#he's just like... strong and warm and i want to listen to his heartbeat and breathing.... and yes he would be a bit soft as well | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

of-cauldrons-and-inkpens · 2 years ago

Text

You Missed My Heart: PART 1

PART 1 LINK | PART 2 LINK | PART 3 LINK

Description: Miguel had died months ago. At least, my universe’s Miguel had died. Maybe I should have noticed when I could feel him touching me in my dreams, but grief is a hell of a thing. That is, until I woke up in a house that looked just like mine, but somehow different.

Miguel had taken me from my universe and put me in one where he could relive his past, whether I liked it or not.

Word Count: 11,107 Author’s Note: I wrote this instead of doing my college work, but I also didn’t proofread. Hopefully there aren’t too many typos! I’ll probably add more chapters in the following days/weeks Content Warning: smut, mild breeding kink, reader is being held against their will, Miguel being manipulative and an ass, bit of angst (I mean his wife and child are dead so yeah)

Minors DNI! Story is below the cut

The dream was hazy. Miguel sighed as he began to inch toward the edge of the mattress, drifting out of the shared embrace that we had slept in. Arms and legs untangled from one another as he drifted away from me.

I reached my hand outward, catching onto his hand before he could slip away for good. “I need to go to work.” He whispered, his voice husky and warm from sleep. But, despite his protest, he lay back down beside me. “Don’t go.” I said. My hands worked their way through the darkness, moving to curl around his broad shoulders. I wanted to hold him. I wanted to feel his strong heartbeat against my chest and listen to him breathe one more time. It didn’t matter that this wasn’t real. I didn’t care that this was now a soft and distorted memory; this was all I had left of him. I had convinced myself weeks ago that if I dreamed of him enough, it would almost be like he wasn’t gone. “I have to. Alchemax is unveiling a new project today and I have to be there.” He leaned in, brushing the tip of his nose against mine. His breath was warm, working as a perfect antagonist for the frigid air of our bedroom. “Please Miguel.” I begged. He cut me off by pressing his lips against mine. The kiss was languid and wet. Our bodies were still naked from the previous night’s activities as he rolled on top of me. “Miguel…” I whispered. “Please don’t leave me.” “I’m not going anywhere.” He said. His lips slipped off of mine as he lowered his face, moving so that his mouth could graze the shell of my ear. There, he whispered the one thing I thought I would never hear again. “I love you…”

Something brushed the side of my face, pulling me from my dream. I jerked upward, searching for what had caused it. But I couldn’t see through the pitch black of the bedroom. In the darkness, I was so sure that I could smell him. He had been dead for months, but his scent still lingered in the walls and all of the soft places in the house. It was to the point that I was terrified of moving or washing anything; if I did, that last piece of him would vanish forever.

Hot tears slid down my face.

I had been crying again. But that had become such a common occurrence that I couldn’t even be surprised. Tears slid down my neck, soaking into the collar of Miguel’s Alchemax t-shirt that had been worn thin. Crying had become an every night thing since the funeral. Maybe if I could understand what the hell even happened to him, then I could be okay. But there had been no information about any of it. I had been told there was an accident at work and that there was nothing that could have been done to save him. But the term accident meant so many different things.

I lifted my hand to my cheek to wipe away the next batch of tears. But, as my fingers brushed my skin, I couldn’t help but notice the distinct warmth on that side of my face.

Had someone been here?

Had the gentle brush been entirely in my head?

I swallowed hard as my eyes searched the darkness. “Miguel?” I asked. But there was no answer. The delusional part of me wanted to hear him stir inside of the bathroom that attached to the bedroom. I slid my hand outward, searching through the sheets that would always remain cold.

The black out curtains that covered my window blocked out any light from the city. The only light in the room was from the small machine that Miguel had set up in the corner. I was never sure what exactly it did, but it always gave off a pale blue glow.

I glanced around the room, seeing that the pictures were all still lying face down on the dresser and bookshelves.

Nothing was different. He was still dead, and I was still alone.

I swallowed hard as I reached for the bottle of sleeping pills that sat on the bedside table. I had gotten them after stepping off one of the curbs in Nueva York without looking. But, before anything could happen, a man had grabbed me, jerking me out of the way seconds before my body had the chance to collide with the car that was racing down the street. Maybe if I hadn’t been so exhausted, then I would have thought before I walked.

The pills were my only chance at getting any rest these days. I unscrewed the top of the bottle, dropped one of the white pills into my hand, and then replaced the white plastic lid. I discarded the bottle onto the nightstand and then popped the pill in my mouth.

I just needed to go to sleep. If I could sleep, then I could see him again.

I leaned back against the sheets, watching the walls of the hallway through the open door of our bedroom. If I hadn’t known better, I could have sworn to God that I saw a faint orange and pink glow dance against the walls before being consumed by darkness.

No dreams came. My vision was dark, trapping me in a dreamless darkness. The pills always made my body heavy with sleep; it was almost impossible to open my eyes when I was like this. I didn’t see him in my dreams, but I could hear him. His voice was faint, speaking in delicate murmurs.

Fingers brushed against the skin of my face as he pushed several of my curls behind my ears. It was something he had always done, especially when I was sitting on the couch beside him. I had always wondered if he did it so that he could see my face or if it was just his way of getting my attention. But I guess that didn’t matter now.

I flinched at the reminder.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you. I’m here.” Miguel whispered. He pressed a gentle kiss against my forehead. I felt the bed move under me, sinking on the edge as he sat down. “I’m gonna keep you safe.”

“You need to drop this.” A soft female voice said. Her voice was no more than a whisper.

“I can’t do that.” Miguel’s voice was firm; he had already made up his mind.

“Miguel, you’re torturing her. Just leave her alone.” The delicate voice pleaded. Behind my eyelids, I saw pink and honey color light flash. “Give her time. Let her mourn then let her move on. Maybe she could be happy. She could get married and have a good life.”

“Lyla, I’m not sure if you know this, but telling me that my wife is going to fuck someone else and that that’s why I should let her go has the exact opposite effect.”

“Let her be happy.” The girl pleaded.

“She should have died. I’m saving her.”

“Miguel, please let her go. Please, I really-” I heard him click something, making the second voice fall silent.

Warm arms slipped under my legs as I was overwhelmed by the smell of Miguel.

My Miguel.

He smelled faintly of cologne, sweat, and something else. He pulled me into his arms, laying my body against his strong chest. I felt him grab a heavy arm and place it on his shoulder. Beneath my fingers, I felt a weird material cover his skin.

What the hell?

I tried to open my eyes, but I couldn’t force myself out of the dream. The medication weighed me down, anchoring me into this strange haze.

Miguel bounced me in his arms a couple of times. I groaned, feeling him stand up. One of the blankets caught on my foot, tugging on my tired body. Miguel gently tossed the blanket onto the bed, offering a few more gentle bounces to my body as he started to walk.

“You’re going to be so happy.” He whispered. Miguel pressed a second kiss against my skin.

Blinding light came streaming through the window. I winced, lifting my hand to shield my eyes. I lay there for a moment before a thought occurred to me.

When was the last time I had been awakened by sunlight?

Miguel had always worked such random hours that we had hung thick blackout curtains over the window so that we had a chance at getting some sleep.

“What?” I pushed myself up in the bed, feeling my t-shirt drop down to cover the soft skin of my stomach. But the left side was caught on something, keeping that side of my abdomen exposed. I glanced down to see a thick bracelet that had been attached to my wrist. I pulled the shirt off of the bracelet, allowing it to fall and give me some sense of modesty as I glared at the contraption.

What the hell was this thing?

I glanced around, searching for some idea as to what was going on.

The only clue was a bright orange post-it note that had been pressed onto the bedside table. It was sitting between a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin. Plucking the note off of the table, I quickly began to read it.

‘Please don’t be scared. I’ll be back soon. Take this for your head. It will take a bit to get used to all of this.’ It had been signed with a name that immediately made me shutter.

Miguel.

No. No. No.

Did I die?

Or did I finally go insane?

I pushed myself out of the bed, searching for some clue as to what the hell was going on. This was my bedroom. At least, it looked like it was. The closet was the same, the bookshelves were the same, even the weird off-blue shade that Miguel had picked for the walls was the exact same.

It was then that something caught my eye. All of the pictures were sitting upright. I could see our mutual smiles behind the glass. They were photos of us on dates, photos of us at the weird events that Alchemax held, and even some of the more intimate photos we had taken of us in bed with our bodies barely covered by the thin ocean of sheets.

I stepped forward, moving toward the closet. I jerked one of Miguel’s button-ups off of the hanger and inspected it. The spot where he had spilled wine on the cuff was missing. Instead, the material was bleach white.

This was wrong. This was all wrong.

Everything was familiar, but still foreign somehow. There were sheets that were the same color but didn’t have soft faded patches that had been acquired from stains during love making. There were clothes that I remembered wearing, but they didn’t have the small tears or stains in them. Everything was put together from memory, but it wasn’t my memory.

If I didn’t look too closely at it, it could almost be perfect.

Slowly, I stepped forward. As I moved toward the dresser, I stopped. In my home, my real home, there was a creak in the floorboard. Miguel had spent an entire weekend trying to fix it after we had moved in, but it was all in vain.

Maybe I was just paranoid. That was the only solution.

I leaned backward, then forward again in an attempt to get the floor to creak.

A deafening silence filled the room.

I reached down and pulled at the bracelet. It was heavy on my arm. I slipped my fingers under the band, attempting to pry it off of me. But it was no use. It had been secured at the base, making it impossible to remove.

Then, I did the only thing I could think of.

I ran.

I bolted from the bedroom, moving down the hallway. When I reached the stairs, I took them two by two. Frankly, I was amazed that I didn’t slip and break my neck. But fear is a hell of a motivator. I sprinted through the living room, searching for the front door of our house. I threw open the front door and rushed outside, ignoring the fact that I wore only a thin t-shirt and underwear.

I needed to get the hell out of there; I didn’t care about being modest at this point.

It was Nueva York; the buildings were the same, so was the noise. Sounds of construction, traffic, children playing, and music blasting filled the air. But, I couldn’t help but notice the main thing that was missing: no people or vehicles.

“Hello?” I called.

But I was all alone.

“Hello?” I screamed.

Something grabbed my hand, jerking me backwards. I stumbled but was caught before I could collide with the pavement. Strong arms curled around my waist and hauled me upward. I flailed my arms and kicked out my legs in an attempt to get free, but it was no use. The figure turned around and began to carry me back to the house as if I was nothing more than a doll. “You weren’t supposed to leave the house.”

I knew that voice. It was the one that haunted my dreams and filled my every ‘what-if.’

Miguel.

“What the fuck?” I screamed.

“Stop trying to fight me.” His voice was flat. I glanced behind me to look at him. He wasn’t my Miguel. His eyes flickered somewhere between chocolate brown and blood red. The muscles on his shoulders were more defined and the line between his eyebrows was deeper. But maybe that was because of the dark scowl that he wore as he carried me up the small steps of the brownstone.

When he stepped inside of the house, he threw me onto the hardwood floor. As my head hit the floor, he reached behind him and flipped the deadbolt.

That was to make sure that I didn’t try and escape again.

Miguel wasn’t dressed how I was used to. My Miguel always wore some kind of standard, normal clothes. Nicer clothes for work, soft pants, and sweatshirts at home. But this man, the imposter, wore a red and blue costume that stretched over his hard muscles and accentuated his domineering frame.

“You were supposed to wait. I said I would be back soon.”

“Who the hell are you?” I twisted my body so that I was sitting up on the hardwood floor. I pulled my legs close to my body, attempting to hide my thin underwear from him.

“You’re joking right?” He asked. He stood over me, inspecting me with a look of both confusion and disappointment.

“No, I’m not. And what the hell did you put on my arm?” I shook my wrist, trying to loosen the device.

“Stop trying to take it off. If you do, you’ll die. Unless that’s what you’re hoping for.” He said as he studied me. I froze.

“What?”

“It keeps you alive in this universe. You’re not from here; you don’t belong here, so if you take that off, you’ll glitch until you die.”

I glanced around the room, taking in all of the little imperfections. The room was wrong, reminding me that I was in some kind of strange prison.

“What is all of this?” I asked. Miguel stared at me at if the answer was so obvious.

“It’s our home.”

“No… no, it isn’t.” I said. “What did you do to me?” I pushed myself off of the floor. As I did, I pulled at the bottom of the t-shirt. The man stared at me, his eyes dancing between the terrified look on my face at the pale skin of my naked legs. As his eyes drank me in, I could see them turning to a deeper shade of red.

“Who are you?” I asked. He let out a dark chuckle. As he did, I couldn’t help but notice that sharp white fangs that protruded from his mouth.

“Sweetheart…”

“Don’t call me that.” I said. He rolled his eyes.

“Look, I’ve been very sweet to you. But now you’re starting to piss me off.” His voice was sharper this time. He moved toward me and I stepped back.

“Why do you look like him?” I asked. He knew exactly what I meant.

“Because I am him… in a way.”

“I don’t understand.” I said. He once again tried to fill the distance between the two of us. I stepped backward, feeling my back hit the side of the couch. “You died… he died.”

“In your universe, yes. Please call me Miguel. I know this may be new to you, but I am your husband, just a different version of him. I mean you no harm.” The dull ache from being thrown on the floor said differently. “I did all of this because I love you.”

“You don’t know me.” I said. I slid my hands against the side of the couch in an attempt to find something to cling to. He let out a dry laugh.

“That’s where you’re wrong. I know you in every single universe. I’ve known more versions of you than you can imagine. Versions where you live, versions where you die. So, in a way, I know you better than you even know yourself.”

“If you knew me so well, then you would know Miguel and I never married.”

“Purely semantics. Besides, that’s something that I fully intend on correcting.”

“You’re insane.” I said.

“Don’t fucking call me that. You have no idea how hard I worked to fix everything for you; how hard I worked to make sure that everything would be perfect.”

“Miguel, where the fuck am I?” I demanded. “And I don’t want you to keep saying I’m home. This isn’t my home. Where am I?”

“You could be a little bit more grateful. You should have died.” He said. “You weren’t supposed to be pulled out of the way of a car and you were.”

Anger flashed through me. Just looking at him filled me with a mixture of rage and sadness that mixed together in a sludge that did nothing but make me want scream at him. “I’m supposed to be dead? You’re dead! I went to your funeral! There’s a goddamn sign in the Alchemax lobby for you.” My throat burned and my eyes stung with tears. “Was that all some kind of sick lie?”

“No, your Miguel did die.” His voice was matter of fact- almost cold. It was as if he had said this all a million times before. Hell, for all I knew, he had. Maybe this was some kind of sick game he liked to play. “But, that’s no matter. I’m here now. I made a little pocket universe for you; where you can live and where you being here won’t affect anything. You can stay here with me, and things will be exactly as they should be.” I glanced at the locked door behind him. “You being here won’t affect any other universe and it keeps you out of your own, making sure that all of the canon events happen exactly as they should. The canon is safe and you get to live. Two birds, one stone.” He was so proud of himself.

“Do I have a choice in staying with you?”

His face twitched at my question. “I’ve watched you cry for him at night. I’ve heard you scream and beg for him to come back. You wear his clothes and listen to his music and talk to yourself like he’s still there. For God’s sake, I’ve watched you touch yourself to pictures of him. I just assumed you would have had a warmer reception to me.”

“You had no right to spy on me.” I winced, remembering the feeling of my face being touched in my sleep. He had been there, watching me as I mourned. Besides, there was something in the way he emphases a warmer reception. He was hoping I would immediately adore him and drag him into the bedroom to screw until I couldn’t walk straight. He wanted us to immediately slip into some weird little habit where I pretended to be his loving wife. He said I died in other universes. Was I his replacement, just as he hoped to be mine?

Miguel sucked on his teeth before he stepped forward.

Without thinking, I twisted my body around and bolted toward the kitchen. I had no idea where I was even going; I just wanted to be away from him.

I got about five steps away before he reached outward and grabbed me. This time, his hold was harder. His arms crushed themselves against my body as he lifted me upward and began to carry me toward the stairs. This time, he was holding me so tight that I was sure he was going to break my ribs.

“You’re hurting me.” I gasped.

“Then stop trying to leave me.” He said. “You’re not going to get far and you’re just going to end up hurting yourself.”

He carried me up the stairs, his eyes dark red in the dim light. He carried me to the bedroom at the end of the hall. When he reached the room, he looked down at me.

“Say you love me.” It was a second chance. I paused for a moment, trying to find a way to fake sincerity.

He wasn’t my Miguel. He wasn’t my angel who I curled up with on the couch or who insisted on making me listen to old music that nobody but him would ever like. This man didn’t have that gentleness about him; he wasn’t sweet or loving.

“I love you.” I tried. I knew I sounded like I was faking it.

“At least I know you’re a shitty actress.” He muttered. He dropped me on the floor of the bedroom and then stepped outside before I had a chance to make another getaway. He slammed the door shut.

“Miguel, please let me out.”

“Ah, now you want to be nice to me.” He mocked.

“You kidnapped me. I’m sorry if I’m not the person you were hoping for. If you want someone better, just get a different me from some other place. I’m sure the universe is just littered with them.”

“I saved you. Your universe would have collapsed if it weren’t for me. I offered you the chance to live in a different place, where none of that can ever hurt you and you hate me for it. You want to be pissed? Be my guest. But in time, you’ll love me. I know you will. You always do.”

“Yeah, Miguel, it doesn’t feel like you’re giving me a choice in the matter.” I said. “Why can’t you just find another girl? Anyone else?”

“It has to be you. Because it always is, no matter what. Every time, we end up together so I can’t just grab some random person. Besides, there aren’t too many of you who aren’t already with some version of me. Stealing wives from other versions of me just sounds wrong.”

Yeah, that would be the wrong part. Not the whole kidnapping thing. He keeps flipping between lunatic and romantic who is waxing poetic about our deep love. Maybe I would have been charmed if I had actually known this man. Plus, there was something weird about the way he said it. Had he considered it? How did he find widows versus wives?

“Miguel, sweetheart, how about you let me out of here and then we can find some kind of arrangement that we both like?”

He rolled his eyes as he locked the door from the outside. “When you decide to be the version of you that I know and love, then we can talk.”

Bastard.

I kicked the door, but I knew it was useless. He was already walking away from the door. In the distance, I heard his voice as he began to speak to someone else.

“Lyla, I’m a little busy right now.”

“It’s urgent.” She said.

It was hours before he came back. I didn’t hear him when he was stepping toward the door. I only heard him when he unlocked the door and let out a low sigh.

“I brought you dinner. It’s in the kitchen. I expect you to eat dinner with me tonight.” He said.

“Thank you.” I squeaked out. I hadn’t eaten since the night before. I was starving. Besides, if this was his idea at a peace offering, who was I to reject. He obviously didn’t want to return me to my real home. Maybe I should just get used to this. “I’ll be down in a minute. I want to clean up a little bit.” I said.

“I’ll get everything ready.” He said. With that, I heard him step away from the door of the bedroom. At least he was receptive to me needing a moment, rather than dragging me downstairs to eat right now.

I sighed to myself as I pushed myself off of the bed. I couldn’t just wear a t-shirt and underwear. I already looked like an absolute mess. My face was swollen from crying and my curls had turned into a frizzy mess from being manhandled so many times in the last twenty-four hours.

