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dyingswanpavlova · 2 months ago

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"Your girl" - Part 22 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: A dark surprise is awaiting you - something that might change your entire life for better or worse, if it doesn't end before it could.

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening (knife), mentions of blood, mentions of murder and rape, body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation, mentions of sexual activities and desires, mentions of pregnancy/pregnancy issues like nausea and puking, kidney failure, cockwarming, rough sex, penetration, oral sex, blood play, degradation kink, knife play, threats of torture and gore, rape (to a certain degree), the pregnancy is being threatened in a vile, graphic way, not beta-read! if I've missed any please tell me! mdni 18+! dark content ahead!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

Author's note: I'm putting an extra note here, just to say: I think compared to the other chapters it gets kinda dark here, with real noncon vibes, so please be cautious of that before reading. Beware: Word count 12.278

When he came home, it always went the same way.

The door creaked open, then he closed it, set his briefcase aside and washed his hands.

Not a single time had he ever missed one of these steps. Washing his hands was like a sacred ritual. You did it, because you felt your hands vibrating the second you didn’t. Whenever you came in from wherever you were outside – and if only to check the mailbox – you had to immediately wash your hands or else you felt sick. It was a physical ache, your hands were reminding you that they needed to be cleaned.

You didn’t know if it was the same for him. Maybe there were other reasons, maybe he had the same kind of OCD. Whatever it was – he washed his hands. Every time.

And only then would he come and look for you, seek out where you were. Normally you’d either be in the kitchen or the living room. Sometimes you’d be typing mindlessly on the typewriter, lost in the cloud of your own imagination. It was much more fun than you expected and it reminded you not only of your father, but also the man you loved, with every letter. You loved the clicking sound and the hum every time a new phrase came to paper.

Other times, you’d be cooking. Ever since the first trimester nausea passed, you finally were able to eat again. Now you were craving things. Often savory food, but just as often it was some sweet nonsense. You tried to eat as healthy as possible, but often times you’d settle for some kind of cornflakes when he wasn’t home. It was alright though, so you told yourself. You had been through a lot and you deserved to calm down and relax a little.

There were those other days when you’d come up with the freakiest things. This gummy pudding, you had no idea what it was, but it was to be found in Korean convenience stores. He brought it home for you and it was disgusting, but you still finished it. Other times, you felt you were in dire need of spicy food – very unlike yourself. He still brought it home to you. One time was especially odd. You had just finished a giant portion of pasta (now that you could finally eat it again), but you couldn’t get one thing off your mind.

A McFlurry.

It was the one good thing you associated with your mother. Well, not her directly, but with your childhood.

Your mother had never been one to spoil you, but on some very rare occasions, when you were out in the city, which wasn’t quite often, she’d allow you some Fast Food. Like any other kid of course you were all for Nuggets and Fries, but the thing you loved most was the ice cream. The ice cream machine was broken more often than not, so it was quite the highlight when you got to eat it. You remembered one moment especially.

You sat on the worn-out red leather cushion, slurping on your ice cream, when you felt your mother’s intense gaze on you. You immediately straightened up, thinking you had done something wrong and she’d take the ice cream away for it.

“What is it?” You had asked in that quiet, unsure voice of a poor, insecure nine-year-old.

She kept looking at you for a long moment and there was something soft in her eyes, something she never let you see. Later that day, she’d send you to sleep in the wardrobe, because on the way home, you said something to piss her off, but then and there – she looked at you with kind eyes.

“Eat your ice cream, honey.”

To this day, the taste of it reminded you of that moment. That one time honey didn’t sound like a mocking curse, but something a mother would say to her daughter. Because she loved her.

Not, because she’d try to poison her a few years later.

So, many years later, you found yourself on the couch, picking at the last of your pasta, when you felt his gaze on you.

“What is it? Aren’t you feeling well?”

You looked up at him, your eyes soft. You didn’t want to mention your mother to him, but you did. You told him of the brief moment of kindness and the way you still loved that ice cream to that day.

And what did he do?

He got up and put his coat on.

“What are you doing?”

He shrugged. “I’m getting ice cream.”

That made you smile, but softly. “But it’s almost midnight.”

He smirked in return, but his eyes were warm. God, it was so easy to lose yourself in them.

“Eat your pasta. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He kept his promise and only twenty minutes later you found yourself curled into his side, licking the sweetness off the plastic spoon. “You’re such an idiot.” You murmured and shot him a smirk. “I can’t believe you did that.”

He snorted as he played with your hair. “Yeah. That’s the weirdest thing I’ve done so far.”

You laughed in response and shoved a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. He grinned and took the spoon from you with ease. “I’m just saying.”

The next few weeks went on just as smoothly. It was almost like you were stuck in a dream. A part of you was constantly on edge, always expecting something horrible to happen. If it wasn’t your kidney to suddenly give up, it would surely be him. He’d do something – something horrible, something unforgivable, something to hurt either you or your baby…or you both.

But the more time passed, the clearer it became that he wouldn’t.

Every time you stared at him in silence, whenever you observed the way he nibbled on his pen while he filled out some paperwork, every time you watched him drive the car with a quiet hum on his lips, every time he did each of those things – the guilt was nearly suffocating you.

Of course you trusted him. You loved him, you adored him, he was the father of your child.

But he had also hurt you.

More than once. Repeatedly. Some of his ways more painful than others.

He looked so peaceful when he slept beside you or stirred something in a pot in the kitchen, while you watched him. He still brought you your fruit cocktail every morning, still seared your vegetables for you daily. And never did he complain once.

But it was inside of him. You knew it was there, buried under piles of kindness and love.

You saw it in the way his hand twitched, whenever you got into a minor argument. The way his eyes shone darkly and his lips pulled into a frown. The way he clenched his jaw over little things. Sometimes, he was trembling with barely suppressed rage.

One night, he almost lost control.

Almost.

It had started as a minor disagreement, you couldn’t even tell what it was about, but it escalated when it got to the point of you asking him why you still weren’t allowed to leave the house on your own. After all, you were carrying his child.

What would finally make him trust you?

But he nearly exploded. A few minutes into the argument you realized, it wasn’t him being paranoid and angry. It was him being concerned and possessive. His jealousy was easily triggered, even easier than your own and now that you had his child in your belly…

It didn’t make things easier.

“I would never leave you.” You muttered, shaking your head.

He let out an annoyed exhale. “I know that.”

“Then why?!”

“Because I said so.” He gritted out and shot you a dark glare. “And now shut up about it.”

“I won’t.” You had been feeling somewhat too confident that day. That was the thing with him. He made you feel so safe that you actually dared to speak up your mind and feel like you were someone. And when you did, it infuriated him. Not always…but whenever it went against his way of things. “I won’t, because this is ridiculous! I will not-“

“Shut up!” His fist shot out so fast that you hardly even recognized it as a movement. A sharp inhale later, you squeezed your eyes shut and clenched your damp fists, expecting him to break your jaw. But all that really happened was a sharp flinch that went through you, when you heard his fist bump into the wall only a few inches away from your head. You felt the air heat up with his proximity and for a long moment, you didn’t dare to open your eyes. When you eventually did, you immediately looked up at his face, but he wasn’t looking at you. He kept his gaze downcast, his eyes closed and his jaw clenched. He was taking quick breaths, his chest rising and falling in record speed. You didn’t dare open your mouth in case this was just the calm before the storm. But it didn’t seem to be. Instead, he seemed almost pained under the weight of his loss of control.

You tilted your head only enough to see his fist, still shaking against the wall. There was a faint crack in the plaster and you saw the hint of harsh red of his blood mixing with the soft apricot color of the wall.

It would have probably been the clever thing to let go. Lock yourself away until he calmed down. He’d apologize, probably and even if he didn’t – he hadn’t hurt you.

But instead of leaving him, you reached out a hand, still struggling to breathe yourself. Your fingers closed around his wrist and he yanked his hand back, attempting to pull away, but you only tightened your grip.

“Let me take a look!”

His arm was tense as was the rest of him and you were almost afraid to look at his face, but when you did, he was still avoiding your gaze. So, instead you focused back on his hand and the traces of blood, the broken skin, mixing with paint.

You swallowed and looked up at him again. “I’m going to clean this up, okay?”

He still didn’t answer. It was like tending to a wild animal, a bull even. His eyes were wide and unfocused, looking for a spot to fix upon. Just not you.

But when you guided him to sit on the couch, he didn’t resist. When you attempted to get up and get a clean cloth, his hand shot out again, fingers wrapping around your wrist like a vice. You winced, but quickly caught yourself again. You wrapped a gentle hand around his arm and whispered: “I’ll be right back.”

He swallowed and hesitated for another second, before he finally let go. You nearly broke both legs stumbling over a pair of shoes and a bag on your way to the bathroom. You gathered what you thought you needed, a wet cloth, some disinfectant and luckily you even found a clean bandage in the drawer. While you carried everything back to the living room, you caught yourself thinking, how is it even possible that I never needed this until now?

You crouched down beside him, taking a look at his hand. He was still far away with his eyes, but he seemed softer now. Less like a wounded lion and more like a man who drowned in guilt.

“I didn’t mean to-“ He cut himself off and clenched his jaw again.

It was hard for him. You could see that every time he held himself back for your sake. You didn’t know if it was because you were pregnant now or because he was slowly starting to understand that you indeed loved him and that you truly didn’t intend to leave him.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t easy on him. He was still two people at once, fighting internally, battling each other over minor things. Sometimes, he won. Other times, he punched the wall hard enough to crack.

But that was okay, you told yourself. He was trying. You could see that he was, despite his struggle. He would hurt you again, you were sure. You took a slow breath, silently praying to God for him never to lose control too bad. He would hurt you again. But fuck if you’d let him hurt your child.

“I know.” You murmured softly as you gently began to dab at his wounded knuckles. “Nothing happened. It’s alright.”

“It’s not.” He gritted out. “I could have-“ He closed his eyes and took a slow breath.

You waited patiently until he opened his eyes again and until he was finally ready to face you. This wasn’t like him, you suddenly realized. His dark side, his evil twin, it was unlike him to show signs of guilt. But to you he did. For you he did.

His eyes were still dark, but now there was something else as well. Something you had rarely ever seen in him. It was more than guilt, it was different than anger, it was…fear.

“I could have hurt you.”

You paused for a beat, before you could respond. “But you didn’t.”

“You don’t understand.” He lowered his head so he was eye level with you and you were forced to look into his eyes, to see the depth of what lay beyond them.

“I wanted to.”

There was a tight knot in your chest. What were you supposed to say to that? There was not much you could do. You knew what he was. He was trying. But was that enough?

“But you didn’t.” You eventually said again. Your voice was unwavering, more certain than the rest of you.

He frowned and pulled his head back, glancing down at his fist, still clenched in your hand.

“I don’t deserve this.” He murmured.

“What do you mean?”

He shook his head, still staring down at your hands. “I don’t deserve you. What have I ever given you aside from pain?”

You felt as though he had punched you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to show the horror you felt inside. “You…”

“It’s true. You are good and kind and forgiving. You care about me in ways…” He clenched his jaw and averted his gaze entirely. “I don’t deserve this.”

Before you had time to think it through, you already reached out and grasped his chin between two fingers. You tilted his head, forcing him to look at you. With a stern expression, it was now you who shook your head.

“You love me.”

His eyes widened a fraction. “What does that have to do with anything?”

You smiled, with more conviction than you thought yourself capable of. “Everything.”

He didn’t comment on it any further and neither did you. You simply took care of his wounds and he let you. It was foreign to him – you could tell by the way he watched you in a mixture of confusion and wonder. A part of him was still tense, as though he expected you to strike. He wasn’t used to being vulnerable, but he was getting better at it.

That was the moment you decided you wouldn’t ask him again.

No matter how confused and desperate you felt, how angry it made you that he knew everything about you and you seemed to know nothing about him.

You didn’t know his name, nor what he did or where he came from – but you knew that he loved you. That he’d kill for you. And that you were his, as much as he was yours.

And so you decided to trust him with everything else as well.

Because he was trying.

Six weeks came and went. Time passed so quickly and life felt so easy, that you tended to forget about the bad things. The times when he ignored you, when he withdrew his love in order to punish you for things you might have done wrong in his eyes, were all but forgotten.

The days were short. You spent every possible moment together. Aside from when he went to work or to…well, to work on the man your mother had sent, you were together. Always.

Sometimes you were almost afraid that your constant presence would end up suffocating him.

Despite the way you got more and more confident in yourself, the dark thoughts lingered. Whenever he was gone for a few minutes too long, whenever you got into an argument, you couldn’t help but think yourself unlovable. One day he would wake up and he would realize the terrible mistake he had made.

But he had ways. Many different ways to ensure your thoughts were only that – thoughts.

Every time you thought you were being too clingy and decided to pull away, put at least a little distance between you – scoot over on the couch, roll over, pull yourself away from him – he caught you. Whether it was being a hand on your thigh, an arm around your shoulders or just his knee pressed a little tighter against yours. He was just as clingy, you realized. Of course you didn’t speak of it. But you saw it in the way he closed his eyes, when your fingers ran through his hair. The way he smirked to himself when he caught you staring at him when he came out of the shower – if he ever allowed you to take a shower alone. He needed your contact just as much as you did his and it only ever made you love him more.

What was it about the couples who needed space? What did that even mean?

Sure, you sometimes asked yourself if it would do your relationship any good if you spent some time apart. But no, God, no. The thought alone made your skin crawl in fear. Falling asleep without him by your side sounded like the most ridiculous and impossible thing. You needed him there, his warmth, his arms around you and his warm breath on your neck.

It wasn’t just you and him cramped up in the space of the apartment all the time. Things became…lighter.

Going outside became a trivial thing to you. It wasn’t only the regular appointments at the doctor’s office. You went out to eat, to take walks and he showed you Seoul. Of course you’d seen a few places there – guided by only your phone, because you were a ghost in your own life. But what he showed you weren’t only tourist spots. No, he showed you things you would have never even thought about on your own. Things only someone who had grown up there could show you.

Even his old house.

It was burnt down to the ground of course, no more than dead grass, some dirt and rusty metal. But the way he stared down at it, the place that had once been so much bigger than him, the place where all his nightmares found their origin…

It made you hold his hand just a little tighter.

He didn’t say a single word and he didn’t need to. His eyes said it all. His pain ran much deeper than you had ever assumed. Maybe even deeper than your own.

But pain is not something to be measured and compared, right?

You squeezed his hand – and he squeezed yours right back.

You never spoke of it. Not a single time. And you held onto your word, your thoughts, you had had just a few weeks ago. You didn’t pressure him and it seemed to pay off, because the tension in him that was always there seemed to ease just the tiniest bit.

You went to the movies – thank God there were days when they played in their original language – and to the theater. He showed you bridges, buildings, food, music, art.

All the things you had missed out on your entire life.

And while he was at it, he showed you love.

You felt it in the way his hand tightened on the small of your back, whenever you got into a group of people. The way he looked at you, that sheepish smile, whenever you caught him staring at you while you were doing something – be it the dishes or stargazing.

He showed you himself. All you needed to know was right there in the way he kissed you.

And he kissed you.

Of course there were moments when a quick peck had to be enough, but the nights? The nights.

There was not enough air to breathe and you didn’t care one bit.

All you needed was him. He made sure of it.

You couldn’t count the times he made you inhale sharply and claw at the sheets.

Every night, so far. Once your nausea and your sickening exhaustion had passed, you became a wild thing. It was hard to tame you, the second you felt his fingers run up your thigh, down your hip, up your back. You were sure you could have recognized his hands blindly in-between a thousand others.

When he rubbed the pads of his fingers over your tongue, down your stomach or when they slipped inside your panties. They were so skilled that it never took him long to have writhing and begging. It was so easy that it almost got boring.

And so, sometimes, he had his ways of making you suffer, just to spice it up.

The night before, he had done just that. Your jaw still hurt thinking back to it – and your panties grew wet just the same.

He had been sitting on the couch, reading the newspaper as he so often did. Sometimes you asked yourself if he really read it or if that was just some kind of front to keep up the illusion of composure. You had just come out of the shower and were on your way to maybe try and write something, when you saw him sitting there, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants. The way he leaned back, one arm resting on the couch, the other one holding up the paper.

It didn’t need any words. Just one look.

He leaned back in that infuriatingly hot way, legs spread apart and lowering the paper just enough to look at you.

You had never seen such expressive eyes before. And the command was clear.

You let go of any idea of writing, the moment you approached him instead. You slid onto your knees almost automatically, but not before he shoved a pillow before you, for you to kneel on. You shifted slightly, spreading your legs apart involuntarily, but he shot you a warning look.

“I want to see your hands at all times.” He said lowly, before he glanced back down at the newspaper. “And now keep me warm.”

You nearly choked on your spit, your own arousal making your mind go hazy. But you obeyed. You always obeyed – until you didn’t. But that night, you did.

You freed him from his sweatpants, his hardness already apparent and ready for you to take care of. The need to run your tongue along his length and drive him to the brink of madness was almost suffocating, but the way he tightened his grip on the paper just slightly kept you from doing so. Instead you spat down on it just once and took him in your mouth. And then you stayed in place.

You felt the way he tensed, heard the way his breath hitched, but he didn’t do anything either.

“Good girl.” He murmured and ran his fingers through your hair with his free hand, keeping them there. You tried to swallow around him, but it only made you drool all over him. A small whimper died in the back of your throat as you forced your knees to press into the pillow firmly, not daring to move or touch yourself, when that was all you wanted to do. You were already so wet, just from kneeling like that, just from tasting him.

A soft sigh came over your lips and your tongue involuntarily moved, causing him to inhale through gritted teeth. You expected a scolding, but he just pushed your head down further onto him. You moaned and chocked back a gag.

“My good girl.” He murmured, as he kept playing with your hair. “Be a good girl for daddy, so he can finish reading this, okay?”

You didn’t respond and how would you have accomplished that? You just stayed in place, keeping your head still. Your fingers twitched to reach between your legs and do something against the burning ache there, but you didn’t. It would only cause him to torment you further, to withdraw your release or keep you on edge.

Minutes passed and the only sound was his ragged breathing and your own.

His grip on the newspaper was painfully tight – normally he had a better grip on his composure. Maybe it was the fact that you hadn’t had sex in two days. Maybe it was because he felt your legs shaking.

The evidence of your own arousal was slowly dripping down your thighs and you let your eyelids flutter shut. You choked back any sounds you wanted to make, your hands gripping the edge of the sofa tightly.

“Fuck this shit. Fine.” He sighed out, before he slammed the paper onto the couch. “Come, darling, make daddy feel good.”

You didn’t hesitate.

You always loved to pleasure him with your mouth, for many different reasons. The sounds he made, his grip on you…almost like his life depended on it. It was exhausting of course, but it was worth it. You almost came, just kneeling there, being at his mercy – and somehow, it was you in control nonetheless. Of course he’d guide your movements every now and then, force a gag over your lips, but other times, when he was in a softer mood, he’d just…

Admire you.

His mouth slightly agape, his brows furrowed, he stared down at you like a man starving and you were the water he desperately needed. His grip on the back of your head was firm, but not painful, just enough to allow him to massage his fingertips into your scalp.

“Oh, fuck. Yeah, just like that, baby. Just like…ah, fuck.”

His eyes fluttered shut and you used the opportunity to bring your hand between your legs, dying for any kind of friction. But he caught the movement and quickly caught your wrist.

“No, baby, no. I’m going to make you feel better than you ever have before, but you’re going to listen to me. Understand?”

You forced yourself to nod, though you almost felt tears of desperation sting your eyes. You hadn’t felt this needy in…

Probably not that long ago. He kept doing this to you. And as much as you hated it, as much did you love it, because in the end…

He always made up for it.

Before you had the chance to thrive on your determination to make him cum, he pulled your head back, causing you to whimper.

“Good girl.” He gritted out, his grip on your face bruising. “Such a good girl.”

He pulled you up onto the couch and pushed you back into the cushions.

“Are we above begging, huh?”

You shook your head in a way that could only be described as hysterical. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please let me cum, daddy.” You breathed out, your face flushed red.

He smirked in that devilish way, looming above you and making a face as if considering.

You whimpered again and his smirk widened into a full-blown grin. “Beg a little more, sweet girl.”

You licked your lips and bit down on them as you pressed yourself back into the couch, involuntarily arching into his touch. “Please. Please, I’m begging you, I…I’m so…Please…”

He hummed approvingly. “That’s a good girl, if I’ve ever seen one.”

His head dipped forward and his lips brushed over the side of your neck. He kissed a path from your neck to your earlobe, where he gently bit down on it. “Do you want me that bad, hm?”

Your eyes rolled back in your head and you nodded, sliding your hands over his bare back.

“I want to have a taste first.” He breathed in your ear, causing your body to tremble and your toes to curl. Your throat felt too dry to form a response, but that wasn’t necessary. He leaned down and parted your lips with his tongue, delving in for a kiss that was as messy as it was desperate.

You moaned and arched your hips up against his, feeling his slick hardness against your soaked panties.

He hissed in response and bit down on your lip. “God, you’re killing me.”

In no time, he kissed his way down your body. The way his hands smoothed your clothing out of the way made you shiver. You were a puddle in his hands, unable to move or breathe, all you could do was gasp and whimper.

He ran his fingertip over your slit, which caused you to inhale sharply.

“My God.” He murmured. “I don’t think I’ve ever had you this wet before.”

You whimpered in response, biting down on your tongue to keep any more pathetic sounds back.

He smirked and hooked his fingers under the material, pulling them off of you torturously slow.

“Fuck.” He all but growled, when he came back up. You felt his hot breath against your core and it was enough to make you cry.

“Please-“

“Patience.” He spoke calmly. How could he be so feral and suddenly so composed, all within a minute? Maybe he had more than just two personalities.

He ran his hands up from your ankles to your knees, before he swiftly hooked them around his shoulders.

“I want to hear you, okay?”

You swallowed and nodded. You were sure you had a fever by now.

And then he finally touched you.

The sound you made when his flat tongue ran over your slick folds was hardly even human, but you didn’t hold anything back. You just leaned back – and relaxed.

If one could call it that.

His gentle ministrations quickly turned into something else entirely, because soon he ran the tip of his tongue in circles around your sweet spot, before he attacked it with his pursed lips.

Your hand found his hair almost involuntarily. It had to hurt, the way you tugged at it, but you couldn’t help yourself. You guided his movements, practically using him to pleasure yourself.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God-“

He hummed and the vibrations it sent through your core alone were enough to make you arch your back.

“Oh, fuck!”

It didn’t take you a full minute to end up writhing and crying out, your body nearly floating from the sofa.

But he didn’t stop there.

It was almost painful, the way he kept working his mouth, kept lapping and licking, kissing as he would your mouth.

“Oh, oh, oh God…”

And soon, you felt yourself tip over the edge again, this time even more intensely than the first time.

“Please…can’t take…more…”

Your legs were shaking and so was the rest of you. You felt hot and cold at the same time and you kept feeling as feverish, until he finally decided to be merciful and pull away.

He slowly crawled back until he was hovering over you again, his lips curved into a devilish smirk.

“Oh, that was delicious.”

“I hate you.” You whispered breathlessly.

That made him laugh and he leaned down to kiss you. You could taste yourself on his lips and it made you moan.

“Too bad.” He murmured against your lips. “Because I love you.”

You sighed deeply and bit down on his lower lip. “I love you, too, you demon.”

His smirk widened into something more genuine. “And what does that make you, hm?”

You couldn’t help but smirk in response. “Oh, shut up.”

He gently cupped your cheek in his hand and looked at you for a moment, before he let his hand wander and gently pressed it against your stomach instead. The intensity of his feeling and the softness in his eyes made your breath catch in your throat.

“I love you both.” He whispered.

You swallowed thickly, your eyes wide in surprise and admiration.

“We love you, too.” You whispered back.

He smiled and didn’t say anything more. You bit your lip and gently pressed a hand against his chest. “And what about you?”

