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itneverendshere · 1 month ago

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LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - SEVEN

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of pregnancy, abortion, alcohol, drug consumption.

MASTERLIST

You never spent much time on The Cut, unless you were being dragged by duty, mostly charity events for the local populations, fundraisers for their schools usually.

You always showed up in something tasteful but subtly expensive—pearls, understated Louboutin heels, and a blazer that whispered wealth without screaming it.

Your mother taught you that.

Now, you sat in Poguelandia, doing god knows what.

The name alone sounded like some bad beach-themed party game. But you kept the snark to yourself—mostly. Sarah swore to you this was her new "thing," her big redemption arc, and who were you to judge? It wasn’t where you pictured spending any afternoon, yet there you were.

Pregnant. On The Cut. Drinking—well, holding—a very flat ginger ale out of a plastic cup.

You smoothed your dress for the hundredth time, light linen in a neutral tone that looked effortless but cost more than most people’s rent, while pretending not to notice Pope and Cleo staring like you were a rare bird that had wandered into the wrong habitat.

Were they always this... intense? Did people on this side of the island not know how to look away when someone made eye contact? Your mother’s voice echoed in your head. They’re not staring at you, dear; they’re staring at themselves in relation to you.

Whatever that meant.

To their credit, they weren’t mean about it. Just... curious, as if you’d wandered in from a wildlife documentary called Kooks in the Wild.

You moved your weight around in your seat, hyper-aware of every grain of sand sticking to your hérmes sandals. Every time you shifted, you felt the grains grinding between the straps and your skin.

Should’ve worn the espadrilles, you thought ruefully, but even then, this wasn’t the world’s most glamorous venue. Sarah had begged you to stop by, though, and you owed her. It was also good for you to leave the house instead of being cupped up inside all alone.

“Okay, seriously, what’s with the staring? Do I have something on my face? Is my makeup smudged? Be honest.”

Cleo snorted. “No, you’re fine, princess. We’re just surprised to see you.”

You were still holding your sad little plastic cup. “Just thought I’d participate in—whatever this is.” You gestured vaguely at the mismatched chairs and string lights that looked like they’d been stolen from someone’s backyard wedding. “Community service?”

It was supposed to come off as witty. You weren’t sure it did.

Pope choked on his drink—sweet tea? soda?—and Cleo chuckled outright. “You’re funny,” she said, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if she meant it.

“Thanks?” It came out like a question, and you wanted to die just a little bit inside.

Pope grinned, leaning forward with a chip in his hand. “You don’t seem like the kind of person who hangs out in The Cut, that’s all.”

You blinked, feigning shock. “You don’t think I spend my weekends in—what is this, a glorified surf shack? I’m crushed.”

Cleo laughed again, which—fine—made you feel a little better.

“Nah, it’s just... you’re different up close. Not like, scary kook different. Just human. Y’know?”

“Great. That’s exactly what I was going for today.”

Pope gestured to the bar. “You want a snack? Chips? Cookies? We have...three options.”

You straightened, eyes narrowing like a hawk zeroing in on prey.

Food. Your stomach growled loudly, as if it had been cued by a stage director. “What kind of cookies?”

He blinked, not expecting you to care. “Uh... chocolate chip? Maybe oatmeal raisin?”

“And the chips?” You pressed, leaning forward now.

“Salt and vinegar,” Cleo piped up, eyeing you curiously. “Barbecue too, I think. Why?”

“Okay, shit, great.” You clapped your hands together decisively. “I’ll have all of it. All the chips, both kinds of cookies. Do you have anything else? Pretzels? Popcorn? Random condiments? I’m not picky.”

Cleo stared at you, her mouth slightly open. “Everything?”

“Yes, everything. Is that a problem?”

She blinked, her eyes darting to Pope like he had an explanation. He shrugged helplessly.

“Woman” she muttered under her breath. “Did you not eat for a week, or...?”

The salt and vinegar chips were divine, borderline transcendent, as you shoved another handful into your mouth. The truth was, you weren’t just hungry—you were still terrified. Every bite, every easy conversation with other people that weren’t Sarah, was a game of jenga to you. One wrong move, one offhand comment, and your secret could be out in the open.

Six more days until this would all be... over. Until the secret growing inside you—the one you’d barely admitted to yourself most mornings—would be gone.

The past three days had been the best you’d felt in ages, cravings and all, thanks to Sarah. She’d slept over, stayed up late talking with you, making you laugh, distracting you from the endless pit what-ifs and why-mes.

It was the longest you’d gone without crying in three months. The longest you’d lived without feeling like you could suffocate at any given moment. With her help, it had been easier to forget—to pretend that things were still okay.

But Sarah wasn’t there, she’d left earlier with John B, something about helping him with a tour.

“You good, princess?” Cleo’s voice cut through your thoughts.

You blinked at her, realizing you’d been crushing the chip bag in your hands like a stress ball. “What? Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You look like you’re about to fight that bag of chips,” Pope said, grinning.

You forced a laugh, leaning back and tossing the bag onto the table. “No fighting. Just... intense snacking."

You reached for the chocolate chip cookies he had offered earlier, focusing on the sweetness, the comfort of food that tasted good for once. Sweet, crumbly, safe. If only the rest of you life felt like that.

Pope and Cleo knew something was up, they all did, probably.

Sarah had been glued to your side, and it wasn’t exactly subtle.

Her sudden move to “stay over” at your place had obviously raised eyebrows, especially since you two hadn’t had a proper conversation in months before all this. And there was the beach clean-up, Kie and JJ had been there when you felt ill, and while you’d been too disoriented to keep up with the cover story once Rafe drove you away, Sarah had stepped in later to handle it.

Heat exhaustion. Overworked. Totally fine.

Still, to your relief, neither Pope nor Cleo seemed inclined to pry, perhaps it was pity, or maybe they were just decent enough to let you keep the little shred of privacy you had left. Either way, you were grateful.

“So,” Pope said, leaning back on his elbows and flashing you an easy grin, “How are you finding our place? I mean, other than our fine selection of snacks.”

You swallowed a bite of cookie, forcing a smile. “It’s...charming. Rustic. A real je ne sais quoi vibe.” You waved your hand vaguely, trying to mimic the way your mother used to describe terrible restaurants we’d never go back to.

Cleo snorted. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

“It’s cute,” You offered, looking around, “I can tell you guys put your heart into it.”

Pope smirked, lifting a brow. "That's nice of you to say."

You gave a small shrug, feigning nonchalance, but you meant it.

For all the mismatched chairs and questionable decoration, there was something undeniably warm about the place. You weren't used to that—spaces filled with love instead of decorators and florists, it wasn’t bad. Just different.

“I mean it,” you said, brushing crumbs from your lap. “It’s very authentic. ‘Pogue Chic’ or something.”

Cleo laughed, loud and genuine, her grin lighting up her face. “Pogue Chic?"

Pope chimed in, “Hey, don’t knock it. We’re trendsetters. Ahead of its time.”

You smiled, but your mind was already falling back to the sand clinging to your dress and the ginger ale that tasted like disappointment. You’d never say it out loud, but you admired them, that ability to make joy out of scraps. It was something you didn’t quite know how to do. Not yet, anyway.

Cleo leaned forward, her elbows resting on the makeshift table. “So, are we going to see you around more? Or is this just a one-time royal visit?”

You hesitated, twirling the rim of your cup between your fingers. “I don’t know. Maybe. If Sarah keeps dragging me here, I guess I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice.”

You didn't know if it was the way he said it, the tone he used, or just your hormones fucking you up, but suddenly there were tears in your eye sockets. You blinked rapidly, tilting your head back slightly and praying that the tears stayed put.

These kids, all of them, sitting here like they hadn’t spent their lives scraping by, like they hadn’t been hurt or abandoned or let down a hundred times over by people they loved and trusted. Yet somehow, they were still full of hope, full of life.

You envied that.

You wished you could bottle it, whatever it was that kept them laughing and fighting and welcoming someone like you—a result of privilege and mistakes and heartbreak—into their home. It was humbling in a way that made your chest hurt.

“Does that mean I can choose to order better snacks next time? Maybe some sparkling water? Flat ginger ale is a crime against humanity.”

Cleo snorted, still not fooled by your deflection, but she let it slide.

“Good luck with that, princess. Our snack budget’s about three bucks and whatever we can steal from Kie’s pantry.”

Pope chuckled, tossing a chip in his mouth. “And you’re welcome to contribute if you’re so concerned about the menu.”

It surprised you, how easy it was to talk to them.

On paper, you had nothing in common. They were younger, grew up in a completely different world, and you were used to the polished conversations of country club luncheons and charity galas.

Here, things were different.

They didn’t seem to care if you stumbled over your words, if your jokes were awkward or if you occasionally sounded like a walking trust fund catalog. They didn’t care about your last name, your family’s money, or any other things that had weighed you down for years.

That was disarming.

You’d spent your entire life around people who mirrored your upbringing—kids who summered in the Hamptons or Barbados, adults who measured their worth in stock portfolios and vacation homes. Now, you were here, in this cobbled-together haven with salt-stained cushions, sitting with people who’d grown up struggling for things you took for granted.

You thought it would feel more awkward or forced, but it didn’t.

It was easy.

Pope sat on the counter, gesturing with a half-eaten chip. “Serious question. How do you even survive on Figure Eight? Do they hand you iced lattes and designer handbags when you’re born, or do you have to work your way up to that?”

You raised a brow, smirking. “Oh, absolutely. The moment you’re born, they issue you a monogrammed diaper bag and a gold-plated pacifier. It’s very exclusive.”

Cleo nearly choked on her drink. “See, this is why we can’t take you seriously.”

Your phone buzzed on the table, lighting up with your cousins name, interrupting the fun. You sighed, rolling your eyes before picking it up. “Yes, Top?”

Topper’s slightly whiny tone spilled into your ear. “Can you believe Mom’s threatening to rent out the beach house for the summer? Actual strangers, staying there. What’s next? Turning it into a hostel?”

“Tragic,” you deadpanned, resting your chin in your hand. “Truly, a devastating blow for humanity.”

Pope fake-coughed, mumbling “white rich privilege problems,” while Cleo mouthed, “Hostel!” and shook her head, laughing silently.

“I know. Anyway, I’m coming over later.”

“Where’s your invitation?”

You heard him scoffing, “I’m family, I don’t need one.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “Top, you can’t just announce you’re coming over. I might have plans.”

“Yeah, and I’m your family, so those plans now include me,” Topper said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. “Besides, I’ll bring food.”

Across from you, Pope was already gagging dramatically, holding his stomach as if the mere sound of Topper’s voice made him physically ill.

“I don’t know if—”

“See you at noon,” he interrupted. “Later!”

The call ended before you could even argue, and you set your phone down with a resigned sigh.

“Looks like I’m hosting a one-man Topper pity party,” you said, crossing your arms and slumping back in your chair.

Pope clutched his chest. “Will you survive?”

You only left once the sun dipped lower into the horizon, you gathered your things promising Sarah you’d drive safely and talk to her tomorrow.

Cleo, Pope and John B were mid-argument about the best way to fix something in the shack. You felt lighter than you had in weeks.

With a few more quips exchanged and goodbyes said, you walked back to your car. That night, the ache in your chest wasn’t completly unbearable. You weren’t okay, but you weren’t drowning, either.

You’d been terrified of this afternoon all day, worried you’d stick out like a sore thumb or say the wrong thing.

But the Pogues hadn’t cared about your awkwardness, your polished self, or even the giant invisible cloud you carried everywhere these days. They let you just be.

The drive home was quiet, but this time you even hummed along to a song on the radio, which was strange because you couldn’t remember the last time you cared about music or even turning on that thing. When you pulled into the driveway and stepped into your house, it didn’t feel as cold and empty as it did last week.

You set your bag down on the entryway table and kick off your sandals, the floors cool beneath your feet. Heading to the kitchen, you decided to see if there was anything decent for tonight’s impromptu early dinner with Topper. The fridge greeted you with a sad bag of lettuce, half a bottle of sparkling water, and a single container of leftover pasta you weren’t sure was still edible.

“Great,” you muttered, closing the door and moving to the pantry.

The situation there wasn’t much better. Sarah’s latest health-kick contributions—a bag of chia seeds and some organic trail mix—laughed at you from the top shelf. You frowned, pushing them aside to reveal a dusty box of crackers and a jar of Nutella.

“Guess we’re going shopping tomorrow,” you murmured, grabbing the crackers and Nutella to snack on now.

You placed them on the counter and glanced around. The sink held a few dishes from earlier —a couple of coffee mugs, a bowl, a plate.

You sighed, rolling up your sleeves, might as well get this out of the way.

Normally, you’d have had someone else to take care of this—stocking the pantry, cleaning the dishes, even deciding on the menu for your lunches. But lately, you’d been scaling back. You hadn’t let anyone go, of course. You could never do that; the staff had been with your family for years, and many of them felt more like extended family than employees. Still, you’d quietly rearranged their schedules, giving them more time off.

They didn’t question it—probably thought it was some new phase, another eccentricity of a bored, privileged young woman.

Truth was, you liked doing these things.

Focusing on something small, tangible, gave your brain a break from drilling itself into a million dark corners. Folding laundry, washing dishes, even the routine of chopping vegetables—it kept your hands busy and your thoughts manageable enough. It wasn’t that you’d suddenly become a domestic goddess or anything. Most of the time, you’d forget to pick up groceries or burn whatever you tried to cook.

It wasn’t about being good at it. It was about doing something.

You looked around the kitchen, noting the little imperfections you wouldn’t have noticed before. A small water stain on the counter from where your glass had sat too long, the scuff marks on the cabinets where your chair scraped when you leaned back. They weren’t problems to be fixed—they were just signs of life.

And right now at that very moment, life felt…okay.

The house didn’t seem as cold or empty when you were doing things for yourself, even if it was mundane work. You finish up wiping down the counters, glance at the time—definitely cutting it close—and head toward the dining room to tidy up a bit.

Topper was not the type to notice if the place is spotless, but you always liked things to look... presentable, yourself included.

You heard the doorbell ring in the distance, he was early as usual, probably checking his watch just to make sure he wasn't a second late.

"Of course he’s early," you muttered to yourself, a little smirk pulling at your lips.

You walked towards the front door, ready to greet him, but when you opened it, your eyes immediately locked onto the large takeout bag in his hand. It smelled... amazing.

Topper grinned at you, an exaggerated flourish as he held up the bag.

“Guess what I brought?”

“You brought... Korean chicken wings? Really?”

“Hell yeah, I did!” He stepped inside, completely ignoring any formalities and heading straight toward the kitchen, “They just opened.”

He placed the bag on the counter with the confidence of a man who knew he’s just won “Best Dinner Host” without even trying. You peeked inside, the crispy wings drenched in a glossy, sweet-spicy sauce that looked downright delicious.

Topper laughed and took a seat, pulling out the wings, not even bothering with plates. “You’re welcome.”

You rolled your eyes but sat next to him, picking up a wing, the heat of it still making your fingers tingle. The crispy exterior cracked open with a satisfying crunch as you bit into it. It was everything you'd hoped for—tangy, spicy, perfectly cooked. You nearly moaned in pleasure, not even caring that your cousin was watching you with that cocky grin on his face.

“You look like you’ve seen the light,” He teased, leaning back in his chair as he grabbed a wing of his own.

“I mean,” you said, savoring another bite, “this might make up for you barging in uninvited.”

“Barging?” He clutched his chest dramatically, mock offense radiating from every inch of him. “I'm saving you from a night of sad dinners, and this is the thanks I get?”

You gave him a pointed look, but the corner of your mouth tugged upward despite yourself.

“Fine. Thank you, Topper. You’re the hero of the day. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” he said, grinning as he reached for another wing. “What’s new? Still slumming it with my ex and the Pogues?”

“First of all,” you said, wiping your fingers on a napkin, “slumming it implies I’m suffering, which I’m not. And second, Sarah’s not a pogue. She’s pogue-adjacent.”

“Pogue-adjacent?” He snorted. “You’ve been spending too much time over there.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” you shot back. “You basically live at Kildare Brewing these days. That’s like, one pogue away from full assimilation.”

He opened his mouth to argue but then stopped, realizing you had a point. “Okay, fair. But only because they have good beer."

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you should even bring it up, but curiosity got the better of you. You hadn’t heard about her in a while, and you knew by experience, that was never a good thing.

“So... Ruthie,” you started, watching him over the rim of your glass as you took a sip.

Topper paused mid-chew, looking up at you like he wasn’t sure he wanted to have this conversation. “What about her?”

“I mean, you two are still together, aren’t you?”

He wiped his hands on a napkin. “We’re… not talking right now.”

You tried not to look pleased, but a rush of vindication bloomed in your chest. You'd grown to hate her, plain and simple. Her recent proximity to your cousin had always baffled you. He wasn’t perfect, but surely, he could do better.

“I’m surprised.”

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, reaching for another wing. But then he stopped, like whatever he was thinking was messing with his head.

“What happened?” You asked, trying to sound more curious, concerned, than nosy.

You weren’t sure if he’d tell you, but the look on his face made it clear something big had gone down.

He hesitated, debating whether to answer. Finally, he sighed. “She... started a rumor about you.”

Your head jerked back in surprise. “About me?”

“Yeah,” he grimaced like he’d swallowed something sour. “She said you passed out at the beach cleanup and decided to spread some bullshit about you doing drugs.”

You just stared at him. “She what?”

You weren’t sure why you were so surprised.

You knew what she was capable better than anyone, especially when she was bored out of her mind.

“I didn’t believe it,” he added quickly, his tone defensive, as if that made it better. “I told her to shut the fuck up about it, but you know how she is. She thought it was funny.”

“Funny?” Your voice was sharp now, “She thought it was funny to spread lies about me? About drugs? What the fuck?”

“Yeah, it’s so messed up. That’s why I’m not talking to her. I told her if she couldn’t act like a fucking decent human being, we were done.”

You blinked, stunned.

You weren’t sure what shocked you more—the fact that Ruthie had stooped so low or that Topper had finally stood up to her. You shook your head, biting back another nasty comment about how awful she was. You’d been saying it for months, and he hadn’t listened.

No point in beating a dead horse now.

“It’s about time you saw what she’s really like. She’s really bad fuckin’ news, Top. Always has been.”

He gave a low grunt, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the counter. “Yeah. Took me long enough, huh?”

You didn’t answer, just raised an eyebrow and sipped your water.

“She’s always been weird about Sarah,” Topper muttered, almost to himself. “Even when we were together, she’d find these ways to dig at her. Like that one time at Midsummers—”

“—When she ‘accidentally’ spilled her drink on Sarah’s dress,” you finished, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, I remember. She’s always had this thing about trying to one-up her. Honestly, it’s so pathetic. But you never listen to me, so.”

“Okay, ouch.” He threw a crumpled napkin at you, which you easily dodged. “I listen to you sometimes.”

“Do you, though?” You gave him a pointed look.

“Yeah, I do!” Topper protested, though the whine in his voice made him sound more like the teenager he used to be, back when he’d follow you around during family holidays like a puppy. “Just… selectively.”

“Selective listening isn’t listening, dumbass. You’re just proving my point.”

He narrowed his eyes at you but didn’t answer, reaching for another wing instead. He took a bite, chewing dramatically, as if the exaggerated crunch would somehow end the conversation.

“Look, I’ve been saying for months that Ruthie’s bad news. Since she showed up at last year’s Christmas party wearing a dress identical to Sarah’s, just in a different color. You thought that was a coincidence?”

Topper groaned, dropping the wing. “Okay, fine, you’re right. Are you happy now? Can you stop rubbing it in?”

You grinned, propping your chin on your hand.

“Oh, I could. But what kind of older cousin would I be if I didn’t remind you how often you’re wrong?”

“You’re not that much older than me.”

You shrugged. “Old enough to know better than to date someone that awful.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a genius. I get it.” He looked over at you again, his gaze softer, this time, “But seriously, you’ve been off lately. If there’s something going on, you can tell me, y’know? We’re family, even if I don’t listen to you half the time,” he added with a small smile, though his eyes were searching, hoping you’d let him in.

It would be so easy to tell him the truth—that you were pregnant, scheduled for an abortion in six days, and drowning in uncertainty and dread.

But he was still Rafe’s best friend, and the risk of this ever reaching him was too high. Instead, you forced a lightness into your voice.

“Nothing I can’t handle. And right now, I desperately need the bathroom.”

He looked at you skeptically, not fooled for a second.

“You’re really okay?” he pressed, his voice dropping to a level that told you he wasn’t going to let this go easily, "I texted and called before, you didn't answer. Thought you were resting from the scare."

You’d been having such a calm, easy time with Sarah, you almost forgot about everything else. The thought of picking up the phone, letting all that anxiety and worry back in, just wasn’t appealing—so you’d ignored his calls, but not on purpose. You were doing him a favor.

You plastered on a smile and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder as you passed. “I promise, I’m fine. Just felt a little light-headed and needed some peace."

His eyes narrowed slightly, unconvinced. “That’s all?”

You forced a giggle, hoping it would sound more genuine than it felt. “Yes, Dr. Thornton. Just needed to eat more or drink water or whatever the fuck it is you’re always telling me to do.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, crossing his arms, watching you closely. “Because you’ve never just fainted before.”

“I guess there’s a first time for everything. Besides, don’t you think I’d tell you if something serious was wrong?”

It took everything to maintain eye contact, your stomach twisting at the lie. He was family, and you wanted to trust him, to let him help you. But you couldn’t. He hadn’t even told you about Rafe and Sofia until you found out by yourself.

Topper tilted his head, considering you, then sighed and gave a reluctant nod. “Alright, fine.”

“Okay, if you’re done being weird,” You pushed back from the counter, grabbing your glass. “I gotta pee,” you announced casually, as if this was the most normal interjection in the world. The wings were good, but running away was tempting. And also, the pregnancy had made your bladder a ticking time bomb, and you really didn’t want to risk any accidents. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

You offered him one last smile, hoping it was convincing enough. He whined some sarcastic comment about your water consumption as you hurried away, but you barely heard him.

All you thought about was the blessed relief that awaited on the other side of that door.

You didn’t usually spend this much time with Top nowadays—your own tendency to avoid “close” family drama—but tonight had been oddly… nice.

Even if you wanted to wrap your hands around his neck half the time. Even if you hated lying to him. If he’d just pushed a little harder, maybe you would’ve folded, let it all spill right there in the kitchen.

Every time you thought you’d come to a decision, another doubt would take over you, leaving you back at square one. You knew what you wanted, so why was this so hard?

Topper had looked at you with such genuine concern back there. The “if you need me, I’m here” sentiment was the same one you’d grown up with, the kind of care only a cousin, practically a sibling, could have.

This was hard.

When you came back into the kitchen after taking your sweet time in the bathroom you immediately noticed something was off.

Topper was by the counter, staring at the half-eaten pile of wings by the table like they’d personally offended him. He looked paler, too—almost like he’d seen a ghost.

“Uh…” You stopped mid-step, furrowing your brow. “What’s with the stupid face? Did the wings betray you or something?”

He jolted slightly, as if he hadn’t even heard you come in. “What? No. No, the wings are fine. Great. Amazing, even.”

“Okay…” You gave him a skeptical look, setting your glass down and crossing your arms.

Topper laughed, but it was this oddly nervous, stilted sound. He glanced at his phone, tapping the screen for no real reason, then shoved it into his pocket.

“You know what, though? I totally forgot—I have something planned. Like, super important. In about… ten minutes.”

You stared at him, unimpressed. “You forgot you had plans? Sounds fake, but okay.”

“So unlike me!” He got up from his chair with such sudden energy that it made you take a step back. “Anyway, I should really get going. Don’t want to be late. Uh, thanks for… hanging out. And for, uh, letting me use your wings as a form of therapy. Yeah. Later!”

And with that, he was sprinting for the door.

“Topper!” you called after him, confused and mildly annoyed. “What the hell is going on? You’re acting fuckin’ weird!”

“Nope, not weird! Just busy!” he shot back over his shoulder, not even looking at you as he opened the door.

You didn’t have time to yell at him before he disappeared out the door, the sound of his Jeep starting up echoing from the driveway a moment later. You stood there bewildered, staring at the now-empty doorway.

Something was definitely up. He was many things—dramatic, stubborn, occasionally insufferable—but shifty wasn’t usually one of them.

You went back to the kitchen, glancing at the counter, ready to brush off his weird exit as just another of his dramatics, when your eyes landed on a random envelope— the one you’d been using to scribble down everything lately.

Extra small grocery lists, reminders, and, unfortunately, the number for the abortion clinic.

Rafe’s fingers curled loosely around the tumbler of bourbon, eyes set on nothing in particular. The lunch rush was winding down, country club regulars filing out.