My best bet was a shower to calm me down and hopefully take away some of the puffy redness around my eyes and nose. I didn’t want him to see that I had sobbed when I was alone; he may have carted me around in my underwear, but I still had my dignity.

There was a small bathroom attached to the room. It was one that I was familiar with. It was exactly like the one at my house; there weren’t any superficial tweaks that he had made. At least, none that I could see upon first inspection.

I quickly showered, scrubbing my body gently as I went. As I slid a loofah along the sides of my body, I winced. Dark bruises were starting to blossom across my ribs from where he had squeezed as he carried me.

Damn it, that hurt!

I winced as I washed my body, careful not to aggravate any new sore spots that I had gotten. I then washed my hair, making sure that it was nice and clean.

Stepping out of the tub, I realized that I hadn’t grabbed a towel. I was sure that he would put them where I always did. After all, that was really the only place for them in the bathroom. I quickly ducked down and pulled open the door to the bathroom cabinet. The towels had been stacked on one side, random trinkets and things he had brought for me rested on the other. I snatched a towel from the pile as I eyed the objects.

They were the usual fair, mixed in with a few oddballs. Tampons, deodorant, razors, women’s shaving cream, a perfume that I wore pretty often, a couple of bottles of hand and body lotion, a toothbrush, toothpaste, an eyelash curler, a new tube of mascara, hair gel, and a dozen or so other hair things. I sighed and quickly added several of the things to the counter. I needed to brush my teeth and do my hair. As I stacked those things on the counter, I couldn’t help but notice that there were more things resting against the very back of the shelf. Against the wall sat two small pink boxes that were still in their clear wrapping from the drugstore. I frowned as I pulled them forward, moving them closer so that I could see them. The first was a new box of pregnancy tests. I shook the box; sure enough, it actually contained what it said it did. Part of me expected the box to be a decoy and to either be empty or filled with something outwardly sinister, like a camera. Why did he buy me pregnancy tests? I flipped the second box over and was greeted by a bulk box of ovulation test strips, meant to check for when I was ovulating. I winced equally at both of the packages. I quickly shoved them back into the cabinet and closed the door.

Part of me wanted to know why those were what he chose to buy me; the other part was scared to know the answer.

I quickly stood up and began to dry off. It was a short time between when I finished showering and when I stepped out into the bedroom, my hair styled with my curls down, my teeth brushed, and my skin dried of any excess water.

Stepping to the closet, I noticed that all of the dresses in the closet were too formal. Most of the clothes that I typically wore were missing. No t-shirts, jeans, or even standard pajamas. Damn it, Miguel. I quickly walked over to the dresser and opened the bottom drawer.

Based on what was there, my best bet was the baby pink nightie that lay on the top of the pile of clothes. It was obviously new; a tag was still attached to the spaghetti strap and frankly, I had never seen it before, so I figured that it was something he had picked out himself.

I pulled the dress on, wincing when it stopped several inches above my knees. I pulled on a pair of underwear and then snagged a grey cardigan from the closet in an attempt to have a chance at being warm.

What I was wearing was closer to lingerie than actual clothing, but that didn’t seem to matter at this point. He had dragged me around twice in my underwear, on top of the fact that he said he had watched me touch myself to him. My face burned at that thought.

Besides, if he was right and we were always together, then none of this would be new to him. But maybe it would make him be nicer to me if he thought I was being nicer to him.

I stepped through the hallway, careful not to lose my footing in the dim light. As I went, I couldn’t help but notice one of the more glaring differences between my universe and this was. The door to the room that rested next to the bedroom wasn’t stained with its dark russet shade. He had painted this door yellow. That was clearly a recent change; the air still smelled heavily of paint. But why the hell had he painted it in the first place? Maybe he was used to it being a different color and was perfecting it to fit his little fantasy.

I made my way downstairs. He was sitting in the small breakfast nook that rested in the kitchen. He had set out the white plates and arranged the food so that I had easy access to everything. As I rounded the corner, he glanced upward. Something stirred in his dark eyes, but he didn’t say anything. Miguel was sitting at the table, pushing around an eggroll with a plastic fork. He had changed out of his standard red and blue spider suit into an old sweatshirt and flannel pajama pants.

Lucky bastard.

He looked tired. He had a dark stain of blood on his left cheek and I was sure that it wasn’t his. I didn’t want to think about whether or not the owner of that blood was still alive, because I knew there was a good chance they weren’t. I watched him for a moment before I stepped away from the table. He frowned, watching me closely. I was sure he was watching to verify that I didn’t make another run for it. I quickly pulled a washcloth out of one of the lower cabinets by the sink and then turned on the faucet. Once the water ran warm, I wet the rag, wrung it out so that it wasn’t dripping, and then I turned off the water.

I stepped back into the small dining area. “Miguel.” I said in an attempt to get his attention. His tired eyes drifted up to meet mine. The eyes that were once a burning red were now a warm brown. They were almost the shade of coffee. He watched me with such an intensity that it made my face turn a dark maroon. I was sure that he noticed, but he didn’t remark on it.

I leaned down slightly, moving so that my standing height could line up with his sitting size. God, he was so damn tall. “Miguel, here. You have blood on your face.” He reached up to take the cloth but was surprised when I gently pressed the warm material to his face. “Just hold still for a second.” I whispered. For a moment, I couldn’t help but wonder if he had changed out of his suit for comfort or if it was just as coated in blood as his face was. The idea made me shudder internally.

I gently wiped away the dried blood, folding the cloth as I went so that I didn’t rub old blood against his face. When I reached the hollow of his cheek, I slipped one hand under his strong jaw and had him tilt his face to the side in an attempt to give me a better angle. He closed his eyes, giving in to the gentle touch.

He was touch starved. I could tell by the way his breathing slowed and the hairs on his arm stood on end. He wasn’t used to being touched; not anymore. Not in any way that offered any kind of tenderness.

“There you go. All clean.” I said. He opened his eyes and he nodded. His eyes then dipped downward toward my dress.

“Nice outfit.”

“It would appear that most of my actual clothing is gone. So, I have plenty of clothing for the bustling city life outside and I have plenty of lingerie, but everything else is a bit sparse.”

A smile pulled at his lips with my comment. Then, he nodded. “I’ll bring you your clothes from your home universe.”

“Thank you.” I said. Miguel leaned forward and grabbed a container of orange chicken.

He had ordered us Chinese food. It was something that I couldn’t help but note was the same as we had had on our first date. I glanced at the label and confirmed that it was the same restaurant and everything. We had eaten there the night we had first met. We had dipped out of a party at Alchemax early. I hadn’t wanted to be there, but my father had worked there for so many years that it almost felt like an obligation. When I had turned to leave too fast, I knocked wine all over Miguel, but he hadn’t seemed to mind.

“Are you okay?” This Miguel asked. I quickly nodded as I was pulled from the distant memory.

“I am. Thank you for dinner.” I pushed a small amount of food onto my plate and then returned the container to the center of the table.

“You need to eat; really eat.” He said. His brown eyes danced over my face as he searched for something in my gaze. He was hoping to find some kind of love there; a familiarity or affection that I could offer him.

“I feel sick.”

“That’s just because you aren’t used to being in a different universe. Consider it like jet lag. You’ll get used to it in a few days.” He noticed when I didn’t move to eat. I stared into space, feeling my previous convictions about being sweet to him begin to slip away. “I could always make you eat.” He said.

“You wouldn’t do that.” I muttered. He let out a low sigh and then returned to his food. He wasn’t going to argue with me. Or maybe I was right; maybe there were some things he wouldn’t be willing to do to me. But he had walked in sporting horror-movie levels of blood on his skin. So, who knows?

“Is there anything that’s bothering you?” He asked. “You can always ask me.”

“Are you going to lock me up in my room again if you don’t like the question?” I asked. He didn’t respond.

Tread lightly, I guess.

“Why do you look different than my Miguel?”

“I’m Spiderman. Your Miguel wasn’t. He was close, but he didn’t quite get there before…” His voice faded off. He was trying to be sensitive to me, in his own fucked up way. Or maybe his own narcissism wouldn’t allow him to talk about his failures, even in a different universe.

“Do all Spidermen look like you?” I asked.

“Are they all so devastatingly handsome? Afraid not, sweetheart. They don’t usually look the same. Hell, they can look like anything. I found one that’s literally a cartoon pig. But appearances aside, they can mostly do the same things: climb walls, shoot webs, the whole lot.”

“Ah.” I said. “Do they all have the…” I tapped my finger to my teeth, motioning for the fangs that protruded anytime he spoke. He shrugged.

“That seems to be a thing entirely unique to me.”

Did I sense a bit of insecurity there?

He furrowed his brow as he turned his attention to the dinner plate. Damn it, now I felt bad.

Why the hell did I feel bad for hurting his feelings? He kidnapped me and had dragged me around like a rag doll. But I couldn’t ignore the guilt that started to brew inside of me.

I sighed as I moved closer to him. Even if he was my captor, I couldn’t help but see him as the man who I still loved. Even if that ended at the physical resemblance. I slid to the edge of my chair and reached my arm out for his face. My fingers slid against the rough stubble of his jaw, tracing the side of his face for a moment. He leaned his head to the side, moving into my touch.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered. He nodded, lifting a hand upward. He laid his fingers on top of mine, holding my hand there against his skin. God, he was burning up. Did he always feel like this? Maybe he was actually sick. My Miguel never ran this warm. Or maybe it was just a side-effect of the spider bite. I didn’t understand any of that well enough to question it and I sure as hell wasn’t going to ask about it.

Suddenly, something clattered to the ground in the kitchen, making me jump. I pulled my hand back from his face, feeling the reality of the situation settle in. I slid my hand back into my lap, watching as his eyes lingered on for entirely too long. His brown eyes swam with a deep want. He wanted me to keep touching him.

Maybe sleeping with him would knock him out of this lovesick spell. Or maybe it would only make it worse. He stared at me, moony eyed and desperate. He was Miguel, even if he wasn’t my version of him. Maybe he could genuinely love me, even if only in his own fucked up way.

“If you loved him so deeply, do you think you could ever love me the same way?” He asked.

“Miguel…” I said. His face twitched slightly. I couldn’t say no; maybe I could, eventually. Or maybe he would become crueler, and I would hate him every second of my life. I didn’t know what to tell him. He leaned back in his chair, his face twisting in an attempt to conceal a deep pain.

Change the conversation quick. Change it before the night could descend in chaos with either us screaming at one another or him locking me in the room again. Or maybe he would just send me back to my own universe to die. After all, if he couldn’t get what he wanted from me, then there was no use in keeping me here.

He made a low noise and then returned to eating, never saying anything about how I had dismissed him.

“Why did you paint the door in the hallway?” I asked. He paused, trying to think up an answer. Then, he swallowed his dinner and shook his head.

“Just decided that it looked better that way.”

“But why? What was wrong with the original color?”

“Does it really bother you that much that I changed one thing?” He asked. His voice had an edge to it now. I clearly was not supposed to ask about the door. But why? It was just a damn door.

“No, but it’s weird that that is the one thing you decided to change. I figured that there was probably a reason.” He rolled his eyes as he took another big bite of food.

“Can’t you just be happy? Most people would overjoyed if they had the opportunity that you do.”

“Yes, I’m quite sure that most people would just love to be stolen from their bed by their boyfriend’s psycho twin. Frankly, that’s every woman’s dream.” My voice was dripping with so much sarcasm that he rolled his eyes. “How long are you planning on keeping this up? This isn’t the Truman Show. You can’t just keep me locked up here for the rest of my life so that you can get your kicks spying on me. And I’m not going to act out some fifties sitcom for you.”

“You don’t have to. I just want you to be… you. Or, as close to it as possible.” He said. As close to me as possible… the words rattled around in my head for a moment.

“You want me to be her.” His face twitched. “I lost him and you lost someone who looks exactly like me.”

Dear God, that was exactly it. All of my suspicions were correct. I was supposed to play house with him, while pretending to be a very specific version of myself that he had once loved. I had to be the perfect version of his wife; the one who doted on and loved him, or else this was all for nothing.

“Have you ever read The Great Gatsby?” I asked. He stared at me, his gaze littered with something.

“Tread lightly, sweetheart.”

“The book is about a man who tries to relive his past. He is so sure that repeating everything and making little adjustments will fix his world.” I swallowed hard, trying to make sure he understood what I was saying. I wasn’t his toy; I wasn’t meant to be wound up to perform for him. “Miguel, you can’t fix things by redoing them. People die. You have to let them go. If your wife died, you need to let her go.”

“I don’t hear you saying that about him.” He sneered.

“That’s because I didn’t kidnap you. I was willing to let you… to let him go.” All of the terms were confusing. This man looked like my Miguel, but he wasn’t. He was a different version of him, which I guess could also make him him, just a different kind. God, I was confusing myself.

“That’s bullshit. I know you want him back. I can see it in your eyes. I can see it in the way you look at me.”

“I think what you’re seeing is a mixture of fear and your own reflection.”

“You love me.” He said.

“I don’t know you, Miguel. I don’t know who you are. I know who you look like, but that doesn’t really help your situation.” I paused for a long moment. “How did she die?” I asked. He shook his head.

“That’s none of your fucking business.” He snapped. I flinched at his words.

“I have the right to know how she died.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t even know how your own husband died and you think you have the right to pry into my life.” With that, he pushed himself up from the table.

He tossed the plate into the sink and it shattered against the metal of the basin. I heard him swear in Spanish under his breath. He was pissed but he hadn’t meant to do that. Maybe that was just an every day occurrence with spider strength.

He began to head to the archway that separated the kitchen from the rest of the house. As he stepped, I heard him swearing under his breath. I also heard my name several times.

“Miguel, where are you going?” I asked.

“You hate me so much, maybe it would be better if I wasn’t around.”

“Miguel, where are you going?” I repeated. He muttered more words under his breath. I watched as he pushed several buttons on the sides of his wrist device. He flipped a top piece on the metal bracelet.

“Lyla-“ he started.

“What are you doing?” I asked. I pushed myself up from the table, following him as he left the kitchen. He didn’t reply. I rounded the corner, following as he stepped into the living room. Upon entering, I was nearly blinded by a massive orange and pink hole that swirled and twisted in the center of the room. With every step he took, he drifted closer to it.

So, that was how he managed to leave and then come back. If what he wore on his wrist was capable of doing it, I wondered if mine was, too. No, surely not. The intent was to keep me here; giving me an opportunity to escape would defeat the entire purpose. He said that if I took it off, I would die. I had no choice but to believe him on that front.

“Miguel.” Still no answer. “Where are you going?” He stepped toward the portal without a sound.

“Miguel, where the hell are you going?” I repeated.

He rolled his eyes as he glanced down at the device on his wrist.

“If you leave, what the hell am I supposed to do? There aren’t any people outside. I’m going to have to guess that all of the buildings are empty. Are you coming back? Am I going to starve to death? What if I get hurt? What if I fall down the stairs and die? When the hell are you coming back? How am I supposed to contact you?” The words fell out of my mouth so fast that I didn’t have the chance to consider if these were stupid questions.

“That’s what you’re worried about?” He scoffed. But he didn’t offer me any kind of actual answer.

“Miguel, you said you were my husband. You can’t just abandon me.” He flinched, but he still did not turn around. “Please…” I begged. If he left, I was stranded. At least with him here, I was guaranteed human contact and sustenance.

“Miguel, I need you.” I said. As the words left my mouth, I did the only thing I could think of to get his attention. I slid my hand up to the cardigan and quickly slipped it off of my shoulders. He didn’t seem to notice or care when it dropped to the ground below me. I then reached upward and grabbed onto the thin spaghetti straps of the pink nightgown. Without hesitation, I pulled them over either shoulder, allowing the gown to slide entirely off my body and pool onto the floor at my feet.

“Miguel.” I repeated. This time, my voice was no louder than a whisper. That was enough to get his attention. Or maybe he had heard the dress gather on the floor at my feet. I swallowed hard, feeling the cold bite at my bare skin. I was standing almost naked in the middle of the living room, wearing only a thin pair of underwear that offered very little coverage.

Miguel glanced backward. His eyes caught expanse of my bare skin and I swore I saw him smile.

“Don’t leave.” I said. I lifted my hands and crossed my arms. It was a force of habit. I felt so exposed like this. Though, I quickly lowered my hands, knowing that getting his attention was my best chance at him staying.

He turned around to face me. “Please say something, Miguel.” I whispered. The longer I went without a reaction, the more I started to feel like an idiot for this. Maybe I had just made myself look stupid in front of him. Or, better yet, maybe this was something his wife wouldn’t have done; maybe this would make him send me back home to die.

He slunk forward, a predator approaching prey. I saw the portal swirl into a smaller and smaller hole in the universe. Then, it closed, leaving us alone in the dim light of the living room.

Miguel moved so that he was only a few inches in front of me. The material of his shirt grazed my naked skin, making me wince. The shirt was too rough against my goosebump littered flesh. He stared down at me. As he did, his eyes turned from warm brown to a deep red again.

His palm drifted up to cup my cheek. His skin burned to the touch. I swallowed hard, feeling his fingers stroke the side of my face. It was almost as if he was petting me; like I was a toy for him to play with. He leaned down. His lips grazed the shell of my ear as he whispered, “Let me know if I hurt you.”

“Huh?” He pressed his mouth against mine, hard. His lips were warm as he began to work them, moving them so that they forced my mouth open. I moaned, overwhelmed by it all. As his lips slid against mine, I was sure that I would be bruised tomorrow.

A fang brushed my bottom lip, making me gasp. “Gentle, Miguel.” I whispered.

“Sorry.” His warm breath covered my face. He smelled intoxicating. He straightened his stance, moving away from me. When he pulled away, I let out an audible whimper.

God, please tell me I didn’t genuinely want him. I swallowed hard, feeling myself getting slick between my thighs. I was sure that if he looked, he would see a spot forming in my underwear.

I wanted to hold him. I tried to grab his shoulders, but our heights were too off. He was too tall for me to grab hold of. I pushed myself onto my tippy toes, but even that wasn’t enough. I was still too short for him. Miguel noticed this and leaned downward, allowing me to curl my arms around his strong shoulders.

“That’s my girl.” He slipped his hands down and curled his fingers around my bare thighs. He jerked my body upward. I curled my legs around his hips. He was already getting hard, causing his pajama bottoms to strain.

Miguel stepped forward, carrying me up the stairs. I knew where we were going: the bedroom. I pressed a gentle kiss against his cheek. Even in the dark, I could tell he smiled.

He was getting exactly what he had wanted. But I couldn’t bring myself to make it all stop. I wanted him. I had craved him for so long and here he was. He wasn’t my Miguel, but maybe he wouldn’t die. He was stronger than my Miguel. Maybe that would allow him to stick around.

He twisted the door handle, leaving deep dents in the shape of his fingers in the cold metal. He was trying his hardest to be gentle with me, but I knew it was a battle he would most likely lose.

He tossed me on the bed, throwing me just a tad too hard. I landed on the opposite side of the mattress, groaning as my head almost collided with the wooden headboard. “Miguel.”

“I know, I know.” He teased. He flipped his hand over, shooting a fine web that caught my ankle. “Come here, sweetheart.” He rolled the webbing around his fingers, pulling it tight. I gasped, feeling my body sliding across the sheets. He dragged me down to the edge of the bed.

