you didn’t exist. Frankie studied your face, emotions flooded your expression as you watched Joel walking away. Something darker flickered across them.

Frankie followed your line of sight. Flowers. Joel was carrying a bouquet of flowers.

You apologized to Frankie. Clearly thrown off, but determined not to let it get to you or to Frankie.

“I didn’t know he even lived here still,” you remarked.

He doesn’t. The possessive fire burned through Frankie’s veins. “We’re going,” he commanded in a low tone that made your eyes flare wide.

“What?”

“Now.”

“We can’t leave everything.”

“They won’t arrest us.” He argued, as he all but carried you out the door, ushering you in a blur to his car and all the way home. Frankie moved swiftly and silently. Wholly consumed by the need to feel you writhing underneath him and crying out his name. He needed it so viscerally, he didn’t even have time to process how he was going to deal with Joel.

Until you’re breathless and shuddering beneath him. Repeating everything he wants to hear.

“Only for you,” you repeat as you rake your nails down his shoulder blades and the plane of his back.

“Again,” he demands. You don’t know if he wants you to keep talking or to come again, but both are inevitable at this point.

“I’m yours,” you pant, wrapping your legs around him as if you could pull him any deeper inside of you. He shifts slightly, angling your hips and your cunt clenches around him pulling him devastatingly close to the edge as you moan his name.

He stills and you whine in protest as Frankie stretches past you to pick his phone up off the bedside table. “Keep going,” he orders as he points the lens at you. He needs you to say it again. He adjusts to resume his pace, snapping his hips into causing your lips to part with another moan.

“I’m yours,” you repeat, “all yours.” He gives you a dark smile as he records you. Capturing all the lewd, wet sounds as he drives his cock into you, the euphoric smile that spreads on your face, and the words you know he always wants to hear.

“Mine,” he agrees.

……

You don’t see Joel again. And you don’t have time to dwell on the encounter anyway. Frankie keeps you busy and satisfied, and even surprises you by asking you to move in with him officially. Maybe it feels soon, but you spend nearly every day together anyway and the idea delights you.

It’s an easy transition. You downsize some of your duplicate appliances, joking with him about how he must have great taste for having so many of the same products. He admits that you inspired a few of his purchases.

You settle into a routine quickly, not much changes.

Sometimes in the early morning, when you slip out of bed in the dark to get ready for your shift, you wonder if it’s all real. If someone can care about you as deeply as you care about them. But by the time you’re showered and dressed, he greets you with a sleepy kiss before pulling on his usual workout attire and driving you to work.

You let your gaze linger this morning. Trailing along his profile as he drives, admiring all the details that you used to wonder about from the other side of the counter. His neck, those arms, his hands, those lips. They’re illuminated in flashes as you pass under the streetlights.

You catch the twitch at the corner of his mouth. He always knows when you’re looking. He rests a hand just above your knee. He always knows what you need. And idea takes root in your mind, and you do everything to stop yourself from smiling and giving yourself away. It’ll take a few days to organize. He’s almost impossible to surprise.

……

Later in the week, Frankie is on autopilot. Kicking off his shoes and pulling his sweaty shirt over his head before he lopes towards the ensuite for a shower. He only makes it a few strides before he’s on edge, noticing the lights he didn’t remember leaving on. He hears your voice. Relief and confusion twist together in his chest. How did you get back here before him?

Walking into the bedroom you are a sexy surprise wrapped in red lingerie he’s never seen you wear before, but something is wrong. Your shoulders are curled inward, your cheeks are wet, and you’re hastily tying up your matching red satin robe.

He scans the room, swallowing thickly when he notices the open coset door and the missing box on the shelf.

He calls your name softly.

“What is this, Frankie?” your voice shakes. Unsteady and wavering between fear and anger.

You hold up his phone. Well, his other phone. Shit.

…..

“Answer me,” you beg. Desperate for an explanation. For something to make sense. To understand how you went looking for the box with fuzzy handcuffs and instead found a phone with a new message from a number you still recognized.

Your heart is pounding in your chest and when he takes you into his arms you flinch. You want to shove him off of you. Despite your hostility, your body is still drawn to his. He always knows what you need. In his arms your heart feels tethered to his, like they could merge through the proximity of your rib cages. Like they beat for each other.

“You trust me, right?” he asks.

“Explain, please,” is all you can whisper.

“It was to keep you safe,” he starts.

“From what?”

“To protect you. Joel wasn’t good for you. He couldn’t take care of you. Not the way you deserve.”

“How would you know?” it’s still not making sense to you.

“You told me.” He’s so self-assured. Like, he’s always right. Like, he can’t even imagine why you’d be upset right now. “I did it for you,” he adds.

“Did what?” you need him to say it out loud. You need him to fix this.

“I know you thought Joel was trying, but he was only going to drag it out. Disappoint you over and over. Can you imagine what it would’ve been like for me to watch you go through that?”

You don’t answer.

“I couldn’t watch. I made him an offer, but he’s a stubborn man.”

You snort quietly at that understatement. Nobody tells Joel what to do.

“I just had to find the right leverage.”

Frankie holds you so tight, you can’t wriggle around to look him in the eyes.

“He couldn’t give you what you need, not like I can. I know what you need. And, think of how fast you got over him anyway. You were mine all along.”

You’re lightheaded. From the shock of finding the evidence. From his words. From the way you believe him. You want to sit down. You tap at his arms insistently, begging against his chest, but he keeps talking. His deep voice rumbling in your ears.

“You wouldn’t have understood it then. I had to keep it from you to protect you. So we could have what we have now.” He’s not listening to you. Not letting you go. It makes you snap.

“Let go of me!”

“You have to understand first.”

“I’ll listen,” you plead. “Just let me breathe.” He lets you step back, but doesn’t release you from his grip. His hands are glued to your arms. He waits, steady and chillingly calm.

Slowly, the pieces start to fall into place. The unanswered questions from your breakup. The way Joel completely vanished.

“I thought he just left,” you whisper to yourself.

“He did,” Frankie argues.

“I thought he didn’t want me,” you continue.

“He didn’t. Not the way that I want you.”

Something cold trickles down your spine and you look at Frankie. For a moment he’s a complete stranger. Your stomach sinks and your vision spins. Slamming your eyes shut you filter through your racing thoughts.

It wasn’t fate that led you into Frankie’s arms.

You wound up crying on his cock by design, trying to fuck away the pain of a heartbreak that wasn’t even real. You’ve fallen into a whole new life, while the man you had loved may have never stopped loving you back?

“You blackmailed Joel Miller?”

“Technically, it’s extortion.”

It’s all there on the surface. Exposed between the two of you. Who Frankie really is. Cunning and competent. Devoted and dangerous. Possessive and powerful.

“It worked, until he came to town for someone’s engagement party.”

“When we saw him at the store?” Frankie nods. “And then you sent him the video we made.”

“Hearing it from you seemed to do the trick. He knows you’re mine and you only want me.”

Frankie gives you time to study him. Absorbing the information. The gleam in his dark eyes. The same eyes from when he would visit you at work. Just as fierce and just as earnest.

You’ve always known him for his true self. He’s been yours since he first laid eyes on you. And he knew you needed him.

“And you did it… for us.”

“For you.”

You can see it plainly on his face. He’d do it again and again to have you. Because you’re his. It’s all you ever wanted. It has to be wrong, but it’s the hottest thing anyone has ever done for you.

You push him back towards the bed, climbing onto his lap in a recreation of the first night you spent together. It’s reflexive. The magnetic pull between you has your hips rolling in his lap as he’s already hardening beneath you.

“You’re sick,” you tell him before you lick a hot stripe up his neck.

“You drive me fucking crazy,” he growls back before you’re crashing into him with a ravenous kiss.

dividers by @cyberangel-graphics

General tags 💗:

@lovely-vamp-princess

@gothcsz

@auteurdelabre

@adoreyouusugar

@swankyorange

@itwasntimethatdidit40 tags for folks who seemed interested when i shared a lil wip about it (aka no worries tags)

@hoelaris @punkseyes @ace-turned-confused @magneticecstasy @lotusbxtch

@bitchesuntitled

@baronessvonglitter

@thundermartini @milla-frenchy

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #francisco catfish morales #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #ppcu fanfiction #frankie morales x f!reader

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w2soneshots · 10 months ago

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Daddy -W2S

words: 0.5k+

warnings: light smut.

summary: the sidemen boys and their girlfriends meet yours and Harry’s new baby.

Liked by wrotoshaw and 2,098,120 others

y/username: 6 months already🥹🤍 @wrotoshaw

-comments-

taliamar: I cant your all so cute😭

faithlouisak: beautiful mama

-> y/username: ❤️

behzingagram: big daddy bog!

ksi: 💜💜

user23867591: your both great parents

Me and Harry became parents to the most beautiful baby girl named Belle 6 months ago. Today she's officially meeting all of the boys. She has met a few of them before but they haven't been in the same room together for ages plus newborn babies don't really do much other than eat, sleep and shit. But now she crawls, tries to communicate words and loves to interact with people. So they're all coming over to our home (including the girls of course and Olive who Belle loves) and will be here any minute now.

The doorbell rang so I lifted myself up from the couch and placed Belle on my hip. "Hey, come in!" I said to Josh, Freya, Simon and Talia who were stood at the door. Harry came from behind me and did his little bro handshakes with the boys while the girls fussed over Belle. Soon Vik turned up, then JJ along with Tobi and finally Ethan, Faith and Olive. They all slowly took their turns saying hello to Belle then went to sit on the couch with everyone else. "Can I hold her?" JJ asked. "Of course!" I replied and placed Belle on his lap. She giggled and grabbed at his hoodie. "aww, she's so cute!" he whispered in a high pitched voice. "This is making me want one." he said and we laughed.

Once everyone had their turn holding her, I put her down so she could play with Olive and we all sat and chatted.

ksi just posted a new story!

They all left after a few hours since it was Belle's bedtime. "Come on baby." I said lifting her up and holding her tight. "shhh, go to sleep, shh, night night." I whispered. Once she finally fell asleep I quickly tip toed out of the room. I sighed as I walked into the living room where Harry was sat. "She's asleep." I said plonking myself next to him. "You're such an amazing mum." Harry said. I turned my head to look at him and a smile spread across my face. "I love you so much." He smiled and pulled me onto his lap, placing his hands on my ass. I kissed him and soon we were fully making out on the couch.

Harry squeezed my ass making me moan into the kiss. He moved his hands to the back of my thighs and lifted him and myself off of the couch. Now standing he walked towards the bedroom all while not breaking the kiss (surprised he didn't bang into anything). He closed the door behind us and dropped me onto the bed. I lay there whilst he began removing his clothes leaving him in only his boxers. I lay there breathing heavily as he crawled on top of me. He slowly pulled my shirt off then moved down to remove my leggings. A small smirk spread across his face when he saw the little black thong I was wearing underneath. I sighed having had enough off waiting "fuck me Harry."

#fanfic #image #oneshot #sidemen #harry lewis #harry w2s #w2s #w2s imagine #w2s x reader #w2s fic #wrotoshaw #instagram #smut

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crystallizedtwilight · 6 months ago

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I really like how you draw what you love in the moment. I am making a shift in my drawing interests as well, but I'm starting to feel guilty. My friends and followers know me as the (insert fandom) artist. Deep down I know what I am feeling is silly. Draw what you love! Who cares! I know that is the truth. So my question to you is, what do you do when those thoughts come to your head (if it does)?

What a thoughtful question! Below the cut:

Thank you! I've been on tumblr for 10 years and I have come to accept that I will always receive certain messages when I begin drawing a new interest:

"Guess you don't draw X anymore" / "Why did you stop drawing X?" / "Are you ever going to draw X again?" / "I want more X" / "When can we expect more X?" / "We're never going to see X again, are we?"

Though I've emphasized many times that this is my blog for all of my art and all my fandoms, every time I switch interests I am swamped with messages like this 3-4 months afterwards. It's an inevitability, because new folks may have missed that this is a "my current interest" blog, and old folks may not like the new content you're interested in.

At first it really bothered me, because I'd draw like 150 pieces of art for a fandom for 6 months straight, need a break, and the next day people will be like "guess you don't care anymore" like all the art I did wasn't enough.

The reality is: I like the idea of managing one blog for all of my artwork. I like how low-stress it is to have one, singular place I can still use a playground for my interests. I think it's a concept some people have forgotten is an option. Dare we call it a portfolio.

I am aware that the more "modern" way to conduct things, if you want to build an audience, is to have several blogs, each dedicated to one of your interests. But the very thought of managing 100 blogs every time I got a new interest makes my skin crawl and I know it would instantly suck the fun out of it for me.

I don't want to do that. I don't want to "build an audience", I just want to have a fun space for me. There are already so many social media sites out there besides tumblr, and if you're an artist that uploads to more than one, multiplying those by each of your fandoms? Sounds like more work than I want to do.

I can't remember the name of the artist, but I recall a few years ago one of the artists for the show Korra was bombarded with these sorts of messages when they started posting art that wasn't Avatar-related. And they said something to the effect of "I gave 2 years of my life to this show. Let me explore something new." And I'll never forget that. I feel the same way.

The theme of this blog is "my art". That's it. My interests change, sometimes circle back, and change again. And that's ok—that's how artists keep art fun for themselves. Every artist deserves a playground where they can share and connect with other people who are also just as excited about their newest thing. That's the joy of it.

Keeping yourself in a box just because that's what people want or expect you to do is the death of creativity. I am at peace with people unfollowing if our interests don't align anymore. This was never a blog for catering to anyone but myself, and that is ok.

So those messages don't bother me anymore. I know they're coming. I know they will always be there. And, every time, I will find new folks who do want to share in my new interest. I think in many ways I like starting over again. It feels refreshing.

But more than that, I know the importance of keep a space for myself online where I can be as creative and fun and silly as I like, chasing after the latest thing that is making me smile.

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jozor-johai · 6 months ago

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Days, Moons, Snow, and Letters: Proposing an new timeline for the ADWD North

The timeline you think you know around Jon's death is wrong, and this post is to show you why. Every discussion about who really wrote the Pink Letter is missing a crucial detail: Jon dies a month before Tycho Nestoris even reaches the Crofter's Village.

Yes, I am aware this sounds like an unbelievable claim. I would love for someone to convincingly prove me wrong, and if you believe you can, please let me know. However, I am reaching this conclusion using only the facts, which I will break down for you here.

Based on Asha's careful count of the days in The King's Prize and The Sacrifice, Jon's account of the moons from Jon VII onward, and Asha's, Theon's, and Jon's account of the snowstorm around Winterfell, I believe I can convincingly argue that by the time Tycho Nestoris arrives at Stannis' camp at the end of The Sacrifice—before any battle has taken place at all—Jon has already been dead for a month.

Very long (and dry) explanation below the cut. Please enjoy.

At the end, there's a Timeline breakdown illustrating the rough outline by the day, so don't worry if my tally of the weeks starts to get confusing, there is a clarifying list at the end.

The intuitive version—where George is giving us helpful hints

Jon VII, The Prince of Winterfell, and The King’s Prize.

In The King’s Prize, Stannis’ host sets out from Deepwood Motte. Because this is important for timing everything else, let's call this Day 0.

In Jon VII, during a new moon, Jon receives a letter informing him of this plan ("we march against him")—I believe we can sync these events as occurring roughly contemporary to one another, with Jon VII happening a few days later. For ease later on, let's say Jon VII happens ~0.5 weeks after Asha departs Deepwood; this is ~Day 3.

Very shortly after that is Prince of Winterfell and Jeyne’s marriage: during this chapter, Roose receives word that Stannis has left Deepwood Motte. Allowing for just a bit more wiggle room (for Arnolf Karstark to have received a similar update as Jon did, and then to forward that information to ahead to Roose) we can place Prince of Winterfell fairly soon after Jon VII, itself after The King’s Prize begins. Let's call this ~Day 6.

Theon in Winterfell

Thanks to Asha keeping track of the days to the number, we know that Stannis' host spends at least 34 days on the march (Asha notes that "On the thirty-second day" grain ran out, at least two more days pass—the day "Lord Peasebury turned against the northmen" and "The next day the king's scouts chanced upon an abandoned crofters' village") and then Stannis' camp spends an additional 19 days at the Crofter's Village before Tycho and Theon arrive ("they had been three days from winterfell for nineteen days"). Therefore, we can almost exactly place Theon's arrival at the Crofter's Village no sooner than 53 days from the time they left Deepwood Motte. (It's possible, but not necessary, to insert more days between 32 and the Peasebury day, and we're trying to keep this march as short as possible.)

