#front door paint colors pictures

[sauravsharma3489]

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[bi-writes]

hiiiii I'm new to your page but i would like to ask you what would've happened if simon mail-ordered a bride?

mail-order bride

you stare down at the address on the card, blinking as you reread the house number and look back up at the cottage in front of you. the numbers match, but you just need a few more minutes before you knock on the door.

you're not holding too many things. you have one suitcase with the entirety of your belongings at one side, the cat carrier sitting on top of it. on the other side, you hold a bundle of papers. your immigration papers, all shiny and new, your birth certificate, and your new british passport.

when you look back down, you swallow as you read over your name. it's odd, to see something new in the section labeled SURNAME.

Riley.

you've never met him. this isn't legal, it can't be, to have all of these things. he must be someone important. someone they value. or maybe, they are just too afraid to say no to him.

the front door opens, and you freeze on the spot as you see someone duck their head to step outside. they're wearing a mask, covering their entire face except for their dark eyes, but it's hitched up over his nose as he holds an unlit cigarette between his lips.

he stares as he sees you at the end of the steps. he frowns, looking you up and down.

"weren't supposed ta be 'ere for a few weeks."

your eyes water a little, but you only manage a shrug.

"i-i..." you meet his eyes. "i-i couldn't stay there any longer. i didn't have anywhere else to go."

he tucks the cigarette back behind his ear, slipping the mask off. it reveals a tousled mess of short blonde hair and a terribly scarred face. his eyes dart to the little carrier sitting next to you when he hears a soft meow coming from it.

"said no pets."

your lip trembles.

"please," you whisper, and his lip twitches as he fights off a scowl. you imagine he must not have much practice in hiding his emotions. he comes down the steps anyways, coming closer, and you pick up the carrier as he snatches the suitcase off the pavement, making his way back inside. you follow him, naturally.

when you close the door behind you, you're surprised at how quaint it all is. nice brick fireplace, a soft carpet (no shoes allowed is what he snapped at you), and wonderfully furnished to make the place cozy, warm, lived-in. there's throw blankets and accent pillows. there's pictures on the walls, paintings, yellow corner lights to give everything a soft glow. the kitchen is beautiful, with lovely colored tile and wooden cutting boards, a drip-coffee setup in the corner and worn cookbooks stacked neatly by a stainless steel toaster. there's herbs growing in little pots sitting on the windowsill above the sink, and there's a cast iron pot decoratively resting on the stove.

it's spick-span clean. there's no specks of dust or splatters left over from bacon grease. there's papers pinned to the fridge, lists to remind him to buy whole milk and sliced bread and call about the internet bill being charged twice again.

you set the carrier down on the couch, unzipping the top. a little curious black head pokes out of it, and you reach in and pick the cat up under its belly and drop it onto the floor. immediately, the cat spreads its front paws, claws sticking out as they begin to knead the carpet and use it as a personal scratcher, the prick, prick, prick sound enough to draw the giant man out of the bedroom with a hard frown on his face.

he points at the thing and shakes his head.

"keep tha' thing off the fawkin' counter," he snaps at you. he purses his lips when he sees you still standing there, afraid to even move. he comes closer, the cat scurrying off, and he yanks your coat and scarf off, going to the hang them up by the door. "can unpack tomorrow. need t'make somethin' ta eat."

you move immediately towards the kitchen, hoping he keeps a stocked fridge, but he puts out a big hand and stops you, stepping in front of you.

"the fuck are y'doin'?" he asks, and you blink up at him.

"you said to make dinner...s-sir?"

he tilts his head to the side, narrowing his eyes.

"y'listen t'this," he murmurs. "women don't lift a fuckin' finger in this house, y'hear?"

you nod, and he reaches up and palms your throat, cupping your jaw.

"and my wife doesn't call me sir," he mutters. "it's simon."

you soften a little. "i-i'm sorry, simon."

"don't apologize," he grits his teeth. "did nothin' wrong."

when a fresh set of tears comes down your face, he wipes them away with ease, calloused thumb swiping over your cheeks and quieting you. he puts something into your hands, a velvet box that he must've gotten when he went to put your suitcase away.

"y'r a riley now, yeah?" he murmurs, and you tilt your head at an angle, and your foreheads brush together when he bends low to speak to you. "act like it."

you lean up on your toes (he's so fucking tall), and you kiss him softly beside his mouth. when he moves his head, your lips brush against each other, but he pulls back to make his way to the kitchen. you hear the gas stove light up, and a few minutes later, there's a familiar smell of onions hitting hot olive oil.

you take a seat on the couch, smiling to yourself, wiping your eyes as you curl up there. you flip open the box, sighing shakily when you see the rectangular diamond and matching gold wedding band. when simon comes back in to give you a mug of tea, you take it with your left hand, and his eyes flicker when he notices the new jewelry there, so pretty, so new.

mine.

when he pads back into the kitchen, the cat blinks up at him slowly, green eyes bright as they sit on the counter.

simon walks past it, saying nothing at all.

[monster-disaster]

[tentacle] The monster under the bed

tentacle!monster x human!Reader Good to know: somnophilia, a bit of dub-con

Summary: Your aunt's house is not as empty as you thought.

A/N: For kinktober 2023, I have a new town full of monsters. Here is the masterlist.

The change in the air is thick and heavy after you leave the Welcome to Grimbrook sign behind you. You feel it in your core. It's cold and silent. For a second, everything goes quiet, and the time seems to stop. The rumbling of your car gets muffled, and the colors of the lush, green forest at your sides fade into a milky fog flowing above the ground. You can't see the tall mountains and their sharp edges in the distance anymore. The clear blue sky turns gray, and you can't find the sun anymore, either. Just a few dim rays shine down on the road in front of you, showing your way to the village next to the sea.

As you get closer, you can smell the salty scent of the water even through the closed windows of your car. It's heavy in your nostrils. The sound of the waves gets louder too. From the top of the uphill, you can see the village with its old stone buildings and the sea behind everything. It seems colorless, merging into the dark sky at the horizon. It is beautiful and terrifying at the same time. There is something in Grimbrook that you can't pinpoint but freezes your insides. The only light you can see comes from a lighthouse at the edge of a cliff. It emits a soft, rhythmic beam of yellow light that cuts through the heavy fog, casting eerie shadows over the still village. Seagulls glide through the mist above the white seafoam, waving across the dark surface.

"Okay," you hum, forcing your eyes to go back to the GPS on your phone. The blue line clearly shows your way to the house you have to reach before night falls. It leads you out of the center of the villages until you reach a small suburb with Victorian houses standing in a long row with grand iron gates and gardens.

The monotone voice of the GPS informs you when you reach the right house, and after sitting in your car for a few more minutes, you have no other option but to get out and make your way up to the porch. The wooden planks creak under your steps as you look around a bit better. The house is old, with tall walls, characterful windows, and a dark green door with a golden knocker in the middle. It's cold in your hold as you knock it against the door.

You don't get an answer, though.

The door opens, and you find yourself facing a narrow foyer with stairs on the right side. Pictures and paintings hang on the walls in dark wood and golden frames. You can see the entrance of the kitchen at the end. And on your left side, there is an arch that leads you to the living room.

"Hello?" You break the silence. Your voice is hoarse and quiet. You have to force your legs to move and not turn back to your car and leave this place immediately. "Somebody?" Your gaze lands on a small table in the corner next to the entrance door. There is a letter with your name on it.

Dear Cat, I'm sorry I can't be here when you arrive. Make yourself at home, and we will talk tomorrow. Delilah

"Great," you sigh, letting the paper fall back onto the surface of the small table.

For a second, you think about searching for a hotel or something similar to spend the night, but to be honest, it doesn't sound much better either. You know you should leave the town to feel better, but it's not an option. So you close the door behind you and wander further into the house.

You got a call a few weeks ago about your aunt you met long years ago. She died, and now you have a house. You can keep it. You can sell it. Whatever you want.

The house is old, with a lot of wood, dark colors, and golden details. There are still newspapers from months ago on the coffee table in the living room. The rug under you is faded and thin. The floor creaks every now and again. There are two rooms and a bathroom upstairs. The bigger room is still occupied with your aunt's belongings. The scent of her perfume still lingers in the air. You remember her when you were a kid. She came to your grandmother's funeral, and you never saw her again. Nobody really talked about her in the family. The only things you know are that she was kind but preferred her own company above everything else. She lost her husband in her late twenties but stayed in Grimbrook, barely leaving the town.

The guestroom is much more bare than the other parts of the house. A bed in the middle with two nightstands and a lamp. There is a drawer in front of it and a mirror on the wall. The window is slightly open, letting in the cold autumn breeze. You have a view of the street from here. It's calm and empty. The only reasons you know you are not the only person in the town are because you can see a few cars here and there and a dog barking in the distance. The fog is thick and heavy. You can't see the end of the street through it.

After wandering around the house some more, you decide to call your friend until you have no other option but to change and try to get some sleep.

Climbing up on the bed in the guest room, you settle under the thick covers. The scent of the linen is faded and mixed with dust and the night air coming through the window. It's dark outside, not counting a few lamps on the street. Their orange lights filter into the room. And everything is quiet. So quiet that your ears almost start to ring. You are not used to it. You live in the city with constant noises.

When sleep takes you, it's restless and everything but relaxing. You fidget and turn, trying to find a comfortable position as you balance between the darkness and the real world. Your head feels just as foggy as Grimbrook, and at some point, you can't decide if you are dreaming or not.

You are on your back, one arm on your stomach, and the other is next to your body. The autumn breeze caresses your skin, moving up from your feet to your ankles and calves. Shiver runs through your spine at the feeling. You want to reach out for the blanket, but even though your arms move, they do not obey your command. Something pets the thin skin of your wrist. It's soft and barely noticeable. You feel your muscles stretch as you reach up to the headrest of the bed, but you don't even know why. The cold moves up further on your legs. It curls around your flesh, spreading you in the middle of the bed. Your heels dig into the mattress. Your body tenses when your limbs don't do as you want. A frown deepens between your brows.

"What?" A hoarse grunt leaves your lips. When you open your eyes, you meet darkness, and you are not sure if you are really awake or not. Your eyelids are heavy, and not even a second later, you fall back asleep again.

The bottom of your pajama slips down on your legs. The waist stretches around your parted legs. Something slides up on your stomach under your t-shirt. It is slick and soft. A gasp echoes in your room when it flicks your nipple. The thing curls around the flesh of your tits, groping and caressing. Your nipples harden under the strange touch. Saliva? A tongue?

Where are you?

And there is something else between your legs. The muscles of your thighs tense, and the hold around you tightens.

"What?" You groan again into the silence. As you look down on your body, you see your t-shirt around your neck. Your breasts are bare. Something dark and purple curls around them, squeezing and licking. The teasing on your nipples is almost painful. At the back of your mind, you want more. Your head falls back onto the pillows, and you are asleep again.

The tentacles between your legs move up and down on your pussy. Your panties are ruined between your wet center and the slick touch of theirs. One of them flicks your clit. Your back arches at the feeling. The cold night air hits your aching pussy when the thin fabric is pulled aside. One of them stays around your clit, flicking and rubbing the hard bud. The other one goes straight to your hole.

You want to move. To get closer or farther away, you can't decide. The tendrils don't let you go anyway.

You break the silence with a sudden moan. The limb enters you slowly. It slips into you easily, stretching your walls until you can't take another inch. It fills you up.

"Fuck," you groan.

Your breasts are soaked. The slickness on your skin shines under the dim streetlights. The tentacles play with your flesh, rubbing and pinching your nipples. The pain takes your breath away every now and again until you feel dizzy.

The others between your legs move without pausing even for a second. Your clit throbs, and your walls flutter. Pleasure flares inside your veins, rushing through your body with such force you never felt before. Your lungs burn for air, and your muscles ache as you lay taut, panting.

When you open your eyes, you see the ceiling and the old lamp hanging above you. You want to force your mind to think, to panic, to do something, but your senses are full of pleasure. The only thing you can do is moan and grind against the tentacle inside your pussy. It pounds into you, reaching every spongy spot inside that makes you see stars and beg for more. The sheet under you is soaked with your mixed juices. You can feel it dripping out of your hole.

Fuck, you want to shout, but you can't find your voice. You just shake and tremble in the hold of the limbs keeping you in place on the bed. Every nerve in your body is on edge, and when it snaps in your lower stomach, you can't remember how to breathe. Your climax forces you down and stops you from moving. A thin layer of sweat shines on your bare skin. Heat burns you from the inside, and your pussy flutters and sucks on the tendril inside you. It still moves in and out. It twitches and rubs against your walls. And doesn't stop even when the darkness envelopes you again.

When you wake up the next morning, you need a few minutes to remember where you are. The sun shines through the window, casting an orange hue over the old rug in the middle of the room. As you sit up, your t-shirt falls back over your torso, but your pants are still around your knees.

"What?" You grunt out. The question is barely louder than a whisper. Your hand shakes as you reach down between your legs. Your pussy is wet, sensitive, and swollen. A moan escapes you when your fingertip slides over your slit.

Your dream is still vivid in your mind. You can feel the tentacle in your pussy, using your hole and rubbing your clit. Your center starts to throb with need at the memory. And your breasts. Your other hand grabs one of your tits. Your nipples are still hard peaks through the thin fabric of your shirt.

"Hello? Cat?" The sudden noise snaps your head up to the door of your room. The voice comes from the entrance of the house. "It's Delilah." "Hey!" You croak out. You are not even sure if she can hear you. "I will be down in a minute." "Great!" She shouts back. "I will make some coffee, and we can talk about your plans with the house." Your fingers sink into your hole. You are still stretched out. You move in and out of your pussy easily.

Yeah, you think, you need a few nights if you want to decide about your plans.

- Masterlist Grimbrook Masterlist Patreon

[milkteabinniechan]

bath water | hwang hyunjin

pairing: virgin! Hyunjin x afab reader // ☕ | m.list

summary: your friend Hyunjin wants to paint on a new canvas: you. And while you are supportive, you didn't think it would feel so good...

warnings: body worship, fingering (f. receiving) smut

part two here

“Well, I actually want to paint on you.” his voice lingered over the receiver. The pause weighed heavy between the two of you.

“You want me paint me?” you held your phone away from your ear, almost about to drop it. Hyunjin was an amazing artist. His pieces could be in museums, in art galleries. Why would he want to paint-

“Huh?” you chimed in finally. 

Hyunjin went on to explain some videos he had seen recently demonstrating what they called a human canvas. Artists would paint on the person’s back, or legs, or arms, or… Hyunjin’s voice became softer until the heavy pause appeared again. 

You agreed, somewhat reluctantly, to meet at his apartment the following weekend. He told you to wear comfortable clothes. As you paced your way up to his front door, all you could think about was his concentrated face as he paints, now that face would be on you.

Hyunjin answered the door in a loose-fitting white t-shirt and black sweatpants. His hair was messy and he looked exhausted.

“Hey, come on in,” he stepped back and made room for you to walk past him, “I was just getting set up. I put some plastic sheets on the floor and picked out all the colors I would need.”

You turned toward his living room to see a corner of the room with a few small plastic squares laid carefully on the hardwood floors. Pastel colors each in their individual cups and palettes. Paint brushes in various sizes splayed out around the floor as well. He really was full prepared. You chuckled to yourself, you weren’t surprised. When it came to his art, Hyunjin put everything he had into it. 

“Alright, so…” hyunjin entered the room after you, “are you ready to get started?” His face was already turning red, as was yours. You could feel your cheeks getting warmer. You cleared your throat and nodded your head.

“Yeah. Let’s do this!” you shouted, fist in the air. Your sudden enthusiasm startling Hyunjin. He burst out laughing and playfully pushed your shoulder.

“You goof.” He smiled.

You smiled back. You had always found a way to make him laugh, and he had always found a way to put you at ease. Then you tugged at your shirt, remembering the whole reason you came over here. Your smile started to fade.

“Did you want to paint my arms? Or my back? Or my-”

“Your back.” Hyunjin cut you off. “I figured it would give me the most space to erm, work with.”

“Sounds good.” your enthusiastic voice now draining by the second. 

You tugged at the hem of your shirt and began to pull it up over your head. Hyunjin quickly turned his back to you, awkwardly staring at the wall in front of him. He instructed you to turn away from him once you were ready and he would get started.

“Ready.” you signaled softly, your bare back now facing him. You held your breasts with both hands, a chill rising up over your entire body. Hyunjin worked in silence as you heard the sound of paint brushes dipping in water, then in what you assume was the paint. 

The first stroke of his paintbrush was cold, very cold. You jumped at the feeling. The soft bristles trailing down your skin, leaving a damp, cool sensation behind. 

“Is it okay?” Hyunjin spoke gently. 

You weakly murmured a yes. Your eyes closed, focused intensely on the swirling motions and shapes that he was creating on your skin. You could picture his face, tightly squeezing and scrunching. Suddenly, he stopped painting.

“All done.” He spoke finally. Your eyes fluttered open. Had you fallen asleep? It all happened so fast. 

“Already?” you tried to turn your head around, attempting to catch a glimpse of his work.

“I was point for two hours, goof. You must have zoned out.” Hyunjin stood up and stretched his arms and rolled his shoulders.

Two hours? You thought. Painting felt amazing. You were almost sad it was over. You didn’t want it to be over. You wanted more. The feeling of the paint brush across your skin. Wet paint dripping down your body. Wait. You thought, This was turning you on. You selfishly had an idea, but you had no notion if Hyunjin would even agree to it. You didn’t even know if he had seen a woman naked before. You didn’t want to overstep, but unholy thoughts were consuming you.

“Y-you know,” you started, “you could paint my front too, Hyunjin.” You turned your body toward him, his body still towering over yours. Your hands were still cupped over your breasts, but it’s where Hyunjin’s eyes were glued.

For a moment, he didn’t speak, neither of you did. You both just stared at each other, unsure what to say next. Eventually, you spoke again.

“Only if you have more to paint, of course. More ideas.” You waited again for a response. Hyunjin’s eyes were wide. His mouth tightened to a thin line across his face. You could feel your face growing hot again. Regretting every moment of the last five minutes.

“I-I don’t think that would be such a g-good idea.” Hyunjin said under his breath, avoiding eyes contact now. He rubbed the back of his nack and stared at the floor next to you.

You felt your heart fall into your stomach. Your throat dried up to dust and the air was pressed instantly from your lungs. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you broke eye contact with Hyunjin. You turned your face away quickly so he wouldn’t see how red it was. 

“I’m going to go wash up, then.” was all you could think to say. 

You stood fast and made your way to his bathroom. After you took a few minutes to catch your breath in front of the mirror,  you turned on the bathtub. The hot water filling the tub, inviting you in to wash away this incredibly uncomfortable experience. You slide off your pants and underwear, setting them in a pile with your shirt to dress when you were done. You let yourself slide into the clear water. Just your head poking and bobbing out.

Suddenly, dread filled your entire body. You couldn’t wash all this paint off yourself, it was on your back. There was no loofa or sponge to wash with. And now you just made an idiot of yourself in front of your friend. You could feel tears welling up in your eyes again.

“Can I help?” Hyunjin spoke from the other side of the door. 

“No, no. I’ve got it!” you lied.

“Please, let me help you.” Hyunjin’s sincerity was palpable, even through the closed door. 

You begrudgingly allowed him inside, adding the small caveat that you were completely nude in his bathtub. Suprisingly, he came in anyway. He walked in with eyes closed. Blindly feeling around to get his barrings again. At last, he stood in front of the tub, eyes still shut tight.

“I’m sorry.” Hyunjin whispered. “I just-I’ve never…” his pleading eyes finally meeting yours. You searched his face to try to decipher what he was trying to say. You tried your best to use your hands to cover yourself, to allude to some sort of modesty. But you were hesitant if it was working at all. 

“I’m a virgi-” Hyunjin had lost his train of thought. He had lost everything that was ever on his mind when he saw you laying in the bathtub. The paint from his human canvas has started to dissolve and disperse into the clear water around you. The colors swirling and dancing together to form new color combinations. Reds and purples, and blues and yellows were seeking and chasing new paths around the curves of your naked body. You were magnificent. 

You watched Hyunjin’s eyes trace your exposed body from top to bottom, like he was memorizing every detail. On instinct, you slowly moved your hands away from your breasts and your soft slit. The sight of your hard nipples poking in and out of the swiriling, colorful water made Hyunjin fall to his knees in front of the bathtub. His eyes never leaving your body. You inspected his face to try to see what he wanted, when instantaneously, his hand appeared in the water with you. His long fingers dipped into the warm bath water, lightly grazing your outer thigh. You cautiously lifted your leg, the sound of the water trickling off of your skin. He froze, unsure of what to do next. 

You grasp your hand around his fingers and pull them down toward your slit. Slowly you and Hyunjin inch closer, careful to notice any hesitation, but soon it is his hand leading yours. It is his fingers that are pulling closer towards your enterance. One finger gracefully strokes the outside of your cunt. Starting at the top and sliding down between your lips, then back up again. He was completely entranced, utterly hypnorized. You let out a ragged breath as you watched his index and middle finger, little by little, message your soft lips until your clit began to swell. His middle finger felt it first, welcoming the invitation on sliding in deeper. 

His hand completely moving on instinct now. Rubbing around the clit, small circles at first. He wanted to learn what you liked, how your body reacted. It was like painting again, combining different colors to see what new would come of it. He felt your legs twitch when he applied more pressure, your hips would buck ever so slightly when his rubbed faster. He wanted to see what else he could make your body do. You were his best art project. His human canvas.

[cordeliawhohung]

In Limbo [Chapter 9]

mafia!141 masterlist | In Limbo masterlist | general masterlist | taglist | playlist mafia!Simon Riley x fem!Reader

ferocious and stubborn as an ox

cw: period talk, fluff

wc: 4.8k

Just as promised, Simon picks you up the following afternoon. 

Jack Frost paid you a visit last night, leaving intricate, swirling designs on your windows, casting the grey cityscape beyond your apartment in prismatic light. It diffuses your vision to the point that you don’t recognize Simon when he pulls up, unfamiliar with his car, and you nearly jump out of your skin when he knocks on the door. Shoulders scrunching, muscles tensing; you turn to the door with a grunt as your cramps jolt through your body. They’re worse today than they were yesterday. They always seem to grow more intense with time, but it’s a familiar pain you know how to push through. 