He cocked a brow. “What about me?”

You smirked and teasingly ran your thumb along the tip of his hardness. His eyes fluttered shut and he inhaled sharply. “Ah.”

“Mhm.” You tilted your head up to meet his lips in a gentle kiss. “You know what I want?”

He shook his head, pulling his head back to meet your gaze.

Your eyes darkened in a way you had only ever seen in him. It was him. He had that effect on you. He made this of you. This mess. This wicked, wanton, needy mess.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Now his own eyes darkened and he clenched his jaw. “Is that so, hm?”

You licked your lips and nodded. “I want you to fuck me, daddy.”

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, your words sending a shiver down his spine. When he opened them again, he looked feral again.

He immediately pushed your legs apart and pressed himself against your entrance. You, still wet like crazy and him glistening with precum, you forced yourself to keep your eyes open. You observed the way his brows furrowed and his breath stuttered as he slowly pushed himself inside you.

It didn’t matter how many times he did it. It was always enough to make your eyes roll back.

“Fuck.” He gritted his teeth and wrapped his fingers around your throat, but not squeezing. Only holding you, only showing you who was in control.

“Open that pretty mouth for me.”

You didn’t hesitate. And he didn’t hesitate to spit down in it.

When you closed your mouth and swallowed, you could swear, you felt him throb inside you.

He leaned in so his lips grazed your earlobe and whispered: “You’re taking me so well. Such a good girl. My beautiful, dirty girl.”

Your eyelids fluttered and you forced yourself to look up at him. He began to roll his hips against yours and you pressed yourself up against him, following his rhythm. You never thought it was possible to cum in this position, not as a woman, but he showed you that it was indeed possible.

His thumb found your sweet spot again, still heated and sensitive from his earlier attack, but that didn’t stop him.

“My good girl.”

“Ah, fuck…You’re my…My man.”

His eyes narrowed and his movements stuttered just slightly, before he caught himself and his movements only ever became more frantic. His mouth fell open and he drew in a sharp breath.

“Say that again.”

“My…” You licked your lips, your brows furrowed. “My man.”

He licked his lips as well and stared you down in a way that was deeper than any doting look he had ever given you.

“If I asked you to marry me, would you?”

You froze in your tracks and your eyes widened almost comically. “What?”

He nodded. “Would you?”

You swallowed back the lump in your throat and the way your chest tightened.

Marriage.

It wasn’t entirely ridiculous, right? After all, you were pregnant with his child. But you had never thought that far, never even dared to think of such a thing.

“What a dumb question.” You breathed out.

“Then answer it.” He whispered just as breathlessly.

Yes. Yes. For God’s sake, yes!

But you didn’t say that. Instead, your body reacted before your mind could, your lips curving into a dangerous, teasing smile. “You’ll have to be a man and risk asking me for real.”

He smirked, his eyes filling with a warmth that you didn’t expect. “You’re so goddamn sexy when you’re being a tease for me.”

He then closed his eyes and rested his forehead against yours. “I will burn this fucking world for you. Just say the word.”

You bit your lip and slowly shook your head. Your chest still felt warm under the weight of his words.

“Just love me.”

And that he did. To bliss and back.

The next evening you found yourself lying in bed, thinking about your life. So many bad things and so much pain had led you to that point. If you could go back to change it, would you?

No.

Not if it meant the outcome would be different.

You lay on his mattress, wearing no more than a dark red negligee, a pair of panties and a wistful smile. He was everything you ever wanted, everything you ever wished for in a man.

The things he made you feel, both emotionally and physically…You never even thought that possible.

You always thought you were unlovable.

You always thought no one would ever love you.

But there you were. His.

Only his.

You took a slow breath and closed your eyes, remembering the night before. Involuntarily, you felt your hand wander down your body, to the gentle curve of your belly. It was so tiny, barely even noticeable, but you did notice. You saw it, when you wore a tight dress and you felt it, whenever you thought about it. A baby.

Your baby.

His.

This wasn’t exactly what you had expected to come out of your life. This wasn’t what you anticipated either. To be honest, you had never even thought you would make it that far. You had never been able to picture yourself that way. Married, pregnant…All these things sounded foreign to you. And yet, there you were.

Lying on the bed of the man you loved, his child inside your belly.

When you heard the door click open, your smile only grew.

No matter how much time you spent with him, you always missed him like crazy.

You considered getting up and approaching him at the door just to show him how much you had missed him. But then again, you were already settled under the blanket, warm and cozy…and the way you knew him, he’d be there within two minutes anyway.

But something felt off.

You heard the door creak open and you heard his steps. Slow and measured, hesitant even. Maybe he assumed you were asleep and so he tried to be careful about it.

But you couldn’t get rid of the feeling that something was amiss.

And that was when you realized it.

He hadn’t washed his hands.

You wanted to believe that you were being paranoid, but a little voice inside your head told you that something wasn’t the way it should be.

There would be only one reason for him not to wash his hands after he came in: any kind of emergency. But if there was an emergency, if he was worried for you, wouldn’t he be running? Wouldn’t his steps be quick and relentless?

But there he was, sneaking in like a ballerina.

You sat up stiffly, careful not to make any sounds. Whatever the feeling you had was, it got worse with every minute.

Fuck.

As much as you didn’t want to think too much into it – you had to. Better safe than sorry, right?

The last time your brain went into rotting mode, you ended up being kidnapped. No matter if you wanted to call it that or not – it was a fact.

Before you knew it, you had already opened the closet, careful not to make any sounds. You crouched down and pressed your back against the back of the wardrobe, slowly pulling the door shut.

If it was him simply being careful and having forgotten, for whatever reason, to wash his hands, he’d probably panic if he came in and didn’t immediately find you. But you’d deal with that by the time it came to it. You stared through the tiny crack between the doors, holding your breath as you listened in.

The steps came closer, but they were too careful. Too slow.

And the realization hit you like a punch to the gut.

It wasn’t him.

You choked back the horror you felt and only ever leaned back against the wall. Your body felt hot and cold, your palms sweaty. Your breath was stuttering and stilling in your lungs.

Fuck.

Who on earth could that be? The police? He had killed that janitor, after all.

No, it wasn’t the police. It was only one person, you could tell. That was far worse.

You wanted to close your eyes and attempt to calm yourself, but there was no way. Your eyes stayed wide open, your breath caught in your throat. You tried not to breathe at all, to not make a single sound.

And then the door opened.

You pressed a hand against your mouth as your eyes followed the light that suddenly flooded the room before you. You saw the shoes before you saw anything else. It was still too dark and your view wasn’t exactly clear.

You held your breath.

“I know that you’re here.”

The familiarity of the voice nearly made you gasp or scream out in horror. The accent. You heard the fucking accent, because you spoke in the same way. His accent matched yours.

“You can’t hide forever, girl. Come out and maybe I’ll let you live.”

You pressed your hand tighter against your face, sucking in a sharp breath while you were at it.

Oh God. God. No. No, no, no, no, no.

But you didn’t even have the time to say a prayer in your head.

The wardrobe door was yanked open and you were immediately sure.

Your life was over.

Your lips parted in a silent scream, but all you were met with was something that was…hardly even human.

The sight of the man who had once stopped you and questioned you, who had once appeared in front of the door and who ended up on the floor in blood and shackles…

Well, that man was gone.

All that was there now was skin and bones, pale skin and probably broken bones. He bared his teeth in a crooked grin and you saw how he was missing a few of them. His bloodshot eyes were filled with darkness and terror, his lip bruised and bloody, his collarbones nearly jumping at you from the way he was so skinny.

You stumbled back against the wall, but he didn’t give you time to react.

His bony fingers wrapped around your arms and he yanked you to your feet. A part of you was almost confused at how he even managed to get anything done. Judging by the way he looked, he was barely even alive. Just a skull with hollow eyes and blood smeared all over him.

“Is he home, hm?”

You hadn’t even noticed the knife. You only ever realized his grip on it, after he pressed it against your jugular.

You gasped out loud and held your breath, your eyes wide and terrified. You wanted to speak. Wanted to scream. Wanted to fight, to run.

But then you felt it.

Slowly, at first. And then full-force.

You froze.

Your body, your mind. Yourself.

You froze. The same you always did whenever someone touched you.

The feeling was nearly foreign to you by now, because it hadn’t happened in so long. A part of you had almost assumed it wouldn’t ever happen again, because maybe, maybe he had managed to heal you. Maybe you were normal now. Maybe a touch couldn’t cause this reaction in you any longer.

Oh, how entirely mistaken you were.

“Look at that.” He smiled that unhealthy smile, a hoarse laugh rumbling in his chest. “Look at that. Aren’t you a convenient little slut?”

It wasn’t even necessary to restrain you. When he pushed you against the bed, you let him. You fell against the mattress, your limbs stiff and still. The only thing reminding you that you were still alive was your pulse. You were sure you heard it pumping in your ears, somewhere near your brain. But it felt as though you were seconds away from having a stroke.

“Please.” Your voice was hardly even audible, your lips barely moving. “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, he paused, his expression almost contemplative. But then he pursed his lips and stretched out his arms, the notion almost lazy. “Good.” He purred. “Then it will hurt him all the more.”

He straddled you in a swift movement, ramming the knife into the mattress only a few inches from your head. You gasped and squeezed your eyes shut.

This was it.

Everything that had led you to this moment – Would you still take it? If this was how your life ended?

All the pain. All the misery. Only for your mother to get her last wish.

He leaned down and his breath hit your face, smelling of iron and blood. “You know…” He stretched out a finger and ran the tip of it down your cheek, then your neck. You whimpered and only ever squeezed your eyes shut tighter. That made him smirk. You heard his amusement clearly. “I was actually supposed to find you and bring you back. Rescue you, if you will.” He scoffed and shook his head, before he dug his fingers into your cheeks and forced a sharp gasp over your lips. “Isn’t that so fucking ironic? Rescue you. While you were here, getting fucked by this little piece of shit. Did you enjoy it? Huh? Did you enjoy spreading your legs for this bastard?”

You wanted to keep your eyes closed, to somehow escape this nightmare. But he didn’t let you. His hand cracked against your cheek with enough force to make you cry out aloud.

He had never hit you so hard.

Not even his goddamn punches had hurt that much.

You sobbed and tried to swallow back the saliva that threatened to make you choke. A hot feeling flared up in your chest – humiliation, anger, but mostly fear.

He would hurt you. He would genuinely hurt you.

“Please, I didn’t want any of this!”

“Shut the fuck up.” He slapped you again, this time even harder. Hard enough to make you go dizzy. “Will you keep that fucking, slutty mouth of yours shut or do I need to use other methods to make sure you obey?”

A soft rustling sound and then you felt it. The cold metal of the blade, pressed against the side of your neck. Your eyes shot open and you choked back a sob, trying to gasp for air, but there was none.

Were you already dead?

You shook your head, almost imperceptibly.

He nodded. “Good. But just to make sure…”

He tilted back the blade, running the tip of it over your neck. Your eyelids fluttered and all you saw was white, white, white light.

This was how dying felt.

Not being forced by your mother to sleep in a wardrobe, not having to drink water from a bowl on the floor, not event thinking you’d get raped at the metro station.

This was it.

The hardness in his eyes. The coldness. The numbness. The death.

There was nothing left of him. And soon, there wouldn’t be anything left of you either.

“P-p-please.”

But he only smirked. He only smirked and guided the tip of the blade lower and lower, until you felt it pressed against your abdomen.

You stiffened painfully much, digging your nails into your palms.

Your baby.

Your man.

Was he dead?

Oh God, had he killed him?

There was no safety in sight. No help. Nothing.

You were going to die tonight.

Never had you ever been particularly fond of life. And now that you finally were, now you were going to die.

But that didn’t hurt half as much, as did the blade against your stomach. The threat.

“I could cut that thing out of you and feed it to him.”

He wasn’t dead.

And still, his words made you shudder.

You had never even realized when you had started to cry. You simply suddenly realized your face was wet, your lashes sticky and your vision blurred.

“I’ll do whatever you want. But please-“ You sobbed out, but you stopped, when he pressed the blade harder against you.

“Keep your fucking mouth shut.” He spat.

You forced yourself to keep your eyes open and nodded frantically.

“Good.” He murmured. “Maybe you’re not entirely useless. What do we have here?”

He used the tip of the blade to cut the strap of your negligee, causing you to gasp.

“Look at that. How pretty. Like a pretty little slut.” His eyes darkened and his lip quivered in barely suppressed rage.

He leaned down and you felt his tongue run a path from your cheek to your ear. It made you shudder and tense, squeezing your eyes shut, but you forced yourself to stay still and not say a single thing. You just sobbed.

“You know what I’m going to do with you?” He smirked and ran a disgusting path with his tongue inside the shell of your ear. “I’m going to fuck your pretty little pussy. I’m going to fuck it again and again and again, until there’s nothing left of you. And only then will I cut you open.”

You were shaking and sobbing so hard that you felt nausea rise within you. Not only his words, but the intensity of your sobs was enough to make you want to puke.

“Or maybe…” He pressed the blade against your cheek and you held your breath. “Maybe I could cut your eyelids off first, hm? So I can be sure that you keep your eyes on me at all times. What do you think?”

The cold metal of the knife dragged over your face, until you felt it pressed right underneath your eye.

“Please.” Your words were slurred and choked out between sobs and gasps for air. “Please, I’m begging you. Please, I’m pregnant. He f-f…He forced me. He forced me. Please, he forced me, he dragged me here by force, He…he…made me…”

“Shh.” It was almost soothing, the way he shushed you. But the way the blade pressed into your cheek was anything but. The pain came slow, but it stung more than his slap ever could have.

“That’s why you’ve been waiting here, wearing this, hm? Because he forced you?”

You felt blood trickling down your cheek. It didn’t hurt half as much as his words did, though.

“Ah…”

“Mhm, mhm. Do you still want to defy me?"

You shook your head, trying to breathe in hysterically. But there was simply not enough air.

The cut went from your eye down to the corner of your mouth.

There went your vision from a pretty wedding dress, a sweet, young mother picking up her child from daycare. No, you were the Joker. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You wouldn’t make it to that part of your life.

If only he hadn’t stopped cutting you. Because the second he did, you felt the next blow, dark and low. His fingers traced a path down your chest, over your stomach and before you could protest, he pressed his thumb against your center. You squeezed your eyes shut and your lip quivered, a silent plea on your lips.

Not this, not him. Not someone who wasn’t your man. But he couldn’t have cared less, right?

The blade followed the path his fingers had drawn and soon enough you heard the material of your panties being cut open.

Your chest heaved rapidly, your nails biting bloody marks into your palms.

Maybe it would be over sooner than later.

Maybe he would violate you and then leave you to it. Maybe, he’d let you live at least.

Still, you couldn’t choke back the sob that threatened to drown you, when you felt the knife wander down further. The cold metal pressed against your core, sideways, and you forced yourself to stay still. You were sure, one wrong movement and you’d end up maimed for life.

For the little life you had left.

He kept the knife pressed against the bundle of nerves underneath him, while you felt two of his disgusting fingers press against your entrance.

“There, there. I thought that’s what little sluts like you want.”

He pressed forward and you cried out in horror and pain.

“Please, stop!”

You didn’t mean to speak, you knew what always happened whenever you opened your mouth, but your body reacted before the rest of you could.

He stopped for a moment, narrowing his eyes.

“You’re such a dumb fucking whore.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry for what he did to you! I didn’t ask him to, I didn’t want him to!” The words spilled from your mouth like wildfire. “What I said is true, he did force me here! But I fell in love with him and then you talked to me that day, and then you followed us home and I just- He just- He saw your gun and then he- And then he-“

“Shut up!” His free hand shot out and squeezed your face so tightly, it made you gasp. “Shut the hell up, will you? I’m not doing this, because you fell in love with him. Fuck! Do you think I care about his shit?!” He gritted his teeth and leaned down enough to be right in your face. “You wanna know what your motherfucking boyfriend did? Hm? You wanna know?” His lip quivered again and his eyes were hard enough to cut you open.

“He had my brother killed.”

That made you freeze. More than you already were.

His words sent a sharp pang through your chest and you opened and closed your mouth several times.

“What?”

“Ah, so he didn’t tell you. How fortunate.” He scoffed and exhaled through gritted teeth. “He kept asking me where your bitch of a mother is. And I told him, that I don’t know. Which I don’t. I haven’t seen her in months, right? And he kept asking me. Fuck. I told him that I don’t know. I told him! And what did he do? What did he do the next fucking day?!” The hand he used to hold your face was shaking and so was the rest of him. The crazed look in his eyes intensified to a degree where you were genuinely frightened – genuinely believed you would be dead soon.

“The next day, he showed me a picture on my own phone.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “My twin brother.” He briefly closed his eyes, before they shot open again.

“Someone had…Someone had shot him. Right in the face.” He swallowed and bit the inside of his cheek, scrunching up his nose. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he did it himself. But no, he was here, busy fucking you. Getting you pregnant. Fuck!”

He slammed the blade back into the mattress, pressing his fingers back against you, forcing your legs apart.

“I’ll fuck you ‘til you die.” He spat out.

“I didn’t know!” You sobbed out. “Please! I had no idea! Had I known-“

It was a soft sound, a gentle thud, somewhere in the apartment. And what started as a soft breath, quickly turned into running steps.

An emergency. An emergency indeed.

He had heard it, too. And the second he turned his head to look at the open door, you finally broke free from your haze.

He wanted to kill you. Your baby.

Your elbow shot out, hitting the side of his face hard enough for an ugly cracking sound to be heard. He gasped loudly and pulled back, just enough so that you could somehow scramble back from underneath him. He doubled over and pressed a hand against his temple.

The door flew open and there he was.

Oh God.

The fraction of a second. A single second.

His eyes were wide in horror, in disbelief, in surprise.

And then that was all gone. And all that was left was pure, unbridled, murderous fury.

He stormed forward and yanked the intruder off of you, leaving you finally able to breathe again.

You somehow stumbled over, getting on your knees, unable to tear your eyes off the scene.

He slammed him into the wall and began to throw punches left and right, but not in the way one might see in a movie. Not even in an underground fight. Maybe he didn’t even want to kill him. No, he wanted to cause as much damage as possible and watch him suffer.

He was shaking. Shaking in fury, shaking in rage. His fingers itching to murder. And his eyes were black.

“I found your little sister, Elliot.” He spat through gritted teeth.

The man, whose name seemed to be Elliot, slumped down against the wall, but his head perked up, his eyes immediately shooting open in alarm, despite the way his face was slowly swelling beyond recognition.

“What?” He coughed up blood. “No. I don’t have-“

“She lives in France. Clever move, Elliot, really. Thought I wouldn’t find your little French whore of a sister.”

He spun around and dragged the knife from the mattress, making you flinch. He crouched down beside him and tightened his grip on the knife.

“I wish you would live long enough to see what I have planned for her. You see, I’m a loyal man, so I won’t fuck her myself. But fuck, I’ll gather enough men to break that dumb little cocktail waitress. They’ll split her in two.”

Elliot’s eyes widened impossibly, shaking his head frantically. “No…no…no, please, she’s only twenty-six…Fuck, no, please, please, please, I’m sorry, I…”

Suddenly – his gaze met yours.

You flinched and stumbled back against the wall, inhaling sharply.

“Please, you can’t let him do that! Please!”

All you could do was stare at him.

But then his voice cut through the silence. “Get out.”

Your eyes snapped back to him, to the way his eyes were blazing with murderous intent.

“I- I-“

“Get out!”

He didn’t need to say it a third time.

You stumbled to your legs, shaking and nearly falling over, but you caught yourself in the last moment. Your legs somehow carried you outside and you ran and ran, until you reached the bathroom. You collapsed on the floor, gripping the edge of the toilet tightly. You retched and retched, aiming for the toilet and ending up puking all over yourself.

You were still shaking.

Still sobbing.

And with every pained gasp you heard from the bedroom, with every grunt, every plea for help – a little part of you died.

You had no idea how much time had passed. An hour? More? Less?

You lay curled up between the toilet and the wall, your stomach grumbling in unease. You had never felt so disgusting before, covered in blood, sweat, your own puke and the lingering touch of a dead man.

When you heard his footsteps approach, you couldn’t even lift your head.

He knelt down beside you, the movement frantic and concerned. His warm hands cupped your face, forcing you to look up at him despite your terror, despite your pain.

“No.” You heard him whisper, his fingers brushing softly over the cut on your cheek.

It sounded watery, like he was speaking through a tunnel. Everything was distant.

Was this how death felt?

He gathered you in his arms and your head lolled forward, resting against his chest. He held you like that for a long while, but you barely felt it. You were shaking like a leaf, but the sobs had died.

You had died.

“He- Wanted-“

“Did he hurt you?” He was trying to stay calm, trying for your sake. There was not much he could do to retaliate to a dead man, anyway.

“Is he dead?” You choked out.

“Don’t think about that now. Did he hurt you?”

You begrudgingly shook your head. “Not…enough to…”

You had no idea what you were even trying to say.

“I’ll take you to the hospital.” He said lowly as he attempted to get up. You caught his wrist before he could.

“He didn’t.” You choked out. “I’m not- He didn’t-“

Your gaze followed down his to your exposed body. His eyes were wide and fearful.

“Did he…”

“No! He didn’t…I mean he did try to…He…You came in.” You whispered weakly. “You came in, before he could.”

His eyes fluttered shut for the briefest moment, before he pressed you against him, cradling your head against his chest. His heart was racing in his chest and his hand pressed your head into his embrace almost painfully tight.

“This is all my fault.” He whispered hoarsely. “I lost the chip and by the time I realized it, I…This is all my fault.”

Of all the things he had done wrong, you wouldn’t let him take the blame for that.

“No.” You whispered, slowly coming out of your haze. Everything was still blurry, but the shaking began to lessen ever so slightly. “It’s not your fault. It’s his.”

“If I didn’t-“

“We’re not discussing this.” You whispered. “It’s not your fault.”

He didn’t say anything more. He didn’t want to overwhelm you any further, you could tell. And you were grateful for that.

“I’m going to take you to the hospital regardless. The stress-“

“Okay.” You whispered. “But please, I…Just let me…Give me…”

He pulled back enough to look at you, his expression pained. “I’ll take care of you. I promise, I will. And I will never leave you alone again. No one will ever touch you again.” He gritted out.

You didn’t protest when he sat you in the tub. He knelt beside it, gently washing everything off you. You just sat there, your chin resting on your knees. The warmth of the water felt good on your skin, it helped against the cruel cold in your bones. But it did little to comfort you. Nothing could ever erase the pain, the fear you felt as you lay there, entirely helpless and frozen.

You barely felt his hands as he gently cleaned you up. You closed your eyes when the warm water ran down your hair and face, but you didn’t flinch.

After a while you felt his hand gently cup your cheek. He made you look at him and you didn’t hesitate to.

“Can you ever forgive me?” He whispered barely audible.

You had never seen him like this. So…desperate.

You were sure, you would never forget the look in his eyes when he reached for the knife. The moment he saw what was going on.

You had been terrified then. And also incredibly relieved.

But you couldn’t help but ask yourself, since that was inside of him…would you always be safe? Would your child always be safe?

But then your expression softened. He looked genuinely terrified. Terrified of the possibility that he had lost your love, your trust. You.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” You whispered hoarsely. “I love you.”

He swallowed and averted his gaze, gently tightening his grip on you.

A few minutes later, you were still damp but covered in a big, fluffy bathrobe. He led you to the other bedroom and lay you down gently, pulling the covers up to your chin.

“I’ll get the doctor here instead.” He murmured. “I don’t want you to go anywhere right now.”

You didn’t protest. He sat by your side, squeezing your hand and staring down at it.

His guilt was eating him alive. And that was eating you.

You gently took his hand and pressed the softest kiss against his knuckles.

“I was just afraid. I’ll be okay.” You whispered.

But he didn’t look convinced. The pain in his eyes was so apparent, so real. You had never before seen him like that.