He’d been there for over an hour—first, the meeting, listening to those finance guys ramble on about numbers, projections, all that bullshit he usually liked to hear.

He’d faked his interest well enough, but his mind had been miles away. Mostly thinking about you. And the company, of course, because that was his priority right now. Or, it should be.

The whole thing with you, three days ago, it was a slow-mind-burning headache he couldn’t ignore, even if he wanted to. And he had wanted to, tried to, in fact.

He took another slow sip, hardly tasting the bourbon. Across the room, Sofia was working between tables, balancing trays and forcing her best country club smile.

All he saw when he looked at her was you, it only made him force down another swallow, running his thumb over the rim of the glass, mind somewhere between the company projections and the mess he’d made of things with you.

It was ridiculous that you were still in his head. He should be thinking about that deal, about locking down his place in the Cameron empire.

Rafe pushed the glass aside, signaling for the check when something caught his ear—a conversation from a nearby table.

“Yeah, she actually passed out the other day. Pathetic.” The voice was loud, sneering.

A dude’s voice followed, fake sympathy dripping from his tone. “I heard she was a fuckin’ mess after the whole breakup.”

“Oh, totally.” A different girl laughed, high-pitched and cruel. “She’s probably on something. Can you blame her? I’d be desperate too if he dumped me.”

It didn’t take a fucking genius to know who they were talking about. Small town and all, of course, things got around, mostly turning into half-truths and petty rumors.

He stopped all his movements, jaw clenching. His fingers tightened around the edge of the table, the only thing keeping him from breaking something, preferably bones.

They were talking about you.

About some made-up version of you, the fact that these spoiled, airheaded brats thought they could shit talk about you like that, rip you apart for fun just because you weren’t there to defend yourself made him sick.

He pushed his chair back and stood, crossing the room with long strides. He didn’t care about the eyes following him as he walked up to their table, the laughter stopping the moment they looked up and saw the look on his face.

“What did you just say?”

The girl who’d been laughing, a petite brunette with too much makeup and a self-satisfied smirk, blinked up at him, her smile faltering.

“Oh, Rafe! We didn’t see you there. We were just…joking around,” she stammered, trying to backpedal.

“Joking?” He laughed, the sound making them flinch. “That what you call it? Spreading some bullshit rumor because it’s all your pathetic little lives have to offer?”

The brunette’s face went red. “I mean, we all heard about it. I’m just saying what everyone’s already thinking—”

His fists clenched and his patience, already thin, snapped the second he heard the guy—one of those trust fund preps with an overdone tan and a too-tight polo—chime in.

“Oh, come on, dude,” the guy smirked, leaning back in his chair, feigning nonchalance. “It’s not like she’s worth all that trouble, is she?”

His entire body went rigid, and before he registered it, he was leaning down, letting them feel the weight of his glare.

“Say that shit again,” Rafe taunted him, something almost amused twisting at the edge of his mouth, daring him to keep talking. “I’d love to hear you repeat yourself.”

“Relax, man—”

He didn’t even let him finish, eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a near whisper, more dangerous than shouting ever could be.

“You think it’s funny? Talking about someone who’s not even here to defend herself?”

The guy’s face paled, and Rafe swore he was seconds away from landing a punch, from wiping that smug grin off his face. Just as he prepared his fist, ready to make good on his threat, he felt a hand on his arm, a small, insistent tug.

“Rafe,” a soft voice hissed. Sofia. He barely glanced at her, shrugging off her grip.

“Don’t,” he snapped, his voice sharp, dismissive.

He kept his eyes on the guy, who looked more uncomfortable by the second, squirming in his seat.

Sofia’s hand still hovering near his arm, cautious now. “Rafe, come on, this isn’t worth it. You’re better than this.”

She looked scared. Scared of him, scared of the situation. He wasn’t better than this.

He’d never been, and he’d been good enough at lying and pretending for her even to think that.

You would’ve known better.

Fuck, you wouldn’t have wasted time talking.

You would’ve yanked him back by his collar, shoved yourself between him and the guy, shot him that warning glare, daring him to keep pushing you so you’d have to drag him out by force. You always knew when he’d get like this, that edge in his voice, that look in his eye that told you he was seconds away from snapping. You knew better than anyone how to pull him back when he hit that switch.

But you’d never bothered with gentle.

Sofia’s eyes darted around the room, clearly embarrassed, maybe even afraid of drawing attention. He knew this wasn’t fair to her, that she hadn’t signed up for this part of him—the anger, the unpredictability. It wasn’t in his nature to stay silent, to ignore things and walk away.

He could almost see it—feel it, like a familiar bruise under his skin. You’d shove him hard enough that he’d stumble back, half-pissed and half-shocked. You’d get in his face, not even close to scared, cutting through his spiral. “What the hell is wrong with you, Rafe? You wanna end up in jail over some loser? Grow up.”

If you’d been here, you wouldn’t have given him a choice. You’d have grabbed his arm and dragged him away, kept a grip on him until he’d snapped out of whatever dark place he’d dropped into. You’d push him until he finally let go, forced him to come down from that blinding fury and face the mess he’d just caused. It was the only way he’d ever been able to listen—when you pushed him to wake up, forced him to look at himself and see just how reckless, just how stupid he was about to be.

But Sofia? She had no idea.

She thought saying “you’re better than this” was going to do anything, that with a light touch and some empty words, he’d suddenly be calm, reasonable, soft.

But he’d never been that way, never with you, never with anyone.

She hadn’t done anything wrong; she’d just seen the version of him he’d wanted her to see. The version he’d put together, patched up and polished, all so he could convince himself he was something he wasn’t.

With her, it was easy to pretend. He could smooth his sharp edges, show her just enough of himself to keep her interested without letting her close enough to see the mess underneath.

He’d let her believe he was the kind of guy who could just calm down, let things slide. The kind of guy who’d listen. He’d wanted her to believe he was controlled, calm. Sofia’s softness had appealed to him, but now, it only highlighted the differences between them.

With you, he’d never had the luxury of pretending.

You’d seen through him from the start, never let him get away with putting on some act.

You hadn’t let him pretend to be better than he was, hadn’t let him off easy when he’d tried to brush things off or shut down. You knew every side of him, even the ones he’d rather ignore. You’d always known exactly who he was, who he wasn’t, and you’d never been afraid to remind him.

He didn’t want to let it go, didn’t want to give the guy an inch of leeway to think he’d won this. Rafe sighed and released his grip, his hand falling from the table as he finally stepped back. Sofia relaxed, giving him a relieved smile, but it only made him feel emptier.

“You talk about her again and I’ll fucking kill you, you hear me?”

The guy sputtered, looking down, embarrassed and shaken. He muttered something under his breath that sounded like an apology, but Rafe didn’t care enough to hear it.

Sofia’s hand was still on his tail when he left, and as soon as he walked out of earshot of the table, she followed him, crossing her arms. Her eyes narrowed with an expression he’d never seen from her —disbelief.

“What was that?”

Everything.

Rafe didn’t speak. He was staring past her, back at the group, mind far from the confrontation and miles away with thoughts of you. She seemed to notice, her lips pressing together.

“I can’t believe you did that. You threatened to kill him, Rafe. Over what, a stupid rumor?”

A stupid rumor? She was making him feel like he was out of control, irrational—even though he couldn’t explain why this mattered so much.

“You wouldn’t get it. It’s not your problem.”

She flinched a little, her face falling, but to her credit, she didn’t look away. “You’re right. I don’t get it. Tell me.”

He wanted to believe that it could work with Sofia.

Nice girl, pretty too. She laughed at his jokes, and she didn’t call him out on his bullshit, because she didn’t even know that side of him existed. On paper, she was perfect. But she wasn't you.

He looked back at her, her worried eyes scanning his face.

It was frustrating—seeing the fear, feeling her judgment when she didn’t even know what she was judging.

To her, this was just some meaningless outburst, something he could turn on and off at will. This wasn’t her fault. He knew that. He hated how this wasn’t something he couldn't put into words, not in any way that would make sense to her.

“Forget it, alright?” his tone was harsher than he meant.

Sofia shook her head, clearly not willing to let it drop this time.

“Why would you get so worked up over something like this?"

To her, that’s all this was—just noise, harmless, inconsequential.

She looked up at him expectantly, her brows furrowed in confusion, waiting for some reasonable answer.

And it pissed him off, how she kept waiting, expecting him to offer some calm, measured response when he didn’t even understand it himself.

Sofia’s eyes softened, but it only irritated him further.

“She’s nice,” Her words drifted out casually like she didn’t know she’d just cracked him open. “She defended me, last week, when I was serving brunch.”

He couldn’t stop the self-loathing.

You had always been that way—ready to defend anyone, even when you were the one hurting. Rafe winced, hating himself for it, hating that you could still be so good even after everything. He swallowed hard, keeping his expression blank.

“Did she?” he muttered, trying to sound indifferent.

“Yeah,” Sofia replied, watching his reaction with mild curiosity. “Guess I wouldn’t have expected that.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched, that familiar hurt in his chest.

His mind was already conjuring all the times you’d jumped in, backed people up, and called out anyone who crossed a line. Even when it came to people you barely knew.

It made him feel like the worst person in the world, knowing that you’d been there for Sofia of all people, that you’d shown her that same loyalty. It made him hate himself even more.

His phone buzzed, saving him from the inevitable conversation, his hand brushed the side of his face as he glanced down at the unknown number flashing across the screen. He didn’t hesitate, before swiping the answer button.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Cameron, this is Dr. Harris from the hospital,” the voice on the other end said. “We’ve been trying to reach Miss Thornton about the blood work results from her visit three days ago. Unfortunately, there’s been an issue with our system and a few patient’s data has been deleted, except for the emergency contact information.”

Rafe’s stomach dropped.

He was still your emergency contact, not by choice probably. The hospital was calling about your blood work.

Was something wrong?

His blood ran cold. “Is she okay? Did something happen?” The urgency in his tone made Sofia’s eyes widen again, her confusion growing.

“We’re concerned about a possible infection. We need to run more tests to rule it out, but the symptoms suggest it could be more complicated. We must check thoroughly to be sure.”

“An infection?”

“Yes, but it could be nothing serious. We just need her to come in as soon as possible for a follow-up,” Dr. Harris explained.

There was a pause as if he expected Rafe to say something reassuring or offer to pass on the message.

Sofia’s brows knitted together as she watched him. “Rafe?”

“I’ll tell her,” he said, the words cracked in his throat. The doctor thanked him and hung up.

He stared at the phone waiting for it to ring again with more news, a reassurance that this wasn’t as serious as it sounded.

You probably hadn’t changed your emergency contact because it slipped your mind.

He couldn’t stand the idea that something could be wrong, and he was not the one you called when you needed someone. All he’d ever done was mess things up between you.

“What’s going on?”

How the fuck was he going to tell you when you'd blocked him everywhere?

He couldn’t call, couldn’t text, couldn’t even show up unannounced without risking the usual argument that would end with you screaming at him to get out, or worse, you looking at him with that unforgiving stare.

He knew you’d locked every door, bolted every window to keep him out, and he deserved it.

“It’s nothing,” he said, the lie slipping out automatically. He could feel her studying him, waiting for another explanation he also didn’t have the patience to give.

Maybe Topper could help.

The irony wasn’t lost on him—he’d given your cousin the mission of checking in on you, playing the careful messenger while Rafe kept his distance. That was supposed to be him.

But the reality was you hated him now, hated him enough that Topper was a safer option and yet, the private information still landed on his lap. As if he still had the right to be in your orbit, let alone the person trusted with this kind of news.

It felt wrong.

He knew you were going to hate him even more for still having access to your private details. It wasn’t really his fault—the hospital called him. He should have hung up the moment the hospital mentioned your name, told them they had the wrong guy. But he didn’t. He listened.

“If you need to go—” she started, trailing off when he didn’t answer. Her voice softened, tentative. “It’s about her, isn’t it?”

Rafe’s jaw ticked, and he looked away, out at the horizon where the sun was setting. “Yeah,” he muttered, not bothering to lie this time.

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard. He typed something out, then deleted it, then typed again.

Finally, he just went with the simplest thing he could think of and hit send.

Can we meet up? Tannyhill in 30. I think I know what’s wrong.

He half-expected some lame excuse or joke from Topper. Instead, the text he got made the deep lines across his forehead make an appearance.

Shit, you do???

Did the fucker already know?

Did he suspect? Or was this just the kind of baited question someone asked when they thought they were the last to know something big?

He frowned, gripping the phone tighter.

If Topper did know, why hadn’t he said anything?

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige

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@serrendiipty @sunny1616 @yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog

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@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

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theonottsbxtch · 1 month ago

Text

I LOVED YOU FIRST PT2 | FC43

part one

an: not even gonna leave an an, i always had a part two lol

wc: 5.2k

Franco found out she was dating Angelo via an Instagram story. A fucking Instagram story.

But that was almost three years ago now, and Franco tried to let it go, god did he try. He was getting married now, after all. He had to forget about what could have been.

The engagement ring on his finger felt heavier than it should. Not because he hadn’t once thought it was right—he had. Or maybe he just convinced himself it was right. They’d been together for four years, maybe more, he stopped counting. She was beautiful, poised, easy to love, easy to fit into his world. That’s what he’d told himself, anyway.

But now, standing in the grand suite of the London hotel they’d rented for the weekend, Franco stared out the window at the city below, watching the lights flicker in the distance. He hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that something was missing. Not that he had any right to be questioning it. After all, he was about to get married, wasn’t he?

The last three years had been a blur of wins, podiums, and post-race parties. Formula 1 had been a dream realised, his face plastered across billboards in every country, every magazine with his name next to the headlines. He’d travelled the world, earned millions, lived a life many envied. But somewhere along the way, his heart had wandered.

And the truth was, despite the glamour, despite the fame, the money, he couldn’t shake the thought of her. The way she’d looked when she told him she loved him first. The way her eyes had glistened with unshed tears that night in Monza—before she left for good. The way she’d walked away, no longer the girl he took for granted. It was like he could still see her disappearing down the hallway of the hotel, leaving him behind, a shadow in her past.

What if I had chosen her?

He thought about that too often. But it was too late. She was gone. She’d moved on with Angelo, the guy who was everything Franco wasn’t—steady, grounded, someone who could give her a love that wasn’t tied to racing, fame, or endless, mind-numbing travel. And that fucking Instagram story—her laughing, the two of them in a café in Buenos Aires, arms around each other, looking so effortlessly happy—had been the final blow.

That was the last straw.

And now, three years later, here he was—about to get married, with the wrong person. He should have been thrilled, but something about it gnawed at him, like he was suffocating in a life that wasn’t his own. She was everything he thought he wanted. She’d followed him to every race, always the perfect girlfriend, the perfect partner. But the truth was, he wasn’t sure he loved her anymore. He wasn’t sure he ever had.

She had been the easy option. She fit into the world he’d built for himself—the shiny, public life, the world of sponsorships and media appearances. She had the right background, the right education, the right looks. She was what was expected of him. What people saw when they looked at a successful F1 driver: the perfect match, the ideal woman.

But the reality was that whenever he closed his eyes, he saw someone else. He saw her. The girl from that small village in Argentina, the one who’d loved him first and probably would, even when he didn’t deserve it. Even when he hadn’t been able to see it for what it was.

He hadn’t thought about her for a while—not in the sense that would make him ache, not the way he used to. He’d buried that pain under the chaos of the last few years. But it was like a low hum in the back of his mind. Every time he saw Angelo’s name pop up, or when he’d hear a new story about her from people back home, he couldn’t help but wonder how her life had turned out. Was she happy? Was she still with Angelo? Was she finally over him?

He could only imagine the life she’d built without him—the kind of life she deserved.

But now, standing on the edge of a new chapter of his life, Franco wondered if he’d ever be able to move on. Because, no matter how many laps he raced, no matter how many trophies he collected, it always came back to her. And now, with his wedding on the horizon, he couldn’t help but ask himself: What the hell had he been doing this whole time?

His phone buzzed on the table, snapping him back to the moment. His fiancée. A text: “Hey, I made reservations for dinner tonight!”

He sighed and stared at the screen of his phone, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

He knew he shouldn’t, it was ridiculous. It was stupid. He had no right to send her an invitation, not after everything. He hadn’t heard from her in so long, hadn’t even thought about reaching out beyond those painful Instagram stories and the passing updates from mutual friends.

But, for some reason, there he was—typing out an invitation to his wedding.

It’s the right thing to do, he told himself. She was a part of his past. She had been the first person to love him unconditionally. They’d spent too many years growing up together not to extend an olive branch. Besides, she had a life now, a life without him. Maybe it was selfish to think she would even want to come, but maybe, just maybe, she deserved to know. She deserved to hear it from him, the way things had turned out.

He hit “send” before he could overthink it any more. The words felt hollow as they left his phone, but there was no going back now.

It was a quiet afternoon in Buenos Aires. The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a soft, golden light through the windows of their apartment. She and Angelo had just finished dinner—nothing fancy, just pasta and wine—and now she was curled up on the couch with a book in her lap, one of the many cosy rituals they had settled into over the past couple of years.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table. She glanced at it, seeing a notification from her email app. The subject line made her pause.

Wedding Invitation: Franco Colapinto.

She blinked, feeling her chest tighten before she even opened it. It had been so long since she’d thought about him—since Monza, really. It was a chapter of her life that had closed the moment she walked away. But the sight of his name brought it all rushing back. The summers spent racing bikes down dirt roads, his smile so effortless, so wide. The way he’d looked at her before everything changed.

Slowly, she opened the email, feeling a strange mixture of nostalgia and disbelief.

I hope this message finds you well. It’s been a while since we last spoke, but I wanted to reach out and invite you to something important. I’m getting married in three months' time, and I wanted to personally invite you to be a part of the day. It wouldn’t feel right without including you.

I understand if you’re unable to come, but I thought it was important to extend the invitation.

I hope everything is going well in your life.

All the best,

Fran

She stared at the message for what felt like an eternity, the words swimming in her mind. There were so many things she could have said, but the only thing she could focus on was the feeling of her heart, beating a little faster than it should. A soft ache settled in her chest.

Three years had passed. She had moved on, found a life she was proud of—one that was stable and calm, filled with love from Angelo, whose steady hand had never wavered, who had been everything Franco couldn’t be. She had built a future, and it was more than she had ever expected for herself.

And yet, the invitation sat there, a reminder of what had been. Of the boy she had loved, the boy who had never truly seen her. Of the boy who she had walked away from.

She set the phone down for a moment, leaning back against the couch. Angelo’s gentle snoring filled the living room from the slightly ajar door, a quiet reminder of the life they had made together—together, with no ghosts of the past lingering between them. But even as she sat there, she could feel the sting of Franco’s message, the painful reminder of how much had been left unsaid.

She thought about the wedding. How strange it felt to be invited to something so intimate, something so final. It was a life she would never be a part of. A life that wasn’t hers to claim, never was. But part of her, deep down, still wondered what had happened. Was he happy? Was this really the life he wanted? Or was this just another easy option for him? Another decision made out of convenience?

Why am I even asking myself this?

She shook her head, her lips curling into a rueful smile. She knew she didn’t want to go. There was no reason to go back to that part of her life, not now. Not when everything she had built with Angelo was exactly where it needed to be.

The following morning, the soft clink of Angelo’s keys echoed through their small kitchen as he got his things ready for work. He was already dressed in his crisp suit, his tie neatly adjusted, preparing for another day at the law firm. She, on the other hand, was in her scrubs, packing her bag for her shift at the hospital.

She was tying her trainers when she saw him glance at her, his eyes focused on his phone.

“Hey,” he said, his voice casual but tinged with curiosity. “You seem a little quiet this morning.”

She shrugged, setting her bag down on the counter. “I’m fine. Just tired, I guess.”

It was only a half-lie. She had hardly slept last night after receiving Franco’s invitation. The words had stuck with her, gnawing at her thoughts, replaying in her mind like a loop she couldn’t escape.

“What’s up?” Angelo asked, watching her intently, his brow furrowing slightly.

She hesitated, then sighed and reached for her phone, pulling up the email Franco had sent her. She handed it to him without a word.

Angelo read it in silence, his eyes scanning the screen. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. She wasn’t sure what to expect, but somehow, she already knew that he would have an opinion on it.

Finally, he set the phone down and looked at her, his expression unreadable for a moment. “He’s getting married, huh? I didn;’t believe it when I saw it on the news.” he said softly.

“Yeah,” she replied quietly, as if the words themselves felt like an admission. “I guess he thought I should know.”

“You’re not planning on going, are you?” Angelo asked, his voice laced with concern.

She shook her head, biting her lip. “He��s my past now. It doesn’t matter. It’s… it’s not something I need to revisit.”

Angelo nodded, his eyes softening as he stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair from her face. He knew how much Franco had meant to her—how he had once been the centre of her world. But that was years ago. And he had never once doubted that she was now his world.

“I haven’t seen Franco since we were sixteen,” Angelo said, his tone thoughtful. “I know things between you and him ended... well, the way they did. But maybe it might be good to go. For closure. For you, if nothing else.”

She met his eyes, her gaze wavering. “Closure?” she repeated, almost incredulously. “I don’t need closure, Angelo. I moved on a long time ago.”

“I know,” Angelo said, his voice gentle but firm. “But I think sometimes it’s easy to say we’ve moved on, that we’re over things. But there are pieces of our past that stick with us, no matter how much time passes. Maybe seeing him—seeing that life—will help you put the final chapter behind you. Don’t you think?”

She was quiet for a long moment, turning the idea over in her head. It made sense, in a way. The past had never quite been put to rest, even if she had buried it deep. Maybe it wasn’t about Franco anymore. Maybe it was about facing what had happened, about finding peace with it, once and for all.

“I don’t know,” she murmured, shaking her head. “I don’t want it to mess with what we have, Angelo. I don’t want to go and be reminded of something that doesn’t exist anymore.”

Angelo smiled softly, taking her hand in his. “It won’t. I promise. You’re the one I want, mi amor You’re the one who matters. Whatever happened back then, whatever Franco was, that’s not us. It’s not our life. But if this is something you think you need to do, then I’ll be there with you. I want you to have the closure you need.”

She felt a warmth spread through her chest at his words. Angelo had always been like that—steady, understanding, and so patient with her. He never pushed her to forget, but he also didn’t hold her to the past. He was the one who made her feel safe, who built her the life she was proud of, and the thought of him beside her through whatever this was made her feel like she could take on anything.

With a slow, hesitant breath, she met his eyes. “You’re right. Maybe it would be good to go. I don’t know what I’ll feel when I see him, but I think... I think I can handle it now.”

Angelo smiled, squeezing her hand. “Then we’ll go. Together.”

She nodded, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders. The decision was made, and it was time to let go of the last remnants of the past. Franco and his life—whatever that was now—could stay in the past, but she wouldn’t be running from it anymore.

“Thanks,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. “For always being here.”

“Always,” Angelo replied, his voice warm. “Now go. You don’t want to be late for your shift.”

She smiled at him one last time before grabbing her bag and heading for the door. The wedding was still months away, but somehow, her world felt just a little bit more at peace now.

Three months later

The morning of the wedding, the soft rays of the sun filtered through the curtains of their hotel suite, casting a warm, golden glow across the room.

She stood in front of the mirror, smoothing down the fabric of her dress as Angelo adjusted his cufflinks in the reflection behind her. The air was filled with a quiet sense of anticipation. It had been a few months since she agreed to come to the wedding, and now, standing in this luxurious hotel in the heart of the Mediterranean, she could feel the surrealness of it all.

She was here. With him. With Angelo.

He caught her gaze in the mirror, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “You look beautiful,” he said, his voice tender.

She smiled back, her heart swelling with a quiet joy. Angelo was always so calm, so steady, and he knew exactly how to make her feel loved without needing to say much. The simple moments like this were the ones that made her certain that their life together, their future, was the right one.

“Thank you,” she said, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. He was perfect in every way. “You look handsome, as usual,” she added with a smile.

He chuckled softly. “I try,” he teased, adjusting the hem of his suit jacket before stepping forward to take her hand. “Are you ready for this? I know it’s been a long time coming.”

She nodded, squeezing his hand. “Yeah. I’m ready. It’s just… it’s strange. You know? We’re not the same people we were three years ago. And I feel like I’m finally letting go of that past. I just need to do it, for me. And for us.”

“Whatever you need, you have it,” Angelo said, his voice unwavering, filled with a quiet strength.

She smiled at him, grateful for his support. They had come so far, and no matter what happened today, she knew she was in the right place.

“I’m going to step outside for a second,” she said, pulling away from him gently. “I’m going to grab a photo of the schedule. I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time,” Angelo replied, watching her with those warm, reassuring eyes.

