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norrisainz33 · 1 month ago

Text

enemies to... || mv33

summary: y/n and max are longtime rivals and former friends who find themselves colliding on track in spain and being forced to confront the feelings they've both been burying

pairing: max verstappen x driver!reader

fc & warnings: none and angsty, bad language, suggestive if you squint

requested: nope just inspired by spain

masterlist | pt. 2

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

f1 has made a post

liked by user1, user2, yourbff, yoursibling, mercedesamgf1, user4, user5, user6 and 634,530 others

f1: following an on track incident with mercedes driver, y/n y/l/n, max verstappen has dropped to p10 with a 10-second penalty.

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user1: DESERVED!!!!

user2: should've been more than 10 second penalty are you kidding

user3: nah max did nothing wrong

user4: max needs to leave y/n alone i'm so serious

user5: these two are always fighting

user6: i stand with my cancelled wife (max)

✿

you took a deep breath as you shut off the engine, your hands still trembling as you pulled the wheel out of its place and put it on the car. you had just spent the last five laps screaming over the radio, accusing max of deliberately turning in on you after he’d been instructed to give the position back. the contact had nearly put you both out of the race but somehow you’d limped over the line and managed to finish 4th despite the damage you sustained.

a forceful tap against your helmet broke through your thoughts and you looked up to find george standing at the side of your car. he offered his hand, no words, just calm eyes and quiet support. you hesitated for a moment, the tension in your shoulders refusing to ease but eventually took it. his grip was firm and grounding as he helped you out of the car.

“i heard what happened,” he said quietly once your feet hit the tarmac.

you ripped your gloves off, jaw clenched, gaze locked across the parc ferme where max’s red bull was being wheeled back into the garage.

"yeah," you snapped, pulling your helmet off your head. "and this won't be the last you hear of it either."

✿

f1 has made a post

liked by user1, user2, yourbff, yoursibling, mercedesamgf1, user4, user5, user6 and 634,530 others

f1: two very different takes following the incident involving these two rivals in spain 🫢

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user1: y/n is handling this so much more gracefully than i would’ve

user2: i’d give anything to be a fly on the wall for when these two inevitably run into each other in the paddock

user3: max doesnt need to say anything! he did nothing wrong!

user4: i dont understand why people are giving max the benefit of the doubt here.

user5: y/n should be legally allowed to punt him off the track in canada

user7: ofc the big baby doesnt wanna talk about it.

usr6: y'all are so sensitive. max was just racing her! not his fault she was in the way

user8: taking it out on y/n as if she was the reason red bull had a shit strategy??? have some shame max

✿

“frankly he cost his team and himself a lot of points by pulling what he did today,” you said, voice clipped as you adjusted the collar of your fireproofs trying to keep your breathing even. “i mean i’m 4th in the race and 4th in the championship and that’s really all that matters to me.”

the skysports mic hovered just a little closer, hoping to get a good sound bite from you. “if max wants to be a big crybaby and ruin his own races... i’m all for it.” and with that, you finished out the interview with short answers about canada and your plans to not talk things out with max.

the walk back to your motorhome felt endless especially as fans called out your name and cameras flashed around every corner. you didn’t stop like you usually did... not for selfies, not for questions, not for anything. the last thing you needed was to see his smug face again so the quicker you got out of there the better. but as it usually does... fate had other plans.

you stepped into mercedes hospitality, finally exhaling, only to be met with an agitating grating voice.

“a crybaby, huh?”

you turned sharply, the door still half-open behind you. max stood with his arms folded, his jaw tight, his cheeks still red from the heat of the race and his narrowed eyes were locked onto you like a missile. “yes,” you said dryly. “an ego-driven man child with no concept of accountability.”

a couple of mechanics quickly ducked past, awkwardly pretending not to hear. you and max had a reputation especially after a few incidents last year... max stepped forward, voice low and sharp. “a man child? you’ve got to be kidding me.”

you scoffed turning on your heel. “max, I don’t want to fucking talk to you.”

“too bad,” he bit out, already following behind you, his footsteps echoing in the narrow hallway. “i don’t give a shit what you want.”

you reached your driver’s room and threw the door open, stepping inside quickly trying to shut it behind you but max caught it before it slammed in his face.

“get out!” you snapped at the dutchman.

“no!” he snapped right back. “not until you drop the ‘poor me’ act and admit you knew exactly what you were doing out there.”

“you are insufferable,” you hissed, tossing your gloves onto the couch. “you turned in on me, ignored the team and nearly wrecked both of us.”

“you dive bombed into that corner like you had nothing to lose!” he shouted.

“first of all, i did not dive bomb you and second of all, I don’t drive scared unlike the rest of the grid when big bad max comes by!”

silence crackled between you, thick and heavy, your chests rising and falling in sync as the adrenaline refused to die down. “you are the fucking worst, max verstappen,” you whispered, voice shaking with anger, frustration, maybe something else you didn’t dare name.

his eyes flicked to your lips for a half second before narrowing again. “funny. i was about to say the same thing about you.” the air between you sparked like static. neither of you moved. neither of you dared to blink.

"i hate you." he said, almost like he was trying to remind himself of it. max’s jaw ticked and for a second you thought he might back down. but instead, he took another step forward, closing the space between you. the door clicked shut behind him, whether by accident or intention, you weren’t sure.

“you think I hit you on purpose?” he questioned, voice lower now. “you think I’d throw away a podium just to mess with you?”

you let out a dry laugh, “wouldn’t be the first time you let your ego drive the car.”

he smirked, “thats so rich coming from you. you're the only person on this grid who wants to win more than they care about keeping the car on the track.”

“because I’m not here to play safe.” your eyes burned into his. “i race to win and if you can’t handle that -”

“i can handle you,” he said, stepping so close your chest brushed his. “that’s the problem. you don’t scare me, lieverd.”

the dutch slipped off his tongue like a challenge, like something heavier than an insult, something personal. your heart thudded against your ribs. “oh, you think calling me ‘darling’ in dutch is going to make me melt?” you scoffed, shoving at his chest. “newsflash, verstappen! i’m not one of your fans.”

his hand caught yours as it hit him, holding it firm between your bodies. his touch was calloused, warm. infuriatingly familiar.

“no,” he said, not taking his eyes off you or letting go of your hand despite you trying to pull it away. “you’re worse. you get under my skin and stay there.”

you hated how close he was. hated how your body betrayed you and wanted nothing more than to lean further into him. and before you could stop yourself, before logic could win over impulse... you grabbed his face and crashed your mouth against his.

it was teeth and frustration, months of tension and post-race fury unraveling all at once. his hand came up to the back of your head messing up your hair and anchoring you like he’d been waiting for this as long as you had.

a loud knock pounded at the door a short second before it swung open, "y/n/n, i wanted to check on you after -" the familiar sound of lando's voice filled the room and despite the speed at which you and max had pulled away from each other.. he absolutely saw it all. "oh wow! ok so…. you're fine i guess." he smirked.

you quickly patted down your messy hair and took a few steps away from max, "lando for the love of god you have to wait until someone replies back to your knock before barging in!!"

lando looked between you and max, completely ignoring your comment. "is this some sort of weird foreplay for you both?"

"lando," max warned. "please pretend like you never saw this."

"uhhh yeah, sure mate!" lando nodded but he was just about the least capable person you knew when it came to keeping secrets.

"i'm dead ass begging you to not tell anyone," you pleaded again.

"i won't."

✿

lando has added to his private story

view all story replies

maxverstappen1: say 1 word and no more trips on air max

lando: mmmm i think id survive mate

maxverstappen1: lando im begging you. this was the first and only time this has ever happened and i think her and i need to figure out what’s going on before the whole paddock gets involved

lando: 🫣 you two are no fun!! tho i really think you both need to be honest with each other because i am fairly certain you both have a thing for the other one and i just need all this feuding to end

ynuser: you literally stepped out of the room 2 seconds ago!!!!!!

lando: and? i’m efficient

ynuser: lando you’re my best friend and all but don’t think i won’t pull a max and try to run you off the track if you leak this

lando: only if you kiss me afterwards

ynuser: UGH NO

lando: don’t worry i’m just making you both sweat i won’t explicitly tell anyone

ynuser: 😔😔😔😔 in the 15 years i’ve known you you have never once been able to keep a secret

lando: slander! i kept the secret when you hid max’s gloves in karting and he couldn’t find them

lando: now that i’m saying that … have you had a crush on him since karting?????????

ynuser: you did not keep that secret you gave them back to him and no!!!!! i don’t know!!! i don’t think so!!!

lando: ughhhhh you don’t think so?! how do you not remember girl

ynuser: i mean maybe i did! i was more focused on hating his guts because he wouldn't stop beating me

lando: sounds like a crush to me

ynuser: shut UP!! i need to process this

oscarpiastri: story time !

lando: YIPPEEEEEE

georgerussell63: TELL NE TELL ME TELLLLL MEEEEE

lando: i unfortunately can’t

georgerussell63: you’ve gotta be kidding me mate

lando: the subjects of the story have threatened my safety

georgerussell63: so the story involves max?

lando: HAHAHAHAHA

lando: it doesn’t not include max

georgerussell63: and from there i’m gonna guess it also involves y/n/n

lando: you’re too good george

georgerussell63: i’m gonna keep stewing on the rest of this story. will report back when i think i figure it out

maxfewtrell: is it even a question mate???

lando: well … no!

carlossainz55: spill the beans mi amigo

lando: technically not allowed to spill any beans but catch me in the paddock and i might whisper some hints

✿

thankfully, max’s place in monaco was only a short walk from your own. under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t have minded driving but in a place where everyone had a phone and every movement became a series of photos on some fan page as it often did in moncao, the last thing you needed was to be spotted pulling up to his building in one of your unmistakable cars. if someone clocked you heading toward the max verstappen’s apartment, alone, it wouldn’t take much for the internet to piece things together.

so instead of hopping into your mercedes, you opted for stealth. you dressed down in plain athletic shorts, a random hoodie you stole from george and a baseball cap repping some obscure american university with oversized sunglasses and headphones in, you looked more like a jet lagged tourist than a world-class driver sneaking off to see her biggest rival.

each step of the 1 km walk was filled with overthinking and stress. you kept replaying the past in your head, combing over all the little things max had done through the years, things you hadn’t ever though too hard about until now. maybe lando was right even though it pained you to admit that he may know something. max had unfortunately made it obvious you just hadn't been paying attention. from the karting days when he’d chase off any guy who got too close on track, to f3 when he picked fights with anyone who so much as looked at you twice in the paddock.

and then there was your 17th birthday party, mid-f3 season, when max had looked you dead in the eyes and told you you were the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. you thought he was just being nice since it was your birthday and you had a pretty rough race the day before but maybe he’d been serious. maybe you’d just been too naive to see it for what it was and too busy gaslighting yourself into believe max would never be interested in little old you.

you groaned under your breath, frustrated with yourself. how could you have missed all of it? you’d chalked up his distance after the f3 season to the pressures of moving up to f1 but maybe it wasn’t just that. maybe it was you.

by the time you reached his building and knocked softly on the door, your heart was already racing. there was a beat of silence then the sound of shuffling footsteps before the door swung open.

“you’re late,” max said, eyes scanning your face and outfit with that unreadable expression of his.

you glanced at your watch. “only by 2 minutes.”

he rolled his eyes and stepped aside to let you in. “can I get you anything? dinner’s still cooking.”

you slipped off your shoes and dropped your bag onto the counter, trying to steady your nerves. “just water.”

he moved through the kitchen quietly and when he placed the glass in front of you, he didn’t say a word just went back to stirring the pot on the stove. the silence was heavy and the tension was palpable.

without turning around he cleared his throat. “so… I wanted to talk and I thought it would be better face to face. so, thank you for coming.”

you nodded, picking nervously at your nails. “yeah. no problem.”

he turned off the burner and set the pot aside before finally facing you. “first off, i’m sorry. for spain that is... i shouldn’t have driven like that.”

you raised your hands slightly, voice soft. “it’s okay. we’ve both made dumb decisions on track.”

max shook his head. “yeah, but I could’ve hurt you. and if I had… i don’t know how I’d live with that.”

there was a moment of silence as his words sank in. “my behavior’s been childish,” he admitted. “i’ve been bitter and i'm fully ready to admit that i've also been jealous. i was so very jealous of the friendship you, lando and george had and still have and of how you're always able to light up a room when you walk into it and of how you so effortlessly always get everyone to like you."

"max-" you started before he continued.

"i know it sounds pathetic but i wanted nothing more than to be your friend all through karting and through f3. i did everything i could to try and get you to like me and i got so stupidly infatuated that i ended up messing it all up in the end. i just... i don't know... i pulled away after f3 because I was embarrassed. when I asked you out at that party and you rejected me, I didn’t know how to face you again. and then when you didn’t reach out either, i assumed you didn’t want me in your life anymore.”

“i didn’t realize you were asking me out,” you whispered. “i thought you just wanted to hang out as friends which we already did. and when you moved to f1, i figured… i just figured you wouldn’t want to waste time on someone stuck in f2. you were and are so good and focused and determined that i always felt intimidated and like a silly little distraction.”

max let out a short, breathy laugh. he ran a hand through his hair and leaned against the counter, still not fully looking at you. “god, we’re idiots,” he muttered and this time you cracked a small smile despite the lump in your throat.

“yeah,” you agreed softly. “world class athletes and total emotional amateurs.”

that got a quiet chuckle out of him, and finally, he brought himself to look at you. "why did you kiss me?" he asked and you could see the vulnerability written all over his face.

"because despite our silly year long feud which we apparently could have avoided, i haven't been able to let go of the crush i've had on you since we were kids."

he pushed off the counter, slowly stepping toward you. “so then you feel the same way about me?”

you looked up at him, heart hammering in your chest. “max… i--”

“i’m not asking for you to tell me that you love me or anything like that. not right now. i just want to stop pretending like i hate you. i want to stop turning every interaction into a fight because i don’t know how else to act around you. i want to be around you… properly. at the very least just as your friend.”

your stomach flipped at his words. all the years of missed chances and misread signals crashed into you like a wave. “and if i say i want that too?” you asked quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

he smiled it was soft and hopeful, a little nervous. “then i'll do everything in my power to do it right this time. starting by actually communicating my feels instead of bottling everything up.”

you stood from the stool, your steps slow but steady until you were right in front of him. “i guess i can give you a chance,” you said, teasing gently.

max raised a brow, a smile creeping to his lips. “just a chance?”

you let your head fall back with a laugh. “don’t push your luck, verstappen.”

he grinned, and for the first time in what felt like years, the tension that had formed between you began to finally unravel.

✿

f1 has made a post

liked by mercedesamgf1, lando, yourbff, redbullracing, isackhadjar, ynuser, yoursibling, maxverstappen1, and 834,222 others

f1: looks like our two favorite rivals have squashed their beef! y/n y/l/n and max verstappen arrived to the montreal paddock for media day together 👀🇨🇦

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user1: too worried about how shes out mogging him so hard to even be able to comprehend whats happening

lando: war is over! if only anyone listened to me EVER

danielriccardo: or me!! a certain dutch lion didn't listen to me either

lando: SMH

user2: not them walking in like they didn’t try to kill each other in spain 😭

geogerussell63: confused? ynuser unlock your driver room door rn i've been knocking for 3 whole minutes

ynuser: girl i'm not in there. i'm at the briefing YOU ARE ALSO SUPPOSED TO BE IN

georgerussell63: RUNNING

user63: nah i love yngeorge duo so much i wanna be their friend

lando: apparently everyone wants to be friends with y/l/nnorussell user63

ynuser: lando keep his mouth shut challenge failed

user63: WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?!

user3: we’ve entered the enemies to lovers era and i’m not emotionally prepared for this. i give it 3 more races till we get pics of them kissing behind the garages

isackhadjar: the plot twist of the century? are we being for real right now?

liamlawson31: i saw them with my own to eyes laughing together earlier

yukitsunoda0511: should we be afraid?

user4: this is why i trust slow burns. THIS is why!!!!

estebanocon: i’m scared

oscarpiastri: real

user5: now what in the fanfiction is this

skysportsf1 has posted an interview

view transcript

[reporter] “max, I have to start with the question everyone’s asking. you showed up to the paddock today with y/n y/l/n. should we be expecting fewer fireworks between you two this weekend?”

[max] “that depends. if she stops driving like shes in a demolition derby, maybe.”

[reporter] “so... not exactly a truce, then?”

[max] “we had a conversation and we’ve cleared a few things up.”

[reporter] “ok but things got heated after spain. you were both pretty vocal over the radio. what changed?”

[max] “sometimes you say things in the heat of the moment. doesn’t mean they’re the full story. we’ve known each other a long time and i think we forgot that for a while.”

[reporter] “so where does that leave things now?”

[max] “we’ll race like we always do. hard. but with a bit more respect, i think. maybe less screaming but who is to say.”

[reporter] “should we be reading into that very coordinated arrival this morning?”

[max] “you can read into whatever you want. i'm just here to win races.”

[reporter] “right, right. and if you win this weekend, will y/n be the first to congratulate you?”

[max] “she better be.”

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: i love a past friends to enemies to lovers fr. part 2 perhaps?????

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

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https-papaya · 1 year ago

Text

such a gentleman — max v.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

( masterlist | guidelines | drop a request )

PAIRINGS: max verstappen x fem!reader

SUMMARY: max' best friend breaks up with her boyfriend in spectacular fashion. maybe this is the push he needs to finally admit he's in love with her.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: i'm genuinely blown away by the kindness and support i've received from everybody so far. i was really nervous to start posting here, but you've all been incredible! i hope that you guys enjoy this one as much as i enjoyed writing it — WARNING that this smau involves references to infidelity (not max or the reader). have fun and feel free to send me requests!

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, danielricciardo and others

yourusername what better way to take my mind off things. monaco, you were a dream. next stop...?

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maxverstappen1 Thank you for being there. 💛

liked by yourusername

user2 hope you're feeling better!

user3 You should totally go on holiday somewhere and just forget about him tbh

yourusername that's the plan 😉

user1 ugh i hope max dropkicks him into next year

liked by maxverstappen1

danielricciardo my offer still stands...

yourusername you're just built different 😔 aus is too hot for me!!

landonorris thanks for convincing max not to order in the sushi platter

yourusername anything for my favourite papaya 🧡

oscarpiastri hey.

yourusername sorry osc, he's got the longevity :( give it a few months?

user4 oSC????

yourusername added to her story

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, danielricciardo, landonorris and others

yourusername much needed.

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user2 the second pic???

user4 omg i cant believe max and her went together sdjhfhdj

danielricciardo and here i thought aus was too hot for you??

yourusername 🫢

user1 oh theyre in love ur honour

user7 showing the ex what he's missing fr

liked by yourusername

landonorris without me??

yourusername next time xx

user3 the fact this means max took the first pic has me spiralling

user5 no way her ex isnt seething over this LMAO

user6 his fault for cheating imo 🤷

liked by maxverstappen1

yourusername

liked by danielricciardo, landonorris and others

yourusername another month, another race. glad to be back 💛

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user2 no max in the likes?

user3 its over i fear

landonorris supporting the hometown boys, i hope?

yourusername count on it!

user1 and if i speak-

user4 don't.

danielricciardo was the coffee as good as he says?

yourusername even better i promise

user5 HE???

user6 surely-

maxverstappen1

liked by yourusername, danielricciardo, landonorris and others

maxverstappen1 Didn't get the win this weekend, but I won something better.

tagged: yourusername

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user1 oh my god.

yourusername thank you for loving me ❤️

maxverstappen1 Always ❤️

user4 its so over for her ex BYE-

user3 more affection than her ex ever showed her i know that's right

user2 They're sickeningly cute I can't rn

user5 parents???

danielricciardo fucking finally

landonorris it was almost painful fr

yourusername oh shut up

oscarpiastri no no he has a point

yourusername do you want me to pay for lunch tmr or not??

oscarpiastri i'm willing to take the risk

liked by landonorris and danielricciardo

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

#f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #max verstappen x reader #f1 smau #f1 imagine #max verstappen smau #max verstappen imagine #my work!

2K notes · View notes

meet-me-backstage · 5 months ago

Text

𓃗

𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ꥟ Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ꥟ It had been years since you ran away from Joel Miller, a hunter, frightened for your life and of who he had become. Before the infected roamed he was the grumpy single father of a chirpy little girl who lived across the street from you and kept himself to himself… until he didn’t, not with you at least when you began watching over Sarah while he couldn’t. He became someone who you could talk to, a friend dare you say, a silly little crush and your lifeline at the beginning of the apocalypse.

Now you are residing in Jackson, a slice of heaven in a cruel world, the perfect distraction from your past and the hell you went through to get away from it. However, you realize that the past really does always come back to haunt you when all too familiar faces arrive at Jackson and you have no other choice but to face Joel again, who makes it his mission to fix your broken friendship.

Unable to fight your heart, feelings resurface and lines blur when it becomes clear that you are just as much Joel’s lifeline as he is yours.

𝑨 𝒔𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕, 𝒔𝒎𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈!

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ꥟ Horror themes, not strictly following the first game/season + not at all following the second season/game so kinda au, reader can sing and play guitar, weapons, bad language, death, grief, parental neglect, angst, mentions of pregnancy and stillbirth, blood, violence, nightmares, PTSD, a lil smidge of dark!Joel, Jackson!Joel, soft & protective with a bit of a dad bod!Joel, unrequited love until it isn’t, jealousy, mutual pining, age gap (reader is 36 and Joel is 56) and smUUUUT (‼️) so you must be 18+ to read❗️

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞 ꥟ 10.5K (wtaf🫢)

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐎𝐧𝐞 ꥟ Horror themes, mention of death, grief, mentions of pregnancy and stillbirth, mention of blood and vomit, PTSD, nightmares, bad language and weapons.

𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞��𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲, 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 ‘𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞’ 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝! <𝟑

⇜ ⌚️ ‘𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞’ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⌚️

NOW

𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑

His voice haunts your mind day and night. It had lingered, wormed its way into the depths of your brain and buried itself into the trench-like indents of it like the parasitic fungi that had wreaked havoc on the world twenty years ago. It's crazy really, how you could not decide what was worse, the infected or Joel Miller...

On days like today, you almost wish that you had been mauled by one of those rotting monsters instead of ever having been under that intense and unwavering brown stare of his. A bite from a runner and Joel's existence, they're not all that different to you. If you'd have been bitten, at least you knew that it'd be over within a few days, that the pain inflicted upon you would only be temporary... that deep and harsh Texan drawl, it had you in that stage between being bitten and losing your mind, except it was never ending, a permanent, inescapable limbo.

You'd lost hope in ever forgetting, it's been sixteen years since you last heard his voice in the flesh so how could you even fathom an escape from it at this point?

All you could do was throw yourself shoulders deep into distractions, hay and horse manure being two of them.

Every day you arrived at Jackson Ranch bright and early to tend to the horses. Your role there as a stable-hand is ideal and smooth-running, usually, and it comes with a bonus of company in the form of large-scale dogs, your preferred company, though you would never tell Maria that.

Justified, Ajax, Callus, Silver Dollar, Maggie, Old Beardy, Guinevere, Old Belle, Branwen, Murphy, Old Boy, Bandit, Pearl and Shimmer. All a mix of stallions and mares, friends you never knew you needed until you took on this job that you had very little experience in before the end of the world as you knew it.

Going beyond Jackson's sturdy walls was a no go so patrolling was out of the question.

Some roles going required previous experience, either in medicine or biology so you couldn't be a doctor.

Being a teacher or hunter crossed your mind for a split second before making you sick to your stomach.

Taking on the role of a cook, barmaid or trader meant that you had to constantly face people, be sociable and smile even when you didn't want to, and you were in no state to do or be any of it seven years ago, when Maria found a desolate Jackson and sought to build a settlement out of it.

