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charliemwrites · 9 months ago

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Part 7

Content: Injury and Recovery, Care, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Washing, Self-Blame/Self-Hatred, Codependency

Hell, Nikto thinks, is not punishment for sin. Not a lake of fire or eternal torture for earthly misconduct.

No.

Hell, he’s just discovered, is the absence of god. It’s the black, empty space where the divine used to shine.

It’s your blood soaking his gloves. The scent of your fear creeping past his mask. The single diamond tear that slipped down your scraped cheek when you told him you’d be okay. Your labored breathing and cracked voice. The scream that echoed, echoed, echoed through the stairwell and into his useless skull, rattling against bone walls and too-fresh memories.

Hell has become a hospital room with blank walls and shiny tile. How does that story go — that the deepest layer of hell is frigid? This hospital may not be dusted in frost, but it’s cold enough. You look small and chilly on the thin cot, entangled in wires.

Alive, despite everything.

You don’t feel alive to Nikto.

You’re too still, too washed out. Even when you nap with him, you tend to twitch, eyes flickering beneath your lids. Flushed with warmth in sleep and peaceful-looking. But you don’t move now; barely look better than you did fresh off the helo, unconscious and still bleeding, bleeding, bleeding—

It’s Nikto’s blood in your veins now. His unworthy, corrupted blood turned holy in the chambers of your heart. It wasn’t possession that made him offer his own arm for the transfusion, but rather atonement. The bare minimum he could repent for his utter failure. To offer up even a fraction of his own life in exchange for yours.

He’s been holding vigil by your side ever since, even if he doubts his place there. Waiting for your awakening to decide. Waiting for your judgment. Like a sinner at confessional, though he knows no Hail Mary will cleanse him.

He’s not even sure if you can this time. Not when it’s you he’s wronged.

The change in your breathing is what alerts him.

His eyes have hardly left you since they let him in. Even when his weak body surrendered to sleep, he would face you, so that you would always be the first thing he laid eyes on. Now, though, he searches your face with earnest, searching for any signs of consciousness.

The squeeze of your eyelids. A light furrow in your brow. Your mouth twists as you groan a bit, head drifting before you get control of your neck muscles.

Your eyes blink open slowly, flinchingly. He gives half a mind to breaking one of the overhead bulbs to ease the glare. But he would never risk the shattered glass over your head, or startling you with the noise. So he shifts and waits desperately for you to adjust.

Then you take a deep breath and focus on the ceiling. Seem to take stock for a moment, confusion smoothing into recognition, remembrance.

You tilt your head and meet his eyes.

“Nikto,” you breathe. The long, long hours of unconsciousness have taken a toll though, and even that causes you to cough. You wince a bit at the pain in your side while he reaches for the little plastic cup of water a nurse left. His name alone has brought you pain. It aches through his bones like condemnation.

You make a breathy noise, struggling to sit up. So he eases closer, supports your back to help you sip little doses from the full cup. It’s room temperature, but he knows from experience it’s better that way.

You don’t fuss when he regretfully has to pull it away, mindful of the instructions the nurses left him with. Lays you back as gently as he knows how as you sigh in relief.

He doesn’t feel worthy of touching you and tries to pull away. But you twitch, catch his wrist with the arm attached to an IV. He freezes.

“Nikto.”

There’s voice to the word this time, not just a dry puff of air. It takes Herculean effort to drag his eyes up to yours.

You look tired.

Tired, but all too aware, all too knowing. Sniper he may be, he knows better than to try to wait you out.

“I’m sorry.”

A thousand unspoken apologies crowd on his tongue. All the remorse he never felt compounded onto this one monumental failure.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Your brow furrows but you don’t interrupt. Don’t try to stop him. Just tug him in to huddle against your uninjured side. Let him prostrate himself over your bed, forehead pressed to your hip.

“I’m sorry,” he babbles, “I should have been better. I should have protected you. I almost— I almost…”

The words jam in his throat and then evaporate. No combination of syllables or sounds will be adequate.

Your nails draw gentle circles on his shoulder, then draw in towards his neck. Slip your hand under the collar of his shirt and jacket, just beneath the various trappings that hide his identity. You find skin. The vulnerable, damp nape of his neck. You lay your hand there, cool and dry.

“I forgive you, Nikto.”

“Y-you—”

“I do,” you affirm, giving him a little squeeze. “And it’s my choice to do so.”

He can barely pull himself away, but he has to see your face. Has to know what unconditional forgiveness looks like.

You’re half-lidded, soft. Eyes warm, blinking slow. You’re relaxed, understanding in every curve of your features. For all the world you could be divinity in repose instead of frightfully human, injured and frail.

“Punishing yourself from now on wouldn’t be noble,” you continue, tilting your head knowingly, “it would be martyrdom. And you are not my martyr, Nikto.”

He has not cried in… well. Long before his mind was torn apart and stitched back together wrong. Doubts he even knows how to, now. But his eyes burn as he presses his face into your hip again and shudders hard.

How foolish. To think he had any grasp of what forgiveness is. To think he understood what atonement was. When the only one who could set the bounds for damnation is you.

“I almost left you.”

“‘Almost’ and ‘would have’ are poison. You can’t convict on an almost. An almost is a warning, nothing to hang yourself for.”

You squeeze his neck again, unfailingly gentle. Unfalteringly steady.

“You stayed. I’m alive. Let’s focus on recovery now.”

He nods, hands clenched tight in the once-smooth fabric of the hospital sheets. It comes away wrinkled, but still clean.

—

You’re released from hospital two days later.

The wound, while dangerous in the moment, was a relatively easy fix once you had medical care. A clean shot, only just chipping off a bit of rib and grazing your large intestine. Everything is sewn and medicated and healing now. You’re uncomfortable, but KorTac isn’t as stingy with pain management as a normal military outfit — especially not with Nikto looming over your shoulder.

And you, his precious angel, are an absolute trooper.

You let the medical staff poke and prod and peal your bandages without fuss. Sit up with little more than a grimace and a hiss. In good spirits, all around.

Nikto carves your care instructions into the walls of his mind, a New Testament — temporary though it may be. The nurses send you in a wheelchair down to the ground floor, but after that, you’re allowed to walk.

Nikto doesn’t like it. He’d carry you to the edge of the Earth if necessary. But you just wave away his concern and grab onto his hovering arm for stability as you stand. A bit unsteady, terribly uncomfortable, but determined.

He gets you back to the barracks, you cursing with every movement that’s not a smooth step on even ground. Nikto lets you lean most of your weight into him and tries to keep his aching heart steady.

You sigh when you reach the barracks. Let him lay you down and get you comfortable before giving you another dose of pain meds. He busies himself collecting things and rearranging the room.

Making sure there’s not so much as a sock between you and the restroom. Getting your computer, phone, and respective chargers within easy reach. Filling a cup with water and arranging your soft blankets over your legs.

He’s just finished with that when there’s a knock at the door. Konig, delivering a meal. Not just any meal — takeout from your favorite little restaurant in town. Complete with sweets.

You call a thank you to the Austrian, who expresses his best wishes, and then Nikto shuts out the rest of the world again to let you rest. You don’t seem to mind, beckoning him back to your side.

Sharing the food, the blankets and pillows. Get him to set up your laptop with a movie — the meds kick in halfway through, leave you drooling a bit against his sleeve.

Nikto does not care. You may have forgiven him, and therefore it is not his place to repent for this anymore. But caring for you has never been atonement. It is his reward for putting his loyalty where it belongs.

—

The next day is worse. Your mood has dipped a bit, the soreness catching up. Not that you snap at Nikto or anything of the sort. But he knows you, and can tell from the tension in your body and wincing expressions when you think he isn’t looking.

You brighten a bit when he finally remembers to take his mask off. He even lets you babble when the meds make you fuzzy and overly-complimentary. Nearly falls asleep to you absently mapping the ugly scars that score deep into his hairline.

At some point though, the misery seems to catch up to you.

“It wouldn’t be so bad if I could just… wash up, I guess,” you grumble, looking ready to throw something.

The nurses did what they could, of course, but their focus had been on fixing you and then keeping your wounds clean. Enough hygiene to avoid infection. But you’re still grimy in uncomfortable places and you hate being in bed feeling “icky.”

Nikto instantly sets to work correcting that. He digs out one of his clean shirts, your favorite sweatpants, a soft pair of underwear. You watch him curiously as he takes it all into the restroom. The shower is standing room only, unfortunately — and besides, you can’t get your stitches wet for a while still. But he can at least help you freshen up.

“Come here.”

You take his arm, let him sit you up and then guide you to the restroom. When you see the cloth on the edge of the sink you get a bit misty-eyed. He lets you sniffle for a moment, patient while you wipe your eyes and mumble a “thank you.”

Then he helps you strip to your underwear and sits you on the towel he’s placed on the toilet lid. He kneels and starts from the top, a little dollop of soap on the facecloth and hot water.

You offer up an arm, careful not to overextend, palm up and fingers lax. Nikto works from your shoulder down to your fingertips. Smoothing over bruised muscle, stale sweat, scrubbing away dirt and crusted blood at the nail beds. Rinses the cloth, wipes away the excess soap, and repeats the process on the other arm.

The bathroom is silent save for the falling water and your shared breaths. You tilt your head to let him caress over your neck, down to your chest. He pauses, unsure of his welcome here, but you mumble that it’s fine either way. His touch is perfunctory but careful over your breasts, though he marvels privately at the plushness, the warmth. Politely ignores the way your nipples harden as the water cools in the air. Even if he’s so… so tempted to provide care in other ways.

You don’t so much as twitch; he can feel your gaze upon him from above. Yet he cannot force his eyes away from his work. Each gentle sweep of the cloth feels like restoring a temple, like holy work. Like paying his dues more directly than any church’s offering plate. You are such delicate work, his attention cannot afford to waver.

At your ribs, he starts on your uninjured side. Counts as his fingertips bump along them. You hum when he reaches the soft tissue of your stomach, a little shudder going through you.

“Ticklish,” you explain when his hand jerks back. “I’m alright.”

He feels one side of his mouth tug when he dips the cloth into your navel and you snort a bit. The other side of you is still bandaged, clean and white. No damning spots of red. He avoids the medical tape to get what he can and then continues down.

More bitten off giggles at your hips. He indulges in arching his bare thumb over the bone, just to feel the warmth and silk of your skin. Then continues his work.

He braces your foot on his thigh as he swipes the cloth over yours, minding the pressure on the sensitive inner skin. Over your knee, down to the ankle before switching to the other leg. You lean back and sigh, knock your knee gently into his ribs. When he glances up to see if you need anything, you just smile. Soft and a bit drowsy.

Only then does he scrub your feet, making you twitch and laugh a bit, complaining that he’s doing it on purpose. He’s not, but he likes the sound of your laughter; he thought he’d never hear it again.

He washes the cloth out one more time and helps you stand, lathering circles into your back while you press into him.

You take over when he’s finished. This time he does turn away, though he aches to do so. But your hand is still on his back, using him for support while you finish cleaning up intimate areas.

“Done,” you murmur. He unfolds a towel and turns, keeping his eyes above your head as he wraps it around you from behind.

You hold it up while he pats over you, soaking up any droplets that haven’t dried yet.

Warm and clean(er), your mood seems much improved. He kneels again to help you into a new pair of panties, realizes he’s an absolute fool to put himself so close when you smell only faintly like the shared soap. The rest is you, and you smell delicious.

He swallows thickly and eases you into your sweatpants, split between longing and relief when he stands to put you in the shirt. If you notice the bulge in his own lounge pants, you say nothing — though he doubts you do. You’re nearly asleep standing, almost stumbling as he takes you back to bed. You reach for him weakly and urge him in with you.

“Thank you, Nikto,” you murmur into his shoulder. “Love you.”

And you’ve forgiven him, despite everything. So he allows himself just this one thing — and presses his lips to your temple.

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#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #nikto x reader #cod nikto #Nikto’s commandments

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cherienymphe · 11 months ago

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Teenage Dirtbag IV (JJ Maybank x Reader x Rafe Cameron)

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, abusive relationship, domestic violence, violence (+ gun violence), gun kink, dacryphilia, attempted murder, mentions of blood, public sex, jealousy, manipulation, infidelity, underage drinking, drug use, canon ages, kook!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

➥ series masterlist

summary: You’re charmingly spoiled. You’re too kind for your own good. You’re the princess of Figure 8 …and you’re way out of JJ Maybank’s league, but when he realizes that Rafe Cameron’s pride and joy is actually a bruised and battered damsel, he’s determined to save you.

Your rescue just comes with a price.

🎄 ༺𝓜𝓮𝓻𝓻𝔂༻༺𝓒𝓱𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓶𝓪𝓼༻🎄

“Oh! Well, aren’t those pretty?”

Your mother’s voice pulled your attention away from the flowers in front of you, throwing her a small smile as she neared you to admire them. You gave her the card when she eyed it, and you watched her smile grow, a fond chuckle escaping her.

“That’s sweet,” she praised. “Is Rafe coming by later?”

It seemed like such a silly question because you and Rafe saw each other almost every day, and your mother knew it.

“Yeah,” you sighed, sitting at the island and fingering a red petal. “He’s doing something for Ward, but he’s coming straight over when he’s done.”

She hummed, and you heard her fussing around in the drawers looking for something. Your gaze was glued to a rose, noting that Rafe got you red this time—your favorite—and you swallowed. It was always the same. Rafe would hurt you so bad that he felt compelled to make it up to you, the flowers would be delivered to your doorstep, your parents would gush, and you’d forgive him with a smile…and then the cycle would repeat.

You plucked a petal, rolling and squashing it between your fingers.

“It’s about time he starts getting prepped on all the family business, isn’t it?”

You glanced up as she took out a pan, her gaze briefly meeting yours.

“Yeah, I guess so. Ward has been asking him to do more things lately, and I know it’s usually work related, so…” you shrugged. “Only a matter of time.”

She seemed satisfied with that answer.

“Good,” she firmly said with a nod. “He can’t provide for you on daddy’s money forever.”

She chuckled to herself, but you could only swallow down bile.

“Rafe is upstanding and all of those things we want for you, but he needs to learn to make money on his own. We’ll never give him our blessing otherwise.”

Again, you said nothing, only looking at the stains on your fingers. Your entire volatile future being mapped out for you should’ve scared you beyond reason, and it sometimes it did, but in this moment, you only felt a numbness that was all too familiar. It all just felt so inevitable, so you didn’t see any sense in fighting it. With a sigh, you stood.

“I’m going to take these up to my room.”

“Put them on the table by your window, so they can get good sunlight,” she threw over her shoulder.

After doing what your mother advised, you turned to your mirror, intently staring at the face in the reflection. The fading bruise on your cheek was nowhere to be found under your makeup, and you were relieved that the same could be said for your neck. A deep inhale had your stomach aching only a tad, and you told yourself that Epsom salt baths could only do so much.

You rolled your eyes, lips pursing at the thought of JJ Maybank.

Naturally, you knew that this wasn’t really his fault. If Rafe were a normal boyfriend, you wouldn’t be covering up bruises with makeup and long-sleeved shirts in the house you’d rather not wear. You knew that Rafe didn’t actually need a reason and that no one could push him to do anything he didn’t want to do. Rafe was never the kind of guy to do anything he didn’t want to do. However, with all of that being said…

You really didn’t like JJ Maybank.

Some part of you knew that Rafe must have provoked him. You knew your boyfriend well, so you knew that without a doubt, but none of that changed the fact that you still had ugly discoloration from where Rafe had pushed you into his dresser. None of that changed the fact that JJ was the catalyst. Yeah, you probably shouldn’t have talked to him anyway, but you’d only been trying to be nice.

Trying to do the right thing.

You were pulled from your thoughts by the sound of the doorbell, and knowing that Rafe never rang it, you didn’t give it much thought. At least until you heard your mother calling your name moments later, and you were forced to descend the stairs in confusion. That confusion wasn’t eased in the slightest when you came face to face with Sarah.

She looked sheepish while your mother only smiled.

“Sarah’s here for you. I offered her something to eat, but she’s insistent that she isn’t staying long,” your mother said, briefly touching the other girl’s arm. “You tell Rose to call me. I have a bone to pick with her.”

They both chuckled—obvious that your mother was teasing—and you watched her disappear into the kitchen before resting your gaze on the blonde before you.

“I’m going to get something to eat at The Wreck. You want to come with me?”

You swallowed a sigh, glancing away and folding your arms over your chest. You didn’t know where this desire for a budding friendship came from, and you didn’t know how to feel about it. You and Sarah had only ever been friendly, and considering the company she kept, you’d had no desire for anything more. Being friends with Sarah just felt like a recipe for disaster.

“Sarah…”

She spoke up before you could, huffing and stepping towards you.

“I think Rafe treats you like shit,” she admitted, making sure her voice didn’t carry. “I know you love him and see something in him the rest of us don’t, but everything about you just seems wrapped up in him and…he seems very happy to keep things that way.”

You pressed your lips together, eyeing her.

“I don’t like it, and considering I don’t have much say, I figure the best I can do is be your friend. It’ll just make me feel better to know you have someone other than Rafe.”

Her lips turned up as she said his name, crossing her own arms over her chest.

“I’ve thought this for a while, by the way, and I just…” she shifted her feet, shrugging. “I don’t know. I just can’t take it anymore.”

With a sigh, you dropped your arms, and you knew that Sarah could tell what you were going to say.

“Come on! It’s lunch at The Wreck. We won’t be going all the way to Charlotte—Rafe will know where you are. He’s caught up with our dad, anyway, and they’re probably not going to be done until this evening,” she practically pleaded.

It was tempting, you had to admit, even if it did make you feel a little pathetic.

“I don’t know. I’d have to call Rafe and-.”

“You’d have to call Rafe, are you serious?” she scoffed before reaching for her own phone, and you reached for her. “I’m calling him.”

Your eyes widened.

“Sarah…”

Rafe’s tone could be heard even through the phone when he answered, and you felt your heart race.

“I wanna go to lunch with your girlfriend, and since you’re so uptight about knowing where she is at all times and who she’s with…”

The other girl trailed off as he spoke.

“Rafe, you’re stuck with dad for most of the day! I want to go eat, and I want her to come with me… Yes, just me,” she threw you a look at that to which you only looked away. “God, you’re so crazy, you literally treat her like a damn puppy.”

She shoved the phone at you, and understanding what was happening, you sighed.

“Hey,” you softly said once her phone was to your ear. “She just showed up here, Rafe and…”

“She said it’s going to be the two of you.”

You could tell by his tone that he wasn’t thrilled, right now, but you also knew it wasn’t just from Sarah and her antics. Rafe felt cornered. It wouldn’t look good for him to forbid you from going, and if he convinced you to give Sarah some piss poor excuse, she’d likely just ignore it. There wasn’t much you and Rafe agreed on, but you did admit that Sarah Cameron often got her way.

You heard Rafe mutter under his breath, and you didn’t doubt he was cursing Sarah’s name.

“I don’t see why she’s hellbent on butting into your life all of a sudden…”

His tone didn’t make you enthusiastic, and when your eyes met Sarah’s, they looked hopeful. You didn’t really understand why Sarah was taking so much interest in befriending you. You heard her reasoning, of course, but this was new territory, and you didn’t know how to handle it. However, you decided that it didn’t matter. Your boyfriend’s sister wanted to have lunch with you, and if it would satisfy her then so be it.

Pulling your lip between your teeth, you told Rafe something you knew he’d like to hear.

“While I have you, I wanted to thank you for the flowers.”

You heard him exhale, and you didn’t need to be with him to know the look on his face. It was the look he often wore whenever he brought you flowers—a mix of smugness and triumph with that small smirk dancing along his lips. Rafe cared about being seen as the perfect boyfriend, but he also cared about your complicity just as much. If he could placate you after a really bad fight, then he could prevent the rare backlash.

The last time you’d threatened to leave Rafe after one of the worser fights was half a year ago. The bouquet he’d given you then hadn’t meant all that much to you when you threw them on the floor. It hadn’t ended the way you wanted to but instead in tears and Rafe convincing you that you were just upset and needed to cool down. He liked to avoid that if he could.

“I wasn’t expecting red, and I was just really happy to see that. It made me feel a lot better,” you told him.

Rafe was silent for a few moments before sighing, albeit with an annoyed lilt. Your gaze met Sarah’s again just as he spoke.

“Just for a little bit. Not too long because I could finish up early with my dad, so…”

“No, yeah, we won’t be long,” you assured him. “It’s just going to be me and Sarah.”

“Yeah, that’s what she said. Let’s hope it stays that way,” he told you.

His tone was clipped, and although he didn’t say it, you knew that there was a silent addition to that statement.

For your sake.

With a nod and a soft goodbye, you gave Sarah her phone back. Her face was expectant, and when you told her you needed to get your jacket, she beamed.

Sarah had a pout on her face as she played with one of her fries, shaking her head.

“I just don’t get it,” she mumbled. “What do you see in him?”

The drive to The Wreck was far from long and had mostly been filled with awkward small talk. You couldn’t recall a time you’d ever been alone with Sarah for this long, let alone long enough to have several conversations. It was such an odd thought considering you’d been dating Rafe for two years. The more the minutes went by though, the easier the conversation seemed to flow.