She stepped into the corridor of the hotel, her heels clicking against the polished floor. She pulled out her phone, navigating to the event details to snap a photo of the ceremony’s schedule. The hallway was quiet, save for the distant chatter of guests below and the hum of preparations for the wedding in the distance. The excitement was palpable in the air, but in this moment, everything felt calm.

That was until she heard the faint sound of footsteps approaching from behind.

She turned around, feeling her heart give a small, unexpected jolt when she saw him.

Franco.

He was standing there, half-dressed in a black tuxedo with his shirt untucked, sleeves rolled up, his tie still loose around his neck. He looked just like he did three years ago—handsome, dishevelled in the way that made him seem effortlessly charming.

Her stomach tightened.

“You came,” he said, his voice soft with surprise.

She stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say, before forcing a calm smile. “I said I would,” she replied evenly. Her heart beat just a little faster, but she kept her expression neutral.

He looked at her, his gaze a little more intense than she remembered, and she couldn’t quite place the mix of emotions flickering in his eyes. There was something unspoken there, something she hadn’t expected.

“I didn’t think you’d follow through,” he added, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

She didn’t know what to make of that. She shrugged. “I thought I’d at least be polite.”

A silence stretched between them, uncomfortable and thick with everything that had been left unsaid over the years. Franco’s gaze drifted toward the floor for a moment before he looked back up at her, his jaw tense, and his voice was almost pleading when he spoke.

“Can we talk?” he asked, his words hesitant.

She hesitated, feeling her pulse quicken. She didn’t want this. Didn’t want to go back to the past—didn’t want to open that door again.

“I’d rather not,” she said, her tone firm, though her heart was beating harder than she cared to admit.

Franco’s expression softened. “It’s been three years. Three years overdue, don’t you think?”

She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply, the weight of everything hanging between them. She didn’t owe him anything, and yet, a part of her—perhaps the part that had loved him—knew there was still something lingering. Something that she hadn’t been able to shake off.

She finally gave a soft sigh, one that carried all the weariness of the years that had passed. “Fine,” she said quietly, her shoulders sagging slightly in resignation. “But just for a minute. I don’t have time to rehash everything.”

“Thank you,” Franco murmured, stepping forward as he gestured down the hallway. “My room’s just down here. I won’t keep you long.”

They walked down the corridor in silence, the weight of the moment sinking in. She wasn’t sure what she expected from this conversation, but she knew it wasn’t going to be easy. Not for either of them. When they reached his room, Franco opened the door and stepped aside to let her in.

It was a modest suite, far removed from the lavish ceremony unfolding just downstairs. The quiet of the room seemed to accentuate the tension between them. He closed the door behind them, his movements slow and deliberate.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked, his voice distant as he turned to face her. “Water? A drink?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine.”

There was a long pause. He ran a hand through his hair, clearly nervous. For the first time in a long while, he seemed uncertain.

“So…” Franco began, taking a breath, “I guess this is awkward, huh?”

“Yeah,” she replied, her voice steady, but her insides were churning. “A little.”

Before she even had a chance to settle with what she was doing, he shot her straight to the heart with the words that came out of his mouth.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said, his voice quiet. “I know I did, but that wasn’t ever my intention. You were always there for me, and I should’ve done better. I should’ve realised…”

Franco ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that was all too familiar. He seemed to be gathering the courage to say something, but when he spoke, his words were not what she expected.

“I should’ve told you,” he started, voice low, almost regretful. “I should have told you that I loved you.”

She blinked, her chest tightening as she took in the weight of his words. “Don’t,” she said quickly, cutting him off. Her voice was sharp, a defence mechanism against the rawness he was trying to expose. “You can’t do that. You can’t come here and say things like that after all this time. It’s... it’s mean.”

Franco’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t back down. “I should’ve told you,” he repeated, his voice thick with something she couldn’t quite place—guilt, perhaps? Regret?

She shook her head, unable to stop herself from responding. “Why are you still with her, then?” Her voice trembled slightly, the question feeling more like a challenge than a simple inquiry. She thought of how excited she must be right now getting ready, while he was confessing his love to his childhood best friend. She wondered whether she knew.

He didn’t answer right away, and when he did, his eyes flickered away, as though he was ashamed of the truth he was about to speak. “It’s easier to pretend to love her,” he admitted, his voice flat. “It’s easier than facing the truth.”

“Than what?” she asked, her words cutting through the air, her eyes locking onto his. “Than admitting you love me?”

The silence that followed was deafening. Franco’s eyes darkened, and he stepped closer, a hesitation lingering between them. He opened his mouth, but instead of speaking, he exhaled deeply, as if trying to gather the strength to continue.

“You don’t understand,” he said softly, voice barely above a whisper. “I was scared. I didn’t know how to handle what I was feeling. I still don’t.”

She looked at him, biting her lip, trying to keep herself from breaking. “You can’t do this,” she said, her voice cracking with frustration. “You don’t get to walk back into my life now and make me feel like I was some... some second choice. You don’t get to say things that undo everything we went through.”

Franco’s gaze darkened, but his next words were even more dangerous. “Say it, and I’ll leave her,” he said, his voice low and intense, as if he were testing her. “Say you want me the same way you wanted me three summers ago, and I’ll do it. I’ll walk away from her. I’ll choose you.”

Her breath caught in her throat, her heart stuttering in her chest. The temptation was there—familiar, painful, and so very dangerous. She could feel that old longing tug at her, the part of her that had loved him so fiercely, so deeply. But this wasn’t that girl anymore. She wasn’t the girl who would wait around for him to realise what he’d lost.

“I can’t,” she whispered, feeling tears prick the corners of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “I can’t do that anymore. I’m happy now. I’m happy with Angelo.”

The words felt heavy on her tongue, and for a moment, it felt like she had to convince herself of them. But as she looked into Franco’s eyes—still searching, still wanting—she realised that she meant it. She really did.

Franco’s face fell, his expression a mixture of frustration and defeat. “You don’t understand,” he said again, the words sounding more like a plea. “I never stopped loving you.”

She took a step back, shaking her head, trying to clear the emotions that were spiralling inside of her. “No,” she said firmly, her voice resolute. “You don’t get to say that, Franco. Not now. Not when I’ve spent three years getting over all of this. You don’t get to come here and break my heart all over again.”

For a long moment, they stood there, the space between them filled with unspoken words and unresolved tension. But it was over. It had to be.

“I can’t undo what happened,” she added softly, her gaze not leaving his. “But I’m not that girl anymore. And I’m not going to be someone’s second choice.”

Franco didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at her as if he was seeing her for the first time. The weight of everything they’d been through hung heavy between them, and it was clear now that nothing could fix it. Not words. Not promises.

She turned to leave, her hand on the doorknob, but before she could step out of the room, she paused, glancing over her shoulder one last time.

“I’m happy now, Fran,” she said quietly, her voice steady despite everything. “And you need to figure out what makes you happy too. But I can’t be part of that anymore.”

She opened the door and stepped out, not looking back, not giving him the chance to say anything more.

The wedding was beautiful.

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a golden hue over the guests who had gathered for the wedding. The ceremony was set to take place on the terrace of the luxurious hotel overlooking the sea, the soft sound of waves lapping against the rocks below barely audible amidst the murmur of excited chatter.

She sat there, a few rows back from the front, Angelo by her side. The venue was beautiful—everything that was supposed to be perfect for a wedding. The guests were in their best attire, the flowers were arranged in pristine perfection, and the atmosphere felt like a dream. But something was off. A low hum of anxiety had been building ever since the music started, and she couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Franco was supposed to be standing at the altar now. But he wasn’t.

She stole a glance at Angelo, who was sitting quietly beside her, a reassuring hand on her knee. He could sense her unease.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice almost drowned out by the gentle clinking of glasses and conversations around them.

She nodded, but her eyes drifted nervously toward the aisle. “I don’t know,” she murmured. “Something feels wrong.”

The minutes dragged on. The officiant glanced at his watch, confusion spreading across his face as he leaned over to whisper something to the bridesmaids. There was no sign of Franco, and the guests were beginning to exchange worried glances. The tension in the air became palpable, the excitement of the ceremony suddenly replaced by a growing sense of discomfort.

After a few more minutes, she couldn’t hold it in any longer. She turned to Angelo, her voice barely above a whisper, but her anxiety was thick in her words. “Do you think he’s going to come?”

Angelo squeezed her hand gently, his gaze soft and understanding. “I don’t know, cariño. Maybe something’s happened. He’s probably just... running late.”

But as they exchanged those quiet words, it became clear that it wasn’t just a delay. The guests were shifting in their seats, some starting to murmur under their breath, the ceremony now holding a sense of surreal anticipation.

And then, just as the whispers reached a crescendo, the sound of footsteps echoed from behind. Everyone turned, their heads swivelling as they saw him—Franco. He was walking down the aisle, his face pale, his expression one of guilt and uncertainty. He wasn’t in a rush, though. It was as if he was taking his time, as though he had already made a decision.

The room fell silent as Franco reached the front. He looked out at the gathering of faces—his family, his friends, all of them waiting for the moment when he would say "I do." But he didn’t speak immediately.

He was struggling with the words, and she could feel the weight of the tension from across the room. Her heart raced, confusion and disbelief washing over her as she watched him take a deep breath, his eyes scanning the crowd before finally locking on the bride’s family sitting in the front row.

“Excuse me,” Franco’s voice broke through the silence, shaky but loud enough for everyone to hear. “I’m sorry for the disruption,” he continued, his eyes darting nervously between the bride and the guests. “I... I can’t do this. I can’t marry her.”

The air seemed to stop in that moment. His words hung like an echo, the shock rippling through the crowd. She couldn’t look away, her heart pounding in her chest as Freddie stood there, his face flushed with embarrassment, his hands trembling at his sides.

“I’m sorry, I thought I could,” he went on, his voice quiet but steady, “but I can’t marry her when I love someone else.” His gaze shifted to her, and for a split second, their eyes met. The pain, the regret, the history of everything they had been—it was all there in that single glance. But she didn’t feel anything but exhaustion. It was like watching someone else’s dream unravel.

The guests were murmuring, unsure of how to respond. His bride, stood by the doors he’d just walked in from, ready to walk down the aisle frozen and unmoving. Shelooked like she was about to collapse, her face pale as she took in the words that no one had expected.

“I’m sorry, I just—” Franco continued, his voice breaking, “I can’t do it. I can’t go through with it. I’m sorry. I—I just can’t.”

Without another word, he turned and began to walk away, stepping down from the altar, leaving the bride standing alone, abandoned in front of everyone.

The room was filled with stunned silence.

Angelo reached for her hand, squeezing it gently as the reality of what had just unfolded sank in. She didn’t know how to feel—didn’t know what to think. Her chest ached with a strange mixture of relief and guilt, but most of all, there was a numbness that began to set in.

And then, just as quickly as Franco had walked away, he was gone, disappearing behind the closed doors of the venue, leaving a trail of shock in his wake. The ceremony was over before it had even begun.

She couldn’t help herself.

The guilt she felt in her stomach was strong.

It was her fault.

the end.

an: actual an, im sorry guys! i was feeling sad so i wrote this muahhah

tags: @obxstiles @charlosvibesonly @zestytimbit @taygrls

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pedgito · 6 months ago

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𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄, 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐍𝐎𝐖 | Joel Miller x reader

summary | set in the world of handsome, dirty, rich. joel is celebrating your one year anniversary with a few surprises. alternatively: how fast can ali turn a new pedro pic into a fic? also, bless @undercoverpena —she set me on a dangerous path with this one.

content warning | sugar daddy!joel, reader has no description other than a vague mention of a dress, thigh riding, borderline public sex/voyeurism, the use of a certain undergarment for pleasure, fingering, established relationship, sneaking around, subtle dom!joel & brat!reader, pure filth i do not apologize, un-beta'd

word count — 2.7k

He’s rented out the entire restaurant. All for you.

It doesn’t dawn on you at first, but as the primly dressed workers attend to you at the door, carefully removing the coat off your shoulders while another guides you toward the table in the corner of the restaurant—the rest of the space was dimly lit, except here. The overhead light casted a warm but pale yellow glow down on the table. Two plush, leather chairs that you were sure cost at least half of your monthly rent—not that you paid that, either. Joel had made sure of that.

You tried to deny it in the beginning, to fend off his constant willingness to make sure you didn’t have to stress or lift a finger when it came to finances—that you could focus on your degree without any outside distractions.

Your relationship was still something kept between the both of you, a sacred bond in a bubble that hadn’t been popped yet. It was perfect, too perfect. And you refused to give that up just yet.

“Really?” You ask, scrunching the dress up near your hips as you take a seat in the pulled out chair, careful that it wouldn’t ride up too high, but it seems futile as the moment you both hit the seat, Joel’s palm is settling between your legs. His palm curls around your left thigh, a comforting gesture he did whenever he had a moment to touch you—it doesn’t move, doesn’t linger too close or too far, it’s just there. You rub your thumb over his knuckles and smile.

“I shoulda told them I wanted the center table, huh?” Joel joked, flashing that perfect smile, his cheek dimpling. “Only the best for my girl.”

“Oh, because the empty restaurant you rented out wasn’t enough?” The playful resonance in your tone makes Joel chuckle, but quickly fades as he sees one of the several waiters approaching.

He orders some fancy bottle of wine you can’t pronounce and you can’t help but stare. He’s so…dressed down, compared to you. A simple white shirt, black jeans that he’s worn on several occasions but always hugging his thighs in a way made your mouth fucking salivate.

You weren’t even five minutes into this date and you were ready to cut short and run, saddle up over his lap in the driver’s seat of his truck and sink down on his cock for a quick five minutes of pure bliss, feeling the full extent and intensity of his love for you in the way he let his guard down in those moments.

The second you’re alone he’s moving his hand from your thigh to the nakedness of your neck, sliding around the back and guiding you toward him, a surprisingly gentle kiss against the column of your throat followed by a soft, “Never enough, baby.”

God, he was in a mood today.

It was nearing a year of making…whatever this was official. It wasn’t asking for your hand in marriage or even to be his girlfriend, just a silent agreement that you both wanted whatever it was that you felt for each other, regardless of labeling it. And that was what worked the easiest for you both. You tried not to think about it too often, the outside distractions and betrayals you were allowing to happen when buying into his attraction to you.

But, right now, that was the last thing on your mind.

Joel does all the ordering—a three course meal of chef’s choice that came with a hefty tip.

So, they were very good at leaving you alone. Just as Joel had requested.

“Did you like your gift?” Joel asks after some time, using the cloth napkin to wipe at his mouth, peering up at you as he forks another piece of food into his mouth.

Gift. You huff a soft laugh through your nose behind closed lips.

“Oh, those—” You roll your eyes playfully, poking at your food with your fork, “yeah—of course.”

And you were absolutely wearing them, just like he asked.

A sleek, lace pair of panties with a matching bralette, but the very obvious bump of a vibrator tucked away in the gusset of your underwear was a dangerous, dangerous game. They didn’t come with a remote but you knew exactly where it was, watching the smile on Joel’s face grow more relaxed as he was on his third cup of wine, but somehow more drunk on the sight of you.

“Wearin ‘em?” Joel asks, just to be sure. “Like I told you?”

“Why don’t you find out, Mr. Miller.”

He hadn’t heard that in a minute, his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek as he reached blindly, but with careful precision for the remote in his pocket.

The buzz startles you at first, but it was faint. You could ignore it easily, so you did.

“Eat up,” You motion to him and his forgotten third-course, a too sweet dessert that neither of you could finish on your own, but you were willing to do anything to distract him, “don’t be rude.”

Joel quirks an eyebrow up and chuckles, “Mouthy tonight? Alright.”

It was a specialty of yours, knowing just the right amount of brattiness to get under Joel’s skin.

The vibration picks up without warning, Joel now leaned back in his chair, left leg crossed over right and his hands resting in his lap, pointedly placed over the obvious growing bulge in his jeans that he was attempting to hide.

You hand grips the table in shock, jostling the silverware slightly.

Another soft laugh from Joel and you shoot daggers in his direction.

“In public? Seriously?”

“We’ve done worse,” He shrugs, “remember that night down at the beach over the summer?”

You did. Very well, in fact.

He had fucked you so hard the ache didn’t go away for a week, right there, on the beach—a group of college kids partying not even less than 20 yards away. You knew they were watching and maybe it was the result of genuine, human curiosity. But, the whistles and shouts—it sent a bolt of excitement down your spine, causing you to squeeze around Joel’s cock as he pumped into you, coming inside of you with your face pressed into the sand.

It wasn’t your proudest moment, but damn did it make the ache between your thighs so much worse as the memory floods your mind and Joel seems to notice you becoming spacey, nudging it up a few more notches and that causes a seering look of warning, teeth gritting as you gripped for his thigh, blunt nails digging in while your other snuck between your thighs, gripping hard on your dress as you squeezed your legs shut against your hand.

“Come here,” Joel says as he beckons with two fingers, curling them in a way you were all too familiar with.

“Joel, not here—” You stress, looking around at the vacant restaurant.

You couldn’t even hear them moving around in the kitchen anymore. You turn back to Joel and he’s still waiting, daring you as he scoots his chair back a few more inches. He offers a hand, gently removing the one gripping his thigh and you feel your body moving against your better judgment, so willing and pliant to his touch.

He maneuvers you until you’re straddling his thigh, hand gripping your waist as he forces you to take a seat, the broadness of his thigh, the taut muscle against the press of the vibrator as it forcefully dug into your already swollen clit. You gasp, gripping the tablecloth in desperation.

“Go on,” Joel encourages, “right here—I already know what you want, baby.”

You used to think he only enjoyed the idea of you using anything but his cock to get yourself off, but you quickly realized that it was your favorite thing to do—it was the only time he got cockier than usual, more teasing, seeing how easily riding his thigh would unravel you. It felt primal, that need for release and it was building in your core, that tingling heat lingering in wait.

“If they come back—”

“They won’t,” He stresses, his voice gruff and low as a palm spreads out over your back, the other one finding its home on your thigh, so dangerously close to the hem of your underwear underneath the silk dress, “slipped them a note—”

“Don’t tell me you t-tipped them so you could get your fuckin’ rocks off in the middle of din—” Joel increases the vibration another level and your jerk, holding back the strangled moan that dared to escape as you cant your hips against his thigh, “fuck, Joel. This is—”

Joel shushes you, fingers crawling up your back until he can grip the back of your neck, holding it tight as he pulls you up, head falling back instinctively against his hand, “Ride it, sweetheart.”

You can’t help the subtle rock of your hips, eyes scanning the room anxiously—you’ve never been this intimate in public, at least not with the looming chance that anyone could walk in and see you; arms spread out to grip the table cloth and Joel’s hands all over you, leaning forward over his leg. The table provided enough cover that unless someone decided to step within a few feet, they couldn’t see anything.

Still, your heart raced.

“Come on,” He teases, the subtle twang to his voice that had you clenching around nothing, the constant hum of the vibrator tucked away in your panties doing nothing to help quell the ache, “I rented out this restaurant for us, asked them to give us some privacy and you’re still feelin’ shy?”

“If someone were to walk by, Joel—”

Joel grips at your neck tighter suddenly, pulling you until his chest is against your back.

“I’ll turn that thing all the way up if I need to and it’ll stay on ‘til we get back home.”

His place, he means. He often called it home because it had become that to you. You had your own place, your own things, but you still found yourself there more often than not. A drawer in his closet tucked away with your belongings, your toiletries tucked away in a cabinet so Sarah wouldn’t ask questions. You’ve become masters of this game of hide and seek, managing to keep this entire thing quiet for close to a year.

Maybe it was just dumb luck.

He adds emphasis on his statement as his other hand slips between your legs and under the silk hem of your dress, palm pressing flat against your cunt and leaving you no room to wiggle away, hips jerking against his touch as you moan out, your hand slapping over your mouth at the sound.

“I’ll give you the next sixty seconds, baby,” Joel warns, glancing down at the shiny Rolex on his wrist, “if you don’t come, it’s gonna be a hell of a ride back.”

As if to make you suffer more, he slips a finger between the wet, sticky fabric of your underwear and over the line of your cunt, dragging through your slick and slipping a finger inside of you wordlessly, angling the vibrator stuffed inside the gusset of your panties against your clit with perfective precision—feeling the throb of your pussy around his fingers, the tight clench of your walls, you find yourself rocking against his thigh mindlessly, desperate to chase that relief.

You couldn’t breathe—the feeling caught in your throat as he lifted his leg only a few centimeters higher, foot raised off his heel, your dress slipping up slightly higher under his grip and allowing him a clear view of your ass, the delicious curve and the black lace that clung to your skin. He could pull his cock out and get himself off there within just a few minutes if he really wanted to and slip himself inside you right as he came, knowing how much you enjoyed being stuffed full of him.

“Attagirl,” He commends you, a grin growing on his face that you unfortunately can’t see, but you feel it—his gaze, the hot press of his hands on your body, “just like that.”

Your eyes fall closed, heading bowing as he releases his hold on your neck to grip at the fabric bunched at your waist, slipping his hand over bare skin, fingertips pressing into the flesh of your waist, aiding in the hurried rock of your hips. The feeling of fullness comes from his fingers when he slips in a second, squeaking out a quiet “Fuck,” as your hand slips, slapping against his other thigh for support, accidently brushing your fingers against the remote tucked away in his pocket and dialing up the vibrator to the max, unknowing that it was only a level off.

“‘’S right there, darlin’,” Joel softens his tone, picking up the pace of his fingers fucking into you, his grip on your hip tighter, undoubtably ruining his jeans for the night, but he clearly didn’t mind.

The feeling builds—the quick and constant stimulation does nothing to help, sending you flying over the edge with a gasp, crying out Joel’s name as he keeps you stuck, pulling out his fingers in an instant and turning off the vibrator, leaving you to wade through the orgasm untouched.

“There you go, baby,” He coos, “makin’ a goddamn mess on my jeans, aren’t you?”

You nod, feeling dizzy as your head spins and your body goes light, whining through the sensitive friction of the denim against your cunt and Joel slides a comforting hand up your spine, rubbing against the middle of your back.

“Still with me, baby?”

You nod quietly, raising your head up slowly.

Joel chuckles lowly, patting gently at your thighs until you turn sideways in his lap. He smiles softly at the disheveled state of you, much less composed than a moment ago.

“What was that about?” You ask after a moment of gentle care, his lips pressing against your neck, chin, before pressing against your lips in the most tame kiss he’s ever given you.

He’s checking in.

“Wanted to cross somethin’ off my list.”

You raise your eyebrows in pleasant surprise, a small laugh bubbling from your chest as you adjust your dress over your chest, “A list? Like…for sex?”

Joel shakes his head, pulling his lips together in a nonchalant frown.

“No—well, there’s some of that on there but…things I wanna do with you.”

“Oh,” Color you intrigued, you push one of his imperfectly styled curls back behind his ear, “care to share?”

Joel swipes a dollop of whipped cream on his fingers and shakes his head, “Where’s the fun in that, baby?” You shrug as he presses the cream to your lips and you open dutifully, allowing him to press the whipped sweetness against your tongue, mixed with the taste of yourself as you close your lips and suck just for show, kissing his fingertip teasingly as he pulls away and pinches playfully at your thigh.

You laugh airily, reaching for your phone on the table as you turn to him, pulling up your camera.

“Wait—you really have to see the look on your face,” Instead of keeping the dumbstruck look on his face, he brings his hands to his mouth in the act of blowing you a kiss and you snap the picture with a smile, letting out a startled yelp as he tips you back slightly, nearly into the table as he angles your body to allow his lips to touch your ear.

“Take those off,” He tells you, “otherwise I’ll be tempted again.”

“No self control, Mr. Miller?”

Joel catches your chin between the thumb and pointer of his left hand, cutting off the small giggle that starts to escape your mouth and his eyes are pensive for a brief moment before softening, “Do as I say, darlin’. We got a long drive back.”

You nod, feeling his thumb swipe over your bottom lip before he’s helping you off his lap, swatting at your ass playfully as your feet hit the floor.

“Yes, sir,” You reply flippantly, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek before you disappear.

Joel smirks to himself as he reaches for his wallet.

You were right, without a doubt.

Joel had no self control when it came to you and he quickly realized that he’d be willing to do just about anything to make you happy.

divider creds: @/saradika-graphics

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #pedro pascal characters #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal #my writing

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wynnyfryd · 1 year ago

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Trailer Park Steve AU part 4

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

September

He doesn’t talk to the Munsons much. (Doesn’t talk to anyone, really, aside from his mom and Robin and that one older woman who keeps renting and returning Gone With The Wind as an excuse to leave her house.) He keeps his head down and his nose clean, doesn’t care to make friends with the neighbors; just wants to get by.