Therefore, the entirety of Theon’s Winterfell arc occurs during this time, since Prince of Winterfell starts right after the announcement that Stannis has begun to march, and because accounting for a ~3 days' ride between WF and the Village, Theon I occurs ~3 days before The Sacrifice. We can actually reasonably sync these chapters, but for the most part we don’t really have to—Ghost of Winterfell begins four days prior to Theon I, so that only needs to align with Tycho's arrival, and the Turncloak can just happen somewhere in between. But:

The one interesting thing to note is the snow in The Turncloak, when snow begins to fall heavily ("by nightfall snow was coming down so heavily"), and the snowstorm begins. However, it is also in this chapter that two scouts return to inform Roose that Stannis’ host has begun to break apart in the snow and had "slowed to a crawl". Comparing that to Asha's updates, this is at the earliest ~1 week into the march by Asha’s count, or anytime afterward ("fourth day of the march... snow began to fall" + "third day of snow, the king's host had begun to come apart"). So, by the time it starts snowing at Winterfell, or Asha, it's already been snowing a few days, at minimum. Accounting for additional travel time back to Winterfell from wherever Stannis is, and considering that this report comes just as Winterfell is getting snow, that means Stannis’ host got the snow roughly over a week before the snow reached Winterfell.

Almost like the snowstorm is following Stannis there. ;)

Asha's Days

As for Asha and Jon’s storyline—where it actually matters here—it appears remarkably easy to compare time:

I believe Asha counting the days must be an exercise with narrative importance, and it's incredibly useful. As I said above, we can pin nearly to the day how much time elapsed from the beginning of Stannis’ march from Deepwood Motte until their arrival at the Crofter’s Village (no less than 34 days, cited above) and then add another 19 days at the Crofter’s Village in advance of Tycho’s arrival.

Together, the time from the beginning of The King’s Prize to the end of The Sacrifice is, at minimum, 53 days. Let's say Theon and Asha reunite on Day 53.

TWOW Theon appears to occur just before dawn the next day, and since The Battle at the Crofter’s Village appears to begin immediately after TWOW Theon ends, we’ll say that the Battle, therefore, is Day 54, or 7 weeks and 5 days following Stannis' departure from Deepwood Motte.

Jon's Moons

Meanwhile, every subsequent Jon chapter gives us either a moon phase or an account of days past:

Jon VII occurs during a new moon ("They had no moon to guide them home, and only now and then a patch of stars.") The weather is notably clear, clear enough that it's a plot element: this is the reason for heading to the weirwood grove now. When Jon returns he get the news of Stannis’ departure from Deepwood. We've allowed for some raven time, so we're calling this ~Day 3.

(As an aside, it’s been storming the last seven days, so the latest Mance could have left is a week prior, though obviously since we’re syncing this with Prince of Winterfell, Mance likely left earlier than that.)

Jon VIII occurs just before the half moon, about a week later. A moon "but half-full," to quote the text exactly. This is when Val departs to find Tormund. I interpret "but" to mean just before half-full, so we'll say this is 6 days later: ~Day 9.

Val says she will return on the "first night of the full moon." No one ever says she’s late, and Jon never worries about her being gone too long, so we can assume this is true—Val returns on the first night of the full moon, with Tormund, in Jon X. We can even be generous and say this is ~9 days later, and say Jon X occurs ~Day 18.

Since Val leaves in Jon VIII and returns a week later in Jon X, then Jon IX has just over a week’s period to occur. If we’re being generous, we can say this occurred only a few days after Jon VIII, around the actual half moon. Let's say Jon IX happens ~Day 11.

In Jon IX, Selyse arrives and declares she intends to stay “no more than a few days,” and while this prediction is not a trustworthy source, it might give us some kind of ballpark. Jon also notes the weather is clear in the morning for once, calling it a “respite.” He thinks the snows have "moved off to the south" (to Stannis?) but by the evening, the snow is "coming down more heavily". The next day, Tycho appears to be gone, and Alys arrives.

So: Tycho appears to leave just over 1 week after Jon VII, when Jon received word that Stannis planned to march on Winterfell. This way, it makes intuitive sense that Jon sent Tycho to Deepwood Motte—barely any time has passed. It seems entirely possible that Stannis had yet to leave, or at least that Tycho could catch up with him on the march. So far, this feels entirely believable and logical.

In Jon X, Alys weds. Flint and Norrey have "hied" (hurried) to Castle Black for the Wedding, which is possible if we've said that Jon IX was ~1 week ago. The snow is still falling "heavily". Jon receives a letter confirming that eleven ships have left Eastwatch for Hardhome (likely a few days prior). Val arrives that night—our full moon, we presume. Again, this is Day ~18.

Jon XI begins the next morning. ("that day" until "finally, as the shadows of the afternoon grew long"). There is no place to fit any time in between here and Jon IX, because this chapter includes Jon showing Val her new quarters ("I've had the top floor made ready for you"). This is ~Day 19.

Also in Jon XI, Jon notes that the snow has finally stopped after two weeks ("a fortnight"). The last time we know the weather was clear for more than a few hours (so clear it was a plot point!) was Jon VII, when Jon went to the weirwood grove. By our count of the moon, Jon VII was two weeks ago, so this lines up exactly.

Tycho

So: we've said Tycho leaves in Jon IX, which is just over a week since Jon VII. If, at an estimate, we're saying Jon VII probably occurred about a half a week after Stannis actually left, Tycho departed Castle Black 1.5 weeks into Stannis' march. Again—he could catch up here, so makes sense that Jon sends Tycho to Deepwood Motte first.

Meanwhile, thanks to Asha, we know Tycho makes it to Stannis’ camp 7.5 weeks after their departure, on Day 53. If we are roughly syncing the start of The King’s Prize half a week before Jon VII, and seeing Tycho set out from Castle Black only a week later, then Tycho takes ~6 weeks to reach Stannis, and he’s not a teleporting banker at all. ~42 days is plenty of time to reach Deepwood Motte, negotiate the exchange of hostages, travel to Winterfell in the storm, grab Theon, and then make it back to Stannis’ camp. Again, this makes sense.

Jon X—Jon XIII

However, we now run into the problem of how much time has passed since Tycho left.

We said before that Jon X and Jon XI (the next day) occur ~1 week after Tycho departs. Jon XI is ~Day 19.

After that, Jon XII occurs exactly three days following Jon XI—there’s no space to add any extra time here. In Jon XI, Tormund and Jon agree to let the Wildlings through in three days' time, and Jon XII follows that event proceeding as scheduled. We can safely place Jon XII ~1.5 weeks following Tycho’s departure. Jon XII is ~Day 22.

Jon XIII is the only remaining Jon chapter without a moon phase or a clear date. However, there are a number of events that demand it be soon after Jon XII.

First, there's Tormund's return. Back in Jon XII, Jon says Tormund will take men to Oakenshield in “within a day or two.” In Jon XIII, Toregg returns in the morning to announce that Tormund has settled his people at Oakenshield and is returning in the afternoon. Tormund arrives that afternoon.

Then, there's the matter of Hardhome. In Jon XII, he recieves news of the disaster at Hardhome ("Very bad here. Wildlings eating their own dead"). Jon XIII begins with Jon and Selyse discussing Hardhome, seemingly for the first time; Jon later discusses a Hardhome ranging with Marsh and Yarwyck, also for the first time; Melisandre also tries to stop Jon from leaving for Hardhome, also for the first time. Jon XIII occurs as soon as Jon makes the plan to leave for Hardhome. He sounds hurried; he says "they are starving at Hardhome by the thousands," and he makes a plan with Leathers to arrange the meeting in the Shieldhall in time for Tormund's return from Oakenshield—the only thing holding them up from leaving is Tormund's return.

Up to you how long you think Jon would have waited to discuss this—I don't think very long. In order to argue that more time passes between Jon XII and Jon XIII, we need to argue that Jon hears of the starving Wildlings eating their own dead and waits for weeks before acting.

Additionally, Cregan Karstark is taken out of the Ice Cells in Jon XIII after having been imprisoned there sometime before Jon X. Considering Jon X and Jon XII have to be four days apart, that's fine, and we might imagine that Cregan has been there for maybe over a week, or more. However, Jon spent four days in an ice cell in ASOS Jon X and in this time Alliser Thorne threatened that Jon would "die in there." With that comparison, we're limited in the timeline by imagining how much longer than ~1 week we can keep Cregan Karstark alive in the ice cells prior to his release in Jon XIII without him freezing to death first.

Soon after, the Bastard Letter arrives, and Jon is killed.

Personally, I think it’s most likely that Jon XIII occurs only a few days following Jon XII. If I’m feeling generous, I’d say we can put Jon XIII ~1 week following Jon XII, and being generous we’ll say that Jon dies ~2.5 weeks after Tycho departs Castle Black. That is, therefore, 3.5 weeks after Jon first heard word that Stannis was leaving Deepwood Motte, and (we're guessing) ~4 weeks after Stannis actually left.

So Jon dies on ~Day 30. By this count, Jon's dead, and Tycho Nestoris still won’t arrive at the Crofter’s Village for another ~3.5 weeks—he can't come any faster, Asha's been counting.

Next, I'm going to propose (and acknowledge) the ways that other versions of this timeline will fix this problem, though I don't like them exactly. Then, afterwards, I'm going to give a last piece of evidence why I believe in the version of events I've just described.

If you're unintersted in "what-ifs," scroll down to "The Snowstorm"

The Less Intuitive Version—where George sneaks in "The Mystery Month"

Because I'm arguing that Jon appears to die on ~Day 30, and Tycho doesn't even reach Asha until Day 53, in order for us to believe Jon XIII happened after TWOW Theon, we’d need to invent a month to add in to Jon’s storyline. Jon XIII has to occur after Day 60, at minimum.

I call this the “Mystery Month”—is there a missing month in Jon’s storyline, or isn’t there?

There a couple ways to make this happen, and I'll explain why I don't believe them.

The trouble with slow ravens

Number one, across the board, it feels very tempting to add buffer time by imagining that Stannis left Deepwood Motte even earlier than we estimate—maybe a whole week, or even longer, before Jon hears about it in Jon VII. The main issue with this strategy is that Stannis has to send the letter, so the raven leaves at latest when Stannis does, and so now we're arguing that a raven takes over a week to fly to reach Jon .... which means that now we're also adding additional estimated time for how long it took a raven to deliver the Pink Letter, and everything has to be pushed even earlier.

That is to say: if we said it takes two weeks for word to reach Jon before Jon VII, I would say now the "battle" in the Pink Letter has to happen weeks earlier to account for this extended raven time.

The long wait before Jon XIII

The first, simplest way to add a month, is that we say this: Jon XIII happens a month after Jon XII. It took Jon a month to plan for and to bring up Hardhome to Selyse, Selyse has waited over month to plan her weddings with Gerrick Kingsbloods’ daughters, and Tormund has been at Oakenshield for over a month. The Letter arrives a month after the Wildlings come through, and so long as the King’s Prize also began over a week before Jon gets the Letter about it in Jon VII, we can make this work. Tycho arrives on time, we skip ahead a month before Jon XIII, and then Jon dies after the battle.

Yes, this could be how it happens, No I do not think that it's convincingly possible that Jon XIII happens a month after Jon XII.

If we don't want to try to force in a lot of time between Jon XII and Jon XIII, there are a few other ways to attempt to solve this (though these are still three timelines of entirely my own invention):

Skipping a moon before Jon VIII

We could add a month in between Jon VII and Jon VIII, where Jon VIII is not the waxing half moon following Jon VII’s new moon, but the one after that. We're locked in at the moon cycle, so instead of one week, this has to be a ~5 week gap. The major issue with this is: we’ve lined up Jon VII roughly with the beginning of Stannis’ march, and Tycho still hasn’t arrived at Castle Black yet. If we place Jon IX right after Jon VIII again, we'll add a month to our previous estimate of Jon IX can say that Tycho leaves ~Day 39.

With this timeline, Tycho has ~2 weeks to catch up with Stannis’ host, reaching both Deepwood Motte and Winterfell along the way. This seems unbelievably fast (considering that Deepwood to Winterfell alone was over two weeks in good weather).

The thing is, that doesn’t even matter: since this doesn’t change our earlier estimate of how long Jon has left to live after Tycho’s departure (~2.5 weeks), that still means Jon dies roughly around the same time Tycho arrives.

There's an even bigger logical issue here: in this scenario, that means Jon, who heard five weeks ago that Stannis is marching on Winterfell—which is apparently a two-week march ("fifteen days")—still sent Tycho to Deepwood Motte to catch Stannis. Why would Tycho go to Deepwood first, and not Winterfell, if Jon learned Stannis marched five weeks before Tycho left? It's true that it happened to work out, but Jon wouldn't have known, at this point, how snowed in Stannis is.

The Val takes three weeks version

Alternatively, here everything is spread out more, which is closer in spirit to what the Unofficial Timeline suggests.

We can try to give both Val and Tycho a little more time before Val's return, but we’re always trapped in a moon cycle between Jon VIII and Jon X because otherwise Val’s promise to return at the full moon doesn’t make any sense. The best way to do this is to imagine that Val leaves on a waning half moon, rather than waxing half moon. This means that Val has three weeks to travel, and it also means we have move Jon VIII to three weeks after Jon VII (and therefore ~3 weeks into King’s Prize). Here, Jon VIII is ~Day 24.

(However, this is counterintuitive—it’s more natural to imagine that being shown a half moon following a new moon would mean the waxing half moon. Also, I believe it goes contrary to the actual description: Jon notes the moon was “but half full,” and the “but” makes it seem like it will be half-full soon, not that it just was. Again, we can allow it. This also means that when Val looks at the half-moon and says: look for me at the first week of the full moon, she doesn’t mean next week, she means in ~3 weeks from now—after the moon has gone to new and then back to full again. Once again, this feels very counterintuitive to say, but it will give us more time.)

In this version of events, Tycho and Alys can still arrive as early as right after Jon VIII, and therefore that Tycho left Castle Black ~3 weeks after Jon VII, roughly around ~Day 26. (Once again, this doesn’t make too much intuitive sense to me: why would Jon send Tycho to Deepwood Motte three weeks into a two-week march?)

This doesn’t change our count of time from Jon X—Jon XIII (a generous ~1.5 weeks) but now we’re saying say that Tycho left Castle Black three weeks prior to Jon X, so this gives us 4.5 weeks between Tycho’s departure and Jon’s death.

This solves the issue of the teleporting banker: Tycho leaves ~3 weeks into Stannis’ march and has ~4.5 weeks to make the trip, so he’s faster than Stannis but not impossibly fast. However, because the moon phases are still locking our ability to only month here for the moon to align, we still have Tycho arriving roughly the same time Jon dies.

Mystery Month+

Since we're trapped into a vague schedule by Jon's noted moon cycles, the only remaining option is to assume that one of the above is true, and that Jon XIII happens at least two weeks after Jon XII. That would also make the timeline work.

However, to me, this all seems highly counterintuitive and unlikely…

And that’s before we factor in the accounts of the weather.

Yes, I have one more piece of evidence to propose, and although this is a bit more debatable, I believe it corroborates my initial timeline.

The Snowstorm

Asha sets out from Deepwood Motte, and four days later, the snows begin. By a week into the march ("third day of snow"), the host has begun to separate, and slow to a crawl.

Around this time, or a little later, we imagine the Bolton scouts see the Stannis host struggling, and turn home to report back. Several days later, accounting for vague travel time (because Stannis is less than halfway to Winterfell by this point), they report this to Roose, and it begins to snow in Winterfell, too. Let's say, roughly, it begins snowing at Winterfell around ~2 weeks after Stannis departs, maybe adding a couple days. This is when The Turncloak happens—let's say ~Day 16.

Remember what I said about the snow in The Turncloak being interesting?

In Jon VII (at my estimate, ~Day 3) the weather is clear—clear enough that Jon heads north of the Wall. If we're aligning these moments, this seems to be true for Stannis, too.

The first we hear of snows to the south in Jon IX ("moved off to the south"), and in Jon X, we hear that south of Castle Black the "kingsroad was said to be impassable" from snowstorms. In Jon XIII, Yarwyck points out that the Wall is getting snow blown against it because the "wind's from the south". This is three different accounts of harsh weather to the south, and all of this points to this being the storm at Winterfell.

If we go back to my original timeline, Stannis leaves Deepwood Motte a little before Jon VII, and Jon X occurs two weeks later around ~Day 18. In that timeline, then those reports of impassable snows to the south line up exactly with when the snows appear to have hit Winterfell, from our estimation of the sync between King’s Prize and Turncloak. Snows hit Winterfell roughly ~Day 16, Jon gets reports that the Kingsroad is impassable ~Day 18. That lines up.