However, you now found yourself in the middle of lunch and on a topic you felt was inevitable, to be honest.

Sarah’s gaze was questioning, and you struggled to come up with an acceptable answer. You couldn’t very well tell her that her brother was actually an abusive rapist who terrified you beyond belief. You couldn’t tell her that he’d threatened to kill you on several occasions. It wasn’t possible to tell her that, in truth, you saw nothing worthwhile in Rafe, and you’d merely accepted your future with him.

Instead, you managed to think back to the very beginning of your relationship when you actually loved him.

“He knows what he wants, and I like that…”

It was a trait you’d admired in him once, feeling flattered by how boldly he’d asked you out. Those were the days when you looked forward to seeing Rafe and whatever gift he had for you and whatever date he had planned. That was a time when you’d literally fall asleep on the phone with him, and these days you would be relieved if you could go several hours without even hearing his voice.

“He’s also very generous, and he looks out for me, and he loves being around me. He’s just…so happy when we’re together.”

Everything that came out of your mouth was no longer applicable to your boyfriend, but at one point in time it had been. Without realizing it, your face fell, and you picked at your food. Sarah had a thoughtful look on her face as she mulled over your words before taking a sip of her lemonade.

“Looks out for you,” she repeated. “I guess that’s one way of putting it.”

You threw her a look, and she merely shrugged, throwing her hands up.

“I’m just saying! He treats you like he doesn’t want anybody to come near you,” she said, disgusted. “His own sister wants to hang out with you, and you needed to call him for that? That doesn’t sound crazy to you?”

The frown on her face was deep, and you only shrugged.

“You know what he’s like Sarah. You know how…paranoid he can get.”

“Yeah, paranoid that you might actually prefer being in someone else’s company instead,” she scoffed.

You merely sent her a small smile, thinking that she had no idea of the half of it. Before the conversation could continue, two familiar faces walked into the restaurant, and you felt your heart sink. Sarah seemed excited to see her friends, of course, while you, on the other hand, only had an aching desire to leave.

When your eyes met a slowly increasingly familiar blue pair, you couldn’t stop your frown.

You glanced away, and when Pope greeted you, you only sent him a smile in return. Telling yourself that you had the worst luck, you leaned over to reach for your purse. Sarah was talking to the two of them, but when she heard the sound of your keys, the conversation paused.

“I think I should go,” you answered the silent question on her face.

You hated the way it fell.

“We haven’t even been here an hour. Do…?” she trailed off glancing at Pope and JJ. “I know that it’s supposed to be just the two of us, but Rafe won’t know.”

“Sarah,” your tone said it all, and she stood up with you when you went to pay for your food.

“Stay,” she practically begged. “Rafe isn’t here to be his normal asshole self, and you know I won’t tell.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” you mumbled, craning your neck for either Mr. or Mrs. Carrera.

By the sound of her sigh, you had a feeling she’d witnessed JJ’s conversation with Rafe that day in their house.

“JJ didn’t mean much by that. He was just stooping to Rafe’s level, wanted to piss him off.”

“Well, you can tell him it worked,” you said, throwing her a tight smile.

Her brows drew together, and she ran her eyes over you, concerned.

“What, was Rafe mad at you for that?”

“What do you think, Sarah?” you slowly wondered, fully facing her.

You could see on her face that she hadn’t considered that possibility, and her shoulders sagged.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I’m sure JJ wouldn’t have said anything if he’d known it was going to come back on you. I’ll talk to him, just please stay.”

You touched your forehead, glancing over her shoulder and quickly looking away when your eyes met the man in question’s.

“They’re your friends, not mine. I really should go…”

She perked up.

“Well, they don’t have to just be my friends-.”

“No, Sarah. I can’t be friends with them-.”

“Why, because of Rafe?” she incredulously wondered. “Do you hear how crazy that sounds?”

You ignored her when the familiar woman came from the back, quickly paying for your meals. When you were done, you only gave Sarah an even look, grabbing your purse.

“You know what your brother is like. Pope can take you home, right?”

You could see on her face that she wanted to argue this some more, a deep frown on her face, but you witnessed the decision to save it for another time. You weren’t stupid enough to think she was going to let this go. She eyed you.

“We’re probably going to John B.’s later, so yeah. I can leave with them.”

Preferring to ignore her mood, you smiled and thanked her for the invite. You said goodbye to Pope and JJ on your way out, thinking of just how shitty your luck was. You’d never put it past Rafe to drop in on you, and you didn’t want to imagine how things would be if he witnessed you having lunch with anyone other than Sarah…but especially Pope and JJ. You were just at your car when you heard hurried footsteps behind you, and you tensed at the sound of your name.

Unfortunately, the face matched the voice when you turned around.

JJ wasn’t close to you, but he was close enough to where you leaned against your car in an effort to put space between you. If he noticed, he said nothing, and you watched him run his hand through his blond locks. You didn’t know what he wanted and considering the last result of a conversation with him, you warily eyed him.

“Look, Sarah told me that Rafe was mad at you about what I said,” he sounded apologetic. “I didn’t know that.”

“Why? You knew it would piss him off. That’s why you said it.”

He frowned, glancing away.

“Yeah, but I didn’t think…”

“At the very best you knew it would cause conflict between us. Again…that’s why you said it,” you told him.

JJ stared at you, and you watched him blink, tilting his head.

“Do you ever wonder why you have a boyfriend who loses his shit anytime you even so much as look at another man?”

You scoffed.

“Don’t try to turn this around-!”

“I mean, it’s the truth. You felt bad, you apologized, and call me crazy, but I don’t think that’s something he should get mad at you for,” he casually said with a shrug.

“Well, it’s a good thing you don’t get paid to think.”

You watched his brows raise in shock at your words, a budding smile on his lips. JJ crossed his arms over his chest, eyeing you from head to toe, and you felt something twist in your gut at his perusal.

“Are you always this feisty or is that privilege just reserved for me?”

Rolling your eyes, you turned to open your door when he spoke again.

“Look, I’m sorry, alright? I mean that…”

You hesitated, your gaze focused on your window. You stared at his reflection in it.

“I won’t say anything next time. Ever again, actually.”

With a resigned sigh, you accepted his apology, opening your door.

“There won’t be a next time,” you told him, glancing at him as you slid inside. “We’re not friends, JJ, and we’ll never be. Stop talking to me, I mean it.”

Your words held conviction, but you felt like JJ didn’t take them seriously. He only eyed you, slowly nodding as you closed your door. Resisting the urge to glance at him again, you drove off, only feeling relief the closer you got to your house.

It was the middle of the night when you found yourself in the Camerons’ kitchen, getting something to drink because sleep was evading you. You knew that you couldn’t be gone for long, no telling when Rafe would notice the lack of body heat next to him. The rest of the house was asleep, and Sarah was with John B.

…and so that was why you were startled by the front door opening.

You could tell they were trying to be quiet, but hushed tones and the shuffle of feet was loud to anyone who was awake—you. Blinking, and filled with a mix of curiosity and concern, you made your way to the kitchen entrance. It was dark, but not dark enough to make the three figures hard to make out. When you turned on the light, Sarah actually jumped in shock.

You could tell that she hadn’t expected anyone to be up, but even as she approached you, it wasn’t her nor John B. you were focused on. The blond with them looked almost unrecognizable to you, and you sharply inhaled at the sight of him. He was barely able to stand—no matter how much he tried to—and you could only pull your eyes away when Sarah whispered your name.

“I’m just here to use our first aid kit,” she told you, trying to explain. “John B. doesn’t have shit at his house, and Kie’s parents are so anal about JJ—any of her friends besides me, really.”

Once you gathered your thoughts, you blinked at her, shaking your head.

“It’s your house, Sarah. You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” you assured her.

“I know, but I’d just really rather not wake anyone up…and it’s also not something I feel like explaining to anyone.”

She glanced over her shoulder, giving John B. a nod, and you watched him pull JJ towards the downstairs guest bathroom. Your lips parted, and you looked at Sarah again.

“Is he going to be okay?”

Sarah pressed her lips together, and when she rolled her eyes, you could see the irritation and anger on her features.

“He always is,” she snidely replied.

At your concerned and questioning look, her face fell some.

“It’s nothing he hasn’t dealt with before,” she finally admitted. “His dad…”

Sarah trailed off with a shrug, and you swallowed.

“Oh,” was all you said, your heart sinking. “I’d heard things, but…I didn’t know it was that bad.”

“I just don’t get why he doesn’t go live with John B. or something,” she mumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. “Just because Luke is family…”

She sneered the man’s name, and you felt your frown deepen.

“It’s probably not that simple.”

At the look she gave you, you hurried to continue.

“I just mean it’s probably not that black and white for JJ. No one likes staying anywhere that’s bad for them, but maybe there’s a sense of loyalty he can’t shake yet,” you explained. “If he left his house for good, he just might end up feeling guilty.”

Sarah thought that over, eyeing you in the process.

“Maybe. That doesn’t make it any easier to witness this time and time again,” she sighed.

You didn’t say anything to that, unsure of what to say. When she left to join John B. in assisting their friend, you weren’t keen on retreating to Rafe’s bedroom just yet. You weren’t some professional psychologist, but you didn’t need to be to know why the sight of JJ and the confirmation of his volatile home life affected you so much.

The sight of his bloody and bruised face was unfortunately reminiscent for you.

Your feet made the decision for you, grabbing another glass of water before rummaging in your purse for some painkillers. Sarah was in the hall when you walked around the corner, and she straightened at the sight of you. The bathroom door was cracked, but John B.’s voice carried as he talked to JJ.

“Here, give him these.”

She took the pills and water with a small smile, thanking you. The moment was interrupted by JJ’s tone.

“I can stand just fine,” he sighed. “Just give me a minute…”

John B.’s protest was clear, but you surmised that JJ waved him off, getting his way when the door swung open. The brunette was briefly thrown by the sight of you before acknowledging you, making his way outside. The sound of your name in the air got JJ’s attention, and you wondered just how out of it he’d been to only just now realize you were up.

“Here. Y/N brought these for you,” Sarah told him, voice stern as she demanded he take them.

Getting the hint that he wanted a moment to himself, Sarah took a step back.

“Make sure he takes those,” she told you before going to join her boyfriend.

Truthfully, Rafe was the last thing on your mind as you looked at JJ. Now that his face was clean, he didn’t look as bad, but the bruising and cut on his lip still made you frown. You and he were so far from friends, so standing in the hallway while he leaned one hand on the sink started to feel awkward. You were just about to remind him of the pills and leave when he spoke.

“It’s the middle of the night.”

The observation wasn’t the most astute, and you frowned in confusion. When he swung his head to face you, straightening with difficulty, you didn’t miss the way his blue eyes ran along your face.

“It’s the middle of the night,” he repeated. “…and your face is caked in makeup. Is that one of Rafe’s conditions? Remain perfect at all times?”

You pressed your lips together as he popped the painkillers, swallowing them down with the entire glass of water. You couldn’t very well tell him that you’d spent fifteen minutes covering the bruises on your cheek and neck before coming down on the off chance that you ran into a Cameron that wasn’t Rafe.

“I forgot to wash my face,” was your simple answer.

Your tone was light, unconvincing, and you could tell that JJ didn’t believe you. You didn’t know how, but something about the glint in his eye told you so.

“I’m sorry,” you finally said. “About your dad.”

The blond moved to lean against the doorjamb, staring at you.

“Don’t be. I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t be,” you argued.

“Yeah, well, we’re both used to a lot of things we shouldn’t be,” he said, making you bristle. “I should’ve known better. After all…I know what he’s like.”

You didn’t appreciate having your own words thrown back in your face, doubly so because JJ didn’t realize just how much it messed with you. It was funny. When you told him that about Rafe, it made sense to you. That was how you maneuvered around Rafe and so you just wanted JJ to learn to maneuver around him the same way if he wanted to avoid his temper.

Now, however, hearing him repeat that about his own father just made you feel…nauseated.

“That’s not an excuse-.”

“Isn’t it?” JJ wondered, moving closer.

He held your gaze, and the look in his eyes had you biting the inside of your cheek. You couldn’t stop your frown, nostrils flaring at the words he silently threw at you. He didn’t say them, but he didn’t need to.

“That’s different,” you argued.

JJ frowned, head tilted in confusion.

“How so? My dad’s an asshole, Rafe’s an asshole,” he drawled. “Now, Rafe may not be a physically abusive asshole, but walking on tippy toes around him just to navigate his shitty personality isn’t exactly healthy.”

You stumbled back when JJ took another step towards you, lips parting when he cut you off.

“You can’t even have lunch with his sister without the fear of some guy that isn’t Rafe crashing the date…because you know he would just fly off the handle.”

You swallowed down your anger and annoyance at how right he was, glancing away with a huff.

“You don’t know anything about my relationship.”

“I know enough,” he fired back with a smirk.

When your back grazed the wall, it was then that you realized just how close he was. The bruising on his face looked so much scarier this close, and your eyes traced the blood on his lip. Your heartbeat was uneven at his close proximity, and you pressed yourself further into the wall. JJ’s eyes flitted between your own, and when you swallowed, they zeroed in on the action, gaze lingering on your throat.

“I know that if I kissed you, right now…” you sharply inhaled at that. “You wouldn’t tell Rafe…and not because you don’t want to hurt him…”

You slapped his hand way when it reached for your chin.

“…but because you’re fucking terrified of him.”

You furiously blinked, struggling to respond to that.

“You’re an asshole,” was all you could muster up with a frown, voice trembling.

JJ only softly chuckled to himself, nodding.

“Assholes are your type, so that doesn’t sting the same coming from you.”

Pushing your way out from in between him and the wall, you stomped away. You refused to look at him when he thanked you for the drugs, fighting to ignore the goosebumps along your arms underneath Rafe’s shirt.

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #dark!jj maybank #dark!jj maybank x reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #dark!rafe cameron #dark!rafe x reader #dark!rafe cameron x reader #obx fic #obx fanfiction #outer banks #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks imagine #jj maybank imagine #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fanfiction #jj maybank fanfiction #obx imagine

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woso-dreamzzz · 7 months ago

Text

Proud IV

Hardersson x Teen!Reader

Summary: The night after the derby

The light from the tv was still on when you crept down the stairs.

You woke to the pain in your ankle and rolled around your bed in agony. You briefly considered just laying there, sucking it up and trying to go back to sleep but in the end, the pain was just too intense and you surrendered to getting painkillers.

As you hobbled down the stairs, you inwardly cursed yourself for not grabbing any before going to bed. Your Momma had insisted on you putting some on your bedside table but you had been adamant that you would be okay.

As usual, you wished you had listened to her as you hopped down the stairs as quietly as you could.

You ducked into the kitchen, immediately rummaging through the medicine cabinet for some painkillers. You grabbed them but squinted trying to look at the dosage.

You didn't want to turn on the light.

Momma was a light sleeper. Even light coming up the stairs from the kitchen could wake her and you knew if she woke up then she would fuss over you and you didn't want that.

You could see a sliver of light from the living room though and you suddenly remembered that Morsa had been exiled there for the night because of your injury.

You assumed she was still awake and wouldn't mind company so you hobbled towards her.

She was still awake, like you predicted, lying on her side on the sofa.

The light you had seen earlier was the light from her phone, pressed up close to her face as she browsed social media.

She looked up though when you came hobbling in. She sat up.

"Hey," Magda said," Are you okay? Is something wrong?"

You lifted the pack of painkillers up. "Needed to check the right dosage." You threw them at her.

"Two," She replied, catching it easily and checking the packaging," And then no more for four hours."

"How long until they kick in?" You dry swallowed them.

"Half an hour or so. Are you staying here until they work?"

You nodded, falling easily back onto the sofa next to her.

Magda adjusted, throwing the blanket she was using over you as well and forcing you to prop your foot up on the table with her pillow.

"Comfortable?" You asked wryly and she rolled her eyes.

"I think Pernille made us buy this sofa just so I don't get a goodnight sleep when she's annoyed at me."

You grinned, slowly forgetting about the pain in your foot. "Why tell you how pissed she is when she can just show you?"

"I hope you don't get her vindictive streak," Magda joked," Sometimes she's just plain mean."

"And yet you're still with her."

Magda shrugged. "Maybe I like her like that."

Your nose wrinkled up in disgust. "That's disgusting."

She winked at you. "You'll understand one day."

A pit formed in your stomach and words spilled from your mouth before you could stop yourself. "I don't think I actually will."

"What does that mean?"

Magda shrieked at Pernille's voice, nearly falling off the sofa as her head whipped around to see Pernille leaning against the doorframe. Thankfully though, Pernille didn't lay into her for keeping you up (though Magda knew that lecture was coming soon) because she was focussed on you, brows furrowed in confusion.

You shrugged as Pernille moved to sit opposite you in the armchair.

"I just...I don't really think I'll ever get it. Sex isn't..." You made a vague gesture with your hands that only served to confuse your mothers further.

Magda cleared her throat. "So," She said," Sex is when-"

"I know what sex is!" You cut her off quickly," I just...I don't like it."

"It's okay," Pernille said," You're still young. You don't need to rush into anything and-"

"No!" You felt the urge to tear your hair out. "You're not getting it. I..." You took a moment to collect your thoughts. "I don't want to have sex. Ever. It's not a thing for me."

There was silent for a moment before Magda spoke.

"Well," She said," At least we won't have to worry about you getting pregnant."

"Magda!"

Pernille looked scandalised at her words but a bubble of laughter erupted from your throat and you decided to get everything off your chest.

"And I'm not into dating either. I don't get romantic feelings for people." To soften the blow, you added. "Oh, and I'm planning on moving to Greece, changing my name and becoming a shepherd."

Silence again.

"Will you name a sheep after me?"

"Magda!" Pernille snapped again," No, you will not be getting a sheep named after you!"

You continued to laugh, feeling something settle in your chest at the way Morsa began to list all the benefits of having sheep-Magda in the house with her.

"I'm going to bed," You said.

You left without much fanfare after that, knowing that when you came down in the morning that your mums will be curled up on that sofa together, still fast asleep.

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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froggiewrites · 2 months ago

Note

hi I had another idea for a request! dealer’s choice on the character(s) (but if you’re stuck for an idea maybe law?), but maybe the reader gets hurt in a fight and their (slightly in denial about being in love) future love interest nurses them back to health? can be fluff or smut or whatever you want I’m not picky I just love seeing your words

thank you I still love your work please keep it up

This request is from @toadmakes, on anon since it's her sideblog! I thought this idea was so sweet, so I just made a really fluffy, self indulgent little piece. Also, I let Law be cool last time I wrote about him so of course I had to make him a flustered little nerd in this one. I hope you enjoy it!!

A Helping Hand

Pairing: Law x Reader

SFW

Summary: You get hurt protecting Law, and he's not pleased. Warnings: Fluff, Lots of Banter, Very Little Hurt/Lots of Comfort Word Count: 1.3k

You don’t remember throwing yourself in front of Law, or being carried back to the Tang. You don’t remember the screams of your friends, or the shaking hands that so carefully bandaged you back up. But that’s alright, because they were all too eager to tell you how stupid you had been once you came to.

“–disgustingly irresponsible! Not to mention unnecessary! What good reason could there possibly have been to do that?” Law is the most furious you’ve ever heard him, and you fear it may be because he’s the most scared you’ve ever heard him. You don’t know how close of a call it was, but you know you hurt all over, and his eyes are shining with something someone who didn’t know better might confuse with tears.

“I didn’t want you to get hurt.” You try not to say it like an excuse or a plea. It’s simply fact.

His eyes shoot away from yours. You swear you see a hint of red on his cheeks, but just as quickly as you notice it, it’s gone. He clicks his tongue with displeasure before continuing. “I wasn’t going to get hurt. I could have very easily moved out of the way. You–” he sighs. “Don’t do anything like that again.”

“Well I don’t think I’ll be doing it anytime soon.” You try to give him a wry grin, but it turns more into a grimace as you shift, pain shooting through you. You’re covered head to toe in bandages, every part of you sore and bruised. You’re surprised you’re upright and conscious right now, honestly. “Can I get some painkillers?”

“You’re on enough to take down a horse.”

“But it still hurts.” You pout, and he grits his teeth and looks away from you again.

“Yeah. Almost dying tends to do that.” Even with the gruffness in his voice and face, his hands are gentle as they begin to fuss with your bandages, checking over every inch of you to ensure you’ve been properly taken care of. You could swear he hesitates slightly at checking the bandages around your thighs and chest, but he perserveres, ever the professional. You wince a few times when his hands brush a particularly tender spot, yelping when he makes slight contact with your ribs. He fiddles with the IV in your arm, and you feel a flood of relaxation and relief hit you. Looks like he found a reason to give you more painkillers after all. “You’re going to be out of commission for a long while, y’know.”

“How long?”

“At least six weeks, but probably longer.”

“What?”

“That’s nothing compared to what it could be. You have a couple broken ribs, not to mention all of the cuts and bruises. You’re lucky your organs weren’t crushed.”

“Can’t you like…shambles it away?”

“No.” His voice is flat. You look at him with wide, pleading eyes, and he scoffs at you. “Well, more like I won’t.”

“Why not?”

