#i dread waking up every day so much that i dread even falling asleep

[gay-fordeath]

.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Unchaperoned.

Pairing: Yandere!Gojo x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 5.2k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Prolonged Captivity, Semi-Public Sex, Mentions of Physical/Psychological Abuse, Mentions of Kidnapping, Reader's Just Going Through It In This One Okay, and Dissociative Behavior. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You should’ve known something was wrong as soon as you realized Satoru wasn’t in bed.

Most mornings, he’d already be gone by the time you woke up, with the only signs that he’d ever laid down next to you at all being the phantom weight of his chest pressed into your back and a sickly sweet note left on the bedside table (usually something to the tune of ‘be home late tonight, can’t wait to see you again’ or ‘if you keep trying to pick the lock on the kitchen window, I’ll know’), but today was supposed to be one of his prized days-off, and when he wasn’t pried away from you by obligation, he preferred to spend as much time as he could sprawled out across the mattress, your body tucked against his, waiting for the haze of a slow morning to dip and ebb until his mouth founds its way to your neck and his hands to your waist. Sometimes, he was called away by an emergency mission, a sudden problem with one of his students, but you weren’t often that lucky, and he never left without waking you up, first.

Failing that, you should’ve known something was wrong when you did finally open your eyes, and immediately found Satoru looming above you, perched on the edge of the mattress, already dressed and wearing the wide, toothy grin that made your stomach drop and something embedded deep within your chest curl up and pray for death.

You tried to shut your eyes, to roll over, to pretend you were still asleep, but Satoru must’ve been watching you for a while. His hand was on your shoulder before you could so much as settle into place, his mouth crashing into yours before you could brace yourself for his rough affection. He’d never been a very good kisser, even when you’d been a willing victim, but there seemed to be no moment sweet enough and no occasion soft enough to stop him from forcing his tongue down your throat, from keeping his mouth slotted against yours until your lungs ached, from nipping at your bottom lip with enough force to sting. Too resigned to be genuinely annoyed, you remained limp and pliable underneath him until he finally pulled back, his smile just a little brighter as he beamed down at you.

“I picked out something nice for you,” he muttered, his voice low, sentimental. If it wasn’t for the cold bolt of dread that accompanied the sound of his voice, you might’ve called it playful. “Get dressed. We’re going on a field trip.”

You swallowed, thickly. “Where are we going?”

Impossibly, his smile seemed to grow wider. “It’s a surprise. You’ll like it, I promise.”

You blinked up at him, too used to suppressing your reaction for the effort to be conscious. Satoru was possessive, but he was also childish, impulsive – too self-indulgent to keep his favorite toy locked away for very long. Usually, though, your little trips were planned meticulously and limited to five-star restaurants with private backrooms, rented-out theaters, picnics in the countryside where he could ensure you wouldn’t have anyone to pay attention to other than him. He’d never been so vague, before. You didn’t like having to guess what he was going to do to you.

But, his grip on your shoulder tightened, and you were abruptly reminded that you didn’t have much of a choice. It was either go along with his whims, play into his domestic fantasies, or risk disobeying him and—

And disobedience wasn’t an option. Not anymore. Not after so long.

A little more than an hour later, you were in the backseat of a black sedan, hands clasped together in your lap and Satoru’s arm draped over your shoulders. Every so often, your eyes flitted from the floor to the window, lingering on the passing landscape for no longer than a few seconds before falling back to something less direct, less contentious. Still, from what you could tell, you were miles outside of the city and deep into the backwoods that surrounded it. Anxiety alternated between tying knots in the pit of your stomach and stabbing into the tender flesh at the back of your throat. You’d never been very prone to motion sickness, but maybe, if you told Satoru, you’d look pale enough for him to buy it, tell his driver to turn around, and let you go back to the kind of misery you were used to.

You straightened, sucking in a deep breath and doing your best to choke down the worst of your paranoia. If Satoru noticed the extent of your distress, the most the offered by way of reassurance was an airy laugh, a gentle tug that left you pressed that much deeper into his side. Fighting not to draw back, you broke the silence, more eager for a distraction than a genuine answer. “Are you really not going to tell me where we’re going?”

“I can’t, baby.” He was still playing coy, playing cute. It might’ve been charming three years ago, when you were just having fun with a mysterious man with endless funding and eyes brighter than cloudless sky, but it was hard to find someone charming after you’d known them longer as a captor than you ever had as a friend, as a partner. “If I did, it wouldn’t be a surprise, now, would it?”

Your gaze fell into your lap. You’d been allowed to do your make-up and style your hair to your preferences, but he’d chosen your outfit – an ankle-length sundress the color of snow and daisy petals and pale skin bled dry. The color of his hair, although you tried not to let the automatic association needle its way into your conscious mind. “I don’t like surprises.”

“You’ll like this one.” Another laugh, another tug. Your skin was crawling. Maybe you wouldn’t have to play sick after all. “It’s real special to me. Thought I should finally get around to sharing it with you.”

You could remember complaining about that kind of thing, once – just how little you knew about Satoru in comparison to just how much he knew about you. You shared your life openly with him, and even if you hadn’t, he always seemed to be just around the corner, always where he needed to be to walk you home after a dull workday or invite himself to drink at a downtown bar with you and your friends. He’d been more secretive, more discreet. It’d taken you three months to find out he was a teacher, and another six so much as hear the word ‘sorcerer’. In retrospect, it was probably more of a deliberate effort than you’d been willing to give him credit for, at the time. He’d assumed that, the moment you found out anything more than his name, you’d try to run, and he’d been right. He’d wanted to delay the inevitable, and he’d succeeded.

It was stupid to be so worried. It was stupid to be so… so upset. Most days, you would’ve traded anything to be able to leave Satoru’s suffocating penthouse apartment, would’ve sold your left kidney for just an hour of freedom, but this wasn’t freedom, and it was hard to enjoy the illusion of it when you didn’t know what price you’d have to pay after it was pried away from you. You didn’t like not knowing what to expect. You didn’t like not knowing what you’d done to deserve this. You didn’t like that, even after years of learning to deal with Satoru’s bullshit, he could still make you feel just as scared and just as helpless as the day you first woke up in that dark room, your hands tied behind your back and—

The car jolted to an abrupt stop. Reflexively, you snapped up, going rigid, but Satoru seemed unaffected. He started to reach for the door, then stopped himself – fishing something out of his pocket. “Show me your hand, princess.” Satoru didn’t give you time to obey before taking you by the wrist and slipping a thick, silver ring onto your finger. You glanced from it to Satoru, who winked. “Just in case.”

You didn’t have a chance to ask what he meant before he was threading his fingers through yours and dragging you out of the backseat, into the open air. You tried to be thankful to have room to breathe – tried, and failed.

The driver didn’t follow you out. You stood, alone and unprepared, next to Satoru at the foot of massive, winding, temple-style staircase. Weather-beaten torii separated the pathway from crowded foliage, and with your hand still trapped in his, Satoru guided you through the steep ascent, each step accompanied by another drop of tell-tale dread, a fresh wave of anxiety. For one long, terrible minute, you managed to convince yourself that there was a sacrificial altar waiting at the top, or a guillotine – something ornamental and damning that he’d use to cut your life that much shorter, to tie you that much closer to him. Your eyes were clenched shut by the time you crested the peak, your breathing rapid and shallow, any panic you might’ve been able to stave off during the trip now returning in full force. It was all you could do to keep yourself from breaking down entirely when he finally, finally came to a stop, squeezing your hand with enough force to leave it aching.

 You wanted to stay like that, blind and deaf and only on the verge of sobbing, but it wasn’t possible – your body couldn’t take much more, and even if you had been more durable, Satoru wouldn’t wait much longer. Tentatively, you forced yourself to open your eyes and took in—

A schoolyard. A bog-standard, borderline uninteresting, utterly devoid of life schoolyard. The architecture was a little pre-modern, sure, and it was strange not to see any students or teachers milling through the open space, but it was far from the ceremonial execution site you’d primed yourself to step into. As far as you could see, at least.

“Pretty, right? In a rustic kind of way, I mean.” Satoru was still grinning from ear-to-ear. You doubted he’d stop any time soon. “I promised I’d get around to showing you where I work eventually. C’mon, I’ll give you the tour.”

Right. You’d known he was a teacher, but somehow, you’d managed to go your entire captivity without ever so much as attempting to picture the school where he must’ve taught. Then again, to be fair, you may have had more important things on your mind.

The tour wasn’t optional. When Satoru wasn’t dragging you from building to building, he was rambling on about his students, his own education, telling you decade-old stories with more energy than a man closer to thirty-one than eighteen should’ve had. You listened to very little of it and retained even less, but Satoru seemed satisfied with your occasional nod muted noises of acknowledgment. You never passed anyone else, but he kept a vice-grip on your hand, as if he was scared you’d make a run for it as soon as he turned away. A few months ago, you might’ve considered it, but you weren’t that hopeful, anymore.

“One more stop,” he said, as he pulled you towards the last building – or, buildings, rather. It was a row of ornamental classrooms, all divided into separate schoolhouses. Against your better judgment, you edged forward, willing him to move a little faster, too. This was the last stop. He just wanted to show you his classroom, then you could leave. This was the last thing you’d have to endure, and then, you could go back to the kind of misery you were used to.

Or, at least, that’s what you might’ve told yourself if a blur of pink and black hadn’t emerged from the nearest corner, sprinting across the small courtyard, and running directly into Satoru’s chest.

You flinched back, but if Satoru was fazed, you couldn’t tell. You couldn’t see his eyes, not through the tint of his glasses, but he wore a crooked smile as he looked down at the teenage boy now standing in front of you. He must’ve been in high school – a first-year, if you had to guess, his black uniform coated in dust and debris. Rubbing the back of his neck, he blinked a few times before seeming to notice Satoru and straightening, bowing his head shallowly. “Gojo-sensei,” he barked, speaking quickly enough for the name and the honorific to blend together. “I was looking for Nanamin, but— So, Kugisaki found this ultra-cool cursed weapon, and we thought Fushiguro could figure out—”

He was cut off abruptly by a sneaker hitting the back of his head. A second later, another teenager – a girl, this time – seemed to appear behind the boy. Notably, she was missing a shoe. “He’s lying,” she said, her tone nearly venomous enough to be believable. “Whatever he says, it isn’t true. He’s a liar, and sexist, and I heard Sukuna say—” Abruptly, she cut herself off, her attention snapping towards you. She was quiet for a second, then another, before going on with a polite smile. “Hello, ma’am.”

For the first time, the boy turned to you, his eyes immediately widening. “Fuck,” And then, his gaze falling to where his hand was still wrapped around yours, “Fuck.”

You couldn’t stop yourself – bringing up your free hand to stifle your laugh. You almost introduced yourself, but Satoru was quick to cut you off. “These,” he explained, with a broad gesture to both teenagers. “are my beloved students, Kugisaki and Itadori, who value my mentorship and look up to me as their teacher.”

“I know,” the girl, Kugisaki, whispered to her companion, Itadori, only half-heartedly trying to hide her voice. “I really didn’t think men or women could stand to be around him.”

“And, adoring students, this,” His grip tightened as he forced your hand into the air, your new ring facing the students. “is my beautiful fiancé.”

“Fiancé,” Itadori repeated. “Was it, like, arranged?”

And then, from Kugisaki to you, “Did he pay you up front?”

Reflexively, you moved to respond, used to having to provide an answer as soon as you were asked a question lest Satoru resort to more drastic means of getting your attention, but something else caught your attention. A mop of black hair rounding the schoolhouse’s corner, the collar of a white t-shirt pulled over a bloody nose obscuring, but not completely hiding, a familiar face. You didn’t want to, but you recognized him immediately.

Megumi.

Huh.

You’d never seen him without his sister, before.

He made a point not to look at you, dark eyes trained on the ground as he positioned himself a few feet behind his more energetic classmates. You opened your mouth, then closed it, then opened it again just as quickly. You might’ve actually found the courage to say something, if Kugisaki hadn’t lurched forward, shoving Itadori out of the way and tearing your hand out of Satoru’s. She clasped both your hands between hers, staring up at you with a frantic kind of urgency. “Listen,” she started, her tone just as dire as her expression. “If he bribed, kidnapped, or threatened you to make you go along with this, say so. There’s another sorcerer on campus – we’ll make sure you’re safe while he’s brought to the proper authorities.”

You hesitated, for a second.

Then, you opened your mouth, and distantly, heard your own voice spilling out. “We used to be in a relationship.” You stopped, swallowed, then went on. “But, he kidnapped me three years ago, and he’s kept me trapped in his home ever since. If I ever leave him, he says he’ll break my legs and kill everyone I know. He hasn’t really proposed, yet, either. He just shoved a ring onto my hand and started calling me his fiancé a few hours ago.”

There was a beat of silence, then another.

And then, Satoru laughed. It was a cheery, juvenile sort of laugh. A ‘forget everything you just heard and look at me’ sort of laugh.

Soon enough, his students joined him – Itadori first, then Kagisuki. Megumi never made a sound.

“I think what you meant to say,” Megumi didn’t even look at you. You wished you could ask how his sister was doing. You wished you could say anything at all. “is that it was love at first sight. I was on a mission, fighting my way through a group of a hundred curses. That’s when I heard someone crying out from the heart of the swarm, and I—”

You made no attempt to listen. As Satoru’s story drowned on, Megumi’s eyes flitted upward – first to Satoru, then to you, widening slightly. You made the same realization a second later.

Satoru wasn’t holding your hand, anymore.

Satoru wasn’t paying attention to you at all.

Finally, Megumi met your gaze. He held your stare for a second, before shifting – looking towards something behind you. His message was glaringly apparent, albeit unspoken.

 You took half a step back, then another. Satoru was still caught up in his story, and if his students noticed you moving, they didn’t feel the need to comment. It wouldn’t work, something vile and fearful whispered into the back of your mind. He’d notice, and he’d drag you to somewhere isolated and claustrophobic, and he’d break every finger on your right hand, or dislocate both your ankles, or lock you in a room so dark and so tiny that you would be able to convince yourself he’d buried you alive. It wouldn’t work, but you were already three feet away from him, then ten, then twenty. At some point, Megumi shifted, taking your place just outside of Satoru’s peripheral, replacing your presence at his side. When you reached the corner of the nearest schoolhouse, you turned on your heels and ran.

Your mind raced as you made your way back to the main schoolyard, back to the front gates. You were in the backwoods, but you couldn’t be that far from the city – not if you’d been able to drive here. There was bound to be a public road nearby, or better yet, a highway, something with drivers you could flag down and beg to take you as far from here as possible. You’d pawn the ring, dye your hair, call yourself by a different name until you found someone willing to get you out of Tokyo, to get you out of Japan. Maybe, if you made it to a port city, you could—

You stopped abruptly about twenty feet away from the main gates. A blonde man in a suit leaned against one of the wooden beams, his face familiar but not immediately placeable. Someone working for Satoru, you thought, irrationally. Someone who wanted to stop you from getting away.

He was already looking at you. He nodded, the gesture slow and measured, and you continued to stare blankly in the direction of the gates. “(Y/n).”

His identity came to you immediately. Not Satoru’s employee, but one of his coworkers, only barely remembered from a few nights spent drinking, a handful of conversations you only barely remembered. “Kento.”

You’d taken a few beats to respond, but Kento wasn’t as hesitant. “Gojo said you left the city.”

“I didn’t.”

“You’re here with him?”

You swallowed. “He’s talking to his students, right now.”

He took a moment to evaluate you – your disheveled dress, your wide eyes, the way you couldn’t seem to stop breathing in shallow, panicked huffs. Should you have tried to look more sympathetic, more like a captive? Should you be talking to him at all?

 He didn’t smile, didn’t soften his tone into something overly sweet, overly dizzying. It was good that he didn’t – or, actually, it might’ve been bad. If he had, you would’ve forced your way past him without ever stopping to hear what he had to say. “He was never the type to think further than he could reach,” Kento said, straightening. “I’d like to talk to you, sometime. Somewhere private.”

“I… Satoru doesn’t really like it when I—”

“Gojo doesn’t have to know.” He paused, straightened. “Honestly, I’d prefer if he didn’t.”

Something thick and acidic rose into the back of your throat. It was your turn to straighten, now, to ball your fists at your side, to let your mouth fall open and—

And shut it again as you felt an arm wrap around your waist, pulling you against a broad chest. You didn’t have to check to know it was Satoru. You felt his fingertips dig into your side, his chin settle onto your shoulder. “Just can’t stand not to havin’ me all to yourself, huh?” His voice was low, playful. If you’d been able to think over the deafening static in your head, you would’ve called yourself an idiot for ever thinking it was cute.

“Thanks for looking after her for me.” He was talking to Nanami, now. You might’ve been grateful, if not for the ever-present pressure of his hand on your waist. “My fiancé tends to wander off.”

Kento’s expression, as always, was near-unreadable. He seemed to catch on the word ‘fiancé’, but whether that was because of the implication or the way Satoru seemed to bask in it, you couldn’t tell.

His response was curt, polite. “Congratulations.”

You could feel Satoru’s grin against your throat. He’d been glad to show you off in front of his students, but it almost seemed compulsory for him to flaunt you in front of Kento. “One wrong step, and suddenly I’m a taken man. Not that I’d have it any other way.” His arm fell away from your waist. Rather than reaching for your hand, he took you by the wrist, his grip tight enough to bruise. “I’ve gotta show the little lady a couple more things. You’ll keep an eye on the first years for me, right?”

Kento might’ve tried to answer, but you were around long enough to hear it. Satoru was already dragging you back in the direction of the schoolhouses, and willingly, you followed, keeping your head bowed and your teeth grit. It was almost a relief to know he was going to do something terrible to you. At least, while you were injured, or bound, or so heavily sedated that you couldn’t remember your own name, you wouldn’t be able to try to run away again. You wouldn’t be able to get your hopes up, and have to bear the hollow, gnawing agony that came when they were, yet again, dragged back down and crushed under Satoru’s heel.

There were no flustered students to intercept you before you reached his classroom, this time, no stoic teachers to pretend to care that you looked so miserable. Satoru only let go of your hand once you’d crossed the threshold, once he’d shut and locked the door behind you. Idly, you wandered into the empty space at the front of the classroom, only sparing a quick glance towards the empty chalkboard, the vacant teacher’s desk, the barren walls before letting your eyes fall back to your feet. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled. “I didn’t mean to do anything, but—” You almost brought up Megumi, but stopped yourself. “I… I’m just sorry.”

Satoru hummed. You felt a hand on your hip first, then your side, nudging you towards the desk. When you failed to move, he chuckled and abandoned the idea of your cooperation entirely – lifting you off of your feet without a hint of strain and placing you on edge of the empty desk, positioning himself between your legs. His hands fell to either side of you, caging you between his arms. “I know, pretty girl, I know.”

“And—And, your students seemed so nice, or—uh, energetic, at least. I haven’t talked to anyone other than you in so long, I just didn’t know what to do.”

“I get it, princess. You were always shy like that.”

Shy. You’d never really been shy. Not before he kidnapped you, at least. Not before he took all the things you’d always told yourself that people just didn’t do to each other and done them to you.

Still, you didn’t correct him. “Can we…” You trailed off, shrunk into yourself. “Can we go home, then? I don’t want to—”

His mouth was crashing into yours before you could finish. You jerked back, but one of his hands was already on the back of your neck, keeping you in place while his tongue racked over yours and he moaned shamelessly into your mouth. Just as suddenly as he’d lounged, he drew back, his mouth falling to your throat as his free hand slipped under the skirt of your sundress.

There were a few minor differences between building dread and cold, pointed fear that you’d never noticed, before your time with Satoru – that you still managed to sometimes forget, during the brief calm patches spread throughout the course of your captivity. What you’d felt in the back of his car, that aching pressure that can only ever stand on the precipice of crushing – that was dread, all anticipation and no catharsis, your own mind doing worse things to you than Satoru ever could.

What you felt as the pad of his thumb traced over the length of your slit – that was fear.

“No,” as your hands found his shoulders, nails burrowing down, and then, a second, later, as your eyes found the door you’d come through. “Not here, ‘toru, it’s—Your students, they’re still—”

“You don’t have to worry, pretty girl. I’ve still got an eye on them.” His voice was airy, distant, his words only just audible in the gaps between open-mouthed kisses pressed into the curve of your throat. You could feel his saliva on your skin, the heat of his breath fanning across your jugular. Disgusting. He was disgusting. Disgusting and messy and vulgar and perverted. You were ashamed that you’d ever so much as considered loving him willingly. “I’ll be quick – all you’ve gotta do is sit still and look pretty.”

“But, someone might—” Your voice cut off as he found your clit and pressed down, immediately using too much force and too little care. You jerked forward, burying your face in the dip of his shoulder, but Satoru had only ever taken your aversion as a sign to go further, to do more. You could feel him drawing little, quick patterns into the sensitive bud through the thin fabric of your panties, and even worse, you could feel liquid heat beginning to pool in the pit of your stomach, dripping out from the space between your thighs – your own body betraying you when faced with Satoru’s coercion. “Satoru,” you whined, your pleading tone the closest thing to actual anger that he would allow. “Please, I don’t want to do this her—”

He hushed you, the noise soft and definite, and just like that, you gave up on speaking entirely.

Satoru’s impatience was unparalleled, but he’d had time to train your body to keep up with his impulsivity. By the time he pulled your panties to the side, slipping two fingers into your tight entrance, you were already wet, already waiting for something new, something more. “That’s my girl,” Satoru muttered as he slid his ring and middle digits into your dripping cunt, only stopping once he was knuckle-deep. “Always so bratty until you get something inside of you. It was a good thing I found you when I did, before someone else realized just how easy it was to get you all soft n’ pouty.”

His fingers curled upward, scissored apart, and you let out the smallest, weakest possible whimper – quickly cut off by a bubbling, half-choked moan. Your eyes darted to the second door; he’d been decent enough to lock the one you’d come through, but there was another, leading into a hallway that must’ve connected the disparate classrooms. It didn’t have a window, meaning you wouldn’t be able to see if someone walked by, wouldn’t be able to know you’d been caught until it was too late to tell Satoru to stop – not that he’d listen, even if you did. Rather than drown out the feeling of Satoru’s pumping into you, it only seemed to make the sensation of his fingers battering against the walls of your cunt more acute, only seemed to heighten the awful pressure starting to mount in your core. You buried your teeth in your bottom lip, shut your eyes and buried your face that much deeper in his shoulder, but no amount of self-suppression could stifle the slick, lewd noise of his fingers thrusting into you. No amount of self-loathing could convince Satoru to shut up, no matter how strongly you willed him to choke on his own tongue and die.

“I don’t think you were taking me seriously – about the whole engagement thing, I mean.” His voice was airy, almost distant. It was the same way he’d talk to you over breakfast, or when he insisted on resting his head in your lap as he told you about his day and you half-heartedly pretended to listen. “I meant it, y’know. I’ll have to do something more romantic for the actual proposal, but—” He paused, laughed. You felt his lips ghost over your cheek, then the corner of your jaw. “I meant it. Couldn’t stand the idea of putting it off any longer, ‘specially not when I already knew that you were going to say yes.”

Whether he was speaking out of narcissism, cruelness, or genuine delusion, you couldn’t tell. You didn’t want to know. All you could seem to focus on was the terrible heat of his affection, all you could seem to do was whimper through grit teeth as he forced another finger into your hyper-sensitive cunt. “We’ll have to get married, too. I wanna do it as soon as possible – fuck, I wouldn’t mind being able to call you my wife today.” You stiffened, shook your head, and Satoru huffed, amused. “Right, right – gotta pace the good stuff out. That’s why I love you so much, babe. If it wasn’t for you, I probably wouldn’t have time to breathe.”

A ragged sob escaped your pursed lips as you came undone around his fingers. He nursed you through your climax, only drawing back after you’d gone limp against him. There was another kiss, this one to the corner of your mouth, before his lips found yours – his touch suddenly gentle, featherlight. Your head fell to his collarbone as he straightened his back, but you were beyond the point of caring. You let your eyes fall entirely closed, sinking into him. At least, if someone walked in now, you’d be able to write it off as Satoru comforting you after a sudden bout of heat exhaustion, or a purely romantic (albeit, uncomfortably intimate) moment between a man and his—

His captive.

You could last a few more days before you fully submitted to the role of his fiancé.

You opened your mouth, unsure as to what you wanted to say but aware that you couldn’t stand to sit in silence for any longer, but anything you might’ve said was swiftly and callously drowned out by the sound of rustling fabric, the weight of a hand on your hip while another positioned Satoru’s now-free cock against your entrance. For a moment, you thought about attempting to shove him away. For a moment, you thought about screaming and hoping someone was close enough to hear you.

Then, he thrust into you, and you couldn’t do anything at all.

