#like he felt trapped with ray and needed to GET OUT

[pearlessance]

Beneath the Armor —part two

[part one]

summary: Joel figures out a way to win you over after your heated argument. Things slowly change, for the better. You carefully work at chipping away Joel's walls, not allowing yourself to leave him behind. It was easy falling for him.

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: explicit sexual content MDNI. ANGST with a happy ending, grief, mention of child loss, daddy issues, age difference, slow burn, seduction, use of alcohol, and references to alcohol abuse, brat taming, smut, daddy kink, rough oral, face sitting, p in v, degradation, hair pulling, dom/sub undertones, creampie, begging, overstimulation

wc: 12.1k

note: part two as promised!! cowritten with @joelmillerssexyyounggirlfriend who's now on both tumblr and AO3! please make sure to go follow her for more delicious, mouth watering joel fics just like this one <3

Your junker, piece of shit car worked well enough to drive you a couple of hours out of town for the evening. You weren’t even sure where you were going, but you needed to be somewhere that wasn’t the suffocating town you’d been trapped in for years.

The sun was setting by the time you’d finally pulled over, stopping when your body took you to your unexpected destination. It was the state park your mom would take you to when you were just a child, probably around Sarah’s age. From where your car was parked, you could see the sun's bright rays moving down past the mountainous hills, saying goodbye to you.

It would’ve been a lot easier for you if your life had been simpler. A loving mom and dad who actually enjoyed being around each other. Instead, they’d both abandoned you, leaving you behind to make hard decisions for yourself. 

A couple of moments later, a pack of cigarettes was fished out from your glove compartment, and a sole smoke found its home between your trembling lips. You lit it, the fire from the lighter brightening your face against the dark contrast of the setting sky around you. With a deep, shaky inhale, you felt the back of your head hit against the car seat headrest. 

You couldn’t keep going like this. Being stuck in this town, living a repetitive life was slowly killing you. Your friends had left town; hell, even your mom had escaped. When would it be your turn? Would you stay until you became a shell of yourself, like Joel?

The ash of the cigarette in your hand followed the speed of the sunset, slowly burning, burning, burning, until finally, it was gone. All that was left was the darkness of the night and the cigarette butt in your hand. 

The smell of cigarette smoke still lingered in the car when you wake from an unexpected slumber a handful of hours later. You figured that the combination of watching the nightfall and the intoxication of the nicotine lulled you to sleep. When you started your car, you saw it was a quarter past midnight. Jesus.

You sighed, grateful that some park ranger hadn’t walked up to your parked car and seen you passed out with a fully smoked cigarette between your fingers. Your hazy eyes watched the clock briefly, considering if you should get a hotel, drive back home, or just sleep the rest of the night in your car. 

With not being able to spare much money for a room and not wanting to risk being murdered in the middle of the state park, you chose the latter. Truthfully, you didn’t want to go back home. It was never truly a home for you, but more of a transient place—an in-between.

The windows being rolled down and punk music blasting through the radio kept you from falling asleep behind the wheel. By the time you made it home, you only wanted to crawl into your bed, despite the hunger gnawing at your insides. 

But, of course, Joel was sitting on your front porch. Your headlights washed over him, showing you just how tired he looked. It was almost three in the morning, for Christ's sake. You weren’t sure that you had another fight in you. 

You didn’t even acknowledge him when you got out of your car and slammed it behind you, moving your body around him in an attempt to unlock your front door. The intensity of his stare was almost physical, and you nearly made it inside before Joel’s hand prevented you from opening the door.

“Stop,” Joel said, letting his hand fall away from yours as if he was scared to touch you for too long.

“Why are you even here right now?” you spat at him, guard high. His tone was still cold, and his shoulders were somehow even more rigid than when you left. “I don’t want to argue anymore tonight, Joel. Please, just—”

“Where were you?”  His jaw feathered.

As muddied as your dynamic has become, you knew you were not required to tell him anything. He wasn’t responsible for you. And, frankly, his cruelty should serve as a wake-up call. As much as you ached for him and wanted his attention, you knew that if you folded here and did what he wanted, you’d end up stuck in this place forever. Never progressing, forever in limbo.

Insecurity and abandonment issues be damned, you knew you deserved better than this place.

You took a wavering breath, trying to clear the emotion from your voice as you spoke. “I needed to get away. Please move.”

He didn’t. Of course, he didn’t. “By yourself. In that piece of shit car,” he stated sharply. “In the middle of the fucking night. Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Yeah, Joel, I know how to fucking read.”

“Smart enough to read but not smart enough to realize how stupid and dangerous that is?” He scoffed. “How many times a week do the cops show up here for this reason or the other? How many missing posters are hung up in the park office, plastered with faces of girls that look an awful lot like you? An’ you just go wanderin’ around by yourself in the middle of the night when you know the kinda people that live around here.”

“What, people like you?” It was a low blow, and you knew it. And even though regret slithered through your gut as you watched disbelief flash in his eyes, you stood firm. “You…I was trying to help you, Joel. And I admit I might have crossed a line, but I didn’t deserve all those insults. And I don’t deserve them now, either. So get the fuck out of my way.”

You tried for the door again, but he stepped completely in front of it this time.

“Joel—!”

“Wait. Just…just wait.” He swallowed hard, throat bobbing. He started to speak and stopped several times. You knew he was trying to apologize, trying to find the words to smooth this over. 

But you weren’t helping him this time. It wasn’t your job to save him, just as he said. So you offered nothing in response because that’s what he wants from you, isn’t it?

And then the words came pouring out of him like a long-held sigh. “I lied before. An’ I shouldn’t have. I was angry. I don’t…I haven’t even opened the door since…I didn’t expect to see anyone in her room. Let alone you, who I…” 

He stopped again. Your heart raced. 

Your words were breathless. A whisper in the dark as you urged, “Who you what, Joel?”

“You…you mean somethin’ to me. An’ I shouldn’t have said all that earlier. I didn’t mean it. Not a fuckin’ word. But I…you…you terrify me. The world is a dangerous place for girls like you.”

“Girls like me?”

“Yeah, girls like you who see someone like me and don't cross to the other side of the street. Instead, you—” he paused, eyes downcast, suddenly interested in the crack in the wooden step beneath his feet. “You bring me dinner,” he continued with a disbelieving laugh. “An’ you ask me all these questions about my no-good life. Questions that you want to hear the answers for, like you’re really tryin’ to know me. An’ you look at me like…like there’s somethin’ worth lookin’ at.”

Your heart momentarily broke for him. It made sense that someone so angry was secretly just insecure. He was so scared of being loved, of losing someone he loved, that he’d instead soak in his own misery. 

“And if somethin’ were to happen to you, somethin’ preventable, I couldn’t live with it.” He scratched lightly at the scruff along his jaw. 

When you spoke this time, the words held less malice but remained resolute. “I know you see what’s happening here. It’s clear as day, isn’t it? I’m a young girl with no daddy to look out for her. And you’re someone’s daddy without a daughter.”

His eyes snapped to yours, filled with an unsaid warning that you didn’t heed. “It ain’t like that,” he insisted, but the lie bled right through his teeth.

“It’s not what it’s like; it’s what it is, Joel. And, you know, maybe you’re right. Maybe I am pathetic, wanting so badly for you to comfort me, to fill that hole my dad left behind. But at least I’m not denying any of it. At least I’m man enough to admit that I want it, that I want you, even if it’s in a fucked up way.”

Joel shook his head. “I can’t…I can’t be that for you. I’m not your daddy.”

“And I’m not Sarah.”

You watched as he flinched at the sound of her name, a visceral reaction that seemed to steal the breath from his lungs. Through clenched teeth, he said, “Don’t.”

Even knowing you shouldn’t, you closed the tiny space between you. So close you could feel his breath as it fanned over your lips. “You like to put on this front, like to think you can handle this on your own, that you don’t need anyone or anything. But I can see beneath all that, Joel Miller.”

That same venom from earlier made its grand return to his words. “Oh, and you know just what I need. S’that it? Think you’ve got me all figured out. Think you’ve got all the fucking answers.”

You nodded, determined. “You’re not as complex as you think. You’re just as scared to be alone as I am.”

Joel didn’t like that. You knew he didn’t want to be called out on his shit, but you didn’t have the energy to care anymore. It was too early in the morning to give a shit. 

His jaw was clenched so tight that you could see a muscle flex in his jaw, and if you weren’t so angry, you might’ve noticed the pang of attraction in your gut. 

“Fine.”

Then, he finally turned and walked away. His boots crunched against the gravel driveway as he stalked towards his home without a backward glance. He didn’t storm off or run away. He just left, his back straight and determined.

You hated that you watched him, unable to tear your eyes away until he entered his house. You were just grateful that you could finally lay your head on your pillow, instantly climbing into your bed when Joel left your peripheral vision. 

And even though he wasn’t there physically, he still haunted your dreams. Endless patterns of fighting and a brutal tug-of-war with Joel kept you from a soundless sleep. When you woke the next morning, it was in a hot sweat, with the hair on the back of your neck sticking to your clammy skin. 

The cold shower you prayed would wash away your woes did little to comfort you. By the time you were dressed in only shorts and a tank top, smoking a cigarette in your bedroom, you felt just as shitty as you did the night before.

The warm summer breeze moved through your bedroom from the open window, almost mocking you. That feeling of driving with Joel and having the wind pass between your fingers was returning with a vengeance. 

What right did Joel have to come into your life? To shake it up, to make you crave him and his affection. Why couldn’t you have chosen someone less fucked up, someone less confusing?

And almost on cue, you heard a heavy knock at your front door, and you knew it was him. By this point, you had absolutely had it. Why wouldn't he leave you alone if he didn’t want you? 

“What now?” you scowled when you yanked the door open, unsurprised to see Joel there, holding what appeared to be a book. Looking into his face showed you that all of his bark was gone; instead, his eyes were soft and almost apologetic. There was a faint crease between his eyebrows, his gaze heavy with an unspoken guilt. 

He glanced away for a second, looking back at his house as if he was looking for an escape plan if things didn’t go how he wanted. 

“Can I come in?” 

Joel’s voice was quiet, rough around the edges, almost like he had to force himself to speak. 

You took a moment to consider it. Did you want to keep this going? Could you handle any more arguments? Your eyes moved to look at the book in his hands, and through his long fingers, you could see the outline of a Polaroid photo tucked into a clear sleeve on the cover. 

“Please,” Joel all but begged, stepping a bit closer to you before quickly moving back, unsure if he had the right to shorten the space between the two of you. “I know it’s been a lot, but please, just let me try to explain. It’s hard for me… stuff like this. Feelings.”

The tone Joel was taking with you and the unspoken apology hanging in the air made you hesitate even more. His breath shuddered as he exhaled, clearly trying to discover a way to convince you that he meant what he was saying.

“I messed up.” Joel’s voice was calloused, raw, as if he wasn’t used to admitting something like that out loud. “I’m sorry. Can I please come in?”

It was almost embarrassing that a simple ‘I’m sorry’ was enough to break you, but words like that coming from Joel made forgiveness all the easier. Joel was an uphill battle, but finally, you felt like you had won.

“Okay. But if you shout, or yell, or make me feel like shit, then you can leave the way you came in.”

His nod was stiff but confident. “No yelling. No making you feel like shit. I just wanna talk.”

It felt weird having Joel in your space. Your home was a stark contrast to his: neat and organized, with many decorative touches throughout, including books, odd paintings you’d rescued from the thrift store, and an unhealthy amount of foliage. 

You’d found a hobby of taking in half-dead plants, making it a challenge to yourself to prevent them from succumbing entirely. Ironic. 

Watching Joel’s towering figure sit down on your couch almost made you smile. It felt right for him to be there, in a weird, bizarre way.

“Cute place.”

And even though he was slowly working on making you forgive him, you wouldn’t lie down that easily. You only hummed a thanks in response before sitting beside him, the couch sinking under your combined weight. 

“So,” you began, gesturing to the photo album tucked in his hands. “What do you want to talk about?”

By God, you could feel Joel’s hesitation, the fear that he felt himself in allowing you to see his vulnerable side. But you wouldn’t baby him like you had been doing. If this was something he wanted, he had to decide on his own.

“I do like spendin’ time with you,” he admitted, surprising you with his bluntness. “More than you’ll ever know. But I meant what I said last night. I can’t give you what you want. This can’t be more than what it already is. A friendship.”

Both of you knew that was bullshit. As much as he wanted to tell himself that he hadn’t considered something more with you, you knew that if you wanted to get anywhere with him, you’d have to agree to his terms. You did enjoy the time you spent with him when it wasn’t full of bickering and whatever the hell else. He took care of you, cared about you. If those were his terms, then so be it.

For now.

“Okay.”

He nodded, sighing a breath of relief at your agreement. “Okay, then.”

Joel’s hands moved to open the photo album, his knees turning to bump into your own. From the first page, you knew that this was going to be incredibly challenging to sit through with him.

Sarah was held in Joel’s strong arms when she was a baby. He looked so young and full of life and promise, and he had tears in his eyes. 

“Remember rushin’ to the hospital since her momma’s water broke early. I was on a job site with my brother, with one of the most important clients we’d had at the time. It didn’t matter, not when I knew that Sarah was there, waitin’ for me.” 

His finger traced along the page, stopping when he felt you moving closer to his side. 

“She’s beautiful, Joel,” you whispered. He’d never been so open with you. Talking to him felt like calming down a wild animal, but you wanted him to know that you were there for him, despite what he believed he deserved.

“Yeah,” he sighed, “the most beautiful little girl I’d ever seen.”

He continued to flip through the book, filling in some of the gaps between the photos with stories. It seemed almost therapeutic for him to go through the pictures and relive what it was like when Sarah was still alive.

One photo in particular stood out to you because up until then, you’d only really seen either Joel, Tommy, or Sarah.

A woman with long blond hair sat with a baby Sarah between her legs, a thin smile across her lips. 

“Who’s that?” 

The second Joel glanced over to see what picture you’d pointed out, you could tell you hit a sore spot.

“Sarah’s momma,” he answered simply before flipping to the next page. You didn’t want to press him anymore about it, understanding that he was already putting himself in a vulnerable position. Somehow, you could still feel a frustration brewing in him the longer time passed on, until he finally let it out. 

“The cancer was genetic. Her momma had it when she was a kid, too, but beat it. When Sarah got diagnosed, she said she couldn’t be around all of that again, and she upped and left us one night. To think, it was her genes, her fault for it all, but she couldn’t even get the nerve to stick it out with us.”

You were stunned. Unable to speak, unable to form an ‘I’m sorry’ right back to him. He’d been through so much, and it made sense why things were so hard for him, especially now. 

“Would’ve tossed out that picture a long time ago if Sarah wasn’t in it. I don’t have many photos left of her, so I don’t wanna risk throwing anything away, even if it does bring back shit memories,” he explained to you. 

Despite how difficult you knew this was for him, reliving all these painful memories, it warmed your heart to realize that he had opened up and shared this part of himself, all for you.

And while he might not have been able to admit the root of your strange attachment to one another, he’d given you what he could. He had been trying so hard to mend the rift between you without opening a new wound within himself.

You laid your head on his shoulder, and at first, he stiffened. But then he relaxed even deeper into the couch cushions and sighed deeply.

The two of you sat there just like that for the rest of the night. Close enough to touch, but a friendly boundary drawn between you. Joel showed you every picture in the photo album and told you the stories behind each one. And even after you hear each tale tied to each picture, he continued to speak about her.

There was a sad smile on his face while he did, but you didn’t comment on it. You just asked questions about her, all the things you’ve ever wondered, and laughed when he told you about the art phase she’d gone through and how she’d painted a mural on the wall of the spare room at Tommy’s house that still existed today.

He told you about his brother, too. About how they’d been thick as thieves their whole lives. He explained how he’d pretty much raised Tommy from the day he was born. He’d never once minded it because his brother had always been his best friend. Their mom had always been off working this odd job or the other, working tirelessly as a single parent to provide for two rowdy young boys.

When you had asked about their dad, Joel shrugged and said simply, “Never met him.”

You thought maybe having an absent father of his own was why Joel was so quick to protect, to provide. It would be second nature for him to take care of someone. First Tommy, and then Sarah, and now…well. Now, you.

He and Tommy started their business together right out of high school, and it flourished immediately.

It had been Tommy’s idea to go corporate. And while Joel had hated the idea of it at first, he was thankful when Sarah got sick. Because selling his part of Miller Bros Construction back to Tommy had given Sarah an extra couple of months of treatment.

He told you everything and was patient each time you asked for clarification. Joel’s voice was soothing, low and deep, vibrating through his chest. It was not until late that night that he decided to go back home, and you knew you’d promised to keep things friendly, but you found yourself lingering in the door frame, trying desperately to find a reason for him to stay just a little longer.

“Thank you for opening up to me,” you say. “I know it’s not easy, but it means a lot; I hope you know that.”

“It’s the least I could do. After everything I said to you…” He shook his head, jaw feathered.

You reached out and placed your hand against his bicep. “It’s okay, Joel. Really. All’s forgiven, okay? I promise.”

He nodded in understanding, but you could still see the guilt that lingered on his face. It’ll take more time for him to forgive himself, you knew. But you made a silent promise to be patient with him, to do what you could to help him through it.

You said goodnight, but before he was entirely off the front porch steps, you said, “Wait, Joel?”

“Yeah, baby?”

The word stopped your heart dead in your chest.

He said it so casually you thought it must be an accident, an unintentional slip of the tongue. But he made no effort to take it back, to correct himself. And you thought that if he were ever going to repeat it, the best course of action would be to keep yourself from teasing him about it. 

So, you just smiled so hard your cheeks hurt and asked, “Can you give me a ride to work tomorrow?”

“Course. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Resuming your routine is easy, but this time, it was better. Deeper. He started to bring you a travel mug of coffee each morning and insisted it was only fair, considering you brought him dinner every night. And you can’t complain, and certainly not when you realize that Joel Miller made the best coffee known to man.

He talked more and made an effort to get to know you. He asked about your favorite songs, and the following week, you noticed a few new CDs in his collection. He ordered pizza every Friday night and got mushrooms on half when you told him it’s your favorite topping.

You asked him to take you grocery shopping on one of your off days. It was the first time you went out together, and though you got a couple of curious eyes from the townspeople, Joel didn’t seem to mind it at all. He followed you around the store, pushing the shopping cart while you tossed things into it and typed prices into the calculator app on your phone.

In passing, you said, “We really should start eating better. Less burgers, a couple more vegetables.”

“I haven’t really cooked much since…” He didn’t have to finish the sentence for you to know what he was trying to say. And it saddened you so much to know he hasn’t cooked a hot meal for himself since the passing of his daughter, and so you made an offer.

“Alright, I’ll cook then. Dinner at your place. Do you have olive oil?”

He didn’t, so you added that to the cart, too. And you spent an hour that night in his kitchen, moving around as if it belonged to you, washing dishes while you waited for the chicken breast to sear in the pan.

Joel offered to help several different times, but you shooed him from the kitchen. You wanted to surprise him, to do something nice for him. He deserved it, to feel cared for the way he cared for everyone else.

When you finished, you set the plates on the small, round table in the kitchen. There were only two chairs, and it had been abandoned as far as you could tell, apart from the occasional pieces of mail that sometimes lived on it.

He hesitated for just a second when he noticed. Only then did you realize the last time he had sat at the kitchen table to eat a meal was likely with Sarah. So you said, “We can go to the couch if you want. Watch a movie or something. I just thought that-”

“It’s fine,” he insisted before he sat in one of the chairs. “It looks great.”

Even though you only made chicken and potatoes, he acted like it was the best meal he’d ever had. Between each bite, he showered you with compliments, and you glowed at the praise. He thanked you a hundred times, and the energy was easy and good.

So much so that you made dinner the following night, too. And the one after that, and the one after that…until it became just another part of your routine.

You always watched something together after, be it a new movie he picked up from the rental place downtown or a rerun comedy episode on TV. And it wasn’t uncommon that you’d fall asleep on his couch and wake up the following day with the scratchy wool blanket draped over you and a pillow from his bedroom beneath your head. 

You were fairly certain the only time Joel ever slept in his bed was on those nights that you fell asleep on his couch. You’d wanted to ask him why that was but discovered it one night on your own. 

Small grunts woke you from your peaceful slumber, one of your eyes cracking open to scan the room. You wiped a bit of drool away with the back of your hand before shifting to sit up, wondering what it was that woke you up. The TV was off, and the trailer park was dead silent; the only light came from the kitchen oven hood.

Then, you heard it, a slight, almost guttural whine coming from Joel’s bedroom. That’s when you decided to get up, pulling your blanket along to investigate what was wrong.

The bright LED from Joel’s clock lit his silhouette, and from what you could tell, he was sleeping soundly. You could feel the old linoleum creaking beneath your feet as you approached his side of the bed. Joel’s even breathing suddenly changed into that strikingly different whine, and when you moved closer, you could see the faint tears that were streaming down his face. 

You couldn’t leave Joel alone, crying in his sleep, but you couldn’t bring yourself to wake him. Instead, you did the next best thing, climbing into the bed beside him. Your movements were slow and calculated, and by the time you were positioned awkwardly next to him, it took all of your strength not to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders.

Joel’s body hardly moved, but you could feel the quiet sobs escaping him. How often did he sleep like this? Alone and hurting? Did he even realize that all of his pain was slowly eating away at him? 

It was becoming impossible to resist comforting him, so you did what you did best. You helped.

Your arm slipped through the space above his hip, spooning this massive man, hoping your presence could help calm him down. To your surprise, it did, and not before long, his cries subsided. 

Falling asleep with your body wrapped around Joel was a truly humbling experience. All of this time, you thought you suffered from insomnia, but all you needed in the end was Joel’s back pressed against your chest. No dreams, no nightmares… nothing. You hadn’t slept so well in years.

The next morning, you woke up to the smell of breakfast cooking, something that made you tremendously happy. You could slowly see Joel take care of himself more, cooking meals that held sustenance rather than opting for something he could throw into the microwave. He could cook too, despite how humble he acted about it, occasionally cooking you breakfast on the mornings you’d slept over.

“Morning,” you chirped to Joel as you stepped out of his bedroom, basically bouncing on your heels to greet him. 

“Yeah. Morning.” His returning greeting was far less blithe. “Made coffee,” he said, nodding to the still-steaming mug that sat on the table. 

You sat and pulled your legs up to your chest, letting the hot mug thaw your cold fingers. Joel flitted around the kitchen, moved this thing or that, and turned the bacon searing in the pan on the stove too many times. It didn’t take you long to conclude that he was nervous. “Joel?”

He sighed as if hearing his name in your mouth was the straw that broke the camel’s back. He turned to face you fully, his spine pressed against the edge of the countertop. Through the widest grin you’ve ever seen on his face, he said, “You can’t be doin’ things like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like crawling into my bed in the dead of night.” The words were firm, but he couldn’t seem to control that telling smile.

You couldn’t help but mirror it, because his words may say one thing, but you knew he was thinking another. “But you were having a nightmare. What else was I supposed to do?”

“Leave me be,” he said, his arms crossed over his chest. “Close the damn door.”

“So…you’re telling me you don't like waking up next to me? That you didn’t sleep better than you have in years?”

“Now, hang on—don’t go puttin’ words in my mouth—”

“So you did like it.” Your smile grew impossibly wider, and your cheeks ached. 

“I didn’t say that, either,” he insisted. A rosy hue crawled up his neck, reaching as far as the tips of his ears. “What I’m sayin’ is that it ain’t right. You’re so…so young. And good. Shouldn’t be in an old man’s bed. Definitely not one like me.”

You laughed. “God, Joel. You’re acting like we fucked or something.”

His embarrassment was palpable. A living, breathing thing you could sense immediately. He turned away from you, busying himself as he pulled out two plates.

You knew you shouldn’t, but it was just so easy to rile him up. Through your soft giggles, you said, “I’m just messing with you.”

He clicked his tongue and shook his head as he sat a plate in front of you and took his spot on the other side of the table. “Yeah,” he said flatly. “Real funny.”

It should have been the end of it. You should have respected the words he’d plucked up the courage to say. You should have kept your distance. 

But the next time you woke up on his couch in the middle of the night, it wasn’t him who had the nightmare. 

Your eyes were watery, and your fingers trembled as you crawled beneath his sheets and wrapped your arms around him. You pressed your face into the curve between his shoulder blades and inhaled the scent of him—pine, smoke, and Joel. It grounded you, knowing he was close, breathing him in.

He stirred in his sleep and then stiffened. You half expected him to push you away, to keep true to his words. But then you sniffled, and his muscles went slack. He took your hand in his and pulled it up to his face. He pressed a tender kiss to your knuckles, and with a sleep-muddled voice, he promised, “I got you. S’alright.”

The nightmare didn’t return. And the next morning, he didn’t say a word. He just served breakfast and put a little extra sugar in your coffee.

And, soon, it became just another part of your routine—one more thing to add to the ever-growing list. You never went to bed together, as if that small thing altered the truth of it. But, eventually, your time on the couch dwindled to less than fifteen minutes each night. It was as if you could feel his absence when he left your space, even in your unconscious state.

Often, Joel wasn’t even fully asleep when you slipped in beside him. His voice was groggy as he turned and wrapped you up in his big, strong arms and said, “Someone oughta teach you how to listen, girl.”

You just laid your head in the crook of his neck, which you suspected may have been made with you in mind. “Shh. I’m tired.”

One morning, you wake up slowly on a day when neither of you has any responsibilities. The sun shined through the worn lace curtains he’d likely had since the nineties. They cast intricate shadows across the pale blue fabric of his t-shirt.

Joel slept soundly, and his soft snores filled the room. You shifted closer to him and slid your hand beneath his shirt. It wasn’t until you laid your leg across his lap that you realized he was hard in his boxers, cock twitching beneath your thigh.

Your breath came fast, labored. Your desire for him hit you like a freight train, blinding you. You needed him so badly you thought you might die without it. And you knew what he’d say. You knew he’d find a reason to deny how you make him feel, insecurities eating up his yearning.

But you’d be a fool not to try, right? You have to try.

And so you peppered light kisses along his throat, tasting the salt on his skin. You felt so safe in his arms that you never wanted to leave. When you said his name, it came out as a whine, taking the form of a desperate plea. “Joel.”

You shifted your thigh slowly, pressing gently against his cock that steadily came to life as the seconds ticked by.

Your mouth found his jaw, kisses growing needier. “Joel,” you said again. And this time, he heard you, still half asleep as he tried to pry his eyes open.

His hand came up to stroke gently at your hair, so tender and affectionate that it made you ache. “Mornin’, baby.” 

That name again, sugary sweet in his mouth. You wanted to taste it, and so you did. You pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips, slow and experimental. You were waiting for him to push you away.

Except he only pulled you closer, breathing out a sigh of relief that you inhaled like oxygen. He tasted like smoke, spice, and Joel. You scratched lightly at his side with the hand beneath his shirt, and his mouth opened to let out a groan. 

You took the opportunity as it came, slipping your tongue against his, drinking him in. You shifted your hips against him, his thigh pressed against your center so perfectly.

It’s only then, as the slight friction made his cock twitch, that Joel pulled away. “Sorry about that,” he said, trying to catch his breath. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for…sorry.”

“It’s okay, I can help you,” you told him.

Joel let his head fall back against the pillows. There was an amused smile on his face as he scoffed in disbelief. “Fuckin’ crazy,” he said, shaking his head. “Got no business…Christ. Gonna be the death of me, little girl.”

You pulled yourself up onto his lap, straddling him. His hands rested on your hips, squeezing softly. “Please, Joel,” you whimpered, kissing him again. “Wanna make you feel good.”

“Can’t play these kinda games with you,” he explained. But he shifted his hips up to meet yours when you grind down against him anyway. And you knew then that he was just as needy as you were. “You’re too good for me.”

“But I want you so bad,” you explained. You knew you shouldn’t, you knew it, but the words slipped out anyway. “Please, daddy.”

His grip on your waist turned tight enough to bruise, and you could feel his cock as it throbbed painfully between your legs. “Fuck. Fuck.” Joel closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and said, “Baby, you’ve gotta go.”

“What?”

“I need…shit. I need you to go. ‘Fore I do somethin’ I can’t take back. Please.”

He didn’t look at you. He kept his eyes firmly sealed shut as if looking up at you would change everything, and you knew it likely would.