One day Eddie approaches their door, waving a gas bill that got mixed up in their mail, and Steve greets him pleasantly enough.

“Stab anyone today?”

“Eat glass, Harrington.”

So it goes.

Steve watches the world pass and the weather turn, lets the hours bleed into weeks and squeezes his eyes shut against the flashbacks when they threaten to overwhelm.

Things with his mom are weird.

They don’t really speak, preferring to shrug their way past each other with careful, tight-lipped nods, and his mom takes these pills the doctor gave her that keep her perfectly pleasant and calm. Silent. Physically present but not really here.

And he can’t imagine how it feels to be her: Florence Harrington, ripped from the comforts of the upper crust and left to rot in a tin can seven miles across town. She spends most of her time letting out weary little sighs as she swans from room to room, drifting like a shade on the banks of the River Styx. (He can make that reference now because Robin won’t shut up about mythology. “It’s so gay, Steve. The Greeks were literally so gay.”)

Anyway.

Shit’s weird with the kids, too. He still drives them around — lets them loiter at Family Video when it’s slow; hangs around when they need a ride to the arcade or the movies or the skating rink; and he’s still on the hook for ‘ice cream. for. life,’ so…

It’s just not the same.

Like. Not to be dramatic, but who the fuck is Steve Harrington without the house and the pool and the free-for-all fridge? Just some kid with a car and a bat and a punchable face. And he can barely afford to keep the car now, anyway, so pretty soon they won’t need him for that, either. They’ll learn to drive; they’ll get their own jobs. Maybe Lucas builds enough muscle to take over as the party tank.

Maybe it’s better if he shelfs himself now before they realize he’s become obsolete.

“Oh, my god, you’re being pathetic,” he groans to himself. His voice is muffled where he’s lying face down on the couch. Ridiculous behavior, because everything is fine; Steve is fine. In the grand scheme of things where there are monsters and melted corpses and all kinds of crazy, horrible shit?

Yeah.

He’s being obnoxious. It’s a lovely sunny Saturday afternoon with just the right Autumn breeze going — gentle but cool; long sleeve polo weather; his favorite kind — and he’s sitting inside throwing himself a pity party.

Fucking absurd.

…Five more minutes.

Just five more minutes, then he’s getting off this couch.

He gets to a minute and a half when he hears the crunch of tires against the gravel, the clanging of a little bell from the handlebar of a bike, and then:

“STEVE!!!”

And that’ll be Dustin, trying to bang the door off the hinges and piss off the whole park at the same time. Kid’s nothing if not a multitasker. Steve lets another aggrieved groan loose into the couch cushion.

His mom’s out with the car; the lights are all off. Maybe he can just play dead ‘til Dustin leaves? He loves the kid, he really does, but his left ear is full of static, and he just wants to fucking sleep. Or sulk. Or both.

“STEVEN CHRISTOPHER, I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE.”

Jeeeeesus Christ. “Okay, chill,” Steve grumbles as he hauls himself upright and throws open the front door. His limbs feel like lead; there’s drool on his chin. “Wake the whole goddamn neighborhood, why don’t you?”

“It’s two in the afternoon.”

“Yeah, and half the people here work nights.”

“Oh-kayy,” Dustin drags out the word, “but you don’t.”

Ugh. Whatever. He’s not gonna be shamed by a toothless teenager for his depressing loser tendencies. “Did you need something?”

Steve scratches at his belly hair through his shirt, feels a muscle twinge in his shoulder and send a spark of nerve pain skittering up to the base of his skull.

Dustin either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care that Steve’s body is falling apart where he stands, because he just rolls his eyes and says, “Uh, yeah. I need to know why you’re avoiding everyone? Mom’s tried to invite you to dinner six times now.”

“I was working.”

“All six times?” Dustin glares. Steve feels a little pinned by it, feels guilt seeping through the cracks as he fidgets with his bad ear. This kid’s gonna be the scariest lawyer some day. “She’s worried.”

Goddammit.

Guilt squeezes hard behind his ribs; he knows Dustin uses his mom as a mouthpiece for the feelings he can’t express. “I’m fine,” he sighs, letting his eyes and voice go soft. “Honest.”

Dustin holds firm, gaze fierce and fists clenched. “Bullshit,” he insists.

“Man, don’t—”

“Bull. Shit.”

Suddenly, their impromptu interrogation gets interrupted by a crashing drum fill, a shriek of electric guitar as Munson’s van squeals into the lot. He’s blasting some melodramatic metal shit about wizards or whatever; Steve doesn’t know. He only knows that the skitter of nerve pain he felt is ramping up to a fullblown migraine now because this guy has to listen to his racket at full fucking volume, apparently, and isn’t this all just “fucking great.”

—

part 5

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #trailer park steve au #steve can have a little depression as a treat #robin buckley #dustin henderson #claudia henderson #my writing #my fic

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steddiealltheway · 1 year ago

Text

(Happy happy birthday Noelle (@frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe) thank you for all your amazing fun facts which are the source for this little ficlet. I hope you enjoy <3)

For some reason, The Party had decided to rent Friday the 13th for their upcoming movie night at Steve's house. With all the shit they've been through, Steve thinks that maybe it's a strange choice, but he knows better than to question the kids.

"What a nice choice," Robin says sarcastically as she looks over Steve's shoulder at the tape. She hasn't quite grasped how defensive the teens can get, but they seem to respect her more than they respect Steve. Figures.

"Isn't it?" Dustin snarks back as he grabs the tape from the counter.

Max rolls her eyes and adds, "I said the same thing."

"Yeah, because you want to watch some shit like Cinderella," Mike whines.

"Does it ever hurt your tiny, sexist brain to think of those weak insults?" Max asks with her eyebrows raised.

Lucas tries to hide a laugh as Mike glares at him.

"Alright, alright, this is the Family Video. Take it outside if you guys are going to bicker," Steve says with a sigh as he moves to restack some tapes Dustin had nudged just to be annoying.

"You and Robin bicker all the time," Dustin says defensively.

Steve gives him a look. "Do you want to lose Harrington house privileges?"

Dustin sighs, looking like he really wants to argue before he turns around to the group and announces defeatedly, "Alright, let's get snacks before tonight."

As they're filing out the door, Dustin runs back to the counter and adds, "I almost forgot. Is it fine if Eddie comes?"

Steve shrugs, trying to look unphased by the question. "Sure," he says, voice cracking a bit.

Dustin instantly lights up. "Great! I already invited him, so that would've been awkward. See you later!"

Robin comes up to him and lightly shoves his shoulder. "Sure," she mocks him. "You're so smooth."

"Shut up," Steve says with a sigh. God, Robin will never let him live down what he thought to be his deathbed confession of his crush on Eddie. In reality, he was just put on so many painkillers in the hospital that he had gotten confused when he woke up in a hospital room.

And yeah, maybe the crush still hasn't gone away and Robin definitely knows, but he refuses to acknowledge it.

"You're going to be at the movie night, right?" Steve asks.

Robin groans. "I've already told you, I have my parent's anniversary dinner tonight."

"So, you'll be at my house tonight," Steve jokes.

"I wish."

Steve nudges her shoulder. He's already seen the obnoxious pictures of Robin and her parents from every year of their wedding anniversaries lining the walls of one particular hallway. It's endearing really, but Robin hates it.

"You better call me later if anything new develops between you and Eddie," Robin whispers although there's no one in the room.

Steve just nods, feeling the blood rise to his cheeks as he still refuses to verbally acknowledge the ridiculous crush that maybe fills his stomach with butterflies and all those obnoxious things.

He sighs and turns to Robin. "How am I going to survive tonight without you?"

"The world may never know," she says dramatically.

And really, the world may never know. At least, that's how Steve feels.

-:-:-:-:-:-

Okay, maybe Steve is a little bit of a mess.

Sure, Eddie has shown up, and Steve has been playing it cool, but it's like he can't take his eyes off him. He's made so much eye contact, he's sure that he's creeping Eddie out a bit or giving away his huge crush.

But he’s Steve Harrington. Like Steve “The Hair” Harrington. Inventor of the Harrington charm. All that stuff. And… Eddie has absolutely melted him into a puddle of goo. Christ.

By the time the movie starts, Steve’s head is practically buzzing with all his thoughts of Eddie is sitting next to me. What do I do? The kids are here, so I can’t make a move. But I don’t even know if he likes me.

Then, Max’s question breaks through the thoughts as she asks, “When is the next Friday the 13th this year?”

“Well, fun fact, any month that starts on a Sunday will have a Friday the 13th,” Eddie says with a proud grin.

Steve ignores the kids’ responses asking when that month is and the subsequent response from Eddie saying he doesn’t know, but he just knows the fact.

But for some reason, the fact is absolutely blowing Steve’s mind.

And yes, maybe it’s because it came from Eddie, but truly, when Steve associates fact with something, it is never fun. But this truly is a… fun fact.

He must have a look on his face because Eddie eyes him and asks, “What?”

Steve just shrugs and says, “I just… really thought the fact was… fun.” Jesus, did his Harrington charm just evaporate or something?

But he thinks the honesty of it works for Eddie who smiles softly at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, how did you know that?”

Eddie swings an arm casually over the back of the couch and leans in. “I’m full of fun facts, Harrington.” He gives him a winks before leaning back.

Steve leans into his space, trying to close some of the distance between them. “Tell me another one.”

Eddie laughs, “I’m going to max out my fun fact limit to one a day.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

Eddie tilts his head toward him. “It’s fair if it gives me an excuse to talk to you every day.”

Okay, yeah. That was blatant flirting. Which Steve is about to match, until the kids decide now is the best time to interrupt and yell at them to be quiet as the movie starts.

As the movie goes on, Eddie and Steve drift closer together while trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible in front of the kids. They haven’t talked about it, of course, but Steve’s pretty sure neither of them want to scar the kids. Or maybe, Steve just doesn’t want the kids to very accurately point out his feelings for Eddie and force him to deal with them.

Unfortunately, this also means that Steve doesn’t get a moment alone with Eddie to further flirt with him or try to push him for another fact. But maybe it’s not such a bad thing. Especially since Eddie gave him an excuse to talk to him tomorrow.

-:-:-:-:-:-

“What’s another fun fact?” Steve asks as soon as he hears Eddie on the other line.

“Christ, I just woke up. Give my brain a few seconds,” Eddie groans into the phone, voice rough with sleep.

Steve smiles. “Good morning by the way,” he says sweetly.

“Good morning,” Eddie replies back, sounding a bit less grumpy. There’s a bit of shuffling on his side of the phone before he says, “It’s illegal to feed pigeons on the streets of San Francisco.”

Steve’s jaw drops. “There’s no way!”

“Go ahead and feed a pigeon there then,” Eddie says with a laugh.

“Maybe I will. If you come with me and promise to bail me out.”

Eddie hums on the other line. “I don’t know. I think it would be fun to spend a night in a jail cell with you. Maybe I’ll join you in your crime.”

“Scratch that, I’m bailing you out.”

“That’s sounds about right, Bonnie.”

“Bonnie?” Steve questions, feeling like he’s missed something.

Eddie gasps on the other line. “Like Bonnie and Clyde!”

Steve doesn’t respond, waiting for Eddie to fill him in.

“Okay, this doesn’t count as a fun fact because this is just a story of one of the greatest crime couples to ever exist,” Eddie says excitedly, rambling on about the two.

Steve sits back, cheeks hurting from smiling a little too hard as he listens to Eddie and tries not to linger too much on the fact he compared the two of them to a real life couple.

-:-:-:-:-:-

The phone calls continue every day, but the fun facts really are just a starting point to a long drawn out conversation about whatever’s on their mind.

Robin has pretended to get tired whenever Steve calls her right after Eddie has to hang up or spends hours talking about Eddie during their shift at the Family Video. But he knows she’s secretly just as enthralled about the fun facts as he is.

“Did you know that the Statue of Liberty wears a size eight hundred seventy nine shoe?” Steve asks Robin, still in disbelief over the fact.

“Sounds like you’re talking about me,” Eddie says, somehow coming into the store without Steve noticing.

Steve’s heart beats a little harder as he turns to him. “All good things of course,” Steve says with a wink.

“I was scared you were passing off my facts to Buckley as if they were your own for a second there,” Eddie says, leaning across the the counter.

“And what if I was?” Steve challenges, leaning on the counter.

“Then, I would have to revoke my daily fun fact.”

Steve’s jaw drops. “You’d never.”

Eddie shrugs. “Maybe you’ll just have to see.”

Steve just laughs and shoves his shoulder lightly. “What are you doing here though? Coming to deliver my fun fact in person?”

Eddie blushes and looks down. “No, I was actually just… wondering if you wanted to hang out tonight.”

“Sounds good,” Steve says automatically, not even stopping to think if he has any other plans.

“I’ll see you after your shift then?” Eddie asks, tilting his head a bit.

“I’ll see you then,” Steve confirms with a smile.

Eddie nods and turns to leave.

“Oh, wait!” Steve calls out.

Eddie turns around.

“You haven’t told me your fun fact for today.”

Eddie smiles. “You’ll just have to wait until tonight. After all, it’s a pretty good excuse to make sure you come over.”

Steve scoffs, “As if that’s the only reason.”

Eddie just pulls his hair in front of his face as his smile gets a little wider. “See you soon.”

“Bye,” Steve says, waggling his fingers at him.

“Holy shit,” Robin says, startling Steve. “I thought you said your crush was hopeless.”

Steve just shrugs. “It’s Eddie, he flirts with everyone.”

“Not like that.”

Steve pauses and thinks back on their conversation and all the flirtatious banter leading up to this moment. Maybe she’s right, but also he remembers… “Did you know that bubble wrap was invented by accident?”

Robin runs a hand over her face and says, “You two are going to be the death of me, I can already tell.”

Steve just smiles and thinks maybe they will be.

-:-:-:-:-:-

A few hours later, he shows up at Eddie’s, trying not to overthink things too much.

They were just hanging out. Just… two people… hanging out… alone… who flirt all the time…. And one definitely has a major crush on the other.

Eddie opens the door to the trailer immediately after Steve knocks only a single time. “I heard your car pull up,” he explains as soon as the door is open.

“Been lingering at the door for long?” Steve teases.

“Hours,” Eddie replies dramatically. But there’s a hint of nervous energy that Steve can’t help but pick up on. “Come on in.”

Steve steps inside and is hit with the smell of spaghetti and breadsticks. “Did you make dinner?”

“Nah, I picked it up from Enzo’s,” Eddie says with a smile before closing the door behind him and gesturing to the couch where two plates are laid out. “I thought we could… watch a movie while we ate or… something.”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Steve replies with a smile, noticing the way his response relieves some of the nervous energy that is consuming Eddie.

“Perfect, right this way madam,” he jokes as he leads Steve to the couch with his hand resting on the dip of his lower back.

Steve sits down and can’t help but ask, “So, what fun fact did you make me wait for?”

Eddie freezes and curses, “Shit, you were supposed to ask that after all of this.”

Steve’s eyebrows furrow. “Why?” He asks nervously.

Eddie fidgets with his rings and mumbles, “Okay, you can do it.” Then, he turns back to Steve and says, “Fun fact… I’ve been dying to ask you out for a while now, and… I was hoping that this could be a date? And further fun fact, I will absolutely shut up forever if I read things wrong, and I’m so sorry if I did. Oh shit. Did I? Because really, I thought-”

“Eddie,” Steve interrupts him quickly, placing a hand over his. “I think it’s finally time that I share a fun fact with you.”

Eddie nods, eyes wide and scared.

“Fun fact,” Steve says and takes a deep breath, “I’m really upset that you beat me to asking you out because I’m a damn chicken. And fun fact, I’ve liked you since I saw you interacting with Dustin for the first time. And you can confirm the fact with Robin who I told while I thought I was on my deathbed.”

Eddie’s expression slowly morphs from fear to relief to happiness. “And that’s really all a fact?”

“Yes. Fun ones I hope.”

“Very very fun,” Eddie says with a laugh. He worries his bottom lip before saying, “Fun fact, I really want to kiss you.”

“Fun fact,” Steve echoes cheesily. “I would love to kiss you.”

And he does exactly that.

(Later on, Steve calls Robin from Eddie’s house and yells, “Fun fact, I just kissed Eddie!” Into the phone so loudly that Robin complains that his “fun fact” is giving her ear damage. But she also lets him know that she’s happy for him, as long as he doesn’t keeps phrasing everything as a fun fact.

Only, Steve can’t help it, when everything involving Eddie becomes the best facts he knows.)

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie ficlet

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just-jordie-things · 11 months ago

Text

cherry blossom - inumaki toge

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ 10k follower event special! ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

word count: 9.3k warnings: shibuya mentions, toge says some words bc i'm not god ok, drinking summary: you've always had all the time in the world to figure out what you were to each other. falling in love is meant to be slow and sweet, after all. more info: friends to lovers, fluff without plot really (yeah i'm making that a thing)

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[ what you don’t tell no one, you can tell me // little ghost, tall, tan like milk and honey // you’re very brave, and very free ]

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Inumaki Toge was very close with all of his friends. He cherished them in ways he could only dream of vocalizing. Instead, with his cursed speech, he was limited to smaller forms of appreciation to show them how he cared. Remembering Yuuta’s favorite drink, punching Maki on the shoulder to tell her she did a great job, passing notes with Panda to pull off a silly prank- his love language was an odd one for sure, but it never went unnoticed. His friends cared for him just as much.

(y/n) was different, though.

It was no secret to the others- if it had been, it would’ve been a terribly kept one- even without the ability to voice it, it would have been useless to try. There was no denying the way that he treated her, the way he looked at her, it was unlike all the others. If she was speaking, his attention was on her, even in a crowded room, even if someone was talking over her, Toge listened to every word, actively engaged in whatever the topic was.

He always sat next to her, always picked her as a training partner, always reached out to her first when making a plan, she lived on the front of his mind rent free, and Toge was more than content to let her.

“Funny, or sad?” She asks him now, drawing him out of his dreamy thoughts and bringing him back to reality. She’s perched at the end of his bed, two dvd cases in either hand presented to him. His gaze shifts between the two as he mulls it over.

If he chooses funny, then he’ll get to hear her giggles for the next two hours, followed by her pretty voice repeating all her favorite lines to send her into fits of laughter again. He likes that option.

But the other movie in her hand is a favorite of hers. He wouldn’t describe it as sad as she had, but the uplifting message did tug at the heartstrings, and he’s caught her crying over it multiple times in the few years he’s known her. So he gestures to that one, reveling in the way she lights up before she’s getting off the bed in order to get his dvd player setup.

It was actually her dvd player, Toge was more of a Netflix guy, but with her collection of movies and the frequency at which she hauled it all over to his room, they’d silently decided to just leave it in his room. Sure, it might have been easier for them to have movie nights in her room where she didn’t have to unplug the Xbox every time to watch a movie, but Toge would never suggest such a thing, and she’s never brought it up either. He likes having some of her things in his room.

For a little while, it could help him feel like they were living a more domestic, normalized life. Sometimes, he would set up her movies from that week on his shelf in alphabetical order, or fold up the blanket she’d left behind, and he could pretend that things were… different.

“I’ll have to add a box of tissues to the pile” She says, eyeing the plastic bag of snacks that the two of them had just gone out for.

It was routine at this point, rush out to the convenience store, buy more snacks than they agreed on, and then rush back to campus to get the movie started before it was too late. These were his favorite days.

With her back turned as she got the dvd player plugged in, Toge clicked his tongue to get her attention. She glances back at him right away, her curious look blooming into a full, beautiful smile as he raises a little plastic package of tissues, wiggling it in the air happily.

“You’re perfect!” She laughs to herself before going back to the console, placing the disk inside with an eager little dance.

Toge thinks it’s adorable that she’s so excited to watch a movie that will make her cry. He could be biased though- he thinks everything she does is adorable.

Once the movie starts, she’s quick to jump back onto the bed, crawling up into the space beside him, snatching up the back of treats on the way. Toge watches her, it’s only the opening credits playing anyways, it’s not like he was missing anything yet. (y/n) catches his eye, raising a brow as she tilts the bag towards him.

There’s not exactly a way for him to tell her that his staring was just because he liked when she didn’t tuck her hair back and it fell in that messy way it did, not because he was waiting for his turn with the snack bag. So he gives her a lopsided smile and takes the offering.

“If you open the chips I want some” (y/n) hums, her eyes already back on the screen as the movie begins. Toge chuckles, pulling out the green bag of sour cream and onion flavored chips, even though he’d been eyeing the package of chocolate chip cookies.

(y/n) turns to him again, this time with a mock pout on her lips.

“Are you laughing at me?”

It makes him laugh a little more, even as he’s shaking his head to convince her otherwise. He opens the bag of chips and tilts it towards her as a peace offering. She gladly accepts it, her frown melting back into her syrupy smile as she snatches a few chips and settles in again to watch the movie.

As expected, she’s tearing up before anything’s really happened yet. Toge knows she’s already thinking about the real tear-jerking moments later on. Her emotions sometimes overwhelmed her- not just when watching heartwarming movies, but with handling the everyday things that came with the life of a jujutsu sorcerer. It was hard when one of her closest friends was sent away on long assignments overseas, it was hard when there were casualties on assignments, it was hard training every day and trying to be better, all the while doubting herself and her abilities.

There were some times that she’d come by and they wouldn’t lounge around watching movies. Sometimes she’d visit him just to sit quietly and take in the comfort of his presence. Toge never minded these days. He was just relieved that there was some way he could help her feel better- although he didn’t always understand what it was that worked. It’s not like he could talk her down from the bad feelings, all he really did was sit there, maybe hold her hand if she needed, often listening to whatever was on her mind.

“He’s the one that makes me think of you” (y/n) points to the screen when a new character pops up. A teenager, with shaggy, jet black hair, and a perpetual frown on his face as he’s on screen.

Toge mirrors the frown, turning to (y/n) with furrowed brows as he awaited a proper explanation. She only giggles to herself as she continues munching on her snack, not bothering to explain how a character who looks and behaves nothing like him could possibly have her making a connection between the two.

He started to wonder if it was time to change his hair again, but as the movie progressed, he began to understand. The kid had taken a vow of silence, and hadn’t spoken a word the entire movie. Yet somehow, his thoughts and feelings were portrayed perfectly. As the viewer, Toge was never left wondering what was going through his head. Admittedly, he grew attached to this character quickly, and he found his focus latching onto the plot now with fervor.

Noticing this, (y/n) smiled to herself as she tucked herself further into the pile of pillows behind her. It always warmed her heart to see him take interest in the things she liked. Maybe even too much.

It’s mostly quiet between them as the movie continues, they don’t like to talk too much during movies, only comments deemed important enough to share before the end, or the ask to pass the snacks. They usually would have a discussion at the end anyways, sharing all of their thoughts and favorite parts with one another.

Soon enough the couple hours passed, the snacks were mostly deplenished, and (y/n) was half asleep, eagerly asking him how he liked the movie despite the tears in her eyes that she was still wiping away with the half-used supply of tissues.

He nods back at her, chuckling softly at the sight of her still being so teary eyed when the movie had ended ten minutes ago. Her lip is still wobbly and even as she folds and re-folds the tissue to keep wiping away the trail of tears.

Toge maneuvers onto his side, facing her with a small smile before taking the tissue from her hands.

“Mustard leaf” He says quietly, before reaching back out and drying up the trail of tears that she’d missed, down her cheek, and then along her jaw. She sniffles between a watery giggle.

“Thank you,” Her voice cracks, and she laughs quietly again. “That movie is just too much sometimes,” She explains, and Toge hums in understanding. This wasn’t nearly as bad when they watched Wall-E. “But I love it, what did you think?”

“Salmon roe” He replies with a larger beam, which she mirrors right away, before her head feels a little heavier on his pillow.

“Okay, good,” She murmurs before a yawn overtakes her, and Toge’s eyes widen in realization when she tucks the blanket over her shoulders. She’s going to fall asleep. He starts to move to shake her awake, one hand curling around her shoulder and tugging slightly, but she doesn’t respond to his silent pleas telling her to get up. “I’m really glad you liked it, you can pick the movie next time though”

Toge huffs when she shuts her eyes and nuzzles into the pillow again. It’s no use. She’s already drifting off right in front of him.

“Bonito flakes” He mutters.

“It’s alright,” (y/n) yawns again. “Just wake me up in, like, twenty minutes and I’ll go back to my room so we don’t get in trouble”

Toge already knows how that’s going to go, but she’s out like a light mere seconds later. He hasn’t seen anyone fall asleep so quickly.

With another sigh, he turns off the tv and places the remainder of the tissue package on his nightstand along with the remote. It doesn’t take him long to fall asleep on his back beside her, even when his brain is working overtime trying not to hyperfixate on her leg pressed against his, or her soft breaths fanning over his shoulder as she sleeps.