[nochepsicodelica]

Bear boyfriend Toji who dreads getting sick more than the average person. He gets so grumpy during this little stunt in his health because he can't do much besides manage his harsh cough and runny nose, rest in bed and eat, but that's not even what he's most upset about. He's so pissed off that he can't be around you, unless he wants to get you sick too.

Oh, but you make it so hard on him. Walking into the room with a mug of tea with that smile that could nurse anyone back to health. You linger for longer than you should, even after he told you that if you're in there for too long, you'll get sick too. It's an annoying dilemma because on one end, watching you be sick is one of the most heart wrenching things he's ever seen. Like him, you pretend that you're fine, when really you feel so debilitated by the virus that invaded your immune system. You tell him you feel better, but your hearing is muffled and your voice is gravelly and doesn't seem to be recovering quickly. Toji sees right through it and his protective instincts kick in. He insists on doing everything necessary to get you back up and running. On the other end, he wants to see you and kiss you and just hold onto you through this horrible time he's having. He hasn't kissed you in almost three days. It really sucks that he's sick, but it's entirely unfair that you can't be near him. There is truly so much for him to be reasonably grumpy about.

"Hey, you're gonna get wrinkles on your handsome face," you say, smoothing down the crease between his eyebrows with your thumb. "Do you really want me out of here that bad?"

He sighs. Your cool hands are heaven on his burning skin. "You know I don't, ma," he croaks out, pulling your hand down from his face and holding it. "I want you here, but you can't stay."

"Baby, you lost your pretty color. You look like a zombie, but also, it's killing me to only be allowed to check on you once every hour. I think it's time I come sleep in here, again."

"No," he protests, while shaking his head. He wishes he had rethought the gesture once he's steady again. He feels like he shook his brain and his head hurts, now.

"Toji, i'm taking care of you. I'm sleeping in our bed, tonight. I'm more worried about you than I am about getting sick."

He wants to laugh at how you sound like a mother scolding her child, but he knows it'll throw him into a nasty coughing fit. He can't argue with you too much in this state. He doesn't want to argue anyway. You care and it feels nice.

"If I get sick, I get sick," you say, settling down next to him, on your side of the bed.

Toji has never been one to pull the 'woe is me' card, but when you're smothering him with so much affection and cooing at him while caressing his uncomfortably warm face, it's hard not to lean into it. You relieve his discomfort with your methods of care. Be it medicinal remedies or your extra love and affection, even your patience. You weren't the one who proposed keeping distance from him. You didn't want to sleep on the couch those last couple nights, but you did it for the sake of letting Toji be comfortable. He's your lover and you don't see a reason to avoid him, like what he has is something more fatal. His contagiousness is disregarded, because it doesn't matter.

You know he would do the same for you so you don't wrinkle your nose when he starts feeling safe enough to nuzzle into you and sluggishly kiss you, while clinging onto you. He's extra clingy, too. Your body is a lot cooler than his, so it feels nice when he rests his cheek on your chest or when his hot, clammy hands go to your arms. You don't turn away or block your face when he coughs. You rub menthol onto his reddened chest and neck, and watch as he grins dumbly when his nose clears up for a little. When he falls asleep, you stay with him, even if he doesn't wake up for the next five hours. You watch over him and only get up to grab things that are necessary, like his medicine, some water, and a damp towel to wipe the sweat off his forehead and neck.

He takes on the role of the little spoon when you take care of him. Being pampered by you makes him feel small in all the best ways. He feels protected, like you're his guardian. It's really as if the only remedy he needs is you. The expanse of your love for him is unquantifiable, but when you wrap your smaller arms around him and press featherlight kisses onto his skin, it's like a force field that blankets him.

[winstonsns]

Hi ml! I saw that you did cuteness aggression for the greasers platonically and I loved it! I was just wondering if you could maybe do Dally Winston with a really smiley reader whose smile like literally lights up a room, and a smile he loves and he gets cuteness aggression from it? This can be a fic or just head cannons if you want! Thank you so much beautiful!

then he kissed me (request)

authors note: i’m glad you like my cuteness aggression hcs!! sorry this is kinda choppy but slow at the same time. thank you for requesting this, it was super fun to make so i hope you enjoy 💗

dally x reader

word count: 2.5k

warnings: cussing, slightly suggestive, unintentional aggression

you awoke from your deep sleep, a loud ringing noise coming from your nightstand. you sighed, the ringing still continued so you turned to your side and moved closer to the side of your bed.

you wondered, ‘who could be calling me this early?’ it was seven in the morning, you wanted to get up around ten so you could make some sweets for the gang.

after some pondering, you carefully picked up the telephone, groggily mumbling, “who is this..?” you then heard a distinct but gentle laugh coming from the other side of the line.

“awh, doll… did you just wake up?” dally asked, a slightly teasing tone to his voice. you smiled at the nickname, one he would call you often. you missed being in the warmth of his arms, as you were the night before.

you replied, “mhm… i miss you, dal…” he chuckled softly, knowing you would always act like this. always missing him, somehow even when the two of you were together.

“miss you too, sweetheart… say, uh, me and the guys are gonna be hangin’ at the curtis house, ‘round two, you wanna come?” he asked, secretly hoping that you would be there. at the moment, he dreaded to be apart from you. he wanted to be with you as soon as possible.

you thought for a second and appreciated your boyfriend was considerate enough to invite you. you then gasped, “aww, you wanna see meee? i’ll go then, i wanna see you too!” blushing at the thought of the two of you physically being together.

dally smiled at your comment, when he first met you, he didn’t exactly love how happy you always were. he later grew to love it, you had changed his mindset and he started to look forward to every day in the future.

“i got some errands to run, doll. i’ll let you go back to your beauty sleep.” he replied, not quite answering your question although you already knew the answer.

you sighed, “okay, thank you. don’t do anything that’ll get you in trouble. love you, handsome.” you always loved to compliment dally, it’d obviously boost his ego, but he wasn’t even aware that he was completely wrapped around your finger. he was head over heels for you.

“mm… can’t promise anything. look forward to seeing you, doll. go to bed.” he hung up, you put the telephone back on the stand and sighed. you set your alarm for ten in the morning, still wanting to make sweets for the gang.

you turned once again to sleep on your back, closing your eyes and calming down, thinking about what could happen at the curtis house. you had a hard time falling asleep, you turned to your other side to see the dip in the bed where dally once was. moving over to his side, you curled up into a ball, falling asleep only a few minutes later.

a recognizable beeping sound filled your ears, the sound of an alarm clock. you turned to your side, eyes still closed when you reached your arm to press a button and turn the alarm clock off.

you kept your eyes closed for a few more minutes, still not fully awake. you then opened your eyes and put your cheek on your pillow, staring at the wall.

you slowly sat up in bed and swung your legs over the side. gently brushing hair out of your face, you stood up and stayed there for a few minutes, not yet ready to walk around.

when you were, you began to walk to the bathroom, opening the door and walking in. you picked up your toothbrush and turned the water on, placing it under and turning the water off, once again. pulling out the toothpaste out from drawer, you put some on your toothbrush and began brushing your teeth.

after two minutes, you took the brush out of your mouth and spit out the toothpaste. you rinsed your mouth out with water then rinsed your toothbrush. you placed it on the countertop and walked out of the room.

you walked down the hallway to the stairs, going down step by step. once you were downstairs, you began to take flour and other ingredients out of the pantry. once all of them were on the counter, you began to make chocolate cupcakes for the gang.

you mixed the ingredients together and poured the batter into individual cupcake sections after lining each one. you put the cupcake pans into the oven, timing it to bake for twenty minutes.

as it was baking, you made chocolate icing to put on top of the cupcakes themself. you thought of dally, how you missed him dearly and you wanted him to love the cupcakes you were making. when the timer beeped, meaning the cupcakes were done, you stopped the timer with a button and opened the drawer, grabbing mittens. once you put them on, you opened up the oven and pulled the cupcake pans out, you gently placed them on a rack to cool down.

because the cupcake icing was done, there was nothing else to do besides wait for the cupcakes to cool off. while they were cooling down, you put a vinyl on to play, a single made by the crystals. ‘then he kissed me,’ it was called. it reminded you of you and dallas, how he could be so cold to others but was an absolute sweetheart to you.

as the music was playing for a few minutes, you looked at the clock, it was around eleven. you hovered your hand over the cupcakes to see if they were the right temperature, heat wasn’t radiating off of them. you grabbed a piping bag and put the icing into it, icing each cupcake individually.

in order to finish it off and make it look perfect, you took a small container out to the cupboard. it was filled with pink, red and white heart shaped sprinkles. you grabbed another container next to it, one that was filled with bigger pink sprinkles, shaped like bows.

you sprinkled the hearts onto the cupcakes, making sure they all looked nice and equal before putting it down. you then poured the bigger bow sprinkles into your hands, in your opinion, each cupcake only needed one because it was larger than the other sprinkles. you individually placed the bow sprinkles on the frosting, getting some on your fingers and licking it off.

you then backed up from the counter and looked at it, satisfied with your work. you bent down to get a big container, putting it on the counter and placing the cupcakes in it. you left one for yourself, taking off the liner and eating it. you were surely pleased with how it tasted and how it looked, you just hoped the gang would like them too.

grabbing a lid from the cabinet, you put it on the container and opened the fridge, putting it on one of the shelves. you looked back at the clock, it was around 11:40. you had around an hour and a half to rest before you had to get ready to go to the curtis house.

in that hour and a half, you finished a book that you’ve been wanting to read again. when you glanced to the clock, it was around 1:10, you closed your book and placed it in your nightstand.

you then get up from your bed and walk to your dresser, opening the drawers and pulling out a shirt you know dally likes. grabbing bottoms of your choice, you pick up some white socks that would look good with your heels.

you began to get dressed. as you were brushing your teeth, you walked outside your bathroom to once again, check the clock. it was around 1:40, almost time for you to drive to the curtis house. when you were done brushing your teeth, you walked downstairs and to the kitchen. you opened up the fridge, gently taking out the cupcake container and placing it on the counter.

you then walked to the entrance of your house, grabbing your heels and putting them on your feet. as you walked back to the kitchen, you grabbed the cupcake container and your keys.

walking outside and therefore exiting your house, you locked up the house and continued walking to your car, parked in the driveway. you unlocked your car, opening the door to the drivers seat and putting the cupcake container in the passengers seat.

as you began to drive in the direction of the curtis house, you saw your boyfriend seemingly walking to your house. your eyebrows furrowed, wondering why he was here.

he looks in your direction as you pull over, closer to him. he leans into the rolled down window and puts his hand on the roof of the car, “hey, baby..” smiling at you sweetly.

you smiled at him back, blushing once again at the nickname and asking, “why are you here, hun? it’s not exactly safe for you to be in a soc neighborhood. don’t want you to get hurt, dal… no one’s following you, right?”

he mumbles at the beginning, “worried about me, huh, baby..? don’t think anyone’s following me, and if someone was,” he leaned in closer to your face, lips only a few inches apart, “i’d beat the shit out of them, you know that.”

looking up at him, you order, “get in.” gesturing to the passengers seat, you grab the cupcakes container and gently place it in the back seats.

he states, “yes ma’am.” and walks around the side of the car, opening the door and sitting in the passengers seat. he notices how the seat is perfect for him, his legs aren’t as cramped as they used to be.

you state as you begin to drive, “pushed the seat back for you ‘cause you used to complain about it so damn much.” he rolled his eyes, smiling and gently placing his hand on the hem of your shirt, fidgeting with it.

at a stop light, you’re behind a few cars when dally leans over and softly grabs your face, turning it towards him. he kisses you gently and continues to go back for kisses, him initiating contact until cars behind you start to honk.

the light has already turned green, you pull away from the kiss and drive to the curtis house. the two of you arrive at the house, you park your pink car nearby, trying to somewhat hide it though obviously failing. dark colors are all around, the odd one out is a light pink mustang on the side of the road.

you get up out of your car, opening the back door and picking up the cupcake container and carrying it. dallas is right behind you, making you jump and he chuckled because of you. you lightly bump his shoulder, mumbling, “shut up.”

he gently grabs the container from the bottom out of your hands, beginning to talk to you and asking what’s in the container. you state, “oh, they’re chocolate cupcakes! pony and soda are always talking about chocolate cake, so i guessed they’d like chocolate cupcakes too! decided to bring some for the whole gang.” you smile up at your boyfriend.

he smiles down at you, “ain’t you a peach? you’re too sweet for me, doll.” he loves how sweet you always are, you always thought of others before yourself, wondering if things were safe before letting yourself and others do something. too good, too pure for him. all of your kindness made people attracted to you, romantically and platonically. he was so glad the gang accepted you right away when he told them the two of you were dating.

you continue to talk as your boyfriend looks at you, love apparent in his eyes. he opens the door up for you, letting you walk in first. loudness quickly fills your ears, two-bit exclaiming, “the fuck? dally’s opening doors for people, being a gentleman? since when?”

your boyfriend closed the door behind him, “since y/n came along, dipshit.” he replied. darry, two-bit, soda and steve greeted you and dally as the two of you came in. as you walk to the kitchen, you gently take the container out of dally’s hands, thanking him for carrying it. you then place it on the counter, johnny and pony immediately swarming around to see what you have.

“hey, y/n, whatcha got there?” johnny asks, pony agreeing and greeting you too. you smile at the both of them, dally’s hand moving to your waist, rubbing soothingly up and down.

you softly reply, “oh, it’s just chocolate cupcakes. you guys can have some if you want, it’s for all of you—“ you paused, really looking at johnny and asking, “oh, johnny, what happened to your cheek? are you okay?” you’re concerned, he had told you it was a few socs who beat him up, rings cutting his face.

as dally listens in on the conversation, observing you the whole time, he feels a sense of aggression while you were concerned for johnny. he doesn’t know how to describe it, he doesn’t want to actually hurt you, but he needs to find a way to relieve the emotion he was feeling.

so he grips your waist a little harder, pony looking at the point of contact and whispering to johnny, “think we should leave. they’re gettin’ a little handsy.” causing his friend to also look at the point of contact, he grins and looks at dally. “we’ll be in the livin’ room.”

the two walk away chuckling with each other while you don’t know why they left. as soon as the two of them turn their backs, your boyfriend kisses you on the cheek then to the lips. he slightly pushes you towards the counter, continuing to kiss you.

“you’re so adorable, baby… so important to me…” he mumbled in between kisses, your hands on his chest. you wince at the pain on your waist, mumbling, “dal, you’re hurting my waist a bit. little softer, hun.”

he softens his grip at your command, whispering an apology. the two of you were interrupted by darry loudly stating, “hey,” trying to get your attention, “you do that, you go back to your damn house.”

you look back, sensing dally was trying his hardest not to physically hurt you. the both of you chuckled at the interruption, you leaned into your boyfriend, tilting your head up to get a kiss from him. this time, the kiss was soft and passionate, savored.

once the two of you pulled away, you were once again, interrupted, this time with many boys running into the kitchen to try the chocolate cupcakes.

[capquinn]

Still The Same | Q. Hughes

summary: it’s the day after the canucks playoff elimination and quinn doesn’t want to think about it at all. based upon this quote from quinny's year-end interview :( pairing: fem!reader x quinn hughes word count: 987 note: this came to me at 2am last night so its scattered and a lil wordy and doesn't have v much dialogue but nonetheless here it is. godspeed! <3 ↪ masterlist

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

It’s still the same sun shining through the kitchen window.

It’s still the same hazy sky.

Still the same city with the same bustling streets and his same apartment with the same smells and the same comforts.

The world hasn’t ended.

There is still the same familiar embrace that comes from behind when he stands over the coffee machine bleary eyed and trying to keep his mind from wondering. The same squeeze around his middle and the same kiss to his shoulder.

“You OK?” You whisper, following his lead as he shuffles around and brings you close to his chest. Strong arms circle around you and hands rest splayed against the small of your back.

Still the same person he always wants and needs staring back at him. Still the same eyes and pouting lips. The same hands rubbing his back in the same circular motions. The same smell of vanilla body soap and floral laundry detergent that always reminds him of home.

The world hasn’t ended, he reminds himself. The other team were better and his team was eliminated but things could be worse and life goes on. At least the world hasn’t ended.

Everything is still here.

Quinn shakes his head and buries his face in the crook of your neck. “Don’t wanna talk about it,” he mumbles. “Don’t even wanna think about it.”

And the same as always, you take care of him.

After breakfast, you’re both curled up in the same spot on the sofa watching the same comfort movie that you always let him pick just so he didn’t catch a glimpse of the news.

“I won’t fall asleep this time,” he promises, laying his head down in your lap.

You roll your eyes and give him a knowing look, and just as he always did, he smiles sheepishly because, yeah, even he knows it’s a lie.

But there’s the same anxious bouncing of his leg and the same pursed lips as he bites the inside of his cheek that lets you know he’s less than okay.

“Hey,” you murmur softly, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “I love you.”

The world hasn’t ended, he tells himself and relaxes into your body again.

There are still the same fingers carding through his hair lulling him into oblivion and the same slow breaths when he finally falls asleep.

He’s not thinking about hockey so you let him sleep for as long as he needs. 

After he wakes, you beg him to teach you the same card game you are never able to comprehend because you know he is unable to resist a challenge and it ends the same way it always does.

“Baby,” he groans. Same bewildered blue eyes fixing you in a stare.

Your inability to grasp the concept frustrates him beyond belief, and it doesn’t help matters when you’re laughing every time he sighs and mumbles when you get the rules wrong each and every round which makes it difficult for him to stay mad with you. After all, he’s still the same lovesick man.

“How aren’t you getting this? Can you be serious for a second? You need to create groups of three of a kind—,”

“I don’t even know what that means,” you cut him short.

“Well if you stop interrupting me you’ll find out,” he tells you, exasperated. It’s still the same bickering.

The world hasn’t ended, and he bites back a smile.

Fuelled by sheer determination, he reiterates the same rules and is even kind enough to demonstrate it all again but when you repeat the rules back wrong for the hundredth time and interrupt the game with the same bout of laughter…

“You’re lucky I love you,” he tells you as he packs away the deck of cards, finally admitting defeat. But he hadn’t thought about hockey so it wasn’t all bad.

And it’s still the same agonising existential dread that keeps him up at night. The same bouncing leg that wakes you. The same tossing and turning. The same sighs and deep breaths. If you didn’t know any better, you would have believed he was doing it on purpose.

You mould your body around his and everything falls back into place. The hurt starts to leave the room.

The world hasn't ended.

Quinn wraps his arm around your shoulders. “Sorry,” he whispers hoarsely, hand nestling in your hair. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wish you would,” you tell him, desperate to be there for him in any way that he needs.

When he doesn’t respond, you’re angling your body enough so you can search his eyes for a truth. Quinn pushes the hair out of your face and cups your cheek in his hand. A thumb brushes over your pouting bottom lip. He’s unwilling to say anything at all and he hopes you don’t ask him to either.

But you’re still the same woman with the same ginormous heart that worries about him.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

He shakes his head. “Not yet,” he mumbles, and cranes his neck to kiss you with the same passion as always. And so the same butterflies flutter around in his stomach and the same hammering of his heart in his chest returns.

He’s kissing you slowly, pillowy lips savouring every moment. Cold hands wander over too hot skin as Quinn drags you closer and now you’re straddling his waist, clawing at the hem of the cotton that covers his body, and when your hands meet his bare shoulders, he finally pulls his lips away from yours. You muffle a moan and paw at his back, trying to pull him closer against you again. He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth and pecks your cheek until his head dips to place spongy kisses against your neck, tongue swirling against milky skin.

Your fingers curl around the hair at the base of his neck. “God,” you moan. “I love you.”

Having almost succumbed to despair, he’s reminded that the world hasn’t ended.

[ifimdreaming]

come over?

luke hughes x reader

summary: you and luke have a secret/not so secret relationship

a/n: no warnings really, this is cute i think and very cringey fluff tbh. not proofread.

word count: 1.3k

-

Keeping your relationship with Luke a secret from your friends was a hard enough task as it is, but having to keep it a complete secret from your family was proving to be an even more difficult task. It has been over 6 months of you and Luke being together now and everyday you just want to shout from the rooftops just how much you love him.

Although you knew being in the spotlight was 100% not what you wanted, it was so much harder than you thought to have to sneak around and pretend to be single around some of your very closest friends. And Luke knew how much it meant to the public for you to be known solely as ‘Luke Hughes’ Girlfriend’ so you had both agreed on the whole keeping-things-a-secret thing until further notice.

Because of this, It had been almost 2 weeks since you had last seen your boyfriend. Both you and him being respectively busy, and also having absolutely nowhere to spend time together as your two roommates had not been out of the house for any extended periods of time lately. And in the midst of that, Luke and Jack had a guest staying at their condo since the beginning of the month, making it nearly impossible for you to spend any time there at all.

This had you up late at night thinking about Luke for what felt like the millionth night in a row. wishing he was beside you instead of just your childhood stuffed animals. Wishing he was rubbing your back, soothing you to sleep, kissing your neck gently, tracing shapes on your skin - there were so many little ways he showed you his love and you missed every single one of them. And as much as you hated what was at risk with you sneaking him over - laying in bed dreaming about it caused absolutely no harm at all.

Pulling you out of your daydream, you hear buzzing begin to come from your phone that is left charging on your nightstand as you are trying desperately to fall asleep. You look over to see that it is Luke calling you, at almost 1:00 in the morning. You wonder if he had been up thinking about you too.

You reach over and grab your phone to answer him, “hi baby” you whisper into the phone, not wanting to wake up anyone else in your apartment.

“baby I cant sleep. I miss you so much” he says with a tired rasp in his voice. He lets out a sigh on the other end of the phone and its almost like he is right beside you. You can hear the longing in his voice and can just sense how frustrated he is with the single sigh.

“I miss you too lukey. I literally cant sleep either - ive just been up thinking about you” you say honestly. 

You have always been super honest with him about everything. Weather it be you telling him every single detail about how horrible your period is that week, how you absolutely dread doing the dishes and let them pile up for days before getting to them, how you refuse to go out past 5pm by yourself because you are terrified of being kidnapped, or explaining to him word for word why you love the movie ‘love rosie’ so much and how much it means to you when he agrees to watch it with you. Luke knew you so well and you knew him just the same. Because you always communicated with each other. about everything. No matter what. 

Thats why what he said next came as such a shock to you.

“Ive been thinking too..’’ he trails off, his tone quieter than before

You stay quiet on the other end of the phone, curious about what Luke is about to say and suddenly extremely aware of the fact that it is so late at night and he decided to call you without warning. After your silent thinking, you hum a quiet ‘mhm’ in response, urging him to continue.

“Ive just been thinking.. maybe I regret keeping things, with us, a secret for so long. I know I- We agreed to hold off, especially because of how it would affect your life and everything. And I know thats a really big deal. I dont want you to think im being selfish..” he begins, but waits for you to chime in with your thoughts.

Things have worked well this way for so long, that it surprised you he felt this way. Especially because Luke is a very private person in general, you assumed this is how he wanted things. It broke your heart if you made him feel like this was all your idea in the first place. You just thought it would be best for the both of you.

“Luke I dont know what to say. Honestly i thought we were on the same page so I didnt offer to change anything…” 

“How long have you felt like this?” you add, trying to speak loud enough but still with your voice in a whisper.

“I mean. I dont really know?” he says almost as a question

“Luke…” you urge him, hoping he will answer your question honestly.

“Well I guess - about a month now I guess? I know i shouldve said something sooner but I just didnt want to ruin anything. I know thats kind of..shitty..” He says regretfully

Theres the honest boy you know.

“I..I didnt know” you say. Honestly you ddnt know where to go from here. You wanted to tell everyone everything about your relationship at this very moment, but werent sure if thats where Luke was going with this.

“I- What are you thinking? I understand if you want to keep things the way they are. I wanna be clear that I really dont want to force you into changing anything. I just i couldn t keep it to myself anymore” 

It was so exciting to you knowing how much Luke cared about you. The way he cares for everyone around him has always been something you admire about him. He has the biggest heart in the world and you only hoped to be at least half as caring as him. Clearly this has been on his mind for a while and he cared so mch about your feelings towards it that he didnt want to let his feelings ruin what you have.

“Luke I love you, obviously as long as you know that, thats enough for me. But i do want everyone to know that too.” you say as the lump in your throat grows and tears well in your eyes. 

You honestly didn't know why this was making you emotional. But the combination of missing him, hearing him so delicately approach you with this, and knowing this might be the moment you get to share your love for him with the world, is making it hard to get your words out right now.

“I love you so much. and I want everyone to know I do too” he says matter of factly and your heart melts completely. 

You both sit in comfortable silence over the phone for a moment as your slight sniffles fill the quiet air. 

“I dont know why im crying..” you say through quiet laughter and hear Luke share laughter in response. He was so used to you being emotional over the most random things, this not surprising him one bit.

“What can i do baby?” 

You dont even have to think twice of your next response but pretend to be contemplating anyway,

“hmmmm, come over?” you respond hopefully. It thrilled you to think he might actually say yes. Even at 1:00 in the morning.

