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awrkive · 2 days ago

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angst + 14 + with jk make it HURT miss dee i trust you with my life 🙏🏻

14. "If you walk way from me, I don't want you coming back."

note: im genuinely so annoyed i cant keep my words bcs this drabble is 2.5k words but i promise the next ones are gonna be under 1k 😭

Two lines.

The first one is clear as day, and you’ve tried so hard to blind yourself from the other one that’s just barely there – barely because it’s faint but you’re not stupid and you know it is there. That it exists. That it’s crystal clear there are two. Fucking. Lines on the damned test.

Two lines.

It’s funny how a single plastic stick can ruin your life in a matter of minutes.

Your mother didn’t lie at all when she said that you’d know these things. That you will feel it when it’s there. A month ago you didn’t get your period and while you could have an irregular cycle sometimes, you had a bad feeling about this particular one; the fatigue didn’t feel usual, your hips and breasts are growing and it didn’t make sense. You hated key lime pie for most of your life but recently you feel like you could eat it for the rest of your days.

That was not fucking normal.

And when you vomited again this morning after waking up, you decided to take a test.

It was past 7pm when you got home from the drugstore, and thirty minutes had passed since then when you found out the result. There are three sticks in the strewn paper bag all over the sink – all of which shows you the same thing.

Two damn lines.

You’re pregnant and you don’t know what to feel about it.

But who are you lying to? You know exactly what you feel about it. You feel like utter shit. Absolute fucking shit and there’s a lodge in your throat that breaks into a sob when it finally dawns on you that holy fuck you’re fucking pregnant. There’s a baby growing in your womb and you can barely feed yourself waiting tables at a shitty restaurant downtown.

You cry.

Your shoulders shake as you sob silently in the lavatory of your tiny bathroom, the chipped edge of the mirror and the broken faucet reminding you once again that you are not ready for this. You’re only 23. You’re barely making ends meet. The gap year you took off school that was only supposed to be one year stretched into two because of financial issues and now… this? A kid? What would you do with a child? You aren’t ready. You just aren’t ready.

This was not supposed to happen.

You think that over again. This was not supposed to happen. It repeats in your head over and over again like a broken record until you break into yet again another sob.

You dig your fingers in the porcelain sink, let your body fall low as you cry until your throat hurt. Tears flowed until you felt numb inside. You wept until your body trembled, weak and unsteady, struggling to throw the sticks into the trash, wrapped as carefully as you could manage in your fragile state, afraid Jungkook might find them.

He comes home in two hours.

And for those two hours, you lie on the couch with tear-stained cheeks, thinking about what he would say; how he would react.

You wish you live in the timeline where this news could be good rather than bad. Wish this could’ve brought you to tears of joy instead of… this hollow ache in your chest trapping your airflow you could barely breathe.

But that timeline is non-existent. You’re living in the now. You’re a twenty-three-year-old woman living with your twenty-five-year-old boyfriend – and while both of you have jobs to sustain yourself in a rundown, shitty, sketchy apartment, having a kid is not ideal. It’s not in the picture. It never fit in the picture – not at all. You’ve never discussed this and you were mostly certain Jungkook would not receive this news with open arms and a wide grin.

The thought brought you to tears again until you fell asleep.

———

“Babe?”

Jungkook feels like a kid on Christmas day. He feels a bout of energy, and he wants nothing but to unleash it on you – and there are fun ways he can unleash it on you, alright – things that you both will enjoy on this cold January night.

He can’t help it. His grin only grows wider when he steps into the threshold of your house and the waft of home fills his nostrils. This part of town is shitty but you’ve done your best to make your apartment smell good. It’s that citrus… lavender… whatever the fuck candle you buy, Jungkook thinks.

Hah. He should’ve bought you one or two, huh? You fucking love those scented candles. You hoard the hell out of them even though they could be expensive. It’s worth it though… and with the bonus he’s holding in his wallet, why not?

The thought only makes him smile even more.

You’d love the news. You’d light up in that usual way you do when Jungkook does something remotely good. Anything that means he’s straying away from the destructive life he’s always led before he took your relationship seriously – you love it. And Jungkook admits he loves it, too. Loves doing good for you. Loves when he makes you happy.

He doesn’t believe in changing for other people because fuck that, this is his own life and he does whatever he wants with it – but you’re a part of it now, a great part, and Jungkook will be damned if he loses you. He certainly did before – and for all the dumb decisions he’s made in his twenty five years, that one was the worst.

“Baby?” he calls again when you give no answer. He’s sure you’re home by now, though, and so he crosses the distance to the threshold and living area, finding you in the couch cocooned like a burrito.

Chuckling, he steps closer and lets the cushion dip in his weight when he sits on it. You’d give him an earful if you see him letting his outside clothes touch your sheets but right now all he gives a fuck about is you hearing the news about his promotion at work. Granted, it’s not “promotion” per say, it’s just that he’s going up from being an apprentice to an actual tattoo artist at the shop. He can finally quit that job at that shit-paying convenience store and can focus fully on the shop which he actually likes doing. And he can finally get a more formal pay as well. It’s all for you.

When Jungkook rolls you to his side, he swiped away the hair that’s gotten all over your face. You stirred, but when you wake up, Jungkook frowns.

“What the fuck happened?”

Your eyes are puffy and red. Swollen. You look tired, drawn, exhausted. And Jungkook couldn’t have mistaken the tear stains on your cheeks for anything other than you've been crying.

“H-huh?” You say, obviously still not fully conscious.

“Were you crying?” Jungkook asks, concern growing heavy. He tries to think if you texted him today about something – but other than your usual texts of I love yous and I miss yous, there was nothing. So what could you have been possibly crying about?

It seems like you’ve snapped the haze of sleep off your mind because you quickly turn away from his touch, untangling yourself from the sheets and sitting upright.

“Nothing.”

Jungkook’s brows crease even more.

“What?”

“I said nothing!” You snapped, which surprised the both of you. Jungkook doesn’t have a clue what the fuck is going on – but then you turn around to look at him and you look so fragile and scared shitless and sad and broken that it just sends him into utter confusion when you stutter, “I’m– I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

“Yeah, I know,” Jungkook says, a bit irritated now because he doesn’t like it when you skirt around what you feel. “What happened?”

He tries to ignore the fact that when he lifts his hand to put it on your thigh, you flinch and your muscles grow tense. As if you don’t want his touch.

“I was… I was watching a movie.” you say, lips tilting into a small smile Jungkook knows is fake.

Now he’s just perplexed. What the fuck is all this about? You’re flinching at his touch and you can’t even look him in the eye as you fake a smile at him.

He peels his hand away from you and stands up from the couch.

“Yeah?” He knows he has a temper. And it definitely shows when he continues to saracastically add, “Pretty fucking dramatic movie, huh?”

You stay quiet but you definitely have a physical reaction to his sharp tone.

Every single second that passes and you still don’t utter a single word, Jungkook begins to feel like this air is growing into tension.

And his defense mechanism gets the best of him.

“Alright, lay it on me,” he says with a leveled tone, staring at you coldly. “Are you breaking up with me?”

Jungkook thinks that must be it. There’s no way there’s another reason why you’re acting like this; looking at him in that solemn way.

Two years. Two years of trying to fix him and you’ve finally reached the rim of your dam. You finally realized he’s not worth your time, that you could have so much better, be with better men, have a better life with them than whatever the fuck you have and will ever have with him.

Jungkook’s always been aware of that. It’s not even self-deprecation, it’s just facts.

But fuck if it didn’t hurt to confront it this way.

“I’m pregnant.”

Two words.

Two words and it’s enough to make Jungkook’s head spin.

“What?” He asks again, because there’s no way you just said that.

“I’m pregnant.” you repeat again, this time louder. Jungkook sees you inhaling a sharp breath, and it’s clear to him when your eyes begin to tear up. “I’m pregnant, Jungkook.”

His mouth closes and opens like a fish in a tank. He goes from confused then disbelief then just… nothing.

“You’re… you’re pregnant.”

You obviously take his tone as something different, and Jungkook can’t blame you when you snap once again. “When you put your dick in me without a condom, that’s what usually happens, so yes, I am pregnant with your child, Jungkook.”

“You let me put my dick in you without a fucking condom,” Jungkook retorts, looking at you incredulously. “What the fuck, __? What– what happened with– are you not taking your pills?”

“Fuck you!” You roar, venomous and mostly hurt.

Jungkook knows you’re feeling more like the latter.

He knows that, and yet, he decides to press more.

“What did you fucking expect, babe? That I was gonna smile and laugh and carry and spin you around this fucking– this fucking tiny apartment?” Jungkook gestures around wildly, and he hates that when he looks at your face it's now contorted into tormented pain. Your shoulders shake as you sob silently. But his head is on a haywire and he feels like he can’t think straight. You. A baby. You two. A family. He runs a hand along his face. “We’re barely making ends meet. You wait tables while I only rely on commissions from my apprenticeship at the shop and earn shit at that convenience store five blocks away. We can barely afford the fucking AC and – and now you’re telling me you’re pregnant? What the fuck do we do with a fucking child, __?”

“I don’t know!” You say exasperatedly, abruptly standing up from the couch. You sniff as you rub away at your eyes – red from all the crying you must have done and been doing.

“So why the hell would you get mad at me for reacting this way?” Jungkook answers, because frankly, he doesn’t understand. And then he says the next words he thinks of, “Are you keeping it?”

He regrets it the moment it comes out of his mouth.

You usually look at him with so much adoration in your eyes – so genuine and loving that Jungkook gets confused sometimes – but now you look at him with nothing but pure distaste. Hatred. And even he was taken aback.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck the answer to that horrible question is. But whatever the hell I do, you decide if you want to be part of it or not – and with the way you’re acting right now, I’m assuming you want out,” you say, voice firm and full. Gone was the fragility, all Jungkook could see was a stone-cold person in front of him who didn’t give a fuck about whether or not he stays in her life. And your next words further prove that. “But there’s something I want you to know and make sure you remember this: if you walk away from me, right now, I don’t want you coming back. Ever. And I mean that. I mean that, Jungkook.”

Jungkook stands glued there in the middle of the living space, heart squeezed to fuck and his lungs tightening as he processes your words.

He follows your figure as you disappear in your bedroom, feeling like the room is suddenly spinning when you leave.

Jungkook lets himself fall on the sofa and for the first time in what felt like years, he cries.

#jungkook angst #jungkook scenarios #p; drabbles #p; drabble requests

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copilot-crashout · 1 day ago

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Oh em gee I love ur writing so much it physically cleanses me sjsjjsjsj

Anyhoo, I was wondering if I could politely request Mouthwashing x reader (separate) where reader writes them “anonymous” love letters. Reader thinks they are being sneaky but the crew have known from the first letter its them and just chose to keep quiet^^? Idk I am kinda crazy about dorky!reader..

Ps #1(If u don’t wanna do all the characters, that fine!)

Pairing: Tulpar crew x gn!reader

Content Warning: None! [except I gave up on proofreading.. ( ᐡ๐ ·̫ ๐)〣]

[A/N]: You're so sweet! Thank you, lovely anon!! (°´˘`°) I default to all the characters, so don't worry! I don't want to leave anyone's favourites out! I wonder if you can tell who my favourite is from my work... ( ⩌⩊⩌)✧

CAPTAIN CURLY:

-> What a charming admirer he has! He grins when he notices you nervously looking around before entering his room, only to find the cutest little letter in his room professing their love to him.

-> He keeps hold of all of them. They're worth more than gold anyway. He doesn't have the heart to tell you right away, not when he sees your chest puffed out with pride when you place another letter in his room, a mission successful in your eyes. Instead, he focuses on noticing the little details he'd never seemed to pick up on initially. You had it bad for him, huh?

-> Curly teases you about it. He never mentions them directly, but he will often exaggerate his behaviours to the most recent letter he read. You mentioned how tall he was. He's sure to flaunt it off more.

Since when were things in this kitchen placed so high?

You sighed to yourself, stretching to try and grab some simple condiment packets you swore were placed on the countertop the last time you saw them. Luckily for you, Curly walks in at the perfect moment. When you ask for help, he gives a confident grin as he nods, stepping towards you. As expected of him.

What you didn't expect was the warm hand he placed on your hip or the way his chest pressed into your back as he grabbed exactly what you were asking for, the steady thrum of his heartbeat only making yours speed up. You're left red-faced and stuttering, nervous hands taking the packets out of his larger one.

"You're all red. If you're not feeling well, you should take a visit to Anya. I can walk you there."

JIMMY:

-> He loves it. End of. They boost his confidence in ways he didn't even know was possible. The idea of you watching him when he didn't notice was one he found sickly sweet, prideful that someone loved him as much as he deserved.

-> He was initially planning to tell you he knew after the first letter. He had dreamed about the way he'd hold your letter back to you, a sly grin as he watched you scramble for an answer, flustered before ultimately coming clean about your attempts to court him. Once he sees the second letter, however, his mindset changes.

-> It's simply too cute. The way you sneak around to keep it anonymous and the way you wear your heart on your sleeve. He's delighted by how much of your mind he occupies. It excites him to think about how much you try to learn about him. Do you know his routine by heart? What about his likes and dislikes? Better yet, were you trying to mould yourself into the perfect partner for him (although this seems more of a dream on his part than a genuine question...)? He gets a sick kick out of it.

-> He finds himself re-reading the letters in the middle of the night, the ones that point out the smallest parts of himself that you talked about so affectionately. It made him nauseous. Words so tender weren't something he came by so easily, nor was it something he believed he deserved. He's used to one-night stands, a cheap fuck, nothing so... romantic. Perhaps he could get used to this.

-> He's not going to be soft, though, as he teases you about it. Offhandedly mentions the letter and if you knew who could leave such a thing in his room and grins when you instantly deny it and make a show of him believing you. He gets incredibly touchy, too. His hands linger for a fraction longer than they need to. He stands as close to you as he can, looming over you whenever he has the time. Have you noticed the way the atmosphere changes when it's just the two of you alone? He'll look forward to your next letter. Maybe you wrote about it.

-> He could try playing the long game for once. The reward feels so much sweeter that way.

ANYA:

-> Anya is perceptive first and foremost. Rather than catching her admirer mid-delivery, she uncovers your identity through your handwriting.

-> The letters cheer her up endlessly. They're a sweet reminder of how someone adores her, even when she's overwhelmed. It's hard on board, but your letters become a routine that she looks forward to. I think she's one of the only characters who would tell you she knows, feeling guilty about leaving you in the dark about something that could embarrass you. However, she'd never ask you to stop. Anya gushes about how much she appreciates every single letter, keeping them and re-reading them when she can and she tells you how she figured it out, giggling when you stare at her like you're begging for the floor to swallow you whole.

-> Anya makes it a priority to keep you happy. Your letters do so much for her, she only wants you to feel the same. You'll find her lingering around you more, offering hugs or a shoulder to lean on whenever possible. If you're especially tired, she'll help finish your work with you. Another set of hands would always help.

-> She begins to write small compliments on her Post-it notes, leaving them in places you frequent. If you have tools you use, she places a note talking about how hardworking you are on there. Otherwise, you begin to find small notes in your room. It becomes a ritual between the both of you, sending each other letters when you can. She just wants you to know how loved you are.

DAISUKE:

-> For him!? Really!?

-> He's kicking his feet and giggling, rolling around in his bed, head buried into his pillows. If you thought you were dorky, then he's 100 times worse.

-> He's attached to your hip. You thought he was helpful and sweet? Well, he'll help you with your work! Fun to be around? In his free time, he's running to you for another round of board games or to play on his Game Boy.

-> He wouldn't know subtle if it slapped him in his face. It's unfortunate for the rest of the crew, who have to watch two love-sick adults pine for each other as if they're not reciprocated.

-> Whenever he feels especially sad, he re-reads the letters. Even if he might feel useless at times, that he doesn't have a plan for his future, he does have the assurance that you'll be there by his side. You're a great person. If you can find all these amazing things about him then... He's sure he can make something great of himself.

SWANSEA:

"Jesus, this kids got it rough."

-> That's his first thought before it slowly dissolves into a fond affection. He's a bit too old for this lovey-dovey yearning shtick, right? Initially, he finds himself sighing at the letters, wondering when and how would be the best way to stop this little game of yours. He feels undeserving of it. You have so much going for you. You simply don't deserve someone like him. He wants to push you away, but the letters mean too much to him. Instead, he becomes charmed by it all, awaiting every letter with bated breath.

-> You do know how to make him feel young again. Each letter leaves his heart pounding, feeling like a young schoolboy rather than a washed-out mechanic.

-> He keeps every single one. If you place them in little envelopes or place small gifts like stickers in them, you'll be glad to know he keeps it all in his bedside drawer.

-> He's one to return the favour, too. He's picked up a few skills with his work. Blue-collar jobs like this have enough transferable skills to help in the creative department. He hopes you're not too surprised if you find your broken items repaired or a small figure of your favourite animal made out of scraps in your room.

-> Perhaps... He's the one who's got it bad.

#mouthwashing x reader #curly x reader #mouthwashing #captain curly x reader #curly mouthwashing #daisuke x reader #gn reader #gn!reader #anya x reader #captain curly #jimmy x reader #swansea x reader #swansea mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing #anya mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing

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hvnlygrl · 2 days ago

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bf jj and virgin reader doing it for the first time !!!!!

he literally just baby's her without belittling her because he knows she dosent fw vulnerability like that

i got you babe.

pairing — jj maybank x fem!virgin!reader

word count — 2.0k

warnings — smut minors dni, loss of virginity, p in v, protected sex, fingering, oral (f rec), fluff, aftercare.

synopsis — jj is nothing but a sweetheart during your first time, and it’s everything you could’ve imagined and more.

notes — i love this idea he would be so sweet and tender and just so perfect for ur first time

you were nervous. you obviously trusted jj more than anything but it didn’t help ease the anxiety that was building inside of you. you didn’t want to look like a fool or ruin anything with jj.

but it had been nearly 3 months of your relationship and the most you’d done together is some under the clothes groping and grinding, leaving each of you to go home and finish yourselves off.

jj would never pressure you into anything, or look at you differently for taking your time, he understands how fragile virginity is and how you want your first time to be special, but he can’t help but leave each heated make-out session feeling more desperate than the last time.

you’ve thought about it all week and you’re sure that tonight is the night. it’s his birthday and you want to make it even more special.

he opens the silver chain you gifted him, eyes going wide at the gesture, “holy shit, babe! where did you get the dough for this thing?”

“nunya,” you flash a grin at him, heart fluttering at how excited he is to put it on. “you like it?”

“baby i love it,” he looks like a child in a candy shop, “it’s fuckin’ awesome.”

“good, i’m glad,” you hum proudly. setting the scene is going better than you’d imagined. jj sits on your couch, expecting that to be the only gift he’d receive. with his birthday being january 14th, you picked out a couple of new hoodies for him since his other ones were getting extra ratty from overuse (and from him dropping the blunt on himself nearly every time he smoked).

you pull out two mid-sized gift bags from the side of the couch and hand them to him.

“holy- more gifts? how much did you spend?” jj gapes at you, eyes full of concern and a bittersweet happiness at how much you’re willing to go out of your way for him.

“i’m not telling you!” you huff out playfully, “open it!”

he rips the tissue paper from the first bag, discarding it to the side of him before pulling out the first hoodie. it’s a light teal-blue, with the ron jon surf shop logo on the back. “dude this is sick!” he flips it over to look at the front, noticing a tinier version of the logo on the heart.

“now open this one,” you grin, knowing he’d love this one even more.

he pulls it from the bag next, revealing a black hoodie, his favorite album plastered across the front, the artist’s tour dates and locations listed on the back. “no way!!”

“yes way,” you can’t stop smiling at this point, knowing that this is genuinely the happiest he’s been since you’ve met him. “happy birthday my sweet boy,” you lean towards him, giving him a kiss.

he leans into it, hands immediately coming up to grip you face, one resting on your cheek and the other resting in your hair toward the back of your head.

you embrace the kiss even more, allowing him to slip his tongue against yours as you nervously clamber onto his lap. you’re in a flowy mini skirt and long sleeve button up. he’s adorned in the brand new silver chain, a cut-off sleeveless t-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts.

you let your fingers glide down his chest slowly, nails dragging against the fabric before lifting at the bottom to pull it over his head.

he falters for a moment, looking at you curiously, “whatcha doin, baby?”

“i’m ready, jay,” your nervousness is plastered across your face but you mean it. you’re ready to go to the next level with him. and tonight’s the night.

“you sure? you don’t have t-“

“-i’m positive baby.”

“if you change your mind at all no matter how far we get just say the word, okay?” he raises his brows at you expectantly, a thousand percent serious in his words.

“okay,” you flutter your lashes.

“you promise you’ll tell me if you fell uncomfortable in the slightest?”

“pinky swear,” you hold your pinky out, heart beating in your chest as he wraps his own pinky around it, locking in the promise.

he uses the linked finger to pull you back closer to him kissing you as his hands then moving to rest on your thighs, thumbs massaging the interior while you begin grinding yourself on top of him lightly.

you begin feeling more sure of yourself, your hands gliding around jj’s pecs and biceps, “you’re so hot.”

“speak for yourself, y/n,” he breathes against your lips, cheeks flushed with need.

you moan softly when his hands slide up underneath your skirt, gripping at your ass roughly.

at this point, you’re dripping and you could care less about the slow foreplay. “i want it,” you whine quietly, your hands lingering at the zipper on his cargo shorts.

“you sure you can handle it?” he’s half-joking, of course.

“positive,” you nod quickly, “please baby?”

he groans through his teeth at the neediness in your voice, opting to flip you onto your back, gently resting your head against the arm rest of the couch. “you wanna move to the bed or stay here?”

“i don’t care,” you shrug, mind clouded with lust.

“pick one baby,” he replies, voice smooth and steady.

“mmm,” you begin thinking, “bed.”

he nods as he scoops you into his arms, letting your legs wrap around him, his hands supporting your weight as they grip your ass.

he lies you down at the head of the bed, resting you atop the comforter and your favorite pillow. he bites his lip in anticipation as he unbuttons and unzips his shorts, slipping them off and launching them across the room.

he spreads your legs slowly, eyes flitting back up to meet your nervous gaze, looking for your assurance before moving any further. you give him a quick nod, holding your breath as he slips your skirt off, his fingers gliding against the edge of your panties.

he unbuttons your shirt from the bottom up, opting to leave it on as your chest and lacy bra is exposed. he breathes heavily at the sight of you, eyes wide and full of lust almost fully exposed for him. his dick is on the verge of bursting out of his boxers, tip leaking and as needy as you feel in this moment.

his muscles are detailed, flexing and unflexing with each movement he makes.

jj leans down to kiss you again, one arm steadying himself next to your head, the other hand rubbing your sopping wet pussy through your panties. the sensation makes you moan into his mouth, your hips bucking up slightly toward him. he takes that as his cue to slip his hand under your panties, groaning at the wetness pooling between your lips. he gathers some of it at the tip of his fingers, trailing it back up to your clit before swirling them around the sensitive button.

your eyes flutter at the feeling, one hand flying up to the back of his head as you tug at his hair roughly. “fuck,” you whisper, head flying back. “feels so good baby.”

he continues the motion for a few more moments before slipping a finger inside of you, kissing you as he does it. he glides it in and out a few pumps before adding another finger, his lips trailing down to your neck as he licks and bites the sensitive area. he continues that, hooking his fingers up inside of you as he pumps, watching intently as you moan and gasp, head thrown back against the pillow, one hand gripping his bicep as the other grasps at the comforter below you.

jj slips the panties off you, readjusting himself so that his face rests just above your glistening pussy. “she’s so pretty, baby.”

you blush at his statement, hands roving around his wavy locks as he begins lightly licking and kissing your sensitive area. you gasp at the new sensation, fingers yanking at his hair. “fuck, that’s,” you groan when he starts full-force kissing and sucking at your pussy, his tongue drawing shapes along your clit. “oh my god.”

he hums, one hand grasping his dick as the other holds your thighs apart, the vibration bringing you nearly to the edge of an orgasm. at that, he stops, leaving you to whimper at the loss of the sensation, the edging only making you want him more. “why’d you stop?” you whine desperately.

“because i wanna feel you cum around my dick, baby,” he pulls the boxers off, watching as your eyes go wide at the sight of his member, veiny and rock solid, his tip leaking needily as he reaches for his wallet on your nightstand, pulling a condom from one of the pockets. he quickly rips it open then glides it over his dick. “you ready, angel?”

you nod quickly, “i need it, jay.”

“whatever you want, sweet girl,” he positions himself back between your legs, his chain dangling in front of your face for a moment before he begins kissing down the side of your neck as he guides himself to your opening expertly. you hold your breath as he inches himself inside, fingernails cutting into his biceps.

he goes extremely slow at first, inching in and out to get you used to him before going to town.

the first time he bottomed out inside you, you jumped, letting out a yelp, causing him to quickly pull out and look at you with concern. “you okay?”