“If I just fix it you’ll run off and do it again, and next time you might not be so lucky.”

“Oh…so you’re just worried about me?” You giggle, filled with warmth at the idea. And maybe the pain meds. “You could just say so.”

“That’s not–” he lets out a soft choked sound when he realizes there’s no way to deny it without insisting he doesn’t care about you. As grumpy as he can be sometimes, he would never say something so unkind. Not to you. “Shut up.”

“Hey Captain?” You feel your tongue loosening with things you would never say, but you’re too out of it to stop yourself.

“Yes?”

“Do you like me?”

There’s definitely a flush to his cheeks now. “What?”

“I think you like me. A lot.”

“I–No!”

“You don’t like me?” Your voice cracks a little, tears coming far too quickly. Whatever he gave you is powerful stuff.

“That’s not–I–agh!” He roughly runs his fingers through his hair, desperately avoiding eye contact with you. “I like you. As a crewmate.”

You puff your cheeks out a bit with displeasure. “That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

“I’ll believe you if you look at me.”

“I am looking at you.”

“You’re looking at the headboard over my shoulder, Captain.”

His eyes flick to yours, and he turns an even more brilliant shade of scarlet. “I li–” His shoulders tense and he suddenly shoots up and turns away from you. “I can’t believe I’m arguing with you about this. You’re high off your ass. I bet you won’t even remember this when you wake up tomorrow.” You can see the tips of his ears burning as he gathers his things and prepares to leave.

“You’re gonna abandon me?”

“I have work to do!”

“I’m a patient, I am work!”

His voice is rising with frustration. “You’re already set up, what else is there to do?”

“I don’t know, Captain, I’m not the doctor here!” You try to raise your arm to reach out to him, only to let out a soft whine when you can barely move it.

“Please stop trying to use your broken bones.” He comes closer to gently hold your arm down, concern clear.

“It doesn’t feel broken.”

“It will soon.”

“You’re gonna let me hurt? On purpose? You’re so mean to me, Captain.”

He sighs. His thumb starts rubbing small circles onto your hand, though he doesn’t seem conscious of the action. “If I fix you up, do you promise not to do anything like that again?”

“No.”

The affectionate movements stop. “What?”

“I can’t promise that. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m strong, I can take a little pain.”

“But I don’t want you to.” You know you sound petulant and childish, but you can’t stop yourself. “I don’t want you to hurt at all, I don’t care if you can handle it. You shouldn’t have to.”

“So you should?”

“Yes.”

“That’s stupid.”

You huff. “You’re stupid.”

He can’t help but break into a rare laugh, a chuckle that rumbles through him and makes your heart skip a beat. He doesn’t seem to realize he’s lost himself until he looks up to see you staring at him, eyes wide and cheeks red, mouth slightly agape. “What?”

“I really like you, Captain.”

He grows horribly flustered, but for once he doesn’t pull away from you. He keeps looking you in the eye, even as every part of him screams to run and avoid his embarrassment. “You do?” His tone is heart-wrenchingly hopeful.

“I do. So, so much. You’re the most beautiful and wonderful person in the world.” You can feel your smile grow dopey and lovesick. “I’d take a million hits for you. A billion, even.”

“What if it’d make me happier if you didn’t take any hits at all?”

“Then I would say you shouldn’t have let me join your crew. Getting hit is part of the job. But that’s okay. You’re worth it.” You lean forward, begging him for a single touch, since you currently can’t lift your arms. You can feel your eyes drooping, but you fight to keep them open long enough to receive what you want.

He sighs, but you can see the affectionate smile creeping onto his face. “You’re insufferable,” he mutters, resting a hand against your cheek so tenderly you could weep. “Get some rest. I’ll fix you up in the morning.”

You hum as he uses his palm to gently push you back down, his other hand on your shoulders to recline you slightly. You’re fading fast, finally losing your fight with sleep, but before you go, you swear you feel the ghost of his lips against your forehead.

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece

#law x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #one piece x reader #law x you #law x y/n #trafalgar law #one piece

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pupyuj · 3 months ago

Text

→ “little things.” || ahn yujin x reader fic.

— being away from weeks too long from your girlfriend has led you into thinking all the horrible things about yourself that you thought you had shut down long ago, but of course yujin wouldn't let that slide...

word count: 6.3k.

dynamic: soft dom!ahn yujin x sub!reader.

warnings: hurt/comfort (emphasis on hurt...), angst, reader suffers a depressive episode, praises, reassurance, cunnilingus, fingering.

requested?: yes!

a/n: 2/4 requested fics done! we're almost there! i hope the anon that requested this months ago is still lurking around to read this, and i hope they're in a better place now as they told me that this request came to be because of their struggles ;~; anon, please know that you are loved by a lot of people no matter what you may think of yourself ❤️‍🩹 i hope you all will love this fic as much as i loved writing it 💞 definitely hit a little close to home 😆

your girlfriend loved you more than it was humanly possible to love another person, but you were somehow convinced that she didn’t.

because how could she? she’s ahn yujin—a top-class idol, a beloved entertainer widely known throughout the country and even the damn world! she’s the leader of one of south korea’s best girl groups in history, she’s so famous that her face is plastered all over billboards, ads, articles, posters, screens… ahn yujin was a real treasure. and you? a mere secretary in a moderately famous game company. it was the real workings of fate that made you and yujin meet right outside of your company building where you were crying at the bottom of the stairs that led to the entrance doors after receiving yet another senseless sermon from your boss. yujin just so happened to be walking her precious dog in the area and was kind enough to waste her time comforting a stranger.

though at the time, you hadn’t known it was yujin due to her being disguised as a random passerby. that was until she took off her hat, face mask, and colored hair extensions that you finally realized where you’d seen those cute dimples before—the tv screens. you didn’t make a big fuss out of being face to face with a literal golden celebrity, and yujin appreciated that a lot. so much so that she opted to stay with you on the concrete until she was able to lift your spirits. of course the two of you said your goodbyes, but both of you knew in your hearts that you would meet again someday.

and that proved to be true merely three weeks later; when all six members of ive, as well as their staff members, graced the conference room in a meeting for a collaboration with one of your company’s most popular games. you and yujin stared at each other with soft smiles and loudly-beating hearts—it was the start of a warm friendship, and an even warmer relationship when yujin finally got the guts to ask you out on a date after having been friends and colleagues for a year.

now, in your sixth year as a couple, you should be happier than ever. you’ve created the most euphoric of memories with yujin, shared the loveliest of promise rings, kissed the best of kisses, and you’ve even sworn to each other that when things calm down on yujin’s end then the two of you would settle in together, live in the same house, and eventually, if fate allows it so, get married. it all had been exciting, of course. you knew that yujin was the love of your life and that you would be the luckiest girl in the world to be her wife, but there has always been this tiny little voice in your mucked-up brain that is always telling you things you didn’t want to be true… and yet they might be.

that you might not be enough for yujin.

that you’re nothing but a problem to yujin.

that somebody else was better for yujin.

that you are not at all loved by yujin.

for a while, you blocked this voice out because not only did yujin make sure that you know that she loves you, she made you feel it. whether it was from her kisses, her touch, her thoughtful gifts, the meals she cooked for you, the late night drives she always takes you on every other friday, and even from the way she simply looked at you; you could feel every single drop of the love she held for you, and there was a lot. however, you hadn’t been able to shake the voice off for a while now and it didn’t help that you and yujin hadn’t seen each other for quite some time due to both of you being abnormally busy.

you always hated doubting yujin, but it wasn’t your fault. between the weeks you’ve been apart, the less-than-thirty-minutes calls on yujin’s breaks, and every text where yujin tells you that she can’t spend the night with you, it was easy to believe that she might be pulling away. something you hated even more than doubting your girlfriend is asking yourself the ‘what if?’ questions: “what if i’m bothering her?”, “what if i’m distracting her?”, “what if she’s come to hate me?”, “what if she met someone else?”, and the worst of it all, “what if she’s falling out of love?”

ridiculous and stupid to think about, let alone even entertain the thought. but that damn voice…

that damn voice has led you to barely eating breakfast before you left for work today. it led you to perform your tasks poorly at work, but you were lucky that your new boss (the old one, the asshole, was fired a few years ago for verbally abusing his employees) was understanding and kind and let it all slide. it led you to skipping lunch completely, making you work for nine hours straight with barely any breaks. it led you to collapsing on your bed after you’d gotten home, sobbing pathetically into your pillow when you realized that yujin hasn’t sent you a single text today at all.

shit, what if the voice was right?

you fell asleep in your bed crying that night, in your work clothes and all. you had a dreamless sleep, but it wasn’t the kind of dreamless that was comforting or funny in a way you could make fun of it for being nothing. it was the kind that weighed heavily in your heart when you woke up and didn’t see your girlfriend snoring right beside you. and not even in your dreams did you get a chance to see her. how cruel.

you could barely get yourself to stand up and make a small breakfast—you knew yujin wouldn’t like it if she caught you skipping your meals. and right after that, you dragged your feet in the bathroom and had the saddest shower of your life. at least you didn’t have to cry all that much in there. it was pure silence from your end, with only the sound of the water running and the faint noises of the television in your room accompanying you while you washed yourself. you couldn’t remember the last time you had taken a shower with your girlfriend, it was always one of your favorite things to do with her but only because you liked the way she would insist on washing your hair and how she would smile so brightly when you agreed.

ah, great. now you miss her even more.

you couldn’t bring yourself to do much after that shower. you bundled yourself up with blankets and stared blankly at the television, waiting until another day without yujin passes. much to your annoyance, time was moving a lot slower than usual. as if the universe wanted to shove it in your face that you’re spending all this time alone. you think your phone buzzed a few times, but you didn’t even have the energy to turn your head and look at it. instead, your mind wanders to the possibility that it was anyone but yujin that was trying to contact you, and that just made your heart waver.

you let yourself wallow in your own sadness in the darkness of your room, crying softly and quietly. maybe if you disappear underneath all of your pillows and blankets then yujin will finally forget about you. would she say “good riddance”? you hated that thought, but you wouldn’t blame yujin if that was how she felt. soon enough, you’ve completely lost your sense of time. your eyes hurt from crying, your head throbbed with so much pain that you wanted to get medicine just to get it to shut up but you couldn’t be bothered to move an inch from where you were, and your entire body aches from having been in the same position for hours.

you begged the earth to swallow you whole, but not before erasing the memory of your existence from everyone’s minds completely just to spare yujin the pain of losing someone she loves. loved.

it was getting hard to keep your eyes open, especially when all you’ve been doing was cry your heart out. despite everything, you were afraid of what your fragile mind would do once you wake up without yujin by your side again. she never even liked it when you got something as small as a papercut. you can’t imagine how she would react if…

god, what were you thinking? how did you get here? is this really going to be your life whenever yujin wasn’t around to help you keep your demons at bay? you are stronger than this. you know that better than anyone. better than what they all give you credit for. get up. you repeated those two words like a prayer in your head until your body cooperated with you—sitting up and leaning your back against the headboard. good job. you took that untouched glass of water from the night table and took one big sip. that’s even better. small steps for others, but very big for you. it was enough for you to decide to not allow your mind to wander and focus on something. you wouldn’t feel any better (it was never that quick), but at least you wouldn’t be thinking about such horrible things.

and when you started getting lost in the cooking show that was playing on the television, it was impossible for you to hear the door to your dingy apartment creak open.

ahn yujin was home. finally. she could drop to her knees and cry right at your adorable ‘welcome’ mat by the door. your scent was all over your apartment and it was enough to immediately relieve the young celebrity of all of her worries and stress. she had been hoping to find you scuttling about in your kitchen since you loved reading your cookbooks there and checking if you had the correct ingredients for a dish or dessert you want to whip up impulsively, and as soon as yujin spotted you, she would’ve jumped into your arms and kiss you until you were sick of her lips on your skin. she missed you so much and all she wanted to do was be with you and celebrate the collection of good news that she has for you… but even before seeing pretty much all the lights in your apartment turned off, yujin knew something was horribly wrong.

yujin had been busy the whole day. from filming for variety shows, brand photoshoots, and magazine interviews, she didn’t have much time to do anything else. she had all the energy for it though but not because she just so happened to love her job, but she also knew that after all of it was over, she could finally go home to the love of all her lives and do everything she has been wanting to do with her without interruptions. as soon as she changed out of her work clothes and got her makeup off, yujin texted you. she told you she missed you, asked you to get ready ahead of time because she was going to pick you up and take you out on a short drive around the city before sitting down for a romantic dinner with a breathtaking view of the sunset in her friend’s fancy restaurant.

but you never replied to her messages. you didn’t even see them. that was the first sign and truthfully, it was all yujin needed to know. yujin knew you wouldn’t be doing much today so surely you would have at least tried to look at her messages even if you were occupied with something. rather than getting pouty about it, yujin was instead really worried. what if you were angry with her because she hasn’t been with you for so long? she couldn’t imagine someone so mature like you would get mad at something she can’t control and you have been apart from each other like this before and there weren’t any problems then! but… maybe that was just what you made it look like so yujin wouldn’t have to lose her head thinking about your well-being.

which would be insane, by the way. yujin believes that she isn’t the smartest person alive, but she should know when the woman closest to her heart is having a hard time. she should… and somehow she managed to not. yujin stands frozen in the cold kitchen, realizing that all this time, you were probably just putting up a strong front for her. and every day she was gone, you were dealing with things she should’ve been helping you with instead of just leaving it all for until she comes back home to you. fuck.

panic rises in yujin when she doesn’t see the lights turned on in the vacant bedroom either. if you weren’t trying to cook or waiting for yujin in the living room while getting some reading done, you would be in that bedroom working. so now yujin knows that you were holed up in your bedroom, and that alone was enough to send her running all the way to the other side of your small apartment, ready to burst through your door… until she gets a hold of herself. she prayed to the gods that you were okay, and that you were unharmed. she could hear the faint, muffled sounds of your favorite cooking show inside but you weren’t laughing.

an eerily silent (y/n) was never a good sign. slowly, yujin turned the knob and opened the door. she finds her heart breaking in two when she sees you curled up in your bed. you were barely even watching the show. between the half empty glass of water in the night table, your dirty work clothes in disarray on the carpeted floor, your adorable and fluffy panda indoor slippers haphazardly shoved underneath your bed, and the fucking pitiful state that you were in, it didn’t take yujin a split second to even know that it was definitely one of those days for you… but so much worse than what she was used to seeing.

“(y/n), honey…?”

yujin doesn’t wait for a response. she sits on the small empty spot beside you as you weakly and slowly turn around to face her. you looked exhausted. your eyes were red, puffy, and half-lidded which yujin assumes were from crying. she hated that she hadn’t been with you throughout all of this, as in at all. when she was gone, she could barely message and call you and even when she got home, she would still be occupied with something work-related or she would be too exhausted to do anything else. she needed to make it up to you. she has to. starting now.

“i’m home,” yujin brushes your hair away from your face. she leans down and gives you a kiss on the forehead, and she stays still for a few seconds to truly savor the moment of being back in your presence after such a long time. she felt safe, she was at peace. away from the cameras, the lights, and the fake smiles. now she has to return the favor. “i’m sorry i took so long…” yujin lays in bed with you, taking your figure into her arms and allowing you to melt into her after weeks too long. yujin fully expected you to cry and break down, and she truly would have just let you while pouring all of her love to you… but you were damn near silent.

there was no way you were angry. if you were, you wouldn’t even hug yujin nor would you let her come near you at all. you nestled your face comfortably on her chest, holding her like you don’t even want her to think of going anywhere else. not even a few minutes since yujin joined you and the two of you were already a mess of tangled limbs in your bed due to how close you held onto her—it was enough proof of just how much you missed her. if it hadn’t been for the fact that the television was on, yujin wouldn’t have been able to see the deep solemn look in your eyes as you looked up at her. the silence weighed heavily in the air; both of you had things to say to each other but there was so much that neither of you knew where to start.

however, now that she was in your arms, you had no problem just going back to hiding your face in the crook of her neck and just appreciating how you didn’t have to go even longer without her. yujin didn’t dare to complain, of course. whatever you thought you needed, she would happily give you and if silently cuddling was just that, then so be it. you stayed like that for a whole half hour, only occasionally raising your head to look at yujin as if not looking at her for too long would make her disappear suddenly. but no, yujin has been away from you for too long that at this point she doesn’t even want to leave your side ever again.

“i thought you’d forget about me.”

you spoke so suddenly and that yujin thought she must’ve imagined it. she feels you clutch her shirt tightly, and what she doesn’t know is that you were fighting back your tears. you wanted to celebrate having your girlfriend back, of course, but your sadness managed to beat your delight for once. this time, you couldn’t stop your fears from showing and as much as you didn’t want yujin to lose her head comforting you, you also just needed her to tell you that it was all going to be okay.

meanwhile, yujin couldn’t believe what she was hearing. she hoped that you wouldn’t take her silence the wrong way; she was only processing your question in her head to make sure that did hear it correctly. forget you?

“that’s impossible. why would i?” she was quite offended by the question, actually. but that was something she’ll make fun of another day.

“i thought that perhaps being around other successful, accomplished people could wake you up and make you see that… that i’m worthless compared to all of them,” you refused to meet yujin’s eyes as you spoke. you knew you would just break into tears and nothing would be solved. “that’s what everybody used to say… remember? during the first few months after our relationship got leaked to the public. a ‘normie’ dating ahn yujin… i was afraid you’d start to think that way too after being gone for so long.”

that indeed was quite the dark time. yujin fought tooth and nail to tell everyone that you were worthy of her and if anything, she was the lucky one in this relationship because you’re so perfect in her eyes. she got scolded by her management for being unprofessional when she got worked up on live television about it all but it was worth it making those rude entertainers shut up and avoid her gaze for the rest of filming. not one person dared to speak ill about you around yujin ever again after that, not even in online articles and gossip sites! especially after they saw how inexplicably happy she was to be with you.

yujin thought you could see that, too. she smiled the biggest when she was with you, laughed the loudest, and shined the brightest too. so hearing you say all of this… well, to say that yujin was in disbelief would be an understatement.

“(y/n)... you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. what more could i ask for than meeting and falling in love with the most amazing girl in the world?” yujin hoped that this would be enough to ease your worries enough that you could finally look her in the eye, but instead you let go of her and rolled to your other side—away from her. any other day those words would’ve been enough to make you smile and tease yujin for being such a cornball despite the seriousness of the situation… but today, you cried instead.

yujin, however, doesn’t miss a beat. she wraps her arms around your waist and kisses your shoulder, “i love you. no matter what you think—i love you.” she spoke every word with conviction. her tone strong enough for you to not only accept her words but absorb it in every fiber of your being. yujin holds you tightly as you cried in her arms, whispering words of affirmation here and there while also peppering your shoulders, neck, and ear with her soft kisses. she wouldn’t even care if this was what the two of you did for the rest of the day, just as long as she gets to see you smile and be yourself again.

for yujin, that was when you were the most beautiful—being happy and unapologetically you.

neither of you bothered to keep track of how long you were in that position, but you did eventually stop crying. the television kept on playing its shows, the sun had started to set outside your closed blinds, and yujin was finally starting to feel all the work she’d done in the day catch up to her body. she had assumed that you’ve fallen asleep with how quiet and still you’ve gotten… but then you finally faced her again. this time, you were staring right in her eyes. and as if this was the first time you’ve done it, yujin’s heart skips a beat.