“Absolutely,” he says with a laugh and you grin ear to ear with giddy excitement, 

“give me 20 minutes”

-

-

[trumpkinhotboy]

I'll keep an eye on you - II

pairing: jacob black x reader

type: not requested

genre: bit angsty and fluffy

warnings: none

word count: 3400

requests: open! for twilight wolfpack, narnia, heartstopper

a/n: hope you enjoy this lil part 2 !! also I really want to thank @tgarrett26 for helping me with this fic (you are awesome) + they are the reason there is even a pt.2 hehe

part I part III

*gif is not mine

summary: After one night of respite, the reader confronts the day to realize the shadows haven't quite disappeared yet.

There's a timid sunbeam lighting up your cozy little room. Nothing scary or menacing in view. You look over to your nightstand with barely opened eyes to see your mushroom light still on. The clock on your desk shines the time. 7:00am. 

7am?!

You sit straight up, immediately noticing the big dent on the left side of your bed. Yes, of course, Jacob came in last night. Your cheeks flush with the thought of having slept so soundly next to the heaping mountain of muscles that is your friend. You feel so confused and well-rested. For the first time in a few weeks, you awoke calmly. This might have been the best night of sleep of your whole damn life, and it's 7:00am! You managed to wake up before your alarm. You wouldn't have to be rushing to school for once. You were usually only able to fall asleep when the sun started shining and chased away the threatening shadows of the night. So, being late to school was a recurring occurrence for you. For once, your father wouldn't have to come in to try and wake you up. You were pushing away your blankets to get up when there was a knock on your door before it slowly cracked open.

"Sweetheart, time to wake up. Don't want to be late for sch-"

Your father's traits lifted up in surprise, and honestly, you couldn’t really blame the man. You didn't keep track of all the mornings he found you all tangled up in your blankets, hair sprawled everywhere like a bird's nest, saliva drooling down your chin.

"Did you sleep well?"

You nodded eagerly, a sincere smile spreading on your lips. Charlie seemed incredibly thrilled by that piece of news. He was no stranger to the nightmares haunting your nights and was brokenhearted to see you so tired and on edge all the time.

"Well, then. Better get down and eat breakfast before you head to school." He gave you a timid smile before softly closing your door.

You had your first breakfast with your dad in a long time. He was particularly chirpy, and you kept catching his relieved gaze. You left for school on time and had a really great day. You felt awake and energized. Participating in class and your little social circle once again felt like a rush. Your efforts were welcomed with gigantic smiles from your teachers and friends. For a second, you thought the weeks of anguish and terror might finally be behind you. Maybe a night with Jacob had been the only thing you needed to put this whole thing behind you. However, as the sun went down and shadows stretched on the ground, you got more flinchy and twitchy. Once more, you turned at every odd sound, looking over your shoulder as you left the school grounds. You almost ran to your car, locking all the doors, and left a trail of dust with how fast you headed back home on the powdery roads of Forks. 

Dinner with your father was much more somber than the breakfast you shared this morning. You felt like a dagger to your heart, his disappointment when he saw you jump as he caught you by surprise in the kitchen. You usually were always careful about hiding your internal conflict from Charlie. Yet the frustration you felt tonight weighed much more than the want to hide everything from him.

Once dinner was over, you climbed the stairs with heavy steps, feeling the dread in your body get worse the closer you got to your bedroom. You opened the door to find a space very different than the one you had left when you awoke this morning. Your still unmade bed didn't feel so inviting tonight. Long gone were the rays of sunshine that scared the shadows away. The room you faced was now dark and gloomy. Nothing about it felt safe or secure.

You rushed in to turn on your mushroom light and sat on your bed, trying to summon all your courage to breathe calmly. 

It's over now. Nightmares are just that. They aren't real. I'm safe now.

No matter how much you would repeat it, those words felt empty and fake. You got up, put your pajamas on, and as you were ready to get in bed, you noticed a piece of clothing jutting out from under one of the pillows. You lifted it up to find the T-shirt you lent to Jacob. He didn't keep it. He left your house shirtless so you could keep the stupid piece of clothing. You grabbed it and held it up to your nose. Immediately, your senses were overpowered by his woodsy scent. You fell to your bed, shirt still pressed on your face as you let a deep sigh leave your lungs.

Grabbing your phone on the night table, you hesitated. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard before you closed the device and threw it away.

The clock had just struck midnight when you heard something scratching outside. You almost had a heart attack when you saw Jacob hanging onto your window, motioning for you to open it.

"Jacob Black. What the hell are you doing? Do you want to kill me?!"

Your tall friend let out a deep chuckle as he swiftly stepped into your room without making a noise. His gaze fell onto the fort you had built yourself. There were pillows and blankets lined all around your bed, a very feeble attempt at a barrier. The tv screen was paused on one of your favorite movie. He gave you a worried look and took a second to really take in the state you were in. You didn't look like the relaxed girl he had, reluctantly, left in a peaceful slumber this morning.

"What?" you defensively crossed your arms on your chest, already sensing where this conversation would be going.

"What are you doing?" he quietly asked, his head slightly leaning on one side.  

"I was watching a movie." 

You immediately saw a shadow pass in his dark eyes and felt a familiar pain ring in your chest. You couldn't live with disappointing both your father and Jacob. Worse, you couldn't live with the pity in their eyes. If only the bad dreams could stay away. 

"What are you doing," you finally asked, a bit more roughly than you had intended.

He hesitated, sensing you had been offended in some way. "I just did a quick run around the perimeter, but then I saw the light open and just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Your expression softened at the concern painted on his handsome face. Fear did make you more on edge, but you knew Jacob had done nothing to deserve that anger. You sighed before plopping down on your bed.

"That's very nice of you, but I am okay. I just didn't feel tired yet." 

You felt adamant about telling him of the return of the paranoia. You were already so disappointed in yourself. You couldn't even muster the bravery to be in your room alone at night. What would it even do if you told him the truth? It felt so shameful to ask again for his help, to ask him to watch over you while you were sleeping. Just because, like a child, you were afraid of the dark and the beasts it hid. You were instantly relieved when he gave you a suspicious glance as if he might believe your lie. You gave him your best smile, trying to prove how relaxed you were. You only wanted to chase the worries away from his chocolate eyes. 

That could have worked if only the sound of your house creaking under a strong gust of wind and a branch scratching on your window hadn't made you flinch so damn hard. 

Jacob's gaze hardened over your tense figure. You expected him to make a comment, to confront you. As you waited anxiously for the ax to drop, he finally walked over to your bed, sat, and pointed to your television.

"May I join you then?"

You initiated him to one of your best comfort movies. It required absolutely no brain power and just helped you feel better. Always a good player, Jake obliged and even seemed to enjoy it. When you were done, you spent another hour just chatting about nothing and everything. You tried hiding your clock from his sight and hoped he wouldn't notice time flying away, but sadly, there wasn't much your figure could hide from his wolfish sight.

"It's getting late. I should probably go," He muttered after an hour of mindless chatting. His dark eyes fixed on your features, you faced each other, forearms tucked under your head while you lay on your side. You couldn't help your shoulders and jaw from tensing up at his words. The happiness and carelessness he had brought you vanished as if it never occurred. Fear crept up in your belly at the thought of being alone in the dark again. 

You gave him a tight smile as you nodded. He hesitantly got up, giving you another weird look. You barely registered it, too focused on avoiding falling into a panicked state. He walked to the window, and as you thought he was about to leave, he turned around on a whim.

"I really don't understand you. Even in this state, you won't ask for my help?" 

His outburst surprised you and unintentionally made you recoil at the swift motion. He sighed deeply, "Please don't look at me like this. I want to understand. Why don't you want my help?" he repeated, annoyance rippling in waves from his body.

"I- I'm not sure what you're talking about," you responded, determined to hang on to the shred of dignity you had left.

He let out a sarcastic laugh. It was dry and reeked of disdain towards this fluke you were trying to fool him with. "Stop playing Y/n. You reek of fear." 

His words were like a punch in the gut. You felt shame hitting you as you realized how stupid you had been. 

"See? Your reaction only confirms what I already knew. What I don't understand is why you insist on facing this alone. You can always call me, and I will always come through for you. Have I not proven that?" 

"You did, but it's not your responsibility to fix me. To fix this."

"Not my responsibility?" he scoffed. He turned around while dragging his hand through his hair. He was a mix of so many emotions you couldn't pinpoint what was brewing in his brain. He stayed silent for so long that you thought he would leave you like this. You were about to add something when he raised his voice. "I would give everything to go back to that night. To be there by your side. Maybe you wouldn't have to go through that, or at least I would have been the one to rip to shreds that bloodsucker." Flames of rage danced in his eyes while you stood speechless, gawking at him. 

You were at a loss for words. You had seen Jake in many different states in your friendship, but he never looked so conflicted. Anger and sadness seemed to be battling out the right to overpower him. For a rare moment, he looked incredibly vulnerable. He was back to being that innocent teenager you had always known. You approached, unsure whether that would make him lash out, but he stayed put, his eyes fixed on the ground. You knew Jacob felt responsible for what happened to you. What you didn't know is that he tortured himself with it. Your heart ached at the thought, and any frustration you had felt up to this point melted.

Softly, you grabbed his hand. "Jacob, look at me."

When he finally turned around and lifted his gaze, tears hung on to the line of his long lashes. The sight of it made your throat close up. 

"Why won't you let me care for you," he whispered, inches from you. 

His gaze was so deep and carried a tsunami of emotions. Without even thinking about it, you grabbed his face. Both of your hands cradled his soft and warm skin. You saw goosebumps creep up his muscled arms, mirroring the one on yours. Bringing his forehead to your own, you took a deep breath.

"I don't want to be a burden."

Saying the words that'd been ringing in your head for so long felt almost exhilarating while also being incredibly relieving. Contrary to the belief of your messed up head, the world didn't end or break in two once the thought left your lips. 

"I've always thought you were such an incredible person and couldn't help but always want to be better for you. Ever since you phased, that feeling only got more intense. You've evolved so much in the past few months, and I'm still old me. When I got attacked, it was the most horrible experience of my life, but it also reinforced that concept. I couldn't even walk from yours to Emily's cabin without being attacked. The boys had to risk their lives to save me. I didn't even get one scratch, and still, I'm afraid of the dark. I'm afraid to sleep alone. I'm afraid if I let my guard down for one second... it'll happen again. Which means that I'll either die or be a burden for you guys once more because I can't even defend myself against something like that. You're already so good to me. I don't want to add this to your list of things to worry about." 

Your eyes stayed closed even after you finished and controlled your breathing again. Saying it aloud was incredible, but to open your eyes to face his reaction felt nerve-racking. You were about to when a strong pair of arms wrapped around you. 

"You are not and will never be a burden to me." His tone was soft and felt a little strangled. In your dimly lit little room, while the rest of the world was in a peaceful slumber, Jacob's words felt like the only thing that mattered.

He pulled back after a moment but still held you close. "I don't know what gave you the impression that you were a burden. If it ever was something I did, I want to apologize."

"I remember so vividly the look on your face when the boys brought me back to the cabin. You had the same disappointed expression as you have just now. I promise I'm trying to heal as fast I can, but this... this is harder than I thought it would be."

Confusion was now the only emotion on his face, clear as day. "Disappointed? Y/n, I never was disappointed. It was the worst, terrifying, shit your pants kind of fear I've ever felt. It's agony to know you're so ridden with fear. I was disappointed to learn that tonight was still hard for you, not because I think you're not healing fast enough, but because I hoped I finally helped you feel better. I feel so bad you have to live with these memories for your whole life. I just wish I could make them disappear." 

That's when you understood the slim difference between disappointment and defeat. One was channeled towards you, and the other wasn't. For Jacob, it had always been directed at himself.

"Jacob, you're the only one who makes me breathe a little easier. You're the only reason I slept soundly last night." A new light illuminated his eyes. You steadied yourself before you continued, your tone slightly hushed. "You've always had that specific calming effect on me. You're the only person who makes things better for me. Ever since we were kids. I have always felt safe with you. You're like my personal haven." 

It felt like a big thing to say, but you wanted that sadness to leave his face. You wanted his eyes to be filled with light again, and somehow, it felt right to tell him about all this. He spent so much time worrying about everything and everyone. He deserved to know how appreciated he was. He deserved to know what he meant to you.

Emotion thickened the air. So much so that it felt like you couldn't breathe just right. Your hands slid from his cheeks delicately. You placed one at the nape of his neck while the other grabbed the top of his hair. "Jake, I don't think you even understand how much you mean to me."

Time stood still for a moment. Your eyes focused on each other, and the rest of the world ceased to exist.

 "Y/n, I-" his eyes held something heavier. He opened his mouth as if he was about to say something before deciding better of it. It almost looked like it cost him to try and get the words out. He gave up in a huff, and whatever was in his gaze, whatever he thought about, vanished. Some part of you wanted to push him, to ask, but tonight had been a rollercoaster enough. You could let it go for now. He pulled you in for another hug before releasing you a little.

"So, now that we've established that you are not a burden." he started softly.

"And that this is in no way your fault," you added with a grin. 

He rolled his eyes, "Uhm. Can you tell me what you actually need? I can stay here with you if you want."

You felt a pang of your old fears scratch at your heart, but you let them all go in one breath. "I would very much like that."

You tucked yourselves in bed for the second night in a row. You hesitated to turn off the light, but always so observant, Jacob assured you it didn't bother him to keep it open. You lay side by side in silence. You were focused on becoming familiar with the ordinary and hazardous sounds an old house made at night when Jacob started to whisper.

"I know you think you aren't as fearless as us, but I can assure you everyone in our tribe thinks you are the bravest person they've ever met. Not many people would feel comfortable hanging out with a bunch of new werewolves." 

"Brave or totally crazy," you added while making a wicked-looking face. His eyes disappeared in his bright smile, and you wished you could snap a picture of it. 

"No, but really, you're the only one who stayed by my side all throughout my phasing process. No matter how dangerous it was for you. If that's not the definition of bravery, I don't know what is." He turned pensive again while his gaze darkened.

You unwillingly recalled the phasing process of Jacob. All the terrible memories flashed before your eyes. His screams of pain still rang in your ears. You remember distinctly every time you wished to take his place. If you could have taken away some of his pain, you would have in an instant. The least you could do was stay by his side no matter what. You had to fight with Billy and the rest of the pack, but in the end, even they couldn't keep you away. No one could have.

You slid into his arms, and his body tensed under the new touch before quickly relaxing to envelop you in a tight embrace. 

"I would never leave you alone," you mumbled in his chest. "I know you like to have this strong and impressive appearance, but inside, you're still the same little Jacob I've always known. I know you need me."

You lightly pressed your lips onto his chest and nuzzled farther into him. Fireworks were exploding in the boy's chest as he returned the gesture with a kiss on your head.

"And Jake?"

"Uhm?"

"Don't think I didn't notice you wanted to tell me something important earlier. For tonight, it's okay, but we'll have to talk about that."

[cursedpiratestash]

Talon x Reader

Cuddle/sleep headcanons

Doomfist

He doesn’t have time for it very often but when it gets down to it he melts into you in a gentle hold

He prefers a casual position where you head rests on his chest while he rubs circles in your back

He would never admit it to anybody but big spooning him puts him right to sleep

But if you’re a natural heater it doesn’t matter the position after a long day

He’s constantly preparing and orchestrating missions so he isn’t usually with you when you wake up but always kisses you on the temple while you sleep on his way out

Reaper

He isn’t entirely fond of it but does it anyways especially if it helps you sleep

Spooning is easier for him but he doesn’t mind you resting your head on his arm while facing him

He gets to have a good look at you as you usually wind up falling asleep first

His skin is pretty chilled so he counts on your body heat and a few extra blankets for warmth

He isn’t always in bed by the time you wake up but when he is he’s already caressing your cheek and dreading the headache his team will bring him

Moira

She’s almost always late to bed and occasionally isn’t there at all

You consider yourself lucky some nights when you can actually drag her to bed with you

She has terrible circulation and is pretty cold so after some complaining she makes sure the bed has extra blankets

However if you run hot at night then it’s a match made in heaven as she gets to watch you pass out while you practically drape yourself over her

She prefers you rest your head on her chest as it gives her a free hand to look at reports while the other hand runs itself through your hair

She always wakes up before you and like clockwork she returns to her experiments but not without a forehead kiss on her way out

Sombra

I imagine she’s terrible at getting to bed at a reasonable time but you’ve changed that when you start dating

Now it’s something she can look forward to as she even takes an occasional nap with you whenever her schedule can allow it

There are nights she doesn’t show up but when she does she loves to be big spoon since she runs a little hot in her sleep

She finds it so rewarding even on nights you both hardly get enough sleep from staying up talking and laughing over every little thing

It always surprises her to think about how much you’ve helped her relax as it manages to show in her work as well

She’s probably the only Talon member what wakes up in unison with you and shares your morning routine

Mauga

As a mercenary he only occasionally isn’t in bed whenever he has a mission run late

On nights that he’s home he makes sure to drag you to bed with him no matter what you’re doing

He’s earned his little snuggle session so “five more minutes” be damned

He enjoys any cuddling position but he loves to wrap himself around you and engulf you in his arms

He loves when you stay up late and talk with him as you trace whatever scars he’s collected from past missions

He does wake up before you but refuses to let you out of bed unless you promise him something like breakfast or helping him wash his hair

Widowmaker

She doesn’t seem to need much sleep these days and she isn’t quite fond of cuddling as much as she used to be but she is fond of you

As an assassin the only time she isn’t in bed with you is when a mission runs late

Whenever it’s up to her she prefers spooning regardless of her position as long as she feels the warmth of your skin

Compared to you her skin is ice cold and hardly makes for a good cuddle session unless you run hot at night

If you don’t she always sees to it that the bed has extra thick blankets and expensive furs prepared on your side of the bed

You’ll sometimes catch her watching over you if you happen to wake up in the middle of the night

In the morning she’s always up and offering you tea or coffee before some breakfast

Sigma

Like Moira his research never allows for him to have a normal sleep schedule

You usually have to coax him to bed with gentle hands and promises to let him continue his work early in the morning

It tends to work some of the time if he isn’t suddenly too cold and stonewalls you

Once he’s actually in bed it takes a little more effort to get him to ease his mind and get some sleep

A frequent tradition is to spend some time with his head on your lap while you message his forehead

You have your deepest conversations with him when he’s resting on you like this

When it’s time to sleep he envelops you in his arms and is finally soothed by the smell of your hair

He isn’t much colder than Moira but enjoys a few extra blankets on his side regardless of your heat

Mornings aren’t always the same but he does his best to share a routine with you

[pomefioredove]

please, PLEASE write a rollo x reader fic where rollo wakes up from a nightmare about his brother and where there to comfort him PLEASE 🙏🙏🙏🙏

let it be known that the only reason I started playing this game was because they added frollo. rollo is like a cryptid in the HoND fandom

summary: nightmares and comfort type of post: fic characters: rollo additional info: romantic, established relationship?, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, not proofread, rollo vaguely implied to have ptsd because I do and am a scholar in trauma nightmares ^-^

There's a certain point at which bad dreams and reality melt together.

Where the line blurs, and you can't be sure where the nightmare ends and you begin. They so often feel one in the same.

Rollo is familiar with bad dreams.

At one point, he thought there would be a solution. Something to hold them back, to release him from their sticky grasp. He journaled, for a while, but all that brought him was grief.

It happens like clockwork.

Four or five nightmares in one rest, for one to two weeks, at the same time every year. He keeps track of them. How could he not?

They culminate on a certain day, one he dreads in and of itself, and then slowly, painfully die off, leaving him wounded and alone.

It's dreadful.

And it's worse that he knows exactly why they happen.

You had once asked him what keeps him up at night, as a sort of conversation starter when you were first getting to know each other. What a strange question to ask someone, and in such a light-hearted tone.

He told you he sees no use for excess sleep when he can be diligent, instead.

Sloth is a vice, he said. Detestable.

You seemed to accept that as an answer, much to his relief. The truth was far too ugly for someone as pure as you to shoulder. He was only protecting your feelings, after all. And perhaps his.

Rollo hoped, for your sake, that you wouldn't notice. He was still getting used to the idea of sleeping beside another person, and the very last thing he wanted was to burden you with all of what he is.

To put it plainly, he didn't want to scare you off.

The first few nights were easy enough. Nasty imagery wrapped up in otherwise normal dreams, those of which could hardly be considered nightmares.

He'd wake up in a cold sweat, and toss and turn until he could manage to fall back asleep, never stirring you.

This time is different.

He wakes, not quite jolting, but certainly thrashing himself back into the present moment like an animal caught in a trap.

His eyes snap open, and there's nothing but darkness, his breathing, and the uneasy feeling of his stomach. It takes a moment for him to adjust to his surroundings.

You're still asleep. Thankfully.

He liked to keep some distance between the two of you, anyway. Rollo had to ease himself into the idea of being physically close with someone without being utterly repulsed.

The only reason he'd entertained the idea in the first place was because it's you, you, pure and good, who would never do anything to discomfort him, you, who even now, sleeps like an angel in his bed.

There's something unclean about that thought, although it's not your doing.

Rollo gets up, careful not to disturb you, and paces around the room while he tries to get ahold of reality. He reminds himself of the date, the time, his full name, anything that will shake the lingering terror coursing through is body.

He does not cry. He hasn't since...

Well. Never mind, that.

Now is not the time to make a fuss. He's not a child, he's not fragile, he can handle his own nightmares without needing someone to tuck him back in.

The dream was so terrifyingly, disgustingly real, though.

The nightmares which aren't nightmares are the worst sorts of dreams, because he instantly feels silly for scaring himself over something so mundane, even if that looming sense of dread and fear still makes him feel ill.

This one was but a normal conversation, with...

...He didn't want to remember it.

The point was more so that it felt so utterly real that waking up like this, having it fall apart around him like the rotting pages of an old book, was like having his head dunked in freezing cold water repeatedly.

Not a pleasant feeling.

He paces, back and forth, in front of the now-dead fireplace, trying to regain his bearings.

He's quiet; he so often is; and yet, still, roused either by the sound of his footsteps or the heavy, uncomfortable feeling in the air, you wake.

The sound of your voice nearly scares him.

Rollo turns to you, eyes wide as you sit up, drawing your knees to your chest. "What?"

"I asked if you're okay," you repeat, turning to the space beside you to check the time. "It's two in the morning."

His answer is immediate, as calm as he can muster, although there's a faint crack in his voice on the last word. "I'm well. I was just thinking,"

"Thinking? Now?"

He nods, and turns back to the mantle. His arms are crossed over his chest, acting as a sort of armor, protecting him.

You tilt your head to the side. "Did you have a bad dream?"

He hates how perceptive you can be, sometimes. It takes him a moment to think of a suitable answer- is it worth telling you the truth?

"I have bad dreams all the time," you say. "Like... all the time. Weird ones, too. It's nothing to be embarrassed a-"

"I am not embarrassed," he snaps, whirling around on his heels to face you. His tone softens when he sees the perplexed expression on your face. "I was just trying to tire myself before returning to bed. I didn't want to disturb you."

You shake your head. "I wouldn't have minded if you did. I understand... do you want to talk about it?"

He's silent, looking away again, which is enough of an answer to you.

"Then will you at least come back to bed?"

Rollo supposes he should. He doesn't want to risk worrying you any further. That would only stir up more questions.

He settles himself in bed, lying flat on his back with his arms crossed over his chest, more cadaver than human. You always found that position so amusing, for whatever reason, and even now you can't contain a laugh.

"Are you cold? You're shaking,"

Damn it. He is. He hadn't even noticed... and though his tremors aren't from the temperature, he agrees with you anyway.

"Yes. It's rather cold tonight,"

You hum a small note of contemplation and inch closer to him. "May I?"

Rollo's face immediately turns red, although he can't help but indulge himself... just this once. For your sake, anyway.

He nods.

You come closer, resting your head on his shoulder and putting an arm around his waist in the most comfortable position you can manage while he's lying like this.

Your body is warm, soft, comforting... all things that would normally repulse him, but it's you...

He pats the back of your hand with one of his in a reassuring, though awkward gesture. As much as he expected to feel his heart pounding even harder at your closeness, there's something quite... safe about the embrace. He can't deny it.

"Good night," you murmur, already half-asleep.

He closes his eyes, allowing his body to relax... just the tiniest bit.

"Good night,"

[nackrosor]

~Warm, Soft and Alive~

Captain John Price x sergeant fem!reader

8,5 k. - Your captain comes knocking at your door in the middle of the night after the umpteenth nightmare of you dying in his arms jolts him awake.

warnings: porn with plot & feelings, light angst, emotional hurt/comfort, soft dom, light power dynamics, praise kink, sleepy sex, multiple orgasms, mildly dubcon (just because you're very eepy), dry humping (except it's very wet), first time together, underlying romantic fluff, I'm not sure if this can be counted as somno but just in case I'm mentioning it.