His dreams are pleasant, with soft swirls of warm colors, sweet sensations of gentle touches and the lingering scent of cherries and vanilla, melodious giggles and whispers made of but sugar coated words. The kind of dreams that you wake up from and wish there were just a few more minutes to latch onto the remnants of the hazy feeling.

As expected, (y/n’s) still there when he wakes up the following morning- not that he’d tried all too hard to send her back to her own room last night. He just couldn’t bear to disrupt her peaceful sleep beyond a few whispers of her name and pokes to her forehead.

She’s awake not long after him, but she settles back into the covers, murmuring a raspy good morning to him. SHe doesn’t seem startled by the surprise sleepover in the slightest, and the nerves Toge had let fester the last ten minutes of sitting awake and waiting for her to wake up.

There were still a few minutes of her being in and out of sleep, but after a while she’s stretching and getting herself out of bed with the promise of grabbing them both pop tarts before they had to start training for the day.

Toge perks up at the prospect of pop tarts, and she giggles at his obvious change in demeanor, before telling him she’ll be quick, and taking off from his room.

He knows he should be rushing around to get ready for the day, but he can’t bring himself to get up from the bed just yet. It’s too warm, too comfortable, too alluring with the lingering scent of cherry vanilla still clinging to the sheets.

His heart feels full as he settles back in for just a few more minutes.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

(y/n) felt love for all of her friends. She always sort of had, it developed not long after meeting each and every one of them. She loved Maki’s ambition, Panda’s humor, Yuuta’s passion, each and every one of them were simultaneously the greatest person she’s ever known. Her friends were her livelihood, her reason for fighting, her reason for trying, she doesn’t think she’d ever be able to repay them for what they’ve done for her. The love she held for them was the purest kind there was.

The love she held for Inumaki Toge was different, though.

She loved Toge the way she loved late spring, with the way the pretty pink cherry blossoms begin to bloom, and the cool breeze turns warm, and suddenly everything doesn’t seem so gloomy and bitter all the time. The sun seems to shine a little brighter and everyone seems to feel a little brighter, too. It was exactly how loving Toge felt.

It was no secret to the others- if it had been, it would’ve been a terribly kept one, seeing as she could barely unglue herself from his side at any time. If he entered a room, she would rush towards him. If he came back from an assignment with an injury- no matter if it was life threatening or just a paper thin slice, she was patching him up with the utmost care Shoko’s infirmary could offer. If Toge wasn’t around, she was texting him everything that was going on to keep him in touch.

There was nothing that brought her peace and joy quite like being around Toge.

She giggles as she tips her cup against her lips, sipping at the remnants of the drink she’d made only fifteen minutes ago. Yuuta was sure to scold her when she wandered her way into the kitchen for the third time in an hour.

Toge’s laughter follows shortly after hers, although he’s not sure what exactly they’re giggling about, he just can’t help himself once she gets going.

His brows pinch together when he shakes his head, trying to ask her what it is that made her giggle fit erupt in the first place. Once she’s calmed down enough to realize this, she grabs him by the shoulder.

At first his expression morphs into surprise, his eyes wide as he stares at her closely, before she’s swiveling him suddenly, guiding his eyes to the sight that was cracking her up.

Panda was in the common room, clearly feeling himself as he danced about, all slow twirls and raised arms. He looks positively ethereal- in that loaded sort of way.

He’s quick to pull out his phone, setting his cup down to use both hands to steady the camera on Panda’s drunken ballet- or, attempt at ballet. (y/n’s) giggling from beside him would definitely be caught in the video later, but neither of them minded, it only added to the humor of it all.

Maki must’ve noticed what they were up to, as she sneakily made her way over to the pill-shaped speaker, where she turned the volume up a few more notches. This only excited Panda, who picked up the pace in his dancing. (y/n) has to smack a hand over her mouth to stifle the cackle that erupts from her throat, but Toge doesn’t match her haste, and his laughter is almost louder than the music itself.

With a gentle smack to his shoulder, (y/n) shoots him a warning look, silently telling him to quiet down before Panda notices their recording.

Of course, Panda’s already noticed, his paws on his hips as he gawks at his so-called friends who were just making fun of him with their less than subtle camera pointed in his direction.

“Laugh it up, at least I’m having fun!” He points an accusatory finger at the two before turning his chin up with a dramatic flair. Toge rolls his eyes, and just as he’s about to end the video, (y/n’s) face pops up on the camera.

“He’s right!” She says, a bit too loudly for standing right in front of him, but drinking always raised her volume. She’s setting her cup down then, before reaching her free hand out to Toge, tugging on his wrist and disrupting the video that was still being recorded. “We should dance!”

“Mustard leaf!?” He replies, and she laughs, knowing it was his way of repeating ‘dance!?’ With uncertainty and surprise.

Her cheeks are pink, and he can’t make out if it’s because of the alcohol in her system, or if it was the brazen invitation of asking him to dance. He’s not given much time to decipher it’s cause before she’s pulling harder at his wrist, and without another moment’s hesitation, Toge pockets his phone and follows her silent plea. Distantly, he realizes she’s never had to work too hard to convince him of anything.

Maybe that was why they were all up far too late drinking together and dancing when they knew damn well that they had training bright and early tomorrow.

Panda’s cheering when (y/n’s) managed to drag Toge all the way into the common room where the music is playing the loudest. He’s already resumed his twirling as if Fleetwood Mac is playing and not Joan Jett, but he’s enjoying himself, and no one is about to ruin his fun… again.

Toge’s never really danced before, besides the occasional sway from side to side, or a head bop. So as soon as she starts swinging her hips and dragging his arm back and forth where she’s still got a grip on his wrist, he goes as stiff as a board.

It doesn’t take long before it dawns on her that he hasn’t been dancing, and she frowns at him, pulling at his arm to get him to come closer so she could talk to him.

“Why won’t you dance with me?” She asks, and it breaks his heart so completely that he can’t hide the way his face falls at her question. (y/n) brightens up immediately, a string of bubbly laughter falling from her lips as she shakes her head. “It’s not hard, just, move,” She says, shuffling her feet from side to side, her hips following in a languid motion. “See?”

He rolls his eyes at her, and she smacks his shoulder with her free hand, her semi-aggressive way of telling him he was making it a bigger deal than necessary, before both of her hands grab at his, and she guides him through the motions more properly.

The song that’s playing is upbeat, so she finds it easy to wave their arms together to the melody, while her hips keep the beat of the bass line. After a few jolty movements on his part, he eventually begins to mirror, and just as she thought, he gets the hang of it and doesn’t look so awkward dancing with her.

(y/n) can’t wipe her grin off her face as she continues to move their hands about in sporadic motions, sometimes to the beat, sometimes at random. Toge just latches his hands onto hers and lets her do whatever she pleases.

She’s never had to talk him into doing anything, he was always following her, whatever she was doing.

“See? It’s fun!” She’s the image of gleeful, twirling herself under one of his arms before prompting him to do the same.

Toge manages a few ‘salmon’s between her antics, before she starts to get more energetic with the beginning of the next song. She claims it’s a classic 2000’s dance beat, and that it would be criminal if they didn’t dance through it, too.

Of course that turned into a third dance, then a fourth, and along with them a few more drinks. They lose track of time, and eventually the rest of the world seems to fall away, too. It’s a Wednesday night- well, early Thursday morning now- but all responsibilities that the day will hold is far from their minds. It’s hard to notice that their friends have even started to wind down. Panda had collapsed on the floor with a pile of empty water bottles surrounding him, currently chugging down another one. Maki was scrolling through her phone nursing her own water, physically present, but too tired to engage in any more activities tonight.

And (y/n) and Toge were dancing around, jumping on their feet and twirling each other about like the night was still young and they had all the energy in the world. Until eventually, Maki had given up on adding anything to the queue, and random songs they’d never heard of were playing, (y/n) still insisted that he stay up with her and keep dancing until they couldn’t anymore.

That was, until Maki retreated to her room for the night, and with her went the music. (y/n) tried her best to plead with her to stay, but unfortunately Maki wasn’t as suggestable to her puppy dog eyes as Toge was.

“(y/n), listen to me closely,” Maki said in an uncharacteristically sweet voice, even going so far as to run a hand through her drunk friend’s hair. Thinking that she was going to stay at the ‘party’- if it could still be called that- (y/n) gleamed up at her with a syrupy smile and heavy eyelids. “Get some water, and get to bed”

(y/n) deflated immediately.

“Makiiii~” She whined, and made another noise of dissatisfaction when she lost the physical affection, too.

“No buts!” Maki quips as she walks away with her phone and powered down speaker in hand. “Toge, if you keep her up, then you’re dealing with the consequences tomorrow!” Maki barks at the other culprit to (y/n’s) deluded party-mode state.

“Salmon!” He hollers back, bringing his hand to his forehead in an all too serious salute. It brings out a load of giggles from (y/n) that has Maki sending one last warning glare at the two before she finally leaves.

Yeah, she absolutely wasn’t dealing with that mess in the mornings.

“She doesn’t hate us,” (y/n) sighs out to Toge, unprovoked, but he can tell she’s completely serious by the way she stares up at him. “She’s just grumpy she has to get up in the morning”

Toge raises his eyebrows with slight concern, before twirling his finger around in a short circle between them.

(y/n’s) jaw drops as she gapes at him.

“I know we do too,” She argues. “But it’ll be fine, I’m used to waking up early”

He gives her a look, but she doesn’t relent in her stare. So he pulls his phone out to show her the time.

2:48 A.M.

But her eyes barely register the hour, instead she’s glued to the wallpaper on his lockscreen, and she’s lighting back up with energy as she reaches for his phone and snatches it before he could react.

It was ridiculous how she maintained her speed and strength even when intoxicated. Toge wondered if it was safe for jujutsu sorcerers to drink this heavily.

“Is this us?” She asks, even though she was currently admiring the photo of the two of them on his lockscreen.

Toge’s quick to zip up his collar in order to hide the heat flushing his cheeks.

“This is so cute!” She delights in the image, cradling his phone in both hands as though to preserve it with great care.

The picture isn’t even new to her, and she’d been the one to take it. A few months ago she’d tried her hand at baking, and had been quite eager to bring a cinnamon cake to a hangout with the rest of their friends. She might’ve promised it before she was certain of her baking abilities, and had required Toge’s help not long into the process. As happy as he was to aid her in her new hobby, he couldn’t help but find humor in just how helpless she seemed to be in the kitchen at first. She hardly even knew her way around the cabinets. Hours later the cake had turned out just fine- their friends had even gone for seconds- but not without it’s difficulties.

Toge had snapped the photo when the cake had just been put into the oven, before they began the tedious cleanup process. She had flour in her hair and some stuck to her cheek. It was a good thing she’d chosen to wear an apron because it was covered in the various ingredients they’d used. But despite the messy state of herself and the kitchen in the background, she was grinning from ear to ear, clearly excited to see the results of her cake soon. Toge’s mirroring the smile, although there’s not a speck on him. After the whole process, he’d managed to keep himself completely clean.

“I didn’t know you made this your wallpaper, that’s really sweet,” She’s handing him his phone back after the torturous few seconds are over, and Toge slips it into his pocket quickly. His blush might’ve been hidden by the collar of his jacket, but it was still made obvious by his shifting eyes that couldn’t quite meet hers.

“That was a really fun day actually, we should bake something together again sometime!” She lights up, and he can tell that she’s already trying to think of something to go make right now. It’s clear she’s already forgotten the time- or maybe she just didn’t care that much. “We could-”

“Tuna tuna” Toge gives her a look, before tapping the back of his wrist a few times, hoping to remind her of the task at hand.

It was no wonder Maki rushed off to her own dorm.

(y/n) huffed in annoyance, but ultimately followed alongside him as he tried ushering her out of the common room and towards the dorms. She stumbled along and tried to slow him down, came up with a few more mumbled excuses to stay up later, all of which were met by quiet chuckles and reminders of ‘tuna’.

It took some ping-ponging down the halls, but eventually he got her to her room, and even though the night was over, she seemed rather pleased to be back in her own room.

“Spicy cod roe” Toge barely mumbles the words out as he’s gesturing about her room to her, before raising his hand to his mouth to mimic drinking a cup of water.

She smiles back at him in perfect understanding before she gives him a nod of her head.

Her movements are lazy as she strolls about the room to get changed into something she can sleep in. Her coordination was less than subpar compared to her usual level of functioning, but that wouldn’t be a problem for another few hours.

It’s not long before there’s a knock on her door, and she’s opening it with the brightness of a christmas tree when Toge is on the other side with two bottles of water.

Wordlessly, she invites him in by stepping aside and pulling the door open further. Toge passes off one of the bottles to her as he does so.

“Are you staying?” She asked, nodding to the bottle still in his hand. “We can watch a movie?” She offers hopefully.

It’s a little past three in the morning now. He tries to give her a look to reminder of this, but she doesn’t seem to care when she sticks her bottom lip out and folds her hands together in a pleading motion.

He sighs, and she brightens up again. It’s almost comical how small but sweet of a smile could have him agreeing to anything. It’s almost as if she’s the one with a cursed technique designed to compel, and not him.

While glancing through the array of dvds on her shelves, Toge wonders what things would be like if the roles had been reversed. If he was the one able to tell her his every thought and feeling as they pass. He wonders if she would have known how he felt about her a long, long time ago.

He’d dealt with his cursed speech in the best way that he could. Of course he didn’t love it, of course things would be easier if he could talk like anyone else, he could gamble a good ninety percent of his life would’ve gone smoother. No more stupid rice ball ingredients, and no more hoping that just a look would be enough to communicate to the girl he loves that he loves her. That he purely, wholly, desperately loves her.

He picks out a dvd and pops it into her player- she’d dragged it back into her room last week after waking him up in the middle of the night because she was in the mood to watch one of her favorites. Once the opening credit scenes start to roll, he finds that she’s already cozied up on one side of the bed, her blanket tucked to her chin, and her water bottle cradled in both of her hands. She smiles when he turns to her, and then pats the space beside her, waiting patiently for him to sit with her.

He lets out a sigh as he sinks into the mattress beside her. He taps his wrist twice before raising his hand and pinching his thumb and forefinger together, an easy way to gesture just for a little bit.

“Okay,” (y/n) nods, then takes the edge of her blanket to throw it over his lap too. “Just for a little bit” Her voice is merely a hum, words slurred together just a little bit, but there’s not a flicker of uncertainty in her features when she gazes upon him.

It’s only a few minutes into the movie when she slumps against him, the entire side of her body pressed into his, from their shoulders to their legs. Toge chuckles as she begins to give in to her exhaustion, and as sweet as it was that she got cuddly when she was drunk and sleepy, he prayed she’d pass out soon so that the morning wouldn’t be so rough. They were well past getting a full eight hours before training tomorrow, and dealing with Gojo alone would be a burden. Not because he would go rough on them- but because as soon as he sniffed out a little bit of a hangover, he’d be relentless with his teasing.

(And he might tack on a few extra laps on the track as minor punishment. Normally no big deal. But when you’re fighting off puking your guts out?)

Toge makes a mental note to have aspirin and a heavy meal ready first thing in the mornings so she could get it all out of her system as quickly as possible. One measly water bottle tonight just wouldn’t cut it.

When her head hits his shoulder in a soft thump, he looks down at her, checking to see if she’s finally fallen asleep. To his surprise, she tilts her head back in order to meet his gaze. Pink dusts over her cheeks and the corners of her mouth tilt upwards, no doubt a reaction from the alcohol in her system and their close proximity.

“You think I could get out of training with a sick day tomorrow?” She murmurs, earning a wince from Toge. She didn’t need words to understand what that meant. “You’re right,” She sighs, briefly turning her attention back to the movie. “Gojo’s gonna fry me”

This time he chuckles, and she glances back at him again.

“Mustard leaf…”

A small giggle escapes her as well, her eyes crinkling despite knowing the fate she would face come tomorrow.

“Maybe I’ll just fess up straight away,” She thinks aloud. “If I cry a bit, he might take pity on me, I dunno,”

Toge struggles to hold eye contact with her, not because the movie was just so enticing he could barely pay attention to her, but quite the opposite. With her cuddled up against his side and whispering so softly right into his ear he could hardly focus on anything other than her. To his knowledge, the rest of the world was completely wiped away. It was an ability she’d somehow mastered unknowingly, making him forget that there was anything else going on around them when the two of them were together.

His heart was pounding so hard in his chest he was sure she must notice, with how close she is, she could probably feel it, but if she does, she doesn’t say a thing.

“Or you could tell him I died,” She adds suddenly, and Toge snorts out a laugh, making her giggle again.

His eyes finally hold contact with hers for longer than a passing second, and she seems to melt further against him. She doesn’t feel heavy against his shoulder, but she might as well be an anchor keeping him trapped in place.

Yeah, there’s not a chance he’ll only be here for a little bit.

“You’d cover for me, right?” She asks, and it’s only meant to be a tease, but Toge raises his free arm that wasn’t being leaned on by hers, and crosses his finger over his heart. “Wow,” (y/n) gushes in her surprise, eyebrows raised and lips curling into a wider smile. She’s so beautiful to him at this moment that he now hopes he’ll be the one to pass out before he does something stupid. “Cross your heart and hope to die, huh?” She muses. “That’s pretty serious”

He scoffs again, barely rolling his eyes, but his attention is drawn back to her again when she shifts around to lay on her side. She’s still very much cuddled up to him, and he can tell she makes an effort to stay that way as she gets comfortable in a new position. She even hooks her ankle over his, a silent ask for him to stay longer. Her cheek leans back into his shoulder soon enough, and he knows he should be leaving when she starts to bat her eyelashes, but even as a Grade Two sorcerer he doesn’t have the strength to do so.

“Can I ask you a real question?”

Everyone’s least favorite question of all time.

Toge affirms with a nod of his head, barely managing a smile to assure her.

“Does it get old?” Her voice grows even softer. “Listening to me talk all the time?”

He shakes his head just as quickly, the smile disappearing as a knot forms between his pinched brows. She gives him a wobbly smile, feeling a bit endeared by how quickly he tried to tell her otherwise.

“Really?” She asks, still a bit unsure. “Sometimes I try to shut my mouth, I… I don’t want to make you feel like you’re stuck listening to me all the time, but, uh, I can’t help it sometimes. I… really like talking to you” She’s rambling before she knows it- and then blushing at the irony of it all.

His smile returned then, stretching wide until his teeth were showing, and he was laughing quietly at her. Not to be malicious, of course, he was simply amused and absolutely lovestruck by the sweet admission. Toge reached out, affectionately touching the pad of his thumb to her chin, before he shifted around to get his phone out of his pocket.

This didn’t call for rice ball ingredients, or small gestures to convey what he was thinking. He’d need to communicate properly to her with how much he’d have to say.

(y/n) watched on as he opened his notes app and began to type.

it could never get old. i like listening to you talk :)

It makes her heart stutter in her chest, but she can’t help the giggle that escapes her when he adds a little emoji, too. Toge spaces down to a new line before typing more.

does it get old that i can’t talk with you the same way?

He watches as her eyes scan over the screen quickly, before she turns to him and shakes her head.

“Of course not,” She tells him right away. “I- I think we understand each other just fine… don’t we?”

It dawns on her that they’ve never really talked about this before. Even when they first met, it was like she was told he had cursed speech and she took it upon herself to learn how he communicated as quickly as possible. Perhaps all that time she spent around him those first few months after her enrollment were what led to their closeness now. Saying she was headstrong in being able to understand him would have been an understatement. She had constantly been picking up on the subtleties between his rice ball ingredients, or paying attention to every hand movement or direction of his gaze to know what he was talking about.

And it was a very, very rare case when she couldn’t understand him. Toge could hardly recall a time it had happened.

He sets his phone down on his lap, nodding his head back at her as his eyes shifted between hers. Her lashes hung heavy, eyelids almost falling shut with every blink, but she wasn’t giving into sleep just yet.

She mirrors his nod with a short one of her own, her eyes filled with an emotion he can’t say he’s ever seen in her before. He studies it curiously, forgetting any sense of embarrassment from staring at her so blatantly… but then again, she wasn’t exactly shying away either. Was it the alcohol?

“Toge,” His name falls from her lips in a mere breath, so small her mouth hardly moves, so quiet it almost doesn’t grace his ears. “I… I hope you know you can tell me anything… anytime…”

It’s such a sweet admission that he can’t help but reach out to her again, his thumb touching her chin in the way he usually does when he’s teasing her, but now it feels… different. His touch lingers, and the look in his eyes feels heavier than she’s used to. She’s flustering suddenly, her heartbeat picking up in pace, her face feeling even hotter the longer she holds his stare. After another prolonged minute of his touch to her face, she finds herself reaching up for his hand, cupping the back of it and holding it there for just a few moments longer.

And then comes a delicate, carefully worded whisper on his part.

“I know”

He pauses for a few seconds after he says it, just to be sure there were no lasting effects left on her. Just as he expected, those words didn’t seem to hold any cursed energy, and she didn’t seem paralyzed or compelled in the slightest. She simply smiles back at him, her eyelashes batting a few more times.

“Okay, good,” She murmurs, before tucking herself closer to him, nuzzling her head into his chest to get comfortable.

She’s long forgotten the movie that was playing, and honestly, so had he. Toge knows now it’s only a matter of minutes before she’s finally knocked out. With a yawn, she finally drops her hand from his, but Toge opts to leave it in it’s place, carefully cradled under her jaw, his thumb swiping over her cheekbone in slow and lazy movements.

“Just stay the night, ‘kay?” She mumbles into his shirt, throwing her free arm over his waist. “If someone notices, I’ll take the blame,” She says, and then quickly adds, “But no one will”

His chest vibrates beneath her when he chuckles, and she merely smiled to herself as sleep finally overcomes her.

Toge hesitates on moving to turn off the tv. Any one wrong move and he’d risk waking her, and he certainly didn’t want to do that. So with drawn out movements, he carefully gets the tv turned off, and places the remote on the nightstand.

(y/n) doesn’t wake up, to his luck, she doesn’t even stir. She’s sound asleep, dead weight like a rock on top of him. But a welcome rock she was.

He didn’t even mind having to sleep in a half seated position, or the fact that the arm she’s laying on is starting to prickle with pins and needles. None of it matters when he can faintly feel her heart beating against his chest, right beside his.

Toge only got a hair of sleep that night, but even during the rough training session the following morning, all he could think about was how soft her hair felt when he’d run his hand through it.

If what came after falling in love was a crash landing, he was definitely nearing the ground.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

When he first comes to, all Toge can barely make out is the dim light above him. His mind is hazy, a swarm of disconnected thoughts like ‘where am I?’ and ‘why are the lights so dim in Shoko��s infirmary?’. Nothing really makes sense until the haze begins to clear.

The next sense to come back was his hearing, and he wished it had taken a little longer because it wasn’t pleasant.

At first it’s just a sharp ringing, distant at first, like someone blowing a whistle far away from here. But it didn’t take long for it to grow nearer and nearer, until eventually it was right in front of him, breaking through to let him take in the other sounds around him.

Whimpering. Soft weeping, maybe. Quiet, like the owner of the quiet cries, was trying not to wake him.

Then it was sniffling, also quiet and contained. So faint he could just barely make it out, but paired with the cries, it wasn’t hard to understand what was going on.

He has to squeeze his eyes shut after the short exposure to the yellow light, but soon enough he’s forcing them open again. This time he’s greeted with the blurry silhouette of the crier.

“(y/n)-”

It’s no surprise his throat is so dry and raw that he feels blood pool on his tongue as soon as he rasps out her name, but it was enough to capture her attention, so he tries to ignore the pain for now.

A hushed “Ohmygod” is whispered under her breath so fast her lips barely move, before she’s a blurry mess of movements above him. His eyes can’t track everything, but he thinks her hands are shaking around his face from the tapping over her fingertips on his cheeks. “You’re- you’re awake?” She mumbles out, a hint of a whimper still trembling in her voice.

Just as he parts his lips to give her an affirmative response, her eyes widen, and her fingertips press further into his cheeks until he can feel the full length of her fingers against his skin. They’re still shaking, but her touch is warm.

“Wait, don’t say anything, I’m sure your throat’s a mess right now,” Even when she’s not sniffling over her words, they’re watery, just a little bit stuck in her throat. “But you’re- you’re awake,” She repeats, a smile briefly stretching on her lips, before it quickly falls back into that wobbly frown. His vision begins to focus when he settles it there, hoping it’ll disappear into another smile again.

Why was she such a wreck? She’d never cried over him before, and he’s been injured plenty of times, Toge couldn’t wrap his mind around it. It was making it harder to fight past the hazy state of waking up.