“Miguel!” I squealed. He smirked as he pressed his knees into the bed, pulling me so that I was only a few inches away from him. He pulled the web off my skin, making sure that it didn’t hurt me.

“Do you do that a lot?” I asked.

“As often as you, sweetheart. Next time, I can web you to the headboard.” My face flashed bright red. He chuckled.

Miguel reached down and grabbed the bottom of his sweatshirt. He hauled it upward, pulling it over his head before discarding it on the floor. Taut muscles danced under his skin. Every inch of him was bound in hard muscle, covered in perfect skin.

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss against my knee. His fingers wandered up my thighs, feeling my bare skin. He pushed his other hand into the mattress.

“Miguel, please.”

“Please what?” He asked. I took his free hand in mine and guided it up to my chest. He moaned, offering a soft squeeze.

Miquel scrambled up to my chest. He caught my nipple in his mouth and moaned, licking the sensitive skin as he sucked. His fingers kneaded my other breast, stopping every once in a while to offer the hard peak a gentle pinch.

I brushed my fingers through his dark hair. He smiled against my skin, releasing my nipple from his mouth. “What?” I asked.

“Let me know if I’m too rough with you.” With that he slinked down to the warm skin of my thighs. He traced his lips across the bare skin. As he went, he opened his lips to gently suck and kiss the bare flesh. Every so often I would feel a burst of pain that lasted no longer than a second. He mumbled something against my skin. I pushed myself up onto my elbows, moving so that I could see what he was doing.

Another sharp pain shot through my left thigh as he buried his face in my skin. Miguel glanced upward, feeling my eyes on him. His fangs had nipped my bare skin, making me yelp. “I’ll be more gentle.” His voice was warm and weighted with lust.

He slipped upward and slid his fingers under the waist of my panties. He bit the material with his teeth. I heard him snip the material and rolled my eyes.

“You can’t do that to all of my clothes. I barely have any to begin with.”

“I’ll buy you whatever you want.” He pressed a warm kiss against my bare hip. Then, he moved to the other side. He repeated the same action, slicing through the material using his fangs. He placed a kiss on that side, as well.

“You’re such a showoff.”

“Am not.”

“You could have just pulled them off of me the normal way.” I fought back a laugh.

“I can bench press a city bus. I don’t need to showoff to you. Besides, learn to have some sense of romance.” He threw the remains of the panties onto the floor. He immediately pressed a soft kiss against the mound that had been covered by my underwear.

He was extremely careful when he shifted downward. But the dull ache on the skin of my thighs where he had bit made me want to make my only request. “Hey, no teeth.”

“Funny, that’s what I always tell you.” He muttered. I rolled my eyes. “Lay back and hush up.”

“You’re so damn bossy.” I shifted on the mattress, spreading my legs wider for him. He placed his hand across my folds and gently spread them to expose my clit. He flicked his tongue across my clit. “Fuck, Miguel.” I lifted my hips off the bed, moving closer to his face.

He started to work, flicking his tongue over my clit as the index finger on his free hand traced my opened. He collected my wetness on his finger, sliding it around to make sure that I was good to go. Then, he slipped in his middle and index finger, sinking in until his knuckles touched my pussy.

I moaned, feeling his tongue work its magic.

Fuck, he was good at this.

He curled his fingers inside of me, brushing my sweet spot. I grabbed the back of his head, feeling his head bob under my palm as he licked.

Then, something occurred to me. He knew every inch of my body because he had fucked me thousands of times in the past. Even if it wasn’t me, it was a girl who was exactly like me. Maybe I was just that predicable. Or maybe he was just that good.

He picked up his speed, lapping between my folds as I curled my fingers in his hair. I was close and he could feel it. He could feel the twitches and miniatures spasms on his tongue as he worked. “Miguel, I’m close!” I whimpered.

He licked faster. Suddenly, pleasure shot through me, filling me with a white-hot heat. I moaned, spasming around his fingers as I came undone.

Miguel whispered something into my thigh as he pushed himself off the bed. Then, he pulled down his pajama bottoms, allowing for his cock to spring upward. It smacked against his lower stomach, heavy and decorated with a dark vein that ran along the underside. He kicked his pants off into the floor and then crawled on top of me.

He pressed a soft kiss on my lips. I could taste myself on his lips.

“This may hurt at first. I won’t move until you’re ready.” He said. He reached down between us. I watched as he grabbed his dick, stroked himself twice, and then lined himself up with my entrance. Without another word, he slid inside, making me gasp. I curled my legs around his hips, pulling him in deep as possible. “That’s my girl.”

I was overwhelmed with a stretching sensation. Arms rested on either side of my head as he stayed in place, waiting for me. After a moment, I leaned forward and kissed him, giving him the go ahead. One hand drifted up to my face. He caressed my cheek and his lips glided against mine.

He drew his hips back, sliding nearly all the way out. Then, thrusted upward, hitting deep inside of me. I gasped into his mouth. “I forgot how tight you are.” He murmured, his words slurring together.

My hands slid down his muscled back as he started to fuck himself into me. All the while, he kept his mouth on mine. I could feel his heart beating against my chest as he worked.

“Miguel…” I moaned, rocking my hips against him. I could feel my lower stomach tightening.

Suddenly, he whispered my name. It was so gentle that it was almost unsettling, considering the circumstances. I glanced up to meet his gaze. But as my eyes met his, he dipped downward. He buried his face in the curve of my neck so that I couldn’t see his eyes.

“Miguel, what’s wrong?”

He rutted his hips upward, burying himself as deep as possible. I gasped, digging my nails into his back. Despite how hard I had sunk them in, they didn’t break the skin. He was indestructible… at least, physically. I slid one hand across the skin of his back, moving to his dark hair. I could have sworn I heard him murmuring something into my neck. I could feel his lips moving against my skin, offering some kind of low prayer. But to who?

“Miguel…” He pulled his hips back again and then quickly slid inside of me again, grinding his hips against me to get a reaction. I gasped, tightening my hold on his hair.

“Say you love me.” His voice was dreamy, and his words slurred from pleasure.

“What?” I asked. It caught me off guard.

“Say it.”

“I love you.” I felt his hips still their movements. He was weighing the authenticity of my words. After a moment, he lifted his head from my neck.

“Say it again.” His eyes peered into mine. He was searching for something in my stare.

“I love you.”

“Good girl.” With that, he continued to beat into me, groaning when I would tense around him.

We were both close. I could tell by the chorus of whimpers and moans that were filling the room. That familiar tightening in my stomach was close to coming entirely undone.

He pivoted his hips, hitting the perfect spot inside of me. Miguel stared down at my features. He wanted something very specific from me before he finished. He ground his hips, making me gasp.

Fucking hell, Miguel.

With that, I felt myself come undone. Pleasure shot through me, making me clamp down on his dick. He grunted, never stopping his movements. “Miguel, I love you!” He groaned at my words. He kept hitting deep inside of me, making sure to grind himself against me every couple of thrusts.

His orgasm overtook him. He groaned my name as he gave one final thrust, hitting deep. I felt his body tense under my hands.

Slowly, we both came down from our highs. We were dragged back to the reality of the bedroom. The day had faded into night, leaving us in darkness.

He had finished inside of me. I could feel a deep warmth inside of my stomach. I also felt a distinct wetness that was hard to ignore. I sighed, relaxing into the mattress. I unhooked my legs, waiting for him to slide out of me. But, instead, he reached behind him and closed my legs again.

“No…” He murmured. Then, he leaned down and pressed a kiss against my lips. In this position, I could feel his heartbeat against my chest. It was so intimate; so loving. Maybe he really did see me as his wife. He pressed another gentle kiss against my mouth. I closed my eyes, giving into the softness of the moment.

“You have to do something for me.” He said. I opened my eyes to look at him.

“Okay.”

“I want you to love me like you loved him. I want you to look at me like I’m your hero and that I’m special.” He inhaled sharply before he reached forward to brush one of my curls off of my forehead. “I want you to care if I die.”

I nodded. What other option was there? I was trapped in his little universe; it’s not like I could ever leave or be with anyone else. Besides, we were still literally connected at the hip.

After what felt like an eternity, he slid out of me. He leaned back on the balls of his feet to inspect me. I immediately closed my legs, though that did little good. He reached forward and grabbed my knees, prying my thighs apart. Warm cum dribbled out of me, coating the naked skin of my upper thighs.

He smirked at his handy work before pushing himself off of the bed. He disappeared into the bathroom for a moment, turning on the faucet and grabbing a towel from the cabinet.

It was then that something occurred to me. “Miguel, I’m not on birth control.” I said. He nodded, acting as if I had just told him about the weather. He stepped out of the bathroom holding a damp washcloth. “Miguel.”

“What, sweetheart?” I stared at him, feeling my mind begin to race. He climbed onto the bed, moving to where I was laying. He sat down between my thighs and gently began to clean the remains of him off of my skin.

“You didn’t… you didn’t use a condom and I’m not on birth control.” I said. I could feel my heart beginning to race. Why wasn’t this bothering him in the same way?

“You’re my wife.” He said as he wiped my skin.

“Miguel.” I repeated. I wanted him to react.

“What are you wanting me to say?”

“Anything.” I said. I wanted some kind of actual reaction.

“Things are exactly as they need to be. Whatever happens, happens.”

“That’s not an answer.” I said.

“Maybe you need to learn to be happy with what you’re already working with.” He finished cleaning me up and then walked to the bathroom. He had made sure to only clean the skin outside of my body. He didn’t try to remove any of the fluid inside of me, despite how much there was.

He came back to the bed and quickly climbed in. “You should get some sleep.” He said. I stared at him, searching for some idea about what he was thinking. He offered a soft smile in return.

Was he fucking with me?

Did he really love me or was he just using me as a quick screw?

Did he actually want me to be his wife… or was this some fucked up mind game of his?

He leaned back against the pillows and then lifted his hand. He curled a finger toward him, motioning for me to come. “I’m not a dog.” I muttered.

“Then be a good girl and do as I ask.” He reached forward and gently grabbed my body. He slid me closer to him, moving me so that my head lay against his bare chest.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Afraid so.” He said. He placed one hand on my shoulder and the other on my side. He slid his fingers up and down either side of my body, taking in every soft dip and curve. Every so often he would lean down and kiss the top of my head.

I couldn’t help but notice the way that his fingers traced over my lower stomach. He looked wistful as he traced the soft skin. I squirmed, feeling insecure.

“Stop wiggling and get some sleep.”

“Then stop feeling me up.”

“I’m not feeling you up. I’m trying to be nice to you.” He murmured against the top of my head. He pressed another kiss against my hair.

“You’re an ass.” I muttered. I rolled his eyes as he continued to pet my bare skin. His heartbeat played in my ear.

As I began to drift off to sleep, I felt him begin to play with my frizzed curls. He would coil a stand of hair around his finger and then let it go, satisfied with the soft curl that had formed.

It was something that my Miguel liked to do, as well.

Maybe they weren’t all that different.

I heard his strong heartbeat against my ear as I faded away from the room.

Before I fell asleep, Miguel pressed a gentle kiss against my forehead. “Please don’t leave me.” He whispered.

I love you...

#miguel o'hara #Miguel Ohara smut #Miguel o'hara smut #Miguel O'Hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #Miguel ohara x you #Miguel o'hara x you #Miguel ohara imagines #Miguel ohara fanfiction #spiderman99 smut #spider verse smut

3K notes · View notes

websterss · 7 months ago

Text

JUST TRYING TO BE BRAVE — ERIC (AQPDO)

REQUEST: A request for Eric from A Quiet Place: Day One The reader only knows of one way to calm him whilst he's having a panic attack during the madness, and they gently let him rest against their chest and listen to their heartbeat until he calms down <3

WARNING(S): SLIGHT SPOILERS, fluff, angst, panic attacks

WORD COUNT: 1,286

PAIRING: Eric x fem!Reader

A/N: I hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed! I didn’t know where you wanted the reader to calm him down so you get a two-for-one scenario fic lmfao <33

MASTERLIST

You don’t know what you would’ve done if you hadn’t run into Sam like you and Eric had. You two probably would have continued to wander the discarded vacant streets of New York, had you decided not to follow the cat.

Sam had been insistent on you both leaving her be with her cat, but at last she got used to your presence. Now as you shelter in her abandoned home, watching and hearing the rain fall from the windows, you can’t help but feel relieved those creatures can’t hear your beloved's panicked inhales and exhales.

“Eric, it’s okay! You’re alright. We’re okay!” He only shakes his head at your reassured comments. Your consolation this time wasn’t doing the trick to calm him down, if you hadn’t run out you would have given him his prescribed anxiety meds. “It’s okay. They can’t hear us up here right now. You’re okay. We’ve made it this far haven’t we?” You breathe out a laugh as you cup his face. He barely musters a nod before his eyes close again, you could imagine the tornado spinning around in his chest. Wreaking havoc on his sanity and any small chance of serenity. You could imagine it all. You could see the panic, the fear in his eyes, making his chest rise and fall rapidly as he struggled to maintain his breath. “Do you want to try it again, what your doctor recommended us to do? Your head pressed on my chest. Match your breathing to the rhythm of each beat of my heart…” You trailed off letting him take the lead.

At your suggestion, he nods slowly, his eyes closing as he reaches out for your hands again. "O-Okay..." Eric tried to take deep breaths, but they came out as panicked stutters.

You sat back against the sofa, allowing space for him to rest against your chest. You began to steady your rhythmic pace, knowing it only worked if you were just as calm and relaxed. You press a gentle kiss against his curls. As his breathing slows to a soft inhale and exhale. He tuned out everything around him. Hearing every thump, feeling every minor skip in your chest. He felt your steadiness, felt the caresses in his hair. The strong warm hold of your other arm as you held him close. He could feel you, hear every intake of air. You were present for him, and he was welcoming the stillness the moment allowed for you both to have once again. He guessed as much though just how the rest of your lives would dissolve into, a world of quiet.

It seemed heavenly at first, but otherworldly frightening, knowing he might just have to savor the small moments where he’d get to hear your voice again. Just as he was doing now.

Once you registered his slackened jaw and relaxed shoulders, you assumed as much that he had fallen asleep. You didn’t dare move. Your fingers continued to rake through his hair as he had succumbed to sleep. You couldn't help but feel relieved that he had calmed down and been able to find some rest. The rain continued to patter against the windows, its soothing sound acting as a natural lullaby to ease your nerves. As you held him close, you found yourself unable to tear your gaze away from his peaceful face.

“What started the attacks?” Sam watches you both from the windows.

“Moving far from home. His parents were so proud of him for following through with law school, but he was devastated to leave them. I completely out of mind in love with him, made the biggest jump of my life following him to the U.S.”

“Do you ever regret it?”

You peer up at Sam with glistened eyes. “N-No. I wouldn’t be sane going through this apocalypse without him. Whatever this whole mess is!” You exclaimed quietly. You look down at him, brushing back his curls. “I’d regret it more if I hadn’t followed him here. I can’t imagine what he would’ve done all alone, if he’d survived it this far. I think he would. I wonder if he’d have met you just the same if I wasn’t here. I’d have been thankful just the same though, Sam. For letting him stick with you.” You choke back a sob, your smile widening at the corners. Sam only nods, turning her head away from your vulnerable confession. You didn’t take it to the heart. Who knew what pain she was going through herself.

As you spoke to Sam, your voice quivered with a mix of love and vulnerability. You could feel the weight of your words hanging in the air, and for a moment, it was as if the world outside faded away, leaving only the three of you to navigate this strange new reality. You couldn’t help but wonder how Eric would have fared if you hadn't been by his side, a thought that sent a shiver down your spine. With bated breaths, you turned your focus back to him, sleeping peacefully in your arms.

“Eric baby please!” You swish around in the water, eyes glistening as you look up at the creature crawling out from the hole on the roof. Sam had taken a more firmer approach. Holding her hand over his mouth. You had caught him about to squeak, before Sam shushed him. His need to express his panic in screams was hard to muffle.

You moved as quietly as you could in the water. Making your way to take over Sam’s place. Eric only shook his head at you. You had to nod, to remind him to stay calm.

“Eric, we need to slow your heart.”

“N-No, no, no.” He muttered. “I can’t…”

“You can, you can. Baby, look at me.” You whispered harshly, gripping his face like Sam had done. In a more serene and calm scenario, your softer touch would have been your go-to, but not when that thing was getting closer. “I’m scared right now, I’m scared too, but we need to get you back on track. I need you to focus and match your breathing to mine, right now!” Your eyes plead with him. “Please!”

His eyes were wide with fear, pupils dilated and breaths shallow. The panic was clearly taking over him as water dipped into his mouth, making it difficult for him to focus on anything other than the impending danger. Despite his obvious distress, he nodded slightly, trying his best to calm himself down. As you held his face, he tried to match his breathing to yours, each breath a struggle for control over the mounting fear. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to stay grounded in the presence of your touch.

"I got you. D-Deep breaths…" You barely whisper to him, your frequency morphing into mouthed words.

He took a shaky breath, shuddering as he attempted to follow your instructions. Your steady presence grounded him to the moment.

You didn't hesitate to place his head on your chest. You placed your hand on the back of his head, rubbing his wet hair back and forth in hopes of reassuring him. You tread lightly backwards, keeping your sights on the beast behind you three.

Eric pressed his ear against your chest, the sound of your steady heartbeat providing a calming rhythm to focus on. His breaths were still shaky, but with your hand on the back of his head, soothing in soft caresses, he slowly began to calm down. He closed his eyes and let himself be guided through the water, trusting your instincts to lead the way. Trusting both Sam and you to get him far away from the damned creature.

670 notes · View notes

bucks-babe · 8 months ago

Text

Virgin Bucky NSFW Alphabet

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: Huge thanks as always to the incredible @buckys-wintersoldier for reading my brainrot; however, any and all mistakes are my own. I do not consent to my work being reposted - likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated. And @espinosaurusrexex and @lanabuckybarnes, here it is

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Jamie is still getting used to the huge rush of emotions he gets after sex. He feels so vulnerable and confused as to how he could go from such a strong high to feeling like he can’t breathe. No matter what, though, he knows that you will take care of him. If you’re on top he will cling to you like a koala bear, trying to keep you as close to him as possible. If he’s on top of you, he’ll collapse on your chest and listen to your heartbeat, your arms wrapped around him, protecting him from the outside world..

You keep your hands on his body at all times, whispering how good he was for you, how proud you are of him, how much you appreciate him trusting you with his heart and soul. You let him decide what he wants to do next. If he wants to take a shower, cuddle, eat, whatever he wants you’ll do. If he doesn’t feel like talking after, you talk for the both of you. He loves to hear the sound of your voice, it doesn’t matter what you’re talking about, it soothes him.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Jamie never loved any part of his body, especially after being tortured and abused by Hydra for so long, but you made him see that he’s beautiful inside and out. His favorite body part of his own has to be his thighs. He loves to see you lay your head on his lap, arms wrapping around the thick muscle like it’s a stuffed animal. He loves that almost as much as he loves to see you ride his thigh, taking your pleasure from his body. You look so gorgeous lost in pleasure from just his thigh.