John has seen many people die. He has witnessed a great deal of bloodshed, both among enemy's and friendly' line. He had his own soldiers fall on missions, fine men and women giving their own lives in order to save others. Some even took their last breaths in his arms. He remembers each one of them.

Everything was heightened during the early years. Every death devastated him, causing him nightmares and awful flashbacks... But as the years went by, his skin thickened and his mind grew used to the atrocities. Nothing could get through to him anymore.

Or so he thought.

He can't seem to shake off the image of you bloody and unconscious, laying in his arms as he puts pressure on the gnashing wound on your side, trying to reduce the blood loss. He can't forget the anguish he felt while looking at you in such a miserable state. How on edge he was on the frantic ride back to camp, with you falling in and back from consciousness the whole time. Those weak groans and cries of pain that left your lips still echo in his ears. He can't forget how lost he felt as the medics took your limp body from his arms and rushed to the operating room to get you under the knife. To save your life. You had lost so much blood on the way... There was a high possibility that you wouldn't... That you... He wouldn't have been able to forgive himself if you did. Thankfully, you’ve always been so strong. One of his best soldiers. You perdured. You lived. You healed. Still, he can't forget a second of it all. The sight of your limp battered body sagged against him haunts his dreams to this day. Months after the event. No matter how many times he sees you strolling about the HQ, chatting with your mates, smiling and nodding at him as you pass by. Every night he has the same nightmare of you dying in his arms, and his mind is pestered by fear and doubts. What if he truly lost you? What if you didn’t make it?

Another nightmare has woken him tonight, robbing him of sleep. And at this point, he knows there will be no peace for him until he sees you breathing and standing on your feet with his own two eyes. He can't wait for the morning, for you to wake up. He needs to see you right now, lest he loses his mind entirely. 

That's why he's marching to your quarters through the dark hallways of the HQ. Pace hurried, heart aching in his chest, head still whirling from the dreadful images of your life slipping away from those pretty eyes of yours. He can't take it one second longer. His fist hits the metal surface of your door a bit harder than he intended to, but he needs you to hear him and come open the door as quickly as possible. 

You jolt awake at the sudden knock on your door. Your heavy eyes flicker to the alarm clock on the nightstand, a groan leaving your lips upon noticing the green light signaling 2:40 am.

With much effort, you turn on the lamp then drag your feet off the bed and towards the entrance, groggily swaying the door open.

"Who the fuck-" You're ready to protest and tell off whoever dares to interrupt your sleep, but the words die on your tongue when your half-closed eyes land on your captain.

One glance at your half-asleep, messy look and all the tension washes off of his body like soothing water. 

“Can I come in?” John’s voice sounds shaky, the relief of seeing you battling with the effects of the nightmare still lingering in his mind.

"Uhhh-" you look up at him, momentarily taken aback by his request, your mind still clouded by sleep. Why is your captain at your door, at such a late hour, asking to come inside your room? Perhaps you're still lost in your dreamworld. 

With a sluggish shrug, you eventually move aside and let him step inside. 

John shuts the door behind him, quietly. It is darker inside your room than out, but he can make you out in the darkness thanks to the faint yellow light coming from the abajour on your nightstand. 

His eyes trail down your body, checking you over as discreetly as possible for any signs of injury; a habit he’s taken on since that day. There’s an urge to grab your arms and hold you still so he can run his hands over you, check that you’re real and solid in front of him.

You don't notice his scrutinizing gaze as you rub your hands over your face, trying to wipe the sleepiness out of your features.

"Hm, cap?" you call out for him, your voice raspy and drowsy. One of your hands lazily tug at your thin top, adjusting the straps on your shoulders. "What happened?"

The way you pull at your clothes has John quickly sweep his gaze over the exposed skin. He’s seen you in a similar attire countless times before, but for some reason tonight this sight of you has his stomach flipping.

“Nothin’ happened. I just-“ he breaks off. John can’t admit that he’s here because he woke up from yet another nightmare of you bloody and broken, dying in his arms.

“I needed to see you.”

The words take a moment to register in your hazy mind, and when they do, you blink at him in confusion.

"Hm. Me... ? Why?" you ask him hesitantly, a slight frown taking form on your face. You shift awkwardly on your feet, your head tilting to the side as you look up at him with your doe eyes. Your fingers scratch mindlessly at an old scar on your bicep.

His eyes flicker to your arm. The sigh has his heart twisting in his chest. He knows all of your scars, old and new. And he remembers that one clearly, even more than the others. Perhaps because he wasn’t the one to patch you up that time.

John takes a step forward, closing the space between you two. It’s suddenly stifling in your room, and he’s hyper aware of how thin your top is and how much he wants to touch you. 

Your head cranes upward as he steps closer, your eyes unwavering from his face.

"...Cap?" you whisper softly, your frown deepening at his silence. You hold onto your arm with undisguised unease, warming up your bare skin with your palm.

John reaches to brush some of your messy hair away from your face. Your skin is warm beneath his palm, soothing the coldness in his chest. All those moments of seeing your lifeless body flicker in and out of his mind, and here you are. Warm and soft and very much alive.

He can’t stop himself. John brings his other hand up to lightly touch your shoulder, his fingers tracing the slope of your bare collarbone.

Your flinch of surprise to his touch is delayed, your tired eyes widening imperceptibly as they dart to his hand on your collarbone before moving back to his face.

You're not sure what's happening. Sleep still lingers in your mind, muffling your thoughts, slowing your instincts.

"John...?"

The way you say his name, all soft and quiet and surprised, has his heart giving a thump against his chest. John is aware he’s being too forward. He’s your Captain, he shouldn’t be here, this close to you. Touching your bare skin, in your room. It’s not right, it’s not proper. But after waking from those nightmares for the umpteenth time, all he wants to do is touch you. Reassure himself that you’re safe, that you’re real and here standing in front of him.

John can’t look away. In the low light of your room, your eyes still manage to stand out, full of life even when clouded by fatigue. His fingers trail from your collarbone to your jaw, the rough pad of his thumb brushing along the underside of your chin. The contact has you shivering and your eyelids fluttering. You lean into his touch on instinct, heart stuttering in your chest.

He’s suddenly reminded of many a night spent together on a cold ground, of times when you’d curl up beside him and he wrapped his arm around you and kept you warm and safe and alive. He doesn't know if you remember, if you've ever noticed, but he does remember. He craves that feeling again. 

John lets his touch wander down the side of your neck, feeling the quick beat of your pulse. Alive. Alive. Alive.

"What's the matter…?" you whisper drowsily, heavy eyes locking onto his again, your hand reaching up to wrap around his wrist.

He can see the tiredness in your eyes, hear it in the groggy whisper of your words. You don’t seem to register what’s going on, not like he does. The way your hand gently wraps around his wrist causes his heart to miss a beat, a pang of possessive need filling his chest.

“Just-“ he swallows roughly, trying to control the sudden urge to push you down on the bed and cover your body with his own. “Need to make sure you’re okay.”

Your brows furrow at his words, head tilting again in confusion, your doe eyes staring deeply into his.

"Why wouldn't I be?" 

That pout you make when you're confused? He finds it adorable. And you’re pouting now, staring up at him through heavy eyes, not a clue in the world about the memories or the nightmares that have been tormenting him.

John’s fingers grip your chin, holding your face steady so he can look at you. To really look at you. Your soft face, your slightly chapped lips, the dopey eyes that don’t seem to understand.

“I need to make sure,” he repeats. His voice gravelly and deep, rough in a way that even surprises himself.

You blink slowly, sluggishly, keeping your eyes on him despite the urge to close them.

"Cap, I'm all in one piece." you say softly, a hint of protest in your voice. Lazily raising your arms as if to point out that you are in fact all intact, you add, "see?"

The innocent gesture has his stomach twisting. Your top rides up, baring more skin, a slice of your stomach exposed in the dark. When you drop your arms again, the movement causes the fabric to ride up even more, the top shifting along your shoulder and causing the strap to dip down, just enough to show the upper edge of your breast.

John’s eyes fix on the sight, on that sliver of smooth, naked skin. The need to run his hands all over you, feel everything and confirm you’re here, is so strong that he releases your chin and grabs at your forearms instead, fingers curling around your soft flesh.

He pulls you a little closer, until he can look down at you easier. A rough sigh leaves his lips as he gives you a slow glance over. One hand pulls your top back into place. His fingers linger on your bare skin, brushing along the strap.

"I can see that.” 

Your stomach flips at the way he grabs onto your forearms, at the way he stares down at you with such intensity. You still can't wrap your head around what's happening; it all feels like a dream, both so vivid and dazed.

With your arms restrained by his grasp, you bend your head to one side and rub the corner of your eye with your shoulder, causing the strap to drop again. This time, he does not slide it back on. 

"Then... Can I go back to sleep?" you ask him softly, quietly, a hint of plea in your voice. A yawn escapes you right after.

John’s grip on your flesh tightens at the sight of your yawn, but it’s the sound of your slight plea in your quiet voice that makes his stomach do a flip.

“Not yet,” he mutters, not sure if he’s doing it to make himself feel better or because he’s enjoying the rush of power it gives him, holding you. “Gotta ask you somethin’ first.”

A breathy groan leaves your lips at his words. Your eyes, heavy and droopy, blink lazily at him.

"What... is... it?"

John’s fingers wander down, tracing along your collarbone again and lingering at your pulse point. You’re so tired and half out of it, that you don’t even seem to realize what he’s doing. He’s having a hard time controlling the urge to pull you against him, wrap himself around you and let the feeling of you pressed against him ease the flashbacks in his mind. You’re so soft and warm beneath his hand. The fact that he’s touching you like this, that he’s touching your bare skin and you’re letting him, is making him feel drunk on power.

“Do somethin’ f’me?”

You simply nod, slowly and mindlessly, bleary eyes drooping and resting for just a moment before you return your gaze to him.

"Whatever you need, sir..." you murmur under your breath, your words garbled from weariness.

Sir.

He nearly winces at the sound of his title coming out of your sleepy mouth. It does something to him, hearing you call him that when you’re like this. Soft and malleable and so compliant in your groggy state.

John is a strong man, but that? That makes him weak. So weak that he almost pulls you flush against him right there and then, to just hold you and feel you, really feel you. His mind immediately conjures up the many things he needs from you, some of which have nothing to do with his nightmares. You’re barely even fully aware of what you’re agreeing to, how vulnerable you are right now... But he takes a deep breath in, keeping his thoughts under control, focusing on the matter at hand.

“Need you to not be so reckless in the future.”

The words are gruff, but there’s an underlying hint of worry in them. He hates how much the sight of you lying limp and wounded in his arms messed with him, screwed with his mind. So much so that he hasn't been able to get some shuteye in months. 

"Reckless?" you parrot, looking lost. Your face lazily scrunches up in a puzzled frown, your eyes dropping to slits. Your mind is too muddled to connect the dots, to realize what he's referring to. The incident that almost took your life is so far off in your thoughts, so far off in time too, that you barely remember it happening at all. The only poignant memory you're left of the event is the large but healed scar on your side.

"Reckless." John repeats, his fingers leaving your collarbone to trace along that one little faint scar on your bicep, his mind instantly reeling with images of that nasty gash on your side he tried so desperately to clog with his hands. “You could have died.”

The rough tone of his voice seems to lift some of the fog from your mind, the words 'you could have died' resonating within you. Your hand twitches, yearning to move to your face and rub your eyes again, but his hold keeps your arms still.

"But I didn't." you whisper, your voice raspy. "And it's been months since."

John's fingers tighten almost imperceptibly around your arms. It's been months since it happened, and he still gets nightmares about cradling your bleeding body in his arms. Even months later, the sight of you being so close to death causes him to jolt awake with his heart hammering in his ribcage. Yes, it has been months, but for him, it happens again and again every fucking night. That moment is ever present in his mind.

“And I don’t want a repeat of it.” He says darkly. John glances down at you again, trying not to get caught up in the sight of you. “I don’t want that to ever happen again.”

You blink at him, his voice making your stomach churn. When he adopts that imposing tone of his, all you can do is nod and whisper, "Yes, sir."

John lets out a low huff out of his nose at the immediate obedience. That sense of power he’d felt earlier spikes, burning hot in his chest. 

He should back away. Let you go back to bed and get some sleep. You’re tired, you’re vulnerable and sleepy… and wearing that goddamn skimpy excuse for a top.

But instead, he hears himself saying: "Lie down... and let me see the wound." 

His order has your fuzzy mind spin. Your tired eyes widen in disbelief and confusion, seemingly regaining some focus.

"T-The scar's perfectly healed, cap. Why would you need to-"

The words stumble from your lips, groggy and tired, as you try to make sense of his demand. He can see the surprise flash in your weary eyes at his request, can feel the way you go to protest against his order. John’s grip on your upper arms tightens, his fingers pressing down into your soft flesh, shutting you up before you can finish your sentence.

“I'm not asking.” he says gruffly, his voice that low, authoritative tone that you’d usually instantly comply with. He moves even closer, making you have to crane your neck to keep looking at him.

“Lie down and show it to me.”

Your breath hitches at the way his grip tightens on your arms, at the way his voice drops gravely as he reaffirms his command.

You only stall for a moment, gulping, doe eyes boring into his, before you gently pull back from his hold and pad to the bed, tiredly easing yourself down onto the mattress. Your fingers roll up the hem of your top to the underside of your breasts, exposing your left side to him.

You’re disoriented and confused, mind fuzzy from sleep, but you still listen to him. You listen to his order. John’s mind is reeling as he takes in the sight of you lying on the bed. You’re obeying him so easily. So readily. And goddamnit, it’s making him feel insane. You’re following his every word like a good little soldier…

John lets his eyes rake down your form on the bed. You look so vulnerable, so soft and tired. It sparks a possessive urge in his chest. His eyes track the way your messy hair splays out on the pillow and the way your top slides up as you bare your skin to him. He follows you to the edge of the bed. His eyes keep flickering down to your stomach, to the bare skin that looks so very soft and warm and inviting.

The mattress dips beneath his weight as he sits down beside you with one knee settled on the bed and the other leg hanging from the edge.

He knows he’s being pushy, taking advantage of you like this, he knows it. You’re half out of it and clearly confused and he’s using it to his advantage. But the nightmares are too fresh on his mind, still replaying in flashes, and you looking so damn vulnerable and soft beneath him right now has all his instincts on edge.

John's eyes hungrily devour the sight of your exposed side, his eyes falling on the soft curves and the pale, fading scar; the wound reduced to a light puckered line, but nonetheless a stark reminder of how close you came to dying. How close he came to losing you.

You lie there, silently, heavy-lidded eyes gazing up at him. Your breathing is slightly altered just like the pace of your heart. Even through the drowsiness, you seem to realize how odd the situation is... The effects John's presence in your room, on your bed, so close to you, have on your tired body are evident. What you can't seem to pick up on is that strange flicker passing across his gaze as he examines your scar.

You keep silent though, simply staring up at him and keeping the fabric of your top rolled up, slightly pulling up your braless breasts with your hand as well, to push them out of the way.

John's eyes follow the way your chest slightly rises and falls with your breath. He notices the way it seems to stutter as his eyes drift over you. He doesn't know what to focus on. Your messy hair sprawled over the pillow, the soft curve of your breasts just barely exposed as you lift up the fabric of your top, your bare stomach and the faded scar. His eyes keep flickering from one part of you to the other, his mind going haywire at the sight of you, vulnerable and lying in front of him like this.

His mind begins to fill up with all kinds of thoughts. Thoughts of taking your top off entirely. Seeing all of you bared to him. Feeling your soft skin against his and running his hands all over you. Feeling your warm body under his own.

No matter how much he tries to resist, he can't refrain from reaching out with his hand and let his calloused fingers graze the bare skin of your scar.

The jolt of your body and the sound of you drawing in a sharp breath has his instincts flare in warning. But you don't recoil, you just look at him with wide, hazy eyes. Your body so close and warm and tense beneath his hand. So responsive to the touch, reacting without you even meaning to.

John's hand continues to graze over the skin of your scar, his thumb rubbing over the skin slowly, gently, feeling the way your stomach flexes beneath his touch. His eyes flicker up from the pale scar to look at your face.

"Does it still hurt?”

"It-" you try to answer, but your voice comes out raspy. That forces you to take a moment to clear your throat and wet your dry lips before trying again. "It itches or tingles from time to time... but it's nothing, really." you admit in a whisper, voice still raw as if reluctant to come out. Your fingers tighten a little on the fabric of the top, keeping it still on your chest.

"I see."

John's fingers keep moving over the scar tissue. Feeling the bumps and ridges of the skin, his eyes fixated on your stomach, on how you respond to his touch. Every breath and twitch and soft gasp makes his entire body flare up. It's a struggle to keep his mind somewhat coherent.

His eyes slowly move to your hands balled into the fabric of the top, the way you're holding on just a little bit tighter. He can tell that you're conscious of the fact that you're not fully clothed and that you're feeling vulnerable. Yet, he can't keep his hand away.

"Does it hurt now?" He reiterates. His hands continue to glide across the scar, fingers slowly tracing along the soft curve of your stomach.

You meekly shake your head in response. Your neck cocked slightly to the side, allowing your gaze to drift to his hand and watch as his fingers travel over your skin, so carefully, tenderly, yet... possessive.

"It... tingles a little." you whisper, muscles flexing again under his touch.

He's intoxicated by the sight of you underneath him, and you're responding so sweetly to his touch. Vulnerable, exhausted, but oh, so soft, warm, and sensitive. It's making him lose his mind, seeing you like this. Feeling your heat against his fingers. Seeing you in that damn top barely cresting just under your breasts.

Without thinking, he shifts on the mattress, leaning down to press his lips on your scar.

You gasp sharply, body arching at the sudden contact. Your tired eyes widen and the fabric of your top falls from your hold as you plant your palms on either side of you on the mattress, slightly lifting your torso from the bed.

John is getting addicted to your noises. To the way you gasp and arch beneath his touch. It's like a sick taste of what it would be like to really have you like this. To have you writhing beneath him, moaning and gasping because of him.

His hand tightens on your stomach. He can feel the muscles flex beneath his touch, the way your body reacts on instinct to his lips on the scar. He doesn't think. He just acts. He kisses the scar again, feeling a sense of possession wash over him at the feeling of your soft skin against his lips.

You flinch again at each kiss, soft gasps falling from your lips as you stare down at him, confused, dazed...

"C-Cap...?" you hesitantly call for him, your voice barely audible, breathless. "W-what are you-"

"Shh."

His free hand comes up to rest on your side, fingers splaying across the skin and holding you in place. Holding you down. He doesn't know what the hell he's doing. He's losing control, feeling drunk just from having you below him, reacting to his touch. Letting him do all these things... letting him take all these liberties without even fighting back.

He shouldn't be doing this. Taking advantage of you like this. But your skin is just so soft, and you're so responsive to him, and he can't stop himself. This is his medicine. His medicine against the nightmares, against the horrible memories plaguing his mind. 

Soft gasp after gasp is falling from your lips, sweet in John's ears. The sound and the sight of your body arching below him, writhing at his every touch, is driving him insane. Your fingers digging into the sheets, your body trembling and shaking in his hold, the way your chest rises and falls with your labored breaths. It's all just so damn good. A stark contrast to the sight that wakes him up every damn night. He needs to see you like this. To have you arching and writhing and gasping under him. To see you alive.

He sucks a hot, slow kiss into the sensitive skin of your abdomen, tasting the salty sweat on your skin. His fingers dig into the flesh at your side, holding you down against the bed and keeping you completely in place. His other hand drifts up slowly, tracing over the soft curve of your ribs, his fingers brushing against the bottom curve of your breast, slipping under the top.

"Oh~!"

The unexpected sensation of his rough fingers touching the delicate flesh of your breast sends your fuzzy thoughts spinning. Is this really happening? You can't think straight. And you're convinced that even without the lethargy of weariness inhibiting your judgment, you wouldn't be able to think clearly. Not with your captain kissing your tummy, cradling your breasts, and keeping you pinned to the bed. Your handsome captain… whom you secretly adore...

Your mewling gasp makes a bolt of heat shoot up his spine and all the blood in his body head straight south. The noise that escapes from your lips has his hand reflexively closing over your breast, his fingers squeezing on the warm, supple flesh. A dark, possessive part of his mind revels in the noises you're making, in the way your body shivers at his touch. In having you pinned down with his hand and mouth on your skin. No fight back, no pushing him away, no words of complaint fall from your lips as he kisses and touches and holds you down with little effort. He would pull away from you if you asked him to, he believes that strongly. He would never hurt you, even with the promise of making you feel better. But you aren't pushing him away. You are not protesting. You're not showing him any signs of objections. And it isn't only because you are worn out. He can see it in your eyes and hear it in the way you respond to his touch. You like it, you enjoy his attention. And that's enough to spur him further.

His fingers delicately caress the smooth curve of your breast, feeling the pillowy and tender flesh just beneath his fingertips. He has lost all sense of control at this point. All sense of reason. All he can think about is how soft you are, how warm and malleable beneath him, how deeply he craves to touch more of you…

He lifts his hands, tugging at the fabric of your top, revealing your chest to his gaze. He can't resist a second longer, and he pounces on your breast, attaching his lips on your hard nipple. His eyes flicker up to your face, taking in your expression, your glazed eyes, the way your back arches up, and your lips part to let those delicious moans escape.

A shiver of pleasure strikes your tired form. One of your hands moves spontaneously to his head, fingers threading in his hair, not to push him away, but to hold him there, against your chest. That provokes a pleased hum to rumble in his throat. It only serves as confirmation that you’re not trying to stop him but rather holding him against you. Encouraging him, even. And he's more than inclined to indulge you.

He's lost every ounce of his restraint at this point. He can't recall why he came to your room in the first place. What was he seeking for? Just to look at you. Or perhaps he subconsciously hoped for more. Now... There is no going back from this. And all he knows is that he's going to make you feel good, make you feel alive and to engrave the sight of you, high on pleasure, into his tortured mind so that it may take the place of any other horrible memories he has of you.

"John..." you whine softly, breathlessly, your half-closed eyes peering down at him, watching as he cradles your breasts and sucks on your nipple, scratching and tickling your sensitive skin with his beard. Your entire body is ablaze, tightening from both fatigue and yearning.

Hearing the sweet quivering sound of your voice uttering his name in the quiet night has his heart thunder in his chest. He keeps his focus on your face, watching how the mist in your eyes seems to intensify. 

He pulls away from your tits with a wet sound just long enough to speak, his voice deep and rough. "Say my name again."

John's mind is slowly slipping into a haze of lust and possessiveness. He's never heard his name sound like that ever before. It's like a drug, something that hooks over his core and keeps him there, wanting to make you utter his name again and again in that pleading tone as if you were begging for more.

He can't take it any longer. Without any warning, he's pulling back from your chest and peeling his shirt off, discarding it as if it was scorching his skin. He doesn’t give you time to register one action, before he rushes onto another. Rough hands grabbing onto the waistband of your shorts and tugging them down in one firm and swift motion.

Your muffled mind struggles to keep up. Droopy, glazed eyes try to follow his movements, your hands idly resting on the mattress, your bare chest raising and falling heavily, mouth open and drawing each breath in quick, quivering gasps. Your newly exposed thighs press together out of instinct, attempting to give you relief from the ache in your core. You can feel the dampness of your panties as they brush against the inner flesh of your thighs. You can feel how aroused you are for him.

John's eyes immediately catch the subtle movement of your legs bending at the knee and rubbing together. And his hands don't take long to follow. He's now hunched over you, his large build dwarfing your smaller, supple body. His hand travels along the inner surface of your trembling thigh, gliding over the smooth skin till his fingers reach the edge of your underwear, then slide across the thin fabric. He can feel the heat and the wetness through the material and that’s enough to trigger a deep groan from the back of his throat, a sound that's somewhere between an exhale and a growl.

This night has gone so far off course he doubts either of you will be able to look at each other the same way after this. But he doesn't care. All he cares about is being with you, and making you feel good. He's not thinking anymore. Thinking has fled his mind. 

He pushes your legs apart, letting his hands run up your thighs towards your center, feeling your muscles tense at his touch.

“Oh, my sweet girl…” he coos, gliding his palm over the expanse of your panties, making you whimper in response, trembling in delight at the contact and his words.

His voice is low, deep, and full of praise as he looks down at you, watching intently the way your body reacts to his touch.

“My pretty girl…”

He repeats the motion, this time with a little more pressure, rubbing the flat of his palm against your clothed heat, watching with a deep, possessive pride the way your thighs shiver and twitch at his touch. He can feel the dampness leaking through the fabric, the heat and the moisture soaking into his skin.

"My reckless, pretty, pretty girl…." he says, his tone firm and territorial, with a tinge of frustration edging it.

He sweeps his hand over the small patch of fabric that covers you, pressing the heel of his palm to your swelling bundle of nerves, drawing a tight circular pattern over it while relishing the way your thighs spasm and your eyelids flutter.