After a while, you slowly looked up at him. “Did you really have his brother killed?”

He stiffened slightly, but he didn’t avoid your gaze. “Yes.” He said quietly.

You were silent for a while. “Why?”

“He said things about you.” He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. “Threatened you. I should have killed him back then already.”

Your guts churned and you averted your gaze.

“Your mother is in Korea.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Maybe you were indeed dead. And maybe it was better that way.

“What?” You breathed out.

You felt him nod. “She’s here. She’s in Seoul.”

He bit his lip and you kept your gaze glued to the ceiling.

“I know where she is.”

You closed your eyes and tried to sort out your thoughts. A list of pros and cons. And then you thought back to the baby in your belly. The tiny human, dependent on you. Tiny fingers and toes. Small teeth. A smile, covered in chocolate and ice cream.

Someone to love.

Someone to love unconditionally.

And then you thought back to how you how almost lost it. How your kidneys were giving up. How you had lost one, due to poisoning. You almost lost your baby because of her.

When you looked up at him, your eyes didn’t look like your own.

“I trust you.” Was all that you said.

He didn’t comment on it and he didn’t need to. His eyes said it all. He was a clever man.

He didn’t need words to understand you.

You averted your gaze again, staring up at the ceiling and gently running your thumb over the back of his hand. He loved it when you played with his hands.

He loved it when you leaned on him.

He loved it when you loved him.

He-

“Choi Seo-jin.”

You stopped in your tracks and kept your gaze focused on the ceiling. There was no confusion. You knew it. You knew what he was saying. You knew what it meant.

When you slowly tilted your head to meet his gaze, he was already looking at you. His eyes soft. Softer than ever before.

“My name. It’s Choi Seo-jin.”

You opened your mouth and closed it again. There was not much you could say.

“I’m sorry.” He spoke in a voice so soft and silky that it left you feeling breathless.

His name. His name.

“Sorry?” You breathed out.

He nodded. “For not telling you earlier. For not trusting you, when I should have. For…for all the things I have done to you. Everything.”

You stared at him, completely dumbfounded. Most of it, you had already forgiven him. Probably everything. Most likely everything.

Sure, you had told to the dead man that he kidnapped, that he forced you to be here and carry his child. But what else should you have said? You didn’t want to die. You didn’t want your baby to die. And so you lied.

It wasn’t really a lie, was it? Not a few months ago. But now you knew this was exactly where you belonged.

There was no more curtain, no uncertainty left. No guilt, no unease, no fear.

When you feared him, then you feared him as his partner. Not his victim.

“You don’t have to say that.” You said gently, but he cut you off with a sharp nod.

“Yes, I do.” He exhaled slowly and looked down at your combined hands. “I told you of my father, right? But I didn’t tell you everything.”

You held your breath and simply…let him be.

He smiled, but there was no mirth wheresoever. His eyes were cold, but not directed at you.

At the memory.

“I still hear my mother screaming, you know? Sometimes, in the middle of the night, I’m sure I can hear her. When I wake up then and see you lying beside me…It’s the only thing to bring me back.”

He bit his lip and shook his head, still not looking at you.

“He told me that no one would ever be able to love me. That no one could ever love a weak little bastard like me. Called my mother a whore. Said she slept around. He wouldn’t even be sure whose or what I was. Bastard was his go-to name for me.” He sighed and shook his head, gently playing with your fingers. “He said no one could ever love me. And everyone who ever said they did would lie.”

That was when he finally looked up to meet your gaze.

“And I believed him.” He whispered. “I was sure that no one could ever love me. No one would ever trust me. No one would ever look at me and see their lover, their husband. Their protector. They’d see me for what I was. A bastard.” He shook his head again, his voice dropping low. “I thought if I tested you enough, if I hurt you enough, you’d run. I was sure. You were a tough girl. Tough as nails. I did the most vile things to you, but you? You never tried to run. I tried to kill you and what did you do? You told me you loved me.” He clenched his jaw as he spoke. “And I was…I was so fucking confused. Why would you love me? You had to be lying. But no matter what I did, you didn’t run.” His voice turned contemplative, his gentle grip on your hand never wavering.

“He came to my room, you know.” He swallowed against something in his throat and you were sure the sound of your heart breaking was audible.

“Every so often. He…” He closed his eyes. He couldn’t say it. And he didn’t need to. Instead, you gently squeezed his hand, just a little bit tighter than usual.

Your eyes filled with tears, but you bit them back. You wanted so bad to be strong for him, especially now. He slowly opened his eyes and met your gaze, a tiny, weak smile on his lips.

“I couldn’t control it.” He whispered and slowly shook his head. “No matter what I did. I was never in control. Everything just happened. And I could only let it happen.” He clenched his jaw tighter, his grip on your hand was shaking now. “And I told myself I would never, never feel that way again. Never. And I didn’t.”

He sighed deeply. “But I think I got a little ahead of myself. And now…And you…” His gaze raked over your face, over your damp cheeks and he smiled again.

“I gave you control. I know it wasn’t much. It’s not…easy. But I’m trying. I’m really trying.”

He reached out a hand, his palm against your cheek warm and gentle. You closed your eyes and leaned into his touch.

“You never took advantage of it.” He murmured. “I saw it in your face, in your eyes. That one time you slapped me or whenever I let you be in control…It’s almost like it’s hurting you physically.”

His smile widened, just the tiniest bit. “I know it now. I know that my father was nothing but a liar. And you love me.”

Your breath caught in your throat and you nodded. It was all you could do.

“Good.” He whispered. “Because…”

He took a slow breath and brought your hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss against it.

“Because I intend to marry you and make this whole thing work. I’m going to be your husband and you will be my wife. And this…” He gently pressed his free hand against your stomach. “This is our baby. And no one will ever touch our baby. We’re going to love it. And I will kill anyone who ever tries to touch either of you again.”

His voice was so firm and convincing that you were sure. He meant every word.

You couldn’t even protest. You didn’t want to.

You would be his wife.

And your baby was going to get all the love the both of you had been missing.

And then?

And then he told you everything. Everything from who he was and where he came from. Every quirk, every ick, every pain, every wish, every fear. Everything. Until you were sure.

You were meant to be there.

You were meant to be his.

And had it been him who wrote the text, who uploaded it, who decided to share his thoughts with the world. Had it been him, not you.

You would have done the same.

After an eternity of just talking and letting go of everything that dragged down his soul into the strange abyss that was his misery, he finally looked at you.

“Did I miss anything?” He murmured, before he leaned down to press a kiss against your temple.

You swallowed and nodded. “You didn’t tell me where you work.”

He sighed deeply and leaned back. “You’ll love me regardless?”

You didn’t need to think about it. You simply nodded.

You would.

He nodded as well and leaned down, just enough so you felt his breath against your skin, like the gentle kiss of a sweet spring day after a long, bitter winter. His fingers gently played with your hair, the movement absentminded.

His eyes softened even more and he looked at you with nothing less than pure trust.

“Tell me, darling…Have you ever played the Squid Game before?”

_________________________________________

Tag list 1 :@mitsuki-dreamfree@kpopsmutty69@heroine-chique@vkeyy@mizuwki@blu-brrys@z0mbi345@yourpointbreak@ayieayee@freddyzeppsworld@lola11111111@indifitel6661@salesmanlover08@laurenbenoit70@lalalaa2210@lila-marshal@auspicious-lilana@0-aubrie0@lovelyaegyo@theredvelvetbitch@violentbluess@muriels-lover@dorayakissu@eviebuggg@muchwita@ririgy@strxlemon@obsessedwthdilfs@kiwilov3@misty-q @koigguki

Author's note 2: Sorry for traumatizing you, guys. I hope whatever I wrote made any sense...My brain is a mess, it's 2.30am and I'm going to sleep now. I loveeeee you! 🤍

487 notes · View notes

adelliet · 2 months ago

Text

Joel Miller X f!reader

Drunk Desires

Summary: Joel hadn’t had any intimate contact with a woman for a long time, until he unexpectedly stumbled upon you. He saved you, and then rewarded you with an irreplaceable gift.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, weird creeps annyoing reader, alcohol consumption, strong language, age gap, nicknames (sweetheart, baby, ...), multiple orgasm (come on it's Joel Miller), fingering, oral sex, unprotected sex (p i v), pull-out method, short aftercare

A/n: Hey! So, it got a little longer, sorry, I really got into it… I also apologize if some phrases or parts aren’t grammatically correct or don’t make sense, English isn’t my native language! <3 Anyway, enjoy!

Masterlist

As handsome as Joel is, he hasn’t been with many women in his lifetime. Before the apocalypse, he was fairly active, but now? That part of his life is a mess. If anyone asked him how long it had been since his last time with a woman, he probably wouldn’t even remember. And honestly, he was fine with that.

At least, most of the time.

When he moved to Jackson to live near his brother, a small part of him hoped he’d reclaim some of his old self, that despite his age, he might become a “sex dragon” again. But things didn’t quite turn out that way. Instead of spending his days fucking, he found himself helping Tommy with hunting trips or organizing events for the local kids.

Not that he minded, far from it. In fact, he loved being able to focus on something other than survival, on something that didn’t revolve around whether he’d live to see another sunrise. But the truth was, he was alone. Sure, he had Tommy, and through him, a sense of family, but that didn’t fill the quiet spaces.

Most evenings, he ended up at the bar, a glass of whiskey in his hand, watching the amber liquid swirl as he idly played with it. It wasn’t exciting, but it had become his favorite pastime. Boring, maybe, but his.

And tonight was no different. He sat alone in the corner, quietly observing, and if he was being honest, judging, everyone around him. Every time his eyes landed on a couple, even the young ones, his chest tightened, and he had to look away. He hated to admit it, but he was jealous.

The only thing that dulled the sting was the whiskey in his hand, dark and bitter, with two cubes of ice slowly melting into it. He took a slow sip, feeling the burn trail down his throat, a welcome distraction from the ache in his chest.

He leaned against the wooden wall, taking a deep breath, letting the familiar scent of the bar, whiskey, cigarettes, and the faint musk of old wood, wash over him. It was comforting in its own way, allowing him to relax. Or at least, as much as he ever could.

Still, his mind refused to stay quiet. It wandered, spinning thoughts and fantasies about what it would be like if he had someone. A woman. Pretty, smart, independent, but not too proud to accept help when she needed it. He pictured them together, imagined the warmth of her touch, the way it would feel to hold her close, to kiss her, to-

A sudden, unnatural loud noise cut through his thoughts like a blade. His body tensed immediately. Snapping out of his daydream, he scanned the room, then stood up, instincts kicking in.

It sounded like two male voices cutting off a softer, more hesitant female one. Joel furrowed his brows and followed the sound, his instincts already telling him something was off.

As soon as he got a clear view, he understood the situation instantly. A young woman, pretty, clearly uncomfortable, was pressed against the wall in a booth. One of the men kept sliding closer to her, invading her space, while the other sat across from them, grinning like an idiot, chuckling under his breath. They both looked like creeps.

Joel didn’t hesitate.

“Any problems?” His voice was low, rough, predatory. The kind of voice that made people pause.

The entire bar seemed to hush for a moment as both men turned their heads toward him. And then there was you. Your eyes met his, wide with uncertainty at first, but then, hope.

“Fuck off, dude,” one of the creeps spat, barely sparing Joel a glance before turning back to you. You were still trapped, squeezed between him and the wall, your body tense, your eyes darting between them and Joel.

Joel’s jaw tightened. “I will,” he said, voice calm but firm, tilting his head slightly in your direction. “As soon as you leave her alone.”

The second man scoffed. “How about you mind your own damn business, huh?” he muttered, leaning in close enough that Joel caught a whiff of his breath, rancid, like cheap beer and rotting teeth. Joel nearly gagged.

And then, after a beat, he laughed. Loud. Deep. A laugh that wasn’t friendly at all.

Both men turned their attention back to him, clearly irritated now. “Hey, you shit, we’re telling you one last time, go to hell-“

The guy barely finished his sentence before he made the mistake of stepping closer. The second he was within reach, Joel’s hand shot out, gripping his jacket and yanking him in until they were nearly nose to nose.

Joel’s expression darkened, his voice dropping to something cold and lethal. “Leave,” he growled, eyes burning into the man’s like a wolf sizing up its prey. “And never, ever, touch her again. Or I swear to God, you won’t have those eyes or that pretty little nose left. Understood?”

The creep’s head shook in pure fear, and the moment Joel released him, he bolted out of sight. Joel then turned his attention to the other guy, the one still frozen next to you, his face pale with shock. He didn’t even need a warning, within seconds, he was gone too, disappearing as quickly as he had slithered in.

Joel scoffed, shaking his head as he watched them scramble. “Wretches,” he muttered under his breath before finally turning to you.

The relief in your eyes was unmistakable, and the way you looked at him, grateful, warm, made something inside him shift. Your eyes really were something else, he had to admit. Actually, you were something else.

“Are you… okay?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. You nodded quickly, offering a bright smile. “Yes! Thank you so much!”

Your voice was soft, elegant, so unlike the rough world around you. Joel wasn’t sure why, but hearing it sent something strange through him. A deep, twisting sensation low in his stomach. Something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

“Alright.” He gave you a small nod and was about to leave you be when you stopped him. “Wait!” He paused, glancing back at you.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Joel huffed a quiet chuckle. “No, thank you-“

“Please,” you insisted. “It's the last thing I can do.”

You looked so earnest, so determined to repay him, that he hesitated. Any other time, his answer would have been obvious. A beautiful young woman offering to share a drink? Hell, in the past, he wouldn’t have thought twice.

But now… now he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t a young man anymore, and sitting across from someone like you, fresh-faced, full of life, felt almost wrong.

Then again, those eyes of yours had a way of convincing people. After a moment of silence, he sighed and gave in, sliding into the booth across from you, making you jump a little from excitment.

“So, what do you like to drink?” you asked, your voice brimming with energy.

Joel didn’t answer right away. Instead, he just… looked at you. Studied you. Every little detail. The glow of your skin, the way your long lashes framed your eyes, the soft curve of your lips. Your hair looked impossibly smooth, the kind that begged to be touched. You were perfect, almost too perfect, like you didn’t quite belong in this world.

And somehow, he was sitting across from you.

“Hello?”

Your voice snapped him out of it. He’d been staring too long. Too long for it to be normal. He needed to be more careful, or he’d start looking like one of those creeps he’d just chased off. Clearing his throat, he straightened up, forcing himself back to reality. “Whiskey.”

You nodded, pursing your lips thoughtfully. “Ah. Bitter.” Joel gave a small nod, his usual unreadable expression in place, except for the faintest hint of a smile ghosting across his face. Almost invisible, but it was there.

“And something else? Maybe something to eat or-“

“Whiskey is enough. Thank you,” Joel cut in smoothly, lifting a hand in a small, polite gesture. There was a hint of a smile on his lips, subtle but real.

You nodded and got up to head to the bar.

Joel exhaled, settling into his seat, but his gaze naturally followed you. Again, his eyes moved over you, taking in details he hadn’t allowed himself to before.

The way your tight black jeans hugged your legs and ass perfectly. The cropped brown jacket, fitted just right, didn’t reveal much from the back, but it didn’t need to. The curve of your body already told him everything.

And that’s when it hit him. He was checking you out. Like a damn teenager.

Joel clenched his jaw and quickly looked away, clearing his throat as if that would clear his thoughts, too. But it didn’t matter. You were like a magnet. And God help him, he was already getting addicted.

Joel let out a slow breath, trying, really trying, not to look again. But his eyes had a mind of their own.

You were leaning against the counter now, arching your back just enough to push that perfect, round ass out. It wasn’t on purpose, at least, he didn’t think it was, but damn, it wasn’t helping him one bit.

A heat started building in him, low and persistent, the kind he hadn’t felt in a long time. Not like this. Shifting in his seat, he tried to get comfortable, but even his jeans were betraying him now, getting tighter in all the wrong places.

Shit.

It was almost unbelievable, hell, embarrassing, that just from looking at you, he was already hard.

But here he was.

An old, grumpy bastard sitting in a booth, shifting uncomfortably, grateful that the table at least covered his lap. And waiting. For you.

A woman so far out of his league, it wasn’t even funny. He exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face, as if that would snap him out of it.

Get it together, Miller.

“Everything alright?” you asked softly as you sat back down, sliding the glass of dark gold liquid toward him. Joel exhaled slowly, nodding as he took the drink into his hands. “Yeah… thank you.”

But if he was trying to steady himself, you weren’t doing much better.

Your eyes flickered down to his hands, big, strong, rough in all the right ways. It was almost impossible not to imagine what they could do. What they could feel like.

And then there was his face. Sharp, rugged, pretty in a way that men his age weren’t supposed to be. Sure, your friends would call him old. Maybe even tell you he was too old. But you? You found him more attractive than half the boys your age.

Because unlike them, he wasn’t just handsome, he was experienced. In every way.

And definitely in that way.

Your gaze drifted to his eyes, dark and unreadable, full of secrets you desperately wanted to unravel. What was he thinking about? Did he, maybe, want you, too?

The heat between your legs pulsed stronger, making you shift in your seat, pressing your thighs together in a poor attempt to dull the ache.

“I’m Y/N, by the way…” you coughed out, desperate to break the thick tension settling between you.

Joel wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, having just poured the whiskey straight down his throat. His gaze flickered from your face, just for a moment, before dropping lower. Your chest. And then, just as quickly, his eyes snapped back up.

“Joel,” he finally said, his voice low, gruff. That name hit you like a punch to the gut.

Joel.

It planted itself deep in your brain, burning itself into your memory. You knew, right then and there, that you’d never forget it.

“And… thank you,” you added, suddenly feeling shy. “For, um… saving me.”

Joel gave a small shrug. “No problem…” He almost left it at that, like he had with every other response, but after realizing he was barely stringing two words together, he forced himself to continue.

“Those assholes needed to learn their place.” You nodded, fully agreeing. But deep down, your mind wasn’t on those men anymore. It was on him.

“And how do you live here, in Jackson?” you asked, trying to keep the conversation going. Joel took a sip of his whiskey, his eyes momentarily drifting away before meeting yours again. The connection was instant, like a spark in the dark. For a moment, you both just melted, caught in the pull of each other’s gaze.

It took you a second to catch your breath, your thoughts scattered. His eyes… they were so damn beautiful. “It’s been a few months now, I dare say…” He paused, watching you closely. “What about you?”

You struggled to find your words, your throat tight from the intensity of his stare. “I… I moved in just a couple days ago…” You swallowed hard, hoping your voice didn’t sound as shaky as you felt.

“A newbie, I see,” Joel said with a small scoff, his lips curling into a half-smile. You nodded, trying to play it cool, but the heat creeping up your neck betrayed you. You could feel your cheeks burning, the redness spreading across your face. It was like your body had betrayed you.

You quickly looked away, hoping the blush would fade, but there was no denying it. You were shy. Suddenly, you were aware of every little thing, how your hands were resting, how your legs felt, the way your breath hitched when you thought of him.

Despite that, you thoroughly enjoyed his presence, and even though Joel didn’t show it, he enjoyed yours as well.

A lot.

After a long and tireless conversation, where Joel spent most of the time just listening to your excited stories and experiences, you were now walking side by side. Not too close to invade each other’s space, but not too far either, so you could still hear each other if one of you spoke.

Right now, though, you were both silent. The darkness around you was beautifully illuminated by the warm glow of street lamps. Above, the stars shone brightly, guiding your way. The snow fell gently, blending seamlessly into the white carpet beneath your feet, your boots leaving soft imprints as you walked. A faint breeze whispered through the night, barely noticeable.

It was perfect. Neither of you spoke, yet the quiet felt comfortable. More than anything, you felt safe, something you hadn’t experienced in a long time.

Joel, on the other hand, finally didn’t feel alone. He was grateful for the company, especially because the company was you. It almost felt unreal, walking beside the sweetest, most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Like a dream.

Still, a part of him braced for the inevitable. He knew that, sooner or later, you’d probably stop talking to him. Maybe you’d acknowledge him with a polite wave or a nod when passing him on the street. But eventually, you’d move on. And he’d be just another face in the crowd.

For a fleeting moment, your fingertips nearly brush against his, a spark of electricity passing between you, silent, but impossible to ignore. It’s what finally compels you to speak.

“It’s really nice…” Joel’s brows knit together in mild confusion, unsure of what you mean.

“The weather,” you add quickly, prompting a soft exhale of understanding from him.

“Yeah… the town at this time of night is definitely something.”

You nod, your gaze drifting over the quiet streets before inevitably settling back on him. Just looking at him sends your heart into a steady climb, warmth pooling beneath your skin.

Joel gestures toward a small brown cabin a few meters away. “That yours?” You hesitate for a beat before answering, the words carrying a weight of something unspoken.

“Oh… yeah. That’s mine.” A faint trace of sadness lingers in your voice, too subtle to explain, but not enough to go unnoticed.

With each step closer to your house, the inevitable goodbye loomed nearer, a moment you weren’t ready for. Neither was Joel.

After years of relentless stress, of running from clickers and worse, the weight of it all had been suffocating. But now, standing beside him, everything felt different. Life felt worth living again. Like it was always meant to be. You didn’t want to give up this feeling, this moment with Joel.

“Well… looks like this is the end,” you exhale, suciing your lips together awkwardly, as you both stand at the door of your house. Joel nods. “Probably,” he murmurs, glancing down, bracing himself for the hollow feeling to return, for life to feel meaningless again.

Silence stretched between you, heavy and uncertain, before an idea surfaced in your mind, one that could either be the best or worst decision of your life.

“Maybe I’m being silly for even asking…” Joel’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto yours, searching, waiting. “But um… don’t you wanna come in? Get something to eat… or drink, again?”

The moment the words left your mouth, regret crept through you. His expression shifted—hesitation flickering across his face. But it wasn’t because he didn’t want to. No, he wanted to. More than anything.

The problem was the voice in his head, the one that never let him rest. This is a bad idea. Someone could see. The neighbors were nosy, and people talked. Something could happen. He didn’t want to bring trouble to you, didn’t want to hurt you.

But God, he wanted you.

“Or if you don’t want to, it’s totally fine, I just—”

“Sure.”

His voice cut through your nervous rambling, firm and certain. Your eyebrows shot up in pleasant surprise. “I’d love to.”

A quiet giggle slipped past your lips, as you quickly checked your pockets for your keys.

This is a terrible idea.

The silence in your kitchen grew heavier with each passing second, broken only by the occasional sound of you or Joel sipping your drinks. It wasn’t that there was nothing to say—you simply enjoyed the quiet. Though, if you had to choose, you’d much rather hear Joel’s crusty voice.

Then, an idea popped into your head. “How about we play a game?”

Joel’s eyes met yours the moment you spoke. “What game?” he asked, clearing his throat and raising an eyebrow. “Maybe a board game? Or cards… poker, maybe?”

Joel scoffed, shaking his head as he looked down. Memories flooded back—late nights at the pub, playing poker with Tommy and the rest of the guys. Good old times…

“We don’t have to, I was just thinking—”

“Sure. Poker sounds great,” he interrupted with a smile. You never thought someone so tough, with such an intimidating look, could smile like that.

Your heart skipped a beat, and a quiet giggle escaped your lips before you jumped out of your seat and headed to your bedroom to find the cards.

Meanwhile, Joel took another sip of the coffee you had made. It was delicious. His gaze wandered around your home. So warm, so inviting. Compared to his place, yours looked so much better… and cleaner. He could get used to being here. Hell, maybe even living here someday. But that was a massive leap into the future.

He shook his head, pushing the thought away, and focused on the moment. Right here. Right now. Sitting in your chair, in a beautiful kitchen that smelled like heaven, enjoying a cup of coffee while waiting for an amazing girl to play poker with.

He couldn’t be happier.

…Actually, no. If he had the chance to touch you, to feel you, he would be definitely much happier.

He couldn’t stop the thoughts. Didn’t even want to, if he was being honest. His mind wandered to you in the most sinful ways, imagining everything he’d do to you, everything you’d do to him.