His favorite body part of yours? - Stomach. It’s soft and warm - safe. He is always touching your stomach in some way, whether it be his hands kneading the soft flesh or his head resting there, using you as his own personal pillow

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Jamie cums, and he cums a lot. He cums for minutes on end and his heavy balls produce so much cum. It could take him 8 to 11 orgasms in a row before he starts to shoot blanks. Of course that means that his cum has to go somewhere. It’s hard for him to leave the warmth of your cunt when he's cumming, but when he's feeling needy, he’ll pull out, jerking himself off on your pussy, covering your lower lips with his white spend before pushing back in and filling you to the brim. Feeling his sticky cum slap against his pelvis with each thrust only spurs him on more.

If he wasn’t so feral for you then he would keep cumming inside of your pussy over and over again, but Jamie likes messy sex, he likes marking you. He’ll cum on your thighs, using it as lube to keep going. Tits and stomach of course, licking it off after or press his body against yours to share his cum. He loves to fuck your face whilst you lay down on the bed, listening to you choke and sputter on his cum, only pulling back when he feels the overflow leak out around his sack, finishing the rest on your face. And once your entire front is covered with him, he’ll work on your back and ass, and he won’t stop until your entire body is white with him.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He loves to have his balls played with, sucked, licked, the whole nine. And when you brought up the topic he couldn’t resist, going from a subby baby to using you as he pleased.

“You gonna sit on my face, sugar? Wrap those pretty thighs around my head? Yeah, you are.” Bucky takes a deep breath, his cock leaking precum on your face in a near constant stream.

“Yes, mommy, so hard f’you.” Bucky grabs the fleshlight that you bought for him a while ago. It’s not his first time using it, but it still makes his cock throb at the sight. Straddling your head, he looks down at you, his precum glazing your face, lowering down when you nod your head.

“Shittt, open your mouth, baby, can’t fit inside.” He has to reach down and almost forces both of his balls in your mouth. “Sack too fucking big for your slutty mouth. Just want to feel that tight mouth sucking my nuts, ohhh yesss, use your tongue, more, fuck, m’gonna cum before my dick s’even this little pussy.”

You choke and sputter about his sack, your jaw stretching more than it ever has. The soft dusting of hairs tickle, yet the soft, smooth skin makes your cunt pulse and ache. “Fuck, yes, choke on them, too fucking big to let you breathe. But you like that don’t ya? You fucking love choking on your daddy’s fat ballsack.” He holds your head in place, grinding against your mouth, moaning at the feeling of your nose brushing against his rim. He thrusts into the toy, making sure not to stray too far from your tight heat. Your spit and the lube of the fleshlight creating an obscene wetness that makes his cock harder.

“M’gonna bust, oh shittt, pleasepleaseplease, oh fuck, s’good, can you feel it? Can you feel my sack about to explode?” You shake your head from side to side, practically gargling your spit. Just when you feel his sack tighten, he pulls out, a thick stream of saliva being smacked into your face as he shoves his cock down your throat, balls pressing against your nose and forehead, fleshlight long forgotten.

His body falls down, legs spreading to get deeper as he brutally shoves his cock into your throat over and over again, wet, slobbery balls bouncing off your face, forcing you to close your eyes, no matter how much you wanted to see his fat sack beat against you.

“Oooohhhh, fuckkk, can feel my nuts everywhere, so wet.” You struggle against his cock, fighting for oxygen, but he just goes faster, thicker ropes of cum shooting out. “You can take it, sweet girl, take my load, my perfect cumdump. Gonna do this with your pussy next, and then your ass.”

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

It’s no secret that Jamie doesn’t have any experience at all. Before you the only action he ever got was a sweet kiss at the end of his date in the 40’s. But he is extremely willing to learn, wanting to give you everything he has to offer. Luckily for you he’s an extremely quick learner and has found ways to make you cum that you didn’t know was possible.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

When he’s feeling subby he wants you to ride him into oblivion. It doesn’t matter if it’s from the front or the back. He’ll gladly watch your tits bounce in his face, desperate to take a nipple in his mouth, or from the back with your ass jiggling with every movement, landing hard smacks on your soft flesh. That or missionary so he can watch your pretty face while he makes you feel good.

“Please, doll, closer.”

Bucky pulls you down, his arms wrapped around your back, pressing your entire body to his. Your skin slides against his, slick with sweat. He plants his feet on the bed, frantically fucking up into you, desperate to feel more of you.

“Oh God, doll, it’s so fucking good, you’re choking my cock, gonna cum, please let me cum, please.”

He’ll beg every time even though you rarely edge him, and that’s only when he asks you to. You always let him cum and he’ll bury his head in your chest, moaning around your nipple as ropes and ropes of his load shoot into you, still pounding, his cum squirting out.

When he’s feeling dominant he’ll contort your body every which way. Legs on his shoulders while he leans over, raising your ass in the air in the process, from behind slapping your ass.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Jamie is rarely goofy during sex. Your pussy makes him so drunk that he doesn’t have a single thought in his head. He is so caught up in the feeling of you around him, skin pressed together that nothing can break his concentration.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

When he was a prisoner in Hydra, they waxed his entire body, sans his head. Legs - waxed, arms - waxed, chest - waxed, pubes - waxed. It was a form of torture, taking away his choice, altering his body the way they wanted. Now he lets his hair grow. He keeps his tufts of chest hair and leaves his legs alone. The only part that he grooms is his pubic hair. He’ll trim his bush, not wanting to go full jungle but he doesn’t go bald, loving the way your cream looks on them.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He desperately craves intimacy. You’re the only person that he lets touch him. Maybe Steve or Sam giving him a short hug, but other than that, he cringes away from touch. But when it comes to you, he needs to be touching you at all times, feeling your soft, warm body pressed against his, your scent surrounding him.

During sex, he needs to be close to you, his cock inside not enough to satisfy him. In missionary he’ll wrap his arms around you, letting his weight fall, your legs wrapped around his waist, hands running down his body, gripping and scratching whatever you can reach, doing the same thing with cowgirl.

“Doll, s’perfect, love you so much, oh god, please.” Bucky’s practically sobbing into your neck, his slick body sliding against your skin, hips pounding into yours, hitting your sweet spot every time without fail.

“Need you, doll, please, I can’t, uuuhhhh.” In his pleasure riddled mind, he can’t verbalize what he needs, but you always know even when he can’t say it.

You hike your legs higher, pulling him closer while your hands interlock with his, raising them above your head. “Jamie, feel so good inside me, m’so close. Want to cum with you, baby. Please, need you to cum for me, can’t hold it.” You moan with every rope of cum shooting into you, your own orgasm milking more out of his dick.

In pretty much every other position, if he can’t be pressed against you or if he wants to watch your ass or tits jiggle, he’ll hold your hands, hips, thighs, neck, any part of your body he can reach.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He jerks off a lot. He has 80 years to make up for, and he’ll get hard at the slightest thing. He swears that the wind can blow and his cock gets hard as a rock. Not only that, but you both are Avengers and have missions, not always together and it’s impossible to ignore his raging erection.

“What the fuck am I doing?” In any other scenario, he would feel ashamed, but he can’t bring himself to at the moment, so horny that he’d do anything to cum. He huffs and folds the pillow; the first thought he had when laying down in his feeble attempt to sleep was how good the silk pillowcase would feel around his dick.

It didn’t take him long to get his first load out, a full minute of aiming his cum at the pillow, creating his own lube. His cock pulses at the wet sound the pillow makes when he folds it. He has the pillow on the bed, each hand pressing down as hard as possible, making the makeshift hole as tight as possible. He whimpers at the first slide of his dick, the silk soft and smooth against him.

“Fuck, doll, need your pussy. Not as good, my cock s’hard for you. Such a waste of my load, know that you would take it, oh shit.” His hips pick up speed, the hotel bed creaking under his frantic thrusts. Bucky bites his lip, trying to hold in his moans, the springs squeaking causing flashes of you bouncing on his cock, the old frame barely able to withstand the hard pounding.

“Wish you were here, doll. You’d look so pretty covered in my load. Pretty tits painted white, letting me lick it off, spit it in your mouth. Oh god, here it comes, gonna take it all? Yeah you are, my perfect little cumdump.” The next morning, Bucky made sure to take the pillow and its case down to the dumpster before anyone could see, the entire thing soaked with his cum, but not before sending you pictures of his tongue full of cum and a video of his cock sliding in and out of the makeshift toy.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Daddy/Mommy kink, breeding, cumplay, marking, ball worship, praise/degradation, pain, edging/getting edged, overstimulation, watching porn together

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

His favorite place is definitely the bedroom. Tony soundproofed all the rooms and Bucky couldn’t have been happier about that. He doesn’t want anyone to hear how he begs and moans, borderline screaming sometimes. The two of you are planning to get your own place someday and Jamie can’t wait to be able to fuck you wherever he wants.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

You, plain and simple. He’s never felt attraction so strong until he met you and his cock is always begging to be sucked or fucked. He doesn't know if it’s the serum or just how much he loves you, but he could go all day every day, maybe with a few breaks in between to make sure that his dick isn’t about to fall off with how much he uses it.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Threesome - You’re the first person that Jamie has trusted fully since the 40’s and he has no desire to be with another person. You’re his everything and he doesn’t need anyone else but you

Exhibitionism - He’s still very insecure about his body, rarely leaving the house without triple checking that his metal arm isn’t visible to anyone. The thought of anyone watching him make love to you terrifies him. You make him feel perfect, but what if someone else knows how fast you make him cum, how he begs and pleads for you to hold him while he ruts into you, desperate to get that much closer to you? He wants to keep your sex life private and he’s not going to risk anyone seeing or hearing

CNC - Bucky has been through a lot when he was with Hydra and he wants to stay as far away from that as he can

Heavy degradation/humiliation - He loves light degradation, calling you a slut or whore for his cock, his little cumdump. He loves when you degrade him for not being able to last, always mixing in praises, letting him know how much you love it..

“Fuck, Jamie, look at you, can’t even hold out for me. ‘S my pussy too good, baby? Makes your fat cock burst? Love your cum, Jamie, wanna suckle your cock all day, keep it warm in my mouth, letting you use me, make me swallow load after load. That’s it, sweetheart, fill my pussy again.”

Even if it was in a safe setting, he wouldn’t be able to handle it if you said that he wasn’t good enough, that you should find another man to fuck you and make him watch. He saw it one time when he was watching porn with you and that was the end of the night, you held him in your arms until he fell asleep. He doesn’t know why, but that makes him want to cry, even if you weren’t the one saying that to him

Somnophilia - When you’re asleep, you can’t give consent and neither can he. He’s okay with waking up with you in between his legs, kissing and sucking on his thighs purposefully waiting until he wakes up to touch his cock and vice versa

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Jamie loves both. He truly doesn’t think that he would be able to live without either. He wants to drown in your pussy.

“Lower, doll, I told you to sit on my face, so sit.”

He doesn’t wait for you before wrapping his arms around your thighs, dragging you all the way down, taking the liberty to grind your hips for you.

His moans are muffled and you can’t understand what in the hell he’s trying to say, but you know.

“Pussy’s so fucking good.”

“Tastes so sweet.”

“Just like that, doll.”

“Making my cock so fucking hard.”

“Gonna cum just like this. You’d like that too, huh? Me busting a fat load without you even touching me? Yeah you fucking would, cause you’re my little slut.”

“Love you so much, can’t live without you.”

He never knew how good blowjobs could feel. The first time you went down on him he got it, he understood why men go so crazy over it. He may have never gotten head before, but he’s sure that there’s no one better than you.

“Lean just a bit more. There you go, good girl.”

He has your head laying off the side of the bed, throat ready to be ruined. You’re almost drooling at the sight of his thick cock hard and pulsing.

The first thrust is shallow, trying his hardest to not push you, but you want him to ruin you, push you to your limits and then tell you that you can take more because you’re his good little slut.

You tap his thigh so he’ll pull off only to tell him to fuck you like you’re a fleshlight, and that sends him over the edge. He widens his stance and places a hand on your throat, dragging his cock and balls around your face, rutting into you, before doing exactly what you asked, so what if everyone asked you if you were getting a cold the next day when you couldn’t speak?

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Rarely will it be slow and sensual. Jamie can’t control himself when he’s inside of you. He chases the feeling of your tight walls choking him over and over again. The only thoughts going through his mind is making you cum and cumming. It’s slow when he’s worn out from his missions or deep in subspace and you’ll warm his cock in your cunt while he sucks and fondles your tits. He can’t stop his cock from bursting even if he doesn’t move.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He doesn’t like quickies. He wants to cum as many times as he can, make you cum as many times as possible before one of you passes out. Usually when he’s extremely horny, you’ll pull him away to suck him off.

“Come on, Jamie, we don’t have much time.” You glance at your phone - 5 minutes before you have to be at the meeting. You can do it in two. You lead him into a closet, locking the door behind you and quickly slipping your panties off from under your skirt.

“Can’t wait to be inside you. Please tell me you’re ready, need it now.” You only shake your head, balling up the garment and placing it in his mouth, his eyes rolling back at your essence hitting his tongue.

“Not right now, Jamie. Gonna suck your cock. If you want I’ll let you cum in my pussy and walk around with you in me for the rest of the day.” Bucky’s eyes bulge, wanton moans leaving his lips, hands flying down to pull his jeans down just enough for you to get to his cock.

“Needy aren’t we? But don’t worry, I won’t tease you. We only have three more minutes.” Without hesitation you swallow his entire cock, gagging on his thick length. Your throat immediately welcoming him, remembering the shape of his perfect length.

“Mmmhh!” You can’t make out any of his words, but the panties help to muffle his sounds. You bob your head faster, moaning at the surplus of precum oozing out of his tip, spit already dripping down to his balls. This is how he likes it - sloppy and dirty. Spit and tears. Ruining you, maybe even taking your voice away.

Your nose pressed up against his pubes, shaking your head from side to side before pulling off, both hands jerking his cock, twisting from base to tip. Innocently you look up at him, tears streaming down your face, spit and precum covering your chin. “Can feel you pulsing, aching, baby, cock begging to bust. You need to cum, don’t you? Where do you want it, baby? Can cum wherever you want, just want your cum, wanna be your little cumslut.”

Bucky’s hips jerk, head thrown back, moans barely being contained by your underwear. He grips you, pulling you up and spinning you around, going balls deep into your cunt, your slick making the slide smooth. You moan with each jerk of his hips, warm pussy welcoming his heavy load.

When he pulls out, you take your panties back, swiftly putting them on, making sure none of his cum goes to waste. “Did it in one, Buck. You proud of me?”

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’s not one for risks, not wanting anyone to hear or see him in such a vulnerable state. But if it’s with you in the privacy of your shared room, then he’s willing to experiment with you. Fantasies, toys, kinks, as long as you both feel comfortable with it, he trusts you to take care of him.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He doesn’t last very long. The first time he was in your pussy, he blew his load as soon as the tip was in. He has gotten a bit better with holding it in, but you love when he cums so fast and so much so he doesn’t try to hold it back for too long, but he can go for hours without his cock getting soft. After a while, no more cum shoots out of his cock but that doesn’t stop him from fucking you until he cums again, only slightly missing his cum filling you up, but by then you’re covered from head to toe with his load.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He has a few toys that you’ve got him - fleshlight and cock ring, but his favorite are your toys. He is obsessed with using them on you, and you using them on him.

“Faster, doll, c’mon.” You huff but slam your hips down harder, moaning at the fullness of the dildo in your pussy and his cock in your ass. “Oh, fuck yeah. This how it feels, doll? Is this why you go so crazy over my cock, huh?” Bucky moves his own hips faster, with every thrust his own dildo slides in and out of his ass.

“Shit, m’gonna cum again, shit, takeittakeit. FUCK.” Bucky practically screams when his cock bursts, his load immediately pushed out of you ass, leaking to the floor, the sound of your cum covered ass bouncing against the floor causes a new wave to wash over him.

“Ooohhh, shit, doll. Can barely fucking move. My ass is gripping this cock so much, needed this fat cock in me.” He throws his head back, fucking into you as fast as he possibly could, creating a seesaw with his dick in your ass and the dildo in his. “Sogoodsogoodsogood. Gonna blow, haven’t even finished and I’m gonna cum again.” It was a long night and by the end of it there were puddles of your squirt and his cum on the floor.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He doesn’t tease unless he’s being dominant. On a regular day he just wants to see you cum, and get drunk on his cock.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

LOUD. He can’t help but to let out the most salacious sounds. A few times he questioned if the soundproofed walls really did stop the whole compound from hearing him scream as he busted load after load. He’ll whine and whimper, grunt and groan, moan and scream, cry and beg. Pretty much every sound he could make. There is no way in hell that he would ever be able to stay quiet, even for a minute.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

When he is extremely overwhelmed he likes to lay on your chest, gently sucking on your nipple with his cock in between your thighs, slowly fucking the soft flesh until he cums, using his load as lube to keep going until he’s completely drained of everything. Quickly falling asleep on your chest, soft cock surrounded by your soft thighs and his multiple super soldier loads.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He has a big, fat cock. Around 8 inches in length and thick as all hell. He’s uncut and has the most beautiful veins dancing around his length. Before the serum his dick was around 7 but he always has girth. The thing that the serum really changed was his balls. They went from a normal size to very large. Each one is around the size of an orange. They’re so big that he has to get custom underwear to support them when he walks, if not then they would get in the way of his everyday life, swinging around, slapping against his thighs, more than once he's sat on them by accident.

He can’t even be mad about it though because they let him cum so much and for so long. If he thought they were sensitive before, then he doesn’t know what they are now. You love to suck and lick his sack and he loves it just as much. The both of you found out that you shared a ball kink, neither of you knowing until he pulled his pants down and they were there in all their glory. Touching his sack feels almost as good as when you touch his dick - almost.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Do I even need to say anything?

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Jamie used to struggle to fall asleep, terrified of the nightmares that constantly plagued him, but your pussy puts his ass to sleep. He sleeps like a baby after giving you everything he has to offer, more than willing to fall asleep covered in his own cum with how tired he gets.

480 notes · View notes

buck-star · 28 days ago

Note

Hii I saw that you are looking for prompts for drabbles, could you do a fluffy one with Bucky with the dialogue “you give the best hug” and the prompts 9&35 from the touching list? Thank you 🫶🏻

Can you do that thing?

You’re giving the best hugs, but you also know the right words to assure Bucky the way he needs when he doesn’t see himself as the precious man he is.

Pairing: Boyfriend!Bucky Barnes x Girlfriend!Reader

Wordcount: 1.337 Words

Warnings/Tags: hurt/comfort, anxiety, ptsd, mention of Hydra, scars, fluff

Authors Note: Thank you for the request. Hope you enjoy it. Prompts 9 and 35: listening to the other’s heartbeat and kissing the other’s scars and bruises. Hope you enjoy. Divider made by me.

Events: Fandom-Free Bingo: Frosty Edition [N4 | “I’m not going anywhere.”]

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

You slowly open your eyes, your hand roaming over the other side of the bed. It’s cold and empty, no hint that your boyfriend was already in bed. You turn slowly, your eyes narrowing when the pillow is still the same as it was when you went to bed.

‘Just this movie, then I will come to bed’ he said before you got into bed.

You know about his insomnia and that he tosses and turns around for a while after missions or nightmares. As much as you hate it, and hate that he considers being alone and watching television, you also want to give him some space to let him calm down.