According to my proposed timeline, this is still four or five weeks before Tycho Nestoris arrives. A week later, in Jon XIII, when the winds from the south are only getting worse… that fits, because Asha and Theon have another three or four weeks of snow to go. And Jon is dead.

The End

TL;DR: Comparing Jon’s tracking of the moon, Asha’s tracking of the days, and accounts of the snowstorm around Winterfell all lead me to believe that Jon dies four weeks before Tycho Nestoris reaches the Crofter’s Village.

In my proposed timeline: Tycho leaves ~1 week after Stannis does, he takes ~6 weeks to make it to the Crofter’s Village, and Jon’s already been dead for a month. So, there's been a month since. This way, Jon sending Tycho to Deepwood makes sense, and Tycho taking 6 weeks to make the journey makes sense. The accounts of the snowstorms line up.

What doesn't make sense is: the Pink Letter arrives over a month too early to be real.

Implications

But what could I possibly be saying? I don't even really know. This is such an unusual conclusion that there is very little theorizing in the fandom about what this would mean.

.... Although, I do have a pet theory for this: it does feed into my desire for the Wildlings to make a surprise appearance in TWOW.

Take this with a grain of salt. BUT. We know from AGOT that it usually takes ~3 weeks to travel from Castle Black to Winterfell. That means that a Wildling host would have a month, or even five weeks, depending on timing, to have marched from Castle Black to Winterfell afterward, and could arrive at Winterfell right on time for Stannis to advance. If that were the case, it could explain why Stannis seems so unhurried at the Crofter's Village. Maybe he's waiting for them to arrive. It could work that way. I'm not getting into any other logistics here, because this is a tall tale to defend.

On the other hand, as much work as this was, I’d love to be proven wrong here! It's all in the name of science, if by science I mean obsessive analysis of fiction. If someone has a detail I’ve missed, please let me know.

TIMELINE

Day 0: King's Prize: Stannis Marches. The King's Prize begins.

Day ~3: Jon VII: New moon, word from Stannis.

Day 4: King's Prize: Snow begins for Asha.

Day ~6: Prince of Winterfell. Word from Arnolf that Stannis marches on Winterfell.

Day 7: King's Prize: Stannis' host begins to break apart in the snow.

Day ~9: Jon VIII: ~Half moon, Val departs and will return in ~a week.

Day ~11. Tycho Nestoris arrives and Jon sends him to Deepwood Motte. Jon notes it seems there are snows off to the south.

Day 15: King's Prize: Stannis has moved less than half the distance.

Day ~16. The Turncloak. It begins to snow heavily in Winterfell.

Day ~18. Jon X. Val returns, new moon. It's snowing heavily in Castle Black. Word comes that the Kingsroad south of Castle Black is impassable from heavy snow.

Day ~19. Jon XI. Jon meets with Tormund, shows Val her new quarters. Wildlings cross in three days.

Day 20. King's Prize: Asha loses her ankle chains because her horse dies.

Day ~22. Jon XII. The wildlings cross. Clear in the morning but Tormund notes snow will start again overnight. Tormund plans to go to Oakenshield in a day or two. Word of the Hardhome disaster.

Day 26. King's Prize: Stannis' host runs out of vegetables.

*Day ~30. Jon XIII, by my estimate. Jon plans to leave for Hardhome. Strong winds blowing snow from the south. Tormund returns from Oakenshield. Bastard Letter, Jon dies.

Day 32. King's Prize: Stannis' host runs out of grain.

Day 34. King's Prize: Stannis' host reaches the Crofter's Village.

Day 45. The Karstarks arrive at the Crofter's Village. (The Sacrifice)

Day 47. The Ghost in Winterfell: Ryswell man-at-arms found dead. Snow makes visibility outside Winterfell near-zero.

Day 48. Ghost in Winterfell: Aenys Frey's squire found dead in the morning. Flint crossbowman found dead in the afternoon. Stable collapses at night.

Day 49: Ghost in Winterfell: Yellow Dick found dead in the morning. Visibility so low Theon cannot see "three feet in front of him." Confrontation about whether Theon is the killer.

Day 50: Ghost in Winterfell: Theon stays up all night; just before the dawn the sounds of horns and drums outside wakes everyone Winterfell. Theon is found in the godswood by three of the spearwives and taken to meet Mance in the Burned Tower. Theon I: A raven arrives (from the Karstarks) informing Roose of Stannis' location. Theon and Jeyne escape and are found my Mors.

Day 53: The Sacrifice: Tycho Nestoris arrives with Theon, Jeyne, and the Ironborn from Deepwood Motte.

*Day 60: At minumum, earliest time Jon XIII can occur for the Pink Letter to be accurate.

#Genuinely curious what you all will have to say because I think I am actually fundamentally altering the discourse around the Pink Letter #jozor thoughts #asoiaf meta #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #asoiaf analysis #Pink Letter #Bastard Letter #Jon Snow #asha greyjoy #theon greyjoy #asoiaf timeline #asoiaf fandom

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silentglassbreak · 10 months ago

Text

(photo cred to @lilyhella's post)

Fragmented

Noah Sebastian x OFC

Chapters are shorter because I want to get this story out faster. Just means more chapters than the original. The love I am getting from this story, and from Anonymous, has me absolutely dying. You all are the best. Thank you so much for taking the time to follow this! 🖤

Warnings: Desperate, sad, heartbroken smut.

+It goes without saying. This is a work of fiction. My words are mine. Plagiarism is a crime.

Taglist: @flowery-mess @lma1986 @myownthoughts12 @poisongirl616 @missduffsblog @reidsblessing @malerieee @jilliemiw86 @thisbicc

Also, @diabolicdiatonics, your kind words and feedback earned you a spot on the tag list. 😉

Part 5 - Blurry

‘Having your heart ripped out of your chest’ is a grotesque, yet extremely accurate metaphor to use when you’re dealing with heartbreak. The pain, the depression, the perspective it gives, I can imagine resembles that of someone tearing through your flesh, muscle, and bone, ripping your beating heart out, and throwing it on the floor like it means nothing.

Ironic, because I’d prefer that to what I was currently feeling.

Two days had gone by since Mileena ended us. Two slow, long, painful days. One of the best parts about being a parent, that no one forewarns you of, is that you don’t get to break down. Not when you have kids.

After that phone call, all I wanted was to crawl in a hole. If anything, just to keep myself from crawling into a bar or a bottle. I wanted to lay in bed and never wake up. Stay in the safe bubble of my room forever, where the pillows and sheets and blanket smelled like her.

Is that what I did? No. I promptly took my daughter home, and kept her for the following forty-eight hours.

She didn’t deserve to see the pain that this had caused, that I somehow managed to conjure. She deserved her Daddy’s full attention, and that is exactly what she got.

The first night was hard. I had to text Leena several times to ask questions. Had her bedtime changed? Why did she keep throwing her favorite stuffed lion out of the crib? Where was the rash cream? What the hell did ‘handle’ mean?!

Leena: We go to bed at 8:30 now.

Leena: She’ll do that over and over. She’s messing with you. She’ll stop after a few times.

Leena: Medicine cabinet, Addie’s bathroom, top shelf.

Leena: Angel. She misses the dog.

Her responses were robotic. Cold. No emotion at all.

After Addison finally fell asleep, I had no time to sulk. The tour exhaustion creeping in and the weight of the entire day pulled me into bed, narrowly managing to click the baby monitor on before I fell into a slumber. In my dreams, Mileena was with me, curling her arm around my waist like she did, pressing her ice cold feet to the back of my legs, and all was right with the world.

But that reprieve didn’t last nearly long enough, as Addison was awake, bright and early at 6:30AM, ready to eat and be changed.

How did Mileena do this for months alone? I was twelve hours in and felt like dying already.

That day, I called and begged for help, prompting Nick to come hang with Addison and I for most of the day. He also, thankfully, brought Angel to stay with us until Addison went back to Mileena.

We didn’t talk about it. I couldn’t. It felt too real already.

The day passed easier, but I still had to ask too many questions.

Me: She wont eat her puffs. Is there something else she eats now?

Leena: Cereal.

Me: What’s the wifi password?

Leena: Addison1031!

Me: What size diapers does she wear?

Leena: It’s on the front of the diaper.

By the final day, I had vowed not to ask any more questions. I was a father, a grown man, I could handle my own daughter. I could make decisions and figure out how to keep her happy and fed. I wasn’t an invalid.

So that’s exactly what I did. I didn’t ask a single question the entire day. Each time I managed to figure out what Addison needed or wanted, I cheered for myself, proud that I could manage.

But by midday, my phone had chimed on the counter while I fed Addie lunch.

Leena: Everything okay?

I scrunched my eyebrows.

Me: Yeah, why?

Leena: Haven’t heard from you all day.

This made me roll my eyes.

Me: I am an adult. I can handle an 18-month old.

Leena: Okay. Is 7 a good time to come by and get her?

My heart sunk, a regular feeling for me these days.

Me: Sure.

I pursed my lips, typing again.

Me: Are you sending someone else to come get her?

Leena: Do you want me to?

I thought about this. Did I want to see her? Feel the hurt even more than I already could? Have her so close that I could touch her, but not be allowed to? Rip that wound, that had only barely begun to scab, back open wide to bleed all over?

Me: No.

Yes. Yes I did.

I was frazzled, Addison in stage four meltdown mode. She was extra tired, having refused to go down for a nap today. It was 6PM, and I hadn’t had the opportunity to pick up the living room or kitchen yet like I planned, intending to not look like a total mess in front of Leena.

My sweats were covered in what could only be described as mystery goo, crusted and a foul color. Was it food? Crap? Boogers? What a time to be alive.

“Lady, I don’t know where your lion is!” I was currently ripping my living room apart, sweat coating my forehead and neck, while my daughter sat in her walker, screaming bloody murder for her toy over and over.

“Where did you put him, mama?!” The couch cushions were askew, the coffee table pushed off to the side, and all of the cabinets in the entertainment center wide open.

The constant screaming burned a hole in my brain. I stood up, and took a calculated breath before my head exploded. It hurt so God damn bad, and the ibuprofen was just not cutting it.

It was at that exact moment I saw a flash of yellow fuzz fly by my peripheral, and I whipped my head around to see Angel, lion between his teeth, standing at attention at the edge of the living room.

I let out all of the air in my lungs, nearly collapsing in relief when he trotted over to the baby, dropping the stuffed toy on her tray and licking away her drying tears.

My body fell back onto the remaining intact cushion, and I dropped my head into my hands.

Who was I kidding? I can’t do this.

Like some kind of cosmic joke, the doorbell rang just as the thought crossed my mind, and I heavily lifted myself up, stalking to the door.

I pulled it open, any stress and anxiety melting, and an overwhelming calm overtaking me. As it sunk in, the tinge of dread at the end kept me from smiling at the sight.

Mileena stood on the other side, black tank top cut low, jean’s hugging her hips, flip-flops showing off black painted toe nails. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun on top of her head where her sunglasses were perched.

“Hey.”

I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. I just wanted to fall, let her catch me. I wanted to break down like a small child, and cry. Listen to her tell me it was okay. She was done punishing me, and she would come home. That life would go back to the way it was supposed to. That she loved me, and forgave me, and that we’d never be apart again.

But I knew better.

“Hey. Come in.” I stood aside, letting her step inside, watching as her eyes surveyed the scene in front of her. She looked amused.

I began twirling around, putting cushions back and straightening the table. Picking up toys and tossing them in the bin, closing cabinets.

I looked back at her, frozen in the same spot, a grin on her face. My chest lurched for a second, until she lifted her finger and pointed behind me.

Confused, I looked back, seeing Addison now laying her head down atop her lion, eyes closed and snoozing comfortably. Still bent over, completely defeated, I fell back onto the floor, knees bent, and rested my arms on them, shaking my head and chest trembling with quiet laughter. Leena took a step into the living room, chuckling herself.

"Long day?"

I just looked at her, and shrugged. "Maybe a little."

Her eyes were sympathetic. Her smile was tight.

"Uhm," She shifted, and it was then I noticed the tote bag on her shoulder. "do you mind if I run upstairs for a minute? I just need to grab a few things."

I waved toward the staircase lazily. "Go for it. Looks worse up there though."

My tone was dismissive, which wasn't exactly on purpose, but I couldn't muster anything else in that moment. She just nodded, trotting up the steps. I just stared at Addie, breathing evenly, thinking about how simple life seemed when she was sleeping.

"Noah?" I looked up to see her, hanging slightly over the banister. "Have you seen my flat iron?"

"Under the bathroom sink."

She shook her head. "It's not."

I grunted, standing back up. "Angel." I snapped and grabbed his attention, pointing at Addison. He promptly jumped up from his bed in the corner of the room, and curled up in front of the walker, always keeping watch.

I jogged up the stairs, brushing past Mileena, making a conscious effort not to notice that she smelled like fresh soap. Recently showered.

I swung into the bathroom, bending down to look under the sink, and dug around the miscellaneous items that lived under there. I finally located it, beneath a stack of towels, and pulled it out. She was stood in the doorway to the bathroom, and I handed it to her, stopping just short of a foot in front of her.

She grabbed it gratefully. "Thanks."

Leena turned around and disappeared into the closet, coming back out with some clothes she had left, and other random items that I didn't take note of. I leaned against the frame of the bathroom door, just watching her move. It made it worse, seeing her empty her things out of the bedroom, but maybe it would help me accept the situation? I definitely didn't have the energy to fight.

She finally zipped the bag, and looked up at me. "I think that's good for now. I can always grab more when I drop her off again."

"Mm." Was all I could say.

She shrugged, and sat down on the bed, her large, deep brown eyes staring at me.

"Do you hate me?"

She's joking, right? She had to be.

"What?"

"You look like you hate me."

This made me laugh from somewhere deep in my chest, a twisted, sadistic cackle. "Wow."

She crinkled her nose. So fucking cute. "Wow, what?"

I grabbed the back of my neck and looked down at the floor, trying to find the strength.

"No, Mileena. I don't hate you." I pulled at the hairs that grew at the base of my skull, begging for a sensation other than this fucking misery. "Quite the opposite, actually."

Her face looked...sad. So fucking sad. I could relate.

"I hate this." I pointed to the bag next to her on the bed. "But not you."

Her hand tapped the mattress, beckoning me to sit. I knew I should give her a wide enough berth, fearing I may lose control at any given moment. I wasn't good at that in general, but around Mileena? Fucking hell.

I didn't budge.

She rolled her eyes. "Noah. Come sit with me."

Well, I mean, when she put it that way.

I walked over to the bed, and sat. I kept at least six inches of space between us, and looked at her.

Her eyes were shiny; wet. This was hard for her, and I knew that, but I couldn't see how she could be hurting as much as me.

I was worth losing. She wasn't.

"I just," Her voice was crackling, as if it was almost gone. "I miss you."

"You know how to fix that." My words were so matter-of-fact, and I knew it wasn't that easy, but I wanted it to be.

"I told you. I can't."

"Can't, or won't?"

She was just gazing at me. There was something behind her eyes, that I was sure she didn't want me to see, something vulnerable and broken. Her soul. It hurt.

Maybe that's why she grabbed me, wrapped her arms around me, and buried her head in my chest. It startled me, but my arms still circled her, and my chin came to rest on her head. Her body was trembling hard, soft cries coming out of her.

I pressed my lips in to the top of her head, my own tears beginning to spill over, soaking into her hair.

"It's alright, baby. I got you." I tried my damndest to keep my voice even, hugging her tighter the harder she sobbed.

"Noah, I love you so fucking much."

I began rocking us gently. "I love you too, Mileena. More than you could ever understand."

Her fingers were gripping the shirt on my back like her life depended on it. "I'm so fucking sorry. I'm so sorry."

Her words were so quiet that I almost missed them.

I pulled back, looking down at her reddened face. "Don't."

Her eyes widened, her lip shaking.

"Don't apologize."

I don't know why. I didn't even think. I just leaned down, and brushed a soft kiss against her lips, as if it was nothing. Like a reflex.

But when I tried to pull away, her hand had me, the back of my neck locked into place, and her mouth pressing against me hastily, as if she was starving. Like she would never get the chance again.

A spark ignited inside of me, a roaring fire building in my chest, and for the first time in days, I finally felt alive. The blood shooting through my veins was hot as sulfuric acid, needing to be put to use or it may burn through my skin.

Pressing my tongue into her mouth, she let a gasping moan come out of her mouth.

That was it. She was done for. Even if only in this moment, she was mine.

I dug my fingers into her waist, and flipped her around, pushing her back onto the bed, without disconnecting our lips. I sucked her bottom lip into my mouth, letting my teeth dig in hard enough to make her whimper.