That left only three jobs for you to pick from: keeping Jackson maintained, the greenhouses thriving or the horses healthy, groomed and content. Initially, you chose to be a gardener... you lasted six months. It had brought back some meaning into your life, knowing that you were doing good for the community from a distance that you could tolerate, that it'd brighten the food palette of all of Jackson's residents and that the kids of Jackson would grow up healthy and well fed. The catch for you was the quietness of the role, the silence was deafening and allowed too much space in your mind for it to drown into the depths of what you'd lost to get here.

You felt even more useless than you did before you met Maria, who did everything she could to help you fit into a community that you didn't believe in anymore. With a stern knock on your door one morning, she practically dragged you by the arm to Jackson Ranch and coerced you into the hands of Rick, the man in charge of the ranch, in order for him to train you into the hard-working stable-hand that you are today.

Maria had, had it less than easy, leading a group of people who looked to her and her late father for guidance in a cause that didn't seem attainable when people were constantly dying around them.

Like you, she had to make life-altering decisions for the good of herself and others she'd met along the way.

Tagging along with her was not a choice that you made, neither was living or dying, Maria made both choices for you. It had been a walk in the park, the years you spent with her group searching for a decent place to start a new life, at least when you compared it to the hell that you went through to find her group in the first place.

Leaving your first and only group before joining Maria's was a gut-wrenching decision, the toughest one you've ever had to make. You knew that there would be risks, danger and fatal consequences if anything went wrong... you knew it - god, you knew it, yet you still went along with it anyway and you sure did suffer the worst of consequences on your journey from Boston to Colorado.

You hadn't been alone on your month and a half long journey, two others were with you, Charlie, a runaway hunter and an unlikely friend that you'd gained on your way to the Boston QZ from Austin. The other, well, you tried not to think about him too much.

Unlike Maria, you'd failed because neither made it to her camp alive.

You made it... empty and alone, which was the biggest consequence of all.

Though you were entirely unaware that you had. You didn't remember collapsing in the snow with a stillborn baby in your arms, being found by a handful of Maria's group just a few miles from the very people you'd tried so hard to find, and taken back to her camp on horseback.

Sixteen years had passed and still all you could remember was waking up, the bright whiteness of a medical light making your eyes strain, an unusual and rapid beeping noise and slurred voices that you didn't recognise all around you. Once your consciousness came over you, your eyes blinking constantly to try and adjust to the unusual light, you remember panicking, noticing the lack of blood and dirt on your skin before kicking your legs out from under a heavy white duvet and desperately straining out cries to see your baby and Charlie.

Your breath hitches, getting trapped in your throat before you gulp, swallowing the air down quickly as you subtly shake your head and mumble a 'nope' under your breath, choosing to steer your focus onto the task at hand.

You usually spend the first hour of your morning in the stable and today has been no different. You fill the wire racks hanging off of the edge of each stall with fresh hay, starting from the closest to the entrance and working your way down. Then you groom and dress the horses required for each patrol shift that had been listed next to the names on the patrol board on your way into the stable this morning.

During the winter months more horses are needed for each patrol shift due to the increased likelihood of running into a horde at this time.

Not even a blizzard could stop them from pushing through routes towards Jackson - you'd seen it for yourself, how they ran as if the strength of violent gusts of air was no match against them... and not only that, they were typically more angry from being so ravenous at the lack of animals and humans around so you weren't surprised that Maria had made sure numbers of patrollers had doubled with the thaw that came yesterday evening, the infected would travel easy and fast while the weather was this clear, desperate to find their next victim.

You were still surprised to see that Maria's name had been messily jotted down alongside Maggie's.

Maggie had always been Maria's girl, she would accept no one but Jackson's chosen leader so you knew that it couldn't have been a mistake, and even if it was you'd learnt to accept the fact that there is no fighting Rick because he is 'always right'. Recalling one of your first pointers during training, you do as what is written and dress the mare anyway before dedicating an equal amount of time with each horse as if they are children fussing for your attention.

You're stroking Maggie's pink muzzle, your fingers gently tracing just below her nostrils when you hear your name being called behind you. You flinch, making your fingertips brush over her whiskers and causing her to snort.

"Is Maggie ready for me?" Maria asks, strolling into the stable with purpose, wearing clothes suitable for beyond Jackson's walls, a padded forest green winter jacket over a faded brown shirt paired with jeans and snow boots.

You turn on your heel, your palm cupping just above Maggie's nose, "she's ready for you," you respond with a nod, pursing your lips together after as if to stop yourself from vocalising your worry. You watch her cautiously as she walks towards Maggie, naturally stepping out of the way so that she can lead the horse out of the stall. Your lips pop open unconsciously, a hum leaving them before you cut it short - you can't just let her go, "but—"

She cuts you off with a deadpan look, Maggie does the same, side-eyeing you as if to say 'don't question my human'.

You shut your mouth for a brief moment as Maria and Maggie resume their movements towards the opened stable doors that go directly to Jackson's main gate. "Maria—"

"I'm fine," she calls without turning her head to look at you, still walking and leading Maggie.

"Hey," you start jogging, catching up with her while being careful not to spook Maggie, "hang on a second - are you sure?" You reach out to touch Maria's arm in order to grab her attention, your fingertips brush against her jacket, "I'm sure they can spare yo—"

"No, I've got it," she states casually, ignoring your touch.

"Or - or someone can fill in for you, there's gotta be someone else? What about - T-ommy?" Your eyes light up at the idea but your voice still trembles slightly when his name leaves your lips, though you try your best to hide it by lowering it.

"Tommy is doin' construction work today, you'd know that if you showed up to dinner last night," Maria sighs, finally halting her steps and giving you an expectant glance over her left shoulder.

Oh.

Your head tilts and your brows furrow in genuine confusion that Maria doesn't seem to buy, but you truly didn't remember her inviting you over.

When she notices your confusion she raises her brows at you, now turning her entire body to face yours, "I visited you at the end of your shift here yesterday? You really don't remember me asking you to come over?"

Oh.

She did.

Your eyes widen in realisation and your grip on Maria's upper arm tightens for a moment, "shit - I'm so sorry, Maria."

"You said you'd be right over."

You did.

Unable to think of an excuse quickly enough that you already know she won't believe and will make her late for patrol when she'd already made the effort of being here early to pick up Maggie, it'll only aggravate her more to lie to her face… and you hated to let Maria down of all people, she took a chance on you, believing in your survival more than anyone else did when you were weak and unable to move from the bed that her people had tucked you into after finding you unconscious in the snow.

"I'm sorry - I forgot," you tell her, sheepishly avoiding eye contact and deciding to focus on the straws of hay stuck to the bottom of your own snow boots.

Maria hums, scrutinising you with her deep brown eyes, "You forgot," she repeats before placing her spare hand on her hip, "like when you forgot to decorate the Christmas tree with us? When you forgot open mic night? Or the countless times you forgot drinks at the Tipsy Bison?"

"Yes," you answer quickly, your hand dropping down to your side as your palms start to sweat at her questioning, "exactly like all those other times I - forgot." Very convincing. "I'm sorry - again."

She shakes her head and blinks slowly, doing very little to hide her annoyance towards you, "stop apologizing."

"Sorry," you mumble without thinking.

"Don't. Just - show up next time, okay?" Maria asks you with a raised brow. "Tommy doesn't bite."

"You sure about that?" You try to joke but you end up sounding unsure instead.

You failed to amuse Maria as it hadn't been the first time you'd tried to mask your uneasiness with humor whenever Tommy was mentioned. "I've given him enough trouble from the first day he stepped foot in Jackson and he's done nothing but prove himself time and again. He's a good worker - a good man... and he's really tryin' to get on your good side so will you please try cutting him some slack?"

"I'm - workin' on it," you sigh out, nodding with a lack of purpose that, again, Maria notices.

She exhales your name slowly, quietly, but loud enough for you to hear, "He is not his brother." Maria never mentions his name because she knows how just the sound of it sends you into a period of sleepless nights and locking yourself into your house after a horrific array of nightmares... it'd happened before, the worst time being when Tommy first arrived at Jackson.

You thought that you could do it, that you could ignore his existence just like you had Joel's.

Whenever you saw him turn a corner you'd run the other way.

Whenever you saw him on the street you'd turn back.

Whenever you saw him in the Tipsy Bison you'd trade week's worth of your rations for a bottle of red and go home.

It wasn't until his unexpected visit to the stable for his first patrol three and a half months ago that he finally saw you for the first time since leaving you, Joel, Tess and Charlie behind to join the Fireflies.

As you suspected, he was surprised to see you, perhaps because he'd thought that you would never make it in a world like this, because you were unwilling to kill innocent people, young and at a disadvantage being pregnant, or because he'd forgotten about you entirely. Either way, you didn't stick around long enough to find out, feigning a sudden sickness and begging Rick to let you go home before sprinting out of the stable like your life depended on it... that was what caused your worst episode.

Hearing his voice utter your name, he sounded so much like Joel and it terrified you.

It played on a loop inside your head like a scratched record and when you tried to settle into your bed it only got louder, so you grabbed your pillow, pressing it against the ear exposed to the cool air of your room as hard as you could while scrunching your eyes shut.

Eventually you fell asleep, but Tommy's voice followed you into your rest.

You saw Joel and you saw blood, it was all over him and he wielded a revolver in his hand. A droplet of sweat trailed along the end of an eyebrow, disappearing when it reached the crow's foot beside his eye. His eyes pierced into your soul, dark and concentrated, causing your chest to rise and fall rapidly and small whimpers to leave your lips in between heavy breaths.

There were dead bodies everywhere. The blood of his innocent victims puddled at your bare feet, staining your skin crimson red.

You screamed and ran, but Joel's voice continued to utter your name and the blood - the blood... it rose quickly, making it difficult for your legs to move as fast. Determined to get away, you waded through the thick liquid as it consumed your bottom half. Your hands were encased in blood too, the warmness of it on your skin grasped your attention and stopped you in your tracks... you couldn't move, you couldn't yell, you couldn't get away - you failed - again.

You silently cried into your hands, not caring about smearing the blood all over your face because you knew that there was no escaping it, that before too long your entire body would be swimming in it.

Elevating with the rapidity of quick sand, you remember the blood reaching your neck and throwing your arms outward, wailing and kicking your feet desperately... Joel's voice sounded angrier than it usually did, like he was disappointed in your fighting, in prolonging the inevitable.

There was a pull beneath you, sucking your feet downward, and just when you thought that you'd beaten the nightmare, something, you didn't know what it was as your eyes were scrunched shut, dragged you down with inhumane force.

You didn't get to take one last breath before the blood pooled over your face, you opened your eyes but all you could see was red. You could still hear his voice, but it was muffled, and as you got pulled further down it got more distant until it faded into nothingness - finally.

A sense of calmness spread throughout your entire body, all you could hear was the rush of liquid past your ears as you got pulled down.

It calmed you even though you were far from safe and unable to breathe... that was until an intense pressure started at your toes, then to your feet, your ankles, knees, thighs, hips, stomach, hands, arms, chest, shoulders, neck and head. The pressure became unbearable, your bones felt as though they could snap at any moment and your throat choked when it got so desperate to breathe that it let the blood into your system.

The next thing you knew, your eyes had flown open. You were back in bed, your entire body so clammy with sweat that it had dampened your sheets and duvet.

You refused to sleep for weeks on end. You'd think that after a couple days your body would succumb to sleep without your brain's permission due to being so exhausted, but you were just that terrified that it'd happen to you again... that you'd hear Joel's voice again. To stop any possibility of that happening you locked your front door from the inside, your logic being if you stayed put then there would be no chance of bumping into Tommy again... boy were you wrong.

So wrong.

Maria watches the way that your lips tremble, waiting for you to answer her. Her features are much softer now as she realises that she had been so close to stepping over another line just by alluding to Tommy's older brother.

She says your name under her breath again, but you cut her off, shaking your head, "It's okay," you whisper, your voice small, and you try your best to muster up a smile to reassure your closest friend in Jackson, "I - I know... Tommy isn't him, so I'll try, for you - and for the - baby," your voice lowers when you mention Maria's baby.

It is new news that only Maria, Tommy, Maggie and you know about.

"Thank you," she hums, her lips tilting upward at one side and a glimmer in her eyes.

A glimmer that you recognised all too well, a familiar yet distant memory of how you felt that brings back the worry that you expressed just a few minutes ago at the thought of Maria going beyond the safe barrier of Jackson while pregnant. It’s only natural for you to be concerned about her, even if it is Tommy's baby, you see the love that she already has for it which you came to understand during your own experience, only for it to be ripped away... you wouldn't wish what happened to you upon your worst enemy, let alone Maria.

"Eight O'clock!" As if on cue, Rick calls into the stable from outside, giving both you and Maria a charming smile, sounding way too chirpy for the morning before disappearing behind the stable's front doors.

Your eyes widen and your mouth forms an 'o' shape for a moment when you remember that you still hadn't dissuaded Maria from going on patrol.

"I'll be fine, I promise," she reassures you, sensing your worry. "It's only a few hours," she adds nonchalantly.

"A lot can happen in a few hours," you retort quickly, sternly, holding firm eye contact with her, which is unusual for you - Maria knows that, understanding the truth in your words because you knew yourself how quickly things could turn out there.

"I know." Maria looks over your shoulder and gestures behind you with a nod. You can hear footsteps and the trotting of hooves behind you of the patrollers that'd be joining Maria, leading the dressed horses to Rick, who would mark them off on the register by the schedule board. "I'm in good hands," she tells you as they come into view, walking past you with smiles on their faces directed at both you and Maria, though you couldn't help but notice how their smiles widened at the sight of your friend.

You aren't surprised - everyone loves Maria.

She has done so much for everybody here, while you, you kept to yourself, the horses and an occasional sing song at the Tipsy Bison - otherwise, you are unreachable, not that you preferred it to be any other way.

"Mornin', Maria," Arthur nods, holding Murphy's reigns while giving the stallion's white coat a pat and you a small smile.

Two less familiar faces walk past holding Old Boy, Silver Dollar, Guinevere and Callus, they must be Silas and Claire, two names you didn't recognise on the list of patrol shifts.

Nathan is a regular on patrol, one of the most experienced alongside Arthur, so it is no surprise that Rick had assigned the two newbies a spot with them and Maria.

Bandit follows Nathan, his head bopping forward playfully, a cheekiness that he seemed to adopt from the man leading him. "Ladies," Nathan tips his hat with a smirk, oozing arrogance.

Jean follows close behind Nathan holding Ajax at her side with a fond smile on her face. She loves that horse just as much as you love him. He's a big brute, Ajax, intimidating at first glance, but he's just a softie under the muscle.

Jean's blonde hair catches your eye, it sways as she walks as she's put it up in a ponytail. She grins widely at you, displaying her dimples and squeals your name, "where've you been?!"

"Uh - here?" You answer unsurely.

Jean laughs, stopping to stand in between you and Maria, nudging your shoulder with her own, "duh, I mean at the tipsy - everyone misses ya!"

"Be serious, Jean," you mutter, ignoring Maria's stare as if you hadn't just been speaking about your obvious avoidance of any invitation if there was any possibility that Tommy would be there... which was always high because he’d followed Maria around like a lost puppy from the very first day he arrived here.

"I am - even Seth misses you and he's the biggest party pooper in Jackson," she exclaims with another light-hearted laugh.

You shake your head in amused disbelief.

"It's true, so you've gotta come back and sing a couple songs for us, please?" She grabs your arm, making you flinch, but you already know it's Jean and she wouldn't hurt a fly... unless it was infected. "I'll rip my eyes out if I have to sit through another night of Dave's jokes about drugs, dildos and chameleons."

So that's what you've been missing out on all this time that you've been avoiding open mic nights at the Tipsy Bison.

A small laugh escapes your mouth, "I'll think about it."

"Really?!" Jean's hazel-brown eyes light up.

You nod.

Jean inhales excitedly, clearly already assuming that your vague answer is a confirmation that you would in fact be performing at the next open mic. "Your version of that Linda Rondstadt song - ugh, what’s it called again?" She asks, looking both between you and Maria.

"Err - Long Long Time?" You sound unsure, but it's the only Linda Ronstadt song that you've sung at the Tipsy Bison so it's the only possible answer... you blame your forgetfulness on the nerves of singing in front of other people, each time you did it felt like a blur and when it was over you didn't remember a goddamn thing.

Jean nods enthusiastically, practically bouncing on her feet at this point, "yes, that's it! It's to die for - you have to sing it again!"

You forgot the warmth that would spread throughout your chest when random people of Jackson would approach you after you sang, complimenting the one gift you still had from long before the apocalypse... you never remembered what they said, but the buzz it'd give you was enough for you to brave any fright you faced before the next open mic. It's a good feeling - another thing you had Maria to thank for because you would never have even thought of stepping in front of an audience to sing had she not nudged you to do it two years ago.

"Please!" Jean begs again.

Whether it's the warmness of your insides, or the pressure of having two sets of eyes on you, or how guilty you'll feel if you say no, you cave, "okay okay, I'll do it."

Jean celebrates by fisting the air with a toothy grin, "yes! Thank you - you've made my Christmas, seriously!"

You open your mouth to respond, about to say something like 'it's nothing really' while internally panicking, asking yourself what you'd gotten yourself into without even really processing it in your head.

"Eight O'clock!" Rick's voice calls out again, sounding more stern this time, "last call!"

His piercingly blue eyes linger on the three of you huddled together while the patrollers that had walked past you stood waiting to leave behind him.

They bore into you, Rick's baby blues, silently urging you to wrap up your conversation with Maria and Jean. If they hadn't looked so agitated with you you'd probably swoon... instead they give you the urge to flip him off, to question him on his timing because if he'd have just called Maria and Jean over to him ten seconds earlier then you would've evaded Jean's request for you to sing again.

You don't.

You never would.

For a man who didn't tolerate bullshit, he'd tolerated a lot from you and you'd never take that for granted.

On the plus side, Jean hadn't had time to ask why you stopped going to the open mics in the first place, how your best friend's husband was the reason, how whenever you saw Tommy in the Tipsy Bison you felt like you needed to vomit then and there, then leave...

You nod at Rick, taking a step away from Maria. Jean had already left the two of you alone, jumping upright at the sound of Rick's voice and obediently scurrying towards him with Ajax eagerly treading along behind her. "Well, don't let me hold you up any longer," you mutter loud enough for Maria to hear, nervously dragging your eyes away from Rick's.

Maria shakes her head, the lines between her eyebrows prominent, "you didn't." Maggie snorts over Maria's shoulder, immediately diverting her owner's attention to her, "Maggie doesn't seem to agree though, do you girl?" Maria asks in an amused, but loving tone of voice, bringing her hand up to pat Maggie's neck.

"Oh please, that horse kisses your ass even when you're wrong."

"I'm never wrong," Maria states, to which Maggie neighs in agreement.

"Exactly, she just proved my point," you gesture towards Maggie with an uncontrollable laugh.

Maria hums, watching you closely with an entranced smile on her face. "I missed this," she admits.

"Missed what?"

"Just laughing - talking with you without feeling like you're gonna run away any second."

A hint of a smile spreads across your lips, shy and nervous as always, but you had to admit that you'd missed this too, you'd missed your best friend... it'd been so awkward since Tommy started to linger behind her like a shadow, like you could never spend time with her because he was always with her. Now that they are married with a baby on the way - you just had to accept that Tommy and Maria came as a package, that where Maria would be, Tommy would probably be... you suppose you should be glad of that, that he wants to be there for her, be a good husband and father.

You never pegged Tommy to be the type to commit to anything or anyone. The man you knew before would run whenever things got hard, that was crystal clear to you. This Tommy, he was different, from what you'd heard from whispers about him, and you can tell how happy he makes Maria even though she doesn't talk about him to you that much on the rare occasion that you do catch her alone.

Maybe you could give him a chance, give him the benefit of the doubt.

To pick up where you left off with your friendship with Maria you tell yourself that you won't 'forget' another invitation again, that's a good place to start, you think.

For Maria.

For you too.

"Me too."

Maria chuckles while you fiddle with your fingers. "I'll see you later then?" She raises her brow at you.

"Later?" Your head tilts in confusion, not remembering another invitation being offered to you during this conversation.

"Mhm, at the Tipsy Bison—"

Your eyes widen so much that they could fall out of their sockets and suddenly your palms are dripping with sweat again, "please tell me there's not an open mic tonight I haven't practiced I haven't even sung in like four months I can't do it I can't I'm callin' off this whole thing why did I even agree to it in—" you ramble without taking a single breath.

"Relax, open mic isn't until next weekend," she informs you, trying not to sound entertained by your moment of panic.

You let out a long, drawn out breath of relief, "well thank fuck for that because I'm not ready."

"You realize you don't have to do it if you really don't want to right?"

"I know, but I couldn't do that to Jean. You saw her face, she'll be heartbroken if I don't," you try to play it cool, smiling as if you hadn't gotten yourself into a state over it a few seconds ago.

"No kidding."

"So if it's not an open mic, what is happening tonight - at the Tipsy? Just drinks? Dinner?" You ask, innocently curious... you'd gotten so used to the repetitive cycle of going to work and going straight home every day for so long that you had no idea what to expect from a night out with Maria at the Tispy Bison anymore.

"The Goodbye Girl," she answers plain and simple.

"What's that?"

She shrugs, "an old romantic comedy I think. I wanted to do something for the kids and it's the most family friendly movie we've got right now so... you'll be there?"

"Is—"

"Yes, Tommy's coming," she interrupts with the answer you're expecting, just as she expected you to ask because it was what you always asked whenever she invited you over or out... her answer being the decision-maker of whether you'd be there or not most of the time.

Maria watches you, so sure that you're going to cower and say 'no' immediately, but you don't, you think and she lets you, ignoring the stares of the other patrollers boring into her back.

Maybe there is nothing to be afraid of, if Joel were to show up then surely he would've got here by now?

Surely Tommy is too far away for Joel to track him down.

There can't be any leads linking Tommy to Jackson that Joel would ever find out about, right?

With what you went through to be here, how could you let a close to impossible possibility dictate the way you live at Jackson, make you hide away and ruin your closest friendship here.

Maria's lips fly open, ready to console you if you truly decide that tonight is too soon, "if—"

"I'll be there," you blurt before your brain talks you out of it.

"Oh - okay," Maria blurts back, so taken aback by your confidence that she actually takes a small step back, narrowly missing Maggie's hoof, "okay - good. Guess I'll see you there then," she says almost to herself, her relief as clear as day, as she turns on her heel.

"See you there," you nod, giving her one last reassuring look before Maggie catches your eye.

The mare stares at you with her beady brown eyes, silently telling you that you'd taken up enough of Maria's time and that it was now her turn.

She leads Maria away from you, taking her to the rest of the patrollers.

You're left feeling hopeful about tonight, that this'll be a good change for both you and Maria after months of avoiding every possible interaction with her husband... you don't want to let her down anymore, and for your own sake you don't want to turn into the resident hermit of Jackson... people here already think you're a little odd as it is.

You watch on as Rick takes a register of the patrollers and their horses. Each of them had already mounted their designated horses and Nathan and Arthur are holding the spare horses that'd be carrying any extra cargo they find out there.

The horses that remain watch on longingly as the horses picked for this patrol shift are ridden out of the stable.

Old Beardy lets out a low pitched snort, expressing his frustration which diverts your attention from the patrol group to him.

He is sticking his head out of his stall and as soon as he sees that he has grabbed your attention he bobs his neck, making you giggle.

Old Beardy is a shy boy, grumpy at times. At first he didn't like you, he refused to be petted by you and even turned his back on you whenever you visited his stall, side-eying you at any opportunity he could. You had been cautious of him at first, doing your upmost to avoid him because you were genuinely afraid that he might bite or kick you if you got too close.

He sensed your fear, you knew it, Rick knew it.

Rick assisted you in tending to Old Beardy for your first few weeks as a stable-hand. You'd groom the stallion's chocolate coat while Rick patted his dark mane, you'd fill his feeder with new hay and trough with fresh water while Rick distracted him, you'd clean his stall while Rick took him out on the exercise grounds at the other end of the stable.