And even though it hurt just a little, that pang of rejection, familiar poison in your belly, you did as he asked. You left his room, gathered your things, and returned to your nearly abandoned home, which felt far too empty without Joel in it.

An hour later, he knocked at your door with his truck keys in hand. “There’s a new movie coming out in the theater tonight. Figured we could go grab lunch and see it.”

He didn’t mention the morning, and neither did you. But it was all you could think about each time you looked at him, and you thought he saw right through you because he wore a secret smile all day. 

A week later, he set his mind on fixing your car. And you didn’t complain one bit because you got to sit in one of his old camping chairs, sipping on too-sweet lemonade while you watched him grease up his hands beneath the Texas sun.

As the summer went on, you began to notice small changes in him. He smiled more and laughed a little easier. Made more of an effort to do things, though they were always with you. He offered to help Kathy mow the lawn when Parker was sick, and even she noticed the change in him.

“Whatever you’re doing to that man,” she told you. “Better keep it up.” It’s said with a tone of adoration, and you knew you’d likely be the new gossip of the trailer park, but you don’t even mind it.

Truthfully, you liked the idea of everyone associating the two of you together. You liked the idea of being his.

After one absolutely terrible shift at Dazzlers, you found Joel’s truck in the parking lot and ripped the door open. Before he even has a chance to say hello, you exclaimed, “I fucking hate this job. Stupid freak customers always trying to grab ass that doesn’t belong to them and-”

“Did someone touch you?” His voice was still. Calm as death. He put the truck in park. 

You would have thought it would warm your heart if you hadn’t been so angry and irritable. He wanted to defend you, protect you, no hesitation. You sighed and shook your head. “They tried. But no. I need a fucking cigarette.”

As you pulled yourself up into the passenger seat, Joel pulled a Marlboro from the pack and lit it. He placed it between your lips and watched with amusement on his face as you let the nicotine wash over you. And then he said, “Made you something.”

Your brows furrowed. “Made what?”

He presented to you a small chunk of wood that had been carved into the shape of a familiar-looking flower. “Marigold,” Joel said. “Was talkin’ to Kathy about her garden. Said she always plants marigolds every summer cause they’re supposed to symbolize sunshine and healing or somethin’ like that. Reminded me of you.”

It was intricate, less a carving and more a piece of art. “Jesus, Joel. This is beautiful. You made this?”

He shrugged it off as if it was nothing. “Always liked woodwork since I was a kid.”

The talent he had struck you like an arrow to the heart, reminding you of the truth you’ve always known: Joel didn’t belong here. He didn’t belong in a dead-end life with a beaten-down trailer and nothing ahead of him. He thought you were too good for him but failed to see how good of a man he truly was.

You threw your arms around him, pressed a kiss to his mouth with grinning lips, and made a silent promise to yourself. 

You were going to get out of here, and you’re dragging him with you.

“I fucking love you, Joel Miller,” you said, and mean it. He didn’t even flinch. As if it wasn’t the very first time you’d said it and it wouldn’t be the last.

He didn’t say it back right away, but you hadn’t said it with any expectation. Yet, with your head on his chest late that night, he whispered into your hair, “I love you more, baby. Promise you that.”

You carried the marigold everywhere. It became your good luck charm, a protective talisman that made you feel safe no matter where you were.

And it’s the luck you needed late one night when you sat up in Joel’s bed, the laptop screen dimmed to near blankness, and you typed away at the keys as you applied to colleges all over Texas. You doubted any of them would take one look at your GPA and attendance and even consider you applicable, but it was worth a shot. It was worth trying.

On one particularly scorching July day, you sit on Joel’s couch in nothing but a red bikini top and a pair of cut-off denim shorts. He lounged beside you with a glass bottle of beer in hand, condensation making the label peel back beneath his fingers. The windows were open, and each rush of the wind felt like a gift from God.

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly is playing on Joel’s old junker TV, and even though he’s seen the movie a million times, he’s as infatuated with it as ever. At the same time, you’re sitting alongside him, bored and almost dying from the heat. 

“Why is it so hot?” you grumbled, shifting in your seat. Joel hardly even bats an eye at your complaints, his large palm coming to pull your legs up and over his lap. 

“Texas summer, baby. You’ll be used to it when you’re old like me.”

Your lips pouted at his dismissiveness, knowing Joel couldn’t change the weather but still craving release. 

“Ughhh,” you groaned, stretching across Joel’s thighs. “I’m melting.”

Joel is still locked into the movie, his lips mouthing some of the lines before they’re even said. ‘Every gun makes its own tune.’ If he wasn’t so cute, you might’ve been upset with how easily the film was taking him away from you.

So, you formed a plan.

“I can’t take it anymore,” you complain, gauging to see how Joel responds. He only hums out what could be interpreted as his condolences, spurring you on further. 

It was risky with open windows and even riskier knowing Joel was terrified to go past kissing you. But you liked the challenge. You liked knowing that even though Joel's falling apart was out of your control, you could be there to help him trust again. You’d already proven to yourself that you could make him love again. That you could be loved. 

You were ready for the next step.

The strings tying your top together fell with one swift move of your fingers, and the sound of the material dropping finally made Joel’s head turn to you. The priceless look on his face almost caused you to laugh, eyes wide and shocked. Things felt mudded, like you were moving through water. 

“Oops.”

You’d never exposed yourself to him before, but there you were, chest bared for the world to see. His eyes drank you in before ripping away, an expression of combined embarrassment and nerves washing over him.

“Stop. Put it back on,” Joel commanded, reaching to snatch your bikini top, but you were faster than him. You slipped the top behind your back, sandwiched between the couch and your warm skin. 

Joel sighed, a strained, frustrated sort of growl underneath the exhalation. “Please, baby.”

If you were a kinder, sweeter soul, maybe you would’ve granted him mercy. But it had been months of craving Joel’s affection, attention, and touch. 

“Joel. Touch me. I promise it’ll be worth it,” you begged, extending your hands to grab his palms. You watched his large hands get closer and closer to the rising peaks of your breasts, a whine getting caught in your throat when his skin finally grazed you.

But as soon as it came, it was gone. He pulled his hands out of your grip, shaking his head furiously. “No. I just… fuck. I won’t let myself ruin you.”

You weren’t taking no for an answer. You moved yourself off of the couch, opting to go to the floor.

“Daddy,” you whispered, your bare knees pressed into the plush carpet that covered the floor. Your eyes blinked up at Joel, innocent yet begging, begging for his attention. Begging to be loved.

Joel’s jaw flexed, and you watched the way his fists clenched at his side. It was fucked up, you knew that, but you needed it just as much as you knew Joel needed it. 

“Don’t. I already told you that we’re not playin’ these games. It ain’t right,” Joel hissed through gritted teeth, watching you crawl across the rug and settle between his thighs. 

You moved slowly but deliberately, holding your hands behind your back while only using your face to tempt Joel. Without breaking eye contact, you rubbed your face against the meat of his thigh, sighing at the feeling of the denim. 

Joel’s hands were clenching the tops of the couch, white-knuckled and flexing. You weren’t sure if he wanted to fuck you or throttle you, but you were so close to getting what you wanted that you didn’t even care. 

“Let me make you feel good. You deserve to feel good, daddy,” you whimpered, pressing a wet kiss against the rising bulge in his pants. The growl that left Joel was feral, making your blood run cold. You knew that he wouldn’t be able to control himself once he broke. He’s gonna ruin you.

“You needa’ go to therapy, you know that?” Joel huffed, but his words lacked any malice. His hips slightly lifted to follow the warmth of your lips, diminishing his attempted resistance.

You lapped at the tent in his denim pants, sucking and kissing until a wet spot formed. “Why go to therapy when I could be here, sucking your cock?”

Joel’s head tipped back on the couch, the shaking of his head making you smile. “You’ve got the dirtiest little mouth. Never had no daddy to teach you manners.”

You didn’t miss a beat. “Teach me, please. I’ll be your good girl, I’ll do whatever you want.”

The press of Joel’s clothed cock against your mouth seemed to be enough for Joel to relinquish some control. His head tipped back down to look at you, a long pause making you swallow nervously. He watched you, dark-eyed and mysterious, and just as you opened your mouth to speak, he reached down and slapped you.

It was a simple thing, light and stinging slightly. It sent a jolt straight between your legs, and Joel noticed the way you squirmed in between his legs. A look of both disbelief and excitement flashed across his face before he jerked you by your hair, wrapping it around his big palm.

“Gonna stuff your mouth full’a me. Teach you how to behave. That’s what you need, yeah?” Joel questioned, reaching down to grab your hands and forcing you to undo his jeans. The hand that still had your hair wrapped around it pushed your face down once you reached his boxers, feeling your moan of approval reverberate against his cock.

“Christ,” Joel grunted, impatiently reaching down to free his cock. “Can’t believe a girl your age wants me to fuck your pretty mouth. You need help, baby.”

You whimpered and nodded, perfectly content in agreeing with anything Joel said if it meant you’d get to taste his sees in the back of your throat.

“Open wide,” Joel commanded, slapping his cock against your bottom lip. You obeyed wordlessly, whimpering at the feeling of Joel’s dick slipping into your throat. Absentmindedly, your hand reached between your thighs, quickly finding your clit before eagerly rubbing circles into it. 

Joel’s hand left your hair and instead moved to embrace your cheek, both of his palms cradling your face. He guided you, meeting your mouth with the brutal snap of his hips, the bulbous tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat. Though it would’ve been a barbaric pace for anyone else, you enjoyed the feral feeling of being mouth fucked by Joel, a man double your age.

“You can take all of it, can’t you?” Joel growled, less a question and more of a statement. His hips drilled up into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat while your fingers pressed rapid circles into the slippery mess between your legs. 

Each snap of Joel’s hips left your nose buried into the coarse hair that covered the base of his cock. He held you there; the sudden silence and lack of guttural noises coming from your throat revealed just how close you were. Wet, sloppy, squelching sounds coming from between your legs.

Your middle finger had slipped inside your weeping opening, while your pointer finger rubbed relentlessly against your clit. The dark look on his face when he noticed what you were doing to yourself was almost enough to send you over the edge. 

Tragically, you didn’t have an opportunity to reach your growing climax. Joel moved around your head, your lips still wrapped around his cock, to grab your arm and rip it away. 

“Think you can play with yourself right in front of me? If you’re comin’, it’s gonna be on my face, baby.”

The whimper that escaped you would’ve been embarrassing to you if you weren’t so fucking turned on. Being ripped away from Joel’s cock made it that much worse. Your body was aching, practically pulsing, for some form of relief. Joel didn’t make you wait long.

He moved around on the couch so he was stretched out on his back across the cushions, his dick standing tall and hard for you. 

“Come on. You know where I want you.”

And, momentarily, your eyes flit over to his length, questioning if he’d let you get away with slipping him inside, just for a moment. The look on his face told you otherwise.

“Don’t even think about it. We can mess around a little bit if that’ll get this out of your system, but not that. No… intercourse,” Joel sneered, the word almost robotic in his mouth. “Now get up here.”

Instead of pushing it, you decided to break him down the further it goes. Leave him wanting, unable to resist. He’d be begging by the time you were done. 

Your chest was rising and falling with anticipation, watching your thighs sink around Joel’s broad shoulders. His large arms wrapped around your waist, bringing you forward and not wasting any time.  The sounds of his wet tongue lapping at you made you whine under your breath.

He created slow, deliberate circles around your clit, moving your hips to follow the way he tasted you. 

Christ, you knew he was going to make the wait worth it. Joel was so experienced, somehow knowing exactly where you needed the pressure of his tongue against you. 

You wanted him to feel good, too, to crave the feeling of you that he’d no longer be able to hold back. When you flipped around on his shoulders so you’d be able to suck his cock, Joel couldn’t hide the groan that left him. 

He felt heavy in your palm as you jerked him off, following the pace of his tongue. Your mouth was watering, and you were unable to slow yourself down, letting the tip of his cock slip past your lips.

Joel groaned, rocking up into your mouth. It all felt so feral, the sounds of your combined slurpings mixing with the chirps of birds outside the living room window. Joel’s curtains were pulled, hiding the raw sight of your bodies rutting, searching for pleasure. The curtains did not, however, hide the sounds escaping from both you and Joel. 

As hard as you tried, it was impossible to stop the noises leaving your throat. The second that one of Joel’s hands left your hips and slipped inside of you, you were practically about to explode. 

You were so wet that two of his fingers slipped easily in and out, his fingers curling in a motion that had you whining around his dick.

All it took was one last thrust of his hips into your mouth for you to lose it, whimpering through a white-hot fire that burned throughout your body. He worked his fingers in and out, helping you during the last moments of your orgasm. Just as quickly as you came, he pulled you off of him, his breathing fanning against your bare pussy.

“Don’t wanna come yet,” Joel groaned into the skin of your thigh, slipping his fingers out of you. “Wanna enjoy this for as long as I can.”

Both of you caught your breaths for a second, but you knew you couldn’t let Joel cool off for too long; you needed him to surrender to what he’d been aching for. 

He hardly resisted letting you crawl down his body and straddle his hips, the wet mess between your legs soaking Joel’s cock. A look in his eye let you know that he still had some fight left in him, but you wouldn’t let him win.

“Come on, daddy,” you whispered, rubbing your pussy against Joel’s throbbing cock. “Just the tip. It doesn’t have to be anything more. I wanna feel you.”

You could feel him twitching against you, a guttural growl rising from his throat. “We shouldn’t, baby. Don’t deserve someone as sweet as you. Too damn perfect.”

Your eyes watered as you looked down on him, wishing he could see himself the way you see him. He was much too hard on himself.

The taste of yourself stained your lips when you kissed him, your tongue slipping into his mouth. You shifted your hips, catching the head of his dick on your clit. With a little more pressure and the twist of your thighs, he’d slip in.

“I love you, Joel. You can have me. I’m already yours,” you kissed his lips. It finally seemed like enough to break him. Your admittance triggered Joel, motivating him to push his hips up, smashing into your own. You sank onto him, gasping in surprise.

The tips of your nails dug deep into the skin of his tanned shoulders, probably with enough force to make him bleed, but Joel couldn’t care less. His jaw flexed, tension ripping through his face as he pushed his heels against the couch's cushion. His pace was brutal, relentless, but you accepted the savagery, lapping every last drop Joel gave you. 

“I love you,” you moaned again, your back arching and leaving everything on full display for Joel. His eyes ate you up, moving back and forth, mentally photographing your every inch like he was afraid you’d magically disappear from his arms. 

The leather couch groaned when Joel suddenly moved, sitting up and wrapping his arms around your hips into an embrace. Your mouths collided in a frenzy, bodies grinding and hands grasping desperately. You’d never felt so understood before, moaning in the way Joel touched you. His fingers slipped between your bodies and pressed precisely where you needed it the most. 

A fire burned deep inside you, a furious warning that you were approaching your peak. You didn’t want it to end. You’d finally been rewarded after working hard to break down Joel’s walls. 

“Stop,” you gasped against Joel’s mouth, “‘bout to come. Don’t want this to end.”

Your words did nothing to stop Joel from slowing down; as a matter of fact, you could’ve sworn he sped up. The skin of your thigh was beginning to stick to the leather because of how much you were sweating due to pure exertion. 

“It don’t gotta ever end, baby. I’m all yours, if you want me.”

A feeling grew deep in your gut, one that you would be scared of if you weren’t so in love with Joel. He had you, and you knew you would die before giving up on him. You’d drag him out of town with you if you had to.

A few more circles of his fingers and you were falling apart under his touch. Your body shuddered as a hot coil raced through you, making you fall limp in Joel’s lap. He groaned at the way your pussy was shuddering around him, squeezing him just right.

“I’m snipped. Didn’t wanna have any more kids, after. Let me fill you up, pretty baby. I’d feel so good.” 

It didn’t matter if he was or wasn’t sterile.

Your response either way was to rut against him. Though you were twitching from overstimulation, you wanted him to know you wanted it. A slick rolled down your thighs, and you could feel a groan from Joel reverberate through him. 

The sound of a dog barking outside thankfully drowned out your desperate moans. 

He held you tight, both of your bodies covered in a coat of sweat. Even though you were still hot, you couldn’t pull yourself away from his furnace of a chest. You could feel his dick softening in you after a couple more thrusts. 

“I want you, Joel. If you’ll have me.”

Things moved real easy after that. Joel wasn’t holding anything back anymore. He’d talk to you about anything you’d ask, and slowly moved in some of your personal items so you could sleep over more often. Pajamas in his drawer, got a spare toothbrush, and did anything he could to convince you to spend every night spread underneath him. 

Then you got it in the mail. You’d slipped away from Joel so you could do some laundry, despite how much he’d tried to convince you just to use up his water and detergent. Truthfully, you wanted to restock your necessities so you could keep spending each night with Joel. Plus, you need to water your plants.

When you stepped into your doorway, you glanced down at the spread of letters at your feet. Jeez, it really had been a couple of days since you’d been there last.

You crouched down to retrieve the mail, nothing piquing your interest until you landed on the UOD logo. 

University of Dallas. 

The paper shook in your hands when you ripped it open. There was no way.

Blah, blah, blah… accepted.

Accepted.

So many things flashed through your mind. All of the possibilities. The opportunities. 

You'd held it together long enough to do your laundry and water your plants. By the time you’d gotten what you needed and returned back to Joel, he was starting dinner. 

He hummed a Zeppelin song under his breath as he moved back and forth in the kitchen. Joel had made it almost a competition to become a good cook for you. He’d always cooked homemade meals for Sarah, but eating nothing but takeout for three years could make you lose your touch.

“What’s got you smilin’ like that? Stealing all those pretty little smiles from me,” Joel tsked, kissing you on the lips when you met him in the kitchen. You stood on your tippy toes to reach him, your mind buzzing from the taste of his lips and the scratch of his beard.

“I have something to tell you.”

Joel hummed, pulling back away from you. His eyes looked curious, moving to watch you uncover the envelope from behind your back. You held out the letter, allowing him the opportunity to read it himself. 

He scanned the page, his pupils moving back and forth to take in the information. The expression on his face changed slowly, turning what was once glee that you were back home into something entirely unreadable.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, instantly noticing the change in his demeanor. He sighed, handing the paper back over to you.

“Knew you’d always be the one to get out of this place. It's no surprise that some fancy college would want you.”

The bitterness in his words made you recoil in annoyance. Why couldn’t he just spit out whatever he meant instead of playing this intricate facadé?

“I thought you’d be happy for me,” you whispered angrily, turning to leave the situation, but Joel’s palm on your wrist stopped you. 

“Baby, of course I’m happy for you,” Joel explained, his free hand reaching to cradle your face. “I’ve only ever wanted the best for you, and I never doubted that you’d go out and do great things. It’s just… I don’t wanna lose you.”

“Joel, what are you talking about?” You laughed, watching a look of disbelief cloud his face. “I thought it was obvious that I wouldn’t leave this place without you. You’re coming with me.”

He hesitated, pausing as if he wasn’t sure what exactly he wanted to say. 

“Talk to Tommy. Tell him that you want to get back in the business. Go back to Dallas, to be with him. To be with me.” 

Joel released your wrist before rubbing a large palm down his beard, clearly not quite on board with your suggestion.

“Tommy don’t want nothin’ to do with me-“

“Be serious,” you said, cutting him off. “We both know that’s bullshit. You’ve told me all the stories about the both of you growing up, thick as thieves. He wouldn’t just give up on you. You just have to show him that you’re ready to change.”

The room was momentarily silent, thoughts and questions swirling through the space. Joel moved away to check on the food in the oven, and you waited, allowing him a moment to decide what he wanted to do.

He stood against the kitchen counter and finally spoke. 

“I don’t know.”

Joel looked scared, petrified to let himself be vulnerable with yet another person. He was constantly afraid of letting others down that he wouldn’t even allow himself to be momentarily uncomfortable. 

Your hands found his, wanting to comfort him by wrapping your palms around his own. 

“It’s okay not to know. It would be a big change, but I wouldn’t want to go through with it without you. If you don’t want me to go, then I won’t. I’ll wait until you’re ready.”

His features softened at your words. “You’re too good for me,” he said. “You know that, don’t you?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. He was such a good man — a good father, a good friend, a good person, and you hated that he couldn’t see it. You wished you could take his shoulders and shake some sense into him, but knew your words would fall on deaf ears. “If you want to go, we go. And if you want to stay, we stay. But we do it together.” You pointed a finger at his nose. “You got that, Miller?”

Joel laughed softly. He placed his hands on your hips, pulled you close, and kissed your forehead. “Just…give me a couple days. Some time to think it over. Can you do that for me?”

You replied, “I’d do anything for you,” and meant it. 

Though it took more willpower than you’d originally thought, you bite your tongue for the following week. You didn’t want to pressure him into anything, hoping he’d decide organically. But the more time went on, the more restless you became.

Joel did a good job of distracting you, worshipping your body as if he was afraid it’d disappear in his grasp. One evening, your mind was running haywire after dealing with bullshit at work on top of dealing with your college application documents. 

You were lying in bed with him, attempting to read a book while Joel flipped through the television across from the bed. After reading the same paragraph for the fourth time without retaining any information, you groaned in frustration, tossing the book onto the floor. 

He recognized your stress, and knowing that he was a small contribution to the tension you were feeling, he sought to alleviate it. You found his head buried between your legs, his tongue prodding and guiding you to your release. Joel didn’t mind the way your thighs squeezed against his skull, and in fact, he encouraged the pressure of your legs.

Each time you reacted in excitement, Joel would find that sweet spot again and again, fingers scissoring, curling, making you shudder and arch away from his bed. 

He was a relentless lover, not allowing you to escape the wrath of his mouth. Joel’s palms pulled you back down as he held you in place, his iron grasp limiting your movement. He took advantage of your lack of control, allowing himself to devour you without any limitations. 

The shaking of your thighs and the increased whimpering from your mouth told him everything he needed to know; you were reaching your climax fast, and he wasn’t going to allow you to escape from his onslaught. 

“Wait,” you breathlessly pleaded, threading your fingers through his grey-streaked hair in hopes of slowing him down. Despite his age, Joel had the energy of a teenager, and a simple yank of your hands wouldn’t be enough to stop him. 

A few more laps of his tongue and a couple curls of his fingers were enough to have you falling apart in his grip. Your breath was stuck in your throat when you came, a white hot heat racing through your body like a bolt of lightning. 

A simple orgasm was never enough for Joel; you had learned that early on. He needed you to melt, to become a literal puddle of tears and sweat underneath him. Then, he would finally stop.

He continued to feast on you, his beard covered with your slick and his eyes watching you like a predator. 

“Please,” you begged, “Fuck, Joel, please.”

He ignored you, adding a third finger inside of you before pulling away momentarily. The sight of your slick coating his face with the hungry look in his eyes made your chest tighten with desire. 

“I know you can give me one more, baby. You were throwin’ yourself at me before, beggin’ for it. Want you to show me what you got.”

He didn’t allow a moment of reprieve, instantly diving back in to taste you like a man starved. You were attempting to push him away, but he wasn’t having any of it. Eventually, all of your resistance faded due to exhaustion, and all you could do was lie there, limp and motionless. 

Your mouth was half open, and your eyes were glued up at Joel’s popcorn ceiling when you finally climaxed again. A rush of wetness washed Joel’s face and hands, but he didn’t seem to mind; in fact, it urged him all the more. When he finally was satisfied, he pulled away from you, your sensitive body trembling against his ruined sheets. 

His dark, piercing eyes were locked on you when you finally came down from your momentary ecstasy. His face was dripping from your exertions, but he didn’t mind. It was almost petrifying to see how eager he was, and you knew that the night was just beginning.

“Think she’s finally ready for me,” Joel hummed, slapping his large palm against your overstimulated, puffy pussy. 

He was insatiable. It took one last orgasm from you and a couple of thrusts in your clenching, wet heat to get Joel to finally unravel. 

You’d never get tired of feeling Joel’s sweaty chest pressed against yours as he kissed you, whispering how lucky he was to have you wrapped up in his sheets. 

One night was different, though, and Joel knew he couldn’t just distract you with sex. You needed comfort - to know that he wanted to be all in with you, despite the pressure of the commitment. It was a lot to ask from Joel, but you couldn’t move on without him. You needed him.

You were tossing and turning in bed beside him, unable to find sleep, your mind spinning with all the possibilities that came with leaving town. You could be something, he could be something. All it would take is a little push, a change of scenery. If he decided to stay here, you knew you’d be content with him no matter what.

In a house he built or in this trailer, you knew Joel would always keep you happy. 

But would you come to resent him later on, the what-ifs weighing on your shoulders for years? Would the missed opportunities eat at you like a worm in your belly?

Joel turned onto his back with a heavy sigh. “Get it out, baby. Say what’s on your mind.”

“We…you deserve to keep living, Joel.” You propped yourself up on an elbow. And though he couldn’t see you, the room nothing but darkness, your brows pinched together in frustration anyway. “I could go to back to school, get a degree, find a good paying job where people don’t try to grab my ass for fun. And you could build houses with your brother again, or do woodwork or whatever you wanted. I…I’m going to say something, but I don’t want you to get mad. Promise you won’t get mad.”

He hesitated for a single second. And then said, “Alright. I promise.”

“What happened to Sarah wasn’t your fault. And you did everything you could, sacrificing your life in hopes of extending hers. And I wish…” Your voice cracked, and emotion bubbled up in your throat. “I wish so badly that things had ended up different for her. But they didn’t and I’m so sorry for it. And I…I didn’t know her well, but, Joel, I know this isn’t what she’d want for you. And you know it, too, don’t you?”

He responded with silence. You could hear only his breathing, slow and steady.

“You’re still here. You’re here, with me, and you deserve to live the rest of your life doing the things you love. You’re better than this place.” Tears welled in your eyes.

Joel put his hand in yours, and it took little persuasion for him to pull you against his chest. “Don’t cry for me, sweet girl,” he said softly. “We’ll talk more in the morning. Okay?”

And for the night, his promise was enough.

Joel made breakfast the following day. Pancakes and eggs and coffee just the way you liked it.

You ate on the couch with the weather channel on the TV in the background. The suffocating heat was finally coming to an end; summer concluded. You didn’t want to ruin the morning, but the anticipation kept you from enjoying your meal. “So…it’s the morning. Did you want to talk more about it, or…have you decided?”

Joel nodded and washed a bite down with a sip of coffee. “Yeah,” he said. “I decided.”

“And…?”

He spread out, making himself comfortable. “Well, I actually got a hold of Tommy the other day.”

“You what?” Your heart was beating so fast you thought it might burst. “You called him? You didn’t tell me!” Breakfast forgotten, you tucked your legs beneath you and hid your anticipated smile behind your hands. “What did he say?”

Joel laughed. “Actin’ real hopeful for someone that said they’d be happy either way,” he teased. 

“I will be,” you reassured him. You inhaled deeply. “No matter what, we’ll be okay as long as we’re together. But…God, Joel! What did he say?”

For the first time all summer, he gave you a smile that reached his warm eyes. One that felt good and joyous and real. 

One that felt hopeful. 

“Should probably start packin’, baby.”

taglist; @realdirectionx @xxx-silhouette-xxx @cuteanimalmama @peelieblue

[scoobysnakz]

loser miguel who, at first, feels so much shame he could be sick, but when your breath shortens at the sight of his reddened eyes, that guilt is replaced with a stronger, more persistent hunger.

loser miguel who can’t get his hands off his cock; you look too pretty to stop now. your wide, shocked eyes glued to him, flickering between the desperate expression on his face and his calloused hands encasing his girthy length. that look of pure shock only serves to make him more ravenous, more crazed, more infatuated with you.

loser miguel who watches, mesmerized as you walk over to him, your shiny eyes drinking in the sight of his leaky cock. he can practically smell your desire, and god, it’s making him insane.

“por favor, te necesito,” he whines, head lolling to the side.

“migs… is that my lab coat?” part of you can’t bare to hear the answer but that other, sick and twisted part that craves validation, is desperate to hear him answer yes in that panty wetting accent.