Shouldering on a coat, you open the door only to be immediately scrutinized under Simon’s gaze. Dark eyes flicker over your body, checking for dark circles, perspiration, and general fragility. Though you are loads better than when he saw you last week, you’re certain your crossed arms and the slight hunching over your stomach isn’t convincing. Judging by the tight line of his lips, he’s not entirely impressed. 

Mustering a smile, you glance behind him, prodding him into action. “Hey. Ready to head out?” 

He hums before nodding, boots clomping against the floor as he moves out of the way. “Got the car all warmed up for ya, sweetheart.” 

London looks magical around this time of year, especially from the passenger's seat of Simon’s car. Warm white lights twist up the trunk of every tree, spiraling along branches where stray snowflakes glint in their glory. Evergreen garland adorns street lights with faux holly and winter berries, giving your eyes a break from the otherwise barren concrete jungle. It’s beautiful. Picture perfect. Something you’d expect to see on a postcard or in a movie. Glass fogs up with your breath as you lean closer to get a better look at the streets. 

With only one more week until Christmas, the pavement bustles with last minute shoppers. Children in too-large coats and fluffy caps trot behind their parents as they squeal in delight at window displays in flashy shops. The holiday has a way of illuminating everything. Casting a warm, yellow glow on the wonderstruck faces peering through the glass. Bathing the streets until they’re lively and buzzing. Banishing the gloom of the city — you almost don’t recognize the streets. 

Of course, the grey is always there underneath the surface somewhere. Lurking with sharp, nefarious tendrils, waiting to smother anything it can. For the moment, at least, it’s nice to pretend that it’s gone forever. 

Once Simon finds a place to park, you’re able to step out into that wonderland yourself. A soft breeze nips at the tips of your ears and nose, rubbing them raw with crystalline shards like sandpaper across your skin, but you ignore it in favor of the toy shop display flashing through the window. A model train travels through a tiny village dusted with cotton-like snow. Tiny villagers go about their tiny lives as they attend church and visit family or throw snowballs at one another. Each of them are hand painted with care, complete with rosy cheeks and colorful winter attire. 

Simon’s reflection dances in the glass as he approaches your side, looking down at the scene you can’t help but gawk at. His arm brushes against yours as he inspects the paintwork on the figurines, and you glance up at him with a smile. His face glows in the light bringing his skin to life, scars and all. It casts shadows on his face perfectly, defining the curve of his jaw and his cheekbones.

Swallowing, you turn your attention back to the scene in front of you. “I wish it would snow more in London.” 

He hums, feet shuffling on the pavement. “Would be a lot of shoveling.” 

“Well, it wouldn’t have to snow a whole lot,” you chuckle. “Just enough to stick around. Thick enough to make snow angels out of.” 

You pause to watch the train travel through the tunnel. A small light fixed to the front of the locomotive cuts through the darkness, and you watch it grow brighter as it nears the exit. In your head, you imagine its whistle. The huff and puff of smoke as the engine burns coal to transport presents. You smile. 

“My dad and I used to make frost angels instead. The grass at the park would always glisten with frost, especially in the mornings, so we’d lay in the field and make angels.” You laugh at the memory as a fit of giggles erupts behind you, children passing through with toys in hand. For a moment, you almost feel warm. “They never looked really pretty, but he’d always finish them off with halos anyway.” 

“Could always blend up some ice for ya,” he patronizes. 

You mock laugh at him. “Oh sure, thanks. Think you can get all of London covered by Christmas?” 

“Anythin’ for you, sweetheart.” 

Ignoring the way your cheeks warm at his comment, you quickly change the subject, suggesting that you get to shopping before you freeze to death. Thankfully, Simon bites and leads you inside of the toy shop where you’re welcomed by a jovial clerk with a kind smile. A green elf hat sits on his head, leaving the children nearby to gawk at him. Christmas music plays softly through the radio on the back counter and it fades in and out as you wander between shelves where spiced cinnamon and pumpkin wafts just behind you. 

A variety of toys adorn the aisles, but Simon appears to be on a mission for something in specific. He completely bypasses the frilly princess costumes, fancy dolls, action figures  and crafts supplies in favor of toy cars and model ships. They’re cute; impossibly small. Made perfectly for little hands and fingers. 

Then you make the mistake of looking at the price tags. 

There’s a special aesthetic that surrounds this time of year. Something beautiful and kind. It’s the type of feeling that tugs on heartstrings, drawing people into warm embraces with hearty meals and laughter. It makes you feel at home even when you’re far from it. Despite it all, there’s always going to be something that’ll separate you from everyone else. You’ll never be the one bringing home gifts to family members. Never be the one to splurge. Each year you can hardly scrounge up enough to give Row something. Hell, you’re not even sure if you’ll have enough to buy the sanitary products you so desperately need. 

Then again, it’s not like you have much family left to buy gifts for. 

“What kind of present are you looking for?” Push it out of your mind. You can’t mope forever. 

“Somethin’ my nephew’s been wantin’ for a bit. He’s been talkin’ his parents ear off ‘bout it for the last few months,” Simon replies, eyes scanning the shelf in front of him. He hums as his fingers ghost over the box to a model plane. “Been obsessed with planes lately.” 

“Nephew?” you repeat. “So you have siblings, then?” 

“A brother. Thomas. Everyone calls ‘im Tommy. I like to call him a pain in the arse,” he humors. 

Chuckling, you crouch down to assist Simon’s search for the perfect gift for his nephew. The movement, curling in on yourself, temporarily eases the cramps that still fester deep in your abdomen, and you sigh. No matter how little the reprieve is, it’s always welcome. 

“Big or little brother, then?” you ask. 

“Older. Certainly not bigger than me.” 

“Yeah, figure it’s pretty hard to be bigger than you.”

Falling quiet, you put in more effort into searching through eye-catching toys flashy enough to steal away any child’s attention. They’ve got everything from small sets made out of metal, to build-your-own models. It’s certainly fancier than anything you remembered from when you were a kid, but it’s also been ages since you’ve last visited a toy store. 

“Oh, this is cute!” you coo. 

Your hands reach out for a large box padded with smooth cardboard. For its size, it’s incredibly light, so it’s easy work to slide it off of the shelf. A precious, design it yourself RC plane, complete with paint and all. The box depicts what you assume is supposed to be father and son, painting designs on the body of the plane together. 

You hold the box up for Simon to see, giving it a little shake. “Look, he could design his own little plane!” 

Simon’s eyes widen in recognition as you straighten yourself out, box still in hand. “That’s it.” 

Holding it out for him to take, he relieves you of carrying its weight. Large hands flip the box around, reading the description on the back. He smirks, then chuckles before shaking his head. 

“As seen on TV,” he quotes. “They play the commercial for this between his favorite cartoons. Been begging his mum for it ever since.” 

“What’s his name?” you ask. 

“Joseph.” 

Before you have the chance to comment further, Simon slides the box underneath his arm while his free hand retrieves his phone. The screen flickers on, casting a dim glow on his face as he flicks through applications. 

When he turns it in your direction, you’re met with a half fuzzy photo of a young boy and a woman. They’re outside, sitting in a pile of leaves, their dying colors of red and yellows vibrantly declaring the autumn season. A few torn leaves stick to the boy’s bright blonde hair as he attempts to shove a fistful of them into the woman's hair. They don’t quite stick to her copper locks, but she grins at him anyway. With bright blue eyes and beautiful smiles, they’re near carbon copies of one another. 

“Tom sent me this a few months back. That’s little Joey there, and his mum, Beth,” Simon shares. 

“He’s adorable,” you coo. “How old is he?” 

The very moment Simon answers, an unforgiving contraction rips through your abdomen. Muscles cramping and tightening, pulling so taut you fear they’ll tear each other apart. In a pitiful attempt to soothe yourself, your hand presses right above where your uterus is wreaking havoc on your body. With enough pressure, you’re sure you can phase through your organs. Reach into yourself and remove the nuisance and go on with your life. Instead, you fight back a grimace. 

No matter how hard you try, you’re unable to hide such vicious pain from Simon. He catches on quickly. Sniffs it out like a cadaver dog. His phone shuts off yet stays firmly in his palm as he presses the back of his hand against your forehead. Taken aback, you stare up at him, mouth trying to form words, yet nothing falls from your lips. There’s something about this touch that feels familiar. Something that leaves you feeling empty when he moves his hand away. 

“Sure you’re feelin’ alright?” he asks. “Still a little warm. Don’t look like you’re feelin’ too good, sweetheart.” 

Maybe it’s due to what your body has been going through as of late, or maybe it’s because of the way he’s looking at you, but your mouth grows dry. Like a desert. Devoid of the oasis of words you so desperately need. There’s no use in beating around the bush — or at least, you try to tell yourself as much — you’ve followed him out here for a reason.

“Yeah I’m just… you know. On my menses,” you explain, trying to make it humorous but it sounds more awkward than anything. “That’s, uh, one of the reasons I came with you today. Was sorta hoping I could drop by the pharmacy to pick some stuff up.” 

You were hoping the concern etched into his face would melt away with your explanation, but if anything, it only gets worse. “You shoulda said something. Would’ve dropped by there first.” 

“It’s no big deal,” you attempt to assure. “I mean, it’s not like this stuff goes away with a magic medication or something.” 

God, you wish it would. A simple pop of a pill and a quick nap to have this all fade away sounds heavenly. It would save you from the odd look Simon gives you as he shoves his phone back into his pocket. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve made him uncomfortable. Some men get… squeamish around that type of talk. You have a very vivid memory shoved in the back of your mind of one of the cooks getting on Bee for walking in the restaurant with a box of tampons. She told them off with a bravery you could only dream of mustering, and they haven’t mentioned anything since, but the image of their tense faces is forever burned into your mind. 

You wonder if it’s the blood or the body it comes from that disgusts them so much. 

“C’mon,” Simon urges as he nods towards the end of the aisle. “Should be a pharmacy on the end of the block.” 

“But what about presents for your family?” you ask. 

“This was the last thing I was lookin’ for. Everythin’ else is already covered,” he assures you. “We’ll go up and pay and get you what you need, yeah?”

If there is one thing that you’ve learned about Simon Riley over the last few months, it’s that he’s a force to be reckoned with. Of course, you’ve known this fairly early on. You’ve known as much since the moment he taught you how to shoot pool, hands firm and unwavering against yours. It’s a force that evolves. One that shows its teeth — ones sharp enough to send a man as terrifying as Andrei whimpering and running for the hills. 

You wonder if he brings that same heat to John’s establishment. Doing grunt work in the club, fighting off men gathering around the innocent like flies drawn to rot and decay. How often have those teeth been redirected at him, causing the puffy scars that trace the features of his nose and jaw? Are his claws only razors because someone else sharpened them for him? 

Too many times have you seen men like Simon deteriorate. Shatter and become nothing but self-centered beasts who don’t fear spilling blood. Strength and power corrupts even the kindest of people — turns humans into monsters; into men like Marco. Simon should terrify you, but he doesn’t. 

You don’t fully realize why that is until you reach the pharmacy

Even with your obvious apprehension about him accompanying you inside, he does anyway. Doesn’t flinch at the hygiene products. Watches intently as you peruse, counting numbers in your head and quids in your hand. It’s that counting game again. Barely scraping by — not having enough to buy supplies that’ll last you more than a few days, forever stuck with travel sized versions of what you require. When he catches on to that frustrated expression on your face, he insists on paying for you. 

“Not gonna let you go without what’cha need. These prices are robbin’ you blind,” he says when you try to argue. 

“You shouldn’t have to do this,” you retort, guilt eating you alive. 

“I’m not buyin’ you a pony here, sweetheart. They’re pads and tampons. Necessities.”

Stubborn as an ox, he doesn’t budge. He’s perseverant, and certainly has more stamina than you. Saving yourself from any further embarrassment, you finally allow it. You’ll just have to buy him something another time. He carries the items up himself, sneaking some over the counter painkillers in his hands in the process. You follow behind him like a wounded animal; or, at least the clerk looks at you as if you are one. Some pathetic, bleeding bitch — it’s like he can smell the blood that stains the insides of your thighs. Shame mixes with the embarrassment in your veins, lighting you on fire until you’re nothing but a boiling mess of a woman. 

Suddenly, the only thing you see is Simon’s back. 

“Get paid to stare or are you gonna ring us up?” he grunts. 

Simon cares ferociously, you realize. That’s why you’re not scared of him. It would be so easy for him to take. To scrape up everything he wants and shove it into his pocket like it’s always belonged to him, but he doesn’t. Simon likes balance. Enjoys peace. When he snarls, it’s with sharp teeth; just enough to get the glares and smirks to dissipate, and when he looks back at you, there is only care. Doesn’t speak about the tally. There are no numbers in the back of his mind. No debt to pay. 

He doesn’t count. He cares because that’s what he wants to do. And if it’s not, then he is the greatest pretender you’ve ever met — second only to yourself. 

You’re able to breathe again the moment you’re back in Simon’s car, seatbelt fastened and supplies in hand. Dusk settles in the sky with a soft lilac hue as you’re taken back home, but the streets do not darken. Christmas joy keeps the pavement illuminated, bright lights diffusing through the window — they almost look like stars. You squint, try to pick out constellations, try to ignore the cramping and humiliation that festers in your stomach. 

“Got plans for Christmas?” 

Neither of you have spoken in so long you nearly jump at the warm baritone resonating in his chest. Glancing at him, you quell your heart as you watch him for a moment. Hands carefully on the wheel, safely maneuvering through traffic, eyes flickering to you for only a moment before they’re back on the road. 

“Oh, uhm, not really. Usually I spend it with Row and John, but they’re headed out of the country for the holiday. My parents passed when I was a kid so… uh, otherwise I think I’ll probably spend it at home? Relax or whatever,” you explain. 

An eternity passes by as you wait for his response. Engine humming, radio playing old Christmas tunes in the background — you know what he’s going to say, and you try not to grimace before the words leave his mouth. 

“I’ve got family in Manchester. My mum’s hostin’ my brother and I for the holiday. You’re more than welcome to join, if you’d like,” he offers. 

Your eyes flutter shut, and you sigh. “You know you don’t… have to do that, right?” you ask. 

“Do what?” he questions, sincere confusion lacing his tone. 

“I know that Row asked you to keep an eye on me. That she’s concerned about me, or whatever. And I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me, truly. But Simon, this is your family. I can’t… barge in. You deserve to spend time with them without having to worry about, you know… me.” 

His head shakes, eyes daring a glance at you as you fiddle with the bag in your lap. “Row isn’t makin’ me do anything. And you’re not bargin’ in if I invite you,” he says. 

Teeth digging into the flesh of your bottom lip, you feel yourself sunder. Long, spiderweb cracks in your foundation, heart pounding so hard you fear it’ll rip itself to shreds. You’re becoming undone in the passenger's seat of a car, and you swear it’ll be the end of you. 

“Sweetheart, I’m not askin’ you because of Row, or anyone else. I’m askin’ because I wanna know if you’ll go to Manchester with me or not. That’s it,” he says. 

Finally, you bring yourself to look at him, anxiety slithering down your throat as you swallow. “Do you… really want me to go?” 

“Course I do. Wouldn’t be askin’ if I didn’t. I’d be chuffed if you did, but it’s up to you.” He pauses as he spares another glance at you. “You can say no.” 

Quiet eudaimonia warms your chest at his words, but you’re not sure which part has done you in. Is it his outspoken wish that you join him? That it’d make him happy if you came along? Or is it his quiet reminder that, despite what he wants, you still have a choice? 

“When would we leave?” you ask. 

“Christmas Eve, most likely. Still got work up until then, and then would have to be back the day after Christmas. It’d be a short trip,” he explains. 

Lungs filling with air, your heart settles as you manage a quiet smile. “Okay. Well… I’d love to meet them. Your family. And it’d be nice not to be alone this Christmas.” 

Simon smiles, and you find yourself staring at him longer than you should because of it. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. He is really… handsome. Ruggedness, scars, crooked nose and all; all his features come together perfectly, as if sculpted by an artist. This is the same man who fought off a blade for you, the man who assured you were safe on several occasions, who refuses to be bashful or stationary when it comes to ensuring your comfort. This is the man who always walks you up the stairs to your apartment, refusing to let you out of his sight until he knows you’re safe in your residence. The man who fixed your door. Your sink. Everything. 

As you say goodnight and reiterate your plans for Christmas, your mind repeats that phrase: Simon Riley cares ferociously. 

Simon Riley cares ferociously about you. 

It continues. Repetitive. Never ending. Not even as Simon vanishes back down the stairs and you shut and lock the door behind him. Not even when you toss yourself face first into your bed, period products discarded on some forgotten counter in your kitchen. Fervid desire swells in your chest to the point you feel yourself about to pop. Explode in a mess of viscera until you’re unrecognizable and it hurts but feels like the closest thing to freedom you’ve ever tasted. 

Something’s gotten into you, surely. Or maybe you’re more sick than you thought. Period hormones wreaking havoc on your psyche. Whatever it is, you realize you haven’t felt this much excitement since you were a kid. 

For the first time in ages, something finally feels like it’s changing for the better. 

When your phone goes off an hour later, you find yourself looking at the screen hoping it’s Simon. You drop everything, pasta nearly boiling over on the stove, just to fetch the device, and you feel your stomach plummet when you see Row’s caller ID instead of his. A palpable tension still stretches between you two since your last conversation. You still taste the bile. That stomach acid and soup. 

Your hand shakes as you press accept and turn the heat down on the burner. “Hello?” 

“Hey,” Row greets. Her voice is soft. Careful. “You sound better than you did last week.” 

“Yeah, feeling a lot better,” you admit. Your laugh is awkward. Tense. You feel like you’re talking to a stranger, and maybe in some way you are. That’s what you’ve been doing — pushing her away, building walls until you’re unrecognizable to one another. Nothing but strangers who’ve known each other for half your lives. 

“Good. That’s good. Hey, uhm…” You brace yourself, eyes shutting as you let steam from the pot brush over your face before she continues. “I wanted to apologize for last week. For… honestly the last few weeks. You’ve… been going through a rough time with work and everything and… what I thought was me being supportive was really just me being a dunce. When I see something I think is a problem, I want to fix it right away, and when I can’t I get frustrated and… and I shouldn’t have said what I said to you the other day. That wasn’t fair to you.” 

Row pauses to clear her throat, but it still takes her a moment before she speaks up again. When she does, you freeze at the tightness of her voice. “I just… it makes me sad thinking about you having to do anything alone a-and I know no one likes unwanted help, least of all you but… just know that I’m here for you. Anything, I swear. Both John and I would move heaven and earth for you.” 

Trembling lips curve into a smile, and when you laugh you’re not sure if it’s out of love, relief, or both. Row falls silent on the other end of the line, trepidation obvious even through the call. 

“You keep saying I’m alone, but I’m not. I have you, silly,” you tease. “I know you’re more of a talker than I am, and you wanna know what’s going on but… that’s just not me. You know that. But just because I’m not sharing my… feelings or whatever, doesn’t mean I’m doing this alone. I have you, and John, and —” and Simon “— and I always have you guys to lean on. I know you feel like you aren’t doing enough, or that you should be doing more, but Row, you’re doing more for me than anyone else in my entire life ever has.” 

A long stretch of silence interrupts the call as you wait for Row to respond, and when she finally does, all she can muster is a quiet: “Oh.” There’s a slightly longer silence before she’s finally able to string the correct words together. “Well, when you put it that way… I sound really stupid.” 

“You have your moments,” you humor. 

A melodic fit of giggles erupts from both you and Row. Sweet, carefree, and loving. You sound like kids again. Gossiping school girls snickering to one another when you shouldn’t be. 

“Well, thanks for helping me get my head on straight, then,” she chuckles. “Really. It’s always nice to know it was worse in my head than it was in real life.”

“I notice things usually are like that,” you quip. 

“Well, I might have gone a little overboard. The idea of you spending Christmas alone still really makes me sad, so I talked to my mum. She said you’re more than welcome to spend the day with her and granny, if you’re needing company,” Row explains. There’s a short pause before she anxiously adds: “You don’t have to go, of course, if you’d rather stay home.” 

There’s another ardent swell that expands in your chest. It travels all throughout your body, synapses tingling, neurons buzzing. Leaning against the counter, you look down at the floor — which could use a good sweep — as your toes wiggle in your slippers. 

“Well, I’ve actually got plans for Christmas now. Simon invited me to go to Manchester for the holiday. We’ll be spending it with his family,” you share. 

An over dramatic gasp crackles through the speaker. “Seriously? You’re not joking? Wait, did you suggest it? Or was he seriously, like, let me take you to Manchester?” 

“Yeah, pretty much,” you say with an awkward laugh. “It was… really sweet.” 

“Oh? Sweet, was it?” Row jests. 

What you thought was going to be a quick call consisting of setting scores straight and airing baggage quickly devolves into a childish conversation about a potential relationship with Simon. You have to flip your phone on speaker to finish up dinner, and even then Row persists well after you’ve washed your dishes. 

It is… strange to be having this conversation. Even as a kid, you never pursued any sort of relationship. No one ever caught your eye. Nothing ever sparked what you imagined infatuation would feel like. For a long while, you thought you were broken. Meant to forever go about the world without a partner to crawl next to in bed or someone to make breakfast for. It would have been fine. You’ve gone your entire life so far without that bond. 

But now? Now that it feels so close you can reach out and touch it? You’re too frightened to name it — to call it love — lest you scare it off before you even have the chance to hold it in your hands. 

Eventually the call ends with promises and oaths, each of you swearing to tell one another about your Christmas excursions when Row returns from her trip with John. Lights flicker off as you slip into pajamas, soft cotton warming your skin as you slip under covers. As you lay on your back, eyes bleary as they attempt to focus on the pale ceiling above you, you think of Simon. Fingers itch to reach for your phone, to shoot him a text — to thank him for his kindness today. 

Don’t you remind yourself. Simon is the water you try to cup in your hands. Palms pressed tight together, wrists contorting into the perfect cup — you’ll spill it if you’re not careful. So you close your eyes, and for once you allow yourself to hope. To yearn. You lay there and pray that when Simon thinks of you, his heart beats just as wildly as yours does when you think of him.