In those moments you noticed a softness to Old Beardy's character that made you less frightened of him.

Rick's own words played in your head on repeat after another day's work, another day of Old Beardy entirely ignoring you: 'Old Beardy doesn't just trust words, he trusts actions more than anything. Keep showin' up and doin' what you're doin' for him and eventually he'll come around, I'm sure of it.'

'Was he the same with you?'

'You bet - he was worse with me.'

'Worse?'

'Yup, he nipped me right here - just above my nose - was lucky he didn't catch my damn eye.'

'I don't believe it.'

'Why'd you say that? Got the scar to prove it and everythin'.’

'It's just - you're so good with 'em - all of 'em.'

'That, darlin', is what you call experience. I've had my fair share of tendin' to tortured souls like Old Beardy, often all it took was showin' 'em that they need takin' care of. If they've been alone a long time they start thinkin' they don't need anybody cause 's been a while since they've been given any love, so you've gotta get 'em off their high horse a bit 'nd show em' they need you.'

You were determined to gain Old Beardy's trust after what Rick had said about him because it reminded you of yourself... so you continued to go about your chores for Old Beardy while he watched on with an unimpressed look on his face.

Slowly but surely there were changes as each week passed.

Rick no longer needed to aid you with Old Beardy's upkeep.

Old Beardy no longer turned his back on you when you stood at the gate of his stall.

He side-eyed you a little longer than he used to.

While you filled his trough with new water he'd stand beside you.

He would take singular straws of hay out of your hands in order to avoid touching you... then two, then three and soon he took handfuls of it, not minding his rubbery lips brushing your fingers.

You remember walking back home with a skip in your step the day that Old Beardy finally let you pet him. It was about a month into your personal quest to earn his trust and it took a little coaxing from Rick on both yours and the stallion's part to encourage the barrier of wariness between you to be broken down.

About ten seconds after you'd slowly reached your hand out towards Old Beardy's muzzle, he leant forward to rest his soft nose against your outstretched palm... His nostrils flared and he hesitated a few times but he did it, and suddenly what felt like a lost cause from the beginning was worth all the time he spent rejecting you now that you'd got him.

You'd received an intense dose of self-accomplishment which made you feel like you were really made for this job... you wondered why you ever even doubted yourself about taking it on in the first place, and you certainly couldn't give up on it after that... you always returned to it, even after all the nightmares and days stuck in your house, you had to after Old Beardy had put so much trust in you.

You'd shown him love and he needed you, and perhaps you needed him too.

You'd argue now that Old Beardy loves you more than he does Rick.

"There's my sweet boy," you greet him with a toothy smile, approaching his stall. He continues to bob his head even when you're stood directly in front of him so you bring your hand up to try and soothe him. A few gentle snorts later and he stops moving his head so that you have easy access to his nose to give him a good scratch under his chin - his favorite. You giggle at his obvious appreciation for your touch, your fingers tickle the small beard below his bottom lip, causing his eyes to shut and occasionally flutter his dark lashes, "don't you worry, somebody'll snatch you up one of these days - I mean look at you, how could they not hm?"

Old Beardy lets out an impatient sigh that blows air onto your forearm.

All of the patrollers without designated horses never picked Old Beardy for a shift, likely for the reasons that you had once been afraid of, so he spent all of his days with you and Rick, unable to form a connection with anybody else... it makes you sad sometimes, that no one ever goes near his stall or gives him the time of day, knowing the sweetheart that he is under the grumpy outer shell.

"How about I take 'im out on the grounds—" Rick's voice pipes up behind you, almost making you jump out of your skin. He stands next to you, reaching up to stroke Old Beardy's forehead, "while you go check on Pearl 'nd little Shimmer?"

Your face instantly lights up, a hitched breath leaving your lips as you nod at Rick, who is already looking at you with a proud smile on his face and a stray piece of his brushed back brown hair falling over one of his eyes.

"Alright then. We'll walk - together."

He's in a good mood today. You were convinced that he'd approached you to scold you for holding up the patrollers.

You give Old Beardy's chin one last scratch before retracting your hand, your arm brushing Rick's firm one in the process, "sorry, Rick - I mean - about holding Maria and Jean up."

"'S okay," he chuckles, watching you as you turn your back on him, starting to walk towards the fenced exercise grounds for the horses, "just don't do it again!"

You huff a laugh, a faint blush spreading across your cheeks at hearing the amusement in his voice.

Rick jogs behind after expertly attaching Old Beardy's harness and lead, the horse trots alongside him eagerly and he makes sure that he doesn't get too close to you in order to not scare you... knowing how you didn't like being approached from behind, he'd learnt that the hard way with the amount of times your survival instincts took over, throwing punches at him.

Like you said, he'd put up with a lot of bullshit from you since Maria dumped you into his hands.

The sound of snow crunching under your snow boots can be heard as you and Rick step outside... you can't deny that it's one of your favorite sounds so you're in no haste to interrupt the silence between you and the man walking next to you.

You take quick, subtle glances at Rick, noticing the way that his light stubble catches at the beige collar of his brown jacket, his hips swaying coolly with each step he takes, his curls at the back of his neck bouncing at the same time.

You aren't blind to Rick's looks. You'd be an idiot not to notice them... you'd also be an idiot not to notice the way that people spoke about him, about the two of you.

Rick is considered to be the most eligible bachelor in Jackson, he's a hard worker, a leader with rugged charm, affectionate with animals, a good communicator, good with people and he's single... he's also just a few years older than you... thirty-eight, you think, so it's no wonder why people spoke about the possibility of something happening between you.

All the people you once loved had either died or didn't love you back in the way you wanted them to, the pain being so intense that you'd not even considered it to possibly happen again, with Rick, not until now... but you're sure that he doesn't see you as anything other than his stable-hand anyway.

You take another glance at Rick, but are unable to admire anything else about him because he catches you red-handed, already staring at you with eyes the colour of ice under the sunlight.

His thin pink lips tug upward at one side, "so - er - you're goin' to the Tipsy tonight then?"

"Hm?" His question makes you look up at him again after quickly turning your attention to the snow when he saw you looking at him.

Rick's little side smirk doesn't falter, "I overheard - you and Maria I mean."

"Oh - yeah," you murmur, bringing your hand up to your neck and scratching, fighting the urge to hiss as your cold fingertips touch your skin. You blink, watching him as his sloped nose and chiselled cheekbones flush, you assume that it's because of the cold, but part of you wonders if it's because he feels embarrassed at his admission, "will you - be there - for the movie?"

"Yeah—" he shoves the reddening fingers of his spare hand into his jean's front pocket and looks ahead at the sheep's pasture which is snowed over, his ranch workers clearing it so that the sheep could continue grazing, "not so much for the movie though."

"Oh." Scratching your neck is not enough to soothe your nerves, instead you clasp your hands together, fiddling with your fingers... it doesn't quite do the trick but there's not much you can do about it when you feel so exposed to the cold air and his piercing gaze. "You meetin' Arthur and Nathan then?"

"No - actually I was er - wonderin' if you wanted to go with me?" He states as if it's not a question or out of the blue.

Like a date?

Sure, people talked, but you were convinced that he hadn't noticed.

Is that why he's asking? You wonder.

He can't be asking for any other reason, right?

Is it out of pity?

Had he forgotten all the times you punched him? Given him a black eye? Kicked him? Lashed out because you could've sworn you heard Joel's voice? Hid away in your house for weeks without telling him and come back to the stable as if nothing happened?

It's gotta be pity.

"As in—"

"As in we'll walk to the Tipsy Bison after work, find Maria and Tommy 'n sit down with 'em - then I'll get you a drink and we'll watch whatever fuckin' movie it is playin'," he states, looking you directly in the eye even when he's waiting on your response.

Maybe he's asking because of Tommy.

He knew how you avoided him like he was infectious, he'd seen it with his own eyes whenever Tommy entered the stable to take Justified on patrol with him, you'd hide in Old Beardy's stall, leaving him to deal with the youngest Miller brother... it's why Rick doesn't like Tommy very much, he thinks he must've done something very bad for you to react the way you do around him.

Although Rick had consoled you a countless amount of times as you sobbed over your past, he still only knows parts about it because he joined Maria's group after you did, but before Jackson was found... he knew about your baby, that was it, and assumed by the surname 'Miller' on his little gravestone that Tommy was the father.

Why else would you hate him so much?

Since starting work at his ranch he'd been protective over you as his worker, wanting you to be as good a stable-hand you could possibly be and that meant no assholes like Tommy Miller interfering with your duties to the horses.

Maybe he's asking as your boss?

Or he just wants to spend the night glaring at Tommy over a table.

Maybe he's just wanting to look out for you.

Even if it is just pity or for a reason like pissing Tommy off, there isn't a reason that outweighs your reason to say yes... you just don't want to see Joel's face in the back of your mind like a constant nagging thought anymore because goddamn you for having such a brilliant photographic memory... maybe if you spent a little more time with Rick, the face of the man you'd been hung up on for decades would be replaced, maybe the nightmares would stop and maybe you could look at Tommy without associating him with his brother.

Your heart thuds against your ribcage, "believe it or not I um - I was actually plannin' on not smelling like horse shit tonight—" you send an apologetic look Old Beardy's way, who is not at all paying any attention to yours and Rick's conversation and is more entranced by the repetitive 'baaa' noises coming from the odd-looking fluffy creatures in the next pasture, "so I might have to pass on walkin' straight there with you."

Rick looks down at his own outfit, parts of it ripped and most of it worn or stained with odd pieces of hay protruding out of the seams of his clothes, just like yours... not that it bothers either of you, you're used to it by now. "Right - yeah, you make a good point," he responds between chuckles.

You take the opportunity to rake your eyes over his lean and muscular frame less subtly than you had before, just because he was distracted by the filthiness of his own clothes. When he looks at you expectantly again you hesitantly drag your eyes away and hum in agreement, almost choking on your own saliva - pull it together, you tell yourself as if you have any idea of what it's like to be asked out on a proper, adult date that you want to go on. "Sooo—" you start to say, entirely expecting him to interrupt you, which he does, quicker than you thought he would.

"Sooo we'll meet there instead, find Maria and Tommy, sit with 'em - I'll get you a drink and we'll—"

"Watch whatever fuckin' movie it is playin' - I got it," you mimic his words in a failed attempt at his smooth southern accent... like he knew so little about you, you didn't know much about him other than that he likes horses and he was born and bred in Cynthiana, Kentucky.

He playfully rolls his eyes before quizzically raising his eyebrows at you, that half-smirk making an appearance again, "you got it as in you're in?"

You thought it was obvious with how you teased him, but perhaps he'd also noticed the way that you used humor to deflect from your real feelings, so you spell it out to him verbally, ignoring the fact that you've lost all feeling in your tongue... luckily you don't need it to deliver your next two words: "I'm in."

Rick's side smirk transitions into a fully fledged grin that shows off his dimples, which are usually difficult to spot under his dark facial hair, "great."

You nod absentmindedly, suddenly feeling the need to get away before you cancel on him seconds after accepting. "I should - um - go see the girls."

"And I should probably get back to work too before Old Beardy here gives me a good kicking," he gives the distracted stallion a few pats that draw his attention back onto the two humans beside him.

"Not before I punch you first." A shameful attempt at last second flirting, you know, but it seems to do the trick and end the conversation with grins on both your faces.

A circling flutter had invaded your stomach after seeing that killer smile of his and it continued even as you walked away from him... you're just not sure whether the butterflies are because of him or because you're now aware that someone could possibly fathom the idea of wanting you, or both - it's probably both.

You'd not felt like this since him, since... Joel… you sigh and look down, bringing your hand to your stomach and gently caressing it to try and calm the butterflies doing loops around your insides.

Don't get too distracted now.

Pearl and Shimmer need you.

You set your eyes on the maternity barn beside the main stable and you don't look back, not even to ogle at the way Rick's arms flex as he effortlessly climbs into Old Beardy's saddle... you shake your head to clear that thought and speed-walk for the barn, for your girls.

Shimmer.

Pearl.

You couldn't possibly pick favorites, but you knew that when a patrol group had gone out and found the stray, pregnant perlino Tennessee Walker a year ago, she was your girl.

She loved you instantly but she hated Rick - not him specifically, only because he had a dick between his legs and you could understand that. She didn't trust men one bit, that much was obvious when the patrol group told you and Rick that she refused to be led by anyone other than Jean on the way back from their shift, and you could understand that too.

So Pearl was, and still is, your responsibility and yours alone... which terrified you at first because she had life growing inside her and you didn't trust yourself not to mess up somewhere, somehow. Doing what you had already been doing for the other horses was one thing, but having the mare depend on you for assisting with the birth of her filly was another thing entirely...

It was another reason not to sleep at night.

You wondered how you could do it if you'd failed to do it yourself once already.

Rick did everything that he could for you from afar, explaining the ins and outs of looking after a pregnant horse and equine delivery... even going to the extent of writing you a manual for it with diagrams and drawings that he'd rustled up one evening after having to listen to you panic over the entire situation for the hundredth time.

To your relief, Pearl was not that far along in her pregnancy when the patrol found her, only four months - Rick could tell by the way her stomach swelled only just, but not enough for her to be any further along than that.

You spent every minute of the day with the mare, staying even after your work hours had finished just to make sure that you were giving her the nurturing that she needed in order for her filly to grow healthy in her womb.

With each month that passed no complications came her way as you worked to the bone to provide her with everything she needed that you didn't have - a comfy bed, stability, double portions of fresh food, lots of water, warmth and a space where she felt safe, where even the thought of someone or something attacking her was not a possibility.

So when Pearl's water's broke naturally on an orangey-skied evening four months ago a moment of sheer panic had flushed through your body before you sucked in a bucket load of tears and dashed to her side, remembering everything that Rick had taught you because at ridiculous hours every night you reread that darn manual... the man watched over the maternity barn's half-door without Pearl kicking up a fuss, she was in too much pain to notice him, in case you needed any emergency assistance - you didn't.

You did it all yourself.

You'd delivered Shimmer all on your own.

Just you and Pearl.

You'd given her everything that you had in you, shown her and her little one the unconditional love that you'd buried deep within you for the baby you mourned for. In return she'd given you some healing, shown you that you could do it again, but without the despair that came after.

It's no wonder why you've formed such an emotional attachment to each other in so little time.

You sniffle softly, blaming the cold weather for it, but a tear falls from your eye, slowly trailing over your cheekbone and catching the line beside your mouth. You don't bother to wipe it away because you just know that Pearl will understand.

The half-door of the barn is open already, Rick must've very cautiously done that first thing in the morning without Pearl noticing... she had been sleeping a lot during her recovery from giving birth.

As you near the door a smile starts to form on your lips as you prepare for Shimmer's adorable 'good morning' that she greets you with every day without fail.

Her brown muzzle appears, resting on the grey wood as soon as she hears you coming.

"Is that you, Shimmer?!" You gasp, now standing directly on the other side of the wooden door.

You hear excitable shuffling at the sound of your voice before Shimmer's entire head comes into view, still preciously resting the weight of it on the door.

"Well good morning to you too!" You run your fingers along the white line that trails from her forehead all the way down to her small nostrils, the only aspect of her appearance that she'd gotten from her mom... she must really take after her dad looks-wise, wherever he is.

Shimmer's mane and tail are brown, her eyes dark and her coat brown, and just like her name, it shimmers under the morning sun.

Shimmer neighs and snorts, enthusiastic as usual, lifting her head from the door and jumping onto her two hind legs as you continue to fuss over her, but you hear further inside the barn a neigh from Pearl, telling her baby girl to 'calm down'.

At the sound of Pearl's voice you hold onto the edge of the half door and lean your upper half over it to peek into the barn. Pearl is laying down on her stomach with her head perched up so that she can watch Shimmer closely, her blue eyes move to you when you come into her line of vision, she neighs again, welcoming you into her and her young's space.

You gesture for Shimmer to back up, to which she does, running around in circles, distracted while you open the half-door and slip into the barn, "look at you go little girl!" You exclaim as you lower yourself onto your knees so that your face is just about in line with Shimmer's, she trots towards you, her face warps slightly as she gets closer and closer, making you giggle. You gently wrap your arms around her neck, your fingers digging into her silky hair while she tucks her head over your shoulder and her neck is pressed to the side of your face.

Pearl watches on fondly from the edge of the barn's interior. The bond that she has let you develop with Shimmer is something that you are so grateful for, after all, you had helped her through her pregnancy and she knows that, so she trusts you with her entire being and is content with you being Shimmer's human mother figure.

Shimmer doesn't stay still for long, removing her head from your shoulders and going back to playing with her hay ball.

"There's my not so little girl," you greet Pearl with a toothy smile, slowly lifting yourself back up onto your feet and treading lightly towards the mare.

You sit yourself beside Pearl absentmindedly twirling her blonde mane around your fingers, and admire the way her beige coat glows where sunlight sneaks through the cracks between each wood panel... that's where Shimmer gets her glow from... You both sit and watch like two proud mothers as Shimmer knocks the ball around the barn with her hooves, occasionally taking some hay from the middle of it.

For what feels like ten minutes is actually hours, the time that you spend in the barn with Pearl and Shimmer.

Playing with Shimmer, sitting with Pearl in the hay, dressing them both in their bridles, taking them both out one after the other for exercise on the grounds, giving them both treats and new water.

It's just after midday when you decide that it's about time for Pearl and Shimmer to have lunch.

The hay bales are located under shelter beside the maternity barn, so you figure that it'll take you just a few minutes to deliver some fresh hay to the hungry-looking faces watching you leave the barn.

The wooden shelter is to your right and you can already see the stacked hay bales inside of it through the wide door frame on the far left side of the rectangular structure.

Rick is nowhere to be seen now, but distant voices, hammering and water trickling from hoses at the greenhouses and sheep enclosure can be heard. When you enter the shelter every sound fades into nothing and the sweet, earthly smell of hay fills your nostrils.

You wrap your fingers around the string of the closest hay bale to the entrance, but as soon as you attempt to lift it you notice the way that your breathing has started to speed up until you're panting heavily, sweating and whimpering - no - you shake your head quickly and try to focus on lifting the hay bale to your chest but your legs quiver, almost making you drop it.

It's his voice again, creeping its way into your head like an agonizing migraine, one that presses down harder on your brain with each word spoken until it's completely squished at the hands of Joel.

'No, don't you fuckin' look at her.'

'Look at me.'

'Don't you look nowhere else.'

'I will break every bone in your body.'

'Give us what you got easy, medicine, supplies, anythin' like that and I'll make killin' you a whole lot quicker.'

Your lips tremble and your hands shake as a second, third and fourth tear fall from your eyes, making your vision blurry and you're unable to clear the liquid away. Even after the hay bale falls out of your arms, they're frozen and held out in front of you as if you were still holding it... you can't move.

Not again, not here.

You'd not had an episode like this at work before.

Why is this happening?

He says your name just like he did in your nightmares: low, raspy and angry at you for running away from him all those years ago.

Unlike your nightmares, you notice how the anger in his voice fades instead of getting louder and angrier, and it allows for you to gain control, steady your breaths, blink away your tears and rub your eyes with the front of your hands... bringing you back to the real world and all you can hear are Jackson's day to day noises, kids screaming as they play outside in the snow, animal calls and people just living.

He says your name again and you stop breathing altogether because it is not in your head this time, it's coming from behind you.

Joel Miller's voice is as clear as day.

Like the characters in all those horror movies you used to watch in your bedroom that know they're about to be killed because the monster is behind them and they're unarmed, you turn to face him slowly, trying with every fibre of your being to not break down, fall at your knees and beg him to just put you out of your misery.

Your mouth falls open slightly at the sight of him in the real world, looking so... normal, dressed in thick layers for the winter weather that hug his softer-looking frame, and he’s not at all covered in blood. He looks so out of place to you after seeing him so often in your mind that you can't bring yourself to believe that he is really here, or scream for him to ‘leave you alone’... and you still cannot bring yourself to breathe, which is making your vision cloudy.

"It's you - 's really you," you hear, it's him… his voice in the flesh.

Joel Miller is here, in Jackson.

You blackout.

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐰𝐨 ⇝

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 (𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞) 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆!!!!! 𝐈𝐭'𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐲 <𝟑

𝐈 𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬𝐧’𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐡𝐞𝐡𝐞𝐡𝐞𝐡𝐞

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 ‘𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞’ 𝐨𝐫 ‘𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫’ 𝐭𝐚𝐠-𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰!

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 ↯

𝐿𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝐿𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑇𝑖𝑚𝑒

@eaterof-concrete @pedrosgrogu @whirlwindrider29 @ccmoonshine @wheatmaze @hayleynott @peelieblue @senoratess @sunnypeachdream @puddles221b @kirsteng42 @piercethevic03 @bardot49 @maybe-a-bi-witch @exzidss

𝐽𝑜𝑒𝑙 𝑀𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑟

𓃗

579 notes · View notes

tomikashii · 26 days ago

Note

PLS MAKE THE GHOULS REACT TO MC WORKING IN A MAID CAFE OR WEARING A MAID OUTFIT

tokyo debunker : the ghouls reacting to you wearing a maid outfit !

to anon : THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS ASK!!! SUCH A CUTE CONCEPT !!!! hope you enjoy it hehehehe 💗💗💗

⚠️ : some are a little suggestive (?) so minors dni ! 🙏🏻

context : you as the new darkwick inspector was roped into helping professor hyde's newest suggestion for a school annual festival : a maid cafe.

how did the ghouls react ?

frostheim

jin kamurai

didn't enter the cafe but saw the post on the wickhive, posted by kaito.

eyes widen when he saw you in the maid dress, barely covering your mid thigh, with fluffy cat ears.

started daydreaming you in the maid outfit serving him in his room. (he is really taking this into consideration)

btw, he shut down the entire maid cafe and reported kaito's post multiple times (after he screenshotted it of course) so that wickhive will take it down. 🫢

tohma ishibashi

“oh my, what is this ?” he stares abit longer than usual when he saw you running around the cafe, helping out.

his mind could not stop going back to your form, wearing a maid attire with the skirt reaching your mid thighs and shoulders exposed.

berates himself internally for being indecent and starts keeping himself busy. (peep that small blush on his face) 🫣

oh and he teases you indirectly from time to time, to show that its burn and itched into his memory

lucas errant

thinks you look very cute actually, with the maid outfit on.

would want to wear matching butler outfits with you so that you wouldn't feel awkward working in the cafe.

took a photo with you too ! put it in a photo album in his room, so that he would occasionally look over at the memory. 🥹

occasionally gaze over at you when you serve people in the outfit, with a hint of blush on his face. (as long as you are in his line of vision to protect you)

kaito fuji

GOOD LORD! he fainted at the sight. nosebleed and everything. 😩

when he regained his consciousness back, he almost fainted again on how CUTE YOU LOOK!

took alot of photos of you and together. PUT IT AS HIS WALLPAPER EVEN. (#1 SUPPORTER)

tries to chase the guys away who tried to hit on you when you are running around the cafe.

vagastrom

alan mido

confused on the maid cafe concept but immediately started short circuiting when he saw you in the outfit.

how did he see ? he saw leo flaunting the photo of you infront of him and sho.

actually visited the cafe after that and says its cause he needed to meet you for something & vagastrom garage is ‘NOT SAFE FOR YOU’. (WHAT A LIAR) ☺️

was really awkward trying to talk to you in a straight face and avoided you for a few days after that because he couldn't keep that image of you in the maid outfit out of his mind.

leo kurosagi

“wow, you look stupid!~” he says as he snaps alot of photos of you in the outfit.

makes tiktok content about it (made like 5 different videos about it)

trust me, he stares back at the pictures and looked away scoffing ‘on how stupid you look’. (okay leo OKAY) 🙄

TEASES YOU SO MUCH AFTER THAT !!! he even had the audacity to treat you like a maid after that lol (you beat him up)

sho haizono

“wow senpai-” he teases. such a tease.

would sit in the cafe to tease you and order drinks from you specifically. smiles even harder when you address him as master.

after leaving, he stares at the pictures of you or with him that he took and smiles. 🤭

“so wheres the maid outfit ?” he asks, after the festival was over, making you want to punch him.

jabberwock

haru sagara

was very impressed on how it good it looks on you (he was internally thanking professor hyde)

sat down in the cafe and watched you work with peekaboo. sneakily glances at your shoulders and skirt before looking away, chuckling.

blushes a little when you greet him and called him ‘master’. MAKING YOU BLUSH TOO 😭

another one who stares at the pictures for 1000 years and actually suggested if you could wear it around the park, to attract customers. (no, its so that he can look at you.)

towa otonashi

compliments you alot actually when he saw you wearing the outfit.

gets jealous when he saw other people seeing you wear it so he decided to kidnap you to jabberwock.

cuddles you there and makes sure that he was the only one who can see you in that oufit.

takes a mental picture and keeps it in his mind forever as he cuddles you in the grass.

ren shiranami

actually caught you by chance when you were heading around the campus promoting the maid cafe. bursts out laughing and then realises how revealing it was. 🤦🏻‍♀️

encourages you to report professor hyde for harrasment and child labour.

when he realises that you did it willingly, he stops and never looks at you ever. (because he keeps staring at your shoulde— WHO SAID THAT)

couldn't keep it out of his head for awhile and mentally curses himself for being a pervert.

sinostra

taiga hoshibami

“kitty-cat becomes a maid?” he raises an eyebrow when he saw a group of sinostra students exchanging photos of the maid cafe and saw you.

actually barged in there to see you standing there, mid service, stunned with wide eyes. then he stares at your figure.

another who kidnaps you. he brought you to sinostra's casino and place you on his lap.

makes you wear another outfit next time when he plays poker again. (it was an erotic cat suit-)

romeo lucci scorpio

wasn't phased. (no he was, he just wouldn't show it infront of you)

berates you for wearing cheap maid clothing when he can provide for high quality ones.

actually angrily blushing behind you and sat down in the cafe. (because professor hyde told him to, he says)

observes you in silence, drinking the tea while watching you work. (he is taking a mental picture so that he can make you wear that in sinostra, maybe you can finally attract customers)

ritsu shinjo

actually was so shock. came to look for you and heard that you were here. didn't expect you to wear a full maid outfit.

as you sat opposite him and started discussing, his eyes trailed to your shoulders before looking away and awkwardly coughing.

says to take a picture so that he could record it as evidence. (no it was not)

occasionally glanced over at the picture, and cracking a small smile at the myster diner, making ren confused from the counter.

hotarubi

subaru kagami

compliments you alot, saying how it suits you. even sits in the cafe and giggles a little when you call him master.

don't mention the tint of red cheeks when you do so though. he is already nervous from your outfit.

took a photo together with you and treasures it alot. (he keeps staring at it AW)

there was a dark glint in his eye when he saw how some guys were hitting on you in the outfit.

haku kusanagi

“wow princess, i thought this was for me only ?” you roll your eyes.