Bucky knows that whenever he feels like it, he could wake you up and you would sit down all night to listen to him if it’s what he needs. Or you would spend an hour bathing him and massaging him at three in the morning because that’s what he needs to calm down after a nightmare.

With a soft sigh, you sit up straight, giving your eyes another moment to get used to the darkness before you look around the room. There’s still no sign that Bucky made his way to the bed already — his clothes aren’t hanging over the chair on his bedside, and the glass of water that he always places on his nightstand isn’t there either — which means Bucky’s still in the living room.

You get out of the bed, the wooden floor cold underneath your warm skin, and you feel a shiver immediately running down your spine. You reach out, taking the shirt that’s placed over the chair on your side of the bed.

A soft smile spreads across your face when you take in the musky, sandalwood-vanilla scent of Bucky. You feel the soft fabric on the middle of your thigh, chuckling when you notice how much bigger your boyfriend is. While the shirt is fitting him perfectly, it’s like a dress for you — probably the reason you love his clothes so much; they are soft, smelling like him, and are just oversized.

Slowly you walk to the living room, hearing the sound of the television when you walk along the hallway. You notice it’s one of his comfort movies, and you feel your heart warming when you find him wrapped in a blanket on the couch, sitting there and staring at the television. But something is off with him.

“Bucky?” You mumble softly, loud enough for him to hear you over the sound of the television but not too loud to startle him. He slowly turns around, facing you.

Bucky has dark shadows underneath his slightly red eyes. He’s clutching the blanket around him; your stomach drops when he forces a smile onto his lips. His body is trembling, and you notice the tears that keep soaking his cheeks when he turns his head enough that the light of the television comes from the side.

“I'm sorry, I wanted— I didn't want to wake you up,” he mumbles quietly, pulling the blanket even tighter around himself. The usual broad, strong soldier looks so small and terrified the way he sits there with tears in his eyes and slumped shoulders.

You walk a few steps closer to him, waiting for his reaction. Bucky watches you intensely, his eyes roaming over your body until he notices that you're not wearing socks. A soft smile creeps onto his plump lips, and he clears his throat.

“You don't like cold feet, baby doll,” he mumbles — knowing that you hate it when your feet get cold. You always complain about it when you miss socks somewhere and have to walk through the apartment to get them. But right now you don't care about cold feet or socks.

“I know, but your side of the bed was so cold too; couldn't warm my feet,” you chuckle softly. Bucky nods, his smile reaching his eyes and brightening the blue before it falls again. His hands are shaking, and he takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself — like he’s trying to calm down from the anxiety attack he has.

You walk closer to him, sitting down next to him on the couch. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down with you. Bucky whimpers but lays down on top of you, his hands immediately finding your waist to hold you close — making sure you're not going away.

Bucky turns his head slightly, pressing his ear over your chest to listen to your heartbeat. You smile softly, bringing one of your hands to his hair. Slowly, you run them through his brown locks, massaging his scalp. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“It's just… on the mission. They… there was that…” Bucky interrupts himself, pulling you even closer against his muscular body. He inhales shakily, closing his eyes for a moment where he just listens to your heartbeat. “There was that… a chair… not a big deal; I mean, Hydra bases have a lot of chairs, don't they?”

You nod, listening to him. You stay quiet, not wanting to interrupt him. With your fingers still tangled in his hair, you let him know that you listen, that he can continue to talk if he wants to.

“I saw… I saw myself in that chair again. I felt the pain they caused, and it…” Bucky sobs quietly, hiding his face on your chest, trying to muffle his sounds. Your heart aches when you see him so hurt and vulnerable, knowing that he thinks he's weak and pathetic. “I-I'm sorry.”

“You're doing nothing wrong, Buck,” you whisper, kissing his hair softly. “Take a deep breath for me. I'm not going anywhere.”

“I thought about the times… the times when I… when I tried to rip off my metal arm so they… so the Winter Soldier would… they wouldn’t need me anymore. But it… the arm… it's connected with my shoulder, and I only caused these ugly scars,” Bucky stumbles over his words, his body trembling, and he has an almost bruising grip around your hips.

“They aren't ugly at all; they belong to you. And they only show how strong you are. Buck, they might remember you that you were captured by Hydra and that you were the Winter Soldier, but the scars aren't ugly; they never could be,” you assure him, running your fingers further through his hair to his neck.

Bucky moves his head, looking at you with teary eyes. “They don't?” He whispers, looking almost pleading that you keep assuring him that his scars don't look bad.

“They don't look ugly. You don't look ugly, Buck. You're the most beautiful man I have ever seen, even with your scars,” you mumble, smiling softly. Bucky nods, turning the two of you around so he's underneath you, taking a deep breath.

“C-Can you do that… that thing?”

With a soft chuckle, you move down so your legs are between his thick ones, and your face hovers above his breast. Bucky's hands remain on your hips, while you bring yours to his shoulders, sliding them softly over them to his chest. You then lean down and kiss his scars softly — each and every scar around his shoulder.

Bucky whimpers quietly before he slowly relaxes and closes his eyes. Bucky rubs his thumbs over your hipbones, sighing softly. Your lips feel so soft and gentle against his scars.

“Thank you, you're good at that, making me feel pretty and loved. And you give the best hugs, baby doll,” Bucky mutters, smiling softly. You keep kissing his scars with a soft smile. Buck's breath steady, his muscles relaxing, and he slowly drifts off to sleep. “I love you, baby doll, so much.”

“I love you too, with your scars, my pretty baby,” you giggle, knowing he will protest that he's not a pretty baby. But you get only a huff and a sleepy smile with a chuckle that vibrates in his chest from your sleepy pretty man.

Taglist: @rogersbarber @loki-laufeyson68 @etherealdisneyvillainness @winterschildren8 @pono-pura-vida @kimmie113080 @sergeantbarnessdoll @sebastianstanisahotmf @mercurial-chuckles @holylulusworld @randomawesomeperson102 @looking1016 @multiversefanfics @kpopgirlbtssvt @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers@iris-xoxo-juhu @fckedupandbeautiful @hisredheadedgoddess28 @casa-boiardi @blackhawkfanatic @mrsalexstan @thesarcasmqueen-22 @kandis-mom @peachy-satan00 @armystay89 @queen-honeybee-stories [add yourself.]

395 notes · View notes

izvmimi · 8 months ago

Text

cw: fluff. isekai au. selfship-coded. female pronouns.

In all your focus on becoming strong enough to protect yourself and not be a burden to others, it hadn’t occurred to you that as a Demon Slayer, you’d be receiving a paycheck.

A fat one at that.

You’re not exactly sure what to do with it. The envelope had shown up, slipped below the door of your lodgings at the Ubuyashiki mansion with your name on it, and while you’re not completely sure what the conversion rate + inflation would be, the sheer size of the stack was enough to make you quite confident that it was a lot of money. The issue is, you have very little use for money as you receive meals and board by virtue of Kagaya’s kindness, and the things you would buy if you could don’t particularly exist in this timeline.

As you sit on your futon and think again about what it would mean to save and how banking would work in this timeline, and if it’s even worth it given your particular circumstances, a sudden flash of Tanjiro’s smile comes to mind, and you immediately know what to do.

You should buy him a gift. After all, you wouldn’t have gotten through your first mission if not for Tanjiro, you consider, your face warming as you consider what things you’ve seen him receive that delighted him the most. Then you consider that perhaps a gift is too presumptuous, and you see him happy when he has a nice meal, or perhaps you could get something nice for both him and Nezuko because that wouldn’t look too strange, plus he’s happy when she’s happy, or perhaps you could-

Your thought spiral is interrupted by the sound of a knock on your door. Two gentle raps, and then you hear his voice.

Think of an angel and he will appear.

“___, are you busy today?”

When you ignore your slightly quickened heartbeat to let him in, he looks just like the picture in your mind’s eye, sweet, practically glowing with warmth, save for the fact that you notice his hair is slightly damp and his skin dewy as if he’s just bathed. He’s wearing his Demon Slayer uniform but with his regular green and black checked haori over top and his sword is at his side as though he plans to travel. He smells good, and you hope you smell at least decent to him, too.

You shake your head no.

“Are you planning on going somewhere? Did you get a new mission?” you ask.

“No, I wanted to know…” he pauses for a moment, then scratches the back of his neck, looking up at the ceiling, “if you wanted perhaps to go out to town with me. I was hoping to congratulate you for your first mission.”

You blink twice. He really is always one step ahead of you, you realize.

Tanjiro lets his hand fall to the side and nods at you, now with a steadier expression. “You did a really great job.”

To this, you can’t help but let out a soft chuckle.

“You mean by staying alive while you cleaned up?” you ask. Tanjiro decides to indulge in your humor, insisting, “It wasn’t all me.” he insists.

Perhaps that much is true. Tanjiro is a good friend and mentor so it’s not odd that he would extend this kindness first. It’s also an opportunity it would be best to seize, treating him to udon or dango, and offering him some gratitude as well.

Your mind may shift from time to time to the time he used his own mouth to suck turbulent air from your unnatural breathing technique out of your own lungs, but he is simply a friend.

And friends can hang out.

—

“It’s a beautiful fit,” the shop owner says as you slip on a peach pink jacket with colorful embroidered petals and blossoms, the last of the four you’ve tried on to Tanjiro’s surprising patience, and glance at yourself in the mirror.

Something about this entire scene feels wrong but also right to you. For one, you’re not the one who suggested this particular shop - rather it was Tanjiro who insisted you consider window shopping with him, under the guise of finding something for Nezuko, but soon you’d realized that he hadn’t exactly picked anything out, content to watch you leaf through hung designs and listen to the shopkeeper’s promise of superior quality compared to the other stores in the district. You consider that whatever would look good on you would look good on Nezuko and with each trying on of a jacket, you offer pros and cons.

This one is a bit airy and light, very comfortable for summer time.

I think this one might clash with her hair color.

The texture’s too thick here, I’m not sure I like this one as much but it’s very high quality, I can tell.

This last one however is simply perfect in feel and design, and you feel somewhat bad when you turn to Tanjiro and sheepishly say,

“This one is super pretty. I know we’re shopping for Nezuko but I think I might buy this one for myself.” Tanjiro smiles as he rises from the chair in the corner. He’s sat politely for the past few minutes saying very little except nodding appreciatively.

“It looks beautiful on you,” he states as casually as if he were describing the weather, then turns to the older lady running the shop, the same lady who had spent a few minutes glancing between him and you as well, and you’d pretended not to notice.

“How much?” Tanjiro asks.

Surprised, you wonder if he hadn’t heard you.

The seamstress names her price and Tanjiro is quick to give money, before you finally hold in your need to be polite and nudge him.

“What are you doing?” you whisper. He’s unfazed as he hands money over, then smiles at you.

“Buying you a gift.”

“You don’t have to…” you start, but trail off as the woman receiving the money shoots you a dirty look that has you fall silent.

“You’re right, I don’t have to. But I would like to,” he adds.

You leave the shop promptly with a parcel in your hand and the seamstress’ eyes on your back.

—

Perhaps you do look like a couple, even if that’s the furthest thing from the truth. Tanjiro won’t let you treat him to any of the food, insisting you save your money instead through bites of skewered meat and noodles, and you finally find out which bakery supplies the Castella he brings by for you and your friends, as well as the girls at the Butterfly Mansion.

It’s better than anything you’ve tasted in your time, even if you practically choke on a roll when the baker tells you Tanjiro is lucky to be in the company of a pretty girl.

In your own time, you’ve been called pretty before, but this description today strikes at the very pit of your stomach, filling it with butterflies. Does Tanjiro know that you’re pretty? Does he agree? You ponder this for a few moments, then you’re immediately embarrassed to be thinking something so childish.

Whether you’re pretty or not is moot. To him, you’re a younger sister to whom he buys gifts and food. Perhaps more pathetic since you are not related, since you have no one else, since you’re trapped here.

Tanjiro doesn’t answer the question you’ve posed in your head out loud, but he grins.

“I’m quite lucky indeed.”

—

As you walk side by side at the close of the evening, Tanjiro enthuses you in your progress, and you talk about all and nothing. There are red bean paste buns in your hand that you chew on idly between thoughts.

You’re not sure how the day went by so quickly, not while you were parallel processing, doing mental math to figure out what he thinks of you - as friend, as someone to dote on like a child, as someone who he could potentially…

No, that cannot possibly be it.

“Did you have fun today?” he asks. His cheeks are a warm pink and he’s looking straight ahead rather than at you, but his shoulders are relaxed and he bites and chews as he waits for your answer.

“Of course, I did,” you tell him. “This is…,” you pause, then continue, “probably the first time I’ve been anywhere nice, just for fun, since I got to this place.” Admitting it feels strange, but it’s true. Your life has now been limited to the mansion and towns you don’t know. Duty-driven, despair-driven, danger-driven.

Tanjiro looks at you for a moment, and for just a moment his look is wistful.

“Are you happy here?” he asks. Your mouth opens then closes, and then he quickly catches himself in a nervous laugh.

“Probably a stupid question, given none of your family is here, and you don’t have any of your technology and it’s not even your country and-”

You squeeze his hand for a moment.

“I’m happy now,” you offer him, then let go quickly. “Thank you for spending time with me.”

His mouth opens for a moment, and you wonder if you overstepped but he beams, and you wonder what you’d do without this small friendship.

“We should go back,” you quickly fill in before he can say something else and you can regret touching him. You’re the first to take a few steps forward, practically skipping, snacks and new clothing in hand, and you hear him behind you catching up.

“Yeah, let’s get you home safe.”

#tanjiro x reader #tanjiro kamado x reader #demon slayer x reader #demon slayer fluff #daydreams: kny #mimi's notes #kny fluff #tanjimimi

433 notes · View notes

arminsumi · 1 year ago

Note

Hi! I hope ur having a good time. Sorry, for the phrasing, English is not my first language hehe (｡>\\<) btw i really like ur writing! u keep them in character and also ur amazing at writing fluff ♡(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ can I please ask for a gojo fluff where he realizes reader always wanted to have a small boyfriend to like call him baby boy to sit on her lap and spoil him and stuff and then gojo goes apeshit like trying to sit on her with his long ass limbs trying to be a babyboy idk hehehe anyways tysm

"I'm your baby boy, right?"

GOJO さとる + fem!reader

Satoru thinks he's smaller than he actually is, and tries curl up on you like a cat.

Note : hey hey! srry i took so long to write this omggg it got lost in my drafts. but!! it's such a sweet idea thank u for sending it in!! big beefy satoru trying to make himself ur small boy is a thought that gave me life 💗😖 and thank u so much for ur kind words it means a lot!!

Satoru tries to curl up on you as if he's a little cat.

But he's not.

Ah, but he really thinks he is sometimes.

And he wants to be a little cat to you, not a big burly man or a strong intimidating menace but just a small, soft, delicate thing to be held and touched and pampered with love and care.

It makes you laugh, as you listen to him grunting and struggling to position himself on your lap and get those long limbs in order — it's one of the funniest sights; a big boy trying to box himself up like he's not 6'3 with broad-shoulders 'n thick arms 'n long spider-like legs.

"Do you think you're a cat or something?"

"Yes." he grins dumbly, balancing precariously on you as you sit. Then he sees your smile and slips off. "—oopsfuck!" he falls, gets up, acts it off, then tries again.

In bed, he wiggles down the sheets so his head is level with your chest. He wraps his arms around your middle, arches his back, and encases you between his legs. He clings to your body on his side like that, and snuggles his cheek on your chest as if it's his rightful pillow, the place where he belongs.

"Play with my hair, please?" he mumbles with pouty lips.

He smiles to himself when you fulfil his request.

Feeling both your warmth and your fingers stroking lovingly through his hair makes him drowsy. And when he's drowsy, he mumbles mental notes like "we need to buy orange juice tomorrow..." as he falls asleep.

His grip slackens as he falls asleep. In the middle of the night, he'll wake up and look at you with that puffy pouty sleepy face of his and stare for a moment, appreciating you, before tightening his embrace on your body and returning to slumber.

When he wakes up the next morning with you, he makes the same request; "Play with my hair." but with a raspy voice.

While you do so, he groaningly complains about having had nightmares all night.

"I keep dreamin' about saving the world 'n failing... but it's fine. I wake up and you're right here. So nothin' to worry about. Doesn't matter if I fail if I still have you."

He's so happy to be getting spoiled and pampered by you while curling his body up as small as possible. Happy that he has someone he doesn't have to be big and strong around. Someone who he can be a baby boy around.

Sometimes he's resting on your chest in the mornings in silence, when suddenly he rears his head up and asks "I'm your baby boy, right? Say it, please."

"Mhm. You're my baby boy, Satoru. Don't worry."

"Mm yay." he smiles to himself and resumes resting on you, his white hair tickling under your chin. "Say it again, please. Just keep saying it."

So you do, you say it repeatedly and it sounds like a soft lullaby to him. He falls back asleep with his ear pressed to your heartbeat, and feels a safe warmness in his chest.

"Oh." he startles out of his shallow sleep, "We need to buy orange juice, don't we?"

I do not permit the copying/reposting/translation/plagiarism of my works. Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

This is fictional work.

#fluff #gojo fluff #gojo satoru #gojo #gojo x reader #x reader #jjk fluff #gojo x reader fluff #gojo satoru fluff #jjk gojo #jjk x reader #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu kaisen #gojo saturo #gojo x you #satoru #satoru x reader #satoru fluff #gojo satoru x reader

2K notes · View notes

viridescent-din · 2 years ago

Text

benevolence

you always imagined it your first kiss would be... softer, than it ends up being. but it’s joel. you probably should have known.

smut, 18+. age gap. joel is a grumpy old man who hates himself and reader is down bad.

The first time Joel kisses you, it isn’t romantic.

It’s angry - he’s angry. The clicker that just had its hands on you lies motionless a few feet away, mouth frozen in the open position it was in when Joel shot it. Joel is checking you over relentlessly for bites. He’s running his hands over your waist, flashing his light on your neck... fuck, he’s even tugging up the cuffs of your jeans to check your ankles.

“You don’t do that,” he pants, fuming once he knows you’re okay. You’re adrenalized, shaken up and not working off your best judgment. You meet Joel’s eyes.

“Don’t do what? Be on the wrong side of the room? Have the batteries run out of my flashlight? This wasn’t my fault, Joel.” Joel shakes his head, pissed, and he grips the nape of your neck. You didn’t even realize his hand is still there, sturdy and calloused. You bite your cheek. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Shut up,” Joel growls, and it makes you even more upset.

“I didn’t - stop blaming me. Stop making me feel like a dumbass, because I’m trying and I’m tired but I’m still better than half the people in the Q -”

Joel cuts you off before you can keep egging either of you on, his lips connecting with yours in a harsh and almost painful way. Your teeth clash, and Joel kisses you with so much force you almost fall, the only thing saving you being his strong arm wrapping around your back. You open your mouth, probably from shock, and Joel’s tongue does a quick sweep around the cavern when you do. Your hands fly up to Joel’s chest instinctively for balance, and you can feel his racing heartbeat under your palm. It makes you falter. You didn’t realize he was so worried.

You’re just starting to ease into it Joel stops.

His teeth catch your bottom lip as he pulls away, and you both taste blood. Joel steps away, the both of you just staring at each other, panting.

“Do you get it?” He asks, voice gruff. “Don’t fucking do that.”