[onlygarden]

[when i look at you, i cannot find you.] - yang jungwon

genre: angst/ comfort

description: when jungwon's behavior towards you suddenly becomes hateful, you start to wonder where your precious boyfriend went.

a/n: this was a hard write i cant even picture jungwon treating someone like this omg

your head perks up as you register the sound of your front door unlocking, and your heart plummets to your feet as you watch jungwon walk in. it was strange for your body to react so despondently to your boyfriend’s arrival; his usual beaming expression (which beamed even when he wasn’t smiling) and glimmering eyes always painted any room with the most cheerful of colors. he was always so infectiously precious, filling any space he occupied with an indescribable warmth that touched all your senses. you normally couldn’t resist the enthusiasm that welled up inside you when he came home, springing yourself towards him and wrapping your arms around him as your heart bloomed even further with admiration for your lovely little garden. his recent actions were much more prickly, which justifies your current unmoving position on the couch as jungwon aggressively slams the front door behind him. 

he’s done that a lot recently, you think. he’s developed a habit of performing any action aggressively; placing objects down with great force, slamming any door he opened, yanking drawers open with a certain roughness. when you first acknowledged his behavior, he snapped at you, telling you to give him some space (almost in warning, it seemed). you obliged, and although you were shocked by his words, you weren’t particularly hurt by them. you figured he would confide in you about whatever was bothering him when his anger subsided. you were certain he would apologize to you for speaking so harshly, as well. but before you knew it, an entire week drifted by, and your beloved jungwon only seemed to descend further into his rage.

your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the silverware drawer being flung open. the sudden clanking sound startles you, since you’re still not accustomed to this sort of behavior from jungwon. he must be preparing a meal for himself, you think. you lightly consider approaching him and telling him to rest as you prepare a meal for him, but that inkling is quickly erased as you hear a loud sigh escape his mouth, followed by the loud slam of a cup onto the counter. 

you knew better than to annoy him further, remembering how he reacted last time. however, you couldn’t ignore the desire to ask him about what was burdening him. his behavior was far too uncharacteristic to just ignore, and you didn’t want the supposed anguish he was experiencing to get any worse. it bothered you a bit that he refused to discuss it on his own. then again, maybe you should’ve encouraged him a bit and reminded him that he could confide in you. 

you prepare yourself for the irritation you’ll be greeted with, and you begin to walk towards the kitchen. when you enter, jungwon is opening a bottle of beer, but his expression concerns you. his brows are furrowed intensely, and his lips flatly form a line on his face. what’s bothering him so much? you think for the hundredth time this week. 

“jungwon,” you start, placing your hand gently onto his arm. he tenses under your touch, and his gaze pierces the sight of your skin against his. you swiftly retract your hand, and he roughly drops the bottle opener onto the counter. he places his hands onto the edge of the surface, gripping tightly, and keeping his head low. not allowing his actions to discourage you from getting to the bottom of his behavior, you continue. “can you please tell me what’s bothering you so much? you haven’t been yourself at all, and i’m really worried about you.” 

he closes his eyes briefly before turning his head to meet your gaze. his dull eyes give you goosebumps. you couldn’t find any semblance of joy or delight within them. the normal adoration his eyes held for you was absent, too. he suddenly lets out a bitter chuckle, causing alarm to rise within you. 

“so you ignore me all fucking week, and now you have the nerve to tell me you’re worried about me? fuck off.” 

his deep, hushed tone caught you off guard more than the possibility of him shouting at you. above all, his sharp accusation that you’ve been ignoring him demands your full attention. the boy that cruelly dismissed your concerns pinned the blame on you for ignoring him. it just didn’t make any sense. in truth, he drove you away.  

you furrow your brows slightly, giving him a puzzled look. “are you serious, jungwon? you told me to give you space just a few days ago, and now you’re accusing me of ignoring you? i figured you would come talk to me when you were ready, but you just kept bottling it up. which is exactly why i came to you today.” he rolls his eyes at your words, then turns away from you, closing his eyes. you watch as his frustration with you seems to grow, and you cannot figure out why. 

“was it something i did, jungwon? is that why you’re so upset?” 

god she’s so annoying, jungwon thinks. he scoffs, turning to face you again. 

“‘was it something i did jungwon,’” he mocks you, spitefully matching your tone. raising his voice slightly, he continues, “give me a fucking break. you spend all this time everyday waiting desperately for me to come home, and you don’t even do anything useful while i’m gone. you just sit here like a fucking lump,” he remarks. 

you stare at him in disbelief. “what the fuck? do you hear yourself? i do every single chore around here just so you don’t have anything to worry about. even though i have a job too, i try to think about how tired you are when you come home.” you defend yourself, surprised at his blatant dismissal of your efforts. 

again, he rolls his eyes, almost completely ignoring you. 

“when i am home, you barely give me any space to breathe. did you ever stop to think that maybe you annoy the fuck out of me.” 

he turns his entire body to face you, his tall figure looming over you. you remain in the same spot, intimidated under his fixed stare. 

“you’re a lot to fucking deal with, and i need you far away from me.” 

with that, he grabs his dinner, and trudges past you in the direction of the living room. you hear him turn the TV on. 

you want to believe that jungwon is lying. he normally never even thinks to speak to you this way. you know something is terribly wrong. he keeps contradicting himself, ultimately looking for any reason to direct his rage onto you. but tonight, you decided you were too tired to find out. he was already angry and spouting harsh words at you, and you weren’t particularly eager to hear more. even if he didn’t actually mean what he said, it still hurt, and you needed time to recover. 

a sudden laugh emerges from jungwon. you assume he was laughing at something from the show he was watching. your body tensed up at jungwon’s sudden switch to such a casual mood. god, you really felt like you were sharing your home with someone new. how could he laugh so playfully after the way you just argued? has he already stopped thinking about the heartbreaking words he said to you moments ago? 

your eyes open lazily, and your body lifts itself from your sleeping position shortly after. upon noticing the vacancy beside you, you assume jungwon fell asleep on the couch last night. as you make your way down the stairs, you notice that jungwon has already left. 

as the evening approached, you busied yourself with yours and jungwon’s laundry to keep your mind occupied. he would be arriving home soon, and you were honestly afraid. there was no way to predict the way jungwon would feel towards you lately, but he was usually mad. even if he didn’t come home immediately mad, he would eventually grow upset over something you did, and you never knew just what would set him off. it was difficult to keep your obsessive thoughts at bay. jungwon’s words and actions kept blaring inside of your head. the more you pondered your argument from last night, the guiltier you felt for solely blaming him. maybe i am a bit pushy, you think. before he suddenly changed, jungwon would happily agree to give you all his time whenever he was home. maybe he truly did start to feel smothered by you, which led to him lashing out in such a cruel way. guilt begins to consume you at your belated realization. maybe he was only upset with you because you didn’t realize how you were suffocating him. 

the sound of the door unlocking snatches you from your thoughts. the door didn’t slam as jungwon closed it, and that gave you a glimmer of hope. maybe his mind was being kinder to him today. 

“y/n,” he shouts gently. “where are you, noona?”

‘noona.’ jungwon’s favorite way to refer to you, and it felt like an eternity since he last called to you in such an endearing way. you find yourself thinking of how adorable he is. 

you smile a bit before answering. “i’m in the laundry room, wonnie.” 

you hear a series of quick footsteps, and jungwon’s distant voice quickly grows closer. “look baby, i really wanna-”

he stops in front of you and stares at you, and you only catch a glimpse of his cheerful face before that dreadful expression you’ve been seeing too much of lately returns.

you look up at him as he scans your form. you quickly try to figure out what you could have done to cause his smile to drop so quickly. he sighs loudly, and briefly closes his eyes. 

“take it off,” he states plainly. 

what? 

“take what off?” you ask hesitantly. 

“you’re wearing my hoodie. it doesn’t belong to you. take it off.”

you almost thought he was joking. but with the way he was behaving lately, you’re sure he must be serious. jungwon is somewhere in there, but you’ll calmly comply with this monster until he was ready to come back, you decided. you felt guilty for thinking of your boyfriend that way, but the way you were being treated didn’t even slightly resemble the way your boyfriend normally treated you at all. 

you take it off slowly, left in the tank top you were wearing underneath. jungwon sighed at your leisurely compliance with his request, snatched his hoodie from your hands, and tossed it into the laundry basket in front of you. 

“from now on, leave my stuff the fuck alone,” he says, “don’t fucking touch anything of mine. it doesn’t belong to you.” 

he turns around, leaving you there, and heads up the stairs to get ready for a shower. jungwon normally wants me to wear his clothes, you think. you quickly shake the thought. there’s no rationalizing jungwon’s actions right now. he’s not in a normal state of mind at all. you don’t know what he’ll be upset about next. he could even come out of the shower perfectly content, acting as if nothing ever happened. it would be nice if he acknowledged his harmful behavior, but him pretending nothing happened certainly beats him growing irritated with you for another groundless reason.  

if there’s one thing you’re certain of, though, it’s that you’ve had nearly enough of this unusual side of jungwon.

as you begin plating the dinner you’ve prepared, you hear your bedroom door open. jungwon must be done with his shower. 

he enters the room, his beautiful face free of any sign of despair. you want to say that you’re relieved, but the sudden changes in jungwon’s mood are far too alarming. anything you’re doing could upset him. 

he looks at you, and you feel your body tense up. you watch as he walks closer to you, offering you a small smile. 

“it smells really good, noona,” he says gently, placing a hand on your lower back and kissing your cheek as you continue to plate dinner. 

there it was again. you’re not foolish enough to be deceived by his kindness towards you, just for him to bring you crashing down with another fit of hatred. it hurt you to see him this way, and it hurt that you were thinking of him this way, but you needed to protect yourself somehow. 

“dinner’s ready,” you tell jungwon, watching as he grabs his plate excitedly. you sit across from him at the dining table, watching as he stands up to grab something from the fridge. 

he returns with a beer in his hand, and you’re hoping it won’t sour his mood. 

“jungwon,” you start. he places his full attention on you, eyes shining and eyebrows slightly raising as he nods his head in anticipation of what you’re going to say next. you almost smile.

“am i,” you hesitate a bit, but he encourages you to keep going. “am i smothering you? is that why you’ve been so irritable lately?” 

his eyes leave yours for a moment before returning. 

“no, baby. you’re not.” he says calmly, but he completely ignores the second part of your question. 

“then why-” you watch as jungwon brings his bottle of beer to his lips, quickly finishing what remained. 

you watch as that awful expression returns to his face, and you start to wish you never asked the question. he sighs and rubs his hands over his face, and you start feeling guilty for even being in the same room as him. you begin to feel like your presence alone is worsening his burden. he stands up to clean his plate, and you watch as his eyes fall on the basket of laundry you didn’t fold yet. 

he sighs, tossing his plate onto the counter with such force that his fork bounces off and falls to the floor. he doesn’t bother picking it up. 

you can already feel the tears burning behind your eyes before he inevitably opens his mouth to berate you again. 

“why is this still sitting here? you can’t seriously be this fucking useless,” he rants loudly, just below a shout. “if you can’t even do something as simple as this, i’m not gonna let you stay around.”

“jungwon!” you yell, standing up from your seat at the table. by now, your tears are streaming down your face, and you can hardly speak coherently. you’ve had enough. your precious little garden was wilting, and you had no manner of preserving him. you couldn’t ignore your boyfriend’s behavior for another second. it was like torture; playing along when he would pretend like nothing happened, trying not to upset him even though there’s ultimately no right answer, watching as he transformed into the worst version of himself you’ve ever witnessed and you just couldn’t figure out why. it was all too much. 

jungwon turns to you, his face contorting into an expression of complete anguish. his heart sunk and shattered as an abundance of emotions ran through him, regret being the conquering force. 

“im so confused!” you sob, crying harder as every word of every thought you’ve had this week comes rushing to you at once. you can’t even begin to form a sentence, but jungwon understands. 

he walks towards your crying figure, hoping he could still make things right. what could he possibly say to you now? he reaches out to pull you towards his body, but you pull away from his embrace. he tries to pull your hands away from your face so you’ll at least look at him, but you yank out of his delicate grip. jungwon starts to breathe heavily. 

“baby,” he attempts. he rests his hands on your shoulders, which you don't try to fight. 

your cries calm down, and you finish wiping your face with the backs of your hands. jungwon rubs your arms, hoping to comfort you as he soaks in your expression, realizing just how much he hurt you.  you don’t even look at jungwon as you turn to walk up the stairs, his hands slipping off your arms and falling back to his sides. he watches you in alarm as your frame disappears. 

you walk into yours and jungwon’s shared bedroom, and you refuse to focus on anything other than packing. tears blur your vision again as you hastily throw your personal belongings into your suitcase. you hear jungwon running up the stairs; he stops in the doorframe, watching you in complete shock. jungwon begins to panic. 

he hurries towards you and joins you on the floor, grabbing your hands and begging your eyes to meet his. 

you try to yank your hands away to continue packing, but jungwon makes sure to hold tightly. you still refuse to meet his eyes. 

“noona, look at me please,” jungwon begs, his face decorated with worry and desperation. “please let me talk to you, i need to make this right.” 

you meet his eyes, and his breath quickens at your sudden indifferent expression. “i don’t know you,” you tell him coldly. 

he feels like he could cry. he’s your same jungwon, and there’s nothing he wants more than to tell you that. 

“you’ve never treated me so terribly before, and i just don’t understand.” jungwon feels guilt devour him at your sudden confession. “i didn’t know if it was my fault, or if you were dealing with something inside, but you never told me anything. you just pushed me away and made me suffer.” you feel yourself beginning to cry again, jungwon gently placing his hands on your jaw, and wiping your tears away with his thumbs. 

“baby,” he searches your eyes, “i don’t know whats wrong with me. i’ve never been more sorry in my life. it rips me apart to know that i hurt you.” he squeezes your face slightly, moving his hands to grab yours again. 

“is that all?” you ask, “how am i supposed to know you won’t get irritated with me tomorrow and start treating me the same way again?” you didn’t want to sound so mean, but you just couldn’t keep dealing with this. jungwon’s sudden tendency to behave this way frightened you, and it made you wonder if he would behave this way in the future if you stayed with him.

he shakes his head, looking down for a moment before meeting your eyes with desperation again. “i swear to you, i’ll never leave you feeling like this again. i know i can’t force you to believe me, but please just let me show you. you’re more than precious to me, and i’ll never let you forget that again.” he rubs his thumbs over your knuckles with fervor, trying to communicate his deep passion and longing with any method that he can. 

you look at jungwon. you’ve never seen your cutie boyfriend in such a state of misery before. your heart begins to feel sore as you explore his expression, his posture, his heavy breathing. he still hasn’t told you why. 

“then can you please explain how you ended up like this in the first place?” desperation makes it’s way across your expression, too. “what made you so hateful?” you prod. 

jungwon breathes out, the tension leaving his body. “i’ve just been feeling so drained lately. it’s getting harder to have the same motivation, but i don’t really understand why. it never used to trouble me that i don’t get very much rest, but now it’s starting to take a toll on me. that really bothers me.” he pulls you into his lap, squeezing your frame. “but i never meant to take it out on you, baby. i just didn’t know how to process the way i was feeling, and i let it get out of control.” 

you turn to him, moving his hair from his face. “all you had to do was come to me and talk about it. that’s all you ever have to do. it hurt me to watch you suffering when i had no idea what was going on, and no way to help you. please don’t bottle these things up anymore.” 

“i know baby, i promise that i won’t.” he pulls your body close to him again, beyond grateful that you didn’t leave him, but still guilty that he allowed himself to treat you that way. he can’t imagine how hollow his life would’ve felt without you. he couldn’t begin to describe his gratitude for your tolerance of his seemingly unforgivable behavior. you’re truly such a compassionate and tender person, he thinks. you shine so brightly it makes him blossom so eagerly. 

“i love you,” he says suddenly, sending you the fondest expression you’ve ever received. 

“i love you, too,” you return his expression, grateful that you can finally recognize the gentle eyes that stare into yours.  

he eventually helps you to return all your belongings to their rightful places, and you both return to the kitchen to clean up together.  you watch him as he cleans the dishes for you. he’s so cute, you think. you approach him smiling, and you stand at his side. unable to control the urge, you reach out to pinch his cheek. he fakes an annoyed expression, and you grab his face with both hands squishing him further. “you’re so cute!” you tell him, moving his face from side to side. you giggle when he fakes a snarl, and you let go. “hey,” he says, looking at you with a playful expression as he quickly dries his hands. he reaches his hands out to squish your face in the same manner, “how do you like it? huh?” you giggle and slip away, and he chases you throughout the house, shouting “but you’re just so cute!!!” to tease you.

[mrsparrasblog]

You're losing me pt. 5

prev. part. first part.

TW: Gun, violence, mentioned rape, gaslighting, medic is shit

It was your last day on sick leave, so you spent it grading papers, cuddling with Winston, and getting distracted by Kyle's messages and his slutty pictures. You were so thankful for Kyle; he never pressed you for what happened with Johnny, just distracted you.

After you send a picture of Winston you heard the bell ringing and rolled your eyes. You knew Kyle never listened when you said not to come over, even though you really needed that time alone right now. Johnny is an artist, even though he didn't admit it, and so was being in a relationship with him. It was like being in a colorful picture, so vibrant. But since you left him, it felt like someone drained out the color; the painting is black and white, no longer golden.

You went to the door, opened it, and to your surprise, it wasn’t Kyle behind the door. She was there, her eyes puffy and red. 

"What do you want?" If she was there to humiliate you, you’re going to throw up. You shortly texted Ky that she was there.

"I wanted to talk to you, I need your help," she sobbed.

Simon always called you one of the nicest people on earth, but right now, it was enough of being nice. "Well, you can ask Johnny for help." You tried to shut your door, but her foot was already between the frame.

"He is the problem."

"What, did he leave you?" you snorted out.

"He threatened to kill me because of the baby." You clearly misheard her. This can't be true, as if you can do anything against Johnny, and as if Johnny would do something against his own teammate.

"Baby?"

"Yes, I'm pregnant, three months." She rubs her nonexistent belly in front of you. Three months? Johnny cheated on you for three months? And a baby? No, this can't be true. Johnny loves babies; he’d never kill a pregnant woman, none of them.

"And he is threatening you?" You asked while slowly trying to pull out your phone again. You knew Si would be here in 4 minutes if you called him.

"Yes, he wants to tell everyone that I raped him, just so I get an abortion." With that, you burst out laughing. This was the worst joke you ever heard. When she wanted you to pull you away from him for real.

"Do you really think I'm that stupid to believe this shit now leave my apartment before I call the police." You already pulled out your phone to dial the number of the police, who are you kidding, dial the number of Simon. Simon and John always explained if something happens to you, call them instead of the police, they solve your problem faster, and that was a gigantic slag-formed problem.

"Bad mistake," she points out a gun to you, calculating. You trained for this situation endless times in school, but it was still different when someone held a gun against you. Would it work to tell her that there are people that love her? Or maybe you should argue with logic.

"When you kill me, they won't forgive you, it's not worth it," you said trying to sound as calm as possible.

"They won't find out," she laughed. God, that woman was batshit crazy.

"Here are cameras," they weren’t recording, but maybe she was stupid enough to believe you.

"They will understand," she said. Maybe she was stupid enough but also crazy enough to not care. There is only the last logical thing you could say to her.

"Then kill me."

"What?" She was surprised at your bluntness, but you knew she couldn’t really kill you, and if Kyle looked at his phone, he would have already been on his way, so you need to get through this for 10 minutes, 10 minutes, and you are safe.

"If you kill me, Johnny will find you, Kyle will break you, Simon will torture you, and John will finish your miserable life, my death isn’t worth this." You slowly walked backward towards the counter, there must be a gun. John put it in there when you first got together. You didn't quite know how to use it, but better than nothing.

"You're right," finally.

"So why don’t we put the gun down and just, you know, talk about it like adults," you suggested, still moving tiny steps backward.

"Stop moving, or I'll kill you," the same words over and over again. She sounded like a broken record recorder. You stopped moving, but this wasn’t enough for her.

"Maybe I should kill your rat, so you listen." Rat? Her gun pointed toward Winston. Fuck, she should better kill you than your baby. You lost complete hope in turning her; she is crazy.

"He is Kyle's dog, not mine. If you kill him, he will be sad." The shake in your voice was evident; tears started to storm out of your eyes; you didn't know what to do anymore.

"Three of four are enough, anyways." Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"I can call them; I'll break up with them, just let Winston be safe, okay?"

"Really, you give up your boyfriends for that rat?" She gestured disgusted at your precious baby.

"Yes."

"Okay, call them," you walked to the counter, dialing Simon's number, close enough to the gun. You really hoped they don’t show a sign that they know; they are SAS; they need to understand, right?

"Hello," good, Simon's voice.

"Are the others with you?" You asked, trying not to tremble; she couldn’t find out what you planned.

"Yes, I put them on speaker, luv."

"I'm breaking up with you, with all of you for final this time. John, you're always putting me in danger, Johnny, you're always with her instead of my home, always on deployment with Simon, and you’re carrying all these scary guns with you that make me afraid, and I hate your stupid dog, Kyle." She looked proud and relieved at you, too stupid to realize. But they were smart, right?

"Okay, just give me back my keys to the office, they’re in the cupboard in the kitchen. I don’t want to see you anytime soon, I will pick it up at three tomorrow, bye." She gained heavily, and all you could feel was relief; you looked at the clock; it was 2:57, three minutes, and the gun. God, you loved your smart boys.

"Will you let me go now?" you asked, and she shook her head.

"Just need to make sure that you never go to my boys again, you can understand, right?"

"I'll move abroad if you want, the US, Germany, Italy, call it and I'll be gone." Before she could reply, she heard a loud bang outside, and that was your chance to grab the gun as she turned around, loaded fucking genius John, but not in safety, idiot. And then you shot, closing your eyes. You never did this before; the closest you came was a water gun at the beach; you didn't hit anything major, only her shoulder, but it was enough for her to lose her stance and fall. Seconds after, the boys went in Simon pulled her to the ground like a bulldozer with John. While Kyle and Johnny ran to you.

"Are you okay?" Both men asked, checking you for any injury.

"I don't feel okay."