APPRECIATES THE VIEW. he is not ashamed watching you work and staring at your entire form running around the cafe with a smirk.

smirks even harder when you called him master (bros enjoying this abit too much) literally calls you every second he can so that he can hear you call him that.

teases you after that. “what happened to haku-sama?” he will not let that go. ever.

zenji kotodama

another one who compliments you !

floats around the cafe to watch you work and keep an eye on you. (making sure that you are safe)

he is a little worried though, because your outfit is a little revealing and weird men will hit on you.

so he sends the doll after them. (imagine the doll chasing whoever down the corridor and the other staff members and customers just look in confusion).

obscuary

edward hart

found out through wickchat. smiles to himself when he saw your outfit and posing infront of the outfit with the other staff.

well, its not like he has never seen you in one before, you went on a mission with him, wearing it too.

actually starts imagining you serving him in a maid outfit. that specific maid outfit. (he bought it online.) yes, he was tempted to buy the sexy ones.

so don't be surprised when you come over, he expects you to wear the uniform and calls him master as you serve him.

rui mizuki

compliments you so many times and called you the entire dictionary of beautiful and cute.

takes pictures of your every step and would order alot from your cafe so that he can see you come to him and call him master.

dies everytime you call him that too.

“but i wore a maid outfit before with you- THIS IS DIFFERENT!” he protested when you asked him on his behaviour.

lyca colt

doesn't know what a maid cafe is so when he entered with subaru, he got the shock of his life when he saw the staff, specifically you, running around the cafe in that attire.

“WHY IS THE UNIFORM SO SHORT ? I THOUGHT IT WAS LONGER ?” he exclaims, looking at subaru for reassurance. (subaru had to explain that there were different types)

brain shortcircuted when you addressed lyca as master, almost making him pass out from stress (and embarrassment)

avoided you for a few days because his brain is filled with you in the maid outfit.

mortkranken

yuri isami

he is a victorian man who is reacting like he saw a women bare ankles for the first time. blushes furiously and claims that you were trying to seduce him ! 🗣️

question: how did he see you in that outfit ? you were helping a staff get to mortkranken because she got hot oil on her arm. (and it was pretty bad)

his cheeks were red as he tried to be nonchalant and professional, dressing the staff's wound and try not to look at you. (even sent you outside)

literally for the first time, look through wickhive to see your photos in the outfit. he forced back a smile (i guess we can say, he thinks you look pretty cute in the outfit)

jiro kirisaki

not phased. not suprised. doesn't care. he be like “oh okay 😐”. he has seen you wearing it before anyways so what's new ?

he would unconsciously stare at you for a little longer than usual. watching as your form, smaller than his run around the room.

if you are pretty close with him, he might remember the outfit for awhile and occasionally let out a soft smile.

but would think the outfit is abit impractical because its off-shoulders and theres alot of frills that can easily be stuck anywhere. (if you squint hard enough, theres slight jealousy)

272 notes · View notes

elixirfromthestars · 8 months ago

Text

Crossroads

Pairing: Ex!Bucky Barnes x Neurosurgeon!Reader

Summary: On a rainy night on your way home, fate decides to cross your path with someone who used to hold the dearest place in your heart.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warning(s): ANGST / heartbreak / failed relationship / very tiny mention of a surgical procedure, not in great detail / I know I mentioned angst already, but this is all angst with maybe like a tiny sprinkle of fluff / medical career mentions (I did my research, but just in case I got anything wrong) / mentions of Bucky's trauma and hardships from his past

Prompt/Theme: chai latte (caught in the cold rain) + melancholy (write a tragic tale)

a/n: This is my submission for @the-slumberparty ‘s Winds of Autumn Challenge. Did I choose melancholy because of my name? Perhaps 🫢 In all honesty, it has been too long since I wrote a pure angst piece, so I knew I had to write something to get the heartbreak going. As a piece of advice, not everything is as it seems, so wait till the end for the whole story to come together. I would say happy reading, but instead, I'll wait here with tissues and a hug for those who need it after reading this. ( ´･･)ﾉ(._.`) Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!! ♡♡♡

bucky masterlist ♡ // main masterlist ♡

Lightning crackles across the sky as you scurry across the puddle-ridden streets of New York desperately searching for a cab. The wind had rendered your umbrella useless, so the rain fell in harsh sheets against your body—soaking you from head to toe.

You had been performing an emergency surgery on one of your patients in a different hospital from the one you resided in. Your patient had suffered from an aneurysm brought on by a complication from a previous surgery. She couldn’t be transported across the city as immediate medical attention was needed, so you were transported to said hospital via the hospital helicopter.

Which you obviously couldn’t use to fly back home.

The surgery took longer than anticipated—eight hours to be exact. When you were close to being done there was unexpected bleeding coming from the surgical sight and you had to go back in and reexamine everything to stop the bleeding. Thankfully, there were no more complications after that and you could focus on stabilizing your patient so she could go and recover in the intensive care unit.

The downpour had started towards the end of your surgery. You were far from home and the already unfamiliar streets had blurred together amongst the harsh streaks of water obscuring your vision. It was still the early hours of the night and you were exhausted—longing to collapse against your bedsheets and wrap yourself in their warmth. Tiredness had seeped its way into your bones faster than the rain had seeped into your coat.

As you cross another street you spot a bus shelter nearby and make a run for it. Knowing it might be a while before you can catch a cab and at least those glass walls would be enough to protect you from the icy wind that threatened to freeze you. Once inside you try your best to warm up your hands, observing the way your breath materializes in the air. You consider ordering a rideshare, but you know the numbness in your fingertips has to go away before you can take your phone out and order it.

Fate, however, had other plans for you.

“Y/n?”

Your body stiffens when a voice calls your name, flinching slightly at the way the thunder that follows rattles the glass shelter. The shiver that makes its way down your spine is no longer from the chilly air.

This can’t be happening—not after two years. Not when you had finally moved on from him.

He calls your name again, his presence cementing itself into reality. You don’t want to face him, but there’s that small part of you—the part that will forever be his—that begs you to look. That needs to know if it's him.

Your head turns slowly, holding your breath as you keep your emotions in check as best as you can. Hoping the universe was playing a cruel joke on you and presenting you with someone who sounded exactly like him.

But what stranger would ever utter your name with such heart-aching familiarity?

Deep down you knew there was no mistaking it. It was him. It was Bucky. You would know the sound of his voice even in the loudest of crowds—like a language only your heart spoke. Even now when it was on the cusp of becoming a forgotten one.

Your eyes meet his as a flash of lightning illuminates you both. Your heart squeezes in your chest at the way his eyes seem stormier than the sky. Filled with as many conflicting emotions as you know are reflected in yours.

“Bucky. Hi…”

When you find your voice it sounds foreign to you—quiet and tight. The years of rebuilding every part of yourself are on the edge of crumbling down in a simple greeting. Bucky gives you a small smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes as he looks between you and the bus shelter. He frowns for a moment as if having a silent debate with himself.

“Is it okay if I um…?” He nods towards the inside of the bus shelter as he trails off. This is when you finally notice the way the rain whips against his skin, soaking him where he stands, and it dawns on you what he’s asking.

He wants to know if it’s okay for him to seek shelter from the rain with you. The man who used to insist on holding your hand wherever you went because he loved the feeling of your hand in his, the man who would hug you from behind and hide in the crook of your neck as he showered it with kisses when he missed you on the days you came home late, the man who cuddled you close every night and whispered how much he loved you between kisses that seemed to want to reach your very soul—that man was now asking for your permission to be in the same space as you.

Oh, how cruel fate could be…

“Yes, of course. It's fine,” your response is polite—too polite, and your movements are virtually robotic as you take a few steps to your right to keep a stranger’s distance between you. He mumbles a small thanks before he steps inside, his hands firmly in his jacket pockets. Keeping to his personal space as much as possible.

Silence stretches between you—heavy with unspoken sentiments—interrupted only by the booming of thunder and the drumming of rain as it hits whatever is in its way. You try to distract yourself by counting the seconds between the stoplight changing from green to yellow to red and then green again, but it's no use when he’s but a few steps away from you. The man who you used to know like the back of your hand is now a stranger and it's causing you more distress than you’d like to admit. The inside of your cheek feels the brunt of that torment as you bite it incessantly. You have to do something about this silence before it consumes you.

“How have you—”

“How’s it been—”

You both speak up at the same time, holding each other’s gaze for a fraction of a second before falling into an awkward laugh. He clears his throat before encouraging you to speak first. You look away, the civility of his tone crawling under your skin and unstitching mended wounds—some of which still had not fully healed yet.

“Okay, well how have you been, Bucky?”

“Good. I’ve been good. You?”

“Oh. I’ve been good too.”

The exchange went by quickly between half-truths and hesitations. Then it crept up again—the silence. Gnawing at you both and mocking you for not being able to have a simple conversation. When words between you used to flow as freely as the rain that traps you here—really the lack of vocabulary now is laughable. Your past selves would have never been able to wrap their heads around how hard talking to one another would be.

Your past selves would also never understand why you broke up.

Your current self still doesn’t entirely understand.

Bucky shifts on his feet, lips in a tight line as he speaks up, “I read about your recent award. Congratulations, you deserved it,” the sincerity in his voice causes your head to snap in his direction. When you see his genuine smile, one that makes the corner of his eyes slightly crinkle, it tugs at your heartstrings in a way that threatens to pull you back to him.

You won that award for your research achievements in neuroscience a few months ago. Which could only mean that at least until a few months ago, Bucky had been keeping up with you. A piece of information that left you speechless and with a million thoughts running through your mind.

Had he always kept up with you?

Or did he only just recently revisit a part of his past?

Were you on his mind all this time like he had been in yours?

There was so much you wanted to ask—to say—but instead, your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water until you were able to mutter a soft, “Thank you.” The sound so quiet it was almost swallowed by the rain. Bucky caught it, however, his body less rigid hearing the familiar cadence. He smiles a little wider, the kind of smile that chips away at the walls you built up these last two years and insists you spill a string of secrets you have locked away in the deepest depths of your heart.

All secrets that revolve around him.

How you also kept up with him, never scrolling past a social media or news post highlighting anything that had to do with the Avengers in hopes of getting a glimpse of him. Visiting the coffee shop where you two met on occasions telling yourself it's because no other coffee tastes better, but really it's because of the memories of you two that lie in every corner of that building. The loss of him follows you even when you order takeout because you would rather deal with the lie of ordering for two rather than with the truth of ordering for one.

However, the biggest secret of them all pertains to those days when the ache, the longing, and the loneliness become a cacophony too loud to ignore, that you find yourself rummaging through your closet. Searching for the shoe box that’s tucked away amongst miscellaneous items. One that holds the pieces of your heart that shattered the day Bucky broke up with you.

A faded movie ticket from the Lord of the Rings marathon you took him to, gum wrappers folded into hearts that Bucky had a habit of doing every time you needed a new bookmark, photobooth pictures that always ended with you two kissing, a letter he wrote you on your one year anniversary where he told you he loved you for the first time, and other items you cherished with every part of you.

Holding onto these things might seem to others like a mistake when your goal is to move on, but these were things you couldn’t find the strength to get rid of. And if that made you weak, clinging onto bits of what was the greatest love of your life, then so be it.

You were weak—and quite frankly you didn’t give a damn.

The one thing holding you back from pouring your heart out to Bucky was how things had ended. The vagueness, the fight, the resentment and confusion. All of it took hold of you and screamed at you to be more cautious—to keep your guard up.

Thunder snaps you out of your thoughts, grounding you in the present once more. You need answers, but you know you have to be careful about how you retrieve them.

You cross your arms, pressing your coat tighter against your body in an attempt to comfort yourself—turning to face him only to have your heart skip a beat when you realize he is already looking at you. His gaze softens with a vulnerability that makes the words get stuck in your throat.

You let out a shaky exhale, “I uh—I saw Sam became the new Captain America. I also saw you on the news fighting alongside him. Are you two friends now?” The question comes out innocent enough, making Bucky’s demeanor brighten as he takes it as a sign that you’re open to talking to him. Your hidden intention behind that question is a need for confirmation of something that eats away at you anytime you think about his reason for breaking up with you.

Bucky runs a hand through his damp hair, “Yeah, sort of—it's a long story. We went on a mission together and I realized he wasn’t that annoying, so we became mission partners and I guess you could consider us friends now,” he explains to you with a fond expression, one that leaves a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. Through the occasional flashes of lightning you’re able to get a better look at him and the sinking feeling is on the verge of drowning you.

Bucky no longer had harsh dark circles under his eyes, his scruff was nicely shaven, and his posture was lighter as if the world was no longer falling heavily on his shoulders. His hair is shorter than when you last saw him, he had lost a bit of weight, and he had found a friend in Sam. Something you had encouraged him to do while you two were still together, but he refused on account of saying he only needed you. All of this verified to you the one thing you feared the most.

Bucky had been right all along. He had been right in breaking up with you.

Two years ago, Bucky had sat you down on his living room couch and told you he wasn’t ready for a relationship. That was it—that was his reason for ending things with you after almost two years of being together. He claimed he wasn’t ready for a long-term commitment, not after everything he had gone through. And seeing him now, seeing how much better he looked was enough proof for you. No amount of your love, your support, or your companionship would have been enough to keep him in your life.

Bucky had been right all along, and you hated how utterly bitter that made you.

How could you accept that what tore you to pieces mended Bucky back together?

The air between you shifts, it’s thick and acrid, and your heart races in your chest with fury as loud as the thunder that rumbles in the clouds. Leaving you wondering if Bucky can differentiate which one is more turbulent. He can sense the change in you and it causes the heaviness in his shoulders to return and his body to go rigid—his own heart threatening to leap out of his chest.

Your phone rings and you use it as an excuse to turn away from Bucky. You pull it out of your bag and check the caller ID—it's Nate. Your neighbor from down the hall of your apartment complex who moved in a couple of months ago, and was now a casual hookup of yours. You weren’t one for hookups, but after years of no connection you longed to feel something—anything with anyone.

You were only human after all.

You answer the call, needing to put your attention elsewhere before you say anything to Bucky you might regret later. You keep your responses short, knowing Nate could only be calling you at this hour for one reason and one reason only. Bucky didn’t need to know that reason, so you decide to keep the conversation as brief as possible.

Bucky shifts his weight on his feet as he pretends to watch the rain. Focusing on a water droplet sliding down the glass wall as it races the other droplets to the ground. He’s tempted to use his super soldier hearing to listen in on your conversation, but he knows he doesn’t have the right to. There are only bits and pieces that slip through—like the fact that you’re talking to a man—and it has one soul-crushing thought come to his mind.

You have someone. Bucky comes to the conclusion that you have moved on.

As soon as you end the call the words slip out of Bucky’s mouth before he can stop them.

“Was that your boyfriend?” The word boyfriend tastes bitter on his tongue and he can’t help the prickly edge to his voice. You catch the way his jaw tenses and he averts your gaze—ripping the wounds of heartbreak right open. He has no right to feel any sort of way about you moving on. He knows it, you know it, and yet there he is troubled at the thought of you with someone else.

Screw not saying something you’ll regret later.

“Yeah. That was him,” you lie with the utmost confidence that even you believe it. A tiny voice in the back of your head scolds you for lying, but it's hard to hear it when the resentment fights its way up to the surface and wins.

Bucky had fallen from a train, been brainwashed, tortured, beaten left and right in battles, gone to war, blipped out of existence, stabbed and shot more times than he can count and yet no physical blow could ever amount to the sheer devastating pain he was feeling right now knowing you had found someone else. Knowing there was someone else who got to see your sleepy smiles in the mornings, who got to cuddle you close to his chest on movie nights, who got to steal kisses from you while cooking dinner together, and who got to hear your laughter whenever he wanted—a sound that never failed to make Bucky all warm and fuzzy inside.

There was someone else who now had the privilege and the honor to be loved by you, and to love you.

Bucky would never be able to recover from that.

“I’m…happy for you. I’m happy you were able to move on,” Bucky lies through his teeth as he says those words that feel like acid on his tongue.

“It’s not like I had a choice in the matter,” you retort coldly, causing Bucky to flinch as if you had struck him.

“Y/n I—”

“No. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear how you weren’t ready for a relationship. How ending it was for the best. Breaking every single promise you made to me like it meant nothing to you. You don’t tell someone you love them, that you want to move in together—you don’t talk about the future and then turn around and break up with them because you’re not ready for something long-term. Not unless…not unless it was all a lie from the start,�� your voice cracks by the end and it takes everything within you to swallow the lump in your throat before it suffocates you.

The thunder roars so loudly it shakes the glass walls around you and for a second you think they might break—but ultimately they don’t. Bucky doesn’t know what to say, taking a sharp intake of a breath before blowing out the air in what sounds like a choked sob. Every fiber of his being longs to break the distance, wrap you in his arms, and never let you go. Cradling you close to his chest like he used to whenever you were upset.

He had lost that privilege—he’s well aware of that, and yet his wishes remain the same.

Bucky knows there’s more he can say. Things that might not restore what was broken, but that will definitely give you answers or closure. Although, at the risk of hurting you even more he keeps them to himself and instead whispers a strained, “I’m sorry.” Letting the weight of his apology hang in the air.

Your tears threaten to spill, but you blink them away not wanting to cry in front of him. Maybe you shouldn’t be bitter and resentful—after all the man you loved with your whole heart ended up better off without you. If you truly loved him you should be happy for him. Despite that, there is no ounce of happiness that you can conjure up for him right now. At this moment, you are swimming in an ocean of negative emotions that are close to pulling you under into a very dark place.

You can be the bigger person tomorrow—tonight you won’t be.

Bucky can hear it before it comes into view, a cab is finally making its way down the road. He steps out into the road to wave it down, the rain ricocheting off of his shoulders. Without speaking another word, he heads over to the cab and opens the door to the backseat, gesturing for you to go in. For a second, you hesitate to take the cab. You know once you do this is it—it's over.

A beat passes until you make a decision. With a heavy heart, you force one foot in front of the other, stepping into the rain and then into the backseat. Accepting this small gesture from Bucky as a heartfelt goodbye. If you stuck around any longer that bit of animosity brewing in the pit of your stomach would’ve boiled over.

You don’t look at Bucky as he closes the door, but you steal one last glance at him as you tell the driver your address. The sight squeezes your chest so tightly it might stop beating—Bucky is crying. He’s hiding it well with the rain and with the way he stands, but you know him better than that. At one point he was your other half and you can tell by the way his jaw trembles, his eyes narrow, and his expression molds to one of pain that he’s crying.

You hide your face from him as the dam breaks and everything you had been holding back comes flooding out.

Bucky steps back into the shelter of the glass walls and watches the cab drive off with you in it—taking his heart and his hope with you.

Bucky tries to force the tears to stop, but he knows it's no use. Just like you, he had held back a sea of truths he wanted to confess. Truths he wasn’t sure you even wanted to hear or he even deserved to tell.

Bucky is not doing good. He has to throw himself into work and missions every waking moment because if he doesn’t his thoughts will run straight to you. Every night he has to hold his pillow close to his chest because he got so used to sleeping with you cuddled against him, that he feels like a part of him is missing and it steals his sleep. He tosses and turns for hours and stares at the ceiling as if there he’ll find the answers on how to make the heartache go away. In the silence, he longs to hear your voice, so the radio and the tv stay on so he doesn’t have to sit with the uncomfortable. The food he eats lacks flavor and the world around him seems devoid of color.

His existence feels soulless without you.

Sam is trying to get him to talk about it, but you’re the one thing Sam is not allowed to bring up. Not when Bucky is ashamed of the full story—of the truth.

The full story—the full truth—was the one thing most of all that he wanted to get off of his chest and confess to you. Bucky didn’t break up with you because he wasn’t ready for a long-term relationship. That was the biggest lie he had ever told and one that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

He was ready. He was so damn ready he even bought the ring to ask you to marry him—to make forever official. That was until he noticed how his problems began to bleed into your life. So much so, that your career as a surgeon began to suffer from it. The one thing you were most passionate about—your dream—the one thing you worked blood, sweat, and tears for was in jeopardy because Bucky was still suffering from the baggage of his past as the Winter Solider.

Bucky felt like a burden. You would never call him that and he knew if you ever heard him call himself that, you would do and say everything you could to assure him he was wrong. You loved him so deeply and so selflessly that your career became an afterthought. When his nightmares plagued him, when his PTSD was triggered, when the world felt like it was closing in on him—there you were. By his side no matter the time of day to hold him close and reassure him he wasn’t alone, that he was safe, and that he was loved. Bucky had become so dependent on you he didn’t realize how it had affected you until he stumbled across the warning letters your job sent, the voicemails, and the overheard calls. The articles that came out questioning your morality for dating the Winter Solider—a cold-blooded killer.

Your reputation as a surgeon was on the line because of him.

That’s when Bucky knew he had to call it off. He had to be the one to end it and fix his own problems before his darkness ruined you. You had sacrificed so much and worked endlessly to prove yourself in your field, that there was no way he would let you risk all of that for him. He knew he couldn’t be honest with you over the real reasons—you would never accept them. So he made sure to find a reason that would lead you to hate him.