“i missed you so much… i couldn’t spend another day without you.” you told her in a weak, raspy voice.

yujin smiles, “me too. i’m so happy i get to be here, finally...” she tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. she takes her time to get familiar with your features once again, all while unknowingly leaning closer and closer to you. you close your eyes, waiting for what you have been needing for the longest time, until yujin gets a hold of her senses and finally puts her lips on yours. it might have been the softest kiss you’ve shared with her as yujin was careful with the way her lips moved against yours. but even a kiss as heavenly as this was enough to fill your heart with flowers… so when yujin slowly makes her way on top of you whilst her kisses get hungrier, your stomach was a storm of butterflies.

you started to unbutton her loose casual dress shirt, an act that mildly upset you since yujin looked so handsome in it… but she looked better with it off, and you needed to feel her skin on yours. once you’ve dropped the shirt on the floor beside your bed, your hands glide down yujin’s back with your heart beating erratically at the feeling of her muscles beneath your fingertips. yujin slots a knee in between your legs and thank goodness for that actually—the buzz in your core was not going to go away by itself, after all.

yujin’s lips were now on your neck, eager to leave a mark on every inch of your skin tht was visible while pressing her knee against your clothed pussy. you moaned, your pretty voice making yujin’s ears tingle and raising her excitement enough to slide a hand inside your shirt and cup your bare boob. you started to slowly grind against her knee, sighing blissfully at the feeling. you weren’t a big fan of… playing with yourself to satisfy your needs if yujin just so happened to be gone. her hands always knew you so much better than you did yourself. because not only did she know your heart, but she knew your body too. knew exactly which spots to hit, which part of your skin to suck on to get the most noises out of you, and how you like it all best.

when you moan again after yujin brushes a finger across your hardened nipple, she raises her head with fear in her irises. “t-this… probably isn’t the right time for this, isn’t it? god… i’m sorry, baby, i-i went overboard… i just wanted to kiss you but… i couldn’t resist touching you too…” yujin says with those adorable puppy eyes. always have to be such a gentlewoman, this one. it was one of your main reasons for falling in love with her as that aspect of her made her so much more charming in your eyes.

as soon as you feel her moving her hand away, you stop her. “this is the perfect time, hon. i missed you… and right now, all i want is your hands on me.” you trap her knee in between your legs and press harder against it, showing yujin just how much you wanted her to touch you.

yujin was still uncertain about it all, however. “a-are you sure? we don’t have to if you’re not feeling we—”

“yujin,” you said sternly. you took her face in your hands and kissed her nose, finally smiling at her. yujin feels her heart making a mess inside her ribcage. “believe me. i’m sure.” after six whole years of dating, you still manage to make it feel like she was falling in love at first sight all over again. you’ve both grown as people since your little meet-cute, of course, but to yujin, you will always be that beautiful girl on the steps of that dingy building with the prettiest pair of eyes yujin has ever seen. and so with your confirmation, yujin was no longer hesitant to grab the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head.

she was touching you in a way that reminded you of your first intimate night together all those years ago. nervous touches, and even more nervous kisses. even the way yujin was adamant to take things as slowly and steadily as possible was the same. you didn’t complain, though. as much as you wanted your girlfriend to get it going already, you also wanted to savor this moment and make the night last. judging by how yujin hasn’t told you any devastating news about her schedule staying busy yet, you figured that the two of you now have all the time in the world to be together… so hell, why not take your time?

yujin places her hands on your hips as she sits up, opting to stare at you and ogle at your perfect body for seconds too long. she was just as desperate to feel you as you were desperate for her to show you how much she missed you, but her disciplined hands kept her from doing anything too rash. it was adorable—how glaringly obvious it was that yujin just wanted to rip your clothes off and take you however she wants to, but being the sweetheart she is, she acts according to your wants and needs. she then went on to unbutton and unzip your jean shorts, but she doesn’t pull it off of you. she slides her hand underneath the waistband of your panties and moans at the feeling of your bare cunt on her fingers.

“mmhn… i missed touching you… you have no idea how many times i wanted to walk out of a set to go home to you, and listen to something so much more pleasant than a director telling me how to do my job,” yujin parts your lips with two of her fingers and uses a third to slowly feel up your slit. you were drenched already. obviously you’ve wanted this for such a long time that no one can blame you for getting wet so easily. “do you know what that is, darling?” yujin asks. she lowers herself to your chest and gives your nipple a scrutinizingly slow lick before catching it in her warm mouth.

you were too focused on the feeling to answer her question. your hand digs through yujin’s hair, gripping it and pushing her head closer while simultaneously grinding your hips faster on her hand. yujin dips two fingers inside of your pussy but stops there, opening her eyes and letting go of your nipple, “your voice. let me hear you.” she finally shoves both fingers inside your cunt, relishing in the way you arched your back and allowed your beautiful voice to invade her ears.

you were tight around her fingers, as always. it was just how yujin liked it. something about how her fingers can’t always move in and out smoothly because your walls loved to just suck her in always made her embarrassingly wet. her next favorite thing was watching you as she fucked you; your pretty face making all sorts of expressions at every thrust and every brush of her thumb against your clit just scratched the right parts in yujin’s brain. she can’t help but want more, and more she will certainly take. yujin feels horrible about not being there enough for you during such a hard time… she should’ve figured that leaving you alone with barely anything to distract you would’ve hurt you the way it did.

“i should’ve called more… i should’ve ignored all the risks of my manager nagging at me and visited you, even just for a short while…” yujin peppers your chest with kisses as her pace increases. you couldn’t even be bothered to say anything to her—not when you were overwhelmed with how good she filled you up with only two fingers. every time her palm slammed against your wrist with how hard she was fucking you now, all the embarrassing whines and moans you tried holding back were free to be heard… but it turns out that yujin loved it all so much so there was nothing to be shy about at all.

so you stopped being self-conscious about it all, allowing all of the sinful noises to come out of your mouth just as yujin liked it. while you were busy getting lost in the pleasure, yujin had lowered herself enough to be kissing your stomach. pure desire radiated from her dark eyes, and you didn’t even notice that she had pulled off both your shorts and panties from your body until you could feel her hot breath fanning against your pussy. she pulls her fingers out, but quickly replaces the void inside you with her tongue. she knew that you were the weakest when she used her mouth on you so she was quick to intertwine your fingers to keep you grounded and focused on all of the feelings she was giving you without being too overwhelmed by it all.

“ahh.. mmn… you must’ve missed this too, huh, baby?” yujin opens her eyes and looks up at you with a grin. you were already making quite the mess on her face, but really, that wasn’t entirely your fault. yujin liked it messy, and if she could, she would make you cum to the point of showering herself in your juices but she wanted to take it easy tonight. for you, of course. between you covering your face with your arm, your chest heaving up and down from you taking deep breaths, and your grip on yujin’s hand getting tighter by the second, it was all enough for yujin to keep doing what she does best.

she ate you out like it was her first and last time, too. humming and moaning in approval while she was either deep inside your walls with her tongue or as she sucked on your sensitive clit. the latter action made your legs shake and grab yujin’s hair, not caring about her seeing all the faces you were going to make the longer she went about using her tongue on the hard bud. she put one hand on your inner thigh and pushed it back, opening your legs up even more for an easier time and actually ending up digging her nails on your skin with how hard you were gripping her scalp. she liked the pain and you were going crazy over the pleasure she gave you; it was a win-win!

every time you whined her name, it only adds to yujin’s ever-growing need to give you the best orgasm you’ve had in a while. or even ever. “god… you’re so fucking pretty. i must’ve… heh.. saved the fucking planet in another life or something… or else it doesn’t make sense how i just so happened to meet a goddess in this lifetime…” yujin smiles at you as she says this, giggling at how you blushed wildly and looked away. yujin believed in her heart that you were the most beautiful girl she would ever meet in her life—you just happened to be too humble to accept the alleged ‘facts’ that your lovely girlfriend believed.

deciding that you probably can’t take anymore teasing, yujin presses her thumb on your clit and pushes her tongue back inside you. she proceeds on rubbing your clit harshly, wincing slightly as you were starting to hurt her with your nails on her scalp. the noises that you released gave yujin nothing short of ecstasy, only encouraging her to be better, go deeper, until you finally, finally let go of yourself on her tongue. delicious. yujin keeps her lips on your pussy as you cum, slurping up your juices as best as she can, yet never having enough to actually get herself to stop.

it was a few minutes after you’ve come down from your high and yujin was giving your exhausted cunt the tiniest of licks that she heard something new. something she hadn’t heard before when the two of you got intimate like this. she missed a few others as the sound of her sucking up your wetness with so much hunger and desperation toppled over literally every other noise, but yujin was sure that she didn’t mistake that noise when she did finally hear it. a soft, tiny sob… coming from you.

you’ve been crying, and yujin had been unaware. “oh, no… i’m so sorry, honey. i-i didn’t think—did i hurt you?” yujin immediately takes you in her arms, remembering that it was the place where you felt safest. she immediately regretted going overboard when she did. how could she forget that you weren’t in the right state of mind to entertain her gimmicks? fuck, she felt beyond heartbroken to be the cause of your tears right now when she was supposed to be the very person that made them go away.

“no… no, i’m okay,” you said in tears. once you looked at yujin whose cute face was all scrunched up with worry, you ended up laughing. yujin was so confused. “i promise. you didn’t hurt me, yujin-ah.” you squeezed her shoulder and giggled even more, making yujin laugh in return but in a more… nervous and uncertain way.

“w-wha… are you sure? why are you crying then?” yujin couldn’t help her smile and hug you, rocking you back and forth out of relief. how could yujin ever hurt you, anyway? you knew in your heart that she wasn’t capable of any of that, ever.

“i don’t know… but i’m alright, i swear.” you reached up and kissed her nose. giggles erupt from the two of you when yujin starts attacking your face with kisses—it was all part of her master plan to hear more of your laugh, of course. one of the biggest things she has been missing throughout the weeks she was away.

eventually, the two of you merely laid still on your bed in each other’s arms once again, staring blankly at the television. you’ve started to feel sleepy too since you did spend a lot of the day crying, and now yujin was threading your soft locks after she fucked you so good that you ended up crying! no wonder you were drowsy. you found yourself laying on top of your girlfriend’s chest, fighting back sleep by blinking it all away and opting to stare at yujin’s face instead. every time she asked you a question (“do you need water?”, “are you cold?”, “should we take a shower together?”) you replied with a lazy hum and weak shake of your head, neither accepting or denying whatever she offered you.

“you look tired, hon… you can take a nap. when you wake up, i’ll either have cooked you dinner or… um, i’ll have ordered our favorite take-out! how do you feel about japanese food tonight?” yujin asks. you hum again, but refuse to fully close your eyes. you opened them every few seconds, seemingly checking if yujin was still there every time you did. of course, yujin notices your intent and pinches your cheek. “i’ll be right here when you wake up. don’t worry.” yujin plants a sweet kiss on your forehead.

“mm… promise?” you pouted. gosh, you were far too cute for yujin’s weak heart.

“of course. we won’t have to worry about running out of time for a while.” yujin pulls a soft, thick blanket over your body and smiles as you immediately start drifting off. she kisses your forehead again, feeling a sudden surge of pure love washing over her as the feeling of having you sleep in her arms again was… home. yujin’s smile widened when she remembered just what she intended to surprise you with if you had seen her message and went with her to that romantic dinner with the sunset.

it was a surprise that she would have to wait another day to unveil—a surprise that came in the form of a breathtaking diamond ring that would’ve completed the beautiful picture that is your love story.

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ginnsbaker · 5 months ago

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fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (15/?)

Part Summary: You and Leigh go on your first date, and nothing goes as planned.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 10.700+ | Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Smut | Author's note: The date chapter is finally here! It's basically Leigh and R getting to know each other. But beware of the tags ;) Thank you for being so patient! Please enjoy :) Only one or two more chapters to go!

Your mouth forms a perfect ‘O’ as you come, Leigh's fingers moving deftly down your jeans. She is entranced by the sight of you falling apart in her hands, torn between kissing you and watching as you ride the final waves of your orgasm.

The moment she opened the front door and saw you, she couldn't resist. You’re dressed in a loose white button-down shirt, open at the chest to reveal the collarbones she recently discovered she’s so fond of. The sleeves are rolled up to your elbows, and your boot-cut jeans fit perfectly, accentuating all the right places, especially at the back. The subtle scent of your perfume, sweet and intoxicating like chocolate, drifted across the room, pulling her closer. Without a second thought, she grabbed you by the collar, kissing you deeply as she pulled you into the kitchen.

“You're so beautiful,” Leigh whispers, her breath hot against your ear. Her eyes are locked onto your face, mesmerized.

You gasp, your body tensing as you reach the peak. “Leigh, please” you breathe out, shifting uncomfortably. The tight confines of your jeans restrict your movement. Sure, they make your figure look fantastic, but at moments like this, you question if it's really worth it.

Leigh's lips hover just above yours, her fingers still working their magic. “I can't decide,” she murmurs, her voice low and husky.

“Decide what?” you ask, your voice quivering.

“Whether I want to kiss you or keep watching you like this,” she replies, her eyes dark with desire.

Your hands find their way to her shoulders, pulling her closer. “Both,” you whisper. “Do both.”

As you both recover, you adjust your clothes, tucking your blouse back into the waistband of your pants. Still catching your breath, you glance at Leigh, who is already rinsing her fingers under the running water of the sink.

“What was that for?” you ask, your voice still a bit breathless.

Leigh grins, glancing over her shoulder at you. “Payback for last week.”

She moves around the espresso machine, then says, “By the way, I'm really sorry,” as if she hadn’t been driving you to an intense climax just minutes ago. “I can’t believe I overslept.”

You lean casually against the counter, your legs still weak from coming so hard, thoroughly entertained by her stream of apologies and quietly thrilled that she cares so much. The bagels you brought—laden with lox and a thick layer of cream cheese—wait patiently between you.

“It’s really okay,” you say, watching her make a fuss. Catching her hand as she goes for another apology, you squeeze it gently. “You… more than made up for it.”

She has the good grace to blush, a soft smile breaking through her earlier fretfulness. “Thanks for waiting,” he says, her voice still a little hoarse and, somehow, even more beguiling. “I’ve been looking forward to today. I guess last night just took more out of me than I thought.”

“You don’t say,” you tease lightly, observing the casual disarray of her hair and the relaxed hang of her clothes—it’s Leigh unplugged, and you’re increasingly fond of this version.

Leigh's eyes shift to the side, landing on the two take-out lattes you had bought earlier, now sitting forlornly on the counter. She grimaces slightly as she realizes they've gone cold—leftovers from your long wait outside her house, where it hasn’t stopped raining.

“Oh, you brought coffee too,” she husks out. “And I made you wait…”

“Yeah, I might have been a bit optimistic about the timing,” you say.

Leigh gives you a long, scrutinizing look, clearly baffled by your patience.

“I don’t get it,” she says, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Get what?”

“It’s just—I’m clumsy, you know? I forget things. I’m always late to appointments. I keep expecting you to realize how dysfunctional I am and run off,” she jokes, though her eyes tell a different story. The coffee maker gurgles, signaling that the brew is ready. She moves to pour the coffee, her shoulders tense, hesitating before speaking again. “But you don’t. You just... stay. And I don’t understand why.”

You watch her pour the coffee, the steam rising in soft curls. “I stay because I love you, Leigh,” you say simply. You’ve told her that three—maybe four—times now. Not that you’re counting, but each time it gets a little easier to say. And you hope, for her, it gets a little easier to hear.

She hasn't said it back, and while you’re unsure if she feels the same, you know she cares—maybe not enough to utter those three words yet, but enough to be here now. Her accepting this date, spending this day with you, it’s a concession you wouldn’t trade for the world.

Leigh's gaze flickers, eyes widening a touch, lips parting as though words are on the brink of breaking free. You hold your breath, waiting for whatever she might reveal. But then, she blinks—like she's snapping back from a distant thought—and quietly turns to pour another cup, her glance drifting off as she collects herself.

She hands you a steaming mug, her fingertips brushing yours. You take it from her carefully, feeling the warmth seep through your fingers, spreading a comforting heat up your arms.

“Thanks,” you say, your voice low, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth as you take a slow sip.

Leigh watches you over her own cup, her eyelashes casting long shadows on her cheeks as she takes a tentative sip. Words have the power to bring things into being, and for Leigh, speaking things into existence feels like an indelible commitment—a promise carved into stone.

But maybe some things are beloved even before they ever take shape.

After breakfast, you both head to The Beautiful Beast to drop off Logan. Jules is happy to take care of him, as the house is empty with Amy away on a trip with friends. With Logan settled, you and Leigh head to the art exhibit you had tickets for.

Inside the exhibit, you find yourselves packed tightly among the throngs of people. The crowd presses in, and while the vivid artwork is a distraction, the constricted room makes it tough to fully enjoy the pieces. Far from the tech hubs and arts districts, the local community jumps at anything that breaks the monotony of their usual scene. Moreover, today’s rain has chased everyone indoors, turning this rare cultural event into a magnet for locals starved for something different. With the parks soggy and deserted, people had the choice between shopping malls or here.

As you and Leigh wade through the crowded gallery, people jostle for space, elbows occasionally colliding with your sides as they vie for a better view of the vibrant installations. Suddenly, a passerby brushes against you, nearly pulling you away from Leigh. Instinctively, you snatch her hand, holding fast for dear life. In the confusion, unsuspecting of the sudden tug, Leigh loses her footing. Her thick heel comes down hard on your foot, and you yelp in pain. Tears spring to your eyes, and you try to hold back a cry, but the pain is sharp and persistent.

“Sorry, sorry!” Leigh's cheeks flush with mortification as she quickly steps back. “Are you okay?”

Trying to brush it off with a grimace that's more a wince, you manage a weak smile.

“I'll live,” you say, half-joking, even as you gingerly test your foot. “But I think that was my cue to start wearing steel-toed boots around you.”

Despite herself, Leigh chuckles. “I'm really sorry,” she laments, reaching out to gently squeeze your arm. “Let's find a place to sit, okay?”

You cautiously try a step, hopeful but hesitant. The sharp pain bites, making you flinch, and you end up limping. Immediately, Leigh slips her arm around your waist to stabilize you.

“Let's find someone to help you get to a first-aid station,” she suggests, eyeing your gait with concern.

“But the exhibit?” you protest weakly, looking longingly back at the art you were both eager to see.

Leigh gives you a wry smile. “I'm more worried they might have to amputate your foot,” she jokes, successfully coaxing a laugh out of you. Yet, as you chuckle, you wince again, putting weight on your foot without thinking.

Noticing your discomfort, Leigh guides you gently towards the front of the gallery. Soon, you're at the information booth, where a helpful attendant offers you an ice pack and points you to a bench near the entrance. As you try to get comfortable on the small bench, you struggle to keep the ice pack properly positioned on your foot, repeatedly bending down in an awkward dance of readjustment.

“Here, just put your foot on my lap,” she suggests, patting her lap lightly.

You start to object, not wanting to impose, but before you can finish your sentence, Leigh decisively grabs your leg and guides it onto her lap. She starts massaging the sole of your foot while holding the ice pack firmly against the swollen area. It's a simple, caring gesture, and you can't help but watch Leigh as she focuses on making you feel better.

When she looks up and catches you staring, she smirks. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You shake your head slightly, a small smile playing on your lips. “I just didn't think we'd end up back here, and we haven't even seen a third of the art yet,” you say.

Leigh laughs softly. “It's okay, the exhibits weren't all that impressive anyway,” she says. “Besides, I was starting to feel claustrophobic there.”

A twinge of disappointment pulls at you. You’d been excited about the exhibit, about sharing something you thought would be cool and sophisticated. With your foot throbbing and Leigh’s less-than-enthused review, the day feels like it’s stumbled right out of the gate.

Leigh notices your sudden quiet and nudges you gently. “What's wrong?”

“I just thought you’d be into this. I was almost entirely sure,” you say, avoiding her gaze.

“I am,” Leigh says, still holding your foot. “I love exhibits, but right now, my top priority is spending time with you.”

You blush at that. “We are spending time—”

She cuts you off with a small laugh. “I mean, like, actually talking. It’s hard to have a conversation when we’re constantly moving and trying to look at everything.”

You mull that over, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

A comfortable silence settles between you, the kind that feels more like understanding than emptiness. Then, out of the blue, Leigh asks, “So, how did you end up being an animal doctor?”

You’re startled by her sudden question, but it’s a welcome distraction from your foot and the disappointing exhibit.

“It’s a bit of a long story,” you start.

“I’ve got time,” she says with a smirk.

You take a deep breath and lean back on the bench, feeling more comfortable as your leg rests on Leigh’s lap. Her foot massage is so soothing, it’s almost putting you into a sleepy state.

“Well, I always loved animals. My parents used to joke that I’d bring home every stray if I could. But it wasn’t until I volunteered at a local shelter in high school that I realized it was what I wanted to do with my life.”

Leigh tilts her head and smiles. “That’s sweet. What was it about the shelter that made you decide?”

“It was this one dog,” you say, your voice catching and your eyes getting misty. “A scrappy little terrier mix named Max. He’d been through so much, but he still had so much love to give. Helping him heal and find a forever home—it just clicked. That’s when I knew I wanted to help as many animals as I could.”

Leigh looks at you with a kind of awe, as if something beautiful is unfolding before her eyes. “That’s amazing. I love that you found your calling through something so meaningful.”

You shrug, feeling a bit bashful under her stare. “What about you? When did you know you wanted to be a writer?”

She laughs, a light, airy sound that makes you grin from ear to ear. You could listen to it forever.

“Oh, I’ve always known,” she says. “Actually, I was always writing in my diary as a kid. I'd write about my day, things I enjoyed, pretty much anything that came to mind. I loved reading pocket books, too, and I even tried my hand at writing fiction once or twice.

“But I quickly discovered that fiction wasn't really my thing. I loved writing, though—just the act of putting words on paper, sharing my thoughts and experiences. It felt natural, like breathing.

“And even though I wasn't making up fictional characters and places,” Leigh continues, “I realized I could still tell stories. They were my stories, rooted in the everyday things I observed and experienced. That was my niche, and I just ran with it.”

“Did you have a specific moment, like with Max?” you ask.

“Not really,” she says. “It’s just what I wanted to do, that’s all.”

You nod. “Knowing what you want to do or be saves a lot of time, doesn’t it?”

“I guess?” She smiles at your insight, then adds, “Though maybe in another life, I’d be a serious journalist. If I thought I had the natural knack or talent for it, maybe I would.”

You frown slightly at that, concerned by her self-doubt. “Why do you think you’re not good enough to be a ‘serious’ journalist now?”

Leigh looks surprised by your question, then thoughtful. “I don’t know. I guess I always see those roles as being for people who are more... intense, more investigative. But you’re right. Maybe it’s just a matter of believing I could.”

“You’re an amazing writer, Leigh,” you say earnestly. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

“How can you say that?” she asks, leaning in a bit closer. “Have you read any of my work apart from my tiny blurbs in the gossip column?”