There were small, wet splashes against his face that startled him enough to change his focus, eyes suddenly moving his line of sight upwards, finding her eyes were in fact full of tears, and most of them were streaming down her face. He can’t say or do much, but concern is evident on his face.

“Are you in pain? Does anything hurt?” She wipes uselessly at the tears on her face when she speaks. The dry patches were just as quickly replaced by more streaks of tears.

Toge shakes his head, although it’s not a complete truth. His head is still spinning, the metallic taste of blood was burning the scratches in his throat, but most peculiar was the dull ache of his left arm. It wasn’t a sharp pain, or even enough to bring a tear to his eye, and yet the throbbing of it captured all of his attention. He couldn’t not think about it. Was it broken? Why hadn’t Shoko healed it? It never feels like this after her Reverse Cursed Technique…

“Okay,” (y/n) whimpers, sniffling before she speaks again. “Okay, that- that’s good, that’s good…” Her voice grows quiet, and Toge’s shaking his head at her again, trying to voice his confusion with this whole ordeal, trying to ask her what was wrong.

All he can do is twitch his right hand until she notices, and as soon as she turns her head, she picks his hand up in both of hers. She’s swift but gentle, cradling it as if his bones would shatter from a movement too rough. He tries to curl his fingers around hers, but it takes too much effort, so he goes to bring his other hand around hers as well.

A strained gasp escapes him when he lifts his left arm, his eyes shooting open from the pain and difficulty of the action, neck swiveling to see what was so wrong that he couldn’t do something so simple as to hold her hand and comfort her.

They’re both frozen when he finally looks at his left arm. Or, lack thereof.

(y/n’s) crying seems to cease completely as she holds her breath, and Toge’s chest is moving rapidly, but his inhales and exhales are nearly silent.

When he looks up at her again, she brings a hand to her mouth, stifling the sob that shakes her entire body as she begins to cry again, just as hard as she had when she’d found him.

“I’m- I’m sorry,” Is what she says first, it’s all that really comes to mind at first, she doesn’t know where to begin, how she’s supposed to explain it to him, what the gentle way of proceeding was.

She almost wished someone was here now, but there wasn’t. There was no one. Everyone was either missing, or had died in the aftermath, there was only the two of them. The world had shrunk down to leave just the two of them it seemed- and they weren’t allowed their peace.

“Shibuya- it’s- when I found you-” She tries, she really does, but so many words flood her mind at once that they get lodged in her throat, and she’s never really learned how to navigate this sort of thing before. This was always Gojo’s job, or Nanami’s…

With a deep breath, (y/n) straightens her posture as she’s kneeled beside Toge on the ground, and she gives his hand a small squeeze.

“Without a Reversed Curse Technique, I did the best that I could,” She says, a little bit more clearly, but not without a few hiccups. “The runes on the wrappings should keep it from getting infected, at the very least,”

Toge looks back at his left side again, taking in a long, good look at the missing space where the rest of his arm used to be. Then his gaze shifts upwards, where what’s left of his bicep is wrapped in perfect bindings. It appears every inch of the gauze is covered in neatly drawn runes.

How long had this taken her? How long had he been out?

“It’s been a couple of days,” She sighs, pushing a hand through her hair and slouching again. “It’s not… great, as you can see,” She adds, gesturing around them.

It’s only then that Toge’s really taken in their surroundings. They’re in a tent, that’s just big enough for the two of them. The shitty light his eyes had adjusted to was just a lantern tied around the center post.

“But it’s worked for now… I’ve been out a few times, there’s water, um, some food…” She trails off as she’s glancing around, already losing pace and barely keeping up with what she’s saying. What was she supposed to say? “I… I haven’t crossed paths with anyone else yet”

Toge’s hand twitches in hers, fingers flexing for a moment before he pulls it out of her hold. It’s slow and shaky when he brings his hand to her face, but he is able to make the reach. She leans closer to him so he wouldn’t have to stretch too much. Toge presses the entirety of his palm into her cheek, fingertips prodding at her hairline, thumb tracing against her cheekbone.

That wobbly smile returns when she presses her palm against the back of his hand. She’s still crying, but it seems a little more under control. He wonders if she’s even aware of the never ending tears, or if she’s grown used to it.

“Thank you”

A watery scoff of a laugh escapes her, and then she shakes her head at him.

“You shouldn’t be thanking me,” She mumbles, and his thumb begins to drag lower, across the hollow of her cheek, coming to the corner of her mouth.

He nods his head to make his argument, a furrow in his brows that tells her he’s serious, but she doesn’t seem to take him as such.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” She sniffles. “There’s barely any food, I’ve been in this ruined uniform for days, all of our friends are missing and the strongest sorcerer in the world is in the prison realm, you’re hurt, and it very well may be the end of the world-”

He has to drop his hand from her face in order to have the strength to push himself into a sitting position, but once he does he’s just as quick to bring it back.

She’s crying too much to keep adding to her list of everything that’s gone wrong in the last few days, but this time Toge tries to wipe the tears away as he shushes her softly. It takes a few minutes, but eventually the tears come to a stop, and Toge drops his hand again.

This time he makes a gesture to her. It’s drawn out, despite it being a simple one. He points his finger out, touching it to her collarbone, then his eyes meet hers again, and they’re tearing up again. He frowns. Then taps her shirt a few more times, trying to make his point clearer.

You’re still here.

He can only hope that more taps will make sense to her.

The corner of (y/n’s) lips tilt upwards, and he thinks with the amount of emotions flickering behind her eyes, that understanding is amongst them.

“I’m glad you’re here… with me,” She mumbles out. “I don’t know what I would’ve done….” The thought trails off with her words, and she turns her head away, chewing on the inside of her cheek. The exhale she lets out instead is slow, and shaky.

Toge lifts his hand to turn her chin back towards him, a frown on his face as his eyes meet hers.

Again, he points at her, but this time he presses the pad of his finger square against her chin, and then turns it towards himself, mirroring the touch to his own chin. A crease forms between her brows, and he repeats it- tapping her chin twice with a featherlight touch, and then his own.

We’re both still here.

Weakly, another smile graced her lips. She understood.

“Whatever is next, we take on together… yeah?” She asks him, her voice hushed, a certain anxiety filling her chest with a crawling feeling, but Toge’s response couldn’t have eased it away faster.

He nods, leaning in closer, bringing his hand back to her cheek so he could tilt her head downward just the slightest, enough for him to brush his lips over her forehead in a light kiss. So light if she wasn’t staring at him with wide eyes, she might’ve missed it altogether.

Like a deer caught in headlights, she holds her stare even once Toge’s pulled away. Her parted lips holding no definitive emotion, he’s not exactly sure what she’s thinking when she stares at him like that, but he doesn’t feel any regret from the action. They were all they had now, and there might not be any amount of comfort to delude them into thinking things were going to turn out perfectly fine, but they could certainly try. Perhaps they could go just a few minutes at a time feeling some relief.

They weren’t alone. And despite it all, they were alive. At this moment anyways, Toge couldn’t ask for more.

With the backs of her hands, (y/n) roughly wipes away the lingering tears on her face, before she reaches out to him. Just as her hands cradle around his face, he’s meeting her halfway, eyes shut before their lips even touch.

As hasty as it is, it’s a tender kiss. Neither one of them wanted to move too fast at the risk of bumping an injury, but the years of pent up emotions came pouring out of it nonetheless. Her calloused and bruised hands somehow feel silky smooth when they glide over his jaw. Any fears or pains melt away under the gift of her soft kiss. Toge could almost forget all of it, just for that moment.

When she pulls away, quietly panting to catch her breath after holding it the entirety of the kiss, the unreadable look on her face fades away into something else. Bittersweet relief.

Her eyes shift between his, finding the same emotion in them that she’s currently feeling. Affectionately, her thumbs trace over the markings on either side of his mouth. There’s a moment of silence between them as they bask in the first pleasant moment they’d had in a while. It’s no surprise that it’s only come when they’re together.

“We’ll find the others,” (y/n) murmurs assuredly after a minute. “We’ll figure it out,” And as she says it, she starts to believe it, slowly but surely she pulls herself out of her cynicism, hope and certainty replacing it when she looks at him. “Together”

His own hand slides across her cheek and wraps comfortably at the nape of her neck, holding her delicately but closely. Toge nods, smiling back at her with as much conviction as he could.

“Together”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[ it’s a cruel, cruel world, but we don’t care // cause what we’ve got, we’ve got to share ]

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

xoxo ~ jordie a/n: for anyone who got the little miss sunshine edit mwah mwah mwah bc it's a comfort movie of mine <3

#inumaki toge x reader #toge x reader #inumaki x reader #toge inumaki x reader #toge inumaki #inumaki toge #inumaki toge imagine #toge inumaki imagine #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #inumaki toge x reader fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk imagine #jujutsu kaisen imagine

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mimimarvelingmarvel · 4 months ago

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time bound part four

pairing: worst wolverine!logan howlett x f!mutant!reader

Part Four - Masterlist

summary: Y/n’s life takes a dramatic turn when the Time Variance Authority intervenes, pulling her from a critical moment in her timeline. The TVA sends her to the void where she eventually meets with Deadpool and a very familiar face. With Deadpool's universe in the balance, alongside his reluctant would-be pal, Wolverine, and the enigmatic time-bending mutant known as the Veil, the trio must complete the mission and save Deadpool’s world from an existential threat.

overall warnings: 18+, Fem!Reader, AFAB Reader, Use of Y/N, Her X-Men name is Veil, She/her pronouns, Swearing, Angst, Heavy Violence, Character Death, Deadpool (he’s his own warning), Hurt, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, TVA

word count: 1.4k

I remain on my knees, the pain slowly ebbing away, replaced by a searing anger that burns hot and fierce. My breath comes in ragged gasps as I glance around, panic clawing at the edges of my mind. Logan is nowhere to be found, and my fear spikes, cold and sharp.

Deadpool’s voice, usually so irreverent, now carries a note of genuine desperation. “—I just, I wanna go home.” Cassandra’s tone is deceptively sweet, like venom hidden in honey. “Well, the thing is, I could get you home.”

Deadpool’s eyes light up with a fleeting hope. “Good.”

“But I don’t want to.” Her words drop like a guillotine.

“Not good,” Deadpool mutters, the hope snuffed out as quickly as it came.

Cassandra’s gaze narrows, her curiosity piqued. “What do you want, Wade Wilson?”

Without warning, she thrusts her fingers into his mind, just as she had done to me. I watch in horror as her fingers seem to jut out from beneath his skin, distorting the flesh in ways that make my stomach churn.

Deadpool tries to maintain his signature humor, but the pain is evident in his voice. “Uh, your fingers are inside me, but not in a good way.”

Cassandra’s smile is cold, pitiless. “My brother could enter one’s mind with a thought. I have to get my hands dirty.”

“Oh, gosh,” Deadpool groans, his bravado cracking under the relentless assault.

I can only watch, helpless, as she whispers venomous words into his ear, her voice a sinister lullaby. “You’ll never fucking matter.”

Deadpool’s response is shaky, his usual quips faltering. “She never said that.”

With a savage twist, she rips him from her grip, but the damage is done. “No, but I bet she thought it,” she sneers.

“You are so mean,” Deadpool says, a weak attempt at humor. “My brain could taste your fingers, and they tasted like hate.” He turns his gaze to me, his eyes softening as he sees my rigid, frightened posture. Then, almost instinctively, his head tilts slightly, gesturing to where Logan was last seen, as Cassandra begins to turn away. Deadpool’s voice rises in pitch, a strained attempt to bring levity to a dire situation. “And where in God’s name is the Intimacy Coordinator?”

Cassandra’s chuckle is devoid of warmth. “You’re so lost, Mr. Wilson. Long before you came here.” Deadpool, ever resilient, quips back. “This is Baby Knife, she’s gonna fuck you in the face now.”

Cassandra’s smile is a slow, dangerous curve. “If you want to kill me, it’s going to take more than that little knife.” I watch Logan make his way back to her and I breathe a sigh of relief.

Deadpool’s eyes gleam with determination. “How about six?”

Before Cassandra can react, Logan’s claws pierce through her from behind, lifting her off the ground with a savage thrust. She barely flinches, a low chuckle rumbling from her as she slides off the blade, completely unharmed. Her amusement is clear as she addresses us, “Well, this has been fun, but the big guy needs to eat, and the rent is due.” Her eyes shift to something behind us. “By the way, you’re the rent.”

Dread surges through me as I follow her gaze, and I see Alioth, the monstrous entity, advancing toward us. My mind races, flashes of potential futures darting through my consciousness, searching for an out, an escape.

Then I see Logan, running toward a discarded Sentinel leg. His claws jam into the machine, sparking it to life. “Come on, bub,” he growls, his voice a steady anchor in the chaos.

Heart pounding, I sprint to him, gripping my arms tightly around his torso. He turns to shield me, caging me between his solid frame and the towering machine. His gaze flicks to Wade, a silent command in his eyes. “Coming or what?”

Wade, ever the survivor, scrambles to join us. “Coming!” he shouts, as the Sentinel leg roars to life, offering us one last desperate chance at survival. The machine whirs and jolts, propelling us into the sky. I fight the urge to scream as the ground disappears beneath us, my heart pounding in my chest. Wade slides up on the other side of me, and I find myself wedged tightly between the two men, their combined presence both a comfort and a suffocating weight.

We soar higher, the wind whipping against our faces, the tension palpable. But just as quickly as we ascended, the Sentinel leg begins to falter, its power sputtering. I hear the mechanical whine as it loses momentum, and this time, I can't hold back the scream that tears from my throat as we plummet toward the ground. Wade’s scream echoes mine, a rare sound of genuine fear escaping him. Both men instinctively wrap themselves around me, their arms bracing for impact, trying to shield me from the worst.

As we hurtle toward the earth, I muster every ounce of focus, desperately trying to slow our descent. The effort works, just enough to break the fall, but not entirely. We hit the ground with bone-jarring force, tumbling across the dirt and debris. I tighten my body, rolling a few times before finally coming to a stop. Pain radiates through me, but as I take a quick inventory, I realize it's nothing major—just a few scrapes and bruises.

Wade’s voice, muffled but close, mumbles, “What you thinking, Pal?” I realize my legs are tangled with theirs, the three of us a heap of bruised limbs.

“Get the fuck off of me,” Logan growls, his patience clearly wearing thin. I try to untangle myself, but Wade’s weight keeps me pinned.

“Fucking move,” I grunt, trying to elbow him, but Wade only shakes his head, a grin evident in his tone.

“Shh, shh. Almost done.”

I freeze as I feel something cold and sharp touch my back. My eyes widen in realization. “Wade, I swear to god—”

“Almost done what?” Logan growls, the tension in his voice rising.

“Getting my knife out of your buttocks.” Wade yanks, and Logan flinches beneath me, a strangled curse escaping his lips.

“Ah, fuck!” Logan snarls in pain, his muscles tensing under my weight.

Deadpool, ever the opportunist, quips, “Get your mind out of my pants. I’m telling Blake.”

I finally shove my way off Logan, the three of us scrambling to our feet. I dust off my fighting leathers, the dark material reminiscent of my old X-Men suit, but black instead of yellow—left over from another variant. The air is thick with tension as Logan straightens, his gaze hard and focused.

“New rules,” Logan growls, his voice brooking no argument. “I talk now.”

Deadpool feigns shock, clutching his chest dramatically. “That’s gonna be very hard on the audience.”

Logan’s patience snaps. “Shut the fuck up!”

I raise an eyebrow, my irritation bubbling over. “Does that include me?”

Logan’s eyes flicker with annoyance. “Yes. Let me fucking think.”

Irritated, I mutter under my breath, “Don’t try too hard, you might hurt yourself.”

He growls at me, a sound that makes my skin prickle, but I hold my ground. Logan’s gaze shifts, his mind clearly working through a plan. “We gotta get back to Paradox, right?” he asks, the confusion in his voice betraying a moment of doubt.

I frown, unsure of what he means. “Logan, what—”

Logan looks to Wade, frustration etched into his features. “Right?”

Wade, ever the smartass, smirks. “Je m’excuse, am I allowed to speak now or…”

“Just nod, asshole,” Logan snaps, his patience long gone.

Wade nods, his usual humor tinged with something more serious.

“Right,” Logan continues, a grim determination settling over him. “We find the others—that poor kid Johnny was talking about before you got him killed.”

I nod, finally contributing something useful. “I know where they are.”

Logan gives me a curt nod, thankful for the direction. “If there’s a chance we can get out of here, we make those TVA fuckers fix my shit like you fucking promised.”

His words hit me like a shockwave. “Our world?” I ask, my voice wavering with hope and disbelief. “They can fix it?”

Logan’s expression is stern, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes. “That’s what he said.”

Wade’s head tilts, a glint of excitement in his eyes. “I smell quest.”

Logan’s nostrils flare, and he sniffs the air, his eyes narrowing as he glances at me before pulling away to sniff again. Suddenly, his eyes sharpen with recognition. “I smell food.”

Next Part

A/N: I have work the next couple days so I will update when I can!

taglist: @oscarissac2099 @somiaw

comment if you want to be added!

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idkwhatimdoinghere1655 · 4 months ago

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(1) Hotel Girl - Carlos Sainz

Finally. A holiday. 5 days of some much needed and well deserved rest. Well, apart from the occasional email he'd have to send and phone call he'd have to take. But, it was a small price to pay for a working week of pure bliss.

Carlos had decided to spend part of his summer break by himself in the bougiest hotel he could possibly find. He would have rented a villa to himself, but then he'd have to cook, hire a chef or go out every night.

Cooking was not his idea of relaxing, a chef would be a waste for just him, and going to restaurants every night by himself was the literal definition of sad. He didn't want photos of him dining alone circulating the internet, no way.

At least in a hotel, he had room service, housekeeping, and food served on site so he wouldn't have to venture far. He might explore the local town if he felt like stretching his legs, but he wouldn't force himself just for the sake of tourism.

After spending what felt like hours travelling, going through menial airports and checking into the hotel, Carlos was finally able to switch his mind off and relax in his hotel room. It was too much room for one person, but he was in the position where he could treat himself without batting an eyelid.

Once he had unpacked, he figured he'd take a little wander around his home for the next few days. The hotel was a relatively new build, lots of glass and neutral greys and whites. The glass allowed for views of the stunning scenery in pretty much every area of the hotel.

The hotel was located on a vast and secluded beach somewhere in the Bahamas, which was plenty far enough away from anyone who could personally know him, as well as far away enough from the press. It was out of the way, so much so that there was only one road to go in and out of the hotel.

He wandered through the lobby, smiling back at the personnel on the desk before turning away to mind his own business. He walked past the different restaurants on offer, even if he didn't think that he'd be utilising them too much during his stay.

He also strolled by the spa, which he made a mental note to pay one or two (or more) visits to. Carlos could smell the essential oils from a mile away, and the soft tones of the typical spa music soothed his soul instantly. Well, for the meantime, anyway. God did a massage sound good right about now.

Having the stress and tension worked out of his muscles was exactly what he needed. Reading the board, he saw that he'd need to book at reception for his massages. He'd probably be spending every day in there, but that wasn't a problem for him. It was his holiday, and he could do whatever the hell he wanted to.

Now all he really had to check out was the pool, but he'd seen plenty of pictures when he booked online. He was too tired to walk down to the beach today due to the jetlag, so Carlos ultimately decided to take himself off to his room so he could rest properly.

Once he was back in his suite, Carlos wanted to relax on his balcony for a moment. He took himself over to the mini fridge and selected an ice cold water which he would undoubtedly be paying through the roof for, but he'd deal with it.

The balcony had a stunning view of the pool, and he could see the golden sands and the sun setting behind the horizon as it glittered on the surface of the water. There was a light breeze to try and combat the still sweltering heat that was emanating from the sun.

As he nosied around, he spotted couples on their terraces, entangled in each other's embrace. Now that was a view he could be doing without. Luckily for Carlos, all he had to do was turn his head left, and the rest of the world faded into obscurity. He could focus on the mesmerising view of the ocean and the pure silence that enveloped him.

He heard a few screen doors open and close, the patter of footsteps quietening down after the click. For a while, it was just him and his thoughts. No racing, no people, just him and the silence. It was a welcomed change, his mind finally allowed to stop rocketing around like it was on a track and it could just lull into a calm tranquility.

He didn't know how long had gone by before he heard a soft hum carried on the wind. He thought everyone had gone inside, or to dinner. But he only heard one set of footsteps on the tiled terrace surface.

Carlos would normally have just ignored the other person making their way outside, but something inside him told him to turn his head. His intuition was fully correct when his eyes landed upon her.

He couldn't quite tell whether he was thankful for noticing her, or very very ungrateful for having found something that could take up his thoughts and replace the peace he was supposed to have. She had taken a seat on her sun lounger - just like he had.

Her hair was pulled back in a bun at the back of her head, a few curls springing out from the uniformity. Her body was wrapped in a dress of colours swirling around her figure as long legs protruded from the skirt.

It was like her skin was shimmering under the light of the setting sun. Her eyes were hidden from him behind sunglasses, but from what he could see, the rest of her face was gorgeous enough to intrigue him.

She was reading a book, he couldn't see the title from where he was, but she seemed to be pretty engrossed. He tried to tear his eyes away, avert his gaze back over to the ocean and the small waves rippling across the top of the water, but he couldn't.

There was a view that he was much more interested in, and a view that he could have watched until the moon took its place as the beacon in the sky. She was breathtaking. The sight of her was like seeing the Aurora Borealis for the first time, an encapsulating experience that could never quite be forgotten. She was like a goddess, put there purely to tempt him.

Carlos' mind instantly took him down the dangerous rabbit hole of asking too many questions. He became his own detective, interrogating himself on the minimal information he had on her. From what he could see, there didn't appear to be a ring on her finger, and there wasn't a towel on the sun lounger beside her.

It seemed as if she was all alone. Maybe she was like him: taking a vacation away from the chaos of her life. Maybe she too had been entranced by the pool, the spa and the beach. The peace, the quiet and the serenity.

Even if this was the case, unknowingly, she had taken away his ability to experience those things. He was mentally scolding himself for suddenly becoming so interested on some random girl he had seen on her hotel room balcony, since he was supposed to be having some well-deserved him time.

Yet, he wasn't that lucky.

In a moment of weakness, Carlos coughed slightly. He wanted to see if she'd look up to see where the noise had come from, but she sat unmoving. Her eyes were seemingly still glued to the pages of the book, which she would turn every now and then. He couldn't see past the sunglasses.

As the sun set further behind the horizon, she still stayed on the balcony with her book. And so did Carlos. He would only go in once she did, even if that took him until the early hours of the morning.

While he was staring, he took the time to run through the myriad of questions that he was asking himself. Why the hell was he so enticed by this random girl on the balcony? Why was he letting himself get so worked up by her? Who was she? Her room seemed to be nearer reception, so that must have meant that her room number was below the one hundreds- no. Stop.

He would not stoop to borderline stalking the girl on the balcony. No. That wasn't the kind of guy he was. If he was really interested, he could try and talk to her if he saw her around. He wasn't going to go full Joe Goldberg on her. Yet.

Checking his watch, he saw that it was nearing on eleven pm. She had shuffled around in her seat a few times, the hardness of the sun lounger becoming uncomfortable after prolonged sitting. But, she was making good headway in her book.

She had gotten through a chunk of pages, maybe a quarter of the full thing. He wondered if it was interesting and if she was enjoying reading it, or if she was just reading it for the sake of finishing it and would then not recommend it to her friends.

Was she the popular one among her friends? She seemed to be. She seemed like the nice one that everyone would lean on for help, or the reliable one. He probably just thought that because that was the girl he wanted her to be. For both of their sakes.

Who was he kidding, he was unbelievably captivated by the girl on the balcony.

As the minutes ticked towards midnight, the girl put her bookmark back in her book and closed it, swinging her long legs over the side of the lounger and standing. He watched her hips sway as she took the few steps into her room, sliding the door shut with a soft click that sounded a lot louder in the quiet of the night.

Carlos was left as the only person sat outside. His mind was conflicted, to say the least. He was annoyed that he was so attached by this girl he had seen across the hotel complex, and it was so aggravating. Here he was, trying to relax, but no. The universe had other ideas.

It just had to throw a beautiful woman in the mix to rattle everything up. The weariness he felt was definitely exuberating his thoughts of her, but now he had to find some common sense, get a grip, and act like a normal, completely sane human being.

With a sigh, Carlos took himself back inside as well. He brushed his teeth, took in his own weary expression and went straight to bed. A relieved groan escaped his lips as he collapsed down on the bed, his body quickly succumbing to the grasp of sleep.

There were no dreams plaguing his mind through the night, and he woke up to a light knocking on the door. His back cracked as he got out of bed and slowly stepped over to his hotel room door. Opening it, he saw a small, old lady with a large kart behind her.