“can’t stop.” his voice is harsher now, not mean but it carries a certain huskiness that makes your mind fuzzy. “fuck, need your pretty lips, mami.”

loser miguel whose heart nearly stops as you sink down onto your knees, bottom lip tucked between your teeth and hands clenched into fists. you can’t bring yourself to look at it, it has an almost godly presence, which you know is stupid, but it’s part of him, part of miguel.

he keeps stroking his cock, you on your knees beneath only serving to make him harder and more needy. his core aches with longing, a silent declaration of desire in his eyes as he fights the urge to buck his hips into your face.

loser miguel who gets an automatic ego boost at the way you stare at his cock. miguel isn’t a lazy man, far from it, but that isn’t to say he shaves. almost every inch of this man is covered in thick hair that resembles the same darkness as the chocolatey mop on his head. and he can see the way it goes straight to your cunt.

a few times, you’ve been blessed with the view of his happy trail on the odd occasion he’s stretched with only a t-shirt on. but never have you seen past the bulky thighs which are infamously known all throughout the crinkled pages of your diary, that you’ve had countless dreams of being trapped between, and fuck, do you feel like you’ve missed out.

his cock is huge, at least eight inches, with balls that hang heavy, twitching to release their load into your pretty little mouth.

loser miguel who has to bite the inside of his cheek to suppress a loud moan as you press your soft lips to his rosy tip, his precum leaving your lips looking temptingly glossy.

you drag your tongue across your lips, savouring the tangy taste as it melts on your tastebuds. you, carefully, lower your mouth around his shaft, forcing your jaw to go slack as a feeble attempt to accommodate his size.

the feeling of your tongue, flat against the underside of his cock, sends his mind racing. this is what he’s been dreaming of, craving, for months. you are so perfect, so pretty and perky, how could he not have an insatiable need for you ?

the only light in the entire lab is the late afternoon sun leaking through the gaps in the blinds, leaving it dimly lit with the sun rays shining on miguel’s tanned complexion.

thick strands of his dark hair frame his perfectly chiseled face in an almost angelic halo. his soft, plump lips are parted ever so slightly, so that you can get a spine chilling view of his fangs.

loser miguel who’s never felt anything like this before. try as you might, you can’t fit his entire length in your mouth, and somehow, this is the closest to heaven he’s ever been.

he can’t count the amount of times he’s pumped his cock to the idea of this, you, one your knees pleasing him so prettily.

“mierda, just like that, just like that,” he croons, one hand sliding down to grip the back of our head.

you shine under his approval, the burn in your jaw suddenly disappearing as you push your mouth further down his cock, your nose is buried into the thick tufts of hair on the base of his cock.

you’re gagging and drooling all over him but right now you can only focus on miguel’s raspy breathing and muttered praise.

loser miguel who can only stand there watch as his cock falls victim to the talents of your mouth, his hips stuttering in a pathetic attempt to hold off from fucking your throat. miguel wants to make this last, have you looking up at him through adoring eyes forever- if he could take a picture he would.

prev < > next

a/n: smut clearly isn’t my forte but i tried 🙃

tag list: @lacedinweb22 @xxyaoi-nationxx @farrowroyale @mynamesstevenwithav @m4dyy @pinkismylife @kenz-ee @queerponcho @mcmiracles @nic-stars @ella-unenchanted04 @basedpear @rhythmloid @safixiovi @braverthanthenewworld @sad-author-san

[kumkaniudaku]

Worship

Summary: Patrice needs to know how Terry feels about her changing body.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: Mentions of Pregnancy, Smut (18+)

MASTERLIST

“Do you still think I’m pretty?” 

If one question could suck all of the oxygen out of the room and put it all back in a gust of disorienting, bitter wind, that was it. Patrice hadn’t intended her inquiry to be an abrupt interruption to an otherwise calm evening, but she couldn’t allow the thought to torment her any longer. 

Patrice watched Terry from the large mirror in front of them, her bottom lip trapped beneath her top row of teeth while she watched him lean over and spit toothpaste out of his mouth into his sink. Sympathy flashed across his face as he looked back at her. “Of course I do. I think you’re beautiful.” 

“Are you still attracted to me? And not just in theory or what you remember about my body from five months ago. I mean, right now. Pregnant, showing, and all. Am I still sexy to you?”

“Patrice…” 

Closing her eyes, Patrice shook her head and lifted her palm to stop Terry before he jumped into a diatribe for what she considered a cut-and-dry question. “Please, don’t do that, Terrence. Answer me. Do you still see me as a woman worthy of your sexual attention? Yes or no?” 

“Yes, baby. You are.” 

Hearing his answer sent a rush of sadness coursing through Patrice’s veins. She wasn’t sure what she hoped to hear, but that wasn’t it. That only created more uncertainty and a slew of questions she wasn’t sure were still worth asking. Still, she persisted, letting her inquisitive nature take over when she wished she could be quiet and go to bed in blissful ignorance/

“Then why,” A painful lump grew in her throat as tears pricked her waterline. Patrice swallowed it back to try and muscle through her interrogation without allowing her emotions to derail. “Why haven’t you touched me? It’s been three months of nothing. What you’re saying to me doesn’t match your actions.”

Strained silence blanketed the bathroom, competing with the humidity responsible for lingering droplets in the air for which one could douse the embers of reconciliation the fastest. 

Physical and mental changes had thrown Patrice into a loop. Every day, her insides were shifted and stretched to what felt like capacity, bringing a bevy of brand-new feelings that rocked her with every unexpected mood swing. Rays of joy reminded her she’d be meeting a life she helped create intermingled with tormenting thoughts of her attractiveness or lack thereof, keeping her lips glued shut for fear that she’d sound bonkers to her husband. So, she kept them all inside or in the privacy of weekly chats with her girls, hoping the kinks would work themselves out, and they could return to the love she recognized.

“I’m not trying to put the blame on you or me,” she tried to explain when she wasn’t greeted with a response from Terry. “I just…I noticed we’ve slipped away from each other. We barely touch outside of a kiss or a hug. The little comments are gone. We’re flirting less. We haven’t been us, Terrence and Patrice, since we saw this baby on that machine a few months ago, and I’m the only one who seems to notice!” 

He sighed and furrowed his brows. “I notice, Treece. I just…I don’t know. I don’t know what to do or how to be. This is my first time.”

“It’s mine too, Terry! But what does that have to do with who we are! What happens when the baby gets here? Is this going to be our life forever? Is this just it?”

Terry didn’t know what to say. The raging winds of life had blown him to and fro as a husband and father-to-be. Where he thought he was balancing both responsibilities with impeccable efficiency, he missed the signs of his wife’s distress. He couldn’t recount where he went wrong to rectify his misgivings. What’s worse is that he didn’t see an avenue to admit his confusion, fearing he’d sound crass and uncaring in the face of Patrice’s concern. 

So, they stood there in silence, letting unspoken words snuff out the already dying flames of intimacy. 

The stench followed them into a new week marred by disjointed interactions and tight lips. They existed like passing ships in the night, exchanging pleasantries typical of a couple who’d long let go of the rope, not one still possessing the will to fight but lacking the how. 

Sounds of children playing and birds chirping filtered through the open kitchen window as Patrice sat at the kitchen table, clicking through pages and pages of baby items to fill their shower registry. Terry watched her from the entryway, quietly admiring how glistening sun rays gave dimension to her fresh dye job and highlighted glowing skin. Her belly curved beneath one of his long-sleeved t-shirts, clothing her and their heir in his presence even though they were still on the outs. The soft smile gracing her face while she undoubtedly occupied her mind with color schemes and furniture layouts made him grin before he could stop the corners of his lips from creeping upward. 

He missed her. The notion of missing someone he slept next to every night felt as alien as wearing two left shoes, but it was the truth. It was a starting point. And, as long as he had a starting point, he could map his way back to where they belonged. 

“Can I do something for you, Mr. Richmond?” 

Patrice’s question startled Terry out of his thoughts and set him on a path toward the kitchen. “How’d you know I was there?” He asked before stopping short to rest his hand on her upper back. The habit made her lean into his touch and the lingering kiss he held against her temple. 

“Heavy feet, remember?” Their stilted chuckles synced into a familiar cadence, slowly releasing the valve on latent tension. She looked up at him and smiled. “You okay? Need something?” 

“Actually, yeah. Mind if I sit down?” 

“It’s your kitchen table, too. Sit wherever you want.”

Curious eyes under long lashes watched Terry round the table to drag his usual seat closer to hers. An inner battle made him look into the backyard from the window when they locked gazes, biding him time to gather his thoughts until he felt satisfied with their direction. He looked back, bathing her in a soft, doting gaze. “You are unbelievably attractive to me, Treecey. There’s not much you can do to turn me off.” 

“So, what’s stopping you? Is it something I’m doing?” 

“No, no, no,” Terry rushed to reassure, gently placing his palms on her thighs for a squeeze. “Can I be honest?” 

Patrice nodded back at him, praying that what existed on the other side of his extended pause wouldn’t act as a wrecking ball on her wavering self-image. 

Terry scooted closer until Patrice’s knees fit perfectly between his before lacing their fingers together. His eyes didn’t waiver as he spoke the only truth he knew. “I don’t know how to interact with this new version of you. After all these years, you still make me nervous. I was nervous when we started dating again. I was nervous on our wedding night. Now, your body is changing, and I’m more nervous around you than ever,” He admitted. “I’m afraid I might hurt or bother you when you’re tired and trying to catch a break between all you have going on. But, I guess I let being nervous keep compounding until I made you feel like you aren’t the most beautiful woman in the world at all times.”

Patrice’s resolve had long morphed her first dose of hot tears for the day, the sensation coming in so quick that a few slipped past her fingers when she tried to tame them. “Am I, really?” 

Moving forward, Terry brought his hands up to rest on Patrice’s cheeks. “You’re gorgeous to me, baby. I’m so sorry I ever made you think you weren’t.” 

Patrice closed her eyes to feel the feathery caress of lips across her nose and cheeks. He’d run out of words. All he had left was desperate pleas in the form of physical affection to atone for all his sins. 

She accepted each one with no pushback, melting into his touch as the weight of untold battles began sliding down her heavy shoulders.

“It wasn’t just you.” Patrice’s confession came with a deep breath to settle herself. “Every time I step out of the house, someone is commenting on my body or touching me. ‘Oh, you’re carrying high!’ or ‘Girl, you gettin’ big fast!’ It’s too much. I thought I was strong enough to validate myself because that’s what I’ve been doing, you know? But I couldn’t. So, when it felt like you were pushing me away for the one thing I can’t control, I spiraled. I shouldn’t have let it get that far, but I didn’t know how to speak to you without losing my shit. These hormones are kicking my ass.” 

Loud, harmonious laughter meshed to heal aching souls navigating their first storm as parents-to-be. Terry watched Patrice’s face light up like stars over the countryside and smiled as he reached up to dry unshed tears gathered in her eye’s inner corners. “That’s okay. Lose your shit every once in a while. Now’s the perfect time.”

Patrice sighed before reaching for Terry’s wrist to anchor her racing thoughts. Her eyes bore into familiar green pools that always regarded her with love that felt almost too overwhelming to absorb. She watched him mouth a sincere ‘I love you’ that made her skin tingle from head to toe. She gripped him tighter, hoping he could feel the effect he had on her.

“Listen, baby, I’m five months pregnant, not dead,” Patrice laughed, earning a bright smile from Terry. “I still want my husband. I still want to be wanted by you, too. Because your validation means a lot to me. Especially while I’m changing like this.” 

Terry dropped a hand to make space for an incoming round of kisses, each deeper than before. “I want you, Piggy,” he spoke before pressing another kiss to her lips. “I’ll always want you. We’ll be 90 in the nursing home, and I’ll still be chasing behind you with my walker and calling you my girlfriend.”

“Good,” Patrice giggled, tickled by the imagery of a distant version of themselves still head over heels with time winding down on their time together. Static passed between them. Touches became magnified. Pupils dilated with an incoming flood of endorphins. She bit her lip before finishing her thought. “Because if I’m half as horny at 90 as I have been for the last few weeks, we’ll have to keep the nurses on speed dial.” 

“It’s been like that,” Terry questioned, his eyebrow arching.

Patrice moved his hand closer to the meeting of her thighs, hoping he could feel the throb matching her increasing heartbeat. “It’s been like that.”

Terry let his eyes wander across Patrice’s face to linger on her lips before looking back at her with drooping eyelids. His voice emerged from beyond his lips, sounding like hot chocolate on a winter morning. “Let me fix that for you. Show you how much I want you until you tell me to stop?” 

An offer she couldn’t and wouldn’t dare refuse. Permission granted with a short nod and shallow breaths set them on a path down the hallway and into their bedroom, where the sweet symphony of early evening lovemaking was poised to reclaim its space in their lives. 

Patrice lay in wait, lower back and hips lifted off the mattress by a throne of pillows arranged for her comfort near the edge of the bed while she watched Terry arrange scented candles on the dresser in all his naked glory. 

At some point, she’d find time to thump the back of his head for using her expensive stuff to set the mood. But tonight, she chose to focus on the sensual shadows dancing across his body as he stepped between her legs and leaned forward to see her face under dim candlelight.

“Comfortable,” he asked as his hands roamed from her knees to her thighs and back in an effort to soothe his bubbling nerves. “Google says I should have a wedge for you, but I hope that’ll do.” 

Patrice sank deeper into her cocoon and nodded. “This is perfect. I’m okay.” 

“You promise to let me know when you aren’t?” He waited for Patrice to respond verbally in the affirmative before gingerly lifting her right leg to bring her ankle to his lips for a slow kiss. “What’d Mookie say in Do The Right Thing? Thank God for the ankles?” 

He dropped a kiss against her calf before nuzzling the spot. “Thank God for the legs.” He inched further to suckle Patrice’s fleshy inner thigh, drawing a soft sigh from her as a reward for his good deed. “Thank God for these thighs. I love them so much.” 

He set his sights on the swell of her growing belly, rounding day by day with the promise of a little bundle of joy made in their image. He kissed his way past her belly button and up to her breasts, lingering on his name written in slanted script before moving again. “Thank God for the left nipple and the right.”

Patrice let her eyes flutter closed as he directed her hands to the back of his head while expertly pulling one of her nipples between his teeth. Terry lavished each areola with attention from his tongue, letting quiet moans serenade him until he backed off to say more.

“Thank God for all this gorgeous skin.” He rubbed his nose up her sternum into the crook of her neck. “Thank God for the way you smell. Nothing in this world compares to how it drives me crazy.”

Patrice arched into the kisses Terry left along her neck until her core ached for his attention. 

Every sensation, every lick and practiced nibble at the hands of the only man to satisfy the nooks and crannies of her womanhood, and then some felt intensified ten times over.

The second trimester had done a number on her. Her best friends and OBGYN all confirmed that the gnawing, insatiable sexual appetite she’d developed was normal and meant to be harnessed before her libido waned on the way to the final stretch. 

“Men used to fight wars for women like you. And here you are, giving me  chance after chance to get it right.”

She whimpered into his ear. “Baby.” Her nails lightly scratched at his shoulder blades, begging for a touch only he could provide. “Please, Terrence. Don’t make me wait.”

How could he deny her? She’d asked so nicely and waited so patiently to have him joined to her at the waist. He owed her swift pleasure after all he’d put her through while the stress of growing ten fingers and ten toes reigned down new emotions every other day. 

Terry didn’t tarry on his way to granting her wish. He stood flat-footed before her, slightly bending his knees to deepen their kiss as they reveled in the feeling of his tip gathering wetness at her opening. 

“Tell me when to stop,” he breathed against her mouth. “I know I can’t go too deep. Say when.”

Their lips remained connected throughout his measured re-introduction to her body until a shared gasp turned two breaths into one. Patrice’s jaw dropped as he inched closer and closer to her limit. He watched her with intense focus and a furrowed brow, waiting for her to make the call. 

A little deeper. A little more. Almost. So close. “Right there,” she called out, her hands gripping his biceps to maintain her tether to reality. “Mm, right there.” 

He rolled his hips in a fluid, intentional back and forth, letting the tug from her walls set his start and endpoints. He lifted a hand from its space beside her hips to guide one of hers back toward the mattress for their fingers to interlock. 

Terry murmured variations of ‘I love you’ while Patrice allowed him to gently rock her through rolling waves of pleasure until moans turned into screams trapped in her throat. Strong legs acted with equal parts power and restraint to coax her into the release she deserved. 

He carefully leaned forward to rest his weight on his forearms and speak against her mouth once she felt her getting close to the promised land. “Look, this beautiful body carrying my baby. I was an idiot for wasting all this time when you needed me most. You forgive me, Piggy?” 

“Mhmm,” Patrice managed to whine as the coil in her body began to tighten in preparation for her orgasm. 

He shook his head, needing more. “Say it. Tell me you forgive me.”

“Yes!” She answered, tossing her head back to revel in the euphoria spreading across her limbs. “Yes! I forgive you!”

“My beautiful girl,” he whispered as he thrust into her, feeling the tips of her nails turn his skin into her personal emery board. He blinked away the mix of pain and pleasure to finish showering Patrice in praise. “You always have been.” He could feel her tightening around him, spurring a falter in his stroke that quickened his pace. He panted to match her deep breaths, turning a simple sentence into one he had to grit through clenched teeth. “You always will…be. Fuck, I’m…fuck.” 

Ninety days of pent-up emotions and withheld affection came with an orgasm strong enough to push Terry up on his toes while he listened to Patrice marvel at what he’d gifted her with his hard work. 

They heaved until heaving became delirious laughter, then ‘til laughter circled back to needy kisses missed during their time apart. 

Patrice pulled Terry close, cradling the back of his head to speak into his ear while leaving budding markers of his love under her earlobe. “I don’t want you thinkin’ that’s all for tonight.” Terry slowly released her skin from his lips and pulled away to answer with a quizzical look. Patrice pushed up on her forearms to nip at his bottom lip. 

“Come on. Get me off my back. It's your turn to be worshipped.”

--------

Reply if you'd like to be tagged in future work!

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse @yaachtynoboat711 @jenlovey @pinkpantheris @blowmymbackout @onherereading @becauseimswagman1 @thiccc-c @hrlzy @urfavblackbimbo @blackburnbook @ashanti-notthesinger @xo-goldengirl @ariiijestertheklown @blyffe @tvchi @wabi-sabi1090 @blackmoonchilee @flydotty @aldrigmer444 @ash-ketchumzzz @nayaesworld @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @writingsbytee @teddybeerz @trippyscotch @theogbadbitch @ghostfacekill-monger @nyifly22

[perfectlyoongi]

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who offers you flowers whenever he sees you. whenever you had a planned outing, whether it was a simple trip to the shops or dinner at a restaurant somewhere in the city, the truth is that before you left the house, you would place a bouquet with the most beautiful and colorful flowers there were. you could call Namjoon a gentleman, an old-fashioned one indeed, but that didn’t stop him from carrying out his ritual. it’s just that, secretly, Namjoon counted the time away from you through the withered petals of the flowers he offered you. without you knowing, he bought the same bouquet for himself, placing it on his kitchen counter and consulting it whenever he got home. sometimes the flowers would fade overnight and Namjoon didn’t have any plans for you – but that didn’t stop Namjoon from staying away from you. after all, you didn’t need to leave those four walls to have a good time. “i know it’s short notice, but do you want to go out to eat? we can go to that museum opening before we go home.”

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who likes to have long conversations with you all night long. talking to you was like listening to odes from the most talented poets in this world. it was incredible how your perspective on the universe was able to captivate Namjoon. you could be talking about your day, complaining about little things that made you tired of living; you could be discussing an artistic vision of the same book you were reading; you could talk about all the probabilities that existed in the stars – it didn’t matter. with you, the words flowed like the freest rivers in the world, falling in a waterfall of enthusiasm, forming a small lake of fascination in Namjoon. having you there, with you lying next to him, your head resting on his torso, your hands spraying Namjoon’s skin with the tranquility that only you could provide – there, in that moment, Namjoon swore that both of you were one poem. “tell me about your day. tell me everything you liked and tell me what you want to repeat. talk to me and tell me how your day was and how it only started to make sense when we met.”

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who has a personal chef cooking breakfast when you slept in his house. when you spent the night at Namjoon’s house, he wanted to enjoy every minute of it. as much as he enjoyed falling asleep with you in his arms, he had to confess that he felt better when the first rays of sunlight peeked through the window and welcomed you to a new day. it was at that exact moment, before the day really began and everyone went their separate ways, Namjoon truly enjoyed your company. rubbing his face against your skin, wanting some of your essence to stay trapped in him, Namjoon pressed you closer to him. for some reason, it was in you that he found the strength to get through the day. as such, every minute was precious and he would enjoy every second of it – even if he needed to hire someone to make you breakfast. “just five more minutes and i promise i’ll let you go. let me enjoy just five more minutes. that’s all i need. you are all i need.”

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who gifts you your favorite artwork. visiting museums and galleries had been a norm in your relationship. going to as many openings as you could, scouring the country and world in search of new pieces of art, you and Namjoon enjoyed each other’s presence as tornadoes of emotions and messages surrounded each smile of yours. in the vibrant colors of each painting, you and Namjoon discovered new feelings; in the forced curves of each sculpture, you and Namjoon discovered new beauties; in the tenderness of each word exchanged, you and Namjoon shared eternal moments that would forever be blessed by the most ethereal gods. and to immortalize what was already glorious, Namjoon made a point of thanking your company by offering you the paintings and sculptures that had caught your attention. “what do you mean you don’t have space in your room? i know you want to turn down the painting, but all i’m hearing is that you need a new house with more space. tuesday we can start looking at some houses.”

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who loves to give you designer clothes. sometimes, the parcels that appeared at your house were so rare that you had to turn to the internet to decode that shirt or belt. often, the parcels that appeared at your house were from a collection so recent that you felt invincible when you wore them. every time, the parcels that appeared at your house had a note written by Namjoon to remind you that, even if you didn’t ask, even if you didn’t even know, he would always take care of you. you just needed to accept it and Namjoon would give you the world. “see it as an early birthday present. you don’t have to thank or reciprocate. this coat is for you. use it when we go to lunch on saturday.”

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who makes a point of giving you a kiss when others are looking at you. Namjoon enjoyed your company, it was obvious. as such, Namjoon liked to take you to work parties or friend gatherings or really anywhere where you could show off the new outfit he had gifted you. wherever there was an event that called Namjoon, he was quick to hold your hand and take you with him without any prior notice. these nights of get-togethers seemed divine in Namjoon’s company; there was something about his laugh that tied you to the moment; the way he spoke to his acquaintances made you curious to know more about all subjects, even though he had already told that story to you; the way he looked at you, eyes bright and bathed in tenderness, erased everything that was happening around you; and the way he kissed you, slowly, softly, right on the corner of your mouth, teasing you just a little, made you wish the day would end. “patience. we haven’t greeted the birthday boy yet. i promise just one more hour and then we can go home.”

SUGAR-DADDY!NAMJOON who introduces you to everyone as his ‘special person’. e v er y   s y l l a b l e of these two words was marinated with the most intense pride in the universe; ea-ch--tim-bre of these two words was intoned with the greatest fascination of the cosmos; those two words were Namjoon’s favorite words. ‘special person’. yes, he could have said that you were his partner or even a friendship that had been going on for years; of course, but all those words were empty. and you were special. you were special to Namjoon and he wanted everyone to know that. and that’s why he introduced you with pride – how lucky he was to find someone as amazing as you; that’s why he named you with fascination – how lucky the universe is to have someone as divine as you; that was why ‘special person’ sounded so good when uttered by him – how lucky you were to be the only one blessed by the gods. “if you don’t feel comfortable, i can call you something else. but, honestly, i don’t think anything i would call you would equal the importance you have in my life.”

[megalony]

Exploding Emotions- Part 2

After getting a lovely request and so much feedback, I managed to do a follow up for this Evan Buckley imagine, I hope you will all like it, please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro

Evan Buckley Masterlist

Part 1

Summary: While out on a call, an accident gives (Y/n) flashbacks to the night her husband got trapped beneath the fire truck and what happened to her while he was stuck.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Mr Buckley, please-"

"Off! Off, get off!"

When a blunder of 'fuck off' and 'leave me the fuck alone' spluttered past Evan's bloodied lips, everyone in the room was surprised. He had been stuttering through the simplest of words since they got him in the ambulance, but now he was riled up he wasn't quieting down. And his expletives had been loud and clear.

His arms thrashed at his sides and he fought off the hands trying to push him back down on the gurney.

All the team looked at one another, unsure what to do. They needed him off the gurney and onto the bed, but Evan wasn't making any of this easy. The more Evan thrashed around, the harder he would make it on his leg and the more pain he was going to give himself. Not to mention moving and disrupting his leg could cause damage to the split blood vessels and torn muscles and the bone that was splintered in multiple places.

"Let us get him on the bed." Bobby waved his hand towards Hen and Eddie while Chimney stood in the doorway with Maddie clinging to his arm.

It was going to be easier if the team transferred him onto the bed in the middle of the room. They weren't leaving until Evan was safely in an operating room and right now, he was in the trauma unit in the ER. He was getting a portable X-ray, his leg would be assessed and they would see what kind of surgery he needed and get him on monitors and most importantly, medication.

Hen and Eddie busied themselves carefully twisting Evan onto his right side so they could place a slip sheet beneath him but once he was rolled onto his back again, his hands were moving. He smacked Eddie in the shoulder with a surprising amount of force before he fisted Bobby's shirt in his hands.

"(Y/n). (Y/n)."

"Okay, let's sort you out first, kid, okay?" Bobby held his arms while Eddie and Hen pulled the sheet on the count of three.

Evan screamed. His voice crumbled and the sound pierced through the air when he was jostled onto the trauma bed and the gurney was shunned out of the way.

"I m-missed it." Evan's words came out as a whisper that no one else seemed to hear. His eyes rolled from left to right and briefly tilted to look at the back of his head. He couldn't get his thoughts in order, he could barely see and he felt like he was on a boat, rocking over tumulous waves in the ocean. Everything fizzled out for a few seconds.

All he knew was he had missed one of the most important moments of his life.

His girl was already here. She was already in the world and Evan hadn't set his sights on her yet. He hadn't held her in his arms, he hadn't kissed her or introduced himself. He hadn't promised her the world and told her how much he loved her and everything he would do for her to give her the best life and make sure she was loved every day of her life.

He didn't hold her when she was born, he didn't cut the cord or hear her first little cry. He wasn't one of the first things she saw when she opened her eyes. His daughter had probably been held by ten other people by now, all of them except for him. Nurses, midwives, (Y/n), Maddie. His sister had seen his daughter before him.

How was this right? How was any of this fair?

His senses came back to him in one big hit like the truck had collapsed on him all over again when someone tried to touch his leg. His left leg, the one that wasn't currently split open, automatically jerked and twitched from the pain that radiated throughout his whole nervous system that had been shot to pieces by now.

He did his best to sit up. He didn't want to be laid down because it was making him feel woozy and sick.

He felt a bit better when someone angled the bed up so he was at an angle. He was barely sitting upright and still felt mostly laid down, but it was better than nothing.

His upper lip curled and he huffed when someone started undoing the buttons on his shirt. What were they doing? Why were they stripping him down? His trouser leg had already been cut off near the bottom of his boxers to expose the full extent of his injuries. He gruffed and groaned when he was leant forward and his shirt was pulled off him completely.

But when cold stickers attached to his chest and wires clipped in place, he started to get uncomfy. The ECG machine beeped to life, showing his erratic heartbeat that was far too fast for his own good. And when a blood pressure cuff was slid onto his arm, Evan reeled his arms to his chest and closed his eyes.

The numbers were too high. He was getting more and more unsettled and he was going to crash if this carried on.

He barely felt the lady tapping the back of his hand and inserting a cannula into his vein.

"(Y/n)! I want- I want-" Evan paused for a moment when someone held his arm. Their touch was gentle, their hands soft and their presence so close that his pleading came to an abrupt stop.

He twisted to the left to see who it was, to see if it was his wife like he was been praying for.

It wasn't.

"…blood thinners now, and get a dose of morphine ready. Get the leg in place for a quick X-ray, and I want the anaesthesiologist in here now."

Most of the doctor's words reached Evan's ears, but he was more focused on dragging his arm away from the nurse at his side. He didn't want her help. He wanted (Y/n). He wanted his wife. He needed his daughter. He hadn't seen her yet, were they going to be cruel enough to make Evan wait to see his daughter? Was nine months not long enough?

A bubbling scream erupted from his lips and his body writhed when his right leg was moved. Their touch was tender and slow but Evan felt like his leg was hanging on by a single thread that was about to snap. He didn't like the foam blocks placed on either side of his leg to get a clear X-ray. He didn't like them moving the wires and straps around his fragmented skin to make the shot clearer.