“yea, i jus- it was a lot,” you fail to meet eye contact with him, cheeks growing hot with embarrassment.

he grips your chin softly but firmly, forcing you to look at him, “hey. don’t feel embarrassed baby, let me know if i’m hurting you, it’s supposed to feel good, alright? remember our promise? i’m not gonna judge you for any of this. ever.”

you gaze at him for a moment, eyes full of love and tenderness. you nod and pull him back closer, this time using your own hand to guide him inside of you. you kiss him lovingly, teeth clashing together and tongues gliding in and out. it’s perfect, truly. you couldn’t have imagined someone better to have your first time with, and you’re beyond grateful that it’s someone as kind and nurturing as jj.

once he finds a groove that you both can enjoy, he begins going to town, thrusting in and out, leaving you clawing at his back.

“oh my god, jj you feel so good holy shit,” you cry out, face buried in the crook of his neck.

he groans, throwing his head back, “that pussy feels so fucking good, angel, you have no idea.”

he continues thrusting, watching you intently as your eyes begin rolling back, fingers clawing even deeper while your legs start closing in tightly around him. “that’s it, baby, lemme feel you cum around me.”

you let yourself revel in the feeling, the world around you disappearing for a moment while he groans, unable to stop himself from cumming with you. you feel him nut into the condom inside of you, pussy tingling at the sensation.

he holds his position for a moment, unmoving as you each catch your breath, just gazing at each other.

“wow,” you breathe out in awe, just beginning to get your normal headspace back. “that was awesome.”

jj chuckles, “glad you enjoyed, baby girl. i’m here anytime you wanna do it again,” he winks at you slyly.

you grin, wincing slightly as he pulls out. you watch him lovingly as he saunters to the bathroom for a moment to pee and dispose of the condom, heart fluttering when he returns with a damp washcloth to clean you up with.

he cleans you up before picking out a comfy set of underwear and pajamas and tucking you in under the blanket. he pulls you onto his chest after throwing his own boxers back on, his chest warm and comfier than ever.

“i love you,” you whisper, head resting atop his heart.

“i love you, sweet girl,” he kisses the top of your head as he scrolls through various streaming sites, looking for something good to watch.

“happy birthday baby,” you give him a brief squeeze.

“best birthday ever,” he huffs back, hand rubbing your back softly.

-> back to masterlist

taglist — @rubiehart

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starlessea · 2 days ago

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𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙏𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙏𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙈𝙚𝙣𝙙 [𝘿𝙖𝙧𝙮𝙡 𝘿𝙞𝙭𝙤𝙣 𝙓 𝙍𝙚𝙖��𝙚𝙧]

Chapter 3: Catatonia

Series Masterlist: The Ties That Mend

Summary: Three-hundred-and-ninety-six days after the outbreak, you are discovered in an abandoned community college, covered in filth and barely able to speak a word. Despite the showers (multiple) and rehabilitation attempts (also multiple), it's apparent that your mind is elsewhere. Beyond saving.

This new world is chaos, but you're lucky to find good people in it. More so than any is a man named Daryl, patient enough to let you put yourself back together—one stitch at a time.

The medical bay smells faintly of antiseptic. You sit stiff on the edge of an examination table, a paper sheet crinkling under your jeans; you try not to rip it as you readjust. Before you, the doctor—former vet, as he corrected—rifles through supplies with practiced care.

“Any trouble sleeping?”

The question weighs heavy on your chest. From anyone else, it would sting, but Hershel’s tone isn’t discriminatory. He has no knowledge of last night—wasn’t there at breakfast, either. He didn’t notice the faces too tired to hide their disdain for you. To him, you’re just another patient.

It’s ironic. The vet is the first person here not to look at you like an animal.

“Some,” you reply, after a moment.

It’s a lie, of course. A big fat one.

Back at the college, sleep was a thing that took you only when it was lucky. Even then, it was never peaceful. It was something stolen in fits and starts as you held the door shut from whatever lurked on the other side. Here, those nights still haunt you.

“Just a new place,” you add. “I’ll g—get used to it.”

Hershel doesn’t press. Whether he believes you or not, he drops the subject for now, opting instead to examine your hands. You flinch at first, instinct pulling you back. But the warmth in his old fingers seeps through your skin, coaxing you to unclench your palms.

He studies the callouses lining them: the handiwork of your hatchet.

You feel dismembered without it.

After the last three-hundred-and-ninety-seven days, you could hardly remember a time you before it. It had been with you since the outbreak. Ever since you smashed that glass box near the fire escape, in search of anything to defend yourself.

You’d been near catatonic when Rick had pried it from your hands the night before. “There are children here,” he’d reasoned, conjuring an image of a boy in a Sheriff’s hat—too curious for his own good.

You couldn’t bring yourself to refute him; you’d nearly taken the heads of two of his group already. Even now, Daryl’s expression still burns behind your eyes, not particularly angry nor pitiful. Just sort of… Disappointed?

Somehow that was worse.

“You’re a lucky one, my dear,” Hershel notes, his thumbs brushing over the rough patches between your fingers. “To be in this condition… It’s nothing short of miraculous.”

You raise a brow, trying to discern any humour in his words. What about you could possibly be lucky?

“Besides the malnourishment and sores,” Hershel continues, his smile so genuine you almost don’t believe it, “you’re healthy.”

Healthy. The word sounds foreign. Impossible. You can’t be healthy—not in the head, at least.

You say nothing, choosing only to watch as Hershel pulls a small jar from his medical kit. He unscrews the lid to reveal a pungent salve. As he spreads it over your hands, the sting is sharp, biting—but like everything else these days, it fades quickly into nothingness.

“I’d suggest bone broth for the first couple of meals. Meat will be too rich,” he says, matter-of-factly.

Grimacing, you nod; you’d already discovered that.

But as Hershel works, you can’t help but notice the kindness in his actions. He applies the salve with gentle ministrations, retreating out of your space as soon as he’s done. It’s refreshing. There’s something about him that calms you. Whether it’s the crinkles of his eyes, or the way he rounds his sentences, it has you speaking before the words have even taken shape in your head.

“Hershel?”

His gaze flickers to yours.

“What do you know about…” You hesitate, swallowing hard. “The m—mind? Can you fix it?”

His expression softens, though the weight of his answer is clear before he speaks. “Unfortunately, that’s one of the toughest things to mend,” he says. “Takes time. Patience.”

How many days? you want to ask, but your better judgement cautions against it. That’s not the right question. This isn’t something that can be measured by tally marks on a wall.

“Where do I start?” you ask instead.

There’s a pause. Hershel chooses his next words with care. “A good night’s sleep,” he says. “Then ten. Then fifty.”

You try not to let his answer deflate you.

Does he know you can barely manage one?

“Those tremors, too,” Hershel leans back slightly, considering you, “They’re no good. Have you burning through energy quicker than you can replenish it.”

He takes a second to deliberate, pawing at the white hairs of his beard. Then, something flashes behind his eyes—a recollection. An idea. “You know what they used to suggest to old war vets?”

You keep quiet, waiting.

“Repetitive action,” he explains. “Something you can do without thinking.”

His raised brow prompts for an answer.

“Guitar.”

It comes to you immediately, dredged up from another life. Free classes at the college, teaching music to a bunch of ragtags dumped by their parents after church. You never loved it—it was just something to do.

Hershel chuckles softly. “Haven’t seen many of those around these parts, I’m afraid. What about something a little more… accessible? Sketching, knitting—”

“I can sew,” you interrupt.

The admission feels small but significant. It was your mother’s trade, just poor seamstress trying to make ends meet. She’d only passed down two things to you when she died: her needlework and her debt.

“That’ll be handy,” Hershel replies. He makes no show of it, but you catch him reaching over to open the drawer beside him. After some calculated rummaging, his hand emerges with a biscuit tin—an odd find amongst prescription bottles and bandages. As he pops the lid open, you’re met with a familiar sight: a sewing kit filled with buttons, thread, and patches of mismatched cloth.

Hershel locks eyes with you before speaking, “This is what I want you to do. Each time you thread this needle, visualise yourself letting go of whatever it is that’s holding onto you.” He places it into your palm; it’s a little rusted, but you’ve seen worse. “I want you to practice it—each stitch, mending those parts you want to fix.”

You glance between him and the needle, trying to process his words.

“If you ever feel like you’re losing control—which you will—I want you to imagine you are here. Threading the needle. Safe, focused.” Before you can reply, Hershel plucks it from you, dropping it back into the small biscuit tin for safe keeping. With the lid secured, he gestures for you to put it in your pocket.

“But first, you need to clean yourself up. You might not be sick now, but staying covered in filth,” he says, taking a pause to look you up and down, “it’s only a matter of time.”

You find yourself agreeing.

It’s strange, you think. In this moment, the old man could tell you anything—to stick your hand in flames or jump from a tall building—and you fear you would. It’s a dangerous countenance he has. One that instills trust.

You don't argue when Hershel offers to walk you back through the winding corridors to Cell Block D. His gait makes you feel a little guilty—he's missing a leg, after all—but your appreciation for his presence outweighs it.

As you pass by the windows overlooking the courtyard, the air carries the faint smell of damp concrete, rusted metal, and people—too many people, their voices filtering in with the breeze. You prepare yourself to face their scrutiny. The nicknames they thought you didn’t notice:

Loony Bin

You had keen ears, and that one was loud.

In an obvious attempt at distraction, Hershel begins to tell you about his daughters. “You’ll like Maggie,” he says, a faint smile in his voice. “She’s strong—headstrong, sometimes—just like her mother. And you’ve already met her husband.” He notes the confusion on your face before adding, “Glenn.”

Your steps falter. Glenn. The realisation sinks in slowly as you draw the thread between them all. Hershel’s warmth, the glimmer of trust in his eyes—it wasn’t random. He had Maggie’s smile, Glenn’s optimism.

And you’d almost killed his son-in-law.

“Though he might be off on some errand,” Hershel continues, oblivious to the tangle of thoughts in your mind. “That boy never sits still.” He then chuckles softly, like he’s sharing an inside joke. It does little to calm your nerves.

By the time you reach the entryway to Cell Block D, you’re already on edge. The low hum of voices carries through the open door, a stark contrast to the relative quiet of the medical bay. You spot a small group gathered near the common area—a brother-sister duo whose names you’ve already forgotten, Carol, Maggie, and a young woman you can’t quite place.

“One of my girls will show you to the washroom,” Hershel announces, nodding towards the brunette in the corner. She offers a polite smile but seems less than thrilled at the prospect. “And this is my youngest—”

“Beth?”

The name tears out of you before Hershel even finishes.

Across from you, she stands motionless. Unaware. There’s a good ten years between you—at least—but her face, though older and sharper, holds the same softness you remembered. You still see her as the kid who played piano, sang shy and did good. Beth Greene. You’re certain it’s her, recognised her from the recesses of your memory. Sweet, quiet Beth. Alive.

But she can’t be real—can she?

Her face is full of confusion at first. But that disappears the moment she takes a step forward, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. “Sweet Jesus,” she breathes, “Is that really you? What happened?”

You chew over the question: what happened? What didn’t? The answers feel too jagged, too large to fit into words. Your mind is racing, unraveling. She’s not supposed to be here. The auditorium—you’d been so sure. You’d seen them fall, heard the screams, the countless bodies. She’d been there. Hadn’t she?

Hadn’t she?

“Beth Greene?” you whisper again. You’re not even sure if it’s a question or a plea.

She moves again, tentative but willing to close the distance. “Oh my God,” she mutters. “It’s really is you.” Her fingers brush yours, grounding you to the moment, to her.

Beside you, Hershel clears his throat. “You two know each other?”

Beth retracts her hand to acknowledge him. “Yes, Daddy. She—” She glances back at you, taking in the sight. “She used to teach music at the old college. On Sundays. I used to beg to go.”

A silence lingers for a moment; you catch Maggie's stare, Carol's intrigue.

“She could sing real good,” Beth adds, barely above a whisper.

Her words slam into you like a punch to the gut. You see it now—her sitting on the edge of the stage, pouring over sheet music in her lap.

Before you can say anything, her eyes are suddenly wide, frantic. They pin you in place. “Oh my goodness. Were you there?”

You try not to cringe, to give yourself away. But your silence speaks volumes.

“I think it's time our newest arrival took a shower,” Carol announces, shielding you from the question. “Here.”

She hands Beth a set of clippers. They’re the old kind. You squeezed; they buzzed.

“You’re going to have to crop that hair,” she says briskly, gesturing to you. “It’s too matted.”

You shoot her a look. Neither of you exchange any words, but you can tell Carol understands. You're thankful for her redirection. She's definitely good with children.

“No.”

Beth's voice brings you back to the moment. To the group of people and their prying eyes.

“It was pretty,” she says, but it's mainly to herself. “I remember bein’ jealous, it was so long.”

You look down at the tangles hanging over your shoulders, at the filth caked in the strands. You're not precious of it. In fact, you couldn’t care less.

“It’s disgusting,” you counter. “I don’t want to turn p—people off their food.”

Beth shakes her head, her brows drawing together in protest. “Give me a day,” she says. “If I can’t fix it… we’ll shave it.”

Your eyes find the clippers in her hand before coming back up to meet her.

“One day,” she reasserts, her voice soft but firm.

One day. A single tally mark.

You nod.

—

It takes the full day.

Not just an hour or two. No quick fixes or shortcuts. It’s a full day of prying away the layers of filth that had buried themselves into you over the past three-hundred-and-ninety-seven days.

You’re sitting beneath her on a wooden chair in the corner of the washroom. The place is damp, steam rising from the water you’ve drained three times already. Your body aches from the scrubbing—you’ve lost count of the hours—and beneath your fingers, the skin feels almost new.

Then there was your hair…

At first, you thought it was futile; the clippers were a far easier alternative. But now, as the last few knots on your head give way under Beth’s patient fingers, you can hardly believe it. You’d gone through the prison's entire supply of shampoo. Four near-empty bottles now lined the edge of the sink, their contents spent in the battle against the god-knows-what was in your hair.

When you’d muttered an apology for using up so much, Beth had only waved you off. “Don’t worry about it,” she’d said casually. “Daryl and Michonne can find more.”

The thought made you wince; another burden, another thing you’d added to their list. But Beth hadn’t seemed bothered in the least. If anything, she worked with more determination, as if this—your restoration—was her personal mission.

But she never overstepped.

Besides her odd instructions, “pass me that comb, tell me if it hurts, try not to move,” the two of you barely spoke. Beth had made the effort at first, but your mind was far too loud for her to get a word in edgeways.

When was the last time someone had touched you like this? When was the last time you’d let them? You can’t remember. It’s easier that way—to keep people at a hatchet’s length. Safer, too.

Yet, here she is. Beth Greene, picking you apart, piece by piece, like she’s unearthing something she’s determined to save.

Why?

The question gnaws at you as you sit there, letting her hands work through the last of the tangles. You can’t fathom what she sees in you that’s worth saving: a patchwork of sores and sins, held together by whatever instinct still clings to survival. Even now, you’re barely hanging on.

“Why weren’t you there that day?” you ask her.

The question’s out before you can stop it. Your heart pounds behind your ribs.

“What?”

You swallow hard, forcing the words out again. “That Sunday. Why weren’t you there?”

Beth doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she resumes her work, her fingers methodical as she begins to braid a lock of hair. “My daddy wanted me to stay home,” she says eventually. “Maggie was sick, and he thought she needed me more.”

You nod, a hollow kind of relief settling in your chest. If she was there, she’d be rotting in the auditorium with the others. Those first few days, the faces all seemed to blend together—one corpse at a time. You’d been so sure she was among them.

Her voice pulls you back. “I’m glad I wasn’t there,” she admits quietly. “But I hate that you were.”

You don’t reply.

“Was it bad?”

You feel tremors picking at your skin as the memories come back to you. The screams. The blood. The bodies piled on that same stage where you used to hold concerts. Your throat tightens. “It was…” You pause, searching for a word that could do it justice. Somehow, none feel adequate.

A bloodbath? Carnage? Despair?

“Hell,” you say finally, barely above a whisper.

This time, Beth stays silent.

“Why are you doing this?” you press. The words come pouring out, circling the drain like four bottles of shampoo.

It’s been weighing on you the whole day. The girl behind you can barely be called an acquaintance. She’s just some kid you saw every other week for a-half-hour when her parents—like most folks—likely needed a break.

She has no reason to be here.

Beth stills. You feel her hands rest on your scalp. “Because I remember what it’s like,” she finally answers. “To lose everything. To feel like there’s nothing left of you.”

As she reaches for her comb, you see it again: that scar on her wrist, too perfect and straight to be accidental. You don’t reply, but she doesn’t seem to expect you to. “You might not remember, but my aunt died a few years back,” she says softly; you hear Hershel in her voice. “The last thing I wanted to do after the funeral was go to that damn music class—sorry—but my daddy thought it’d be good for me. Couldn’t stop crying in the truck.”

You glance at her, something tugging at the edges of your memory.

“I don’t know if you did it on purpose,” she lets out a faint laugh, “but you sang a good song that day. My favourite. Did your best Dolly impression for all us kids.”

Beth ties off your braids with a gentle tug, stepping back to survey her work. “It brought some life back to me, you know? And I wanted to do the same for you.”

As she circles the wooden stool, coming into your view, you see the sincerity in her eyes. In truth, you could hardly remember it; the image was as foggy as the room in which the two of you stood. Did you even do it for her? Possibly. Or maybe you were hungover and Jolene just had it coming.

Either way, it had made her smile. And that was enough.

“Alright,” she says, nodding toward the mirror across the room. “Let’s see it.”

You hesitate. You’re not sure you want to see. Not yet. It’s just a mirror, you know, but you can’t help remembering the reflection you saw yesterday, at the end of the hall in Cell Block D.

“Go on,” Beth urges, nudging your shoulder just enough to make you move.

You can’t avoid it. You shuffle closer, the tiled floor cool beneath your bare feet. The mirror looms before you, its surface slightly fogged from the lingering steam. For a second, you don’t look. You focus on your breathing, on the steady rise and fall of your chest.

Then, slowly, you lift your eyes.

The person staring back at you is familiar.

Your hair is neatly braided. Two long plaits trail down your back, each bound with a simple tie. The scent of lavender clings to you, fresh in contrast to the mould you’d grown used to. And the clothes—borrowed from Beth—fit like they belong to a version of yourself.

She watches you, arms crossed, expectant. You catch her gaze in the mirror. “Well?” she asks, one brow arched in challenge.

The outfit it nice, simple. The body in it could use some square meals. But overall, it's not bad. You’re more weedy now, all elbows and knees, but you could grow to accept this.

“It’s me,” you say.

Beth’s reflection joins yours as she sways slightly on the balls of her feet. “Yeah,” she agrees. “It is.”

The image holds you in place, locking you into this moment. Somehow, you’re still here. Not the person you were before, nor the hollow shadow you’ve been dragging behind you. Something in between. Someone half-stitched back together, the seams raw but holding.

Beth leans in. “So, what do you think?”

You glance down at your hands—rough but yours—and when you look back at the mirror, you almost don’t recognise the faint curve of your lips.

“It’ll do,” you say.

Beth laughs, and for a small moment, you feel it—something fitting into place.

— It's too damn late.

Daryl’s boots echo over the metal catwalk, one dull thud after another. He’d been hunting most of the afternoon, causing a ruckus out there in the woods. But now it's dark, quiet, and he's reminded just how little sleep he's gotten these last few days. How he'd kill to be one of these snoring bastards in the cells next door.

Last night was rough.

He'd cursed you at first, tossing and turning in his bed as he tried to shake the image of you curled up on the floor. At breakfast, too, he could barely stomach you. But as soon as he got out of those gates, into the world and the trees and everything beyond four concrete walls, he felt nothing.

Well, he felt something.

Just not the burning contempt he felt initially when the sun first shone into his eyes. This was different. He'd realised it some hours ago, during the time he spent tracking a deer. It was a small thing, barely enough to feed the kids, but once Daryl had it at end of his arrow, wide-eyed and frantic, he couldn't bring himself to shoot it.

It's the first time he'd come back empty-handed from a hunt.

That stupid look on it's face reminded him of you.

Rick had filled him in earlier, told him that you were looking... different. Better, he’d said. Like some semblance of a woman now, instead of the half-dead thing Glenn had brought back from the brink.

Daryl doesn't know what he expected, but as he passes your cell—still illuminated by candle light—he's surprised by how much that change has settled in. You don't notice him, which gives Daryl time to survey you from afar; he knows better than to cross the threshold. You're sitting near the door, back straight, eyes wide, not a hint of sleep on you. No blankets, no covers—just you, focused on something in your lap.

You're wearing Beth's clothes, they fit better than Glenn's, and long, twin braids fall down your back. But the biggest change is your face, warm in the candle light—

It's less biting now.

Daryl almost doesn’t know what to say. No quips come to him, no bitterness held from the night before. Instead, he speaks honestly, “Ya look better.” He shifts on his feet, then adds, “Smell better, too.”

A huff of dry air escapes him. Lavender. That’s new.

“You have Beth to thank,” you respond, without missing a beat.

Daryl blinks, thrown off by the reply. You knew he was there, and your stutter... It’s gone.

He should leave, he thinks.

But instead, he watches you fiddle with that fabric—sewing, he realises—and takes in the way your fingers work the needle. He knows nothing of the stitch you’re weaving; he��s more concerned by the fact your hands have finally stopped shaking. It's a kind of concentration, the same way he focuses when he hunts. Steady and unbroken.

“Ya know,” he says after a long pause, “‘M pretty sure whatever tha’ is can wait.” He gestures at the remnants of a shirt in your lap. “Ya should get some sleep.”

His words are meaningless; you don’t even look up. But when you shake your head, it's with certainty. “If I do, you won’t.”

Daryl scowls. The memory of earlier—of how you looked trembling in the dark—flashes in his mind.

“I’m sorry,” you add. Then, using your sewing needle, you to draw a line in the air across your throat.

Daryl would’ve laughed at that, usually. But not from you. He doesn’t know you like that. Hell, he’s still not sure you won’t decapitate him the next chance you get. “Quit sayin’ sorry,” he says instead, more sharply than he meant to.

“Sor—” You catch yourself. “It won’t happen again,” you finish.

And it can’t, Daryl thinks. He’s made damn sure of that. Rick’s got that thing reserved for firewood only—a duty he’ll make sure you’ll never have.

But he doesn't tell you that, so instead the moment stretches out, the soft scrape of your needle stitching through fabric. He should really leave now. Yet, his tired eyes catch something on the cell wall across from him, pinning him in place.

One faint, vertical line, followed by chicken-scratch words he struggles to decipher:

Loony Bin

His eyes flicker over them before snapping back to you. He’d only said it once—muttered it under his breath at breakfast—but he had a feeling you’d heard. If not, you’d surely felt it in his stare.

He swallows thick. “Ya best be careful,” he says, trying to think of something—anything that comes to mind. He tries a joke. “A head ain’t something ya can just sew back on.”

The laugh that follows catches him off guard. A dry sound, but genuine. It cuts through the tension like scissors through silk, and seems to surprise you, too.

Daryl clears his throat. “Get some sleep for real,” he says, stepping back from the door. He tries to sound like he’s giving an order, but it comes out more like a suggestion. “Tomorrow, Rick wants ya to learn ‘bout this place. How we all keep it runnin’.”

He’s not sure what the hell you’ll be doing; he can’t imagine you playing well with others. Maybe watch duty. Something distant. Something that’ll keep you out of the way.

But then, before he can leave, he tests his luck. “You know how to shoot?” he asks. Tiredness is thick in his voice. “Could use more eyes on them walls.”

You pause, and for a moment, Daryl thinks he’s gone too far. He’s half-joking, but there’s something about you that makes him feel like a kid again. A kid too stupid for his own good, who wants to push, prod, and only find out where the line is once he's crossed it.

You look up. Daryl catches the flash of something in your eyes—defiance, maybe. It’s gone as quick as it surfaces. “No,” you say, quietly. “I can’t.”

Daryl’s shrug is automatic. He hadn’t expected you to say yes, wouldn’t trust you if you did. “Mm. A’right.”

He leaves without a goodbye, halfway to his cell before he hears it. That flicker of a voice calling out to him:

“But I’m pretty good with a hatchet.”