You blink, years of pining and want pouring over you. You swallow, tasting just a bit of what you think is Joel.

“Yeah,” you tell him. “I get it.”

The second time isn’t any more passionate. It’s done to prove a point, just like the first.

You’re leaning against the counter as you drink at the bar, still trying to wrap your head around this actual town Tommy is living in. It feels so real - like the flashes of memory you have of the world before the outbreak. You’re shivering a bit, your hair still wet from the shower you took. The shower with warm water. Joel is back at the house Tommy and Maria gave you to stay in. He insisted you shower first - he wanted to make sure that if there was hot water to use up, it was you who got it. He sent you off to the bar with the promise of meeting you there soon.

You’re drinking a whiskey neat, not because you like the drink, but because it feels warm in your chest and you know Joel will finish it. You’re sipping on it as you talk to a few men that are locals. They’re a bit older than you, but definitely younger than Joel. They seem nice, better than the lecherous creeps you keep managing to find on your journey (infected or not). One of them works in the stables, taking care of the horses. You smile as you listen to him talk about them. You think you can remember a few girls in elementary school who had farms and horses before everything broke down.

A hand slides around your waist as you’re talking, and you have to crane your neck to see Joel appearing next to you. He’s much taller without a backpack: less weighed down. His shoulders are relaxed and broad. You forget how to breathe for a moment, utterly taken by him.

“Hi,” you say softly. Joel doesn’t acknowledge it. You can feel the anger permeating off him, it’s more present than the hand he has that’s now gripping your side. You blink. “Joel.”

Joel looks down at you, his eyes flickering back and forth between you and the men. He brings his free hand up to your face, cupping your jaw. This time you know, you aren’t surprised when his lips meet yours.

You’re pissed at Joel - you’re furious that he’s doing this again, touching you without any indication for months that it’s something he wants. You know Joel feels for you, but when he only confirms it so damn scarcely, it’s easy for you to doubt. You try to steel yourself, only let him in so deep, but Joel is already with you, whether he’s touching you or not. The two of you are permanently connected, just like anyone else who’s ever survived together. Despite your best efforts, you melt into him, holding onto the lapels of the jacket Joel told you he got from trading with Bill.

By the time you pull away, your potential friends are already muttering among themselves, making up excuses to leave. They exit, giving you and Joel the entirety of the counter. You shake your head, turning so you aren’t facing Joel. You give it a few minutes, then walk out in the direction of the house. You’ve barely made it out the door of the bar when Joel pulls you into the little alley next to it.

“Joel, stop. It’s snowing. I didn’t bring a coat.” Joel pulls his off, wrapping it around you. You scoff, but don’t turn it down. “Joel -”

“Didn’t want them getting the wrong idea.” He interrupts you. You stare at Joel, incredulous.

“And what wrong idea is that, Joel?” You ask, then don’t let him answer. “They were nice. Just welcoming one of the new strangers to town.”

“They weren’t just being nice.”

“Yes, Joel, they were. Have you already forgotten about that ambush that happened when we got here? This place isn’t about to let in any assholes. Not the type you’re accusing those guys of being, at least.” Joel sets his jaw, taking a step towards you. You back up as he approaches until you hit the wall of the bar. You let out a breathe, one you can see. It’s fucking cold. You don’t know how Joel isn’t shivering, his freshly showered wet hair glistening in the light of the few street lamps.

“They needed to know,” Joel says. He’s so close to you. You smell the shampoo and soap that Maria has given him, but underneath that, he’s still Joel. Musky and experienced. Territorial. You can’t help being mad at him, but you’re terrible at committing to it.

“They need to know what?” Joel doesn’t answer. He places his hands on either side of you, caging you in. He won’t look at you. You raise your arms, placing your hands on Joel’s. You slip your thumbs under the long sleeves on his shirt, rubbing at Joel’s lifeline. His lips part as he exhales. “Joel, nobody can know about this when you won’t even say anything about it to me.”

You expect Joel to fight, maybe chastise you, but he doesn’t. He slumps against you, head buried in your chest and arms wrapping around your torso in a crushing bear hug. You blink, caught off guard, but you recover quickly, throwing one hand around Joel’s shoulders and bringing the other to massage the nape of his neck. You can feel the fight leaving Joel, just for a moment. You wonder what’s softening him: the shower, the almost normal town, finding Tommy.

You.

Joel doesn’t do this. You don’t know anything about his life before the outbreak, but you know he hasn’t loved many people. He’s approaching this in all the wrong ways, but he doesn’t know any better. He has to re learn, and you have to learn for the first time.

All Joel needs right now is a little reassurance.

“Joel. Joel. Baby,” you whisper in his ear, pressing your lips to his temple. “They didn’t want anything from me. And it wouldn’t matter if they did. They’re nothing.” Joel’s fingers dig into your ribs, and you can tell you’re going to bruise. You don’t care. “They’re nothing. I don’t care about them. I don’t care about anyone here.”

You close your eyes, burying your nose in the side of Joel’s neck and inhaling. You let Joel surround you, take up all your senses. You posture up, taking Joel with you. You take his face in your hands, your lips brushing over his forehead, cheeks, nose. You kiss the patches in his beard where the hair doesn’t grow, and his eyelids when his eyes drift shut. You’re overcome with affection, the feelings you push down every time you see Joel forcing themselves up. You almost want to cry. “Joel, you’re so handsome.” Joel tenses, praise unfamiliar to him, but you watch as he forces himself not to reject it. His fingers find the loops of your jeans, pulling you flush against him so there isn’t any part of you that isn’t touching. You let him. You ask for it.

“They’re not you,” you promise him. “Nobody here will ever be you.”

The night at the bar doesn’t magically fix everything. But it does make it harder for you and Joel to let go of each other - metaphorically and literally - so you start to sleep with him. Every night, Joel tucks you under his arm, letting you use his steady heartbeat to fall asleep to. Every morning, you wake up with the positions reversed, cradling Joel’s head to your chest.

The first time Joel has a nightmare, you think someone (something) has broken in.

You wake up to Joel thrashing, drenching the covers in a cold sweat. You grab his shoulders and shake, putting any worries about hurting Joel aside.

“Joel,” you say, your voice shaking but firm. “Wake up. Wake up,” Joel sits up, his eyes flying open. He blinks, gathering his bearings and realizing he’s safe. You pant, reaching out to put a hand on his arm. Joel flinches, so you draw it away. “Sorry,” you apologize. Joel turns, looking at you like he didn’t realize you were there. He says your name, sounding broken.

“You’re -” he says, then pauses, trying to figure what he’s trying to say. “You’re here.” You stare at him.

“Yeah, Joel.” You say. “I’m here. I’m with you.” Joel reaches for you, tugging you close and then pressing you against the sheets. He grunts, like he’s trying to make sense of everything.

“Can I - Will you let me -” Joel searches for the words, but can’t come up with them. You just nod.

“Yes,” you tell him. “You can do whatever you need. I trust you.” Joel freezes above you, almost glaring. His hands begin to toy with the hem of your shirt, and your heart begins to pound against your rib cage.

Joel slowly pulls your shirt up, dragging his mouth over every inch of skin he reveals. His chapped lips explore every curve and softness of your belly, and when you raise your arms so he can rid you of the article of clothing completely, he does the same to your breasts. It doesn’t even feel sexual, Joel isn’t licking or biting. He’s just feeling, touching. You feel dizzy, arousal pooling between your legs. You grip the sheets between your fingers.

“I’m only good for you in here,” Joel says against your skin. It sends vibrations throughout your body, you feel his voice everywhere. You shake, but you’re not cold. He sits back on his knees to look at you, so you prop yourself up on your elbows. You blink.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you admit. Joel shakes his head.

“I’m good for you here,” he gestures to the room. “And here,” he jabs a finger to his chest, over his heart, then mirrors the action on you. It kind of hurts, but you don’t show it. “But out there? I’m not a good man,” you open your mouth to protest, but Joel shuts you down with just one look. You stay silent. “I’ve done... I’ve done some bad things. Bad enough I don’t think Tommy really wanted to see me again.” Joel shakes his head. “And I - I would do those things for you. I even want to sometimes.” Your eyes widen, and Joel sees it. He sours. “Bein’ good for you means that I’m bad for everyone else. Do you get what I’m tellin’ you?” Joel’s drawl comes out as he gets more emotional. “You need to know that. And if we’re gonna keep doing this, you need to accept it too. It might not be fair. I don’t know if it is. But this is the way things are. You understand me?”

You stare at Joel, watching him bare himself to you in a way you don’t think he’s done for anyone else in a long, long, time. You suck in a shaky breath, and swallow.

“I understand you.” You pull Joel over you, looking up at him. “I still trust you.” You tell him.

Joel lets his head drop, not letting you see him. He works his way down your chest, from your collarbone to navel until he reaches the button of your jeans. Glancing at you to tell him to stop, he strips you of the pants when you don’t. You watch as he looks at you, staring at your most intimate area, and then presses his face to the inside of your thigh. He strokes your calf.

“You don’t what you’re gettin’ yourself into.” He murmurs, almost absentmindedly.

“Yes I do,” you protest. “I’ve been with you for years, Joel. I know you as much as you’ve let me. Let me know more. Let me decide for myself.”Joel holds your gaze. You pant, throbbing. “Let me give something to you. If you don’t think I know you, or us, that’s fine. It makes me sad, but it’s fine.” Joel presses an open mouthed kiss to the meat of your thigh, and you whimper. “I know myself, though, Joel. I know what I want. It’s you. I promise. I’m trusting you, Joel. Can’t you just trust me too?”

Joel looks at you in awe, and then gives you an affectionate frown. He doesn’t say ‘okay’ or anything like that. Instead, he just ducks his head, thrusting his tongue into your sex like a starved man, and holds you down as you keen and shake.

Joel used to refuse to give you any sort of heightened affection, any type of intimacy. He’s getting better at that. Joel strokes your cheek when you wake up in the morning, offers you bland but hearty oatmeal when he notices you haven’t eaten. He drops to his knees the second he sees that your shoe’s come untied.

He doesn’t like it when you try to do the same. Joel’s self-hatred is so deep seated he thinks the very act of you loving him is equivalent to any act of service. When you finally convince him to let do something for him - helping him undress, washing his hair, taking his cock down your throat - you have to promise him you want it too. Only once it’s happening will Joel let himself take. He’ll stay in the shower for hours, fuck your mouth until you can’t speak.

Joel is greedy when he lets himself be. That’s why it hurts so much that he won’t have sex with you.

“It’ll change things, baby.” He tells you, trying to ease the blow. You just don’t get it.

“We’ve already changed them.” You respond, looking away. “I don’t... I don’t want to pressure you, Joel. Just tell me if that’s not what you want.”

“Hey,” Joel grips your jaw, forcing your eyes to meet his. “That’s not it. Don’t you think that.” You swallow, but nod, accepting Joel’s words. He releases you, then begins petting your side. It’s spring now. Joel looks good under the morning light from the window. “You’re sweet. You couldn’t pressure me into anything.”

He’s right. Joel is his own man. His days of being easily influenced are long gone.

You learn to live with it, this tiny piece of rejection. You accept that there’s something about sex that’s too much for Joel. It’s strange, because it almost hurts more than it did before you and Joel got closer. Like you’re close enough to grab what you want, but can’t quite. It’s okay, though. You want him enough to accept whatever he’ll give you, and parts of Joel is better than none of him.

You wonder if the two of you have settled. You’ve been in Jackson for six months - but it feels like years. For the first time since you can remember, you’re living instead of surviving. It’s exhilarating. You and Joel are both showing signs of domesticity: the callouses on your hands have almost entirely disappeared, and Joel’s face has gotten a bit rounder. A couple extra pounds looks good on Joel. You like knowing he isn’t running himself to the bone.

With all this extra time, Joel has started taking you out of the town so you can perfect your shooting. He sets up targets, adjusts your grip, and watches you for what seems like hours. You’re getting better, but the process is painstaking. Everyone back in the QZ knew you were much more adept with a knife.

“Knife ain’t good for infected. You have to get too close.” Joel tells you, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. His hand snakes around your hip, pulling your knife from your front pocket. He tosses it to the side. “Now you don’t have a knife. Just the gun.” Joel points over your shoulder and at the target. “Shoot.”

You hit the target five times in the row.

You squeal in excitement, jumping up and down and dropping the gun. You turn around and practically jump into Joel’s arms. You’re grinning, and Joel is almost smiling, which for him is a huge victory. He cups your face, thumb stroking your cheekbone before he kisses you.

You’re still smiling into Joel’s mouth, and he’s swallowing your moans as one of his hands drops from your face to your chest. He finds the hardened bud of your nipple even over the material of your shirt - you never wear bras anymore, you haven’t felt the need since coming to Jackson - and he pinches. You whimper, pleasure shooting through your veins. Joel is hard, you can see the tent in your pants, feel it against your belly. When he breaks the kisses, Joel keeps himself pressed to you.

“I need this too, baby. I need it too.” You can hear the fight in Joel’s voice, the inner turmoil. You try to say okay, but can’t find the words.

Joel picks you up, throws you onto your shared bed. He’s being reckless - he literally tossed the gun on the couch in the living room. It’s not loaded, but still.

Joel stands back, breathing slightly erratic, and stares at you. He eyes you hungrily, like a starving man.

He’s about to indulge.

Joel pulls his shirt over his head, and you do the same, shimmying out of your jeans. You freeze when when Joel takes off the last item of his clothes, staring. You swallow.

Joel is beautiful.

You push yourself up, crawling to the edge of the bed. You place your hands on Joel’s sides, looking up to meet his eyes. He gives you an affectionate frown, stroking your cheek. He’s so broad. You press your lips to Joel’s collarbone, then cover him in your kisses. You kiss his neck, shoulders, chest, belly. Joel groans, his hand tangling in your hair. His cock is hard against his stomach, and you give the head a quick lick, cupping his balls. Joel’s eyes fly open, and before you even know what’s happening, he’s pressed you flat against the sheets, pinning your arms above your head.

“Don’t,” Joel warns you. “It’s been too long. And you’re -” Joel cuts himself, dragging his tongue over your throat to catch a bead of sweat. He presses his length against your hip, and you gasp. “You touch me like that again and I’ll cum.”

“Joel,” you whisper, but he just shakes his head. He holds his palm out in front of your face.

“Spit,” he commands. “You’re gonna want to make it easier on yourself, darlin.’” You take a breath, your chest brushing Joel’s. You squeeze your legs together, searching for any type of friction. Your face burns. “C’mon,” Joel says, softer this time. “I’ve seen you sweatin’ with blood caked in your hair. I’ve seen at your worst. Right now I’m seein’ you at your best.” A small smile manages to crinkle the edges of Joel’s eyes. “Nothing to be embarrassed about here.”

You blink up at Joel, and realize you feel exactly the way you always do around him: safe. Free, supported. You don’t have to worry about anything, not looking pretty or being good enough. It’s Joel.

You’re with Joel.

You spit in his hand, then watch as he strokes his cock with it. He spreads the beads of pre cum on his head down the shaft too, and then runs himself through your folds. You keen instantly, the feeling unlike anything (anything) you’ve ever felt. When Joel’s head brushes your clit, you feel like you’re dying. He lines himself up, teasing your entrance, and when Joel slides in, he keeps a careful watch of your face for any signs of pain. He takes care of you.

Joel stays still to let you adjust, and you feel him everywhere. Your body, your brain, your heart. Joel is all encompassing. He’s inescapable.

When you give Joel a small nod, he starts to move. He thrusts in an out, setting a steady pace. You grip the muscle of his arms, arching your back to get him deeper.

“That’s it,” Joel tells you. “Good job,” you clench around him at the praise, and you think you hear Joel let out a chuckle. He keeps working you open, each thrust a bit deeper until he’s buried to the hilt. You and Joel stop, both feeling. He lets out a breath, drops his face in your shoulder. Joel pulls out, then enters you again, burying himself once more. “I missed you,” he says into your skin.

For a moment, you don’t know what Joel’s talking about. You’ve been traveling with him for years, and since living in Jackson, you’ve hardly left his side.

Then you realize this is Joel’s way of telling you you’re familiar, and part of him.

You wrap one of your arms around Joel’s shoulders, link your ankles behind his hips. You pull Joel impossibly close, so close he has to abandon his idea of rubbing his thumb over your clit. He does the same to your nipple instead, pinching and pulling and driving you closer and closer to the edge. You feel sensation building in your stomach, the edges of your vision blurring.

“Joel,” you gasp. “Joel, I think.. I think I’m close.” Joel shushes you, brushing baby hairs off your forehead.

“It’s alright baby, let it go. Let me make you feel good.” He tells you. All it takes is a few more sweet nothings before your shuddering against him, riding out your high. Joel’s eyes roll to the back of his head as you clench him impossibly tight. He curses. Without a word, Joel pulls out before he can climax inside you, spurting on both of your stomachs. He collapses next you, his hand finding yours and squeezing it.

“I’m sorry it took so long,” Joel murmurs, dragging his lips across your knuckles. You can feel his cum begin to dry on your stomach. You hum.

“Worth it,” you manage to whisper back. “You’re worth it, Joel.”

Joel turns his head, meeting your eyes, taking in all of your sincerity. For know, he doesn’t know what to do with it. But he’ll learn.

He’ll re learn. All of this - these ideas of love and mutual partnership - he’ll make it familiar again. All so he can stay close.

#joel miller #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us imagine

5K notes · View notes

kingkat12 · 4 months ago

Text

all yours (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, phone sex, dark!Roman is back oops, descriptions of sex, foul language, yandere!reader sort of??

summary: why did Letha call?-- actually, the better question is, will Roman let you find out why?

word count: 8,551

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10

a/n: hi lovelies!!! to clarify, there are a few mentions of the beautiful actress Romy Schneider, and I will link her HERE for you to get who i'm talking about!! i had a dream where i called Roman Romy and i thought huh where did i get that from, and then i realized it was because i watched a movie with miss Schneider in it, so there you go!! THANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORT!!! enjoy!<33

I stared at the missed call from Letha, the glow of the screen illuminating my face as I hid beneath my duvet. Frozen in a fetal position, I listened to the sound of my heartbeat as my thumb inched toward her name.

It was late-- too late to be awake, and too early to make a decision. The silence of my bedroom wrapped around me as my brows drew together in conflict, my head buzzing incessantly. It felt wrong to contemplate calling Letha back, especially as the cinnamon flavour of Roman's cigarettes lingered on my tongue. If I focused, I could still feel the push of his lips against my neck, and the pressure of his strong arms against my waist. It all made me shiver-- I wasn't sure what it would mean for my relationship with Roman if I called Letha back. How could I guarantee it wouldn't all blow up in my face?

I groaned, hopefully not loud enough to wake my parents, before I scrolled away from Letha's name. I needed a reminder of why I had thrown my friendship with her away, why I had messed it all up in the first place-- I had to drown out the memory of Letha's laugh somehow.

So, I pressed my phone up against my ear, placing a hand over my heart to feel it thud against my palm while I waited. The beating of my blood quickened when I realized my call was getting answered despite the lateness of the hour;

"Hey, you,"

Oh, I nearly melted at the sound of his voice. "Rome," I echoed, giving into a soft smile.

I heard the shifting of bedsheets in the background; "Miss me already?"

"Yeah..."