And he hated the small, portable X-ray that was wheeled over his leg and felt like half of his body was stuck in a tanning machine.

All the surrounding bodies stepped back so pictures could be taken and every time his leg was adjusted, his split knuckles bashed into the bedframe and he screamed.

Maybe it would be better if they just chopped the leg off. He wouldn't be in agony if they simply knocked him out and took it off. He wouldn't have this pain, this suffering, this agonising wait.

All he cared about was seeing his girls, his leg be damned.

"I want my wife!" Blood and spit foamed past his lips and acidic tears stained his already bloodshot cheeks as his chest started to shudder up and down against the bed.

He moved his trembling hands to the ECG wires that felt like they had been superglued to his chest. He ripped them off without a second thought and tried to throw them away. He snagged the cannula from his wrist, not caring that even more blood was leaving his body and was going to drain him dry. He had to find his girls, wherever they were. They were too far away from him.

"Mr Buckley calm down. You need to let us help you."

"Buck no don't do that. Stop it!" There was an odd sense of authority in Hen's voice but it fell upon deaf ears.

"I want m-my wife!" His words screamed through the air and had everyone wincing and jerking away from him.

But when one of the doctors grabbed Evan's wrist and shoulder and tried to pin him to the bed, all Hell broke loose. A deafening roar left Evan's lips, his body jerked up from the bed and he thrust his arm up as harsh as he could until his elbow smashed into the doctor's nose.

The doctor stumbled back, knocking into the ECG machine before Eddie grabbed him, saving him from a harsh landing on the floor. Both his hands moved to cradle his nose that was splurting out blood and had officially been broken.

He ripped himself out of Eddie's steadying hands and stumbled to the back of the room. He couldn't help anymore. He coughed into his hands, anger and resentment in his eyes before he looked around the room.

"Someone get his damn wife in here before he kills the anaesthesiologist." With a shake of his head, the doctor headed out the room to get himself cleaned up and assessed by a colleague.

If Evan was going to start breaking bones until he had his wife in the room, then someone had to go and fetch her. They couldn't have him lunging for the anaesthesiologist who they would need to put him under ready for an operating room.

Bobby dragged his hand through his hair and twisted to look at the doorway while Hen and Eddie moved over to Evan. Hen busied herself holding Evan's hips down to the bed while Eddie grabbed his wrists, bracing one knee on the side of the bed so he could lean over Evan and pin him down as he struggled.

A round of "No!" and "Fuck off!" was spat at them, but neither of them listened.

"This is for your own good, if you want that leg then stop fighting us."

"Maddie, is (Y/n) in recovery now?" The pain in Bobby's eyes was evident. He didn't want his daughter to witness her husband in this state, it wouldn't be fair. She had been through an ordeal herself and she had only just had her baby. She would be exhausted and in pain and maybe on meds herself, she didn't need to be moving about she should be resting.

But Bobby knew his daughter. He knew she would be worrying, if not crying and screaming about not knowing the state of her husband. She would want to see Evan and right now, they needed her help.

When Maddie nodded, Bobby brushed the few tears out of his eyes. "Go bring her down here as fast as you can. She's the only one he'll listen to."

Maddie set off into a sprint, Chimney following one step behind her. They would comandeer a wheelchair and snatch (Y/n) from her hospital bed. She would willingly come down to the trauma unit with them once they hurriedly explained what was going on. They needed (Y/n) to calm Evan down because they would end up hurting him to sedate him if he continued to fight.

The remaining doctor and nurses looked at the X-ray images, conferring together in the corner of the room about the damage to the bone. They were all in agreement. They could save the leg if the blood vessels could be repaired and the nerves were in tact, and judging by the way his leg jerked and reacted to stimulant, he had a chance.

"Give me your hand for the IV." Hen turned around with a huff and pinned the right side of her chest and hip down into Evan's abdomen to try and keep him still and in place.

She tried to take his hand when Eddie let go of his wrist, but she couldn't get a good grasp when Evan started throwing his arm out at her. He wasn't opposed to elbowing, hitting and punching his colleagues if they were going to continue pinning him to the bed like this.

"Alright kid." Leaning over while Eddie had Evan's shoulders and left hand and Hen was practically laying on his waist, Bobby grabbed Evan's chin. It stopped him from trying to sit up and prevented him from writhing back and forth so much. "My daughter isn't coming in here with you lashing out at your own team and bleeding all over the place. So get that IV back in and stay put."

As much as Bobby wanted to be understanding, caring, compassionate, and be the father Evan had seemed to make him when they became family, he just couldn't. He couldn't give in to those feelings because they were making Bobby cry and giving in to Evan's lashing out wasn't going to help.

Bobby wouldn't let (Y/n) in here if Evan was lashing out because what if he hurt her by mistake? What if seeing him in a state like this pushed (Y/n) over the edge and sent her into shock? What if it upset her too much and she broke down?

If he wanted to see his wife, he had to calm down just a little and let them help him. (Y/n) wouldn't let Evan fight everyone in the room if she was here and they all knew it.

They were lucky he hadn't been restrained to the bed already for breaking a doctor's nose. Bobby was going to have to have a few conversations and do some pleading to make sure the doctor didn't sue or try and cause problems for Evan after this. But the doctor hadn't seemed vengeful, he seemed to understand that Evan was acting out of trauma and the worst agony of his life. This wasn't how he usually would be.

(Y/n) could hear evan before she set her sights on him.

Her hands were trembling, curled as tightly as possible around the arms of the wheelchair until her knuckles were close to popping through her skin.

The discomfort she felt and the agonising pain she had just been through with their daughter was nothing compared to the symphony her heart was creating from being apart from Evan. The agony she was in from not knowing if Evan was okay, from knowing he was in immense agony and there was nothing she could do about it.

Maybe now she could do something. She wanted to be there when he had been trapped. She had so desperately wanted to hold his hand and kiss his tears away and hold his hand through the mess. But she couldn't. Maybe now, she could calm him through the storm and then be there on the other side when he was out of surgery.

The sound of her husband's screams and tormented, gasping sobs called out to (Y/n) before they were down the hall in the trauma unit.

She pushed up onto trembling, heavy legs that felt like they were made of cement. Her knees tensed and tightened but hersocks glided against the floor as she shuffled towards Evan's room, using the wall as leverage to push herself faster. The dull cramps in her abdomen livened up as she moved, but she didn't care.

The sounds in trauma room three died down when (Y/n) appeared in the doorway. One arm secured around her waist, the other clinging to the doorframe. Hair askew and falling out the bun at the back of her head, eyes heavy, knees trembling and tears drenching her face once again.

Bobby's lips rolled together into a thin line that stopped him from bursting into tears then and there. He kept hold of Evan's shoulders but his eyes stayed focused on his daughter as she hurried into the room.

Both Hen and Eddie let go of Evan and backed away until they were stood at the far side of the room, allowing the doctor and two nurses to take their place so they could continue to assess him and get him ready. And Bobby finally let go of Evan and stepped back, resting one hand on his daughter's back as he leaned over to peck her temple.

As soon as Evan's sights set on (Y/n), a river of tears poured down his face and the ache in his heart overtook the throbbing trauma splitting apart in his leg.

Trembling set in all over his body and he finally stopped writhing against the bed as if all the worry, the tension and the pain had left his body. He didn't realise the nurse had confiscated his left hand so she could inject blood thinners and the morphine into his cannula.

Instead, Evan reached his right hand out towards (Y/n) as his lower lip wobbled and he started to sob.

A shudder ran down (Y/n)'s spine when she dared to look down at Evan's legs and her hand moved to cover her mouth. But it didn't stop a broken "Oh God," from leaving her lips.

It was worse than she expected. Seeing him being dragged free from that truck, he looked better than this. He looked like his leg was still attached and useable and able to be fixed. But seeing him right now, with the muscle split apart, the bone shattered into tiny fragments and all the blood soaked down his leg, (Y/n) felt sick.

Was his leg going to be saved? What would happen if Evan woke up with nothing below the knee? How would be cope? What would they do?

Shock had (Y/n) shaking and spasming, but she forced herself to look away from the tattered mess that was her husband's leg. Her hands reached out and she stood as close to the bed as possible, with her dad stood behind her, close by in case he had to step in.

Reaching her left hand out, (Y/n) shakily dragged her fingers through Evan's hair that was damp with smoke, sweat and surprisingly, blood. She raked her nails through the matted knots and leaned as close as possible while her right hand deadlocked around his left hand that was held out towards her.

"Oh baby," It hurt to crease forward but she didn't care, (Y/n) leaned over and smothered her lips against his temple. She could feel how flushed he was and he smelt of smoke and dirt and burnt rubber.

She inhaled all the different scents until all she could focus on was the scent of her strawberry shampoo that she bought multitudes of because she knew her husband used it every time he washed his hair. Her lips moved against his temple, whispering sweet nothings against his skin while he clenched her hand so tightly she wondered if he was going to break her hand.

Evan had gone oddly still on the bed, the only movement being the trembling that wouldn't stop, even with the high dose of morphine they gave him a few moments ago. After a few broken cries and hitched breaths, Evan turned his head to the right and burrowed his face into (Y/n)'s lower chest. He tried to take deep breaths, breathing into the shirt she wore which he recognised as one of his own along with his pair of joggers.

So that was what she had packed into the maternity bag she made in advance for when she went into labour.

"I- I'm so, s-so sorry-" He couldn't speak clearly for hiccupping and he let go of her hand in favour of binding his arm around her waist. He didn't want to hurt her, but he reeled her closer and smothered his face against her lower chest. His cries got worse when he nudged his nose against her stomach that now felt different.

Empty.

"The only thing you need to be sorry for, is hurting that doctor. You're gonna be okay, baby. It's okay."

She had been told why they were dragging her down to the trauma unit, although the moment Maddie said Evan needed her, (Y/n) was already up out of bed. She would have run all the way down here if her sister in law hadn't of practically heaved her into the wheelchair Chimney confiscated on the way up. They told her Evan was lashing out and he'd accidentally whacked one of his doctors.

They explained they were worried how they would sedate him in this state. No one had seen him so riled up and infuriated and broken before.

"I wasn't t-there… you had… had her alone." The more Evan thought about it, the worse he felt. He wanted to change time. He wanted to go back and put the universe back into place. He wanted to make everything better, have no mangled leg and have his daughter in his arms and the memory of her birth in his mind.

He knew for as long as he lived, he was never going to get over this. The ADHD part of his brain was going to hold this over him for the rest of his life. He was going to be infuriated for as long as he lived that the universe had broken him on the very night that he was supposed to welcome his first child into the world.

He tried to open his eyes, but looking at (Y/n)'s misshapen stomach only made him howl. And nuzzling his nose and lips against her soft bump where there was no longer a baby moving and kicking him made him hold her tighter.

He bound his arm around her back until he was beginning to hurt her and he buried his face into her abdomen until (Y/n) had to tilt her head back and take a deep breath to control her reaction. She didn't want him to know it hurt to hold her tight and she didn't want Evan to feel any worse. If holding her was going to calm a tiny part of him down then that was okay, (Y/n) would bear the uncomfortableness. She had been through much worse tonight, and the night was far from over.

"It's okay, shh." Tilting her head back down, (Y/n) kissed Evan's curls and moved her free hand to brush her thumb across his cheek. She glided her fingers around the side of his neck and slowly moved her thumb up and down his cheek and across his jaw while she pressed sloppy kisses to the top of his head.

"Is she o-okay?"

The tender tone in Evan's voice made (Y/n)'s heart soar, break and melt all at the same time.

She pulled back just a tiny bit so she could bend her knees and move down to Evan's height. Her fingers continued to card through his hair which seemed to be calming him down and keeping him in a soothed state. Her other hand cupped the side of his face and she pressed a chaste kiss to his wet, bloodied lips.

"She's perfect, a-and she's waiting for you." (Y/n) took a deep breath when she heard the door open and felt her dad's hand on her shoulder.

"They need to sedate him now and take him for surgery." Bobby kissed the top of (Y/n)'s head as he squeezed her shoulder. They had given Evan morphine, they had done an X-ray and they had managed to see his nerve endings and his blood vessels were somewhat in tact and could be saved.

He needed to go straight to an operating room so they could start patching him up. With Evan being so enraptured with (Y/n), the nurse had already managed to give him some more medicine through his IV to settle his heartbeat. And she was now prepping something to bring down his blood pressure so he would be stable for surgery.

"Baby, someone's here to prep you now."

A tiny, croaked whimper left Evan's lips and he tried to bury his face in her stomach again, but (Y/n) kept hold of his cheek and nudged her nose against his.

"It's okay, because you're gonna get that leg fixed, and when you wake up, I'll be right here holding your hand. And you can see your little girl, okay baby?"

(Y/n) figured the noise Evan let out was him agreeing with her. His eyes closed and his trembling simmered down for a moment when (Y/n) kissed his chapped lips, tasting the blood on her tongue when they parted. She leaned back up to her full height again which made her stomach feel a bit better. But having Evan tucking himself into her stomach like he was filling the void their daughter had left made her feel queasy.

He stayed compliant, left arm now wrapped around (Y/n) while his right hand was held in the nurse's frail grip so she could give him the medicines to settle his heartbeat and blood pressure.

The anaesthesiologist checked Evan's chart while the ECG clips were reattached to his chest, his leg was shifted and kept in place and the bed was lowered so he was flat on his back again.

"Okay Mr Buckley, once this is in your system, we'll get this mask on you and I'll need you to start counting for me. Don't worry, when you wake up, your lovely lady will still be right here with you." The newest doctor seemed calm and attentive with a charming smile that Evan couldn't see as he was still tucked up against his wife.

He must deal with troublesome patients a lot.

He fiddled with the medicine trolley and once a large dose was in Evan's system to work with the anaesthesia, he found the mask and got the tank turned on.

Evan whimpered again, trying his best to tuck himself into his wife, but no one was having it. He was compliant now, they could move him with ease without fearing a broken bone in retaliation.

"S'alright baby, I'll be here when you wake up." (Y/n) kissed his temple while Eddie gently rolled his shoulders back so he was laid on his back.

She began dragging her fingers through his hair in a soft, rhythmic motion and went back to holding Evan's hand so it wasn't bruising her waist anymore. She could feel tears drenching her face when Evan shuddered at the mask going over his lips. He didn't count like he had been asked, but he tried to mutter something which was as good as counting.

The shaking started to subside the more anaesthesia he inhaled until he was loosening his grip on (Y/n)'s hand. Softly drifting into a calm state of sleep, with the last thing he could make out being (Y/n)'s voice as she murmured "I love you." In his ear.

***

Opening her tired eyes, (Y/n) cast them about the room and soon felt herself waking up immediately when she heard Evan started to mumble.

It took some effort to push herself up from the small cot bed that had been laid out in the right corner of the room and (Y/n) felt her stomach crease and twinge when she pushed up to her feet. All she wanted to do was lay down and go to sleep, but she hadn't slept for over two days now.

As soon as Evan went into the operating theatre, (Y/n) thought that maybe she would get an hour or two of sleep, but her body decided against her. She couldn't sleep, her mind was too wired with the sound of Evan's cries and the mangled formation of his leg burned into her eyelids.

She hadn't been able to settle for fear of seeing Evan come out of that operation with only one leg. She wouldn't be able to piece her husband back together if he lost his leg. And (Y/n) didn't know what she would do if the operation didn't go well.

She had spent the hours cradling her daughter and crying while her parents tried in vain to comfort her and reassure her that everything would be okay.

When Evan's operation was finally over and they got him onto a ward in the recovery unit, (Y/n) made a small request. She was going to be discharged in the morning as long as her baby was feeding properly and all the checks were okay. (Y/n) asked if she could stay in Evan's room until she was discharged. She didn't care if that meant sleeping in a chair, just as long as she and their daughter could be in the same room as Evan so when he woke up, their family would be together.

Bobby and Athena had finally gone home for a few hours of sleep and would be back in the morning. Maddie had been in to see Evan, but he had been ninety percent asleep and high on morphine so he hadn't spoken a word. But she had been reassured her brother was okay and would be on the mend, so she and the team had all gone home with the promise that tomorrow afternoon, they would be back to see him.

Now though, now Evan seemed that he was finally coming out of the anaesthetic and (Y/n) was hoping he would finally wake up and be conscious enough to talk.

Shuffling across from the little cot bed, (Y/n) slowly heaved herself up to sit on the side of Evan's bed. She took his left hand in hers and entwined their fingers together while her right hand gently brushed across the side of his temple. She carded her fingers through his hair and peppered a few kisses to his cheek as he began to groan and twist his head from left to right.

It took a few minutes for him to properly come around. His fingers twitched in her grasp, his eyelids fluttered and little murmurs and noises left his chapped lips before he finally started to wake up.

"Evan, baby, are you with me?" Her fingers tangled through his hair when he opened his eyes and managed to focus his sights on her.

She leaned back to be out the way when Evan moved his free hand and shakily clutched the oxygen mask strapped over his mouth and nose. With one swift yank, he ripped it off his face and tossed it to the side.

"(Y/n)? I- did I…" He pressed his head back into the pillow and arched his chest up off the bed as he tried to draw in a deep breath.

Oh God, why did his mind feel like it had been beaten with a whisk? Why did his body feel like he was floating but with the absolution that any moment now someone was going to yank his chains and have him falling through the air to a harsh landing.

When his eyes opened again, Evan moved his right hand until his fingers were tracing over his thigh, but he couldn't find the will to move them any further past his knee.

Did he still have both his legs?

He could feel tears welling up in his eyes that were aching from the headache forming in his throbbing temple. But when he looked over at his wife, he found comfort in the tepid smile on her lips and the feel of her lips pressing against his cheek.

"Your leg's still there, baby, just with a few bolts and pins to keep the bone in place. You'll be up and walking in no time."

The relief was evident in Evan's features and he allowed a tear or two to slip down his features while he squeezed her hand. He tried to take a few deep breaths. He still had both legs. He would be able to walk soon. It might take some time, but he wasn't going to be learning how to walk with a prosthetic or crutches. He would be walking about soon. He would still be able to do his job.

"Talk to me baby, do you feel okay?"

"I feel high."

A quiet laugh rumbled past (Y/n)'s lips and she leaned down to kiss him, feeling elated when he squeezed her hand and leaned into her touch.

Feeling high was preferable to the pain he had been in last night. It was much more preferable than being in agony or feeling

uncomfortable or sick or drowsy or like he was having a bad reaction to the medication. If the morphine was making him feel high then it was doing its job and making sure he was comfortable and that's what they wanted.

"Good." Her lips formed a smile, but there was something hiding in her eyes that made Evan uneasy. He leaned into her touch, nuzzling his cheek into her palm, but when he saw the tears in her eyes, he felt his heart rate picking up. "Evan, I'm sorry baby. I'm so sorry I wasn't there, I tried-"

"You? Sweetheart it's me that should have been there."

He tried to sit up, but he didn't have the willpower or the core strength and he flopped back into the pillow with a groan. Until (Y/n) let go of his face to press the button beside the bed, tilting the bed up at an angle so he was sitting up rather than lying down.

Sorrow filled his eyes as his right hand moved out to skim his fingers across her stomach. Only a few days ago he had done that and felt kicking against his palm. He had kissed her stomach and told their baby that he couldn't wait to meet and hold them and kiss them.

Now it was all over and he hadn't been there for any of it. He had let (Y/n)) go through something so traumatic without him and he was never going to be able to rectify that.

"You needed me, you needed help, and I- I couldn't help you-"

(Y/n) wondered how things would have gone if she hadn't of been in labour last night. Would she have been able to go to the scene if she wasn't in labour? Would her mum have taken her down there and let her hold Evan's hand while the team got him out? Could she have calmed him down while he was stuck beneath that truck? Could she have calmed him and travelled in the ambulance with him and made some sort of difference when he arrived?

She wanted someone to have been holding his hand through that ordeal. None of the team had told him he would be okay, they didn't hold his hand or kneel beside him to let him know he wasn't alone. Bomber or not, they shouldn't have left Evan alone. (Y/n) was never going to let go of that and she would never forgive herself for being in the hospital when Evan needed her the most.

"I broke every promise I made you. I wasn't with you… you gave birth alone, I- I wanted to be there, to hold your hand, a-and hold her…" When tears started to fall down Evan's face, (Y/n) let go of his hand in favour of cupping his face and pressing a tender, wet kiss to his lips.

"Maddie kindly took your place," Her thumbs swiped beneath his eyes to dry away his tears. "We can't change what happened, baby, but you're gonna be there for so much more. Her first word, her first steps, when she falls and cries and laughs, you'll see it all."

No matter how badly they wanted to change what had happened, they couldn't. All they could do was make sure that nothing like this happened again, and they could move forward.

(Y/n) didn't dare broach the subject just yet about Evan's recovery. The doctor was going to have to explain that he would need another operation to remove the pins, and maybe a third if the bone needed setting again or if any complications arose. Physio was going to take some time and he wouldn't be at work for at least five months, maybe more.

But that would give Evan ample time to be with their daughter. He could hold her and cuddle her to his heart's content. He would be there for her first smile, her giggles, her moving and interacting with them. And in the years to come, he would see her first words and her first steps, he would be there for everything that was important. Missing the birth wasn't much in comparison to what he was going to witness in the future.

"She won't remember or hold it against you that you weren't there, you know. I'd rather you miss the birth and be there for the first word or her first day at school. You'll be there when it counts, that's what she will remember."

Tilting her head forward, (Y/n) pressed her temple down into Evan's chest, smiling against his skin when she felt him kiss the top of her head and weave his arm around to cup the back of her neck. She felt his fingers tangle into her hair and they stayed like that for a few moments until (Y/n) finally tilted her head to look up at him.

"Are you ready to meet her?"

The light that lit up Evan's eyes was one that made (Y/n)'s stomach flip and she felt him bristle against her as he looked around the room. He hadn't thought she would be here or anywhere nearby, but Evan's eyes locked on the small plastic cot he hadn't noticed before at the far side of the room.

His baby was here. His baby girl was sleeping soundly across the room, so close that he should have felt her presence already.

He had waited long enough.

He didn't realise he was shaking until (Y/n) glided her hand up and down his chest and pressed a soft, fluttering kiss against his cheek. She patted his chest and slowly stood up to move across to the cot, feeling Evan's eyes on her with every step she took.

(Y/n) brushed her cheek against her shoulder to try and stop herself from crying when she turned around and slowly perched back down on the side of the bed. Evan was still shaking and he didn't look certain that he would be able to hold their daughter without dropping her, but that wasn't going to stop him.

His arms moved out before he could think about any of it and his teeth sank into his bottom lip as he trembled, desperate for that little weight to be rested in his arms.

A quiet gasp left his lips when the newborn was placed in the crook of his left arm and the movement seemed to wake her up. He didn't mean to wake her when she had clearly been sound asleep, but he was mesmerised by those bright, wide eyes that stared up at him when she came around. Her hands had little mittens covering them so she didn't scratch her nose in her sleep and Evan reached out to remove one of them.

He wanted to see the difference in the size of their hands. All of her tiny fingers could barely curl around his thumb and when he brushed his index finger against her chubby cheek, she actually leaned into the touch.

"She's beautiful." He couldn't help the tears he shed when he looked down at his little girl in his arms.

It took Evan a moment to remove his finger from her tiny hand, but when he did, he carefully shifted his hand around so he was holding her sides, allowing him to lift her up. He held her close to kiss her cheek that felt warm and cosy against his skin, and he tugged the itchy, uncomfortable hospital gown out the way so he could lean his daughter against his chest.

He loved the feeling when she instantly nuzzled herself into his bare chest as if the warmth was reeling her in. He curled his large hand around the back of her head and glided his thumb over the small streaks of hair that felt as soft as silk against the rough pad of his thumb.

The way she smacked her lips against his chest felt like she was trying to give him a kiss and Evan reciprocated the touch by attaching his lips to the top of her warm head.

"We need a name, up to now the nurses are calling her baby Buckley." (Y/n) dragged the back of her hand gently across their daughter's head, nudging Evan's hand before she moved to rest her hand on his arm instead.

Their eyes locked for a few seconds while Evan remembered the little agreement they'd had. They had a list of four names they had agreed on, depending on whether they had a girl or a boy and whoever guessed the gender right got to pick the name. Evan guessed a girl.

"Do you think Lilah suits her?" He mused, not breaking his lips away from her head since his girl was nicely snugged into his chest.

For a brief moment, Evan let his eyes drag away from both his girls and he looked down at his right leg. He had a cast from his foot all the way up to the middle of his thigh. Great. For the next month, he wouldn't be walking without a struggle. It sent shivers up his spine, but he warded away the bad thoughts with the knowledge that he still had a leg and he could learn to walk properly again and he could build up his strength.

He wasn't starting from the beginning with a prosthetic and crutches, waiting to adapt.

"Lilah Buckley it is." (Y/n) murmured softly, leaning across so she could kiss Evan's neck while her hand moved to rest on his good thigh.

She watched him for a few more moments as he got Lilah comfortable on his chest and slowly reclined into the pillows, easing her back on his chest. He still hadn't stopped kissing her temple and the way he was leaning from left to right was slow and almost unnoticable, but it made her smile. She dragged her free hand up and down his arm, gliding her nail across his skin to cause goosebumps in her wake as her head tilted to one side and she grinned.

"You're not gonna put her down, are you?" (Y/n) had a feeling that for however long Evan was going to be in hospital, their daughter was going to remain in his arms.

If he couldn't get up and walk about or carry her, he would be sitting here. Evan would want to feed her, he would want to wind her and cuddle her and get her to sleep on his chest so he never had to put her down. It was going to be hard for anyone else to try and hold her when Evan seemed to want to attach her to his person twenty-four seven.

The way he grinned against their daughter's head confirmed (Y/n) was right, but she didn't mind. She could see the serenity in Evan's eyes and the calmness that was washing over his face. He wasn't bothered about the state of his legs, the pins attached to his bone that was covered in a cast. He couldn't be bothered to think about the nuisance this cast was going to be for the next few weeks.

Evan couldn't even work up the nerve to think about the struggle he had ahead of him. All he could think about was the sense of peace he had now that his daughter was in his arms.

"Never."

[madamechrissy]

♡ Time after Time ♡

♡ ♡ Pairings ♡ ♡ CEO! Satoru Gojo x Fem Reader

♡ ♡ Warnings ♡ ♡ MDNI- Fingering, thigh riding, cumming dirty talk, nudity, Gojo less of a dick finally lol

♡ ♡ Word Count ♡ ♡ 5k

♡ ♡ Summary ♡ ♡ Gojo Satoru is your boss And you've been his head assistant for over two years now. You do everything for him, including and not limited to cleaning his messes, picking out his clothes, and writing his speeches. Sixteen hour days... night calls... You are tired of being overworked and at his beck and call. You decide you are going to put in your two weeks notice. He is shocked, and wants to try to keep you, because you're the best. But you know better. Right? . You really wanna fucking quit. You also wanna fuck him. Also, fuck him.

Chapter 3 - Masterlist- Playlist

Chapter 4

As the first rays of dawn gently illuminate the little cabin, you stir from sleep. Your body is enveloped in a warm, hard embrace, and you feel so safe. Blinking the sleep out of your eyes, you are met with the sight of Gojo next to you. Peaceful, almost innocent looking, nothing like the devious little shit you usually saw. You sigh, and have to admit to yourself he’s just gorgeous.

His silver hair cascading over his forehead, sculpted features relaxed, full lips ever so parted. A surge of warmth and desire courses through you as you realize the full extent of your situation. You are trapped beneath his weight, his strong arms holding you securely in place. You try to wriggle free, but his grip is strong, he’s super heavy for as slender as he looks.

Giving up, you start to enjoy the embrace, enjoy looking at him like this. Literally perfection just sleeping against you. You start to understand the numerous girls in his bed, you couldn’t blame them at all. You brush some of his silky hair back, sighing and studying the man you’d been all too eager to run away from just the other day. Now, something was different.

But was it different?

Or was Gojo that attractive that he just fucked your head up?

You’d had to work yesterday after all. But… was it so bad? You start to think of his words in the Limo. Would you have a life, friends, a boyfriend… you have to wonder if you just lived to work. And Gojo used it to his advantage. Had you not been so eager to do everything, after all, he may have not taken such an advantage. You always wanted to be the best and you were.