You feel a blush warm your cheeks. “Well, I might have done a bit of Googling,” you confess, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly. “Your articles popped up, and I... may have read all of them.”

Her eyebrows lift, and she gives your foot a careful pinch. “Is that so?” she teases, her voice dropping lower. The blush spreads down your neck and chest. “And what did you think? Did they pass muster with our impromptu art critic here?”

“Honestly, I was blown away,” you say, looking her straight in the eye. “Your writing is intuitive, engaging. It pulled me right in. You've got this strong, clear voice that really comes through, even in the straightforward pieces.”

Leigh regards you for a moment longer than usual, as if trying to read the pages of a particularly dense novel—searching for the truth in your words. Then, as if finding what she was looking for, her features soften, the guarded lines around her eyes relaxing.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, her voice carrying a tender gravity. “That really means a lot to me.”

You beam up at her, blissfully unaware of the profound impact your praise has had on her appreciation of her own writing.

Before you can pick up the thread of your laid-back conversation again, a man who could easily double as an Instagram model approaches. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with a rogue lock of hair artfully obscuring one icy-blue eye. Both you and Leigh pause, taken aback by his sudden, striking presence, and an instinctive wariness settles in between you.

“Hey there. Are you okay?” he asks, hovering slightly, his focus solely on you, as if Leigh is merely a shadow on the wall.

“It's nothing, just a bit of swelling,” you say. You look up at him briefly and force a smile before focusing your attention back on Leigh. She's already staring down the stranger, as if trying to laser through his meticulously sculpted side-profile.

He presses on, “I could drive you to the hospital to get that checked out.”

You exchange a quick look with Leigh, catching the flash of irritation that crosses her face before she masks it with a polite smile.

“That’s very kind of you, but I'll be fine.”

Despite this, he doesn’t give up. “Really, it's no trouble at all. You shouldn't walk on that,” he says, pointing at your foot that’s clearly on someone else’s lap. This time, his gaze lingers a little too long for comfort.

Leigh gently lowers your foot from her lap and stands up, positioning herself between you and the persistent stranger. There's a considerable height difference between them—Leigh is notably shorter—but she doesn't seem intimidated in the slightest. Instead, she squares her shoulders and lifts her chin like she’s ten feet tall.

“Excuse me,” Leigh clears her throat. “We’re on a date here.”

The man blinks, surprised. “A date?” he echoes.

“Yes,” Leigh confirms, her smile now a thin line of resolve. “The kind where I kiss her goodnight after.”

You catch a few curious glances from nearby onlookers and feel a blush creeping up your neck. You duck your head, trying to shield yourself from their stares. More than anything, though, you're struck by Leigh's bold declaration to a near stranger—that she was going to kiss you by the end of this date.

Of course, you’re hoping she would, but hearing her say it out loud sends your stomach into a flutter of somersaults

His face registers the rebuff, and he nods awkwardly, stepping back. “Right, sorry,” he mutters before finally turning and walking away.

Leigh is heaving slightly, visibly tense, her back to you, and you gently take her hand to bring her focus back.

“Hey,” you mumble softly. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s not your fault,” Leigh says as she turns back to face you, her eyes now softer. You sense the tension easing from her as your fingers intertwine more firmly. “I’m sorry if—”

“Thank you,” you interrupt gently, wanting her to know her protectiveness was welcome. “I really appreciated that.”

She laughs, a sound of relief. “Okay, good. I didn’t want to come off too strong.”

You want to tell her that she does, that she's always been a force to be reckoned with. But you bite your lip, not wanting it to come across as criticism. You like this quality of hers, and you don’t want her to change anything about herself just because you're a completely different person with a different perspective.

She shuffles her feet, looking a bit unsure, then sits down beside you. “So... where were we?”

You smile at her. “I was saying how amazing you are as a writer.”

Leigh grins, her eyes lighting up. “Oh, right. Please, go on.”

You laugh, and the two of you spend the next hour in the art exhibit, talking about everything and nothing.

At 1pm, you and Leigh head out for a scenic drive to Santa Monica Beach.

A week ago, as soon as she agreed to this date, you booked a table at a beachside lobster joint that’s been trending locally for some time now. It seems like the perfect spot, with great reviews and a beautiful setting by the ocean. The drive is relaxed, the windows rolled down and the salty air filling the car, clearing away any last threads of the tension from earlier at the exhibit.

Leigh is in high spirits, chatting animatedly about books and laughing more freely than she has all day. At one point, you find yourselves discussing The Great Gatsby.

“I just don't get the hype,” you say, shaking your head as you keep your eyes on the road, though you're eager to dive into what promises to be an interesting debate. “I mean, the characters are all so shallow, and the story feels more like a soap opera than a classic.”

Leigh's expression brightens, excited to dispute your claim. “But that’s exactly why it’s a classic,” she counters, turning to face you and resting her head against her arm on the windshield. “Fitzgerald captured the Jazz Age perfectly—the decadence, the disillusionment, the elusive American Dream. It's all critiqued through some really beautiful writing.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “So you think the shallowness is the point?”

“Exactly,” she replies, smirking slightly. “Gatsby's obsession with Daisy, who represents everything he can't have, mirrors the era's obsession with wealth and status. It's tragic and a little ridiculous because it's supposed to be.”

You pretend to mull it over, though you know she has a point. You can feel her gaze on you, and you're starting to relish Leigh's undivided and very welcome attention. You drag out your response, just to see how she reacts. You think you catch her rolling her eyes out of the corner of your eye.

Chuckling, you say, “You’re making it hard to stick to my guns here.”

Her smirk widens into a proud smile. “Good! Maybe it’s time to surrender those guns.”

You flex your arm, showcasing your slim and completely unimpressive biceps. “Speaking of guns, maybe I should keep these instead,” you joke, giving Leigh a playful look.

Leigh makes a face. “Oh, please, keep those guns. They're definitely more persuasive than your take on Fitzgerald!” she teases.

You pout at her sarcastic comment about your physique, but your smile is good-natured. It's been a long time since you've felt this at ease—not just with Leigh, but with anyone else. You haven't enjoyed company like this in a while, not since...

Well, not since Matt.

After a while, you say, “Maybe I need to give it another read. You make it sound like a completely different book.”

Leigh shifts in her seat to face the long, winding road ahead. “We can read it together. Maybe you’ll catch some of the subtleties you missed the first time around,” she suggests.

You sneak a glance at her, catching her eyes just as she looks back at you, your dark brown eyes meeting her green ones. It's a bit ridiculous, but you find yourself wishing this drive would never end. The swelling in your foot stings with every press of the gas pedal, but somehow, it doesn't seem to matter.

“I’d love that.”

When you pull into the quaint parking lot of the restaurant, nestled right against the beach, you're greeted by stunning ocean views that truly live up to the hype. Inside, the nautical decor, complete with nets and life rings adorning the walls, is cliché yet undeniably still charming. The rain has subsided, but the beach remains unusually quiet, lacking the usual crowds that gather when the sun is out.

As you settle into a table with a view of the beach, it feels like the right kind of perfect until you start discussing the menu and Leigh's smile drops a touch.

“I should’ve mentioned—I’m allergic to shellfish.”

“Oh,” you manage, a twinge of embarrassment settling in your stomach. You feel a bit foolish for jumping ahead without checking first. It's not the first time this has happened with Leigh, and suddenly, her earlier hesitations about your intentions and feelings make more sense. You realize you've constructed a version of her that feels familiar, yet moments like these remind you that there's still so much about her you have yet to understand.

“We can go somewhere else,” you suggest, even though you don’t have the first clue where else to go.

“Really, it's okay. We don’t have to leave. I'll find something else. This place is too gorgeous to skip just because of that,” she says.

You hastily scan the menu for alternatives, but the options are slim. The only non-shellfish item is a fish and chips plate that looks unappealing at best. Then, tucked at the bottom of the menu, you spot a plain cheeseburger with fries on the side.

“Leigh, we should really head somewhere else,” you say, remembering how she mentioned she was starving just before stepping inside the restaurant. The last thing you want is for her to settle for a less-than-satisfying meal simply because the setting is picturesque.

Leigh gives you a reassuring smile, but you can sense the underlying frustration as she says, “You don't need to make such a big deal out of it.”

“But you said you were hungry.”

“I know you mean well, and I really appreciate it. But honestly, it's just lunch,” Leigh says.

You go quiet, not wanting to argue further, but inside, you’re still kicking yourself for not having a backup plan. Sensing your inner turmoil, Leigh sighs, dropping the menu on the table.

“Hey,” she begins softly, waiting until you meet her eyes before offering a small, apologetic smile. She knows today hasn't gone as smoothly as you hoped—starting with her oversleeping, then arriving late to a gallery you were excited to see, only to find it overcrowded. And on top of that, the incident where she stepped on your foot. You’ve been brushing it off, insisting you’re fine, but she noticed your grimaces every time you pressed the gas pedal during the drive. Clearly, today hasn’t unfolded as you planned.

Leigh’s not trying to downplay the effort you've put into today, but she also doesn't want you to think that a single mishap could turn her away. She hopes you don't set expectations too high just yet, not when you're both still in the early stages of getting to know each other. Beyond the undeniable physical chemistry between you, she's looking forward to discovering how you both handle the less-than-perfect moments just as much as the perfect ones.

Once she has your attention, she continues, “I was married for seven years and had numerous relationships before that.”

Your curiosity prickles—Numerous? How many?—but Leigh keeps talking, pulling you back to the moment.

“I've seen all the grand gestures. They’re fine—they’re romantic, but right now, I just want to do normal stuff with someone I like.”

“Me, too. I—”

“That means not worrying about every little thing on a menu I can’t eat. I don’t need every outing to be perfect.”

You nod, a realization sinking in. Leigh doesn’t want you to treat her as if she’s delicate, like china that could shatter at any moment. She wants you, with all your flawed plans and your corny jokes.

Maybe, you realize, you and Leigh share more than just an intense attraction. You both harbor insecurities about being wanted for something you're not, rather than for who you truly are. Deep down, there's a fear lurking in you that maybe this—whatever this is—could evaporate. You're scared that Leigh might discover something about you that could change her mind, worried that all this might just be a fleeting curiosity or a complicated connection tied to her past.

So you aimed for perfection today—at the expense of not being yourself, perhaps becoming too cautious and too rigid in the process. Leigh's desire for authenticity over perfection makes you rethink your approach.

“Okay,” you finally say, setting the menu down. You signal a waiter and order their bestseller—broiled lobster in butter garlic herb sauce.

Leigh looks up from her menu. “And I'll have the cheeseburger,” she tells him. Then, leaning across the table, she adds in a mock-threatening tone, “But you should know, it’s actually breakfast and dessert where you really can’t go wrong with me.” She exaggerates her expression, widening her eyes for effect.

Perhaps it’s a good lesson to learn that not everything has to be perfect to be right.

At least, not with Leigh Shaw.

After a hearty meal, with you having indulged in the lobster since Leigh couldn't partake, you both feel pleasantly full. Needing to stretch your legs and help settle the big lunch, you suggest a walk along the shore.

You roll up your jeans to your calves, trying to keep them dry, but the relentless little waves have other plans, occasionally splashing over and wetting the fabric. Meanwhile, Leigh, wearing high-waisted cotton shorts, meanders alongside you, unaffected by the water's reach. As the sun dips lower, it paints the horizon in vibrant shades of orange and pink. Endless stretches of beach host a few leisurely strollers, all basking in scenery that seems almost too striking to be real.

Walking side by side, every now and then your fingers brush against each other—a fleeting touch that sends a subtle thrill through you. Despite the advanced nature of your physical relationship, you and Leigh exchange shy smiles, almost as if you're newly acquainted. It's a curious thing that here, in the open expanse of the beach, there are instances where it feels like you haven't crossed those boundaries at all.

You want to reach out and hold her hand, but Leigh is wrapped up in her own thoughts, her arms crossed as she stares out where the horizon swallows ships whole. Respecting her reverie, you shove your hands into the pockets of your jeans instead.

After a while, Leigh turns to you, her face catching the evening light, transforming her into something almost otherworldly. Her expression is open, inviting, and it makes your heart stumble over itself once more.

“So, Y/N,” she says, her voice low and a little unsteady, as if she had second thoughts a moment ago about whether to even say the words. “Tell me about the girls and boys you've loved before.”

Once again, you’re unsuspecting of Leigh’s directness.

You scramble for a moment, trying to buy some time. “Well, what exactly do you want to know about them?” you ask, watching her closely. Ex-lovers are bound to come up soon, and you haven't really thought about your own answer. Truth be told, your track record feels lackluster, but somehow you think that might be a good thing.

Leigh bites her lip, seemingly pondering her next move. She kicks at the small ripples lapping at her ankles, sending water splashing in little arcs. After a moment, she looks up at you coyly. “I don't know, you decide what to tell me,” she says, unapologetically leaving the ball squarely in your court.

Her response puts you at ease a little, turning the pressure of the question into more of a gentle invitation to share what you feel comfortable with.

You take a deep breath, tasting the salt on the breeze. “I didn't actually have a boyfriend until I was twenty-two,” you say, glancing at Leigh to gauge her reaction.

Her eyebrows lift in surprise, an expression that draws a small laugh from you. “Yeah, I was a late bloomer,” you say, a flippant shrug accompanying your words. “I think I was just curious, you know? Everyone around me was pairing off, and I felt like I was missing out.

“It lasted six months. It was more about exploration than anything else. And then, well, it took another two years before I found myself in something serious.”

“With who?” Leigh asks, slowing down a little. The wind picks up, teasing strands of her hair across her face, not bound today in her usual ponytail. She brushes them aside absently, her focus fixed on you.

“Her name was Alex,” you continue, the name rolling off your tongue thoughtfully as bittersweet memories flood your mind. You haven’t thought about her in a long time—she was your first love and your first heartbreak. “She was incredible—taught me what it really means to be with someone, to really be present. We were together for almost three years.”

Leigh suddenly stops and turns to face you. She grabs your hand, guiding you both to a weathered bench a few steps from the lapping waves.

“How did it end?” she asks quietly.

“We moved in together after a year,” you say, trying to keep your tone light even though you’re about to rehash a painful past. “Things were really good, at least that's what I thought. But then, just a month after our third anniversary, I came home early from work and... I found her in bed with someone else.”

“Oh, Y/N…”

“It was her coworker, someone I'd always just thought of as a colleague of hers,” you conclude, managing a tight-lipped smile. Neither of you speak for a while, allowing the susurration of the sea to fill the gap instead.

“I’m sorry,” Leigh finally says.

You shrug, looking out at the horizon where the sun meets the calm waters. “It's a long time ago. From what I've heard through mutual friends, they're still together. Maybe they were meant for each other, and I was just a stop on her journey to finding that out. I mean, I shouldn't feel so bad for not getting in the way of true love.”

Leigh shakes her head, not buying into your attempt to whitewash what Alex did. “She should've ended it with you properly.”

You’ve pondered that moment countless times, wondering if it would have been easier if she had simply been honest about falling out of love. You picture different scenarios where you come home to Alex waiting to tell you there’s someone else, and each time, you arrive at the same painful conclusion.

“I don't know, it probably would have hurt just the same,” you tell her honestly.

Leigh scoots closer, looping her arm around you and resting her head on your shoulder. In a whisper, she concurs, “I think so too.”

Then, Leigh starts sharing her story with Matt. It begins at a college house party, where they first met—just a couple of undergrads who had no idea what the future held. As she talks, you rest your cheek against her head, absorbing every detail. You chuckle at her lighthearted anecdotes, feeling the happiness they brought her. But as she talks about the tougher times, particularly the months leading up to his death, your smile fades, replaced by a tightness in your chest.

Soon enough the telling morphs into a session of self-reflection where it becomes unclear whether Leigh’s speaking to you or to herself. She suggests that she blames herself for his death, feeling as if she had somehow caused his demise. She confesses that when he died, it seemed like all the good parts of her died with him, parts she now thinks existed only because of him.

When she finally breaks down, sobbing into your neck, you pull her closer, wrapping your arms around her as if you could squeeze away all the guilt and pain she’s carrying. Part of you wants to interrupt, to assure her that she’s wrong, that all her good parts were always there, maybe just brightened by her love for him—because isn’t that what love does? It casts everything in a better light. But you resist the urge to speak, understanding that sometimes the best comfort you can offer isn’t words, but simply presence and the quiet acceptance of her sorrow.

It starts to rain again a few minutes into your drive back to the city. As the droplets splatter against the windshield and the wipers slide back and forth, you notice Leigh holding up her phone, talking animatedly into it.

“Hey there, we're on our way back and look at this rain, it's really coming down! Oh, and I've got someone very special I want you to meet—this is Y/N.” She angles the phone toward you. You feel your cheeks warm as you give a small, awkward wave. “Aren’t those eyes incredible? Like deep, rich coffee... absolutely gorgeous.”

“What are you doing?” you ask, still a bit embarrassed.

“Something for my eyes only,” Leigh replies nonchalantly, lowering her phone but keeping that roguish smile.

“You didn't have to stop,” you tell her, still a bit amused by her whole vlogging act.

Leigh turns to face you fully. “I kind of want to look at you now without a screen between us,” she murmurs, her voice low and inviting.

You swallow, feeling a thrill at her directness. Leigh's approach is always bold, and it sends an excited shiver down your spine. You wish you weren't trapped in the driver's seat, confined by the slow crawl of traffic, so you could fully engage with her flirtation. Yet, there's a part of you that suspects Leigh enjoys knowing you're somewhat at her mercy, divided between the road and her teasing.

Trying to distract her from whatever she’s up to, you throw out a playful challenge. “Want to guess where we're headed next?”

It seems to work as Leigh glances out at the relentless downpour. “In this weather?”

“Yup,” you respond simply, a mysterious smile on your lips as you focus on the rain-slicked road ahead, keeping the surprise of your next stop just between the two of you for a little longer.

Leigh has this endearing habit of pressing the back of her fingers against her mouth, her thumb brushing her lower lip as she thinks. You've come to recognize this gesture as a sign she's deep in thought or uncertain about something.

“Bowling?”

You snort in amusement.

“At least give me a clue!”

“It involves a membership card,” you hint.

Leigh scrunches up her nose, clearly appalled at her next guess. “The gym?”

“The library, of course,” you reply with a grin, recalling an earlier conversation. “Remember I mentioned having a membership card?”

Leigh narrows her eyes, and in a skittish huff, slaps your arm lightly. “You're totally messing with me,” she accuses.

“Hey, I'm driving here!” you protest, trying to keep the car steady. Undeterred, she pokes at your ribs, discovering a ticklish spot. You can't help but burst into laughter. “Seriously, Leigh, we're going to crash if you keep this up,” you say between giggles, half-joking, half-pleading for mercy.

She pulls back, her laughter tapering off into a series of chuckles that fade into the rhythmic splatter of hefty raindrops on the car roof. Once it’s comfortably quiet again, she leans back in her seat, her expression turning curious and a little conspiratorial.

“Speaking of books, there's something I almost forgot to tell you,” she says.

“Yeah?” you respond, somewhat distracted as a car swiftly cuts into your lane.

“Matt's comic is going to be published posthumously,” she reveals slowly. “Danny and I have been working together on it.”

You strive to keep your expression blasé at the mention of Danny's name. There's no room for jealousy when it concerns Matt's legacy. If Leigh needs to do this, whether Danny is involved or not, it's her choice and not your place to question.

“That's amazing, Leigh,” you say, trying to sound cheerful and supportive. “Matt would have been thrilled.”

Leigh gives you a curious look. Your focus remains on the road ahead, so you miss the reservation in her green eyes.

“You think so?”

“Yeah,” you respond, nodding. Without much thought, you add, “He used to show me his work, and I was honestly impressed.”

Leigh's expression shifts subtly at your words, and there's a moment of quiet between you. “Matt never showed me his works,” she says softly, almost to herself.

You feel a flush of embarrassment, realizing it might have sounded like you were bragging about being privy to Matt's work—a privilege Leigh, his wife, hadn't shared. You manage only a soft, “Oh,” which hangs awkwardly in the air.

“I found his sketches one day by accident, and he didn't like it—me seeing his work, I mean. He always wanted to keep that part of his life separate.”

You’re still processing this when Leigh speaks again.

“I used to tell him everything, you know? I’d ask for his take on my work, vent about the chaos at mom’s studio, and talk through the tough times we faced as a family when—well, when Jules was dealing with her addiction,” she says, her voice trailing off a bit at the end.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter, not knowing what else to say.

Leigh brushes off your sympathy with a gentle flick of her wrist. “No, it's not that he was trying to be secretive. I think... I think I was too critical of him, even about his depression. I thought I knew everything, knew what was best for him.” She sighs, a shadow of regret crossing her face. “I guess I was kind of overbearing, so he stopped sharing things with me. He chose to keep it all to himself instead of having to constantly argue with me.”

You wince slightly, feeling guilty in some way, but Leigh quickly reassures you. “Hey, I’m not telling you this to make you feel bad that he shared things with you. I’m actually glad he did. His work deserves to be out there.”

You nod, taking in Leigh's reflections quietly. Wanting to steer back to a milder topic, you ask, “So, when is it going to be published?”