A/N This chapter was bloody massive. I deliberated on the structure for ages, but I felt each part was necessary to paint the picture I'm going for. In all honesty, I was a little worried you guys would think ''there's not enough Daryl'' and considered interjecting more of him. But at this stage, it's just not realistic. It doesn't feel natural. I want each of their interactions to mean sometime, so please be patient with me as I set them up. And let me know your thoughts -do you appreciate this style? The relationships she's building with others? I'm keen to know :) As always, thanks for reading! x

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accioscarheadthings · 2 days ago

Text

↬ 𝗡𝗲𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗸𝗻𝗼𝘄 - 𝗖𝗵𝗼𝘀𝗼 𝗞𝗮𝗺𝗼 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

summary - in the aftermath of a perilous mission, choso finds himself nursing your injuries, his clinical touches gradually giving way to heated, exploratory caresses as he tends to your wounds.

pairing: sub!choso kamo x fem!reader

warnings - childhood friends to lovers, smut, 18+, fingering, loss of virginity, degradation and praise kink, overstimulation

author's note - posting this after a brief break, so i apologize if it's not that great. also requests are open for jjk!men:)

"stupid, stubborn, idiot,"

you rolled your eyes at choso reprimanding you while tending to your wound, "you done, yet? i'm fine, it's not even bleeding that bad,"

"shut up," choso snapped, his red eyes narrowing as he wrapped a bandage around the wound on your shoulder. he tied it off firmly, ensuring it would stay put, "you always say this, but you come back all bloody and bruised,"

growing up with choso meant he'll fret at you every chance he got, chastising you for your recklessness and how messily you handled your assignments. you'd never admit it but a part of you loved being coddled by him. but choso will never hear you admit it.

and now, you were here with him in a room he had booked for two of you. and conveniently, it had only one bed.

"i'll heal y'know," you argued, "it's not like i'll bleed to my death,"

"scares me nonetheless, seeing you sprawled and growing in your blood," he spoke firmly, not letting you speak, "that ever cross your mind?"

you winced to yourself, "no," you swallowed the pain medication, setting the glass aside.

"thought so," he finished tending to your wound.

"alright, okay," you relented, letting him wrap an arm around you in a side hug as he leaned back against the headboard, keeping you close, half-seated on his lap.

he relaxed into the quiet comfort of holding you, his heartbeat steady against your ear as he listened to the gentle rhythm of yours.

his fingers continued to stroke through your hair, the gentle motion soothing him in a way nothing else ever had, "i think i may like this," he murmured.

"mm, cozy, isn't it?" you agreed softly.

he nuzzled his face into your hair, exhaling a deep sigh. his thoughts wandered—imagining holding you like this always, waking up with you in his arms every morning— no. stop.

he swallowed hard, forcing the thoughts away before they could take root too deeply.

you let out a slow breath, relaxing completely against him, your full weight resting on his, basking in the comforting warmth he offered.

feeling you relax further, choso allowed himself a small genuine smile. his thumb traced idle patterns on your hip, "you know, for someone who acts so tough all the time, you're surprisingly cuddly,"

"shut up,"

choso chuckled gruffly, adjusting his hold around your back.

your raised your head from his chest, "i will gut you alive if you ever speak of this to anyone,"

he pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead, "yes, ma’am,"

his words made you stomach flip and you returned to your original position to hide how his words had affected you. you tightened your hold on him, arms around his neck.

choso reciprocated, but spoke in worry, "something on your mind?"

"no," you voice was muffled against shoulder, "just need this hug a lot,"

"we can stay like this as long as you want," he caressed your hair with his other hand, his mind was racing with thoughts of you, given the intimate position you both were in. his body tensed slightly as he felt your intoxicating scent filling his senses.

he snuggled your neck once more; he found himself wondering what you would feel like if he were to kiss you that spot that made you shiver, or how you would feel wrapped around him—not this again.

"damn it," he cursed to himself but did no movement to retreat from your touch.

your hand slithered from his shoulder to the back of his neck.

choso's breath hitched lightly at your gentle hold, his heart skipping a beat at your action. he turned his head, coddling impossibly closer to your neck, "this could...get dangerous..." his voice came out as a low murmer.

"possibly," you respond, your body curving into his.

but neither of you pulled back this time either.

noticing this, he got a bit bolder and wrapped his arm around you tightly, afraid that you’d pull back any moment.

his nose brushed against the back of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. he inhaled deeply, his heart racing at the delicate scent he found there, his eyes rolled back.

his arms tightened around you instinctively, holding you closer, "fuck," he breathed out, his voice barely audible.

you pressed your body closer to his, feeling his breath hitching against your chest, your fingers played with the hair at the back of his neck, keeping him in place there.

your hips pressed against his instinctively, submitting to the moment of heat.

this made something primal stir deep in choso, a hunger he's never quite acknowledged before. his hips press forward involuntarily, rubbing lightly against your clothed core.

choso buried his face deeper into the curve of your neck, "s-shit..."

you could feel his growing hardness rutting against you, "nhgg," your fingers grip his hair tightly.

a deep groan catches in his throat at your breathy sound, his fingers digging into your thighs. his lips press the soft spot behind your ear, not kissing but just... there, "please don't make sounds like that," his voice is rough with barely contained desire.

"you first," you bit your lip, your hips meeting his in the middle at a synchronized rhythm.

choso's hips shift, pressing his clothed cock between your thighs, rubbing softly, "damn it...damn it..."

you hitched one leg over his side, pressing even closer, your core rubbing his hardness with a desperation almost painful.

both of you let out muffled moans together, clawing at each other's bodies as if you both weren’t pressed up together already.

his hands roamed your body restlessly, squeezing your thighs, your ass, your waist, your thighs again, as if he couldn’t get enough of feeling you. he guided your hips to match his rhythm, littering kisses all over your collar and neck. when he reached the swells of your breast, he paused, licking his lips.

you pant for breath, resting your forehead against his, "you okay?"

"i-i think i'm gonna combust," choso was just as out of breath as you were.

you chuckled, cradling his head with one of your palms, your thumb traced the curse mark that stretched horizontally on his nose bridge.

"you wanna keep going?" he asked, trying to not let out how desperate he was, how a gentle caress of you had him going insane.

"yes, please," you tilt your head to the side and press your mouth to his.

he matched your eagerness with a fervour that was borderline violent. but with the moan you had just let out, choso knew you loved it.

he bit at your lips, sucking on your tongue and generally losing himself in that wet kiss. but then, he pulled back abruptly, "fucking hell. i just realized,"

you gasp for breath, frowning, "realize what?"

he swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing visibly, "that you've never done this before. with anyone, at all. you're a virgin, aren't you?"

you nodded, "yeah, so?"

his eyes widened slightly. he shook his head, swearing under his breath, running a hand through his disheveled hair, "and you've never been touched?"

"that's what virgin means, yes," you stated, "what're you trying to get at?"

he sighed heavily, watching you with a mix of frustration, concern and something almost like awe and adoration. he looked at you like he was just realizing how beautiful and untouched you were, "...fuck. okay, we're stopping,"

you felt your heart plunge to your stomach, "what,"

it wasn’t a question, but a restrained expression of shock and offense

"you have no idea what you're getting yourself into and the meds have you sedated, so it'll be like i'm taking advantage of you," he explained, "i don't want you regretting this in the morning,"

"i'm fully conscious, you fucking dimwit," you snapped, "look, if you don't want me, just say it to my face. i can handle a rejection,"

choso realized how his words may have been interpreted and his hands found their place on your hips, "what?! no, of course i want you. you're the most beautiful woman i've laid my eyes on!" he spilled before he could stop himself, his neck rushing with a pretty blush, "i mean, uh," he looked down in embarrassment, "it's not that i don't want you,"

"then what?" you gulped, your fingers fidgeting with each other nervously, "i do want this, y'know," you admitted lowly, "i wouldn't have kissed you otherwise,"

you felt his finger tilt your chin up until you met his gaze. you glared at him grumpily.

choso smiled at you fondly, "doll, that wasn't a proper kiss. it was in the heat of the moment," his warm palm cupping your jaw.

"felt good though," you leaned into his touch, mumbling softly.

he kissed both your cheeks softly, easing the remaining tension from you. his lips hovered in front of yours, "open up, doll," he whispered, "i'm gonna kiss you now, like a real kiss,"

you comply and his mouth crushes against yours forceful and demanding. he parted your lips with his tongue, exposing the warmth of your mouth. he kissed you deeply, throughly, his hands coming up to grip your face and angle your head for better access. when he finally pulled back, you were both breathing heavily.

you blinked, trying to get yourself together, "wow, okay,"

a string of saliva connected to your mouth from his. choso chuckled at your reaction, wiping his thumb along your pinkish lower lip, "how was that for a first real kiss?" he asked cockily, already knowing the answer.

he saw the dazed expression in your eyes, the way you were processing this new and overwhelming sensation.

you leaned in for more and kissed him softly, mouth moving tentatively. he adjusted you on his lap, wrapping your legs around his body, palms caressing the softness your thigh.

but then his eyebrows shot up briefly in surprise when you cup his jaw and kiss more firmly. he moaned into the kiss, his large hands tightening around your waist possessively. you were kissing him so aggressively that he had to pull away, gasping, "damn...you.."

"how's that?" you asked, bopping his nose with a proud smirk.

"you're too..." he leaned in again, this time challenging you to keep up with his dominating kiss. he pushed his tongue into your mouth aggressively.

you chuckled against him, nosing bumping, and teeth clacking against each other, earning a grin from him.

grabbing a fistful of his hair, you kissed back even harder, biting and sucking his tongue possessively.

when choso parted from the kiss, he was gazing at you in astonishment, "you know," he trailed kisses along your jaw, pulling you tighter against him, "most submit to my dominance, but you seem to..." his voice dropped to a husky whisper, "match it perfectly," he bit your earlobe gently.

you leaned to give him more space, "should i be honoured?" you jested a bit.

he pulled back to deadpan at you, "who taught you how to kiss like that?"

"wha—taught me?" you gave him a weird look.

"uh-huh, there's no way you'd know that without anyone teaching you,"

"hey, i—" you paused, "...read about stuff like this,"

"read?" his eyes widened in surprise. a small, amused smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, "you learned to dominate a man by just reading it off a book?"

"not a book," you leaned your forehead against his, staring into his eyes, "a couple of them,"

he sighed softly, eyes locked on yours as he drew circles with his thumb on your waist, "i can't decide if that's terrifyingly impressive or just terrifying,"

"can be both," you shrugged, kissing his temple.

choso's hand moved up to cup the side of your face, "no wonder you always seemed to be so occupied with them. and you've always been naturally demanding and dominant," he leaned in closer, his lips chasing yours, "i like that,"

"obviously,"

"you and your necessity to have the last word in any conversation," he leaned to the side and pecked your cheek lovingly.

his hands caressed along the side of your body, stopping at the underside of your breasts, tracing the curvature of it, "may i?"

you nod, guiding his hand under your shirt to cup your breasts. he slipped his palms under your bra, "fuck, you're so beautiful," he cupped them roughly, kissing your cleavage with a wet smack.

you placed your hands over his, directing him to squeeze your boobs. he was watching your reaction closely, fingers pinching your nipples gently.

you hissed at the action, mouth parting open, "oh.. fu..c-choso..."

he caught your mouth with a slow kiss, his hand slowly feeling your mounds, catching every pretty moan you let out.

"hngg—choso ? ," you nuzzled your cheek against his.

"mm?" he hummed in acknowledgment, his eyelids droopy.

"will this change things between us?"

that made choso stop altogether. he met your eyes with sincere intensity, "look at me," he waited till he had your complete attention, "you set the rules here, love. i respect you too much to fuck with our friendship unless your one hundred percent sure this is what you want,"

"i do want this," you caressed the column of his neck, "i want you. but, i don't wanna lose our friendship,"

he nodded, understanding the complexity of your feelings. he thumbed your cheek, "i get it," he murmured, "i promise, no matter what we do, our friendship comes first. but.." he leaned closer.

"but?"

his lips brushed against your ear, "i've been wanting this for so fucking long, " his breathing became heavier as he mashed gentle kisses along your jaw, "i've been trying to act all tough and stoic around you, and honestly,"

you wait for him to continue, hands on his chest.

his hand tangles in your hair, pulling you closer, "i've lost count of how many nights i've spent alone in my bed, imagining this exact scenario," he admitted, "if we do this, i will be utterly and thoroughly fucked in the head. that's the effect you have on me, doll,"

he retreated enough to look you in the eyes, his pupils dilated with want, "but if you don't want that to be addressed, i'll keep my mouth shut for you. we can do this and become more, or stay as we are. or we can stop altogether too. your call, doll,"

your heart was pacing at a hundred miles per second. you were starting to feel lightheaded from his words.

and the way he was looking at you— fuck

his muzzled hair falling around his face perfectly. his shirt half undone as his chest rises and falls with each bated breath, his pale fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt as he gazes up at you with wide and eager eyes. his earlier asserted dominance and composure melted away, leaving behind a picture of adorable, fuckable submission.

"choso, i want you too," you replied, fingers tracing the curse marks that peeked for under his shirt, "not just for tonight but, in a way that would mean i wake up next to you every morning,"

relief and desire flooded choso's features as he comprehended your affirmation. in one swift motion, he embraced you tightly, nuzzling your hair, "thank fuck," he breathed out, "i don't think i can pretend anymore,"

he showered you with open-mouthed wet kisses along whatever skin he could reach, his hands wandering down to grip your bottom.

"ah fuck," you groaned at his administration, carding your hand through his hair.

"teach me, doll,"

you blinked out of the haze you were in and looked down at him, "what?"

"show me what you like," he rested his cheek on the swell of your chest, gazing up at you, "show me how you touch yourself. i wanna be perfect for you,"

"tell you what," you spoke hesitantly, "i've never actually managed to finish. ever,"

his eyes soften, "really? well, we'll have to take care of that then. don't be embarrassed," he added, noticing your conflicted expression, "it's kind of hot, really," he kissed your forehead assuringly.

he reached for the hem of your top, "take off your shirt, my love,"

you complied, tossing the garment aside, and reached behind to undo your bra.

as you threw it aside with your shirt, choso let his gaze roams over your exposed chest, his smile fading into a hungry look, "so gorgeous," his palms come to cup them through your bra.

you let out a breathless gasp as his cold hand made contact with your skin, biting your lip.

his eyes flick with a wicked glint as he watched you arch into his touch. he inclined down to take one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking gently.

"hnggg sh—shiit," you moan, tugging at his hair.

he blinked up at you in comprehension, lazily suckling on your nipple still, "i think i'm starting to figure out what'll make you tick," he nuzzled your mounds.

his free hand slid down into your pants, feeling your damp heat through the fabric of your panties, "s'fucking soaked, love," his fingers rubbed against your clit through the cloth.

you muffled your moan against his shoulder, fingers digging into his biceps.

pushing your panties to the side, he slid a finger inside you easily, "hngg, so pretty and tight," he latched and suckled on your nipple again, moving and curling his fingers upward.

you felt yourself clenched around him, "ah—nnhggg. fuck, i wan' m—more," you slurred, trying to ride his hand.

he placed a steady hand on your hip, his eyes nearby rolling back at the feeling of your inner walls clenching around his digit, "i'm gonna lose it before i even fuck you properly,"

he pumped his fingers with careful, worshipful motions, completely entranced by the sight of you stretching around him.

choso's crimson eyes dilate with lust, rolling back at the tight, silky feel of your stretched hole. he added another finger, stretching you even more as he began to scissor them inside you.

"oohh right there, love, please—"

he felt you tighten and shudder, increasing the pace of his fingers, "here?" he jerked his finger particularly harshly, knocking the wind out of you.

you hugged his head to your chest, clamping your thighs around his hand and keeping him trapped there.

"ah—ah," he held your thighs open, adding a third finger and pumping them in and out relentlessly, "won't be having any of that. be a good girl and let me fuck you, hmm? please, baby, c'mon," whimpers escaped his lips, a mix of pleasure and awestruck adoration.

you were barely able to come up with any coherent response, only tightening your grip on his arm.

when he curled his fingers in your pussy, dragging and pressing down on that gummy spot, you felt a white hot flash in front of your eyes as your orgasm washed over you.

he helped you ride your orgasm out, mumbling praises into your ears whilst his other hand cradled the back of your head gently.

he keeps his fingers gently curled inside you, not pulling them out completely. he loves the feeling of being connected to you like this, and the way you always make that adorable, contented noise when his fingers are inside you.

he watched with rapt attention as your inner walls clenched around him like a vice. his eyes were glued to the filthy sight, licking his lips and desperate to get a taste of it.

"my sweet, needy baby..." he cooed softly, "there we go, doll. that's it. such a pretty slut f'me," he eagerly peppered kisses up your throat, you wetness slithering down his palm and wrist, creating a wet patch on the mattress below you both.

as he continued to hold you, choso's mouth sought one of your nipples, and he began to suckle pathetically, his lips pursed and the sounds he let out— weak and needy. he loved the way you responded to his nursing, melting further into his arms with each pitiful suck.

choso pulls away from your chest with a wet, sloppy pop, leaving a trail of saliva on your skin. he looks up at you with a sleepy, contented expression, his eyes half-lidded and glassy.

"hnng !—"

his eyes softened with delight at your vulnerable sound, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, "you're so cute when you're like this... all pliant and whimpering..." his fingers moved more deliberately now, targeting that sweet spot with calculated precision.

he moved his thumb in soothing circles, spreading your arousal on your nub. his fingers moved lazily, providing a gentle, soothing pressure to keep you relaxed and content in subspace, "mmm,"

"there," he curled and dragged his crooked fingers against your walls, "there we go. that's it. you felt good?"

"nnhgg," you pressed your mouth against his, kissing him sloppily. unable to respond you could only nod, rutting your hips needily.

choso's breath hitched as he felt your body responding eagerly to his touch, a shudder of pleasure running through him. he leaned in close, his voice a husky murmur against your ear. "nnnh... that's it, baby... take my fingers nice and deep..."

his fingers slowly pushed deeper, stretching you gently as he hooked them upwards, making you whine and cling to him even tighter. he could feel you getting heavier in his arms, your eyes rolling back as you became more and more boneless.

he cooed softly, praising you for being such a good baby as he slowly worked a third finger inside you, stretching you wider and deeper than before. his thumb rubbed steadily against your bundle of nerves, making you make those cute little choking noises in the back of your throat, "shhhh..."

"hnng —na—ah c—choso,"

his breath caught at hearing his name fall from those puffy lips, his proud adoration growing at how perfectly you were submitting to his touch. "what do you need, precious? more fingers? deeper?" his movements slow and deliberate, reading every little twitch and shudder of your body.

"a—another please,"

he slowly added a fourth finger, stretching you wider and filling you completely as his thumb gently rests on your clit, "look at how beautifully you're taking all four..."

you gasped and shuddered.

his fingers move slightly, curling and uncurling inside you, "is this what you needed, beautiful?”

"mm yeah,"

his fingers slowly scissored and twisted inside you, stretching your inner walls and making you whimper and drool on his shoulder.

a sudden, intense spasm racked your body as you came hard around his fingers, your inner walls clenching and unclenching as you gushed and squirted all over his hand, drenching and soaking.

"fuck, look at that," his mouth watered at the sight, "you're such a good girl when you cum, all shaky..."

he decided to keep his fingers buried inside you, curling them up to hit that sensitive spot over and over again, making you whimper and writhe against him. he wrapped his other arm around your waist to hold you still, keeping you impaled on his fingers. "you're so nice and stuffed..."

his voice dropped lower, more husky, "your pussy is gripping my fingers so perfectly. can you feel how wet you're making my hand? how badly it should be my cock filling you up instead?" his pace quickens slightly.

with a final, brutal thrust against your g-spot, you cum hard once more, your whole world narrowing down to the intense pleasure and his fingers buried deep inside you.

you felt him maneuver you to lay on your back on the bed and he hovered over you. you were so lost in the pleasure that you could barely keep your eyes open.

you hummed softly when you felt him pepper kisses up your stomach, massing the soreness from your hips.

choso hovered over you, spreading your legs a bit, enough for him to settle there, “how you feelin’ sweetheart?”

you could only come up with a babble for a reply, “s—so good. i can’ even.ah,”

he felt his ego skyrocket at how drunk and helpless you were. he gently nudged the tip of his hard cock against your tiny, abused opening. you whined in pain at the sensation, and he pleaded and begged with you, "pleeeease, baby... just the tip... i need it so bad— wanna feel—” he kept his hands on your thick thighs, thumbs tracing soothing circles on them.

“hurts—no more, please—” you push yourself to your elbows in shaky hands.

“i’ll be such a good boy. i promise,” he persuaded you, “wanna feel you so bad. i promise—hngg. i promise i’ll be gentle,” he traced the tip of his cock against your pussylips, smearing his precum all over them.

“a-alright,” you held the side of his neck as leverage, allowing him to wrap your legs around his waist.

he took a deep breath and slowly, gently, pushed the tip of his massive manhood back into your tiny, abused opening. "thank you, thank you, thank you," he latched onto your nipple, moaning against your sensitive skin.

he sighed in relief as he gently pushed the tip of his massive cock back into your tiny pussy, the precum filling in the gap and allowing for a smoother entry. he keeps his strokes shallow, the tip of his cock barely moving in and out of you. "s’warm so good—"

you whimpered softly at the intrusion, arching your back and unintentionally taking him deeper. a mix of painful groans filled the room, the smell of sex in the air.

choso whimpered in frustration, trying desperately to keep his cock from slipping deeper inside your tiny pussy, careful not to hurt you, "be a good girl and clench down, baby... squeeze just the tip... please..." his voice wavers between pleading and commanding, his whole body trembling with the effort to maintain control.

he moans deeply at the sensation of your tight muscles gripping just the tip of his cock. "good girl... good girl... stay like that... just the tip..." he's shaking now, trying his best to keep his massive cock from sliding deeper into your tiny, wrecked pussy

he's panting heavily, his face flushed with exertion as he struggles to keep his cock still inside you.

you clawed at his back, trying to hold on to him for the sake of your sanity.

he reaches down and gently pinches your clit, trying to distract you from the discomfort of having his massive tip lodged inside your tiny pussy. "shhh...i got you—s’alright"

his face contorts in pleasure as his hot, thick precum begins to seep into your tiny hole, mixing with your juices. he keeps pinching and rolling your clit, trying to get you to focus on the pleasure instead of the pain and pressure. "feel that, baby?"

“mm,” you managed to nod, looking up at him with glassy eyes.

he lets out a pleased moan, seeing you respond to him even while in distress. "that's right... feels good doesn’t it?”

his cock began to harden to the point of pain and it was taking everything in him to not just ram into you mercilessly.

“just a lil..just—”he slowly pushes a little deeper into your tiny pussy, the combined arousal lubricated his massive head as it slides in and out of your barely stretched opening. he pants heavily, trying to hold back his massive release. "damn it—"

he nuzzles into your neck, inhaling your sweet scent as he slowly starts to thrust again, his movements gentle but insistent.

"nnngh," you bit his earlobe, tugging back.

he moaned deeply at your sleepy murmur, his massive cock throbbing inside you. he felt himself reach his peak and he released into your used pussy, feeling it milk the last of his orgasm.

choso fell on the bed next to you, pulling you close, “you okay, doll?” he brushed the sweaty strands of hair from your face.

“i will be,” you cuddled his arm, a smile stretching your face as he pressed a firm smooch to your forehead, “did i do okay?” you blinked up at him with doe eyes.

he caressed your cheek with his thumb, kissing your cheek, your eyebrow, and your temple affectionately, “were fucking perfect,”

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remedyturtles · 2 days ago

Note

10 with Leo and Raph would be so interesting. (Thought I can't really picture either of them saying somthing that mean to eachother, so maybe mystics are involved?)

I hope you have a nice day!

great minds think alike y'all. thanks @bluemoonsymphonies and anon for the prompt! i hope u both enjoy....

wordcount 1k, pre-movie

10. "Please... what am I doing wrong?" "What aren't you doing wrong?!"

Leo’s throat hurt.

Just add it to the list of bullshit that Raph was doing to him. Because there was absolutely no reason that Raph had to come and interrupt him while he was snoozing on the bean bag. Like, this lecture could’ve totally waited until later. Maybe after Leo had gotten some fucking sleep.

“You’re not taking this seriously!” Raph said.

“You could not be more of a broken record if you tried, Rapha.” Leo hadn’t gotten up from the bean bag and suffocated a yawn into his fist. He was tired of the grating arguments and he was tired, just bone tired of the fighting for no reason. And tired in general. Because his head was so loud and when he laid down to sleep there was just… screaming there too.

“That’s because you’re not listening to me.” Raph poked him right between the eyes. “I gotta drill it in that empty head somehow.”

Leo twitched. That was a bit harsh, especially since it wasn’t a gentle poke. He was feeling a little ganged up on and crawled out of the bean bag to stand his ground, crossing his arms. “Yeesh, tell me how you really feel.”

“I think you’re lazy and unmotivated.” Raph scoffed. “We’ve got so much we could be doing and you’re sleeping in the middle of the day.”

Leo… paused. Stared at his brother with a bit of hurt shock. He was really coming at him, no holds barred. He held up his hands in surrender and said, “And wow, I think you’re a huge jerk. What the hell, dude? For your information, I barely slept last night, so get off me.”