"Giving me such a fright…"

The firm, unyielding pressure of the palm against you sends waves and waves of ecstasy shooting straight to your core. You attempt to speak, to ask him what he means, but only whimpers leave your lips.

He drinks in the sight of you, flushed and breathless, thighs twitching and clenching, chest rising and falling with you heavy breaths, trying to speak but unable to form coherent words. You're so desperate for him, so responsive to his touch, it's making his head spin. He wants to see more of you, he needs it to forget the nightmares. He needs you. 

He moves closer, his hand still firmly rubbing against your heat, fingers curling on the drenched fabric, as he nuzzles your neck and presses scorching, wet kisses all over your skin. His mustaches and beard tease your skin, amplifying the tingling feeling that spreads throughout your body. 

His gaze burns into yours, holding you captive as he moves his palm over your heat in slow, languid circles, watching every expression and twitch of your face from up close, taking every noise that escapes your lips as a hint, making him adjust his touches until he gets the prettiest, loudest moan from you.

"Getting yourself hurt…"

He rubs his hand even more firmly, his palm moving faster and faster, applying more and more pressure on your sensitive nub, as if to emphasize every word he is saying, but it only causes you to lose more focus on his voice.

“Do you have any idea what it does to me… to see you in danger?” he whispers, his voice deep and rough. His free hand slides under your head, to hold onto the nape of your neck. “To see you in pain?”

If you were out of your mind before, you're being totally pushed out of your body now as he takes you closer and closer to the edge. You hear him, you understand what he is saying, but you are unable to form a single thought; you lack the energy to answer or apologize.

Your whole body is buzzing like a live wire, every nerve on fire, your mind blank with primal urges. 

He's watching your face, watching your eyelids flutter with each stroke of his hand, watching your lips part and your tongue slip to moisten them, watching you shiver and writhe under him, whimpering and desperate for release.

"You give me too many damn heart attacks, you know that? Keepin’ me up every night…"

“M’sorry-” you manage to cry out, gazing up at him but battling to keep your eyes open. Your hands find his tensed arm, and cling onto it for support as you feel the knot in your belly tightening, your body arching in anticipation.

Your apology is hardly coherent. He can hear the slur in your jumbled words, feel the tremors in your frame, see your eyes struggling to stay focused, your body arching and bucking and quivering under his touch, your fingers digging into his arm as if you're trying to hold on for dear life.

“I know, doll…” he croons, lips grazing the side of your jaw, close to your ear. You can feel his warm breath fanning your skin, rising goosebumps all over it.

“You’ll be the death of me… but you’re so damn beautiful-”

You look so helpless, so lovely like this. He just wants to give you what you want. His hand grinds against you, harder but steadier, increasing the pressure in a demanding and relentless motion. His eyes keen on watching the way you wriggle and arch, the way your eyes squeeze shut and your jaw falls slack as he ultimately pushes you over the edge.

"That's it, doll... that's it... come for me... my sweet girl…”

Your release is a sight to behold. Your body tenses like a bowstring before you climax, your moans and gasps turning into mewls of his name with the last shred of breath in your lungs, your eyes flying wide open and rolling back in your head, your nails sinking into his arm… then your entire body goes limp. Your legs tremble and spasm beneath him as he guides you through the aftershocks. John doesn't let up, doesn't stop moving his palm, prolonging your peak until you're left spent and boneless, breathing heavily. Only then does his hand slowly come to a halt, brushing one final time over your soaked panties as he lowers his forehead on yours. His breath comes out in ragged gasps, his gaze glued to your pretty face, his fingers leisurely rubbing the back of your head. When he moves slightly to pull back and take you in, he becomes acutely aware of the strain in his bulge, struggling against the confinement of his jeans. He quickly unzips them and lets his stiff length breathe, with him drawing in a shuddering breath as well.

He chances a look at your panties, the possessive pride in him flares up at the sight; the fabric is so drenched it’s become see-through. His fingers gently move over it, his eyes instantly flashing to your face as you protest weakly at the contact. You're still lost in the high, eyes closed, lips parted, and chest heaving heavily. He’s never seen anything more beautiful; the image is going to be forever burnt to the inside of his eyelids. Well, he hopes so. He’d gladly wake up every fucking night at the memory of this, instead.

John watches you for a moment, letting you regain your bearings. If he could, he would keep you in this state, breathless and blissed-out… but he needs more. He’s only had a taste and he’s already addicted.

“You with me, doll…?”

He murmurs the words against your lips, a small, amused smile tugging at his mouth at the way you don’t even pretend to be coherent. You were barely conscious before, he doubts you’ll be able to keep your eyes open for the rest of the night… but he needs you to be present for what comes next.

He dips in and draws your nipple into his mouth, sucking on it before gently nipping it between his teeth, like he’s coaxing you back to consciousness.

You whine softly, eyes fluttering and slowly managing to open up. Your hand instinctively reaches out for his hair. 

Your fingers pull on his short strands just the way he likes it, making his eyes grow dark. And he can’t help but chuckle as he notices your half-lidded attempt at a smile, watching your tired self struggle to lift the corner of your mouth as if it took all your strength to do so.

He reaches down, fingers curling around your jaw and gently shaking it to make sure you focus on him. “There you are…” He coos, his voice deep and gravelly. “Did I wear you out already, sweetdoll?”

You groan, eyes dropping closed again and slowly opening up a few seconds later.

“Hmm… ‘was already worn out-” you slur, voice hoarse and quiet, almost as if it's coming from someplace distant. 

You’re barely lucid, half-conscious, and yet you’re still trying to sass him. That’s his girl.

He chuckles again, shaking his head as he leans in to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck. He’s smiling widely as he presses open-mouthed kisses to your skin, traveling up your jaw, the corner of your mouth, your cheek.

"I know, sweetheart. I know..." He murmurs the words against your temple, his fingers gently stroking the side of your face, caressing over your cheekbones, your eyelashes, your mouth.

"But you're about to sleep on me. Can't have that…"

He wraps his fingers around your jaw and gives it another gentle squeeze. “You’ll have to stay awake a little longer, sweetheart. Can you do that for me?”

He keeps his firm grip on your jaw, waiting patiently for your hazy eyes to focus back on him. The expression you wear, dazed and exhausted, is like something out of his most depraved, shameful dreams.

“I don’t know if I can, John…” 

His expression softens at the sound of your weak voice. He can’t deny that you look downright adorable right now, your eyes droopy and half closed, your jaw slack in his hand, every inch of you vulnerable and malleable in his grasp. 

He lets go of your jaw and gently runs a hand through your hair, smoothing the loose strands away from your face. “Try for me, doll. Can you at least try?”

Your head lolls tiredly against the pillow, following the movement of his hand, a quiet hum leaving your lips. "M'so tired..." Your slurred whisper is barely audible, your voice growing ever distant. Your eyes cross as your eyelids droop again. 

John sighs. He can see the exhaustion in your face, the way your eyes keep wanting to slip close against your will, how much you desperately want to give into the fatigue. You look like you’re about to pass out at any moment now.

His hand keeps on caressing your hair as he weighs his options in his mind, trying to figure out what he should do. He can’t deny that he wants to do so many things to you… One above all, peeling those ruined panties off your legs and burying his face in your wetness, devouring your cunt and every drop of your juices like a man starved and feeling your soft thighs twitch and tremble and clamp against his head. Then he would sink his cock inside your still fluttering walls and watch your spent body come alive again an again and again as he fucks you all night long.

His eyes drop to your thighs, his jaw clenching tight. He can feel his stomach twisting and his erection throb painfully in longing even only at the thought of doing all of that to you. But you’re too exhausted. Too out of it. He wants you to enjoy every second of what he plans to do to you, but in your state you wouldn’t be able to.

His eyes flicker to your face again and he leans in to gently kiss your lips. He feels you respond, even if meekly. He pulls back to look down at you again, your eyes reduced to slits but fixed on him. Your hand lazily reaches up to cradle his cheek. He smiles at the gesture, his heart fluttering in his chest.

Maybe he can do one last thing before you doze off to sleep. 

Carefully, he eases himself down next to you, lying on the mattress on his side and gently moving your body so he’s spooning you.

“Stay awake for me just a couple more moments, hm? Just a couple more, doll.” he croons in your ear as he wraps one strong arm around your middle and moves his other hand to his pants to hurriedly tug them further down, together with his boxers. 

You mumble sluggishly in response, but relax into his warmth, head lolling back, forehead brushing the rough skin of his cheek. He places a firm kiss on your temple while digging his fingers into the soft flesh of your belly and pulling your panties to the side with his other hand. He shifts, bringing his hips closer to yours and letting his hard length rub along the crevice of your ass.

“Mmh… John-?”

He squeezes you harder as he presses his cock against you, moving it up and down a few times before guiding it between your thighs and through your soaked folds. A low groan rumbles through his throat, blending with your weak whimper. His breath fans the side of your face as he gently pushes his groin into your ass, coating his length in your juices, his tip hitting the moist fabric of your panties, eliciting one more exhale from him. He pulls you flush against him until your body is molded into his. Only then does he begin to buck his hips back and forth, letting your drenched folds stroke his cock and your panties tease its head. He won't fuck you, not properly, not while you're not fully present, but he is going to steal one more orgasm from your exhausted body - and pleasure himself in the process - before allowing you to drift off completely.

“It’s alright, sweet girl… It's alright…”

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, nuzzling your skin and planting lazy kisses all over it. John keeps his arm wrapped around your middle and his hand splayed over your soft stomach, holding you in place against his body as he moves leisurely against you. His pace is so slow and steady that it feels like it's lulling you to sleep. That's what he wishes to do; he wants to ease you back to sleep by numbing your nerves with pure bliss. He wants you to collapse with his cock grinding against your cunt, stimulating your swollen nub with each slow, deliberate push.

You’re boneless against him. Moaning ever softly, body too tired to wriggle but tensing up in ecstasy all over again. He can feel the flutter of your stomach under his palm, the quick steady puffs of air leaving your nostrils. John moves his free hand to your hip, letting it glide over your smooth skin until it closes around the underside of your thigh and gently lifts it and places it over his leg. Both of you moan at the new position which lets you both feel more of each other. 

He feels your hips shake and hears your shallow breaths getting louder. He knows you’re already close. That’s good. You’re still awake for it. That's all he wanted. The hand resting on your belly glides down your mound, slipping under the fabric of your panties and touching your heat. He groans at the contact. You’re so fucking wet and hot… The pads of his fingers find your clitoris and start to rub tight circles over it. His lips press into the side of your neck, feeling your pulse, while you squirm faintly at the added stimuli. You make such pretty sounds for him. Soft mewls and moans, whimpers and gasps. Even weak and tired as you are, your body’s still so reactive to him. 

“That’s it, doll… you’re such a good girl…” he praises in a breathless whisper upon your flushed skin. “Stay with me… just a bit longer…”

When his hot breath brushes against your neck, he can feel a shudder go down your spine. He can hear your breathing getting heavier, your body twitching and trembling against him, and the whole feel of you is driving him insane.

It just takes a few more thrusts of his hips and flicks of his fingers for you to come undone again, spasming weakly in his arms - arms that hold you snugly to soothe your tremors. You cum all over his length, letting out a feeble cry so deliciously filthy that it makes his hips stutter. He halts altogether before he can over stimulate you.

“There you go, my sweet girl… There you go…” he coos in your ear, lips brushing against your cheek, before he buries his nose in your hair and drinks in your scent. 

John squeezes you tightly in his embrace until your shakes and ragged breaths subside. He watches your eyelids flutter one more time before they drop and remain closed.

He feels your body sag against his, your muscles going entirely limp in his arms. He keeps you nestled into him, his hand resting on your stomach and softly kneading soothing circles over your scar, while your other leg lies boneless over his. He can hear your breathing even out, slowly falling deep and regular, the warm puffs of air hitting his arm with each exhale. For a few moments, he remains still, listening to the sound of your breathing, feeling the rise and fall of your chest… trying to figure out if you’re still conscious, but your soft even breaths confirm to him you’ve finally fallen asleep.

He glances down at your serene expression, eyes closed and lips parted. Even in the shadows, he can see the light drool trickling from the corner of your lips. You’re completely knocked out.

John takes a few deep shaky breaths, his fingers digging into your hip. He allows himself a few more thrusts, taking care not to disturb your sleep. It’s not long before he falls apart, dumping his load inside your undies and muffling his moan with your hair.

He takes a few moments to regain his bearings, breathing deeply, getting drunk on the scent of you and him mixing together. Then, with great care, he fixes your clothes on your unconscious body, as well as his own pants, and wraps your form in his muscular arms, pressing every inch of you against him, until you're completely enveloped in his embrace.

He can’t help but notice how right it feels to hold you like this, to have you nestled against his chest, protected and secure in his arms.

A content sigh escapes his lips.

Closing his eyes, he knows this time no nightmare will jolt him awake. Not with you, warm, soft, and alive, sleeping soundly in his arms. Not with the steady drumming beat of your heart drowning out the demons in his mind.

With one more kiss brushed upon your bare shoulder, he whispers, "Sleep tight, sweetheart." before succumbing to his own exhaustion.

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[thechosenof]

Ma Halani pt.2

A/N Guys this story... Man. I wanted it to be more clear that Rook was, in all actuality, deeply bothered by Solas and everything she has to deal with. So this was sort of her breaking point. Anyways, one more short part to write and then it's a wrap for Ma Halani. Enjoy!

Warnings: More smut, biting, and slight depression. This one also isn't double checked for errors, just let me know if you see any.

Rook refused to sleep for four days when she finally got back from the prison. Shame and anger warred inside of her mind, a constant, churning dread of falling asleep just to see him again. She couldn’t.

She had returned from the Fade a ghost, silent, withdrawn, and barely cognizant of them. They worried around her, probing for answers to where she had gone, what had happened, if she was okay. Of course, she wasn’t okay. Nothing about what had happened was okay. But she couldn’t bring herself to answer them. Not a single one of their inquiries. Instead, she sat like a corpse on her couch in the lighthouse, in front of the aquarium, just staring at the fish swimming around. Eventually, her friends had left, taking their concerned looks with them. Still, she didn’t move. She felt stuck there, like she was still with him, his eyes boring into her so gently.

The first day passed like that, and before long it was night. The others had left her be, knowing that she might be back with them, but she wasn’t really there. But then Lucanis walked in, bringing two mugs with him. He sat next to her quietly, putting one purple cup in her hand. Ciocolatta calda, she recognized quickly. It was what she had gotten when they had gone to Treviso to meet with Illario. She waited for another onslaught of questions, but it never came. Lucanis just watched the fish silently as she had been, sipping his own black coffee slowly.

There was an unspoken understanding between them: she didn’t need to talk, but he was there for her. Finally, she took a drink from her own mug, a long sigh passing her lips as the tension finally slipped from her stiffened body. Lucanis watched from the corner of his eyes, a small, satisfied smile gracing his lips from behind his coffee. They sat like that for a while, simply drinking in a moment of silence. It was comfortable, and much appreciated. Once their drinks were gone, he stood, collected her mug, murmured a quiet goodnight, and then left her to herself. 

The next morning she met everyone at the dining table, giving them an apology for how she had acted the day before. She explained that she had been sent to the Fade, that the Venatori had hoped she would be trapped there. She didn’t mention aphrodisiac, nor did she dare utter a word about Solas. Venatori, potion, fade, entrapment. That’s it. Each of her friends accepted her explanation, evening if they picked up there was more to it. She was back, she was okay except for some minor scruff, that’s all that mattered. However, after everyone had had their time to wake up and become functioning people, they may have wished she would have stayed in the Fade a bit longer.

Rook wouldn’t fall asleep, so instead, she filled their days with countless duties that need to be done. Assisting her teammates in their respective cities, coffee, countless fights with Venatori and Antaam, more coffee, reading and filling reports, and pausing once more for coffee. The bitter liquid made her face pull back in disgust, but it kept her awake. So she kept drinking it to avoid the unwelcome guest that sat waiting in her mind, haunting her every thought. They were tired. It was nonstop. They new in the long run this was helpful, but they were growing weary. 

Her fourth night back, Neve cornered her in the library. 

“Rook, you need to sleep. You haven’t slept a wink since you got back.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but Neve cut her off by holding her hand up.

“Don’t even try. The bags under your eyes could house the homeless in Dock Town.” She guided Rook towards the pantry. “Proper meal, bath, then sleep. Now.”

Once in the pantry, Neve asked Lucanis to make Rook something light to eat and then went off on her way to rest herself. Rook sat at the dining table as Lucanis bustled around the kitchen. She zoned out as he chopped vegetables, the sound of the knife hitting the cutting board reminding her of Solas’ thrust. Deep, measured, calculated. Her fists clenched on top of the table. Why had he done that? Anger filtered up into her throat making it burn, tears stinging at her eyes as she became filled with rage towards him once again.

Lucanis noticed her shift in demeanor, clearing his throat before setting a bowl down between her clenched hands, then he pulled out a chair for himself next to her. She gave a weak ‘thank you’ before picking up the soup he had given her, eating the soup he had made. She ate in silence, Lucanis’s gaze flitting over to her every few minutes. Rook rolled her eyes and sighed.

“I’m fine, Lucanis.” He raised an unbelieving eyebrow at her, his arms crossed as he leaned back in the chair. 

“Are you really okay?” Rook stared at him, her gaze giving no indication to how she was feeling. She just looked empty. Finally, she cast her eyes down to the soup, swirling it around in the bowl slowly.

“I have to be okay.” Her voice was hardly a whisper. Then she offered him a soft, strained smile, stood from the table, and began walking away. As she got to the door, she turned to him,

“Thank you for the soup, and the hot chocolate the other day.” She said before finally leaving, the door closing behind her with a dull thud. Lucanis just stared at where she had stood, his brow furrowed in concern.

Rook walked into her washroom, filled the tub with water, then stepped in slowly. She hissed as the scalding water burned her skin. But the burn felt good. It made her feel real. Her body slouched until only her nose and eyes remained above the surface, her gaze set at the clear liquid, her body rippling underneath as she breathed. After a moment, she sat up, beginning to wash the grime off of her body. Neve was right, she needed this. Her hands rubbed at her hips, and she flinched as a sore pain reverberated. Looking down, she frowned. Solas’s fingerprints were bruised into her skin, nearly engraving her. She let her own fingers trace over the bruises, and then once again, she felt her anger flare. Suddenly she was scrubbing at the marks. Scrubbing, and rubbing, and scouring her skin until it became raw. 

All the while she thought of his hands on her. They had been so rough, heated, and mean; until they weren’t. Then they were soft, and curious. She felt nauseous. Solas’s eyes had been predatory, a quiet amusement from her desperation. Had he only fucked her to win her over? But he had held her so tightly, like he hadn’t wanted to let go. Like he needed her at that moment. At that moment. So he wasn’t alone. She let out an animalistic snarl that turned into a strained cry. This was so fucking irritating. How was she supposed to face him again?

She hated him. With her whole entire being, she wished for nothing but his downfall. This never would have happened if he hadn’t tried to tear down the veil. None of this would be happening. She wouldn’t be fighting blighted gods, blood mages, Qunari Antaam, Weisshaupt wouldn’t have fallen, none of it.

None of it?

She paused for a moment, recounting everything her and her team had done till then. The corruptness they dispelled, the people they helped, everything. Suddenly, she wasn’t so angry. That one revelation didn’t make all the bad go away, but it did make the weight just a little lighter. 

Rook stood from the tub, the water had long become cold, making the chilly air easy to bear. She grabbed a towel and dried herself, the rough fabric scraping against her skin. She dressed in a long, loose tunic, far too exhausted to dress in proper clothing. Once in her room again, she laid herself on the green couch, her gaze drifting to the hypnotic movement of the fish.The rhythmic movements of their fins lulled her into sleep quickly. It didn’t come as a welcome respite, but more of a reluctant surrender, her exhaustion finally winning. 

For just a moment, there was nothing. No thoughts, feelings, or senses. It was just an empty sleep like what she used to have, until she was abruptly thrust in front of Solas. This time, they were back in their normal positions, ready to play their parts. However, this time, the gap normally between them seemed much smaller, almost as though it was only a crack that she could just jump over. She didn’t mention it.

“Rook?” His voice, a low murmur cut through the silence of the fade. She felt the hair on her neck stand on edge, and a shiver run down her spine. She mentally cursed herself for letting this elf have such an adverse effect on her, just from calling her name in surprise. 

Rook met his gaze, her own eyes souring as she finally took in his appearance. He looked the exact same. He looked fine. He wasn’t in any sort of turmoil like she was and that aggravated her. That she allowed herself to be so upset by him while he couldn't care less about what had passed between them. 

“Solas.” She replied. Her voice was clipped. Short and sharp, emotionless. She would not let him hold any place in her head. In her heart. 

“It has been days. Are you alright?” he asked. 

“That’s none of your business,” She deflected him quickly. His brow twitched slightly, hardly noticeable, but still there.

“Elgar’nan is planning to make a lyrium dagger. How do we stop him?”

Solas rolled his head to the side, his body following suit. His jaw was clenched tightly, deep in thought for a moment.

“I see,” He said, sardonic amusement hinting in his tone. 

“Don’t act like a victim. You’re not commiting to a noble sacrifice by being locked away in here. You’re a liar,” She takes a step forward.

“A manipulator,” She continued.

“I won’t be a pawn in your demented game anymore.” Her feet are at the edge of the gap between them, a sneer on her face, daring him to correct her. The bitterness in Rook’s voice was tangible, stemming from her hurt and betrayed trust of him.

“You are not a pawn, more like,” He thinks for a moment.

“An anomaly. Something I had not predicted or ever considered.” He allowed a truth for every 10 of his lies. He really hadn’t expected her. Her defiance, her wit, none of it. Never would he have thought he would be sat locked in a prison of his own creation, with one modern elf to be his life line to the outside world. And he definitely hadn’t expected to fuck her, let alone feel anything more than contempt towards her.

“That’s wonderful. I’m so thrilled that I was here to disrupt your grand schemes.”

This time, Solas stepped forward, like a hooked fish.

“You misunderstand me. My intentions are to make right what I have wronged, even if my methods are-” His voice had been gentle, gradually building in a crescendo as he tried to defend his actions.

“Your methods are monstrous. You use people, Solas. You manipulate them. And if that doesn’t work? You get rid of them by whatever means you deem fit.” She interrupted, her voice raw.

“Why are my actions so important to you?” He knew the answer, he had started this all in order to get her into the palm of his hand. In this moment, he used that to his advantage. He hadn’t known that he would become entangled in her own web, tied around her pinkie finger. Solas regretted that decision.

“Don’t twist this anymore than you already have,” She whispered, her voice trembling at the start. Her eyes looked so sad. Solas raised his eyebrow, his expression unreadable. He put his hands behind his back, taking three large steps backwards and away from her.

“Elgar’nan's power is tied to light and darkness. He will need to perform a ritual during the next eclipse. That will give you and your team some time to prepare.”

Rook nods her head, thinking of everything they may still need to do beforehand, and trying to come up with just how exactly they were supposed to train for this. Then, Solas’s voice rang out, gentle and encouraging,

“I know that you will do everything in your power not to fail them.”

Her eyes drifted back to him, startled by the softness in his voice. When her gaze landed on his face, she was taken aback, taking in a sharp intake of air. There, in front of her, her, the Dread Wolf had shown her a ghost of a smile, not quite reaching his eyes, but still genuine. The soft curve of his lips stood out vastly with the sharp angle of his jaw, and the intensity of his gaze. His violet eyes, usually so calculating and sharp, were half-lidded. The heat she felt forming in her stomach made her feel sick. He looked like just a man at that moment. 

There was a stillness to him, it was a silent intensity that drew her in despite all of her judgements. It was a look that spoke of hidden secrets, more than just regrets, but triumphs and bittersweet happiness. It was the look of a man who carried the weight of this world, and the last, on his very soul. But at this moment, he was offering her some solace. And in her solace, he found his own peace, a peace that she knew that he did not deserve, but thought might be okay for her own peace of mind right now.

They stood like that for a time, just gazing at one another, his face gradually morphing into something new but familiar. He looked like he was yearning for something, or someone, and Rook couldn’t help herself from wishing that it was directed towards her.

“Solas,”

“Rook,” They started at the same time. Both pairs of eyes widened, his softening first,

“Please, go ahead.”

She glanced away, picking at the skin around her nails. A horrible habit she had picked up as a child.

“Why do you look at me like that sometimes?” She finally asked, her voice barely above a ghost of a whisper. 

Her question hung suspended in the tense air between them, delicate and volatile. Like a string frayed to its last thread, taut, threatening to snap with one wrong pull. Solas’s expression shifted; the minutes of softness they had only just shared disappeared, his features that had been warmed briefly now retreated, replaced now by guarded eyes. He didn’t answer her immediately, the ensuing silence was heavy with unspoken emotions. It felt oppressive. 