"I left, like, two hours ago,"

"So? I can hear you smiling over there,"

Roman's warm chuckle sounded through the other end of the phone, and I imagined him shaking his head. "Say it again,"

It was impossible not to stir-- I couldn't lay still when his voice was so deep and tired. "I miss you," I peeked my head up from the duvet, as it was getting damn warm beneath my covers. "I'm sorry for calling so late, I just... needed to clear my head."

He hummed, stretching; "It's alright, I wasn't sleeping,"

"What were you doing then?"

There was a rather pregnant pause. "... None of your business,"

"Oh?" I propped myself up on my elbows, intrigued. "Roman, are you?--"

"What did you need to clear your head about?"

I realized I wasn't getting anywhere with this, and that I quickly needed to stop thinking about my boyfriend spread out on his bed, wearing nothing but his boxers, slowly palming himself through the fabric-- no, I needed to get my mind out of the gutter. "We didn't get a lot of time to discuss the fact that Letha called,"

"Okay... Do you plan on calling her back?"

My heart only beat harder against my palm, and I had to swallow hard as I laid back down on the bed; "Would you be mad if I did?" The silence that ensued made my hands clammy-- I ended up wiping them on my duvet as I waited for his answer, holding my breath.

"Maybe?" Roman sighed, and I heard him tossing around in his bed. "I don't know what this feeling is, but... I just know it makes my chest burn. Doesn't feel good."

Something about his cluelessness made me want to grab his pretty face and pepper it with kisses. "Could be anxiety?"

"Nah, I don't have that shit,"

"Oh, Roman, everyone gets a little anxious sometimes!--"

"Stop rolling your eyes, I can hear it,"

Shocked, my heart nearly stopped-- he was right. I had rolled my eyes, and it freaked me out that he knew . "Fine... I won't call her back, then,"

"Alright,"

"You don't have to worry,"

"Alright,"

"Uh, do you have anything else to say other than alright?--"

"No,"

"... Alright," My brows drew together in confusion, wondering why Roman was retreating into his shell of emotional neglect. It was clear to me that the subject of Letha made him deeply uneasy, that he was probably worried she'd need me to break up with him for us to be friends again, but I tried to find comfort in the fact that he was scared to lose me... despite not being able to say that out loud.

Still, Roman always managed to surprise me-- I heard him sigh once more at the other end of the phone, but this time, in a sulky manner. "Could you say it again?"

"Say what?"

"What you said in the car," I could hear the embarrassment in his voice, knowing he didn't usually make requests like these; "That you're mine."

My eyes widened just a smidge, staring up at my ceiling with a bewildered look on my face. The tone of his voice made my stomach flip, wondering why my brain went haywire for the needy sound of his request. I did my best not to squeal and kick my feet like a little girl-- "All yours, Rome,"

A hum; "All mine?"

"All yours," My smile spread wider than ever before, joy blossoming in my chest. "Only yours."

He let out a shaky breath-- "Shit... don't say it like that,"

"Like what?"

"Like that," Roman shifted around in his bed, and I heard him kicking away his duvet. "I was already horny before you called, don't make it worse."

I was afraid my eyes would pop out of my skull as my air caught in my throat. So he had been doing what I thought he'd been doing? "You were the one who asked me to say it," I tried, feeling the adrenaline pumping through my body. This was definitely not going to help me sleep. "Why were you even doing that right now? It's so late!"

Roman only laughed-- "That call from Letha fucking cockblocked me in the car, what do you expect?"

"Christ," I mumbled, shaking my head as I pressed my palm against my forehead. Something about this was too damn thrilling. "So you're still... y'know?"

"Yep,"

"And... you're doing it right now?"

Another laugh ensued, deeper this time."Nah, I'm not that creepy. Just waiting for it to go down now... which is why you can't tell me you're mine with that sexy little voice of yours,"

Gosh, how that took my breath away. And even worse, was the maelstrom of ideas churning in my head about ways to milk this situation-- I really hoped my parents were asleep for this one. "Roman?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"I'm all yours,"

As expected, Roman groaned on the other end of the line. "Is that a green light?" he breathed. "Don't fuck with me right now, my brain doesn't work properly when you're involved."

I hadn't blushed like this in ages-- "I'm here if you want to go for it," Never in a million years did I think I would be having phone sex, especially not with Roman Godfrey. If someone had told me a month ago that this would be happening, I would've fainted on the spot.

Roman's laugh was deep, warm; I pressed the phone against my cheek as my hands trembled in excitement. "Go for it," he echoed, a mocking tone about it. "I'm not doing this shit alone!"

"Oh?"

"Not a fat chance in hell, baby. What are you wearing?"

My brows drew together as I realized what he was up to. Nervous, I lifted my duvet to check. My mind was so clouded by the thrill that I had genuinely forgotten what I was wearing. "Uh... A big t-shirt and my underwear?"

A hum. "What colour?"

"The t-shirt?" I wasn't sure why that mattered.

Another laugh from Roman ensued-- this was probably the moment it dawned on him that I hadn't done this before either. "Fuck it, we'll skip this part," he murmured. "The panties, babe. Take them off."

I let out a soft, nervous laugh, my trembling hands scurrying to take them off. As I laid my head back on my pillow, discarding my underwear somewhere along the bed, I pressed my phone back up to my ear just at the right moment-- I heard Roman's short, ragged breath, presumably resuming his activities. "Ugh, I miss having my mouth on you," he breathed, shifting around. "I've told you how good you taste, right?"

"Yeah, you have," His words made me want to squeal and throw my phone across the room, my brain going haywire. "I don't get it, but I'm not complaining. I like having you between my legs."

"Good. I'm planning to be there quite a lot,"

I squeezed my thighs together-- this was making me aroused a lot quicker than I was willing to admit. Still, I decided to be bold; "Too bad we were interrupted today... Was looking forward to having my mouth on you as well,"

"Right... As if you'd do that in my car on that open street,"

"There was no one there!" I rolled my eyes at the sound of Roman's laugh. "What I'm trying to say is that I'd like to try one day."

"Yeah?" His voice was deeper now, raw-- "You'd want me to teach you how?"

I could only imagine the sight of him now; the way he closed his eyes, his hand wrapped around his hard cock as he worked his fingers around his shaft. I nearly lost my breath just thinking about it, and suddenly my mind was throwing me images of how it would be to wrap my mouth around it. How Roman would hold my hair, slowly buck up into my mouth with a soft grunt, telling me how good I was doing, how nice it felt-- I had a hard time snapping out of it. "Would love for you to teach me everything,"

"Fuck, baby," I could hear the shaky motions of his breath, the way it was on the brink of hitching. "Gonna take my time, teach you all I know... Don't you worry."

"You will?"

"You bet," Roman's voice was now barely a whisper against the phone, his words catching in his chest. "Gonna teach you how to take my cock, I know you'll do so well... So, so well, just like everything else you do."

That was it-- I reached between my legs, closing my eyes as I placed my fingers against my clit. It was impossible to stay away now. "You'll take care of me, won't you? Go slow?"

"Of course I will-- hah,"

My breath grew unsteady; "Shit, Rome, you've got me wet in record time," I dipped my fingers a little further down, feeling my arousal pooling between my legs.

"Yeah? Well, I'm damn hard for you," he breathed, a soft, quiet moan following. "Wanna sink into you, feel your tight little pussy around me..."

Had I not been so out of it, I would've called him out for being vulgar. Roman hadn't been this dirty before. My cheeks were downright burning.

"Wanna fuck you so good, you'll never leave. You'll just keep coming back, letting me make you cum over and over..."

I was squirming at this point-- oh, what I would give for Roman to be here with me right now. Have him wrap his arm around me, rub my clit for me, whispering all these dirty things into my ear instead of through the phone. "I won't leave, Rome,"

That seemed to be the most compelling thing I could've said. I could almost hear the way he threw his head back against his pillow, a small, wanton moan escaping his lips; "You're all mine, baby... Only mine, aren't you?"

Who would've thought this was the thing that would break Roman Godfrey?

"All yours,"

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

I was rather anxious to see Roman the next day at school-- I didn't know how to deal with all the dirty stuff we talked about on the phone last night. How was I supposed to look him in the eyes, knowing he thought about me like that? I wasn't complaining, but it was incredibly foreign.

We hadn't talked much today, other than the usual good morning text, and I dreaded answering the text he sent me right afterward;

romy schneider: did you sleep well?;)

I was aware that it sounded innocent, but it was impossible not to hear Roman's voice while reading it. All breathy, the signature smirk on display, roping me in with one hand on my waist as he whispered it into my ear... No, I couldn't answer it. Just thinking about it made me blush.

I had made it to second period without seeing any members of the Godfrey family, all until I had to cross the campus to get to my next class. There he was, not too far away from the football field, leaning against a lamp post as he lit his cigarette.

Roman hadn't noticed me yet, and a part of me hoped he wouldn't just yet. I wanted to take my time, watch the way his hair fell over his forehead in gentle motions as he lowered his head towards the lighter, the way his lips wrapped around the cigarette, and the way his beautiful green eyes suddenly darted up and landed right on me--

I nearly squeaked, stopping in my tracks as my breath caught in my throat. Even worse, was the cough that choked itself out of me. I hadn't expected him to notice me staring, not when I was this far away. My hands trembled as I tried to pull myself together, catching a glimpse of Roman's classic smirk as his cigarette lay comfortably between his lips. His eyes darkened, a mischievous shimmer in his gaze as he motioned for me to come over.

I was a mess by the time I reached him, and I tried to rub my clammy hands off my shirt in a way that wouldn't give away my stress. Still, I had an inkling he knew, and I only made it worse for myself when I opened my mouth; "Hey, dude,"

Immediately, it felt like my brain was on fire-- what was that? Stupid, stupid!

Roman seemed taken aback by that as well, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Since when do you call me dude?" He stifled a chuckle, taking a long drag of his cigarette; "I know about Romy Schneider, but this is new."

I only called him Romy Schneider to tease him on days he was exceptionally pretty (which could technically be any day), but dude? Now, it was downright obvious how nervous I was. "I-- Okay, just forget I said that," Kicking away a nearby rock, I lowered my gaze, no longer able to meet his. Roman's face was enough to unravel me, especially after what had been said last night.

Still, he laughed, blowing out a simple ring of smoke. "You're nervous,"

"Am not!"

"Fine. Look at me, then,"

Clenching my jaw, I adhered. My lashes fell heavy over my eyes, my lack of sleep stirring in my chest as I scanned my boyfriend; he was so handsome today, so calm. Roman leaned down, now balancing his cigarette between his fingers as he lowered himself to my level, inches away from my face in a rather intimidating manner-- the tension was so thick, I could probably run my fingers through it. "Is someone a little embarrassed?" he cooed, nudging my shoulder. "Not used to me running my mouth like last night?"

I was relieved to know I didn't have to explain why I was so flustered today-- still, I was being painstakingly put on the spot. "You always run your mouth, Rome, that's nothing new,"

"Not like that, though," Roman's eyes were practically sparkling. "It's alright if you can't take it. Just tell me if you can't."

Can't take it? Who did he think he was? There was a burning challenge in his voice, and mixed with my slight offense, it only lead to the following; "I can take it," I huffed, stepping forward. "You think I can't?"

Roman hummed, the corners of his mouth curving up into an evil grin. "Nah, I think you can. You're a quick learner," He pressed a short kiss against my cheek before straightening up, placing his cigarette back between his lips before leaning against the lamp post again. "You can keep up with me, right?" he mumbled in between a drag. "I'm not scaring you back into Letha's arms?"

Roman said it with a sense of humour, but I couldn't help but catch onto the anxiety hiding behind his words. My brows drew together, watching as he finished his cigarette and threw it to the ground, stomping it. I cleared my throat; "I thought we talked about this last night... You're quite hung up on this Letha thing, aren't you?--"

"No,"

That was too quick to be believable. "Rome?--"

"I'm not," As he turned back to me, Roman's eyes narrowed. I had forgotten how quickly his demeanour could change, with the snap of a finger. Suddenly, he was cold. "Stop projecting on me. You're being dramatic."

Huh? There was no way to contain the grimace that followed. My eyes widened, bewildered that he was snapping at me. That truly came out of nowhere. "What?" I breathed. "I'm not projecting-- Why is this setting you off so bad? We don't even know why she called me or what she truly wants!"

Roman groaned; it was clear that he hadn't meant to instigate a fight. Especially not on school grounds. "Jeez, could you lower your voice? People are staring," His cheeks redded a little as he caught the eyes of a few students passing us by, and he lowered his gaze to the ground, cursing under his breath.

I took a quick glance around, snorting as I turned back to him. "Roman, now that you're my boyfriend, I'm comfortable enough to tell you that you can't snap at me like that anymore. Or talk to me like that, for that matter. Ever! Those days are over, do you hear me?"

Roman's eyes widened to the likes of big, shiny plates of china, staring back at me with a look of both anger and horror. His lips drew a straight line and his jaw clenched before he spat pure venom; "Wow... You really know how to make a big deal out of nothing,"

Those words chilled me to the bone. Shellshocked, I took a step back, holding my breath as my eyes drilled into his. Roman's chest rose and fell in slow, long motions, none of us knowing what to say.

It was at this moment that I heard a cheerleader-cry coming from the football field, catching my attention. My gaze went past Roman and to the team that was practicing, doing some sorts of somersaults in the air as they howled the school's motto. And as we stood here with a clear view of the cheerleader team, practically hiding behind this lamp post, something dawned on me-- why had Roman been standing here in the first place? Why this exact place?

He seemed to be catching onto my trail of thoughts, turning to glance at my transfixion. It gave me a moment to lose face, opening and shutting my mouth as I flailed my arms in exasperation. It only got worse when I realized several girls on the team were waving at him, and I recognized one of them to be one of his earlier flings. Was it the one he screwed back in March? Then, it suddenly dawned on me that Roman wasn't turning back to me, his gaze now resting on the waving cheerleaders and their ridiculously short skirts as he nodded to himself in boyish approval--

My heart sank all the way down to my shoes. "Really, Roman? Really?" I didn't expect my voice to be so frail, so upset.

He sensed my tone, finally laying his eyes on me with an irritated look about him. Roman reached up to move his hair out of his forehead, running his fingers through his hair as he spoke; "What is it now? Just appreciating the view,"

"Appreciating... the view?" I was stunned. Stunned. It felt as though he had stabbed me right in the chest-- who the fuck talks like that to their girlfriend? "I'm glad to see you're invested in the relationship I threw everything away for. Thank you for the reminder, Roman, that you're still just a guy."

With a laugh, Roman was back to smiling-- he was giving me a severe case of whiplash. "What? They're waving at me, it's normal to check out who it is! You know I'm not going anywhere, right?"

No, I had to look away. I couldn't think clearly now that he looked so charming again. Why did he have to be so hot and cold? I had hoped we were past this on the spectrum of Roman-ness. It only got worse when he stepped forward, pressing a warm kiss to my temple. "All yours," he whispered against my skin, placing his hand on my cheek as he towered above me. "Let me walk you to class, hm?"

I had to take a deep breath, my eyes closing to relish in the fact that Roman was kissing me so openly in front of everyone, especially in front of the cheerleaders. Still, I knew I had to gather my thoughts-- the discomfort was lingering in my chest, the creeping unease settling in my mind. I didn't want to let this slide.

I strained a smile to mask my inner turmoil as I put my hand over his, getting up on my tippytoes to press a shy kiss to Roman's lips, feeling him sigh against me. It was short, sweet, and like a temporary band-aid. So when I pulled away, it felt like I was ripping it off with all my might-- I didn't want to. I forced myself to speak, clearing my throat; "I'll walk myself to class, thanks,"

I could see it in his eyes that he was taken aback, not expecting that I would turn down his offer. The flicker of confusion streaked across Roman's face like a flash of lightning. "Uh, okay... What subject do you have now?" he tried, an attempt to drag out our time together.

"... I'm gonna be late," I couldn't help myself-- I pressed a kiss to his cheek, wanting to feel him once more. If there was one thing I could find solace in, it was the fact that I could kiss him as often as I wanted to now that we were together. "Please find another place to smoke. You're breaking my heart."

That seemed to land a blow to Roman, whose brows drew together in a look of hurt. I was reminded of his promises to not hurt me, to do his best to keep me happy, and I left him by the lamp post hoping he remembered his words as clearly as I did.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

And I thought my unease wouldn't get worse. As the days flew by, I was positive, hopeful even. However, staring down at the messages Letha sent me this morning, I couldn't help but feel a sense of doom as I waited for Roman's last class to be over.

Several days had passed since the last time I saw Letha at the gas station, where she had tried to apologize to me. Her words of longing, how she insisted that she missed me and never meant for anyone to get hurt, had etched themselves into my mind, unable to be forgotten.

So, I figured it wouldn't do any more harm to read what she had written. I had waited all day to open her messages, after all. It was gnawing on my mind at this point-- My thumb hovered above the message notification, and I held my breath as my eyes grazed the words on the screen;

letha: hey... i didn't expect you to answer my call a few days ago, much less call me back, but i don't want to give up just yet. i want you to know how sorry i am that you were hurt and that i no longer talk to Jasmine, but that you deserve to know the truth after everything you've been put through this past month. i know you and Roman are a couple now, since he told me at dinner... and frankly because the whole school won't shut up about my baby cousin no longer harassing everyone. who would've thought?

letha: you were once mine, and i was yours. i might never fully forgive you for going behind my back, but you were my best friend in the whole world. i'm so tired of acting like i don't miss you. could we please talk?

letha: you need to know the truth about Roman. please.

I should've known this was a bad idea. I should've known. Pressing my phone up against my chest, feeling my heart beat against it, I squeezed my eyes shut as the school bell rang. Several students rushed out of the doors in the hallway, and I knew I had to get myself together before Roman saw me so out of it.

He and I hadn't been properly alone for a while. Although I had missed him and his lips against mine, I was still seething inside about him staring at the cheerleaders and the awful conversation before and after. I was still battling my jealousy regarding the situation; why had he been so snappy, all of a sudden? And why did he feel the need to appreciate the view? Everything about it made me nauseous.

Still, I didn't deny Roman when he caught up with me at lunch earlier today and asked me to wait for him after school. He had been so incessant, so sweet-- I missed my little devil, no matter how insecure he made me.

I got a few odd looks from the people passing me in the hall as I harshly patted my face in an attempt to snap out of my dark spiral of thoughts. Unfortunately, Roman also caught this just as he stepped out of his classroom; "What are you doing?" he asked, grimacing.

Flustered, I watched him throw his backpack over his shoulder, towering over me as I was pressed further against the wall behind me. Despite his look of disapproval, he still looked ridiculously pretty today-- Romy Schneider. His hair was styled in a classic heartbreaker look, the green in his eyes fixating on me as he tried to find a reason for my odd behaviour.

"Nothing," I lied. "Trying not to fall asleep. I've been waiting for your class to be done for, like, an hour."

Roman hummed, leaning down to place a quick kiss on the top of my head. "Thanks for waiting. It's nice to see your face," He placed his free hand on the small of my back, leading us to walk down the hallway. "So... There's a movie going down at the cinema tonight, and I think we should go and make out in the back. Thoughts?"

I held back a sickeningly girly giggle-- my heart fluttered uncontrollably, and it was as though all my anger melted away. "Which movie is it?"