"Housekeeping?" she smiled, her eyes wandering up and down his body.

She had a light blush on her cheeks, clearly slightly flustered by the shirtless, handsome man that she was looking at. "Could you come back in half an hour, please?" he asked, and she nodded immediately.

"Of course, sir, of course. Have a nice day."

"You too," he returned, closing the door behind him. He'd just head down to breakfast so he could let the nice lady do her job. The room wasn't messy at all since all he had done was sleep and sit on the balcony to watch- oh yeah. Her.

He had escaped the thought of her during his rest and the few minutes of his morning, but his mind had become tired of running away from her. He wished he could just ignore her, but there was that small part of him that wished he could catch another tantalising glimpse of her.

Carlos dressed himself and sorted out his hair somewhat before heading out of the door with his room key and wallet in his pocket. He would have just done room service for breakfast, but he wanted to give the woman some space.

She was in the room next door and she flashed him a kind smile as he peered in the door. The walk through the opulent lobby was short, and he could feel a small sniffle coming on due to the aircon.

And just out of the corner of his eye, he could've sworn he had saw her. He turned his head, only to see another relatively pretty woman. But, she didn't hold a candle to the girl who was reading the mystery book on her balcony the previous night.

He shook his head, trying to waft away the thoughts of her as he tried to have a peaceful breakfast. Carlos continued to walk, keeping his mind fixed on the thought of breakfast as opposed to visions of her.

Just as he thought he had torn his mind away from the wonder that she was, he saw her. The real her, this time. Not a random woman who had some similarities to her when he didn't have the chance to look at her properly. There she was.

She was wearing just a pair of blue wash shorts and plain white top, but it didn't matter. She was the single most stunning creature he had ever laid his eyes upon. He watched her walk down a corridor, and he spotted a sign that they were serving breakfast at one of the cafes in the hotel.

Carlos couldn't help himself but follow on, keeping his distance so he wouldn't seem like too much of a creep. But, who was he kidding? He was being creepy, practically following her to where she was going just to eat breakfast. He couldn't help but be entranced by the way that her hips swayed side to side as she walked and the way her figure looked. Awe-inspiring was all he could attach to her.

She settled down at a table, all by herself yet again. The woman picked up her menu, her shining eyes scanning over the contents. Carlos strategically picked a table that wasn't too near her, but near enough that he could happily see her. He just saw the first thing on the menu and decided on that, since he had much prettier things to be looking at.

As the waiter approached her table, his ears picked up to try and suss out the language she was speaking. English, Spanish or Italian, he would be fine. His French was questionable at best, but it was similar enough to Italian and Spanish. Plus, he could always ask Charles if he was in need of any urgent lessons. Well, Charles or Duolingo.

He heard snippets of her conversation, some 'no's' and 'yeses' as well as a nice, polite bout of 'pleases' laced in the exchange. But, even if she was speaking English to the waiter, that didn't mean it was her mother tongue.

But from what he could hear, her accent sounded pretty English, so he felt it was safe to assume that if he did end up talking to her in some delusioned parallel universe, he could aptly communicate with her. As if he would ever get the opportunity to talk to her, though.

Even just the idea of her focus being on him while they engaged in small talk about the weather sent his heart into a spiral of undefinable emotions. It was something he so desperately desired, but also needed to resign himself to the fact that it wasn't going to happen.

When the waiter came to his table next, he was at a loss for what he was supposed to be ordering. He flipped the menu open, his mouth just reading out the first option his eyes found. He didn't mind eggs benedict, he could live with having that for breakfast.

The waiter was gone just as quickly as he came, and Carlos was left with just his jug of water and his thoughts. Again. God, this holiday was such a bad idea. He tried to take in the surroundings of the restaurant, the theme being beachy, but still with a hint of luxury.

He allowed his eyes to flit over to her every now and then, taking in the way her eyes studied the room around her and the way in which she sipped at her cappuccino. From the distance, he saw the slight lipstick mark that was left behind on the white ceramic.

Her food got there before his did, and it was exactly as he had ordered his. Eggs benedict. Yes, he had only ordered his since it was the first thing he could make out, but the delusional part of his brain saw it as fate.

Her smile was enchanting as she thanked the waiter, small dimples on her cheeks as her kind eyes looked up at him. He wanted her to smile at him when she looked at him, not some waiter who just brought out her breakfast.

Shortly after, the waiter was back with his eggs benedict, which he wasn't even hungry for anymore. He was hungry for something else. Something a hell of a lot sweeter.

He scarfed down his eggs benedict like a man starved, just so he could be gone before she was. He didn't want to allow himself to stoop to the point of waiting to watch her leave, just so he could see the tantalising way in which her body moved.

He forced himself to walk straight through the hotel, straight through the lobby and right into the elevator before he even had chance to think and wait. By the time Carlos arrived back in his room, the lovely cleaning lady had made the bed and done some general tidying.

He was not going to allow this random girl to ruin his relaxation time, no way. This was about him. No one else but him. So, why not take some time to lounge around the pool? He could go for a swim, catch a little sun, maybe do a sudoku or two. Now that was a proper version of repose.

The quicker he did things, the less his mind would drift back to her, so he quickly packed some things in his backpack. A book of sudokus, sun cream, a towel, and his phone. He checked the room, making sure there was nothing that he was missing before he set off on his leisurely stroll down to the pool.

His footsteps echoed off the tall ceilings of the corridors and the lobby, and he really was appreciating the luxury of the hotel he was staying in. Of course, he had only picked the best for himself, but he was cognizant of the ability to spoil himself a little.

Carlos had the choice of 3 pools around the resort, the first of which being the one located in the spa. Now, it would have been quiet, but he wasn't interested in the soothing music and smell of lavender right now. Instead, he opted for the soft splashes of water and scent of suncream.

The first of the other 2 pools was located by the beach, and the views were absolutely breathtaking. But, there were quite a few people there, so he finally decided on the other pool. There was nothing wrong with it, you could still see the ocean and take in the sights, so he didn't think it was too much of a compromise.

Settling on a sunlounger, Carlos stripped his shirt off and stuffed it into his backpack, allowing himself to soak up the sun. He'd hold off on the suncream for a short while, hoping he wouldn't get burnt on the first day of his holiday.

Leaning back on the lounger, Carlos took a deep breath, taking in the surroundings. There weren't many people around the pool, just the odd couple lazing around with a few people swimming laps. Now this was the peaceful atmosphere he was looking for.

He closed his eyes, feeling his skin soaking up the rays of sunlight. The palm trees around the pool rustled softly in the sea-side breeze, and it took the edge off of the pure heat that was felt all around.

The voices around him were hushed, people conversing in soft tones as to not disturb the quiet of the pool. Around an hour had passed of Carlos lying around on his sun lounger, he decided a dip in the pool was what he was wanting.

He left his stuff where he was sat, knowing it wouldn't get stolen or anything. He took the stairs one at a time, and the temperature of the water was perfect. Carlos swam over to the edge and rested his back against the cool tiles.

He was thoroughly enjoying people watching, mostly just couples their on their holidays. He had seen a few people who seemed to be alone like him, as well as a few families with older children.

He was thankful for his sunglasses so he could observe without being noticed and without seeming like a creep. Well, he might have been slightly creepy towards the girl from the balco- and there she was again.

He scoffed to himself, annoyed that he was letting himself think back to that. She was omnipresent practically, even if she wasn't there physically, she plagued his mind. He thought if he didn't fight the thoughts so much, then they wouldn't be so aggressive in their push to the forefront of his mind.

And just as he thought nothing else could go wrong, he heard the patter of feet on the tiled walkway through the near silence of his surroundings. His heart knew before he had seen her, and as soon as he had raised his head, he was greeted with the sight of the goddess he had seen.

She was wearing a sheer throw over her bikini, and she had a body that looked like it was sculpted by God himself to make her absolutely perfect for Carlos. She sat down at a lounger that was dangerously close to his, and he fully contemplated just sitting in the pool until she eventually left.

As she shrugged the throw off her shoulders and stuffed it into her tote bag, he couldn't help but marvel at the way her skin shone in the sunlight. If only he could just run his hands over her, feel the smoothness under his fingertips...

Alas, that wouldn't be happening.

Again, this was one of those times where he was unbelievably thankful for the genuins invention of sunglasses. His head may have been sat square on his shoulders, but his eyes were looking slightly to the right.

She readjusted her sun lounger, sitting back as she rummaged around in her bag for something. There it was, the book. The colours on the cover were the same, yet he still couldn't quite catch the title of the book. If he could hazard a guess, it was some sort of mystery, based off of the dark blues of the cover.

He couldn't help but see her as the type of girl to read a romance novel, but he wasn't sure. Maybe it was a book about romance, the deep intricate facets of love and devotion to someone. But he wouldn't know.

If he could, he would offer to rub sun cream on her back, his hands lingering for just a little longer than necessary. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist peppering a few kisses down her neck and across her shoulders. Carlos tried to imagine her laugh as she playfully told him to stop it.

He wouldn't stop, leaning his head down and kissing her more just to prove his point. Maybe he'd make a suggestive comment - it would have depended on the mood of the day. Even if that had never stopped Carlos before.

He had to snap himself out of it before his mind went to darker places, not wanting the physical effect of said thoughts to become evident. Now that would have been really really embarrassing. He'd never forgive himself if he let himself go that far.

Every page she turned was like an indicator of time passing by, the bookmark moving through the pages like a stop-motion picture. He wondered if she was enjoying the book, who her favourite characters were. Maybe there were some quotes that she'd remember, some more philosophical or meaningful ones.

If he could figure out the title, he'd give it a read. See if he enjoyed it too.

It was seeming like she was never going to leave, and Carlos could feel his skin becoming dried out by the chlorine, rippled and rough like unconditioned leather. He swam his way over to the edge of the pool, hauling himself out of the water with as much grace as he could.

Water droplets ran down his body as he made his way back over to his sun lounger. Unless he was losing his mind, which was highly likely, he could've sworn her eyes flicked up from the gripping words on the page and onto him.

He saw the blue of her irises, her pupils constricting as she momentarily looked at him. He could have sworn his heart was going to break through his ribs and skin, pouring out for everyone to see. As he sat down, picking up his towel and lazily running it over his body, he tried to take a few deep breaths.

'Get it together' he thought to himself, 'you're being stupid.' He really felt idiotic as he sat there, trying to calm down from something as simple as his random hotel crush looking at him for a moment as he walked by.

It was just human curiosity. That is all it was. She wasn't checking him out, she wasn't looking at him with particular interest. It was plain, simple, inquisitivity.

He draped his towel over the back of the chair so that it could dry in the heat, and he leant back, closing his eyes to try and chill himself out. As he sat there, his thoughts were running wild. He was so consumed by the simplest action, a teeny little look in his direction, and he was already getting frustrated at himself for letting himself feel this way.

"Hey, sorry, excuse me?" a voice broke him out of his thoughts.

A/N - Hey loves! Would really appreciate if you could reblog this, still think I'm shadowbanned for some absurd reason. Hope you enjoyed, been working on this for a short amount of time, and I quite like this one. Love y'all! 💖💖

|masterlist|

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yumigguk · 7 months ago

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HERETIC| jjk & kth (teaser)

pairing: jeon jungguk x reader; kim taehyung x reader

genre: angst, mature themes

warnings: vulgar language

category: teaser

summary: 𝘊𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘺, 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘈𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘺𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘷𝘪𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵.

In the hushed atmosphere, '80s Italian music provides a soundtrack. Your hands carry the faint scent of a condom, the night of “love” imprinted in memory. A night full of tears, moans, and Jungkook's blind promises.

On your lips, there's a taste of early memories about him and you and conversations too profound for this passionate domain. The game feels too taboo. Alongside the Italian music, the violent voices of your friends resonate. You try to focus on what your friends are saying, but your mind jumps to him. You breathe heavily, struggling to remind yourself of him. It’s a monotonous time. It's cold. And you can't understand how the world around you isn't suffocating. He’s not in front of you, but you feel the tension between you two.

Jungkook is a fallen angel. Proud. Unsharing. But wanting to be shared. He's cruel. Merciless. He shatters you completely, and in the end, he smiles. He disrespects you. And you, pathetic, take everything eagerly. He's the god on a pedestal. Only his pleasure matters. You sell yourself until he no longer wants you. Jungkook or the Antichrist.

You light a cigarette and remember the late August night spent together. Undressed. Nude. A glass of wine in his hand. The thick smoke stuck to the ceiling. The rain had started. Strong. Even though it rained, it was suffocatingly hot. The ash fell nonchalantly on the floor, what if the rented Airbnb were to burn?. Or maybe he didn't even realize. A typical apartment furnished for the type of woman you were: a mistress. Are mistresses allowed to fall in love?

"Wouldn't you like us to be stuck in this moment forever?" One of his selfish questions.

"No, it's too hot," you reply shortly and harshly, knowing you're lying. Jungkook wanted to know any weakness.

You and Jungkook started everything as a game. You felt from the first moment that the tender gestures would be fatal to you. That they were part of his fucked-up game to collect yet another soul to destroy. Who are you to deny it? Jungkook was fierce, merciless, and aware of the power he had over you. He fooled you with sweet words and beautiful promises, maybe even unforgettable moments. Which meant nothing to him.

The relationship between you and him was vague. It never had coordinates. Lovers? Nothing to him? All you know is that he stole something from you. Consciousness. You don't realize time and space, but one thing is certain: he's married.

"Y/N?" your friend Bora calls out desperately for your approval. You sense she wants to leave home because she's already packing up.

The rain dissolves you, merging with the streets of Seoul, as if nothing animates you anymore. Would you wish for nostalgia to dissipate with a cigarette, merging seamlessly with the revived state? Yes. That’s how he deals with this. He smokes and doesn't let himself be animated by your feelings or anyone else's. He wants you. Tacitly. Without ever telling you. He wants you ruthlessly, mercilessly, as if his marriage meant nothing. Maybe it doesn't mean anything when you're together.

Arriving home, you reach for the phone and dial. Once again, you plunge into the void. You made a pact with the Antichrist, a decision impelled by your own fragrance that suffocated you, reminding you of him. You find yourself in decline: A notorious film, bitter passions of love.

"Hey–"

"I'm coming over," that's what he says and hangs up.

Droplets of repetitive water. The ticking of the clock. You hear the entrance door, and your breath catches. Wet. Hungry. Desiring. Fire. It sets your body ablaze. Thirsty glances. You relish his nocturnal version, the one whispering for you to stop, both knowing he wants you more. You capture his lips gently; his tongue sharing the taste of tobacco. Impatiently, a little time passed, and he confesses that you've induced an erection (a noteworthy detail). You can't deny the chemistry. Boiling with anticipation, today his twisted pleasures give you a hard time.

"I'm sorry I fucked her." You break from the deadly kiss and lose yourself in emptiness. You don't want to look at him for fear that the passions of love would kill you.

You swallow hard. Heart as small as a flea. Short and chaotic breaths. Why is he apologizing? Your nose tickles, and your eyes try not to let tears escape. Suddenly, you understand nothing.

You've never understood anything. You've never understood who he truly is. Maybe he doesn't even know. Amnesias and confusions. The nullity of your own words.

"Wouldn't you like us to be stuck in this moment forever?" You laugh bitterly.

#jeon jungkook #bts #bts jungkook #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook scenarios #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook fic #bts scenarios #jungkook drabble #kim taehyung #taehyung bts #v bts #taehyung boyfriend #taehyung smut #taehyung imagine #taehyung fic #jungkook imagine

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luvaurae · 8 months ago

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Simon “ghost” Riley x reader 🫶🏼

This is my first tumblr post, go easy on me 🙏 I’m not sure how it sounds or if I like it or not, sorry if there’s typos ‼️

You and Simon had been together for about 6 months now. Normally Simon was deployed and sent away to work for 3-4 months (depending on the job.) which wasn’t the best. You always had to sit in your little yet cozy apartment without his presence, and sometimes when you needed him most, he wasn’t there. When you were in the shower, he wasn’t standing behind you with his arms wrapped around your waist. When you were in bed, he wasn’t spooning you and keeping you warm. When you cooked dinner, you had no one to serve it to except yourself. Obviously you loved him, but it was so hard to get up for your own work in the morning without him groaning and saying things like - “..five more minutes luv’ .” Or “.. jus’ call work n tell em ya sick, please dove?”. But you knew his job was important, and it helped the both of them with rent and food shopping.

———————————

As you jangled your keys into your doorknob, trying your best to shove it in as your eyes fluttered open and shut. You had just been on a six-hour shift at work and felt as if you were going to pass out every time you moved any part of your body. Eventually you managed to open up your apartment door, shutting it and locking it behind you without even turning back. You dropped your bag to the floor next to your shoe rack before making your way into bed, taking off your coat as you do so. You awkwardly rub your eyes before hopping into bed with your work t-shirt and your panties, pulling the blanket up trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in. As soon as your head hits your pillow, you’re out cold. Snoring, not so quietly. You’re positive the whole of the building can hear it.

It was about 5:05pm.

You woke up to the sound of your door opening. It couldn’t be Simon, could it?.. he told you another week? He texted you and said specifically “captain said another week lovie, I’m sorry.” You shot up from your bed, not making a creak. You tiptoed into your closet, where a wooden bat had been lying against the wall (it was the one your dad gave you before you moved out.) you wrapped your hands around the handle as you opened your door, slowly yet carefully. Sweat building up within your palms, yet your grip on the bat extremely hard. You manage to tiptoe out of your room, the rest of your apartment still dark as you heard sounds coming from your kitchen. You gripped the bat with two hands before running into the kitchen and swinging it at the figures head, you told yourself you got a pretty good hit. Yet as the light from the refrigerator shines on the figure.. it was Simon. Of course it was.

———————————

“I’m so sorry baby. I didn’t know it was you.” I say shakily pressing a cold freezer pack wrapped in a cloth onto Simon’s head as he rested on our bed.

“Don’t be sorry dove. At least I know ya know how to protect ya self’” Simon’s says in his deep British accent, giving off a small chuckle at the end. I felt horrible, yet at the same time proud. And honestly it felt a little good to get him back for not having much time to spend with me.

“How come your back so early? And why didn’t you text me?” I say pulling away the ice pack from his head and placing it on my side table as I now tuck myself beside him in our bed.

“I dunno, and I knew i shou’ve but I didn’t want to disturb my Angel in er’ beauty sleep.” Simon gives another chuckle. God sometimes I had forgotten how beautiful he was. I smile at him as my head rested against the pillow, now just staring at him as I take in his features. For a moment I was in my own world, just thinking about how gorgeous he was.

“I missed you.” I say in a slightly tired and grumbled voice as I snap out of my trance and close my eyes.

“I missed you too, luv.” Simon gives me a soft peck on my shoulder before turning off the lamp and spooning me, sliding his arm underneath mine and pulling me close to him so that his warmth radiated me.

#call of duty #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost #simon riley x reader

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fraisaa · 2 months ago

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I don't think anyone understands my love for kiribaku, idk how many times i have talked about this but i've been obsessed with them since 2019. They've been living in my head rent-free for the past 6 years and no matter how many months i go by without consuming absolutely everything i find about them i always come back to bnha JUST for them.

They literally represent everything i love in a romantic relationship or even a platonic one if that's what you prefer (personally, i prefer them in a romantic light but i 100% understand if you see them more on the platonic side).

Bakugo who's explosive and has a tendency to be aggressive even if he means well and Kirishima who's calmer in a way but still aggressive if needed, sort of like the calming drought for Bakugo??

And the way he absolutely and wholeheartedly wants to understand Bakugo and is there for him no matter what, the way Bakugo trusts Kirishima completely out of everyone? I just love them so fucking much oh my god.

The whole friends to lovers trop with no toxicity (i absolutely despise romantic relationships where one of them was toxic to the othe beforehand) and just the build-up and feelings realisation and all?? I just eat it up every time..

And i'm not gonna lie, this doesn't even scratch the surface of my love for them or the depth of their relationship I'm just simply not a writer, i dont know how to put everything that goes on in my mind about them into words but they literally consume my whole being.

My world has revolved around them ever since i had an inkling of what shipping meant back then. I love love love their fanarts, their fanfics, everything about them just makes me so happy every single time i can not get enough of them.

They're literally the cutest and I love them so much, they just mean so much to me idek what i'm rambling about atp.

#bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bakugo katsuki #kirishima eijirou #mha bakugou #bnha bakugou #bnha kirishima #mha kirishima #kiribaku #bakukiri #bakugo x kirishima #kirishima x bakugou #bakusquad #ao3fic #i just love them so much #literally just rambling

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zorosdimples · 1 year ago

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HYPERFIXATION

pairing ༄ yandere!naruto x f!reader

warnings ༄ minors: please do not interact! i will block you. non-consensual voyeurism, masturbation, stalking, religious imagery, a bit of blood, and generally toxic behavior. reader wears a dress and some lacy underwear and has a vagina, but is only referred to as “you.” this gets icky, so please heed these warnings before reading.

word count ༄ 1311

notes ༄ this work is for the lovely @tired-biscuit! manda didn’t ask for this, but she is the reason why dark naru has infected my brain, so she must accept this creepy lil fic as a token of my gratitude <3 it was fun to write the sunshine boy as…well…a freak. please keep in mind that our narrator is unreliable and filters reality through naruto’s skewed worldview. anyway, please enjoy!

his eyes are an unfathomable ocean of blue, wide and limitless as the horizon. his gaze holds a palpable warmth, as if dipped in golden sunlight, glowing with inhuman kindness and charisma.

only a god, or perhaps a fellow monster, could see past the carefully constructed façade of his eyes. the veil of sincerity is mere gossamer, but appears too natural to be false. it’s intended to attract and allure—the ruse of a predator so beautiful his prey doesn’t perceive danger until after poison is thrumming through their bloodstream.

you are just a human. perhaps your mediocrity is what initially drew those moonless eyes. why else would they turn to you? it’s a secret he will never divulge to another soul; not until you are wholly his, anyway.

he will forever remember the first time he stumbled upon you at the market on a sun-drenched saturday. he was out of eggs and on a quick mission to grab a dozen so he could cook and eat breakfast. there weren’t many people out since it was early, dewdrops clinging to shaded blades of grass and shivering leaves, so he easily traversed the market without much of the idle chit chat that comes with being a public figure.

but there you were: sorting through oranges as vibrant as his jacket. the breeze rustled your hair into what looked like a luminous halo in the morning light. his quick pace came to a lurching halt when he saw you, lithe body slightly swaying as his feet rooted in place.

he was fixated on your handling and inspection of the citrus, fingertips delicately dancing along the skin of each fruit. you plucked up one orange at a time, rolling it in your hands to test the firmness, holding it close to your thoughtful face to check for spots, then placing it in your produce bag. you were too immersed in your methodical fruit selection to notice that the hokage was only a few feet from you, slack-jawed in wonder.

from a single glance he could tell you were a civilian. your movements were too fluid, too carefree; you had none of the mechanical sharpness that marked a shinobi. and if you were a shinobi he would have recognized you instantly. he has met every ninja in the village at least a handful of times.

no, you were a rare breed in konoha: one of the ungifted few.

his mind grew dizzy with questions: was anyone in your family a shinobi? were your parents disappointed that you couldn’t use ninjutsu? were you bullied growing up by more talented and popular peers? he certainly understood the pain of an isolated upbringing.

he thought of your plainness, your innocence, your naïveté to the horrors of his world—to the horrors his bloodstained palms have wrought and rent. in a village of expert spies and killers, you were a lone lamb ripe for the picking. it was painfully apparent that you needed protection. who better than the hokage to be your protector?

his dick twitched at the thought.

he followed you home for the first time that day, his empty stomach a forgotten memory. his deep eyes consumed you: the sway of your hips as you strolled down the sidewalk, the hem of your sundress swishing around your plush thighs, the swing of the produce bag draped over your shoulder. he hungrily watched you bend over to marvel at blooms along your route, peek into colorful shop windows, and kneel down to pet a friendly calico cat.

bitter jealousy seized his gut when you waved at a neighbor, offering a bright “hello!” and flashing the man a disarming smile. his jaw ticked and nostrils flared. the caged beast within him growled in disgust at the man’s audacity to leer at you as you bounded up the steps of your apartment building.

he had to shield you from those who would take advantage of your vulnerability.