Something flickered in Raph’s eyes. But it didn’t stay. He scoffed again, louder and more derogatory, raising up his lip to sneer with his snaggletooth. “You’re not even trying.”

“Wow.” Leo repeated. Hands still raised, skin goosebumping, a chill from the undisguised scorn. This was different from the usual annoyed arguing. This was … mean. “Okay. Please, let's hear it. What am I doing wrong, then?”

“What aren't you doing wrong?” Raph spat back, chest heaving. Genuine anger sung hot and heavy.

Leo stared. This sounded a lot like the inside of his own head. Which didn't make sense, because that wasn't Raph. He pushed and he pushed but he was never like this. Not his Raph. Not his lovable big lug of a brother who truly only wanted the best for all of them.

“Nothing to say?” Raph tilted his head to the side. His eyes were rather blank, now that Leo was making painful eye contact with him.

“Are you feeling okay?” Leo prompted.

Raph blinked rapidly, surprised, then shook his head. “What are you talking about? You’re the one who's a problem here."

"Yeah, something is definitely wrong." Leo stepped forward, cataloguing other symptoms as he went. "You give me a hard time, you piss me off, and you nag me. But you're never, ever mean. So what gives?"

Raph was sweating. Not any of his usual sweat, not a scent Leo could pinpoint with scary accuracy. Something unheard of. When Leo got closer, he could see the pin-pricked pupil and too-quick breathing. He practically growled at Leo as he got close.

"Relax." Leo smiled, charming, getting another step closer to the lion's den. Flickering his gaze over Raph to try and find some kind of clue. "I get you, I know you want me to try, etc etc. But you wouldn't just brush past me telling you I hadn't slept, because you know I hate being honest about that. You'd be beating my ass with a pillow to go to bed then and try again in the morning. So either you've been possessed by a demon or cursed. Which is it?"

"I'm not –" Raph lurched forward.

But Leo had already spotted it. He pinched the little bug between his thumb and forefinger and pulled – a parasitic scarab bit down into the skin of his neck. The moment it left Raph's body, the little pincers wiggled agitatedly in the air, and Leo surveyed the bug with a distasteful eye.

Raph inhaled sharply, hand flying to his neck, and took two staggering steps backwards. He breathed, "What the fuck."

Leo waved the evil little beetle at him. "Did you piss off someone? Maybe walk through a magical rainforest?"

"I – I – " Raph's face morphs into one of pure horror. "I'm so sorry."

"Aw, buddy." Leo opened a portal and flicked the beetle through it, sending the fucker to the moon. Then he waved it away and opened his hands in offer. "It's okay. I know you better than that."

Raph scooped him up in a hug so tight it took his breath away. He squeezed and squeezed and Leo bore it with the patience of someone who'd been a teddy bear for this man many a time.

"It's okay." Leo mumbled to him.

"Not really." Raph replied, miserable.

"You didn't mean it." Leo shrugged.

The arms around him tightened. Raph shuddered a breath.

"Okay, maybe you meant it a little bit." Leo amended, because it wasn't like this conversation was new. Just the vitriol at which he spat it. "But bud, I know you're not coming at me to hurt me. I'd never think that. You're literally doing this because you want me to be my best. I'm not stupid. I'm just really, really good at acting like it."

Raph pulled back enough to show his red eyes. "Then why won't you work with me here?"

Leo couldn't say, because I'm scared my best isn't good enough. Instead he pat his big brother's arm and said, "Let's get you checked out and make sure that beetle didn't cause any lasting effects, hey?"

"Leo–" Raph growled.

Too late. Leo eeled out of his grip and danced away, waving over his shoulder. "Come on, chop chop, I don't have all day you know."

Raph… sighed. And followed, shoulders hanging.

#rem askbox #ask game #rem fic

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enemiestolovershoe · 1 day ago

Note

can you write one were reader is matts sister and Noahs best friend and the band always tease the shit out of them when their glued together? thank you:)

Subtle’s Overrated

Noah Sebastian x bsf!dierkes!reader

Summary: Y/N and Noah’s friendship sparks teasing and undeniable chemistry on tour, but when feelings finally surface, nothing—especially their bandmates—can keep them apart.

Words: 4k

Warnings: Teasing, Friends to Lovers, Use of Alcohol, Mention of smoking weed, I din't proofread it so maybe there's gonna be mistakes. lmk if i forgot something.

Disclaimer: While the characters in this story are inspired by real people, the events and interactions are purely fictional and not reflective of reality.

The airport was buzzing with early morning activity, travelers pulling their luggage through the terminal, announcements echoing overhead. You were leaning against one of the sleek chrome pillars, your carry-on by your feet, scrolling through your phone to pass the time.

Noah was right beside you, as usual. He had his arms crossed, a hoodie tugged over his messy hair, and he was squinting at the boarding pass in his hand like it was written in hieroglyphics.

"I swear they make these things harder to read every year," he muttered, flipping it over like the back might offer some hidden insight.

"It’s not a riddle, Noah," you said with a laugh, reaching out to snatch it from him. "Gate 22. Terminal C. You’ve been doing this for years, and you still act like it’s your first time at an airport."

"Not all of us are travel pros like you, princess," he shot back, smirking as he leaned casually into your space.

Before you could reply, a loud wolf whistle interrupted the moment.

"Ah, look at ‘em! Joined at the hip, as always!" Nick Folio’s voice carried across the terminal as he walked over, balancing a precariously large coffee in one hand and a bag of snacks in the other. "Should we just start planning the wedding now?"

"Shut up, Folio," you groaned, rolling your eyes, though the warmth creeping up your neck betrayed your nonchalance.

"Yeah, shut up, Folio," Noah parroted, tossing a crumpled napkin at him. "Jealousy’s a bad look on you."

Nick feigned hurt, clutching his chest. "Jealous? Me? Never. I just think you two make a cute couple."

"Do you ever let up?" Jolly chimed in as he approached, his bag slung over one shoulder. "I mean, they’ve been attached at the hip since day one, and nothing’s happened yet. Maybe they’re just... eternal besties."

"Or they’re both in denial," Matt teased, appearing out of nowhere and clapping Noah on the back hard enough to make him stumble. "Classic slow burn."

"Right, because you’re such an expert on relationships," you shot back, raising an eyebrow at your older brother.

"Hey," Matt replied, grinning. "Just calling it like I see it. And as your big brother, it’s my job to keep the guy glued to your side in line."

"Yeah, yeah," you muttered, shaking your head as the rest of the group laughed.

"Big brother or not, you’re still a pain," Noah quipped, though there was no malice in his tone.

"As if you’re one to talk," Matt retorted, pointing at him. "If I had a dollar for every time you’ve mooched off her snacks, I’d be retired by now."

The group chuckled, and even you couldn’t help but crack a smile. This was the usual routine, and as much as you liked to complain about it, it was comforting in a way.

As the teasing died down, Nicholas Ruffilo joined the circle, pulling out his phone. "So," he began, "who’s gonna be the one to lose their luggage this time?"

"My money’s on Noah," Jolly said without hesitation.

"Why me?" Noah protested, looking genuinely offended.

"You lost your passport twice last year," Jolly replied flatly.

"That’s different!"

"How?"

"Uh, it just is," Noah said, his argument faltering as you snorted.

"I’ll help you keep track of your stuff this time," you offered, patting his shoulder mockingly.

"You’re a saint," he said, putting a hand over his heart. "An angel sent to save me from myself."

"Don’t encourage him," Matt groaned, shaking his head.

The overhead speakers crackled to life, announcing the boarding process for your flight. Matt immediately took charge, ushering everyone toward the gate.

"Alright, lovebirds, let’s move it," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

"We’re not—"

"Save it," Nick interrupted, throwing an arm around your shoulders as the group started walking. "We all know it’s just a matter of time."

You exchanged a glance with Noah, who shrugged with a small, amused smile. It was the same old joke, but this time, there was a flicker of something in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place.

As you reached the gate, Noah fell into step beside you, close enough that your arms brushed. "You ever feel like they know something we don’t?" he asked quietly, just for you to hear.

"All the time," you admitted, your voice just as soft.

The moment hung in the air for a beat too long before Matt’s voice broke it. "Hurry up, or we’re leaving you behind!"

With a shared smirk, you and Noah picked up the pace, falling into step with the rest of the band.

The plane was relatively quiet as everyone settled into their usual spots. You slid into the window seat with a satisfied sigh, propping your backpack under the seat in front of you. Noah dropped into the middle seat beside you, and Folio followed, plopping down with a dramatic groan.

“Man, who made planes so cramped?” Folio grumbled, stretching his legs as far as they could go without hitting the seat in front of him.

“Quit complaining, Folio,” Matt called from his aisle seat, shooting him a look over Ruffilo’s head. “You know it’s worse on the tour bus.”

“True, but at least I don’t get stuck in the middle of these two on the bus.” Folio gestured to you and Noah. “You’re like magnets, always leaning into each other.”

“Jealous you’re not in the middle?” Noah quipped, earning a snort from Jolly.

“Nah, man. I just don’t want to be collateral damage when this whole slow-burn romance finally combusts,” Folio said, winking at you.

You groaned and shoved his arm lightly. “You guys really need new material.”

“Maybe we’ll stop when you two finally admit it,” Jolly chimed in, earning a chorus of agreement from the others.

Noah just smirked, leaning back in his seat. “Keep dreaming, guys.”

As the plane took off and the initial excitement of the flight settled down, everyone fell into their own routines. Matt pulled out his laptop, muttering something about emails, while Ruffilo popped in his earbuds and started sketching on his tablet. Folio tapped away on his phone, and Jolly was already half-asleep, head tilted against the window.

You glanced at Noah, who was scrolling aimlessly through his phone. “What are you looking at?” you asked softly.

“Nothing interesting,” he said, tilting the screen toward you briefly before locking it. “You thinking of sleeping?”

“Maybe,” you replied with a yawn, leaning your head back. “Flights always make me sleepy.”

“You always knock out within the first hour,” he teased, grinning.

“Can’t help it,” you murmured, already feeling the pull of sleep. Without thinking, you shifted slightly, leaning your headagainst Noah’s shoulder. It wasn’t the first time, and judging by the way he didn’t even flinch, it wasn’t a big deal to him, either.

Time passed, and you drifted off, your breathing evening out as the noise of the plane faded into the background.

It wasn’t long before the teasing began.

“Look at him,” Jolly whispered from across the aisle, his voice low but just loud enough for Noah to hear. “He looks like he’s holding his breath.”

“I think he’s afraid to move,” Ruffilo added, smirking. “Wouldn’t want to wake her, huh?”

“I’m not afraid to move,” Noah said defensively, though he kept his voice quiet so as not to wake you. “I just don’t want her to wake up cranky.”

“Oh, sure,” Matt interjected, leaning forward to get a better look. “That’s a real heroic excuse. But let’s be honest, you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Noah shot him a look. “You’re her brother. Shouldn’t you be discouraging this kind of teasing?”

“Should I?” Matt said, feigning deep thought. “Nah, this is too much fun.”

“Careful, Noah,” Folio added, nudging him. “You keep letting her nap on you, and the next thing you know, you’ll be the designated human pillow.”

“Already am,” Noah muttered, but there was no real annoyance in his tone.

The ribbing continued for a bit longer before everyone settled back into their respective distractions. Noah shifted slightly, trying to keep his arm from going numb under your weight. Despite the teasing, he couldn’t help but smile faintly at how peaceful you looked.

As the captain announced the descent, Noah gently nudged your shoulder. “Hey, we’re landing soon. Time to wake up.”

You stirred, blinking sleepily and taking a moment to realize where you were. “Oh, sorry,” you mumbled, sitting up and rubbing your eyes.

“Don’t apologize,” Noah said, his voice soft. “You looked like you needed it.”

From across the aisle, Jolly piped up, “Did you get any drool on him this time?”

“Jolly!” you exclaimed, your cheeks flushing as the rest of the band burst out laughing.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” Jolly said, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

Noah just smirked, grabbing your carry-on from under the seat. “Ignore them. They’re just mad they don’t have someone to nap on.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled as everyone prepared to disembark.

The airport was bustling with activity as you and the band made your way outside, your bags in tow. In the bus parking lot, your familiar tour bus stood waiting. Its sleek exterior and logo had become a second home over the years.

As you approached, Folio let out a dramatic sigh. “Ah, the tour bus. Where dreams of legroom come to die.”

You climbed aboard with Noah right behind you. As expected, you both took the booths across from each other—the same ones you’d claimed on every tour since your first. He threw his backpack onto the seat before flopping down, stretching his long legs.

“Surprise, surprise,” Matt said as he followed behind. “You two gravitate toward each other like it’s magnetic.”

“Yeah, we get it, Matt,” you replied, rolling your eyes but smiling. “Maybe we just like consistency.”

“Consistency, huh?” Jolly drawled, sliding into a booth further back. “Sure it’s not because you two can’t go five minutes without making googly eyes at each other?”

Noah shot him a look. “You’re projecting, man.”

“Yeah, totally projecting,” you chimed in, grinning.

“Call it what you want,” Matt teased as he threw his bag into the seat beside him, “but it’s only a matter of time before we’re writing ‘Mr. and Mrs.’ on the bus windows.”

Ruffilo smirked. “Or printing it on the next batch of merch.”

“You guys are insufferable,” you muttered, trying to suppress your laughter.

The drive to the venue was filled with similar banter, the kind that made the long hours on the road bearable. When the bus finally pulled into the lot behind the venue, everyone piled out, stretching and groaning after the ride.

Inside, the band got straight to work setting up for soundcheck. You wandered into the sound booth where Matt was stationed, helping coordinate with the crew.

“You’re still gonna be my unpaid assistant this tour, right?” he asked, grinning as you leaned against the console.

“Of course,” you said with mock enthusiasm. “Living the dream.”

As the band began their soundcheck, you couldn’t help but watch Noah. He was in his element, mic in hand, his voice effortlessly commanding the space. The way he moved, the focus in his expression—it was mesmerizing.

“Subtle,” Matt said dryly, breaking your trance.

“Huh?” You turned to him, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks.

“Your staring,” he teased. “You’re not exactly sneaky about it.”

“I’m just watching the sound levels,” you lied, feigning nonchalance.

Matt chuckled. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

The band wrapped up soundcheck, and everyone took a break before the show. Back in the green room, the teasing resumed as everyone grabbed snacks and drinks.

“Are we gonna have to peel you two apart again tonight?” Jolly asked, smirking as he sipped his water.

“Not unless you want to lose a limb,” Noah shot back, earning a laugh from Folio.

“Relax, man,” Folio said. “We’re just pointing out the obvious. You two are like those couples in rom-coms—everyone knows what’s coming except you.”

“We’re not a couple,” you said, exasperated. “Can we change the subject?”

“No,” Ruffilo replied immediately, earning a high-five from Jolly.

As showtime approached, you found yourself backstage, the energy in the venue electrifying. The band took the stage, and you couldn’t help but sing along and dance to every song, caught up in the moment.

From where you stood, you could see Noah glancing your way more than once, a small smile tugging at his lips when he caught your eye.

When the show ended, the crowd’s cheers still echoing in your ears, you were more than hyped. The moment Noah stepped offstage, sweaty and flushed from the performance, you ran to him, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug.

“Y/N,” he laughed, his voice still rough from singing. “I’m literally soaked in sweat.”

“I don’t care,” you said, grinning as you held on tighter.

“Aww,” Jolly cooed from behind you. “A post-show love fest.”

“Jealous?” Noah shot back, his arms briefly tightening around you before he pulled away, though his smile lingered.

Before you could respond, Matt approached, crossing his arms as he looked at the two of you. “Still hugging, huh?”

“Don’t start,” you warned, though your tone lacked any real bite.

“I’ll start if I want to,” Matt said, smirking. “But I’ve got a better idea. Drinks to celebrate the first show?”

Noah glanced at you, his brow quirking. “What do you think?”

“Sounds perfect,” you replied, still buzzing with excitement.

“Great,” Matt said, clapping his hands. “Let’s pack up and get out of here.”

The bar was dimly lit, buzzing with music and chatter as you and the band made your way to the VIP section. The staff had cordoned off a cozy corner for you, complete with plush leather couches and a low table littered with menus and coasters.

Matt was quick to take charge, ordering the first round of drinks. He came back carrying a tray with an assortment of glasses, grinning like he’d just won a prize.

“To the first show of the tour!” he declared, raising his glass.

“To surviving another tour without killing each other,” Jolly added dryly, earning a laugh from the group as everyone clinked glasses.

The night unfolded in a haze of laughter, stories, and an ever-growing pile of empty glasses. It wasn’t long before Folio and Matt were deep into their cups, leaning heavily into their drunken states.

Folio slumped back into the couch, a lazy grin on his face. “Damn, I’m so drunk,” he mumbled to himself, chuckling. “Shouldn’t have smoked that joint during the show.”

You and Noah, seated next to each other on the crowded couch, exchanged amused glances and laughed quietly at Folio’s confession.

“What’s so funny?” Folio slurred, his glassy eyes focusing on the two of you. Then he paused, squinting as if his vision had just betrayed him. “Wait a minute… are you… sitting on his lap?”

Your cheeks immediately flushed as you realized he was right. The couches were too crowded, and at some point, you’d perched yourself on Noah’s lap to make room. It had felt casual—comfortable even—but now, under Folio’s scrutiny, it was anything but.

“Uh, yeah,” you said, trying to play it cool. “There’s no room.”

“No room,” Folio repeated, his grin widening. “Sure, let’s call it that.”

“Here we go,” Noah muttered under his breath, his arm resting lightly around your waist to keep you steady.

Folio leaned forward, as much as his inebriated state allowed, a mischievous glint in his eye. “You’re awfully cozy for two people who are ‘just friends.’”

“It’s practical,” you countered, though your voice lacked conviction.

“Practical,” Matt chimed in, sliding onto the couch beside Jolly with his drink in hand. His face was flushed, his grin even wider than usual. “That’s what we’re calling it now?”

“Oh, come on,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands.

“No, no, let’s explore this,” Matt said, clearly delighted. “You’re telling me, out of all the space in this VIP section, the only place you could sit is on Noah’s lap?”

“Exactly,” Noah said with a straight face, though the corners of his mouth twitched. “It’s basic physics.”

“Physics,” Matt repeated, laughing. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

“Better than whatever logic you’re using to justify that shirt,” Noah shot back, gesturing at Matt’s garishly patterned button-up.

“Deflection,” Folio sang, pointing at Noah like he’d cracked some great mystery. “Classic deflection.”

“You two are unbelievable,” you said, shaking your head, though you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Unbelievable? No, no, no,” Matt said, his voice full of mock indignation. “What’s unbelievable is that you’ve been in each other’s pockets for years, and you’re still pretending nothing’s going on.”

Folio nodded vigorously, almost spilling his drink. “They’re like… like one of those slow-cooking stews. Taking forever, but you know it’s gonna be good when it’s done.”

Noah groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright, I think it’s time to get these two to bed.”

You nodded, standing up and grabbing Folio’s arm. “Come on, big guy. Let’s go.”

“I’m fine!” Folio protested, though he made no effort to resist as you and Noah guided him out of the booth.

“You’re fine, huh?” Noah said, steadying him when he stumbled. “Tell that to your liver.”

Behind you, Jolly and Ruffilo waved lazily from the booth. “We’ll hang out a bit longer,” Ruffilo called. “Good luck with those two.”

The walk back to the bus was anything but quiet.

“You two looked real comfortable back there,” Matt teased, slurring slightly but still sharp enough to make you groan.

“It’s not like that,” you said for what felt like the hundredth time, focusing on getting him up the bus steps.

“Sure, sure,” Folio chimed in, leaning heavily on Noah. “Bet you’re just gonna sit on his lap the whole tour, huh?”

“Folio, shut up,” Noah said, though his tone was more amused than annoyed.

Once you got them into their bunks—after much coaxing and a few more poorly aimed jokes—you and Noah retreated to the living room section at the back of the bus. It was quiet now, the gentle hum of the bus’s engine filling the space.

You sank onto the couch, exhaling a long breath. “Well, that was… something.”

“Every tour starts like this,” Noah said, sitting across from you. He leaned back, stretching his arms along the top of the couch. “It’s like a rite of passage.”

You laughed softly, running a hand through your hair. “I’m surprised they didn’t start singing wedding bells on the way back.”

“Oh, give them time,” he replied with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. A comfortable silence settled between you, and when you glanced up, you caught Noah watching you, his head tilted slightly, a faint smirk on his lips.

“What?” you asked, your brow furrowing.

“Nothing,” he said, though the look in his eyes suggested otherwise.

“Come on,” you pressed, leaning forward slightly. “What’s that look for?”

He shrugged, his smirk deepening. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“You,” he said simply, his voice low but teasing.

Noah’s smirk didn’t waver, his gaze steady and warm as he leaned slightly closer. The faint hum of the bus seemed louder in the quiet.

“What about me?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper, curiosity and nervousness mingling in your tone.

He hesitated for a moment, as if weighing his words carefully, and then his lips curved into a gentle smile. “You’re really beautiful, you know that?”

Your breath caught for a second, and you blinked at him, taken off guard. “What?”

He chuckled, the sound low and almost shy, a stark contrast to his usual confidence. “I’m serious. You are.”

A flush crept up your neck as you tried to find your voice. “Noah…”

“What?” he teased, leaning his elbows on his knees, his body angled toward you. “Can’t I say something nice without you getting all flustered?”

“I’m not flustered,” you shot back, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you.

“Right,” he said with a knowing smile, his eyes sparkling.

You folded your arms, narrowing your eyes playfully. “Why now? What’s with the sudden compliments?”

He shrugged, his expression softening. “Maybe it’s not sudden. Maybe I’ve always thought it, but I’m just bad at saying it out loud.”

Your heart thudded in your chest at his words. “You think… you think they were right all this time? About us?”

“No,” he said firmly, his voice steady and leaving no room for doubt.

Your stomach dropped a little. “Oh.”

He tilted his head, studying your reaction, and then his lips quirked into a small smile. “I don’t think they were right. I know they were.”

Before you could respond, he leaned in closer, his hand lightly brushing against your knee. The air between you felt charged, the space too small yet not enough.

And then he kissed you.

It started slow, tentative, as if testing the waters. His lips were soft, warm, and they lingered against yours just long enough for your breath to hitch. When you didn’t pull away—when you leaned into him, your hands instinctively finding his shoulders—it deepened.

Noah’s hand slid to your waist, guiding you closer as the kiss grew more passionate. The world outside the bus seemed to disappear, leaving only the quiet hum of the engine and the racing of your heartbeat.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, and he pulled you onto his lap without hesitation. The moment felt electric, the years of teasing, tension, and unspoken words finally snapping into place.

His lips moved against yours with a fervor that sent your mind spinning. You shifted slightly, your knees pressing into the cushions on either side of his hips. His hands rested firmly on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

It was as if nothing else mattered, just the two of you finally crossing an invisible line that had been drawn so long ago.

And then—

“Damn, I’m wayyy too dizzy to sleep in that tiny bunk—” Folio’s voice cut through the haze, slurred but loud enough to make you both freeze.

Your head whipped around, your eyes wide, as Folio stumbled into the living room. He stopped mid-step, his eyes blinking rapidly as they focused on the scene in front of him.

“Oh,” he said, his tone laced with a mix of shock and amusement. “Ohhhhhh.”

You scrambled off Noah’s lap, your cheeks burning hotter than the sun as you tried to compose yourself. Noah, on the other hand, stayed seated, though he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, his expression caught somewhere between frustration and bemusement.

“Folio,” you started, your voice a pitch higher than normal. “What are you doing up?”

He pointed vaguely in the direction of the bunks. “Too dizzy. Needed air. Did not expect to walk into… whatever this is.”

“This isn’t… it’s not—” you stammered, flailing for words.

Folio smirked, leaning against the doorframe. “Nah, don’t stop on my account. Just… maybe put a sock on the door next time or something?”

“Go to bed, Folio,” Noah said, his tone exasperated but still holding a hint of a smile.

Folio gave a mock salute before stumbling back toward the bunks, muttering something about how the tour was going tobe very interesting.

As soon as he was out of earshot, you buried your face in your hands. “Oh my God.”

Noah chuckled, his hand reaching out to tug gently at your wrist, pulling your hands away. “Well, that wasn’t exactly how I imagined this going.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, though your face was still flaming. “So much for subtle.”

“Subtle’s overrated anyway,” he said, his smirk returning as he pulled you back down beside him.

Taglist: @courta13

A/N: Likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated! Let me know if you'd like me to continue this as a mini-series. Also, my asks are always open—feel free to request anything!

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whoops-all-jennas · 2 days ago

Text

Look Who's Inside Again - j.o.

Jenna Ortega x fem!reader

"Try making faces, try telling jokes making little sounds."