But you were exhausted, and that wasn’t going away. Though, you had to admit, the sleep you just got was absolutely amazing. Gojo indeed was the best cuddler… there was no doubt about it. Though you had nothing to go off, you certainly knew it was top tier. The way he held you… did things. Gojo did things. Things you had put aside, to focus, to be professional.

Your fingers trace down his jaw, sharp, refined, relaxed just so. His breathing is steady against you as his arms tighten. You resist the urge to kiss him, straddle him, do things you should not want. Instead, you kiss his forehead, sweetly, thinking he looked like he needed one then.

What was he doing to you?

His hands gripped your shoulders, then, and you froze, realizing he had woken up. You peek down, removing your lips, and there is a playful glimmer in the azure depths of his gaze, a little smirk on the mouth that had been relaxed before. You feel yourself flush in embarrassment, looking down.

“Taking advantage of me as I sleep? Hmm maybe that’s your kink. Somnophilia.” Gojo taps your lips with a low chuckle, yanking you on top of him. Your hands are on his strong, bare chest, and his leg is between your thighs.

“I was not doing anything pervy! God!” You wiggle a bit, trying to get out of the strong embrace, but he just yanks you closer against him. Your sensitive aching pussy against his thigh felt far too good. You bite your lip against the sensation, and he takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“I am just teasing you. That was actually pretty cute.” He kisses your forehead, then, and you sigh a bit. “Don’t think I’ve done that. Weird.”

“Kissed a forehead?” You ask incredulously. He shrugs, contemplative look on his face.

“Not that I can think of. I’ve kissed damn near every part of a woman, but I don’t think that one has come into play.”

“You just looked… peaceful and cute. Unlike now, looking like a devious bastard again.” You glare, and he chuckles.

“I’m cute hmm? Not words I think describe me. Handsome, gorgeous, sexy… all those.”

“You’re cute when you sleep. When you aren’t running that mouth of yours.”

“Same.” You two looked at each other then. “You snore, though.”

“Do not!”

“Do too.”

“Lies.”

“How do you even know? You literally can’t tell. You’re asleep, silly.” You sigh, grinning.

“You have a point. You don’t snore.”

“I know, I’m perfect. We can’t all be, baby girl.” Gojo pats your head, brushing your cascading hair back with a grin.

“You’re a perfect looking asshole.”

“But I am perfect looking?” He gives you a wink.

“Ugh.” You lean up a bit. “What was that shit you were talking about, somno what now?”

“Oh, you sweet summer child.” He tuts his mouth, damn devious features back once more. “It’s when your kink is sleeping people.”

Your eyes open wide. “Like you want them to stay asleep? And… like fuck them?”

“Mmhmm. It’s a thing.”

“You know all these kinks hmm?”

“It comes with experience.” Gojo’s hands trail down your bare arms, making goosebumps follow in their path. You tremble.

“Are you into that?” You ask, curious about this man that you should really know more about. He shakes his head.

“It’s not my thing, no. But I’ve done it on request. Just didn’t care for it too much. I really enjoy every. Little. Movement.” He watches you tremble as his lips near yours. “Every. Sound.” He kissed you in between the words, and you moan softly into his lips. “And especially the look on your face.”

“My face?” Your brows furrow in confusion, as your lips part in desire. Gojo grins at you, hands on your hips now, pressing you down. You grow embarrassed, knowing that you’re hot and wet against his thigh. “Not their faces?”

“Your face is very pretty. Even when you scowl like a bitch.” You huff at that, but he lifts his leg, and you gasp, every instinct in you telling you to grind on him. But you couldn’t act that feral… “But so pretty when you want me. And, you do want me, you need to stop lying.”

“I… fuck it. It doesn’t… change that I…”

“That you want to quit. I know. Shut it on that and tell me what you feel.” He consumes your mouth, tongue swirling, his teeth nipping, and fuck if he didn’t taste good even waking up. Smelled good. Felt good. Desire starts shooting through your body, down your tummy, between your thighs. He pulls back. “How do you feel right now? Use your words.”

You take a shaky breath, blinking rapidly, disoriented from him. “I feel so overwhelmed. It’s like I need something. And I don’t know what. I’m not experienced like you I don’t really-”

“Not so many words.” He kissed you again. “You want me. Say that.”

“Unh.” He moves against you, and that’s the only sound your brain could fathom. Gojo looks amused.

“Say it. You’re even soaking my sweats.” His hands gently slide down your back, landing on your backside, squeezing as he pressed up again, sensations making your pussy pulse, feeling it start to get hot and sticky against the shorts you wore.

“What does it change, Satoru?”

“It doesn’t have to change shit. Just say it. Say it and I’ll give it to you.”

“Thought I had to beg.” You mumble, starting to rub against him, crying out as his hands gripped your ass hard, letting you ride his thigh, his own heart in his chest pounding against you.

“You will beg.” He flipped on top of you, then, lips overtaking you, making you heady, your hands sliding up into his hair, pulling. He moaned into your lips. “Say you want me. No. Say you need me.”

“Fuck you.” You arch your back as his hand yanks off your shirt, baring your breasts to him. His eyes hit them like a hawk.

He played with your nipple, swirling his finger around it, studying your every expression. “Don’t you want to stop hurting, brat?”

“Yes.” You had tears prick your eyes when his big hand goes down your trembling tummy, finding your clit like an expert, throbbing against his hand. Your hips buck up as pleasure shoots through your body.

“Then ask me. Ask me to get your little pussy off.” Gojo slides a finger down, to your entrance, just a tip in, and at that you cry out so loud it was embarrassing. Gojo’s brows raise up, an arm braced on one side of you, his hair falling. “Very, very little pussy.”

You blush, your chest heaving, then. “Satoru, please.”

“Please what? Want me to stretch her?” He hissed the words, and you nodded fervently. “Say it, then.”

“Please get me off. Please.” You had no shame anymore, as your nails dig into his arm, urging him on, wishing he’d slip more inside of you. Gojo stayed there, smirking at you. “Oh God, I said please, jerk!”

“Say you want me to stretch her out.” He slid a little more in, and you wanted more, so much more.

“Stretch me out, Gojo. I want you to.” You yank him down, kissing him, slippery and wet when his finger hits all the way inside, long, filling you, stretching you. You’re blinded when he moves his finger up, hitting a spot that makes you see stars. Your back arches, and he studies you.

“Fuck you’re tight.” He groans, arching his elbow a certain way and striking even deeper, you started to wriggle under him, so wet it was embarrassing, pussy pulsing around his finger that moved up and down. “Can you even take two, little brat?”

“I don’t even know. Yes? Try it. Fuck.” You feel him chuckle against your lips, and he leans back, yanking your shorts down fully, and you’re naked in front of him, bare, blue eyes raking the sight in. His soft lips kiss your waist, and he takes his finger out, probing in with two fingertips, stretching and pulling your delicate skin. He bit you right by your rib, pressing further.

“You’re so fucking small.” One hand cupped your breast while the other pushed in further, just to the first knuckle, arching his fingers up and down, hurting slightly.

They continued, every so often pressing further, using the wetness, pulling it out and swirling it, before sliding in deep finally. You buck up off the bed as he fills you, the pressure rough to handle, your body torn between thinking it was too much and wanting even more of him.

“You okay, baby girl?” He asked softly, pausing his fingers movement, brows knitted together. You nod. Gojo made you feel so much then, starting to fuck you with both of his fingers, so thick and deep, stretching you, pushing you to your limits, all while he watched you with his gorgeous fucking eyes.

God you wanted him.

You felt pressure start to build, body on fire for his touch, hitting so hard, spots you’d never known were even fucking there, and he played you so well, like you were an instrument he’d mastered. He leaned up, then, his other hand finding your clit, and that was too much. You started to feel your breath quicken, your hands clutching the crisp sheets beneath you, your entire body shaking.

“You’re doing such a good job. Taking them so well. So wet for me.” Gojo purred the words at you, and you’d have done anything for it then, for his touch, for his words. “Do you want to come on my fingers, baby?”

“Yes. Yes please, Satoru please.” You panted the words, and he dug in deep, finding that spot in you, making everything go black as the pleasure built and built till you couldn’t take any more.

“Then come.”

Nothing could stop you anyway. Your scream rings out and echoes in the tiny room, you cover your own mouth as pleasure flows, riding your climax, biting your hand, but nothing muffled your cries. Everything went black with stars, pussy throbbing around his fingers, your wetness seeping out, making them fuck you easier. Gojo came back into focus, an expression you hadn't seen, studying you, watching you fall apart.

“Fucking beautiful when you come.” He whispered, easing his fingers out, glistening with your juices, sucking them and closing his eyes.

“Holy Fuck.” Your chest heaved and your legs twitched embarrassingly, after shocks hitting watching him. He kissed you, then, and you tasted your desire, tongues swirling, panting into his mouth.

“You taste so good.” Gojo whispered the words, you flushed. “Has anyone eaten you out?” 

You shake your head. “The only… things I've done is like getting fingered then they just kinda did it. And then it sucked. So I kinda just never tried again.”

“No one has eaten this pretty pussy, hmm? That's a shame for them. But kinda fucking hot to know for me.” He kissed your forehead, brushing your hair back. “Do you want me to?”

You nod, embarrassed, into his neck, kissing it. “If you want to? But I'm kind of beat right now. That was intense.”

“Oh man, that's just the very beginning of it.” You blink. “My tongue is even better than these.”

Gojo ran his fingers over your cunt again and you shiver, whining, aching and sore. “Better than that? How?”

He laughed. “You're so innocent it's pretty fucking cute.”

“Not innocent.”

“You really are. Okay. I'll show you when you're recovered.” He snorted at that and you giggled.

“I haven't ever had an orgasm by anyone… just my vibrator. And that was different. It was ridiculous. You're… goddammit you're really good at it.”

“Told you so. Bratty thing that you are didn't believe me.” He kissed you and your hands trembled, trailing down, finding him hard, making him groan, stopping you.

“Don't you want me to return it?” You frown. Curiously trying to move your touch against his hard cock still in their sweatpants. He was all dressed and you were naked you noticed.

“If you touch me I won't be able to stop myself from burying my cock in that tight little fucking cunt of yours. Are you ready for that just yet?”

“Fuck.” Gojo had you dripping wet again. The grip on your wrist just made you hornier.

“I'll take things at your pace, my cute little nun.”

“Fuck off ugh. Not a nun.”

“You can hardly take my fingers, so I don't know if you're ready for all this.” He put your hand on him fully then, and your eyes widened, mouth open.

“Oh! Oh…” He was fucking huge. Jesus.

“Mmhmm.”

“You're like a monster.” He snorted, shaking his head.

“It won't be like whatever college dick you had.”

“I was so drunk I don't remember much. But yeah your fingers are bigger.”

“Are you serious?” You nod, flushed. “Oh man. Okay. So virgin nun theory is back. You are so sweet right now too, see. Orgasms and cuddles. Dr. Gojo to the rescue.”

You sigh. “Maybe you're a little right, but it could be orgasm brain talking.”

“See? You can just stay working and I'll get you off whenever I push you too hard. Win win!”

“Oh gosh! No. You're ridiculous.”

“You mean amazing?”

“Your head is so big it's amazing you fit through doors.”

“And my dick.”

You roll your eyes. He's right. Gojo kisses your forehead again. It makes your eyes flutter shut in bliss. “You like that now, do you?”

“With you, yeah.” He flushed himself a bit. Your eyes locked and somehow a forehead kiss was as intimate as his fingers had been in you.

“I like it too.” Your voice was husky, filled with longing, as if you stupidly wanted more than you know could happen.

Fuck.

“Food?” Gojo sat up, sliding up your shorts and putting on your shirt. Change of subject. Well fuck it. Maybe that was a good thing.

“Yes, please.” Your tummy growled as you spoke and you became embarrassed.

“It works up an appetite.” He shot you a wink. “You do blush all over by the way.”

“Satoru!”

“Let's get food.” You sighed, nodding, and taking his hands to help you up. Your legs were jello. He had to hold you up, and was grinning devilishly. “You're just falling for me all the time.”

“Oh shut it.”

“I’ve never been inside of here. Weird.” Gojo mused as you all walked into your apartment a little later on. You flicked on your lights, the LEDs you had hung up illuminating the comfy living room a vibrant purple along with the main lighting of the ceiling. It was simple but cute and spacious, your little hide away.

“You can set the food right there.” You nudge your head to the little dining area you had, one that had not been used in ages. You never had company.

“Gotcha.” Gojo laid out the take out bag on your little black table, blue eyes behind his shades cooly taking in his surroundings. “Kinda small for your paycheck though.”

You scowled as you walked past him to grab a couple of plates and forks. “It’s really cute and nice here. It’s just me.”

“Hmm. Don’t you send money to your family back home or something?”

“How do you know that…” You help Gojo get out the yummy chicken and rice you all had snatched up, along with decadent looking sushi.

“I’ve heard you talk about it.” He shrugged a broad shoulder, before going to your fridge and opening it wide. “Any drinks?”

“I have beer at the bottom.” Gojo snatched two out, opening them with his hand and shirt with ease. He handed you one. “Thank you!”

“Mmhmm. Yeah I figured you sent it to your parents or whatever.” Gojo sat across from you then, and you tensed, chest tight, your eyes pricking with emotion. He snatched up chopsticks, popping one into his mouth, studying you.

“No.” You managed to breathe out the words, sighing and sipping the cold dark lager, not knowing how to say it.

“You okay?” He asked, tilting his head. You felt your chest swell then, emotion you long held fighting to the surface, breath quickening. “Hey.” Gojo frowned, taking your hand, then.

“S-sorry.” You turned your head away, taking shaky breaths, hating how you now of all times feel like crying. Not now. Not in front of him.

“Did I say something stupid? I do that. I’m-”

“No, no.” You sigh, swiping little errant tears before turning back to look at him. “You don’t know, it’s okay. My parents died when I was in high school.”

Gojo’s brows drew together, hand tensing on yours, so tight it squeezed your own hard, jaw tensing. “Shit.”

“Yeah. I was seventeen. Car crash.” You take another sip. “I’m sorry I usually don’t get emotional, it’s been almost a decade. I don’t know if I’m just exhausted or what but I don’t cry about it anymore.”

“Why not cry? That’s horrible and fucking sad.” He sighed, loosening his hold a bit. “How do I not know?”

“We never talked about personal things. You’re my boss.” You enjoy his touch, his presence, more than you want to. “It’s fine really. But I send money to my little brothers.”

“Oh.” He gave a little nod, clearing his throat and leaning back. “I’m shit at emotional things. But I am sorry.”

“You’re doing fine.” You took his hand back, smiling. “I don’t talk about them much. I probably should but… I just don’t anymore.”

“But they’re grown now right? Your brothers.”

“They are, and they tell me not to send stuff. Lately I haven’t been. But I feel like as the oldest it’s on me to care in some way, and I live really far.”

“That's really sweet.” Gojo cleared his throat, looking around a bit at your kitchen, decked out in pink everything. He grinned. “This isn’t how I pictured it.”

“You pictured it?”

“Mmm… yeah. I figured your place was boring and crazy clean. But it’s actually unique and cozy.”

“Well thanks I think. And yes I do like pink.” You giggled.

“Eat.” He started making you a plate.

“Thank you. This is… it’s nice.” Fuck it was nice. Gojo in your kitchen, across from you. How was that a thing?

“I am nice to look at aren’t I.” He shot you a wink, and some of the darkness faded, easing the tension. You smirked, popping sushi into your mouth. “You are good at chopsticks for an American.”

“We use them there for these kinds of things you know. I was a regular at the local chinese restaurants. Especially during college.” You chewed thoughtfully, and Gojo’s long legs brushed yours under the table.

“Why not stay in law?”

“You’re inquisitive today.”

“We said we’d get to know each other. Yeah?” You nod. “So why was a bright law student with a 4.2 GPA not practicing.”

“You know my GPA?” He grinned. “Well shit I guess it was on the resume. I tried, I did, but I couldn’t handle some of the shit I saw. I was working a bit with children and… yeah no. I came here and decided I’d try something else. New life.”

“That makes sense, that would be fucking horrible.” Gojo popped another piece into his mouth, chewing and continuing to study you. “I think I had you pegged for a spoiled bitch with rich parents. I’m way off huh.”

Your eyes widened. “I mean yeah. My parents left us nothing, they were too young to have thought of it of course. And my grandparents took care of my brothers. I got into college young so I just lived at the dorm and threw myself into my studies… but never got anything from anyone.”

“Self made bitch.”

You laughed. “I guess.”

“All right, so give me the tour.” Gojo stood holding his hand out. You took it, standing with his help, snatching up your beer.

“Okay, it’s not much.” You take him through the living room, to your little office room, which you rarely used. It just had a little computer and a desk with some pretty paintings you’d acquired.

Next was your room, which was quite different from the rest, decked out in posters and pictures everywhere, everything uniquely you. Stuffed animals and numerous pillows decked out your little daybed, covered in pink silky sheets and your plush white comforter. Gojo ran his fingers along your white dresser, pausing as he looked to your mirror.

Shit.

“Is that… is that me and you?” He pulled off the little picture you had of you and him slid into the crook of your mirror.

“Fuck.” You grumbled, sitting on your bed with a huff. He turned incredulously, snatching off his glasses, blue eyes wide and twinkling as his grin appeared.

“Is this the selfie I took with you when you got hired?”

“Ugh. Yeah.” You covered your head in your hands.

“I’m so beautiful you decided to have me printed. Aww! You’re so cute, little nun.” Gojo came and patted your head. You scowled, yanking the pic and sighing, looking at the two of you. Gojo had grinned and thrown a peace sign. You were all pink and smiley like a schoolgirl.

“It’s not that…”

“Liar.” He took it back, studying it. “You look different. Super happy.”

“I was. Happiest day I have had.”

He frowned, looking down at you. “How the fuck?”

“It was like a dream. You were bright like the fucking sun. I can’t explain but meeting you was a lot. And yeah…”

He sat next to you, quiet, handing you the photo. “Have I made you so sad and miserable since?”

“No. I am just exhausted, Gojo. All the time. I’m not miserable.”

“Not happy like that.” His thumb caressed the photo, as it rested in your hands, hands that trembled.

“No but that’s why it’s there. To remind me of a happy time. That sounds super fucking corny.”

“It does.” He gently brushed your hair back. His phone started ringing in his pocket, he took it out and frowned.

“Work shit?”

“Mmhmm. We have that fancy dinner speech award shit.”

“Your award ceremony?” You chuckled at how he put things.

“Yeah. My mom is writing to me about it, wanting to know who I’m bringing and making sure it’s not a ‘scandalous woman’ again. Because that’s in poor taste.” He rolled his eyes. You grinned.

“I see. That eliminates all your women.”

“Not you.” He looked at you, brows raised.

“I’m not one of your harem.”

“Exactly. You’re respectable and shit. Mom would love you. Yep, you’re gonna be my date.”

“Gojo… won’t people get the wrong idea if I am again two events in a row?” You ask cautiously. He leaned closer to you, too close.

“What idea? That I fuck you in my office.” He put vivid images of you on his desk in your mind.

“Shut it.” You shove at his chest. “No, that we’re dating or something.”

“So what if they think that? It would look good for me.”

“I’m not gonna be your pretend girlfriiend for you to go fuck randoms. You ask too much.” You grimaced as the thoughts of him and others started to confuse you. A feeling you didn’t wanna touch.

“Are you jealous?” He touched your chin, eyes intense, hard to even look at without melting. “You want me all to yourself already?”

“I didn’t say anything like that.” You sighed, looking away. “Just wouldn’t be a good position for me.”

“I know so many positions you’d look great in.” His other hand slid up your bare thigh. You trembled. “On your knees with that ass in the air for one.”

“Fuck off.” You scowl then, standing, trying to get your bearings. “You don’t even know what you want. Last week you didn’t even find me attractive. Ah!”

Gojo yanked you, pressed against you hard. “I always found you attractive.”

“That's bull.”

“You were gorgeous when I met you, just you seemed… pure.”

“It changes nothing.”

“Still so eager to leave?” You nod, but you don’t mean it fully. “Liar.”

“Am not.”

“Think about going, it’s next week. Okay?”

“I’ll think about it.” You sigh, and he kisses your neck, hands strong against your soft tummy, it trembles.

“Mom would like you. She’s also scary.” You elbowed him, and he huffed, cussing and letting you go. “Yep she’ll love you. Evil loves evil.”

“Fuck you.” You were laughing though.

“Would your parents have…” He trailed off. You froze, turning to face him, leaning your head back. He looked away, hand awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck now.

“Would they…”

“I’m tired. I should go.” He sighed, and literally started walking out. You blinked for a moment, before following him.

“Hey!” You called out, he was literally grabbing his wallet off the table, about to walk out of the apartment. Gojo paused. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine.” His voice was gruff, short. You touched his back, and he tensed even further.

“Wait. Let me get out of these. Can you stay just a minute?” You thought of some reason to keep him, deep in that brain you knew it was only that. You were curious about him. Confused.

“Yeah go ahead.” He was so serious, it threw you off. You ran back to your room, sliding on a little pink skirt and black tank, taking off Gojos’ clothes. You walked back out, half expecting him to be gone, but he stood there, hands in his pockets, leaning back against the wall.

“Here! And thank you.” You held out the clothes, coming close to him, hating how sad he looked. “Satoru…”

“Hmm.” He looked down at you. You took a little breath.

“My parents would have liked you.” His lips parted, and you stood there, hands touching under the folded clothes. “My parents were so funny. Dad was like some stand up comedian. So I know you would have gotten along. You always make everyone laugh around you.”

Gojo flushed, clearing his throat nervously. “It was a stupid question.”

“Not for me. Thank you for having me think of them today. I push them out of my mind because it hurts. But I needed to.” You took a breath for courage, sliding closer, till you were against him. He sat your clothes down on the side table, taking you in his arms then.

“I feel like I fucked it up. Your day. Your life. You were really fucking happy in that damn photo.”

“Not at all, no. I just… I work alot and I’m tired.” You tiptoed, feeling things you thought you never would for this man. He took your face in his hands, bending down as you leaned up.

“They’d like me huh.”

“For sure. They always said I was too serious of a child.” You smiled at the memory, a little tear pricking your eyes. “I am kinda a stuck up bitch huh.”

“A little bit.” Your lips meet softly, and something seems different. It was soft, sweet, not intense or passionate. He pulled back with a little smirk. “You kissed me, that time.”

“Shit I did. It must be that beer.” You teased, he shook his head with a chuckle.

“That much of a lightweight hmm?”

“Yep.” You kissed him again, yanking him down by his shirt, hating how your body reacted. “We’ll go to work tomorrow and be all back to business you know.”

“Nah. You’ll be begging me for another orgasm at like noon.”

“Whatever, will not!” You stepped back, rolling your eyes. He seemed amused again, and no longer… whatever that mood was.

“Bet you do. Please.”

“Get out. Bye.” You shove him, and he laughs, sauntering out. You peek at his clothes, running out to the hall. “Hey! You want me to wash them first or something?” You asked. He didn’t turn around, just leaned his head a bit.

“Nah. Keep em. They’re cute on you.” You flushed, snuggling the damn clothes like a lovesick fool. Fucking hell. “See ya.” He shot out two fingers, and walked out the hallway, leaving you more confused than ever.

What even was that?

You looked at Gojos clothes, bringing them to your room, popping them on your dresser. You put your picture back in its spot.

Just how would work go…

When you wanted to find out just how good his tongue was.

“Ugh!” You flop on your bed, sighing into your pillow.

Chapter 5

Ao3 chap:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55424137/chapters/140901502

[janiehellion]

𝐂𝐥𝛐𝐬𝐞 𝐐𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 ⋮ 𝔇𝔞𝔯𝔶𝔩 𝔇𝔦𝔵𝔬𝔫

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: Trapped overnight by a horde of walkers during a supply run, you and Daryl Dixon find yourselves in close quarters with nothing but time on your hands. And the problem that you can't keep your hands to yourself.

𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: Smut ⋮ Language ⋮ Oral Sex ⋮ Belly Kink

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 2.664 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: Fem!Reader

𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ⋮ 𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝑮𝒖𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒔

"Keep ya eyes open," Daryl grunted and kept walking. His crossbow hung over his shoulder as his eyes looked left and right in search of any danger. He wasn't much for words, more action than unnecessary chit-chat, but you didn't complain. 

Today's task had been simple: Scavenge for as many supplies as you could until night began to fall, and then get back to the safety of the group. And that's exactly what you did, with your supply run partner being once again: Daryl Dixon.

You only nodded, holding your own weapon tightly. For all his rough exterior, you trusted him with your life. Over the last months, you've seen Daryl in action a lot of times already; to your eyes, he seemed to be one of the best survivors among the group. But tonight felt a bit off. It didn't feel like any other supply run; you were uncomfortable, and you just couldn't shake the feeling that something was likely to go wrong.

As the last rays of daylight finally vanished, sudden growls came from out of nowhere. You and Daryl immediately stopped dead in your tracks, your hearts racing in your chest as you realized that a small horde of walkers approached. Still, there were too many to take on, and running was definitely out of line. You had to find shelter, and fast.

"This way," Daryl whispered, tugging at your arm to lead you toward a building. He pushed open the door, and both of you slipped inside, shutting it as quietly as you could behind you. The room was dark and full of dust and the familiar smell of decay.

"Looks like we're in here for the time," Daryl said, walking over to a window and looking out through a gap. "They ain't goin' anywhere anytime soon."

You sighed, trying to steady your breathing. The reality of the situation was hitting you. Being stuck in this tiny, dark room with Daryl Dixon—with a horde of the undead outside—was just what you needed. 

Daryl, meanwhile, turned away from the window and explored the room further, but then he suddenly stopped and faced you. "Gonna need to check for scratches," he said, leaving very little room in his tone for argument. "Help me with my shirt."

"Okay, I guess..." You stepped closer, your hands shaking slightly as you reached for the hem of his shirt before you lifted it slowly to reveal his stomach. His skin was rough and scarred from the years of survival, but to you, it was mesmerizing.

"See anythin' on my back?" He asked, his eyes boring into yours.

You shook your head, trying to focus. "No, you're... definitely clear."

"Thanks," he said gruffly, pulling his shirt back down. His fingers brushed against your hand as he did, and for a brief moment, you both froze, but the sudden sound of a distant groan made Daryl’s eyes snap back to the window. "Damn it," he mumbled, annoyed. "We should make sure this place is safe."

You followed him as he began to inspect the room, moving from one corner to another. "You need any help?" You asked, trying to keep the stutter out of your voice.

He glanced over at you, his eyes not giving away anything. "Just stay outta the damn way."

You took a step back, feeling a bit disappointed. There was something almost painful about the way he kept you at arm’s length, like a barrier you could never cross. Yet, it only intensified your need to break through his walls.

He still hadn't found anything, so you turned your attention to an old armchair in the corner of the room. You walk over to it, brushing off some of the dust, thinking it might be a good place to take a seat and wait out the night. But in your approach, you had knocked over a few empty glass bottles, which shattered on the floor.

"Be careful, woman," he snapped at you. "Ya wanna attract more of 'em and get us killed?"

You immediately apologized and bent over to pick up the pieces, your face blushing with embarrassment. "Sorry, I didn't mean to."

Soon enough, he was done checking out the room, and he sat down in the armchair that you cleaned off. "Looks like we're stuck here for the night," he said, though not to you in particular.

Meanwhile, you sat down on the floor across from him, trying to get comfortable. Daryl's eyes looked at you, though he didn't really manage to hide behind his usual stoic expression. "Ya cold or somethin'?"

You shook your head. "No, I'm okay. Don't worry."

He nodded, and for a moment, you thought the conversation might end there. But then he shifted around in the chair, as if uncomfortable with the silence. "Ya’ve been quiet," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Usually ya've got somethin' to say."

You hesitated, unsure of how to respond. "Just… thinking, I guess."

"Thinkin' 'bout what?" He asked, still looking at you.

You shrugged, trying to seem casual. "Everything. How things have changed since all of this started."

Daryl grunted, his eyes returning to the window. "Yeah, things've changed alright. Ain't much left in the world."

You didn't reply; instead, you watched him, noticing the way his muscles moved under his shirt and the way his eyes darted around, constantly on alert. It was almost hypnotic—this man who lived on the edge of survival, so strong yet so guarded.