"We know, love." You wrapped your arms around Johnny and began to sob. You needed him; you missed him and you were so scared. You knew for a fact he didn't cheat on you after that stunt that woman pulled today.

"We'll take care of her; we will be back soon, luv," Simon said with a devious grin while putting his boot on her to press down on her bullet wound.

John and Ghost left with her, and you knew for a fact your shot would be the nicest thing she witnessed in the next few days.

"I shot someone."

"Proud of you, hen."

"Never shoot again, please, babe; you're terrible at it," Kyle joked, but you still felt shitty. He knelt down, hugging Winston tight. "Oh, you've been such a brave and good boy protecting your mama. Let me take you to the park, pup," he said while Winston barked happily. "You two need to talk this out."

"Only we two now, Johnny."

"Aye, only we two."

"Where do we start?"

--------------------

Taglist: @cod-z , @kaoyamamegami, @postmortem-angel, @jackrabbitem , @sseleniaa , @thigh-o-saur , @littlechomper @ab12305 @darkangel4121 @thychuvaluswife

A/N : so I added the picture of Eliot to make up for the Angst I write 😭

For any who has a light belly (do you say that in english or only in German lol?) the next chapter will be half torture of her and the other half Johnny and Reader <3

[shadowdaddies]

Living In Color

Azriel x Reader

based on this ask

Summary: After losing everything in the war, you struggle to find the joy in life - until you start having dreams of scarred hands that inspire you to pursue art again.

Warnings: mentions of war, death, trauma/depression

Days blurred together, the dim sunlight that dared to show through the cracks in your window curtains the only sign that time was passing in the outside world. The faelights never turned on in your apartment, food turning stale as you willed your body to shut down, just as your mind had ever since the war. 

Everyone was gone. Your mother, father, brother, friends. All were lost to battle - innocent people, gone from this world, and you were left alone to pick up the pieces. 

You were once an artist, your favorite subjects to paint being your family and friends. The paintings of their joyful faces surrounded you in your home before you tore them all down, hiding them away in the dark as you did yourself. 

You stared at your hands. Hands that were once consistently covered in the bright colors of your paints, now dry and cracked from lack of care. Hands that once created beautiful art and brought joy to yourself and others, now withering away with your heart.

Tears soaked your pillow as you cried yourself to sleep, as you had every night for months. You braced yourself for your usual dreams, the nightmares that haunted you of your mother’s lifeless eyes, your brother’s last words - but they didn’t come. 

That night, you dreamt of hands. They were damaged hands, like your own, but they were covered in scars. You didn’t see who they belonged to, but the hands held yours in their own, a soft, gentle touch despite their appearance.

It was the first night you had slept through in weeks, and you managed that day to take a bath. You looked at your own hands in the tub, holding one in the other as gently as the ones from your dreams held you. It was shocking, to feel that you were still capable of such tenderness. That night, you found oils to rub on your hands, soothing the dry cracks before you fell asleep.

Your dreams were, again, filled with those beautiful scarred hands. Tonight, they offered you a flower - a bright yellow daffodil, vibrant like your favorite sweater. 

The dreams continued - those hands sometimes bringing you flowers, holding your hands, brushing softly against your cheek. One night, they handed you a paint brush. You jerked awake, tears streaming down your face as you ran through your apartment, turning on every faelight as you opened the door to your closet. You pulled out every painting, the bright faces of people you loved and missed smiling at you through your memories of them. 

Something snapped inside of you as you looked at the picture of your mother. You had missed her face so dearly, having only seen it through your nightmares. By hiding the joyful moments, you had only remembered those that haunted you. 

As the sun rose that day, you opened up the curtains and let the light in. Pulling on your favorite yellow sweater, you set off towards the art studio that had opened down the road, ready to live in color.

Thanking the woman at the front counter, you borrowed paints and took a spot at an easel. As you stared at the blank canvas, it occurred to you that the idea of painting the people you missed was much easier in thought. You stared down at your yellow sweater, tears threatening to spill as you felt more and more like an imposter. Someone trying to be who you once were, and as much as you wished to be that person again, you knew you never could. Letting out a shaky sigh, you looked for your bag, ready to leave the studio when a voice interrupted your spiraling thoughts.

“Having trouble with inspiration?” a sweet voice, like silver bells sounded from behind you. You turned over your shoulder to see the High Lady of the Night Court behind you. Eyes wide, you fumbled for an answer while she smiled softly at you. “My name is Feyre,” she greeted, a tattooed hand reaching for yours. 

You took her hand, feeling its softness against your own as you introduced yourself, and it clicked. “Actually, I think I’ve just found my inspiration.”

You eagerly reached for your paints, mixing the colors together in a vibrant yellow, a golden brown, cobalt blue - and painted the hand that gave you the daffodil. 

You returned to the studio, day after day painting the hands from your dreams. Your inspiration. The hands that brought color back into your life. These were hands that were scarred, the hands of someone who had been hurt like you had, yet still reached out, still brought light and softness to the world.

Slowly, you began feeling like yourself again. You saw the bright colors of the rainbow, the twinkle of the stars against the night sky. When a child accidentally flicked paint on your favorite blue dress while you painted, you laughed for the first time in ages. 

The small boy apologized, his tiny wings tucking in behind him as he gaped at the paint that covered your dress. Feyre ran up behind him, swooping the little tike into her arms as she took in your appearance. “Oh gods, I am so sorry. Nyx, did you apologize to the nice lady?”

You waved her off, giggling as you stood and twirled in your dress. “Actually, Nyx, I think this dress looks even more beautiful now with this extra splash of color.” 

The boy giggled, his mother ruffling his onyx locks as she set him down to run back to his painting station. “I really am sorry. I can fix that for you, or replace the dress,” Feyre insisted. 

You smiled at her, a true smile at her kindness - something you hadn’t realized how desperately you needed. Adjusting the ribbon in your hair, you shook your head. “Really, I like the splash of purple against the blue. I could use more color in my life,” you promised. 

Feyre seemed genuinely surprised and pleased by your reaction, her gaze flicking to your easel, where the latest portrait of those scarred hands rested. She looked around your station, taking in all of the paintings. Dozens of them were set around, and you suddenly found yourself bashful.

“May I ask about your paintings? They’re beautiful. You seem quite inspired by hands.” She spoke in a casual tone, but you had the sense that there was something more to her question. 

Nervously tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, you shifted your weight from one foot to another. “I struggled, for a long time... after the war.” You swallowed, a pregnant pause filling the air as she waited for you to continue. “I used to paint a lot, but I couldn’t bring myself to for a long time. Until a few weeks ago, I started dreaming of these hands.” 

Your gaze flicked to Feyre’s expecting confusion or judgment, but her gray-blue eyes sparkled as she nodded in understanding. You smiled slightly, continuing. “I felt as though I was too damaged to create like I used to, but these hands... It felt like a message from the Mother, or some other force, maybe. That even though I’ve experienced such darkness, I can still create light. That my darkness might even make my colors brighter.”

A small yelp escaped your lips as the High Lady pulled you in for a hug. “Thank you for sharing your story with me,” she murmured, her head dipped into your shoulder. Shakily, you dared your hands to move, reciprocating Feyre’s hug, and a weight was lifted off your shoulders. “How would you like to join me for some tea?”

You nodded, willing back the tears that threatened at the simple kindness. Feyre led the way out of the studio, Nyx taking your hand as he tugged you towards the tea shop, babbling about the hot chocolate he wanted. You giggled at the little boy, a loose curl falling in your eyes as he pulled you into a chair outside the cafe. “Uncle Azzy!” the child shouted, and you brushed the hair out of your eyes to find the most striking hazel ones staring back at you.

Something tightened in your chest at the sight of the striking Illyrian male in front of you, his golden-brown skin and dark features somehow familiar to you. His eyes fluttered for a moment, seemingly shocked by something before he caught his breath. 

“Um, pleased to meet you. I’m Azriel,” the name spilling like a song as he reached out to you in greeting. You looked down at the outstretched hand, a spark flaring in your chest at the sight of his scars. 

You gasped, grabbing his hand like a lifeline as you flipped it over, running your fingertips along the beautiful scars. Azriel was frozen in shock, unmoving as you gaped at his beauty, never releasing his hand as a tear fell down your cheek. Your eyes locked with his as you whispered, “you are so beautiful.”

Azriel swallowed thickly, an adorable blush creeping over his cheeks at your comment. A bell sounded from the side, drawing the two of you out of your moment. Eyes flicked to the door where Feyre stood with your drinks, a smirk on her face as she handed Nyx his hot chocolate. 

“I thought you two might hit it off,” the High Lady said through a bright smile. “Here, Az. I got you a tea too. Oh, and I forgot - Nyx, we have to go home. But the two of you should enjoy your drinks together!” With that, Feyre winnowed away and left you with the literal male of your dreams in front of you.

Letting out a soft chuckle, Azriel ran a hand through his wavy black hair as he looked down at your bright, paint-splattered dress. “So, you paint?” 

You laughed, that golden thread between you pulled taught at the sound. “I used to a lot more.” Glancing down at his hands, you smiled. “I’m just getting back into it.”

No, you would never be the person you were before. But as you stared at the shadows that swirled your mate - the darkness who brought you back to the light - you were proud of the person you were becoming.

[thehmn]

I’m currently listening to Maren Uthaug’s book 11% about a world where most men have died. I should probably wait until I’ve finished the book but I’m so fascinated by the world building.

As of now it’s still unclear why the men died but when the story takes place there’s a mix of older women who fucking hates men and young women who have only met drugged up men at “breeding centers” and imagine “males” as violent boogeymen but otherwise don’t really care and just want to live in the new seemingly perfect society their grandmothers fought for. The only people who still fight for men’s rights are witches who believe masculine energies are as natural and Of Nature as feminine energies, but even they sound more like animal rights activists, standing outside breeding centers with signs every Friday. Their most provocative sign is a picture of a man with Human written on it.

Christianity has been completely transformed and is now run by priests (they don’t call themselves priestess) who can only hold ceremonies when they have their periods and snakes are their most sacred symbol because they gave knowledge to Eva and God is called The Mother.

Trans men exist but are referred to as Man Women and they all seem to be sex workers who have functional silicone penises, though I’m not far enough into the story to know if they have other jobs. They generally also still have breasts because working as a wet nurse is another source of income for them. Testosterone treatments is not an option because it would make them too masculine and dangerous to be allowed into society but they all have male names and everyone use male pronouns for them.

A really fascinating aspect of the world is how people want to get rid of the old “patriarchal architecture” of straight lines and boxes but refuse to tear it down with machines, instead insisting on letting Mother Nature reclaim it. Only Rat Girls are actively trying to destroy the old buildings by releasing hoards of rats into them and planting bamboo to break up the concrete. New buildings have round shapes and are build in ways that make them blend in with cultivated nature and inside they’re painting in beautiful colors with no hard edges. They sound a lot like colorful hobbit homes. Also, locks are considered uncivilized and of a time when violent men roamed the earth and made life unsafe so nothing, from front doors to bathrooms, have locks. For a while after most men died women would go for Night Walks to relish in the fact that they no longer had to be afraid, though they liked to visit the witches at night because it felt a little spooky, which the witches thought was good fun.

The story is naturally about a middle aged witch who is hiding a young boy illegally and gets milk from one of the trans men in the red district while also sleeping with a Christian priest who struggles with her sacred job because her periods are irregular.

I’ll come back with follow up thoughts once I’ve finished it. Unlike what you might think, Maren Uthau isn’t a scary man hater. I’ve listened to most of her other books and this isn’t a recurring trope so clearly she has something to say specifically with this story and it’s rated pretty highly by both male and female readers. I think I’m in for quite the ride.

[calumfmu]

spread thin

Summary: You and Steve have been best friends for the entirety of your lives, always platonic and nothing more. As graduation approaches, you find yourself wishing that something would come out of this decades-long relationship. During a recurring Friday movie night, you confess your feelings to him, not realizing the man had felt the same way the entire time.

cw: 18+, mdni, smut, fem!reader, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, unprotected sex, fingering, creampie

2.9k+ words

The boy in front of you was beautiful. He was everything that you had pictured in a man, yet nothing of the sort that you imagined yourself to be with. He was handsome, charismatic, funny-- every good thing that could come with a boy.

But he wasn't yours.

Steve was everything and everyones before the label of yours could be applied.

"yn?"

His voice sounded throughout the fluorescent room, it's white walls allowing you to be caught in the midst of your thoughts. You met his eyes, his dark brown searching for clarification in the color of your own.

"Sorry, just..." your hands tightened around the broom, glancing down at the foot of tile you hadn't realized you were sweeping repeatedly for the last ten minutes. "A lot on my mind, graduation and all."

He stood there for a second, nodding as his hands graced the cash register in front of him. He had a hint of something on his face, something you couldn't recognize from his normal expressions. He suddenly shrugged, shaking his head to himself as he paid attention to the machine.

"Well... I'm just about done here," he supplied before closing the drawer. "Whenever you're done, I was thinking that we could head to mine? Movie night, drinks?"

You nodded, smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. This was normal between the two of you. You have been best friends since kindergarten, it was always SteveandYn and YnandSteve.

He smiled back at you, walking around the corner.

"Well, let's get out of here, then." He took the broom from your hands, placing it in its respective supply closet. "I found a copy of that new horror movie on VHS, and you're going to love it."

As you two closed up shop, you made your way through the mall. His car was parked in the back of the lot, giving you ample time to think of what had been plaguing your mind lately. These feelings for Steve hadn't came out of nowhere, they had been building for the last couple of years as he became more popular. King Steve as they called him. You held back the eye roll of the remark, knowing that people didn't understand the true character of the man.

Calling him something like that only emphasized his woman-user ways, but did not touch on the sweetness he had to him. He was painted as a player, someone that did not care about women. Deep down, you knew that wasn't true.

His shoulder bumped into yours, shaking you of your thoughts. Steve opened the passenger door, holding his hand out as he did a faux bow.

"M'lady."

Giggling, you rolled your eyes and settled in the car as he made his way over to the driver's seat. As he got situated and started the vehicle, he glanced over at you.

"What's going on? You've been so... distant lately."

Sighing, you turned your head towards the window.

"'S nothing, Steve."

He pulled out into the main road, leaving the mall further and further into the distance. "You've been so weird, it can't be nothing."

"I'm fine." You smiled through your teeth, covering the true gnawing at your heart that plagues you. He spared a glance in your direction, huffing as he knew you were lying.

"Sure."

The rest of the car ride was quiet, only the sounds of the radio quietly buzzing some song in the background. Steve tapped his fingers to the beat as you focused on the drive in front of you, cars passing as he made his way to his house. With every block, the dim street lights hit your face, exposing more and more of the true emotional state that you were in. It was becoming too much to hide now.

You hadn't noticed as he pulled into his driveway, a dark house with no one home in front of it. Your passenger door suddenly opening startled you.

"Jesus, Steve," you mumbled, getting out as you smoothed down your work uniform. "Give a girl a warning, yeah?"

"Oh, quiet. 'S not like you would've heard it anyways," he had a grumpiness to his voice, something that only confused you even more. What was wrong with him?

You followed him through the front door, lights turning on as he made his way to the kitchen. A beer was placed in your hand, and you looked down to inspect it. The cheap kind, PBR. So it was going to be one of those nights.

Steve loosened the collar of his uniform, letting it hang open as he cracked open his own drink. He was still staring at you, as you leaned against the counter.

"You're really not going to tell me?" His brown eyes were huge at this point, his bottom lip jutting out as he pouted in your direction. "Please, yn?"

You took a swig, grimacing at the bitter taste of the beverage.

"'M just stressed about graduation," you answered, twirling your drink around as you focused on the exposed part of his chest. A tuft of hair poked out there, you imagined what it would feel like between your fingers.

"What about it?"

You broke the focus, walking closer to him so you could take a seat on the counter beside him. He turned his body towards you, forearms leaning on the white tile as he looked up into your eyes. This angle allowed you to see into the deep brown of his irises, the overhead light hitting in a way that made your breath catch in your throat. They were the same eyes you remember from childhood, his long lashes that framed them always so right.

You took another sip of the drink in your hand, thumb playing with the tab at the top of the aluminum. His hand reached out, touching the top of your thigh where your navy blue shorts ended.

Nervousness settled over you as his thumb began to rub small circles on the exposed skin.

"Come on, you could tell me. Anything, remember?"

The look in his eyes and his begging was hard to resist. You had always told Steve your secrets, your worries, no matter how ridiculous they seemed to be.

You sighed, ready to let this burden off of your chest. Now or never, yn, what's the worst that could happen?

"I'm just worried about what's coming next," you said, finishing off your drink this time. The empty can hit the tile next to you, ringing throughout the kitchen. "Things changing, people growing, leaving."

His brow furrowed, confusion crossing hit features. He stood up, settling in closer to you. His eye level was right below yours this time. You could smell his cologne mixed in with the faint smell of ice cream. So enticing, yet you had to ignore it.

"Are you talking about us?" His hand left your thigh, moving to place his hands on either side of your waist. His waist sat in front of your crossed knees, body leaning slightly as he looked into your eyes. Heat settled into your core, your body reacting to the proximity of him between your legs. "You know, nothing's ever going to change between us. We've always been best friends, always will be."

And there it is. The pit of your stomach gnawing as that realization settled over you. Best friends.

A familiar sting hit your eyes as you began to blink it away. You thought you were being inconspicuous, but he noticed.

"Hey, hey, hey." His voice was a whisper now as he stepped closer, pushing your thighs apart. His hand reached up to touch the side of your cheek, thumb brushing under your eye.

Concern was etched all over his features. He searched your eyes for an explanation, his calloused hands rubbing over the delicate skin of your face. He was so close now, you could lean in and kiss him. Feel the true pout of his lips against yours.

"...Steve," you muttered, shaking your head. "I was just hoping tha- you know, what, nevermind."

He was patient, waiting for your words to come out as the two of you sat in silence. Your mind was racing, thoughts of King Steve with a million other girls floating around. Why tell him when he can whoever? You've been friends for years, why would he want to hear this now when there has been years where something could have happened.

"Tell me."

You sighed, taking a deep breath as you closed your eyes. It was easier to think with them shut, the beautiful boy in front of you no longer being a distraction.

"I was hoping things would stay the same between us," you blurted out. Your heart was racing, word vomit on the tip of your tongue. "Things would stay the same in college, but I know they won't because you're going to be focused on the next interesting person, the next beautiful girl who's not me and is so much better than me."

He didn't answer, but you felt his hand leave the side of your face. The pit at the bottom of your stomach growing more. You kept your eyes closed, finding comfort in the darkness.

You chose to continue, "I just hear everyone talking about King Steve this and King Steve that, and I just can't help but think about how much worse it will be once you're no longer forced to be friends with me."

Suddenly, you felt a mouth on yours, slightly chapped lips brushing against yours quickly. Your eyes flew open, staring at the boy in front of you.

Steve had a smile on his face, eyes drifting over your shocked face. Your mouth opened and close as you find yourself at a loss of words. You found the words, a single syllable escaping your lips before he shushed you.

His hand returned to his cheek as his lips found yours again, moving with a fever that was missing previously. He seemed more urgent, needy in this moment as his hands began to explore your body.

Before you knew it, your legs were opening wider, inviting his body even closer to your core. You felt drunk, despite the single drink running through your veins. It was intoxicating, feeling his mouth against yours and his fingers in your hair.

Is this real life? You couldn't help but think you were imagining it all.

Steve breaks the kiss, fingers dancing at the bottom of your shirt, threatening to lift the hem there.

"Can I-?" He began to lift it as you nodded vehemently, lifting your arms. It came off your frame, exposing you in your white bra. The cool air hit your body, quickly replaced with the heat of his body.

His lips finds your jaw, slopping making his way down your neck. Pants escape your mouth, your vision becoming blurred as his fingers find your waistline. His thumb dipped into the band of your pants, teasing to expose your edge of your panties.

"S-steve, please."

All you saw was a flash of his hair as you were pushed back slightly, the pants beginning to slip down your hips. You adjusted the way you were sitting, allowing Steve the ease to free you of the restriction. He leaned down slightly, placing sloppy, open mouth kisses to your chest bone, hands returning to their residence of your hips.

You placed a hand in his hair, pulling him back up to meet your lips. He smiled through the kiss, nipping at your bottom lip. Your legs wrapped around his waist, bringing him even closer as you felt his bulge rub against your heat.

You muttered a fuck as he began to rub against you, cock hard against the restriction of his own pants.

"Want more, baby?" He whispered, hand coming up to grab at your breast, squeezing in all the right places. You threw your head back in ecstacy, hips shooting up to rub against him even further. Your hands found his own waistline, pulling as you struggled to get them off.

"Patience now, my love."

His sweet words made you ache even more, grinding your heat against the shape of his cock. The free hand remaining on your hip moved, brushing over the wet spot you were making in your panties. A small shout escaped you, nerves throbbing at the feeling of his thumb brushing against your clit over the thin cloth.

You looked at him, all his glory as he stared hungrily down at your panties. This thumb was brushing over your clit through your underwear, watching as the wet spot increased.

"Is it that, baby," he breathed, glancing up at your spent face. Nodding, you spread your legs further, mewling as his index finger dipped them to the side. He brushed over your fluttering hole, paying attention to the way you arched your back.

Eyes closing involuntarily, your breath hitched as you felt his two of his fingers playing at your entrance. Your thoughts jumbled, focusing only on the feeling of his digits slowly pushing in. You mewled, white heat crossing over your body as they pushed in further, beginning to slowly pumping in and out of you.

"Fuck Steve, m-more." You couldn't hold back anymore, your hand reached up to grab his at your breast. Blinking your eyes slowly, you stared into his hooded ones, watching as he removed himself from you. He fumbled at his waistline, pushing his pants low enough to free his cock, swollen and dripping with need.

You reached out to it, pulling him closer. Your lips met again, a desperate connection of the moment as his fingers rake through your hair. He tasted like spearmint and the remnants of his beer, breath heavy against yours as his cock rubbed against your center.

He pushed your white panties to the side, his cock in hand as it rubbed against your wet entrance. You couldn't get enough, arching your hips so you could feel him closer, hard and firm.

He guided himself within you, stretching you wide. You couldn't tell if it was him or you at this point, throbbing with desperation as your hips bucked wanting to feel him closer.