Leigh's fingers absently toy with the ends of her hair as she thinks. “It's set to come out early next year,” she finally says, her voice surprisingly devoid of excitement. You can't help but wonder why that is.

“And there's going to be a tour right after—it's promoting the comic along with some other new titles from the publisher. I'm... planning to go.”

“That sounds like an incredible experience,” you say, smiling at her.

Leigh makes a sound of agreement. “It's probably starting in late February,” She takes a deep breath before adding, “It'll take me all over the country. We need to attend conventions and such.”

You fall silent, digesting her words. The realization that this isn't just a short trip starts to sink in. “How long will you be gone?” you ask, trying to catch her gaze but Leigh’s eyes are trained forwards.

“I don't have all the details yet, but it could be anywhere from a few weeks to a couple of months,” she says.

“But you'll come back in between, right?” The hope in your question is palpable.

Leigh shakes her head slowly. “I'm not sure. It might be a good time to travel and go away for a while with this opportunity.”

The conversation drifts between you, muffled like the world outside the fogged-up windows of your car. It's becoming clear, maybe too clear, what this all means.

Leigh's gaze stays fixed on the shimmering road ahead. She's quiet, but you can almost hear her thoughts tumbling over each other. You know she's wrestling with the implications of her future plans, just as you are. She knows the reality of the situation, understands that there are only a few ways this could possibly go.

She can't ask you to wait, and it wouldn't be fair to ask you to drop everything and follow her. That leaves the looming possibility of a farewell that could stretch into something indefinite.

Minutes pass—one, then two—before you both lose count. It feels as though an hourglass has been unwillingly flipped. Watching the city lights blur through the rain, you can't help but feel they reflect the uncertainty of your future with Leigh. You're willing to attempt a long-distance relationship, though you know it might not be ideal. The prospect of being apart just as things are beginning to bloom between you feels akin to a preemptive goodbye.

Then, an idea takes hold—a bold, possibly reckless notion, but it clings to your heart with surprising tenacity. Yes, you have a clinic, a business that needs you, but suddenly, those realities seem negotiable, secondary to what feels more pressing—being with Leigh.

“What if I came with you on the tour?”

Leigh turns to look at you, her eyes wide with surprise and something like worry. She knows your life is deeply rooted here, especially with the veterinary clinic you’ve poured your heart—and savings—into.

“I can’t ask you to do that,” she says.

“Why not?” you ask softly.

Your tone is so earnest, almost childlike in your confusion, that Leigh’s lips part and then close as she grapples with how to articulate her feelings about your rash offer.

“You have your clinic, your responsibilities here. It's too much for me to expect you to just walk away from that,” Leigh argues.

“But what if it’s not about what you’re asking me to give up?” you say, your fingers unconsciously tightening their grip on the steering wheel. “What if it’s about what I’m willing to sacrifice?”

Leigh's frustration shows clearly as she pushes back against your idea. “Sacrifices? It's about being realistic. We can't just make decisions on a whim.”

You turn to look at her, making it a point to focus on her for a second longer than you should while driving. “But I don't see it as a whim. I see it as choosing what matters most to me.”

Leigh sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You're not seeing the whole picture. What about your employees? They depend on you.”

“I can arrange things at the clinic. I can find people to cover for me,” you say confidently. But Leigh is just as relentless with her objections.

“And what if you come back and resent me for taking you away from all that?” Leigh counters, her voice rising a little.

“I won’t,” you reply quickly, even though you know it's a hefty promise to make in such a heated moment.

Leigh scoffs, shaking her head vehemently. “You can’t possibly know that.”

Before you can bolster your promise with more reassurances, your phone rings. It’s Sara, calling from the clinic. Leigh watches as you answer, her expression a mix of resignation and pointedness, as if to emphasize her earlier concerns about your responsibilities.

You excuse yourself, grab your phone, and answer the call. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“It's an emergency,” Sara's voice is tense. “Foreman needs you. Can you make it?”

You're just minutes from the city now, and your heart sinks as you realize the timing couldn't be worse. “Yes, I'll be there soon,” you mutter, feeling torn.

After hanging up, you turn to Leigh, who's been quietly observing. “There’s an emergency at the clinic, and Foreman needs my help,” you explain. “Can we stop there? It won't take long, and we can still make it to our next stop.”

Leigh gives a resigned nod, her earlier arguments about your responsibilities underscored by this untimely call. “Sure, whatever,” she says, her voice flat. You want to erase that look on her face, but for now, you’re needed elsewhere.

You spring from the car the moment it's parked, snagging your white coat from the trunk in one fluid motion. Leigh is right on your heels, her footsteps quick and questioning as you both scurry into the clinic.

You burst through the doors and immediately spot Sara at the reception, giving her a quick nod of acknowledgment. Beside you, Leigh’s steps falter slightly at the sight of Sara, her expression one of mild shock at seeing her there—a detail you realize you've failed to mention.

“What’s happening?” you ask Sara, pulling your hair into a tight bun.

“Room two, now,” she replies, gesturing briskly towards the surgery room.

You nod and break into a jog, with Leigh hesitantly trailing behind. When you reach your destination, you stop short and turn to signal Leigh to wait outside.

“I’m so sorry about this,” you say, your voice full of apology.

“Just go,” she whispers softly. You offer her a grateful smile before your expression shifts to calm determination as you slip into the surgery room.

Left in the waiting area, Leigh stands in a stupor, surrounded by unanswered questions and a sudden solitude, her eyes lingering on the closed doors you've just disappeared through.

Leigh has been noticeably quiet since you emerged from the surgery room an hour and a half ago. Right after you came out, she meekly asked for the car keys and walked straight out of the clinic. You didn’t think much of it at the time, busy giving final instructions to Foreman and Sara before heading out to continue your date with her.

Now, as you drive to the bar you planned on taking her to, you can’t seem to come up with a topic that doesn’t seem like you're evading the earlier argument.

“Where are we headed next?”

You breathe a sigh of relief as Leigh breaks the silence. You notice her glance at the watch on her wrist. The small motion feels like a small betrayal—does it signal impatience, or worse, a desire to escape this disjointed evening?

With everything that’s happened, you drop the pretense of surprise. “I had planned for us to catch a live band at a speakeasy downtown,” you say evenly. “But we're running late, and honestly, I'm not even sure it's worth heading there now.”

You risk a glance at Leigh, almost expecting she’d choose this moment to cut the evening short. But she merely hums noncommittally, and just like that, silence settles in once more.

When you arrive, the heavy rain makes the night feel even more somber. A few cars are still scattered around the parking lot, but the place otherwise looks almost deserted. You grab an umbrella from the backseat and offer it to Leigh as you both make your way to the entrance.

As you approach, the doorman stops you from crossing the threshold. “Sorry, folks,” he says, his voice nearly drowned out by the rain. “The performance was canceled, and we're wrapping up early tonight because of the weather.”

Disappointment settles in, heavier now with the official confirmation. You turn to Leigh, trying to salvage what you can of the evening. “Maybe we can have at least one drink?” you suggest, hoping to extend the time you have together.

Leigh pauses, her expression inscrutable for a moment before she shakes her head. “Actually, I think I’d rather not,” she says, throwing you off with her refusal.

The doorman gives you a sympathetic nod as he pulls the heavy doors shut, sealing off the warm glow of the bar from the cold, wet night. Leigh takes the umbrella from you with a gesture that's both resigned and leading, and starts walking back to the car. Her steps are quick, purposeful, but she slows just enough under the umbrella to ensure you're covered and not getting drenched. But you barely notice the rain; your mind is clouded with thoughts of how the evening has unfolded.

As you walk, you replay the last few hours, how what began as an attempt to reassure Leigh of your willingness to go the distance by offering to join her on the tour quickly spiraled into a demonstration of all the practical reasons why it was a bad idea. And the unexpected revelation about Sara working at your clinic surely hadn't helped.

Leigh slides into the passenger seat, handing you the umbrella which you catch as several raindrops escape onto your arm. You settle into the driver’s seat, carefully folding the umbrella and tossing it behind you.

“I guess I should drop you home?” you suggest, more as a formality than a question.

Leigh hums in response, her voice low and temporizing. It’s starting to irk you, this silent treatment. Throughout the drive to her house, the only sounds are the steady swish of the windshield wipers and the occasional splash of tires against puddles. You steal glances at her, trying to decipher her thoughts. Her face is angled towards the window, so that each time you pass under a street lamp, there’s a fleeting moment where her face is illuminated, revealing a tightness around her eyes and a slight downturn at the corners of her mouth.

Just before you turn onto her street, something inside you rebels. You can’t let the night end on this note—defeated, disconnected. You pull over under a massive tree beside an empty lot and shut off the engine.

Turning to her, you find your voice again. “Leigh, talk to me. Please.”

She sighs but remains silent.

“Are you upset because of Sara?”

That gets a reaction from her—an unpleasant one, but a reaction nonetheless.

“Oh, please.” Leigh lets out a sarcastic chuckle. “Really, it's not my business who you hire, even if it's an ex. But considering you just told me you love me this morning, don't you think that's something you should have mentioned?”

You hadn’t intentionally kept Sara's hiring from Leigh; it had slipped through the cracks of a busy week. You never even considered Sara an ex-anything, so it was an honest mistake. If only you could convince Leigh that Sara is truly that insignificant to you.

“I'm sorry, Leigh,” you say, hoping to smooth things over. But she isn't having it. “It was an oversight, not a choice. Sara really doesn't mean anything in that way. I just didn't think it was important.”

Instead of pacifying her, your words have the opposite effect.

“Not important?” Leigh’s face sets like concrete. “When you say you love someone, everything becomes important, especially things like this. How am I supposed to trust you?”

Your own frustration flares. You didn’t expect such a harsh judgment over what seemed so trivial in your mind. A thought then strikes you, fueling your anger. “And what about you? You’re heading away for months, and you’ve barely spoken about it. When were you going to tell me all the details? Right before you left?”

Leigh reels as if you've slapped her. “That’s different. I was going to tell you—”

“When? Last minute at the airport?” You cut her off, your voice rising to match hers.

“It’s not the same, and you know it!” Leigh snaps back, her eyes alight with anger and something like hurt.

“You're right, it's not the same,” you snap back. “It’s much worse. Because you said you’d give us a chance. And now, when I’m telling you I’m willing to fight for a chance to be with you, you’re shutting me down.”

“I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep,” Leigh says tightly.

“You don’t need to promise me anything,” you reply, your voice softening. “All I’m asking for is a real shot at this. I know you want that too.”

Leigh’s eyes glisten, and for a moment, you think you’re getting through to her. But then her expression hardens again. “Not like this,” she says.

You feel like you're climbing an ever-growing wall between the two of you, but you refuse to give up on this—on her.

“It won’t be easy,” you acquiesce, changing tactics. “But nothing worth having ever is. We can figure it out together, Leigh. We can make it work if we both want it enough.”

Leigh’s jaw clenches, and she looks away, the rain streaking down the windows like tears. She can’t help but compare this moment to the beginning with Matt. He had been so eager, so willing to give himself to her completely. He had always assured her that he was happy just to be with her, to follow her wherever her dreams led. He had said yes to every plan she made, every crazy idea she had, always with that same smile, always saying, “As long as I’m with you.”

But then, one day, he wasn’t there anymore.

And Leigh doesn’t know if she can survive another abandonment.

You have no idea that all of this is racing through her mind as you keep making your case. “...just take a leap of faith. Don’t push me away before we’ve even had a chance to—”

You’re mid-sentence, almost convincing yourself that you're breaking through her defenses, when Leigh interrupts with a shout, “Maybe this was a mistake!”

Taken aback and hurt by her outburst, you risk calling her bluff, exclaiming, “Maybe it was!”

An impasse is reached. For a moment, all you can do is stare at each other, each of you gasping for breath as if the air itself has slipped from the car in those tense seconds.

Is this it, then?

Is this the end?

But before you can retract any of your words, in a move you never see coming, Leigh reaches out. Her hand clasps the back of your neck, pulling you close. She kisses you fiercely, as if trying to settle the argument with just the pressure of her lips.

But she's not trying to win. Leigh doesn't want to come out on top in this argument. Instead, she wants to forget her usual realism and bury herself in the moment. She wants to give in to your optimism, to let you abandon everything you've worked for to be with her in the coming months.

But she knows that’s selfish.

And she finds herself unable to be selfish when it comes to you.

You're just beginning to melt into the kiss, to lose yourself in the forgiveness it promises, when Leigh abruptly pulls away. She hurls herself back against her seat, her back pressed hard against the door, panting.

“Sorry,” she gasps, her voice thick with both regret and need.

You look at her, eyes half-lidded and lips feeling bruised from the fervor of her kiss. All you can focus on is how she's starting to pull away—but you're determined not to let her go. Not this time.

“No, no, come here. Come back here, damn it.”

Leigh doesn't need to be told twice. She meets you halfway, the space between you disappearing as quickly as it had expanded. Her mouth finds yours once again, lips slotting together in a way that feels right, necessary—like solving a puzzle that neither of you knew how to complete until now.

With all inhibitions cast aside, Leigh grabs the collar of your shirt with surprising strength, yanking you towards her so forcefully that half of your body ends up sprawled across the cramped passenger seat. Your hips press painfully against the gear stick, but any discomfort quickly fades as Leigh's tongue teases yours. Instinctively, you open your mouth wider, a low moan escaping as your tongues intertwine. You support your weight with one arm braced against the windshield behind her, careful not to overwhelm her with your weight. Your other hand rises to cradle her neck, feeling the heat of her skin rising by the second under your touch.

Leigh's hands are anything but idle; they're bold and determined as she reaches for the buttons of your jeans. It's the second time today since this morning, and she's all confidence as she pulls down the zipper, slipping her hand inside your soaked underwear. The moment her fingers trace the length of your slit, brushing against your clit with each pass, you nearly lose your balance.

But as much as you're caught up in the temptation of her touch, there’s something else on your mind—something you've been thinking about all week.

“Backseat,” you say breathlessly, the word more of a command than a suggestion. Without waiting for her response, you clamber toward the backseat of the car. Once there, you quickly turn to help Leigh slide in after you.

You gently push at Leigh's shoulders, and she understands immediately, lying back with a soft thud against the door panel. Her upper back curves awkwardly against the hard surface, but she doesn’t mind, consumed by desire and curiosity about what you’re planning to do next. She lies there, expectant and provocatively inviting, as your fingers hover over the waistband of her shorts.

You lower your voice to a whisper, “May I?”

She nods quickly and you make short work of her shorts and panties, tugging them down her thighs efficiently. With a firm tap, you signal for her to lift her legs. She complies, bending at the knees as you strip the fabric past her ankles and casually toss it to the front seat.

Your eyes widen at the sight of her waxed bare. “God, you're beautiful,” you whisper, pulling her closer until she's practically lying across your lap. Your hands roam over her creamy thighs, kneading the soft flesh there. You take your time, exploring every inch, your touch deliberately skirting the places she aches for you most. You’re teasing her, and her body responds ardently—her breath catches, her hips tilt seeking more.

Leigh’s skin is hot under your fingertips. She’s ready, practically quivering, but you keep the pace maddeningly slow. Your fingers dance closer, then retreat, building her frustration to a fever pitch.

“Patience,” you murmur with a teasing smile, savoring the way her body arches and responds to your touch.

“Don't be cruel,” she whines, her eyes the darkest you've seen them.

You lean in, your lips brushing against her ear. “I promise, it'll be worth it,” you whisper, letting your fingers finally drift to the spot she needs you most. Your fingers play with her, teasing her folds, drawing circles around her clit to get her wetter and wetter, each touch designed to increase her desire, her body responding with eager, heated movements. Her breathing becomes heavier, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she pushes against your fingers, craving more.

Seeing her so turned on, you adjust your position. You scoot backward until your back presses against the other side of the car, then gently maneuver Leigh's legs to drape over your shoulders, positioning her in a bridge. The pose might be demanding, so you look up at her, your hands supporting her weight by firmly grasping her buttocks.

“Is this okay?" you ask as you prepare to bring her closer to your eager mouth.

“Just fuck me, please,” Leigh breathes out impatiently.

That's all the permission you need. You lower your head, your lips finding the delicate, sensitive flesh of her pussy. Her taste is intoxicating, driving you to explore further with your tongue. Her hips rise to meet your mouth, the angle allowing you to take her in deeply. Leigh's response is immediate—her moans fill the car, guttural and unrestrained. The scent of sex begins to saturate the air, mingling with the dampness of the rain outside. You’re thankful for the dark tint of your car windows and the fact that the bad weather has cleared the streets at this hour.

You want to prolong this, to draw out every moment of her pleasure, but you can already feel Leigh tightening around your tongue, telling you she’s close. In a bid to intensify her impending release, you decide to gamble on your strength. With one hand you keep her lifted in the perfect position, while your other hand moves with a different intent.

Pulling your tongue back, you replace it with your lips, sucking her clit into your mouth, letting the slight pressure send ripples through her. Simultaneously, you slide your middle and ring finger deep into her, the slick heat of her welcoming you in. Leigh's response is visceral, a raw, “Oh fuck, fuck, that’s it, don’t stop…!” that she screams out as if it's being torn from her.

Fuelled by her cries, you pump your fingers harder, faster, curling them to stroke that perfect spot inside her. She's loud, unabashedly so, her moans filling the car, steaming up the windows even more, turning this space into your own sordid bubble. She's dripping down your wrist, your chin, but you don’t mind, existing in that moment solely for her pleasure.

“Y/N, I—”

She's right on the edge, her body slick with sweat and shaking from the relentless pleasure you're hammering into her. But as the climax washes over her, her voice breaks into something unexpected. Instead of the anticipated screams or the typical rush of expletives, something deeper bursts forth.

“—I love you!”

You almost lose your rhythm at her declaration.

Her body shakes violently, her screams of ecstasy almost a primal release. You keep going, pushing her through it, savoring every tremble and shudder, tasting every bit of her orgasm, all the while thinking, Leigh loves me.

She fucking loves me.

You’re cautious enough not to hang your entire heart on those three words immediately, but the confession still paints a devilish grin across your face. This wasn’t merely a heat-of-the-moment slip; it felt like Leigh was revealing something she'd been holding back for a while.

Carefully, you ease her legs down from your shoulders, noticing her wince as she adjusts from the stretch. Before you even get the chance to ask if she really meant what she said, Leigh answers by pulling you in close, her hands framing your face. She kisses you, so tenderly, and it’s nothing like the ones you’ve shared before. It’s the kind of kiss that slows time, the one you’ve been dreaming about since you were a little kid, the one you hope to keep until you’re old.

Leigh’s eyes lock onto yours, earnest and clear, “I do love you.”

#unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #leigh shaw x reader #leigh shaw x female reader #leigh shaw #sorry for your loss au #leigh shaw x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #sorry i had to tag wanda x reader for visibility

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rubycruzin4abruzin · 5 months ago

Text

Forbidden Crown - IV

Summary: Your dreaded twentieth birthday has finally arrived, and you and your parents set off to Tir Asleen for one final time to plan your wedding to Prince Airk. However, at the celebration dinner, Sorsha delivers some shocking news, sending Kit into a spiral and creating conflict within the castle.

Pairing: kit tanthalos x princess!reader

Contains: angst, fighting, kissing, non-explicit mention of vomiting, forced marriage trope, mommy issues

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: this was supposed to be the smut chapter, but I decided to divide the two, since it seemed odd to add sexy time to such a dark chapter. Apologies in advance for all the angst, I promise it won’t last forever!

Ever since your mother’s announcement of your engagement, each birthday after your fifteenth seemed to creep up, startling you out of nowhere and filling your stomach with existential dread. The once joyous celebrations now felt like ticking time bombs, every well-wish serving as a countdown to a life you never wanted.

On the morning of your twentieth birthday, you woke up to nothing but nausea. When your handmaiden entered your room to get you ready for the day, she found you kneeled over your chamberpot, heaving up the shallow remains of your stomach's content. Needless to say, your twentieth birthday was spent hidden under your covers, drinking ginger tea and being waited on hand-and-foot.

Alas, it was only a matter of time before you began to feel better. After several days of sickness, your body had nothing more to heave. The moment some color started to return to your pale cheeks, your parents ushered you into the carriage and set off for Tir Asleen, where you would stay for two months while preparing for your wedding to Prince Airk Tanthalos.

As usual, the road to Tir Asleen was long and slow. You tried to numb yourself to your parents' endless chatter, but your mother decided to fuss over your appearance throughout the entire trip, as if you were a child again.

“This is the first time you’ve seen your fiancé in five years,” she would say. “You’ve grown into a lovely young woman since, it is important for Airk to notice!”

Your cheeks instinctually puffed out at the word ‘fiancé,’ but your stomach was so empty from the long illness that nothing could come up even if it wanted to. Instead, you opted for tucking your head in between your knees, closing your eyes and muffling all unwanted noise from the outside world.

Eventually, the gentle clip-clop of the carriage horse faded as you reached the front of the Tir Asleen castle. You uncovered your head and allowed your parents to exit first, using the extra seconds to let your blood flow redistribute itself.