Trailing wet kisses down the side of her neck, I let my left hand trail down the center of her body, and pop the button of her jeans open effortlessly, pulling the zipper down.

"Noah."

She was trying to get my attention, as if she didn't have every shred of my mind on her at all times. I didn't stop, my hand sliding down into the front of her jeans, fingers slipping into her panties.

"You tell me to stop, and it's done." I spoke against her neck, making her shiver.

I paused, waiting, but heard no sounds of protest. Just hot, ragged breathing.

Mercilessly, my hand slipped down between her lips, my index finger penetrating her smoothly, making her back arch clean off the bed.

"That's it, baby." I pressed my lips to her cheek, slipping my middle finger in, curling both digits to graze her sweet spot. "Just let it all go."

It was as if a rubber band snapped in her, her body loosening, relaxing beneath my touch. Her eyes had fluttered closed, her lashes dancing on her cheekbones. I watched her, mouth open, drinking in the sight of her coming undone. Her hips bucked, fucking herself harder on my hand.

Her hands pulled at my arm, grounding herself. "I'm going to fucking come." Her words were broken, fighting for breath.

"Yeah baby, come for me." I pressed against the soft spot inside of her, applying more steady pressure as I fingered her savagely.

I saw her eyes rolling back, and felt her spasm around my hand, a flood of moisture soaking her panties.

She reached her face up, connecting our lips again, and we laid there, making out for longer than necessary, arms and legs tangled together. How long we stayed like this, I just couldn't say. I would've stayed there forever if I could.

Eventually her hand snaked down to my sweats, palming the hard erection I had been trying to ignore. I grunted, pushing up into her hand. I would take any touch, any attention, from her.

"Noah?"

I pressed my forehead to hers, noses bumping as I continued to press light kisses on her lips. "Hmm?"

"I need you."

I am not one to deny someone their needs.

It took a fraction of a second before I had her jeans off, panties going along with, and was sliding my sweats down, letting my cock free. Her eyes stared at me, half-masked. Waiting.

I had no time to waste, for fear at any moment she may just disappear, so I lined myself up to her, and pressed in hard. She let out a noise that could only be described as guttural. I took a moment to adjust, trying not to explode right then and there. Once I had gotten a grip on myself, I began sliding slowly in and out of her.

Her hands grabbed me, fisting the hair on the back of my head, and pulled my face down to hers, locking us again in a warm, wet kiss. The emotion that poured between us was an ebb and flow of want and regret, not knowing what was coming after this was over.

Leena’s hips shifted to meet my thrusts, our bodies pressed together in a rhythmic dance. We parted to breathe, panting together, each growing closer to our respective climaxes.

“Noah,” She was staring up at me. “I love you.” She grit her teeth. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

I had to close my eyes, focusing on the feel of her around me, her pussy tighter and tighter with each thrust.

“Fuck, Mileena. I fucking love you.”

Her hands were now holding my shoulders, her face desperate. Her eyes begged me to come as I felt her begin to spasm again.

That’s all it took. I let go, the waves rushing over me all at once, my skin burning white hot.

We stared at each other for a long time, pain being shared between the small space of our bodies. It was almost suffocating, but I preferred it over feeling like I would never be here again. That single fact was enough to keep me locked onto her, silently begging her not to leave me.

However, she broke our connection, shifting underneath me, a sign that this was done. The moment had gone, and it was time to let reality back into the room.

Two weeks. Two weeks without my better half. The side of my soul that held anything good and sane. Two weeks I had felt like the shell of a human, a suit of skin hung over a skeleton like some kind of elaborate Halloween decoration. Two weeks I had felt like I was going to die at any given moment, or wished I would.

Somehow, I was still breathing.

Today was going to be different, though. I had received a call from Alec, our representative from Sumerian, saying that the meeting was set and we all needed to be there.

I anticipated this meeting every second since that moment in the hotel. It was finally time to make things right, to at least some degree. I was nothing if not ecstatic.

My truck parked neatly next to Jolly's Audi in the parking lot, I met the guys, who all stood outside the building, chatting.

"Afternoon, gents." The smile across my face nearly broke my jaw.

"Hey, he's alive!" Folio's arm came up to shove me, making me shove back playfully.

"Shut up, dude. I'm going through shit."

He responded with an eye roll. "Can't even check in, dick."

"Cut the man some slack, he's adjusting." Nick snickered.

"Yep. I'm adjusting." I laughed.

A woman, nearly as tall as me, clean-cut and wildly intimidating, opened the door to the building and addressed us.

"Guys? We're about to get started."

We all straightened up, walking into the office and following her to a conference room.

"Ah, guys!" Alec stood from the long meeting table, a warm smile on his face. He was dressed casually, jeans and a plain blue t-shirt, coming around to give each of us a hard hug. "Good to see you."

We all said our greetings before taking seats on the same side of the table as Alec. The woman, who I had not met yet, was sat on the other side, a folder in front of her and a pen in her hands.

"This is Elizabeth Jones, our attorney." She nodded.

"Wish we were meeting under better circumstances." We all nodded in approval. She sighed, looking at the time on her watch. "She should be here shortly."

My heart began thumping when I could hear the door handle turning, and the heavy wooden door swinging open. I leaned back in my seat, my hands folded over my stomach. I caught Alec's face, giving me a knowing glance to keep my mouth shut.

"Rachel. Come in."

Rachel walked in, dressed more professional than I think I had ever seen. She wore black slacks, a grey, sleeveless blouse, and her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. Her lipstick was bright red. Likely due to the demon living inside of her attempting to escape. I only allowed myself a fleeting glance before I stared down at the table.

"What can I do for you all?"

Elizabeth stood to greet her.

"Rachel, I'm Elizabeth, nice to meet you." Her smile was fake, snake-like. I loved it. Deception. Rachel's exact game being played against her.

The blonde sat directly across from me, and I could feel her eyes on me. I didn't even bother looking back at her. She didn't deserve that. Not from me.

"Rachel, we brought you here to discuss the events that took place in Manhattan, and San Diego." Alec's voice was calm.

I heard her sigh. "I assumed as much."

"Okay. Well," I looked over to see him gesturing with his hands. "you see, it's come to our attention that there is some hostile tension between you, and some of the members of the band."

I looked over to my brothers, noticing they all glared directly at her.

"Tension?" She scoffed. "You mean the way Noah nearly attacked me at the hotel?"

My jaw tightened. Shut up. Don't say a word.

"The story we heard had to do with you causing a scene in the hallway of the hotel, making advances toward Noah, and spreading some rather salacious rumors about him at a club in New York."

Her hand slapped down on the table, causing a loud, sharp sound to echo in the room. I didn't move an inch.

"That's bullshit! He came to my fucking room late at night, misconstrued me asking to hang out, and then nearly pounced on me three days later when his girlfriend fucking left him!"

Don't fucking speak, Noah. It's not fucking worth it.

My hands were nearly ripping the skin off each other, my nails digging in to keep from letting my rage spill over.

"Ms. Hollis," Elizabeth's voice came in, unnaturally soothing. "the details of the events are unimportant." She sent a stare at me, to which I did not return.

"So why am I here?" Rachel's voice was irritated. Yes, what an inconvenience this must be...for her.

"Due to the aforementioned tension, and lack of cohesion with this working relationship, we would like to make you an offer."

I finally snuck a glance at Rachel, who had an eyebrow raised at Elizabeth in apprehension.

"What kind of offer?"

Elizabeth slid the folder over to her, setting a manicured hand down on the table.

"Six months pay, up front. All vacation days paid out, and several letters of recommendation from Sumerian."

Her mouth fell open, and her eyes narrowed. "You're firing me?!"

She turned her attention back to Alec, her voice becoming shrill.

"It's a separation." Alec was cold.

Rachel stood up, shoving the folder back at Elizabeth.

"Oh fuck that, you can't fire me over this!"

"Again, this is not a termination, Rachel. It's an amicable separation."

Elizabeth, however, was met with the end of Rachel's pointer finger.

"How dare you!" She turned to us next, her lips sneer and teeth bared. "And you!" She looked directly at me. I challenged her gaze, and couldn't help but let slip the slightest smirk.

"Oh, you fucking bastards." She backed away from the table. "You'll be hearing from my fucking lawyer."

The last of her I saw was a flash of her hair before the door slammed shut.

"Guys?" Jolly looked at Alec and Elizabeth. "Do we need to be worried?"

Elizabeth just stood, sighing heavily.

"I hope not."

#noah sebastian #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens #fanfic #noah sebastian fic

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hyperfixiation-station · 1 year ago

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Family Man

I saw another tumblr post that inspired this but I can't find it now so if someone could like tag them below that'd be great :)

Simon Riley was a family man. Giving his family chance after chance when they didn't deserve it. Sacrificing his career and personal life to help his mother and brother out of the hole they dug themselves into. Throwing his father out after he threatened those he loved. Being best man at his brothers wedding. Being the a great uncle to a nephew he adored. Being a better man than his father.

Simon Riley was a family man. Going back home despite enduring months of torture that did nothing but remind him of the way he grew up. Choosing revenge instead of death when he found the family he had rebuilt slaughtered at the hands of his enemy. Slaughtering everyone that stood in between him and revenge.

Simon Riley was a family man. Simon Riley died with his brother, mother, and nephew. Simon Riley was buried alive in another mans coffin. Simon Riley killed himself when he killed Roba. Simon Riley is dead and gone.

Simon Riley was a family man. Ghost was not. Simon Riley died next to his brother and mother. Ghost emerged from the ashes. Simon Riley was buried 6 feet under. Ghost came crawling out the top. Simon Riley entered Roba's mansion. Ghost was who Shepard met when he left.

Ghost was not a family man. Ghost pretended Simon Riley was dead, buried along side his tormentor. He had built a dam around his heart, holing Simon Riley up inside.

A little girl in a Ukrainian school made the wall around his heart chip, her innocent brown eyes and missing front tooth so like another child Ghost once knew. He teary eyes hurt him inside, and he found himself telling his story to the children and the terrorists as they waited for extraction.

John Price, a soldier a few years older than himself, is the first to force his way into Ghost heart. With his willingness to bend and break the rules to do what needs to be done, unquestioning acceptance of Ghost's actions, he wins Ghosts, and by extension Simon Riley's, trust.

A Roach worms his way into Ghost's heart next. Much like Ghost, the little bug rarely shows his face, and talks even less. Ghost find's him a kindred spirit of sorts. His rescue of Price was enough to permanently cement his spot in Ghost's inner circle.

Kyle Garrick is next, pulling at Ghost's heartstrings with his light-hearted banter and teasing personality. His actions and words remind Ghost so much of a brother from another life.

Ghost was not a family man. Ghost left Simon Riley lying on the floor of his brothers home. Ghost fought his way out of a grave, leaving Simon Riley under the ground. Ghost walked out of Roba's mansion, leaving Simon Riley with a bullet in his brain. Ghost rose from the ashes, leaving Simon Riley for dead.

John MacTavish brings Simon Riley back to life. Unlike the others, who hesitantly chipped away at Ghost's icy exterior, Soap comes in swinging. Armed with nothing but an uncaring attitude and a sniper rifle, he barges into Ghosts life and demolishes the walls he's built.

His Scottish accent and quick mind call to Ghost in a nothing has since the night he buried Simon Riley for good. His good-natured teasing and simultaneous defense of Ghost's odd behaviors endear Soap to him.

When Soap enters the cartel's house, unarmed and alone, Ghost feels fear in a way he hasn't since coming back to a dark and desolate home all those years ago. The feeling of relief is so sweet he can almost taste it when Soap is in sight again.

Just a few short hours later Simon Riley is pushing hard at the barrier holding him back. Despite the lies, despite the deceit, despite the betrayal, Simon Riley is fighting for his chance to live again. For once, Ghost doesn't push him back down, too focused on talking Johnny through making out of enemy territory alive.

Ghost swore to never again utter the words Simon Riley, swore to leave him dead and buried, swore to never open himself up to be hurt like that again, but John MacTavish lays all those plans to rest. Simon Riley claws his way out of Ghost's heart in the same way the latter once crawled his way out of Simon Riley's grave as Soap fights his way through a city full of hostiles to get to them.

And on a dark night in a church building in Mexico, Simon Riley is reborn.

Forgive the quality, I sat down and wrote this for like 2 hours straight and did zero revisions. Do I know where I was going with this? No. does it make sense? probably not. Did I say I was going to publish the next part of Choices, Choices, Choices? Yes. Am I posting this instead? Also yes.

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asukaskerian · 11 months ago

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monthly word count + year total

TOTAL FOR DECEMBER: 3 844 words. ..hhghgb i thought it was moooore

POSTED: nothing.

IN PROGRESS: -madatobiizu ABO cherry wine verse (979 words) -bleach pack fuckening ABO verse, baby cuteness (450 words) -bleach suburban ot4 (1 414 words) -bleach psychic wolves (377 words) -bleach bloodsport (624 words)

YEARLY TOTAL:

jan: 4 700 feb: 6 014 mar: 4 512 apr: 4 889 may: 1 719 jun: 1 184 jul: 2 271 aug: 1 615 sep: 3 026 oct: 2 109 nov: 4 272 dec: 3 844 TOTAL: 40 155 AVERAGE: 3 346.25

yeah so the downward trend is getting obvious. HHHHHH.

2010: 136 235, average: 11 353/month. ... :X :X :X 2011: 167 675, average: 13 973/month. :X 2012: 332 396, average: 27 700/month. eeeeeeee. 2013: 396 917, average: 33 076/month !!!!!!!! 2014: 315 332, average: 26 276/month ... :X 2015: 206 403, average: 17 200/month. 2016: 127 495, average: 10 625/month. >:( 2017: 80 828, average: 6 736/month. .__. 2018: 128 033, avergage: 10 669/month. FUCK YOU 2017. 2019: 159 609, average: 13 300/month. huh! 2020: 105 791, average: 8 816/month. ... hhghhrhhhhhhhhhhhhhh flops. 2021: 101 776, average: 8 481.33/month. =__= 2022: 73 461, average: 6 121.75/month. hhAHHJZVB WORSE THAN 2017 2023: 40 155, average: 3 346.25/month. this used to be three months' worth. hgh.

FICS I POSTED THIS YEAR:

-Howling Outside Your Door : Grimmichi pack fuckening : Chapters 5, 6 and Epilogue -Cherry wine chapter 8 (madatobiizu ABO) -Ichigo centric sequelette to Howling Outside Your Door (grimmichi pack fuckening ABO)

I did work on suburban ot4 and STILL don't wanna post it in public but otherwise it's still all half-dying fics trying to crawl back to the surface. no new ideas or anything. this *sucks.*

have some teasers anyway.

-- cherry wine --

"Don't joke. The cheeky omegas are already coming out of the woodwork as it is."

"Ah… Yes? Your fault for reacting to that girl the other day. Now they think that's your type."

Madara didn't truly change his posture but suddenly he looked a little more tired. "I thought that was why Raiha's niece seemed to have had a personality transplant."

"Aheh." Izuna hadn't even been sure he had noticed. "Mmh. Yes."

Huffing, his brother leaning on one elbow, fist mashed against his mouth grumpily, and glowered at the Lightning envoys who were doing nothing to ask for it.

"I didn't even want her, I just thought she was amusing. Who even wants to take someone to bed that they could break in two sneezing too hard?"

Izuna tried not to look too amused as the Lightning envoys went to sit and the Water ones started up the alley, lest they take it personally.

"Hm, yes, let's not tell people you like dangerous shinobi better, if that's all the same to you. They'd have a much better chance of assassinating you."

Madara threw him an irritated glare that became a watchful glance over Izuna's shoulder. Izuna fanned himself absently and took his time turning to see which of the Water Country envoys had --

Hm.

Why was this little blond brat dragging behind to grin at Tobirama.

bleach pack fuckening ABO

Ichigo feels so stupidly nervous watching Grimmjow's pack investigate his apartment. His apartment with the huge bath he never uses and the sunken living room-couch area and fuck, all his pillows and blankets are in the cupboards after the grueling wash they all needed last time his pack stayed over. Renji makes a mean cocktail but by god they stain.

He's going to look like he's trying too hard if he gets out the cushions now, isn't he.

"You, uh. Need--"

"You going to close the wards, Shinigami?"

Ugh. Ichigo makes a face at the blond one. He seems to remember he's an asshole.

Wait, they're all assholes. They hang out with Grimmjow. Have to be just to survive him, no doubt.

As he turns to seal the wards again, he catches a glimpse of the man himself, standing wih shoulders loose and hip cocked as he surveys the place. In the crook of his arm is the b-- his -- Ichigo does up the wards.

suburban ot4

"Ichigo made a pretty big decision on his own, and he didn't talk to me. He shared it with this other person as a, a done deal thing, and he didn't even talk to me about it."