Steve stopped at the hilt, hips flush against yours as your legs locked behind his thighs.

"Good?" He asked, breath heavy at this point and words incoherent. He went back and forth between squeezing his eyes shut and trying to stare into yours. Your tightness throbbed around him, clouding his thoughts with the feeling of wanting to take you fast and rough.

"Yes, baby, more."

You pulled him even closer to you, the hook of your ankle rubbing against his pants bunched up at his thigh. Only now did you realize, he was still wearing his uniform, wrinkled and bunched up, exposing only his groin and the bottom of his stomach. The desperation of this moment fueling him to see you in your glory, wanting to have access to you as fast as possible. You watched as he reared his hips back only to push into you once more, slowly but feverish in their movement.

He began to roll his hips, urging moans and pants out of your mouth. He kisses them away, swallowing them as you become louder with each thrust of his hips. The pleasure fills your body, drawing you closer and closer towards that breaking point as his hips continue.

His hands are at your hips, fingers gripping your ass as you sit on the counter, sliding back and forth with each movement he makes. His nails leave little half moon marks as his knuckles grow white, fucking into you relentlessly.

Ah, fuck and yes, baby and you like that escapes his mouth, mouth agape as he watches you unfold in his grasp.

You're almost pissed off at him, at yourself, for not doing this sooner. But the thought escapes your mind, the feeling of euphoria dripping over you as he brushes over something deep inside you. Shock waves took over you as a white heat came over you, exploding and tingling throughout your spine.

Your mind was clouded as you rode through the shock waves, pulsing around him as he thrusted deeper, closer towards his own peak. A low, guttural noise escaped him as you felt him release deep inside. His chest heaves as he rides through it, burying his face into your shoulder. A bite mark was left in its place, the feeling of stickiness between your thighs as he slowly pulled out of you, leaving you with a small moan.

He brushed over your slit one more time, over stimulation coursing through you with a small yelp.

Steve's face was buried into your shoulder, nipping and kissing at the bitten skin there as the two of you struggled to catch your breath. His skin was slightly damp from the high, his chest rising and falling against yours.

"Can I tell you something, yn?" His voice was in a whisper.

You nodded, losing all words. He chuckled, leaning his head back so he could look you in your eyes.

"I knew you felt that way," he supplied, coy smile on his face. Your eyes widened as you hit his chest, laugh erupting out of him. "I felt the same."

"Steve!"

"I was just waiting for you to make the first move. I can't be King Steve when I'm with you."

[austinswife]

DADA’S GIRL - Austin Butler

FROM SERIES — THE BUTLER FAMILY CHRONICLES

SYNOPSIS — Ever since Austin found out you were expecting a baby girl, he took it upon himself to handle the important task of dropping off and picking up Wren from school. Being the loving and protective dad he is, Austin never misses the opportunity to be there for his little girl. But today, as Austin preps for a special dinner, you pick Wren up from kindergarten instead. Things take a playful twist when some overly eager fans try to approach you, with a few even attempting to flirt with you. Wren, with her usual sass and fierce protectiveness over her mom and dad, handles the situation in her own way, causing a proud moment for Austin when you get home.

WARNING(S) — Family fluff, cute interactions, and a few playful, light-hearted moments, minor references to flirting, but all handled with innocence and humor from Wren’s perspective.

𝜗𝜚 ALL FEEDBACKS, IDEAS SUGGESTION — TO AUSTINSWIFE

Morning in the Butler household was always a gentle rush. Austin had woken up bright and early, like he always did, to make breakfast for you and Wren before she went to kindergarten. The smell of freshly made waffle filled the air, mingling with the sound of Wren’s little feet pattering against the hardwood floor as she rushed to her chair at the table.

You smiled, sitting down with your cup of coffee, watching as Austin brought over a plate of waffle with a little smiley face made out of syrup on Wren’s plate. He sat beside her, his eyes twinkling as he watched her dig in with excitement.

“You excited for your first day at school, sweetie?” he asked, brushing a blonde stray curl out of her face.

Wren nodded enthusiastically, her mouth full of waffle. “Mhm! I wanna play with the toys and see new friends!”

You and Austin exchanged a smile, your hearts both swelling with pride and a little bit of that bittersweet feeling that came with watching your little girl grow up so fast.

“She’s going to be just fine,” you reassured Austin, who had been extra protective ever since you’d found out you were pregnant with Wren. He’d insisted, from that very moment, that it would be his job to drop her off and pick her up from school. He couldn’t bear the thought of missing any of those milestones.

Austin chuckled, but there was a trace of emotion behind his voice. “I know, I know. I just can’t believe how quickly time’s flying.” He turned to Wren. “You ready for dada to drop you off at school?”

“Yesss mama!” she beamed, her syrupy hands in the air.

The morning drop-off had gone smoothly, like always. Austin waved goodbye to Wren as she confidently toddled into her classroom, her little backpack bouncing behind her. She gave him a big, gap-toothed grin over her shoulder before disappearing into her world of finger-painting and story-time.

With the day free, Austin decided to plan something special for dinner. He was feeling inspired, and since you’d been working extra hard on a film project lately, he wanted to surprise you with a home-cooked, fancy meal. So, as he spent the afternoon prepping ingredients in the kitchen, you took the chance to swing by the school to pick up Wren, giving Austin more time to focus on the surprise.

The afternoon sun was warm as you stood outside Wren’s kindergarten classroom, waiting with the other parents for school to end. The school bell rang, and before long, the classroom door opened, releasing a flood of giggling children, including your sweet little Wren, who ran straight to you with her arms wide open.

“Mamaaa!” she squealed, throwing herself into your arms.

You laughed and hugged her tight. “How was school, baby? Did you have fun?”

“Mhm! I made a picture for you and Dada!” she exclaimed proudly, pulling a crumpled drawing from her backpack. It was full of colorful scribbles that vaguely resembled a family portrait—you, Austin, and Wren holding hands in front of what appeared to be your house.

“Oh wow, this is beautiful,” you cooed, kissing her cheek. “I’m sure Dada’s going to love it very much, hon.”

As you were getting ready to leave, with Wren holding your hand, a group of young guys approached. At first, you didn’t think much of it—they seemed to recognize you from one of your recent roles, offering polite greetings. But soon, a few of them began to hover closer than necessary, clearly hoping for more than just a casual chat.

One of them reached out toward your arm with a cocky grin. “You’re even prettier in person,” he remarked, his tone a little too smooth for comfort.

Before you could react, Wren, with all the sass a two-year-old could muster, stomped her foot, glaring at the stranger. “Hey! Don’t touch what Dada’s!” she snapped, her voice full of toddler indignation.

The men blinked in surprise, taken aback by the fierce little girl standing protectively in front of you. You bit back a laugh, too charmed by your daughter’s loyalty to be annoyed.

You knelt down to Wren’s level, squeezing her hand gently. “Let’s go home, sweetheart. Dada’s waiting for us, and he’s making something yummy for dinner.”

Wren, still glaring at the guys, huffed. “Yeah! My Dada’s waiting!”

The men, realizing they were no match for a two-year-old’s determination, sheepishly backed off, offering quick goodbyes before disappearing down the street.

You couldn’t help but smile as you picked Wren up and carried her to the car. She wrapped her arms around your neck, leaning her head on your shoulder as you buckled her into her car seat.

“You’re so brave, Wren,” you said, still giggling to yourself as you started the car.

“I know,” she replied matter-of-factly, already distracted by her drawing. “Dada always says to protect you, Mama!”

You smiled warmly, your heart swelling at the thought of how protective Austin had always been of both you and Wren.

As you drove home, you asked Wren about her first day at kindergarten, and she happily chattered about the new toys she’d played with, the new friends she’d made, and how one of the boys in her class shared his snack with her.

“Did you have fun?” you asked as you turned onto your street.

“Yeah! But I missed Dada… and you!” she added quickly, her big eyes looking at you through the rearview mirror.

You couldn’t help but feel a little twinge in your heart at her words, but you smiled softly. “We missed you too, baby.”

When you finally pulled into the driveway, you could already smell the delicious aroma of whatever Austin had been cooking up. Wren wiggled excitedly in her seat as you unbuckled her and led her inside.

The house was warm and inviting, and in the kitchen, Austin was busy setting the table, a proud grin on his face as he saw you both walk in. “There are my girls,” he said, his voice full of love as he scooped Wren up into his arms and kissed her cheek.

“Dada!” Wren squealed, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I missed you!”

“I missed you too, bug,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “How was your day at school?”

Before Wren could launch into her story, you touched Austin’s arm, trying to hide your grin. “Oh, before I forget… you might want to hear what your daughter said earlier.”

Austin’s brow quirked in curiosity. “Oh yeah? What’d she say?”

You stifled a laugh and explained, “When I picked her up, a few guys tried to come over and talk to me, and one of them even tried to touch my arm.”

Austin’s eyes immediately flickered with protectiveness, his hold on Wren tightening just a little. “They what?”

You held up a hand, still smiling. “Before I could say anything, Wren piped up and told them, ‘Don’t touch what Dada’s!’ in her sassiest little voice.”

Austin stared at you for a moment, processing the story, before a wide grin spread across his face. He threw his head back and laughed, full of pride. “That’s my girl!”

Wren beamed, clearly pleased with herself. “Yeah! They were trying to touch Mama, but I told them no!”

Austin hugged her tightly, still grinning. “That’s right, bug. You protect Mama, always.”

After a few more proud comments, Austin set Wren down and told her to wash her hands for dinner. You watched her dash off to the bathroom, still smiling at how much she was like her dad.

Once Wren was seated at the table, you all dug into the delicious meal Austin had prepared—perfectly roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and vegetables, along with a small dessert of chocolate mousse for afterward. Wren, with her little hands clasped together, kicked her feet under the table as she munched on her food.

“So, bug,” Austin said, his voice soft and full of warmth. “Tell me about your first day at school. Did you have fun?”

Wren nodded excitedly, launching into her innocent, toddler version of the day’s events. “I made a picture for you and Mama, and I played with the blocks, and a boy gave me his snack ‘cause he said he liked my braids.”

Austin exchanged a glance with you, raising an eyebrow playfully. “Oh, he did, did he?”

Wren nodded earnestly. “Mhm! But I told him my Dada makes the best snacks.”

Austin chuckled, his chest swelling with pride again. “That’s right, baby. No one makes snacks like your Dada.”

As dinner wound down and the night drew on, you watched as Austin scooped Wren up and carried her upstairs for bed, the two of them whispering and giggling together like they always did.

It was moments like this, these quiet, everyday moments, that reminded you just how lucky you were. Austin wasn’t just an incredible actor; he was the most devoted husband and father you could have ever hoped for. And with Wren in his arms, safe and sound, you knew that everything in your world was exactly as it should be.

[1d1195]

Toothpaste IV

Read Toothpaste here | ~1.8k words

From me: By popular demand 🦷

Warnings: some sexual tension, some oral fixation, and fairly sexy innuendos. Toothpaste anon, I know what you said but I wanted a really slow burn here. I know, I know. I'm sorry. But not quite yet..

Summary: “Did y’mean it?”

“Mean what?” There was hardly any air left in her lungs so the words she spoke were quiet.

“Y’were falling in love?” He questioned. Her cheeks felt hot. Embarrassed that she said that out loud on their first date.

Harry hurried around to the passenger side and opened the door for her to get out. Although she was already part way through opening it and Harry would have to remember that next time. But right now, he wanted her inside his house and would let it slide. “Let me,” he offered and took the bag of their to go order. She was so goddamn stunning it melted him. He put a hand on her lower back as he ushered her up the steps to his place.

Harry’s house wasn’t huge. It was just him, after all. A cute little porch was at the top of three little steps, a large window to the left of the door but she couldn’t see inside because of the curtains hiding behind the glass. A single chair and end table were in front of the window. A spot for reading and drinking coffee if she had to imagine.

In fact, she imagined Harry sitting there, completing a crossword puzzle first thing in the morning while the sun was still rising. If she lived in his house, she probably wouldn’t use the door to get to the porch. She loved the idea of a window that was large enough to open to the porch. It didn’t make sense. It was right next to the door. But it was adorable. To the right of the door was a large planter filled with colorful flowers and she imagined her extremely attractive dentist, boss, and date tending to a garden. The thought went straight to her heart.

Pulling the key back out of the lock, he opened the door and ushered her inside and closing, the door behind her. He put the bag of food on the entry table right next to the staircase. He reached for her shoulders, sliding his fingers below her hair and tugging the collar of her jacket down.

Her eyes adjusted to the semi-dark. Without any lights on, his place was cast in varying shades of white, gray, and black. But she could make out the room—a couch, a loveseat, and a coffee table. The TV hung above the mantle and fireplace. Paintings hung at regular intervals along the walls. Behind the couch was a bookshelf; each cubby filled with everything Harry enjoyed reading. She crouched immediately to read the titles. Harry brought the food to the kitchen. She didn’t take the books out but she pulled the ones she thought she would like down. “If you can part with these, I’d like borrow them.”

He smiled thoughtfully, leaning on the armrest of the loveseat. He crossed his feet at the ankles and his hands were in his pockets. “Y’can have whatever y’want.”

His kitchen was along the back wall, no dining room, but he had two seats around a small table—like an island in the middle. Everything was decorated so expertly. “Did you decorate yourself?” She asked.

“Gemma helped,” he shrugged. “We have similar taste,” he explained.

Gemma was Harry’s sister and not a reason for her to be jealous. But it seemed they would all get along swimmingly. “Can she help decorate my apartment?”

He chuckled. “M’sure she’d love that.”

She stood up and went to the fridge looking at the pictures and coupons that he had under magnets of places he visited? Maybe? Or maybe they were a souvenir from friends and family. Pictures of Gemma, a sweet little baby girl, and a woman that was most definitely where Harry got his gorgeous looks from adorned the door.

The place was so cozy and warm. She wanted to live there. Not to be dramatic, but whether Harry lived there or not. “I love your house,” she smiled. Harry stayed put at the armrest while he watched her inspect his place. He wanted to give her space and let her make the moves and make sure she was comfortable.

It took every bit of restraint for Harry to say thank you and not, it’s yours regarding her compliment of his home.

He was dead serious in saying she could have whatever she wanted. He was putty in her hands. Wrapped around her finger. Anything she wanted? He was going to give it to her. “Can I take my shoes off?”

He snorted. “Course, y’don’t have t’ask.”

“Well, I didn’t want to be rude.”

He shook his head with a smirk. He went over to the stove, turning on the soft light. It gave the room a romantic feel to it. Like how a couple would slow-dance to nothing but the music in their head. Then he went to her side and immediately dropped to his knees. Her heart skipped a beat. Then it took off rapidly, pounding so loudly she felt it in every inch of her body. She wondered if this was a dream because she would be lying if she hadn’t thought about it a lot in the time that she had known Harry.

His fingers danced at her ankle, skimming softly against her skin, and he coaxed her foot out of one shoe and then the other. He stood slowly, extremely close to her body. Only a breath of space between them. “Does your tooth hurt?” He asked. She shook her head. He smiled. “Good.” Then he kissed her. His hands on her hips and she knew his mouth was already perfect because he was a dentist, but she forgot that kissing would add a whole level to that perfection. He pulled away briefly, his eyes scanning her face for signs of regret. His smile was so pretty, and he sighed like this was the happiest moment of his life. She felt her chest aching something fierce. She slid one hand along the side of his face and the other went around through his soft hair at the back of his head and pulled him back in. He hummed in approval making her shiver involuntarily. “Are y’cold?” He asked against her lips.

“No,” she shook head refusing to talk when his mouth was there to kiss.

His hands reached down further, gripping the back of her thighs and he lifted her onto the counter. Bringing her toward the edge of it so he could settle his hips between her legs and wrap them around his hips. “Did y’mean it?” He asked, his lips peppering kisses along her mouth and face as he allowed her to breathe. Her breath came in quiet gasps. Unbelievably turned on and warm.

His lips followed the length of her jaw all the way to her ear before it took a turn and then descended down her neck. “Mean what?” There was hardly any air left in her lungs so the words she spoke were quiet.

“Y’were falling in love?” He questioned. Her cheeks felt hot. Embarrassed that she said that out loud on their first date. But him kissing her was a good sign, wasn’t it? She didn’t scare him off quite yet. “Don’t be shy now, kitten,” he murmured into her skin. “Told me y’would open wide the second day I met you.”

She huffed out a breath of laughter as his lips trailed across her collarbone to the other side to complete the loop of kisses he was placing along her skin. “I did not say that.”

“Would y’open wide?” He pulled his mouth from her skin. She couldn’t make out the pretty green color, even with the stove light, but she could make out he was gazing at her, his pupils huge and lovely as he eyed her. Her throat felt tight with desire, and she nodded silently. His eyes stayed locked with hers. “Open,” he ordered.

She dropped her jaw. Slowly he drew his hand up her body, making her eyelids flutter as she waited patiently. His hand held the side of her neck and keeping his slow pace he dragged his thumb across her lower lip, then the top one before finally pressing it on her tongue.

“Suck.”

His other hand was holding her thigh still so she knew he would feel the muscle contraction from between her legs and he grunted when her lips closed around his digit.

Then she sucked.

“Fuck,” he hissed. She could feel him hardening between her legs pressed close to her core. “Eyes,” he hummed. She didn’t even realize she had closed them. “Did y’mean it?” He repeated. She had no idea what he was talking about. Her tongue was lapping at his thumb and swirling around it like it was his dick and that made her tighten more as he ground his erection against her. Thank God she wore a dress. “Did y’mean it?” He asked again. “Hmm?” she hummed around his thumb making him inhale sharply at the insinuating vibration. She whimpered softly as he pressed harder onto her tongue. She hollowed her cheeks desperate for more. “Fuck,” he hissed pulling his hand away. “Did y’mean it when y’said y’were falling in love?”

Her shyness returned. Which was beautiful in its own right. The way her mouth closed around his thumb would be a visual that would never leave his mind for long. “Yes,” she whispered and looked down at her lap, right where they were closest to one another.

“Do y’think m’not?” He asked, tilting her chin back up. Her heart fluttered and she felt breathless, stunned, unable to move. Harry was brilliant, had his own practice, and a house that was so goddamn cute she wanted to scream. Falling in love with her? No, she didn’t think she was that lucky. “M’falling very hard for you, kitten,” he assured her and pressed a kiss to her forehead, melting her like she was nothing but candle wax.

“Oh.”

“Yeah...” he glanced down between them, where her core was pressed against his dick aching to escape his pants. Her dress covered her so he couldn’t see but he could feel how warm she was pressed against him. “Do y’want t’go upstairs?” He asked.

She swallowed and nodded.

“We don’t have to,” he assured her. He would probably have to take a cold shower and think about her the whole time, but they didn’t have to do anything if she didn’t want to.

His kindness was sweet, more than adorable. But if his thumb was merely a precursor to what laid ahead? She didn’t want to prolong her pleasure any longer. “Harry,” she giggled quietly. “I have a cavity.”

He tilted his head at her. “Are y’in pain?” He asked, concern filling his voice. He ran his thumb along her jawline, ghosting softly in case it was sensitive and hurt too much with even a touch on the outside of her mouth. He didn’t even care how rapidly the eye-fucking and the dry-humping stopped and changed to talk of toothaches.

“It really needs to be filled,” she said knowingly.

His eyes darted back to hers as realization flooded him. “Oh, fuck yes, love,” he moaned and yanked her toward him, kissed her, and carried her upstairs.

--

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[halfmoth-halfman]

life's little comforts

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Medic!Reader Synopsis: Soap finally gets a better glimpse into your relationship with the Lieutenant- even if it's not the way he wants. Word Count: 3.9k Warnings: alcohol, smoking/cigarettes, torture, gore, blood, canon typical violence Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. part one. part two. part four.

It’s late in the day when Soap walks into your office.

He hadn’t planned on being here, but after literally running into you- he wasn’t paying attention, and you took a corner too quickly- you’d asked him to grab a file from your office and bring it to you in Price’s office. You didn’t give him the chance to decline- not that he would’ve- continuing down the hall with a quick thanks.

It feels a bit like breaking and entering, like sneaking into his parents’ room as a child when they weren’t home. It’s too quiet, the sound of boots against the vinyl plank echoing in his eardrums as he heads to your desk. It’s a stack of papers in a bright blue file; you can’t miss it, you’d told him. 

He can miss it, apparently, since the file seems to be absent from your desk. Your plethora of colorful office supplies sits neatly organized atop your desk alongside your phone, computer, and printer, but there’s not a single file in sight. There are stacks of papers on the filing cabinets- the doors of which, he discovers, are locked with no key in sight- behind your desk and an absurd amount of sticky notes covering the locked glass planes of the pill cabinets. His only other option is-

He doesn’t want to go through your desk. It feels silly but somehow he imagines the desk sitting in front of him to be an extension of you. If he peeks inside the drawers, will he find clues about what makes you, you? He can’t imagine you’ll be angrier about him going through your desk than not bringing you the file but still, he hesitates.

It takes him two minutes to talk himself into it, telling himself not to look at anything that doesn’t look work-related. 

It takes one minute for him to completely disregard that as he pulls open the bottom drawer and sees the thick black edges of a picture frame beneath the file he was sent to find. He pulls the file and the frame from the drawer, setting the file on your desk with no consideration as he examines the photo. Saying the picture is old is an understatement. Deep creases run down the center and across it- someone’s folded and unfolded it several times- with the edges frayed away to almost nothing. The image is faded to all hell, but Soap recognizes the two figures in it with ease.

You’re in a warehouse perched atop a stack of black military crates, putting you at eye level with Ghost, who stands leaning against the crates in the space next to you. Your hair is longer, left down and pushed back by a pair of sunglasses and you’re dressed in all black with a matching tac vest. Ghost is dressed similarly, all black and all tactical, but the familiar skull plate is replaced by a pair of black sunglasses resting over his painted balaclava. The two of you are facing each other, covered in dirt and grime and what is most likely blood, but you’re beaming up at Ghost like you’ve won the lottery, as he cradles your left hand in his gloveless hands, caught in the process of sliding a solid black ring onto your finger.

The words Ghost & Hornet are scrawled across the bottom in someone’s chicken scratch above a date that's been worn away. 