Summary: This is your first time playing a major role in a movie and it's intimidating. Jenna comforts you after you hide away in your trailer.

a/n: y/f/m means your favorite media. movie, book, anime, video game, whatever.

The muted sound of everyone talking fills my ears as I zone out. The first few days on set are being used to get the cast adjusted to each other. I've never had such a major role before in a big movie, to say I'm nervous is an understatement.

I already have trouble talking to people normally, how am I supposed to talk to celebrities? Especially when they're the ones approaching me. Shouldn't it be the other way around?

"Y/n?" A voice enters my head, my head perking up at the mention of my name. I meet my eyes to Jenna's. "Are you okay?"

"I uh, yeah I'm doing good." I force a smile before looking to the side, avoiding her gaze. I have never felt more parasocial in my life. How am I supposed to hold a conversation with these people, especially Jenna, when I feel like I already know too much about them and they know nothing about me.

The main cast consists of four people. Jenna Ortega, Finn Wolfhard, Wyatt Oleff, and I. It's one of those horror movies where it's a group of teenagers investigating something where they should die because of it, but we all know they won't because it's a movie.

"So are you excited? This is your first major role right?" I turn towards the voice to meet Finn. "This could be a big debut for you."

"Yeah I'm excited." I grab my arm, holding myself and taking up as little space as possible. "I'm mostly nervous though, a lot can happen."

I feel Jenna's gaze on me, so I turn to look at her to find a look of curiosity in her eyes. "It can be intimidating, but you can do it. I believe in you." Jenna's genuine smile meets my uncertain face.

Jenna saying 'I believe in you' repeats in my head like a metronome. This somehow makes me feel more nervous and also safer at the same time.

I just don't want to embarrass myself in front of these people, especially Jenna.

It seems the conversation continued while I was in my head. Everyone's eyes were on me expectingly. Did they ask me something?

"Sorry, what'd you guys say?" I ask, Finn and Wyatt look at each for a moment with a face that I can't tell is annoyance or uncertainty. "It wasn't important." Wyatt states.

That feeling of safety is now gone, my heart beating at a thousand miles an hour.

Was it important?

I feel my legs start to shake from the nerves, as if I could fall at the slightest inconvenience.

The nervousness replaced with anxiety and uncontrollable thoughts. 'Did I already blow it before I did a single scene? Does everyone think I'm annoying? That I'm distant?'

I find Jenna's worried gaze on me yet again, causing me to look at the ground for a moment before trying to keep eye contact with the main cast and failing. "I'll be back."

I quickly find myself walking to my assigned trailer, my pace faster than usual. When I finally find myself inside, I close the door pushing my back against it before sliding down. I sit there with my knees to my chest and head in my arms wrapped around my legs.

I already decorated my trailer to procrastinate on meeting the others. I tried my best to make it feel like home, bringing posters and collectibles from different pieces of media I enjoy. The blinds are closed, blocking the light sure, but also separating the trailer from the set.

Luckily, I also brought some string lights to hang across the ceiling. I don't know if I could handle the harsh florescent lights my entire time here.

I take a moment to try to take control of my breathing, doing the breathing exercises I've been instructed since I was little.

I'm interrupted with knocking on the door I'm leaning on. I stand to open the door to find Jenna Ortega on the other side. I still can't believe I'm seeing her in person and on talking terms.

Well, if I ever actually try to talk to her that is.

"Hey, I just wanted to check on you. It seemed like something was wrong." Her worried yet genuine glance meets mine.

"I'm- I don't know." I cut myself off to stop myself from lying, biting my bottom lip.

Jenna looks past me for a moment. "Can I come in?"

I nod, opening the door more and taking a step back. Jenna walks past me, she's wearing this nice perfume that fills the scentless trailer.

She looks around, admiring the decorations. "I like the string lights, I can't handle the florescent lights they use in these."

I close the door before approaching the built in couch. "Thanks, I actually wasn't aware of them until I got here. Luckily, I brought them from home by chance."

Jenna turns, taking the seat next to me. "Do you wanna talk about what's wrong? I understand if you don't want to."

"I-"

I cut myself off again, unsure what to say. "I don't know."

My heart is still beating to the bpm of flight of the bumblebee.

Jenna gives me a genuine smile, trying to make me feel comfortable, before glancing around the room again. Her eyes linger on the merchandise of different medias.

"How about we talk about media we like?" Her genuine gaze meeting mine. "I'll start, I really like Breaking Bad. It's kinda a guilty pleasure of mine."

My eyes slightly light up.

"I also really like Breaking Bad." I say, trying to reflect her genuineness. "I really like the character development and how much they change throughout the story."

Jenna scots a little closer. "I know right?! it's so good!" She seems so interested in the conversation.

She looks into my eyes with a smile. "Now it's your turn."

I look around the room for a moment, unsure what I should say. For a lot of my life I was told I can get annoying when I delve into my interests. It's like whenever I start talking about it I can't stop.

I don't want her to think I'm annoying, but I also don't want to tear down all the work she did to try to get me comfortable.

"I really like y/f/m, I just love the universe that they made so much and the characters." I start speaking, pausing for a moment to read Jenna's expression.

She is smiling and has this look in her eyes, like a genuine interest in what I'm talking about. My eyes feel like an open door as she looks into them.

"You can keep talking, I was listening." Her smile somehow becomes more genuine, causing a smile to creep up on my face.

For the past few minutes Jenna let me ramble about y/f/m. I soon realize I've likely been rambling for way too long "I'm sorry, I didn't realize how long I was talking." My smile fades, turning to embarrassment in an instant.

"What, no it's okay." She puts a hand on my knee comfortingly. "I was interested in what you were talking about."

I look at her eyes, her genuine eyes complimented with her genuine smile.

She is just so genuine.

"Are you sure I'm not being annoying?" I ask, insecurity laced in my voice.

She nods to me, her smile fills my heart.

I'll never get over the way she looks at me. As if she's actually interested in the conversation, interested in who I am.

I find myself looking down to the couch cushion, hiding my face. Soft gentle sobs start to escape my body, my shoulders slightly shaking.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Jenna scots closer, her hand gently grabbing my unstable shoulders.

I sniffle before getting my head up, revealing my glossy eyes and a few tears. My head feels like a boulder, trying to keep it lifted on top of my shoulders.

I shake my head with a smile. "It's stupid."

"There isn't a stupid reason to cry." Jenna says comfortingly, rubbing my shoulder with her thumb as she rests her hand there.

I look away again for a moment before meeting Jenna's gentle eyes. I open my mouth, no sound coming out as I try to decide my words before I speak. "It's just you're so nice. Most people either just let me speak, but are clearly disinterested or just flat out call me annoying."

Jenna's eyes are laced with empathy as she looks into my eyes like windows.

I sniffle before speaking again, fanning my face for moment. "And you just seem so interested and intrigued in what I'm talking about, and it just means so much and- I don't know."

She continues to rub my arm. There was a moment of silence, the only noise being my soft sobs until Jenna spoke. "I loved seeing the excitement and passion you have about y/f/m. You should talk to me more about it some time." She says with a smile.

I nod. "Yeah, I'd like that." A sniffle interrupts the middle of my sentence.

"I should probably try to calm down, I don't really want to go back outside looking like this." I motion my hands over my face, addressing my puffy eyes and tear streaked face.

Jenna breaks eye contact for a moment, finding the tv before meeting my gaze again. "How about we watch something?"

I nod, she stands and quickly finds the remote. "Before we start watching something, do you need a hug? You're allowed to say no."

I love how considerate she is.

I nod, standing up. She holds her arms out, inviting me into her arms. I put my arms around her lower back and she wraps hers around my upper back, one hand resting on the back of my head playing with my hair comfortingly. She holds me in her warm, gentle embrace for a moment before letting go.

She meets my face with a smile. "Feel better?"

I quickly nod with a smile on my face, happiness in my eyes.

"Do you have any comfort movies?" Jenna asks, finding her seat back on the couch.

I find my seat next to her. "I really like Studio Ghibli movies."

Jenna points the remote to the TV. "How about Spirited Away?"

"That sounds good to me." I say with a nod, looking at her one more time with a smile before we start the movie.

a/n: hii guys, hope you enjoyed my first Jenna fic. this was inspired by the tiktoks I've seen about the way Jenna looks at people. maybe if you guys behave you'll get a Jenna fic that has actual romance in it next.

#jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you

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mythicmanuscripts · 1 day ago

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Aemond and Aegon’s (separately) top three kinks and top three favorite forms of aftercare?

Oooo very good question Anon!! I'm gonna write a little bit about each of my thoughts on this and then leave the rest up to you lads

NSFW sub!aemond and aegon below the cut!

AEMOND - TOP THREE KINKS:

Service. Obviously. This should come as no surprise to anyone. He doesn't just want you to order him in the bedroom, he wants you to tell hm how to help you and be good for you. He has to feel useful.

Hair pulling. I know this one is kinda basic but there's no way he doesn't enjoy this. Usually he's not too hectically into pain play but there's nothing that gets his knees to buckle faster than when you grab the hair at the nape of his neck, just turns him to jelly.

Ownership. Again a no brainer here. He wants to feel like he's yours and yours alone. No one else can touch him, no one else can even look at him. Let him wear a collar and tug at it while calling him yours and he may genuinely just cum on the spot.

AEGON - TOP THREE KINKS:

Dumbnification. Nothing he loves more than when you gather him into your arms and tell him that he obviously can't look after himself, you must do it for him. He can't think, and he doesnt need to think, not when you call him pretty and kiss his head and tell him he doesnt need to worry about a single thing.

Overstimulation. This shouldnt be much of a surprise either. He absolutely loves when you push him to the brink, when you wring as many orgasms out of him as you can until he's just. a blubbering mess. Also he'll become a nuisance to the entire keep if he goes to long without it.

Competence kink. I actually can't believe I've never thought about this him before. Aegon knows he's not the smartest and he's been looked down upon for that his entire life. He absolutely hates being made to feel stupid, but at the same time nothing turns him him on quite like knowing his do is an expert in this and he'll be very well look after. He just gets so flustered and turned on when he gets to watch you in your element, when he can see first hand how good you are at what you do.

AEMOND - TOP THREE AFTERCARE FORMS:

Debrief - The first and most important to Aemond actually only happens once the scene is over and you're both pretty well recovered. He has to have a debrief afterwards, to hear what you thought and how you felt and to share his own perspective. if he skips this part of the aftercare then he'll feel off and unsettled for the rest of the day.

Reading - as we know, Aemond has studied history extensively. It's because of this love for history that you like to read some of his favourite history books to him while he recovers. You always ensure to choose a book you know he's already read, because he doesn't want surprises or to have to pay attention. He wants to just float as he listens to your voice.

If he doesn't want the reading, then quiet time if the next option you always go with. Aemond absolutely adores being able to let go and enter subspace with you, but when he comes up back up he can often be extremely sensitive to light and sound until he's recovered more. So often aftercare is just letting him slowly come down while he snuggles against your chest.

AEGON:

Cuddles. I know cuddles is implied in pretty much all aftercare thoughts but for this little grade A clinger it deserves its own category. For him it's not just that eh wants cuddles, it's that he won the able to recover otherwise.

Following on from cuddles, he also has to be in the same room as you for aftercare. If you forgot to bring snacks before the scene starts then you have to call a servant and ask for them to be brought out because if you even looked like you might be leaving he'd just burst into tears, completely inconsolable.

Lastly, he just loves when you talk to him while he slowly recovers and comes back. Aegin tends to become much quieter when he's in subspace and this can carry through to his aftercare. Unlike Aemond, reading him a story is never a good idea because the poor little thing can barely concentrate on it. But when you just keep a near constant monologue of your day? Incredible. He lets you voice wash over him without a care in the world.

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd #house of the dragon imagine #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen imagine #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen smut #aemond one eye #prince aemond #aegon smut #king aegon #aegon x reader #aegon ii targaryen #hotd aegon

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tired-truffle · 12 hours ago

Text

Before We Lost It All

A Viktorxfem!reader fic

Chapter Word Count: 2.5k

Tag list: @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @potatointhedirt @dedicated2viktor

"We make each other alive. Does it matter if it hurts?" - Ingmar Bergman

A/N: This takes place in chapter 9 of Muj Milacek during the scene where you convince Viktor to take a break from working and get some much-needed rest - in your bed, of course.

Masterlist

He’d let you sucker him into resting with those big, pleading eyes that plucked at his heartstrings. He was worrying you, he knew this, but he’d never been very good at accepting help. With his declining health and your visions of his death hanging over his head, he’d been growing increasingly desperate. And desperate times called for desperate measures - like sleeping in the same bed as the girl he’d been in love with for seven whole years.

If only you’d stop laughing at him.

"Is there something you find humorous about my attire, Milá?" He fixed you with what he hoped was a lovingly exasperated glare. At that point, he was too exhausted to tell.

"I'm sorry." You continued to giggle, undercutting your apology, though he found the sound pleasing enough to forgive you. "I'm overtired and I really wasn't expecting them to be that ill-fitting."

Viktor huffed at you, rolling his eyes with a small smile. He was well aware he looked ridiculous, the oversized shirt drowned his thin torso in fabric, but the pants barely reached past his knees. They had to be children’s pants, why you had them was beyond his understanding. To make matters worse, you were standing there in nothing but a large shirt that reached your upper thighs, your legs illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the window, and he assumed underwear beneath. You were gorgeous, and he was…feeling rather silly. Though he found it difficult to care all that much when you smiled so sweetly at him, the corners of your eyes crinkled with mirth.

"You can have the bed,” you offered when you’d managed to stop giggling. “I'll take the couch."

"I'm not stealing your bed, Miláček, it is plenty big enough for the both of us." Viktor pulled back the covers, slipping in. "And I will not subject you to that couch for any longer than necessary. I swear they made it with knives instead of springs."

He had insisted this both out of genuine concern for your back after sleeping on such an object, and out of his selfish want to sleep beside you. Could a dying man not be granted this one wish?

You hesitated, and for a moment he worried he’d overstepped your boundaries. But he wasn’t left waiting for long. You made your way to the bedside, shy but not necessarily timid.

"If you insist," you said, turning off the bedside lamp. "But you better not warm up your frigid toes on me."

"No promises."

The mattress dipped as you climbed into bed beside him, laying down with your hands curled tight against your chest. You were facing him, your chin tilted to meet his gaze.

This felt dangerously intimate. He was in bed with the woman he secretly loved - well, secret to you, Viktor was pretty sure everyone else knew. If he asked you to come closer, would you understand then? If he placed a soft kiss on the crown of your head, his hands cradling your back, would he need to say it? But he couldn’t voice his request, couldn’t find the words to ask for that which he longed for most.

He’d been a fool to think he could sleep with you so close yet not within his grasp. To lay beside you like his skin didn’t prickle with the need to be pressed completely against you was its own kind of torture.

"Does it hurt?" You broke the silence, your head turning to face him in the dark.

He was too tired to try to deny it, and you’d see through his lie anyway. "Yes," he answered plainly.

"Can I try something?" you asked, your tone even.

Curious and unable to deny such a simple request, he nodded. You reached forward, placing your hand against his chest and sending a bolt of excitement running through him. Your palm was soft and warm through his shirt, your heart beating quickly in your veins and tapping lightly against him. He lay still, his gaze fixed on you, giving you space to make the next move.

You closed your eyes, forcing your breathing to even out, your nose crinkling adorably in the low moonlight as you concentrated.

Nothing happened.

"Can I get closer?" you asked, and he appreciated your asking for permission - always polite and giving him the agency to choose.

He opened his arms, motioning for you to snuggle in. Slowly, you scooted closer until the top of your head was just below his chin, feeling the gentle rise and fall of your chest against his as you breathed. Your ear rested against his chest, one hand pressed against his chest while you placed the other on his back, over the back brace he’d been too tired to take off. He’d regret that tomorrow when his skin itched and his spine ached, but now he could focus on little else except the feeling of you curled up in his arms. Slipping an arm under your neck, he rested the other over your waist, drawing lazy circles on the small of your back. Viktor didn’t want to think about anything that didn’t involve you, nor how difficult it was going to be to pull himself away when the time came.

This wasn’t the first time you’d insisted he take a much-needed break from his work. Years ago you'd dragged him to a street fair in Piltover when he’d become so worn down by reports that he didn’t know where he ended and the equations began. He'd grumbled at first, but your infectious enthusiasm had won him over. You'd shared sticky cotton candy, the sweetness on your lips making him ache to taste them. When fireworks exploded overhead, he'd been captivated not by the display, but by the light reflected in your eyes.

Viktor's heart swelled with a bittersweet ache. He loved you - wholly, desperately, irrevocably. You were the sun to his withering form, the spark that kept his passion for progress alive even as his body failed him. He longed to confess, to pour out seven years of pent-up devotion. But fear held him back - fear of rejection, of complicating your friendship, of leaving you heartbroken when his time inevitably ran out.

So instead, he held you close in the darkness, committing every detail to memory. The soft whisper of your breath against his neck. The delicate curve of your spine beneath his fingertips. The subtle scent of your shampoo, floral and comforting. He etched it all into his mind, a perfect moment to carry with him always, no matter what the future held.

Viktor felt a sudden warmth emanate from your palm, spreading through his chest like rays of sunlight. A faint blue glow pulsed beneath your skin, illuminating the creases of your hand.

As your magic seeped into him, Viktor was struck by an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. The sensation was wistfully familiar, like a half-remembered dream or a long-lost memory struggling to surface. It felt like coming home after years away, like slipping into a warm bath after trudging through a blizzard. He couldn't place why it felt so natural, so right, but he found himself sinking into the comfort of it nonetheless.

The magic flowed through him, a soothing current that sought out every ache and pain. It pooled in his joints, easing the constant throbbing in his hip and knee. It traced along his spine, melting away the tension that had become a constant companion. Even the persistent headache that had taken up residence behind his eyes began to recede.

As the pain ebbed away, replaced by a numbing coolness, Viktor felt his body truly relax for the first time in years. His muscles unknotted, his breathing deepened, and the ever-present furrow between his brows smoothed out. He let out a long, shuddering sigh, filled with relief and contentment.

"Miláček," he whispered hoarsely, his voice heavy with sleep, "you truly are a wonder."

You didn't respond, your eyes still closed in concentration, but he felt your magic pulse in response to his voice. The blue glow intensified, casting soft shadows across your features. Viktor found himself enthralled at the sight, overcome by your beauty, wishing he could run his fingers down your jaw before capturing your lips in a kiss.

As the pain receded further, Viktor found his mind clearing. Ideas and solutions that had been just out of reach now crystallized with startling clarity. It was as if your magic had not only soothed his body, but sharpened his intellect as well. He wanted to leap out of bed and rush to his workbench, to capture these fleeting inspirations before they could slip away.

But the warmth of your body against his and the blissful absence of pain kept him rooted in place. For once, Viktor allowed himself to simply exist in the moment, free from the constant drive to work, to improve, to race against his own mortality. He tightened his arms around you, pulling you closer as you nestled in, pressing your face against his neck.

Viktor fought against the encroaching darkness, desperate to savour every second of this closeness, but exhaustion tugged insistently at the edges of his consciousness.

Within minutes, he was sound asleep.

Viktor drifted slowly into consciousness, his mind still blissfully foggy with sleep. Without thinking, he tightened his arms around the warm body pressed against him, pulling you closer. He nuzzled into your hair, breathing in your familiar scent. For a moment, everything was perfect.

Then awareness hit him like a bucket of ice water.

His eyes flew open as he realized where his hands were. One had slipped beneath your shirt during the night, splayed across the bare skin between your shoulder blades. If he moved it even slightly higher, he'd expose…Viktor's breath caught in his throat. He couldn't bring himself to complete that thought.

"Yeah, I noticed that too," you said, alerting him that you were awake.

He became acutely aware of every point of contact between your bodies. Your leg was slotted between his, your thigh pressed dangerously close to his groin. Your breath tickled his collarbone, your lips mere centimetres from his skin.

Viktor squeezed his eyes shut, willing away the temptation. You trusted him, had opened your home and your bed to him without hesitation. He refused to betray that trust, no matter how much his body screamed for more contact.

But oh, how he ached to explore further. To trace the curve of your spine, to map every inch of your skin with reverent touches. To wake you with gentle kisses and whispered confessions of love.

But that wasn’t for him.

"My apologies, Milá, that was not my intention," he said apologetically, reluctantly pulling his arm away and tugging your shirt down for you. It was the least he could do.

Returning his arm to your now clothed waist, his finger traced smooth patterns along your back. He swallowed his gasp of surprise when you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

"It's okay,” your words vibrated against his shoulder, “I don't mind."

He hummed a soft acknowledgement and was pleased when you made no move to disentangle yourself. The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow on the peaceful bubble. Nature's symphony of birdsong and distant traffic provided a gentle soundtrack as he let himself slowly wake up. As the fog of sleep lifted, Viktor became acutely aware of the pain creeping back into his body, the ache in his joints and the tightness of his back. Still, his head felt clearer than it had in months, the persistent headache reduced to a dull throb rather than the usual stabbing agony. He felt…rested. Truly rested, in a way he hadn't experienced in years.

Much too soon, your alarm clock shattered the serene atmosphere and worsened his headache.

You groaned as you slowly peeled yourself off of him and Viktor resisted the urge to grab your hips and pull you back into his arms. With a sigh, you slapped the top of the alarm clock aimlessly, finally hitting the off button and ending its incessant beeping.

Flopping onto your back, you turned to look at him, a soft, warm smile spreading across your face. The morning light caught in your tousled hair, creating a halo effect that made you look almost ethereal. Your eyes, still heavy-lidded with sleep, held a tenderness that made his heart stutter in his chest.

By the Gods, you were beautiful. Not in the polished, artificial way of Piltover's elite, but in a way that was uniquely, breathtakingly you. It was beyond his ability to describe, so he didn’t try.

Viktor's fingers twitched with the desire to trace the curve of your jaw, to tangle in your hair and draw you close. He imagined pressing his forehead against yours, breathing the same air, whispering all the words he'd kept locked away for so long.

But he couldn't. He wouldn't risk ruining this, whatever this was between you. So instead, he returned your smile with a small one of his own, hoping it conveyed even a fraction of the warmth he felt.

“You look like you slept well,” you teased, your smile tilting into a lopsided grin.

"You say that like it’s a good thing but it seems more like an insult to me." He patted at his hair, an attempt to flatten it that was doomed to fail from the beginning.

You giggled, a wonderous sound he would never tire of hearing, and sat up in bed. Before he had time to avert his gave, you’d stretched your arms over your head and you squeezed your eyes shut. Did you realize how your thin shirt plastered itself against your body, giving him a clear view of all your soft curves?

He cleared his throat, finding great interest in staring at the wall across the room, ignoring the blush that tinted his cheeks. Out of the corner of his vision, he saw your blush match his when you realized exactly what had just happened.

"I'm going to get ready," you announced shakily. With a quick swivel, you got out of bed and picked your clothes out of the closet, all while keeping your back to Viktor. Not that he minded, necessarily, but there was something about your reddened cheeks that captivated him entirely. "I'll meet you in the lab with breakfast?"

"Grab me a sweet milk and carrot muffin if they have it?"

“I’ll do my best!”

As you fled to the bathroom, Viktor found his voice once more. "Thank you, Mila." You turned back around to peek at him from around the door, adorable in your embarrassment. "I feel much better, you were right after all."

You smiled softly at him. "You should come back tonight," you said before hastily adding, "but only if you want to, of course."

He wanted nothing more, but did you? He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the sunlight streaming through the window illuminating his soft brown hair. "Are you sure? I don’t wish to impose any more than I already have."

You shook your head. “I don’t like sleeping alone, you’re not the only one who benefits.”

He smiled, bright and unburdened. Why had he doubted you? It seemed silly now when you regarded him with such bashful hope. You cared for him as he cared for you, didn’t you? “Then I suppose we have a deal.”

A/N: Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed the second Viktor's POV <3 Sadly, the arcane hyperfixation has left me, but when it comes back, I'm sure you'll definitely see more of these two! For now, I must let the writing demons out in my Dragon Age fic - time to terrorize another fandom!

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stylesonfilms · 2 days ago

Text

ink & innocence - 19 *

word count: 10.6k

woooah! here's a long one. excuse me for any grammar/plot inconsistencies.... i don't ever check because i like pumpin these parts out asap!! enjoy though! thanks for all the patience and all the kind words in my inbox <33

Aspen's eyes fluttered open, the faint scent of Harry lingering in the air around her, warm and comforting. A small yawn escaped her lips as she stretched, her arms reaching above her head before curling back into herself beneath the covers. Her gaze lazily swept the room, only then noticing Harry wasn't beside her.

The faint hum of the shower reached her ears, accompanied by the occasional clink of water droplets hitting the tiles. It was soothing, a reminder of the intimacy they'd shared the night before. Aspen's cheeks heated as fragmented memories flashed in her mind—Harry's lips on her skin, his whispered praises, the way he'd cared for her so gently afterward. She pulled the blanket higher over her face, trying to smother the bashful grin that refused to leave her lips.