༄

moonbeams peak through the gaps in your cheap blinds at this hour, illuminating your slumbering form, limbs curled up beneath a mass of soft bedsheets and cozy blankets. the whir of the fan reverberates through your cold bedroom and masks any noise that the stranger in your apartment might make.

naruto has watched you for days, for weeks, for months. in truth, time has been a blur of your tender laugh and saccharine gaze and supple flesh. since he fell for you, his love has been a hazy dream he can’t seem to wake from. all he can think of is you.

this is the first time he has been brazen enough to visit your apartment while you’re home. his heart was aching for an unobstructed view of you; tracking your figure through windows and computer screens doesn’t do your beauty justice, he determines as he looks down at your angelic face. the rush he feels being so close to you is pure ecstasy. he devours the sight of your sleeping silhouette. he knows that you’re nude under the sheets—he knows everything about you, after all.

he knows that you’re on your period, and that your cycle makes you especially needy. he knows that you masturbated this evening right after your hot shower. he knows that you wore a slinky pair of blue panties while you were getting in the mood. he knows that you didn’t touch yourself until your arousal soaked through the gusset and dripped down into the swell of your ass, proceeding to tease your clothed clit until it throbbed. he knows that you peeled off the soiled lace, lazily tossing the garment on the floor before you spread your puffy lips and fucked yourself with three fingers, rubbing tight circles on your clit until you cried out as you climaxed.

he wishes he could trace the curves of your soft skin, your heavenly body untainted by war and violence unlike his own. to see your eyes flutter open as he worships you with gentle kisses and prayerful praises. to adore your most sacred parts as your sole disciple. to bring you divine pleasure with his cursed lips, tongue, hands, and cock.

he picks your underwear up from where you carelessly dropped it. his calloused forefinger and thumb rub the delicate lace—the same color as his lustful irises—with reverence. he unfurls the fabric, the pearly moonlight highlighting an intimate gift: streaks of your essence and dribbled blood staining the gusset. he buries his nose in the garment, inhaling your musky scent with a shudder. he’s addicted.

he’s painfully hard as his tongue darts out to graze the remnants of your desire and ichor, tentative licks yielding to ravenous laps as he decides there is no sweeter taste. he has to stifle a whimper as he fishes his aching cock out of his wet trousers and smears a mess of precum down his shaft. he pumps his length to the sight of your dreamy face and the overwhelming smell and taste of your arousal, panties flat against his tongue. he should be worried about the schlick schlick schlick of his jerking cock rousing you from slumber, but all he can focus on is quelling the animal urge to blow his load all over your face, to officially mark you as his.

it doesn’t take him long to cum. he rips your underwear out of his mouth and shoots creamy white ropes all over the fabric with a rumbling groan, his fluids mixing with your own. naruto shoves the sodden garment into his pocket and takes a final look at you before disappearing into the velvet night.

the next day you search high and low for your missing pair of underwear; it seems to have vanished into thin air. your confusion only mounts when you find it a few days later, freshly laundered and neatly folded in the top drawer of your dresser.

#i’m dropping this here & running for the hills #goodnight!!!#naruto #naruto shippuden #uzumaki naruto #naruto uzumaki #naruto smut #yandere naruto #naruto x reader #naruto uzumaki smut #naruto x y/n #naruto x you #yandere #tw yandere #tw dark content #yandere x reader #dark naruto #༄ kae writes

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georgiapeach30513 · 2 months ago

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Inside Her Fantasy, Part 4

Summary: so you could take it off

Pairings: Ransom Drysdale X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, fingering, oral sex (F receiving), PIV sex, cream pie, mentions of videoing, mentions of phone sex, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 4.9K

*dividers created by @saradika-graphics

Series Masterlist

Willow drops a magazine on the table in front of you, but you push it away without laying down your Kindle. She lays another one down, and you scoot it aside as well. Annoying. This is your daily reading hour, and she’s interrupting. Another, and you glare up at her, and she drops a stack full down on the first three.

Removing your eyes from her, you look down to the magazine on top, and quirk up a smile. God, Ransom looked so good in that car. He felt so good driving away from the game with his hand tightly on your thigh. You couldn’t see much from the pictures, but apparently that little Beamer is synonymous with your boyfriend.

“You went to a game,” that much is obvious. You’d think by the way the gossip rags were talking you discovered a cure for an incurable disease. You play coy, shrugging, and pick up the magazine, flipping to the big gossip in question. Who knew that going out with your boyfriend after he played a winning game could be so scandalous. Deserving of all these front pages? If only they knew you and Ransom would rather be in Bucky and Sarge’s backyard with the kids.

“You went to a game, and walked into the locker room,” you sure did. Had a few bodyguards with you. You made them follow you, while you and Ransom drove around for a while just the two of you with stolen kisses at every red light. Ending with a dinner at the Patriots’ favorite restaurant, and they had it rented out. Completely private.

You and Ransom had danced to the music. He showed you off to his teammates. He swayed you back and forth while you watched Bucky playing pool. He even taught you how to play pool. He mostly enjoyed leaning over you, whispering in your ear, and so did you. It was the most low key thing you’ve done in years, and it was one of your favorite nights.

Each day with Ransom shows you not just how much you’ve fallen for him, but how much you are completely in love with him. It was loud, obnoxious, raucous, and you could barely hear anything but music and laughter. But whenever Ransom said, ‘Bud,’ everything fades away, and you couldn’t help but smile at him. Only his voice could be heard.

His voice rings above everything else in your life. You love what you do, you adore performing for your fans, but life currently felt dull if Ransom wasn’t in the moment with you. And when he’s around — it sounds ridiculous but it’s like there’s a brightness, and a glow.

Willow clears her throat, and you look up at her sweetly, “You have to tell me these things, so I know how to get in front of it. That is my job.”

“What is there to get in front of?” Normally you trust Willow. But whatever is in these magazines didn’t seem like a big deal. Looking through another you see that someone’s Instagram story was used to show you and Ransom in a world of your own. His hand is dangerously low on your back, so low his fingers touch your ass. He’s pulling you so tight against his chest, and you are beaming up at him. You wish this was a clearer photo.

“If you’re going to do a,” she sighs, looking away from you before blurting out, “A showmance, then I need to know.”

You tear the page of the girl’s instagram post out, and balk up at Willow. Did she really say what you think she did? How could she not know what is happening between you and Ransom? It is so pure and amazing, and she cheapened it with one word. “This is not a showmance!”

“You’ve literally just met the guy, and you’re wandering around after a football game acting like you’re in high school,” she seriously didn’t know you. Just met him? You’ve been hanging out with him. You have stayed behind the scenes. She knows this about you! But something innocent as high school sounds like a breath of fresh air.

“Maybe that’s what I need in my life! Everything has been so calculated for the past few years. Launching the biggest tour of my career. But I — I love him,” Willows eyes burst wide as she stares at you. You didn’t say that easily, despite what some people state as facts. “I haven’t just met him. I met him after the concert, the one I invited him to? And I’ve talked to him everyday since then. I’ve made every down time be about spending time with him. I love him.”

Damn, that feels amazing to say. You love him. You love Ransom Drysdale. You are in love with Ransom Drysdale. Ransom is the one.

Willow takes a deep breath, sighing as she stares at you, “You’re taking him to Rhode Island, aren’t you?” You shrug. You hadn’t even thought about it. Rhode Island is your sanctuary. Only the most special people in your life got to venture there. Of course it makes sense to take Ransom. Show him your oasis. The most private location you have. Total privacy. For the most part. As private as you can get.

“I know you. And you deserve happiness, too,” you did. And it is Ransom. You didn’t care about how many people wanted to pry into your life anymore. He is in your life. You want him in it. You want to share your love with the world. A bit of it anyways. You want them to see who is making you this happy. See who you want to spend the rest of your life with. That’s scary to think about, but you’re in love. Possibly never been in love like this before, but still, in love.

“You’ve got a couple weeks off. Spend it with people you really care about,” Willow spins on her heel, leaving you with bubbling thoughts. It seems ridiculous to plan sex, but you’re ready. More ready than ever, and you’re glad that you and Ransom have waited. Extra happy that Ransom never once pressured you. You’re pretty sure he’s enjoyed the ride just as much. And no sex doesn’t mean you can’t have fun.

You expel a breath, already getting excited for the next stop on the tour, if only for it to end so you can have a mini break. You’ll spend every moment basking in Ransom, or he in you. You want to spoil him with affection and all the attention. Buy a new dress just for the occasion. A soft melody sticks into your brain, and you record yourself humming. The words aren’t quite there yet.

Whatever lyrics come later, you know they’re Ransom. All about him. Maybe you had to have those extra domestic moments with him to understand what string of words need to be there. It didn’t matter. It is Ransom’s song. Your ode to him.

You hum that diddy again, stroking down your guitar, and still no words come out. Your eyes look out at the horizon, trying to focus on anything but how difficult this stupid ass song is being. Listening to the seagulls squawk as the waves crash onto the rocks. It’s a peacefulness that you cannot get enough of. Letting the world lead you to lyrics.

You strum a chord, and smile as a line comes to your mind. Reaching to your phone you press record, and hum and write lyrics as they happen. Yours and Ransom’s love story spilling out with your voice. He’d be here soon, but you wish he was with you right now. Hearing you sing the story of him. You could write an entire album about just him. He was that amazing.

You pause a moment, and take a deep salty breath. Inhaling a world separate from whatever roaring noise is going on out there. A place to reset, and a place you didn’t share with anyone, but your mom. You hum again as his feet crunch in the pebbles. Hearing every step he takes before seating himself behind you, and his arms rest softly on your thighs.

“Bud, it’s beautiful out here,” he softly kisses on your shoulder, and you tilt your head, giving him better access to your neck. He takes the offer, and kisses almost too gently over your skin. his warm breath brushes across your skin, and sends lust pooling in your core, “How much time do you have off?”

Ransom has been chomping at the bit to mark your skin. “I have a two weeks,” he nips at the sensitive column, and you attempt to strum your guitar. Weakly sighing a few words before you stop. How can you concentrate with his sinful mouth biting over your skin?

“Keep singing,” he teases, nibbling a bit harder, and sucks a bruise on your skin.

“I can’t,” you whimper. Your legs start to spread on their own accord, and the wind blows up your new dress that you bought just for today. Just for him, “Ran,” his eyes flutter close at your voice. “Ransom,” you start again as his ministrations slow.

Singing out a few lines breathlessly, he gulps. His giant hands rub on your thighs, and you sing the line, “I only bought this dress so you could take it off,” and he pauses completely. Freezing in his spot, and you sing it again, adding sighs at the end of the line that make perfect sense for the song.

“Are you recording” you nod as an answer. Leaning back into his broad chest, and feeling his cock throb against you. He’s been so stoic during this, and this is about to go too far. Or not far enough. A hand slides from your thigh, under the new dress, and up your body. Stopping at the apex of your thigh, “Keep it on,” he whispers on your skin while his hand cups your covered mound.

Lightning flashes in your mind at the contact, and you desperately roll your hips. Your body pleading for friction while he softly kisses over your shoulders. Up your neck, and behind your ear, kissing over the shell, “What sounds will you make when I enter inside of you?”

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. You didn’t. This moment is beyond pleasure. It’s taking your relationship to a place you’ve never been. It’s giving yourself to him, “We can keep recording it,” you tease him, and he growls behind your ear. Giving your lobe a little bite.

“Just the sound?”

“Whatever you want,” throwing everything out the window. All your safeguards that you put up around you. Because you know deep down Ransom would never do anything to hurt you, or to make you lose your trust in him. Both of you traveled for your job, you had to have some way to connect you when you are worlds apart.

“Why are you promising me this?” He whispers against your body.

“Because I — I trust you,” chickenshit. You should have been honest with him. You already told him you didn’t have sex with someone unless you knew you loved them.

“I love you, too,” your half lidded eyes, shoot fully open. Looking out at the water again, but wishing you could look behind you better. Twisting your head, you look at him the best you can, and he’s got a boyish grin on his face. “That’s what you were meaning to say, right?”

“Yes.”

“Does it make it easier to say, since I kinda said it first? But, I added a too, so really you said it first. And I think you’re in love with me. I think you are madly in love with me,” a smile spreads across your face as you nod at him. “And I’m hopelessly in love with you, too.”

“I love you, Ran.”

“Yep,” he groans, scooting away from you. He stands up awkwardly, and your eyes lock onto the aching bulge in his pants. “Unless you want me to discover your body on these rocks, where anyone could maybe have a drone or long range camera, we should go inside.”

“Yeah,” you let out the longest breath of air, standing with the guitar, and your phone. “We should — should go inside.”

“Turn off the recording,” you look at him a bit confused. He just said, “Our first time making love is just for us. But I’m not leaving the bed, the couch, the table, the counter, the bathroom, the theater, the pool, the stairs, the…”

“I get it,” you giggle again, stopping the recording on your phone.

“I’m going to have every part of you, in every part of this house,” you hope that this is a promise because there’s nothing you have wanted more than him. All of him, and everywhere. He holds out a hand to take your own, but instead, he slides up your dress enough to pick you up. Placing your legs around his slim waist as he carries you towards the house.

“I can walk,” you giggle, staring up at him in awe. Noticing every fleck of gold and green in his eyes. He only shakes his head no. His steps are steady. He seems to be counting them, and struggling to keep his eyes off you. You’ve never wanted anything more than him, and you’ve thought you’d been in love before, but this time is different.

And not in a way that everyone says that this time is different. Different in a way that puts all the other times to shame. You knew as you were falling for them that it ultimately wouldn’t last. Some things you just know deep into your bones. You made things work before because you love love. But with Ransom, you feel him. That invisible string that was leading you to him had wound itself so tightly around the two of you. It is holding you two in place because it’s where you’re meant to be.

You could give up your career if it only meant spending more time with him. Building a life and family with him. It all made sense. You see it unfolding in front of your eyes. He sets you down on the living room floor, and starts a weird hum. It’s off key, but it’s the very song you were just attempting to sing to him. He was actually paying attention to you. Humming, and spinning you around in the middle of the living room like it is the most natural thing to do. Simple, and meaning so much to you.

You join in with his humming, mumbling a few of the lyrics in with his off key sound. Knowing that this is your home. Not this house, but him. You smile as you gaze up at him. Basking in the innocent part of love. It really is so high school. Love should be fun. It should be several things, but this is the most blissful you’ve been with love. Not in an overly goofy way, but a way that is just — Ransom and you.

You smirk as you spin away from him. Starting to walk towards the hallway. You’re the one taking calculated steps as you head towards the bedroom. Stopping in the doorway, and you spin to look at him, “I only bought this dress so you could take it off,” most men would rip the dress off your body, but Ransom’s hands slide behind your back, and he pulls the ribbon, letting it drift to your sides. Loosening up the dress, and he pulls each strap gently off your shoulders.

It dips lower, revealing your lack of a bra. Ransom’s Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps. And with one shimmy of your hips, the dress drifts to the floor. Piling down at your feet, and you look up at him through your lashes. They don’t make men that look like Ransom. All man. Thick enough to crush you if he wanted to. Towering over you, and yet he is still the biggest teddy bear you know.

His arm props up against the doorframe, eyes wandering down your body, “I think I’m a bit overdressed,” taking a deep breath, you reach for his jeans first. Undoing the button before you pull at the hem of his shirt. Tugging it up his body, and he finishes removing it. You press both hands on his chest, smiling when you feel his rapid heart beat.

“Don’t tell anybody, but there’s very few things that make me weak.”

“And what makes you weak?” Leaning forward, Ransom wraps his arms around your legs, just below your ass, and he hauls you out of the floor. Walking you to the bed, where he tosses you on top. He steps out of his shoes, and pulls only his jeans down before crawling into the bed. Immediately leaning over your body, and capturing your lips.

His weight, and bare chest press up against your own, and you pull him as tight to you as possible. Fingernails scraping up and down his back, while his hand roams down your body. His fingers tease the elastic on your panties, while he sweetly nips over your mouth, “Ran, what are you thinking?”

“How much I love you, and even though I don’t deserve you, I don’t want to fight this. I can’t,” you caress his cheek, leaning up to give him chaste kisses. He’s beautiful. You didn’t throw that word around often with men, but he is. “What are you thinking?”

“That I’ve never loved anyone like you before,” his mouth cocks into a grin. “And you’re killing me here,” instead of going under the elastic like you need, he cups your covered mound, and you whimper at him. “Ran — please?”

There’s something in the whine of your voice, coupled with the sweetest pout from your face. You said please. Softly and weakly begging for him, and he pushes aside your panties, and runs his fingers through your slit. Gaping open his mouth as he watches you face fill with pleasure, “You’re soaked,” you know. You’re heated, and drowning in your own arousal at this point.

“Is this all for me?”

“No, there’s so much more,” you bite on your lip when he finds your bundle of nerves. Giving it a few teasing touches before he dips down between your lips, and toys with your entrance. “Keep going,” you goad him, and he pushes two fingers into your warmth, and euphoria rushes through your blood. Arching your back as you struggle to breathe.

“Shh,” he whispers. His own mouth going agape at the feeling of your velvety walls. “I need you to breathe for me, Bud.”

“I’ve never…I’ve never felt like this,” your chest heaves as you take in too short of breaths. “What are you doing?”

“Exploring you,” he presses an innocent kiss to your lips, “Learning you,” his motions are as slow as flowing honey. Working his drenched fingers in and out of you while he places open mouth kisses over your heated skin. Sucking and nipping over your body. Exploring every inch. His mouth travels lower, and he sucks a nipple into his mouth. Rolling his tongue around the pebbled peak before venturing to the over one.

He pulls off your body with a pop, and sinks lower. Lower. Grazing his lips over your belly button before trailing kisses on down. Ghosting over your panties before he stares at your body swallowing his fingers, and he presses the most gentle sweet kiss over your clit. “Every part of you is beautiful, Bud. Every inch of you is a work of art, and I can’t get enough.”

Men could say words like this frequently, but Ransom never did. He never went past sex with women. He was a player, and had long believed that love could ever happen to him. Until you. You changed everything. You made him not only believe love could happen, you showed him. You made him realize that football isn’t everything. You made him want more than the life he’d been living.

His tongue licks gently up your body. He moans at the taste of your honey. Smiling when you peer down at him, looking every bit as innocent as you are, “I just want to saturate you in pleasure,” he whispers before his lips circle around your swollen nub, and you mewl, lifting your back off the mattress.

His fingers drive into your heat in tandem with his mouth. Perfect rhythm that has your toes curling, and your body lifting off the mattress. The lyrics to Ransom are long gone, and all you can see is bright blinding light. The pleasure is nearly too much, and maybe if you were thinking about it, you’d know this man has had ample amounts of practice. But they didn’t matter anymore. his past is gone, and only his present remains. And that’s you.

All that matters now is Ransom humping the mattress with the same flow as his fingers and mouth. Desperately working himself up by your whimpers and movement. You grip tightly to your nipples, and roll them between your forefinger and thumb. So much stimulation that it makes you dizzy. It makes you yearn for more than his fingers. You want to become one with him. You want all of him. You need him.

You’ve never wanted anything more. You may be blinded by the pleasure that he pushes into your body, but you still know that the beautiful man making you feel this way is the man that you’ll marry, have children with, and spend the rest of your life with. Your career and his career be damned. You can take care of the two of you. You’re obsessed and you know it.

“Ransom!” His name leaks out of your mouth as fire courses through you. Everything inside of you is molten lava. So much heat. “Ran — Ransom!” You cannot help but scream out his name because you can’t think of anything else. Nothing else matters. Just Ransom. Just him.

Dropping your tits, you grip tightly to his hair. Tugging right at the roots as your body floats off the bed, and you clench your eyes closed. “Ransom!” Your mouth falls open as the most beautiful high ignites you, and your body heaves as you sit up, and stare at the devil between your thighs. Licking, and smacking his lips as he cleans you with his tongue.

“I need you inside of me,” reaching up, he rips apart your panties, and tosses them onto the floor before he rips his own off, and knees himself onto the bed. His wide berth keeps you spread, opening up wider to accommodate his size, and Ransom sinks lower to the bed. Hovering over your body, while he runs his cock through your velvety folds, and you gaze up at him.

“I need you inside of me now,” you plead, and he presses his length up against you. Gasping, you look between your bodies. The tiniest gap separates you, but you witness him right at your entrance. “Ran,” smirking, he pushes through your walls, and you bite on your lip. Whimpering. Tugging. Scratching. Pulling. Wrapping your legs around him.

He doesn’t stop his descent in you until he’s filled you to the brim with him, and you gaze up at him. It was right. That string has wrapped itself so tight around you and Ransom that you can’t even think straight. Can’t see. Nothing else in this world matters except Ransom. You’re glad you waited, but now you’re going to get to enjoy him in so many more ways.

He whispers your name as he kisses around your hairline. So soft and gentle as he makes his way around the perimeter, before he absorbs this moment. Tucking it into his mind on days that he’s going to have to be away from you. And remembering every bit of you. The slight arch, and furrowing of your brow as your cunt stretches to take all of him. The way he can feel your heartbeat pulsing deeply. Your scent, and how it flared to life when he entered you.

He has had doubts about love and soulmates for so long, but he can’t deny the way he feels as he’s seated inside of you. Everything becomes more clear right at this moment. This is the best he’s ever felt for various reasons. But the main one being how much he is utterly destroyed by you.

He could say it over and over again, and it still wouldn’t be enough. He could shout it, he could carve it into his skin, and it still wouldn’t be enough. This is what true love feels like. What he thought was never for him. It is. It’s all for him, right here in his arms. He doesn’t want to go fast. He barely wants to leave your warmth as he pumps into you. There will be other times he can rail you.

No, now, he just wants to take his time and memorize every part of your body. Wants to learn your spots, and the things that truly drive you insane. Know all your secrets that you keep hidden. He wants to integrate himself into your body, so when he’s not there you crave him. And he never ever wants to stop kissing you.

If he’s not swallowing your whimpers, he’s peppering kisses all across your shoulders. Over your collarbone, up your neck, but your favorite; behind your ear. Blowing heated breaths over your skin, and watching goosebumps flood over your body. You cling to him like your life depends on it, and he feels his life truly does depend on your touch. Addicting. You are his favorite drug, and he never wants to detox.

Drawing himself up and pulling all the way out, so he can see your sweet pitiful face. It’s like the pleasure has reached such a peak that you are wordless. Thankfully you’re still breathing, but the function to talk doesn’t seem to be there, “Bud, honey, you okay?”

You stare up at him, gulping, trying to get words to come out of your dry mouth, but it just comes out as a choked, “Uh huh,” gazing up at him like the work of art he is, and then something lights up in your body, and your brows tilt up.

“Oh, sweetheart, are you about to come?” There is no way this man is making you come going this slow. But you don’t want him to change his pace. You want him just. Like. This. “There you go. You think we can come together,” his voice is so soft and pretty as he kisses on the edges of your lips. “Hold on, for me?”

You nod your head, biting on your lip as he stabs into you. Vision going blurry with the faster speed, and your toes curl with the most blinding pleasure. His hips pound onto your body with so much force if he wasn’t holding you, your body would be bounced up the bed by his sheer force alone. Everything in your body tightens. Everything pulses.

And then you hear his own moans. Here the way he’s reacting to the pleasure, and it becomes so much sweeter. His athletic body and training gives him the best stamina. My god, do you thank him for his training. “Fuck,” he putters out, gritting his teeth as he barrels into you. “Fuck. Fuck Fuckfuckfuckfuck!”

“Ran, baby, just let go,” you coo softly at him, and his own brows pitch up, and you grip his round ass. “Ran! Ransom!”

“Don’t take your eyes off me. Keep looking at me,” that is a task as you hang on for dear life. Your body sets on fire as the impending high shoots to your limbs. All the way to your fingers and your toes. Your cunt squeezes him so tightly, he stops his movements. Just when you think he’s gone back on his goal of coming with you, his eyes blow wide, and he whimpers out your name.

He spurts his seed deep into your cunt, while you stare up at him. He looks so much younger after his release, and you want to curl yourself around him, and hold him tightly. He needs protection after making himself be that vulnerable. “I’ve never done that,” he breathlessly says. You are not sure which that he’s referring to, and you don’t know if you want to know.

”Unprotected sex. I mean I’ve…”

“Ransom, no,” you shake your head. You know the man is well seasoned, but you didn’t want to hear about it. “I don’t want to know.”

“Okay. That’s fair.”

You take a deep breath, and brush his fallen hair out of his face. He needs protection from you in a different way. And you would. “Are you going to write songs about this?”

“I don’t know. Do you think it’ll be too invasive?”

“Can I have approval first?” Your mouth quirks to the side, and you give him a nod. “Then okay. I trust you. Now about filming us?”

“Well,” you giggle, he’s so beautiful, “We’re both on the road a lot. And I’d rather you not be watching porn, unless it’s us. I’m okay with phone sex, FaceTime, and stuff like that. But sometimes I may be in a completely different time zone.”

“So we’ll make our own porn,” he says with a smile. He begrudgingly pulls himself out of you, and lands flat on his back. “I can get used to that,” you could, too. Whatever it takes to keep you together.

Masterlist

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