Bucky knew he had to be the villain of the story. He was used to it, he’d be okay with it. As long as you were safe from the shadows that followed him, he would gladly be the bad guy. For some people that was all he’d ever be, at least in this case he could control the narrative and in the end it would benefit you.

Bucky couldn’t give you forever, no, but in letting you go he made sure you kept your dream—and that was enough for him. That meant everything to him.

He had to suffer the greatest loss of his life so that the love of his life could be free. A hard truth that he would forever carry the weight of and that you would never know was done as an ultimate act of love—the selfless act of knowing when to say goodbye.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky angst #bucky fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #james barnes x reader #james barnes x you #james barnes x y/n #james barnes imagine

618 notes · View notes

ihopeinevergetsoberr · 2 months ago

Note

First time between virgin reader and viktor??🫢

how to lose your virginity like a pretentious poet

word count: 1,8k

this turned out rather vague, but still explicit enough to... titillate, so to speak. virgin!viktor, virgin!fem!reader, protected sex, oral (f receiving), dirty talk. this was supposed to have a different ending, but i figured why write about a perfect first time when i can do a more realistic scenario where it doesn't exactly work out? plus, i'm known for edging my readers, so... there you go.

and i'm sorry for how... strangely this is written. i read too much anaïs nin and it shows.

—

His fist swallows him, bottomless, in a dry toe-arching vortex of his climax—a conflux of cum and spit shriveling in the oblique of a lean hip. Vortex climax conflux. A lewd stanza that he croaks at, snicker-like, thinking of its triple-X ending waning alongside his own—perplex, postsex, unorthodox. The poetry of touching oneself to sleep.

His mind is all thighs and ankles. A shy affinity inching on a fetish. Every night, he yearns for it in a fist-fight with his cock. All but twists his nipple out of the aureole and wishes it were yours instead, dotting his skin a hot, sticky white of sheer hunger.

In person, it’s much tamer. He’s almost through with the conduit: of groping uphill, from knees to chests to necks, of name-whimpering litanies waiting to become fleshed-out moans, of artifices in friction not yet daring to evolve into orgasms. You know he yearns for resumption. He knows you yearn twice as fierce. The ouroboros of awareness has been choking on its tail for a while. And you envy it. You’d like to choke on a certain appendage, too.

The night he caves, you lose the nylon and let him topple inside: a thousand taste buds flat against your thigh like a tickle. A hundred tiny spit-flicks fumbling with the peach fuzz. Which then diminishes into a dozen meek bites and, finally, mere units of thrusts—airtight, approbatory, avid. It’s a poem. It has been one, all along. Now, clumsy stanzas are licking through: Viktor simply added some alliteration. Ah. Ah. Ah. Right here. Right there. Ri—mhm!

“You taste… acidic,” Viktor says. Looks up from beneath your skirt and pushes the linen out of your fist: his fingers are rather selfish. Still damp from whatever preceded this mouth-to-mound endeavour, they claw at your palm and pin it down—a sparring of digits bending into loops.

And it’s such a silly thing. You, prying your hand free and squeezing his chin in a way that’s both commanding and inept—tugging his tongue out to assess the slight swell. Him, almost slipping off the bed on a numb knee. The regrouping that follows—a tangle of legs and elbows. A kick here, a tackle there. Splicing until the rhythm is back and the poem becomes sloppy—a vers libre, shirtless and blouseless. The underwear hasn’t slid to its ‘less’ yet. It billows around your ankle—with a frilly twist, baby pink all over. A sinful stain still wet on the very gusset he’d licked before pushing the thing aside.

“Acidic?” You push a finger into his mouth and gasp when the muscle bends under your touch—pliant, sheepish tongue swirling around your thumb like sleazy sin. And then it gnaws at you—the playful force of his teeth, aiming at your phalanx in a tender strike. Drawing an offended ‘ouch’ and lining into a grin—about thirty whites beaming at you mockingly.

“Mhm,” he finally answers. Sexily. Perhaps just a little conceited.

“Acidic?!”

“Er, savoury might be a better word.”

“Might it really?”

“Why the frown? I like savoury.”

“Can’t you just talk dirty to me like a normal person?”

“I can certainly try. Just be mindful of my… non-existent experience. I’m a debutant, after all.”

“So am I, but you don’t see me telling you that you taste weird.”

He laughs, undismayed. Prowls to your mouth with a smile so quivering that yours falters along and tumbles under this Klimt-esque endeavour. It tinges you tart. Licks stolen sour right back into you. Peels your bra off one flushed nipple after a strained ‘May I?’ and bites down, harshly soft. Breaks a moan into toothy half-whimpers and dribbles, treacly, down your ribs in a stream of besotted spit—a clumsy glaze of startled gooseflesh reaching a bumpy aureole.

“You taste—“ Viktor rasps, slick-jawed, “s-so good.” Throws your thigh over a shaky forearm and pulls you close, lisping an earnest ‘sorry’ when your nipple gets caught in his brace. “I want you to— I want to–“ he gulps, “Oh, if I had it my way, I’d devour you until you burn a hole through my tongue. Yes, render me physically speechless. I doubt I’ll be doing much talking from now on. My mouth has found its purpose between your legs.”

That disarms you. Languishes your mouth in a way that leaves it agape and rolls some breathy praise into his throat—and he swallows it, chokes on it, spits it back into you. “How did I do?” mumbles toothily. Like he doesn’t already know the answer.

“Good. For a pretentious poet, that is.”

“A pretentious poet?” He snickers, humbled. Grabs you by the calf—reverently, with an obsessive humm—and tugs you upright, chest to flushed chest, wondering what strained sound to pick for your next remark. His repertoire is scarce. A chuckle, for something cheeky. A moan, for something obscene.

And, sure enough, you’re licking into his ear. “Mhm. Are you fucking me or serenading me?”

Ah. A moaning chuckle, in that case. “Can’t it be both? Clearly, it’s efficient.”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

“There’s no need for that. The evidence—“ he reaches under your skirt and plows a finger over slickened folds, “is overwhelming.”

The silence, aside from the audacious moan he draws from you, lingers. By convention, it evolves into a kiss, then into a teeth-clattering sparring. It stains everything bloody—more clumsy than malicious, yet bloody nonetheless—and this time he doesn’t come out unscathed: there’s rouge saliva shining on his chin, no doubt thick and tasting of intermingled iron. Viktor licks it up, too—the ever intrepid gourmand—and stares at you with the splendour of, well, a victor.

“Condom,” you gasp—an order, “I want to fuck that attitude out of you.”

His eyes turn glassy—voidy pupils bursting out of irises. “A-Are you certain?” A stumble, that’s nice for a change. “I’ve never done this before—“

“Neither have I.”

“Precisely. Are you—“ He clears his throat, then retaliates with a gentler, “Are we certain we can go all the way tonight?”

“Do you want that attitude ridden out of you or not?”

His gaze snaps back to its usual almondy shrewdness. “I do. If you’re up for the task.”

And you reach for his nape, whispering a promising, “Take your pants off.”

The filthy poem reads on.

He fumbles with the rubber with contrived effort, wiping puzzled perspiration off his flushed forehead—a man ungracious, fatigued with his want. You crawl from behind his shoulder—a cautious succession over each bony slope—a pendulum of strike and stroke swinging between each sweet option. Then a comfort, sibilant, is tongued into his hair—a deliciously inane plea that wraps around his cock in a supportive squeeze: keeping it upright so the slick cover slides right on in a satisfying roll.

“It’s funny,” he says, leaning back. Bucks against your shoulder in a delirious shove and moans, half-undone, at the loving bob of your hand. “I was touching myself to the thought of this just this morning.”

Your laughter pinpricks his neck. An aspiration—hasty, homely, husky. “The thought of what, exactly? Struggling with condoms?”

He twitches—internally, with a transient cramp. Peels your wrist off of him in a confluence of plea and order and turns around, excitedly, to help you onto his lap: hands on hips-on haunches-on heel spurs. The fetish finally reaches its utmost.

Your world comes propping down onto his shoulder—a descent conferred. It’s a staunch thing—breathy, crude, a little undirected. He offers his skin for the lancing of five prickly nails and waits, politely impatient, for you to take the staking. A delicious one, he hopes. But it’s a fit tight enough to strangle. Now, which head is a question of your aim.

The tip scorches its way inside through a curse. You wince, then leave his worried pout behind blurry eyelids, stilling mid-downward slope. A cautious kiss upon your jaw tips your gut out of the spasm and soothes it, darlingly, to a mushy, liquid feeling somewhere between tense legs. When you open your eyes again, a pair of huge, pensive ones looks back into you.

“I’m fine.” A promise, strangely coherent. You lean him against the headboard, weaving shaky fingers into his hair just in time to muffle the thump. And he whines for it, gratefully, and rushes to pet the cramp out of your calf. The smile that follows prompts an attempt to take another inch.

“Do you need me to—“ Viktor swallows his words and looks at the impressive stretch of you around him. Pulls you into another kiss and chokes on cloying saliva, easing you into the friction of excited taste buds.

It ends with a wet plop. Bumps sweaty foreheads together and has you gulping as you assess the sensation. “No. It’s…” Immense? Wet? Sultry? “Good. Feels good. Just a little intense. Er… prickly.”

“Ah.” He chuckles, relieved. “Certainly. I, eh, could touch you, if you like?”

And you like. Of course you do. You plunge downward, and squeeze him to the hilt, and pull him, graspingly, by the strap of his brace into a halation of glowing eyes and spitslick mouths contorted in none other than a drawn out ‘Please’, which arcs into a ‘Fuck’ when his fingers come down in a tender onslaught on your clit, schlicking along the very first clumsy thrust.

Then comes the comatose. Of insides, taut and startled, burning in a pervasive pooling of ‘way too much’. Painting you a pained rouge and causing a rasp that you all but spew into his shoulder, crestfallen. And he seeks you, shakily, from beneath the tousle of his hair—bleeds disjointed confirmations, incidentally, in a language you don’t understand, having caught but an isolated ‘Lásko?ʼ

“I.. I think I—“ It comes out of you gutturally, with a spasmodic writhe. “I think my… eagerness got the best of me.”

He nods, mouth agape, with his tongue arched under his palate. “Would you like to stop?” Asks piously, swiping a careful peck across your knuckles.

You cower, arching off of him—a clumsy hesitation between retreat and resumption. And, surely, the former prevails, easing you from around him with a guilty gasp. “Yes. I would.” Then, an addendum, meek and muffled, “I’m sorry.”

Viktor frowns and hurtles you into a tangle of arms—moulds your face into his in a fleeting touch of lips, and smoothes a palm over your shaky thigh. “None of that, please. Come hold me. I’ll get this, er—“ He winces, poking the shrivelled condom, “thing off.”

You laugh—bubbly, perhaps just a little hoarse. Stumbling over a purr-like sound, you curl into the sheets as he pushes his limbs under yours—a beauty, dishevelled, and staring at you, awestruck. You nose his clavicle, contemplating a playful suck.

“Could we—” you offer, sheepishly, “reschedule this? For later tonight. I promise I won’t rush this time.”

The chin above you comes to rest on your head. “Only if I get to carry on with my pretentious obscenities.”

And you smile at him, wanly, for the umpteenth endearing time.

“Of course. Serenade me all you please.”

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor smut #viktor x f!reader #viktor x f!reader smut #arcane fanfic #viktor arcane smut #viktor arcane fluff #no beta we die #well hopefully not because i’m ukrainian *badumt-s*

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itneverendshere · 10 months ago

Note

addicted to your rafe!! you mentioned in the bartender!reader au that rafe shared his life story after their first time together and was just wondering if youd ever write about it? would love to read about rafe spilling all (in more ways than one hehe) and reader's reaction but only if its something youre interested in writing!!

i was planning on making the smut really cute BUT...it got a little out of hand bc they're both horny so....enjoy!!! but there's fluff i promise. and he spills everything (eheheh)🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️😌🫢 thank you for the request 🩵🫂

i'll do anything you say, if you say it with your hands - r.c (+18)

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe) warnings: SMUT!!!!; a little angst by the end and lots of fluff.

It's past midnight, and you’re sprawled out on your bed, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. You’re still in your ratty tank top and sleep shorts, some throwaway show mumbling in the background.

The night’s quiet, a little too quiet, so when you hear a low thump at the window, you nearly jump out of your skin.

But you know that sound.

That’s Rafe.

You glance over just as his messy dark blond head pops up outside the window, blue eyes gleaming mischievously. Your heart does this stupid thing, and you’re grinning before you even realize it. You slide the window up quickly, shushing him though you know he’s careful.

"Hi,” You whisper, leaning into him the second he’s in, his broad shoulders blotting out the rest of the room.

“Miss me?” he murmurs back, lips quirking as he brushes a hand through your hair.

“Maybe a little,” You tease, tugging him closer by the front of his shirt. Rafe’s standing there in just a pair of worn jeans and a black T-shirt that clings to every hard line of muscle.

God, it should be illegal for him to look this good.

His hair is still damp at the tips, like he just came from a shower. He leans down and kisses you, his fingers moving to the bare skin at your waist. You’ve been doing this dance for two months now. All hot make-outs that never really go anywhere. Mostly because you’re the one always getting called away for shifts, for family, for whatever comes up.

But right now, right here? There’s no work, no responsibilities. It’s just you and him. And the way he’s looking at you right now, all hooded eyes and smirking lips, it’s driving you crazy.

“Why’d you sneak in, hmm?” You murmur against his lips, playing with the hem of his shirt. He pulls back, just enough to look down at you, a lazy smile on his face.

“Wanted to see you,” he breathes, eyes tracing over me like you’re something to devour. “Couldn’t wait.”

You practically pounce on him, shoving him back until he’s pinned against the wall by the window, his eyes widening for a split second before his hands are holding your hips, steadying you as you sit on his lap. You love it when he manspreads.

It’s so unlike you it’s almost funny, but at this point you’re desperate to feel him. You press yourself up against him, grinding slowly, and you feel the exact moment he realizes just how serious you are right now.

“Fuck, baby—” he groans as his grip tightens, like he’s trying to keep himself in check. But you don’t want him to hold back.

“I’m done waiting,” You breathe, pushing his shirt up and over his head in one quick motion. “Rafe—I’m losing my mind here.” His shirt hits the floor, and you let yourself really look at him.

All muscle, golden tan skin, the little dip between his abs you’ve fantasized about running your tongue along. You’ve seen him shirtless a million times, but right now?

He’s a masterpiece.

“I’m so horny it hurts, okay?” You admit in a whisper, almost like you can’t help it. His lips twitch as he leans in, his breath hot against your neck.

You feel your cheeks heat up. It’s not like you’re shy around him anymore, not really, but this feels different. You’re usually more reserved, the one who lets him make the moves, but tonight...you can’t help yourself.

“Sorry baby,” he murmurs as he rolls his hips up, and fuck, you can feel how hard he is already, straining against his jeans, “Want me to fix it for you?”

You know what he’s asking. You’ve had this conversation before—kind of.

The two of you have been skirting around it for weeks now, with heavy petting and breathless goodnights. You want more. You hook your fingers into his belt loops, tugging at him, and he hisses, biting back a curse.

“Bed” he grunts, half-laughing, half-panting as he lifts you like you weigh nothing, carrying you across the room.

You’re already tearing at his belt by the time you hit the bed, and he lets out this breathless, desperate sound, half-plea, half-growl that shoots straight through you.

“Need you,” You gasp, yanking the belt free, popping the button on his jeans. He’s still standing, hovering over you as you sit on the bed, and you look up at him, chest heaving, hair messy, eyes wild.

“Yeah?” he breathes, and there’s this edge to his voice. You smirk, tugging his zipper down slowly, deliberately, keeping your eyes on his as you push his jeans down his hips.

“Yeah,” You know you have him. He’s yours, and he’s done waiting, too.

Once his jeans hit the floor, he’s on you, all heat and muscle. Rafe’s hands grip your wrists, pinning them above your head as he looks down at you, breathing hard.

“I was trying to make it special,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost gravelly. “Our first time.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, he’s so stupidly and unexpectedly endearing sometimes it makes you fall even more.

“This not special enough for you?” You tease, arching your back and lifting your hips, feeling the slickness pooling between your thighs. “I don’t do it for you?”

“Oh, you do it for me, baby. Believe me,” His voice drops an octave, “’M trying to be a gentleman.”

“I don’t want a gentleman,” You quip, your tone playful, “I just want you.”

He wants to give in, but you know he also wants to take his time. “You sure about this?”

“Rafe. My shorts are stuck to my skin.”

He breathes in sharply, head dropping to your shoulder, as he murmurs, “You’re not wearing any panties?”

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. What’s it to you?” You tease, biting your lip, but you know you’re being a little reckless, teasing him like this.

He’s gonna get you good.

Rafe lifts his head, that infuriatingly handsome smirk still plastered on his face.

“So you are, huh?” His voice is low, almost predatory. “You trying to drive me crazy?”

You shrug, trying to play it cool even though it physically hurts not to touch him the way you want to right now. “What if I am?”

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck. You arch against him, your breath hitching when he finds the sensitive spot just below your ear and sucks gently.

Your top hits the floor a second later. He’s kissing you again, his hands cupping you through your bra.

“Please,” you breathe, not even sure what you are asking for.

More, closer, something to stop the aching between your thighs. He seems to understand, though. He always does.

He unclasps your bra and tosses it aside, taking you in inch by inch, “My pretty girl,” You feel a blush creep up your cheeks, but before you can think about it, he dips his head and takes one of your nipples into his mouth, his tongue flicking over the sensitive peak.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, he hums against your skin, the vibration making you delirious. His hand slids down to your shorts, pulling them with an easiness that makes your head spin. Then they are gone, too, leaving you in nothing but your underwear. Rafe pulls back slightly, his eyes raking over your body with a look that makes you squirm.

“Beautiful,” he mutters, almost to himself. “So fucking beautiful.”

“Rafe,” you whisper, reaching for him. When he finally slips his fingers into your ruined panties, you are already trembling, whimpering, rocking against his hand.

“Shh,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “I’ve got you, baby.”

He’s touching you, his fingers finding your slick clit and stroking gently. You’re so wet his flingers glid right on, your hips bucking up instinctively as his fingers move across your folds, teasingly slow.

Rafe smirks, clearly enjoying how wrecked you already are even though you hardly started.

"Easy, baby,” his lips brush against your jawline. “We got all night.”

You’re past patience.

You grab his wrist, guiding his hand exactly where you want it.

“Rafe,” you groan, your voice breaking a little, “I need more. Don’t piss me off.”

He chuckles, “So needy tonight,” he teases, but his voice is tight, he’s losing it too. His fingers dip lower, stroking where you need him most, and you nearly lose it right there.

He lingers there for a moment, just barely grazing your needy folds, before pressing a finger against your entrance. Slowly, he slides it in, and the sensation makes you moan—a big, delicious stretch as his finger sinks deep inside you. He curls it just the way you need him to, stroking your inner walls, already knowing your body better than his own.

He’s taking his time, not rushing into it, drawing it out. You tighten around him, embarrassingly horny, and he groans as he adds another finger, filling you more, the stretch making your legs tremble.

Oh, he's gonna ruin you for anyone else.

“Fuck,” you whimper, head falling back against the pillow as he starts to pump his fingers in and out. The way his fingers stretch you, the wet sounds of him working you open makes you want to go at it all night, even if you have work in the morning.

“Like that, baby?” His free hand gripps your thigh, easily keeping you spread wide for him. He’s so strong it makes you want to suck him whole.

You nod frantically, too far gone for words, only able to moan as he quickens the pace, thrusting his fingers in harder. Your walls flutter around him, tightening with every stroke, and you know you’re getting close—humiliatingly quick, but it’s been a while.

A very, very, very, good while.

His thumb circles your clit, and the sensation makes you cry out, your body arching off the bed.

“Oh God—please,” you gasp, fingers clutching at his big buffy arm, desperate for more. He smirks against your skin, enjoying the way you’re panting beneath him.

He’s got you in the palm of his hand, and he knows it.

His lips brush against your neck, teasingly slow, while his fingers move with purpose, hitting all the right spots, half of them you didn't know you had until now. Your breath is coming in ragged bursts as your body answers to his, feeling the heat coiling tight in your belly, practically shaking with anticipation. You know it's gonna be a good one.

He presses his forehead against yours, his breath uneven, eyes locked on you as if he’s watching every bit of pleasure cross your face.

You realize something—something that should’ve been obvious, but it never really clicked until now. It’s the way he looks at you, refusing to break away from yours that sends you into another orbit.

The eye contact—it’s doing something to you.

“Come for me, baby,” he murmurs, his voice just as wrecked, “Let me feel you.”

There’s no escaping him, no hiding from his gaze, the way he watches every twitch of your body, flutter of your lashes, every quiver of your lips. He’s drinking in your pleasure like he’s addicted to it.

You’re so close it’s dizzying, you can barely catch your breath.

His forehead is still pressed to yours, nose brushing against yours, his lips so close but not touching—not yet. He wants you to see him. To know it’s him making you feel this way.

He leans in, lips caressing your ear, then.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, “Can feel you’re almost there. You’re so tight around my fingers—fuck, you’re close, aren’t you?” You can only nod, your breath hitching as his thumb circles your clit with just the right pressure, your hips grinding up into his hand instinctively. every word out of his mouth pushes you closer. “Look at you,” he coaxes, his voice like velvet, “So perfect.”

His fingers twist inside you, hitting that sweet spot, and your whole body tenses. The pleasure builds into a burning coil deep in your tummy, tightening with every movement. You can’t think, can’t breathe, and all you can do is feel—feel him, feel the way he’s working you. The way he’s talking you through it.

“Just like that,” he whispers, “You’re doing so good, baby. Let me feel it.”

His thumb presses harder against you, and your whole body jerks up, like a woman possessed. You cry out, hips bucking uncontrollably like an animal as your orgasm hits you perfectly. Rafe’s fingers never stop, drawing it out, his other hand still gripping your thighs open.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful when you come.” Your body trembles beneath him, the pleasure still vibrating through you, and he’s right there, “Ride it out, baby,” he breathes, his lips kissing your temple, his voice full of pride. “I’ve got you. You’re doing so good. So fucking good.”

You can’t do anything but cling to him as you shudder, once he finally slows his fingers, easing you down gently, pulling them out. You feel the emptiness like a loss, noticing the shit-eating grin on his face as he glances down at his hand, fingers still slick from you, and then slowly brings them to his mouth.

He holds your gaze, never breaking eye contact as he slips his fingers between his lips, tasting you. It’s slow and the way his eyes darken while his tongue sweeps over his fingers makes you whine.

"God, baby," he murmurs around his fingers, as he pulls them from his mouth with a soft pop, licking his lips. “You taste so fucking good.”

You’re breathless, watching him like you’re in a trance, your heart pounding in your chest. The sight of him tasting you like that, makes your legs open again.

He grins, noticing how wrecked you look. “Didn’t think I could want you more,”

You’re still so turned on that you can’t help the way your thighs squeeze together instinctively. His eyes flicker down, catching the movement, and his grin only widens as he crawls back up your body, settling between your legs, “Don’t tease.”

"Don’t worry, baby," his lips skim against yours, “Not teasing anymore.”

You’ll never be able to have sex the same way again, not without looking, not without seeing him.

You don’t know where you get the strength to do it. But you do it anyways. As soon as Rafe settles back, you push him onto his back, taking advantage of his surprised expression, and climb on top, straddling his waist, your hands braced against his chest. You can feel the hard planes of his abs beneath your fingers, and the heat of him pressed against your pussy makes your mouth water. You can feel it building inside you, the need to take him, to ride him until there’s nothing left.

His hands settle on your ass, firm, but not controlling, giving you full reign to take what you want. His eyes are on yours, half-lidded and a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Go on, baby,” he drawls, his voice like honey, “Show me what you can do.”