Shifting slightly, she became aware of the soft fabric against her skin. Glancing down, Aspen realized she was dressed in nothing but her panties and one of Harry's shirts, the hem of which rested just below her hips. Her heart gave a little flutter at the sight, the scent of him clinging faintly to the material. Her dress and cardigan were neatly folded on Harry's dresser, a sweet gesture that didn't surprise her but warmed her heart nonetheless.

She sighed contentedly and nestled back into the pillow, a faint smile tugging at her lips as her thoughts drifted to him. She didn't realize how lost in her musings she was until the sound of the shower shutting off broke through her reverie. The familiar rasp of the metal rings as the curtain was drawn back sent a ripple of anticipation through her, and she bit her lip, burying her face in the pillow again to hide her expression even though Harry wasn't yet in the room.

The door creaked open moments later, and Aspen peeked out just in time to see Harry emerge. Her breath caught slightly as her eyes landed on him. A towel hung low on his hips, water droplets trailing down his toned torso. His damp curls clung to his forehead, and a crooked smile lit up his face when he noticed her watching.

"G'morning, sugar," he greeted, his voice warm and slightly teasing as he padded over to her.

Aspen managed a shy smile, her heart fluttering wildly as Harry came to sit on the edge of the bed beside her. Before she could say anything, he leaned closer, shaking his wet hair over her playfully. A few droplets of water sprinkled onto her face, making her squeal and pull the blanket over her head.

"Harry!" she protested, her voice muffled beneath the covers, though she couldn't suppress the giggle that followed.

Harry chuckled, pulling the blanket down just enough to reveal her flushed face. "There she is," he murmured, leaning down to press a series of soft, lingering kisses to her lips. Each one drew another giggle from her, her hands instinctively reaching to rest on his damp shoulders.

When he finally pulled back, his thumb gently brushed her cheek. "Did you sleep okay?" he asked softly, his voice laced with genuine care.

Aspen nodded, her smile still lingering. "Yeah. Really well, actually."

"Good," he said, brushing a stray curl away from her face before sitting back slightly. "Hey, did'ya hear about Niall's party tonight? He's hosting at his place."

Aspen blinked, shaking her head slightly. "No, I didn't. Are you thinking of going?"

Harry shrugged, his expression thoughtful. "Only 'f y'want to. It's up to you, sugar. I don't have t'go if you don't feel like it."

The sincerity in his tone made Aspen's chest tighten in the best way. She knew how much Harry's friends meant to him, and the fact that he was willing to forgo the party for her made her heart swell. Smiling softly, she tilted her head. "Would Isobel and Zayn be there?"

"Probably," Harry said with a chuckle. "I can check if you want."

Aspen considered it for a moment before nodding. "Okay. It could be fun," she said, her voice soft but genuine. "As long as you're with me."

Harry's grin widened, and he leaned down to steal another quick kiss. "Always," he murmured, his lips brushing against hers before he pulled back to grab his phone. "I'll let Niall know we're coming."

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Aspen shut the door to her bedroom with a soft click, the sound echoing louder than she expected in the quiet apartment. Isobel was still at Zayn's, and the silence felt both comforting and oddly exposing. She turned the lock and tested the handle to ensure it was secure before leaning against the door, her heart thudding in her chest for reasons she couldn't quite admit aloud.

On her bed sat a small brown package, innocuous to anyone else but holding a secret that made her cheeks burn. She approached it hesitantly, her fingers brushing the edges of the box as she sat cross-legged on her comforter. For a moment, she simply stared at it, as if opening it would set off alarms to announce her intentions to the world.

A deep breath later, Aspen dug her nails into the tape sealing the box and pulled it open, careful not to tear the cardboard too much. Inside, nestled in discreet tissue paper, was the item she had been waiting on—a purple sparkly dildo, smaller than most she had seen online, chosen with care for her specific purpose. She hesitated before lifting it from its packaging, her hands trembling slightly as she turned it over in the light.

Her face flushed an even deeper shade of crimson, and she instinctively glanced around the room despite knowing she was alone. It wasn't embarrassment exactly, but something more tender—a shyness born of inexperience and the secret vulnerability of preparing for something so deeply intimate.

Aspen's thoughts drifted to Harry, and her heart fluttered in her chest. She had been thinking about this moment for weeks, her curiosity and desire growing alongside her feelings for him. Last night had solidified it in her mind—he had been so attentive, so utterly devoted to her pleasure, and she wanted to do the same for him. Not just out of obligation, but because the thought of making him feel the way he made her feel sent a warm shiver through her body.

Still, the idea of her lack of experience made her stomach twist in knots. What if she wasn't good at it? What if she made it awkward? She hated the idea of fumbling through something so meaningful, especially when it came to Harry. The thought of his face, his groans, the way his lips parted when he let himself feel—she wanted to see that again, to be the reason for it.

That was why she had ordered this. Not to use for herself, but to practice. She could barely even think the word without her face heating up, but she knew it was the truth. The small toy felt manageable, like a stepping stone toward learning how to please Harry in the way she wanted to. She bit her lip, her thumb brushing over the smooth, glittery surface as she set it on the bed beside her.

Her mind buzzed with anticipation and nervous energy as she considered what to do next. There was a part of her that wanted to chicken out, to shove the box under her bed and never think about it again. But then she thought of Harry—the way his eyes softened when he looked at her, the low timbre of his voice when he murmured her name, the way he'd kissed her so reverently the night before. He was worth overcoming her hesitation.

With a shaky exhale, Aspen stood and moved to her desk, grabbing a small bottle of lubricant she had also ordered for this very moment. The act of preparing made her feel bold and a little self-conscious all at once. She set everything neatly on the bed before climbing back onto the mattress, crossing her legs beneath her and staring down at the items as if willing them to guide her.

She whispered to herself, "Okay, you can do this," though her voice was barely audible in the empty room. A tentative smile crept onto her lips as she picked up the toy again, her fingers curling around its base. This wasn't just about learning or practicing—it was about the quiet excitement of imagining Harry's pleasure, of knowing she could give him something meaningful in return for the tenderness he had shown her. And that thought alone was enough to make her heart race.

Aspen had about four hours before Harry would come pick her up, and one of those hours she would reserve to get ready. With three hours to spare, she figured that was plenty of time to get her practice in. It wasn't like he expected her to do this for him, and not once did he ask her for anything in return from the previous night. This was something Aspen set out to do on her own.

With the toy in her shy hands, she walked to her bathroom. She washed and dried the toy delicately and giggled to herself with red cheeks at how it just... stuck to the counter. The girl removed the toy to stick it onto the ledge of her bathtub. She figured it would be better to not hold it, since Harry's was, well, stuck on him.

Intimidation flooded her chest to accompany the slight shy and embarrassment as she stared at the toy. It was no more than six inches, maybe five, she spent less than five minutes on Amazon alone while she tried to scramble out of it. The girl slipped onto her knees in front of the toy and brushed her hair behind her ears. Still in Harry's shirt and a pair of shorts she found in her tote bag, her fingers nervously stretched the hem of the shirt.

No one is here, she thought to herself to calm down. The girl set her phone down on the ledge, clicking play on some random short video she found. With a hot face and nervous hands, she watched the video at least three times before she wiggled closer and tucked her hair back once again.

Aspen's heart was racing as she sat back on her heels, staring at the toy stuck firmly to the edge of the tub. Her fingers trembled slightly as she adjusted Harry's shirt on her shoulders, the familiar fabric bringing a strange sense of comfort. The video had been helpful—at least, it gave her some idea of what to do—but actually putting it into practice felt entirely different.

The toy gleamed under the bathroom light, the sparkles catching her eye as if teasing her for her hesitation. She bit her lip, her mind flashing back to Harry's hands on her, his mouth, the way he looked at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered. That memory alone gave her the push she needed. She wasn't doing this for herself—this was for him, for the look she knew she'd get when she finally showed him how much she cared in her own way.

With a deep breath, Aspen leaned forward and wrapped her hand around the base of the toy. Her grip was unsure at first, her fingers flexing against the smooth surface as she tried to mimic what she had seen. It felt strange—foreign, even—but she reminded herself that this was exactly why she was practicing. Her gaze flickered to the video still playing on her phone, the soft, instructive voice guiding her as she adjusted her hand to a more comfortable position.

She brought her lips close to the tip, her face heating as she hesitated. The idea of doing this for Harry, of having him look at her with that mix of awe and affection, sent a warm shiver through her. Slowly, she let her lips part, pressing a tentative kiss to the tip before sliding her mouth over it just slightly. The feeling was odd but not unpleasant, and she pulled back almost immediately, her cheeks burning.

"Okay, Aspen," she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible over the video. "You've got this. Just... take it slow."

She leaned in again, her lips wrapping more firmly around the toy this time. Aspen tried to remember the rhythm and movements she had seen, moving her hand in time with her mouth as she took it in a little farther. Her tongue brushed against the surface, and she focused on maintaining a steady pace. The motions felt awkward at first, but she kept going, determined to make it feel natural.

Her thoughts strayed to Harry again—his voice, his laugh, the way he called her "sugar" with that teasing lilt. It made her smile despite herself, and she realized she was beginning to relax. She adjusted her grip slightly, testing what felt comfortable for her as she moved her mouth up and down the length of the toy.

As she grew more confident, Aspen pushed herself to take it deeper. The first attempt was met with resistance, and she pulled back quickly with a small cough, her eyes widening in surprise. "Okay," she muttered, her cheeks flushed. "Noted."

She took a moment to collect herself, running her fingers over the base of the toy as she caught her breath. This wasn't easy, but she didn't expect it to be. What mattered was that she was trying, and she couldn't help but feel a small sense of pride for even attempting this in the first place.

Aspen brushed her hair back again, her fingers steadying themselves as she glanced at the toy. The brief setback hadn't discouraged her—it was all part of the process, she told herself. After a few deep breaths, she leaned in once more, determined to improve. This time, she focused on keeping her movements slow and deliberate, experimenting with how far she could go while maintaining a comfortable rhythm.

Her lips wrapped around the toy, gliding down the length with a bit more ease. The motions began to feel smoother, less awkward, as she found a rhythm that worked. Each time she pushed herself to take it deeper, she would pause to adjust, her mind focused on breathing steadily through her nose and relaxing her jaw. The initial nerves faded bit by bit, replaced by a quiet determination. Aspen imagined Harry watching her, the thought sending a wave of warmth through her. Would he be proud of her for trying this? She hoped so.

After a few more rounds, she pulled back, sitting up on her knees as she wiped at her lips with the back of her hand. Her chest rose and fell with her measured breathing, and she allowed herself a small, satisfied smile. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than when she started.

Her eyes flickered to the bottle of lube she had grabbed earlier, and an idea clicked in her mind. She'd read somewhere that using just spit wasn't ideal for making things comfortable. A little extra help couldn't hurt, and it would give her a chance to practice with her hands as well. With that thought, Aspen uncapped the bottle, squeezing a small amount onto her palm.

The cool, slick sensation made her fingers tingle as she rubbed the lube between her hands. She hesitated for only a moment before wrapping her hand around the base of the toy, gliding her fingers along its length experimentally. The lube made the movements smooth and effortless, and she nodded in approval to herself. "That's definitely better," she muttered.

She practiced moving her hand up and down, twisting slightly at the top as she had seen in a few videos and read in advice threads. The slickness made the motions feel more natural, and Aspen began to alternate between using one hand and adding the other for different techniques. Her cheeks were flushed, but there was a hint of pride in her expression as she focused on getting it right.

As she worked, her thoughts drifted back to Harry, imagining his reaction. She wanted to surprise him, to show him that she could give him as much care and attention as he had given her. The thought of his soft praises, the way he always made her feel safe and adored, spurred her on.

By the time she set the toy down, her hands slightly sticky with the remnants of the lube, Aspen felt a new wave of confidence. She still had a lot to learn, but she was making progress—and that was enough for now.Aspen was still kneeling on the bathroom floor, her hands gliding up and down the toy with practiced motions, her face a little less red as she became more confident in what she was doing. She was so focused that she almost didn't hear the front door open—or the unmistakable sound of Isobel's cheerful voice calling out, "Aspen! I'm back!"

Her heart leaped into her throat. Panic surged through her, and her hands froze mid-motion. "Crap, crap, crap," she whispered, fumbling with the toy as she tried to think of where to put everything. She quickly grabbed the toy and the bottle of lube, shoving them under the sink. Her fingers trembled as she wiped at the countertop with a nearby towel, trying to erase any evidence of what she had been doing.

She turned on the faucet, frantically scrubbing her hands and splashing cold water on her flushed face to cool it down. But then her eyes widened as she remembered the box and the packaging still sitting on her bed. "Oh, no," she whispered, darting out of the bathroom.

Just as Isobel's footsteps echoed closer, Aspen grabbed the box and kicked it under the bed with a hurried nudge of her foot. She spun around just in time to see her bedroom door swing open, her heart racing as she plastered a casual smile on her face.

"There you are!" Isobel beamed, stepping inside and flopping onto Aspen's bed without hesitation. "I thought you'd still be sleeping or something. Zayn's place is crazy right now, so I figured I'd escape and come bother you."

Aspen forced a laugh, hoping her flushed face wouldn't give her away. She nervously tugged at the hem of her shirt, her mind racing. "Oh, um, no. I've just been... cleaning up a bit," she said, glancing toward the bathroom door as if double-checking that nothing was left out.

Isobel didn't seem to notice Aspen's odd behavior. She stretched out on the bed, her legs dangling off the edge as she grinned up at her friend. "So, about tonight... Are we going to Niall's party? Zayn says it's going to be packed, and I heard there's going to be karaoke again. You have to come, Aspen."

Still trying to calm the frantic beat of her heart, Aspen sat on the edge of the bed and nodded slowly. "Yeah, I think I'm going. Harry mentioned it earlier, so... I guess we'll both be there."

Isobel's face lit up. "Perfect! I can't wait to see you two being cute and couple-y. Honestly, it's kind of sickening how adorable you are." She smirked, poking Aspen's arm playfully. "What are you wearing? You have to look amazing."

Aspen chuckled softly, the tension in her chest easing slightly as she realized Isobel wasn't suspicious. "I haven't decided yet. Something simple, probably."

"Simple doesn't cut it, babe," Isobel teased, sitting up and pulling Aspen into a half-hug. "We're going to make you look like a goddess tonight. Harry won't be able to keep his hands off you."

Aspen's cheeks flushed again, but this time, it wasn't from embarrassment over what she had been doing earlier. She let herself relax as she and Isobel began to chat about outfits, hairstyles, and what they thought the night would bring.

Aspen turned in front of her full-length mirror, trying not to let her nerves get the better of her. Isobel stood behind her, beaming with pride as she admired her work.

"You look so good, Aspen," Isobel said, clasping her hands together as if she'd just unveiled a masterpiece. "Harry's going to lose his mind when he sees you. Trust me."

Aspen bit her bottom lip, her cheeks flushed as she took in her reflection. The leopard print micro shorts sat snugly on her hips, showing more skin than she was used to, and the black top clung to her figure in a way that made her hyper-aware of every curve. The sheer material revealed hints of her dark red bra, especially when she moved under the light, and Isobel had made sure she wore a push-up bra that emphasized her chest more than she was used to. The knee-high boots added an edge to her look, and her hair—loose, shiny, and with its natural blowout volume—cascaded around her shoulders.

Her makeup was darker than usual: smoky liner that brought out the green flecks in her hazel eyes and a deep, muted red lip that balanced sultry with understated. It wasn't too far from her natural style, but it was definitely bolder than what she normally wore.

"Are you sure about this?" Aspen asked, fidgeting with the hem of her shorts. "I mean... I don't know if it's really me."

Isobel rolled her eyes dramatically and swatted Aspen's hand away. "Stop doubting yourself! You look hot. Like, seriously hot. And it's a party, Aspen—it's supposed to be fun. Besides, you deserve to feel confident and sexy for once. Harry's going to eat you alive."

Aspen groaned softly but couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. Isobel's confidence was infectious. "Okay, okay. But if anyone stares too much, I'm blaming you."

"Let them stare!" Isobel declared, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "You're a goddess tonight, and everyone should know it."

Aspen laughed nervously, grabbing her small black crossbody bag and slinging it over her shoulder. "All right, let's go before I change my mind."

When Harry arrived to pick Aspen up, the last thing he expected was to be rendered speechless on her doorstep. His usual laid-back confidence wavered the second his eyes landed on her. She looked... stunning. The kind of stunning that didn't just catch his attention but made his chest tighten and his thoughts scatter.

His gaze swept over her from head to toe, lingering on the daring leopard print shorts that showed off her legs and the way the black top hugged her figure in ways that made it impossible to look away. The subtle flash of red from her bra beneath the sheer fabric sent a warmth up his neck, though he quickly fought it back, not wanting to seem like he was ogling her.

Harry, standing there in his dark grey long sleeve shirt with the top two buttons undone, sleeves casually rolled up to reveal his tattoos, shifted on his boots. His flannel was slung loosely around his waist, the contrast between his rugged appearance and her bold elegance somehow fitting. But for once, he felt like he was the one trying to keep up.

He swallowed hard, realizing he hadn't said a word. "Wow," he finally breathed, his voice unintentionally dropping an octave. "You look... incredible." His words hung heavy with honesty, his eyes still glued to hers.

Aspen's cheeks flushed a deep pink under his intense gaze. She ducked her head slightly, a small, self-conscious laugh escaping her. "Isobel's doing," she murmured, tugging at the strap of her bag as if to distract herself. "It's a little more than I'd usually wear."

Harry took a step closer, closing the space between them. His hand came up gently, his fingers tilting her chin so she'd meet his gaze. The warmth in his eyes melted away any lingering doubts she had about the outfit.

"You're perfect," he said, his tone steady and certain. The sincerity in his voice wrapped around her like a blanket. "Don't change a thing. I love it."

Aspen's breath caught, her heart racing under his unwavering attention. The blush on her cheeks deepened, and all she could manage was a soft, "Okay," her voice almost a whisper.

Harry's thumb brushed lightly along her jaw before he dropped his hand, though his eyes stayed locked on hers for a moment longer. His own heart was pounding—he wasn't even sure how she didn't notice the way his hands itched to reach for her again, just to keep her close.

Before either of them could say another word, Isobel's cheerful voice rang out from the top of the stairs. "Come on, lovebirds! We're going to be late!"

Harry chuckled, breaking the moment as he stepped back, his hand naturally finding the small of Aspen's back to guide her toward his car. "Guess that's our cue," he said softly, glancing down at her with a smile that felt reserved just for her.

Aspen followed his lead, her heart still fluttering in her chest. As they walked, she couldn't help but steal a glance at him—the way his rolled sleeves accentuated his forearms, the casual way his flannel swayed with his movements, and the ease in his stride. He looked good. He always did, but tonight... there was something different.

The night was just beginning, but Aspen already felt the buzz of excitement tingling through her. And it wasn't just about the party ahead—it was about Harry, and the way his every glance, touch, and word made her feel like she was the only person in the world.

The drive to Niall's party was filled with a mix of quiet conversation and a shared anticipation. Harry's hand rested comfortably on the gear shift, his fingers occasionally brushing against Aspen's knee as they chatted about nothing in particular. Aspen felt her nerves ebb and flow; this was her first time going to a party like this with Harry, and she wasn't sure what to expect.

When they arrived, the unmistakable hum of bass reverberated from the house, spilling into the night air. The sound grew louder as Harry pushed open the front door for her, the familiar chaos of a party greeting them like a wave. Laughter, music, and snippets of overlapping conversations blended together in an almost overwhelming cacophony.

Aspen instinctively pressed closer to Harry's side, her arm brushing against his as they stepped inside. He noticed the small movement immediately, glancing down at her with a reassuring smile. "Stay close," he said, his voice low but audible against the noise.

She nodded, her heart steadying slightly at the comfort of his presence. Together, they wove through the crowded space, stopping to greet Liam, Louis, and Zayn. Each of the boys greeted Aspen warmly, their familiarity making her feel a little less out of place. Isobel had already peeled away, spotting a group of friends across the room, leaving Aspen tucked safely under Harry's protective gaze.

As they maneuvered through the living room, Aspen's eyes darted around, taking in the lively scene. People were scattered in groups, some dancing, others huddled on couches, and a few lingering by the kitchen island with drinks in hand. Her gaze snagged briefly on a figure near the edge of the room—Kirsten.

The sight made her stomach twist involuntarily. Kirsten was laughing at something, her posture relaxed and carefree. Aspen's fingers twitched, an urge to grab onto Harry stronger than before, but she forced herself to look away. It didn't seem like Harry had noticed, his attention focused on steering them toward the drinks table in the kitchen.

"Want a drink?" Harry asked as they approached, his voice cutting through the noise as he leaned slightly closer to her.

"Juice, if they have it," Aspen replied quickly. She wasn't in the mood to risk alcohol, not with the way her nerves were still settling.

Harry nodded, scanning the array of bottles and mixers sprawled across the counter. He reached for a carton of juice, unscrewing the cap and pouring it into a cup. Before handing it to her, he paused, taking a sip himself.

His brows furrowed for a brief moment as he swirled the liquid in his mouth before nodding in approval. "Just juice," he confirmed with a small smirk, handing the cup to her.

Aspen took it with a shy smile, grateful for the small gesture of care. Harry grabbed a beer for himself, expertly popping the cap off with one hand.

"You okay?" he asked, his green eyes searching hers as they stood shoulder-to-shoulder at the counter.

"Yeah," she said, sipping her drink. "It's... loud. But I'm fine."

Harry chuckled, his hand resting briefly on the small of her back. "It's always loud with Niall. You'll get used to it. If it gets too much, just say the word."

She nodded, her chest warming at his attentiveness. Even here, surrounded by chaos and distraction, Harry made her feel seen—like she mattered more than anything else in the room.

As they moved to find a quieter corner, Aspen felt herself relax slightly. The drink in her hand grounded her, and Harry's steady presence beside her made the overwhelming atmosphere feel manageable. She cast another glance around the room, but Kirsten was nowhere in sight now.

Good, she thought, turning her attention fully back to Harry as he sipped his beer and tilted his head toward her. The night was still young, and she silently vowed not to let anything ruin the moment they were building together.

Harry leaned against the kitchen counter, beer in hand, his body angled toward Aspen. The faint smirk playing on his lips softened as he looked at her, his green eyes catching the low kitchen lights. Aspen was still close, her drink clutched delicately between her hands.

"See? Juice isn't so bad at a party," he teased, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

She laughed softly, the sound barely carrying over the thrum of the music from the next room. "It's safer. I can't afford an Isobel-level hangover," she replied, taking a small sip for emphasis.

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "Fair point. She's a lightweight, but she recovers fast. Maybe you'll be one 'nd the same."

"I think I might still feel Zayn's party for her," she joked, glancing down at her cup. "But this is nice. I like just... talking like this."

He smiled at that, a warmth spreading through his chest. "Yeah? Me too. 'S easy with you."

Her heart skipped at his words, and she tried to focus on the rim of her cup instead of how close his gaze made her feel. It was like he could see right through her, past the noise of the party and into something she wasn't even sure she fully understood yet.

They fell into a rhythm of light conversation, their words flowing as naturally as the comfort between them. Harry asked about her day, his tone genuinely curious, and Aspen recounted the little details she hadn't thought worth mentioning before. He listened intently, occasionally nodding or adding a playful comment that made her laugh.

But as they talked, Aspen became increasingly aware of the others around them. Niall's party was buzzing with energy, and she couldn't help but notice how many people greeted Harry, waving or clapping him on the back in passing. He was clearly a familiar face here, and it struck her that she might be unintentionally keeping him from joining his friends.

She hesitated, fiddling with the cup in her hands before glancing up at him. "Harry?"

"Hmm?" he hummed, his eyes still fixed on her.

She smiled softly, trying to keep her voice steady. "You don't have to stick by me all night, you know. If you want to go hang out with your friends or—"

Harry frowned, cutting her off with a shake of his head. "What? No. 'M not leaving y'here alone."

"I wouldn't be alone," she argued gently, motioning to the room full of people. "I'll be fine, Harry. Really. I don't want to hold you back from... whatever it is you'd rather be doing."

His frown deepened, and he set his beer down on the counter with a soft clink before turning fully toward her. "Aspen," he said firmly, his voice lowering enough that it felt like they had their own little bubble of quiet. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be. If I wanted to be with anyone else, I'd be there. Not here. But 'm here with you 'cause you mean more t'me."

Her cheeks flushed at his words, the sincerity in his voice almost overwhelming. She opened her mouth to respond, but he beat her to it, his lips curving into a softer smile.

"Besides," he added, his tone lighter now, "if I let y'out of my sight, who's going to make sure your juice stays jus' juice?"