He pictured his hands exploring your body, tracing every curve, memorizing every inch of your soft skin. He could almost feel the way his fingers would slide beneath your clothes, slowly peeling away each layer as his lips claimed yours in deep, lingering kisses.

At first, he’d be gentle, taking his time, making sure you felt safe, comfortable. But the second you were both bare, he wouldn’t waste another moment. His hands would be all over you, grabbing your ass, squeezing just hard enough to leave dark marks on your skin. He’d bite your neck like a damn monster, his teeth sinking in just enough to make sure everyone in Jackson knew that you were his.

Meanwhile, you were upstairs, searching for the poker cards. It took you quite a while, long enough to make you question your own memory, but in the end, you found them. A satisfied smile spread across your lips as you grabbed the box. But just as you were about to close it, something else caught your eye. Another set of cards. A completely different game.

Drunk Desires.

The sleek black packaging practically screamed its purpose without you even needing to look inside. Still, curiosity got the best of you.

You sat down on the bed and opened the package, dumping the cards onto the sheets. There were two colors, white and black. Frowning, you picked up a white one and read it.

“Drink if you’re the best kisser.” Your eyebrows furrowed. What even is this game? You flipped through the rule card, hoping to make sense of it.

“DRUNK DESIRES is a drinking game for couples who want to spice things up. The physical edition contains 50 cards: 28 dirty (black) and 22 flirty (white).”

You blinked, surprised that you even owned something like this. Where the hell did you get these? Your curiosity burned hotter, so you picked up one of the black cards. As soon as you read it, a shiver ran down your spine. Absolutely not.

You quickly shoved the cards back into the box and grabbed the poker set instead. But just as you were about to leave, your gaze drifted back to Drunk Desires.

You bit your lip, hesitating. Which one should you bring? There would definitely be consequences. Side effects. This could end very badly if you bring the black ones…

“Hey, hope you didn’t fall asleep!” you said cheerfully, walking back down the stairs to sit across from Joel, who was still holding his cup. “Not yet,” he chuckled.

“So, um… unfortunately, I couldn’t find the poker cards,” you said, watching his face fall slightly into a look of disappointment, followed by a small “tsk, aww” sound. “But I found these instead,” you added, placing the box in the center of the table.

Joel leaned in to get a better look. “Drunk Desires?” He raised an eyebrow in question.

“Yeah… you ever heard of it?” Joel shook his head, then leaned back into his chair. “Oh… well, we don’t have to play it,” you said quickly. “What is it?” He motioned to the cards, eyes locked on you.

You swallowed, a dry lump in your throat, before trying to explain without making it sound too awkward. “It’s basically truth or dare… with alcohol,” you said, a bit unsure.

Joel gave an almost imperceptible “aah” and nodded, understanding. It was, after all, just another version of truth or dare… right?

“Then let’s start,” Joel said, surprisingly eager. He placed his coffee cup down and clapped his hands together, rubbing them in anticipation.

You were momentarily stunned by his sudden excitement, but quickly snapped back to reality. You stood up and headed to the cabinet to grab something strong. Vodka was the first thing your eyes landed on, and you didn’t hesitate.

“Alright, so you pick a card and read what it says. It’ll say something like ‘drink if…’ or ‘or drink…’ well, you’ll see. Let me start, I’ll show you,” you said, trying to explain the rules as best as you could.

You pulled out a card, thankfully a white one. You read it aloud:

“Do a squat with your partner on your back, or drink.” You both laughed as you immediately grabbed a shot glass and poured in the vodka. “Come on, I think you’d do it” He teased.

You just shook your head and downed the shot, the strong liquid burning as it slid down your throat, making your face muscles tense up.

“It’s… quite strong,” you said, half-opening your eyes, glancing over at Joel, who was grinning widely. Something told him he was going to enjoy this game.

“Alright, my turn,” he said as he reached for another card from the small stack. He read the text to himself, his eyes widening, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. You immediately started to worry, regretting that you hadn’t just picked up a deck of poker cards instead.

“Take off one item of clothing…” he read aloud, still staring at the card he was gripping tightly. A shiver ran down your spine. Maybe this was a bad idea. No, definitely, this was a bad idea. A man you had just met was playing a game meant for couples, there was no way he’d want to see you again after this.

“Alright,” he said, standing up before casually slipping off his shoes, all the while keeping his eyes on you with a playful smile.

Your heart pounded as you stared at him, lips parting slightly as if you wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

When he sat back down, you were caught off guard. Not really by Joel’s bold move, but by the entire situation itself.

“Are you gonna play or just stare at me all night?” His voice pulled you out of your thoughts, and you let out a small giggle before reaching for another card.

Neither of you had any idea how much time had passed. By now, you were way too drunk for this. The game had turned out to be a lot more fun than you expected, and you definitely didn’t regret bringing it anymore.

The kitchen was filled with the smell of vodka and bursts of laughter. The neighbors were probably pissed, but you didn’t care.

Joel hadn’t laughed like this in a long time. And hearing him laugh made your heart feel warm. His voice was just so comforting.

But being drunk made your senses and desires a lot stronger. You started noticing his big hands more often, the way his muscles were tightly wrapped in his collared shirt, and your naughty imagination kicked in, making your panties wet Joel wasn’t much better. He couldn’t stop staring at you, at your body. Every time he tried to look away or focus on the cards, his eyes would automatically fall back to your breast. He blamed the alcohol for this, but deep down, he knew it wasn’t just the vodka that made his jeans feel so tight all of a sudden.

“So…” Joel pulled another black card, smiling at you before reading aloud what it said. “Do your favorite sex position for one minute or drink.” You laughed, shaking your head. At that moment, you found every bullshit ridiculously funny.

You obviously expected him to drink, so you poured some vodka into his shot glass. But instead, Joel put his card back onto the table and slide away from the table, still sitting. You froze, staring at him, full of anticipation.

“I’m gonna need you for this,” he said, patting his lap lightly. Your eyes widened, and your heart stopped. Was he for real? His dark, hunting, intense gaze gave you all the answers you needed.

You stared at him for a moment, questioning your own consciousness, was this really happening? After a few seconds, you finally stood up, painfully slowly. It wasn’t just nerves holding you back; the alcohol in your system wasn’t exactly helping you see straight either.

You took a hesitant step forward, wide-eyed as you approached Joel. He watched your every move, his gaze trailing over you like you were the most mesmerizing sight he’d ever laid eyes on.

“Only if you’re comfortable with it.”

Oh, that was the last thing he could be worried about. You had thought about this exact scenario, sitting onto his lap and riding him a million times over, despite the fact that you had just met him.

Without another word, you carefully settled onto his lap as he spread his legs, making room for you, making sure you were sitting right against his crotch.

The advantage of being this close? You could finally take him in, all of him. Every little detail of his rugged face, each strand of his graying beard, the way his thick, dark eyebrows framed those hungry, unreadable eyes. His lips, so full and tinted a soft pink, looked almost too inviting. But what burned the most was the intensity behind his stare. There was something hidden there, something much darker than just hunger or desire.

He didn’t touch you. Not yet. Not without your permission. After all, this was still just part of the game. He glanced at his watch, counting down a minute in his head. Trying, desperately, to focus on the time.

But the second you shifted, adjusting yourself just slightly in his lap, he was done for. He’d been holding himself back all night.

His gaze flicked back to yours. Eye contact, sharp and unyielding. The air around you thickened, tension pressing into every inch of space between you.

“Y-you’re not watching the time,” you whispered, breathless.

“Do you want me to?” His voice was low, rough, aged like fine whiskey. It sent a pulse straight to your core, making you tremble against him.

You shook your head, your heart pounding against your ribs. You wanted him, desperately. You wanted to rip his clothes off, feel his bare chest, his stomach, his muscles tensing as he held you close. But Joel was waiting. Patient. Even though you were making it nearly impossible, he wouldn’t be the one to break the barrier first.

But the eye contact alone made your legs weak.

You could feel him hardening beneath you, pressing right where you needed him most. The unbearable ache between your thighs grew stronger with each passing second, each torturous moment you sat on his lap. You couldn’t take it anymore. You had to make the move.

Shifting yourself against him, you rolled your hips slightly, pressing down just enough to make him groan. His eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment, and he let out a low, rich laugh, gravelly and deep. His hands still hadn’t touched you.

“Stop…”

It wasn’t a warning. It was a request. A request you knew damn well he didn’t want you to obey. He liked this. God, he liked this. But the fact that he couldn’t touch you made it so much harder.

“Or what?” you breathed out, voice teasing, dripping with need.

And then, you really moved. Rocking your hips against him, dragging yourself along his clothed cock, feeling every inch of his length press against you. This wasn’t just subtle shifting anymore.

This was dry humping.

He curled his fingers into a tight fist, his knuckles turning white as the rough denim of his jeans trapped his aching dick, holding him prisoner. Every roll of your hips, every delicious bit of friction you created, made it harder for him to keep his hands off you.

But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

The dull throb between your thighs was unbearable, the friction sending little sparks of pleasure shooting through your core. This was the only way to get some relief, to grind yourself against him, to take what you needed.

“Fuck…” Joel exhaled, his voice rough and strained as he threw his head back, staring at the ceiling like he was begging for strength. You were a real torture.

Your eagerness for him had long surpassed its limit. Without a second thought, you placed your hands against his broad chest, fingers curling slightly against the firm muscle beneath his shirt as your hips began to move faster. Your breath hitched, coming in shorter, more desperate gasps as you chased every bit of friction you could get.

And that…that was enough to break him.

Joel’s restraint snapped like a frayed thread. His large hand shot up, wrapping firmly around your throat, not squeezing, just holding, just claiming, before he pulled you down into a kiss. Sloppy, deep, starved.

You gasped against his lips, but he didn’t give you a second to recover. His mouth moved hungrily over yours, devouring, tasting. You tasted sweet. Too sweet. Like a ripe, juicy strawberry, one he couldn’t get enough of. And just like strawberries, once Joel had one taste, he needed more.

His impatience revealed itself through the deep, guttural growls rumbling in his chest. One hand remained wrapped securely around your throat, a constant reminder of his control, while the other wandered, exploring every inch of your delicate body, frustratingly still covered by fabric.

When his rough palm finally found your hip, he sqeezed it, fingers digging in with a possessive force that made you gasp, a soft, breathless whimper melting into the kiss.

Joel only smirked devilishly, his lips curving against yours before he kissed you even harder.

Your tongues tangled, battling for dominance neither of you truly wanted to win. Your spit mixed, your lips clung to each other with a desperate kind of need, like they simply couldn’t exist apart.

Your hands moved naturally, gracefully, into Joel’s soft curls, fingers threading through them like they belonged there. Every time he squeezed your hip, you retaliated with a sharp tug, drawing a deep, hungry groan from his throat.

He couldn’t get enough of you.

You were a drug, an addiction he never wanted to break free from. He needed to feel every inch of you, every detail, every imperfection that only made you more perfect in his eyes. He didn’t want to rush it, he wanted to savor you, but fuck, he had been waiting for this moment far too long.

After what felt like an eternity of heated, desperate kisses, ones that left both of you gasping, moaning into each other’s mouths, Joel finally acted.

Like a true gentleman, he let his hands slide down to your ass, gripping you firmly as he lifted you with ease. He placed you onto the table, making sure you were steady before he reluctantly pulled away, his eyes searching yours.

“May I?”

His voice was low, as he shot you those damn puppy eyes, fingers hovering just an inch from the zipper of your jeans. You barely managed to nod, breathless, your heart pounding so hard you swore he could hear it.

With a sly smirk, he lunged not only for your sore lips, but also for your jeans. He took them off in a second without any problems, making you pleasantly surprised how expertly and majestically he took off your pants and panties. His huge palms traveled to your thighs, closer and closer to your throbbing core, that was screaming to be filled.

Gently, he brushed his middle finger slightly on top of your wet folds, making you deepen the kiss and tug Joel's hair. God he loved it. It took a few more brushes, before he inserted his finger in, making you gasp in satisfaction. Joel smoothly found your neck and sucked on the sensitive spot, while adding his thumb to circle around your clit, deadly slowly.

You whined his name as you instinctively move your pelvis against his hand, craving for more friction. He noticed it quickly, so he went deeper as another finger joined to make you cum.

"You're so wet, sweetheart" he groaned against your ear, his chest moving up and down as the heat between his legs grew way too fast.

"Joel- I am gonna-" you wanted to warn him, but he knew. Damn well. Your whole body tensed, your core clenched against his fingers as your jaw dropped. You shudder, before you release yourself and cum all over his fingers. He was still curling his fingers inside you, making you overstimulated, until he carefully pulls them out, immediately sucking on them. He moaned, rolling his eyes as he tasted you.

"You taste amazing..."

He whimpered, looking deeply into your eyes. You smile, goosebumps appeared all over your body. You were a little embarrassed at how quickly Joel brought you to orgasm, but before you could process it, his head was hiding between your legs. You leaned against your elbows, checking what was he doing.

"Relax baby" his wolf, hot voice makes your core throbbing around nothingness, again. He observes you for a while, teasing you, before giving your puffy labia a gentle kiss. And another one. And another one. His needle-like prickly beard scratched and tickled you at the same time, creating a mix of sensations you couldn't name. The only thing you were sure of was, that it was fucking pleasurable.

You found his hair quickly and threw your head back, as his mouth burried fully into your vagina. It was a vicious circle, whenever you pulled his hair he would howl, sending a strong vibration through you, forcing you to tug his old hair.

In addition to obtrude his tongue inside you, he never stopped watching you. He analyzed your every little movement to find out how and what you liked the most, without even asking. He was a master at this, because all it took was a few experiments and you were back at your edge.

His tongue picked up pace and speed. His nose bumping into your clitoris without intention, as his smooth tongue flicks in and out of your core, that started closing around him, again.

"Fuckkk..." you moan, throwing your head back and tugging Joel's hair, really hard this time. It was a miracle you didn't pull some of them out. You though it's impossible, but this absolute monster, whom was still working on your core, led you to another unforgettable orgasm.

When you came back from your high, breathing hysterically, he finally let go of you and stood up. He watched you and his dick hardened even more at your sight. You were exhausted, sweat was pouring off you, your chest was moving up and down rapidly and your cheeks were all red. You were beautiful.

The best part was that Joel had gotten you into that state, just with his fingers and mouth. He couldn't wait any longer and exist with just an imagination what his cock would do to you. He had to find out himself.

He let you rest and catch your breath, while quickly taking off his belt and shirt. You were lying on the table, your legs still slightly shaking from the shock, but you loved it. You had never felt anything like this before. It was new, everything.

You already started missing Joel's lips and fingers, but behind his mischievous grin, you sensed that he was far from done with you.

The moment his shirt and pants touched the ground, revealing his full form, your mouth naturally filled with a load of saliva. Joel's godlike body was truly...divine. How can someone with these massive muscles be single?

Your eyes were scanning him from head to toe until you stopped. You swallow an imaginary saliva, as you saw his full length. It was massive. The veins, the sparkly tip, everything was just perfect. You couldn't wait to feel him, and so did your pussy.

When you were done admiring him, he leaned over and grabbed your ass, this time more roughly. He sat back down on the chair with you, the cold wood chilling his bare ass, but your wet hole was keeping him warm. It was faultless balance.

He sat you down in him, so that his penis was resting on your stomach and he hadn't entered you yet. His lips immidiatley found yours again. The kisses were rough, sloppy and messy. Joel's wrinkly fingers tangled in your long hair, while his other hand carefully unbuttoned your shirt. It takes you longer to take off your shirt, but Joel done it in a flash, even without looking. He really has magic hands.

You cooperated and together, you took off your shirt with your beautiful lace bra, which Joel fell in love with, but he admired your boobs way more. The moment he got the oportunity, he immediately cupped them and lightly squeezed them, making you gasp and jerk in place.

"You look amazing, you know that?" you shyly giggle and look down. He really knows what to say in every situation. Where has this man been for so long?

Finally, the time you've both been eagerly waiting for has arrived: Sex. Joel helped you lift yourself up and with a soft hiss, you slowly pushed him in. "That's it...good girl" Joel proudly supported you. You could clearly hear in his voice that he was already on the edge, even though you had just the tip inside you. "Yes, take it all in" he didn't rush you anywhere. His words really helped you relax and loosen up, so after a while you simply slid in.

You both exhaled loudly, your voices syncing up, helping to create a sexy atmosphere.

“Well done baby”

He let out a tired chuckle, as both of his hands found your weist, helping you to move. You were quite out of energy, from the last two orgasm, so it was obvious that Joel helped you.

At the beginning, you moved your pelvis gracefully back and forth, warming yourself up and touching his body. You still couldn't believe it and sometimes you doubted that this was reality. Joel's sighs were harmony to your ears, kicking you up and energizing you to a faster pace.

"Fuck you're-damn it" Joel's jaw clenched as he threw his head back, despite the fact he wanted to look at you and admire your satisfied face. But he couldn't take it anymore. Not with so tight pussy you had.

His breath was cracking, his grip slowly loosing its strength, but you were gaining it. You rested your hands on his muscular chest for balance and started jumping. It was exactly what you needed. At this pace, with this speed and position, you knew you would cum for the third time in a few seconds.

Joel's tip was hitting your g-spot frequently, as if you were made for each other. Your tongue knew no other words than his name, which you growled countless times.

"Princess I-" Joel tried so hard to hold back and not cum too soon, but at his age with your body, it was nearly impossible. Still, he didn't want to end this moment, so he decided to switch positions. He quickly grabbed you and placed you back on the table, thrusting into you with no mercy.

The wet sounds started to surround the whole kitchen, after a while, the whole house. Every time Joel pushed into you, you cried out, it was an endless circle, again. His nostrils were big, his brows furrowed and his pace was at the highest speed he could get. Your boobs synchronizing with Joel's pounding. He desperately tried to catch up his orgasm, until he finally did.

Just a second he was about to fill you up, he pulled out and squirted his semen all over your stomach, along with a loud husky groan. You came just the moment he pulled his dick out, so your thick sweet juice slowly poured onto the table.

You were both recovering, catching your breath. You were seeing double but you weren't sure if it was the result of third orgasm and overstimulation, or the alcohol. Probably both.

Joel's sweat was dropping on your warm body, his hands resting on the table, trying to keep his body from falling on yours. This was too much, you really woke up something wild in him.

"You did so good" when he was finally sufficiently rested, he complimented you appropriately and placed a reassuring kiss on your stomach. Of course, on a spot where his cum hadn't spilled. You smiled, your eyes keep tightly shut. You wanted to see him, but seeing him twice and then throwing up was an unwanted choice that you didn't even want to try.

"Let's get you cleaned up" he took the rest of his strength and went for the nearest napkin, using it to gently wipe your stomach.

It tickled a bit. Hearing you laugh made Joel's heart warm. He loved your smile. He...loved everything about you. You were his lost muse, his last hope, and you finally showed up. He definitely didn't want to lose you. At this moment, you were his and only his, and he wouldn't let anyone touch you.

You have regained comfort and protection, a personal bodyguard who will love you for everything you do. And of course, who will give you three orgasms in a row every night.

#smut #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro x reader #pedro pascal #zaddy pedro #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x y/n #joel x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel the last of us #joel miller #tlou #tlou smut

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 1 month ago

Text

Old Faces

Summary: At seventeen, Dean fell hard for the girl in his high school English class. He never got a chance to make a move before he was on the road again. When he bumps into her working the same case as himself, he wants to know how her apple pie life got flipped upside down...

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 1,200ish

Warnings: language

A/N: Enjoy!...

________________

“No Ding Dongs? Are you serious?” you said, standing up with a groan at the mini mart.

“Sorry. I got the last of them,” said a voice that was vaguely familiar. You spun around, the stranger’s eyes going wide just as fast as yours. “Do I know you? You look so familiar.”

“Y/N Y/L/N,” he said with a big smile. “You grew up to be gorgeous. I would expect nothing less though from Mountainside’s head cheerleader.”

“Ah, we went to high school together,” you said, giving him a smile. “I’m sorry, I can’t remember your name.”

“I wouldn’t expect it. I was only there three weeks. Dean Winchester,” he said.

“The bad boy!” you said with a laugh. “I remember you. You dyed the football team’s pants pink on homecoming night.”

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t the most mature guy back then.”

“You past the bad boy ways?” you said.

“Mostly,” he said with a hand wave. “You live around here?”

“No. I’m just in town for work,” you said.

“Me too,” he said.

“Hey, what ever happened to you? You just left one day out of the blue,” you said.

“My dad had a different job somewhere else. It was pretty normal for us to move around a lot,” he said.

“Too bad. The cheerleading squad talked about you all the time,” you said. “You would have had your pick of a girlfriend.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure the one I wanted wasn’t available,” he said, giving you a smile. He reached into his basket and pulled out the box of Ding Dongs, tossing them in yours. “Nice seeing you, Y/N.”

“You too, Dean.”

Later That Evening

“Drop it!” you shouted at the dark figure. It mumbled something but you saw a gun get lowered to the ground. The creature turned around but you went wide eyed for the second time that night.

“Y/N?” asked Dean, looking around before settling on you. “Wha...what are...”

“Fucking hell. You’re a hunter,” you said, lowering your gun, Dean dropping his hands. “It makes perfect sense now.”

“You hunt?” he asked.

“Well I-”

You woke up in a motel room, your head throbbing as you sat up, blinking at Dean and someone else.

“Sorry about the concussion. I thought you were the witch,” said the man.

“Nope. Not her,” you groaned, sighing as you tried to get to your feet.

“Take it easy,” said Dean, guiding you to stay on the bed.

“Did you get the witch?” you asked.

“No,” said Dean. “Sam’s working another lead though. We think she might still be in town.”

“Good,” you said.

“So you’re a hunter?” he asked.

“As I was saying before Paul Bunyan over there hit me, yes,” you said. “Been one for a while.”

“But you had such a perfect life,” said Dean.

“Have you ever heard the phrase, keeping up appearances?” you asked. Dean looked over to Sam, both staring at their laps. “Of course. You grew up hunters. You knew how to pretend to be normal kids.”

“Did your parents hunt?” asked Dean. You scoffed and shook your head.

“When I was about thirteen, my parents went out on a date night. The things that came home were not my parents. If I played along and played house like everything was fine, they told me they’d let my parents go. They were demons. My parents died that night I’m pretty sure but I didn’t know any of that. I spent the next five years doing what they wanted, pretending everything was fine,” you said.

“What changed?” asked Dean.

“I found out about hunting, demons...I realized play time was over and I had to get out of there,” you said.

“And I thought we had a messed up childhood,” said Dean, running his hand through his hair.

“So...we teaming up on this witch thing or what?” you asked.

“Uh, sure,” said Dean, Sam nodding his head. “The more the merrier.”

“Sam,” you asked that night while Dean was busy grabbing some food from a fast food place. “Why does Dean keep staring at me?”

“Because you’re Y/N Y/L/N,” said Sam with a little laugh from the front seat of baby. “Dean had the biggest crush in the world on you. He wouldn’t shut up about you for three weeks straight.”

“He had a crush on me?” you asked. “Why?”

“Why does any teenage boy have a crush on the head cheerleader?” said Sam with an eye roll. “He probably thought you were cute.”

“He’s not like...obsessed or something,” you said, Sam immediately shaking his head.

“My guess is he’s just super surprised you turned out to be a hunter,” said Sam.

“Yeah. That’s probably it.”

“Well that went smoother than expected,” you said around midnight, slamming your trunk closed.

“You should think about getting a partner. They come in handy,” said Dean. You nodded and went to climb in your car when Dean grunted. “Give us a second Sammy?”

“What’s up?” you asked, Dean waiting until Sam was tucked away in the Impala.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Back in high school. I could have helped. I could gotten my dad involved and-”

“I don’t know what you remember about high school but we weren’t friends,” you said.

“No but you did keep the football team from pounding me to death after the pants thing,” he said.