You don’t even remember pulling his boxers down.

You let yourself brush against the hard length of him, and the sensation alone makes you bite your lip to hold back a moan. His cock is thick, long and hot beneath you, and you grind against him slowly, dragging your wetness along his length, teasing the both of you. You’re rocking back and forth against his tip, dragging him in between your soaked folds and pulling huffs and puffs from his throat as he only grows more impatient by the second.

“Fuck,” Rafe groans, his hips jerking up involuntarily, your clit rubbing against his pubic hair with every movement, the friction doing it for you. His abs tense beneath you, flexing with each of your movements, and the sight of it—of him completely at your mercy—only makes you wetter.

You lean forward, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the way his muscles move under your touch.

“You like that?” you murmur, your voice breathy, teasing, as you grind harder against him. “Like watching me ride you?”

Rafe’s head falls back against the pillow, all the way back, his jaw clenched, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Jesus Christ,” he groans, his hands gripping your hips tighter, lifting his hips to try and shift his cock towards your entrance.

You lean in, your lips dragging against the side of his neck. He shivers under your touch, and the reaction makes you grin. You start off slow, pressing gentle kisses, your lips trailing from his jaw down to the spot where his pulse is beating just a little faster, teasing him with your breath.

“Right here?” you whisper, barely grazing his skin.

You can feel his body tense as you speak, a low sound escaping his throat. You roll your hips again, this time letting the tip of his cock catch at your entrance. You’re so wet that he slides in just an inch, and the stretch is enough to make you gasp, your nails digging into his chest. His eyes fly open, and you can see the tension in his body, every muscle tight as he holds himself back from pouding into you, waiting for you to take him fully.

You press your mouth to his neck and start sucking, enjoying the taste of him under your lips.

His grip on is borderline bruising and you love it when another low moan slips out as you work your mouth against him. You make sure to take your time, alternating between sucking and nipping lightly with your teeth, just enough to make him shudder beneath you.

“Shit,” he breathes, his voice strained as you keep going, making sure to leave your mark. With a deep breath, you sink dow, slowly feeling every inch of him stretch you, filling you completely. The sensation is overwhelming—he’s big, almost too big, and it feels so fucking good you almost drool. By the time you’re fully seated on his lap, his cock buried deep inside you, your thighs are shaking, and you can feel the heat pooling in your belly all over again.

You suck harder, enjoying the multitasking, applying enough pressure enough to leave a dark bruise that he won’t be able to hide. His fingers dig into your waist, but he doesn’t pull you away—instead, he’s holding you there, wanting to feel every second of it.

“Now everyone’s gonna know you’re mine," You manage to breath out, moaning as you grip his chest for support, spit slicked lips parting as you gasp some more, "You feel so good."

His eyes are hooded as he looks down at you, lips parted, breathing uneven. “Yeah?” he rasps, his gaze flicking to your lips before he grins, a little breathless. “Didn’t think you had it in you, baby.”

His hands slide up your waist, his fingers splayed across your ribs, guiding you as you start to move. You start to ride him, slow at first, grinding your hips in slow, deliberate circles. The friction, combined with the way his cock fills you, hits every nerve just right. Maybe if it was someone else you’d be embarrassed to be panting like a bitch in heat, but it’s Rafe and you never felt so comfortable during sex before.

Every time you lift your hips and drop back down, you take him deeper, as you work yourself on top of him. His hands slide up to your tits, squeezing gently, his thumbs brushing over your nipples.

You pick up the pace, bouncing on him harder now, grinding down with each thrust, chasing that high. Rafe’s eyes are glued to you, watching every move you make, his lips parted, his chest heaving with each stolen breath.

“Fuck,” you pant, barely able to catch your breath as you ride him faster, “I want you so deep, so bad.”

He lets out a rough, desperate groan, his hips bucking up to meet yours, his cock hitting even deeper inside you.

“I’m right here, baby,” he grits out, his voice strained with the effort of holding himself back, “Take what you need. I’m all yours.”

His hands are on you, gripping your ass with a desperation that makes you mewl out. His fingers dig in, rough and possessive, and the way he’s groping you, like he can’t get enough, makes you want to never stop. Each time you move, his hands flex, squeezing and pulling you down onto his cock, it has you practically whining with every bounce.

“You’re driving me crazy. Just look at you, taking me so good.”

His grip tightens as you roll your hips, pushing your ass back against his hands, the pressure sending a jolt of pleasure straight through you. You’re completely lost in the rhythm now, grinding down on him like you’re in heat, the friction of his cock inside you and the way his pubic hairs rub against your swollen clit making you lightheaded.

And then, out of nowhere, his hand comes down hard.

The sting of his palm smacking your cheek sends a shock through your body, and you gasp—half surprise, half pleasure. It’s rough, but fuck, it feels divine. Your head snaps forward, and you moan, the sound coming out needy.

“You like that, huh?” Rafe growls, a smile playing on his lips as he watches you react. His voice is thick with satisfaction, knowing exactly what he just did to you. “Being spanked?”

You bite your lip and nod, too far gone to be shy. "Yes," you pant, your voice shaky with need. "Do it again."

He doesn’t need to be told twice. His hand comes down again, harder this time, it makes your skin burn and clench around him. The pleasure spikes, white-hot, and you moan louder, your body arching into his.

"Fuck, you're so sexy like this," He groans, watching you with hooded eyes, clearly loving how much you’re enjoying it.

You practically whimper, the combination of pain and pleasure sending you spiraling. You’re riding him like you’re losing your mind, your thighs burning. The way his hand soothes your skin, kneading the tender area where he just spanked you, makes you want to do this every single day for the rest of your life.

You lean forward, bracing your hands on his chest as he bucks his hips, meeting your movements with his own, driving deeper inside you. It’s too much and not enough all at once.

“You feel so good,” you hiss as you rock your hips faster. His tip hits that perfect spot deep inside you, again and again.

His eyes flick between your face and where you’re connected, and you can tell he’s close too. His grip tightens on you, nails digging into your skin like he’s afraid to let go.

“You’re killing me, baby,” he rasps, voice hoarse, “Fuck, you’re so good. You’re gonna make me come.”

Feeling you wrapped around him like that—so fucking tight, so warm—he can’t fucking stand it. Every time you slide back down, taking him all the way like you're made for it, he feels his mind slipping. It's like he's losing control, just hanging on for dear life, and every little throb around him pulls him closer to his orgasm, it makes him feel dangerously close to delirium.

He uses one of his hands to grip and knead at the fat of your hip. You let out a high-pitched squeal and clench around him.

"Baby," you cry out, pretty tears collecting on your lash line.

He pinches your chin lightly, rubbing the pad of his thumb against your skin, “You have to be quiet, pretty,” you glance up at your boyfriend, “The walls are thin, and you can’t—”

You interrupt him by leaning down and kissing him sloppily. You swirl your tongue around his, feeling the way his cock throbs inside you as he grinds up into you, hitting that spot every single time.

The sloppy kiss you planted on him shuts him up, but only for a second. His lips slide against yours, his tongue swirling in that messy, desperate way that makes your head spin. He groans into your mouth, rough and low, like he’s losing the control he’s trying to hold onto. His hand slides from your chin to the back of your neck, holding you in place as you ride him faster, bouncing harder on his cock.

“Look at you,” he grits, pulling back just enough to watch the way your face twists in pleasure.

The way you clench down on him makes him groan, his grip on your neck tightening just a bit as his other hand lands another sharp slap on your ass.

“You like when I fuck you like this, huh?”

You whine against his lips, your body trembling as he thrusts up harder, meeting each of your desperate bounces. You can feel the pressure building inside you, ready to snap.

His hand slides between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing tight, quick circles that make you drop your head forward, laying on your body on top of his. You can’t stop the way you grind down harder on him, chasing that final push.

“Fuck, baby,” you gasp, barely able to push the words out. “I’m gonna—”

And then you’re gone, falling into that mind-numbing pleasure as you come hard around him, your whole body shaking, thighs tightening around his as your orgasm crashes over you. You’re clenching around his cock, the feeling making him curse under his breath, his hips bucking up into you as he chases his release.

He rams up into you, full force, his breath coming out in harsh, irregular pants. “I’m right there,” he groans, “Gonna fill you up, you want that?”

You can barely nod, still lost in the aftershocks of your orgasm, but that’s all he needs. With one final, deep thrust, he comes hard inside you, groaning your name as he spills into you. His hands grip you tight, holding you down on his length as he empties himself into you, his whole-body twitching with the intensity of his release

His hands roam lazily over your back, the touch slow, like he doesn’t want it to end. He’s still inside you, softening, but neither of you make a move to separate.

His lips press a few lazy kisses against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he murmurs. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

You smile weakly, too blissed out to respond, and nuzzle into the crook of his neck. After a few minutes, you reluctantly lift yourself off him, a soft whimper escaping your lips at the loss of connection. Rafe lets out a content sigh, his hands still trailing down your sides as you move.

You flop down next to him, breath still shallow, your head resting on his chest. He immediately pulls you close, his arm wrapping around you, holding you tight.His hand stops moving, resting on your back, and you feel his chest rise as he takes a deep breath.

"My mom left when I was seven," he says, voice oddly quiet, almost hesitant, like he’s not sure where to start. It almost feels like he’s talking to himself more than to you. He’s lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, one arm slung across his stomach, the other still lightly resting on your waist.

You lift your head, looking up at him, but you stay quiet, giving him space to talk.

“She just… up and left. Told me she was going to visit some family and never came back.” He lets out a short, bitter laugh, his chest rising and falling against you. “I used to sit at the window for weeks, thinking maybe I’d see her pull up one day. But she didn’t. She never did. And I thought, you know, for a long time, maybe it was me. Like, maybe if I’d been better, she would’ve stayed. I don’t know—kids think dumb shit like that, right?”

You feel your heart tighten at the pain in his voice, and you reach up, brushing your fingertips against his chest. He doesn’t look at you, but you can feel him lean into the touch just a little.

“And Ward… fuck, Ward didn’t know what to do with us. He just buried himself in work, left me to deal with Sarah and Weezie. I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing. I was just a kid myself. I never accepted that responsibility, just kept running away from it.”

You can tell this is hard for him. His hand tightens slightly around your waist, like he needs to feel you’re still there.

“When I was sixteen... I started doing coke. Barry—yeah, that Barry—he used to sell it to me. Just to take the edge off, you know? Numb it all out. Ward’s expectations, Mom being gone, having to pretend like I had my shit together when I didn’t. I didn’t care about anything but getting high.”

He pauses, swallowing hard, his jaw tightening. You can tell this part of his story is the hardest to tell.

“I fucked up a lot. Scared the shit out of my sisters. I’d disappear for days sometimes, come home all strung out, and Sarah—God, Sarah would just look at me like... like she didn’t even know me anymore. Weezie was too young to get it, but Sarah? She knew.” He lets out a shaky breath, “I saw what it was doin’ to them. Saw how Sarah would flinch every time I walked through the door like she was waiting for the next disaster. It got bad—real bad.”

His voice drops even lower, almost like he’s ashamed.

“I didn’t want to be that guy anymore. The one scaring my little sisters, acting like a piece of shit. So I went to rehab. Didn’t tell anyone where I was going, just… left. I needed to get clean, for them. For me, too, I guess.”

He pauses, looking at you now, his blue eyes filled with something vulnerable, something that almost breaks your heart.

“I didn’t think I’d ever get out of it, but I did. Been clean since. That doesn’t mean I’ve figured everything out, though. I’m still... fuck, I’m still a mess most days.”

He’s never opened up to you like this before—not like this.You reach out and run your fingers through his hair, the simple gesture calming him a little. He leans into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment.

“You probably didn’t sign up for all this shit,” he says with a half-smirk, trying to lighten the mood. “Me, my addiction, all that.”

He opens his eyes, looking at you like he’s waiting for something—maybe for you to tell him you can’t handle it. But you don’t say that. Instead, you brush your thumb across his cheek, “I signed up for you, Rafe. All of you.”

“I don’t talk about this shit much. Guess I didn’t think anyone cared enough to hear it.”

You move, propping yourself up on your elbow so you can look him the eyes properly,. “I care,” you say, your voice full of conviction. “I care about all of it. I’m here for you.”

He can’t believe what he’s hearing.

His hand moves to hold your cheek, pulling you down to meet his lips in a slow, tender kiss. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours.

“You have no idea what you mean to me.”

He kisses you again, this time deeper, his hand sliding up the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair.

His lips trail from your mouth, pressing lazy kisses down your jaw, over your neck. He shifts, pulling you closer, your body molding perfectly to his. “I don’t deserve you,” he mutters, his lips hovering over your collarbone.

You shake your head, resting a hand on his chest. “You do. You deserve someone who’s gonna be there for you.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You know this is a side of Rafe not many people see—probably no one else does.

“Good thing you won’t have to find out.”

“You make it sound so easy,” he murmurs, his lips twitching into a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says suddenly, the words spilling out of him in this quiet, almost reverent way.

You can’t help the soft laugh that escapes you as you lean down, pressing a kiss to his nose. “Stop, you’re gonna make me cry.”

He chuckles softly, pulling you closer again, his arms wrapping securely around you. His cheek rests against the top of your head. You’re not going anywhere. And neither is he.

Rafe lets out a disbelieving laugh, running a hand over his face. “I can’t believe your pussy made me trauma dump after sex.”

The crudeness of it makes you roll your eyes.

“Yeah?” You tease lightly, “That what you’re calling it?”

He swallows, feeling that familiar tightness in his throat, but it doesn’t feel as suffocating this time. You’re still here. “No. It’s...you. Just—being you.”

He doesn’t know how to say it any better, doesn’t know how to put into words what it means to finally be seen — not as the perfect son, not as a ticking time bomb — just as Rafe.

But you peck him, simple and sweet.

“I guess I’ll just keep being me.”

The next morning you’re standing in the kitchen, lazily pouring milk over your cereal, still a little giddy from the night before. Rafe left earlier, before anyone was up, whining about how he wished he could stay longer.

As you take a spoon, your sister walks in with Milo perched on her hip, rubbing sleep from his eyes. Monica stops in her tracks, a sly smile creeping across her face.

“Nice hickey you got there,” she says, raising an eyebrow and gesturing toward your neck.

You choke on your cereal like an idiot.

“Uh, it’s just a... a bug bite! A really aggressive bug bite,” you stammer, trying to sound convincing as you awkwardly touch your neck.

Right, you’d forgotten about that after round three this morning.

She laughs, clearly not buying it. “Right. And when am I meeting him? Are you gonna make him sneak through the window again?”

You can’t help but giggle at the mental image. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Monica rolls her eyes, clearly enjoying this way too much. “What’s next? Is he going to slide down a fire escape to avoid us?”

You smirk back, shaking your head. “Only if you promise not to scare him off with your ‘get-to-know-my-sister’ interrogation.”

Milo, oblivious to the banter, tugs at your sister’s hair. “Mommy, can I have a snack?”

“Just finish getting ready for pre-school, buddy!” She turns back to you, still wearing that teasing grin. “Seriously though, when do I get to meet this guy? I need to know if he’s worthy of you.”

You shrug playfully, trying to keep your expression neutral. “We’ll see. Maybe next time he sneaks through the window, you can just happen to be in the living room.”

She gasps in mock horror. “Oh no, imagine the chaos! I might just scare him away on purpose.”

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “You’re terrible.”

“Terribly excited! You better let me know when he’s back. I want to be ready to intimidate him.”

“Noted!” You wave her off, still grinning, secretly glad that your sister is supportive—even if she loves to poke fun at you.

For some reason, it doesn’t scare one bit thinking about Rafe meeting Monica and Milo.

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jinwoosbabyboo · 8 months ago

Text

Daddy's Home - Husband Sylus

Posts on the TL with Husband Sylus ft your baby girl pt. 2

misshuntermc

♥️ liked by thing1_luke, thing2_kieran, imjenna and 102k others

misshuntermc: She doesn’t want Mommy's help ☹️

tagged: skye.109

comments

simonesays: Did she really climb up there?

↳ misshuntermc: No she just only wants her Daddy's help 😔 ↳ skye.109: She’s a Daddy's girl what can I say 😌 ↳ misshuntermc: stop rubbing it in 😒

thing2_kieran: can I get some credit for the outfit? 🧐

↳ skye.109: No ↳ misshuntermc: Good job Kieran she looks so cute

talkthat_tara: the little purse 🥹

simonesays: 9 months of pregnancy 12 hours of labor just for her to ditch you for her dad 🥴

↳ liiisa_: Its giving traitor ↳ thing2_kieran: she punched me in the neck once trying to get to her dad ↳ thing1_luke: why are babies so strong? 😵‍💫

skye.109: Sounds like a skill issue for all of you

↳ misshuntermc: excuse me? ↳ skye.109: not you sweetie 💋

skye.109

♥️ liked by things1_luke, misshuntermc, simonesays and 88k others

skye.109: Flawless just like her Mommy

tagged: misshuntermc

comments

misshuntermc: im not flawless

↳ skye.109: I beg to differ ↳ misshuntermc: 🥰🥰

thing2_kieran: to think that little fist almost took me out

↳ thing1_luke: fight back ↳ thing2_kieran: shes too strong she threw me across the room yesterday ↳ talkthat_tara: Across?? the room??🥴 ↳ simonesays: IM HOWLING☠️☠️

liiisa_: you two literally made a super baby

↳ misshuntermc: thats her daddy’s evol she inherited ↳ skye.109: I will train her to control it as she grows up ↳ thing2_kieran: I think she just likes watching me suffer 😞

skye.109

♥️ liked by liiisa_, imjenna, nene.nero and 94k others

skye.109: She doesn’t like the sun as much as mommy does

tagged: misshuntermc

comments

misshuntermc: she gets that from you 🫵🏾

↳ skye.109: I guess you're right

liiisa_: never beating those vampire allegations 🫢

↳ talkthat_tara: EVER

simonesays: @/misshuntermc why are you double cheeked up? 🤔

↳ liiisa_: right! the sun is out! ↳ talkthat_tara: how did you get all that past airport security? ↳ skye.109: That pregnancy weight did her good 😌 I think it’s time for another one ↳ misshuntermc: STOP

imjenna: So this is what you get on maternity leave with a billionaire husband? im jealous 🙃

↳ simonesays: Me too Jenna me too 🫠

thing1_luke: I miss my niece 🥺

↳ thing2_kieran: same when are you guys coming back? 🥺 ↳ skye.109: Right after I give her a little brother or sister ↳ misshuntermc: give me your phone 🫴🏾

#love and deepspace #sylus love and deepspace #sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #lads #lads sylus #lads smau #nikaaaaimagine

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synity · 2 months ago

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Hiii! So this is a request had an idea that y/n it's a friend of his brother Cheol and y/n came back from a long trip so they kinda are updating bout life and everything that's when Cheol meet y/n and he's drawn to her so he acts a little shy and everything but he's so in love since they met, oc just and idea its up to you baby 🫢💕

When You Came Back

(Choi Seungcheol x FemReader)

*slice of life, Romance, Fluff, Slow Burn character development, NonIdolAU*

The summer wind blew gently through the city streets as Y/N stepped out of the airport, her luggage rolling quietly behind her. It had been a long year traveling, studying, chasing dreams she’d only imagined before. But now she was back. Back home, where the people she’d missed lived their everyday lives without her. And at the top of that list was her brother, Jihoon.

Jihoon, her ever-serious, sharp-tongued, but loyal older brother, was waiting for her with crossed arms just outside the arrival gate.

“You’re late,” he said, but there was the smallest tug at the corners of his lips.

Y/N laughed, dropping her suitcase and pulling him into a tight hug. “And you’re still bad at expressing emotions.”

He sighed, half-hugged her back. “Let’s go. Everyone’s been asking about you.”

Everyone, she thought. She assumed he meant his close-knit group of friends, somehow, Jihoon’s circle had grown up with style and chaos at the same time. She remembered Seungkwan’s loud jokes, Soonyoung’s dancing, Joshua’s calm nature… and a certain someone who stood out a bit more now in her memory than he had before.

Choi Seungcheol.

She hadn’t seen him in a while, but the few times she had barbecues, birthdays he had always been kind. Gentle in his eyes, a bit awkward in conversation, but never cold. She remembered the last time they spoke, his hand brushing against hers accidentally while reaching for a drink. He’d blushed. So had she. And now, just thinking about it made her stomach flutter.

When they got home, the house buzzed with activity. Jihoon had gathered a few close friends to welcome her back. It wasn’t a full-blown party, but there were drinks, snacks, and music enough to make it feel warm. Mingyu was there, already teasing her about forgetting them. Jeonghan greeted her with a dramatic bow. Vernon handed her a soda and said, “Glad you’re back.”

But it wasn’t until she turned to face the hallway that her breath caught.

Seungcheol stood there, dressed in a plain white shirt and jeans. Simple, but something about him made the air feel still. His hair was slightly ruffled, like he’d run his hand through it too many times. His Rolex gleamed under the soft lighting. But it wasn’t the watch that made her pause it was the way he looked at her. Like he didn’t believe she was real.

“Y/N,” he said.

“Seungcheol,” she replied, smiling. “Hey.”

He walked over, a little hesitant. “It’s… good to see you.”

“You too.”

They stood there for a moment, caught in that awkward yet magnetic space between strangers and something else.

“You came back,” he said again, softly this time.

“I did. Missed home.”

“Missed you,” he said before he could stop himself. And then his eyes widened. “I mean, We missed you. Jihoon. The guys.”

She laughed. “Right. Sure.”

He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck.

Over the next hour, they kept finding themselves near each other. Whether it was in the kitchen reaching for the same snack, or in the living room where their conversations overlapped, they were drawn like magnets. Seungcheol was quieter than usual, but his eyes never left her for too long.

That night, when the guests had left and Jihoon was dozing off in the living room, Seungcheol helped her bring out some trash.

“You look… different,” he said, adjusting the bag in his hand.

“Better or worse?”

“Beautiful,” he blurted out, eyes wide. “I mean—”

She smiled, cheeks warm. “Thank you.”

They paused on the porch. The night was cool. Crickets chirped in the background.

“I always wanted to talk to you more,” Seungcheol admitted. “Back then. But Jihoon’s your brother and… I don’t know. You felt a little out of reach.”

“I’m right here now.”

He looked at her, a flicker of hope dancing in his gaze. “Yeah. You are.”

And from that moment, things changed.

Seungcheol didn’t leave immediately after that. Something about the silence on the porch, the closeness between them, and the way she looked at him with that calm, soft smile it all made time stretch out like a slow-moving wave.

Y/N leaned against the porch rail, arms folded gently across her chest. The night breeze teased loose strands of her hair, and Seungcheol had to resist the sudden urge to tuck them behind her ear.

“Why’d you leave?” he asked after a long pause.

She didn’t answer right away. Her gaze lifted to the sky, where the stars glittered like tiny holes poked in velvet. “I think… I needed to see something different. To get away from everything I thought I needed to be.”

He nodded. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Y/N looked at him, really looked, and shrugged with a wistful smile. “Maybe. Maybe not. But I missed this home. Familiar faces. Some more than others.”

That made him smile, his heart flipping. “I’m glad you came back.”

For a moment, their eyes met in quiet understanding. There had always been something between them too soft to be called tension, too strong to be ignored. A gentle magnetism. An invisible thread.

Seungcheol reached out, cautiously, and brushed her pinky finger with his.

“I thought about you,” he said.

“Did Jihoon know?” she teased, trying to ease the heat rising in her cheeks.

He chuckled. “No. I’m not that brave.”

“Why now?”

“Because you’re here. And if I don’t say it, I’ll regret it.”

Y/N didn’t say anything just turned her hand slightly so her pinky curled around his. It wasn’t a confession, but it was something. A beginning.

Over the next few weeks, they saw each other more. Not always in grand ways. Sometimes it was casual Seungcheol dropping by to see Jihoon and staying an hour longer when Y/N happened to be home. Other times, it was deliberate meeting up for coffee “accidentally on purpose,” as she liked to call it.