She laughed despite herself, the sound easing the tension she hadn't realized she'd been holding in her chest. "You're ridiculous."

"Maybe," he agreed, his smile widening. "But 'm also not leaving you. So deal with it."

Aspen shook her head, her grin matching his. "Fine. Suit yourself."

"I will," he quipped, taking another sip of his beer as if to punctuate the moment.

The conversation flowed naturally again after that, but Harry stayed closer than before, his arm brushing hers occasionally as if to remind her he wasn't going anywhere. Aspen felt a warmth settle in her chest—a feeling she was beginning to recognize as uniquely tied to him.

The two were still mid-conversation when Kirsten approached, her appearance so sudden that even Harry—typically unflappable—tensed slightly. She wore her signature smile, the one that didn't quite meet her eyes, as she sauntered up with a drink in hand.

"Well, well," she began, her tone syrupy sweet. "If it isn't the cutest couple at the party."

Aspen turned, her face lighting up in genuine surprise. "Oh, hey, Kirsten!"

Harry's jaw ticked, but he masked it quickly, offering a tight smile. "Kirsten."

Kirsten tilted her head, her gaze flicking between the two of them. "I was just telling Zayn how happy I am for you guys. I mean, really, Aspen, you've got quite the catch here."

Aspen's cheeks flushed at the comment, her shyness kicking in. "Oh, um, thank you. Harry's... he's great."

Harry glanced at Aspen, his features softening momentarily at the sincerity in her voice, but when his gaze shifted back to Kirsten, his expression hardened again.

"Anyway," Kirsten continued, leaning slightly toward Aspen as if to exclude Harry, "you're looking amazing tonight. That outfit? Killer. Who knew you had it in you?"

Aspen blinked, unsure if that was meant as a compliment or something else entirely, but she managed a small smile. "Thanks. Isobel helped me pick it out."

"Of course she did," Kirsten said with a laugh, her eyes glinting with something Harry didn't like. "She's always had an eye for this kind of thing."

Before either of them could respond, Kirsten held out a cup toward Aspen. "Here. I grabbed you another juice. Figured you'd want a refill."

Aspen hesitated for a moment but took the cup with a grateful smile. "Oh, thank you. That's so nice of you."

Kirsten's smile widened, her eyes flickering briefly to Harry. "Anything for you, Aspen." With that, she waved a hand and breezed off, heading back to the group she'd come from.

Aspen raised the cup to her lips, ready to take a sip, but Harry's hand shot out, gently but firmly taking the drink from her.

"Harry?" she asked, confused by the sudden action.

He didn't answer immediately, his brow furrowed as he brought the cup to his nose and sniffed. His frown deepened, and without a word, he tipped the cup back and took a cautious sip. The sharp taste of vodka immediately hit his tongue, and his jaw clenched.

"Are y'kiddin' me?" he muttered under his breath, his grip tightening on the cup.

Aspen tilted her head, concern lacing her features. "What's wrong?"

Harry set the cup down on the counter with a little more force than necessary, his green eyes locking onto hers. "It's spiked. There's vodka in it."

Aspen's eyes widened in shock. "What? But... I didn't—."

"I know you didn't," Harry cut her off, his voice softer but still laced with a protective edge. "But she did." His eyes trailed along with Kirsten who shuffled through the crowd, shaking his head.

Aspen blinked, her confusion deepening. "Kirsten? Why would she...?"

Harry let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair as he tried to keep his frustration in check. "I don't know, but anyone who knows you knows you don't drink. Tha's not an accident."

Aspen's lips parted, but no words came out. She looked down at the cup, her brows knitting together as realization dawned. "I didn't even think... I just—."

"Hey," Harry interrupted, stepping closer and cupping her cheek gently. "It's not your fault. Y'shouldn't have to think about stuff like that."

She leaned into his touch, her face still tinged with worry. "I just don't understand why she'd do that."

Harry's jaw tightened again, but he kept his voice steady for her sake. "Some people are just... I don't know, Aspen. But 's okay, I'll go grab you another, yeah? No need to fret."

Aspen nodded, her hands curling into the hem of her top. "Thank you, Harry. For looking out for me."

"Always," he said firmly, brushing his thumb over her cheek. "Let's just... steer clear of Kirsten for the rest of the night, yeah?"

Aspen gave a small nod, her trust in him evident in the way she relaxed under his gaze. Harry, however, made a mental note to keep an even closer eye on Kirsten for the remainder of the party.

An hour later, the party continued to hum with noise and activity, but Harry and Aspen had found a quieter moment in the kitchen. The two leaned casually against the counter, a shared bowl of chips between them, as their conversation meandered through light and playful topics. Harry popped a chip into his mouth, his eyes sparkling as he glanced at Aspen.

“I have to say,” he started, his tone easy but laced with sincerity, “your eyeliner tonight? Flawless. You’re like some kind of makeup wizard or something.”

Aspen blinked, then let out a soft laugh, tilting her head as she brushed a stray curl behind her ear. “Makeup wizard? That’s a new one.”

“I’m serious,” Harry insisted, his lips quirking into a small grin. “It’s sharp enough to cut someone. Deadly.”

She rolled her eyes, though the faint blush on her cheeks gave her away. “Thanks, Harry, but it’s really not that impressive.”

“Oh, it is,” he countered, leaning just a fraction closer. “I’m impressed.”

Aspen smirked, crossing her arms over her chest as a teasing glint appeared in her eyes. “If you’re so impressed, maybe I should do yours. Let’s see how you pull off a cat-eye.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “You’re joking.”

“Nope,” Aspen said, her tone playful but challenging. “I’ve got my liner in my bag. I could make you look runway-ready in ten minutes.”

He laughed, the sound low and warm, before shrugging. “Alright, deal. Let’s see what you’ve got, wizard.”

Aspen blinked, startled by his willingness. “Wait, seriously?”

“Why not?” Harry replied, leaning casually against the counter. “It’s a party. Let’s have some fun. Plus, I trust you.”

Her heart fluttered at the casual way he said those words, and she quickly turned away to fish through her bag, hoping he didn’t notice the way her fingers trembled slightly. “Okay, but I need decent lighting. I can’t work miracles in the middle of a party.”

Harry chuckled, pushing off the counter and nodding toward the hallway. “Come on. I know just the place.”

He led her through the crowd, his hand naturally finding the small of her back as they weaved between clusters of people. When they reached the bathroom, Harry opened the door and gestured for her to step inside first.

The bathroom was surprisingly tidy, with bright lighting that illuminated every detail. Harry leaned against the sink, crossing his arms as he watched her set her bag down on the counter and pull out the eyeliner.

“Alright, sit,” Aspen instructed, pointing to the closed toilet lid.

Harry obliged, his posture relaxed as he perched on the seat, looking up at her with an amused expression. “This is going to be good.”

Aspen leaned down slightly, her focus shifting entirely to him as she uncapped the eyeliner. “Stay still, or I’ll accidentally poke your eye out. Then you’ll have to explain to everyone why you’re walking around with one eye closed.”

“I’ll behave,” he promised, though the mischievous twinkle in his eyes suggested otherwise.

She started carefully, her free hand resting lightly on his cheek to steady herself. As she worked, Harry found himself watching her, his gaze tracing the curve of her lips, the furrow of concentration in her brow, and the way her lashes brushed her cheeks.

“You’re really good at this,” he murmured softly.

“Shh,” Aspen replied, her lips twitching into a small smile. “Don’t distract me.”

But inside, her heart was pounding. She was hyper-aware of the warmth of his skin under her fingertips, the way his breath fanned across her wrist every time he exhaled.

When she finally leaned back to inspect her work, she couldn’t help but laugh. Thick lines of black flooded his waterline, yet it somehow looked good. “Okay, you actually pull this off. I hate that you look good in eyeliner.”

Harry stood and turned toward the mirror, his brows lifting as he examined her handiwork. “Damn,” he said with a grin, tilting his head to the side. “You weren’t kidding. I look... edgy.”

Aspen giggled, capping the eyeliner and tucking it back into her bag. “You’re welcome. Now you can tell everyone you’ve had a professional makeover.”

He turned back to her, his expression softening as he reached out to brush a strand of hair from her face. “Thanks, wizard.”

Her breath hitched, and she tried to play it off with a light laugh. “Anytime, Potter.”

Harry hummed softly, leaning down to cup her jaw with both of his hands, pressing a kiss to her lips. "'S been too long since I could do that," He grinned, pressing his lips back onto hers.

Aspen wrapped her hands around his wrists, sighing contently. It had been too long since they've had a moment alone. Their lips worked together with ease, each tilt of their heads deepening the kiss. Harry mumbled something against her lips, using his foot to kick the door closed and fumbled out a hand to click the lock shut.

With quick swiftness, his hands dropped down to the back of her thighs, lifting her to wrap her legs around his torso. Harry's lips sprawled out onto her neck as her thighs made contact with the cold counter.

"Harry," She sighed out, closing her eyes as she tilted her head back. His reply was another hum against her skin, his fingers hooking on the hem of the neck of Aspen's shirt to pull it down, his lips following the bare skin. Before she could say anything more, Harry's mouth latched onto her collarbone as his free hand gave her hip a firm squeeze. A breathy moan fell from the girls lips, a sound that was so easy to draw out for Harry.

Harry’s lips trailed lower, his hands steadying Aspen against the counter. She let out a shaky breath, her fingers threading into his soft curls as her heart raced. Her chest rose and fell with every rapid inhale, and she fought to gather her thoughts amid the heat building between them.

“Harry,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

He pulled back just enough to look up at her, his green eyes dark and full of affection. “Hmm?”

Her cheeks flushed, and she bit her bottom lip nervously. “I... I want to, um... return the favor,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry’s brows furrowed for a moment before realization dawned on him. He stood straight, his hands shifting to cup her face gently. “Aspen, you don’t have to,” he said firmly, his voice low and reassuring. “Last night wasn’t about keeping score. And right now... 's jus' me wantin' to kiss you a bit. Missed that.”

“I know,” she said quickly, her hands moving to rest on his forearms. “But I want to. I... practiced earlier today.” Her eyes darted away from his, embarrassment flooding her face.

Harry blinked, caught off guard. His lips twitched into a soft smile, but he could see the genuine nervousness in her expression. “Practiced?” he asked gently, his tone curious but kind.

She nodded, her face turning an even deeper shade of red. “For you. I... wanted to be good at it. You’re always so patient and sweet, and I just...”

Harry chuckled softly, pressing his forehead to hers. “Aspen, you’re perfect. You don’t have to prove anything to me. But what d'you mean by practiced?”

A deep red flushed her cheeks, her eyes dropping to anywhere but his. The gentle touch of his thumbs on her skin soothed her. “I... just ordered something,” she squeaked out, "and I spent the morning just... using it? But n-not all the way, but you know." Aspen spluttered out in embarrassment, her eyes meeting his with determination despite her shyness.

He studied her for a moment before nodding. An amused smile turned up his lips but a new flicker of heat flooded his eyes. The thought of her taking anything down her mouth, honestly, made his head spin. “Alright,” he said softly. “But if at any point y'feel uncomfortable, you tell me, yeah?”

She nodded, swallowing hard as her nerves buzzed. “Okay.”

Harry leaned in to kiss her softly, his thumbs brushing her cheeks as if to reassure her. “Take your time, love.”

liding off the counter, Aspen took a deep breath and dropped to her knees in front of him, her hands trembling slightly as they moved to the buckle of his belt. Harry leaned back against the counter, his fingers gently threading through her hair, offering soothing strokes.

“You’re doing great,” he murmured, his voice warm and steady. “No rush.”

Aspen fumbled with the belt, her hands clumsy with nerves, but Harry’s patient presence helped steady her. She managed to undo it, the soft clink of the metal filling the quiet bathroom, followed by the sound of his zipper. Her breath hitched as she tugged his jeans down just enough, her hands pausing when she saw him.

Her blush deepened as she stared, her mind instantly comparing him to the toy she had practiced with. He was... much bigger.

“Harry...” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Hey,” he said softly, his fingers brushing against her cheek to catch her attention. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for, okay?”

She shook her head, determination flickering in her eyes despite her nervousness. “I want to,” she said, her voice a bit stronger this time, "you're just.. big. Really big."

His thumb gently stroked her jaw, his smile soft and reassuring while a laugh ripped through him. “Just go slow, love. You’re already doing amazing, especially at fueling my ego.”

With a deep breath, Aspen leaned forward, her hand wrapping around the base of him carefully. The warmth of her palm made Harry’s breath hitch, but he remained still, letting her set the pace. He felt heavy in her hands, her hand barely able to wrap around him and she was sure that with two hands wrapped around his length, there'd still be extra.

Aspen pressed a tentative kiss to the tip, her heart racing as she tried to remember everything she had practiced earlier. She glanced up at him, her eyes meeting his as she saw the soft encouragement in his expression. His brows were furrowed slightly, his Adam's apple bobbing when he swallowed.

“You’ve got this,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing.

Gathering her courage, she took him into her mouth, her movements slow and careful. The taste wasn't bad, she thought, maybe even a bit sweet. His tip felt heavy on her tongue, her tongue wrapping around it as best as she could. As she pulled back up, her lips closed around the tip to another kiss. Harry’s hand in her hair tightened slightly, a low groan escaping his lips as she worked.

“God, Aspen,” he breathed, his head tipping back against the mirror. “You’re... incredible.” He quickly looked back down, swallowing once more as he kept his eyes locked on hers.

His words spurred her on, and she continued, her confidence growing with every soft groan and murmured praise that fell from his lips. Aspen laid her tongue flat along the underside of his tip, swirling around the pink head of his cock before she trained the muscle to slide between his slit. A groan rippled through Harry's chest followed by another cuss word.

Taking her chances, Aspen took his cock between her lips again. Her red lips stretched around the length before they curled over her teeth as she sank lower. She whined softly, which made Harry's breath hitch and his grip tighten in her hair.

When she finally pulled back, her lips red and her breathing heavy, Harry looked down at her with a mixture of awe and affection.

“You’re so fuckin' amazing,” he said, his voice hoarse. “But we’re stopping if this is too much.”

Aspen shook her head, a shy smile tugging at her lips as she met his gaze. “I’m okay,” she whispered.

Harry leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he continued to run his fingers through her hair. “You’re perfect, baby. Absolutely perfect.”

With a shy gaze up at Harry, her tongue came out to kitten lick at his tip a couple of times before she returned to her position once more. His brows furrowed, lips parted and wet as he stared down at her. She looked far from his little angel, but he swore he could see wings coming out around her still.

"Fuckin' hell," He moaned, looking down with darker eyes now. They fluttered closed as he felt himself hit the back of Aspen's throat, brows furrowing more at the sensation. Even at a loss for words, every sound he continued to make shot straight to the girls core. She pressed her thighs together at the sound, looking back up at him. His breathing had picked up, his chest rising and falling with harsh breaths escaping his nose.

Aspen pressed her tongue flat along the underside of his cock, following the pressure of the vein as she bobbed her head carefully. Harry fumbled down to grab one of her hands on his thighs. The man brought her palm up, leaning forward and letting a dribble of spit past his lips. The man inhaled, setting her slick hand onto the base of his cock.

She was quick to get the message, her small hand syncing up with her mouth. She took heavy breaths, but her determination drove her to swallow around his cock once he hit the back of her throat again.

"Fuck!" Harry groaned, pulling her up and off of his cock. "Fuck, 'm sorry, shit," His voice was hoarse, his eyes locked on the string of saliva that connected from her red lips to the tip of his cock. Aspen looked up at him with her doe eyes, taking heavy breaths herself. She tilted her head in confusion, which Harry was quick to answer.

"I jus', holy fuck," Harry laughed breathlessly, watching as she returned to pressing little kisses to his tip. "Was gonna cum if you.. fuck," he shuddered, closing his eyes as she sucked around the slit.

Harry took ahold of her hand, his arm wrapping around her waist to set her on the counter. "Need t'play with you," He spoke against her lips while his hands fumbled with her shorts. As much as he loved them, and would advocate for her to wear them more often, he needed them off. He slid the material off her thighs and let them bunch up around her ankles, his mouth hotly covering the skin of her exposed neck.

The mans fingers danced along the inside of her thigh while they peeled her panties to the side. He was quick to lay his fingers over her clit, which made her moan out in surprise. "Harry," She whimpered, taking the material of his shirt between her fisted palms.

"I know, baby, I know," He muttered, pulling back to look at her, Her back was flush against the mirror, lips dark red and stained with spit, sporting her doe eyes once more. His green eyes trailed down her chest and to the girls open thighs, and he groaned at the sight of her pussy.

His fingers slid down to her entrance, collecting the slick that collected between to drag up towards her clit. With the newfound wet, he continued to circle her clit while his free hand wrapped around the base of his cock.

"Harry," Aspen moaned, her brows furrowing in pleasure. She arched her hips into his touch, reaching down for the hand on his cock. With flushed cheeks, she looked up at him as she spit into his palm before letting him return.

Harry swore he could pass out. Everything about the moment was so needy and full of want. His head was spinning of just Aspen. The knocks on the door broke him out of his gaze, though that didn't stop him from wrapping his hand around his cock again.

"Busy!" He called out, his eyes breaking from the door to stare at Aspen once more. She was close, he could tell. The way her thighs threatened to close around his hand, the way she got quiet besides her sounds. He was close behind.

Even though he had turned to his hand multiple times because of the thought of Aspen, nothing could compare to actually seeing his visions come to life. The little bead of cum threatening to spill from her entrance made Harry's fingers dip in, collecting the bead onto his fingers along with her slick and he brought it to his lips with a smug smirk.

Aspen whimpered at the sight and only dug her hips further in need for his hands back on her. "H-harry," she breathed, taking a hold of his wrist followed by a high whine. "Please," She breathed out, closing her eyes. The knocking on the door persisted, which drove Harry to quicken his hands on her clit and around his cock.

"Fuck, Asp," Harry groaned, sliding between her thighs. The coil in his stomach built quickly, his brows dropping into a deep furrow with parted lips. His eyes were trained on her fluttering entrance just beneath his slick cock.

"'M so close," The man warned, his dark eyes scanning back up to Aspen through his lashes.

Suddenly, an idea sparked through her mind. She was no stranger to what she read in books with the names they called their partners. The heat settled in her low stomach and a new shrill traveled up her spine.

Aspen cried out only a second later, her thighs shaking around his hand that was buried between her thighs, "Daddy!"

Harry lost it at that. His hand pumped quicker over his cock as a string of curse words filled the room. "Jesus christ, Aspen, what the fuck--!" He gasped, followed by a groan as he hunched forward with a weakening moan that made his chest heave as he painted Aspen's lower stomach. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," Harry whimpered, his hand leaving his cock to force her thighs open.

With heavy breaths, his eyes locked on how her mess covered his hand before they trailed up to her eyes. She looked compeltely fucked out, and that only made Harry's ears ring further. The man was beyond expecting that name from Aspen, or anything besides his name. He'd never given much thought to it, it never really drove him wild in past hookups, but the way her lips quivered and her pussy had clenched around his fingers, he was a goner.

Harry's chest heaved as he leaned forward, his forehead resting gently against Aspen's. The room was filled with the sound of their ragged breathing, the intimate tension gradually giving way to a softer, more vulnerable atmosphere. His hands, still trembling slightly from the intensity of the moment, tenderly cupped her face.

"You okay, love?" he murmured, his voice hoarse yet gentle. His thumb brushed across her flushed cheek, and his green eyes searched hers for any sign of discomfort or unease.

Aspen nodded, her lips curving into a small, shy smile. "Yeah," she whispered, her voice soft but steady. "I'm... so good." Her cheeks burned, and she couldn't quite meet his gaze. The reality of what she had just said—and how it had affected him—hit her in waves, each one leaving her a little more breathless than the last.

Harry chuckled softly, the sound deep and low, as he pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. "Didn't see that one coming," he admitted, a crooked grin forming on his lips. He pulled back slightly, his gaze warm but teasing. "Ya' trying t'kill me, little mouse?"

Aspen let out a nervous laugh, covering her face with her hands. "I don't know what came over me," she admitted, her voice muffled. "I just... I don't even know where that came from!"

Harry gently pried her hands away from her face, his grin softening into a more affectionate smile. "Well, wherever it came from, it was... unexpected. But not unwelcome." His tone was playful but sincere, a reassurance that she didn't need to feel embarrassed. He dipped down and kissed her lips carefully, "Genuinely did somethin' to me, fuck."

As the initial haze began to fade, Harry grabbed a tissue from the counter, carefully cleaning both of them up with a tenderness that made Aspen's heart ache in the best way. She watched him, marveling at the way he cared for her without hesitation, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He helped her slide her shorts back on before tucking himself back in and zipping himself back up.

When he was done, he leaned against the counter beside her, running a hand through his messy curls. "Y'know," he said, his voice quieter now, "I wasn't lying earlier. Y'really are full 'f surprises, baby."

She finally met his gaze, her lips curving into a genuine smile. "Good surprises, I hope?"

"The best," Harry replied, his voice earnest as he reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers. "Always the best."

Aspen felt her heart flutter at his words, her earlier nervousness replaced by a sense of warmth and security. For all the intensity of the moment, it was the way Harry looked at her now—with a mixture of admiration and care—that truly took her breath away.

They stayed like that for a while, fingers intertwined, leaning against the counter in comfortable silence. There was no rush, no need for words—just the quiet understanding that whatever this was between them, it was theirs.

The knocking grew more impatient, more heavy handed which made Aspen flush in embarrassment. "Oh god..."

Harry grinned his lopsided smile, his lip ring catching the light as he helped her back onto his feet. "Come on, better get out before they SWAT the door." He took her hand and intertwined their fingers once more, using his other hand to gently brush through her messy hair.

Harry gave Aspen a reassuring squeeze as he approached the door, his smug grin already forming. Aspen's heart raced at the thought of who might be on the other side. She quickly glanced in the mirror to smooth her hair and adjust her slightly askew top, still blushing furiously. The knocking continued, sharp and insistent, making her wince.

“Relax, love,” Harry teased, his tone laced with amusement as he unlocked the door. “It’s just a party. What’s the worst that could happen?”

As the door swung open, the worst—or perhaps the most unexpected—happened. Kirsten stood there, her eyes immediately landing on Harry, her expression shifting from annoyance to utter shock. Her mouth opened slightly, and her gaze flitted between Harry, his tousled hair and flushed face, and Aspen, who was stepping out from behind him.

Kirsten's shock deepened when she took in Aspen's shy but undeniably proud demeanor. Her lips parted as if to say something, but no words came.

Harry leaned casually against the doorframe, his smirk wide and unmistakable. "Hey, Kirsten," he said, his voice dripping with a playful smugness that only he could pull off. "You looking for something?"

Aspen felt her cheeks flush hot as she stepped out from behind him, her eyes darting to the floor. She couldn’t bring herself to look directly at Kirsten, though she felt a strange sense of satisfaction creeping up from deep within her. Maybe it was the fact that Harry didn’t seem fazed at all by the interruption. Or maybe it was the fact that they had just shared something so private, something intimate, and now it was—unintentionally—being displayed right in front of Kirsten.

Kirsten’s expression was a mixture of disbelief and... something else. Aspen wasn’t sure if it was envy or just sheer shock, but it stung all the same. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words seemed to get stuck in her throat.

Aspen, however, could feel the heat of her own emotions building. She fought to keep her posture relaxed, though her stomach twisted uncomfortably with the unexpected confrontation. Her hands subconsciously squeezed Harrys fingers, her body language betraying her nervousness.

"Is there something you need?" Harry asked again, a touch of mockery in his tone as he looked at Kirsten, his lopsided grin never fading.

“I—uh…” Kirsten finally managed, her voice faltering as she regained some semblance of composure. “I was just—Niall’s looking for you both. That’s all.”

“Is he now?” Harry replied smoothly, his smirk only widening. “Well, we’ll be right out. Thanks for letting us know.”

Kirsten’s eyes darted back to Aspen once more, as if trying to piece together the situation. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she gave a curt nod before turning on her heel and walking off.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Aspen let out a nervous giggle, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh my god. She knows.”

Harry turned to face her, his grin softening into something more genuine. “Good,” he said simply, his voice firm but amused. “She needed to.”

Aspen tilted her head at him, her eyes wide. “You’re so smug right now,” she teased, though her tone was light.

“Can you blame me?” Harry asked, stepping closer and tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Let her stew on it. She had her chance, and she blew it-- though she never really had a chance, not with you 'round. Now? You’re mine, and I don’t care who knows it.”

Aspen felt her cheeks flush again, but this time it wasn’t out of embarrassment. She nodded, her heart swelling at the possessive yet tender way he spoke. “I guess that’s one way to make an impression,” she said, her lips twitching into a smile.

Harry chuckled, leaning down to press a quick kiss to her temple. “Come on, little mouse. Let’s not keep Niall waiting.”