Grimmjow whistles low and quiet between his teeth. "Yeowch. I'll dig a hole behind the gazebo."

Orihime blinks. "To put his--"

"Corpse, yeah, I'll make it square so it doesn't pop up too much, we just gotta fold him up a bit."

"… Pff."

"Plant some flowers on top to make it look legit with the loose soil. Gorgeous blooms."

Orihime presses both hands against her mouth, and still cackles. "Mean!"

"Or hey, tomatoes, some peppers. Delicious."

She giggles some more. Ah, it fixes nothing, and yet it's like being tickled out of a heavy coat. Freeing, like she can breathe a bit better as it drops around her feet.

"Sounds -- hehe, sounds good. Adzuki beans? Mm, I could make my own paste."

He smirks, just a little bit.

"… Haaaaa. I should probably try talking with him before the… gardening."

Grimmjow-san scoffs. "Quitter."

"Grimmjow-san!"

"Yeah, yeah, maybe. I mean, you're giving up an occasion of growing his namesake on the corpse of the guy who wronged you, which is the coldest, most badass shit, but you do you. Tch'."

… She'll feel a little bad in a minute that she laughed, because strawberry jokes are the lowest of -- hahaha -- hanging fruits.

bloodsport (ichigo, charlotte, luppi)

"… What's your names, anyway," he mumbled a fifteen minutes' bullet train ride later. "And do I, um. Pronouns."

Being laughed at was almost more of a relief than it was embarrassing.

"Listen, home is just kinda -- hngh. I mean? Gay people exist--"

The small one's face spasmed; their emotions -- yeah, Ichigo didn't want to notice that howling disbelief or the edge of hysterical hilarity that went with it, thanks.

"They still have to marry and have children. I mean, if they're echt. Duty to the blood. Whatever. So gender stuff is, uh. Yeah. Not really. Fuck."

Askin concealed a grimace a beat too late. The tall one grinned genially, leaning toward Ichigo and Askin with their hands linked sweetly behind their back. "You poor deprived chickies! You confused sweethearts. I am going to open your minds so wide--"

"Ugh," the small one cut in, rolling their eyes, and got a toothy, brilliant smile aimed their way along with a sharp threatening I-will-cut-your-neck gesture.

"To start with! Arrancars have been known to reproduce asexually. In the first couple generations, or maybe when the blood is very strong, but!"

"Didn't Starrk bud out a little girl ten years back."

"That guy's a freak though. Leading to! Two, the gender binary is for squares. Still with me, chickies?"

"Uh. Yeah."

"Three, I'm the womanest woman who has ever womaned."

"Oh." Yeah, good thing Ichigo had asked. Her voice was, uh. Deep. And the contrast between her mannerisms and makeup and her T-shaped frame, thick with muscle--

"But also, transcending the restrictive gender binary inherited from our caveman ancestors back on Earth is excellently beautiful and I am, naturally, first place at it."

grimmichi psychic wolves

"So he just… decided to ditch us."

Yylfordt said nothing for a few seconds, and then all at once grabbed a chair and flung it to the floor, along with the clothes and books piled up on it. Nakeem watched the books scatter, sliding along the linoleum.

"What the fuck! What the fuck?! Why would he do that? We're the best, baddest fucking squad, we're fucking black ops at the top of the game, what fucking reason would he have to fucking leave?"

More silence, out loud. Inside their minds everyone was buzzing incoherently, tidbits of denial blurring past.

Makes no sense, what about his pride, we were gonna be so great--

"He hated the sex," Nakeem said.

He got stared at.

"… The heat sex?" Di Roy asks eventually. "But he always said it was the best sex of his life."

Nakeem considered it. Not wrong, but. "Also the worst."

#teaser #ABO quest #writing woes

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kikikittykis · 8 months ago

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I Won’t Let You Have the Mark of Cain Chapter 5: The Injections are Done But Who is The Other Person Who Needs Eren

Summary: You have the Mark of Cain but Eren won’t let the Mark destroy you and who you are , just because you have to kill Abaddon.

Fandom: Supernatural and Attack on Titan

Pairing: Eren Yeager x Winchester! reader

Characters: Eren Yeager, (Y/N) Winchester, Armin Arlert, Mikasa Ackerman, Crowley

Genre: Angst I think but ends in fluff

Warnings: Major Character death

Note: This is also posted on my Ao3

Masterlist

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 6

It was hard watching Eren as a demon, Mikasa offered to watch him in between the last two shots but you wanted to watch him. To keep him under your own observation. “So who else needs me huh, because last time that i checked only Mikasa, Armin and you really need me” Eren said

“It doesn’t matter who else needs you” you said to Eren. Keeping the truth of who else needed Eren in their life.In truth you were pregnant and keeping it away from Eren so that he couldn’t use it against you in case he escaped and you failed at turning him human.

“You know your just a weak human, all you humans do is feel pain and sorrow”

“That’s not true I feel love and happiness, When I think about the Eren that I love”

“That Eren is gone” Demon Eren said to you

“No my eren is only hidden from view, I will bring him back” you said and gave Eren the last dose of your blood.

“(Y/N/N)” Eren said with a tired voice. You quickly embraced Eren in a hug and undid his bindings

“What have I done (Y/N), I hurt you, didn't I?” Eren said as you held him tightly as if you hadn’t seen him in forever.

“Eren it wasn’t truly you and I know that and now your back to being the Eren that Mikasa Armin and I know” you said

“But I still hurt you” Eren said

“Eren we all forgive you” you said

“Why would you forgive me”

“Because I love and the others call themselves your friends for a reason”

“You really believe so”

“Yes I do Eren, I believe in you” you just hugged each other for a bit longer until it was time to eat and the two of you came out of the dungeon and to the kitchen. You all ate and laughed until well into the night. When you and Eren decided to retire for the night

“(Y/N)”

“Yes Eren what is it” you said as the two of you got ready for bed together.

“When I was a demon you said someone else needs me, who was it?”

“Eren I don’t know how to tell you this but after you became a demon, I found out something”

“Well what is it (Y/N)?”

“Eren I’m pregnant”

“How far along are you?” Eren asked

“About two months, the last night we were together, was when the child was created”

“Do the others know?” Eren asked

“No, i haven’t told them yet only Armin and Levi know, they’ve been helping me hide my pregnancy”

“It’s the real reason why I stayed behind when the others went to get you back” you said

“So I’m going to be a father then”

“Yes” you said with uncertainty

“That is amazing (Y/N), but what about the mark, I love you but I don’t want to hurt you again, or end up hurting the baby” “Eren don’t worry about that right now and I love you too” Eren hugged you tightly.

“(Y/N) I don’t want you to put yourself and the baby in danger just to save me” Eren said

“Eren-”

“No (Y/N) I want you and the baby to be safe please, just no hunting” eren cut you off from speaking.

“Eren I will take a break from hunting, but first I need to get rid of that damned mark” you said, Eren held you tight against his chest. Before you pried yourself from his grasp.

“What are you doing?” Eren asked

“It’s late and I would like to get some sleep, so are you going to get ready with me” you said

“Of course if you're ready for bed then so am I” Eren said as the two of you got ready for bed in silence. The two of you crawled into bed, where Eren held you in his arms as you turned off the light. The two of you fell asleep quickly. Eren woke up first with you in his arms. He loved holding you close he always did but he was worried how were you going to take the mark off of him. The mark that he thought could only be transferred. But alas he wanted to be free of the mark. When he originally had taken it it was so that he could protect you, now he could hurt you, so easily especially if he got killed again. He would turn back into a demon. You slowly stirred in his arms.

Waking up slowly you pulled yourself even closer to Eren. “Morning” you muttered into his shoulder.

“Good morning to you too babe” Eren said as you opened your eyes to look at him.

“Whatcha thinking about?” you asked Eren

“Nothing” Eren replied with a slight smile looking down at you.

“I call bullshit what’s wrong?”

“(Y/N) I’m worried, how are you going to take the mark off of me” “I don’t want you or the baby to get hurt”

“Relax Eren it’s going to be okay” you said

“Are you sure?” Eren said questioningly

“Yes now get some more sleep it’s too early” you said and pushed your face into his chest. Eren calmed down slowly and then went back to sleep for a little while longer.

#eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger imagines #eren jaeger x reader #eren x reader #eren yeager #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan #shingeki no kyoujin imagine #shingeki no kyoujin x reader #supernatural crossover #eren x you #eren jaeger #shingeki no kyojin

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myrskytuuli · 2 years ago

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The promised military post.

Last weekend I spent three days doing a military introduction course for women hosted by the National Defence Training Association of Finland. The aim of the course was to give an overview of what military service is like in practice, for women who are on the fence whether to apply for military service or not. Since my biological clock is ticking, and I have a friend currently doing her military service, I got reccommended this course, which I galdly took in order to put to rest whether I should still quickly shoehorn myself to apply for the women’s voluntarily service or not, before I age out.

(note that politically I still believe that mandatory service should be upheld for both sexes. Even after chosing not to serve my time, I do politically belive that someone should show up at my door and force me and every other woman in Finland to do some kind of crisis training service akin to what men have to do. but I digress.)

Great course. 100% reccomend MPK courses for anyone who is interested. Absolute kudos to everyone involved in creating and running it. Got exactly the experience I was looking for, and very amazing experiences and skills to go with it. They gave you a intense, full-packed, cut-through of the entire first three months (alokasaika) of the army experience. Obvioulsy in order to actually become somehow good at all of the things we went through, you would need the three months of repetition you get with actual service, but we compared notes with my friend and we did pretty much try everything you do during alokasaika.

Foot drills. making your bed. Taking care of your equipment. military rank and discpline. how to clean and oil your AR. Survival skills. Setting up a camp. how to handle a grenade. How to handle a shoulder-fired missile. How to use and set up military communication equipment. How to move with an AR. How to move in a formation. How to basically move as a soldier without fucking everything up. How to do basic emergency care on battle wounds. How to crawl to foxhole without killing yourself. How to spot an enemy from foliage. How to shield yourself from artillery. How to crawl without fucking over your AR. (How to create a parasocial relationship with your AR who is also your wife) how to shoot your AR without your shitty breathing technique getting in the way of your shot. etc. If that sounds like a lot- It’s because it was. we had a minute timetable and the only breaks were to eat and the couple minutes to drink water from time to time. The weather was abominable, so we were doing all of this while most of the time it was either raining sleet or hailing.

I really liked it. I love new experiences and this definitely was one. most of the skills were appliable to a life outside of military too. Outdoor survival, emergency care, how to use a compass, etc. not going to lie, learning how to use several different pretty gnarly weapons was cool too. Obviously I’m not good at any of them, but I have the knowhow in how to use an AR, grenade and an anti-tank missile. Not saying I would hit anything, but I know how to get all of them to work. And now I know intimately all the ways I’m very bad at shooting an automatic rifle. It’s hard you guys. (I don’t have the upper-body strenght)

Not a big fan of the army base life. Fuck foot drills, I understand why they exists, but fuck them. The same thing with all the army base decorum. as a teacher I genuinely do understand why you need to keep big masses on tight lines when moving from place A to B, but doing foot drills at 6 in the morning is just...well it just is. Doing foot drills 6 in the morning for a several months? Yeah, not sure if I have the headspace. Lot of things were annoying, and I would be lying if I said they weren’t a big reason for my decision to not apply. I can imagine that things that are kind of annoying now would become big fucking breaking points when you do them for a year. Like keeping count of all of your zippers being closed and your collar turned 24/7. But the real issue was that I simply do not have the physical stamina. If I wanted to keep up, I would have to not only keep up, but be better than the 18 year old men who I would be surrounded by and who would set the pace, and sister I was already struggling with the young girls. Yes, obviously, if I was very motivated I could spend the summer getting into shape before stepping into service next year, but I do not have the motivation to put mysefl through an extreme fitness glow up. And I’m still not sure if that would help at all with my knees, which were the real breaking point for me several times while crawling on the frozen ground.

So, I’ve given up the idea of doing a year of service. Maybe, if i was 7 years younger, I would have the fitness and the joints to do it. If I could travel back in time, I would probably tell myself who has just returned back from London to spend a year doing the service, because there are genuinely so many usefull skills you can pick up, but not now. I’m looking forwards to starting a new life in a new city with hopefully new academic ambitions and I don’t want to postpone those plans.

Anyway, super happy I went. Absolutely drained when I got out. (Three days non-stop physical activities, sleeping on frozen ground, doing those physical activities ankle-deep in snow, getting woken up for emergency drills when you sleep, you know, draining stuff) Had to really properly recover afterwards and caught a flu from being soaked most of the weekend, but you know, fun. I had fun. There is genuinely a part of me that is now very sad that I’m not doing the full service. the camradery of our group was amazing, and you do miss it. There were so many skills I would want to be actually good at. And you know. I wouldn’t want to be useless in a case of invasion. But for now, I have to be realistic and try to live my life and realise that I probably wouldn’t make it to the end of the service anyway, and even if I did, it would probably be like trade school where I would have been better off doing something else with the time anyway.

#personal nonsense #sighs forlorny #I know i don't actually want to #but i want to

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malevolententity · 1 year ago

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PROJECT 14!! I TOOK A BREAK FROM PATTERNING RICHAS!!

oh boy!! this took all of quarentena part 1 to make!! its been a few years since i made anything mesh so whipping up this hat in? what 5 and a half hours? maybe 6? i have not checked the vod time and i was also Cooking Dinner during a portion of it so time is hard to judge on how long this actually took. but it was fun! it Did reawaken my urge to crochet a mesh shirt even tho i would never wear it because it would be so uncomfortable. but making mesh is just so very mindless in a way thats good for me. maybe i should make a mesh blanket to scratch that itch.

we have an array of models for this item! to try and show off the mesh say hello to the bobby i made back in? oh the beginning of april i believe? i dont think any of you have actually seen bobby he might have been a twitter exclusive, say hi to bobby. we also have green garlic my bulbasaur showing off the mesh the best i believe!

QUARENTENA SEASON THOUGHTS! YES I AM CALLING IT A SEASON THERES GONNA BE 2 EPS. SEASON 1 ONLY HAD 3 EPS. THIS TOO CAN BE A SEASON!

i am blown away by how fun this group is and the skills they all have to roleplay in a second or third language for like 6 hours with basically no breaks to speak their natural languages. that is taxing to do and to deliver a story on top of that? i am so proud and impressed with all of them. also holy shit????????? no one fucking died???? i was convinced when the oneshot, now season, was announced that it was going to be a dungeon crawl that ends in everyone dying. i cant believe theyre all still alive after that?? AND THEN THERES ANOTHER EPISODE IRL NEXT WEEK?? i cant wait for the tpk next week!

i love this entire cast of characters theyre all such weird fucking guys in the most complimentary ways. I LOVE THAT WE BASICALLY GOT A SAW MOVIE??? THRIVING!! in a move that shall surprise no one. diego is my favorite. look at him. he is guy of all time to me. BUT OKAY THEYRE ALL WEIRD and usually when you have a cast of weirdos theres always someone who doesnt gel but they all did!! they all fought each other!!! but they all still complimented each others insanity and. this is what the party comp is To Me

i am too lazy to open photoshot for this tonight. maybe you get it proper tomorrow<3

i loved the ending. i loved the slow realization on everyones faces that in saving themselves they might be killing the world and still themselves!!!! also i cant wait to see the fall out next week. i am so fucking upset my dnd game is scheduled for around the same time so i am going to miss probably the first 2ish hours but i know my dash and the official!!!! twitter updates account!!! will catch me up on those two hours so i can jump back in. but AAAA oh i loved this. i dont know if it was on purpose that this felt like a zero escape game at times but oh man the production quality in this vs where m at in season 2 is just mind blowing. i knew it got better once they started being in the studio but this was so great for a home game. ALSO YALL GO CHECK ON AMY??? GO GET THE KID??? YOU CANT JUST LEAVE THE TRAUMATIZED BABY ALONE AFTER EVERYTHING U DID TO KEEP HER ALIVE??? GO GET HER?????

AND ALSO?? STUDIO NEXT WEEK?? BRAZIL MEETUP??? OH I AM SO PLEASED TO SEE IT ALL AND WHAT HAPPENS. this is def my longest update for this silly crochet project i started just a few months ago and i apologize but also. i dont because this show does mean so much more to me than i know how to put into words. and its been a long time since i fell in love with a tabletop universe this quickly. and i feel so grateful that i got to be introduced to this ttrpg earlier this year, and got to pull some friends into watching quarentena tonight because theyve heard me gushing about how good this universe is and how i trust this to be satisfying horror which is so hard to do in ttrpgs, but thats another post for another day.