How long ago was this taken? Why is your callsign Hornet? What did you do before you became the 141 doctor? Who took this picture? If it wasn’t one of you who took it, then who gave it to you? Questions swirl around Soap’s head as he stares down at the picture in his hands. 

“Did you grab that folder?”

Soap drops the frame back into the drawer, kicking it shut with lightning speed as the door swings open and you peek your head inside. 

“Got it right here!” You barely take a step inside your office before he’s meeting you at the door, shoving the file into your hands. “Need anything else?”

“No, that was it,” you smile up at him- a small imitation of that same beaming smile in the picture- taking the file. “Thanks for grabbing it for me.”

“Of course, Doc.” Soap follows you out of your office and the infirmary, watching you continue down the hall before he splits off toward the barracks. 

He respects you and Ghost, respects your privacy, but all the clues and all the hints have piled up into a perfect little mystery waiting to be solved. 

What’s the saying: curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.

-

Three weeks turns to six weeks turns to nine weeks turns to twelve.

If Soap never has to see the glittering crystal white of snowfall again, he’ll be glad for it. The mission wasn’t supposed to take this long but, as all missions that take place in the ass end of nowhere seem to do, something went wrong and the team is stuck in the Narsaq mountains. 

Everything was fine after the first delay; the team was frustrated but optimistic for the most part. After the second delay, there were small cases of worry and bickering but everyone was able to stay on track. Things go downhill at the start of month three and by the end of the fourth month, it’s a miracle that any of them are speaking to each other.

Soap drags his feet up the stairs to the base rooftop where Ghost is on watch. He assumes you’re there too; Price had sent you to relieve the Lieutenant not ten minutes ago before deciding two pairs of eyes were better than one and sending Soap up after you. You weren’t happy about it- your hatred of the cold stronger than anyone else’s- and you’d frowned at Price’s orders, stomping your feet the entire way out of the room. Soap could see the irritation rolling off of Price in waves before the Captain uncharacteristically snaps at him to follow you and send Ghost back down.

The rooftop door is held open by a rock, letting the soft flurries of snow drift inside and coat the top four steps. Soap takes those steps carefully, not trusting the rusted railing and the way it grates and shrieks whenever someone leans on it. Bracing himself for the cold, he tucks himself further into his heavy jacket, stepping onto the rooftop and into the ankle-deep snow. He turns to the right and comes to an immediate standstill when he spots you and Ghost. 

You’re both leaning against the broken a/c unit, staring out into the endless white of the mountain range. Ghost’s mask is pushed up to his nose as the two of you pass a cigarette back and forth but he’s shed his jacket, leaving him in a thermal long-sleeved shirt. There’s no mystery as to where the jacket went; you’re happily drowning in the oversized garment, snuggling into the fabric every time you pass the cigarette back to Ghost.

Soap creeps back to the staircase, stepping softly to avoid the crunch of the snow. He peeks outside again, catching you as you watch Ghost take a long drag from the cigarette. He holds the cigarette out to you, keeping his eyes forward; a perfect distraction as you lean forward and press a kiss to the sliver of skin on his wrist peeking out between his glove and shirt sleeve. You pluck the cigarette from his hand, looking back out over the snowcaps with a playful smile- the first smile Soap’s seen on your face in weeks. Ghost shakes his head, pinching your ear when you turn away from him but it’s obvious the way the tension eases from his shoulders. 

Soap chuckles to himself, moving back down the staircase to take a seat at the bottom of the steps as he decides Price can wait a few more minutes.

-

Rough missions are par for the course for the 141, everyone knows it. 

Everyone has their own way of coping, their own personal rituals for decompressing. Before you had joined, Soap had no idea what Ghost did after a particularly hard mission. Staying true to his namesake, the man would simply vanish, appearing hours, sometimes days, later without a word. 

He never explained, and no one ever asked.

It’s still true now, though everyone knows if they really need his whereabouts they can ask you; whether or not you’ll tell them is a different story.

But then there are the missions that stick- the missions where the blood sinks into the skin and stains the bones red. Where dying faces are burned into the backs of their eyelids and imprinted in the parts of the brain that will last long after everything else has faded. Where the chorus of bullets and death rattles drown out all other sounds long after the fight has ended.

Ghost doesn’t bother with pretense after those missions. Instead, he beelines to the infirmary, disappearing into your office where you allow him to stay, keeping the door locked unless you- and only you- need to get something. 

Soap gets it- he’s probably one of the few who do- which is why he does his best to keep his distance from you and your office unless it’s an emergency. 

It’s late when he passes by the infirmary. Exhausted and sore, he shuffles towards his room on his way back from the fitness center- his own way of coping- passing by the infirmary doors. It looks mostly empty, the only light coming through the glass on your office door, and he thinks for a brief moment that he should check on you and ask after Ghost. 

He makes it to your door, taking note of the shade that’s drawn halfway up. He bends slightly to get a clearer view inside, the lamp on your desk the only dim source of light in the room. Ghost sits in one of the chairs in front of your desk with the entirety of his body weight leaning forward against you as you stand between his legs. His head is down, pressed against your stomach and his hands grip tightly onto your hips. 

Soap doesn’t need more light to see the tension wound up in Ghost, the weight of the mission bearing down on his bowed back.

You, on the other hand, are the embodiment of peace, supporting the weight pressed against you, hands running over Ghost’s shoulders and kneading into the tight muscle. Your fingers dip just under the collar of his shirt, skirting across the edges of his mask and you bend your head slightly. Soap can see your mouth moving and Ghost nods to whatever you ask him. 

You gather the bottom of the balaclava in your hands, pushing it up just enough to get your hands underneath and around the base of his skull where you continue kneading into his skin. Ghost melts into you, pressing himself as far into you as he physically can. 

You say something else and Ghost leans his head up to look at you just as you lean down and-

Soap steps back from the window, turning in his heel to head straight out of the infirmary with the affirming knowledge that you’ll both be okay.

-

There was a healthy mix of excitement and apprehension when Price told them they were teaming up with another task force. Guesses were thrown out over who this new team would be, what they’d be like, who’d be the better shot-

(“There’s no way they’ll be a better shot than me!”

“Everyone’s a better shot than you, Johnny.”

“…that hurts, Lt.”)

You don’t take part, letting the team speculate without adding anything yourself. Soap and Gaz try to get your input, teasing you until they think you’ll relent but they get nothing out of you.

Two weeks later, they’re gathered in the briefing room when the doors burst open, followed by the thundering of boots as three strangers in solid black tactical gear swarm you. Soap is on his feet in seconds as the largest one grabs you by the waist to swing you around and you…laugh?

You’re laughing. Why are you laughing? What’s going-

“At ease, Sergeant,” Price laughs, entering behind the boisterous group alongside an unfamiliar woman. The three strangers set you down, the smallest one looping an arm around your shoulders while the man who had picked you up claps Ghost on the shoulder with a wide smile. 

“Missed us, Casper?” 

“Like a knife in the gut,” Ghost deadpans.

It takes a minute for things to settle before Price makes introductions: Sergeant Theodore “Grizzly” Lin, Sergeant Charlotte “Firefly” Bishop, Sergeant Kenneth “Trip” Hale and Captain Juliana Owens. 

Your former team. 

Soap has so many questions, so many things he needs to know, but he doesn’t get the chance after introductions are made as Price and Captain Owens call the room to attention.

The mission sounds simple: your team has the locations of several hidden terrorist cells and will infiltrate and wipe them out with the 141’s help. It’s nothing either team hasn’t done before, but the additional manpower will help to get this done before the enemy decides to move house.

They mesh well with the 141, blending in almost seamlessly on base.

On the field is an entirely different story. 

The 141 works well together, Soap knows that, but your team is on an entirely different level. They operate like a single person, moving with and covering each other without a word- like they were trained to protect each other from birth. Soap isn’t sure what’s more unsettling: the ease with which they hunt down their enemies or how effortlessly you slip into your role alongside them. He knew you could handle yourself, but after watching expertly slice through the jugular of a close-range enemy before twisting your hands around their neck to force the blood from their artery out through your fingers, he realizes how deeply the team has underestimated you.

And if he’s a little scared of you after that mission, he’ll never tell. 

For the three months that your former team occupies the 141 base, Soap takes every opportunity to speak with your old teammates. He gets the most information out of Grizzly; the man is more than eager to brag about your abilities. Trip and Firefly offer occasional information if he asks, but it’s usually too vague for Soap to understand- like some kind of inside joke he’s only partially in on.

He gets a few tidbits from you: Theodore is as cuddly as a teddy but fights like he’s trying to maul his enemies, Charlotte- Charlie, she prefers- is a former fighter pilot with an allegedly long history with arson, and Kent is a mastermind when it comes to trip mines despite being clumsier than a newborn deer. He gets a couple of old mission stories from you too, nothing too detailed, some including Ghost, and all suspiciously absent of your involvement.

 He asks Grizzly one day during a rare moment of downtime when you’re too occupied in your office to stop him-

(“What’s the story with the Doc?”

“Who? Hornet?”

“Why Hornet?”

“You ever seen a hornet in a beehive?”

Soap hasn’t. And judging by the feral smile that splits Grizzly’s face in two, he doesn’t want to.)

The teams go out to celebrate once the mission wraps up. It’s a long night filled with too much alcohol and too little supervision that ends at a run-down bar occupied only by both teams and the bartender. Soap taps out after losing the third round of billiards- even with Grizzly and Trip on his team, Gaz and Firefly still manage to wipe the floor with them every time- heading to the bar to get another beer.

“Cleaning crew cleared out the apartment. Said it looked like a random break-in, but we’re assigning you a new safehouse just to be sure.” Soap’s ears twitch as he hears Captain Owens speak. He glances to his right where you and Ghost sit at a table across from Price and Owens looking too serious for the occasion.

“What about the house?” you ask, folding your arms over your chest.

“No activity, but I’ve got eyes on it,” Owens sighs. 

“You can take some time if you wanna check it out for yourselves,” Price suggests. You and Ghost share a brief look, an entire conversation passed between glances.

“Maybe another time,” you answer with a casual shrug.

“I swear, I’ve never met a couple more averse to spending time together at home than the two of you-” Owens shakes her head, turning to Price with a teasing grin. “You lettin’ my kids have too much fun on your base, John?”

Soap nearly chokes on his beer as you groan, scraping your hands down your face, and Ghost rolls his eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t roll back into his head.

Your former Captain knows- that makes sense if he thinks about it- but Price… Soap clearly remembers Price denying any knowledge of your and Ghost’s relationship. If he knew, if it was meant to be a secret, then why give him hints?

Soap is desperate to know more, the alcohol spurring him on as he gathers the questions in his head sorting them by level of importance so he’ll know which to ask first come tomorrow. 

He doesn’t get the chance, as the team departs first thing without a word of goodbye and Price calls everyone in for a new mission.

-

Soap has seen his share of gruesome things, but this is-

They’re gathered around the small monitor, unable to tear their eyes from the screen. The video had been sent to Price with no name attached to it. It’s grainy, most likely recorded on an older camera but the audio…the audio is crystal clear.

And the way your screams echo through the room will haunt them for the rest of their days.

It was an accident. Through pure shitty luck, the team had been separated, then separated again, and once more until everyone was on their own trying to retrieve intel from an empty base that turned out to not be so empty. The intel was retrieved and their opponents made an uncharacteristically hasty exit. It isn’t until exfil arrives and you don’t that they realize what’s happened.

Now, after two months of agonizing silence, they get this.

You’re strapped to a metal chair, beaten and bloody, when one of your captors yanks your head up by your hair. He growls something at you in muffled Russian and when you answer him with silence, he spits in your face. You meet his taunting gaze with a severe glare and the man laughs, letting go of you to call someone else over.

He steps in front of the camera, blocking any view of you, but there’s still a clear view of one of his men approaching you with a cattle prod. The man speaks directly to the camera- directly to the 141- his voice almost drowned out by the buzz of the prod and the scream you let out. 

The video ends there, fading into jumbled static before starting over again.

“It’s proof of life,” Price sighs, shutting the monitor off. “They’re offering a trade. Intel for the doctor.”

“Can we trace it?” Gaz asks. 

“Laswell’s working on it.”

The room falls into silence and Soap can’t help but look at Ghost. He appears calm, standing still with his gaze focused on the monitor, but Soap knows better. There’s nothing in those eyes, Ghost’s mind completely vacant, an empty shell of a man stuck standing before them. With nothing more to add, Ghost turns, walking out of the room without a word- a true statement to his name.

He’s been like this since you disappeared- disassociating so hard he might as well have been taken with you. He broke out of it once, when Gaz suggested changing your status from MIA to KIA. 

Gaz’s black eye took almost three weeks to heal and Ghost vanished from the base until it did, returning without an apology and a tension that followed him into every room. 

It takes another agonizing week before Laswell comes back with anything, but she delivers more than enough information. Price is barely off the phone with her when the team is gearing up to go and find you.

And, oh, when they find you-

Soap isn’t sure there’s a need for the entire team as Ghost tears a warpath through their enemies. There’s no words, no mercy, no stopping as he cuts down person after person after person. He’s coated in gore and viscera, thick crimson a stark contrast to the bone white of his mask, hands dripping with enemy blood- an angel of death coming to collect. 

Soap finds you first while clearing a room as Ghost bludgeons one of the guards to death in the hallway.

You’re huddled in a corner of the cell, leaning against the grimy wall curled in on yourself. Soap lowers his gun, approaching cautiously as though you’re a wild animal, speaking softly, “Doc?”

Soap jumps back as you lunge for him, swinging what looks to be a piece of broken glass. He can feel the sharp sting as you catch his arm, taking several steps back until he’s almost out the door. You move back, pressing yourself against the wall with your hands up; your fingers so tightly squeezed around the shard in your hand, Soap can see the fresh blood sliding down your palm. 

“Easy, easy,” he coaxes, hands up, palms facing out as he calls back over his shoulder. “Ghost!”

The man materializes out of thin air, nudging Soap out of the way as he takes in the scene before him. You look like hell, dressed down in a torn shirt and pants with one eye swollen shut and covered in so much dried blood that they can’t tell where your injuries are. 

Slowly, Ghost takes a step into the cell.

“Don’t!” you yell, voice hoarse. “Nor- Norilsk, six years ago. We were…we were on a mission and one of our team was KIA. What was the last thing he said to us?” Ghost takes a careful step forward, bloody hands raised.

“Should’ve had that last drink,” Ghost speaks lowly, inching towards you. “Barely got it out through the blood but he never stopped smiling.” 

He gets close enough to reach out to you, hands gently wrapping around yours as he eases you into letting go of the glass. It clatters to the floor, snapping in half against the moldy concrete.

“I-I didn’t tell them anything.”

“I know.”

“They tried to get me to, but- but I didn’t-”

“I know.”

“I fought back.”

“I know, love.”

Ghost maneuvers you forward until you’re pressed against his chest, forehead digging into the hard pockets of his tac vest. Soap turns his back, giving the two of you a moment and keeping watch. He can hear Ghost’s low murmurs and the rattling of your voice.

You meet up with Gaz and Price ten minutes later, when you’ve collected yourself enough to separate yourself from Ghost. You roll your shoulders back, biting back the pain to stand as tall as you can. Price sets a hand on your shoulder, giving it a soft, comforting squeeze.

Are you okay?

You reach back where Ghost stands directly behind you. His hand finds yours, squeezing three times. You squeeze back once, then twice, then three times before letting go. You give your best smile, feeling the comforting weight of Ghost behind you as you nod at Price.

I will be.

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Dark Shades of Innocence Lost Part 5: Just Stay✨

Club owner! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

Summary: Joel takes you on a date to his favorite diner.

A/N: This chapter gets angsty real quick, so I’m sorry 😭 But it’s so so important for the plot and the next chapter. We will get through it, besties 🥹 This fic is my baby, and I am just so happy with how it’s turning out. I want to hear all your thoughts! Thank you to @joelmillerisapunk for beta reading for me 💕 Next chapter is almost done so promise I won’t make you wait long! Comments and reblogs always make my day, I hope you enjoy 🩵

Word Count: 7.6k

Rating: Explicit 18+ only MDNI

Chapter tags: Fluff, Joel being cute and flirty, yearning, a lot of angst, feelings, doubts, no use y/n, no outbreak! au, Joel takes reader on a date, a lot of tears, switching POVs (I’m terrible with tags, so let me know if I missed anything!)

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

 It’s Thursday, the night of your dinner with Joel, and you’re currently sitting in his truck, twisting your fingers nervously into the fabric of your dress, your smile a mile wide as you listen to Joel’s Southern accent put you in a hypnotic trance.

   God, he’s so handsome. 

   “Think you’re gonna like this place,” Joel smiles as his thumb taps against the leather steering wheel. His truck hums to a stop in front of a lit up small diner that reads Sal’s in bright blue letters.

   “I’m sure I will.” You smile over at him before he puts the truck in park and unlatches his seat belt, slipping out of the driver’s side while you climb out the passenger’s door, pulling down your white summer dress over your thighs.

   The truck ride to dinner was anything but boring as you listened to Joel talk more about his daughter and some of their adventures they’ve been on before she went off to Greece to study abroad. You wondered what happened to Sarah’s mom, but maybe that was territory for another time. Besides, you still don't know what this thing is between you two, but it’s starting to feel a lot more like something serious and not just something casual. And that absolutely scares you to death. 

   “After you,” he nods as he holds the door open for you and leads you in, one large hand clasped on your lower back as if his touch is steadying your galloping heart.

   When you step in, an old jukebox sits at the entrance, lit up in neon green colors as an Elvis song vibrates through the overhead speakers. Leather booths sit against the brown painted walls as pictures of The Beatles, Marilyn Monroe, and old movie stars hang around the diner. It’s an old timey theme that goes with the bar that sits at the front with a big glass case of pies and desserts on display. It’s very homey and comforting.

   Yeah, you definitely like this place. 

   “Wow. This is really cozy,” you say as you look around all starry eyed at the little diner.

   Joel looks down at you, and a crooked grin tugs at his lips. “That it is.”

   A waitress in a red apron waves the both of you over with two crisp menus. “Hey, Joel! Table for two?” The perky brunette smiles as Joel nods. 

   “Hey, Kat. Yeah, table for two, please,” he replies as he pushes you forward in the direction of the back booth she leads you to.

   “Come here a lot?” you giggle.

   “How’d you guess?” He smirks, brown eyes flicking over you as he pulls his hand away, allowing you to slide in the leather seat across from him. His knees brush lightly against yours, and a jolt of energy bursts through your bloodstream.

   “So, what’s your go-to here? Since you obviously come here a lot,” you laugh as you pick up a plastic menu and scan the various burgers, sandwiches, milk shakes, and old fashioned dinner items that all sound absolutely delicious.

   You hear him chuckle over your menu, slowly lowering it so you can see that glimmer of onyx in his eyes as a smug smile crosses his lips. “Usually jus’ go for the old fashioned cheese burger and a chocolate shake.”

   “Not bad, Miller.” 

   He smiles and nods your way. “And you? What kind of shake girl are you?” He leans on his elbow on the polished table and gazes into your eyes. You have to catch your breath as you stare at him, his slicked back dark hair, grey threads catching under the dim lights, a dark blue flannel with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, the top buttons undone to expose dark hair peeking out from his muscular chest, his black watch glinting every time he turns his wrist. He’s just so good looking that he makes it really hard to concentrate on anything else. 

   You fold your arms on the table and gaze into honeysuckle eyes. “Usually just a strawberry shake kind of girl, if we’re talking classics.”

   He gives you a small smile, but before he can say anything else, the blonde waitress comes up to the table. “Well, what do we have here? Joel Miller bringing a girl to the diner? My, thought I’d never see the day,” she laughs as she sets two waters down on the table.

   Joel’s face reddens as he rakes a hand slowly down his greying scruff. “Guess I jus’ had to find the right one first,” he smiles, flicking his eyes over you as your breath catches in your throat. 

   He’s never brought a girl to his favorite restaurant before? You were… the first one? Oh.

   “I see,” she says as she takes a minute to trail her eyes over you. You see her mouthing ‘she’s pretty’ to Joel, and now it’s your turn to blush as Joel nods his head and lays his eyes over you again. “Well, what’ll it be? Your usual?” she asks, taking out a little notepad and a black ink pen to write with.

   “The usual for me. What do you want, sweetheart?” he asks, and you swear you see Sienna cup her mouth and giggle into it when he calls you sweetheart. 

   “Can I get the grilled cheese with French fries, and a strawberry shake?” you ask nicely as you hand her back the menu.

   “Sure can. Can I get you anything else?” she asks as she twirls the pen around her freshly manicured fingers.

   “Oh, can I also get a side of ranch?”

   “No problem. I’ll get that order in, and I’ll be right back with your shakes. Let me know if you need anything else.” She flips her blonde ponytail and flashes Joel a bright smile as she walks off toward the back.

   “Ranch dressin’, huh?” he chuckles, shifting his weight in his seat.

   “Only the best dipping sauce in the world,” you confirm with your head held high.

   He laughs and gives you a smile. “Haven’t tried that before. Guess I’ll have to tonight,” he beams.

   “Guess you will,” you say with a raised brow.

   You take a generous sip of water and swish the bendy straw around nervously, looking up from under your dark lashes as you take a deep breath. “So, first girl you’ve brought here?” you ask with your brows raised in question.

   He taps his index finger on the edge of the table and nods. “Besides Sarah, yeah. First girl.” Your eyes lock for a few seconds, and you feel your heart skip a beat at the intention that burns in his dark brown irises.

   The questions slur through your mind. Is this an actual date? Does this incredibly handsome man really like you? Is he wanting… more? Do you want more? 

   The tension gets interrupted as Sienna comes back and hands you your milkshakes. “Here ya go! Food should be out soon, sugar. Be back in a few.” She whisks away and leaves you two alone again. 

   You pull your eyes off Joel and slip a straw into your strawberry shake, mixing it around until your nerves dissolve into the liquid. “So, read anymore Fourth Wing?” you ask after taking a sip of your shake.

   Joel wipes his mouth with a napkin and dips his silver spoon into his chocolate shake. “Actually, quite a bit. Made it to chapter twenty-two.”

   You lift your eyebrows in surprise and smile. “Oh? And?”