Rook could hear her own heartbeat beating in her ears like a drum, a frantic sound against the otherwise stillness around them. She hated this, hated the way that under his gaze, her pulse quickened so easily, hated the way that the anger she had been stewing in for days crumbled under the weight of his silence.

“Like what?” He finally asked, his voice a low murmur from deep in his chest. It was cautious, the carefully modulated tones controlling his emotions. Yet, a fleeting quirk of his lips betrayed the underlying amusement.

Rook’s lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t want to explain herself, she didn’t want to figure out while she felt so antsy under the unsettling intensity of his gaze. A gaze that had the ability to pierce her defenses and feel oddly tender, simultaneously. It was a look that read that he wanted to put his hands into the puzzle that was her mind, try and fit the pieces together to see just why she was the way she was. It wasn’t fair. He wanted to dissect her, but she was expected to just accept the god of lies, trickery, and treachery as he was. Before she could think of the consequences to her words, she spoke,

“It’s like… You’re holding back. Like you’re holding yourself back.” 

The prison shook at the ground moved, pieces falling apart and mashing together to bridge the gap between them. Rook stumbled forward, losing her footing at the quakes. Just as she thought she would fall, Solas’s arms wrapped around her waist just as he’d done only days ago. His grasp made her tense up, frozen in his hold like a rabbit cornered by a wolf. His scent- Fade-like, woodsy, and old, infiltrated her senses. It was all-encompassing and intoxicating. Unsettling. When he next spoke, Rook could feel the rumble in his chest although his voice was controlled, with each syllable measured, each word carefully selected just for her.

“And if I am? What would you do with that knowledge?” Another deflection, an answer inside of a question. With this, he shifted the burden of responsibility of a real answer onto her again. 

Rook frowned, frustration bubbling to the surface one more, threatening to overthrow the control she had promised herself to keep. She pulled away from him, pushing him back by his broad chest. 

“That’s not an answer, Solas. You- you always do this,” She began, beyond exasperated. She turned her back to him, throwing her arms in the air.

“You twist my questions, avoiding giving me answers with riddles, concealing the truth with well-thought half-truths and ambiguities!” She turned to face him once again, this time with space between them so she could think.

“For once,” Her eyes met his,

“Just tell me the truth.” Her voice was pleading, begging him. Rook knew this was a bad idea, letting him in and see this part of her. The part of her that was still immature and childish, wishing and hoping for there to be good in everyone, no matter how miniscule. She understood from the wolf statuettes that manipulation and burden is all he had known, but did he want for more? Did he have dreams and ambitions that didn’t revolve around his past, around Mythal? Did he want redemption?

His gaze locked onto hers, unwavering, stubborn, a stare that caught her breath once more. For a long moment, a beat too long, he simply took her in. His expression was unreadable, a silent battle waging on behind those beautifully sad eyes of his. Finally, he relented, stepping forward and cupping her cheek. She flinched, her eyes closing instinctively. He chuckled.

“Very well. You want my honesty?” He asked her, thumb brushing her cheek delicately.

“Yes.” She whispered. Her stomach twisted and turned on itself, not knowing what to expect from him anymore. He tilted his head to the side and let his thumb trace over her bottom lip.  

“I look at you the way a starved man may look as a coin glistening at the bottom of a well.” He paused, wondering if that was the best way. For once, he wasn’t trying to craft an image of false promises, just how he felt. 

“You are tempting, beyond beautiful, and valuable. But dangerous, out of reach. You remind me of what I can never have. Something I should never have desired.”

Her eyes were wide, tears welling once again, and his thumb moved to brush them away. 

“I- Solas, well I- I don’t know what to say.” She stumbled on her words. A faint breathy chuckle escaped from Salas’s lips. He smiled down at her.

“You are a complication that I never anticipated, one that I cannot ignore, nor do I want to.” 

“How am I supposed to answer that, Solas?” She wanted to be angry. To throw at him everything that she knew he had done, and even then, that wouldn’t be enough. But her chest was tight and her throat was choked. He stayed silent, watching her curiously as she worked through her thoughts and feelings right in the moment, once again in his hands.

“I don’t need your peace,” she insisted, her voice thick with emotion, defying what he offered to her as consolation.

“I don’t need your pity or your excuses. I just-” A whimper escaped her chapped lips, a choked and painful sound. Her hands tightened in the fabric of his shirt. The words were caught in her throat; they were an unspoken plea hanging over them both. Finally, she found the words, barely managing to utter them.

“Tell me this is real. If any of this- your feelings- was any of it ever real?”

Solas leaned down, his forehead coming to rest delicately against hers. Their breaths mingled, a silent blending of their unspoken truths, and untold deceptions. They closed their eyes, surrendering to the intimacy of the moment. They breathed together as one, drawing strength and relinquishing their doubts in each other’s presence. He whispered, his voice not faltering in his answer to her, dangerous and undeniable.

“It was,” His lips brushed hers, a fleeting touch that made her crave more. The words he mustered were soft yet unshakable, a promise whispered to her heart.

“It is.” Finally. Finally the walls were broken and each laid bare to the other. Her chest ached painfully, resonating pain throughout her being. A physical reaction to the emotional turmoil she had felt the past few days, finally coming to a head. She wanted to believe him and his sweet words, to surrender to the hope his words offered, even knowing the inherent risks of trusting Fen’Harel. This one moment could lead to her downfall, but dammit, she wanted so badly to trust in him. So she did. Just this once, she would indulge in what she wanted, no matter how forbidden the fruit was. 

Slowly, she craned her neck upwards, pressing her lips to his, seeking him with urgency. Rook needed him to confirm what he had told her. The instant their mouths met, Solas responded, his body melting into hers like a graceful fall. His arms pulled her even closer, until there was no space to breach between them. Her hands were still balled into fists, clutching at his shirt, her knuckles lightening from the pressure. Meanwhile, his hands gradually moved lower, hesitating for a moment. At least until she whimpered, then his hands made their way to the curve of her hips, and then lower to settle firmly on her ass, pulling her tunic up to feel her skin in his hands. 

And with that, she was his. Completely, utterly, irrevocably, his. 

She could still feel anger deep in her gut, eating away at her, but at present, her need to believe that there was the smallest amount of good in him outweighed that. And honestly, as his hands roamed the expanse of her bruised and spent skin, she couldn’t care less about anything else around them. It was just them, their feelings, and their needs. And right now, she needs him.

Rook’s hands unclenched from his shirt, roaming the expanse of his shoulders until they made their way to cradle his head, comforting him, if only a little bit. Her tongue grazed his bottom lip, asking for permission that he granted without question, letting her lead the moment between them. His hands continued to drift over her body, stopping periodically to grasp at her, making sure she’s real, and still there. 

The kiss became heated, the initial tenderness morphing into a fiery urgency to be one with the other. Solas grabbed the bottom of Rook’s tunic, breaking the kiss to pull it over her head. He looked at her, taking in the dips and crevices of her body. Her skin was flushed with desire, her nipples hardened under his gaze and he smirked, knowing that he could raise such a delicious reaction from her. His hand dropped her tunic to the ground, hand raising to cup her breast, squeezing it and eliciting a whine from her. He let go, hand moving down her rib, to waist, hip, crossing her stomach, and then cupping her sex. 

Rook ground her hips down into his hand, letting him feel how much she wanted him. This time, not out of pure necessity, but actual want. He groaned, not wasting any time to slip one of his lengthy, pale fingers between her folds and inside her. She gasped at the suddenness, hands grabbing to hold on to his forearms. Solas leaned down, nipping at her right ear gently, then letting his tongue run over the tenderness he had created. All the while his finger moved agonizingly slowly, in and out of her. 

“Faster…” She murmured to him, and he couldn’t help himself but to smirk down at her. He liked seeing her like this. So obedient. That would never change for him.

“Please!” Rook continued as she pushed her hips down, trying to make her point more clear. Finally, he relented, adding another finger into her sopping cunt, thrusting them quicker and harder. Her eyes rolled back, mouth falling open, as she moaned without hesitation. His head dipped down to mark her neck like he had done the last time, letting them trail higher and higher, so that people may see. He couldn’t hold back his pride as he pulled away to see the artwork he had created on her body. He angled his fingers to press along the spongy part of her insides, over and over and over, as her eyes squeezed shut, arching her back.

“S-Solas… Don’t stop ‘m so close…” Rook pleaded with him, her eyes furrowed together as she chased her high. He pressed his mouth to her parted lips, swallowing her cries as his thumb circled her clit mercilessly. She could feel his hardness against her thigh, him unconsciously grinding himself against her; it made her clench, she finally let go, her orgasm burning through her like flames licking at wood. It was fiery, hot, and made her scream out, but his mouth muffled her cries. 

Solas didn’t wait to take the rest of his clothing off, tossing it beside them. He grabbed hold of her calves, pulling her to him. She was surprised, but didn’t struggle against him, instead she slackened herself. Her body melted in his hands, legs wrapping around his hips effortlessly. She watched Solas stroke himself a few times, his eyes piercing as he watched her body twitch in the aftershocks of her last orgasm. He painted the image of her flushed skin coated in a thin layer of sweat. Her arms above her head so submissively, nipples hardened and breasts raising and falling with each breath. Her legs spread wide open, presenting herself to him so willingly with slick coating her inner thighs. And her eyes, her fucking eyes, staring at him so openly, so beautiful and full of desire. 

Solas aligned himself with her entrance, the anticipation a torment made tangible by her slick heat. He pressed himself inside her slowly, a delicious friction that stole his breath at the feeling of her tightness wrapping around his length. A hiss passed his lips, but it could hardly be heard over Rook’s own moan that tore from her as he stretched her. He paused for a moment, gazing down at their joined bodies before drawing back and slamming back inside. Her fingers clawed at the dirt above her head, leaving furrows in the ground, Her eyes, dilated and dark with heat, remained locked on his, mirroring the intensity burning in his own gaze. His brow was furrowed in concentration, bottom lip caught between his teeth, his chest flushed with exertion. One of his hands rested on her lower stomach, his thumb finding her sensitive nub between her folds, circling it with an urgent pressure that sent shivers of pleasure. Then, a jolt shocked Rook, Solas’s magic coursing through her from her clit; she let out an involuntary cry, unprepared for the sudden, breathtaking climax that stole her breath. 

He relished in the vise-like grip her cunt locked him in, his cock buried deep within her as she shuddered through her second orgasm. Her body trembled with the aftershocks of pleasure as he withdrew slowly before gently guiding her to roll onto her stomach. He moved her easily, moving himself atop her thighs, right below his ass, where he once again lined himself to her entrance. He let the head slip past her folds, teasingly rocking back and forth as a smirk played on his lips, eyes studying her flushed skin and damp hair. 

“Have I worn you out already, da’len?” he asked, the words laced with a mocking tone that only served to ignite the defiance she had always shown him.

She twisted, her eyes meeting his over her shoulder. She scoffed before responding, “Hardly.”

A low chuckled emanating from him, a sound that vibrated through her as his eyes darkened. Solas leaned over her, the weight of his body pressing into her, as his cock slowly sunk into her once more. It was slow and deliberate, something she hadn’t expected, but it was only a prelude to come. Her defiance soon faltered then dissolved into surrender as after he pulled out the first time, he had slammed into her with such force, Rook swore she had seen stars. His pace was relentless and she was grateful his arms braced her, his weight an anchor as he drove into her, his hips slapping against her ass with a fierce rhythm. 

"Hardly," she scoffed, the word a breathy defiance.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, a sound that vibrated through her as his eyes darkened, the amusement replaced by a deeper, more primal hunger. He leaned over her, the weight of his body pressing down, his entry slow and deliberate, a prelude to the storm to come. Her defiance faltered, dissolving into surrender as she closed her eyes. Her hips arched instinctively to meet him while his arms braced her, his weight anchoring him as he drove into her. Solas’s rhythm was relentless and powerful, hips slamming against her ass with a fierce, intoxicating rhythm. His mouth found her back as he alternated between kissing and nipping at her skin with each thrust. 

Then, his kisses trailed upwards, landing at her ears where he nipped at them. Rook’s eyes clenched shut as he began to whisper into her ear. Nothings and somethings flooded her mind confusing her as his cock bullied into her. 

“I could not stand you before,” he groaned, his voice a low rasp. “How is it that I do not believe I could survive without you now?” he murmured, pressing a kiss below her ear, his words lost in the flurry of sensation she felt. His hips began to stutter and, and his hand snaked its way under her to find her clit again. His fingers messily, eagerly drew circles in a pattern. Rook whimpered, feeling her climax approaching.

“Fen’Harel ma ghilana,” he whispered, his teeth grazing the space between her neck and shoulder before he unleashed himself inside of her, flooding her inside with hot, thick cum. A cry tore from her throat at the feeling, surrendering to her body’s satisfaction. She twitched under him, eyes rolled back in her head as she panted. Solas’s hand detached from her clit to rub soothing circles on her hip, gently detaching himself from her. 

Rook opened her eyes to look at him, watching as he laid himself next to her, brushing her hair back from her forehead. He gave her a soft, tired smile. She laughed and Solas was taken aback.

“Fen’Harel guides you? Seriously?” she asked, the absurdity of his final statement finally registering to her. Her laugh only grew louder at the way Solas looked off to the side, ears tinted pink. As he turned back to respond, the Fade prison faltered, and then disappeared as Rook woke. Over her stood Lucanis, his eyes were panicked.

“Rook, we have a problem.”

[chillinglyadventurous]

Tolerate It

I know my love should be celebrated, but you tolerate it.

Collab with @ford-pines-lover

Word Count: 3,216

Tags: SFW, hurt

I used transparent sticky notes for the last picture.

While you were out building other worlds, where was I?

This was normal. You laying in bed all alone was normal. Ford disappearing for days at a time was normal. But, that didn’t mean it was any easier. Every moment without him had started to become a struggle as you realized you no longer mattered too much.

You hadn’t been sleeping well, fearing what horrible thing he and Fiddleford would come across on their expedition. He was out there, somewhere, discovering secrets and knew worlds. You were in your bed, tears running down your cheeks as you clutched his pillow tightly in your arms. You longed for how things used to be.

His side of the bed was cold. The room felt so empty without the familiar sound of his light snoring as he slept beside you even though it had been months since he’d shared your bed. The relentless tick, tick, ticking of the cuckoo clock was maddening. Each tick, tick, tick, was a reminder that he wasn’t there.

Every second, every brief silence between each tick, tick, tick, seemed to grow ever longer. It was unbearable the way time screeched to a halt when he was gone, leaving you behind for another mystery, another anomaly. You’d wait. You always waited. You couldn’t recall how many hours you had spent waiting by the front door for him to come home. You couldn’t even begin to estimate the hours you had spent lying restless in your bed, just waiting for him to sneak it.

You squeezed his pillow tighter, taking in the smell of him to bring you some sense of comfort, old books and sugar, those jellybeans he loved so much. You tried to remember the last night the two of you had spent together, thinking hard and using the smell of him that lingered on the fluff in your arms to take you back.

It was a vision, coming through so vividly. The room was dark and his arms were slipped around you. He’d brushed your hair from your face as he murmured beautiful words through the night. He always had such a way with words, sentences that rivaled any literary masterpiece you had ever read, but that had been a long time ago.

Since he’d left, the days had slipped by so slowly. Each moment only solidified the dread and worry in your chest. Did he miss you the way you missed him? Was he lying beneath the stars wishing you were in his arms the way you wished he was in your? Did he long to be in that quiet room with you, relaxed in comfortable silence, or was he too wrapped up in his research which called him like a siren beckoning a lonely sailor?

Taking in a shaking breath, you whispered his name through your tears. The weight of your longing settled over your lips. Stanford. Saying it, calling for him, out loud hurt, but, somehow, made him seem closer to you. Behind you clenched eyes, you could see that goofy boy you’d met in college, the nerd you fell in love with. You could see that lopsided grin, the crooked one he only ever gave you.

Where’s the man who threw blankets over my barbed wire?

Things had been so different back in your college days. Like now, he had his obsessions, but it had been one you shared. You both just wanted to graduate, wanted to put that part of your lives behind you so you could move on to bigger and better things.

The two of you would spend every waking moment together. Study dates in the library. Falling asleep in his dorm room, wrapped in his arms, when Fiddleford was out. Stanford Pines had saved you. He was the reason you didn’t drop out of college.

You remembered how you’d joked that studying with him didn’t even feel like work. The way he’d lean over your shoulder, massaging the knots away as he corrected your calculations or explained a theory with the utmost patience, had made your heart ache and fall in love.

The intensity in his eyes softened only for you. Back then, you felt like you were seeing the real Ford, the one that didn’t need the thrill of chasing mysteries to feel alive. He had everything he needed by his side, you.

When things got hard, when the stress of assignments piled up, he was an anchor. When you didn’t believe in yourself, didn’t believe that you could do it, he was your biggest fan. He always looked at you as if you were the most remarkable person in the room. That, alone, had given you the strength to push through. His constant reassurances that you were good enough, smart enough, kept you afloat.

He always knew how to make you laugh, relax, and lift your spirits. More than once, you had wondered what it would have been like if you’d never met him. You were certain you would have walked away from it all. You would have given up every aspiration you’d had if it weren’t for him, for the love he gave you, for the love you shared.

When things became too much for you, drowning you in a sea of assignments, he would drag you away, away from the library or the mounds of books in either of your dorm rooms. You’d be lying on your back in the quad, staring up at the sky.

Fingers intertwined, he pointed at the sky. “You see that one?” He traced a cluster of stars with his finger, “That’s Orion’s Belt. The brightest star is Sirius.” His head turned to you. You saw unconditional love in his expression. He drew you in, lips meeting in a kiss. “You’re my brightest star, do you know that?”

“You’re such a hopeless romantic.” You nudged him playfully. “I never knew Stanford Pines could be so cheesy.”

He chuckled, “Only with you.”

I made you my temple, my mural, my sky.

As you fell more in love with him, he took over your heart. Every thought that popped into your head could somehow be traced back to him. You’d catch his name spilling from your lips every so often in conversations the thought of him didn’t belong.

Everyone knew you were in love before you did. Emma May had been the first to see it. Perhaps she was just happy her fiancé’s roommate would quit third-wheeling. With her, Ford was always a pressing topic on your mind. She encouraged it. She loved it, always talking about how your kids could grow up with hers. When you and Ford finally became official, there was no stopping you. Bechdel Test be damned.

One evening, at one of the many parties on BMU’s campus, you stood with Emma May with a drink in your hand. The two of you laughed as you watched Fidds and Ford from across the room, the two of them gabbing like teenage girls over their next D, D, & More D campaign. Every so often, you would catch him staring at you and twin blushes would creep up your cheeks.

“Damn,” Emma May laughed, her southern draw dragging out the vowel, “you’ve got it bad.”

You bit your tongue, shying away from your boyfriend’s gaze at her words. “I just, I can’t get him out of my head, Em. He’s everywhere.” You let out a dreamy sigh, taking another sip of the concoction in your cup. “Ford’s got this hold on me. I have never met anyone like him. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.”

“Honey,” Emma May grinned, nudging you as she looked in the direction of your boys, “I’d say he’s just as smitten. Look at him, [Y/N], he can’t keep his eyes off you.”

Across the room, you could still feel Ford’s eyes on you. His grin spread through his face when you gave him a little wave. Even in a room full of other beautiful girls, he only had eyes for you. That’s when a familiar warmth planted itself in your chest, the warmth and love you carried with you everywhere. It felt as natural as breathing, as easy as your heart beating. In so many ways, he became the center of your world.

Ford became your everything. Neither of you could sleep without the other wrapped up in your bed. Every moment away from the other was torture.

Emma May leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper, “He’s been talking about you to anyone who will listen. Just the other day, Fiddleford was telling me that Ford was driving him crazy, going on and on about how amazing you are.” She took a sip of her drink. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you two were newlyweds.”

You bit back a smile, feeling your cheeks warm even further. In fact, forever had come up in conversation. You couldn’t wait to be his wife because every glance, every shared laugh, added to the mural of him that was etched onto your heart.

“He got the grant,” you sighed dreamily. “We’re moving to Oregan after graduation.”

Now I’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life.

In the beginning, moving to Gravity Falls had felt like a dream. All of those late-night musings while laid up in Ford’s dorm when Fiddleford was away were finally coming true.

Ford had been thrilled, enthralled with his discoveries in that strange, little town. He’d share them with you, his voice dripping in enthusiasm, as he explained wild and far-fetched theories that he planned on proving as fact. His excitement had left you reeling, falling ever deeper for him that you thought possible.

Slowly, however, that town had began to change him. He’d stay up later and later each night, pouring over his journals and countless pages of research. He began to chase ideas that became even more incomprehensible, paranoid babblings. With each roadblock, he felt further away. Often, you’d wake up in the middle of the night to an empty bed because his mind was somewhere else.

One night, you tried to talk to him about it. The cabin was cold and silent apart from the scratching of his pen on paper, the occasional ripping up of ideas that had failed him. You’d waited, hoping he’d greet you with a smile or pull you into his lap to show you what he’d been working on like he used to do.

He didn’t. “Ford, honey, can we talk?”

“Hmm? What is it?” He didn’t bother to look up at you, eyebrows crinkling as if he’d forgotten you were even home.

You pushed down the feelings bubbling up in your chest and made your way to him. Your hands skillfully worked the knots out of his shoulders as he continued to write. “It’s just,” you hesitated, “I feel like you’re slipping away from me, like this place is taking you further away from us.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he all but snapped. “Gravity Falls is bigger than I realized, more complicated than anything I’ve ever worked on before.”

You tried to close his journal, but he took a hold of your wrist and shoved you away. “I know, but I feel like I don’t even exist to you anymore.

“If you care about me,” he bit as he looked up at you, a flicker of impatience behind his tired eyes, “you would support me, but it’s obvious now that you don’t.”

“Care about you or support you?”

“Both.” Ford’s words hit you hard, a gut punch. He’d never been this harsh before. Even in your worst spats, he’d never, ever spoken this way. His words had never been aimed directly at your heart that way, a cruel insult that was blatantly false. Of course you cared about him, more than anything else in the world.

He wasn’t eating. He rarely slept, be it in your bed or somewhere else. You were worried. You were worried because he was changing. Before that night, he’d brush you off, but always with a small smile or a kiss on the cheek. The way he was speaking to you now, however, made you feel like a phantom in your own life. You didn’t exist, not anymore.

“Stanford, I miss you,” your voice broke. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep waiting for you to come back.”

For a moment, he looked at you, really looked at you for the first time in a long time. You saw something in him, regret or guilt, perhaps, but it faded quickly. “I’m right here,” he said absently before turning back to his notes.

Drawing hearts in the byline.

You found yourself alone one night. The cabin you shared was completely empty apart from yourself. To keep your mind busy, you needed to straighten up. Your home had become a wreck, littered with crumpled up notes, crackpot theories torn to shreds and left abandoned on every surface. Symbols and sigils were all over the place. Handwritten ideas were taped and tacked to the walls. You couldn’t stand it anymore.

As you sorted through everything, arranging his work into neat piles, you came across an old notebook from your college days. A hum of remembrance escaped you, the pleasant nostalgia filling you up. Ford’s scrawl was neater than it was now.

In the margins, you saw little doodles you had left back then. Little hearts cluttered his study notes. You remembered how happy he was when he’d find them in the middle of one of your study sessions. His face would flush and he’d kiss you quickly, often letting you distract him for a few hours.

For a moment, you wondered if he would react the same now because you couldn’t stand living in this house, surrounded by relics of the man he used to be, the man you wanted back, anymore. You were desperate. Picking up his pen, you scribbled into the blank spaces between his drawings and his notes.

As the days passed, he didn’t notice and you’d forgotten about them yourself. Still, you made sure his space was organized. As you picked up, decluttered, every calculation had felt like the wall he’d built between you. The little things you’d left behind were covered by complex equations because he didn’t even notice they were there, erasing you from his life.

When Ford finally noticed what you’d left behind, he barely paused, glancing at you over the breakfast table as you ate your eggs. He laid his journal flat on the table. “What’s all this?” He traced the sketches, classic Valentine’s Day hearts, as if he didn’t recognize the shapes. They were merely in his way, throwing off his rhythm.

“Just thought you could use a little love while you’re working,” you smiled, trying to laugh off how frustrated he seemed by your show of affection.

He didn’t respond. He was already somewhere else and lost in thought. He didn’t acknowledge your huff or the way you threw your plate into the sink, causing it to shatter. Nothing caught his attention anymore. Nothing mattered to him now except his research.

Always taking up too much space or time.

Every now and then, you hoped he’d glance in your direction. You’d settle for that over the quick kisses he’d give you before disappearing again. But, Ford barely seemed to notice you at all. He moved around you, navigated by you, like you were just another piece of furniture, a constant and unimportant fixture in his space.