#a ordem crochet #opq #<- mainly because i talk spoilers in this i dont usually fandom tag these posts since i am usually talking about a 3 year old campaign #who anyone who follows me either has seen it. or will not watch a show in ptbr so they dont care if i spoil #fiber art

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echo-bleu · 2 years ago

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10 random lines

I was tagged by @clottedcreamfudge , thank you love 💙

Rules: pick any ten of your fics, scroll to the midpoint, pick a line (or three) and share it. Then tag ten people.

I’m going to do the last 10 posted fics, since they’re more or less what I’ve posted in the last six months.

1) Didn't the trees tell us their stories? (The Witcher)

“I… I got lost. Not,” he holds out his hand to stop Aiden from interrupting. “Not spacially. I just, when Geralt… We were up in the mountains. I came down, and I.” He clears his throat. “I’m afraid I lost grip on my… body. This human form, it takes some effort to maintain, especially here in the woods.”

2) i'll sing silence (the Witcher)

So Jaskier sobs. He melts into Geralt’s embrace, so strong that he knows it will bruise, and he cries his heart out, silently, breathlessly. The singing downstairs has stopped. So has the music always playing in his head, snippets of songs and wordless melodies and improvised tunes. It’s gone.

It’s all gone.

3) Holding Angels (Shadowhunters, WIP)

“I won’t trade my dignity for a bit of leniency,” Alec says without hesitation. He’s not sure that he really thinks it, not anymore. Not when he has a good idea what’s coming. The dread in his chest has had time to settle, and it’s growing with every hour.

But he will bear it. For Jace. For Clary. For Magnus. Renouncing his decision, pleading for mercy, would put them all at risk.

4) Dandelion Season (The Witcher)

She falls to her knees beside him. “Jaskier!”

Still nothing. She slaps his face gently, unsure if she should move him – he might be injured, humans don’t lie on the floor like this for no reason, right? She runs a light hand over his chest, pulling at the doublet to open it. It falls apart under her fingers. That’s when she sees the blood.

It pools underneath him, already staining her dress where she kneels. There’s so much of it. She’s not sure how he’s still conscious – if you can call his weird lethargy conscious.

5) every promise and lie (The Witcher)

Jaskier takes a deep breath and limps to the door. He clumsily unlocks the bolt and pushes down the handle with his elbow.

He takes a step back, hides his hands behind his back because, yes, okay, he’s more than a little self-conscious, and he takes in Geralt’s form in front of him.

He looks exhausted and jittery and yet really fucking hot, god-dammit. It’s entirely unfair just how much Jaskier yearns for him even now. He hasn’t seen this face in a year and a half and he just wants to—

“Fuck it.”

6) your smile in mine (The Witcher, they/them Jaskier)

Jaskier's heart clenches. Is that it, then? Is that what she means? Is Geralt shutting them out because he's about to break up with them? Jaskier knows that their personality and their issues are a lot of handle, and the fear that Geralt will one day wake up and realize that Jaskier is just too much (or maybe not enough) is always present at the back of their mind, but this time they can't even pinpoint what they did wrong.

"Hey, Jaskier, breathe," Yennefer calls out, and Jaskier realizes that they're hyperventilating. Yennefer has moved from the armchair across from them to the couch, and her hand is hovering over their arm, as if asking for permission to touch them.

Jaskier slips their arm away -- the thought of being touched makes their skin crawl right now -- but they take a few deep breaths to calm down. "Sorry."

7) the wallpaper inside my heart (the Witcher)

“Does he matter to you?” is her question once Geralt is done relating the story, cheeks heated up in shame at his fuckup.

Geralt takes his time to think. “Yeah,” he sighs.

“Then go and apologize. If he really doesn’t care about you, he’ll tell you. But if he does and he’s just going through a rough time, then not only you’re losing a friend, but you’re hurting him unnecessarily on top of that.”

8) a flower by any other name (The Witcher, they/them Jaskier)

It takes Geralt about an hour to figure out how he wants to do it, which is far too long when he knows that Jaskier is anxiously waiting and trying to keep it all in. Finally, with a muttered "fuck it", he does something that he would never normally do: he lifts his phone and takes a selfie of both of them, hugging in front of his sloppy omelette.

Bon appétit from Jaskier and me, he captions the photo, adding the only buttercup sticker he can find in the app, and he sends it to the group chat.

9) remember me I sing (The Witcher)

He’ll find a way to slip away, maybe, meet Rience just to see him do it. Or maybe he should just treasure every moment he has with his family…

His family.

He hasn’t let himself use that word, even in his head. He’s known since the start that he’s a liability, that his days are numbered. He didn’t mean to get attached to Ciri. He didn’t mean for Ciri to get attached to him.

10) Collapse (Shadowhunters)

It builds up. Or maybe it built up before, all the way up to now, all the things that went unsaid and the trauma they didn’t acknowledge and the fights they never had, and now it’s boiling over. It’s boiling all over Alec and he can feel the burn on his skin and he doesn’t remember anymore if the pain is from that goddamn demon venom or from the hurt in Magnus’s eyes and it freezes him all inside.

He can’t stand up and he can’t walk and Magnus sits there looking at him like that and Alec wants to cry.

That was fun! No pressure tag for @eveningspirit (feel free to give us your wonderful original writing as well) @moonlight-breeze-44 @xianvar @pherryt @flightsfancy22 @entropic-saudade

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #jaskier #yennefer of vengerberg #geraskier #shadowhunters #alec lightwood #holding angels #what you hear is not silence #injury cw #echo's writing thoughts

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raksh-writes · 2 years ago

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<beware, self reflection post incoming>

So. This year has been a tough one.

Feels like it has been tougher than all of those before, ngl, but it's hard to tell how much of it is skeved memory and how much just how strong those feelings are today. But it has been an awful year -- the first half was kind of alright, but the second? Yeah, everything went downhill there.

I slid into one of the worst depression holes ever. I quit my job two months ago, because it has been contributing strongly to that, but remained unemployed and stressed out of my mind because of that and feeling completely listless since. Unmoored. With no purpose whatsoever. It's... not a good place to be. On top of that, I got real sick with covid this week and barely started feeling somewhat better today. Guess it's a suficiently shitty end to an awful year, huh? What hurts, too, is the heart breaking writer's block I got in that second half of the year too.

I wrote barely anything this year, posted even less. Got very disconnected from that part of myself that carried me through the rough times of the previous years -- and maybe that's why it feels worse than ever now, when I had at least that joy back then but it feels like it's been taken from me. It's... rough.

I've always been in the middle of something before too. Always going back to classes, to uni, got a job last year, but now? Well...

I did start taking steps to crawl back to life. Trying to at least. Baby steps.

So, I wanna make a list of those baby steps. The ones Ive already started taking, the ones Im gonna soon, the ones I wanna try to make. Make a path out of them, maybe. So:

Im back to therapy, that's good. Working through new and old stuff, it's definitely helping, but... there's a lot more to work through than I imagined. It's okay, though. I can already tell some of it helped, it's been a good helping hand in digging myself out of this hole - or at least starting to dig myself out.

Im also starting an internship at the job office on monday (hopefully most of my symptoms are gonna be gone by then 🤞). It's a 6 months one, not as well paid as a full job, of course, but it's experience, it's a start, and I can always search for smth different in the meantime. And it's stability a dearly need.

I want to go back to studying too. I found I miss it a lot, having that goal, broadening my mind, etc. I wanna sign for some post-diploma library studies classes in the city where I intern, near where I live. It might not open up, but if it doesn’t, I think I'll try going back for actual Masters. It's something Im actually sort of looking forward too, even if it makes me a lil' anxious.

Been idly thinking about maybe going back to the city. Trying to live on my own again. Study, find a job to pay for it. Might not be quite possible, though, with prices of pretty much everything going up to 3x what they were and still going up. It's an idea for the later part of the year, though, if Id actually try going for it.

Maybe the most obvious one -- I want to write again. And post, too. I miss interacting with readers. Seeing that someone Gets it. That it brings people joy. I miss it a lot. These last months, even if I managed to write a little, I didn't even had the drive to post. No drive for anything, really. Feels like death to a creative soul 😔 So I want to write. And I want to share it. Im still thinking of my Beauty and the Beast Voiles AU -- I have a couple chapters of it done, maybe I could start posting and see where it goes, even if I dont manage to finish it? Then I got obsessed with VegasPete, an amazing ship I recommend to all that like Voiles or just enemies to lovers! I even managed to write some lil bits of them, some I Could post even, but I can’t get myself to... maybe it's a goal for the near future. To break through that block and engage with new fandom beyond just reading and commenting, but trying to contribute some of my own. It's scary, but it might do me good? It'd be nice..

I want to try and do more typesetting this year too, and properly, since Ive been thinking I could maybe do it part time in the future, do a project here and there, but for that I'd have to polish up my skills. Maybe do some smaller projects, that wont take me months to finish like the fics I did lately.

Have my eyes peeled for opportunities and have the courage to reach for them. I want to do library studies and Id love to work in a library one day, but its hard to get into one, so I gotta have my eyes open for any possibility. Or working in a book store, Id love that too. Anything with books, tbh. So, be on the look out. And work on having the courage to reach for it and battling down my anxiety.

Go out and meet with friends I haven't seen in a long time. I think Ive isolated myself a bit too much this year and it definitely hasn’t helped. So I need to try more to get out of the easy, lazy way and go out to meet people.

And that's it, for now, I think. Goals for the new year? Maybe, but being in the place I am, baby steps feel better. Im sure Im not the only one that had an awful year and if you're reading this, feeling the same, I see you. Can’t promise it's gonna get better, but we gotta have hope and try taking those baby steps towards making it better. So, Im not gonna go into elaborate wishes, Im just gonna be simple.

I wish you all good health, because it's so important and yet we don’t appreciate it enough, and also wish all of us courage, especially those struggling. To reach for what we want. To reach for what we fear. To get out of our comfort zones, one baby step at a time. To put ourselves out there. To win over our anxieties. To live.

Im slowly, very slowly, trying to take those baby steps. To crawl back to life. It's hard. And slow. But I hope it's gonna be worth it. It's gotta be better than the misery of last months. So, that's what I hope for in the next year. Taking the baby steps to a better future.

Happy New Year, everyone, and I hope y'all have a lovely last day of 2022 💗

#personal #Raksh posts #encouragement #I think there’s some here #but this is a very personal post #self reflection #baby steps #note to self #putting it all in writing in hopes it'll help me follow them or somethinf #Im still feeling quite sick and the worst is I have no appetite and everything sticks inside my mouth #so Im probably not eating that well and that's not helping 😔#but Im trying what I can get myself to swallow and hopefully that'll be enough #Im also thinking of maybe trying to post that one patt of the fic I managed to write down a couple months ago?#I meant to only do it when I finish the second part but since Im stuck in this limbo maybe it'd actually help?#its scary and it might actually not gain any reaction and maybe today its not a good day for it but #maybe for me it would be #to finish the year on at least one happier note in this depressing day #Ive been thinking smth similar for weeks with posting that one part and didnt find it in myself #but maybe I should push and try and it'd be nice...#this post is probably full of typos too but I have no energy to reread it too closely sorry #its mostly for myself anyway #but if any of you read all the way through to here -- thank you 💗 and I wish you all the best for the new year 💗💗

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crossedvenom · 2 years ago

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Intruder

Iwaizumi x Reader

Summary- Watching scary movies with Iwaizumi freaks you out more than you'd like to admit TW: Like a baby gore scene. It's not even gore, but a scary movie is described. Angst is in this as well.

You watched the movie through your fingertips. Only opening them wide enough to catch a few scenes now and then. Iwaizumi who sat next to you is loving every second. The jerk doesn't even seem phased by the gory scenes of a friend group that's currently getting slaughtered at a summer camp.

Peeking through your fingers once more ad you hear the screams have died down you believe you're safe and the worst is over.

"You scared?" an amused voice comes from beside you.

"No." Yes. Why did he insist on watching this movie? There was nothing happy about this. Nothing that left you giddy when the two main characters finally got together after painfully pining for one another the entire movie. Nothing in this movie made you laugh so hard your ribs hurt, you just didn't get it, but you have to stay true to your promise Haji always sits through whatever chic flick you turn on, no matter how sappy.

"I think you're lying." he takes another try at getting to admit how scared you really are.

"Am not." To add emphasis to your point, you scoot away from him and the safety of his arms. Dragging your fluffy blanket and the skittles packet with you.

He just chuckles "Okay since your so brave I better not see you trying to creep back over here"

"Not gonna" to show you're done with the conversation you turn your attention back to the TV.

The movie is almost over so you think you are in the clear and won't be needing Hajis comfort for the rest of the movie anyway. The main character just settled into her new apartment and it's a couple months post-summer camp. She's narrating how her life has been and how she misses her friends. When she turns off the lights and starts heading for bed, you start mentally preparing for the end credits to roll, but before you can finish preparing the camera swivels to a new angle that reveals the window behind the lead for a brief moment. Just for a second, you catch the killer silhouette once more before the window smashed open. You snatch your cat up (despite her disgruntled groan) and pull her in close so you have something to help your pounding heart. The lead screams before twisting her body around in time for the killer to be on top of her and once again using his knife to cut and rip the last victim that escaped him before. The killer turns slowly to make eye contact with the camera breaking the fourth wall. Finally, the end credits roll.

You turn to look at Iwa and he's already staring back at you smugly with how you're clenched up. You release your cat who scurries away and finds a new spot to glare at you from across the room. She cleans herself as if she was trying to tell you 'How dare you touch me".

"Not scared, huh?" He brings up again

"Like I said, I wasn't I just saw my opportunity to hold bug, and I took it. It's not every day she'll let me hold her," You gesture to your cat across the room.

"Uh-huh. Whelp I guess it's time for bed." He stands up throwing his arms above his head yawning "I have to be up early tomorrow the team is getting to the gym around 6 to squeeze in extra practice time," He sets his own glass of water on the counter before he starts down the hall.

"I'll be there in a second" you call after him. You fold your blanket up and neatly rest it on the backrest of the couch. Before finishing your glass of water and placing it on the kitchen counter next to Iwa’s. Starting towards Your shared bedroom with Iwa something in your chest stops you from heading to bed without double-checking the front door lock. Reaching the front door you're glad you checked because it was indeed unlocked. Seeing the now secure and locked door puts you at ease, allowing you to turn and head for bed.

Finally reaching the bed you take off your socks and crawl in. Being petty you don't immediately curl up next to Haji like you normally would. A respectable amount of space lies between you two. Not realizing how tired you were you close your eyes and drift off.

***

A crash coming from down the hall wakes you.

Holding your breath so you can strain your ears for any more noise that you might catch. You seem to be the only one out of the two of you who is startled because Haji is still sound asleep beside you. So, you're left alone to try to figure out what the sound was. Did you remember to lock the ground-floor window? Why would it even matter? A locked window does nothing to someone who just breaks through it. Your ears heard differently though whatever broke wasn't the glass of a window it was worse. Whatever broke came from inside the house.

Realizing this throws your brain into thinking a million different things a minute. Going through all the possibilities you settle on the back patio door. Was that one locked? the front door wasn't locked so why didn't you check the back, stupid, stupid, stupid. A second crash coming from the same place down the hall interrupts your thoughts from scolding yourself. Hearing this makes you turn to do the only thing you know to do at this moment.

"Haji, Haji!" You whisper yell. This doesn't cause him to stir, so you try again.

"Haji!" You shake him and slap his arm. If someone was in the house, you only had minutes before they found the bedroom you currently resided in.

"Hmm?" he mumbles through his pillow.

"Th-There were two crashes and I-I think there's someone in the house" You always make fun of the really corny movies when people keep on dropping their keys. Thinking it's so unrealistic, but being in a situation like this where your blood is pumping so fast that it renders your ability to speak. You don't want to imagine what it would be like to try to unlock a door under this type of stress.

Hearing the panic in your voice causes Iwa to come to his senses. He's immediately up and in danger mode.

"Where?"

"Down the hall, I think from the kitchen"

He stands from the bed before exiting the room he grabs his old baseball bat from his closet. Creaking the door open he sticks his head out and looks down the hall. You see him fully step out and creep down the hallway.

All you could hear was your heart in your ears. It was pulsing in your neck, out of your temples, and hammering in your chest. It felt like hours, but it really couldn't have been more than a minute gone by waiting. Waiting for what? A scream, another crash, but nothing comes just silence. someone pushed the door again opening slightly wider than before so you know something stirred it. In a flash, something is on your chest. Ready to scream your brain processes what it is. It's just Bug your twerp of a cat.