He was different from the guys she’d known. Gentle, thoughtful, and slightly clumsy when it came to expressing his feelings. But it was in the small things: remembering how she took her coffee, texting her to get home safe, sending her photos of cats when she was feeling low. He listened. He cared. And he looked at her like she was the only person in the room.

One evening, after a long walk through the city, they sat by the Han River sharing tteokbokki and talking about life.

“Do you think it’s weird?” Y/N asked suddenly.

“What is?”

“That… this is happening. Us.”

Seungcheol was quiet for a second. Then he said, “No. I think it was supposed to.”

Y/N looked at him. “Even though I’m your friend’s sister?”

“That’s not all you are.”

The way he said it made her stomach twist in the best way.

“You’re Y/N. You’re funny, and kind, and stubborn, and smart. You’re… you.” He looked down, a shy smile forming. “I think I’ve liked you since the second barbecue you came to. You wore that stupid green apron with the cartoon eggs.”

She laughed. “You remember that?”

“How could I forget?” He leaned closer. “

"been you for a long time.”

Of course, it didn’t stay a secret forever.

One morning, Jihoon walked into the living room and found Y/N asleep on the couch, her head resting on Seungcheol’s lap, his arm loosely around her. They’d fallen asleep watching a movie harmless enough, but the look on Jihoon’s face said he’d noticed more than that.

When Y/N woke up, Seungcheol was already awkwardly standing by the door, scratching the back of his neck.

Jihoon didn’t speak right away. He just looked between the two of them and let out a long sigh. “So… what exactly is going on?”

Seungcheol opened his mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again.

“It’s okay,” Y/N said gently. She stepped forward. “We’ve been spending time together. It just… happened naturally.”

Jihoon crossed his arms. “You like him?”

She nodded. “Yeah. A lot.”

Jihoon looked at Seungcheol. “And you?”

“I’d never do anything to hurt her,” Seungcheol said sincerely. “I promise.”

For a long moment, Jihoon said nothing. Then, finally, he exhaled. “Well. If she likes you… I guess I don’t get to punch you.”

you,” Seungcheol breathed.

“But if you ever break her heart—”

“I’ll let you punch me twice.”

They all laughed.

That same night, Seungcheol pulled her aside, just the two of them under the dim porch light once again.

“I’ve been thinking about something,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“I love you.”

It wasn’t grand. It wasn’t rehearsed. It just slipped out of him like a truth that had been waiting to be said.

Y/N stared at him, breath caught. “You… do?”

He nodded, hands trembling slightly. “I didn’t want to say it until I was sure. But I am. I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

And then finally she kissed him. Gently at first, then with the kind of certainty that only comes when you’ve waited too long.

“I love you too,” she whispered against his lips.

Months passed. Then a year.

They fell into rhythm together early morning coffees, late-night phone calls, shared playlists, weekend dates. Seungcheol learned to cook (badly), Y/N learned to trust her heart more. They teased each other, fought over what to watch on Netflix, slow danced in their socks on the hardwood floor.

When Seungcheol proposed at the same Han River spot they once shared tteokbokki she cried. Not because she was surprised. But because it felt right. Every step, every smile, every touch had led to that moment.

And Jihoon? He cried at the wedding. Just a little.

Because when Seungcheol kissed Y/N in front of their friends and family, the world finally made sense

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roc-haze · 3 months ago

Note

your Will fics are giving me LIFE 💓 obsessed with the latest one, and might need a part 2 🫢 I just love the idea of them getting together, and whenever they’re having problems (individually or as a couple) they sit in the bath again and figure it out as a team 🥹

Spring Into Summer | WillNE

Pushing It Down And Praying - established reader. You can find all other parts here. Can be read as a standalone fic (but would make more sense with the series) 🤍

—

January 1st

The apartment was covered in streamers, glitter and bottle top lids. Will and Y/N had been brave enough to offer up their place for the group’s New Years celebrations.

So far this year, they had witnessed Arthur Hill and George kiss during the ball drop, they’d caught Chip mid tactical vomit in their outdoor plants and Chris had somehow ended up covered in Becky’s bright red lippy.

It was about 3am when the crew had finally emptied out, the couple pottering around their living room with garbage bags and cleaning up before finally deciding to call it a night. They had gotten to work removing copious amounts of glitter from their faces, taking turns sliding the makeup wipes across the his and hers sinks in the bathroom.

Y/N turned to Will, who was struggling to keep his eyes open. “Sweetheart, just sit on the edge of the bath and I’ll help.”

She stood between his legs, gingerly wiping his face. Will’s hands lay happily on either side of her waist, looking up at her. “Happy new year, darling.”

He was met with a soft smile and a gentle kiss. “Happy new year.”

——

March 11th

Will had asked for one thing for his birthday - a hot bath with his hot girlfriend.

It was about 7pm when they each put their phones on do not disturb and found themselves taking refuge in the bathroom. Somehow, the ensuite had become the cornerstone of their relationship - a no yelling, judgement free space. Anger was welcome on the condition that it was productive and kind in its delivery.

Will had learned that Y/N was a practical woman. They had been friends for years and had known each other throughout each of their respective relationships, but he hadn’t expected her to be the type of partner she was. Having seen her drunkenly yell at her friends shitty boyfriends and put her foot down when Alex’s tongue was a little too sharp, Will had expected her to be slightly impatient and a little quick to anger. He couldn’t be more wrong. Y/N was soft, patient, and practical. She was emotionally intelligent and communicated better than most of the adults he knew (himself included).

On the occasion she would come home from work frustrated, she would tell him “I’m just going to get in the bath. Give me an hour to work through some shit.” And so began their tradition. Angry? Go have some time out in the bath. Need to say something without being interrupted? Let’s go sit on the floor of the bathroom. The drunken chat in George’s bathroom that had started their relationship flowed through it - both of them practicing kindness and tact, forever forthcoming with each other.

Will would text. It’s a bad day. Would love a quiet evening.

Alright. I’ll order a Chinese and get the bath bombs out for you. She knew exactly what he needed.

His birthday was no different.

Candles scattered the bathroom and a Noah Kahan vinyl was playing softly. As requested, Y/N had found a nice chilled red for them to share. She sat behind Will, his back flush against her chest and his hands resting softly on her thighs. She ran her fingers through his hair as he spoke about his day, scratching his scalp from time to time.

“You know, I think this has been my favourite birthday ever.” He mumbled, eyes closed.

She hummed. “Is that so?”.

“Yeah. I got to spend the day with the boys, playing football and having a nice pub meal. Had friends calling me all day to tell me they love me.” She squeezed his shoulder as he spoke. “And as if that wasn’t enough, I’ve come home to find the most beautiful girl in the world making my favourite dinner and running us a bath.”

Y/N smirked. “She sounds like she’s pretty great.”

“You can’t have her. She’s pretty fuckin’ hot.” He laughed, leaning backwards. Y/N wrapped her arms around his shoulders, kissing his temple.

“You’re pretty good looking for an old man.” A cheeky grin was plastered across her face.

He laughed heartily, his chest vibrating. “Oh, fuck off! You won’t be getting any of my pension.”

——

June 23rd

The tension was palpable. The minute Y/N had walked into the apartment, Will could tell a breakdown was imminent.

“You’ve had a shit day, haven’t you?” he asked from across the living room.

“I love you but I don’t wanna talk about it. I’m like fucking vibrating with anger and I’m not about to take that out on you.” She stated, calmly putting away her work bag and hanging up her coat. “Hi boys.”

Freezy, Lux, Josh and Harry were visiting Will for a few quiet afternoon drinks (secretly also wanting to catch up with Y/N). Y/N would normally love to sit and indulge in a glass of wine with them all, probing them all for the gossip they usually wouldn’t share with the wider group.

Y/N had been through the door for all of 2 minutes before Freya walked in, bottle of rosé in one hand and a bag of treats in the other.

“I have brought bathers, alcohol and snacks. Let’s go rot in the bath.” Freya kissed Y/N’s cheek and they made their way to the ensuite bathroom.

Josh grinned watching the two women interact. “I’m glad Frey and Y/N are such good mates.”

Will nodded. “Me too. They had me in stitches when they got on the piss last weekend.”

“I heard you got kicked out of your bed!” Freezy laughed.

“Yeah, they wanted to have a girls night so I set up shop in the spare room.” Will explained, a soft laugh escaping his lips.

“You should’ve come over to my place, Frey wasn’t there to spoon me so there was plenty of room.” Josh winked at Will, the room erupting in giggles.

A loud ‘oh, fuck off! What a cunt!’ could be heard from a few rooms over, sounding distinctly like Freya. Laughter then ensued.

About an hour later, the two girls emerged in matching pyjamas, each holding a half finished bottle of wine.

Josh quirked an eyebrow. “Where’d you get your pjs from, Frey?”.

She looked back at him, puzzled. “Y/N bought a pair to keep in my room.”

Will laughed. “Sorry, your room?”.

“I just keep some cozy clothes and toiletries in the spare room for Freya,” Y/N explained. “There’s a drawer there for Talia too.”

“You normally end up having sleepovers in our room anyways.” Will explained.

“Oh, would you prefer I give Freya one of your drawers?”. Y/N grinned cheekily.

——

October 5th

The sun was going down as Y/N arrived home. “Honey, I’m home!” She called out.

“We’re in the bathroom!” Will yelled back.

Y/N walked through the apartment and into the bathroom, finding Will laying in a tub full of ice. He was yapping to Ieuan and Mikey, who were deep in conversation about the latest, most controversial football player signing. Mikey sat on the edge of the bath while Ieuan was sitting on the floor, up against the vanity.

“Y/N! We haven’t seen you in forever!” Ieuan rose to his feet, pulling her into a quick hug.

“I know, right! I’ve been saying to Will that I’d love to have all of you guys round for dinner once this shoot is over.” She smiled at him, squeezing his arm gently.

Mikey piped up. “I’ll come if Will’s not invited.”

Will narrowed his eyes. “You’re literally sat on the edge of me bath, staring straight at us.”

Y/N smirked. “You two do look a bit intimate over there.”

Ieuan, Mikey and Y/N opted to leave Will to rot in ice cold misery and have a cup of tea instead. The three of them were spread across the couches, each clutching a blanket and exchanging stories from their week.

“The sidemen have asked me to do a huge shoot with them, but it overlaps with the football video Will’s doing for Chris. They’re going to Australia and doing a shit load of content while they’re there.” Ieuan relayed, clutching his mug between his hands. “I don’t wanna turn the opportunity down but I promised Will that I’d help out.”

“You should go to Australia. He’ll get over it.” Y/N spoke matter-of-factly, sipping her tea.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on Will’s side? You’re his girlfriend.” Mikey quizzed.

“I am. He would be disappointed if he found out you turned down a huge opportunity like that to film for him and Chris.” She spoke clearly. “I know he’s your employer, but Will thinks the world of you guys and he’s not about to stand in the way of your professional development.”

As if his ears were burning, Will entered the room. “What are you all talking about?”.

Y/N raised an eyebrow at Ieuan.

“I’ve had a cool opportunity pop up at the same time as the Chris shoot, and Y/N was just telling me that I should ditch the Chris job and do this other thing instead.” Ieuan nervously spoke.

Will sat down on the couch next to Y/N, manoeuvring her blanket to cover his legs. “What’s the opportunity?”.

“It’s 2 weeks in Australia with the sidemen. James put me up for the job.”

“Yeah, fuck Chris. Go to Australia.” The lanky Geordie stole a sip of his girlfriend’s tea. He looked to her, nodding approvingly. “This shit is good.”

“Wait, are you sure? I don’t wanna leave you in the lurch.” Ieuan’s eyes were pleading.

Will looked at the man, his gaze softening. “Go to Australia. Y/N was right. There will always be another Chris video, but this thing in Australia could be a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

Ieuan nodded softly, turning to look at Y/N. Thank you, he mouthed.

Mikey looked to Will, a smirk tugging at his lips. “We should put you in an ice bath more often, it softens you up.”

“Can we please stop filming videos where I have to run all of the time? My bones feel fucking brittle and frail after laying in all of that ice.” Will exclaimed, his voice raising an octave. “Must be elder abuse or something.”

——

December 30th

Will and Y/N had been having a slight disagreement in the kitchen, their voices raised and jaws clenched.

Y/N wordlessly put her phone on do not disturb, placed it on the counter and picked up her glass of wine, making her way to the bathroom. Will got the hint and followed.

The two sat in the bath, their knees tucked in but touching slightly as Will shuffled to fit his tall frame comfortably.

“Okay, let’s reset,” She began. “What’s bothering you?”.

“I just feel a little riled up after the trip away. I realise that you and Alex are from the same hometown, you know the same people and that your old friends don’t give a second thought to mentioning him - but I want it to be clear that I am committed to you. I’m not the consolation prize for him.” He spoke clearly, rather monotone to avoid swaying one way emotionally.

“I don’t think you’re a consolation prize at all. I truly do think it is just small town mentality for them to continue talking about him.” She sighed, having a mouthful of wine.

“I heard you defending me. I just wanna know you actually think those things.” He was timid, not wanting to meet her eyes.

Will’s the one. He doesn’t even compare to Alex. He’s what I’ve always wanted.

“Will, I love you. I will go wherever you go. You’re my person.” She stated, holding her free hand out for his.

He gently intertwined their fingers. “How do you feel about doing the whole domestic, married life thing?”.

“I’d marry you tomorrow. I’m in it for the long haul.” She smiled softly. “Spring into summer, I’m here.”

“Okay, so if I ask?”. He looked her straight in the eyes.

“It’ll be a yes.”

I hope he asks. I wanna be with him forever.

There was a comfortable silence between the two of them, before he spoke. “Do you feel like you have a bit of deja vu?”.

“I do, actually.” They each sipped their wine, enjoying the stillness. Her face lit up, remembering that same conversation they’d had in George’s bathtub so long ago. “Hey, sweetheart?”.

“Yeah, darling?”.

“Don’t forget to call.” She smiled.

His eyes softened. “Don’t forget to answer.”

——

A/N: Hi lovely anon, I hope this is what you were after? It was hard to write something that was totally based on them having disagreements or going through hardship, so I thought the changing seasons might be a better option (very open to feedback here!!).

My apologies friends - this is yet another scheduled post. I have seen a couple of requests come through and am slowly chipping away at them during my downtime. Please keep them coming (I especially love the ones based around songs/musicians as it is kinda the whole style of this blog).

Love you all, have a fabulous week ahead ❤️❤️

Roc xx

#uk youtuber #willne #willne x reader #will lenney #roc haze #ask roc

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harryslittlefreakk · 2 years ago

Text

masterlist

* indicates smut

^ indicates angst

you can join my taglist here

my requests are open :) please feel free to tell me anything you’d like to see, no idea is too wild here. 🫶🏼

late night talking (completed)

a chance meeting with harry before his wembley dates leads you into a whirlwind relationship. harry x fan!y/n

favourite crime

a chance meeting between y/n and her professor leads to a dare… which leads to a forbidden affair neither of them will forget

the pact* part 2*

you and harry made a childhood pact to marry if you were both still single when he reached 30. now that his big birthday is approaching, you find out whether your friendship (and your pact) have stood the test of time

harry turns 30 *

a filthy smutty blurb about harry’s birthday 🎈💖

after the storm *^

y/n wakes up in her sworn enemies bed, with a city-wide storm keeping her trapped there. in the time that she’s stuck with harry, can they overcome their differences and build a friendship? 🫢🤷

obsessed ^

harry is your roommate, best friend … and crush 💃 he’s finally broken up with his girlfriend and you’re struggling to hide how you feel about him. loosely based on the song!!

arrogant s.o.b ^

based on this request - grumpy/mean Harry and readers first fight and he says something really harsh/yells and makes her cry? And then feels really bad after like grumpyxsunshine vibes?

just between us *^

when y/n’s life starts to fall apart, her boss is there to pick up the pieces.. behind his wife’s back. nanny reader x ceorry

make me, darling^ make me, darling 2*

harry and y/n’s shared hatred for each other finally reaches its breaking point when they realise how deep their feelings go. based on the prompt ‘do all of us a favour and just leave’

kiss it better

when y/n doesn’t show up to work, harry takes her care into his own hands. ceorry x PA y/n

the one *^

y/n runs into the last person she ever expected to see in the last place she ever expected to see him, bringing old feelings & hurt to the surface. based on the prompt: childhood friends to lovers

recipe for disaster

y/n is a stubborn, clumsy baker and harry is a stubborn, overbearing firefighter

off limits *^

planning your brother’s birthday turns into crossing a line with his best friend

#harry x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x fan #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry x fan #harry x y/n #harry styles masterlist

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kingofbodyrolls · 4 months ago

Text

39,5°C (Fever) (m) | pjm

*this is a re-upload since I deleted my old account 🫣

When you get sick you want three things; rest all day, eat your comfort food and have as many orgasms as you can.

→ Pairing: Jimin x reader (female) → AUs: non idol!au → Genre(s): smut, fluff if you squint → Trope(s): established relationship → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 6.2k → warnings + triggers: explicit smut in the form of, masturbation (female), fingering, nipple sucking/play, unprotected penetration (they are in a established relationship, but please use protection irl), some cock warming, a lot of orgasms, fucking while sick, OC is so fucking needy and desperate and Jimin just wants to please her. → Author’s note: I get incredibly horny when I have a fever, so this idea popped into my head 😇 My husband calls it “fever horny” 🤣 I’m so sorry, am I the only who’s like this? 🫢 For my 100th follower milestone, I give you this; enjoy 💜 → Read on AO3? [link]

Morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft hues as you slowly roused from sleep.

Blinking away the remnants of dreams, you stretched languidly, only to realize that the warmth next to you, Jimin, was absent.

Confusion furrowed your brow, a dull ache throbbing at your temples. It was as if your mind was wading through a fog, struggling to piece together the events leading up to this moment.

A damp sensation beneath you snapped your senses awake.

Panic fluttered in your chest as you registered the wetness on the bed.

Your skin prickled with discomfort, a blend of clammy sweat and shivers that chased each other up and down your spine. Hot and cold sensations mingled, creating a disorienting dance across your flesh. Your body trembled and you felt a surge of arousal run to your core, a telltale sign of a fever.

A hand to your forehead confirmed your suspicions - heat radiated from your skin, the feverish touch undeniable. The realization sent a sinking feeling through you, an unwelcome interruption to your routine.

You contemplated checking your temperature, not just to provide a concrete reason for your absence from work, but also to validate the intensity of what you were experiencing.

With a resigned sigh, you fumbled for the thermometer, its cool surface a stark contrast to your fevered skin.

As you watched the numbers climb, anxiety held its breath alongside you. 39,5 degrees Celsius glared back, a glaring testament to your body’s turmoil. ‘Yikes’ barely covers the magnitude of this fever, the word echoing like an alarm in your mind.

Reluctantly, you reached for your phone, fingers dancing over the screen to dial your workplace.

Explaining your condition to your boss felt like admitting defeat, you were rarely sick, a palpable sensation of vulnerability washing over you. The conversation passed in a blur, your voice sounding distant even in your own ears as you negotiated the details of your sick leave.

Once the call ended, you were left with the weight of the day ahead - or rather, the weight of what wouldn’t be. You really love your damn office job. Resignation settled in as you acknowledged that rest was your sole agenda.

This was no mere inconvenience; it was a mandate from your own body, an uncompromising insistence on self-care.

Your thoughts drift through a dense fog, each one a weighty presence that seems to slow time itself.

Amidst this mental haze, a singular desire emerges, commanding your attention like a beacon in the darkness; to get off.

When you get sick, you’re out of commission, but Jimin possesses remarkable resilience, bouncing back from ailments with an almost enviable speed. He might slow his pace a tad, yet he’s soon up and running again, his vigor only temporarily dimmed.

However, your own journey through illness is an entirely different narrative. When illness casts its shadow upon you, it’s as if the world grinds to a halt - a relentless fog that blankets your thoughts and body.

You only want three things really; rest all day, eat your comfort food and have as many orgasms as you can.

It’s a craving that rises like a tempest, demanding to be acknowledged.

The desire for intimacy, for the warmth and connection that only your boyfriend can provide, becomes a beacon in the haze of your illness. It’s a need that fluctuates in intensity, an ebb and flow that mirrors the unpredictable nature of your symptoms.

In a daze, you squeeze your thighs together while dirty fantasies run through your mind.

Determinedly, you set your sights on the first craving: a day of uninterrupted rest.

As the world outside continues its bustling rhythm, you cocoon yourself in a cocoon of blankets, the soft embrace of your bed a sanctuary from the demands of the day. A season of your cherished TV show flickers on the screen before you, its familiar characters and storylines a comforting companion in this isolated respite.

Yet, even the most captivating narrative can’t entirely distract from the persistent itch of restlessness. As episodes blur into one another, you find your mind wandering, the confinement of your surroundings reflecting the confines of your own body.

The hours stretch, each minute an elastic band tugging at your patience.

The promise of comfort food beckons like a siren’s call, and soon, the aromatic allure of pizza fills the room.

You indulge in its cheesy embrace, the combination of flavors a temporary reprieve from both your physical discomfort and the monotony of your confinement. The first bite is a symphony of sensations - crisp crust giving way to a burst of savory satisfaction, a moment of bliss that lingers on your taste buds. But even indulgence has its limits.

As the pizza slices dwindle and the ice cream follows suit, the novelty wanes, leaving behind a subtle undertone of longing. You try navigating the vast expanse of social media, but it yields little in the way of fulfillment, each swipe a fleeting encounter with curated lives that only serve to amplify the quiet void within.

Your energy reserves are far too depleted to muster the focus required for anything more substantial.

In time, you discover yourself reclined upon the bed’s embrace, solitary in Jimin’s absence, your eyes are gently shut, a willing surrender to the world’s demands, while the low sensual R&B beats of your beloved ‘dirty hoe’ Spotify playlist weave a cocoon around your senses, cradling you in a symphony of horny melodies on an endless loop.

You rub your thighs together and get lost in the bliss of the feeling. You’ve got nothing to do. Might as well do yourself.

Your fingers glaze the top of your panties, digging deeper until you reach the spot just over your clit.

Rubbing circles on your clothed clit, you spread your legs and throw your head back into the bed, already feeling the beginning of an arousal. You can’t help the sweet noises that escape your mouth, as you roll your hips in search of more friction.

You press harder on your clit, imagining it’s Jimin’s hands instead of yours, knowing that he would be able to make you climax in a matter of minutes.

Pinching your clit, you let out a high pitched moan as you feel the knot in your stomach forming.

Images of Jimin flash before your eyes, him kissing you deliciously, fucking you like it was the last time.

Beads of sweat gather along the precipice of your hairline, a glistening testament to the fevered symphony playing out within.

Each breath you draw is a ragged melody, a reminder of the battle your body wages against the searing heat that courses through you. You set a fast pace, rubbing mindlessly, as you pant for air.

Almost there, you can feel it coming.

In frustration, you pinch your clit again and come undone with a scream of Jimin’s name.

Your body thrashes around the bed, as you come down from your climax.

Your thoughts wade through a dizzying haze, an intricate labyrinth where clarity is but a fleeting visitor. Meanwhile, your body becomes a canvas of discomfort, a sticky and clammy landscape painted by the relentless brushstrokes of sweat.

You register an uncomfortable wetness between your legs, and discard your soaked panties to the floor.

Your body remains a furnace, its warmth radiating through every fiber as you continue to draw breath in ragged gasps. Seeking relief, you shift onto your stomach, a desperate attempt to find a position that might offer some respite.

Your hand gropes beneath the pillow, finding the cool touch of your phone. Fingers trembling slightly, you navigate to Instagram in pursuit of distraction, a temporary escape from the confines of your condition.

Yet, the respite is fleeting, evaporating like mist in the face of a relentless sun. Your desires surge once more, a hunger that refuses to be quelled. The allure of the digital world fades in comparison to the voracious craving that commands your attention, rendering your attempts at diversion feeble and futile.