In a last ditch attempt to fix it, you made his favorite meal. You set the table with the good dishes in the high cabinet that never got used. You lit candles and put on something pretty. You did your hair and makeup. You poured a glass of wine for each of you, hoping the problem was that he just needed to be reminded of how things used to be.

You found him in the study writing furiously. His hands were laced in his hair on the verge of some breakthrough you knew wouldn’t come. You cleared your throat. “Ford, I made dinner. I thought we could-“

“Just leave it,” he interrupted. “I’ll eat when I’m done. Just throw it in the oven or something when you’re finished.” He turned toward you with a huff when he didn’t hear you walk away. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he spoke again, “Can you just go? I’ll eat later.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I thought-“ You kept your voice down in an attempt to hide the disappointment you were feeling, “I just thought we could have dinner together. It’s been a long time.”

He huffed a quick ‘fine’ as he stood from his desk and stormed past you into the kitchen. He sat with a loud scrape of the chair. You tried not to think about it too much. You didn’t want to over analyze this. You needed to take it as a win even though it really wasn’t.

He picked at his food, never taking a full bite. As you stared at him from across the table, you could see that, mentally, he was elsewhere. His hand was still shaped as if holding his pen, jotting down invisible thoughts as he played with his food. You could tell, to him, he was just fulfilling an obligation he’d much rather skip.

You tried to ask him about his research. You’d hoped it would spark a real conversation even if it did revolve around everything you’d grown to resent. Still, his responses were clipped, simple yes or no answers. It was like eating with a stranger and not the man you knew was deep down, hidden inside of him.

His dinner grew cold. You could barely finish your own while you watched him tolerate your every attempt to get him back. “Stanford, do you even want me here anymore?”

Ford gave you a tire sigh, rubbing his eyes. He met your teary gaze. “I’m just busy. I can’t keep stopping to deal with your- all of this.” He’d hoped you didn’t catch that he was about to say ‘your feelings’, but you did. A tear slipped down your cheek. “Just try to understand, [Y/N]. You being here is fine, but I just need you to give me space to work, okay? Do you understand?”

“Perfectly.”

When he disappeared again, you didn’t bother to clear the table. You didn’t care enough to pack up the leftovers. You kept everything where it was, a reminder of you that he’d have to clean up himself. You couldn’t do this anymore.

So, now, you lay alone in your bed, clutching his pillow while he was off god knows where with Fiddleford on this grand adventure. You couldn’t leave because you didn’t have anywhere else to go. Instead, you mourned the loss of the man you loved. Despite him still being alive, living in your home, his home, he was gone.

You’d hold on to how things used to be because, despite it all, you still loved him. Well, you loved the idea of him finally snapping out of it and coming to you. Living for the hope he’d change, you stayed.

[polaroidpascal]

valentine's day || frankie morales

AO3 || MASTERLIST

pairing : frankie morales x f!reader

summary : you and frankie’s anniversary just happens to be on valentine’s day. even though you have to work today, frankie makes sure everything is set up to go perfectly when you come home.

tags : M-18+, no use of y/n, lots and lots of kissing, frankie is sickeningly sweet and gives you princess treatment, reader wears lingerie, oral (f!receiving), unprotected p in v sex (practice safe!!), multiple orgasms, praise kink, nicknames (so many nicknames…), lots of talking, coming together, creampie, little bit of sweet aftercare

WC: 6k (idk what happened to me…)

a/n : this is only briefly proofread so apologies for any errors or things that sound a little silly !! happy valentine’s day everyone 🫶

Your alarm wakes him up before it wakes you. The sound of the unoffending yet still dreadful beeping softly fills your consciousness but is quickly shut off. You hear some motion from the bathroom, still mostly asleep, and mere minutes later are greeted by sweet kisses to your neck and cheek, a hefty hand tracing your soft figure.

You slowly stir awake, kisses being oh so gently peppered across your face as you stretch to get your blood flowing again. You relax, open your eyes, and see Frankie, still sleepy-eyed but looking down sweetly at you.

“Good morning,” you say with as much of a smile as you can while still waking up.

“Good morning,” he says, matching your sleepy grin. “Happy anniversary, mi amor.” He leans down to kiss you. You melt into his soft lips, so soft that you think you might still be dreaming. 

“Happy anniversary,” you say when he finally breaks away.

You and Frankie’s anniversary just happens to fall on Valentine’s Day, and you insist every year that he doesn’t need to do much, if anything, for you, but he does not take “no” for an answer. After the third year, you gave up your effort realizing that he was going to spoil you one way or another. You also gave up on finding any gifts for him (at his request -- nay, his command, basically) because, Your smile is enough, amor. And these hips, too, he’d flirt. 

“Five years, huh?” you ask him, pure affection sparkling in both of your eyes.

“Why, are you sick of me already?” he jokes, eyebrows raised worriedly.

You laugh and shake your head, stretching some more with your arms reaching up to the ceiling. “Ugh, it should be a crime that I have to work today,” you say, arms crashing back down on the bed.

“I know, love.” he chuckles, gently rubbing your belly and kissing your forehead. “But hey, we still have all evening to celebrate,” he says playfully, smirking and nudging you a bit. You breathe a laugh, sitting up and getting your bearings before making your way to the bathroom to get ready.

Frankie gets up, too, making his way to the kitchen instead to make you breakfast before you start your day. He’s surprisingly quite the cook, and he knows you love it when he makes french toast. No one can make it like you do, Frank, you tell him. But this time, he uses a cookie cutter to make little hearts for you, frying them up perfectly as he does, and serving them all pretty for you.

You emerge from the hallway, hair barely halfway dry from a quick shower. It’ll look fine when I pull it up, you think as you towel dry it as best you can. You already smell the sweet cinnamon filling the air and know he’s treating you today. As you enter the kitchen, he’s turned away at the stove, still in his t-shirt and boxers, crew socks adorning his feet and hair still messy from sleep. You watch him cook up a serving for himself and see your plate neatly set on the table for you already, complete with a glass of apple juice (he knows that’s your favorite, too) and the best strawberries in the container he had bought. When you look down, you see the heart shaped toast and smile, a warmth filling your entire chest.

“Little hearts?” you say endearingly and he turns over his shoulder to smile at you before resuming his cooking. He finishes plating his helping, not bothering to make it even half as pretty as yours, and you sit down to eat together.

“Mmm,” you hum as you take a bite, “How do you make them better and better every time?”

“A chef never reveals his recipes,” he says, taking a bite as well. “So, I was thinking maybe we can go get dinner at that Italian place you like? I’ll bring you to work and come pick you up later, too. What do you think, princess?”

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” you say, smiling back at him before meeting his gaze again. “Wait, what about my clothes? I’d have to come back and get ready.”

“Well, what if we got you something new? Consider it my present to you.”

“Frankie, you already do so much, I don’t need new clothes too--”

“Ahhh, ah, ah,” he cuts you off, waving one hand back and forth. “No querida, none of that. I’m taking you to get something pretty.”

You cock your head to the side and smile as if to say, That’s really sweet of you. “Thank you, baby,” you say as you take another bite of your breakfast. When you finish, Frankie cleans up his and your plates, planting a kiss to the top of your head as he walks by. He tosses them into the sink to clean later as you gather your things and head to the car.

“Bye, love,” Frankie calls as you get out of the car. “Have a good day,” he says, a smile adorning his face.

“See you later,” you say and blow him a kiss. He catches it and holds it to his heart before he drives away. 

On his way home, he stops at a florist stand and sees that they’ve put out some new signs. One reads, “The Language of Flowers” next to another reading, “Build a bouquet!” Frankie studies the chart reading what each flower is supposed to mean, carefully picking out an arrangement that says exactly what he wants to say. He grabs a positively beautiful assortment of pink, white, yellow, and red flowers making sure to place them in the most appealing way before grabbing a container of rose petals, taking everything to check out, and heading to the next store.

Immediately upon entry into the apothecary a few doors down, he’s overwhelmed with smells and candles and soaps and lotions -- and he has no idea what to even look for. 

“D’ya need some help?” a low voice calls from the counter.

Frankie looks up and chuckles, “Yeah, actually, that would be nice.”

“What are you lookin’ for?” the man asks, looking down at the bouquet in his hand . “I’m assuming something for your lady, hm?”

“Yeah, I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for, really, but I wanted to surprise her. It’s actually our anniversary too and I want to make it special,” he says, blushing just a little.

“Well,” the man starts, “we’ve got a bunch of candles over here, small ones, big ones, anything you might want. And we’ve got some soaps and bath bombs over here. My wife, Tess, makes them all.”

Frankie smiles at that and asks, “And you help her sell?”

“Yeah, figure it’s the least I could do considering she makes it all. But anyway, if you need anything else, just holler.”

“Thank you so much,” he says before looking around the shop, taking inventory on all of the things he could buy. After smelling some candles and finding what he knows are your favorites, he finally decides what he wants and grabs everything he’ll need for later, checking out again and heading to the car to go back home.

Frankie lays his bags of goodies on the table and immediately gets to work around the house, starting with the dishes from this morning. He dries his hands and retrieves your laundry from the dryer to fold for you. Mid-folding, he pulls out a piece of cloth that he’s never seen before. He knows your clothes well (folding aside, countless times taking them off of you will do that) and he’s never seen this fabric before. As he unfurls the delicate garment, his jaw completely drops.

He holds up an intoxicatingly small and thin piece of lingerie, one he’s never seen before and his belly fills with heat. This has to be brand new, he thinks. She was gonna surprise me, huh? His jeans grow tight at the thought, unable to keep the fog from rolling in on his brain. He carefully lays it to the side for later and begins a futile attempt to push it out of his brain so he can finish the rest of this damned laundry.

Your phone dings at about 3:00.

Hey, baby. Let me know when you get off and I’ll be on my way. Love you ❤️

You smile and text back, I’ll be off in 30. Boss felt nice today 😊

Almost immediately, Frankie replies, I’ll be waiting, princess.

You blush and finish up your work as quickly as you can so you can touch up your makeup before Frankie picks you up. Just like he said, he’s waiting for you at the front of the parking lot ready to take you shopping. He’s absolutely beaming when he sees you approach, leaning over to kiss you tenderly when you hop into the passenger seat.

He pulls away asking, “Ready to go find something cute?”

“If you insist, loverboy,” you say with a smirk. He chuckles and shakes his head, pulling the car out of the lot and starting for the boutique you love.

You spend a while browsing the racks, accumulating an armful of dresses and one-pieces that catch your eye. Before you know it, your arm looks like it might as well be a rack itself with how much it's holding. “Here,” Frankie says, moving to grab the clothes, “let me take it, love.” You decide not to protest, but you finally make your way to a fitting room so he doesn’t have to carry any more.

It’s like your own little fashion show. With every outfit, you walk out of the curtains to your waiting boyfriend who looks absolutely dazed with everything you walk out in. But one particular dress has him sitting up a little different when you emerge.

“Oh, wow…” he mutters to himself, just barely loud enough for you to hear. You’re wearing a cute, short floral dress, a spring-y type, that isn’t even that fancy, really. But it's the way it hugs your figure perfectly, accentuating and complimenting every asset of your body that has Frankie all but salivating at the sight of you. You do a little spin for him, eyes coming to his face after the turn and seeing them almost glossed over.

“Do you like it?” you ask innocently.

He forces his eyes to meet yours and nods softly. “Yeah. Okay. I don’t need to see any more, that’s the one, hermosa,” he says as he stands up and walks towards you.

You laugh at his urgency and move to gather your things. Frankie pays and grabs everything but your purse from you as you make your way back to the car.

You get to dinner fairly early, parking the car at around 5:30. Frankie rushes out to open your door for you like the gentleman he is before taking you in his arm to walk into the restaurant. You sit at a beautiful little table decorated with a small fresh flower and a tealight candle, silverware and plates neatly set out already. Surprisingly, the restaurant is emptier than you thought it’d be.

“Love, how did you even get a reservation here?” you ask. “Don’t restaurants book up like months in advance for Valentine’s Day? We only decided to come this morning.”

Frankie laughs to himself for a moment before he confesses, “I did book this months in advance, I just didn’t tell you.” You reach over and lightly smack his hand and he laughs. He really did think of everything.

The rest of dinner goes wonderfully. You order your favorite dish and it’s cooked perfectly. Frankie gets a bottle of wine for the table, you joke and laugh, he steals a kiss or two of your hand… everything is just truly perfect.

You leave the restaurant and decide to take a walk down to a little ice cream shop, open a bit later just for today. You each get a scoop and walk along a lakeside through a park nearby, Frankie’s arm draped around your waist, the other holding a mini ice cream cone, while you eat from your little cup.

“Thank you, Frankie,” you say, looking up briefly at his face. He looks down and smiles sweetly back at you. “Everything was so nice. Even though I had to work.”

He squeezes you a little tighter and kisses your forehead. You walk a little further before he jokes, “Well, I wasn’t gonna sit around and twiddle my thumbs all day, was I?” You chuckle and lean into him some more. “You ready to go back home, mi amor?”

“Yeah, I’m ready. The bed is calling to me. If you listen real close, you might be able to hear it too.”

“Okay, okay,” he laughs and you head back to the car.

Frankie’s hand is glued to your thigh the entire drive, just sitting there wanting to feel the warmth of your soft thighs peeking beneath the hem of your new dress, the one he already loves so much. His eyes are glued to the road, but yours are glued to him, watching as he rests one hand on the top of the wheel, checks his mirrors routinely, and relaxes into the motions of driving. 

A warm puddle grows in your belly at the beautiful sight of him, spreading from right where he was rubbing you this morning as you woke up. You look down to your thigh and grab his hand. He glances over for a second and tries to responsibly divide his focus on the road and your hand guiding his slowly further and further up your leg, brushing the middle of your panties and spreading the slick gathering there to dampen them even more.

You hear him grunt softly under his breath at the feeling and the soft whimper that leaves your mouth, feeling his thick fingers brushing your clothed core.

“Amor, please… we’re almost home,” he begs. You whine as you roll your hips a little into his hand at him and he grunts again, trying to stifle it as best as he can.

“Since you planned everything, I'm sure you planned to fuck me too, hm?” you tease and fight the urge to plunge his fingers into your underwear and have him finger you right here, right now.

“Baby… you have no idea,” he teases as he starts to rub you over your underwear. You whine and lean back into the seat, your hips following the movement of his hand.

He takes his hand away as you pull into the driveway, getting out again to open your door for you. This time, he leans down and kisses you deeply, tongue knocking at your lips waiting to be welcomed inside your mouth. He grabs your hand to lead you inside, walking a little too fast and excitedly for you to keep up.

“Frankie, hang on a second--” you say, stumbling in your heels to keep up. He slightly fumbles with his keys for just a moment, playing it off well trying to hide his excitement. When he opens the door, you almost go weak as you gasp, hand up to your mouth taking in all that you see. “Oh, Frankie…” 

Candles. Everywhere. Little ones sitting on the tables and lining the hallway, a small walkway of them leading directly to your bedroom. In between them, a sparse trail of rose petals acts like a bright neon sign saying “this way to the bedroom!” 

He hugs you from behind, kissing your neck when he asks, “Do you like it?”

“Like it? Frankie this is too much, you really didn’t have to do all of this…”

“I had Pope stop by when we left the ice cream shop to light them all,” he says softly in your ear. “Go inside, I have one more thing to give you,” he says, pushing you slightly in the door. “Well, two things really, but only one that’s not at the end of this yellow brick road paved for you.” 

He takes your hand guiding you to the kitchen where you see a beautiful bouquet of flowers dressing the table. You can tell he made it because of the seemingly random selection making up the bouquet. “Did you make this, baby?”

“I did,” he says, hugging behind you once again. “That flower shop in town had it set up. They had this cool chart, too. Apparently different flowers mean different things.”

“Oh?” you ask, looking around at him.

“Yeah. I took a picture of it so I wouldn’t forget.” He pulls out his phone for reference. “Look here,” he points, “this tulip right here is for love, of course. This one here is an apple blossom. It says it means ‘I prefer you before all.’”

You feel tears well up in your eyes as he continues, “This one, the lily, is for pure love. And the honeysuckle is for devoted affection--”

You turn around in one smooth motion and kiss him fervently, pressing yourself impossibly close to his lips, unable to control yourself as the love ignites like wildfire in your chest. His hands come up to your cheeks to hold you steady as he kisses you back, deeply and passionately. “And that last red one there, the fuschia…” he mumbles as he finally pulls you away and smiles. “That one means ‘I like your taste.’”

You kiss him again, legs already moving to your bedroom and you pull away, the two of you chasing each other down the hall like a couple of teenagers home alone for the first time.You follow the tealights and rose petals to your room, the door slightly ajar. And when you open it, there’s even more rose petals than before scattered across the floor and sprinkled on the bed. You see something folded at the edge, stepping closer only to stop in shock. “Oh my god... you did the laundry...?”

“I sure did, amor. Hey, this might be crazy but I found this thing in your batch that I’ve never seen before…” he teases, the smile on his mouth audible. You reach to pick it up and turn to face him. He looks back, smile fading and arms crossing when he says, “Are you cheating on me?”

You laugh and throw it at him. “You’re so stupid, Frankie!” 

He laughs back and tosses it back to you. “Go on, amor, go put it on. I’ve been thinking about it all day, I wanna see it.”

You scurry over to the bathroom, garment in hand, to change. You slip it on -- it fits perfectly -- and fix your hair a little in the mirror. You can’t help but let out a giddy giggle before you turn to the door again.

When you come back into the bedroom, Frankie is already stripped down to his boxers, sitting at the edge of the bed. He looks up at you and you swear you can see his cock jump from where you’re standing. He nearly falls back onto the bed when you walk out, muttering something that you can’t quite make out. He beckons you over to him, his hands immediately connecting to your hips and tracing your figure. “Amor… mírate…” he purrs, his voice low and lustful.

You let his hands wander over your body, barely clothed by the lacy white lingerie adorning your body. He cups your boobs over the delicate fabric, the buds growing under his touch and a chill running down your spine. 

“Frankie…” you moan, becoming putty in his palms.

He gently commands, “Lay on the bed for me. I need to taste you.”

You obey, switching positions with him as he stands and you crawl towards the head of the bed. You lounge there, knees spread as he crawls between your legs. His fiery touch like fireworks against your soft skin. He rubs the outsides of your thighs planting kisses leading up towards your middle, already soaking your brand new outfit. 

He sees the wet spot there and kisses your core over the cloth, desperate to taste you. You moan at the softness, “Please, Frankie…”

He slowly… very, very slowly drags your panties off, reveling in the way you shiver when your wet heat meets the cold air of the room. “Good god…” he whispers, seeing the way you glisten in the dim light of the room. “So fucking wet…”

“Mhm…” you whimper, desperate to feel any part of him finally touch you.

Fighting every urge to dive straight in, he kisses the crease where your legs and hips meet… the lowest part of your belly right above your pussy… and each lip as you chase his mouth, desperately seeking him where you want him most.

He looks up at you, eyes completely black from lust, “Gonna let me treat you like a princess, hm? Be so good for me?”

You bite your lip at how hot he looks, inches from your middle and hair ever so slightly messy from taking off his clothes, waiting for you to answer him before he dives in. “Yes, so good for you, baby… need you so bad,” you whine and nod.

He keeps his eyes trained on yours as he lowers down, tongue sticking out as he licks a devastatingly slow and warm stripe up your center, drinking in all of you waiting for him. You throw your head back, eyes rolling as you moan and squirm under him. He starts slow, savoring every jolt and shiver and roll of your hips while his tongue dances in your folds.

“Yes, Frankie… feels so fucking good…” you cry. Your body subconsciously chases him, your thighs gently clamping his head as you grind on his tongue. Every rut up against his face makes him press into you harder and his tongue laps up every drop of you. 

You gain the strength to look down at him again and he looks like he’s drowning, face completely buried within you, eyes closed and enjoying every second that he’s trapped between your legs. The sight of his hips gently and mindlessly driving himself into the mattress sends a flood of wetness through you and you flutter beneath his tongue. He feels it and moans against you, the vibration immediately sending another wave down there.

He pulls off for a short breath, “Fuck yes, baby… Such a good girl…”

You whimper at his praise and he gradually picks up speed, switching between broad, flattened strokes up your heat and focusing on your clit. His tongue draws pointed circles there and it sends electricity through your veins. You whine and writhe and moan as he eats you like a man starved, drinks you like he’s been stuck in a desert and you’re his oasis.

He moves down a little, focusing his mouth at your entrance. His nose is nestles perfectly against your clit as his tongue darts out into you, fucking you gently and moving his face side to side. “Oh my god, Frankie… yes, just like that…”

“Tastes so sweet, hermosa… fuck, you’re so gorgeous…” he moans into you. He feels you coming more and more undone on his mouth as you fight a losing battle to stay still underneath him. His arms are wrapped around your thighs, keeping you spread open but still letting you squeeze his face tight. He feels you get closer and closer but he slowly pulls off. You whine in protest looking at him with the most pitiful doe eyes he’s ever seen.

“Flip over,” he gently orders and you obey, turning and switching your weight to your knees and forearms. He grabs your waist and pulls you a little closer before his mouth is back on you, licking you from front to back and groaning into you. This angle makes it easier for his tongue to fuck into you, moving in and out and driving you fucking crazy. His hand snakes around your waist, fingers landing directly on your clit and drawing careful circles.

You fall closer to the bed still resting on your arms but relying on the strength of your shoulders to keep you from fully collapsing. “Oh my fucking god… right there, baby… please dont stop…” you beg.

“Gonna come for me, princess?... That’s it, all over my face, baby… Want it all…”

You back yourself up into his face without even realizing it, feeling the build up deep in your belly. You clench around his tongue and he moans, the vibration hurdling you closer and closer to your orgasm. “Yes, baby… fuck, I’m gonna come… right there… yes…”

“Let it go baby, let me feel you…” he says before picking up his unrelenting and intoxicating speed. All at once, it washes over you and you fully collapse onto the bed, back arching while you twitch and grind his face. He doesn’t let up, letting you ride out every last wave as he devours you until you pull away from him on the verge of overstimulation.

He leans back and wipes his completely drenched mustache and beard with the back of his hand. He looks breathless and blissful, but not as blissful as you, trying to get some strength back into your arms to hold yourself up, but Frankie puts his hand on your back pushing you down and grabs your legs to lay you completely flat. His giant hand rubs up your back, then he kisses a line down your spine feeling the goosebumps raise on your skin. “So good, princess. Such a good girl.” You whine at his praise again. “You like being my good girl, huh? Taking my tongue like that, doing just what I told you to do.”

You muster a weak, “Yes, Frankie… love it s’much…”

He cups your ass in his hands, “Wanna feel me all up in your belly now, baby?”

You can’t even answer him in words this time and pathetically whimper the equivalent of, Yes, please fill me up.

He rips off his boxers and grabs his cock, rock solid and already dripping, and he lines himself up with you, coating himself in the slick he didn’t drink up already and notches the fat tip at your entrance. “Gonna fill you up so good, baby… Gonna fit it all in there… so deep, huh?” He pushes the tip in as slow as he can before it slips in and you gasp at the feeling. He pushes in, inch by inch filling you up so perfectly… so fully… as you gasp and huff to catch your breath.

A rumbling groan erupts from his chest, “Fuuuuuck… my fucking god, baby…” You feel his cock twitching on you already when he bottoms out and tries to ground himself before he loses it too soon. 

He leans down on top of you, arms on either side of your own and grabbing your hands in his. “So soft and warm, mi amor…” he purrs in your ear. “Your pussy was made for me baby…” 

He kisses your shoulder as he slowly inches out and you whine at the loss before he quickly pushes back in, sitting up and grabbing your hips. He picks you up a little, getting the angle just right where he knows he’ll hit that spongy little spot that makes you see stars. His cock curls perfectly into it making you whine at every thrust, more and more slick spilling out of you every time.

You can’t even speak anymore. He already has you in a puddle of whimpers and whines, the only thing on your brain is how fucking deep he is in your belly.

“God, you look so pretty taking my cock, princess,” he says, drilling into you with his relentless speed. You feel a build up deep inside as he hits and hits and hits that one spot, your entire body going weak and limp as he builds you up. Your hand reaches around to find his at your hip and you squeeze it, a silent way of saying, Please don’t fucking stop. 

“You like that baby? You gonna come again all over my cock?” he teases, never letting up and fucking deeper into you.

“yesbabyyes’msoclosefrankie” you babble, completely cock drunk and putty underneath him. He keeps going, egging you on and twitching inside of you. 

“Yeah, baby… taking it so fucking deep… So good for me huh?... Who’s my good girl?”

It’s that last bit that has you clawing at the sheets and coming undone again underneath him in a mess of whines and moans and sobs. Your senses blur, your vision foggy and ears ringing with pleasure. It’s impossible to tell how loud you are right now, the only thoughts running through your brain are how to stay conscious while Frankie fucks you within an inch of your life. He holds your hips steady as you clench impossibly tight around him, fucking you up to the hilt and dragging himself along your spasming walls. He stills and his cock jumps again, this time he leans down again on top of you breathing heavily and fighting every single muscle in his body telling him to keep going.