The door is pushed open one last time and Haji comes through. Your heart sores with relief. He stores his bat back in his closet.

"Bug just knocked our water glasses off of the counter," He says simply

Finally, the hammering in your chest slows, and you let out the air you've been holding in for so long.

Haji rounds the bed one more time and swings his legs back into the covers scratching Bug behind her ear one final time before she jumps off your chest and runs again.

Finally, alone he speaks again "You were scared." He tilts his head at you.

"Yes, okay I was terrified okay." You admit not even caring anymore. That experience surely gave you a few grey hairs. Giving up whatever grudge you had earlier you scotched closer basking in the warmth that was Hajis arms. You don't understand why you were so stubborn to admit earlier that you were scared. Being held like this is nice. It's especially nice now knowing that Haji has a man mode. Where he will defend the house. It was really hot to see it in action.

Snuggling closer, you can finally close your eyes and rest.

"Scardy cat" He grumbles one that time before you playfully slap him on the chest and he chuckles.

You have the feeling you're forgetting something, but the two blood-rushing experiences you went through tonight have you waving that feeling off and ignoring it.

You wish you hadn't though.

It turns out the back patio door really was unlocked. Allowing the nights intruders inside.

Feedback and requests are always appreciated! <3

A/n: Not really sure if I am in love with this ending, but I wanted a not-so-happy ending so this is what I pieced together

#iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi x y/n #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi oneshot #hq iwaizumi #iwaizumi drabble #iwaizumi haikyuu #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi hajime x reader #a teeny bit of angst

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dienamights · 4 years ago

Text

Ex’s and O’s | K.Bakugou

» Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Fem!Reader.

» Word count: 6.7K

» Genre: hurt/comfort, Smut MDNI, Prohero!au

» Summary: Its bad enough that you’re spending your ex-boyfriend’s birthday curled up in bed, wearing his merch, drinking away your sorrows, but what’s even worse is having your eardrums pierced by the blaring music upstairs at the party thrown just for him.

» Warning(s): Smut 18+ MDNI please, hurt/comfort, mentions of alcohol, dubcon since reader is under the influence while getting dicked down, drunk sex, oral sex and fingering (female receiving, we getting fed tonight), one pussy slap lol, manipulation, unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy)

» Author’s notes: Hello! aaaah I’m actually pretty excited about posting this fic! First of all, its Bakuhoe’s birthday! and what better way to honor it than to feed you all some good ol angst sprinkled in with some good dickin’ down. Its been years since I’ve written smut and I’m actually really fuckin proud of it, yet real nervous but I hope you enjoy! Secondly, this fic is a part of Bakugous Birthday Bash! I’m so excited to read everyone’s work, thank you everyone for holding this event and allowing my ass participate to create this with you all ♡ be sure to read everyone’s contributions, I know it’ll be more than amazing since everyone worked so hard!

Happy Birthday to our favorite King Explosion Murder♡♡

Lastly, I wanna thank everyone for their support and helping me reach 200 followers already! You guys are the cutest thing ever and I promise I’ll update more frequent the minute I’m out of uni late june fml, thank you @tteokdoroki for giggling with me when i wrote cock for the first time lol

» Masterlist | Requests

Rolling out of bed and flailing onto the floor as a start of your day ensures you that the following 24 hours will ultimately suck ass. Getting up and readying yourself for the day by looking through one of your cardboard boxes for your favorite Dynamight hoodie, the back of your mind keeps nagging you, trying to remind you of something buried deep in your subconsciousness, and you have half a heart to try and remember, because for some odd reason, you feel so fucking weary, as if the few steps from your bed to your bathroom are somehow now endless miles, almost making you breathe out in relief after finally reaching it.

And as you are making your coffee, that odd feeling keeps annoying you again, prodding at your brain to remember something, something. And ultimately, that's when your eyes fall to the counter. You knew this day was coming and you were dreading it for months, so as you look at the calendar on your kitchen counter, you frown, the quote of the day you always love reading so much long forgotten when your eyes fall on the date.

“You’ve gotta be kiddin' me.” You mumble at the calendar on your counter hatefully with furrowed eyebrows, as if it would either reply or change its date, it doesn’t do either, and your lips curl downwards even further. As in immediate response, you pick up your phone, your coffee pot tossed aside as you dial the number of the only person you could think might help you right now.

“G’morning y/n -” you hear Kendo’s voice through your phone, and you honestly want to sob right then and there, but you hold yourself, barely and speak over her overly cheery voice first thing in the goddamn morning. “It's Kats- Bakugou’s birthday” you whimper at the slip up, being so used to the first name basis you were in with your now ex-boyfriend.

“Yeah, was kinda hoping you would’ve forgotten.” She sighs, tugging at her bangs and pulling back her phone to check the time. “Tell you what, I get off work in an hour, then I’m spending the day with you. I’ll get tequila, I know you love your shots.”

“Ken, it's like 10 right now..” you can’t help but pout, having alcohol in your system as an escape to help you forget about the entire day still sounding better than the urge to cry and crawl into a hole, even if it's at the start of your day. “Y'know what? Get those gummy worms I like too.” “Bet.” you hang up with a sigh, moving back to the kitchen to sift through your bubble wrapped kitchen utensils, barely forcing yourself to prepare breakfast as to not have your liquor on an empty stomach.

You loathe the fact that you remembered his birthday, always reminded of him no matter how long ago since you’ve last seen him, being the center of the media’s attention for years as the number 6 hero in japan has its perks, well, in his case, but to you? Nothing but trouble and heartache as every channel you flip through plasters his face, whether it be about some big rescue mission he partook in or a new rumor about a potential lover to the explosive hero, followed by him almost attacking a reporter, yelling to them about ‘needing to mind yer goddamn business and keep my fuckin’ name outta your mouths’. Therefore, you opted long ago to stay away from the TV to avoid seeing him, his captivating rubies for eyes, covered by that goddamn mask you like to push up to his forehead, sweeping his bangs away and exposing his sweaty forehead that he bumps against yours as he makes love to you, still in his hero costume, all battered and dusty and so incredibly hot you have to-

You grip your coffee mug tighter, almost to the point of breaking the handle off of it, placing it rather roughly onto the table before pushing your food away, appetite gone with the thought of whatever paradise you were thinking you were in before now long gone and never coming back, all because of you, of your action, of your mistake.

Kendo walks in with a bright smile on her face, as if her overly cheerful attitude will balance out the void you’re slowly but surely falling in. She shakes the bag of snacks in your face as you blink your eyes back into focus. Dragging your heavy feet across the floor to get to your kitchen to retrieve the shot glasses. Only kissing her cheek in thanks when you snatch away whatever it is she brought with her to lift your mood.

She eyes the boxes by your kitchen, the four placed haphazardly in your living room and the one you're using as a stool while filling your shot glasses, tongue sticking out to try and fill each one to the brim without spilling any on the new coffee table that she failed to notice before is still wrapped in bubble wrap that prevent any damage during the moving process.

“y/n…” you hum in response, a frown falling on your lips as the third glass spills a bit and the liquid pools on the plastic.

“Don't you think that you should’ve probably unpacked a while ago? Hasn't it been, what, five months?”

“I didn't know you were gonna come here to harass me about my life choices, Kendo”

She flinches away, your tone venomous, almost feeling it as a slap to her face, before leaning in when she sees your eyes start to water.

“If I did, that just means it's true… that just means it happened, and I did the stupidest thing- you know what,” you wipe the few tears that managed to escape away with the sleeve of your sweater, looking down at the shots in front of you. “It, it doesn't matter anymore just- can I just drink and try to forget about how my life has gotten nothing but fucking worse since the day I left him?”

You questioned your worth that one time, that one time all those months ago. Thinking that by doing what you did and leaving, he’d drop everything and run behind you, chase after you and win you back, but he didn't, and as you sit surrounded by the evidence of how much of a failure you find out you are without him, you regret ever questioning it, ever questioning him. Because to you, living in denial was so much better than whatever hell this is.

So all you could think of is to just drown yourself in alcohol until your mind is too numb to think of the possibilities of how you could have avoided this, how you could’ve been a less of shitty person, and stop imagining how your life would be now if you just swallowed all your insecurities and just stayed. Despite the neglect, despite not being prioritized, because in some weird twisted way, those lies held you with warmth that you were never able to find after uncovering the ugly truth you’re living in right now.

You lay on your living room floor, the alcohol swirling in your system and clouding your vision as you trace imaginary shapes in your ceiling, the voice of Kendo muffled as she rambles on and on about her day, the amount of outlaws she bitch slapped - a term she uses to get a laugh from you - and how she considers herself the unluckiest being in the whole world for having Monoma as a partner of all people, seriously contemplating who she should beat up first between him and the villains.

“Must be nice,” you voice, low and slow, scared of how Kendo would react to what you’re about to say, yet your intoxicated self unable to stop your mouth from uttering the words. “To have a purpose in life, to not be quirkless and lost like us.” your face twists in an ugly scowl at your ceiling, but mostly to yourself for putting a downer on whatever mood your friend is trying so hard to build, proven by the hitch of her breath before she enters your peripheral vision when she leans over you, all upside down and pouty.

“What’re you talki-” the shrill ringtone of her phone breaks you away from each other as she leaps to fetch it and silence the god forsaken thing by answering the call. “Battle Fist here, yes sir, I was partnered up with Phantom Thief for the patrol at area B, n-no sir I wasn’t informed.” Kendo breaths out in irritation, pinching the bridge of her nose as she starts tapping her feet aggressively on the floor, eyes falling onto yours when you look up at her all weary and sad, knowing what she would tell you once she hangs up. “That dumbass is gonna be the end of me I swear.” She crouches down to your level and kisses your forehead, promising to be back in the morning with hangover food, before she leaves and locks the door behind her.

Now you’re left all alone, back aching from laying on the hardwood floor and eyes watering as you feel your loneliness eating you up inside, the god awful music thumbing loudly in your ears followed by the cheer of people as you-

Music?

You sit up abruptly, groaning at the dizziness of the swift movement as your hands fly to cover your ears, a failed attempt of ensuring your brain doesn’t begin to spill out from them, because of the loud voices, the bass shaking your entire fucking apartment by how strong it is, and you curse yourself for falling for the scheme the landlord pulled you in, paying half of the rent everyone did, just because you lived right below the penthouse that hosted the loudest parties in the area, 4 days out of the fucking week.

The money hungry shameless bastard praised the apartment the minute it spiked your interest all those months ago, selling it so well you actually moved in the next week, anything to stop feeling like a burden to Kendo as you couch-surfed her apartment. Only to realize within that first week from your downstairs neighbors that he rents the penthouse to host parties of all sorts, and due to its location in the city, it was pretty popular, yet you didn’t have the money to move out again, nor the heart to concern your friend with your problems, as she was a hero with other responsibilities aside from taking care of your hopeless self.

So you get up, barely gathering yourself onto that elevator to tell off whoever the fuck will answer the door first to turn the music down. You pound the door with your fist repeatedly the minute you reach it, the door opening so suddenly you almost punch the man standing in front of you in the chest, the cool air created from the door cooling your warm cheeks as you squint at your victim for the day.

“Welcome!”

“Listen here, you buttfaced moron” you start to chew the person’s ear out, your sight blurring yet still able to notice how bright his hair is, how fiery and familiar it looks, and you’re certain you’ve seen it somewhere before. “I’m trying to drink away my regrettable life choices and cry over my ex-boyfriend, so if you would just turn down the-”

“y/n?” oh, that’s where. Your stomach drops as Kirishima looks down on you, the bright smile he flashed to whoever he was welcoming now dropped with his eyes almost bulging out at your presence, you both stand in silence, the boy unbuttoning the collar that suddenly feels like it has a chokehold on him while you cross your arms and hope the floor would swallow you a floor down back into the comfort of your home.

Kirishima basically is shutting down the second his eyes lay on you, breaking a sweat as your eyes never waver, despite how you fail to stay standing straight, what was he supposed to say? ‘Hey we’re throwing a birthday party for your ex-boyfriend because he's been feeling depressed from the day you dumped his ass’ ? No! He wouldn’t do that to his friend, but what was he gonna say now?

Well, he didn’t have to really think about what to say to you, because his other friend didn’t hesitate to push him forward, slurring something along the lines of ‘lettin the hot ladies in so they can take a look at the prettier blond, aka moi’. In his moment of panic, the redhead stumbles forward, his cup slipping from the tips of his fingers and meeting its doom by the floor, whatever was filling it now staining your pants as you both look at the mess between you.

“Woah bro, we said you gotta get’er wet but not- '' Denki's cackle stops him from continuing whatever filth he was gonna spew out - thankfully - before his eyes drop down to your chest, or more like what was covering it. “Hey! You a Dynamight fan? Hey Bakuhoe, comere for a sec.”

Dear God, move, for the love of all that's pure in this god forsaken world, move! Run!

All you could do is shake and breathe in short segments as your widened eyes meet his unamused ones, the garnets in his eyes glistening at your sight, he stands straight and so tall, suited up in his usual attire. Dressed for the occasion, words aren't able to describe his beauty. You try not to let your brain be dazzled by how incredibly handsome he looks. He is wearing a dress shirt, in the deep color of wine that complements his eyes, dress pants hugging his long legs, not to mention the open collar, and no tie. He looks like a long, lean Lothario.

At that your eyes drop down to the floor, specifically the now stained carpet, your hands wrenching the end of your hoodie to distract yourself from the piercing rubies that haunts your dreams.

You build up some courage, enough of it to lift your head to continue what you came here to do, so you open your mouth, and drop a few IQs while you’re at it. “The m-music is loud and m’tryin’ to sleep,'' you mumble, noting how Kirishima leans down to make up the words you are saying over the sound of the blaring music while Bakugou narrows his eyes at you as if disregarding his sight will make him hear you better. “So, if you could turn down the heat, that’d be,”

“You squiffed?” The blond grunts, leaning his face close to yours to inspect it, and he catches a whiff of alcohol in your breath, his eyebrows furrowing at your response. “No I'm not squinting-”

“Yeah you’re drunk alright,” he huffs at your less than intelligent reply, pushing his glass of whiskey - you figure since it's always been his drink of choice - against Kirishima’s chest, telling him to lower the fucking volume and grabs you by your bicep. “C’mon, I’ll take you home.” you stumble at the force used against you, no matter how weak it actually is, before you barely straighten yourself to push his hand away. “I can walk down all by myself, thank you.” Of course you’d expose where you live, you dumbass.

He doesn’t question your integrity, just continues to basically drag you to the elevator before pushing your apartment door open when you choose your floor, irked to find your misplaced trust in the people of the complex by not locking your door after leaving. He barges into your bedroom and tells you to change out of your fucked up pants and proceeds to saunter to your kitchen to get you water, eyeing the boxes that he comes across during that small trip.

He stands awkwardly by the door when he sees you standing in the middle of the bedroom, sifting through countless moving boxes with your pants on the floor, thrown next to a pile of clothes that he can only assume that its supposed to be your laundry ‘basket’, until you opt against wearing any since you can't seem to find anything to replace them. And when he asks you if you just moved in, his expression sours when you shake your head no and explain to him that you’ve been living for months in this space, after chugging that cup of water like you’ve been parched for days.

“Birthday party?” You ask out of the blue as you play with the strings of your hoodie, your ears perking up at the confirmation hum you receive. “Hmm, thas’cool… I-I guess.”

Bakugou’s impassive as he gently pushes you onto your bed, eyes meeting yours as he covers you up with your blanket. “Get some rest, I’m leaving.” He said, slowly stalking away from you and barely reaching your door as your big mouth talks on its own. Your body sitting up and facing his retreating back.

“That's what you always do, you always leave”, you utter and you see him stiffen his shoulders before he spins to face you, so fast you almost want to check up on him about getting a whiplash.

“Hah?” it's one syllable, but it shakes your very core, that one sound making you almost shake, overwhelmed by the amount of emotions, the amount of pain that one sound has. He steps closer to your bed, the stomps of his feet sounding like gun shots in your ear, and you pathetically lift up the blanket to cover yourself up, cowering behind it like it's some pseudo shield that might protect you from him.

“I’m the one that leaves?” he growls at you, his eyes sizing you up when you react to his forceful approach, leaning back to look down on you, but his lips are still curled in a frown, he tries to hold himself from blowing up at you, his feelings oddly enough still raw in his chest the moment he lay eyes on you the first time since you left, threw him away and walked away, probably finding someone better, probably finding someone who you tolerated, unlike himself, but when he sees you straighten up your back to rebuttal him, an automatic response to whenever he raised his voice at you from all those years ago, he knows he is in for a fight.