As the minutes ticked by, you couldn’t help but glance at Daryl’s stomach, where his shirt had risen slightly when he sat down. Your eyes were drawn to the trail of hair that led from his belly button downwards, something you couldn’t ignore, and the more you tried to focus on something else, the more your gaze kept drifting back to him.

Daryl shifted again, his eyes catching yours. "Got a problem or somethin'?"

You looked away quickly, feeling your heart race. "Nope."

He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, well, ya can't just sit there starin' at me like that."

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…"

He sighed, leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms over his chest. "Alright. What is it ya wanna say?"

You fidgeted around, trying to find the right words. "I just… I guess I'm curious about you. About who you are when you’re not out fighting walkers or scavenging for supplies."

Daryl stared at you, his eyes darkening slightly. "And maybe I don't see the point in talkin' 'bout that."

You shifted on the floor, your movements restless. "Maybe we could make this night less pointless."

Daryl’s eyes narrowed. "What're ya talkin' 'bout?"

You hesitated, then took a deep breath. "I mean, we could talk about something else. Anything, really."

He studied you for a long moment, his expression guarded. Then, unexpectedly, he broke the silence. "Alright, fine. What do ya wanna know?"

You nodded. "What about before all this? What did you do?"

He seemed to ponder the question before answering. "Didn’t do much beyond huntin'."

You smiled faintly, lost in thought. "Sounds like a simpler life."

"Simple don't mean easy," he answered back quickly, looking away again.

Without even thinking, you closed the distance between the two of you, your heart racing in your chest and your hands shaking just a little bit as you held them out to him. Why? You didn't really know it yourself. You just did.

"What're ya playin' at?" He growled and narrowed his eyes.

You didn't respond. You went down to your knees in front of him, your eyes locked on his and your fingers brushing against the skin of his stomach. His muscles tensed under your touch, but he didn't push you away. Instead, he watched you with curiosity.

"You like this?" You asked, your whisper barely audible over the far-off moans of the walkers outside.

Daryl's jaw clenched, his eyes darkening. "What're ya tryin' to prove?"

You ignored his question, pressing your lips to his stomach in a matter of seconds. His skin was warm and slightly wet with salty sweat.

"Stop," he growled, but without conviction.

But you couldn't. You did not stop and continued to kiss and lick his stomach while your hands searched for every inch of his body. It was in the way his muscles twitched at your touch, the way his breath hitched—that really turned you on.

"You want this," you whispered, more a statement than a question.

Daryl's eyes blinked fast—part need, part hesitation. He was already at the edge, his breathing ragged, his eyes on you as if he willed himself to fight but failed.

"Yeah," he mumbled, his voice shaking. "Goddamn it… I want it."

That was all the motivation you needed. You reached out and placed your hand on Daryl's thigh, feeling him tense up slightly, but he still didn't pull away.

"I want to suck your cock," you whispered, your hand sliding up his thigh, closer to the bulge in his pants. As you reached for his belt, your fingers fumbling with the buckle, he helped you with shaking hands.

You smiled up at him, your fingers soon enough wrapped around the base of his cock, and slowly you leaned forward and pressed your lips to slide over the tip.

You teased him with soft, slow kisses, using just the very tip of your tongue to outline his head. His moans were very low and almost barely audible, but they fueled your lust all the same when you licked off the pre-cum.

"Fuck!" Daryl gasped, his hands gripping the sides of the chair. "Just get on with it."

Your mouth opened wide, and you took him in almost immediately, starting with just the head and letting it slide slowly past your lips. It was almost too much, that feeling of his cock in your mouth, and so you pulled back a bit, swirling your tongue around the head before trying to take him in further.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," Daryl mumbled, his eyes closed, as he fought to hold on to some sort of control.

Your hand didn't stop stroking the part of his shaft that wasn't in your mouth, moving in rhythm with your lips and your tongue's movements.

Daryl's hips bucked involuntarily with short thrusts, and every time he pushed forward, you took him deeper, feeling your throat expand around him.

"Ya keep makin' me harder," he said, his voice breaking. 

"Good. I want you to be," you grinned around him, and without hesitation, you dove back down on him, taking him in as deep as you could.

"Fuck, keep goin'," he urged. "Ya gonna make me lose it."

You were more than happy to obey, and you quickened the pace of your movements, your mouth sliding up and down his cock. His hands were gripping your hair now, guiding you and pushing you to take him even deeper. His groans were getting louder, sounding more desperate, and you could tell he was close already.

"Jesus, I'm gonna cum," he moaned, his voice trembling. "Gonna blow my load."

You smirked around his cock, but you certainly didn't mean to let him come just yet. Drawing back a bit, you let your tongue slide along the underside of his cock before swirling around the sensitive skin just below its head.

Daryl groaned loudly, his body arching due to the ruined orgasm. "Fuck, don't stop," he pleaded, his hands gripping your hair tighter. "I'm so fuckin' close."

At those words, your lips parted slightly, teasingly, allowing a strand of spit to connect you to his cock before you leaned forward again, but not taking him fully into your mouth.

"Goddamn it," Daryl groaned, his hips bucking reflexively. "Don't play 'round."

But you continued teasing him, your tongue playing with the pre-cum, letting it gather in your mouth before you let it drip back onto his cock.

"Tease me like this," he gasped, "and I'm gonna go fuckin' crazy."

"You want more?" you asked. "You want me to make you come?"

Daryl nodded desperately, his eyes half-closed. "Yes, fuck yes."

Instead of giving him what he wanted, you pulled away once again and began to kiss and lick his cock from the base up, sliding your tongue around his shaft and softly nibbling on it as you moved slowly back up, paying careful attention to every inch of his throbbing cock.

"Shit," Daryl moaned, his hands gripping your hair harder. "Fuck, stop teasin' me."

His moans grew louder as you finally gave in to him, your tongue swirling around his cock like a snake, leaving nothing untouched. Daryl gripped your hair tighter, and his thrusts grew more insistent, pushing you further on his cock as you gagged on him, and you took him deeper still while you could feel his balls tightening and the base of his shaft tensing.

"I'm gonna come," he warns, but you don't stop. You want to taste him and feel him explode in your mouth. "Oh, fuck," he cried out again, his grip on your hair tightening as he cursed. "I'm gonna fuckin' come!"

You sucked hard and long, your tongue twisting around the ridge of his cock, teasing the sensitive spot beneath. With every suck, you could feel the pulsating veins in his shaft, and finally, Daryl came. His cock throbbed and pulsed in your mouth as he shot thick ropes of cum, filling your mouth with the salty, bitter taste of it.

You pulled off of him with a smirk, having swallowed the last of Daryl's cum, your lips glistening with the remaining drops before you wiped it off with the back of your hand.

"You okay?" You asked as you leaned in to press a soft kiss to his stomach.

Daryl looked at you, a half-smile on his face as he met your gaze. "Yeah, I'm good."

You leaned in closer, letting your fingers explore the warm, sweaty skin of his belly. "So," you said, your voice playful, "since we're still trapped here, do you want to know what got us into this mess?"

Daryl's eyebrow arched upward in confusion. "What do ya mean?"

You pressed your lips lightly against his belly. "I was just thinking about how all this started. It was your belly that got me going in the first place."

Daryl's eyes narrowed slightly. "Oh, so that's why ya were starin', huh?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Your belly's kind of a big deal to me, but I can't really explain," you grinned up at him.

He smirked back in amusement. "Fine, if ya don't wanna."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "No need to explain. Only appreciating the view."

"Well, don't get too distracted. We've still got loads of shit to do," he answered, getting up from the chair to prepare to take a quick look outside the window to see how many walkers are still outside and roaming around.

Brushing the dust off your clothes when you got up as well, you turned to Daryl with a little bit of a spark in your eyes. "By the way, Daryl, I hope this check-up was thorough enough for you."

He looked back at you with a confused expression on his face. "This check-up? What are ya talkin' about?" He asked, taking a step back from the window.

You smirked as you got closer again, both your hands running over his belly one more time. "Well, considering how things went down, I think we both should consider this our routine maintenance from now on, don't you think?"

Daryl's eyes widened for a second before he suddenly let out a small laugh. "A routine maintenance, huh? Alright. But next time, maybe we'll save the check-ups for a safer time. Now, get ya ass up and follow me."

"Deal. But I gotta say, I'm looking forward to the next routine check-up already," you laughed, following him to the door and closing it slowly behind you.

[fangswbenefits]

The Arrangement (3) - Inconvenience

Chapter summary: It is poetic irony that sharing a prison cell with Astarion is what eventually gets the two of you attempting to have a much needed conversation...

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Poison sucking. Blood. Angst.

Word count: 3.5k

Previous chapter . Series Masterlist . Ao3

"You're bleeding."

"I know."

"It's distracting."

"Then look away."

He scoffed. "I can smell it."

It really wasn't a desirable occurrence to end up in one of Baldur's Gate's prisons. The last time you had the displeasure of descending into one was to liberate Gortash's victims from the Iron Throne Prison.

You had rarely been on the side that needed rescuing.

But fate worked in strange ways and had you thrown into a cold and rusty cell, trying to figure out how you ended up in this situation to begin with.

The torches scattered along the pillars of stone outside the cell provided little to no sufficient light, and it only added to the looming sense of dread.

Ripping a scrap of cloth from your clothing, you wrapped it firmly around the bleeding slash across your wrist.

Astarion sat across from you, eyeing your every move with a faint smile on his lips.

"You could have just run away, you know," you began, bringing your knees up to your chin with a sigh. "You are immune to Sleep spells."

He scoffed again with an eye-roll. "Please. I allowed myself to get caught. Gods know you could use the help."

The throb in your head intensified and you winced as discomfort tore through your body, as his words hit you.

"What help? We're both trapped inside," you ground out in annoyance.

He lifted a finger. "That, my dear, is merely an inconvenience. I am quite sure I'd be able to lockpick our way out of this."

The damp-scented mattress underneath you squeaked as you leaned against the ragged wall. "Using what? Your fangs?"

Astarion clicked his tongue. "Creative, but no. I just need to find anything to help me get through that lock." He rose to his feet and moved to inspect the sturdy door with attentive eyes.

As promising as it sounded, you knew deep down that it wouldn't be an easy feat. The guards had stripped both of you down to only your shirts and trousers, and removed anything deemed too creative.

Besides, this whole ordeal had to be a misunderstanding of sorts. It would be wise to, at least, get some enlightenment.

"Maybe we should just wait for Wyll."

He turned to you, a touch of disbelief crossing his face. "His guards put us here, in case you need a reminder."

"We did nothing wrong," you said, clutching on to reason. "We are not criminals. It's all a misunderstanding, I'm sure."

Whether it was a case of you trying to believe your own words, or because there was truth to them, remained to be seen.

As a sorcerer, it would be rather easy to blast through the cell door and be done with it, but you would only entertain that option as a last resort.

"Well, I suppose it could be worse," he said in resignation, curious fingers still prodding the lock. "At least, they didn't shove us in a cell with windows."

The lack of any opening to the outside had made it hard for you to keep track of time, but given the silence and snores from the inhabitants in the adjacent cells, you reckoned the sun had yet to rise.

Astarion would be safe from its scorching rays, for the time being.

You felt something trickling down your wrist, and upon closer inspection, you realised the cloth around it was soaked with your blood.

Odd.

Astarion was still very much entertained with the hinges and structure of the cell door to take notice of your finding.

You quickly brought another rag torn from your cloak and wrapped even tighter over the existing one, applying as much pressure as you could withstand through the pain.

Very odd.

He was now squatting down, taking a closer look at the lock, fingers tugging and rattling the device.

A true rogue at heart.

"Or, I could be sharing this cell with someone far less entertaining – like Gale," he continued. "I'd just beg the guards for a stake to rid myself of my misery."

He finished off with a dramatic laugh, but you found yourself scowling deeply.

"Can you give Gale some credit where it's due? He's helping you out."

His narrowed crimson eyes met yours. "By 'helping' you mean what, exactly? Cooking abhorrent meals and reading books that would put a screeching babe to sleep? Hardly helpful, darling."

You decided to fully ignore his taunt as patience slipped from your tired mind.

"He's going to Waterdeep in a fortnight to speak with someone willing to help out with the Wish spell," you informed as calmly as possible. "I was on my way to tell you that a couple of hours ago before… well, this happened."

His features eased and he rose to his full height, his undivided attention on you.

"Truly? That sounds promising, I suppose," he said, folding his arms. "And here I thought you were simply longing for my company. My apologies, darling."

He wasn't entirely wrong, but you would never let him know.

Suddenly, the sound of metal shrieking echoed throughout the room, and a jab of pain drummed steadily in your head.

"Wake up, you loiter-sacks!" One of the guards yelled.

Pandemonium ensued.

A wave of groggy protests were heard all around. The insults and taunts came immediately after, and your eyes widened at the vulgarity of all of it, while Astarion held the most amused smile you had ever seen on him in a long while.

He truly thrived in all things chaotic.

Another voice was heard. "Shut it, will ya?! Or no food!"

It effectively subsided most of the protests, though an occasional whispered 'fucker!' slipped through the mouths of some prisoners.

Squeaking wheels of a cart came to a halt just outside your cell, and you bolted out of the mattresses, gripping the vertical metal bars.

"Can you please call for Wyll. We need to talk to him."

The grumpy man frowned. "Am just delivering food, sweetheart. Now, have yours and get back."

He shoved a bowl of what looked like powdered wood shavings. The smell was positively nauseating , and your stomach twist and turn in revulsion.

You placed your meal on the floor, not daring to take a single bite.

A laugh burst from him before he attempted doing the same to Astarion, who visibly shuddered as he dodged the man's hand.

"Ugh. I'll pass."

He snorted, grinning maliciously. "Food strikes ain't going to get you out o' here, pretty boy."

Astarion's face twisted into an outraged look, but before he could voice out a snarky remark, the same man as before was heard.

"That one's the vampire spawn."

The guard came into view, and the atmosphere in the prison cell shifted considerably. Silence took over, only broken by some vague whispers.

"Give him pig's blood."

A few gasps erupted. 

"I prefer fresh blood, thank you very much," Astarion scoffed, visibly offended. "I am not feeding on scraps."

"Astarion…" you warned him lowly, not wanting things to spiral out of control.

The delivery man shrugged to the guard and pushed the food cart out of the way so he could attend to the other prisoners.

Another guard joined in, removing his helmet to take a closer look.

"Then you'll have nothing. You are in no position to make demands, spawn."

Astarion tensed by your side but merely pressed his lips as a reply. 

"Thought so," the guard chuckled.

You gripped the bars tighter, earning their attention. "Tell us what we are charged with, then."

They both exchanged looks and the first one bared his teeth. "Playing dumb, are we?"

"We didn't do anything that would warrant an arrest!" You nearly yelled in frustration. "Call for Wyll, please!"

The older man leaned in with a snarl. "The Grand Duke is absent. He might return later today."

Your heart dropped.

"Might?"

He nodded in indifference. "His duties don't bend to the will of his friends."

"We didn't do anything wrong," you said in a shaky retort, pressing your forehead against the bars. "We didn't…"

"Look, not to sound ungrateful given our luxurious abode," Astarion interjected light-heartedly, gripping your shoulders to have you take a few steps away from them. "But you do know who we are, don't you?"

"We do, and you are not above the law."

"And which law did we break, if you don't mind clarifying, of course."

The older guard was clearly running out of patience. "Killing a civilian."

Your eyes shot up immediately, and your mouth dropped in shock.

Astarion spoke before you could, his voice bearing confusion. "What? We didn't kill anyone." 

"We found the body in the alleyway."

You gripped the bars again. "No! I used a Sleep spell – and he wasn't a civilian! He attacked me!"

He was now dangerously close to your face. "Listen here, princess. You are both in a sticky situation, and I advise you to watch your words."

Astarion pushed you back with his arm once again. "Lay a finger on her, and you might just turn into a vampire meal."

Tension increased tenfold all of a sudden, and you could only glare at Astarion who remained unmoved and determined to hold his menacing gaze.

"Maybe you'd prefer an overground cell, hm?" The guard spat in amusement. "Having the sun to keep you company. I'm certain we'd be sweeping your ashes from the floor before midday."

An intense wave of anger burst through you, and you reached through the bars, nearly gripping one of them. "Fuck you!"

They both laughed hysterically at your failed attempt.

One of them reached for a pouch and threw a vial at you. "A healing potion. Drink it, princess. You're bleeding out."

"Unless you are to be his vampire meal."

The other guard cleared his throat. "Oh, and be on your best behaviour, and don't even think of escaping. This place is riddled with traps."

"And we have our own mages," the other glared at you.

They laughed obnoxiously loud again before turning on their feet and walking out.

You glanced at the vial in your hand, its crimson content undulating faintly.

Blood kept on seeping through the makeshift bandages around your wrist. The blood flow hadn't decreased, and a couple of droplets were dripping on the floor.

"Drink it," Astarion urged you, pulling his eyes away from the sanguine mess.

You could tell he was extremely tense all of a sudden, slowly pacing away from where you stood.

The compulsion to drink blood could be blinding at times, and you couldn't blame him for wanting to keep a distance given the current circumstances.

You quickly popped the lid off the container and downed the sweetened liquid, immediately feeling a rush of warmth coursing through your body with each pump of your heart.

Unwrapping the soaked pieces of cloth, you noticed the slash had barely healed at all, and that the blood kept pouring out.

Astarion had definitely noticed your confusion, gripping your forearm.

"Poison," he finally said upon inspecting the wound.

You stared at him wide-eyed, as the realisation hit you hard.

They had poisoned you?

"No wonder the flow didn't decrease with the potion."

Panic spread quickly. "Why would they poison me?"

"It was most likely unintentional," he concluded, smearing his thumb across the layer of blood near your wound. "They must have coated their weapons with it and slashed you by mistake."

"We need to call them for an antidote."

He shook his head. "I doubt they have one at hand – one that actually works. These idiots aren't well-versed in poisons to begin with."

Unlike him.

"What now?"

His eyes met yours. "Do you trust me?"

You stiffened, alarm bells going off in your head. He would never ask this unless… "You're about to do something questionable, aren't you?"

"Questionable, but potentially life-saving. How do you fancy your odds?"

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "What do you have in mind?"

"I will suck the poison out."

Instinctively, you tried to yank your arm from his grip. "No."

He simply glared at you. "This is your best option, darling."

You eased slightly, knowing fully well he was far more experienced in poisons than you were, and between 'bleeding out to death' and 'trusting your vampire friend who also happens to know a lot about this subject', you were far more inclined to pick the latter.

But then…

"What about you? It can be dangerous."

He chuckled in amusement. "I'm undead. Besides, I won't swallow this blood. I am vehemently against wasting yours, but exceptions must be made."

"Just… be careful."

He nodded, and you watched in awe as he brought your wrist to his lips, enclosing them around the wound. As he started off with gentle suckles, you saw the first droplets of blood dribble down from the corner of his mouth.

His touch was cold as ice, and you felt his fangs lightly press against your skin, but not hard enough to break the barrier. After all, your open wound – even if not that deep or wide – was enough to draw blood.

Somewhere along the line, his eyes fluttered shut as he held you in place, and your heart skipped a few beats.

Oddly intimate.

He parted from you not long after, all bloodied, and spitting the remainder of the warm liquid on the floor. 

"What a terrible way to taint your blood," he said with a wince. "It tasted… rotten."

He then grabbed a hold of your cloak – or what was left of it – and wiped his lips and chin clean.

"Just horrid."

Under different circumstances, you would have reprimanded him for it, but it was a fair exchange.

The flow of blood had already begun to waver, and you heaved a sigh of relief.

"Are you well?"

He nodded dismissively with a shudder. "The things I do for you, honestly."

Surprisingly, that did bring a faint smile to your lips.

Even if only for a fleeting moment, you were reminded of the many perils you had faced alongside each other.

He had your back, and you had his. 

No matter what.

However, It still felt grim that it took an erroneous arrest and being shoved into a prison cell to catch a glimpse of the trusting bond you once shared.

One that wasn't built on a mere transaction.

He silently eyed you for a moment, with an expression that was hard to decipher.

Then, he cleared his throat and walked over to his own mattress, placing his cloak along the length of it as a way to keep the damp at bay, before taking a seat.

Classic Astarion.

"Do you reckon I can now blame Gale for us ending up in this situation?"

You arched an eyebrow, wrapping yet another piece of cloth over your closing wound. "If anything, I should be blaming you, no? We're all doing this for you."

He shrugged with a side-smile. "Fair enough."

"I didn't kill that man… I don't get it…"

"I know you didn't, but it's not me you need to convince."

You sat down in defeat, rubbing your temple. "None of this makes sense…"

"No point in dwelling on it now," he said with a click of his tongue, inspecting his nails. "Get some rest."

You blinked. "I cannot rest in a place like this."

His eyes lifted briefly. "Darling, we've had worse."

"... and better." You mumbled.

"I'll give you the 'better' once we get out of here, then. Happy now?"

You winced at his words.

"Why do you do this?" You asked, unable to contain yourself.

He dropped his hand to the side, brows furrowed. "Do what?"

"This! This constant push and pull," you said, feeling the impulsiveness take control. "I try to have a proper conversation with you, and you just… push me away."

Astarion scoffed dramatically. "This is hardly the time or the place to be having this conversation."

"I tried to have you come stay with us… even when you're feeling more… vulnerable… you never let me in," you said in exasperation, words stinging in your throat. "You just…"

The words died in your mouth at the look he gave you.

It wasn't a look of anger or annoyance or outrage.

Just… nothing.

Like he wasn't even listening to you.

"Astarion?"

As if you had just snapped him out of his thoughts, he shook his head briefly, but didn't look in your direction.

"Go get some rest."

Had you pushed too far? He didn't sound upset, but then again, he was a master in deception whenever the situation called for it.

"Astarion…"

He was gazing out of the cell door, as if something far more interesting was worthy of his attention.

"I wasn't the one who pushed you away."

You sat up straighter, heart hammering fast against your ribcag. "Then who?"

"You did."

"What?"

He turned his head to you this time. "Don't pin this on me. You had all of me, and you chose to walk away."

A growing feeling of discomfort began to rise within you, competing with the confusion that had taken root.

And then…

Moonrise Towers.

That night.

"You didn't need a lover."

He sneered. "What about what I wanted?"

"Astarion, you–"

He immediately cut you off. "Don't. I wanted to be with you. I yearned for you like I never did for anyone else, and you chose the easy way out."

You were at a loss for words.

The conversation with Gale the day before immediately came to mind.

"Easy way out? You actually think I didn't have feelings for you back then?"

"Gods, then you should have fought for me – with me!"

He was being unreasonable. The pain of rejection had certainly seeped deeply into him, and it was now resurfacing brutally.

"And I did that! By giving you time and space. Besides, we had more pressing matters back then that required our undivided attention."

He looked back at you coolly. "How many nights did we spend thinking it would be our last?"

That caught you off guard.

"How many nights did you cry yourself to sleep, not knowing if we'd live to see another day?"

You fell silent, unsure of what to say.

"Yet you preferred having that emptiness and despair for company instead of being with me," he went on, his words were as knives that cut through you ruthlessly. "So do not lecture me about pushing others away, when you so clearly excel at that."

It took you a moment to find your voice again amidst the concoction of emotions that swirled in your head.

His accusations were unfounded. You knew this. But realising that that was how he really felt about the entire situation made you feel sadness beyond comparison.

That he mistook your altruism for selfishness. 

"I did what was best for you… and for us."

You wouldn't cry. 

You couldn't cry.

"And was that what you wanted?"

"What you needed mattered more than what I wanted. That's how much I cared for you," you said, voice wavering. "And I still do. Even through all your deception and lies and manipulation… you still came first."

That seemed to have taken him by surprise, and his face softened.

"You constantly mistake what you want with what you need, not even caring about the possible consequences," you went on with newfound vigour.

He scowled yet again. "I constantly cast aside what I want in favour of others."

You scoffed in disbelief. "You're not the epitome of selflessness you think you are, Astarion."

"What I want still matters!"

"If you'd done what you wanted, you would have sacrificed the souls of seven thousand spawn!" You exploded in a fit of rage. 

You were met with silence.

Deafening silence.

"You would have become the Vampire Ascendant and lost yourself in the process."

After glaring at you for a while, he then had the nerve to laugh. "Maybe that would have been the better option."

A sudden wave of nausea settled in the pit of your stomach. "You don't mean that."

"Stop speaking for me," he said through gritted teeth, words dripping with poison. "I had enough of it for two hundred years under his command – stop it!"

Your mouth had dropped open, and you were left speechless.

"Oi! Lovebirds, quit the chit-chat." One of the nearby guards rattled on the metal bars with a mace. "I'm afraid marriage counselling is postponed until further notice."

The other prisoners laughed and whistled teasingly as he walked away. 

Decided you were done with this conversation, you leaned back and rolled down to your side, facing the wall and fighting back the tears that had begun to roll down your cheeks.

You just couldn't stand looking at him.

Or even being near him.

You could only hope that Wyll would come back sooner rather than later, so you could finally get away from Astarion.

For good.

Disclaimer: sucking the poison from one's wound (in case of a snake bite, for example) has been discredited many decades ago. It's not really effective, and can do more harm than good, especially to the person doing the sucking. But for the purposes of this story, it works because fiction and magic and all that! Let's suspend our disbelief for a moment 😌

I don't keep taglists, so please consider adding this story to your alerts on Ao3 🩷

Next chapter: Solution

Series Masterlist . Masterlist

[theemissuniverse]

How on EARTH did I not find your page until now? Your writing is godsent I swear. Thank you for your service and I apologize if I spam you with likes. 🙏🏻

-Ghost <3

“GIRL DANGER” HENRY HART X FEM!READER

SUMMARY : You refuse to let Henry go on a dangerous mission alone but Henry refuses for you to come with him.

CONTENT : Henry being protective, very fast read. I did not proof read

A/N : thank you so much! I appreciate it

MASTERLIST

Being the best friend of Kid Danger was cool and everything until Kid Danger had to go on missions where it could mean life or death.

Henry was nineteen now which meant he took more riskier missions than he used to. It pissed you off because honestly, you didn’t feel like he needed to save the world much less the shitty town the two of you lived in.

Captain Man was kidnapped by a new supervillain that arrived in town so it was up to Henry to get him.

You thought Henry was being impulsive. There was no thought out plan. Henry was just going to march in the villains lair and take Ray back. He was already prepared in his Kid Danger disguise.

The two of you were in the man cave along with Charlotte and Jasper. The two of them were watching the two of you just argue.

“You’re being ridiculous. I’ll be fine.”

You scoffed at Henry’s nonchalant response. “Fine? You don’t even have a plan! What if it’s a trap? Then what?”

“Then I’ll get out of the trap.” Henry said as if it was obvious.

You gave him a look. “Really?”

Henry nodded to confirm. “Uh yeah? In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve got hyper mobility so I’ll be-“ in a swift motion, he felt your palm slap him across his face. Charlotte and Jasper had wide eyes while Henry felt his cheek. “Um ow!”

“Your reflexes aren’t that fast obviously.”

“Well not really expecting to get slapped from my best friend.”

You crossed your arms, eyeing him down. “Okay. Then I’ll go with you.”

Henry couldn’t help but let out a laugh at how ridiculous the idea was. He shook his head, waving his hand in the air. “Oh no. You’re not coming with me.”

“Why not?”

“Because last time I checked…I was the one who had superpowers and knew how to fight while the only fight I’ve seen you had is with opening a pickle jar.”

You bit your lip to hide your annoyance before turning around to Charlotte and Jasper. “Help me out!”

Charlotte and Jasper shook their heads in a hurry. “No. We can’t…we have to..check on the tree outside.” Charlotte made up.

The two of them started to head towards the elevator. “Yeah. The tree.” Jasper agreed.

The hurried to click the button while you just glared at them and they rushed to get on before disappearing.

You rolled your eyes before turning to look at Henry. “When you first started this job you were thirteen and the most disturbing fight I saw you have was trying to get a girl’s number.”

Henry placed his bubble gum back in his pocket. Then responded. “I don’t care. This is different. I don’t have time to worry about you.”

He started to walk to the tubes but you grabbed his arm. You turned him around so he was facing you. “I got five years of karate under my belt. I got this.”

“I said no.”

“So you can risk your life but I can’t?”

“Yes. I’m the superhero.”