After hearing the sound of your mother squealing pleasantries from outside, you decided to make your presence known. You stepped out of the carriage to see your mother engulfing Airk in a bear hug, showering him with words of flattery while he chuckled nervously and tried to mask his discomfort. Your father, who had been exchanging formalities with Queen Sorsha, was now gently patting his wife’s back, attempting to subtly pry her off the poor boy.

While you stood watching the amusing display from your family, you didn’t even notice Kit approaching you from behind, wrapping her arms around your waist and leaning into your ear.

“Good morrow, beautiful.” She whispered, her warm breath against your neck causing you to shudder involuntarily.

“Beautiful?” You giggled. “Be careful, our parents' eyes could be upon us.”

“Nonsense,” she replied, planting a soft kiss on your jawline. “They’re much too focused on my brother. It’s just one of the benefits of being the black sheep of the family.”

Sure enough, Kit was right. Your father had managed to successfully pry your mother away from Airk, and now both your parents were bombarding him with questions about his life the last five years while Sorsha stood proudly beside him.

With one final squeeze, Kit loosened her grasp until you could turn around to get a good look at her. She had always been pretty, at least in your eyes, but over the years had grown into a stunning young lady. Her hair was no longer a muddy indigo black, but rather restored back to her natural chocolate-brown, and styled akin to the tresses of woodland sprites. She had grown into herself, with her face defined by striking cheekbones and eyes that seemed to get bluer with every visit. The fabric of her tunic clung to her skin, accentuating every new curve as well as the definition on her upper arms, muscular from combat training.

Before you could even begin to speak, Kit placed her hands on either side of your head and ran them through your hair, gazing down at you lovingly. “Truly, beautiful.”

“I do apologize for her appearance, Prince Airk! She doesn’t usually look this dreadful! She’s been terribly ill!”

You turned around to see your mother leading Airk over to you, speaking loudly about your demeanor. Any confidence inspired by Kit vanished at her harsh remarks, and you drew into yourself.

“Good morrow, Princess,” Airk greeted you with an awkward bow and a tight-lipped smile. Ever since you audibly gagged and ran off after taking his first kiss, the two of you hadn’t necessarily spoken.

You cleared your throat, offering back a perfunctory curtsy. “And to you as well.”

“My, my! Someone has grown quite slender!” Sorsha’s voice called out, approaching the four of you with your father in tow.

You looked down at yourself. Sure enough, your ailment had withered you away, making your once perfectly-fitting gown now hang off you like the tendrils of a willow tree. Your mother noticed this too, because she immediately inserted herself between you and Airk to resume nitpicking your appearance.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, Airk and Sorsha! My daughter has had an illness. She’s feeling well now, but she still looks absolutely dreadful! I’m sure her gowns will fit right in due time, but…” she turned her attention towards your face. “…darling! Your complexion! You resemble a ghostly wight! Couldn’t you have bothered to apply a touch of rouge?”

“You’ve raised a beautiful daughter, your highness.” Kit stepped to your side and snaked her arm around your waist. Your breath hitched at her touch, and you worried your parents may catch on to your secret with how bold she was being. Still, you tried to hide the blush that crept onto your cheeks after she stood up for you.

Your mother looked between you and Kit, and you could've sworn you saw her eyes flicker with a hint of suspicion. However, she simply grimaced in Kit’s direction, offering pleasantries purely for display. “Yes, well, much obliged, Kit.”

Kit responded with a grin that was polite, yet cocky. Your mother cleared her throat, quickly recomposing herself before taking your hand and joining it with Airk’s.

“I must say, you two, I am absolutely elated for this union! A royal wedding, why I don’t believe I’ve attended one since my own! The two of you make a very attractive pair.”

Airk forced a grin in your direction, looking down at your conjoined hands instead of at you. As your mother continued to ramble on about the party planning, you peered over Airk’s shoulder and noticed a blond girl standing in the distance, carrying a serving tray, and glaring daggers into your soul…

“That would be Muffin Girl,” Kit explained later that day when you asked about the mysterious blond. The two of you had managed to break away from the group long enough to take a leisurely stroll through the Tir Asleen gardens.

“Muffin Girl?” You inquired.

“That or Miss Muffin, whichever you’d prefer.”

You shot her a quizzical expression, causing her to chuckle heartily. “Well it’s not her real name, clearly. She’s one of the kitchen maids, and her signature dish are these buttered muffins she serves at breakfast.”

“She was glaring at me earlier while my mother discussed wedding plans,” you said. “I almost thought she would break her tray in half.”

Kit hummed in agreement. “Jealousy. It makes sense. She is my brother's latest lover.”

“Pardon?” You froze in your tracks, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Kit leaned back against a tree, crossing her arms and gazing at you with a pointed brow. “I hate to inform you, Princess, but my brother has become quite the ladies’ man since your ‘dalliance’ in the courtyard. Muffin Girl is just his latest conquest.”

You couldn’t believe your ears. Sure, you didn’t love Airk, or were even remotely attracted to him, but he was still your betrothed.

Kit smirked at your stunned expression. “Surely you’re not jealous, are you?” She moved closer until her face was mere inches from yours. “I can’t imagine it would drive you mad. My brother, your fiancé, rolling around in the grass with a scullion? Cheeks flushed, legs intertwined, her leaving little bruises on his…”

You cut her off with a playful smack on the shoulder. “Hold your tongue, Tanthalos.” She giggled at her lighthearted taunts, causing a smile to spread across your face. “I’m not jealous, rather shocked. He’s engaged… to me… and Queen Sorsha is allowing this affair?”

With another chuckle, Kit teasingly ruffled your hair. “Oh Princess… you really assume my mother is at all aware?”

You gasped, leaning in closer to Kit to whisper. “She doesn’t know?”

“I’m sure she suspects something, what with the aforementioned bruises, but knowing my mother, she’d rather stay with the mindset that her son is still a moralistic virgin.”

Kit pulled you in closer, pressing your body against hers until your noses barely brushed together. “I suppose this is just one more secret between us, don’t you think Princess?”

You giggled, quickly making sure the coast was clear before wrapping your arms around her neck and pulling her in for a sweet kiss.

That evening, the six of you gathered for a hearty supper to celebrate your reunion. Servants bustled about carrying various dishes, including the mysterious ‘muffin girl.’ You couldn’t help but observe the longing glances exchanged between her and Airk, lingering between each course like a seed caught between teeth.

Just as you and Kit were stifling a laugh over their latest lust-filled gaze, Queen Sorsha rose, tapping silverware against her raised glass. The table quieted, all eyes fixed on the regal woman as you awaited her speech.

“Friends, family,” she began. “I am pleased that we’ve all gathered here this evening to begin wedding plans for the Prince of Tir Asleen and the Princess of Azarenth.”

Your parents clapped excitedly. Airk stared down at his lap while you and Kit exchanged vexed glances.

“Even more pleased,” Sorsha continued. “That the forthcoming ceremony will feature an extra element, making it a profoundly rare occasion!”

Her words puzzled you, and a quick look around the table confirmed that the twins seemed just as confused. Your parents however, shared knowing grins, clearly in on the secret.

“The King and Queen of Azarenth have graciously agreed to turn their daughter’s wedding into a double wedding!” Sorsha turned to meet her daughter’s gaze. “Kit…”

You whipped around to face Kit, who stared at her mother, frozen, her expression a mixture of confusion and fear. “You remember when we discussed the Prince of Galladoorn, don’t you?”

Kit nodded. “Sure we discussed him, but then he fell out of a tree and died, right?”

“Kit!” Sorsha scolded before quickly recomposing herself. “It’s true, Dermot Hastur had an untimely death,” she held her glass to her heart solemnly. “However, it appears Galladoorn is still interested in an alliance, and King Hastur has a younger son, Graydon.”

Your heart dropped as you realized what Sorsha was saying. Glancing back at Kit, you saw her face now stricken with terror. “Mother… no…”

Ignoring her daughter, Sorsha simply raised her glass again. “It’s my pleasure to announce the engagement of Prince Graydon Hastur to my daughter, Princess Kit Tanthalos!”

“No!” Kit exclaimed.

“What?” The shriek came from a disembodied voice. Only after you received shocked expressions from each member of the table did you realize the voice was yours.

Your mother squinted at you, the corners of her mouth flickering sardonically. “My dear, I didn’t expect you to be upset at sharing the limelight! After all, you and Kit are such good… friends.”

You glared at your mother head-on, suppressing every urge to lunge at her from across the table. She said nothing more, instead turning away to innocently sip her wine.

Kit was in the midst of her own altercation, arguing her case with pleading eyes. “Mother, please… I cannot marry Prince Graydon!”

“And just why not?” Sorsha demanded. “Prince Graydon is an esteemed young man, his parents speak very highly of him.”

“I’ve never even met him!” Kit’s voice wavered in stifled sobs.

“You will before the wedding, now that is quite enough! It is your duty to your kingdom. I don’t want to hear another word about this until the alliance is signed, and that is final!”

Kit slammed her hands on the table, tears falling as she ran away. Sorsha screamed after her until the sound of her bedchamber door slamming reverberated across the room. The table fell silent, none of you knowing where to look. After a moment, Airk cleared his throat, breaking the tension as he rearranged the silverware on his plate.

“May I be excused, mother?” He muttered.

Sorsha sighed, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. He got up quietly, exiting the room and making a beeline for Kit’s door. The remaining four of you resumed picking at your food, the sound of silverware scratching against glass dishes only deepening the stillness of the room.

As you pushed your food around, you couldn’t help but steal glances in the direction of Kit’s door. You turned to your mother, wanting to speak.

“Let it be a passing thought,” she denied your unspoken request, not bothering to look up from her plate.

Fortunately, dinner didn't drag on much longer after the commotion subsided. Once everyone had hastily departed from the table, you made your way to Kit’s room and positioned yourself outside her door. Kit’s muffled sobs mingled with Airk’s whispered words from the other side of the wooden barrier, causing you to pause before entering, afraid of disrupting them.

Just when you were about to throw caution to the wind and grasp the handle, the door swung open, revealing Airk. He startled at your unexpected presence and closed Kit’s door behind him.

“Uh… hi…” he muttered lamely.

“Hello there,” you replied softly.

The two of you stood silently in front of Kit’s door, a multitude of unanswered questions hanging in the air that neither of you knew how to ask.

“She’s, uh…” Airk broke the silence, jerking his head towards Kit’s door. “…having a difficult time coming to terms… with everything.”

You nodded slowly. “Were you… able to get through to her? At all?”

“Inconsolable,” he admitted regretfully. “I haven’t seen her this distraught since… our father…”

You winced, recalling the initial heartbreak Kit faced when her father’s letters stopped arriving ten years ago.

“I understand…” he continued. “I also know what it’s like to be forced into a loveless marriage.”

His gaze bore into yours, carefully chosen words that riddled you with guilt. You knew you had no right to hurt feelings after that night in the courtyard, but you couldn’t help the sharp pang that hit your chest like a piercing arrow.

“Airk…” you sighed, overwhelmed with remorse. “Please let me apologize for that night…”

“No need,” he interrupted coolly. “It’s really quite alright…”

“It’s not,” you insisted. “My reaction… I assure you… had nothing to do with your character, or your appearance, or anything, really. It wasn’t about you, it was never about you, it…” you took a deep breath, your secret weighed on your shoulders as if it was carved from stone. “Airk… I’m in love with someone else.”

Airk looked taken aback. “Pardon?”

“My hand belongs to you…” your voice trembled. “…but my heart belongs to another.”

A single tear slipped down your cheek. You shut your eyes tightly, the burden of your secret lifting but replaced with overwhelming fear. Airk stood, silently, his expression cycling through shock, relief, confusion, and finally… sympathy.

“Likewise…” he whispered, causing you to look at him again. “There’s this… local maiden, a quiet beauty who carries herself with the gentle elegance of a dove. She may not have been born into privilege, but she’s captivated me. My heart belongs to her.”

He looked at you, expecting a reaction. You attempted to feign surprise, but ended up failing miserably. He smirked. “Was it that evident?”

You chuckled. “With all of your enticing stares at dinner, it almost felt as if I were intruding on something private!”

He laughed airily along with you, long-standing tension finally broken. You started to relax, feeling a weight lift as you and Airk came to an unspoken forgiveness. He smiled warmly, genuinely at you before his expression turned serious once again.

“I hope you know I would hate for my mother to receive word of this,” he said in a low voice.

You nodded in agreement. “You needn’t worry, my lips are sealed. I understand what it’s like… living with secrets.”

He waited for you to continue, but you simply folded your hands in front of you and smiled, silently refusing to speak further.

Airk departed soon after your conversation ended, leaving you once again face-to-face with Kit’s door. You raised your knuckle to the chestnut wood, giving it two gentle raps.

No response.

With a shaky hand, you turned the handle and opened the door with a slow, steady creak. Kit lay flat on her bed, motionless, staring at the ceiling. She made no indication of noticing your presence, so you stepped inside and carefully closed the door with a click.

No response.

Stars studded the now-blackened night sky through a small window in the corner. The room’s only light source was a flickering candle that cast shadows over Kit’s unmoving body and danced along the wrinkles of her garments. You stood near the entrance, watching the subtle rise and fall of her chest with each breath.

“Which is worse?”

The sudden sound of her voice startled you. “Pardon?”

“I’m wondering…” she sat up, dangling her legs over the edge of her bed. “…which is worse? Spending half a decade counting down the seconds until you’re forced into an unwanted marriage, or having it thrust upon you without warning?”

She met your gaze, expecting an answer. You had none. She continued.

“On the one hand, the first option reads torturously, like sitting on death row waiting for execution,” she contemplated, deep in thought. “But on the other hand, it allows for processing time, providing an opportunity to numb yourself to the situation.”

She looked back over to you, her expression stoic. “What do you think?”

“I think I won’t ever be numb to the situation,” you replied with a half-smile.

Kit gave a halfhearted chuckle, staring down at her feet. You moved to sit next to her on the bed, resting a soothing hand on her back. She sighed. “You don’t know how fortunate you are.”

You furrowed your brow. “How do you mean?”

“You’re betrothed to my brother,” she answered. “Someone you grew up with, someone you trust.”

You frowned. “Kit, Airk and I may have history, but I’m still being forced into a loveless marriage. You and I suffer the same plight.”

Kit’s eyes seemed to glaze over as she began to speak in a small voice. “You truly believe our situations are at all similar?”

You removed your hand from her back and leaned slightly away from her. “Kit…”

“Do you?” Her fingers clenched the bedsheets as she finally met your gaze. “I am marrying a man I’ve never met, so I can help form an alliance with a kingdom I’ve never visited! My entire life is conforming to the whims of my mother, do you have any idea what that’s like?”

“Have you observed my mother?” You shot back, standing up from the bed. “Sometimes I wonder whether or not she cares if I live or die, just as long as I marry Airk to keep up appearances like a performing minstrel!”

“Cry me a river, Princess!” Kit growled, also abandoning the bed. “My sincerest apologies that you have a mother that gave you fifteen years to become accustomed to her chosen spouse, and a father to give you away at the altar!”

You softened your gaze, realizing a large part of the reason for Kit’s distress. “Kit, I didn’t…”

“I’ll have to walk down the aisle with Airk!” She interrupted, angry tears now streaming down her face. “There was enough prattle when news of my father’s disappearance spread, and now all of Galladoorn and Tir Asleen combined is going to witness me being given away by my own brother. So don’t you dare stand there and claim that you and I ‘suffer the same plight!’”

“Kit!” Your voice wavered, a tightness in your chest threatened to unleash a flood of tears. “That was not my intent, and you know it. You're hurting, and you have my deepest sympathies…”

“I don’t need your sympathy…”

“Then don’t take it!” Your voice cut through the air, sharp and defensive. “All I said is that I share your pain in being forced into a marriage with someone you don’t love. I don’t understand why you’re so angry with me.”

Kit bit her lip, sniffling and wiping away tears. Her red, puffy eyes struggled to meet yours as she searched for more words to use as a line of defense.

“Because marriage isn’t about love, Princess,” she finally replied. “And frankly, your lack of realization is troubling.”

Her words brought a lump to your throat, like a boulder lodged within a narrow cave. Without another word, you spun on your heel and walked out of Kit’s room, making sure the wooden barrier slammed shut behind you before giving into the tears that had been threatening to fall.

Tag List: @chloepricesgirl @canmargesimpson @yourelliewillms @valenftcrush @camilleee222 @prettygirlfemme @slaytillieswooo @love4lyn @joanvisitsrome @athenalive @mih11 @j-pacifica @everybodyhatesari @vii-ofswords @sophi4v13 @detmarmalade

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patrophthia · 11 months ago

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Hii soo I have a request for Regulus x reader :) okay so like maybe the reader got like a bad haircut or smt and feels very insecure and so Regulus comforts them and says like it's not that bad lol. You don't have to write it if you don't want to it's just a request! :)

i’m sorry this took so long, i have no excuse ive just been lazy 😭😭😭 but this idea, is so so cute hello?!?!

veritaserum | regulus black

pairing: regulus black x reader

genre: fluff, established relationship, comforting, a bit suggestive, not proof read!

One thing about Regulus Black is that he tends to take things a little too seriously. Just a little, he promises as he watch you fuss over your new hair do.

A slight frown playing at your lips as you try to toss your locks in different directions. Left, right, left again, right again. Only to finally give up and huff out in frustration, turning to him with an all too upset look on your face.

“I told them to only take a few inches off, this way too much and it’s not even the style I asked for them to do! How am I supposed to go around looking like this, Reg?”

Regulus narrow his eyes, squinting as he tried to find what exactly was so wrong about your new cut. Sure it’s short, and definitely different from the pass styles he’s seen on you but you still look breathtaking, isn’t that all that matters? “Looking like…?”

“A derange person who doesn’t know how to take care of themselves,” you say, flailing your hands up in frustration. “Merlin, what am I going to do?”

“It’s not bad,” he offers, shrugging. And when your frowns deepens, he adds. “Really, it isn’t.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re my boyfriend,” your murmur, “just admit it doesn’t look good, I won’t be mad at you.”

“I’m not! I genuinely think it looks good on you.” And because Regulus tends to take things about too seriously, he reaches into his book bag before pulling out a small clear vial. “Here, this is veritaserum.”

He doesn’t need to explain it to you, the both of you having studied the content within the while a few classes ago in Potions. Regulus, pulls the cork open before quickly downing the clear substance.

There’s a few moments of silence where you both stared at one another. You not believing that he really downed an entire vial of truth serum just to prove of his point, and when you take a step forward; Regulus opens up his mouth to speak.

“Your new hair cut looks amazing on you, Mon chéri,” he says first. “Breath taking even.”

The corner of your lips twist upwards on its own accord, heart softening at his words. “You didn’t have to drink that just to tell me.”

“You wouldn’t have believe me otherwise,” he hiccups, short dark curls falling gracefully onto his forehead. Regulus, pushes it off his face, gazing at you with content. “Matter of fact, I think I’m getting hard just looking at you, I can’t fake that.”

“Gross, Reg,” you groaned, making your way towards him with a fake disgusted look, “you didn’t have to tell me that.”

“I didn’t want to either,” he says, reaching out for you, and you let him take your hand, “but I can’t really control what I want to say right now since I—” he lifts up the empty vial into your line of sight “—anyways, your hair looks good on you. And if you’re so worried about it then I’m sure there’s hair tonic that’ll grow it back out in a moments time.”

“Mhmm,” you hum, nodding as you agreed with him, “think I’ll keep it like this for a few weeks though.”

And when Regulus lets out a quiet —barely even there, “yes!” You think that he might’ve liked this hair cut more than he lets on.

#regulus x reader #regulus black imagines #regulus black fanfiction #regulus headcanon #regulus black x reader #regulus black fluff #🧳: my writing #— requests

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lemmetreatya · 1 year ago

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BABES, DILF ONYANKOPAN PLS...

OHHHHHH OF COURSE!! ANYTHING FOR YOU SCHNOOKUMS!!

content: very soft, suggestive tones

dilf!onyankopon is a loving father to his kids and a beautifully affectionate husband to you. hes such a family oriented man and genuinely finds pleasure in working hard to provide for his family.

dilf!onyankopon whos sometimes away for long times because of his work as a pilot, but he’s always making an effort to make up for his time away.

dilf!onyankopon who loves setting up anything from pools to trampolines to swings to slides for the kids. he doesnt consider himself a handy man but give him a set of instructions or a youtube video and he works it out just fine. he will also not think twice about joining in with them when they ask him to.

“daddy, come play with us!”

the loud giggles of children have been ringing within the backyard all day but its now that his oldest daughter calls out to him that he’s suddenly alerted by the call.

“want me to come and beat you guys again, huh?” he grins widely. not that he cared about participating much, but its you he turns and gives a look to.

can I? his eyes silently ask and you can only roll your eyes before nodding your head in their direction with a thick smile.

“just make sure nobody come to me crying bout a pulled back or bumped head.”

dilf!onyankopon who absolutely will not mind throwing down onto the bbq. will take every opportunity to call the boys and their families round for a grill up as soon as there’s even a GLIMPSE OF SUN. uses the “Ive got everything but ____” trick on his friends so that he can get away with them all bringing the extra items and him just supplying the meat 💀💀💀

dilf!onyankopon likes letting you have moderate reign over his money. he isnt too fussed about what you spend it on but best believe he demands to see specific things that you buy. not so he can keep tabs, but so he can see how good things look on you.