He snarls when you nod at him, your eyes hard and glaring up at him, not knowing that your silence is by your better judgement since you don't trust your voice, knowing it’ll fail you, probably crack and show him how much he actually is affecting you by his closed off posture and demeaning look down at your frame.

“Real fuckin’ rich of ya, y/n.” He snaps back, his hands brought up to his hair, tugging at it. “As if you didn’t pack your shit,” he kicks at yet another cardboard box fucking spewed in your room, noting its heavy weight when it didn't move but an inch by his action. “Dropped your keys by the fuckin’ door,” as an emphasis, he throws your apartment key at you, making sure it doesn’t actually hit you, but falls onto your lap. “And left. Without a single fuckin’ word, like I'm some lowlife who didn't deserve an explanation, like I didn't deserve anything! And-” that hurt, goddamn it.

Exhaling deeply, he focuses on how your eyes look a little less glossed over, a little more sober, but holding fear, and he almost steps back and out when he looks at how you’re fighting tears, almost wanting to bust his own kneecaps than to see you like this, always wanting nothing for you but to be happy, to never upset about anything no matter how small it might be.

Then why did you leave him? Left him to drown by his lonesome self, waves of his insecurities and sorrow crashing into him, pulling him even further down to his inevitable doom.

Despite the fact that you both yearn for each other, long to feel one another, engulf yourselves in the others presence. You both stand your ground, eyes glaring despite the emotions hidden behind them, mouths shut and curled into ugly scowls regardless of the words you wish to speak to each other, whispers of promises into each other's ears about being together forever, in spite of not knowing what the future holds.

Bakugou breathes out again, recalling all those months worth of coping mechanisms to exercise when placed in anger inducing situations like this one, the time in therapy spent to better himself, to control himself, to be the best version of himself, for you, hoping that one day you’ll pity him enough to want to come back, knowing full well he would never hold a grudge against you and welcome you back with open arms, intending to never repeat whatever it is he did that made you think of him as so unbearable you couldn't spent another day with him.

You on the other hand, are barely holding in the tears, wanting him to just leave your sight, so you can go back to the world of denial where he didn't look like straight out of a magazine, looking as captivating as always, as if your absence did not have an effect on the hero, of course it wouldn't, why would a quirkless extra have an effect on the great Katsuki Bakugou, that's what he used to call them, right?

“Just leave, Bakugou-” his ears pick up the way your voice breaks at his name, the way you utter it sounds so horrendous, because you aren’t meant to call him Bakugou, you’re meant to call him Katsuki, Katsu, Suki, your Suki. Not- “I hate you.”

The room suddenly spirals. The floor panels misalign themselves into zigzags. Bakugo’s eyes shatter like a glass window. He tries to hold himself against the tears that threaten to fall, stomach wrenching as if reaching from inside of his body, but it’s useless. He brings his hand up close to his chest and sinks his head, letting the words overtake him.

Oblivious to his internal struggle, you pile whatever courage you have left in another attempt to ask him to leave, aware that your body wouldn’t aid you in pushing him away physically, you open your mouth, only to gasp after a moment of silence when he pounces on you and grabs you by the neck, sliding a hand behind your head and leaning your face impossibly closer to his “you fuckin’ hate me? show me you hate me then,”

Then he's pressing his lips against yours, your half foggy mind all too surprised by the flow of motion you can only try to keep up with his feverish kisses, you try to pull away, to push him away, to no avail, Bakugou only stopping his assault on your lips to growl at them again “Show me then, hah?”

But he wouldn't even let you, his grasp on your neck loosening to circle around your back to push you to him even more. His kisses get more and more aggressive, trying his best to show you how much he was hurt by what you said, by what you did, after all this time, almost begging you to not let him have to voice out whatever he’s feeling because he would do so much of a worse job than he is doing now.

The hands you placed on his chest in a failed attempt to push him away are now just placed over his pecs, welcoming their warmth and the way they flex under your touch, your right hand clenching over where his thumping heart is, and he almost sighs in relief, the movement feeling like it holds together all the broken pieces of his heart to make it whole again.

Almost like that gesture calmed him down, Bakugou’s rough touches start to soften, very caring as they glide to your hips before sliding underneath your - oh my God it's your special edition Dynamight hoodie! His amused chuckle tickles your lips as he pulls away when he feels you stiffen at the realization, barely letting you breathe in ease until he places his lips against your ear. “Love how m’still the only one sprawled over yer tits.”

“But I still want the real thing, lemme see ‘em, hm?” And just before throwing a dumb retort and embarrasing yourself even further, the article is tugged eagerly off of your body and thrown haphazardly on the floor. Earning yourself a low whistle when he realises you’re wearing nothing underneath. Bakugou all but shoves you onto the bed, spreading your legs when you try to rub them against each other for any friction, wedging his body neatly between them as his teeth gently bite your soft buds, pulling them slightly before captivating the nipple entirely.

His tongue flicks against your hardening nipple while keeping a watchful eye at the sinful expressions your face makes, his one hand toying with and twisting the other nipple while the other slides down to tease your needy cunt, pressing his fingers against your -fucking soaked- panties, swearing under his breath at the feeling of your walls trying to clench around his fingers just from that one movement. Sitting on his haunches, he lifts your hips with ease to pull your panties right off, eyes travelling between your heaving chest and your exposed pussy. Before lowering himself and finding comfort in biting and sucking your nipples again.

Bakugou’s smirk grows with your moans as his tongue dances over your sensitive nipples, he presses his finger against your walls, and you immediately keen at the prodding feeling that almost feels foreign after all this time apart. His thumb pushing your pussy lip to the side to see you suck his finger in like the good girl he knew you always were.

“Ba-ba-ba,” you struggle to talk, your drool collecting at your lips, stopping you from forming any words as you feel a breeze hit your spit covered tits, whining at the feeling and wanting him to pull your nipples in the warm cavern of his mouth again. Bakugou’s eyes focus on the spit line connecting his bottom lip to your nipple before disconnecting it to smash his lips against yours in an effort to shut your blabbering up.

“Ba-ba, what? y’better not be callin’ me Bakugou with my fingers deep in yer pussy baby, its Katsuki for you, yeah?” he taunts with a fake pout that immediately turns into a grin at the way you hold your pathetic sobs, pressing another finger in your tight cunt, reveling in the wet sounds your pussy makes as he thrusts his fingers in and out of it, soaking his fingers in your slick as he curls them, eager to hear the squelching sounds it would make when his cock is shoved deep inside you. “Or better yet, lemme hear you say Suki, hmm?”

“Suki- p-please, eat me out” you throw your head back and bring your hands down to play with your clit, showing him where you want his lips to be, as if the blond doesn't already know where it is, and he scoffs at the thought, slapping your hand away and giving another slap to your clit, earning a moan from you from the sharp pleasurable pain.

“Yea, yea I fuckin’ know already, needy slut,” he growls, keeping eye contact as he circles your clit with his tongue before sloppily eating out your cunt, making a mess of both drool and your arousal, mumbling “my needy slut.” to himself, and you do hear it, yet you brush it off with the thought that your lust must be messing with your brain.

Your chest still flutters at his words and your walls clench in on his fingers as he curls them again in a way you didn’t know would make you yelp like it did. He thrives off of how your body responses so easily to him, your back arching and the squelching getting louder as his fingers pick up speed, his tongue so skillful in drawing circles around your clit before sucking it again. A whine escapes you when he draws his head away from you, only for you to see the way his eyes darkens, his chin glistening from your arousal when it catches the light.

“Let go for me princess,” he whispers uncharacteristically, making you question if the glint in his eyes is from his desire for you or something else. “Lemme see you fall apart for me, alright?” the way he’s almost begging you to come undone for him takes you by surprise, and your body curls in on itself so fast, not realizing your orgasm was creeping up on you until it hits you. The knot in your stomach breaks as you gush around his fingers, white crossing your vision as he slows his pace to help you come down from your high.

Your shuddering body lays on your bed, eyes unwavering as they meet Katsuki’s, his fingers stuffed in his mouth as he moans around them at your taste. It's all a blur after seeing that unravel, and you’re so woozy that you don’t register him discarding his clothes until he lays above you. Placing himself between your legs as he pumps his cock, hardened from seeing you fall apart on his tongue and fingers, his tip leaking precum and burning a bright red.

His movement is almost too quick for you as he dips his head into your leaking hole before pulling right back, a breathless chuckle escaping him when you whine and roll your hips and try to suck him in again, wanting to feel the stretch of him inside of you.

“Didja wanna say somethin’ princess?” he taunts you, one of his hands holding you down by your stomach while the other is wrapped around his length, teasing you in the ways that he knows drive you crazy, he leans in, using the tip of his cock to spread your pussy lips open and running it along your slit to coat it with your arousal.

“Katshu, p-please I-” you hiccup, your fists tightening on your bed sheet as you try to rock your hips up get more than just his leaking tip, but your begging is always interrupted when he isn't hearing what he wants you to say.

“Say you love me.”

You freeze at his demand, your widening eyes looking up at him before you pout your lips, not thinking about surrendering to him, no matter how much you want your cunt stuffed full of him right now.

“I don’love yooou-” you gasp as katsuki’s grip onto your waist tightens and you feel as he gives a thrust into your sopping cunt, arching your back at the burning stretch of being filled up by his thick cock. Katsuki’s hand traces down your left thigh before cupping behind your knee, hiking your leg up and out, close to your chest to expose more of yourself to him, wanting nothing more than to see his dick seething in and out of your tight pretty pussy, and by almost muscle memory, you did the same thing with your right leg, replacing his hands with your own, presenting yourself to him.

“Y’see that? Fuckin’ know you like the back of m’hand, y’think someones gonna- ah, take the fucking time to work you like I did?” he's right, absolutely right, he ruined you for any other potential lovers and he loved it with every fiber in his being, knowing this means you’re always going to be wrapped around his finger. You moan as he pushes more of himself into you, bottoming out and holding one of your tits and squeezing when he feels your walls do the same to his cock.

You hate it, after all this time, you’re still a blubbering mess the second he was one fucking inch deep in your pussy, sucking him in and clawing at his back begging for more. No self respect, no dignity, you hate it, how come after all this time he gets to come here and fuck you like you belong to him, like you’ve belonged to him despite everything that has happened.

You only realize that your eyes are closed when Katsuki’s breath hits your face, and you open them wide, noting how wet your lashes have gotten from your tears, only for him to kiss at the tears gliding along your right temple and licking the ones on your left. He breathes out a chuckle and when he leans to look at your eyes, the humor and menace you expect to see in his eyes are nowhere to be found, clouded by a solemn look instead.

“What? Yer cryin on me now, huh? Y’think a few tears are stoppin’ me?” His voice is masked so well, because he sounds like he was simply enjoying a game, like an imp that had branched from a demon. “C’mon, not gonna tell the birthday boy you love’em?”

“I don't love you, I hate you, h-hate you-” you keen as drool pools at your lips, your body betraying you as it shakes from pleasure, letting go of your legs to wrap them around his slim waist, to bring him in closer, if that was even possible, stopping his deep thrusts that were brushing up against your cervix, it feels pathetic, denying him the pleasure of telling him you love him while clinging onto him like he's your last breath of fresh air, because in a way, you feel like he is, like him leaving would just collapse your lungs and stop your heart from beating, you know that he’s gonna leave you. While your spent body would lay on your bed and you'd cry because you didn't tell him you love him, yet you wouldn’t ask him to stay, knowing deep down that you don't deserve it, you don't deserve him.

You feel his weight on top of you as he rests his elbows by your head, his lips brushing against your ear as he repeats again with every shallow thrust into your warm insides, his cock twitching from time to time in your walls. “You love me.” he says it once, twice, thrice. Every time his voice lowers more and more to a broken whisper, almost a plea instead of the cocky taunt he started off with.

Your legs are starting to ache from the grip they have around him, so you loosen up, your mind easy since his thrusts haven’t been rough nor painful. And when you do, you notice two things immediately, first, your thighs are so soaked from how he's making you feel, probably ruining your bedsheet at this point, second, he pushed his chest away from yours to look you directly in the eyes, one hand molding around your thigh to keep it from wrapping around him again while the other is placed on your stomach, his thumb inching closer and closer to your clit, wanting to toy with it, toy with you, but not ready to give you any satisfaction until you admit to him, please just tell him, that you do still love him. All insecurities, all battle scars, all emotional constipation as layers he covers himself with, that no one gives a fuck to peel off, to see who he really was, except you.

His red eyes lock onto yours as your chest heaves with breathless sobs at the lost of his warmth, and when you think he's lowering himself back down, he pulls out suddenly, sending a shiver down your spine as you gasp, now feeling like you're frozen over, your tears coming from lack of both pleasure and warmth.

Suddenly your face is met with the pillow and you feel his hands on your hips as he lifts them up and off the bed, your half intoxicated, half aroused mind barely registering that you’ve been flipped over on your stomach until you feel his cock prodding at your cunt, easily sliding in like they’ve been made to be warmed up in there, when you know Katsuki would argue that your pussy was made just for him and to warm his dick.

He presses his chest against your back, pushing you onto the bed as he thrusts his hips roughly, pulling out fully before seething himself right back in, your moans and whimpers muffled by your pillow from being pushed down by his hand as his other holds your hips firmly.

Then what happened next probably shocked him more than you, despite how delirious you’ve become due to his relentless thrusting, his dripping tears feel cool on your bare warm shoulder, one by one as his groans and moans turn into strangled sobs, before Katsuki digs his teeth into that shoulder, to both hear you scream and to muffle his cries from you.

“because I love you” he sobs, detaching his teeth from their grip and kissing the bite marks before resting his forehead against it, but his thrusts never cease, getting sloppier, as if the confession is pushing him off the edge. Dragging the tip of his nose from your bitten and bleeding shoulder to the back of your ear, his own face flush and warm against you as he breathes harshly against your ear and kisses along it.

“So-” he moans again, the hand behind your neck now turning your face so he could see your fucked out expression, the tears streaming down your face and the drool that pools under your cheeks, with your tongue lolled out and your eyes barely focusing on his form.

“You better say you do too, becau-”

“I love you.” you gush, like saying it is a breath of fresh air, your eyes never leaving his teary ones, your gaze so intense and fixated on him with no regards to the way the snapping of his hips against yours is shaking your entire body against the bed.

With new found vigor from your confession, Katsuki grabs onto the meat of your ass, hammering into you from behind with force that pushes you against the bed even further, your pulled hair jerking your head back so he can listen to the lewd noises you are making, long forgotten the will to cover your pleasure and hiding your moans.

Your ass heavily slaps against his thighs as he grabs your hips with both hands and pounds into your sopping wet cunt, relishing in the way you’re begging for him. “Y’like it when I fuck you baby, hmm? Like it when I stuff you so fuckin’ full of me?” He growls, feeling you push your ass back every time you repeat ‘yes’ to his questions. “Yes, yes love it, love you, please please don’t stop, please ‘Suki. Yes, gonna cum ‘Suki please” you weep, your head pounding from the grip he had on your hair and your eyes crossing as you feel his thrusts stutter, getting sloppier when you bounce your ass against him, his hand coming down and slapping it.

“That's fuckin’ right, cum on this cock, c’mon baby” he brings four of his fingers to rub your clit with urgency, and you can’t help but arch your back as your orgasm hits you again, screeching as you feel your walls tightening on him, squeezing him for what he’s worth. “F-fuck ah, y-you’re so- Fuck” his heavy weight falls on you as he fills you to the brim with his milky seed, forehead pressed against your shoulder as he rocks his hips against you, pushing more of his load inside before slowly pulling out, gaze flutters down to where your bodies were once joined, seeing your mixed arousal seeping out of your hole and he has half a mind to push it back in with his fingers.

But he flips you over effortlessly, the sight of your crossed out eyes and wet cheeks squeezing his chest at the realization he might’ve been too rough on you, so he wipes your cheek with the palm of his hands and revels in the way you lean towards him, turning your face to kiss his palm. “Say it again.” barely a whisper, as you flip his hand and kiss the back of it as well, and he almost repeats himself, thinking you didn’t hear him, but your hands reach up and cup his face, bringing him towards you. “I love you Katsuki” and goddamn if that wasn’t the most beautiful thing you’ve ever spoken. “Again,” “I love you, Katsuki” “Again,” you giggle, and he knows that's probably what angels sound like.

Your thumb brushes over his warm cheeks, red from showing vulnerability, and you pull him even closer, “Happy birthday, ‘Suki.”

“Yea,” He breaths out, his lips barely brushing against your bitten and bruised ones. “It really fuckin’ is.”

aaaaaaaaah! Hope you enjoyed it! Lemme know what you think of the smut, I also changed my writing style from past tenses to present tenses or tried to at least

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