You looked at Henry then to the bubble gum in his pocket. That’s when you realized you were about to do something stupid. You kicked Henry to the ground and grabbed the gum out of his pocket before heading to the tube.

“Wait! Don’t!”

“Up the tube!”

It was too late. You were already up and gone. Henry let out a yell of frustration before standing up. Here you were trying to protect him by being impulsive. Maybe he should’ve saw the irony of the situation but he didn’t care. He didn’t want you to get hurt.

His job was not only to protect the town but to protect you and he couldn’t do that when you made rash decisions like this.

He immediately got on his cellphone and tried to track your location. That’s when he saw the notification that you stopped sharing your location with him. “I’m going to kill her.” He mumbled. He started to call Charlotte. She picked up within seconds. “Is the married couple done arguing?” She teased.

Henry ignored her comment before responding. “She took off to get Ray and stopped sharing her location with me. I need you to track it.”

“How did you let her get past you?”

“Just shut up and track her!”

It took a couple of seconds before he got an answer from Charlotte. “She is heading to Doctor Yetti’s warehouse.”

“Alright. Keep an eye on us.”

“Got it. Also Henry? Please bring back your girlfriend in one piece.”

It was evident to everyone but you that Henry had feelings for you. Charlotte was even shocked you didn’t figure it out considering how smart you were.

That’s why Henry was so mad you went off. He couldn’t let anything bad happen to you. Just the thought of you getting hurt or worse brought in severe anxiety.

Yeah, you weren’t some damsel in distress but that didn’t mean you could or should do the things he did. He was the superhero. You were his bestfriend. That was it. But the more Henry got deep in the lifestyle, the more you tried to include yourself. And he couldn’t let that happen.

Henry was in love with you. The love suffocated his heart. He had no choice to be lost under your spell. But were you lost in his?

You had to do this. Not only because you didn’t want Henry doing this alone but you wanted to prove to Henry you were more than the best friend on the sidelines.

The truth was, you were in love with your best friend and impressing him was important to you but it’s like Henry didn’t care for any of it. He didn’t believe in you and it pissed him off.

You were going to prove to everyone that you were more than they thought.

On the rooftop of the warehouse, you popped the bubble gum and like magic, you were dressed in Henry’s disguise. You looked at your reflection in the metal door to the rooftop. You looked like Kid Danger 2.0. It spooked you a little.

Taking in a deep breath, you opened the door to Doctor Yetti’s warehouse where you saw Ray chained to a spinning wheel. Doctor Yetti was spinning the wheel, making Ray go round in a circle.

You didn’t see any of his crew around so you went over the railing and dropped on the ground.

Doctor Yetti stopped spinning the wheel. “Oh I’m gonna puke.” Ray yelled when the wheel finally stopped.

Doctor Yetti turned over to you. Then looked at you with a confused look. “Girl Danger?”

You were about to comment about that but you tilted your head when you realized how small he was. “You’re like 5’3.”

He looked at you, offended. “So?”

“Your name is Doctor Yetti?”

“Yeah…”

“But Yetti’s are tall?”

“I’m not following.”

Ray decided to speak. “She’s calling you short, bruh.” He took a closer look at you and his eyes widen when he realized it was you. “What are you doing here?”

You placed your hands on your hips. “Rescuing you.”

It was at that moment, Ray let out a laugh as if what you said was the funniest thing in the entire world. You gave him a death glare. “You? Rescue me? Seriously where’s Kid Danger?”

The amount of anger ran through you like water under a bridge. Nothing pissed you off more than someone thinking you couldn’t do something.

Doctor Yetti spun Ray again on the wheel which made him start screaming. He then took some steps to you. “Well, you’re too late Girl Danger. I’ve already begun extracting Captain Man’s invincibility. Soon, I will be invincible.”

“Invincible and short?” You mocked. Doctor Yetti faked laughed at your joke before snapping his fingers. When he did, a couple men in black ninja outfits came from the door then surrounded you.

It was supposed to intimidate you but you gave him an unconvinced look. “Ninja costumes? Seriously?”

“Can you seriously start saving me?!” Ray asked while be spun repeatedly on the wheel.

Henry was on the rooftop, still not believing you were going this far to prove yourself. He swore after this was done he was going to give you a piece of his mind.

He went through the door and then stood on the railing above the warehouse. That’s where he saw you, fighting multiple ‘ninjas’ at once.

His first instinct was to go down and help you. The second was to watch you in action. You were good. Not that he didn’t believe you were good but being good in fighting classes and being good in an actual fight were both two different things.

Then he saw Ray spinning on a wheel and he couldn’t help but snicker to himself. He looked back over to you and there were only two guys left to go but one of them had you pinned down to the floor.

That’s when Henry hoped over the railing and jumped on the man’s back.

You should’ve known Henry was going to get to you at some point. Henry pinched a nerve on the man’s neck to make him go to sleep then hopped off him. The man fell down. He saw the other man try to go after you on the ground and Henry kicked him in the stomach. Then twisted his arm before elbowing him, knocking him out.

Henry walked over to you. “I had it.” You said.

“Sure you did.” He helped you up to your feet but when he did, you immediately yelled in pain. Henry held you, making sure you placed all your weight on him. “What’s wrong?”

“I think I twisted my ankle.” You pointed your finger at him. “Don’t you say anything.”

He sighed and helped you sit in a chair nearby before looking at Doctor Yetti. He saw Doctor Yetti get in a fighting stance and gave him a look. “Dude, you’re like 5’1.”

“I’m 5’3! It doesn’t matter. Soon I will be invincible and you won’t be able to stop me from draining your powers too-“

Henry reached him his pocket for his laser. Then pointed it at Doctor Yetti. He pressed the button and Doctor Yett immediately fell to the ground.

You tilted your head at how fast the action was. “I should’ve took that from your pocket.”

Henry went over to the wheel while Ray was screaming. He pressed the lever down making the wheel stop.

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” Henry started to detach the metal chains on him and helped him down. Aftet Ray found his stance, he hit Henry in the chest. “Took you long enough!”

Henry hit him back. “Shut up.”

He walked over to you and you shook your head. “I’m fine!”

Henry wasn’t hearing it. He scooped you up, bridal style and turned to look at Ray. “Clean this up. I’m going to take her back.”

Ray was still gagging in the back. “Sure! Have the spinning man take care of this!”

Both back in normal clothes, Henry had you on the couch in the man cave as he wrapped up ur ankle with a bandage.

The room was silent. It was like you and Henry were having a contest of who can go the longest without speaking.

You knew he was mad and you could understand to a certain extent but you didn’t care. You just wanted to prove yourself and now all you proved was that you needed Henry. Just liked he hoped.

When Henry finished wrapping the bandage, he looked up at you. “Why am I getting the silent treatment from you? You were the one that stole my gum and went into crime fighting.”

“You know what? You’re so lucky I can’t walk away from you right now.”

“Why? Why did you do it? What are you trying to prove?” You bit the inside of your cheek, not looking at him. Henry understood a little of what you were thinking. “Why do you feel the need to impress me?”

You decided to change the subject. “Why do you feel the need to protect me? I don’t need your protection.”

“Because you do things like use my costume to fight bad guys.”

You got annoyed. So, annoyed that you stood up and tried to walk away but Henry grabbed your waist to hold you in place. “Let me go!”

“Stop it.”

“Just leave me alone. Why are you being like this?”

After that sentence, you felt lips pressed against yours. You stood in place, completely still with eyes wide. Henry Hart was actually kissing you.

It all made sense. The entire day he had been nothing but protective and you were trying to understand why. This was why.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him back. You didn’t think Henry and you would ever end up doing this but here you were, two best friends kissing.

The two of you were so wrapped in the moment that you guys didn’t even notice Charlotte and Jasper walk in. “Finally!”

The two of you broke apart to look at them. “It only took you guys seven years.” Charlotte continued.

“Seven years is a long time.” Jasper pointed out to Charlotte.

“Sarcasm!” She yelled at him making the two of you laugh. She looked back over. “How was fighting crime, Girl Danger?”

“It was cool but…” You held onto Henry. “I think I’ll leave all that to Kid Danger.”

“Cool. Everyone good?” Henry asked and they nodded. “Now get out.”

Charlotte and Jasper rolled their eyes before leaving. “I hate couples…” Jasper mumbled.

Henry turned back to you. “Does this mean you’ll be with me?”

“Ehhh…give me seven more years to think on it.” You said playfully and he smiled. Then kissed you again.

[simpforrooster]

someone like me.

Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x f!reader

summary: rooster gets jealous at the attention the bartender keeps giving you.

t/w: mentions of alcohol

“Can I get you another?” the bartender asks you.

You’re seated next to your best friend, Bradley Bradshaw. Callsign, Rooster. Jake talked the squad into heading to the town over for line dancing.

The bartender in question was definitely easy on the eyes, and had been meeting your gaze all evening. You answered his smirks with a few of yours, before returning your attention back to Bradley.

You raise a brow at Bradley, silently asking him if you aught to continue drinking. He answers with a quick shrug of his shoulder.

“Why not,” you tell the man.

A few moments later, he places an appletini in front of you. “On the house,” he smiles.

Your cheeks redden. As he walks away, Bradley chuckles.

“Got somethin’ to say, Bradshaw?” You turn in your seat towards your friend.

“Oh come on, y/n. You and I both know what he’s doing.” If you didn’t know better, you’d think Rooster was a little jealous.

But you do know better. You and Roos are nothing but friends. Something you’re still coming to terms with.

Of course you felt an immediate attraction to him the first time you met. He peered over his Ray Bans at you and gave you the most delicious smirk you’d ever seen. It was like something out of a romance novel.

But he’s never made a move.

“Are you jealous, Rooster?” you ask. Rooster quickly diverts his eyes.

“Of course not,” he says to the counter. The hand holding his beer tightens around the neck causing the veins in his biceps to appear.

Before your mind can go to places fit for a smutty romance, Rooster speaks. “I just don’t think he’s your type is all.”

“I’m sorry?”

Rooster shrugs a broad shoulder. Mischief sparkles in his eyes underneath the neon. He brings his beer up to his mouth, taking a long swig. Some residual beer hangs back on those lips, and it takes everything in you to not reach out and trace your thumb along the line.

“Well, you can’t leave me hanging. What’s my type? My love life certainly isn’t booming.”

Rooster’s hand falls onto the stool, in between your legs. Never taking his eyes from yours, he pulls your stool until it hits yours. The heat from his hand radiates. His legs have you trapped in, his broad thighs on the outside of yours. He still hasn’t moved his hand from your stool.

Your breath hitches at how he’s pinned you in. He hears it and answers with a smirk. A smirk identical to the one he gave you that first day.

A thoughtful look falls on his handsome face. He casually shrugs, feigning casualness.

“I just thought you’d always fall for someone like me,” he says. As the words leave his mouth, that false confidence is replaced with the look of boy afraid of being rejected.

You slide forward on your stool, almost into Rooster’s lap. One hand finds purchase in his sandy hair, and the other grips the wrist of the hand that was on the stool. Not giving it a second thought, you bring your mouth to his.

Pulling back slightly, you whisper, “Looks like you thought right.”

Rooster smiles against your lips and pulls you in for another kiss. Pulling back, you begin to place kisses along his neck. Rooster flags the bartender down.

“I need to close our tabs please,” he tells him. You don’t stop your kisses to see the look on his face, but you know Rooster is relishing in it. Rooster tosses a hundred onto the bar. “Keep the change, pal.”

Rooster gives the bartender a wink, and grabs your hand, pulling you out the bar and toward his Bronco.

masterlist.

a/n: i’m baaaackkkkkk. thanks for hanging with me through all my hiatuses! i hope yall like this quick little fic!

[fanon-elio]

Can I request a fluffy where Lycaon takes care of the reader with menstrual cramps? I need comfort, I can't stand the pain anymore. (⁠´⁠°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥⁠ω⁠°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥⁠｀⁠)

Absolutely! I hope you'll get better soon!

-•*Lycaon taking care of Reader with menstrual cramps*•-

Tag: Green Letter (Sfw)

Warnings: none

Not proofread.

It was such a beautiful day outside. The sun was shining, bringing a strong vibrancy to the City. But as everyone was out and about, getting that healthy dose of vitamine D, you were sitting in your apartment. Fucking miserable.

You'd love to go outside to catch some of those healthy rays of light, but right now you had other troubles as you lay around with your bodily anatomy bullying you relentlessly.

Ah yes, it was that time of the month again, where your period knocked on your door like a fucking loan shark ready to collect your dept. Normally your period cramps weren't something your trusty friend the Ibuprofen couldn't handle, but not today it seems.

This time your cramps were really bad.

You felt like you swallowed glass shards, and then stumbled down a flight of stairs. Your back ached, your thighs ached, and your lower abdomen hurt like shit. It was as if your uterus had a vendetta against you, slowly beating you up from the inside as every stinging shot of pain was basically it asking "where's the Baby bitch?"

Even just getting your morning routine done had been a fight! Not just because your shower had looked like after one. The warm water had felt absolutely wonderfull as it eased your pain, but all was ruined by the smell of blood that made you immensly uncomfortable. You cringed when you remembered how you basically turned your poor shower into a saw trap.

'I want to play a game' you can fuck right off!

After calling in sick for work, getting into a fresh pair of sweatpants, and equipping yourself with a warm water bottle, you plopped down on your sofa where you had remained for pretty much the entire morning as you watch some repetitive game show. You sigh, feeling that the bottle had lost its warming, and thus pain relieving attributes again. But you weren't willing to shrimp-walk your way back into the kitchen to boil some more water, so instead you just readied yourself to perish.

Then a knock on your door caught your attention. You sighed as you buried your face in your sofa cussion, internally preparing yourself for the stranious task of 'standing up.' You throw your blanket over yourself, completing your accidental witch cosplay before strudding over to the front door to greet the unfortunate Hensel or Gretel, who would now unwillingly become a victim of your justified bad mood.

You rip the door open, expecting one of your neighbors asking your for eggs or some shit, but come face to face with Lycaon's fluffy white fur. You purse your lips, trying to process the current situation as both of you just stared at eachother for a moment "good morning y/n" he speaks, a tinge of uncertainty in his voice at your current vibe "a-ah. Hi Lycaon! How are you doing?" You ask, embarassment creeping onto your face which was almost as red as... well you already know.

"I am well, but you seem quite beside you" he says, and you wondered if the bags under your eyes, or your awkward posture had given you away. "Oh no no I'm totally fine!" You exclaim, he just looks you up and down before sighing. "I brought you something, maybe it'll lift your mood?" He gestures to the box under his arm, and you relent, stepping to the side as a silent way of inviting him in which gains you a polite little "thank you" from him.

On one hand you could drop to your knees in prayer for the fact that this fine-as-hell-man came to check on you, but on the other you felt mortified of your friend turned crush witnessing you in such a state.

"Just know that it's an absolute mess in here" you warn him, and wince like a vampire as he opened the curtains. You make your way towards the kitchen, feeling like a terrible host for not having offered him any real hospitality "Would you like something to drink? Water? Tea? ...Vodka?" He tries to speak up as he watched you awkwardly try to reach for the box of tea in your upper cuppboard, dispite your current rather pitiful form. He looks around the room, noticing the previously mentioned dissaray before he approaches, wanting to stop you before you try climbing on your kitchen counter. He sets the box down on the counter next to you, his pressence behind you halting your actions before he puts a hand on your shoulder "why don't you go lie down?" He asks softly in your ear, and you blush at his closeness.

You opened your mouth, wanting to object, but he was having none of that. He bend down a little before sweeping you off your feet, carying you back to the sofa, and sitting you down on it before covering you in blankets and pillows. You look up at him, while he raised his eyebrow as a silent way of telling you to 'stay.'

Accepting your fate, you lean back and cast your eyes back on the TV while he tidies up your livingroom a bit. It still felt a bit awkward to have Lycaon dote over you like that, but it also made butterflies erupt in your stomach. You doze off for a moment, before you feel the sofa tip as Lycaon sat down next to you. He hands you a water bottle wrapped in a dish cloth, warning you of its temperatur before sitting the box in his lab and lifting the lid off.

To your surprise, it was filled with your favorite snacks, painkillers, different flavours of tea, and a heapful of movies. "Damn! You came prepared alright" you tell him, noticing they way his ear twitched. You grab one of the movies from the box and looked at it "Pork peak huh? Didn't know your liked horror movies" you joked, and he chuckled "I picked these up at Random play earlier, I'm friends with the managers there so they gave me a discount" you nodded, the warmth of the bottle in your hands soothing the stinging ache in your abdomen.

But the more you thought about the box and the water bottle, the more you wondered how he knew to prepare all of this. You haven't told him about your cramps, so how did he know? "How did you know to prepare all of this?" You ask. Lycaon turns his head to you before clearing his throat "I uhm... I could smell it. The blood I mean" he explains, averting his gaze. Your face was burning, internally facepalming yourself for forgetting that he was infact a Wolf thiren, so of course his sense of smell was superb. "Everyone has a distinct smell, and I had noticed yours changing a week prior" he explains "I hope you don't think of me as a creep now" he says, but you pull the big oaf into a hug "no, not at all. I think it's really sweet of you!" He returned your embrace, and you could hear the sound of Lycaon's tail thumbing against the sofa.

"I uhm... just hope the smell doesn't bother you" you start, but he stops you "please, there is no need to worry" he reassures you "the smell of blood doesn't bother me." Lycaon grabbs the tea from the box before making his way back to the kitchen. You turn around and lean over the arm of the sofa, watching him as he stood in your kitchen preparing a pot of tea for the both of you.

Your eyes wandered from him to his vest that layed neatly folded over one of your kitchen chairs. At first you had assumed that he had actually taken a day off for once, but scratched that thought because if he really did, he wouldn't be here in work attire. "I hope you don't mind me asking..." you start, watching his ear rotate towards you as a sign that he was listening "what about work?" You ask, watching him remove the tea filter "I don't mind don't worry, I had just gotten off my night shift, and have the rest of the day off" he replied. "And since I had been in the area anyways, I thought I might pay you a visit" he lies, unbeknownst to you. In reality he had been looking foreward to spending time with you, even if his commission had been on the other side of the city. You smiled, looking at the box sitting on your coffee table "you're a real gentleman, thank you" you say, internally swooning over how cute he was when his tail started swishing from side to side at your compliment.

"I still kinda feel bad though, you must be dead tired" you told him, but he was quick to ease your worry "don't worry it's alright, besides..." his movement halted just for a slight moment before he continued "I really like spending time with you" he spoke, his tail wagging evers so slighty faster. Grabbing 2 cupps and the tea pot, Lycaon made his way back over to you, pouring you a cup before handing it to you. You take a sip, releasing a relieved sigh as he putts one of the movies on. You pat the spot next to you, urging him to sit.

The hours melted away, your tea cups as well as the pot sitting empty on your coffee table as you binch through the stack of movies Lycaon had brought. Said wolf thiren was sitting next to you, fighting to keep his eyelids from falling shut. Even though he had assured you that you wouldn't have to feel bad, you still couldn't quite shake off the feeling. But an idea comes to your mind, as you call out to him "If you want, you can lie down and rest" you tell him. It has been a heat of the moment kind of suggestion, since your sofa was so small, the only way for him to lie down properly was with his head on your lap.

But much to your astonishment, he plops his head right on your thighs, releasing a sigh of relief. Unbeknownst to you, he was blushing just as severly as you did, with him having the benefit of his fur covering it from your eyes. "You... may pet me if you like" he speaks, his voice low and filled with weariness. And you oblige, your fingers gently combing through his soft fur, and carefully scratching behind his ear.

Soon you forgot completely about your cramps, with Lycaon's soft snoring capturing all your attention as you considere taking a picture of him before sleep would claim you too.

...

Lycaon's eye cracks open, taking in the surrounding darkness of your living room. He wonders what time it is, with the sun seeming to have said goodbye hours ago, now replaced by the moon's light as it shone peacefully through your window. He knows he should have been home hours ago, but as he looked down at your sleeping form; your head lying on his chest, your own steadily raising and falling with every breath you took.

He knew that he was already home.

*•*•*•*•*

I hope this was to your liking! To the other people who have requested something. Don't worry I haven't forgotten about you.

-Elio

[bandgie]

Cat-Fight | Ep. 5

MASTERLIST | Kink: Tiddies

🗝 Now there's no doubt in your mind that this Other World is very much real. You're desperate to make your roommates see the truth, but the neighborhood black cat is set on keeping his mouth shut. Yours too.

5.1k words

warnings! MDNI18+, fem!reader, argument w/ chan, reader has a tiny meltdown in the beginning, fuckin' on the bug couch 😭, PIV, no protection, boobs...lot's of it, nipple sucking/pinching/flicking/etc, seungmin is manipulative if you catch it, cumming inside

notes! little bit of angst in the beginning, but it's okay, bin is there to save the day. there wasn't even supposed to be fight scene with chan (it was supposed to be Seung), but I was angry when I wrote it and I just kinda spewed it out. I think it worked out in the end tho

Jeongin is gone when you wake. There’s not a sign of him in either doll or human form. With your head spinning, last night wants to blur into a dream.

But you know better now.

Rays of the waking sun barely touch your window. The sky is a light blue and the horizon is subtly yellow in the early morning. You’re tempted to close your eyes again, but you will yourself to sit up.

A part of you wishes you never accepted Jisung’s gift. You could’ve brushed off the interaction with Seungmin’s warning as a nightmare, but now you’re cursed with the truth.

There’s no way you can pretend nothing happened. You can’t ignore the little door and the Others trapped behind it. Even if your skin breaks out in goosebumps from the overwhelming thought of everything, doing nothing is not an option. 

The clatter downstairs makes you jolt. It takes a moment for your brain to remember Chan’s message.

They’re finally home.

You throw the covers and swing your legs off the bed. It feels so relieving to hear them come home, even if loudly. From the top of the stairs, you can listen to Chan quietly scolding Changbin about making noise. The reprimands turn hushed when your bare feet pad down the hall.

“You woke her up, man.” “I didn’t mean to! Everything is still in boxes. I can’t just- ack!”

You tackle Changbin into a hug. He topples over, thudding into Chan who catches the both of you. Your feet scramble to find the ground, but your arms are so focused on clinging onto them both that your roommates have to hold you in the air briefly.

They’ve been gone for only hours, but it feels like an eternity. You’ve missed how they wrap their arms around you, bringing you into a confused, but welcomed embrace.

“Hey,” Chan speaks gently. “What’s wrong?” His fingers run in your hair, getting tangled with the knots. He carefully pulls his hand free. “Did you… take a mud bath?”

Changbin leans close to your head, sniffing your scalp. “Did you take a bath in general?”

Chan swats him on the shoulder, giving a nasty glare before his eyes turn gently to you. “You had a bad dream or something?”

And it’s one you wish you could wake up from. You wish you could tell them everything from the start, but the only thing you can do is sob. “Y-you have n-no id-dea.”

Even with the dirt and grime on you, they hug you again. Their lips and fingers smooth over your face and your hair. 

They deserve to know the truth, but you can’t bear the thought of them getting caught up in a mess that feels like your fault.

“We need to move,” you sniff. “We can’t live here.”

Changbin tucks you under his chin, leaving your backside to Chan who trails his fingertips up and down. “Why not?”

“The door. It’s haunted. Or not haunted but...” How can you explain it? "It's just not right."

You feel Changbin tense under you, but in a vulnerable moment like this, he doesn’t let his fear show more than that. “What door, baby?”

Wordlessly, you lead them to the living room. Walking towards the crawl space might have felt heavy alone, but with Chan and Changbin holding each of your hands, the steps feel easy.

You let go of them to get on your knees, digging your fingers through the crack.

“Oh.” Chan turns his head to the side. “The boarded-up door. It’s just bricks on the other side, no?”

You don’t pry it open, not yet. “I…I thought so too, but there are people on the Other Side. One night, there was this mouse-”

“Mouse?” Chan’s eyes widen. “Fuck. I knew something was gonna come out of that door. We need to call someone-”

“No. No, no, no. Just listen,” you shake your head. “It led me to the door. And there was a tunnel.”

Changbin’s eyebrow quirks up. “A tunnel?”

“Yes. Let me finish. And it led to a living room that looked like ours but wasn’t. The lights were different, there weren’t boxes, and people were living on the upper and lower levels.”

You hate how they’re looking at you. Their eyes are full of confusion, and disbelief. But worst of all, they’re looking at you as if you’re just plain crazy. 

But with everything that’s happened, maybe you are.

You’ll just have to show them. Sweat gathers on your fingers when you tug on the door, anxiously waiting to see their expression change to fear when they see what you saw. 

But when it’s open - wide and bare for all to see - it’s only bricks. 

“No. Fuck!” You slam the door frustratingly, yanking it open to see that red stone there again and again. 

“No! No! No!” SLAM. SLAM. SLAM.

The house shakes from the force. You can’t hear the echoing from the blood rushing to your ears. Your vision blurs, hot tears streaming down your face for the second time this early morning. 

Strong hands pull you away from the door and right into Changbin’s chest. 

“Stop. You’re going to hurt yourself.” But his concern doesn’t faze you. You have to yank from his grip to run past the kitchen, heading towards the front door. 

The sun peeks over the mountains when you’re outside. The air is crisp, biting at your skin that feels too hot. 

If the door won’t reveal itself, you think something else will.

“Seungmin!” Your voice echos. “Here kitty, kitty, kitty!”

Chan and Changbin follow you outside, their steps thudding until they’re in the driveway. They stand a foot behind you, looking at each other bewildered before something trembles in the bushes. 

A black cat jumps from the leaves, shaking off the stems and stretching nonchalantly. His blue eyes blink slowly, head turning from the men to you. 

What do you want?

“Jesus!” Changbin jumps. “Where the fuck did he come from?”

You ignore his question and stomp towards the cat, angrily wiping your tears. “Tell them.”

Seungmin tilts his head to one side. 

“Tell them! Tell them about the Others, the warning you gave me, anything.”

You can hear the leaves crunching quietly as Chan tiptoes to you. So slow, so delicate. As if you’re a deer that would run off.

When Seungmin says nothing, you scream. 

“Ugh! I’m trying to help you! You stupid fucking cat! Why can’t you just listen!? You guys are stuck and I can’t do anything about it if you don’t let me help!”

“Mrow.”

Chan has a hold on you before you can yell at Seungmin again. The movement makes the cat dash, little paws thudding on the ground before disappearing among the trees. You desperately whine, watching the only thing that could have helped turn into a speck in the distance.

He spins you around to face him. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You blink. Chan never talks to you like that. “I…He’s one of them.”

“One of who?”

“The Others. From the Other Side. He-”

“No. This is crazy.” Chan shakes his head. “You…Is this because we've been gone? I told you that we’re busy doing the album and that it’s gonna take until the end of the week to finish things up. Why are you doing this?”

His words make you physically recoil. You stare at him in shock, hurt evident in your eyes. “You think I’m doing this for attention?”

The tick in his jaw is enough of an answer. 

Emotions thicken your words. “You don't know what it’s like. To be alone in this fucking nightmare. You’re gone. You’re both gone all the time. And when you are home, you’re on the computer acting like I’m a nuisance. What did you call me the other day? A distraction?”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I don't care how you meant it!” Your voice trembles. “I’m alone. I fucking hate it. You have Changbin while I lose my mind in that fucking house. And when I do need you, you’re still not here!”

Chan has you by the elbows as you wipe your tears. You expect his anger to fade into softness. He normally would whenever he sees you this upset, but his jaw hardens and it feels like the next words would only do more harm than good.

Changbin has to tug on his shoulder to break the tension. Chan’s grip loosens and Changbin stands in the middle, protectively in front of you.

“Okay. I think we need a breather. It’s late. Well… early I guess. I’m tired, you’re tired, we’re all tired.” He grabs your hand behind his back and keeps his other hand on Chan’s shoulder. “Hyung, it’s been a while since you’ve gotten good rest. Look at your eyes.”

You dare peek at Chan. You don’t know how you missed it before but the bags under his eyes are darker. They make his face hollow, drained with color.

Guilt eats at your heart.

“And you,” Bin turns around. “It’s been a while since you’ve showered, huh?”

Despite the dried tears, you scoff.

Changbin squeezes your hand. “Then that settles it. Go inside, Hyung. I’ll take care of everything.”

Chan deeply exhales. He lets you go and nods, taking a few steps back. “Thanks.”