   He drops the spoon from his mouth and spins it around his chocolate shake meticulously. “Pretty good. Dain’s kind of an asshole, but Violet’s kinda badass. And the dragons, the fighting? Not bad, angel. Can see why you like it.”

   You giggle and take another sip of the strawberry goodness, letting it slide down your throat as you feel it close up the moment his brown eyes flick back toward yours. “It is really good, just wait till you start the second book.”

   “The second book? Already think I’m gonna read the second book?” He smirks, one eyebrow stretched up as he licks his bottom lip clean of chocolate. The sight makes you weak in the knees. 

   “Figured you’d read it for me,” you whisper just loud enough for his mouth to drag up in a full on grin.

   “Well, when you put it that way, ‘course I will. I’d read anything you put in my hands,” he smiles. His knee brushes against yours, and your heart hammers in your chest as you engulf yourself in the smell of him, in his gorgeous brown eyes. Even from the wafts of burgers and fries, you can still smell that woodsy cologne floating around your senses. And you want to drown in the very essence of him.

   You bat your eyelashes at him and smile. “In that case, I’ll make you a list,” you giggle.

   “I’m holdin’ ya to it, angel,” he chuckles as he takes another generous sip from his chocolate shake.

   The music switches over to an old Beatles song, and after you stir the spoon around your shake, you decide to bring up Sarah again. “So, Sarah. She like this place as much as you?”

  ��Joel chuckles and shakes his head. “Nah, not as much as I do, but she does like it. Brought her here all the time when she was a kid.”

   You smile at that, thinking of Joel helping her up on one of the barstools, him laughing as he joked with his daughter, his warm smile gleaming in the sunlight as he took her on different adventures and did fatherly things like take her to the park, to the dinosaur museum, maybe even played Barbies with her. You giggle at the image of that. He must’ve been such a good father, you can see it in the way his eyes glisten and crinkle when he talks so fondly about her.

   Suddenly, you get the sudden urge to ask about her mother, wondering where she fit into all this. Surely she’s still around, maybe closer to Joel than you think. You work up the courage to ask as you stir the spoon mindlessly in your strawberry shake. “Hey Joel, can I ask you something?”

   “Anything,” he says automatically as his brown eyes lift up to yours.

   You gulp down your nerves and let them roll off your tongue. “Where’s Sarah’s mom?”

   Joel’s eyes widen at the question, and you automatically feel guilty for even bringing it up. He pushes back some tousled curls and sighs, wetting his bottom lip as his eyebrows crease tightly together. “She left us when Sarah was jus’ a baby. Jus’ up and left with no more than a folded note. Haven’t seen or heard from her since.”    

   Your mouth gapes open in shock, and his eyes gloss over with a hint of sadness as his fingers turn into a tight fist. You definitely struck a very sore topic, and you hate yourself for even asking now. “Oh my god, Joel. I’m so very sorry,” you reply shakily as you let your spoon drop with a plop into the glass cup.

   He shakes his head and sighs. “Don’t gotta apologize, sweetheart. ‘S not your fault. Besides, we made it jus’ fine without her. Didn’t even need her.” Again, you see the prickle of a held back tear, and you wish you could just brush away that part of the past for him.

   “Well, if it’s worth any consolation, I think you did a really good job. I mean, look at her. Studying to be an architect, traveling around the world? I’d say she took after her smart daddy,” you smirk. That sends a warm smile spreading wide over his mouth, and you can’t help but blush as his eyes flick to yours. 

   “Smart daddy, huh? That what I am?” He chuckles as he keeps his eyes locked on yours.

   You shrug and giggle. “I’d say so.” That makes a deep chuckle fall from his lips as he clasps his hands together on the table, rubbing against your outstretched hand.

   You catch your breath and meet his eyes again, nervously brushing your knee against his. “It’s her loss. She missed out on a great guy, didn’t know what she was missing, apparently.” His eyebrows draw together, and his eyes dim with a hint of a glimmer as a small smile curls around his mouth. He looks like he wants to say something with the way he’s looking at you all gentle and prideful, but you’re quickly interrupted as Sienna brings the food to the table.

   “Here you two go! Plates are a little hot, so be careful.” She lays the glass plates in front of the two of you with a curt nod and a playful wink as she turns to leave you alone again.

   You pick up a hot fry and dip it in the creamy ranch, scooting it over in Joel’s direction as you bite into warm goodness. “Go on, try it,” you giggle as he hesitantly dips his own fry into the white sauce, carefully bringing it to his plush lips. He takes a bite, and a surprising look glazes over his face.

   After a few seconds he gives you a small smile and goes back for another one. “Not bad, angel. Not bad at all.” You acknowledge it as a compliment and dig into your grilled cheese, knowing you just metaphorically saved a life by showing the powers of what ranch dressing can do.

   “Told you,” you laugh, taking a large bite out of the extra cheesy grilled cheese.

   “Mmm, sure did. Gotta start listenin’ to your suggestions more often,” he winks. You just push back a piece of loose hair and smile.

   The next half hour is spent delving into your food and flirting back and forth, brushing knees against one another, blushing and smiling probably more than you ever have in your entire life, and it’s all because of this man, this incredibly ridiculous hot, sweet man. How did you ever end up in a diner talking about life with Joel Miller? 

   Minutes go by, maybe hours. You don’t really keep track anymore. “You were in a band?” you laugh incredulously as you look at his gleaming eyes. 

   “Sure was. Played the lead guitar. Didn’t last long, but it was fun while it lasted.” He sits back in the booth and spreads his legs wide, like this is the most casual conversation ever and he’s actually enjoying himself. 

   “Do you still play?” you ask with hope glittering in your eyes.

   “Sure do. You ever tried?” His eyebrow raises with curiosity written all over those dark brown irises.

   You shake your head at that. “No, always wanted to try, just never got around to it.”

   He taps his index finger on the edge of the table, and a small smile curls around that beautiful mouth. “You wanna learn?” He threads his eyebrows together and leans forward, like he’s reaching for a certain answer.

   You bat your eyelashes up at him nervously and ask quietly. “Are you offering to teach me?”

   He shrugs his broad shoulders and nods. “If you wanna learn then absolutely. Not like I haven’t taught you a thing or two before.” He winks and the giant smirk makes you choke on your water because you know exactly what he’s talking about, and it’s not just guitar strings but something else he’s shown you with those thick, calloused fingers. 

   Heat floods your cheeks as you look into those smoldering coffee irises. The more you stare at him, the more you want to reach across the table and melt into his glowing soul. “Okay,” you say dreamily, resting your knuckles casually under your chin as you lean against the table and stare absentmindedly at the man with the pretty brown eyes. 

   “Is that a yes?” He pines, trying to wind his thick fingers around your skull as he searches for an answer that’s right on the tip of your bashful tongue. 

   “Like… at your club?” 

   He chuckles and shakes his head no. “No, sweetheart. At my house.”

   His house. You don’t know why, but the mention of that has something that feels a lot like bile rising in your throat. His house. That’s different than meeting at the club, even different than this. And suddenly, you realize just what this is, how much more it feels than just sleeping together. This is a date, and that makes your stomach clench in a tight knot at the very thought of what comes next. 

   When you don’t answer, he reaches over and lays a big hand on top of yours, his thumb sliding along the inside of your wrist as your vision tunnels. Oh god, what is he about to ask? 

   “I’ve been thinking…” He blinks a couple times and drops those beautiful brown eyes on you, giving you that million dollar smile that makes you weak at the knees. He sighs as he strokes his fingertips over your clammy skin. “What are we doin’ here, angel?”  

   Your heart halts, and for a second you can’t even breathe, nonetheless speak like a normal human being. “What do you mean?” The words are barely a whisper as they ghost through your lips, your hand tightening against the tabletop.

   You know exactly what he means, you’re just too scared to hear those words come out of his mouth.

   He slides a hand through his greying scruff and stifles a deep laugh, and then his eyes are piercing through yours like the morning sunrise on a rainy day. “I mean… us.”

   “Us?” Your voice is full on shaking, and your breathing is anything but normal now. 

   He lets out a sigh that sounds a little like frustration, but he doesn’t let his smile and warm eyes falter. “Yeah, us. Me and you, angel. What are we doin’?” 

   “I… uhhh… we…” Your words are nonexistent, only a form of mumbling and jumbled sounds spilling from your mouth. Joel’s gaze flinches as he waits, his fingertips becoming shaky and dismantled as his jaw ticks. And fuck why can’t you say the words? That you do want him. You want this, you just want everything from this incredible man, but fear stops you. And then the next words that fall from your lips completely ruin you.

   You press your knees together and bite your nails into the flesh of your thigh, grinding the words you don’t want to say out like nails clawing down chalkboards. “I mean… we’re just having fun, right?” His jaw immediately drops.

   Shit. You’ve just ruined everything.

   He pulls back from you, dropping his hand onto his side of the table, and he looks completely wrecked. You see the light in his brown eyes die as he clenches his jaw into a tight fist and runs his hand unruly through his tousled curls. 

   Shit shit shit.

   “Jus’ havin’ fun? Is that all we’re doin’?” His voice sounds garbled like he’s drowning under a faucet, and you start to tremble in place. 

   Say something, anything to take back what you said. For the love of god, reach for him! But you don’t move, your hand doesn’t even twitch, even though all you want to do is reach for that hand, his arms, his heart. Fuck. But you don’t move. You don’t do a damn thing but freeze.

   “I — uhhh… mhm.” You can’t even look at him when you say it because there’s shame written all over your pathetic face, and you really don’t want to look into those disappointed eyes that are reddening with held back tears. 

   “That right? This right here is all jus’… fun.” His voice is smothered in disappointment, and you swear you hear him mention something about how it was all some game, and that fucking breaks you. This isn’t a game to you, but you can’t seem to make your voice work. 

   He stares at you, his eyes darkening as a deep scowl forms on his lips. He’s waiting for an answer, but you just can’t do anything to make this better. So you mutter words you don’t mean out. “I… I don’t know.” The look of instant regret threads his face, and he looks like he just found out his dog got run over with the speckles of tears that push through his tormented eyes. And now, you can’t even look at him.

   You’re such a fucking coward. 

   And just to make it worse, the fucking waitress interrupts. “You two lovebirds want some pie?” she asks sweetly. The question makes you sick.

   “Nah, think we’re done here. Jus’ bring me the check.” The sounds from his heavy words hit you like a car crash, and you feel regret caving hard in your clenched gut for what you’ve just done.

   You dare to take a peek up from under your long lashes, but you regret it the moment you see that weathered stare, that stone-like face that tells you enough. He’s just as devastated as you. Because he thought this was more, and it should be more. But you’re just a girl with a fucked up past who just can’t seem to let go, so you ruin everything you touch. 

   You’re nothing but a disappointment. 

   You flick your gaze down to your curled fingers that almost tear through your soft pink dress. This was a special dress, one you thought Joel would like, one you were so excited to wear because his eyes lit up the moment he saw you in it. And now? Now you just feel like Cinderella when her stepsisters tore her favorite, special dress to shreds. You’re nothing but fire ashes that burnt out long ago.

   Sienna comes back, and Joel leaves her a fifty dollar bill, not bothering to wait for any change. He doesn’t even say your name when he gets up, he just stands at the door silently and waits for you to follow without even one lingering gaze. You feel just like a lost puppy who lost their favorite owner, and you swear you die right on the spot when you brush up against him and feel him pull back, like you’ve just burned him. 

   But you did burn him. You scorched him alive. 

   The truck ride back to your apartment is soundless, the only noise is the faint hum of the engine as the tires drive along the dark road. His music is even muted. Every time you look over he’s either pinching the bridge of his nose, raking a hand heavily through his beard with concern etched painfully in his eyes, or running his fingers roughly through his now disheveled hair. He looks like he’s just been through hell. You did that, you fucking did that. Goddamn it! 

   You lick your bottom lip nervously, feeling your fingers start to rip through the bottom of your dress. You’re clawing your legs so fiercely that you’re about to lose your fucking mind because you can’t say what you really want to say. So you just stay silent; you just don’t have the energy to do anything else at this point.

   When he finally pulls up to your door after that painful ride, he puts the truck in park and keeps one hand clenched tight around the leather steering wheel, only facing forward as his lips form a tight line.

   You slowly unbuckle your seatbelt and look at him with swimming eyes, your vision starting to blur as you compose your shaky breath. “I uhh… I had a nice time tonight, Joel. Thank you for dinner.” 

   His knuckles squeeze the steering wheel tighter, and he barely even looks over at you as he fights to make words tear out of his mouth. “It was no trouble.” No ‘you’re welcome’ or ‘I had a nice time too, angel’. And that makes you want to die.

   You curl your fingers around the door handle and pry it open with a shaky hand, but before you slip out you say one more thing that you think will save this whole messed up situation. “Maybe… maybe you could give me that guitar lesson?”

   He gulps down a breath and ticks his jaw, his face looking straight forward so he doesn’t have to look you in the eyes. “I… I’ll see you around.”

   It’s over. 

   Your face drops like your heart does in your chest, and you mindlessly step out and let the door close behind you. He pulls out instantly and leaves you standing there alone, tears streaming down your face as you watch the headlights disappear like they were never there in the first place.

   You stay frozen in that spot, letting the chill of the night breeze past your bare arms, your eyes bloodshot and wide as you replay the end of the dinner, the part where you fucked it all up.

   Your fault, your fault, your fault. And suddenly, you feel as if you just ruined your entire life. 

   You drag yourself into the apartment, not even bothering to turn on the lights as you slide beneath your cool sheets and shed the tears you held in the past half hour. You let them fall until you can’t breathe, until you can’t think about anything but those sad doe eyes. And that’s the last thing you remember until sleep drags you under. And then there’s just darkness and nothing else but your own stupid mistakes playing through an endless nightmare.

   He moves in a fog the next week, his body lethargic and numb as he pushes past blocks of bodies, the echoing music drowning through his ears as he goes through repeated motions he can barely tolerate. 

   He spends the evenings in the club tucked away in his office where no one can touch him, where he’s not reminded of your beautiful eyes or your dimpled smile. His hand clenches around the whiskey glass as cold droplets collect where his lips meet the edge of the cup, slow sips drinking in the relaxing sting that numbs his buzzing body.

   You were supposed to be his, but instead you’re just a ghost that materializes in his memory every fucking moment of every gut wrenching day.

   He lets the sting soothe him as he taps his thumb mindlessly against the glass, staring at endless paperwork that keeps piling like someone else will do it. But he lets it sit and sit until the words start to blur on the page, until he’s completely numb from the traces of your last words you ever said to him.

   Maybe you could give me that guitar lesson… 

   And he just fucking drove off and left you all alone without so much as one word to soothe you over. He’s a fucking asshole, but what could he say? You don’t want him like he so desperately wants you. But he really thought you did… he was fucking wrong.

   He flips his phone back and forth in his palm, lighting up the screen just long enough to stare at your name and the message button that seems to burn through his eyes. He sighs and lets the phone fall to the desk, turning it face down so he can’t see your name as the pain sets like fire in his chest. 

   He groans, fisting his disheveled curls through his fingers as he leans his elbows against the covered desk, quietly cursing as he fights to grab his phone and hit the call button. But then he remembers that you don’t want him. Not like he wants you.

   He lets out a growl, numbing his mind a little more with the poison he feeds himself, letting lies run rampant through his mind as he fights to see where he went wrong. He thought you wanted him, wanted more. Where the fuck did he go wrong?

   He’s so deep in his racing thoughts that he barely hears the door handle jiggle, almost missing his brother that slips in out of the blaring noise of the club.

   “Uhh, Joel? You alright there, brother? You’re not lookin’ so hot,” Tommy says slowly as he paces cautiously up to the edge of the mahogany desk. 

   “I’m fine,” he bites out, a little too harsh as his clipped tone makes Tommy’s mouth tighten.

   “If you say so.” He threads his fingers through his greasy black hair that’s slicked back with gel and nods at the messy pile. “You a little behind on paperwork?”

   Joel scowls as he clenches his jaw. “I’ll get to it. Jus’ had some other shit come up.” He’s not meaning to come off angry, but that’s what he is. Angry, hurt, shocked, torn apart. Fuck. One girl and his entire world goes to shit.

   “You need some help with it?” He nods to the pile again and crosses his arms over his button-up long sleeved black shirt. 

   “No, I think I can handle it.” But can he really handle it? Not at all.

   “Oh okay…” He presses into the back of his leather cowboy boots and shifts his weight uncomfortably. “Well, the boys are here waitin’.”

   Joel’s eyes fall as he realizes today is Thursday. The day carved out to play pool with his friends. “Shit, I totally forgot,” he groans, pressing the heel of his palms into his eyes as if he can get rid of the pounding headache that’s taking over his body.

   “You never forget. Joel, are you sure you’re okay?” Tommy’s dark eyebrows are furrowed together as his wide brown eyes edge with concern. 

   “I’m… I’m fine, Tommy,” he answers defeatedly as he lies through his teeth. 

   Tommy sees right through him, and it doesn’t take him long to realize just why he’s so fucked up in the head right now. “Hey, I haven’t seen that girl around lately. You know, the really pretty, sweet one? The one whose eyes light up when she’s near you.”

   Joel sighs and closes his eyes for a breath of a second, his stomach dropping to the floor as he sucks in a painful breath. “She… no. Haven’t talked to her lately, Tommy.”

   “Oh.” Joel hears the disappointment clearly in his tone, and he really doesn't want to explain just why he hasn’t talked to you. It’s too… painful. “You wanna talk about it?”

   “No. Jus’ drop it.” His voice comes out clipped, and he has no strength to even apologize for being so short with Tommy. 

   “Alright, alright. I won’t ask.” He raises his hands in defeat and knocks on the edge of the desk. “You wanna come play pool? Maybe have another drink?”

   Joel shakes his head no and sighs deeply. “Not tonight, Tommy. Maybe next week.”

   Tommy decides to leave it at that, promising to tell the boys he’ll try his best to make it next week. Joel doesn’t say a word, just lets Tommy believe he’ll be feeling better by then, but he knows he won’t. He’ll still be this. 

   Before Tommy leaves, he peeks his head over his shoulder and tries to comfort Joel the best he knows how. “Hey, if you ever wanna talk, my door is always open. Whenever, night or day. I’m here for you.” Joel just nods and lets his brother fade through the door, closing it as silence takes over his lonely office again.

   He pulls his phone out again, flipping through his contacts until he sees your name scrawled on the screen, except in your place is the word Angel with a little halo emoji right next to it. He suddenly breaks, fingers clenching the edges of the phone so tight that it falls to the floor, making your name disappear from his line of sight as his phone goes dead.

   Angry, hot tears brim over his eyeline, and then he’s losing all self control as the bitter taste of regret sinks in. He stands up and pushes the overwhelming pile of paperwork to the floor, throwing the whiskey glass at the wall as glass shatters and liquid falls down the black wallpaper. He sends the lamp over the edge next, hearing it crack as his heart breaks just like the pieces of broken glass that litters against the polished floors.

   He screams bloody murder as the feeling of pain overwhelms his insides, but the bumping music outside of the room mutes his cries. He topples in the chair, almost gouging his eyes out as his palms press firmly into his eyes, letting the hot tears roll down his sunken face.

   He can’t do this. Not tonight, not tomorrow, not ever. He didn’t plan on falling for you, but he fell harder than he’s ever fallen. And goddamn it, he never meant to fall in love with you, but he did and look where that left him. 

   Alone and heartbroken.

   But that’s what happens in continuous hookups where lines are blurred and no boundaries get set. People end up hurt or attached or fall hopelessly in love. And he did, all of those. But he never thought it could ever hurt this bad.

   All he wanted since the moment he met you was you. And now, you were just the dark silhouette sitting in the corner of his office. A ghost that never should’ve faded away. But look at you now, just gone, like your deep red lips he never even got to kiss, but god, he wishes he would’ve gotten to taste those sweet lips that probably taste like honey. He’ll regret it until the day he dies.

   He should’ve fucking known better than to let it go this far, but it did. And now? He’s lost you for good.

  Two weeks go by and you hear nothing from Joel. You send a couple of texts, each very short. You talk yourself out of it, but you at least need to try. The only kind of response you get is the texting bubbles that shortly disappear after leaving you on read.

   You walk around in a daze, everything foggy and blurry as you fight to even keep upright most days. You fucked up the best thing that’s ever happened to you all because you were scared to be hurt again. But where did that get you? It just left you devastated and more hurt than you could’ve possibly imagined. 

   You lose sleep, can barely tolerate the blinding sunlight that reminds you of that damn smile that you probably won’t get to ever see again. You should’ve kissed him, should’ve told him how you felt, should’ve told him about your past you really didn’t want to bring up again, but you were so fucking broken that you couldn’t manage to do any one of those things. 

   What would your therapist say to all of this? She’d probably scold you and shove more medications at you that you refuse to take. But what’s worse? Not feeling anything or reliving this insufferable pain day after day all because you couldn’t make your words or actions work.

   Jesus, you’re a real piece of work. Joel was lucky he got out when he did. You’re such a fucking mess, but you’re an even bigger mess without him.

   You stare at the text thread between you and Joel, mindlessly looking for any life behind that screen, reaching for just an ounce of reassurance that he isn’t really gone, but you get none. He’s gone. 

   The unanswered texts start to blur as tears fill your eyes, and then the panic sets in. The inevitable fear of abandonment and loss hits you like a blinding lightning strike, and then the anxious thoughts and debilitating emotional turmoil takes a hit. Joel isn’t coming back for you.

   You click Brianna’s number so fast that you drop your phone and pick it up frantically, fumbling with the flimsy case until you have enough of a hold on it that you start to hyperventilate.

   Pick up, pick up, pick up.

   Just when you think she’ll let it go to voicemail, she answers with a giddy ring to her voice. “Hey, stranger! You’ve been quiet lately. What’s up? You wanna go out tonight?”

   “Bri, I fucked up. I fucked everything up!” Your voice cracks, and the tears start to fall like raindrops down your skin. You can barely hold the phone to your ear because your hand is shaking so badly.

   “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down there. Breathe. What happened?”

   “He… Joel… I…” You can’t even form a coherent sentence because you’re stumbling over your own racing thoughts, and your breathing is almost nonexistent. You’re just a shuddering mess.