"Not sure. Some Serbian silent film from the sixties,"

"Oh... Right up our alley, then,"

Roman's laugh nearly made me blush. Accompanied by the small squeeze of my waist, I allowed myself to keen against his body, letting out a small sigh of satisfaction.

This was my favourite part of the day. Being paraded down the hall for everyone to see. At this moment, I forgot about my sorrows with Letha, and could suddenly feel the pride blooming in my chest as I got a few jealous, scorching stares from a group of girls passing us by. It only got better when I realized they were cheerleaders-- my eyes followed them, narrowing as a rather evil grin spread across my lips.

That'll show them. I was ready to cut off the heads of the next ones that waved at my boyfriend.

I leaned against Roman's touch, feeling his hand resting at my side. Something told me he was putting up a bit of a show to make up for the incident by the football field a few days ago, and honestly? I liked this. I could live with this.

Roman caught up with my little feeling of victory, snickering to himself as he playfully rolled his eyes; "Getting high?"

"Yeah," I breathed, feeling my cheeks get rosy as he stroked his thumb along my skin, caressing me as we continued down the hall. This was certainly a high-- one I had longed for. In a flash of confidence, I obnoxiously turned my head to watch the seething cheerleaders, flashing them a vicious smile. Bitches.

Roman tsked, the signature smirk forming across his lips. He noticed my glee-- "What do you say we give them a show?" he murmured, his green gaze darting back to me, his burning eyes full of dark agenda.

I didn't have time to protest or agree as Roman grabbed my shoulders, leading my back up against the nearby lockers. Oh, everyone would definitely hate us more now-- but I could only smile up at him and bask in the feeling of mutual thrill.

"Are they still looking?" Roman whispered, biting his lip to contain his excitement.

A quick glance-- "Yeah,"

His eyes practically sparkled. "Good," Suddenly, he snaked one hand around my waist as the other rested against my cheek, his thumb hooked under my jaw to tilt my head up-- It was easier to kiss like that, seeing as he was practically taller than a fucking tree. Roman leaned forward, brushing his lips across mine, feeling the coolness of my breath against his skin, contrasted by the warmth of my quick breath through my nose over his cheek. Then, the soft pillow of his mouth pushed against mine, the pressure so adoring it made my blood heat all the way into my fingertips.

Roman had tried to do similar things in public multiple times before we became official, but I had shut him down every time. Before, it would've terrified me out of my mind to do something so bold; to make such a statement in front of the school that I was his, to show I was so dizzyingly into him that I would let him do this to me in public. But here I was-- craving it.

It was a show of power, and of submission and belonging; Roman's lips were deadly soft, but there was a hint of something more fiery, sincere. My hands quickly tangled into his hair, pulling him closer as I savoured both the moment and the taste of his cinnamon cigarettes on his tongue.

Roman's plush lips were slightly parted, moving a little as though he was whispering a question-- it was so painfully sweet.

Sweet.

And I imagined the sight to be a gut punch to the cheerleaders watching us from down the hall. I wondered whether they had ever seen this side of Roman before, felt this side of Roman, or whether he hadn't bothered to act as though they interested him. Everything about it made me smile-- there was a sinister satisfaction in it.

I sighed against the kiss, a soft smile splayed across my lips as Roman pulled away, gently nudging my nose with his before he straightened up. "Could you stop giving me grief now?" he teased, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "Everyone knows we're together. No one's gonna try anything after this, I'm not into the cheerleaders, and I'm dying to roll around in your bed after the movie. Maths always fucking drains me."

Giggling, I reached out for his hand. "Why can't we roll around in your bed, for once? I still haven't been to your place,"

Roman shrugged, intertwining our fingers as he lead me away from the locker. "My mom is crazy, and yours isn't. It's easier that way,"

"Oh?" It struck me that he never actually talked about his parents-- "What do you mean?"

Roman remained quiet as he led me out of the main entrance, and we were now walking hand in hand down to where he had parked his car. It was obvious that he didn't want to talk about it, that he maybe wasn't ready for it. As I spotted his unease, I wrapped my arms around his, clinging to it-- and I was sure he'd have smiled down at me, had the following not happened.

Our steps came to a halt before I could realize why he froze. I glanced up at Roman, about to ask him why he stopped so abruptly until it became glaringly obvious.

Because there she was, leaning against the bonnet of his car-- Letha. Her nervous gaze flickered between the both of us, breaking out into an anxious laugh as she shoved her hands into her pockets. "I thought I would see the two of you here,"

Her perfectly styled blonde hair lay in soft waves over her shoulders, her kind, green eyes piercing me with the softest impact as she searched my face for a reaction other than horror.

I hadn't expected to cling to Roman as hard as I did, but now it felt like I was holding onto him for dear life. My blood ran cold, my whole body freezing over at the sight of her. It was damn awkward meeting her knowing I had ignored all her attempts at reconciliation, and I wanted to crawl up Roman's shirt and hide.

Nonetheless, I planted my feet on the ground and watched as Roman balled his fists, inhaling sharply to contain his disdain; it was clear that he didn't want to see her either. "Letha, I told you not to do this," he said, jaw clenched. "She obviously doesn't want to talk to you."

With small steps, I dared to partly hide my body behind Roman. Free shield, no? This whole meeting had me mortified, wanting the ground to open up and swallow me whole-- I didn't expect my heart to beat so hard, and I prayed it wasn't audible.

Letha cleared her throat, visibly uncomfortable. Her kind exterior started to crack, hardening. "I've just been going insane... I wanted to ask if you've gotten my message?" Her green gaze darted towards me as she asked me the question, and the meeting of our eyes made my grip around Roman tighten. "What message?" he echoed, looking down at me with clear disdain. It felt like his stare was drilling holes into my brain, scanning my inner thoughts to dig out the truth-- I was cornered.

Fuck. "I didn't have time to tell you yet..." This was downright horrifying, and I tried to make myself smaller as I avoided Roman's burning gaze. "She says she just wants to talk, Rome."

Roman groaned, instinctively pulling me further behind him. I was fully sheltered now, and my breath caught in my chest as his next words came out sharper, harsher, as he turned to his cousin; "Letha, she doesn't want to talk to you! What is so hard to understand here?"

Oh, so he was speaking for me now?

Letha groaned, rolling her eyes. "How the fuck am I supposed to know if she's the one avoiding me or if you're telling her to? Come on, Ro!" She stepped away from the car, raising her voice; "Can't you at least step away? She doesn't need you to fucking shield her or speak for her!--"

"You don't know crap about what she needs!" Roman barked, fury burning in his voice. "You threw it all away! Face that you screwed up! And for the first time in my life, I'm needed, and I will shield her as I please!" He glanced back at me, motioning for me to start walking with him to the car.

My breath caught in my throat, not daring to tell him no. Not when he was in this mood, definitely not.

With quick steps, Roman pulled me along with him. "Stop bothering her," he hissed in Letha's face, opening the door to the passenger seat for me. "You've done enough damage. Enough."

I sank into my seat, not meeting Letha's broken gaze as Roman made his way to the driver's seat. I didn't need to see her to know what she looked like right now-- green eyes probably glossed over, her slender arms wrapping around her for comfort.

It only got worse when Letha called my name, her hurt voice making it impossible to avoid her anymore. When I finally turned to her, listening to the sound of the car starting, it almost felt as though I was looking into a mirror. I was sure I looked just like that when Letha abandoned me crying on the bleachers, calling me a whore when I told her about my feelings for Roman before she stormed off. My heart tore into a million pieces, looking into the teary eyes of the girl who used to know me better than anyone else.

Still, did I owe her the kindness of pity? She certainly hadn't shown me any.

I didn't have time to think about it-- Roman quickly drove us out of the school parking lot, groaning as he ran his fingers through his hair with his free hand. I could see that he was still seething, eye twitching as he gripped the steering wheel with a little too much power.

"Such bullshit," Roman cursed-- I hadn't seen him this pissed before. "She has no right to bother you anymore. I fucking told her!"

"She just--" Letha's big, green eyes of sadness haunted me. It made my heart clench, my soul crumble. "She seems really desperate to talk, Rome."

He glanced at me, just for a second, with apparent disdain. "So? I don't get why you're even entertaining the thought of giving her the chance to!" His grip around the wheel only tightened as he turned his gaze back on the road. "But Letha's got quite the nerve to just show up like that... She's begging for you to forgive her so her guilty conscious gets relief, it's damn selfish! It's not about you at all!"

"Why not?" I turned in my seat, feeling my frustration simmer. "Why would it not be about me? Is it so crazy to think she might just want us to be friends again, that I'm someone worth being friends with?"

"That's not-- She doesn't want to be your friend!"

"Then why the hell is she doing all of this?"

"Because Letha obviously doesn't want us to be together, don't be so naive!" Vexed, Roman hit the steering wheel with a loud groan-- it made me jump in my seat. "If you think she's forgiven you for going behind her back, think again! This is her taking revenge on me for all the times I've messed with her friends, okay?"

I didn't want to think about him and Letha's long list of ex-friends; it made me nauseous. I resorted to balling my fists, trying to collect my thoughts. "You didn't even let me hear her out..."

Roman snorted, rolling his eyes as he adjusted the rearview mirror. "You're making it sound like I'm a controlling asshole. May I remind you that you were hiding behind me, holding onto me for dear life?" He turned to me, a sharp look in his green eyes; "And when the fuck were you going to tell me that she texted you?"

Oh... That.

Honestly? I had hoped to get a little more time to think about it. To at least have that opportunity. "I would've told you sooner if you hadn't drooled all over cheerleaders that day," I knew it was a reach, but I didn't know what else to say. As I crossed my arms over my chest, I truly felt how little I had processed that situation. "Appreciating the view, as you said!"

Another groan, along with one more hit against the steering wheel; "They waved at me, it's normal to check who it is when someone waves at you!--"

"I don't give a shit, the thing that matters is that the girl who waved was the one you fucked in March!--"

... Oh no. He didn't need to know that I kept track of that.

"... What?" Roman's angry expression turned confused as his grip loosened around the wheel, quietly trying to process what I had just said.

As soon as those words slipped past my lips, I felt my throat go dry as I pressed my back against the seat. Why would the leather not split apart, swallow me whole, and allow me to avoid the aftermath? I hadn't expected to blurt that out; there was no going back now. "Yeah... And now she's waving at you like she possibly has a chance with you, because maybe you like making her think she still does! How do you think that makes me feel?"

Roman looked like he was two seconds away from ripping the steering wheel off its hinges, eyes wide and burning with fury. "What the fuck are you accusing me of here? And since when have you been keeping up with my sex-life?!"

Sure, I walked right into that one-- I suddenly felt like I had been transported right back into the time I watched Roman from afar. The way I'd watch him throw tater tots at the cheerleaders to catch their attention, the way he'd make me feel small by pulling my hair as he passed me in the halls, and how I had gotten used to the sight of him disappearing upstairs with girls at parties wishing that was me.

It felt like I was that girl again; the one that kept track of everything he did. The one who would compulsively wash my hands if I was introduced to one of his previous flings through Letha. The jealousy, the obsession-- it was all hitting me now. Especially as I turned to watch him, how his lips were angrily pressed shut, confusion visible on his pretty face.

It was too damn overwhelming. I realized my hands were trembling as they reached for the hem of my shirt, anxiously ripping at the seams as always. However, through the storm of feelings coursing through me, I heard Letha's melodious laugh as my memories flooded my mind-- She had been my anchor through it all, despite the fact that she never knew about my feelings for Roman.

No, no, no-- I hated how emotional this made me. "I threw away everything with Letha to be with you, so I'm sorry that I'm paranoid. I don't think you get that she was everything to me. But even despite that, she was my moon and you were... the sun,"

Roman's grip around the steering wheel loosened as his lips parted in uncertainty, brows drawing together as his gaze flickered between me and the road. "You didn't know me back in March," he mumbled, still processing. "That makes no sense--"

"I carved our initials into a tree in March,"

"... Oh,"

My gaze darted back down to my lap, checking out what I had done to my sweater. There were a few loose threads now, that's for sure. I almost laughed at the sheer absurdity of it, suddenly remembering how I had gotten so lovesick that I drove my keys into a tree during a walk in the park, carving our initials as tears streamed down my cheeks. It had been a horrible March; I couldn't be more happy that it was over.

Roman nodded to himself, chewing invisible gum--

"Okay... Where?"

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

I never expected him to see this. Ever.

I leaned against the tree, watching as Roman traced our initials with a shimmer of fixation in his eyes. The green of the park was a dark contrast to the light green of his orbs, the hazel and blue nuances being the only points placing him perfectly in the scenery. Like this, it was as though I was looking at a painting-- the ones painted by depressed Russian artists before the fall of the Tsars. They always knew how to bring beauty into a world that was only cruel to them.

It was specific, sure, but I had to occupy my mind with something as Roman remained quiet. The wait was nerve-wracking.

Ethereal hues of sunlight shone through the thickness of the trees in the full bloom of summer as I kicked at a nearby chestnut. About half an hour had passed since our argument in the car, and another half hour passed before I finally found the tree in a desolate part of the park. I chewed on my bottom lip, anxiously watching Roman's every reaction.

I expected him to be freaked out. To be disgusted, even. How creepy wasn't this?

However, Roman was painstakingly calm. He ran the pads of his fingers over every cut, every bumpy line-- "This is..."

"Yeah, I know," My arms were crossed over my chest, gaze now resting on the grass nearby. "I never thought you'd like me or that I'd betray Letha like that, so I wanted to... materialize my feelings, if that makes sense? Bottle it up somewhere. Pull a Voldemort."

"A what?"

"Like, horcruxes?" Confused, I got the courage to look at him again. "Roman, have you not seen Harry Potter?"

He shrugged-- "Isn't it, like, for kids?"

"... You used to be a kid too, do you remember that?" Oh, the hypocrisy; "You've been harassing me about not having watched The Godfather for ages, but you haven't even seen?-- Oh, fuck it." It was impossible not to laugh, and I gave into a low chuckle as I pressed my crossed arms tighter to my chest. "Anyway. This tree thing is super creepy, I know, so would you rather I showed you the message from Letha instead?"

Roman finally looked at me, a blank expression on his face. Something told me he didn't want to give away his true feelings regarding the matter. Still, he held out his hand, and I promptly gave him my phone.

Roman knew my password-- that was no issue. He didn't have to ask for it, now staring down at the message from Letha.

I pressed my back against the tree as much as I could, wanting to melt into it and disappear just like earlier in the car. Watching the way Roman's brows drew together in confusion, the flash of annoyance that streaked across his eyes-- it didn't help my anxiety that he didn't say anything, wordlessly handing me my phone back.

I held my breath as I tucked it back into my pocket, waiting for him to say something. However, what he said caught me off-guard;

"The tree thing... It's not that creepy," Roman leaned against it, staring down at me with a nonchalance about him, almost as though he hadn't just read Letha's words of betrayal.

It made me uneasy, but I shrugged; something about the beauty of his eyes calmed me down as I gave in to a soft smile. "You don't have to protect my feelings, Rome, I'm very aware--"

"It's not," Stepping away from the tree, he neared me with careful steps. "I know we've talked about this before, but I'm just a little shocked you felt so... strongly about me. Even during a time when I was pulling your hair. It just doesn't make sense that you'd like me at all, even now."

I sent him a defeated look, leaning my head against the wood behind me. "Why is that so shocking?"

Roman now stood in front of me, and he reached out to place his hands on my waist. "I just don't think anyone ever has in this way," he said. "It's so sweet, it almost makes me nauseous."

I giggled-- "I make you nauseous?"

Roman's next words were said with such a stoic tone, I froze to my spot; "You make me sick,"

Dumbfounded, I let my lips part in shock. It was almost as though his green eyes were filled with pity. "What?--"

"Sick to my stomach,"

Suddenly, I couldn't remember the last time he had blinked. Uhm...? The way we were standing, the way I was pressed up against this tree, gave me the biggest deja vu of my lifetime. This was exactly the same situation as when we played seven minutes in heaven, the very thing that had unraveled everything. I was frozen in fear of his next words, holding my breath.

"Knowing you have the compassion to feel this strongly about me, makes me sick," Roman breathed, his hands kneading my waist with strength that nearly made me wince in pain. "That you've fucked up your life to be with me, makes me sick. And that I'm going to have the worst time letting you go if I must, makes me sick." There was an intensity in him that I hadn't properly seen in him before now-- I wasn't sure whether to be scared or turned on. It only got worse when Roman leaned in, his hot breath against my lips making me shiver; "That I'm ready to go to war with Letha, with family, for you, makes me sick. Knowing I'm ready to rip her head off if she takes you from me... Makes. Me. Sick."

A quiet shiver of air left my body, my shaking hands grabbing at his. "Rome, I--"

"I'll be better for you," Roman's green eyes drilled into mine with desperation, his grip around my waist loosening before he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me flush against him. "Whatever Letha says about me, the truth as she called it, I need you to not believe it. I'm asking you to kill me, in a sense."

"What?--"

"I want you to make me so sick that I die in your arms," Roman let out a shaky breath, leaning his forehead against mine as his eyes closed shut. "I think it'd make me feel good. I don't want to be so bitter and angry all the time... and I feel good with you. Really good."

Oh.

My heart swelled as I brought my hands up to cup his face, my thumbs stroking over his cheeks as we stood still. There were leaves rustling in the distance, and a sweltering breeze that passed us briefly, but all in all, it was just Roman and I in this deserted area of the park. I could easily agree that it felt good, that it felt right-- just my pretty boyfriend and me.

I got up on my tippytoes, pulling Roman in for a gentle kiss. It made my heart swell, made the tips of my fingers burn as I felt his cold breath against my cheek when he exhaled through his nose.

It was just us, and I needed it to stay that way. We needed it to stay that way, to work as we needed to.

I couldn't let nostalgia kill this. Not for Letha, not for anything in the world. I wasn't sure what it was that she was dying to tell me, why she felt the need to tell me the truth about him as she claimed-- wasn't this his truest form?

Roman's hands pushed against the small of my back, drawing me in as close as humanly possible. The kiss deepened with every breath, with every pull of the other-- "Choose us," he pleaded, mouthing his words into my lips. "Me and you. Us."

His desperation nearly made me burst into flames, similarly to a phoenix; Roman would've gotten that reference if he had seen Harry Potter. It seemed I might actually have to watch The Godfather for him to do so. Still, I sighed softly into the kiss, my hands going into his hair to tug him closer.

I made my decision then and there-- I wasn't going to answer Letha. I could figure out the truth about Roman on my own, thank you very much.

"Me and you," I breathed. "Us."

(AAAAHHH if you've made it this far, thank you so much for reading!!<3333 here's PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 8, PART 9, and PART 10 if you want to check them out!! THANK YOUUUU!)

(and credits to @august-diehl for the gif!!)

tagging those that seemed interested!!<333:

@mentallyscreamingsincebirth @putherup @corawithfanfiction @vladsgirlxx

@iamaslytherin0 @sexualparkour @the-universe-is-complicated @heavenly-bratt

@lafemme-nk @namiusedbubble @useyourwandbro @strmborns @literally-lani

@virgosapphire79 @star-girl-04 @veyzus @ddipotassium

@mil88691 @tloughost @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @katifefe @sn0wybowie-blog

305 notes · View notes