You surrender to the tempest within, rolling onto your back as your hands traverse the landscape of your fevered body, fingers tracing the contours of your clammy skin.

They land on your already pebbled nipples, and you give them a hard tug, moaning and rolling your hips mindlessly.

Jimin's cotton shirt adheres to your skin like a second layer, a tactile reminder of the stickiness that has become an unwelcome companion.

With a sudden resolve, you sit up, a surge of urgency propelling you as you shed the shirt in a swift motion, the fabric slipping away like the bonds of discomfort being cast aside.

In a matter of seconds, your hands return to your breast, cupping them like Jimin usually does.

Your fingers run over your nipples again, and you feel a tingle run down your spine. As you tug and pinch your nipples, you imagine it’s Jimin doing it.

The way he would lick your perked buds, occasionally giving them a light bite has your walls clenching around nothing.

You moan, thinking about the pleasure Jimin usually delivers to you with his plush and wet tongue.

One of your hands leaves your breast to travel down to your throbbing naked pussy.

Spreading your legs, you find your clit and give it a few rubs.

Your fingers glide easily, as your clit is covered in your earlier orgasm. Your fingers travel down to your folds, opening yourself up more.

Sticking one of your fingers into your warm cunt is easy with the insane amount of arousal pooled there.

You groan in pleasure, as you stick another finger into your clenching hole.

Rolling your hips, you begin to fuck yourself as your other hand is pinching and tugging a nipple.

Once more, a hazy fog blankets your thoughts, veiling your mental landscape in a disorienting mist.

In this moment, your deepest wish unfurls - a longing for Jimin’s presence, his soothing touch, the steady rhythm of his breath and the unfaltering warmth of his embrace to tether you amidst the turbulence of your body’s rebellion.

The feeble attempt you make to alleviate your distress pales in comparison to the soothing magic that Jimin's touch possesses. It's a stark reminder of the chasm between your efforts and his unparalleled comfort.

Nonetheless, in this interim of absence, your makeshift remedy will have to suffice, bridging the gap between your yearning for relief and the eventual embrace of his return.

You think about Jimin fucking you with his thick cock, stretching your pussy deliciously.

Hitting your g-spot, and thrusting into you with fervor, while his balls hit your folds. The imagination, a force as potent as it is relentless, takes hold of you with unyielding fervor, reducing the barriers between reality and desire to mere dust.

In its wake, you sense the foundations of your resolve begin to erode, like cliffs succumbing to the relentless assault of waves.

Squelching sounds fill the room, as you finger yourself frantically, searching for another release.

A palpable tension simmers, coiling like a slumbering tempest just beneath the fragile surface of your composure and when the image of Jimin fucking you gets too much, you moan loudly as another orgasm coats your walls.

Your chest rises and falls in desperate rhythms, each breath a struggle as you labor to coax your body into a state of surrender.

A gnawing sense of insufficiency takes root, an undeniable truth that settles like an ache in the core of your being.

Compelled to fill this void, you reach for your laptop, your fingers dancing across the keyboard to unearth a video - a cherished artifact of you and Jimin.

As the footage unfolds before you, you stick your fingers into your already drenched pussy again.

As the symphony of sounds spills forth, a captivating crescendo that weaves through the air, your gaze becomes ensnared by the screen's luminous embrace, you fuck yourself again, while you rub your clit with your other hand.

“Ah, Y/N, you’re so tight! You’re taking me so well.” Jimin's voice pours forth, a mellifluous cascade that saturates the room, its dulcet tones mingling with the very air you breathe, a sweet intoxication that leaves you hovering on the edge of delirium, rolling your eyes while you search for yet another release.

You add another finger into your throbbing pussy as the screen shows Jimin fucking you from behind.

A moan leaves your lips, mixing with squelching sounds from your pussy and the obscene sounds from the laptop.

“This pussy was made for me, ah.” video Jimin says followed with a slap to your ass.

Your pussy clenches around your fingers. Your clit is throbbing with your fast rubbing on it and you insert another finger into your cunt, finally feeling a small stretch.

You feel your orgasm approaching rapidly, with the images of your home made porn playing before your hooded eyes unraveling you.

“Fuck! I’m coming!” and then you’re orgasming to the sound and visual of Jimin releasing inside your warm and spent pussy.

Your body throbs with a weary cadence, each pulse echoing the exhaustion that courses through you, leaving you feeling spent, both physically and emotionally.

The discomfort intensifies, a relentless reminder of your sticky, sweat-slicked state that clings to you like an unwelcome second skin, refusing to relent.

You draw in ragged breaths, your lungs yearning for air as you hastily halt the video's playback, the sudden cessation of sound echoing the turbulence within your chest.

Tired, you envelop yourself in the gentle glow of the screen, as you dive into another episode of your treasured TV series. You lay in your bed, naked, with only the covers draping your legs.

The door’s soft creak heralds Jimin’s return, his presence a soothing balm to the quietude that has wrapped itself around you.

As his eyes fall upon your prone form nestled within the sheets, his gaze deepens with understanding - silent communication that transcends words.

Without a syllable spoken, he knows about your illness.

A gentle smile dances at the corners of his lips, a mixture of concern and affection that paints his features. His voice, warm and tender, breaks the silence, the words like a soft caress against your weary senses.

“How many, baby?”

The question hangs in the air, laden with a delicate balance of worry and steadfast promise that he’s here to shoulder the burden of your discomfort alongside you.

With the mere entrance of Jimin's presence, a subtle electric current courses down the length of your spine, a tingling sensation that dances between the realms of anticipation and recognition, as you rub your thighs together and bite your lip, “Three.”

A gentle chuckle escapes from his plush lips, a melodic sound that unfurls like a whisper of warmth, as he strides toward the bed and eases down beside you, his presence a soothing balm to your discomfort.

“You know it’s a vital part of my self-care ritual whenever fever pays me a visit,” you protest, your lips pursing in a playful pout that hints at a mixture of defiance and endearing vulnerability.

“Yeah, I know about your fever horniness,” his laughter erupts with a resonant force, a vibrant symphony that reverberates through his entire being, yet his approach is marked by a smirk that dances across his lips, an alluring blend of amusement and intention.

“What do you need, baby?”

His finger traces a tantalizing path over the sensitive expanse of your ass and thighs, each touch akin to a lightning bolt of sensation that ignites a perilous shiver, sending a cascade of exhilaration down the length of your spine. In its wake, a fresh wave of desire surges, pooling on your pussy.

A gulp tightens your throat, a visible testament to the sudden intensity of the moment, while your breath catches in your chest, a gasp that hangs in the charged air like an unspoken invitation, “Your dick and your tongue.”

“Hmmm, I don’t know,” a playful smirk graces his lips, a mischievous expression that hints at a secret understanding, as his touch traces a tantalizing path along the contours of your waist as he feels his dick throb with want.

“You started without me,” he utters the words in a mock pout, his tone a blend of teasing and longing, as his fingers dip down to your pussy with deliberate intent, trailing a path that ignites a symphony of sensations.

You raise your hips in search of more of his touch.

“I’m sorry. But I couldn’t wait…” A frustrated whimper escapes your lips, a raw sound that encapsulates the intensity of your desires and the ache for more.

You just want to get off again.

“I know, baby. You probably did so good by yourself, huh?”

His gaze drinks in the contours of your naked form, an appreciative hunger that's palpable, causing goosebumps to rise like a symphony across the landscape of your skin.

“Not as good as when you touch me. I need your touch, Jimin.”

In a voice etched with ragged urgency, you plead, the words a raw testament to the overwhelming desire that courses through you, while your lustful eyes blink rapidly, revealing the depth of your need.

He seizes a generous handful of your ass, an electrifying touch that sends shockwaves of pleasure reverberating through your being. In response, you groan, your very essence melting under the mastery of his hands, reduced to pliable putty that he molds with deliberate expertise.

You open your legs invitingly, showing him your glistening pussy, “Won’t you come taste me?”

A teasing flick of his tongue moistens his lips, a gesture loaded with an unspoken promise, as he inches closer to you, his presence a tantalizing magnetism that sends anticipation crackling through the air.

His form hovers over yours, a suspended moment pregnant with the weight of desire and the thrill of what's to come.

“Since you asked so nicely.”

In a voice dipped in seductive tones, he murmurs the words, a sultry invitation that hangs in the charged space between you, as he positions himself on his knees.

The fabric of his shirt yields to his skilled fingers, sliding off his form in a fluid motion that reveals the sculpted contours of his body, each movement a declaration of intent. His bare chest emerges into view, an arresting sight that captures your gaze and holds it captive, a canvas painted with the contours of his sculpted form.

Your eyes trace the lines of his delicious abs, his ‘Nevermind’ tattoo, a visual feast that leaves you with an insatiable hunger, and your fingers, guided by a magnetic pull, begin to explore his torso with a reverent touch.

He leans in with a calculated grace, his intent clear in the intensity of his gaze, as both of his hands find the curves of your breasts, his palms cupping them with a touch that conveys possession and longing.

A moan of pleasure escapes your lips, a raw sound that encapsulates the exquisite sensation that courses through you, as his hands remain a source of warmth on your fevered form, a stark contrast that heightens the sensory journey.

An involuntary surge of sensation propels your body, causing your back to arch with a fervent response, an unspoken invitation for more of his touch, as he begins to roll your nipples.

He leans his head down, giving a nipple a quick lick before he captures it in his warm mouth. He sucks lightly at first, while he pinches your other nipple.

The melodic cadence of your sounds forms an intoxicating symphony, an improvised composition that resonates in the charged air, while a surge of arousal courses through you, electrifying your senses and heightening the fervor of the moment.

One of Jimin's hands embarks on an exploratory journey down the landscape of your body, a purposeful exploration that leads to your pussy, where his touch transforms into an unyielding grasp, squeezing your clit with a deliberate force that ignites a symphony of pleasure-pain.

You release a crescendo of uninhibited sounds, each one a testament to the exquisite sensitivity that courses through you, a maelstrom of sensations amplified by the presence of your already three orgasms.

His fingers, a skillful symphony of touch, bestow a few tantalizing rubs to your clit, a prelude to the main act that follows.

With deliberate intent, he slides a finger into the depths of your wet pussy, each movement a rapturous dance that sends shockwaves of pleasure through your every nerve ending.

“So wet,” a chuckle, laced with both amusement and desire, escapes his lips, the room now painted with an intimate soundscape as the squelching echoes through the air.

His single finger, a masterful conductor of sensations, explores the depths of your being, each thrust a declaration of intent that creates a symphony of pleasure only the two of you share.

He returns to his skilled ministrations sucking on one of your nipples, a sensation that unfurls like a velvet caress, while his other hand continues its purposeful exploration, working to fuck you open with a deliberate determination that merges pleasure with a heady sense of anticipation.

A surge of urgency courses through you, compelling your hips to roll with a fervent rhythm, an instinctive dance that strives to align with his thrust, seeking a nexus where desire and connection intertwine in a symphony of shared pleasure.

He skillfully introduces a second finger into the equation, his touch an intricate dance that navigates the canvas of your pussy with purposeful intent.

His quest becomes a search for the elusive spot that ignites a cascade of sensations, a treasure trove of pleasure concealed within the intricate pathways of your body.

Your breaths escape in ragged bursts, a symphony of urgency that fills the air, each inhalation a desperate attempt to quench the growing fire within.

As your chest heaves, you huff for air, the oxygen a lifeline that barely keeps pace with the tumultuous pace of your desires, all while a knot of anticipation tightens in the pit of your stomach, a tangible reminder of the impending climax.

A third finger joins the symphony of sensation, a deliberate intrusion that causes your pussy to clench around him, an involuntary reaction that amplifies the intensity of the moment.

The palpable tightness he encounters tells him that you're teetering on the precipice of release, a knowledge that fuels his own desire.

With the dexterity born of desire, his free hand embarks on an exploratory journey, seeking out your other breast with a determined touch.

His fingers dance with a skilled grace, deftly rolling its nipple, each movement a calculated rhythm that weaves an intoxicating tapestry of sensations, a tactile duet that resonates through your being.

“It’s so good, Jimin!” a gasp, unfiltered and primal, escapes your lips, the sound a testament to the exquisite pleasure that courses through you, as you endeavor to arch your back, an instinctual response that seeks to press your body into the electrifying path of his touch.

A low, reverberating hum escapes his lips, a resonant vibration that sends ripples of pleasure through your breast, the intimate connection between his mouth and your body forging a sensory bridge that defies words.

Meanwhile, his fingers continue their masterful dance, striking your elusive spot with a relentless rhythm that sets your senses ablaze with each deliberate touch.

You feel it coursing through your body like a surge of electric intensity, each nerve ending awakening in a symphony of sensation.

Your toes curl involuntarily, a physical manifestation of the overwhelming pleasure that radiates from within.

Your hands seize Jimin's hips with a fervent grip, an anchor in the tempest of ecstasy as you succumb to the cascade of release, a moan escaping your lips like a melody, a reverberating chord that sounds eerily like his name.

You pant, your breath a delirious cadence that echoes the crescendo of sensations that have washed over you.

Your body basks in the radiant afterglow of a fourth orgasm, a testament to the heights of pleasure scaled throughout the day, each peak and valley etched into your memory like an intricate map of desire.

Jimin's gaze rests upon you, his eyes hooded with a potent blend of desire and satisfaction, a witness to the tableau of your body's unraveling beneath the skilled ministrations of his hands and mouth.

In this intimate exchange, unspoken understanding flows between you, a language woven from shared pleasure and the unbreakable bond you share.

The depth of his affection knows no bounds, a love that transcends the ordinary and propels him to the edges of devotion. For you, he's willing to traverse any distance, cross any threshold, and brave any challenge.

His heart beats in harmony with yours, a melody of adoration that echoes through the moments you share, an unwavering testament to the lengths he'll go to ensure your happiness and well-being.

He rises onto his knees with an irresistible allure, shedding the confines of his pants and boxers in a fluid motion that unveils his already hardened dick.

The air seems to crackle with anticipation, the atmosphere thickening as his form becomes a portrait of primal need and unabashed vulnerability.

Your tongue darts out, an instinctual gesture that moistens your lips in a silent anticipation that hangs in the charged space between you, a silent agreement forged by desire.

“Gawd. It’s so beautiful.”

You say, the words a sultry whisper that hangs in the air like a secret promise, a declaration of intent that sets the stage for what's to come.

Your hand reaches out, fingers wrapping around his cock with a teasing touch, each stroke a deliberate dance that fuels the fire of desire between you.

Jimin's chuckle, a featherlight sound that dances through the charged atmosphere, becomes an auditory caress that sends shivers down your spine.

His form hovers over you, a poised predator basking in the thrill of the chase, the air practically crackling with the intensity of his presence.

"What do you crave now, baby?" he murmurs in a voice saturated with a potent blend of desire and longing, a low timbre that wraps around the words like a silken caress, igniting a spark of anticipation in the air.

“I want to be ravished,” your hips engage in a rhythmic dance, a deliberate movement that aligns with the symphony of sensations cascading through you, while the telltale sensation of sweat prickling down your forehead adds a tactile layer to the sensory landscape, a physical manifestation of the fevered desire coursing through your veins.

“I want to cream your dick,” you breathe, the exhalation a fragile bridge between reality and reverie, as the haze of desire blankets your thoughts in a seductive shroud.

In response, a hiss escapes Jimin's lips, a sound that teeters on the edge of restraint, a symphony of shared yearning that hangs heavy in the charged air.

“I want you to come in my pussy.” You tease, the words a playful invitation that resonates with the promise of shared pleasure, your voice a delicate melody that dances through the charged atmosphere.

Your hands find purchase on his thighs, fingers squeezing with an artful pressure that ignites a symphony of sensation, a tactile duet that harmonizes with the unspoken desires that course between you.

Jimin's hiss echoes once more, a sound that reverberates like a whispered plea amidst the charged tension, as if his very being is ensnared within a cloud of desire and longing.

His dick, a pulsating ache that demands attention, throbs with an insistent rhythm, a relentless reminder of the friction and release that his body craves, a symphony of need that courses through his veins.

With a firm resolve that belies the intensity of his desire, he seizes his dick in a purposeful grip, aligning it with your pussy.

The air seems to hold its breath, a suspended moment pregnant with anticipation, the magnetic pull between your bodies poised to culminate in an explosion of shared ecstasy.

Before he gives in to the tempest of desire that surges between you, a primal force that demands satisfaction, he seizes a pillow with a thoughtfulness that speaks volumes.

With a gentle nudge, he situates it beneath your head, a gesture that adds a layer of comfort to the impending intimacy, a reminder that amidst the flames of passion, he's attuned to your every need.

Then, in a languid dance that seems to stretch time itself, he eases into you with a deliberate slowness, his cock head parting your folds in a teasing, torturous symphony of sensation. The exquisite friction becomes a dance of pleasure and anticipation, a measured cadence that ignites every nerve ending along the way, as he navigates the delicate balance between fervor and restraint.

His dick glides into you effortlessly, aided by the slickness that envelops him, a liquid promise of pleasure that makes every inch of his entry a journey of shared ecstasy.

As he becomes one with you, your walls embrace him with a tantalizing grip, a response that reflects the profound connection between your bodies, a fusion of desire and intimacy that transcends mere physicality.

“Ah, you’re still so tight,”

He releases a breath he didn't even realize he was holding, a sound that escapes in a mixture of relief and surrender, as he reaches the depths of your being, a tangible joining that renders him fully immersed in the euphoria of the moment.

You savor the overwhelming fullness that finally envelops you, a sensation that satiates the craving that has persisted throughout the day.

It's the culmination of a desire that's been building, being filled to the brim with the thickness of Jimin's dick, a union that ignites a shiver coursing down your spine, electrifying every nerve ending. As the moment unfolds, he initiates a slow retreat, a movement that draws you both through a symphony of sensations, a dance that echoes the intimacy of your connection.

He surges forward once more, a determined movement that drives him to the very hilt, his relentless desire mirrored in each of his swift thrusts.

With a masterful touch, he discovers your hidden spot in mere moments, a revelation that sends shockwaves of pleasure through you, the intensity of the sensation causing your vision to blur as the world momentarily fades, overtaken by the overwhelming cascade of ecstasy.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he pants, the rhythm of his breath a synchrony with the fervent pace at which he fucks you, his grip on your hips an anchor that thethers you to the reality of the moment.

His dick plunges into you with an unyielding force, a declaration of possession that melds raw passion with an unspoken promise of unity.

He artfully guides one of your legs up, positioning it against his torso in a deliberate display of intimacy, your foot finding purchase against his neck in a sensual image.

With this angle, he plunges into you with a newfound depth, each thrust a revelation of pleasure that leaves you breathless, the arrangement of your bodies a testament to the choreography of desire that unfolds between you.

“Ah! Jimin!” you release a breathless moan, a symphony of pleasure and vulnerability that dances on the edge of bliss, a melody woven from the rawest depths of your desire.

“I’m so fucking close,” you pant with each measured breath, caught in the intoxicating rhythm of his thrusts, a symphony of desire that leaves you gasping for air between each electrifying connection.

One of his hands embarks on a deliberate exploration, seeking out your swollen clit with an intent that radiates through his touch. The glide of his thumb becomes a source of intoxicating sensation, igniting a cascade of pleasure that courses through your body.

“Ah!” a breathless cry escapes your lips, the sound a mixture of surprise and ecstasy as the sensations wash over you, while your body responds with an instinctual arch, a graceful curve that seeks to amplify the pleasure within the constraints of the position.

“Fuck!” the word bursts forth, nearly a scream but instead a fervent exclamation, a testament to the overwhelming pleasure that courses through you.

Simultaneously, Jimin's fingers continue their skilled dance, maintaining a tantalizing rhythm on your clit, while his dick delivers deep and forceful thrusts that threaten to unravel your senses entirely.

With a primal scream that carries his name on its wings, your release squirts forth in a torrent, an explosion of sensation that engulfs his dick and fingers.

The world around you dissolves into a white-hot haze, your vision momentarily obliterated by the intensity of the moment, as you pant in a frantic rhythm, each breath a lifeline that stitches you back to the reality of the room.

The culmination of pleasure leaves you suspended in a euphoric liminality, every nerve ending aflame with the afterglow of ecstasy.

“Fuck!” Jimin's hiss reverberates in the charged air, a testament to the exquisite sensation that courses through him as your walls clamp around him, an embrace so tight that it borders on suffocating intensity.

As the waves of your orgasm surge through you, a tempest of sensation that engulfs your being, his thrusts mirror the tumultuous rhythm of your release.

Each movement becomes a study in controlled chaos, his own desire reaching a crescendo as he hurtles towards his own climax.

“Ah! I’m coming, babe!” he pants with a rhythm that mirrors the frenzy of his desire, each breath a tangible testament to the passion that courses through him.

With a final, hard thrust, he stills within you, his essence flooding your depths in a torrent of warm cum that paints your walls with an intimate declaration of shared intimacy.

He surges forward, a final thrust that extends the boundaries of pleasure, his movements a testament to his need to savor every last fragment of the climax he rides out.

The rhythm becomes a reflection of his own ecstasy, each thrust a stroke of intimacy that weaves a tapestry of shared release between your bodies, a culmination that leaves you both suspended in the aftermath of pleasure.

Despite the sheen of sweat that adorns your skin and the fever that courses through your veins, an urgent need propels you to draw him close, your arms enveloping his form in an embrace that defies the constraints of physical discomfort.

Your body radiates heat, a testament to the fever's grip, yet the desire to feel his heartbeat against your own is a force that eclipses all else.

“It’s hardly fair,” you remark with a playful huff, a mixture of exasperation and laughter tingling your words, “that you’re not even breaking a sweat.”

The words carry a lightness that dances amidst the weight of your fevered state, the exchange a testament to the shared intimacy that allows for such candid moments even in the midst of vulnerability.

“I guess I’ve got better stamina, sweetheart,” he chuckles, the sound a gentle ripple that lingers in the air, even as his dick goes soft within the warmth of your pussy.

With a tenderness that belies the intensity that has passed between you, he seals the moment with a sweet kiss pressed to your lips, a lingering connection that speaks of the intimacy shared and the unbreakable bond that defines your connection.

A blend of his cum and your own arousal trickles from your heated core, a physical reminder of the fervent exchange that has unfolded between you.

He withdraws from you completely, a deliberate movement that creates a sudden void, a palpable absence that contrasts with the intensity of moments prior.

Slumping down beside you, his breaths come in ragged pants, each exhalation a testament to the exertion of shared pleasure.

The space between your bodies becomes a canvas that captures the echoes of your intimate dance, an image of vulnerability and release that lingers in the air like a whisper.

A sense of emptiness washes over you, an aftermath of the profound connection that has left a void in its wake. Your lips form a subtle pout, a silent plea that rests in the curve of your expression, a wordless request for the closeness and intimacy that you yearn to preserve.

“Oh, I know that look,” he chuckles softly, the sound a warm caress that mingles with the air, as his hand sweeps through his blond hair.

The knowing amusement in his eyes speaks of an unspoken understanding between you, a connection forged through countless shared moments, a familiarity that transcends words.

Beside him, you shift restlessly, a subtle squirm that speaks volumes about the growing hunger within you.

Your thighs press together with a desperate urgency, a physical manifestation of the insatiable desire that has rekindled within your core.

The air seems to crackle with anticipation, the atmosphere electrified by the magnetic pull between your bodies, a force that threatens to engulf you both once again in the flames of shared longing.

“Just give me an hour or two, then we can go again,” he chuckles softly, the sound a tender reassurance that carries within it a promise of more to come.

His lips nuzzle against the delicate curve of your neck, a gesture that's both affectionate and possessive, the fervor of his kisses an echo of the passion that simmers between you. The intensity of his touch leaves a mark, a phantom sensation that lingers even after his lips have moved away, a tangible reminder of the connection that binds you together.

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