   “Hey, calm down. Babe, can you tell me what happened?” Her voice is patient, but you know she’s freaking out on the end of the line because you hear her car keys jingle in her hand. 

   “I… fuck, Bri. I blew it. He left… the questions… I couldn’t…”

   “Listen to me. Do you need me to come over?”

   “No, I’m… fine.” But you’re not fine, you’re far from it.

   “You’re not fucking fine. Did that asshole hurt you?”

   “No, just… no…”

   “Fuck it, I’m coming over. Be over in ten minutes.” The phone line goes dead, and all you hear is silence as you hold the phone to your ear, waiting for nothing as you freeze and collapse.

   You fall into the velvet couch and bring your knees to your chest, covering your eyes as you let the tears soak the material of your yoga pants, clinging to a reality that you just don’t want to deal with now. You don’t want to think about Joel, don’t want to think about how you haven’t heard from him in two weeks, don’t want to think about how fucking badly you want his strong arms around you, and you definitely don’t want to think about how you just ruined the one chance you had to keep the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

   You sink into the crevice of the couch, squeezing your eyes closed as tears ricochet down your eyelashes. You faintly hear the rain drizzle from your kitchen window, tapping against the glass like it hears your swallowed cries filling the empty room. It’s just you, the flickering vanilla candle, and your muted cries that fill the staggering silence of your space.

   And just when you think you’ve felt the worst, the grief consumes you as those sad brown eyes flicker in your spotty mind. A ghost of the past that haunts your every waking thoughts, and it just reminds you how wrong you went.

   Your fault, your fault, your fault.

   You’re so busy replaying the scenes from dinner that you barely hear the door being opened. You don’t even notice anyone’s here until Brianna is kneeling down in front of the couch, carefully pulling your knees down so she can look into your red-rimmed eyes. 

   She places a hand gently on your knee, giving you those sad brown eyes that remind you a whole lot like how Joel looked after you ruined it all. Another tear drips down your cheek, and then she’s soothingly pressing her palm against your thigh. 

   “Hey, I’m here now.” Her voice is dulcet, and her familiar cotton candy perfume calms you down just like her soothing voice always does when you’re having a breakdown. And in these moments you’re just so lucky to have a friend like her that’ll drop everything just to make sure you’re okay.

   “Hi.” Your voice cracks, and you hear a quiet sigh that sounds a lot like genuine sympathy for you. 

   “You wanna talk about it?” She asks in a somber tone, one that’s not pulling for information, just someone that wants to let you decide what you’re comfortable with talking about.

   You slowly nod your head as another tear falls from your tainted face. “When Joel took me out for dinner, he asked what we were, what we were doing. And I… I fucked up. I told him we were just having fun, that none of this was serious. And then… then…” You clench your jaw and fist your fingers into the sunken couch, trying to catch your breath to finish, but Brianna cuts in.

   “Oh, babe. No.” Her blonde curls fall into her gentle face, and her light brown eyes glimmer with sympathy as she realizes why you were so worked up over the phone.

   Your face falls, and you fight to get the rest of the words out through your gritted teeth. “You should’ve seen how wrecked he looked when I answered, Bri. It was… I never thought looking into a man’s eyes would break me, but that did. He looked so sad…” Your fumbled words deceive you as you break into a sob, Brianna quickly brushing a tear away as she meets your deep red eyes.

   “I’m so sorry, babe. Have you… has he talked to you since?” She asks hesitantly.

   You shake your head and let your gaze drop to the carpeted floor. “No. I tried texting him a couple times, but he just left me on read…”

   The room grows silent for a minute as Brianna’s brown eyes gaze up at you, her golden locks shining in the glimmer of the faint light from the dark fluffy clouds outside. She takes a beat to figure out what she wants to say and when she does, it’s like a soft hug that folds across your entire body. “I think… I think he might be hurting just as bad as you right now. And maybe, just maybe he needed a little space to sort out his feelings? Because from the sounds of it, I think he wanted it to be more. I think he likes you a lot.”

   You purse your lips and flick your eyes back to her, trying to shift through her words as they ring bells in your mind. “You really think he wanted more?”

   She nods her head and places a warm palm over your shaky fingers. “I know he did.” 

   Those words just make you shake and start to sob all over as you let messy words spill from your parted lips. “Bri, I wanted to tell him so badly how I felt. How I wanted it to be more, how he’s literally the best thing that’s ever happened to me. That he… makes me feel safe and wanted.”

   “Oh, babe,” she sighs sympathetically. “Look, you’ve been through some of the roughest shit I’ve ever seen, but you know what? You’re the strongest, most empathetic, sweetest friend I’ve ever met in my entire existence. And he’d be so lucky to have you.”

   “But he doesn’t want me anymore!” Your voice tethers through the room like a broken record, and you fight to stay composed.

   “You sure about that?” She cocks her head and gives you that look that says you’re absolutely wrong.

   “He won’t talk to me, Bri. And the way he left… well… it sounded like he was saying goodbye.” You hold your breath and wait for the backlash she’s about to give you, but it never comes. There’s only soft words that numb your heavy brain.

   “Hey. Let me ask you this, do you want to be with him?”

   “Bri…”

   “Just answer me, okay? Do you want him?” She emphasizes the word want, and her doe eyes glaze up at you with pure softness.

   You gulp and let the word fall dry. “Yes.”

   “Then you’re going to get him back,” she smiles, her glittery pink lips curling into warmth.

   “What?” Your eyes blow wide, and your hands fall straight to your sides.

   “Tomorrow you’re going to walk into that club, and you’re going to tell him exactly how you feel,” she said adamantly.

   “No, Bri. I can’t. I…”

   She holds up a palm and nods. “You can, babe. I know how much you like him; I can tell by the glow in your eyes every time you talk about him, and your smile? I haven’t seen you that happy in a few years. You’re positively radiant, just like you should be.”

   You sigh and shake your head distraughtly. “I was happy until I went and fucked it all up,” you mumble under your breath.

   She dips her fingers under your chin and pulls your eyes up to meet hers. “He’d be foolish not to listen to you and take you back, babe. Just trust me on this, okay? He still wants you. I know he does.”

   “How do you know?” You mutter out with pursed lips.

   “I just have this feeling, okay? You can do this, you will do this. I know you can.” Her smooth voice is so confident in you that you almost believe her. Maybe you can do this, but you have a feeling you’ll just fall and get left behind again.

   You curl your lips into a small smile and wipe the last of the tears away with the back of your hand. “Thanks for making me feel a little better, Bri. You’re a really great friend.” You give her hand a tight squeeze and show her just how much she means to you.

   She scoffs and flips her golden hair behind her shoulder. “Oh, don’t you get all sappy on me. Come on. I’m taking you to get ice cream.” She tugs you off the couch and drags you through the front door, not even bothering to let you grab your card. “This one’s on me, babe. Let’s forget about men and go soak in some sugary goodness tonight.”

   “Sounds good to me,” you smile as she leads you down the winding sidewalk. 

   Maybe she’s right, maybe you can do this, after all. But the fear grabs a hold of your throat and holds back any faith you have in yourself. You’re going to fucking choke and ruin it all again. But you have to try because living without him isn’t something you even want to think about.    

You don’t want to be without him because you’re pretty sure you’re in love with him.

[deeoccasionallyspeaks]

i just know yuuji religiously checks up on you after shibuuya.

he’s the one to come home & break the news to you. everyone else figures you’d rather hear it from him, & he does too. he comes immediately to you and kento’s shared apartment, still in his old clothes but he had the decency to wipe the blood & grime off of his face. solemnly brings his fist to the door to knock twice, knowing he had no choice but to give you the horrible news.

& you kind of already knew before yuuji even got there. kento always kept you updated, shooting a quick text in between exorcising curses. answering your “how’s it going” texts with a thumbs up emoji at the least.

however when you got that “you made life worth living. i love you” text from him, you already knew that was his way of saying goodbye. he just didn’t want to actually say it.

but you were so strong and mature, one of kento’s favorite traits of you. so you knew yuuji delivering the news to you would be harder on him. after all, he’s the one that called you and kento “mom & dad”. he’s the one who came over every sunday for family dinner. he’s the one who helped kento paint the living room a different color to surprise you.

so when yuuji does bring his fist up to knock, you immediately swing the door open greeting him with a sad smile. a look in your eyes that showed yuuji all too well that you already knew.

& the boy immediately shivers as a deep breathe he didn’t even realize he was holding escapes his lungs, letting out such a defeated sound. he immediately looks down and shakes his head, unable to look at you- almost as if he failed you.

however he did everything but fail you, and you let him know by wrapping your arms around the boy, finding the back of his head to craddle it. although much younger, his tall frame leans over into your shoulder as he lets the tears & whines leave his body. you silently cry with him, both of you doing your best to comfort one another.

“he was so proud of you, you know?” you whisper, applying more pressure to the comforting circles you were rubbing on his back, “he still is”.

you both stand in silence for a few minutes longer, coming to terms with the horrible reality that kento nanami was no longer physically with you, but now permanently resides in your hearts.

“thank you for coming, yuuji. i wouldn’t want to hear the news from anyone but you”

& the months after that are dreadful. you soon realize your strong personality could only hold you for so long. it gets hard to eat. bathing feels like a chore. you switch from being insolent to sorrowful. & you try to keep it together, but yuuji notices.

you are who he calls ‘mom’, afterall.

so he still comes by even when you send him a passive aggressive text saying you want to be alone. he brings you food and makes you eat it in front of him even if you say you already ate (he can tell when you’re lying). & he listens as you curse at whatever gods for taking your husband away from you. he understands when you break down and tell him you don’t know how to live life without kento.

& he doesn’t try to sell you dreams by telling you it’ll get better. he doesn’t try to make you see the bright side. no, he lets you grieve because, yeah, it’s not fair. no, you don’t deserve that, neither did kento.

but he keeps coming around to let you know that you’re not alone. to make bearing this burden a little easier.

& some more months go by, and yuuji hears the first real genuine laugh from you since the incident when he’s explaining a scene from this comedy movie he recently watched. you’re both sitting at the kitchen table, books strewn across the wood as yuuji came over needing help on a ridiculous assignment gojo assigned. & you both think that maybe things will start to feel better soon.

especially with kento’s framed picture looking down at you both from the wall adjacent.

yeah, things will get better soon.

———————————————————————-

omg i dont even know why i wrote that like why am i crying

[jaidens]

Only Bought This Dress (So You Could Take It Off)

pairing [s] : miguel o’hara x reader

warnings [s] : smuttyyy | miguel is big af | spanking, jealousy smut!! mamas favorite treat. | ripping of clothes | miguel is a jealous daddy teehee | name-calling | oml this mann

a/n : guys i really don't know.. except i want him..so

Whenever Miguel invited you to the Spider-Ball, you had no idea what to wear to be completely and totally honest. Your designer was confused whenever you showed her a picture of Miguel's suit and told her to work her magic. And your designer did such.

The colors of blue and red were prominent and it had a collection of dark-orangey red to compliment his webs. It was completely perfect and what you were thinking of without even explaining it. It was a soft silk fabric with lace covered around with strings of pearls.

You had found a matching lingerie set that would have surely made Miguel lose his mind. When he picked you up in front of your apartment you saw how when you walked down the steps in your long, stiletto red bottom heels and that dress he was anxiously moving in his seat and holding only small talk with you.

The limo stopped at a humongous, absolutely gorgeous building the event was being held at. Spider-Men and Women from all over were dressed to the Tens. The driver opened your door and held his hand out for you to grab. You thanked him graciously as you tangled your arm with Miguel's as he straightened out his suit and he looked down at you. “You look absolutely gorgeous tonight. I love this dress.” His hand touches your hip, rubbing across the delicate fabric. You smile up at him, tracing across his features and the moonlight that colors his face with beautiful carvings.

He helps you up the stairs, letting you use him as a guide to getting up with such tall heels and concrete steps aren't the best mix. His hand stays on your lower back, holding you closer to him when more and more people start to show up. When you walk into the beautiful ballroom, the white marble floors are covered with people and you look up at the expressive paintings that reside on the ceiling with admiration.

“Look at that ceiling. My goodness, it's absolutely gorgeous." Miguel looks up at it, and you get a sight of his neck, as it stretches “It’s pretty amazing." Miguel leaves to speak with another caterer of the party and you go talk to sweet Mary-Jane. Her bright red hair strikes you as she turns around quickly and drops her mouth open.

“Aren’t you just gorgeous? Oh my wow... I love this dress!” Mary-Jane compliments you while running her hand down your arm. “Look at you! I'm obsessed with those earrings." You and MJ hold small talk before Peter walks up behind her and pulls her away to the drink and food tables.

You find a conversation with Peter. You ask him about why he decided to come to the event. “It’s for charity, love. I'll always go to these types of functions if it's about charity.” You turn your head and see Miguel staring at you and Peter, and you're in for the game. You put your hand on his shoulder and you start laughing when he makes a joke about robbing banks.

But as the night reached its climax, a shadow was cast over the euphoria. My heart skipped a beat as I glanced toward the entrance, meeting the gaze of a familiar face. There he stood, his eyes narrowed with a simmering mix of anger and hurt. It was him—the man I had left behind, Miguel consumed by jealousy.

You continue such actions, just being more calm and touchy. You really only saw Peter as a brother and nothing more. Even after stating that multiple times, Miguel still got worried about him. The live concert band showed up and you got giddy and grabbed Peter's hand and asked him to dance. You were casually dancing with Peter until the switch partners part of the song began and someone grabbed your hand and pushed you close.

“Such a slut aren't you? We're going home after this dance.” Miguel is angry and you can tell. His words are cut off and you see his eyes slowly darken with lust and jealousy. You stare down and rest your head on his chest. “Acting all innocent now too.” You really weren't trying to act innocent. You were worried about beginning to do it because you knew how Miguel would act.

As we made our way through the crowd, I cast one last glance over my shoulder, yearning for the stranger who had stirred something within me. But all I found were empty eyes, longing for freedom that now seemed like a distant dream.

The sleek, midnight-black car cut through the city streets like a predator on the prowl. Inside, the air crackled with a mix of desire and jealousy, swirling around Miguel and me, creating an intoxicating tension. The dimly lit cabin was suffused with a primal energy that mirrored the storm brewing between us.

Miguel's hands gripped the steering wheel with an intensity that betrayed the seething jealousy consuming him. His jaw clenched, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, but I could feel his eyes flickering with a fiery mix of possessiveness and resentment.

Earlier that evening, we had attended a glamorous social event, where attention naturally gravitated toward me. Miguel had watched as I conversed and laughed with other men, his strong facade cracking with each flirtatious exchange. The allure of his jealousy fueled my desire, and now we found ourselves alone, confined within the intimate space of his car.

The engine's growl mirrored the tension pulsating between us, as Miguel's grip on the wheel tightened, his knuckles turning white. The silence was heavy, pregnant with unspoken words and simmering emotions, as we hurtled through the city streets with dangerous haste.

Unable to bear the weight of the unspoken, I ventured, my voice a gentle tremor, "Miguel, what's wrong?"

His gaze pierced through me, his eyes smoldering with a mixture of frustration and vulnerability. "You know damn well what's wrong," he muttered, his voice laced with a hint of accusation.

A shiver ran down my spine as I felt the air grow thick with his possessive aura. Miguel's simmering jealousy took on a life of its own, threatening to consume us both. I could sense the hunger in his touch, the burning desire to claim what he believed was rightfully his.

With a sudden swerve, the car veered into an empty parking lot, its tires screeching against the pavement. We came to an abrupt stop, the stillness amplifying the intensity of our emotions. Miguel turned to me, his dark eyes staring into mine, his breath shallow and uneven.

"What were you doing back there?" he demanded, his voice low and charged with a mix of anger and longing. "Flirting with Peter, teasing him with your charm."

A flicker of guilt danced across my features, mingling with the thrill of his possessive rage. "Miguel, it was harmless. Just a bit of fun."

His hand shot out, capturing my chin in a firm grip, his touch simultaneously tender and controlling. "Fun? Do you think I find pleasure in watching Peter vie for your attention?" His voice dropped to a husky whisper, laced with a possessiveness that sent a jolt of desire coursing through me. "You're mine, and I won't stand for it."

In that charged moment, the confines of the car became an arena for our desires and frustrations. The boundaries blurred as Miguel's lips descended upon mine, claiming me with a ferocity that matched the fiery jealousy burning within him. The car's interior became a sanctuary for our entangled bodies, as we surrendered to the intoxicating dance of lust and possessiveness, each touch igniting a passionate blaze that threatened to consume us whole.

In the passenger seat, you, a tantalizing and spirited woman, brace yourself for what you sense is about to unfold. The air is thick with tension as you exit the car, your heart pounding in anticipation.

Miguel storms around the vehicle, his movements exuding authority, and yanks open your door. Without a word, he seizes your wrist and pulls you out, his grip firm yet electric with desire. He gracefully opens the door to the large house and he starts angrily dragging you to the bedroom that you shared together. He flips the lights off and presses a button. The LED lights that sat above turned a dark red. His tan skin is even more beautiful and tantalizing than it was in the sunlight. 

He pulls his tie loose and he throws you onto the cleanly made bed. You bend your elbows to catch your fall. You put your knees up and close your thighs together, giving a sort of pleasure that was becoming single-handedly harder to hold back from Miguel.  He begins to kiss your neck, sending a tingling sensation through your body. His hands move to your waist, feeling the curves of your body before he presses his body against yours. You close your eyes, surrendering to the pleasure that Miguel brings.

His lips travel down to your collarbone, creating a trail of butterflies that spread throughout your body. You can feel the heat of his body against yours and your heart racing. His hands move to your back as he leans in closer, sending sparks through your soul. He looks into your eyes and your lips meet in an electric kiss. You're lost in the moment, feeling alive and full of passion. You never want it to end. You're stuck in this dream before you remember what got you into this mess. He pulls away angrily and rips the perfectly made dress off your body. You stand there, feeling exposed and embarrassed. "Flirting with Peter wasn't a good idea, was it? Or would you rather him fuck you? Your heart raced as he said those words. You felt ashamed. You knew you had to face the consequences of your actions and you were not looking forward to it. He pulls off his tailored suit and you have a full look at his strong chest.

Miguel crawls back onto the bed and he bites your neck. You moan out and grab at his back, your manicured nails scratching red marks on them. "Please.. touch me." You're completely embarrassed that you're begging for him after getting yourself stuck in this situation. He smiles, a wicked glint in his eye as he presses himself against you. His hands roam your body as he kisses your neck, his breath hot on your skin. You feel a wave of pleasure wash over you as you surrender to his touch. His hand runs down your body, tracing over the delicate lace that you were adorned in.  Miguel's hand travels just under the waistband of the panties, teasing you further. "You like the taste of your own medicine? I bet you do." 

His fingers skim the lace and travel further until they reach your core. He teases and tantalizes you until you can't take it anymore and you cry out in pleasure. Miguel smiles, satisfied with the power he holds over you. "Such a slutty baby. Bet you'll take anything anyone gives you?" You blush and shake your head, unable to find the words to respond. He grins and presses his lips against yours, letting you know he doesn't need your answer. Instead, he just wants to show you how much pleasure he can give you. You feel his fingers rub your clit in figure-eights. You're rubbing your hips against his hands. You're so close before you feel it; he rips his hands away and lays his fingers against your lips.

You accept his fingers into your mouth and suck them off your pleasure. You moan as he moves his fingers in and out of your mouth, savoring the taste of your arousal. His hands return to your clit and you're soon overcome with pleasure, arching your back as you reach your peak. He flips you over and pushes your head down into the soft pillows and pulls your ass up. You're staring at the mirror at his gorgeous body as he pulls his pants down and throws them on the floor.

You can feel his hand rub against your ass before you feel it, a harsh smack against it. You cry out and hear him speak, "I want you to count how many times I spank your ass. If you do it correctly, I'll treat you." You take a deep breath and start counting, determined to do as he asked. As the spanks continue, you feel a strange mixture of pleasure and pain. You grit your teeth and keep counting until he stops. You feel one last rub in a circle over the burning marks. "You did well, baby." He flips you back around and your head it sat between your pillows and he grabs a pillow next to your head.

You twist your body around to be on your back. You're staring into his dark, beautiful eyes. Miguel takes the pillow and sticks it under your ass. You're on display for him. Your legs spread wide to give him room to relax. His strong arms wrap around your thighs and you feel his breath on your core. He looks up at you with a smirk and then explores you with his mouth. His tongue and lips dance around your sensitive areas.

His lips move faster and faster, sending shockwaves through your body that cause you to arch your back and thrust your hips into his face. His tongue is like a warm, gentle wave, caressing you and making you feel more alive than you ever have before. You can feel your muscles tense up as you get closer and closer to the edge, and when you finally reach it you let out a loud, intense moan that echoes through the room.

"So good for me." He groans out as he comes back up from your core and your slick is on his chin and lips, shimmering in the light. Miguel sits up and you notice how tense his body is. He's hard, his tip is dark purple had gotten so worked up from eating you out and hearing your pleasurable moans that echoed throughout the room. You sit up and your hand travels down his abs and to his cock, stroking it. He leans back against the bed; his hands holding him up from falling, and you press your lips against his, tasting yourself and him. You can feel his heartbeat racing as you kiss him passionately. Your hand strokes him as he humps into your hand. "For how dominant you had been earlier... this is different."

Miguel looks up at you. His eyes have tears as you continue to stroke him. You can sense the vulnerability in Miguel as he looks up at you, his eyes glistening with tears. You can feel the emotion radiating off of him as his heart beats rapidly in response to your touch. He is letting you in, allowing you to see a side to him that he usually keeps hidden. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close. You whisper comforting words to him, assuring him that it's ok to let it all out. He relaxes in your embrace, feeling safe and secure in your presence. After a couple of quick thrusts, his abs tighten and he cums in your hand. 

He holds you and you lay in his arms. “You did so good baby. Let’s go get you in the bath.” Miguel picks you up under your aching thighs and carries you to the bathroom that was in your room. He sets you down on the chair that sat in the bathroom. He turns on the bathtub and the water begins heating up. Miguel picks you up once more and sets you into the bath. Your body stretches out and you relax. You share I Love You’s and you lay down for the night.