“It was a harmless prank. I figured the new kid didn’t need to get beaten half to death,” you said.

“Yeah and I said thanks and you made some weird comment and I asked if you were okay and you gave another weird comment and then I never saw you again,” he said.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I should have gone talking about my demon parents to every kid I didn’t know on the off chance they could help,” you said, crossing your arms.

“Well...I could have done something,” he said.

“It wasn’t your problem. I dealt with it and it’s over,” you said.

“You didn’t make a deal, did you?” he asked.

“No. I handled it,” you said. “Is that what’s been eating you all night? You think you didn’t save me back then so you’re responsible?”

“I’m thinking if I had the guts to ask you out, I might have gone over to your house and seen the signs and saved you a lot of crap,” he said.

“Like I said, I handled it,” you said.

“You don’t have to be in this life you know,” he said.

“Neither do you,” you said.

“Yes I do.”

“Me too,” you said.

“Can I at least buy you a beer?” he asked.

“Took you long enough to ask,” you said with a small smile.

“Better late than never.”

______________

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girlusional · 2 months ago

Text

Can you get out of the room? - LADS

You asked him to leave the room so you could change your clothes, but he reminded you that you both were married and had children. (I saw some couples doing this on TikTok).

pairing: Zayne x You, Xavier x You, Rafayel x You, Sylus x You, Caleb x You (Female reader)

warnings: pet names (babe, love...), sex mention, suggestive phrases

w:1576k

Zayne

It was a lovely Sunday evening. After a long week, you finally had a chance to have Zayne with you again, a rare occasion due to his hard work in the hospital.

He was reading a book on bed, waiting for you to get ready so you can go out to eat at your favorite restaurant. The bedroom was very peaceful, the only noises being the cars outside and the My Little Pony opening song coming from the living room, where your daughter is.

You just got out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, when you saw him reading and decided to test something you saw on the internet.

“Love, can you get out of the room, please? ” Your voice sounded innocent as you began to open your drawers. “I need to change my clothes”.

You turned to look at him and saw that he was staring at you over his glasses, looking confused. “Pardon?”

“Well, I need to put on some clothes and I am a bit shy to change in front of you.” You said, squeezing your arms around your body to keep the towel covering you. “You know… I am a bit embarrassed.”

A playful smile appeared on your lips as you saw his frowned face.

“I don’t understand why you want me to leave the room.” He answers, closing the book and taking his glasses off. Then he stood up, walking towards you at a slow pace. His shirt has the first two buttons open, and his belt is open as well.

“Because I don’t want you to look.” He almost laughs at your answer, looking at you, dumbfounded.

Suddenly, he called your daughter's name, who appeared at the door after some minutes. She was only four and was wearing a blue dress, matching Zayne’s shirt color, ready to go out with you, so she looked at you a bit confused when she saw your body still wrapped in the towel. “Mommy is not ready?”

“Mommy is being difficult.” Zayne forces a sad expression, walking towards the little girl and patting her head. “Tell her to hurry up.”

“Hurry up mommy!” Your daughter runs again to the living room and Zayne smiles, looking at you.

“Do I have to remind you how babies are made?” You blush slightly when he smiles mischievously, leaning against the door. “But once you asked, I will leave the room and make our little angel company”.

Xavier

It was your time to take a shower, so Xavier was taking care of your son while you were enjoying your bath, massaging yourself with the liquid soap. When you ended your bath, you walked to the bedroom and saw Xavier with the baby in his arms.

“Babe, can you get out of the room?” The blonde man looked at you, confused.

“Why? Did I do something wrong?” You opened a tender smile to him and chuckled, getting some clothes in the drawers.

“No, of course not. I just want to change my clothes.”

Xavier looked at you, then his eyes found the baby in his arms. One moment later, he looked at you again. “You know… that I already saw everything, right?”

You blush, looking away to cover your face. “Shut up… I just need some privacy…”

“If it is something with your body, stop overthinking. You are as gorgeous as ever.” You looked at him, and for a moment you didn’t know if you wanted to kiss him or to throw a pillow on him.

It was just a joke, a prank that you saw some couples doing on the internet, you didn’t know he would say something like this.

“And don’t you remember what happened fifteen minutes ago that woke him up?” You widen your eyes, feeling your cheeks getting hotter.

“Xavier!”

You two listened to the baby laughing, and you couldn’t help but smile too. “You… silly.” Xavier opened a warm smile at your words.”

He kissed your forehead before he began to walk away from you. “I will get his pacifier. Maybe he can sleep again, and we can…” Xavier glanced at you.

That 's it. You got a pillow and threw it at Xavier, making him run out of the room, laughing out loud.

Rafayel

One morning, Rafayel was helping your son with the art homework, and both of them sat on the carpet of the bedroom.

You saw that cute and pacific scene in front of you and smiled, seeing your husband so excited to teach your little boy. A perfect time…

“That's it, my little bubble, now if you mix yellow and red…”

A perfect time for a prank.

“Babe, let's go to the swimming pool… it's so hot today.” You say, innocent, seeing your son's eyes shining bright with the excellent idea.

The boy closed the notebook and ran to his own bedroom, and Rafayel chuckled.

“Fine, let's relax a bit, maybe after that he can sleep early and I will have you just to myself.” He stood up and wrapped his arms around your waist, giving your neck a peck.

“We will have a lot of fun, but now can you get out of the room? I need to put on my bikini.”

Rafayel frowned, confused. “What? Why do I need to get out?”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, smiling softly. “I am feeling a bit shy today, so I didn't want you to see.”

The artist raised an eyebrow at your comment.

“Love, do I have to remind you how we made that little boy?” He kissed your cheek. “It was raining when I held you and…”

“Shush!” Your face was almost burning up, as red as a tomato. “I remember.”

He chuckled again, caressing your hip slowly.

“Good, then I don't have to remind you about how…”

“Daddy! Where are my swim goggles?”

Rafayel stopped, looking at the door.

“Have you looked in your drawer?” He answered, looking at you. “I will help him.”

Sylus

It was your birthday and Sylus promised a “family day” to you, as you asked for.

While you were drying your hair, he was helping your younger daughter to dress up. A moment later, he walked into your bedroom and saw you choosing an outfit.

“Love, can you get out of the room?” Sylus frowned. “Why would I?”

“I want to change my clothes, so I will need to take off the one I am wearing.”

Sylus looked at your covered body, then at your face. “It’s not a big deal. You can change in front of me.”

“No, I am embarrassed.” You answer, lying. You just wanted to test the prank you saw on the internet.

“Embarrassed of what?” He scoffed.

“Changing my clothes in front of you.” He blinked, totally confused, then called three names, making his deep voice reach all the house.

Two children runned into your bedroom, the twins, who were already dressed up, then your younger daughter walked in slowly, since she was still learning how to walk.

“Trust me, kitten, I saw your body a lot of times already.”

One of the twins frowned, saying “Ew! Mommy and Daddy are flirting!” You looked at the kid, poking his nose. “We are not!”

Sylus was smiling charmingly. “Of course we are…” He walked towards you and held your hand, giving it an affectionate kiss.

“Will we have another sibling?” You almost choked when the child said it out of the blue. “What? Where did you get this idea from?”

“Daddy told us that to make a baby he has to kiss your hand…” One of the twins said. “I want one more sister!” The other said as well.

You looked at Sylus, who was trying to hide his smirk against your hand.

“Everyone… get out of here!” You shouted at them. Sylus laughed, holding both of the twins in his arms when he escaped from the bedroom, letting just you and your daughter. “Can you believe it?” You ask the little girl, who smiled cheerfully. “No, you are not going to have a new sibling.” You said, picking her up.

Caleb

“Captain Marshmallow to Captain Daddy, are you listening to me?” You frowned, amused, as you saw your daughter and your husband playing spies in your bedroom, rolling on the bed and running around the room.

“I am, Captain Marshmallow. Leader Mommy just arrived from work. We need to greet her.” Caleb said as he picked the little girl in his arms. “Let's go.”

You smiled, kissing the girl's head before doing the same with Caleb's lips. “How are my ‘Captains’?” The question was almost a joke, but you saw your husband laughing.

“She watched a lot of movies.”

“Daddy! We can use the bubble guns to play!" The girl ran out of the room, letting you and Caleb all alone.

“How are you, my dear?” He hugged you tightly.

“Tired, but I am good.” You smiled, feeling a bit better. “I need to change my clothes, can you get out of the room, babe?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why? It's not like I never saw you naked before, you know…”

You poke his arm, blushing. “I just need some privacy.”

He laughed, seeing your daughter running back to the bedroom with two bubble guns on hands.

“I will give you ten minutes.” He winks, looking at you. “So hurry up, or I will have to keep you here for more than that.”

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coldfanbou · 6 months ago

Text

New Hunger

I think Hanni's got an addictive personality in this fic. Let's see what happens. I'd like to thank @i-am-lifeform24 for the idea. maybe I make part 2 idk

Length: 2.6K

Hanni X Mreader

Hanni stared in disbelief at the bright red marking on her paper, “C.” Her heart dropped, and as soon as class was over, she went straight to her professor. “Miss Park! Why did I get a C on my assignment?”

The older woman turned to Hanni, her mind returning to Hanni’s paper. “If I recall correctly…” Miss Park taps her cheek, considering how to phrase her answer, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She tells Hanni bluntly. “Hanni, be honest with me; you haven’t had sex before, right?”

“I-well, I…no.” She hangs her head, feeling embarrassed.

Miss Park takes a long breath and places her hand on Hanni’s shoulder. “Hanni, you understand how the body works, but you don’t understand the emotions behind it. My class is just as much about what our bodies do and how they interact as the emotions and sensations behind them. My suggestion to you is to have sex with someone. It will open your eyes to what I’m trying to teach, and if you want to, you can revise your paper and turn it in after our midterm.” Miss Park pats Hanni’s shoulder and smiles at the younger woman. “Sex is a great part of our lives, and you’re young. You should see what you’re missing out on. Find someone you trust.” She says before turning around and leaving Hanni in the classroom.

There’s a pit in Hanni’s stomach as she considers her professor’s words. “Is there really something I’m missing?” She asks herself before walking outside. She didn’t think there was anything she was missing out on. She looked at her paper again, the red C mocking her. Hanni considered who she should talk to when she remembered you were visiting the campus. She pulled out her phone and dialed your number, her heart beating quickly as the first and second rings passed.

“Hello?”

“Hey! I know you’re visiting my campus. Are you busy?”

“No, not really. I found the esports club, and I’m in their club room if you want to come and find me.”

“Just meet me in the center quad.” She shouts, her annoyed tone coming through clearly.

“Sheesh, alright, ms. pushy.” You say before hanging up and leaving for the quad. You find Hanni waiting for you on one of the benches. When she spots you, she stands up and rushes over. “Hey, how have you been?” She says, all smiles.

You squint at her, “What do you want?” Hanni chuckled, “Hanni, I already know you want something. Out with it.”

Hanni purses her lips and digs the toe of her shoe into the ground. “It’s not something I can say out here; let’s go to my place,” Hanni says, taking your hand momentarily before letting it go out of nervousness. You try to make conversation with Hanni, but your efforts are in vain as she stays quiet throughout your walk to her room.

“Is something wrong?” you finally ask her. Hanni gives you a simple nod and looks through her bag, pulling out a key.

“We’re here.” She says quietly, unlocking the door and heading inside. She shuts the door behind you and walks to her bed. Hanni’s space was small, with a little kitchen area by the entrance before you were immediately in her bedroom. You watch Hanni take a deep breath. “Okay, so this is what I need from you.” Hanni pauses and turns around, staring into your eyes, the brief silence deafening you both. As more seconds ticked by without a word, Hanni grew increasingly nervous before eventually blurting out what she needed to say. “I need to have sex with you.”

“You what?” You ask, your voice cracking as you wonder if you heard her right.

“Please?” Hanni says, clasping her hands together. “I really need to pass a class, and you know I do my best work when I can get hands-on experience.” The desperation in her voice continues to rise. “Just once, that’s all I need, and we never have to do it again.”

You rub your temples, annoyed that you’re contemplating her wishes. “Okay, so this is for a class? How badly do you need to pass this class? A better question: why do you need to have sex?”

“Because my professor said I didn’t understand what she was trying to teach me, and I need to have it so I know better. I need this super badly. I held off on this class because I thought it would be easy and I could use it my last semester. My grades are perfect otherwise; I just need this. So, please?” Hanni grips your shirt, shaking it. “You’re the only one I trust.”

“Fuck, fine, I’ll help you out,” you tell her, not looking forward to being with her. “I can turn in my midterm before you have to finish yours, so let me finish what I have to, then we can meet.”

Hanni wraps her arms around you, hugging you tightly. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She repeats, crying into your chest.

“C’mon Hanni, stop crying, you’re ruining my shirt.” You whine as she holds onto you, rubbing her head into your chest. You crane your neck back and sigh, knowing there is nothing you can do until Hanni decides to let you go. Eventually, Hanni lets go of you and changes the topic of conversation, steering you toward what things have been like since you went your separate ways after high school. You wonder if this was really the time to have this conversation before you both settle into a routine.

When you were about to leave, Hanni grabbed your shirt and pulled it back. “Hey, um, is this going to be your first time too?”

“Yeah, it is. It’ll be the first time for both of us, so you better study up.” You tell her as you begin walking out. “I’ll text you the details when I finish my midterms. Don’t forget to respond so we can find a time that works.”

“Yeah,” Hanni sits in her room, feeling a little better about still not having sex yet. She lays back in her bed, considering what studying up would be. She pulls up her phone, her fingers tapping away at the screen, stopping herself just before clicking enter. Hanni’s cheeks turned red as she pressed enter; it was going to be her first time watching porn. The homepage showed her more than she expected: dozens of dirty titles and screenshots. The sight did turn her on, though; Hanni felt her body tingle when she looked at a woman in the throes of pleasure. At that moment, something clicked inside Hanni. Hanni tapped on the search bar, though, looking up “How to have sex.” and clicking on the first video. Hanni immersed herself in the video, taking in every bit of information the woman on the screen provided. One video turned into two, then three. The next thing Hanni knew, she was lying on her bed naked, her sheets soaked.

Hanni couldn’t wait to talk to Miss Park the next time she had class. She sat in her seat, rubbing her legs together the entire time. When class was over, she rushed to Miss Park. “Oh, Hanni, just the girl I wanted to see.” Miss Park said with a smile. “I got a few things for you,” she said, pulling out a bag. “After our last talk, I thought it would be good to help you on your little journey.” Miss Park smiles at Hanni as she hands over the bag. “I hope you enjoy them; now I’ve got to go. I look forward to your improvements.”

Hanni opened her mouth to say something, but Miss Park was out the door before she could. Hanni looked into the bag, reaching in and pulling out a box. She immediately dropped it back in after seeing it was a dildo. Hanni looks at the door before looking back into the gift bag. She wrapped the string around her hand, ensuring no one could look inside. She rushed to her dorm and sat on her bed, pulling out the toy and looking through the rest of the bag. It had lube and other toys. Hanni opened one of the boxes, pulling out the dildo. She placed it on her lap as she put the box to the side. Grabbing it by the shaft, Hanni couldn’t help but feel nervous. She stared at it, contemplating what she should do next. The toy taunted Hanni, pushing her to act on her feelings.

She rejected it, putting away the toy and hiding everything inside her bag. Hanni took a deep breath, sitting on the edge of her bed, her mind filling with thoughts of the toys. She began to touch herself, feeling her lower half get wet the longer she thought about the toys. It was all she could think about that night until she got your message. “I’m done with my midterm. When did you want to meet up?”

“Tomorrow.” She texted back. Hanni’s night was spent finalizing the few details of her rendezvous.

Two days passed before you were finally able to meet with Hanni. She was losing control of herself as time got closer. She spent her time watching porn and playing with herself. The thought of the toys was in the back of her mind until she felt that her fingers weren’t enough anymore. She went into the bag, pulling out the dildo and the lube. In her haze, Hanni poured too much lube onto the dildo. She ran her hand along the shaft, trying to coat it evenly. She laid back, raising her hips as one of the videos she had watched said to, and pushed the dildo against her folds, moving inside herself slowly. A low guttural moan slowly filled the room as Hanni felt the dildo fill her cunt, her body stretching slightly around it. She was desperate for more; the pleasure she felt was like nothing else. She sped up the process, ramming the rest of the dildo inside herself and cumming. Hanni’s body tensed, her back arching and toes curling before the tension suddenly released, and a wave of euphoric pleasure washed over her. She lay in bed for a moment, her chest heaving as she recovered from her climax. Her body continued to get hotter, though, craving more. In time she was fucking herself crazy, pushing every in of the dildo inside her before eventually switching to the vibrator. Hanni turned herself onto her stomach and raised her hips as she slid the toy in and out of her cunt. Her dripping sex wanted more.

You knocked on her door, waiting for her to open it, when you heard, “It’s open!” You step inside the room, your senses bombarded by the sight and sound of Hanni. Her ass is raised toward you as she moves the toy deeper into her cunt.

“What took you so long? I need you,” she whispers. You’d never seen her act like this in all your years of knowing Hanni.” Hanni turns herself over and spreads her legs for you; her breathing is heavy as she tries to speak. “C’mon, take your clothes off so we can get started.” You pause and look around the room, noticing the used toy laid out and the bottle of lube. You put together what happened quickly after reading the label. The lube was laced with aphrodisiacs, and Hanni must’ve used it without noticing.

Hanni grew impatient as you were figuring out what was happening. She got off the bed, wrapped her arms around your neck, and pulled you into a kiss. Her warm lips melted into yours as she ran her hand to your bulge. You give in to Hanni, stripping down and pushing her onto the bed. Hanni keeps her hands around your cock. They were slick and slid up and down your shaft quickly, making you groan her name. Hanni grinned, hearing you call her name. “Feels good, right?” She said with a giggle. “I don’t think that I can wait thought,” Hanni pointed your cock toward her entrance and rubbed the tip against her folds. “Hmm, it feels different.” She placed your cock between her lips and held her legs apart, “I want you to do it. Fuck me.” Hanni felt dirty uttering those words to you, but it was what she truly wanted.

You push inside Hanni, her warm insides snuggly holding your cock as you push deeper into her. Hanni’s light moans filled the room as she felt your cock move inside her. It felt different than when she used a toy; it was much better. She never wanted you to pull out and wrap her legs around your waist. “So deep,” Hanni mumbles as you begin thrusting into her. You grip Hanni’s waist thrusting wildly as you enjoy your first pussy. Hanni’s walls clamp down on your cock when you’re deeper inside her, giving you the motivation to try and go as deep as possible. You press your lips against hers as your hands dig into her skin.

“I didn’t know you were such a slut,” You groan, not knowing what you were saying, both your mind and Hanni being lost in a haze of pleasure. Hanni’s moans grow louder as she listens to your degrading comment. For a reason, she didn’t know, it turned her on.

“I’m a big slut,” she whimpered, egging you on to say more things about her. You degrade Hanni further, mentioning how she clung to you like a fleshlight or how she moaned. Every comment earned you louder moans. It wasn’t long before you came inside her, but neither one of you was done yet. You pulled out of Hanni and flipped her over, placing one hand on her shoulder and wrapping her long hair around the other. You tugged on the hair as you slammed yourself back inside her cunt. “Yes!” Hanni screamed, loving the treatment you gave her. Hanni felt alive, understanding what Miss Park meant by emotions and sensations. You tugged on her hair, and Hanni tightened around your cock; she was getting close to her orgasm. You press harder and drive your cock into Hanni, struggling to hold your own climax. Close to your orgasm, your grip on Hanni’s shoulder tightens. You bury yourself inside Hanni, cumming inside her. Hanni melts as she feels your cock throb and your semen pour into her. She cums on you, and her body goes limp. She crashes onto her bed, and you fall on her, trapping her. Hanni moans softly, focusing on the warm feeling inside her and the throbbing of your cock.

You roll off Hanni and pull out. The empty feeling she has after leaves her wanting more. Now, knowing what sex was like, Hanni was craving it; the tingling sensation that coursed through her body was addicting. She straddled you and slipped your cock back inside. “Let’s go again,” she whispered. You and Hanni continued for two more rounds before your bodies gave out on you. You left early in the morning, a little sore from your fun with Hanni.

Hanni strolled into class the next day, a new energy blossoming within her. Miss Park noticed and, before class started, sat beside Hanni. “Looks like someone had finally got some experience. Was it good?” Hanni gave Miss Park a nod and smiled at her. “You know, if you ever want to explore some more, I’d be willing to help you.” Miss Park placed her hands on Hanni’s thigh, giving it a slight squeeze. “I wouldn’t mind playing with you a little at one of my parties.” She whispered into Hanni’s ear.

Hanni smiled at her and nodded. “I’d like that, Miss Park.”

#kpop smut #male reader #m reader #hanni smut #newjeans smut

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apricot-blossomss · 5 months ago

Note

would it be okay to ask for maybe A dionysus/hermes/Apollo x Reader?

The gods just love giving reader multiple praises to the point it completely overwhelms them/pos

(seperate please!)

the greek gods showering mortal!f!reader in praise [apollo, hermes, dionysus x reader]

sfw, cw: mentions of a praise kink, not proofread

feels good to finally upload again, I hope I'll find more time to write next week!

APOLLO

There was perhaps no greater blessing for you personally than listening to Apollo sing, and once one witnessed him, they would find themselves aggreing with you. Which was why you had no objection when Apollo interrupted your little make out session on his settee to ask you wether he could play a song for you. Quite the opposite, actually. But now, you almost regretted it, because you felt like your head was about to explode.

His golden eyes were locked to yours, making you unable to turn your head and hide from the might of his words. Endless praise and adoration fell from his lips in the most beautiful melody. You suddenly realized you were crying, but you made no attempt to wipe the tears away as you were frozen in place, growing hotter by the minute. With newfound intensity, Apollo recited the next verses, lips pulled into a little smile as he flooded your poor helpless mind with words of devotion.

You couldn't do this any longer, you buried your burning face in your hands, overwhelmed by his divine love. The way each word sounded so genuine you began to doubt the very existence of the lie. Nearly shaking, you pulled your legs to your chest and whined. "Oh gods, please stop, it's too much!"

A soft coo made you look back up at him as Apollo played some closing strings and put the lyre aside to pull you into his lap, right were the lyre had sat. Hiding your face in your chest, you attempted to conceal the deep red of your cheeks. "You can't just say stuff like that," you muffled into his tunic and a soft rumble made his chest vibrate.

"Like what?" he asked, caressing your hidden face with his index finger before placing it underneath your chin, guiding your face up to look at him. "It's all true. Every time I look at you, my sunshine, I am lifted, gazing upon a masterpiece that must've been sculpted by a god. Or perhaps, you are your own artist?" Apollo allowed himself a little grin when you let out a loud whine and slapped his chest. Gently, his fingers closed around your wrist as he guided it to his lips to trail kisses up your arm.

"Your smile could rival the warmth of spring itself—it awakens my heart as surely as the season revives the earth." His words were blooming as always, masterfully crafted sentences praising you, as his lips, hushed into a soft whisper, trailed up your arm. "No lyre could ever match the harmony of your laughter. My music is a mere attempt to echo your perfection. You are as brilliant as all the stars of the night sky. Every word you speak is a melody to my ears, every thought of yours a revelation."

His lips reached your shoulder, making their way to your throat that was taken over by a bright pink tone, it felt like your whole body blushed, like the pink blossoms in spring. "You're going to be the death of me," you said breathlessly, burying your hands in his hair and keeping his head in place in the crook of your neck, so he couldn't talk any more of his charming words.

Apollo laughed into your neck, it muffled the sound but couldn't lessen the melody of it. A shuddering breath left your lips as you pulled him closer, and though they flustered you, you savored his words, remembering every little phrase to keep in your heart forever.