Aspen followed, her head down as she tried to ignore the feeling of Kirsten’s eyes on her. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest, the rush of embarrassment and pride battling for dominance in her mind. Her thoughts were chaotic, a mix of everything from the heat of their intimate moment to the surreal feeling of having Kirsten witness their departure. But through it all, one thing remained clear: she didn’t regret it.

As Harry led the way, Aspen caught a glimpse of the smirk on his face, and the feeling of pride bloomed again. She had wanted to send a message to Kirsten, to show that what they had was real and it was theirs. No matter how awkward or strange the situation had become, she couldn’t deny the quiet satisfaction building in her chest.

Kirsten’s shock was everything Aspen needed to see, and in that moment, she realized how much of a weight had been lifted. It wasn’t just about showing Kirsten, it was about asserting herself, about knowing that what she had with Harry was more than a fleeting moment—it was something meaningful, and she had every right to claim it.

As they moved deeper into the house, Aspen stole a glance back at the door, her heart still thudding loudly in her chest. She had no idea what the future held, but for now, she was more certain than ever that this was the path she wanted to walk. With Harry by her side.

And even though the events of the last few minutes had caught her off guard, one thing was certain: she was done hiding.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

bonus! ig posts!

#harry styles #fanfic #one direction #zayn malik #niall horan #fanfiction #wattpad fanfiction #wattpad #louis tomlinson #harry styles fanfiction #smut #harry smut #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing

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tkdb-hell · 20 hours ago

Note

Hi~ do you still taking req for kisses prompt list? i want to req #39 haru x GN reader

you can ignore this if it's already closed^^ thank you

#39 - Kissing tears from the other’s face.

Kisses Prompt List • Kisses Masterlist

(I do my best to write the reader as gender neutral unless otherwise specified - if you send me an ask and prefer masc or fem, please let me know)

♡ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ♡

This was probably supposed to be Haru comforting the reader but idk I just really wanted to make Haru cry sorry!!

The sound of Haru’s uneven steps echoed through the dim hallway. You recognized the familiar shuffle of his gait, punctuated by the occasional stumble, and opened the door to find him leaning against the frame. His orange vest was wrinkled, his tie loosened, and his usual cheerful expression was nowhere to be found. His eyes were still closed, as always, but the slump of his shoulders betrayed his exhaustion.

“Haru,” you said softly, stepping aside to let him in. “Rough night?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice low and thick, the faint scent of alcohol clinging to him. “Sorry to bug ya. Just… needed to see someone who wouldn’t ask me if I’m okay.”

You closed the door behind him, watching as he shuffled to the couch and collapsed with a heavy sigh. His sling bag, the one he always carried Peekaboo in, was absent. The emptiness hit you harder than you’d expected and gave you some extreme reason for concern.

“You’re always welcome here,” you said, sitting beside him. “But you’re clearly not okay. What happened?”

Haru let out a hollow laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Found one of my little guys… gone this morning. Natural causes as far as I could tell. Nothing I could’ve done. But it still feels like… like I should’ve known, y’know?”

Your chest tightened as he spoke. Haru rarely let his emotions show like this. He was always the bright, unshakable force of the Jabberwock house, the one who carried everyone else through their troubles. To see him unravel like this was almost surreal.

“I’m so sorry,” you murmured. “Which one?”

“Artie. That fluffy little ball of fur with the curly tail, and the beady eyes,” Haru said, his voice cracking. “She always hopped around like she had springs in her feet. Never stayed still. Just like me, huh?”

Tears slipped from the corners of his eyes, trailing down his pale cheeks. He sniffled, shaking his head as if trying to will the sadness away. “It’s dumb to cry over this. They’re anomalies. I know they don’t last forever. But… it makes me worry about Peekaboo. What if—what if I lose them too?”

His words broke something in you. Without thinking, you reached out, cupping his cheek and brushing away a tear with your thumb. “It’s not dumb, Haru. You cared about Artie. You care about all of them. That’s what makes you such an amazing captain.”

He didn’t respond, just leaned into your touch, his usual defenses crumbling. The sight of his vulnerability stirred something deep in your chest, an ache that demanded to be soothed.

“Haru,” you whispered, your voice trembling. You leaned in, pressing soft kisses to the trail of tears on his cheek. His breath hitched, and you felt him tense beneath your touch. “You’re not alone in this. Peekaboo’s not going anywhere, and neither am I.”

Haru exhaled shakily, his head tilting to rest against yours. “Thanks,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “You’ve got no idea how much that means.”

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the weight of his grief shared between you. You could feel his breaths evening out, his body relaxing against yours. When he finally spoke again, his voice held a hint of his usual humor.

“Y’know,” he said, “if you keep this up, I might have to start crying more often. These kisses are pretty effective.”

You laughed softly, your heart lifting at his attempt to lighten the mood. “Don’t push your luck, Sagara.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and genuine, and you felt the corners of his mouth curl into a smile against your temple. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Though the pain of his loss would linger, for now, he had you—and that was enough.

#tokyo debunker #tkdb #animal death #haru sagara #asks

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moonmaiden1996 · 3 days ago

Text

Bound By Fate Chapter 13

The sound of Shanks’ boots crunching over the rocky path snapped you out of your spiraling thoughts. You quickened your pace, hoping to put some distance between you and the red-haired pirate, but he was faster. His long strides closed the gap with ease.

“Oi!” he called, his voice smooth and commanding. “Don’t think you can run off after saying something like that.”

Your steps faltered, embarrassment tightening your chest, but you didn’t slow. The heat of his presence grew closer, almost suffocating, until his hand caught your wrist in one swift movement. His grip was firm but careful, as though afraid you might slip away.

“Hold on,” he murmured, his voice softer now, tugging you gently but insistently until you turned to face him.

The moonlight bathed his features in a silvery glow, softening the sharp angles of his face. His crimson hair shimmered like embers, and his grin—mischievous and disarming—sent a shiver racing down your spine. His eyes, molten and unrelenting, locked onto yours.

“Now,” he drawled, his voice laced with intrigue, “what’s this about biting?”

You tried to pull free, your face burning, but his grip held steady. “Forget it. It’s nothing.”

“Nothing, huh?” His grin widened, his tone teasing. “You know, I can’t decide if you’re being coy or if you’re just terrible at lying.”

“It’s not important,” you muttered, your gaze darting away.

Shanks laughed, a low, warm sound that rolled through the air like distant thunder. “Oh, it’s important enough to have you stomping off like this. Come on, tell me.”

Your resolve crumbled, frustration bubbling to the surface. “That woman said Mihawk bit her to complete their bond. She said it was... necessary. And if you think—”

Shanks threw his head back and laughed, the sound genuine and deep, sending an unexpected jolt through you. “Mihawk bit her?” he repeated, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “Of course, he did. That brooding, wannabe vampire probably made a whole ceremony out of it.”

Your mouth fell open, indignation flaring. “This isn’t funny!”

“Not funny?” His grin turned devilish. “It’s hilarious. The great Mihawk, reduced to mauling his mate like a dog. I almost wish I’d seen it.”

You crossed your arms, glaring. “Well, if that’s what the bond requires, you’re not biting me.”

Shanks stepped closer, his teasing demeanor melting into something deeper. His eyes darkened, the air between you thickening as he leaned in. “I’m not Mihawk,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. “I’m not some brooding, wannabe vampire. I don’t need to bite you to claim you. Unless, of course...” His voice dipped, rich and sinful, “...you begged me sweetly.”

Your breath hitched as he leaned closer, the space between you disappearing until his warmth enveloped you. His gaze burned into yours, intense and unrelenting, making your knees weak.

“Do you want to know how I’ll mark you?” he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely a whisper. “Shanks—”

“I’ll leave my touch on your skin,” he continued, his voice like velvet. “Every kiss, every caress... you’ll feel me in every part of you. And when I take you, you’ll know exactly who you belong to.”

The tension between you was electric, crackling with a mix of promise and desire. His hand slid to your waist, his thumb brushing the curve of your hip, each touch sending a rush of heat through your body.

“I’ll make you mine,” he said, his voice steady but thick with conviction. “Not with some silly bite, but with something real. Something unforgettable.”

His words left you speechless, your mind spinning as the weight of his promise settled over you. His lips hovered above yours, so close you could feel his breath, warm and inviting.

“But only if that’s what you want,” he murmured, his tone softer now, almost tender. “I won’t take what isn’t freely given.”

The sincerity in his voice hit you like a wave, grounding you even as the world seemed to tilt beneath your feet. Your gaze locked with his, and in that moment, everything else faded away.

Before you could answer, his lips brushed against yours, featherlight and teasing, a taste of the storm that simmered just beneath his control. The kiss deepened slowly, his hand sliding to the small of your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes were dark with desire, but his grin returned, playful yet edged with something dangerous. “You’ve got a decision to make, love,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “But know this—I’m a patient man. I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

The truth in his words sent a tremor through you, the weight of his promise making your skin prickle. His grin widened, a predator’s confidence shining through.

“Listen to me,” he murmured, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His fingers lingered, his thumb grazing your cheek with a tenderness that made your breath hitch.

“My desires don’t require blood,” he continued, his thumb trailing to your chin, tilting your face upward. His voice dropped, rich and commanding, “When I mark you, it’ll be my hands on your skin, my lips on every inch of you, and the sound of your voice crying out my name.”

The weight of his words sent a shiver racing through you, your pulse hammering in your ears. His fingers tightened slightly at your waist, grounding you against him, as though daring you to pull away.

“Tell me,” he whispered, his lips a breath away from yours, “what’s really got you running? Is it fear of me... or fear of what you want from me?”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. His gaze was unrelenting, his eyes searching yours with a mix of tenderness and desire that left you defenseless.

“I won’t bite you,” he said, his tone soft yet firm. “But when the time comes, I’ll leave you with something far more lasting. A mark you’ll feel every time you breathe, every time you close your eyes.” His lips brushed your ear, his voice sending a jolt of heat through you. “And you’ll be begging for it.”

His words ignited something in you, a spark that threatened to consume you entirely. Your hands moved to his chest, whether to push him away or pull him closer, you weren’t sure. His warmth seeped into you, steady and unyielding.

“Shanks...” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Say the word, love,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours in a fleeting touch that left you aching. “And I’ll give you everything.”

His hand slid to the small of your back, pressing you against him as his lips finally claimed yours. The kiss was slow and deliberate, a masterful blend of passion and control. His mouth moved against yours with an intensity that stole your breath, his hand tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours as you both struggled to steady yourselves. “I’ll wait,” he said, his voice rough but steady, “but don’t think for a second I’ll hold back when you’re ready.”

He stepped back then, releasing you, though the absence of his touch left a sharp ache in its wake. His grin returned, softer this time, his teasing tone laced with affection.

“Think about it, love,” he said, turning to head back down the path. Over his shoulder, he added with a wicked smirk, “But if I were you, I’d start practicing how to beg.”

It is happening!!!!!!

Thank you so much for all the likes and comments they really motivate me.

Please let me know what you think!

LIKE. COMMENT. REQUEST.

Side Note-Thank you so much to those who took part of the vote. It was a tie with Law and Sanji. Law's story is all worked out and ready to go! Just working on Sanji's reader now. If you have any suggestions please let me know.

1d ago

Bound by Fate Chapter 12

Chapter 11

GIF by jennortegas

The sun blazed high in the sky, but the camp remained eerily still, caught in the sluggish aftermath of three days of relentless revelry. Even Lucky Roux lay sprawled on his back, an arm draped across his eyes, too drained to muster the energy to prepare what should now pass for lunch. The line between meal times had blurred long ago, leaving you to wonder just how deep the island’s stores of alcohol truly ran.

“Come on, darlin’, take a break,” Shanks called out lazily, his voice a warm rumble. He stretched out in his hammock, patting the space beside him with an inviting grin. “Plenty of room up here.”

You didn’t look up from your work, frowning as your fingers pulled another errant thread taut. “I’d take a break if I didn’t need to finish this damn skirt. It’s your fault I didn’t get any clothes at the port.”

“You could always wear my clothes,” Shanks suggested, his grin widening into a teasing smirk.

A low whistle sounded from somewhere behind you, followed by a chorus of catcalls and laughter.

You shot him a sharp look but couldn’t hide your own smirk. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You can barely control yourself as it is.”

“What can I say?” Shanks shrugged, his tone dripping with mock innocence. “A pirate always has an eye for a beautiful woman.”

You glanced up at him, your gaze meeting his over the edge of the hammock. His red hair spilled over the side, framing a face lit with boyish amusement. Yet, at the edges of his mirth, a shadow lingered—a subtle reminder of the weight he carried beneath his easy demeanor.

“Hmmm.”

“Well, I think you need a break,” Shanks declared. In one fluid motion, he rolled out of the hammock, landing with a practiced ease that belied his size. Before you could protest, his arm was around you, and he hoisted you up as if you weighed no more than a feather.

“Shanks!” you exclaimed, your words half-scolding, half-laughing.

He ignored you, settling you into the still-warm hammock with a satisfied grin. The scent of salt and spice clung to the woven fabric, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

“But I need to—”

“Ah, no sense arguing,” he interrupted, waving a hand dismissively toward the half-finished skirt draped over the nearby crate. The jagged stitches and mismatched patches looked like a chaotic battlefield.

“I can see why you became a dancer instead of a seamstress,” he chuckled, tilting his head as if admiring your handiwork.

You opened your mouth to retort, but his expression suddenly changed. His eyes, sharp and calculating, darted to the horizon. His grin faded, replaced by a taut stillness that sent a shiver down your spine.

“What is it?” you asked, sitting up.

Shanks didn’t respond immediately. His gaze remained fixed, narrowing. Following his line of sight, you saw nothing at first. Then, a speck appeared on the horizon, growing larger with each passing second.

The figure that emerged was dark and imposing, draped in a cloak of leather and crimson satin that billowed faintly in the breeze.

The crew shifted, tension rippling through them like a tide. Hands moved instinctively to hilts and handles, bodies poised to strike.

“This is an unusual place for a man of your… stature,” the figure spoke, his voice a deep, liquid gold that seemed to roll over the beach itself.

Shanks stepped forward, positioning himself between you and the newcomer. His posture remained loose, almost lazy, but you could sense the readiness humming beneath his movements.

“Come on, lads,” Shanks said, his tone easy but tinged with warning. “Show some respect. We’re in the presence of a mighty Warlord of the Sea.” He grinned, though his eyes didn’t leave the man. “Mihawk, I’m afraid I’m in no mood for a duel. I’m a wee bit hungover.”

“I’m not here to fight,” Mihawk replied, his tone flat, tinged with disdain. “Not when you’re half the man you used to be.”

Shanks chuckled darkly, his voice dropping low. “I could still take you. And with one arm tied behind my back.”

The crew erupted into laughter and cheers, but Shanks remained still, his sharp gaze locked onto Mihawk.

“Very droll.” Mihawk’s lips twitched, though whether it was amusement or irritation, you couldn’t tell. His golden eyes flicked to you briefly, their intensity sending a shiver down your spine. “I recently encountered someone who may interest you. I hoped to warn you before it was too late.” His gaze lingered, sharp as a blade. “But it seems I’m already too late… the pollen got you, too.”

You stared up at him, your throat dry. The enormous blade strapped to his back loomed over him like a sentinel, its presence both awe-inspiring and terrifying.

Then, your eyes fell on her—a woman, barely visible, huddling behind Mihawk. Her eyes darting nervously as she edged closer to the stranger.

“Well, it seems we have much to discuss,” Shanks said, his voice warm but carefully neutral.

“It would appear so,” Mihawk replied, his tone unreadable.

Shanks’ jovial grin returned, breaking the tension like the crack of a whip. “This calls for wine! I’ve been saving a special bottle for just such an occasion.”

“I thought you were hungover,” Mihawk muttered.

“Lighten up, you solemn old son of a gun!” Shanks clapped his hands against himself, his laughter booming.

With an audible thud, Mihawk unslung his massive sword, letting it drop into the sand. The sound reverberated, but the crew seemed to relax, tension melting away.

“Come on,” Shanks said, tugging you up by the hand. “Help me find the booze.”

Inside the dim cavern, chests and barrels were stacked haphazardly, their contents gleaming faintly in the filtered light. Shanks rummaged through them with practiced efficiency.

“I want you to stay here, just for a bit,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost coaxing. “Mihawk’s a sweetheart under all that, but he can be… a little abrasive with new people.”

“If it’s about the pollen, I should hear it too, is he dangerous?” you preened.

He paused, glancing at you. “No more dangerous than anyone else here,” he said, laughing lightly. But his smile faltered, his tone dropping as he turned back to the chests

“That’s what worries me. Look how I got here. You saw her—she looked terrified. We have to do something.”

His arm wrapped around you, his lips brushing your forehead. He held you close for a moment, his warmth a fleeting comfort. “For now just stay in the cavern,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm. “Be a good girl for me.”And with that, Shanks strode toward the light of the cavern entrance, his swagger returning with every step.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

You lingered in the cool, oppressive shadows of the cavern for what felt like an eternity, each breath dragging under the weight of your thoughts. The rumble of Shanks and Mihawk’s voices drifted from the beach—low, indistinct murmurs, yet unmistakable. The salty scent of the ocean and the rhythmic hum of distant waves offered fleeting comfort, but the restlessness within you wouldn’t relent. Something gnawed at your core, an urge to uncover more than what was being presented. The flickering candlelight in the cave barely dispelled the unease that wrapped itself tightly around you. You knew there was more to this—more to Mihawk, more to Shanks, and more to the woman who seemed so intricately tied to their secrets.

With silent resolve, you stepped carefully toward the mouth of the cave, trying not to disturb the stillness that held the shadows in place. The cool night air slapped your face as you stepped outside, sharp and biting, but you didn’t hesitate. The rocky path beneath your feet was treacherous, but familiar. You moved swiftly, almost instinctively, your gaze fixed on the beach ahead.

Emerging onto the sand, the sight before you was exactly as you had expected. Shanks and Mihawk were hunched over a barrel of rum, their glasses still full, their laughter now a faint echo that quickly died down as their conversation deepened. The crew had quieted, their jovial energy replaced by a heavy stillness. The woman, however, sat alone on a jagged rock at the edge of the shore, her posture stiff and weary, as though waiting for something—or someone—who had yet to arrive.

You approached cautiously, a part of you pulling away, but another part—darker and more curious—drew you closer. She looked up as you neared, her eyes lighting up with a flicker of something like relief, though uncertainty lingered in her gaze.

“I thought we could have a little chat,” you said, your voice soft yet layered with unexpected vulnerability. “It’s been... strange. Surrounded by all men. I miss girl talk, like I had back on Tasora, with the girls in my dancing troupe.”

The woman’s lips quirked upward, a sad little smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “That must’ve been magical,” she replied, her voice tinged with quiet bitterness. “I never had much of a chance to be around other women. Spent most of my time buried in books, studying for my apprenticeship. The other girls didn’t really like me. They called me a ‘swot’.” She chuckled, but it was hollow, her laughter dying as quickly as it began.

You studied her for a moment, sensing the unspoken weight she carried, a story buried beneath her words. Her gaze drifted toward Mihawk, still absorbed in his conversation with Shanks. The faintest trace of affection—or perhaps something darker—flickered in her eyes.

“But I have Mihawk,” she continued, her voice quiet, almost tender. “He doesn’t talk much, but... it’s nice to have him around.”

Her words stirred something deep within you, a discomfort that settled heavy in your chest. There was an unsettling intensity to her affection, a kind of devotion that felt too consuming, too consuming to be healthy. “Does Mihawk treat you well? You can tell me if he doesn’t. I can help,” you said, your voice lowering, becoming more insistent, your eyes searching hers for any sign of hidden distress.

Her brow furrowed, confusion flickering in her eyes. “What? You think Mihawk would hurt me?” she asked, her voice faltering slightly, unsure whether to be defensive or concerned.

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat before you pushed them out, tainted with a bitter edge. “I know not all pirates are...” The phrase lingered, unfinished, a bitter taste in your mouth. “Nice,” you finished softly, the word tasting like something rancid. “Speaking from experience.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed slightly, and she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Does Shanks hurt you? Mihawk will help.”

The question struck you like a sharp slap, unexpected and chilling. For a moment, your breath caught, the words hardening on your lips. You turned sharply to look back at Shanks, whose gaze was now fixed on you, dark and unreadable. The shadows across his face deepened with something that felt too much like a warning. ‘’Mihawk doesn’t strike me as the considerate type,” you snapped, your voice sharp as you tried to regain control of the conversation.

Her eyes flicked from you to Shanks and back, studying your every movement, the tension in the air thickening. “Maybe not on the outside, but if I asked him to, he would help you, but, you’re with Shanks of your own free will, right? His not hurting ypu or anything?” she asked, her voice soft but curious, almost like a test.

You hesitated, the weight of the question sinking deep into your chest. Could you trust yourself to answer honestly? You could feel Shanks’ gaze searing into your back, even from across the beach, but you forced yourself to look away. “Well, yes i suppose i an here od my own free will and Shabks would never hurt me, I think he would rather die then do that,” you replied, the words catching slightly.

She blew out a relieved breath. “Thank god! You had me worried for a moment. I mean, the whole pollen thing is... scary, but... it is amazing, right? I’m glad it happened. I know how Mihawk looks—like a vampire—but he’s the sweetest, most caring man you could want. He saved me.”

You nodded slowly, watching as her eyes softened. Her smile was wistful as she looked at Mihawk, the look of someone deeply in love. It wasn’t puppy love—it was adoration, as if he were her personal hero.

“Love—real love—makes heroes.”

The words hit you like a sudden chill, and you stiffened at your own words, a wave of unease crawling beneath your skin.

She blinked, startled. “What?”

“Nothing,” you muttered too quickly. “Just something the old man said...” You trailed off, quickly shifting your focus toward Mihawk and Shanks, now deep in conversation, their eyes flicking between you and the woman. The words they shared were unintelligible, but laden with meaning.

The woman leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “The old man who told you about the pollen... What was he like? I never saw him. I heard Mihawk talking about him, though... after we, you know...” Her cheeks flushed crimson, and she looked away, as though she regretted the words the moment they left her lips.

You shot her a sharp glance, an icy prickle of suspicion crawling up your spine. “No, I don’t know.”

Her flush deepened, and though her embarrassment was palpable, the curiosity in her eyes was undeniable. “You haven’t bonded with Shanks yet?”

The word bonded hit you like a cold gust of wind, unnatural and wrong. Your stomach tightened. “It was amazing,” she continued, as if lost in a memory, her voice distant. “Whatever the pollen does... it makes everything feel more intense. He did things... things I didn’t even know I could feel.” Her eyes burned with intensity, and you recoiled, the weight of her gaze pushing you away, leaving you cold and unsettled.

“Tell me everything,” you demanded, the words harsher than you intended, but desperation gnawed at you.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Time seemed to stretch as the woman slowly revealed more—enough to leave you dizzy, overwhelmed, and damn right needy.

When Mihawk and Shanks finally rose from their barrel, their conversation clearly at an end, Mihawk turned toward the woman, his presence pulling her to his side like gravity itself.

“Thanks for the drink,” Mihawk grunted, his gaze flicking between you and Shanks, calculating. “But we really must be going.”

“We’ll come visit,” the woman called over her shoulder, offering you a quick, almost forced smile before hurrying back to Mihawk’s side. Her movements were stiff, betraying the urgency she felt at wanting to return to his side.

“Will we now?” Mihawk rumbled, a note of exasperation in his voice as he pulled her toward him.

“Yes, we will,” she replied, her voice steady but with a glint in her eye that didn’t quite match Mihawk’s gruff demeanor. “Maybe when you’re all sorted. Maybe you can come to the castle. The gorillas aren’t very good company, but it will be nice to have company that talks. Your crew are also welcome.” She smiled faintly.

Mihawk rolled his eyes. “Are they?”

“Yes,” she insisted, her smile turning sly.

Shanks let out a hearty laugh, though it held something darker now. “I can see who wears the trousers in this relationship,” he quipped, his booming voice cutting through the tension before his tone shifted to something more serious. “Let me know if you hear anything else. Safe journey.”

As Mihawk and his companion moved toward the shore, Shanks’ eyes shifted toward you. An unsettling gleam flickered in them. You felt a shiver crawl up your spine, suspicion clouding your thoughts.

“What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, his voice feigning innocence.

“If you try to bite me,” you growled, your voice low but filled with warning, “I’ll slap you into next week, pervert.”

Shanks blinked, utterly confused. “Wait, what?”

Without answering, you turned sharply and stalked off, your back straight, your heart pounding in your chest. As Shanks’ confused call echoed behind you.

@commanderfreethatdust @hauntedluna

#shanks x reader #one piece shanks #one piece #yonko shanks #red haired pirates #red haired shanks #sebastian x reader #one peice #opla x reader #one piece sanji #one piece law

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