Onyankopon (ICE): Show me.

You: show you what?

Onyankopon (ICE): Don’t try play with me.

Onyankopon (ICE): Whatever you got at the lingerie store. I want to see.

You: HOW????

You: you cctv’ing me now?! 🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨

Onyankopon (ICE): Bank notifications.

Onyankopon (ICE): Now show me. I’m getting impatient.

Onyankopon (ICE): Attachment 3

You: shiiiit???

Onyankopon (ICE): Exactly. So don’t keep me waiting.

Onyankopon (ICE): Please.

dilf!onyankopon whos a massive lover about the food you cook him. will never fail to compliment you on what you cook for him and is greatly appreciative of when you do. goes out his way to promote the kids to do the same

dilf!onyankopon who is absolutely infatuated with you regardless of your state — or his state, for that matter.

“how did i ever get so lucky with you?”

the man continues to pepper kisses over your face. his main target is your lips but he seems to miss that spot occasionally. however, you’re careful not to push him away or act in opposition to his affection. drunk dilf!onyankopon a sappy man once upset.

“baby, please go to sleep.” you whine once his mouth is off yours.

“but i love you!” he says through a pout. “do you not love me too?”

“onyankopon, i love you too much to comprehend, but right now you’re wine drunk and need to go to sleep. you have work in the morning.”

you place a hand lightly on his head and try lower him back down onto his own pillow but dilf!onyankopon makes a sound of resistance before springing upwards.

“but im not tired! i have so much energy! with you by my side, i could conquer the world!”

“oh really?” you say with a raised eyebrow. “well, since you’ve got enough energy to conquer the world, you could start at home by mowing the lawn.”

as soon as you say those words, dilf!onyankopon suddenly plops his head onto the pillow, his cheek squished against it.

“awe man, i feel so sleepy…” he fake yawns.

#onyankopon smut #onyankopon aot #onyankopon x reader #onyankopon x black reader #onyankopon #aot x black reader #aot x reader #black reader #black fanfiction

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blood-grove · 5 months ago

Text

unnatural bleeding

merfolk au!

previous <- part 5 -> WIP

parings: gaz x reader

chars: gaz, price , soap , ghost

tws: blood, injuries, violence, past abuse, language, slow burn.

a/n: hehehhehehe finally new update :3 got rid of the rude reader tw cuz reader is gonna be annoyed at the world at best angry at worst plus i dont think ive been writing them rudely so also forgive me if the writing pov changes weirdly idk i have a hard time staying focused and consistent ill try better

tags; @chickennn-soupp @cassiecasluciluce @sans-chara @lethargicluv @kaoyamamegami

What the hell was this place.

It seems all they did was stare at you and when you would clearly get sick of the mumbles and looks you'd splash them and they'd fucking laugh.

They were weird and the Gaz guy was weirder.

You found later his name was actually Kyle and he meant to clarify earlier.

But you found the silly nickname funny.

But this wasn't fun.

Being propped up on a large mat next to the side of the pool the leather felt uncomfortable under you, You also felt way too exposed as a few humans looked over your stitches and wrappings.

It felt weird there hands weren't rough but no one besides a few have touched you like this they were talking about something you'd care less to pay attention too.

As they examined you, Gaz kept trying to pull your attention away from the other humans.

Oh?

Was he jealous?.

Humans are so fickle it's funny.

Christ.

Even working with merfolk in the past Gaz still never got used to the bigger ones like you.

Scarface as you've been suitably nicknamed for the moment been alright and cooperative so far no biting or thrashing.

He'd likely guess the wounds were causing you to be so irritable they didn't look good when they first arrived problem had a couple of parasites on them along with other infections that are still being treated.

Price was observing the whole check up process.

You didn't speak much at least not to any of the other staff.

There were a few problems though.

Firstly they found you solo but there was still likely you belonged to a pod but which is the question.

Secondly, they couldn't keep you in the medical pool forever you were wild to some extent it would be cruel to keep you from you family.

Thirdly during your surgery, they'd found a piece of metal that didn't look important it was kept to be looked over in case it helped discover why you were in such a state, Price already guessed territorial fighting but you clearly (no offense) couldn't pick your battles.

Some of these scars and bites could have been lethal.

He was pulled out of his thoughts as you shifted clicking in annoyance he was quick to reach over for another fish from the bucket nearby by offering it up in an attempt to distract you.

"Are all humans this pokey?"

"No Scarface we just..need to make sure your healing okay..Then we can release you."

Kyle huffed as he gave you an honest smile ignoring the glare and grumble he received in return, You still took the fish though idly crunching on it.

They eventually finished the examination without much fuss except for you not so subtly tripping the newest volunteer who honestly should have been starting off with a much smaller mer than you.

But you start off somewhere.

Speaking of which it's about lunch time for them now and his break time, Kyle oversaw you getting back into the pool without much struggle before he left your area visiting by Price to mention he was going on his break before grabbing his lunch and heading to the docks.

He'd usually not have to wait long before they'd show but it'd seemed they were late.

It wasn't long till a familiar face popped up flashing teeth and all.

"Hey, Soap!" Kyle grinned as he looked to see the shark mer propping up his elbows onto the dock.

"Ghost comin'..?"

"Ah in a bit he's still getting his bearings.."

Now he was confused the last time he'd seen the pair and given them there updated shots and tags they'd been great.

The pair were unusual a Shark and Orca together seemed unheard of but yet just a few years ago now when Kyle had fallen overboard during an solo observation trip Ghost saved him from drowning.

Both of them were odd in a good way, Simon having been outcasted by his pod but he doesn't like to talk about it.

He had lots of scars all telling of countless battles of either for his territory or from just fights.

As for Soap, Sharks were solitary regardless but Soap had his own set of scars from fights some he shouldn't have tried starting.

"Bearings? What happended?.."

"Another fuckin' Orca smaller not as experienced grabbed me a few days back, Si really fucked em' up till the bastard clocked him on the head with there tail-"

Wait.

"Jesus , Where is he? I can get a team out and-"

"Ah ye know how he feels about humans..Plus he seemed to be swimming straight.."

"But Soap , He could have a concussion or maybe a facture-"

Soap sighed as he glanced back to the water before back at Kyle.

"Look..You can try convincing em'"

Soap frowned as Simon finally surfaced propping himself up onto the dock as well the wood creaking slightly under the weight of just Simons upper half.

"Ghost"

"Kyle."

Kyle huffed as he didnt even need to say anything as he went up to him giving him a look before he huffed grumbling quietly adjusting himself better so that Kyle could assess him.

Taking his time looking over the newer injuries they had healed well enough fishing out his little hand held flash light from his keychain in his pocket he checked Ghost's eyes.

After a bit of checking Kyle felt satisfied ignoring Ghost annoyed clicks.

"Mm..Now Soap you said it was another Orca right..? Did it come back?"

"Nah..Fucker swam off after bashing Ghost head..Pretty sure I could smell em' bleeding though for a bit till they got too far."

Right this was looking to be way too convenient and fitting to not match up with good ol' Scarface's condition.

"Mm..Alright..Anyway I brought some-"

"Treats?!" Before Kyle could even move his lunchbox away Soap had snatched it and Kyle let out a exasperated sigh not even fighting for it risk of being pulled into the water.

"Jesus Soap my lunch is still in there be careful- And dont eat the plastic!"

#cod #gaz garrick #gaz cod #gaz x gn!reader #reader #gender neutral reader #gaz x reader #captain john price #john price #simon ghost riley #cod ghost #john soap mactavish #soap cod #soapghost #merfolk au #fanfic #eeeee <3

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all2angels · 5 months ago

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ok but dad gee and you’re like half his age and he’s your first time and his sweaty dad bod and and and #sorry

tw age-gap, gross descriptions, not physically active gee LMFAO

oh, dad gee, how ive missed you!

i'd love to just make him feel so guilty about it. telling him he's a bad man (house of wolves reference) for wanting to do it with someone so much younger than him. i want to degrade him, ok?

of course, the age gap does not stop you two from doing it, it being your first time as well. because you made a fuss about wanting to try it and gerard can't control himself, if anything his dick controls him. he'd do anything for you as long as it gets him laid. but he'd never admit that.

imagine his nervous face when you point out that he could literally be your dad 🥺 telling him he's a gross nasty old man that needs to be locked up! he'd get super embarrassed and tell you not to say such things that aren't true, but he worries deep down that they were factual.

your first time with him though, he really tried to make it special. as much as he can, anyways. he lit up some scented candles and dimmed the lights (dimming the lights is such a rich people thing but n e way)

he'd be super super gentle with you, too. leaving trail marks all over you and touching every possible are of your skin. he can't wait, he's rock hard fucking solid and it doesn't help that you keep teasing his clothed cock with your knee.

gerard promised to do all the right things, to prep you, make sure you're lubed up, etc, but since it was your first time it was a little bit of a struggle, but the fact his dick wasn't all that definitely helped! it's like u were made for each other. (half srs half j)

all the time while he was thrusting into you, you could hear his already exhausted groans and breaths, his sweat was dripping down to you and his hair was super wet. he didn't go that fast, one reason being not wanting to hurt you and the other being he physically can't.

this would've been a turn off for anyone else. not to you. this show he was putting on was so... hot.

you both ended up enjoying yourselves way too much, he lazily dragged you over to his arms, you both were sticky but he mumbled something about taking a break and resting before aftercare. you kissed his forehead and waited for him to recover so that u could take a bath together.

#c: dad!gee #THIS BECAME SWEETER THAN I WANTED IT TO BE lowkeym.#gerard way x reader #gerard way smut #mcr x reader #mcr smut #gerard way #my chemical romance x reader #2019 gerard way #all2angels

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m0e-ru · 1 month ago

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p4 pokemon au where all problems are because of some stupid zoroark cracked with action replay

maul me over as much as you want over poke partner choices because idgaf im going to start yapping under the cut (2.5k words are yuo joking ?)

um where can i start

i wanna make it clear im sure these characters would all have different pokemon teams if they were playing pokemon on the nintendo ds, like, souji could be a rest staller if he wanted to. but anyway, heres my idea of who these guys would partner up with because i think it’s fun. and none of this is final i could give namatame a goomy too AHAHA

oh another disclaimer while i proclaim ive played all the mainline games, is i havent actually played a pokemon game past XY also im a unova babygirl est 2014 . yippie

Souji feels like such a normal-type guy to me. Cheren black and white. Well, the gray did influence it, but also he’s a very flexible guy.

He caught a Lillipup as a kid, and it’s been with him through multiple moves. His parents didn’t care about a pokemon in the house as long as it didn’t make a fuss, and was kind of Souji’s only friend at the time. It evolved into a Herdier at some point before he gets to Inaba, and probably gets to be a Stoutland for the whole Izanagi-no-Okami equivalent.

Not that I think he’d cheese his way through battles with Work Up -> Return shtick, but I think it’s a funny thought lol

Yusuke got a Tadbulb following him around, which he found in the moving van when his family was unpacking. And the next few weeks, he almost ran over a Froakie going 60kph on his bike. Yosuke appreciates having the Tadbulb around when working around Junes, and the Froakie guides him through Inaba as a local I guess lol. It evolves into the Frogadier when they go investigate the serial murders with Souji. It probably knows Aerial Ace for all I know LMAO

Chie’s Glaceon’s actually Muku, the Eevee Yukiko tried to take care of, until it was put in Chie’s care when she wasn’t allowed to keep it. When they were middle school, after one vacation at Mt. Yasogami, the Eevee ended up evolving next to an Ice Rock of all things. The two wondered why it didn’t evolve from friendship, like an Espeon or an Umbreon, and they joke around that the Eevee loved neither of them and bonded with a chunk of ice instead. Chie makes it wear a muffler because she misses Eevee's fluffy coat, in a way.

Around the same time, Chie found a Mienshao training with her at the flood plains, and it decided to stay with her. Sometimes, she’d offer Yukiko to have it help out at the inn.

Kanji’s mom actually kept a Cottonee around to gather the stray cotton it leaves around to spin into thread sometimes. She wondered where it went, until Kanji admitted it evolved into a Whimsicott after it touched a rock he found lying around on the way home, which was a Sun Stone. It still stays around to help, and even floats all the way to Yasogami just to deliver Kanji’s lunch he forgot at home.

Kanji caught a Blitzle himself, and it was also there when he was beating up all the bikers making a ruckus by the highway, which made him easy to profile during that one TV segment about him. It goes with Kanji while he’s biking, and he’d refuse its help even when he gets tired.

Nobody really knows how Teddie became a boy, nor where he got his Cubchoo. All he’s mentioned is that they “saw one another in each other’s eyes” and it starts sneezing into Yosuke’s face. Well, it’s not too bad because they’re both Junes’ new mascots, in a way. Maybe he IS the Cubchoo 🤔🤔🤔

Rise had the Ralts since middle school. Having it perform with her during her audition to be an idol almost basically made her in the cut. It evolved into a Kirlia which made her more popular as Risette. Although, fans and haters started throwing Dawn Stones at it after a statement where Rise didn’t want to reveal its gender even with so many people asking. Most of them were fake, just to give Rise a scare, and it was only super fans or super haters that would throw in the real deal at shows or even just handshake sessions.

Naoto’s grandfather helped him catch a Surskit before he left the estate and became the Detective Prince. He once accused a Sneasel to be a culprit of one case, but it ended up proving itself innocent, nagging Naoto to certain evidence when he just thought it was annoying him. Impressed by each other’s wit, they’ve become partners in solving crime. Naoto would pacify it with his Surskit’s sweet syrup. And when the Surskit evolved into a Masquerain, Naoto would have two partners by his side. Although, this lead to trusting his own instincts and pokemon more than other people.

Chisato owned a Rockruff, which even adored Dojima before they were even married. It evolved into a midday Lycanroc, which started to help Dojima with his own investigations. When Chisato passed, it was less bitter than Dojima, and would be sent home to stay with Nanako if he ever had to work overnight. When Nanako was comfortable enough with Souji and his Herdier, the Lycanroc would stay with Dojima, and Adachi would help prop him on its back when he gets himself drunk.

A bit after Chisato’s funeral in the middle of the mourning period, her mother came to her granddaughter, Nanako, and gave her a Cleffa, in which they would both learn to take care of each other. It would have fun being tossed around in the air by the Lycanroc and Herdier at home, while Souji would tell Nanako to make a wish on the star everytime it was in the air. Because it’s the Star Shape pokemon lol i think it’s cute

While Adachi was still in the big city, he’d see the skinniest Purrloin in an alley on the way home. He fed it once, and it wouldn’t stop pestering him since. He thought it was over when his apartment complex neighbors started feeding it, but it found delight in annoying Adachi specifically, taking his keys from his pockets, or nabbing a bit of his takeout when he was distracted.

It jumped into the boot of his car, genuinely curious of what was going on, until it found itself in an hours long trip which ended with it in Inaba. Dojima mentioned his Lycanroc smelled a feline scent on him, while Adachi just denies he owns a pokemon, much less that Purrloin that isn’t even native to the area. It’s caught the attention of the locals for a while, and it took it to its advantage to get more people to feed it, but still hangs around Adachi to go nick his new, rusty apartment keys.

There’s also like, this Shuppet that shows up at some point, and his landlady and neighbors keep telling him about it and giving him weird looks. But he doesnt believe in superstitions and doesnt have a pokedex to look at so who cares

Namatame's family has a Bunnelby helping around the business with little chores and such. His parents send it off to Namatame to work with him and keep him company while he tries to recover. Somewhere along the way, he finds an Absol following him on a rainy day, which he takes care of alongside the Bunnelby entrusted to him, or maybe it’s taking care of him? While Namatame becomes more manic each passing day as his messiah complex gets to him, he starts distancing himself from Bunnelby and spends more time with Absol.

The MOEL gas station has a shiny Heliolisk, but a lot of people don't really know the concept of shiny pokemon, and they haven't seen Heliolisks or Helioptiles in the urban area, so they don't really think it's so special besides it being a different color. It's nothing more than a mascot of sorts, and does silly things with the attendant; like startling Adachi and that Purrloin that follows him around. It can sense when it's going to rain by feeling the static electricity around it. And what's rather peculiar is that it doesn't seem too averse to rain or cloudy skies. It does enjoy basking in the sun, and people would look up to see it hanging around on the station canopy with a spread out frill those days.

okay, so this is the part where I'm supposed to talk about plot. um. anyway

Way back when, there was a Zoroark that would walk among people, disguised as a human. People started rumors and suspected this woman really is a pokemon, but nobody seemed to shun her or really care, she was just a nice lady and took care of the people around her. People would say she came to them from a greater power to be a guardian to the land, similar to the legends in different regions, like Sinnoh and their Arceus.

However, the way she protects her people would be through illusions. She would keep external and malicious forces at bay by severely frightening them at the mountaintops, or the forests, if they ever got through, be it human or pokemon. If anyone were hurt or were about to die, unable to be treated to health, she would comfort them in a grand dream as they would fall asleep for the very last time.

As time went on and technology developed, people were so entranced with the television broadcasts, wanting to know who was behind the screen, even if they were covered up in makeup and filters.

The greater power sought to sate the people's desires, and saw the Zoroark it left in their care wasn't enough. So it split the pokemon into two, with one half so weak it was just a Zorua. The newly born Zoroark went off to accomplish its appointed duty, no matter the means. To better determine what the people wanted, however, it created a scheme which would involve stimulating the masses to come to an answer.

The Zoroark played a simple gas station attendant, which would stay close and observe the people. It would choose three pawns to watch over, manipulating the situation in tandem to their reactions.

well so um basically there's still an isekai with TV portals. the iznmi Zoroark has enough power this time to create pocket dimensions straight from its illusion power. Every victim that ends up inside still gets haunted by their “truth” iznmi determines after scrutinizing them. The Midnight Channel broadcasts are also their illustrations. so basically, instead of things going on by itself from the collective unconscious reacting, it's a Zoroark piecing things together. it's kinda like pokepark 2. HAHAHA

Namatame's still kidnapping people he sees on the Midnight Channel. And when he gets Nanako, the Bunnelby stays behind and begs the IT to help. It helps them find Namatame, where they confront him and his Absol. Through illusions and legitimate power channeling, the Absol mega evolves. The IT defeat it and it returns to a normal Absol. They take both Nanako and Namatame to the hospital, the Bunnelby by Namatame's side the whole time.

When Adachi's suspected to be the killer, he escapes into the world inside the TV and makes a deal with the Zoroark. The Purrloin follows Adachi's scent and ends up in the TV, terrified of its unknown surroundings and hiding from the rest of the monstrous illusions that popped up. It got used to the world, however, and when the IT arrived, it helped them with Adachi's silly puzzles, to which he groans through a PA about how that pokemon’s still annoying him in another world.

The IT confront Adachi, until a Mismagius appears to stop them. It sings Perish Song (because Magatsu-Izanagi is a Ghastly Wail kind of thing lmfao) but everyone stood their ground, blocking the song from their ears. Even under Adachi's (albeit in pain) command, the Mismagius falters, and the Zoroark takes things into its own hands, creating a bigger illusion to finally deal with these meddling kids for itself.

But they defeat Ame-no-Sagiri, and its grand voice agrees to stop the grand illusions plaguing Inaba. The IT still have no idea who this conductor of schemes is, and Adachi can't give a clear answer either

Marie's a Zorua with amnesia so bad she forgot she's a Zorua at all. She started her illusion as a human girl just to aimlessly wander around Inaba more easily and has been stuck in that form since. She was taken into the Velvet Room where they can clearly see that she isn't a human, but a pokemon. What's impressive is that she doesn't have a tail sticking out, which would mean her powers of illusion are rather potent.

Souji’s made to chaperone her around Inaba to get her memories back, the whole shtick. While everyone stops prying into her nonexistent life, they're impressed with her ability to understand pokemon, as if she can actually understand them. Marie comes to the conclusion that she must have grown up around pokemon to be able to understand them that well.

In the end, she finds out she is a pokemon, and iznmi Zoroark sends her to a grave that is physically in Inaba, instead of a pocket dimension.

Margaret creates a conduit from that shed TV to that tomb somewhere in Inaba. Marie runs around as a Zorua and makes illusions to stop the IT from getting to her. But they manage to get to the heart of the tomb and get Zorua Marie from burying herself.

They defeat another one of iznmi Zoroark’s avatars dwelling in Marie which was controlling her, then Marie comes back to the IT, accepting her identities as a pokemon and a human girl.

The IT thought that the illusions have stopped, and people are free to see what's really in front of their eyes. But Souji confronts the gas station at MOEL, where he reveals he's really a Zoroark with a duty, even startling the Heliolisk by its side.

The IT enter the final world of illusions and desperately try to find the Zoroark to convince it to stop and let people truly live, that no one should hold their hands all the time, and quit living in a painless and meaningless utopia.

With everyone and their pokemon exhausted, Marie finds the strength to convince her other self. To let it see that she is living proof how people can live a life with the truth, and how they can stand on their own feet.

After some time, the Zoroark agrees to dispel the illusions it has made, and appoint the rest of its power to Marie for her to be the guardian pokemon of the people of Inaba.

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