HERMES

Gods curse the day Hermes found out you had a praise kink. Because ever since he had realized how much his compliments flustered you, he exploited it maliciously. Humming sweet praises into your ear when you were going about your day and doing the most mundane things, leaving you blushing and spluttering as he retracted with a cackle. Giving you the sweetest compliments anytime he would find you unsuspecting, with your guard down, and utterly humiliating you as your heart would start to race and all you could muster up were weak stutters of embarrassment.

So, when he plopped down on the couch next to you, stretching his limbs after a long day of godly duties and regarding you with that cheeky, mischievous smile, you knew what ideas formed in his head, as if you were able to read his thoughts. Immediately, your flight instinct kicked in as you retreated into the kitchen as quickly as possible- though not fast enough. In the blink of an eye, the sneaky god had caught up to you and dragged you back into the couch with him, pulling you into his lap.

His nose nudged your chin and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice. "How's my beautiful girlfriend doing today?" Ignoring your petty kicking, he giggled. "You know I'm faster than you, you know I know my way around you- though, you know, you’ve got this spark about you—like you could talk your way out of anything. It’s kind of my thing, but I think you do it better."

"You're insufferable," you sighed, though you felt your cheeks heat up embarrassingly. When his fingers trailed over your stomach, you squeaked and pushed them away, making Hermes throw back his head in a loud laugh. For a moment, you were mesmerized by him- the sound of his laugh, the bounce of his curly hair, the way his face lit up, eyes squeezed shut and cheeks pink. Then, he started talking once more.

"I used to think of myself as the best of thieves," Hermes sighed, drawing circles on your thigh. "But you outdo my trickery, love, as you have stolen my heart away from right under my nose." Don't blush, don't blush, don't blush, you thought to yourself, but you knew you were as red as a tomato by now. Stuttering out protests, you felt your stomach constrict in the best way and tried to wiggle out of his arms, a fruitless attempt.

Turning your head, you glared at him, but only got a cheeky smile in return. Hermes tipped his hat and chuckled. "Gods, you're so hot when you're mad." You gave him a deadpan stare and his smile only widened. "And so cute when you're blushing like this. Honestly, sweetheart, I think you could make everything more sexy."

In a final attempt to cut him off before you could make a complete fool of yourself (even more so than you'd already done), you crashed your lips into his. And of course, Hermes would never deny you, so his eager hand shot up to cup your face and tilt it in order to get a better angle to kiss you completely senseless on his lap.

Little did he know, you had been waiting for this moment of weakness. With his hands busying themselves with cradling your face, you jumped out of his lap, evaded his reaching arms and ran upstairs, laughing breathlessly. Of course, he could've caught up with you in an instance, but Hermes seemed determined to give you a fair chase, because when you reached the highest stair, you could hear his voice, still from downstairs.

"Baby, I think that was just about the hottest thing I ever saw."

DIONYSUS

"No cuddles with that breath" you protested, dismissing your lover's drunken attempts to wrap his arms around you. Whining, Dionysus forced himself halfway into your lap, in spite of your slapping at his chest and arms, looking up at you with dreamy eyes, glazed over by the effect of whatever alcohol emitted its odeurs from his mouth. Rolling your eyes, you attempted to shove him off. "If you want to bother someone, go and hang out with your brothers."

"Nooo," Dioynsus gave a long, drawn out protest and you found yourself lamenting how he could be a thousand years old and this childish at the same time. "You are more fun," the god pouted, squinting up at you. You complimented yourself on showing no reaction whatsoever on the outside, but your insides secretly did somersaults.

"If you want fun, why don't you throw a party?" you said dismissively, flicking his temple to which he responded with another whine. At your words, a drunken little smile creeped onto his face. "You make everything more fun, even doing nothing. I swear, you’re better than wine… and that’s saying something."

"If I'm better than wine, how come that's what you have been drinking for the last hours?" you asked with a raised brow. With a genuinely shocked expression, Dionyuss shot up and stared at you wide-eyed. "You're right. I should have been drinking you, you are so much sweeter-"

Groaning, you buried your face in a pillow, considering to suffocate yourself before he could see the blush on your cheeks. Then again, how receptive could he be, in his state? Turns out, very receptive. When you discarded the pillow, his eyes hushed over the pink on your cheeks and he cooed. "Aw, baby, do you like it when I tell you how sweet you are?"

Ignoring your stubborn but whispered 'no thank you', Dionysus threw an arm around your shoulder, continuing to brabble compliments and praises into your ear. Embarrassingly, your cheeks burned even more and the god laughed joyfully.

"Baby, the way you blush... I’ve seen people lose their minds over less."

#greek mythology #greek gods #greek gods x reader #greek mythology x reader #apollo x reader #apollo x you #apollo #apollo x mortal reader #apollo fluff #apollo x fem! reader #hermes x you #hermes fluff #hermes x reader #hermes #dionysus x reader #dionysus #dionysos #Dionysus x you

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tinyfantasminha · 5 months ago

Text

OC introduction

[Thank you @haryuwu, @stestylius-arts and @ai-kan1 for the templates they look so clean and organized and I love them 😋]

Personality:

At first glance, Vic comes across as reserved and ordinary, maintaining cordial relationships without actively seeking friendships. However, once she grows close to someone, her brighter, more playful side shines through—she’s witty, bantering, and a bit tomboyish. She dislikes feeling restricted and tends to rebel against rules she finds unfair or unreasonable. While she firmly denies being a "mom friend," (she repulses the thought even) her actions often tell a different story. She’s fiercely loyal, quietly looking out for her friends and always stepping in to support them when they’re in need, even if she doesn’t admit it outright.

Though Vic sometimes comes across as naive or a bit of an airhead, it’s often by design—she purposefully plays the fool, keeping others guessing about her true thoughts and intentions. Why does she do this? Well… whatever the reason, there’s more to her than meets the eye.

Backstory:

Vic was once a naive, pure-hearted child, eager to please and willing to follow anyone’s whims. That all changed after a traumatic incident during a school trip to the woods. A classmate told her, “Wait right here and don’t move. I’ll be right back.” Obediently, she stayed put, unnoticed by her teachers or classmates. Hours passed as she waited, terrified and alone, until she was finally found by school staff after her mother reported her missing. This event left a deep scar on Vic, and the phrase “I’ll be right back” still triggers a wave of unease in her. Afterward, her submissive tendencies only worsened. She believed that by doing everything people asked, she’d be liked and accepted, avoiding the risk of being abandoned or badmouthed. Throughout middle school, this behavior made her an easy target for manipulation and psychological abuse. By her final years of high school, something within her snapped. The years of mistreatment awakened a rebellious, sharp-edged side. Vic stopped letting people walk all over her, becoming grumpier, colder, and more distrustful. She built a fortress around her true emotions, frequently lying or feigning indifference to protect herself. Though she hated the version of herself her pain had created, she learned to survive in her own way.

After graduating, Vic celebrated the end of that painful chapter in her life and vowed to reinvent herself. But just three days later, her plans were upended when she was hit by a mysterious carriage.

After the events of the prologue and her enrollment at NRC alongside Grim, Vic was struck by the mortifying realization that she’d have to relive high school all over again. Adding insult to injury, she remembered that, at the time she was hit by the mysterious carriage, she had been on her way to celebrate her graduation with an açaí smoothie—a treat she never got to enjoy. To this day, she can’t help but lament the smoothie that never was.

Notable relationships:

Jack Howl 🐺

At first, Vic was intimidated by Jack, fearing he’d be as condescending and judgmental as her classmates from middle school. However, once she got to know him, his caring and loyal nature quickly won her trust. Because of her magicless status and petite stature, Jack’s protective instincts naturally kick in around her. He often escorts her across campus, which leads to them spending more time together and growing closer.

Vic admires Jack’s honesty and strong sense of justice—qualities she found rare during her school days. His loyalty and protective behavior deeply touch her, even when he tries to hide it behind his tsundere demeanor (which she secretly finds adorable). Around Jack, Vic feels safe in a way she hasn’t before.

As their bond deepens, they begin to pine for each other, turning what should be simple interactions into painfully awkward moments. Jack’s straightforward and genuine nature makes Vic’s carefully constructed mask of aloofness crumble in his presence, leaving her vulnerable and overwhelmed by her emotions. Her feelings for him force her to confront her fears and insecurities, often leaving her shaken.

"If only there was someone like you by my side back then… maybe I wouldn’t have…!”

Leona Kingscholar 🦁

Initially, Vic and Leona barely interacted. He seemed indifferent to her presence and quietly appreciated that she didn’t nag him or try to change his lazy ways. However, her frequent visits to Savanaclaw piqued his curiosity, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she was some kind of thrill-seeker. Her seemingly fragile, harmless appearance contrasted sharply with the boldness it took to linger in a dorm full of beastmen, leading him to nickname her “little mouse.”

Vic usually treats Leona with sweetness, but he sees right through her doe-eyed facade. Her true motives remain a mystery to him, and that intrigue makes him determined to unravel her secrets. To that end, Leona enjoys teasing and flustering her, just to watch her carefully constructed mask crack.

Leona is also keenly aware of Vic and Jack’s feelings for each other, which he finds highly entertaining. He takes great pleasure in cockblocking taunting them about it, using his sharp wit to nudge them closer to confronting their emotions. His teasing is particularly merciless with Jack, often warning him with sly remarks like, “You’d better keep a close eye on your prey, or she might just wander into the lion’s den.” What exactly does he mean by that? Who knows…

Ace Trappola ❤️ and Deuce Spade ♠️:

Vic’s first friends at NRC, Ace and Deuce quickly became two of her closest companions. The trio spends much of their time hanging out and bantering, creating a dynamic full of playful teasing. Her provocations often escalate with Ace, leading to occasional spats, though they’re always quick to reconcile.

With Deuce, Vic adopts a softer, almost sisterly demeanor, though she doesn’t hold back from teasing him—just not as intensely as she does with Ace. Around them, Vic maintains her cool, tomboyish exterior but will sometimes show emotional vulnerability when she needs comfort or support. Ace, however, never misses a chance to mercilessly tease her about her crush on Jack, much to her frustration (and embarrassment).

Idia Shroud💀:

Vic and Idia became friends through the Board Game Club, bonding over their shared interests and similarities. During club activities, they often team up to gently? bully and bicker with Azul, much to their mutual amusement. While Vic enjoys their camaraderie, their interactions mostly happen through DMs, as Idia’s shut-in nature makes face-to-face meetings rare—despite her frequent insistence that they hang out more in person.

Idia has developed a crush on her, which makes him even more hesitant to meet up outside of the club. He’s painfully aware (and secretly salty) about her preference for the athletic types in Savanaclaw, which makes his hopes—if he had any—practically nonexistent. For now, he keeps his feelings to himself, hoping to drown them. Vic, ever the supportive friend, often encourages him and occasionally flirts or gets touchy to tease him, delighting in his flustered reactions. Is she aware of his feelings? Who can say...

Azul Ashengrotto 🐙:

Vic initially had a strong dislike for Azul, finding his sweet-talking, calculating nature, and tendency to demand repayment for even the smallest favors uncomfortably reminiscent of her old classmates. She was openly hostile toward him, often meeting his charm with sharp-tongued, vulgar retorts. Yet, Azul remained undeterred.

Over time, as they spent more moments together in the Board Game Club, their constant bickering and competitive banter began to grow on her, almost without her noticing. She realized Azul was more "relaxed" during club activities, which made him easier to talk to. Vic now views him as a sort of rival, someone who challenges her wit and strategies, though neither likes to show vulnerability or weakness around the other.

If asked whether they’re friends, Vic will promptly deny it with a firm “no,” while Azul confidently responds with a smug “yes.” Despite their clashing personalities and opposing morals, they quietly look out for each other in their own way—remembering birthdays, exchanging souvenirs, and occasionally offering subtle gestures of support. Deep down, Vic knows Azul is an important friend, but she’d rather swallow a rock than admit it. Tsuntsun

Jamil Viper 🐍:

Vic harbors a superficial, puppy-like crush on Jamil, idolizing him and finding everything he does impossibly cool or impressive. Jamil, however, doesn’t seem to return her affections—or trust her, for that matter. He usually cuts her off with polite but firm indifference, which only seems to intensify her fascination, much to his exasperation. To Jamil’s dismay, Vic sighs dreamily whenever he’s cold or sharp-tongued with her (masochist much??) but gets utterly confused and flustered when he shows any hint of worry or care for her.

While Jamil would never admit it, he doesn’t entirely dislike her attention. Her admiration strokes his ego, and perhaps—just perhaps—he’s considering how he might use it to his advantage... t this doesn't seem very healthy...

Rook Hunt 🏹:

Like most people, Vic initially felt uneasy around Rook’s overly flamboyant and romantic demeanor. She couldn’t understand his fascination with her or his flowery praise, often responding to his compliments with pragmatic retorts or modest deflections. However, as time passed and she recognized the sincerity behind his words of encouragement, her wariness faded, and she began to trust him more.

Knowing it’s nearly impossible to keep secrets from Rook, Vic sometimes reluctantly vents her frustrations and insecurities to him. In turn, he offers thoughtful advice and unwavering emotional support. He nicknames her “Mademoiselle Fantôme” (ghost) and seems to see right through her composed exterior.

Like Leona, he’s aware there’s more to her than meets the eye and enjoys analyzing her hidden depths. Rook takes particular delight in evoking various reactions from Vic, describing her as a “kitten with hidden claws,” always intrigued by her blend of aloofness and fire.

Trivia:

While Vic appears tomboyish and sisterly with the first years, Jack is the exception. Around him, she’s notably sweeter and more bashful.

The more nervous or flustered she becomes, the higher-pitched (and more pathetic) her voice gets.

Vic used to be close with her older sister, a prosecutor. Her strong sense of justice and argumentative nature were heavily influenced by her sibling.

When heated, Vic becomes highly argumentative, delivering well-constructed, logical points to dismantle her opponent’s stance—a rare display of bold confidence.

Her dream is to become a detective/investigator.

Vic doesn’t get angry often, but when she does, it’s described as a “cold, merciless ire with sharp words that could make a grown man cry” (Ace’s words).

Though she’s a bit of a coward and dislikes confrontation, her quick thinking and improvisation often help her slip out of sticky situations. (Both Leona and Rook take notes on her sharp survival instinct.)

Despite her unassuming appearance, Vic has surprising leg strength and flexibility from self-defense classes she took as a child. She claims she’s rusty and fell out of practice for the most part, but her kicks prove otherwise.

Her birthday (February 4) is the same as Cater’s, so their celebrations are often combined in Heartslabyul. Cater affectionately calls her his “twinsie” and refers to her as “cute lil sis.”

Floyd nicknames her “Axolotl” and teases her relentlessly about her height. He especially enjoys being overly touchy with her in Jack’s presence.

Vic occasionally treats herself to Mostro Lounge visits to gossip with Jade, often about Azul’s defeats in the board game club. Jade uses this intel to tease and blackmail Azul later.

The Light Music Club adores pampering her and repeatedly begs her to join as a singer, but she always flusteredly declines.

Like Ace, Vic can be mischievous and a bit greedy. She shamelessly accepts Kalim’s generous offers of money (though she hopes Jack doesn’t find out...)

Vil intimidates her to no end with his sharp gaze, but she secretly admires him and dreams of having him give her a makeover someday. Rook frequently (and gleefully) tries to push her to approach Vil, much to her horror.

Malleus believes they are closer friends than they actually are, often due to misinterpreting her words and actions. Vic, too kind or maybe scared to correct him, finds herself roped into his gargoyle monologues during their awkward little outings.

#twisted wonderland #twst oc #twst mc #twst yuu #yuu/mc #twstvic #hi its been almost 3 years since i introduced her properly and i compelled 2 months worth of shower thoughts in this #NEW DESIGN REVEAL *party pops*#i swear im rlly fucking embarrassed about the coffin icon bc i didnt know what else to do. but i also didnt want to leave it blank #''oh shit whats one characteristic that deeply resonates with her character and will make ppl look at it and immediately think of her''#''its......its the ahoge isnt it.......''#is it blatant obvious the mystery novel protagonist syndrome here (coughnhbs not aceattorney or umineko inspired at all 😇#i encourage asks if youre curious about anything else abt her !! hehe #myart

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coolwyous · 29 days ago

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┈─★ 𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨'𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 ( 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙧𝙚 𝙢𝙮 𝙜𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙧 .) / pt ii.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ a few years after the worst heartbreak you've ever known, you're back at the ranch for one week to pay your respects after your grandfather suddenly passes away. you're convinced you're over the stupid farmhand that made you swear off love— until of all people, megan skiendiel shows up at your door, same hat, same boots, same sad brown eyes.

ˎˊ˗ 🌾 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 🔓୭˚. ⠀ ᵎᵎ ⠀ 🗝️

➴ pairing: cowboy! megan skiendiel x f!reader

➴ genre + wc: 12k, modern cowboy!au, exes to lovers, jealous + protective bf megan wahhh, explores themes of grief, slice of life, small town vibes, MILD angst, we KILL the cowboy (jk happy ending i swear!!)

➴ you might want to tune in...: 𝗢𝗦𝗧: golden hour - kacey mustgraves. ♫ 𝗔𝗖𝗧 𝗜: i don't trust myself (with loving you) - john mayer. ♩ 𝗔𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗜: still your girl - gamma skies. ♫ 𝗔𝗖𝗧 𝗜𝗜𝗜: wait by the river - lord huron. ♩ 𝗘𝗡𝗗 𝗖𝗥𝗘𝗗𝗜𝗧𝗦: superglue - role model. ♫

➴ 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗶 can be found here. ᵎᵎ

cw:// suggestive scene, mentions of death (parent/grandparent.)

your skin crawls being there. same place, 3 years later.

“sorry we couldn’t get you from the airport,” your uncle apologizes.

“it’s okay. the train wasn’t all that bad.”

“it’s so nice to see your face round here again. wish it was under better circumstances.”

you’re not quite sure how to respond. when your grandfather passed away suddenly, your parents did nothing but argue about who would come to represent your family at the funeral. both insanely busy with their own jobs, the role fell to you, much to your protest. but considering his money was what was going to fuel you through your future goal of med school, you had little room left to argue.

(after all, you’d also promised yourself you’d never mention a word of what that summer did to you, and that was a promise easily kept.)

now here you are, back at the place you swore you’d never return to, trying to get through the week unscathed.

“who are they?” you ask, motioning to the two random boys working together to take your bag into he house. they stumble over themselves, struggling to get the handle to tuck away.

“just some sorry excuses for cowboys,” old pete spits. “ever since the kid left, we needed the hands. but they ain’t much help.”

the implication isn’t lost on you. they needed two guys to do what megan did by herself.

“y/n,” your aunt’s voice cuts in, sounding worried. “your uncle should tell you-”

“i don’t want to talk about it,” you cut her off, knowing already by the tone where this is headed.

“she doesn’t want to talk about it,” your uncle reiterates, shrugging.

you’re napping on the sofa by the open window to enjoy the mountain air breeze when a rustle outside stirs you. you hear the crunch of gravel, some footsteps making their way up to the porch, and a thud as someone sits in the old rocking chair.

“use the truck as long as you’re here, you get that old thing to run better than anyone. thank you again for coming,” your uncle’s voice is muffled against the hum of the cicadas.

“don’t mention it.”

you feel a jolt through your spine. you know that stupid voice.

(worse, you remember that stupid phrase. her first words to you.)

you leap off the couch and see her clearly through the window.

she’s leaning against one of the posts of the patio fence, arms crossed over her chest, a suede jacket and blue jeans with those stupid boots and that stupid fucking hat.

you feel immeasurable rage bubble up and out of your chest, and before the sense can kick in, you’re racing past the front door and pushing her backwards full force, sending her toppling backwards off the railing and onto the dirt.

those brown eyes look up at you, wide and full of confusion as she processes what’s going on, and you feel instantly sick to your stomach as you take her in. three years weren't enough to forget every feature of her face, and you ache realizing that her eyes are heavier, the creases between her brows deeper, and her smile lines faded.

(she’s older now, and granted you are too, but years ago, you were dreaming of being the one to grow old with her.)

“you’ve got some fucking nerve showing up here,” you spit.

if you were half a screw more unhinged, you’d slap her then and there, but a part of you knows a girl who takes beatings from thousand-pound cattle or pissed off horses would probably hardly even flinch at you.

she rises to her feet slowly, the patio fence the only thing between the two of you. she dusts off her jeans and eyes you with uncertainty. you want to be in her face again, but she mirrors your movement like a wrangler watching a bull, careful and calculated. for every bit you lean to move towards her, she leans away.

“y/n…” your uncle tries to quell you, standing up from the chair.

“you didn’t even go to your mom’s own funeral and you’re coming to my granddad’s, who you barely fucking knew?” you blurt, barely able to contain yourself as you stumble over your own feet. “what kind of stupid fucked logic is that?”

her jaw goes hard, and she pulls the brim of her hat down to cover her eyes from your view. she waves curtly to your uncle and makes her way over to the truck, and it fills you with rage to see her drive away down the road so easily.

“i tried telling you–” your uncle starts, but you don’t want to hear it. you sprint back upstairs into your room and lock the door, trying to calm your racing heart.

it’s just a week, but it might as well be another summer in hell.

they know not to ask you about her.

“i wouldn’t recommend the fields tonight, stay here,” your aunt tells you gently, seeing you pull a jacket over your shoulders as you make your way downstairs, having been holed up in your bedroom since last night’s interaction.

but if anything, that pisses you off more, this stupid girl won’t be the reason you’re stuck inside all day, and you take a horse out through the property to clear your mind.

(maybe you’ll be less stubborn next time.)

you recognize her instantly once you see her in the steer pen, beer can in one hand, crushed cans littering the fence post where her jacket is hanging and the horse is tied to. your first instinct is to turn around, but your hands stay firm on your horse’s reins instead of backing the two of you out of there.

you can see her outline faintly against the sunset. she’s waving her hat in the steer’s face, taunting the beast intentionally, dipping out of his way as soon as it starts to run towards her.

a one-man bullfight.

as soon as you get your horse finally turning, deciding you’ve had enough, you see her trip over the heel of her boot, slipping and landing back-first into the ground. the steer, seeing red, starts to run directly towards her.

you feel your stomach lurch. as angry as you are, a half ton creature crushing her is probably not the revenge you were seeking.

you dismount quickly and run straight up to the fencing, waving your hands wildly.

“hey! hey you!” you scream at the bull, the desperation in your voice apparent. it breaks the silence between the bull and megan, and breaks his concentration briefly. he turns to look at you, realizing you’re behind the fence, and then turns back towards his previous victim.

but megan, as much as you hate her, is quick on her feet to scramble out of the pen and roll underneath the fence post, her chest heaving as she escapes the near-death experience.

she’s wobbly as she gets to her feet, breathing heavily still. she grabs her hat off from the ground and dusts it off.

“thanks for rescuing me.”

“you’re selfish as shit, for so many reasons, but getting yourself killed by a cow on the week of my grandpa’s funeral would be another notch on your stupid belt.”

“not my best idea,” she wrinkles her nose, and you feel rage boiling from beneath your skin.

“drunk, stupid cowboy.” you shove into her, feeling the hot tears threaten the corners of your eyes.

“you loved this drunk, stupid cowboy, once,” she bites back immediately, faster than you had ever expected, and her voice is strained, as if she’s been screaming or yelling.

or crying.

you say nothing and turn around, mounting back on your horse to leave.

she says nothing, but you hear the crunch of the metal beer can beneath her boot.

“you said she stopped living here,” you tell your uncle over dinner that night. you try to be calm, but your tone changes the words into an accusation instead of a comment.

“she did,” he tries to reassure you. “she came into town for the service.”

“is that where bruce went?” you question, having noticed only tilla’s presence on the property. “you let him leave with megan?”

“who’s bruce?” one of the replacement farmhand boys asks dumbly, and old pete simply slaps the back of his head to chastise him for interrupting.

“she needed him more than we did,” he insists. “i felt bad splittin’ the two up. she sends me pictures of him every week.”