“Fuck baby… that’s it, come back to me… so fucking gorgeous…” he rests above you, not moving for a minute and letting himself sit in your heat, harder than a fucking diamond inside of you.

Finally, he sits up again. “Love… you got one more for me, hm? Come on, you can do it…” he insists, rubbing up and down your back as you slowly come back down to earth.

“C’mon, princess, turn over one more time for me… Wanna see those pretty eyes and pretty lips…” he begs as he helps you move under him. “Oh, amor…” 

Your face is a fucked out wreck, eyes half shut, makeup slightly smeared, and tiny tear marks decorating beneath your eyes. He leans down and sprinkles gentle kisses all over your face before settling at your lips, his tongue intruding your welcoming mouth as he kisses you deep. He presses his forehead to yours, “Gonna give me one more, baby… Be my good girl and give me one more, okay?” he whispers.

You nod weakly at him, hands coming up to rub his sides as he trails kisses down your face, your neck, and your chest, drawing one of your nipples into his mouth for just a second before sitting up to realign himself with you. “Ready?”

You nod, desperation plastered across your face as he lines himself up and pushes in. He watches as your jaw goes slack, eyes closed and brows furrowed at his reentry, a small sob escaping from your chest. He watches your face as he pushes all the way in and drags back out, slowly at first until he sets a comfortable pace. An uncontrollable chorus of desperate whines from you fill the air. He drapes your legs over his arms holding you in place because he knows you can’t keep them steady anymore. 

“So fucking good baby… you’re so perfect… feel so good…” he babbles as he fucks you, sprinkling kisses all over your legs. He lets them down and lays on you, impossibly deep in your belly as he cups your face with one hand and holds your own with the other. He kisses you feverishly as he reaches places in you with his cock that only he could ever possibly hit.

His sounds and touches make one more pool of arousal drip in your stomach, slowly but surely building up inside of you. His breathing gets harder and faster, his hips just starting to falter a bit. He lifts up from your lips and looks at your eyes, closed from the positively blinding pleasure you feel.

“Look at me baby… open those eyes for me… That’s it, love, look at me when I fuck you.”

You lock eyes with him. Even this close, you can’t tell where his pupils end and iris begins. You drink in all of his beautiful features, his face starting to look just as fucked out as yours has been. “So beautiful… I love you so much… You feel so fucking good…”

His babbling and inconsistent thrusts tell you he’s close. You use the last of your energy to answer him back instead of just pathetic sounds.

“You’re so sweet to me Frankie… fuck me so perfect…”

“Yeah? You like when I fuck you, hermosa?… My good little girl taking my cock…”

“Yes… ‘m yours baby, all yours…”

He grunts as his thrusts become completely sloppy now, fast and slow trying with every fiber of his being to keep it together but he’s almost at his limit. You feel him twitching hard now, hurdling you closer and closer faster than you thought you would as your walls flutter around him.

“I feel you baby… you getting close for me? Gonna come with me?”

“Yes, baby… wanna come with you… feels so good…”

“That’s it baby…” he chases his high, never once looking away from your face. “Look at me, baby… wanna watch you come on my cock…”

Each pound into you sends electricity up your spine. Frankie takes his hand from yours and drops it down to your clit, using his thumb to trace messy but firm circles on the little bundle of nerves. You screw your eyes shut, almost completely overwhelmed by the sensation.

“Gonna make you mine, amor… Look at me baby… ‘M gonna put a pretty little ring on that finger someday… you want that? You wanna be mine?”

Your mouth hangs open in a stupor. “Yes, baby, yes… wanna be all yours…”

His jaw goes slack too, huffing and grunting with every thrust. “Fuck yes, baby… fuck ‘m close… look at me when you come, baby… give it to me…”

You lock eyes with him and let the coil in your belly come undone, convulsing at his touch and choking his cock impossibly tight. He lets out an animalistic groan at you and it’s only seconds before he’s painting your walls with his cum, bottoming out and staying there as he jolts inside of you. Filling you up with more and more of him as his sticky spend leaks out of you around him. He buries his head into your neck and whines as he empties himself completely into you, all but crushing you with his weight while his hot panting breath dances across your body.

You both lay there twitching from the aftershocks and desperately try to catch your breath. He lays there so long that he’s mostly soft when he finally brings himself to pull out of you, cum immediately leaking out of you onto the towel that you didn’t even notice has been there the whole time, too blinded by everything else going on.

He watches the little show before he grabs the end of the towel to clean you up some, tossing it to the side and collapsing on his back next to you. You curl into his side tracing up and down his torso as you sigh, “Good god, Frankie…”

He chuckles and brings his hand down to stroke your hair. The two of you stay there for a little while more, basking in the afterglow and warmth of each other. Eventually, Frankie gently asks, “You wanna go rest in the bath a little?” and plants a kiss to the top of your head.

“Mmm…” you hum. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

He carefully rises to his feet, making his way to the bathroom to run the water. Suddenly, you remember something he said and call out to him. “Hey, baby?”

“Yeah?”

“What was that bit about the ring, again?”

“Shit--” you hear him curse. He comes back out to you with a slight urgency in his walk and kisses you… long… When he pulls away, he brings his hand up to your chin and whispers, “You never heard a thing,” planting a cute peck on the lips while you laugh at him before disappearing back into the bathroom.

a/n : ngl this one got away from me and i was not expecting it to be this long, but im not surprised bc im so down bad for frankie... (i also may or may not have already thought of a fluffy little sequel of sorts for this one bc im too insane about him...) anyway, happy valentine's day everyone, hope you enjoyed !! 🫶💜

[togenabi]

waking up slow

yuta okkotsu x reader

♡—waking up with Yuta is one of your favorite things to do.

word count♡— 1k

genre♡— fluff, romance, established relationship

aged up characters♡— 18+

content notes♡— domestic fluff, living together, romance, lovers, dating, being late together, no use of y/n, shockingly not a royalty au

author's note♡— this is my very first request from anon! it's a bit short but I didn't want to drag it out too much. I mainly focused on the fluff and the uwu of it all. I hope you like it!

The scent of sheets and the warmth of the sunlight shining through the window are the first things you process when you wake up. The next is the weight of Yuuta’s arm around your waist.

Smiling contentedly, you bask in the moment before shifting to face him.

His eyes were still closed, but his eyelashes flutter and you sense that he’s coming to. You raise a hand to brush his hair away from his eyes. He wakes up slowly as you do, and a lazy smile graces his lips.

Yuuta pulls you to him, his arms firm around you and your nose is hit with a fragrance that’s so distinctly him. You let yourself be pulled closer against him and snuggle into his neck. For a moment, all you could think was how lovely it would be to have all days start this way.

Usually, mornings with Yuuta were rushed and scrambling. There always seemed to be something going on. Something that one–or, let’s be honest, both of you were late to. A meeting that slipped your mind. An urgent call for him. An event or two that you’d both rush to get to anyway, despite already being late for whatever it was.

Mornings like that had their own appeal, of course. Everything, every mundane moment was always made a thousand times more special with Yuuta. Each miniscule second was still greatly cherished. You breathe out a laugh when you remember that time Yuuta had put on mismatched socks. He didn’t even bother finding a correct pair, only hastily shoving on his shoes and kissing your cheek before he was out the door.

“Morning…” Yuuta’s voice rang in your ears. In that low, raspy tone it always was when he had just woken up. He kisses the top of your head before settling his head on the pillow again. 

His expression was so calm; you had a feeling that the two of you would be falling asleep again before long. Fixing the blankets over you, your mind felt hazy as you anticipated a carefree and relaxed morning. Perhaps you could order food for brunch once you properly woke up.

Right as you were slipping into dreamland, however, Yuuta’s hold on you stiffens.

It alerts you instantly. “What’s wrong?”

Yuuta seems to try to fight the sleepiness as he forces his eyes to open. He blinks, looking deep in thought as if he’s forgotten something. 

You felt the dread building in your stomach.

A few seconds of silence passes over the room. You place a hand on his arm. “Don’t tell me…”

He considers his words carefully before speaking. “It’s not... Yuuji’s birthday today, is it?”

“I don’t think so…” You try to deny it, wanting to stay in bed longer. “If it was, you’d set an alarm for that, wouldn't you?”

His face falls. You knew his answer before it left his lips.

“...I thought you did.”

The two of you spring off the bed immediately. The blankets are shoved away in a flurry, with a pillow or two falling to the ground softly. That softness being the exact opposite of your demeanor right now.

So much for a lazy morning, you think to yourself.

However, having been in situations like this makes you fall into a tried and tested routine with Yuuta. Once he heats up water for coffee, you already have the mugs out. You pick out clothes for one another while he brushes his teeth and cleans himself up. He gets your shoes while you’re the one in the bathroom, and he always knows which pair you would want to wear with your outfit for the day.

You’re ready and prepped in record time. As you give yourself a final once over in the mirror by the door, Yuuta goes to grab Yuuji’s present on the kitchen counter. When he returns, he meets your eyes in the reflection and leaves a delicate kiss on your temple.

“You look perfect.” He says, and he smiles brightly when you do.

You sigh, pretending to be exasperated. “I know.” A laugh bursts from your lips when he tries to tickle you in retaliation.

“No, Yuuta! Stop!” Still laughing, you try to capture his hands in yours. “We don’t have time for this!”

He finally relents, but pulls you to him instead. The look in his eyes is so precious, and you don’t doubt that you’re looking at him with the same gaze. You meet him halfway for a kiss, and you melt into it. 

Kissing him was enchantingly perfect, a warmth blooming in your chest as if you were always meant to be with him. Your heart swells up from all that you feel and all that he gives you, but you catch yourself and pull back.

“We should be heading out.” You say, but you sound unconvincing even to your own ears.

Yuuta stares into your eyes happily for a moment. Then he nods and takes your hand as you head out the door. 

“Do you have anything planned tomorrow?” He asks as you both walk at a leisurely pace. 

It occurs to you that you should probably urge him to hasten his steps, but as the sunlight reflects in his eyes in that spellbinding way, you couldn’t find it in yourself to rush this moment.

“No, why?” You reply. He brings up your hand and kisses the back of it.

“I think we deserve a day of just absolutely nothing.” Yuuta’s expression was delighted, as if he was planning something more exciting than just simply staying at home together.

The feeling is contagious, nonetheless. You found yourself grinning at the idea of an uninterrupted morning with him. You remind yourself to try to wake up before him tomorrow, so you can see him in that morning glow that makes your heart flutter again.

“There’s no one else I’d do absolutely nothing with.” You give his hand a tender squeeze as you respond. 

“Glad that we agree on that, then.” He beams at you, and you realized then that the sun would never hold a candle to him.

And so you went on with your day, having fun with friends and celebrating your time with them. But as the day draws to a close, all you could look forward to was waking up slowly the next day and every day after that, in the loving arms of your other half.

© togenabi 2023 | see here to be added to my taglist ♡

[imnotstrongimtraumatised]

It’s 3:25am.

I’m not asleep.

I’m not awake either.

I’m existing in the midpoint of consciousness teetering on the edge of getting some rest but a relentless fear holds my eyes open. I lay awake night after night ,while my girlfriend sleeps beside me, convincing myself it is safe to close my eyes in my own bed. Yet my heart races and my eyes run laps around the room faster than my brain would like to keep up with. I repeat that I am safe. no one can hurt me now. I know this in my heart but now I’m walking into the living room “the cats are asleep thats good” “the nightlights on perfect” I carry on “yep the kitchen is safe I’ll grab a drink while I’m here” I carry on still “no one in the bathroom” but the last room always fills me with dread. What if this is the one. What if someone’s here. I put my hand around the door and flick on the light before entering. I then pop my head in and scan for signs of life. ���Empty” the same as every other day. But it’s not really empty to me. The shadows hold a darkness that creeps inside me. It plays tricks on my mind and I’m sure there is something there. Somedays it’s a person just watching from afar sometimes it’s bugs tormenting me scurrying across the ground. I blink and tell myself it’s not real and crawl back to bed after my adventure. My girlfriend’s stirs “are you alright?where did you go?” she’s so at peace with her eyes barely even open. “Just to the toilet go back to sleep it’s okay” before the words fall out my mouth she’s already snoring. How can she sleep when there’s so much danger at night. Battles being fought right next to her and she snores through. But I remember this is not her fight and these are not her wounds. This was a historic war before her time and these wounds are not open but painful scars. It’s not happening now but it replays in my mind. Why would she wake when she has always been safe.

[janeyseymour]

hiii!! i hope you’re doing well. i was hoping to request a melissa x reader. where the reader is really struggling with mental health and her gf (melissa) is starting to notice it.

one day during work (they school) the reader gets into an argument with one of the other teachers and the teacher says some rude stuff to her which hurts her a lot. the reader leaves the school for the day w/o telling melissa.

(hurt, comfort, some fluff)

Hi! I'm so behind on writing because of my school situation at the moment... but I hope this is what you were looking for! As always, not edited in the slightest

Good Days, Bad Days

wc: ~2.6k

You’ve been struggling lately. You hate to admit it to even just yourself, much less anyone else. But you are struggling. You don’t really know why.

Okay. You do know why. 

You’re taking on too much- school is overwhelming between the kids and the extra tasks you’ve decided to take on (why you thought being part of the curriculum development committee is beyond you), things are getting more serious with your girlfriend, and you have to admit you aren’t doing a great job of balancing everything. You’re trying your best, but it’s getting really hard. Your ideas are shot done more and more. You feel like you barely see Melissa, and when you do, the two of you are arguing about God even knows what. It always ends up with the two of you in bed holding each other and promising you aren’t upset with each other and that you love each other, but it’s becoming a sick cycle- and not a cycle the two of you necessarily want to be in. 

And the fiery redhead is starting to notice the way that your mental health has been declining. She’s been watching it steadily for the last month or so. The way you haven’t been eating as much, the way you can barely keep your eyes open at times, how you fall asleep almost every time you’re sitting still. You’re constantly irritable, and you burst into tears at least once a day.

“My love,” she whispers as she pulls you closer. 

You sob into her shoulder. “I just- I don’t know what I’m doing wrong!” you blubber.

“You aren’t doing anything wrong, honey,” she tries to reassure you, although her words fall upon mostly deaf ears. Your tears are uncontrollable, and at this point, you’ve lost yourself. You don’t even know why you’re crying this time.

“C’mon, amore,” she rocks you gently. “Let’s get you up to bed. You need some rest.”

“I- I can’t!” you whine. “I have to come up with more ideas for the curriculum meeting tomorrow, and I have to grade the kids’ social studies projects, and I- I-” You struggle to catch your breath as you hiccup out a sob.

She takes a few deep breaths, hoping you’ll follow her motions. You do, just barely. She smiles softly and praises you. “Good. Keep breathing, honey. You’re okay,” she mumbles against your head.

After a bit of calming yourself down, you reach for your students’ social studies projects and start to grade them again. Melissa settles on the barstool next to you and grabs her own stack. She helps you grade them, and then the two of you head to bed. She holds you until she falls asleep, and then she reaches for her laptop that’s on the nightstand. She finds a few new ideas for curriculum that might help to benefit the students, emails them to you, and curls up around you again. 

You wake up the next morning dreading the day. You have your meeting during your prep, meaning you won’t have time to prep the materials you need to for the science experiment today and will instead be setting everything up during your lunch. You have recess duty today, so you really won’t be able to settle at all today. 

“Y/N,” Melissa shakes you awake gently. She’s already ready for school, makeup and all. “It’s time to wake up, hon.”

You whine as you roll over. “Five more minutes, babe.”

“I already let you sleep twenty extra minutes,” she tells you gently. “You gotta get up. You can eat breakfast in the car, but you’re eating breakfast today.”

You sigh and roll out of bed. You get yourself ready for the day before stomping off towards the vehicle. Melissa brings you a bowl of breakfast casserole and gets into the driver’s seat. You only take a few bites before you start to feel nauseous and close your eyes for the rest of the drive. Your girlfriend rests her hand on your thigh as she drives, and she gives it a gentle squeeze once she parks the car.

“We’re here, amore,” she sighs quietly. “I know you’ve been stressed about your meeting today, so I sent you a few curriculum ideas last night. Why don’t you look over them and finish up your breakfast?”

“You did that for me?” You tear up at her thoughtfulness.

“I did,” she smiles at you softly. “But you don’t have time to cry about it right now, hon. You have to prep, and finish breakfast.”

You groan, but you know she’s right. You grab your bags, take the bowl, and head into the school. You settle at your seat in the teachers lounge and start prepping for your meeting at 11, forgetting about your breakfast. The only reason you remember is because Melissa is sitting next to you holding the fork up to your mouth. You blush and take the bite gratefully.

Before you know it, everyone else has filed in, Jacob is playing the news all too loudly, and you pack up your things to work in your classroom. You give the redhead a kiss to the cheek before heading out.

You don’t expect her to follow- you know how much she loves watching Channel 6. But she does with a confused look on her face.

“You okay, hon?” she asks you softly as she pulls up a chair next to your desk.

“Just can’t get distracted today,” you sigh. She doesn’t know how much is riding on this one meeting. 

“You can usually work with the news on?” she furrows her brows and purses her lips.

“I- It was just a little overstimulating today, okay?” you tell her, hoping this smooths everything over. “Go watch the news with them. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” she sucks a breath in. Melissa gives you a soft kiss before seeing herself out. She knows when to leave you be at this point, and you clearly need to be alone right now.

The kids come in far before you’re ready for them. But still, you stand from your desk and meet most of them at the door with a bright smile and a hug if they want one. But Melissa can see the tension in your shoulders and your body language.

Your students are genuinely pretty well behaved today. They’re quiet, they get their independent work done, and you continue to prep for your meeting. You silently thank God for that. You don’t know what you would’ve done if you had to handle behaviors on top of your meeting today. 

They line up, head down to music, and you head into one of the meeting rooms in the office for curriculum development. The lights are too bright. You can hear them flickering. You don’t feel okay in your own body right now- your clothes are itchy, and you can’t stand the way that the chair feels against you.

None of your ideas are received well, and you struggle to hold back tears at this point. Shaina, One of the older teachers upstairs is just digging into every little bit of your being now. You don’t even know what to do- you aren’t even talking about curriculum anymore.

“Maybe, and hear me out guys,” the woman addresses the group. “Instead of focusing so much on developing a new curriculum, when this one works so well for most of us already, we address the actual issue in the room: the shit teachers we have here.” She looks directly at you. You can feel your cheeks flush red and the tears spring to your eyes.

“Hey,” one of the kinder teachers sighs.

“No, no!” Shaina argues. “I’m being serious! We can get rid of the new teachers who think they know everything and can’t teach for the life of them with better ones!”

“I- I think I teach well,” you mumble. “My kids love my lessons that I do with them.”

“Oh please,” the older teacher laughs in your face. “Your kids only pretend so they don’t hurt your pathetic little feelings, Miss Sensitive.”

“I-If they didn’t like my lessons, I think I would know,” you mutter. 

One of the other teachers tries to get back to the focus of this meeting, but Shaina just won’t quit. 

“The only reason they kept your lazy, pathetic ass around here is because of that stupid, bitchy girlfriend of yours,” she comments. “No one wants to fuck with Schemmenti, and certainly no one wants to fuck with you. Hm… maybe that’s why the two of you found each-”

You don’t even bother gathering your notes or laptop. You just head out of the meeting. You can’t stop the red, hot tears that begin to pour over as you run down to your classroom to grab your purse. You can’t be here right now. You just can’t.

You head back into the office, and you can hear the committee still in the conference room now going after Shaina for upsetting you, but you don’t care. You head straight into Ava’s office.

“Ava, I- I need to go home.”

“I don’t have time for-” the principal sighs as she doesn’t even bother to look up from her phone.

“Ava,” you say emphatically. “Please.”

Only then does she look up at you, and she takes in your appearance. She has a bit of a soft spot for you. “Oh, Y/N, girl, what happened?”

“It- it doesn’t matter. I just can’t be here right now, please. I need a sub right now, I’ll even take Mr. J.”

“Should I pull Melissa for you?” she asks, clearly concerned.

“N-no. She was excited to teach her math lesson with them today, so just… she’ll figure it out,” you stutter out. “I’ll just take the bus home. I just- fuck. I need to go home.”

The principal nods and starts making the announcement over the intercom that the janitor needs to report to her office immediately. She gives you a sad nod, and you head out. 

Melissa, not knowing that you’ve gone home, heads into the staff room for lunch. She pulls your lunch out and sets it at your spot for you. But you never show. You’re already about half a bottle deep in wine and drowning your sorrows. When you don’t show after fifteen minutes, she sighs and heads down to your room, fully expecting to find you asleep at your desk. But your bag is gone, your laptop isn’t there, and your mug of coffee is still sitting on your desk half finished. She raises a brow as she heads back down to the teachers lunch room.

“Anyone seen Y/N?” the second grade teacher asks.

“Not since this morning,” Barbara says. “Was she not in her room?”

“No. Her bags are gone too, and her laptop isn’t there?”

“Maybe check the conference room?”

“She does like to work in there sometimes,” Melissa mulls it over as she leaves again. She makes her way down the hall and towards the main office. She finds your laptop, but you’re still nowhere to be found.

“Oi,” she grumbles. “Woman’s lost her damned mind.”

Ava appears behind her. “Your girl went home.”

“She what? She couldn’t have. I drove us in today?”

“She said something about taking the bus,” Ava shrugs. “I ain’t never seen that girl cry the way she was crying. Must’ve finally snapped.”

“Who has her kids?” your girlfriend asks, and she’s immediately fumbling for her phone to call you.

“Mr. Johnson,” the principal shrugs. “She said she would even take him, and I sure as hell don’t got the time to wrangle a bunch of third graders today.”

You see your phone light up with Melissa’s name and the sweet picture you have of the two of you. You send it to voicemail.

“She’s not picking up,” Melissa grumbles.

“She looked pretty beat, like she could fall asleep standing up,” Ava shrugs. 

“She did that the other night,” your girlfriend sighs. “Poor thing.”

“Well, what’re you waiting for? Go save your princess,” the principal chuckles.

“I don’t got no one to cover my class,” she points out. 

“I got it,” Ava tells her. “Anything for Y/N.”

The redhead, while shocked, doesn’t have to be told twice. She heads into the teachers lounge to grab the rest of her lunch and your lunch.

“I’m heading home for the day,” Melissa tells the usual crew. When they give her a questioning look, she just shrugs and continues to pack up your things. It’s none of their business why she’s leaving early.

She rolls through most of the stop signs on the drive home, and only once does she run through a red light where she sure a cop isn’t lingering out of sight. 

When she pulls in, she notices that all of the lights in the house are off, and your car is still sitting right where you left it last night.

“Amore?” she calls softly as she kicks off her shoes at the front door. She enters the living room, and there you are, eyes rimmed red. Your curled up under your favorite blanket, wearing one of her Flyers sweatshirts, with a glass of wine and a carton of ice cream and an empty Wawa hoagie wrapper at your side. Your comfort movie is playing, and you sigh deeply.

“Why are you home?”

“Because when my girlfriend disappears midday and Ava tells me she has me covered, I come home,” Melissa tells you gently as she drops her bags on the bench. She hands you your lunch and settles in next to you. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

You explain what happens, but only after your girlfriend promises you she won’t murder Shaina for upsetting you. When your finished, she’s fuming.

“Babe, you promised you wouldn’t-”

“Yeah,” she grits out. “I lied. That’s worse than what I thought you were going to say.”

“I-it’s not a big deal,” you sigh, trying to smooth it all over. “Today was just a lot for me in general. I was going to get set off no matter what.”

“No, I’ll show her who the shit teacher is… in a non-threatening way,” she adds on. 

“Mel, it just isn’t worth it,” you tell her. “I’ll get over myself, and the other teachers were trying to get her to back off. I’m sure someone will go to Ava about it, but for now… I just want to wallow in my self-loathing and self-pity, okay? I’ll be fine.”

“Can I do anything to help?” she asks softly as she wraps an arm around you and tugs you in. Your head falls on her shoulder, and you sigh.

“Can we have a day in? Just sit with me and let me wallow?” you ask quietly. “I just need today to be sad, and tomorrow I’ll be okay.”

“Let me change, and then I’ll do whatever you need me to do,” she promises you. With a kiss to your head, you let her up. She’s back quickly in a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt- leather pants now gone. Her hair is tied up in a messy ponytail, and you can’t help the small smile that appears on your face.

“What, hun?”

“Just… you,” you tell Melissa as you reach for her. She settles in next to you.

“What about me?”

“I can’t believe I got you by my side,” you mumble as you curl into her side. “Having you makes everything so much better.”

“I’m always here for you, my love.” The redhead kisses your head again as she takes your hand in hers. “Through the good days, through the bad days… all of it.”