“you guys still talk?” you feel the back of your neck light on fire. isn’t your family supposed to have your back? “is that how she found out about grandpa?”

“your grandpa loved that kid, said she respected the land, understood it,” old pete interjects, seeing your uncle clearly drowning under your line of questioning. “they talked even after she quit workin’ here.”

“the service is on sunday, like he would have wanted, and then they read his will on wednesday when your cousins all get here,” your aunt reminds you, as if it’s supposed to offer you comfort.

“i don’t want to be stuck seeing her.”

“that might be hard,” your uncle rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “she agreed to come help out on the property for a few days, just while we arrange everything—”

“you’re joking,” you blurt. “but those new boys are living in her old room.”

“she’s staying in the old log cabin up the road by the stables. you aunt never let us go in there cause of how cold the nights get, but meg figured out the wood stove and where the smoke was leaking from, that damned kid. always so sharp.”

“y/n, you leave in a week, and it’s not like she’s living in the house and having family meals with us. i know it’s not ideal, but…” your aunt tries to console you, but you’ve already stood up by the time she trails off.

you take your plate up to your room and finish dinner with your book in silence. your aunt’s words ring in your head. just get through the week.

the next day, thursday, you’re going stir-crazy by mid-day. you’re tired of being holed up in your room since the sunrise.

if you run into megan, you’ll simply walk away. free will, or whatever. you deserve the right to go explore and find closure, and then never think of this place again.

and somehow, despite the hundreds of acres the property owns, you’re reading up against the fencepost, trying to enjoy the summer sun and the smell of the clean mountain air through the tall grass, and you hear a quiet hum. that gentle, soft hum that had once calmed every pressing worry in your body.

megan’s words ring through your ears.

you loved her, once.

“y/n,” she breathes, recognizing you as she walks along the trail, hands in her pocket.

“what do you want?” you ask, watching as she approaches cautiously.

“i owe you an apology,” she tells you, kneeling down to be at eye level, still keeping a fair amount of distance between the two of you. her statement catches your attention.

you don’t owe her forgiveness, but part of you needs the closure.

“i’m listening.”

she takes a deep breath, her eyes avoiding yours. her hands wring together, as if she’s rehearsed this and is nervous to forget her lines.

and then she opens her mouth, and your heart sinks.

“i took advantage of you that summer, when you were lonely. that was shitty and irresponsible of me. i should have known better. i’m sorry.”

you feel the bile rise up in your throat. you weren’t sure what to expect, but surely this was the worst possible thing to come out of what she could say. that was the last possible perspective you’d have taken about that summer, the way you two grew closer by equal parts proximity and shared time getting to know each other, like two opposites discovering just how much they balanced the other out.

“that’s how you’re looking at this?” you ask in disbelief.

“i was the only person around your age for miles,” she shakes her head, still avoiding your gaze.

“you are so full of shit,” you breathe, completely unable to say more than that. “my god.”

“sorry, y/n.”

“you know, i was hoping when my uncle said you’d left, that you’d gone and done some reflecting and growing and there would be even a chance at closure with you.” you stand up, worried if you stay seated any longer, you might pen up too much energy and try to push her again. “but you haven’t changed at all.”

you’re half expecting her to defend herself, but instead, she simply tilts her head looking up at you from where she’s still sitting.

“what, like you’ve changed?”

you scowl at her. “i’m a completely different person than i was back then.”

“tiger can’t change its stripes,” megan says simply. “people don’t change.”

“but they grow,” you cut back quickly, feeling the anger threatening to boil over. “and if you don’t grow, you die sad and alone, which is what’s going to happen to you while i go off and live my life.”

you see megan’s brow twitch.

“and i’ll go off and live it with someone who isn’t scared to be in love with me, ‘cause that’s what i deserve, and that wasn’t you,” you continue, before turning on your heel to start walking away. you’d give anything to make sure she doesn’t see you cry. “i don’t deserve someone who minimizes it or writes it off or runs away from it.”

you hear the crunch of her boots against the dirt as she gets up and catches up to you easily, her voice ringing out from behind you.

“sorry for minimizing it.”

“it’s fucking gross for me to talk about it, but i’m not afraid to admit it like you are. i loved you so much and i genuinely pictured the future with you, and to hear you talk it down to me just being lonely and young— i hate thinking that’s what you think of me.” you stop briefly, trying to shake your head to stop the tears from continuing. “you ruined everything.”

but then she reaches out to grab your wrist, and the contact makes your whole body illuminate with electricity. her grip is gentle, but so unbelievably strong. her eyes are finally seeking yours, her gaze hard and serious, as if she’s flipped a switch.

“did you find someone else while you went home?” she asks, her voice low.

“who cares if i did?” you yank your arm out of her grasp. “i wanted it to be you.”

“i care,” she says weakly, and you decide you’ve had enough.

whatever version of megan you might’ve loved is long gone.

“no you don’t care. all you care about is protecting yourself.” you leave your book there, deciding you’ll come back for it another time, and turn on your heel to walk back towards the lodge. “i’m leaving. i’ll see you at the funeral, then i can’t wait to never fucking think about you ever again. bye megan.”

one of the trees by the creek catches your attention as you walk back to the lodge, trying to clear your head of thoughts of the ginger.

there’s a little notch carved into the side of it, like a tally mark.

you turn around the tree and notice that the whole thing is notched. carefully scratched tally marks as high as you can reach, down to the very bottom, made by a hunting knife or a swiss army knife or something.

you keep walking straight back to the lodge. you could swear you hear something like your name being called out behind you, but you chalk it up to the wind and leave it where it lays.

friday morning, two days before the funeral service. you’ve managed to find a rhythm where you move fast enough around the property to not get caught up enough to run into megan again. this time, you’re rustling around in the wooded area by the field, hoping to figure out where the hell your book ended up.

you hear the faint rustle of leaves, and then a quiet set of yips and yelps. your legs go numb as you recognize the pattern— megan had taught you how to recognize the noises of different animals, and coyotes sound an awful lot like what you’re hearing around you.

“hey pete?” you call out, trying to see if your sounds can potentially scare them off. “pete?”

“not funny,” you yell a little louder, your voice shaking slightly. you hear the yelps getting louder, a bit closer, and you try to ramp up your yells, clapping as well. “get outta here! go!”

the noises only come closer, and you wish you would have come prepared with some bear spray or something to get out of this, but before you can worry too much, there’s a rapid sound of crunching twigs through the woods.

someone is running to you.

you can only hope it’s pete, or your uncle, but the ginger hair is quickly colliding into you, landing the both of you into the dirt. you can’t hear the animals any more, and figure it was megan’s chaotic racket that scared them off.

“you okay?” she asks quickly, her arms holding her up to hover over you.

“get off of me,” you huff, trying to push off her shoulders.

she steps away, and you see the fresh rips in her jeans, the scuffs on her boots, and the briars all stuck to her.

you look back from where she had run– a thicket of bristles, and you see the barbed wire just a few yards behind.

“what did you do?” you question, trying to piece it together.

“i might’ve gotten caught up in one of the wire fences when i heard you. came running, probably should have been more careful,” she admits, staring down at her ruined pair of levi’s.

“don’t do that again,” you threaten, but your heart abandons you. the near-miss with the bull was enough. you can’t risk unpacking the pain of something happening to her.

“okay,” she breathes simply. she searches for something in her back pocket, and retrieves your book. “this is yours.”

she leaves the book next to you, and turns to disappear back into the treeline.

friday evening. you’re face to face with the pond. the air is sticky, oppressively hot even as the sun comes down, and you decide you’re not afraid of anything if you’re able to face all these memories of megan and make it out in one piece.

you don’t exactly want either of the new boys watching you strip down to your underwear, so you tell yourself you can teach yourself how to swim without supervision as long as you stay with your head above water.

admittedly, you’re getting more and more confident with each stride. it’s easy enough to think you’re getting the hang of it when you’re only torso deep, and the water is still. you wade in a tiny bit further, enjoying the cool water against your skin.

your foot slips on a rock much too smooth for you to grip, and you feel yourself slip under the water by accident. you miscalculated just how deep this thing is.

you don’t have enough time to gasp a final gulp of air before you feel the water in your mouth, in your lungs, your limbs flailing to try and get a grasp of something nearby to pull yourself out.

you feel the strong hands, much too familiar, wrap around your waist and heave upwards to get your head above the water. you gasp a breath and feel yourself flailing, but her grip is so strong on you, so firm, you go limp as she kicks backwards to get you back to shallower water.

the two of you collapse on top of each other at the shore of the pond, and she lets go of you immediately.

“you okay?” she asks, those too-familiar brown eyes scanning over you, brows knit together. her clothes are completely drenched through, the fabric clinging to her.

you shove her away, trying to build distance between the two of you, as you reach for your flannel to cover yourself up. “fucking hate you.”

“quit saying that,” she grimaces, her nose wrinkling as she turns to look away from you, as if she’s pained by your statement.

“leave me the fuck alone, megan,” you nearly scream, exasperated.

“you were drowning,” she says back, as if in disbelief.

“i don’t want you near me, what part of that do you not understand?”

“i’m not looking for you,” she snaps. “but i keep finding you.”

“somehow,” you snap back frustratedly.

“somehow,” she echoes, but her voice is softer, and you see her face change.

you feel your heart thud. you can’t handle whatever is about to come out of her.

“don’t–” you try, but the stupid cowboy is always too fast.

“i tried calling you,” she blurts, “every day, all of fall season after you left.”

“that’s all i meant to you, the fall time? three months?” you shove her further away. “sounds about right.”

she grabs your wrist, again. you freeze, her gaze locking into yours as her voice drops.

“y/n, for a split second, you meant the rest of my fuckin’ life,” she tells you firmly, her voice unwavering. “after the fall time, i called you every friday morning for a year.”

your heart nearly stops in your chest. your fridays in town together.

it clicks, faintly. the mystery phone number that always called during your friday 8am class, you always let go to voicemail, and it never left a message. you thought it was a spam number and blocked it after three weeks.

“please don’t get back in there,” she starts, motioning to the pond. “if you got hurt…”

she trails off, biting down. you can see the tears welling in her eyes.

you feel yourself eager to bite back, eager to wound her and make her feel half of what you feel.

if i got hurt? do you know what you’ve done to me?

you’re not cruel enough to drive the point home. you know she knows the damage she’s done. she gets up off the ground and wrings her shirt out before she walks in the opposite direction, leaving you alone without another word.

you burst through the door of the ranch house and lock eyes with your aunt, who is at the table peeling onions for tonight’s dinner.

“did megan actually try to call me the whole fall season?” you rush, the words bursting out of you faster than you could think them through.

“why are you wet?” your aunt asks in shock. “y/n, look at the state of you!”

“please,” you press, and you see her face twist. she lets out a sigh and shakes her head.

“after you left, i could tell something was off. she’d take bruce and make the drive out to town every damn morning before anyone woke up just to try and use the pay phone.” she stands up and wipes her hands on her apron. “blew half her pay a week just on gas alone. she said she didn’t trust the cell service up here on the ranch.”

“every morning?” you question, but your aunt has never been one to exaggerate.

“then it was just the fridays, like when you two’d go to town and run your errands. when that stopped working for whatever reason, she got it in her head to start writing on the porch and she’d stay for hours writing these letters. she’d go up to the mailbox every morning, then just turn around without putting it in. i think she thought i didn’t see her, but god gave women a sixth sense for these kinds of things.” she shoots you a pointed look. “sneaking about things.”

“oh,” you say simply, the back of your neck burning.

“she lost something when you left,” her tone softens, reaching out a hand gently onto your arm. “kid wasn’t the same after that. never seen her angry before, but i assume that’s what it was– anger. tried to hide it but you don’t just smoke a pack a day and work yourself to the bone without it going noticed, y’know?”

“sorry,” you say simply, blinking as you try to make sense of it all.

“sweetie, your uncle is simple, and old pete doesn’t know anything.” she shakes her head again, as if she’s letting you in on a secret. “and i’m not the type to tell anyone how to live, much less an independent, smart girl like you. i’ll let you make your own decisions.”

she walks away, and you assume that’s the end of it, but she emerges from the pantry with a small box, heaving it with both hands. she drops it on the table in front of you, and you see it’s taped shut.

“but do i believe these are for you.”

you hesitate, but take the box upstairs into your room. you change into some dry clothes and peel back the tape to open the box.

in it, filled to the brim, are little envelopes, no dates, no addresses, no anything. you fish down to grab one from the bottom and slip a finger under the seal to take the letter out. you sit on your bed, taking in the handwriting.

i think of you every time i go to the rodeo. did you know that’s when i asked for a sign from god? that night was the first time i didn’t beat my own record. every other time, i lasted longer and longer, and the one and only time you came with me, i fell short. i think it was my mom telling me that there’s something else out there that feels better than just winning stupid shit.

you blink, setting the paper down. you read a second, then another, and another. you don’t realize you read through the night until your eyes droop and you fall asleep, pile of papers surrounding you.

(somehow, her voice rings even louder in your mind.)

saturday evening. you slept in til the mid-day to catch up on how late you were up. you’ve spent too long that day reading all her letters, leaving a few of them to save for later that night, your eyes strained from focusing all day. she talks about her mom, about loss, about mourning, about her regrets and her fears.

and she talks about you. every letter, a new memory you didn’t know she had treasured, catalogued away in that supposedly empty brain of hers— a new way to look at each memory the two of you had made that summer.

your fingers slip one in your back pocket, one of your favorites, one that had validated the experience the two of you had shared.

we had dinner on the porch today, because the cicadas were singing so beautifully. it made me think about you and the time you sat and kept me company in the rocking chair while we peeled potatoes for dinner. that was the first day i pictured us getting old and grey. i realized i didn’t need the ranch, i just needed you.

you shake your head and try to empty it of thoughts of her. whoever this version of megan was, it was gone, and the one you have now is what you have to accept.

your stomach twists at the thought. you need to focus on anything but the ache in your chest of reliving all these moments, knowing how she felt on the other end of it.

“can i take auntie’s car into the town?” you call out to the house.

“be safe on the road. you don’t usually drive it alone, it can get tiring,” your uncle calls back to you. “her keys are on the mantle.”

you find the keys, and take your aunt’s vw bug out of the garage and onto the dirt road, starting the hour-long drive out to the town. familiar, but never one you’ve done alone, you figure it’s the easiest thing you can do to get out of your own head.

you end up at the bar, the only other thing open past 9pm in this god forsaken small town. you’re used to a bustling night life in your city, but forget that things are much much slower up in the mountain. the parking lot is full of familiar-looking trucks and old cars, clearly a town celebrating the freedom of the weekend.

you enter and take in the old country bar: neon signs, mounted animal heads, and hundreds of framed photos of people and places around the town. couples dance to the music, others play pool at the tables nearby, and some are getting rowdy near the mechanical bull ride.

you let out a quiet breath and sit yourself at the bar. you feel the crinkle in your back pocket. a letter you forgot to take out before you had left the house.

before the bartender can even get to you, a mustached man posts up in the seat next to you, resting his elbow much too far into your bubble.

“the niece from the city,” he says simply, and you realize you might not be a stranger to these people after all. “let me buy you something.”

“no thank you,” you nod politely. whatever his intentions are, your focus was to spend the night alone in a new place, and considering you weren’t even old enough to enter the bar last you were here, this is your best bet at making a memory in this town for yourself, without megan’s hands on it.

(and how predictably rude of this man to ruin it…)

“i insist,” he pushes, flagging for the bartender to come over.

“i promise i’m okay,” you press back, rolling your eyes. nothing good can ever exist outside of a man ruining it.

but then he’s taking a strand of your hair in his dirty hand, and you feel yourself tense.

“pretty hair, on a pretty girl,” he tells you, playing with the lock within his fingers, leaning in much too close for your comfort. “how’re you likin’ the countryside so far?”

you feel yourself try to move away but you freeze at how imposing he is in your space. you’re sure any other interested girl would swoon being in your position, a confident man making it clear he’s interested, but this is quite possibly the opposite of what you’d want in this moment right now.

your mouth opens to protest, but there’s no sound. his hand is suddenly yanking backwards, and you see his body swing back out of the chair. you realize he’s been shoved away from you.

you smell it before you see her. pine and campfire.

and in an instant, she lands a punch to his face, square in the jaw.

“sorry sorry, my hand slipped,” she apologizes to him lazily, shaking out her wrist from what you can assume will be an impact bound to bruise. she takes a quick look at him, and you’re shocked when she spits on the ground next to his head, her eyes narrowing. “i’d stay down there if i were you, my hand might slip again.”

“out,” the bartender growls, whistling towards the two of you and pointing to the door. “now. come back when you’re sobered up, kid.”

“what the fuck?” you scowl at her, before a random pair of hands are shoving the two of you out the door and into the parking lot, the chill of the night air nipping at your nose.

megan doesn’t seem the least bit unphased, her eyes wide but focused on you.

“did you get a lot of people flirting with you back home?” she blurts, almost breathlessly. you can see her hand already start to swell, but she’s paying it no attention.

“why do you care?” you jab back.

“i can’t–” her face twists, her eyes scrunching shut. “i can’t stand the idea.”

you can’t give any thought to her rambles right now. “how the fuck do you keep finding me?”

“i am kinda–” she pauses, wrinkling her nose, “a little drunk. no liquor store so the bar is the only option when the gas station closes. came here and wanted to forget about you.”

you stare her down, contemplating what comes next. the choice is easy.

you sprint right over to your car and lock yourself in, megan irritatedly following behind you and knocking on the glass that now separates you.

“open,” she grunts, testing the door handle.

“go away.” you scowl at her through the glass. “i’ll scream, and someone will come and beat your ass.”

“don’t drive an hour home when you just drank like that,” she pleads, her voice softening slightly. she slumps against the car, leaning her face near the window to be able to look you in the eyes. “i’m gonna stay as long as i need to fix this. i’ll stay all night if i have to.”

her eyes are so warm and inviting, even through the barrier of the glass. you have half a mind to kick the car in reverse and let her go tumbling over the hood.

“i don’t want to be around you, what part of that is not getting through your skull?”

“i hurt you and i ran away instead of running towards you,” she says suddenly, pressing her forehead against the window. you’re shocked by how tender her voice sounds, a world of difference from her apology on the ranch. “i was scared to love something that deep and have it ripped away from me, and i ran away from it instead so it’d hurt less.”

“but it didn’t hurt less,” she continues, her eyes avoiding yours. you see her lip tremble, but she hardens her jaw to steady it. “it left something.”

“i was angry with you. i was angry for the first time in my adult life,” she admits. “i had gone numb after my mom, and then you show up, and it’s like everything was back to full volume after being silent for so long. being up here, it gave me a routine to fall into. it made me stop thinking, and then you showed up, and all i wanted to do was think about you, and the future, and the beauty in everything. you put something back in my head, and when you left, it made me angry.”

“i didn’t leave you on purpose,” you finally manage, silent throughout all of this.

“you could have stayed. we could have kept everything the same, and you had to go off and leave me,” she pushes back, but her voice is small, barely audible now across the glass.

“the same?” you question.

“we could have lived on the ranch and lived so easy, y/n.”

“i tried to bring you with me–”

“and i wasn’t ready. and that will haunt me forever.” her lips press into a fine line, and your heart thuds as she lets out a quiet breath. “i’m sorry i wasn’t ready to love you how you deserved.”

the apology. a real apology.

with that, you feel it rise from the gravel, the summer you had burned and buried, the feelings you had worked so diligently to try and rid yourself of before they destroyed you. you can close the chapter where you hate her, and move away from it all.

“i guess we were just kids,” you breathe after a moment.

“i’m sorry,” she reiterates. you roll the window down, and she leans on the frame, her head poking into the car. “i am really truly sorry.”

“no.” you don’t want her to grovel and ruin the moment, waving her off. “you gave me closure. done being angry.”

“you are?” her eyes light up.

“i leave wednesday night, and it’ll be easier not having to seethe with rage every time i see you,” you offer as a truce.

“i’m more than good with that,” she nods, and you feel the next chapter writing itself.

“i’m hungry,” you say simply, and she arches a curious brow at you.

“the diner is 24/7,” she offers.

“dinner, at the diner?” you ask, pointing up the street.

“i need to sober up before i try driving back to the ranch, and so do you,” megan says. “it’s a five minute walk. we can get the cars after?”

you nod and the two of you walk together to the diner, keeping a cautious distance in between yourselves. you ignore the crumple of paper in your back pocket, the letter begging to be read.

she orders a black coffee and watches you the whole time you eat your pancake platter.

you watch her back. your heart echoes something each time your eyes meet silently, but you do your best to quiet it as you make small talk about the town.

home.

sunday finally comes. the service is beautiful, and they bury your grandpa next to your grandma.

“they get to be together even after all they’ve been through,” your aunt says, something like admiration in her voice.

you look at megan, and she’s fixed her eyes on the hole in the ground, biting down on her bottom lip to stay anchored. you can already tell what she’s thinking of and what this brings up for her.

before you can stop yourself, you reach for her hand. she takes it and squeezes it, and doesn’t let go.

that night, after the service, your uncle insists on taking the whole family out to the bar, saying it’s what his father would have wanted. your grandpa was a big character, and it’s not out of the picture to think he had asked for something like this to lighten everyone's spirits.

(you don’t mention having been kicked out last night. luckily, nobody asks.)

“you know, when god shuts a window, he opens a door,” your great aunt says, motioning to the couples all paired up for the dances.

“slim pickings,” your cousin wrinkles his nose, motioning to the local singles at the bar.

“oh your generation— i was married at your age. stop being such a pill. just find someone good looking and go from there,” she huffs.

“bet you $20 that you won’t go walk up to the best lookin’ person in this room right now and give ‘em a dance,” he teases you. his side of the family have always been bolder and brasher than you have, but with a newfound sense of confidence, you don’t feel quite ready to step down.

you bite back. “bigger stakes. i want grandpa’s truck.”

“no chance!” he gawks, but the mischievous grin tells you he likes your mettle. “i know for a fact he signed it to me in the will. you’ll see wednesday.”

“no money. i get a dance, and i get them to last longer than 30 seconds on the bull,” you push, upping the stakes.

“ha! i’d like to see what idiot can last past 10.” he laughs and shakes you on it. “truck’s yours if you can do it.”

“the both of you are so crass,” your great-aunt scolds. “we laid him to rest not hours ago and you’re already pawning off his belongings!”

“i want that truck,” you emphasize, before throwing back one more shot to try and muster the courage to do this.

you scan the room of the people who aren’t family, and your cousin is right. not many options left to try, much less people who seem strong enough to be able to win you that mechanical bull bet.

your eyes land on the tall figure, leaning up against the wall, in that same stupid hat and those stupid boots. you hear the echo in your ear again, but push it away as you approach her.

“hi,” you breathe, wrapping your arms around her neck much too easily. her eyebrows arch nearly off her forehead in surprise, but her hands take to your back with far too much ease.

“hi.” megan says back simply, her nervous eyes looking over your shoulder and then back down at your now-swaying bodies. “is there a reason why your great-aunt looks like she wants to kill me?”

“no,” you grin, and megan can instantly tell you’re up to no good.

“sure it has nothing to do with two girls slow dancing?” she questions, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. she’s so steady on her feet, swaying the two of you along to the song playing over the speakers.

“might,” you continue with the short answers, trying not to give yourself away.

“i figured.” she shakes her head and lets out a snort, but before either of you can question it, her hands are dipping down from your back to the dip of your waist. you want to correct her grip, but you can’t find the words to tell her to move her hand. it feels much, much too comfortable there, like the grooves were made for her strong hands to hold onto.

“if she’s mad about this, she’s gonna hate watching you beat all my boy cousins at riding that mechanical bull,” you laugh.

“what? i’m not getting on that thing.” she wrinkles her nose, motioning over to the bucking machine. “no self respecting bull rider would.”

“i can’t convince you?” you bat your lashes up at her, though the thoughts of the bet are starting to fade from your memory as you look into those perfect brown eyes.

“convince me?” she echoes, laughing. “you want to convince me?”

“maybe i just wanted to see if i’ve still got it.” you’re not sure where this sudden rush of boldness comes from, but you chalk it up to the drinks and the lively vibe of the bar party.

“oh, like you don’t have suckers for you back home?” megan teases, though her voice waves and drops the slightest bit. “i’m sure you’ve got a line waiting out the door for you.”

“i might,” you goad on, curious about her shift in tone.

“please tell me you’re not interested,” she insists, eyebrows knitting together, and part of you buzzes at the way her voice shifts in the slightest.

“not many cowboys in the city to pick from.”

“is that your type?” she inquires, and you feel her grip on you tighten slightly.

“maybe it was, at one point,” you hum, trying to stop yourself from playing with the baby hairs at the base of her neck. “but only the cowboys who’d do anything for me.”

“hm,” is all she says, her eyes searching for something in you. you’re about to say something more, but the song ends and megan lets go of you, excusing herself with a nod of her head. you wonder if you’ve pushed her too far.

you head back to the bar to grab another drink. you’re barely getting the cup from the bartender when you hear an obnoxious rise of cheers from the other end of the room. you look up at what’s causing the ruckus, and feel yourself smile against your will.

stupid megan, riding that damn mechanical bull, her knuckles white as they grip onto the handle and her face tensed with focus. the timer on the wall with big red numbers keeps ticking up, up, up, until she’s set the new bar record without so much as a slip.

“fuck!” you hear your cousin scream from across the bar, throwing his drink angrily into the wall.

you offer a slow clap of congratulations as megan fans herself off with her hat and comes marching up to you.

“hope that’s proof you’ve still got it.” she points a playfully menacing finger in your face. “please don’t go testing any other cowboys. this one will do just fine.”

you feel something pluck at you from deep in your chest. those eyes that know you. those hands that make you feel safe. that voice that unnerves you and comforts you all at once.

the feeling from the diner comes back. home.

“drive me back to the ranch, cowboy?” you ask suddenly, reaching out to her. “i want to get out of here.”

her eyes widen, clearly caught off guard. you can see the debate in her eyes, the pause between the two of you, the quiet, hesitant swallow she takes before opening her mouth again.

“of course,” she nods, grabbing her jacket off the barstool and handing it to you, out of habit. you see her freeze and start to pull her hand back, her uncertain eyes meeting yours.

you grab the jacket from her and step ahead of her into the parking lot, slipping the worn denim over your shoulders. you take a deep inhale. pine and campfires. home.

the drive back up is mostly spent with you listening to her hum along to the radio, your first time listening to country music in god knows how long. her voice is soft as it’s always been, melodic and peaceful, and you’re focusing on the moonlit grass as the truck finally makes it to the trail leading up to the property.

“i— um, thank you, for today,” she breaks the silence, avoiding your gaze to focus on the road. “i’m sorry it wasn’t the other way around.”

“don’t be. i knew my grandpa was at the end of it,” you reassure her. “i’m sure it wasn’t easy for you thinking about your mom.”

“it was easier with you,” she says softly. “thank you again.”

there’s a heavy pause between the two of you. you don’t know what possesses you to speak up, but you do.

“i read your letters,” you blurt. “i think all of them.”

“oh,” she blinks, eyes widening.

“thank you for writing them like you said you would.”

“of course.” she lets out a quiet breath as the truck takes a familiar turn up the road. “thanks for reading them, i guess. never thought they’d see you.”

“is this the cabin where you’re staying?” you wave for her to stop the truck, wanting to get a better look at the tiny log cabin off by the pasture. “my uncle said you fixed the stove in there, got it to heat up.”

“you know me,” megan shrugs dismissively. “still no good at much else but fixing and wrangling.”

you swing the truck door open and step out, wanting to get a closer look at it. it’s tiny, likely only one room, but it suits her somehow. you can picture her so, so cozy here.

“you could come in, and see how the stove works,” megan offers slowly, her eyes hesitantly following yours.

you know it could be a clean end, to ask her to drop you off at the lodge and go from there, but something is calling you to her, and you can’t seem to quiet that voice this time. you nod, and she fidgets with her keys for a moment to get the door open, grabbing a log from the pile in front of the door.

you enter behind her, and she’s tending to the woodfire stove that warms the whole cabin. it’s tiny, exactly how you’d imagined, but the roar of the fire and the coziness of the space makes you admire how megan had managed to make this old abandoned cabin seem like a home.

(or maybe, that’s just megan’s touch.)

“what are you thinking about?” you ask, noting how she keeps her gaze fixed on the stove, her hands in her pocket as you two stand on opposite sides of the fire to warm yourselves.

“just felt nice to dance with you again,” she breathes quietly, as if it’s a confession.

“reminded me of that night in the field,” you admit, without thinking. you notice her brow twitch, and you take a careful step closer to her, tilting your head to try and meet her gaze. your voice quiets. “did it remind you?”

“it did,” she confesses.

the way her voice shifts is stirring something in you. you reach out, gently wrapping your index finger around her pinky, as if to test her.

“i think you should leave,” she breathes quietly, looking down at your now-laced fingers.

“why?” you ask gently, carefully.

“i can’t tell you why,” she answers quickly, something worried in those big brown eyes.

“i want you to tell me why,” you press, and you can feel it in your chest, bursting against your ribs, begging to be spoken out loud.

megan gives you a look, a look of hesitation, and you try to meet her eyes with your own pleading gaze.

“i want to ask you to stay,” she says slowly, “and then it’s going to crush me when you go.”

“so then i just don’t leave,” you whisper back, taking another step closer towards her.

“i can’t keep you here forever.” her brows are furrowed, and you can tell she’s debating something within herself.

“be brave enough to ask,” you press again.

“please stay the night,” she pleads, reaching for your entire hand, eyes sincere and voice shaky. “and then stay forever.”

you feel the thud in your chest multiply into a thunderstorm.

“do you remember my birthday?” you ask, holding tighter onto her hand.

“of course.”

“i wished for you,” you admit. “that i’d get to stay with you.”

“oh,” she says simply, her eyes softening.

“and then you promised me you’d take care of me for the rest of my life, and i felt like i was dreaming.”

megan bites her lip. “i broke any chance of that, didn’t i?”

“i want you to ask me again,” you press one last time, and megan doesn’t leave you waiting.

“i’d like a chance to fix it.” her eyes, wide, pleading, warm, dig into yours. she takes your hand and presses it against her cheek, scanning over every inch of your face. “all of it.”

“i need to hear you—” you start, but she cuts you off quickly. this stupid cowboy, who knows you like the back of her hand.

“i love you, y/n,” she beats you to it, your hand still caressing her face, but she pulls at your belt loop to bring you close, her strong arms pulling you in to press you into her. she presses her forehead into yours, her eyes scrunching shut as if the confession pains her. “i love you like you wouldn’t believe. loved you then, love you now, think i’m gonna be stuck loving you until i’m old and grey.”

you don’t need anything else, and a part of you thinks megan knows that. you pull at her jaw to kiss her, a kiss to make up for each one she’s owed, and the echo silences itself as she kisses you back forcefully, eagerly, her strong arms wrapping around you to lock you in place against her.

back in megan’s arms, you are home.

“i missed you,” she breathes into your neck, sliding your shirt over your head much too easily, the kisses she plants along your collarbone sending shivers through your entire body. “a lot.”

“mmhmm, less talking,” you hum playfully, one hand grasping the back of her neck to keep her close as the other trails off under her shirt and up the hard planes of her stomach.

“i’m serious,” she pushes, nearly a growl. you haven’t heard her voice like this, low and gravelly in your ear, and it sends a twinge through every nerve in your system.

“i know you missed me. you punched some stranger in a bar just ‘cause he tried buying me a drink,” you tease. you pull her hand away from your belt and point to her swollen, bruised knuckles as if to prove your point.

“i punched him ‘cause he touched you,” she blurts, stopping her movements to hover over you in the bed and meet your eyes. her dark eyes are taken over by something that makes your heart race. “i saw red. i couldn’t even look at another person after you left.”

“the whole time?” you ask breathlessly, wanting to squirm beneath her but she has you trapped beneath her strong arms as she simply stares, looking you over. “were you waiting for me to come back or something?”

“i felt sick thinking about anyone else,” she grimaces. “and i felt sick thinking about you with anyone else.”

“i didn’t think i was ever going to see you again,” you confess, and you feel her pause, connecting the dots.

“did you think of me?” she finally asks, eyes searching for something in you.

“all i could do was wish they were you,” you admit.

there’s a heavy pause, megan still hovering above you, but you see something flip in her, those dark eyes unrecognizable. she sits up, pulling her own shirt over her head in a swift motion before she runs a finger along your bottom lip, her calloused thumb tracing your teeth. you’re eager to beg for her to do something, anything at this point, but the moment you try to sit up to kiss her back, she pushes you back down by the sternum, her hand staying pressed against the base of your neck. her forcefulness makes your brain go numb.

“each of them, all i could do was wish they were you each time, megan,” you repeat desperately, seeing the effect it had on her the first time. your wish is granted, and she leans back down to nip a quick, forceful kiss into your neck.

“that’s my girl,” she murmurs into your ear, before stepping back next to the bed to stand and let you watch her undo her belt buckle. you feel your mouth go dry at the sight, your pulse racing at the clank of the metal and the impending zip of her jeans.

“yes i am,” you grin, before she reaches back for you, strong hands pulling at what’s left of your clothes to reclaim what belongs to her.

the next morning, you’re back in time 3 years and reliving the summer romance with the wrangler. you know your timeline is shorter now, but that doesn’t make it any less thrilling to be back in megan’s arms.

she’s carrying you on her back as you two wade through the pond, your arms wrapped around her neck as you bury your face into the crook between her neck and shoulder. your whole near-drowning thing had traumatized her, and she refused to let you near the water without her present. you don’t mind– you’re enjoying the feeling of her strong back, admiring her pretty face and slicking her hair back from the water our of her eyes.

“why did you quit the ranch, when you said you’d stay?” you ask curiously. there’s two days left with her, and you want to use it making up for lost time, unpacking everything left unanswered.

“found something that i loved more than i loved the ranch.” she says, as if it’s that simple. she splashes at a dragonfly along the surface of the water. “it hurt too much to keep thinking of you everywhere i looked.”

“you missed me,” you repeat from the night before.

“if only you knew half of it,” she hums.

“what did you do to that tree out there?” you point to it, the cut up one by the water. “it looks like a wolverine mauled it.”

she hesitates for a split second, before a sheepish smile takes to her features.

“i told myself i couldn’t keep driving myself crazy, so i’d make a notch in the tree for every day i still felt like i missed you. i promised myself that once i stopped putting tallies in there, i’d be officially over you.”

you wait for the resolution, but it never comes.

“i killed the tree. too many notches,” she says flatly. “the days i’d missed you didn’t end.”

“that’s a lie,” you laugh, splashing water onto her face.

she shakes her head and turns to look at you from over her shoulder, her gaze serious.

“y/n, i never got over you. you took a part of me with you,” she breathes.

“i’d like to take all of you with me, this time around,” you tell her quietly.

“as you wish,” she smiles, and you reach for her jaw to melt into a kiss over the song of the cicadas and the frogs.

tuesday comes, and you’ve spent every moment with megan, to the point that it’s your first time coming back to the lodge in almost 24 hours to pick up fresh clothes.

“you plannin’ on staying the rest of your trip up there at the cabin with the kid?” your aunt asks, arching an eyebrow at you as you run into each other by the stairs.

“maybe,” you eye her hesitantly, but she waves you off quickly.

“don’t play coy, i’m not bein’ nosy,” she rolls her eyes, pushing you by the shoulder as a reprimand. “i need to know if i can give your room to your other cousin when she finally gets up here tonight.”

you smile faintly. “that should be fine.”

moments later, megan shows up on one horse for your two person trail ride, and you realize all notions of keeping this to yourselves are good as gone. your aunt gives you a look after she spots the ginger out the window.

“i’ll have the boys take your stuff over to the cabin while you’re gone.”

“thank you,” you nod.

megan spots you through the window, and breaks out into a giant smile as she tips her hat down at you. you look up to see your aunt witnessing the entire thing.

“i’m glad you came back, y/n.” she says simply. “i think we all are.”

“i am too,” you finally admit. she waves you off, and you slip out the door to go run into your cowboy’s arms.

the night before the will-reading, you get an email that your flight is delayed til thursday, and it gives you an extra few hours with megan. you change your train ride to thursday morning, and the two of you spend the extra time locked away in the cabin.

“i owe you a real apology,” she mumbles, pressing her lips into your shoulder blade from behind as she spoons you. her voice is soft against the combination of evening crickets and curious owls. “i’m sorry about everything.”

“you already apologized,” you shake your head, watching the flames from the oven cast shadows against the wall, outlining her face into the wood. “i forgive you. i owe you an apology too.”

“you have nothing to be sorry about,” she says back quickly, her fingertips dragging along the skin of your thigh and up to your hip.

“i tried to push you to heal sooner than you were ready for. i thought i could fix you.” you had done your own reflection, and granted, it doesn’t excuse how things ended, but you know there’s no moving beyond this without accountability. “i wouldn’t know what it’s like to miss someone like that. i judged you for something unimaginable. i’m sorry.”

she kisses the dip between your jaw and your ear, her nose pressing into your neck.

“it used to be easy to just run away, but i think i’m healing confronting it head on,” she says quietly.

“proud of you,” you murmur back, reaching to pull her hand to your lips and kiss along her almost-healed knuckles.

“i wish you could have met her,” she says suddenly, her lips still against your neck, and your heart aches for her.

“i’m sure she was perfect,” you say simply, and megan nods in approval.

“she would say the same about you.”

wednesday. the will reading, which they decide to do on the porch of the ranch, as your grandpa would have wanted.

your cousin is less than thrilled when the attorney reads off the list of allocations and indicates that grandpa’s truck is indeed in his name. he gives you the keys as soon as they’re handed to him, and megan’s eyes widen in surprise.

“the old ford?” she questions, her voice quiet to not disrupt the rest of the proceeding. “it’s your uncle’s favorite.”

“uh, it was your favorite if i remember correctly,” you laugh. “you spent so much time fixing that stupid thing up.”

“i fucking loved that thing,” she beams, and you realize maybe that was your motivation this whole time. “you’re so cool.”

your cousin’s whining voice bursts you and megan out of your bubble.

“y/n’s not even listening, and she’s got the ranch in her fucking name!” your cousin bemoans.

you feel your heart fall into your stomach. “excuse me?”

“i told him i’ll take care of it until i’m tired, but i won’t turn into old pete and waste my life wrangling cattle til i’m grey.” your uncle dusts his hands on his jeans, getting up from the rocking chair where he was seated. “we don’t have kids. i saw this coming. he said you were the only person who saw it for what he saw it for.”

“but med school is–” you start, but he waves you off.

“i’ve got a few more good years left in me. do what you gotta do, then sell it when the time is right.”

“that’s all in your name,” the lawyer nods at you as a dismissal, and you immediately turn to meet megan’s wide eyes.

“holy shit,” she says simply in disbelief, and you hear your great-aunt grunt in disapproval.

“you could give it to the kid,” your aunt suggests, motioning to megan. “we all know she’d take care of it like nobody’s business.”

you look at megan, who stares back at you, dumbfounded.

“what would you want to do with it?” you ask.

“baby, it’s the fucking ranch,” she gapes. you take her hand and pull her a few steps away to hide out inside, away from the ears of your family.

“do you want to stay and watch it with my uncle, while i’m gone?” you ask her gently, holding both hands in yours, offering her the solution you feel she’s been waiting for. “you could go back to your old life.”

for some reason, the offer feels like you’re letting her go. but you know how much this property meant to megan, and something about her coming back to claim it as its steward feels so, so right.

but instead, she looks at you with determined eyes. she shakes her head.

“i’m not making the same mistake twice,” she nods, assuring you. she gives your hands a squeeze. “i choose you, and everything else will turn out alright.”

“i don’t know if you’d be happy in the city,” you sigh, brushing your fingertips across her sun-kissed cheeks.

“not running from anything any more.” she grabs your hand off her face and presses a kiss into your open palm. “i’m happiest where i’m with you.”

“okay,” you breathe. “so we let my uncle keep going til he retires. does that mean you’ll come with me now?”

“i’d need to get brucey,” she says hesitantly. “and he doesn’t fly very well.”

“i’ll go with you to get him.”

“you will?”

“let me fly home, then i’ll come to wherever you are. we’ll road trip, move you out, grab bruce. when is your lease up?”

“i’m monthly, work for lodging and pay.”

“okay. so we get bruce, you move in with me in the city. i start med school, you…”

you pause, seeing the look in her eyes. the planning, the talking about the future so concretely, it scares her, you know it does. the last time her face changed like this was your last day, that summer. you feel yourself want to vomit.

but megan knows you, and she can sense your apprehension. she reaches for your hand, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“i can work on cars,” she offers gently, a smile on her lips. “until you’re done with school.”

“that’s an option.” you nod, beaming at her optimism. they feel like shaky steps towards you, not away. your eyes water at the thought of a happy future with her, one you had imagined was ripped away from you.

“or work with animals.” she grins back.

“or go to trade school,” you build on her idea.

“the future, it’s scary,” she breathes. “but it’s gonna come whether i’m ready or not. might as well get ahead of it.”

“and then i finish school, do a fellowship, and once i’m finished, we come back.”

“really?” her eyes light up brighter than anything you’ve ever seen. “you don’t want to sell it?”

“i don’t need a busy life. just a rewarding one,” you tell her, smiling. “small towns need doctors too.”

“i don’t want you to give up your dreams,” she says worriedly, tilting her head in concern.

“you taught me how to slow down. please don’t expect me to be helping wrangling baby cows every morning, but i wouldn’t mind you still being a cowboy. it’s what you live for.” you reach up to tilt her chin back up, reassuring her as you fix her hat. “it’s not giving up. it's a beautiful compromise.”

she grins back at you, and takes the hat off her head to fix it on your own head.

“i like compromise with you.”

your final night before your 6am train ride to the airport, she takes you camping in the fields.

she explains the concept of a harvest moon— a full moon so big and so bright, early farmers could work all night collecting their harvest by moonlight alone.

the fire she’d built starts to dim down, and you feel the exact same way. you could watch her in the moonlight for the whole night.

“that’s sagittarius.” she points up an arrangement of stars, her feet crossed and her head propped up on a backpack she’s using as a pillow. you’re laying so comfortably cuddled into her, your head resting on her chest, lulled into a cozy haze by the song of the mountain and her perfect voice in your ear.

“no way,” you drawl, forever impressed by her knowledge.

“and that’s asparagus.”

you blink quickly in confusion. “what?”

“and that’s me getting a headshot in fortnite.”

“you’re stupid.” you push into her shoulder, laughing. “i knew you were full of shit.”

she smiles back and presses a sweet kiss into the top of your head, letting her lips linger against your hair.

“i’ll see you in a week?” you ask, and the question doesn’t feel as heavy as you had thought it would.

“yes you will.” she kisses your head again, humming into your hair. “that’s a promise.”

“thank you.”

“i had you once, and that meant everything to me,” she tells you, breathing you in once more. “i think i spent my whole life waiting for you.”

“i’m here now,” you remind her, cuddling in closer.

“never letting you go again,” she reassures you.

(you believe her.)

“hey baby, the neighbor is asking again when you’re going to sell him the truck,” you call out, pushing past the door into the apartment.

you’re kicking your shoes off in the hallway, giving a quick rub to bruce’s head as he greets you. you hear the rumbling from the kitchen, and you pop in to see the jeans and a vintage tshirt, with her head and torso under the sink, doing something to the garbage disposal.

“he can kiss my ass. that thing is staying in the parking spot that i pay for until the end of our lease,” she threatens back, sliding out from under the sink and washing her hands before hitting a switch. in an instant, the same garbage disposal that was broken this morning is magically back and working. “i’m not driving anything smaller.”

you laugh, reaching out for her. “you and your stupid ego.”

“hey, everywhere i’ve ever lived, lifted trucks are like, the shit,” megan grins, wrapping her arms around your waist to pull you in for a greeting kiss. “it’s the biggest thing we work on at the shop.”

“oh, i bet you’re the number one lifted truck modder in the city,” you nod playfully.

“i’m alright.” she shrugs, wrinkling her nose, but she’s fixed on the topic of her damn truck. “thinking about how sad you’d look getting dropped off by some rizzless loser in a cowboy hat and boots, in a fucking minivan or something. just wouldn’t sit well with me.”

“yeah, all my classmates think the coolest think about me is you,” you gripe. megan’s insistence on taking you to class every day, in the truck, wearing what she always does, has made you quite the talking point among your first year med school classmates.

“so crazy, ‘cause i think you’re the coolest thing about me,” she grins, looking down at you with a glint in her eyes. “y’know what else i’m thinking about? summer time.”

“that’s still 2 months away,” you laugh at her eagerness. your last summer break before medical school fully takes over your life, planned to be spent on the ranch with megan, rotting away without a care in the world.

“we could get married up there,” she suggests out of nowhere, but her voice is so so sweet, it makes your heart melt.

“what is this, farmer needs a wife?” you tease, arching a brow at her. “i thought it was supposed to be a vacation.”

“okay, okay,” she holds her hands, clearly playfully displeased with your response.

“hold your horses, there,” you goad on, and she narrows her gaze at you.

“oh, now you’re just being a pain.”

you grin. “if the boot fits.”

“enough with the puns,” she groans, rolling her eyes, grabbing you by the waist to swing you easily over her shoulder and whisk you into the bedroom, your scream laughs filling every corner of your apartment.

your summer vacation comes, and the chilly montana nights welcome you both back with open arms.

she slips her jacket over your shoulders, and the motion feels as natural as breathing. you see the front pocket is still full of the flowers she picked for you along the trail, meant to press into your book along with a few of the letters she had written you. you keep your favorite letter one in your back pocket, eager to read it to her in between chapters of your book.

you’re walking behind her, following her steps as she confidently leads you two through the field. she’s singing something mindlessly to herself, her voice filling the air comfortingly.

you tuck your hand into the pocket, trying to warm your fingers, and feel yourself freeze. your fingertips trace along the edge of the object, the edges too wide to be her swiss army knife, the top being the wrong texture to be a pack of cigarettes she might be hiding–

your pulse quickens as you realize inside the pocket, you feel a little box. small, velvet, that kind of box.

“where are you taking me?” you ask quickly, the realization striking you.

“don’t worry about it,” she waves you off. you can’t see her face, but you can hear the grin in her voice, and you can’t tell if you finding the box is part of her plan or an innocent mix up. with megan, it could quite frankly go either way, and you can’t tell which one makes your heart swell more. “ain’t anyone told you that it’s bad luck to question a cattle wrangler on a full moon?”

“you’re making that up.” you try to keep your voice even, not wanting to ruin her plan as the two of you keep walking, but you feel the back of your throat go dry.

“maybe,” she shrugs playfully.

“stupid cowboy,” you try to bite back, but you feel your voice shaky, and she simply reaches back behind you for your hand. she grabs you, and the two of you keep walking, her paces strong, steady, keeping you alongside her easily. she smiles knowingly, and tips her hat down, her eyes fixed on the skyline.

“i love you too, city girl.”

(the letter rings through your ears, your favorite one out of all of them, etched into your memory at this point so deeply, you know it by heart.

i don’t know if you’ll ever read these, but i fell in love with you that day that you read to me. which one? your smart ass is going to ask. not the one by the creek, or the one by the cows. it was the one on the roof, where you told me to quit smoking. i realized that day i have something really, really beautiful i’m excited to live for. i really, really love you, y/n.

-your cowboy, forever.)

#megan skiendiel x reader #megan x reader #katseye x reader #katseye megan #megan katseye #megan skiendel imagine #☆ﾟ coolwyous works.#☆ﾟ coolwyous golden hour.

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