Changbin and you are silent when he walks back into the house, the tips of his ears twinged red. Either from the cold or frustration, you aren’t sure. Changbin only turns back to you and brushes a loose strand of hair behind your ear when the door closes.

“You okay?”

No, but you don’t want to keep causing stress on your best friends. “I’ll manage. I didn’t mean to make him so mad. I ruined everything.”

Changbin’s thick fingers caress your face. “No. Don’t say that. You didn’t ruin anything. Chan’s just been really stressed. But still, he shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”

“I shouldn’t have yelled at him like that.” You sniff, holding back tears again. You know you have to apologize, but the raw emotions of fear and anger are still in the air. The only reason you’re keeping it together is because Changbin looks as though he might break if you do. 

“I just wanted you guys to believe me.”

“We do.” Changbin brushes his thumb under your eye. “But neither of us has really slept and it all just sounds…complicated.”

“Here.” Changbin intertwines his hand in yours. “We can freshen up first. I honestly need a nap, but I can be in the shower with you if you want.”

You playfully push him and laugh. Even with your knotty hair and dirty skin, Changbin would still make a move. It makes the heaviness in your chest lighter. 

“Eww. No, thank you. I can wash up on my own. You guys go to sleep and just focus on getting rest.”

Changbin pouts, but nods, leading you into the apartment. He kisses you gently once you’re in the kitchen, holding onto your waist and running his hand up and down your back. It’s just lips, but you melt anyway. It feels like forever since you’ve been held so tenderly. You have to fight the urge to tilt your head and deepen the kiss, content when Changbin pulls away and rests his forehead on yours.

“You know we’re here for you. Always.”

Showering feels like a rebirth. The water scrubs not only the dirt but the emotions with it. You feel rejuvenated in the steaming water, letting the droplets slide down your waist and the curve of your breasts.

Getting out is difficult. You miss the hot shower the moment it’s off, drying yourself and putting on plain shorts and a shirt. 

The sun is above the horizon now, bright and yellow. You stare at it from your window. A small, bitter laugh comes from you.

What a way to start the day.

You’re considering whether you should waste the day sleeping or attempting to do something productive, but there’s still frustration in your heart. Why didn’t the door show itself? 

You’re already walking out of your room and down the hall, intent on confronting it head-on. If you open the door and it’s just bricks, you’ll drop the whole thing. The Others must not want to be found, to be helped. As much as it would pain you to know they’re stuck, their choice to stay is theirs.

Skittering down the stairs, you think of an alternate plan. If the door does reveal itself, they do need help. Or something from you, at the very least. Whatever it is, you’re planning on chewing them out for making a fool of yourself first and then giving them what they want.

Standing in front of the little door with determination is new for you. A part of you is wishing that it's just bricks there. Everything, despite how terrifying it was, can be summed up as a dream. Or a hallucination in the case of the doll.

You get on your knees, shoving your fingers through the crack once again. 

“Okay. It’ll be fine.” You give yourself a quick pep talk. “You’ll open the door, see what’s there, you’ll have to apologize to-”

You open the crawl space mid-sentence, stopping when the blue tunnel unravels. Maybe you’d like to see its familiar pulsing and greeting, but anger that the shower was supposed to wash away resurfaces.

Those assholes.

-

There’s a man on the Other Side that you’ve never seen before. His hair is cut short, buttons eyes a dark blue, and piercing in a way that makes you think he hates you the moment you come out of the little door. 

But the room, the room is unrecognizable. There’s no furniture, no couches, but bugs in their place. Big, lively-looking insects that the man sits on.

A beetle couch. 

“You got a lot of nerve coming here after calling me a stupid cat. Again.” He folds his arms over his chest. “I can’t even talk if I wanted to over on that side.”

He’s the cat. He’s Seungmin. You should have known from his rude sneer and pompous attitude, but seeing him human is baffling.

“You…you made me look like an idiot.” You walk over to the bug couch, stopping at arm’s length. “I was trying to help you.”

He snorts. “Help me, yeah? By what? Yelling at me and calling me names? You dug your own grave doing that.”

He’s trying to spin it on you and it’s working. You’re reminded of how you treated Chan, of how you yelled at not just Seungmin, but a cat. Though you feel somewhat bad, you don’t have the empathy to apologize.

So Seungmin keeps talking. “I could hear you guys yelling even after I took off. Screaming at me then them. Sounds like they aren’t home enough to actually care about anything you’ve experienced.”

“That’s not true.”

“No?” Seungmin sits back, slightly spreading his legs. “Why did I hear you say something about you being alone? That they’re not there when you need them?”

If his goal is to make you feel like shit, he’s succeeding. You sit on the opposite side of the beetle couch, ignoring how the antennas flick upon your weight. 

“I was just… mad.”

Seungmin nods, tilting his head upwards. “I get it, but you must feel that way at least a little to say it.” He turns to you. “There’s always some truth in moments like those.”

You can’t look at him, not with how ashamed you feel. “I wanted them to believe me. I wanted them to help.”

“Help?”

“Help me help you. All of you.” You flail your arms to express the entire apartment. “I know you guys are stuck, Jeongin told me. I put myself on some stupid mission to free you guys, but I can’t do it alone. I didn’t mean to get so mad at them. I just wanted them to see the truth.”

You wrap your arms around yourself for comfort. The tears building in your eyes make your sight watery, and you can’t do anything but try to blink them away.

Seungmin puts a hand on your shoulder, smoothing over the sleeve of your shirt. Finally, you look at him. It’s not a glare or an annoyed look on his face, but compassion. 

Maybe he can be nice when he wants to, just like a cat.

“That is a stupid mission, but it’s kind of ironic.” He smiles. “You want to help us, but we want to help you.”

You use the back of your hand to wipe stray tears. “Help me? With what?”

“What you said earlier. It’s okay to be honest and say you’ve been lonely. The people you love get busy. They can’t make time like before. It hurts, but that’s just how things are.” He squeezes your shoulder. 

“On that side. That’s how things are on that side. But here? Time is all we have. We’re never lonely. We never need to put responsibilities first because you're our responsibility.” 

Seungmin follows the length of your arm to your hand, fiddling with your fingers when he reaches them. “We won’t ever make you feel alone. We never did.”

You let him hold your hand and bring it to his lips. Seungmin plants a gentle kiss on your knuckles, making your stomach erupt in butterflies. You’ve missed this feeling of reassurance, of being doted on. There’s not an ounce of hesitation when Seungmin leans in, inviting him wholeheartedly.

His hands cup your face to bring you closer. Even if your lips are already meeting, he can’t help but angle his head so they interlock deeper. You can taste his passion. You can feel his adoration when his tongue swipes against your bottom lip.

A plea. A quiet ask if he can go further. You love the surprising gentleness of his lips and actions. 

You respond by opening your mouth just enough for his tongue to slip in. Gently, it makes its way between your lips. The warmth has you moaning, parting your mouth even more so he can swirl on your tongue. 

His hot muscle has your eyes fluttering. It’s not desire, but yearning that builds in your stomach. You want to be taken care of. You want to let yourself be kissed and held in the most rawest form. 

Seungmin knows. He can feel your need. He lays you flat on the couch carefully. His lips are still on yours as he moves you, cupping the back of your head to place you down.

He pulls away for a brief second. “Look at you. So beautiful.”

You’d roll your eyes any other time, but you find yourself blushing instead. You didn’t know he could be so mushy. Seungmin laughs at your pink cheeks and kisses your nose, trailing down until he finds your neck.

You bare your throat to give him free roam. Under his lips, you moan and smooth your hands on his upper back. Seungmin lifts the end of your top so it reveals your belly button, looking at you questioningly.

Clothes seem to fly off your bodies. It doesn’t take long until you’re both nude, letting him cup your breasts and pinch your nipples from on top.

Your thighs rub together impatiently, slick gathering between the space but you don’t rush him. You let his buttons gawk at your tits, tongue swiping at the corner of his mouth to collect his drool.

“And these,” Seungmin pushes them together. “Can’t forget about these.”

You giggle. Seungmin’s rough hands jiggle your breasts until you can feel his erection tapping your thigh. You desperately try to get his cock to fit between your legs, but he’s distracted by how your mounds fit perfectly in his hands.

He leans down, lips ghosting over the peak of your breast. “So pretty.”

His mouth wraps around your nipple like he can’t wait any longer. Seungmin sucks and releases quickly, making the gushing between your legs double. You arch into his mouth, panting and running your fingers through his hair. 

“Ohh. Just like that.” 

Seungmin hums appreciatively. His tongue flicks over your nipple repeatedly. The simultaneous smoothness and roughness of it make you tremble. Your other nipple isn’t completely ignored. His fingers twist and tug until you squeal.

And when his teeth come to play, you thrust your hips. Your thighs can only provide pressure, but not direct stimulation. You can’t touch your clit from your legs being so tightly pressed together. Seungmin lets you whine from pulsing need, giggling with your nipple between his teeth.

“You want something?” His cocky smile looks sexy with your bud in his mouth. You’d knock it off his face if you could, but you pout instead. 

He bites harder, making you squeal. “Seungmin!”

“I can’t read your mind, baby. Why don’t you tell this stupid cat what you want?”

He laughs at your red face. Seungmin switches to the next boob to give the same treatment.

Until you answer him, he’ll stay on your chest even with his cock dripping on your thigh.

The swollen nipple that was just in his mouth gets twisted by his fingers. You don’t have to look at it to know it’s red and puffy, but you glance down anyway. Seungmin’s already ravishing your unbruised boob, ignoring your cries of sensitivity from your other one. 

There’s not a chance you can stand another second of his mouth. “Seung.”

His eyes look up, but his mouth doesn’t stop sucking.

“I…I want you to touch me.”

Seungmin pinches your nipple harder. Chills erupt on your skin from the painful pleasure and you have to hold your breath to keep yourself from screaming.

“My pussy! I want you to touch my pussy.”

Finally, he pops off your nipple. Saliva clings to his lips that he swipes with his tongue. “Mhm.”

Seungmin sits up, letting you get a good view of his body. His torso narrows at the waist and doesn’t expand much more at the shoulders. His chest is flushed pink with his nipples erect and dark. The v-line on his stomach is dainty, pleading with you to trace it.

But he’s too out of reach for you to grab. Instead, you rub your breasts soothingly, tapping your nipples to get jolts of pleasure coursing through your body. 

Seungmin grabs the base of his cock and strokes himself. He angles the head so it lines with your entrance, but rather than pushing in, he slides it against your cunt. You look down to watch it grind on your stomach, the tip stopping below your belly button. His thumbs spread your pussy apart so he can properly grind against you.

The stimulation is jaw-dropping. It feels like you’ve been leaking for hours. The pleasure is so good that your stomach aches from how hard you clench.

Seungmin ends up pushing your lips together so they curve around the head of his cock. Your clit can feel every vein and curve. Arousal drips from your hole that clenches emptily. When you said you wanted him to touch you, you meant a lot more than that.

“Please, Seungmin. Just fuck me.”

He grins. “There it is.”

With a hand steading on your hip and the other holding his cock, Seungmin slides low enough for his tip to catch your entrance. You think he might miss a few times from how wet you are, but the glide is smooth.

He opens you up just right. The crown of his head stretches you deliciously, narrowing just slightly before thickening down the rest of his length.

You grab onto the couch, terrifyingly reminded of its insect nature when it twitches in response.

Seungmin takes his time bottoming you out. It feels like miles before he goes as deep as he can get, lifting your legs so he can press his pelvis flush against you.

“Oh, fuck.” Seungmin’s buttons glisten. “Been fucked so many times and you’re still so tight.” 

He pulls out and goes back in, making you switch to your boobs again and squeezing. Your mouth forms an ‘o’ shape when he tries to set a pace. Your brain has to catch up with the pleasure your body is feeling. Moaning doesn’t yet sound when you can’t even breathe from his cock filling you.

With your legs wrapping around his waist, Seungmin leans down. Now, you finally have something to scratch on. Fingernails find his back and you dig them into his skin, hearing him hiss in your neck.

“I haven’t even started fucking you and you’re clawing me up.” He sounds prideful. “You are a bad fucking kitty.”

Seungmin cackles when he repeats Minho’s words verbatim. You can’t even focus with his cock pounding in your walls, but you do somewhat recall how eager you were to be a pet for Minho and Felix. 

Pleasure finally registers when Seungmin fucks deep. You can feel his tip kissing your cervix, daring to break past the barrier and touch the back of your throat instead. His cock is so hot inside you, searing your insides in the best way possible.

You moan loudly. It’s hard to stop once you start. Sounds of desire tumble from your lips with every thrust. You can feel the veins of his length sliding in and out, the head always staying inside you before pounding in. His hands on your waist have you slam onto his cock, making his dick feel impossibly deep.

His nose touches yours, eyes locking with your mouth agape. Seungmin looks at your drooly lips for a brief second before kissing you again.

It reminds you of the garden yesterday. Where Jisung was messy and desperate, Seungmin is sure and confident. He doesn’t even blink when your teeth clash together. His focus is on keeping your mouth on his while his hips thrust wildly.

You can’t keep your ankles crossed for much longer. Seungmin’s pounds are so strong that they force them apart. He lets go of your waist with one hand and places it on the back of your thigh instead, spreading them further for more access. 

The new angle has you seeing stars. You can feel how your cunt swallows him whole, squelching with every intrusion. His cock hits the upper part of your walls, grinding on a gummy spot that makes you pant in his mouth.

“Fffuucckk. Right there. Right there. Pleasepleaseplease.”

Blunt fingernails dig into the underside of your thigh. Seungmin must feel how hard you're clenching and how much softer your pussy has gotten from his relentless pistons. He can’t suck on your tongue when it’s your cunt that keeps sucking him in.

“Yeah? Yeah, you like it right here?” Seungmin’s hot breath fans over your face. “Gonna cum on my cock?”

You nod, letting your head bobble at will. White pleasure builds and builds in your tummy at a pace you can’t keep up with. It makes you squeal overwhelmingly from the sheer amount but Seungmin doesn’t stop. His cock keeps hitting that spot until your fingers find his hair.

“Oh, fuck yes. I’mma cum so good on your cock. Don’t stop, Seungmin.”

Half of you expects him to pull out. It wouldn’t be out of his character to halt his own pleasure to ruin yours, but it turns out that Seungmin can listen well. 

He groans when you tug on his hair, managing to keep his pace despite the dull pain. You can hear the slap of his balls against you from his efforts. 

Your eyes roll so far your head tilts back. All you can do is gasp when the pleasure bursts from its bubble. Suddenly, his pumps send you on overload. The veiny texture of his cock has you gushing more than you bargained for. As good as he fucks into you, the unbearable slams has your vision seeing black dots.

“Yeah. Yeah. I love that fucking look in your eyes. Makes me wanna fuck you harder.”

You don’t know where his burst of energy comes from. You’re still trying to find your sanity and come down from your high when he pulls so far back that his tip almost slips out before ramming back in.

Your head lifts to see him bullying into your cunt. You clit peeks from under your hood, you can see the messy arousal on your inner thighs, and your lips are so swollen. There’s not much more you can take, but when you feel his cock twitch you know he’s close.

Still, you yank on his hair in desperation. “S-Seung- I’m…I’m-”

“Come on. Take it. Take it. I know you can.” Sweat drips down his forehead. “You’ve been doing so good. Don’t tell me to stop now.”

Seungmin’s praises are like music to your ears. You swallow your words and let yourself moan instead, embracing the fire in your pussy and chest. 

It only grows hotter when his thrusts turn erratic. Your walls feel like jelly when you leak from the overstimulation. Your hips spasm under Seungmin when he fucks harder. He sits on his haunches and puts your legs in the air, chasing his orgasm that’s only seconds away. 

“In your pussy, yeah? Fuck yeah. Just the look in your eyes says it all.” He moans. Seungmin stills his hips inside before his cum pours out.

He puts his hand on your lower abdomen and presses down. You scream from the pressure, feeling his cock tenfold spilling in you. Your legs shake in the air so violently that Seungmin has to wrap his fingers around your ankles.

It feels like slow motion when he pulls out. The head of his cock makes your cunt stretch and pulse one last time before it slips, slapping wetly against his stomach and dripping with arousal.

You’re panting like an animal, eyes unfocused as you watch him catch his breath. His skin feels hot and sticky when he leans down to wrap his arms around you. It’s only a little uncomfortable, but you welcome his touch regardless.

Seungmin waits until your breathing is almost normal, playing mindlessly with your hair. 

You glance at him to see him beaming, smiling ear to ear. It's infectious, and there's a ghost of a grin on your lips. “What are you so happy about?”

He shrugs, pulling you closer. His hand moves from your hair to your arm. “You know. Just that you're staying.”

“Staying?” You draw back. The post-orgasm fades a little too quickly for your liking. “When did I say I was staying?”

His navy-blue buttons aren’t threatening at all, unlike his words. He’s happy, shining with joy. “You didn’t have to say it. I told you; If you come back here again, we won’t let you leave.”

[sweetsugartop]

please notice that this is my first work but i hope you enjoy it and please tell me what you think, i love you all.

summary: its finally summer and you are at campus but feel like laying in bed all morning.

the opened window let the warm breeze of june air flow in. it carried the smell of green plants and salty water. the sound of distant music could be heard from somewhere outside the apollo cabin, it made the early morning feel like a movie scene.

the sun had just risen and was shining in on one of the walls in the bedroom. a single ray was placed across the boy with blond locks as he softly breathed in and out. his mouth was opened just slightly and his face pressed into the white pillow with his eyes closed.

the owner of the pillow had her head propped up in her hand, just a small distance away. she was locked in his arms and once every five minutes, she felt him tighten his grip in a squeeze. just like he wanted to make sure she was still there, even in his sleep. her hand gently grazing over his defined cheekbone and her eyes trailing over her boyfriends peaceful expression. he had always been an peaceful sleeper with her. she was like his magic shield to protect from every nightmare.

the light from the sun warmed his skin and the only word that could be used for her to describe him was, perfect. her perfect boy. the sheets were almost swallowing them and the couple had no plans on getting out of bed early this saturday morning.

she let her fingers trail up to his hair and started to play gently with a curl. a bird could be heard from outside. it was almost like a sign that summer was really here. and that was the most beautiful thing. they had the whole summer before them.

her fingers was now against his scalp, rubbing carefully. percy hummed and closed his mouth. he didn’t mind waking up like this at all. he’d rather this than just sleeping til midday. he gently pulled her even closer and groaned when he felt the sun against his closed eyes. she smiled at him and leaned forward to give him a kiss on his forehead. percy just squeezed his eyes shut tighter and hid his face against her, letting it rest against her neck.

”hey, can tell you something?” she whispers softly in the boy’s ear.

“mhm?” he just hums in response and presses a tired kiss against her collarbone with little effort. yet, she still feel the butterflies swarm up in her and an uncontrollable smile grows in her face. she breathes in the cozy morning for another moment before continuing.

“i love you.” the three words that the couple have told each other countless times before, and each time with as much emotion behind them. and still, the newly awoken boy lifts his head abruptly, just to offer his girl a grin. his eyes are still droopy but so so deep of love. and he just looks at her like she just told him she put the stars in the sky for him only.

“yeah?” his tired voice sounds weak and slightly raspy when he responds and her smile is still on display as she leans forward to give him a small kiss in the corner of his lips.

“yeah.” she lets out a breathy laugh at his sudden awareness. he just loved that sound. her laugh was life the ocean meeting the sand. he couldn’t even think of any sound more perfect than her voice, her laugh and any sigh that she’d mutter out on a long day. he adored her more than the moon needed the sun to shine.

he didn’t respond to her but tackled her with kisses all over her face. he engulfed her in his arms making her trapped under him.

“oh my god, percy!” their laughs filled the morning air in the bedroom that was silent just seconds ago.

@suger-cube-odair-4

[somewhat-insane]

Hello, its me again- the ShadowPeach x GN!Reader (QPR Wukong & Reader) thhank you for the lovely headcanons again btw. nervous to request more, but i am starving so- i was thinking about a drabble / oneshot. in which shadowpeach has been established (and reader has been a large help with that), but macaque is now realizing he has feelings for the reader, and how he goes about addressing it. so i guess a simple get together story. but macaques lowkey having a crisis. <3 take ur time hope ur having a great week.

I LOVE YOUR REQUESTS SO MUCH LIKE- No need to be nervous! I only have two other requests I'm working on right now, and knowing that you liked my stuff enough to request more means a lot to me!

•°¤(¯`°🌹(Conflicted )🌹°´¯)¤°•

Tags: GN!Reader x Macaque, queerplatonic relationships

Overall, it had been great. Amazing, even. As unsentimental as Macaque was tried (and failed) to be, he couldn't help but admit he enjoyed having his best friend back. That alone had seemed little more than a distant dream a little over a month ago, but being more than that? It seemed impossible. So impossible that he refused to even entertain such a thought, lest he risk the pain of subjecting his already battered and bruised heart to more abuse. Eventually he conceded that would be the case regardless of what he let himself believe.

But then you came along. Foolish, stubborn, adorable you. Despite arguments from both sides that this was hopeless and a waste of time; despite even MK suggesting you step down so as to not get caught in their crossfire, you persevered. Turns out the centuries old murderous demons are much more hesitant to get into physical altercations with each other when their fragile mortal friend is standing between them. (Which had the entertaining benefit of you getting to hear the creative insults they would yell at each other. Most of Macaque's seemed like cheesy Pinterest lines while Wukong made use of hand motions that you're pretty sure depicted some very graphic death scenes.)

Even after you got involved, things weren't always easy, things rarely are when it comes to dealing with these monkeys, you've found. They still argued and healing came slower than either of them had anticipated (logically they knew centuries of pain couldn't be undone by a few chat sessions over tea and an unlicensed therapist, but you couldn't blame them for hoping).

But... how could Macaque even pretend he wasn't grateful when he got to wake up to find his personal ray of sunshine nestled against him, withered from age and stress but still as beautiful as ever? For a moment, as cheesy as it sounds, his heart had felt full again. He had felt like the young warrior he used to be; devoted to his king and untouched by the dark truths of the world. But after a while he realized there was still something missing, a piece of himself he had simply... misplaced rather than the one that had been buried. Wukong held the pieces of Liu'er Mihou, but the warrior realized, at some point, a piece of Macaque got away from him. Something-someone had been able to weasel their way into his peripheral when he had been trapped in an obsessive loop of trying to kill his murderer, and now that that desire was gone and his tunnel vision had given way to something wider, it was aggressively clear that his being no longer only craved Wukong. Someone after the terror and pain. Someone who fed that piece of his soul which clung onto hope harder than Macaque had dared to in a long time. A piece fueled by friendly words and crooked smiles...

At first he thought it was some kind of boredom. He had spent centuries locked in a rivalry with the Monkey King, it makes sense it would feel weird to no longer have that... anticipation coiled tight in his muscles. To no longer have something to chase after; to no longer have a goal or a plan. Though... isn't this was what he had always wanted? Ever since Wukong first promised it to him...

And no matter how long he spent meditating or talking through his inner turmoils with Sandy and MK, there was this aching void that persisted, refusing to be tended to. Almost as stubborn as-

"Mac?" Your voice broke him out of his thoughts, allowing him to blink away the haze he hadn't noticed forming and focus on the credits now rolling down the TV screen.

"Ah- the movie's over?"

"Uh, yeah? Where'd that handsome mind of yours take you?" Wukong smirked from his place pressed against Macaque's side, playfully letting his tail coil around the warrior's leg. Macaque huffed and rolled his eyes fondly. He's about to respond but freezes as he meets your concerned but slightly amused gaze. His fur bristles slightly as you open your mouth to speak, his eyes dilating at the motion of your lips parting and he tears his gaze away, already mentally beating himself up for how his heart stuttered at that, the poet in him already latching onto even the smallest of details to fawn over. The guilt dancing inside him only intensified when he caught sight of the barely concealed concern dancing in Wukong's eyes that mirrored your own.

Macaque rushes to interrupt you before you could say anything that would make the stubborn void of a heart inside him start radiating that stupid warmth again.

"I- Nowhere. I need to uh- pee?" Macaque abruptly stood up, much to Wukong's displeasure as he had gotten rather comfortable. Before Wukong could voice this, Macaque had already disappeared into a shadow, leaving you and Wukong to sit in a confused silence.

"... What was that about?" You find yourself asking. You had been used to witnessing their fights and seeing how they act when tensions are high, but the only time you've seen Macaque act like that was when you forced him onto his first date with Wukong.

"Honestly? I have no clue... he's been quiet today," before you can say anything he amends, "quieter than usual."

You chew on the inside of your cheek thoughtfully, examining Wukong's expression. He's looking at the spot Macaque left through, chewing nervously on his lower lip. You could nearly see the overthinking beginning to build up in the way his eyes remained locked onto that one spot, his brows creased tightly and his tail flicking against the couch. Sighing, you knock your knee against his to get his attention before tossing a controller into his lap.

"Think you'll finally beat my high score?"

-

"Stupid, stupid, stupid..." Macaque groaned to himself, pacing back and forth beside a small stream, monkeys already gathered on his shoulders. Their curious chirps went ignored as Macaque focused on the thoughts swirling in his head and tried to push down the emotions swirling in his chest, "what is wrong with me?"

He finally had everything he could've ever wanted and his stupid heart craved more.

Not only did he not want to ruin everything he worked so hard for with Wukong, but he also didn't want to ruin his friendship with you. Genuine friendship was so rare for him. He was... amicable with most of the brotherhood (everyone except Peng, at least,) but he only truly considered Wukong a friend. MK, as good of a kid as he is, barely hits the mark. But you arrived and despite his cold demeanor, you got to him with your sarcastic comments and surprisingly insightful views. It was nice to have a friend that felt... normal. Someone who wasn't trying to kill him. Someone who knew him as "that weird angsty guy" instead of a villain.

Plus, if you really wanted him like that, you wouldn't have gone through so much trouble to get him and Wukong together... granted, that does sound like a very you thing to do.

Macaque sighs, running his hands over his face. It's not like he wants to replace Wukong with you. Wukong isn't replaceable and you could never be just a replacement.

Taking a deep breath, Macaque assures himself that it must just be a passing... infatuation, of sorts. He'll get over it... mortals do this stuff all the time. He can't count on one hand the amount of times you've complained about workplace drama involving one guy who is head over heels for another person each week.

He comes back with a familiar easy smirk, watching as you and Wukong wrestle each other, both of you trying to distract the other to get an upper hand in whatever game you two were playing (it seemed to be a bunch of tiny brick men jumping around the screen and- was that Wukong wearing a cheerleader outfit?) before perking up when you see Macaque and he swears he's boiling from the inside based on the warmth blooming in his chest at the sight.

Wukong goes to say something but you see your chance and push him off the couch, ignoring his indignant squawk in favor of winning the game. When you go to brag in Wukong's face, you're met with a shoe being thrown at your own.

You respond very respectfully by jumping off the couch to body slam Wukong, which doesn't do much to the immortal monkey but does pull another amusing sound from him as he screeches and thrashes under you, clawing at the abused floorboards as he tries to escape you. Despite knowing he could easily throw you off if he was actually trying, you smirked triumphantly and sat on his back to keep him on the ground

Macaque watches with a fond smile...

He's so screwed.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Thank you so much for reading! I know the "get together" part of this never really happened, but I wasn't sure how to transition into that without making this too long. I can always do more if you want; your requests have genuinely been my favorite so far. I'm so sorry it always takes me so long to get this stuff done- There were a few parts of this where I considered taking a part out, but most of the time I decided not to. Hopefully it ended up being at least semi-enjoyable?

Don't be afraid to let me know of any typos, grammar, or consistency mistakes! Constructive criticism is accepted and appreciated!

(I'm so nervous to post this for some reason-)

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

A Curse [Chapter 6: Tarzana]

A/N: Where has the time gone??? We are officially halfway done with this series! Thank you so much for reading, besties. It has been an honor to curse you all 🥰🪄

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent…at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon’s right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, mentions of sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap situationship, T.J. Maxx, Chinese food, a phone call from Minnesota, illness, entertainment industry misogyny, Jace is clueless, Becca bakes bread.

Word count: 5.8k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

🏝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🏝️

“What happened to your foot?” Baela asks from the kitchen. She’s doing yoga poses in the middle of the floor. Jace is noisily pawing around in the refrigerator. His iPhone is on the counter, and from it emits a horrible throbbing Charli XCX song that sounds like something they would use to torture prisoners at Guantanamo Bay.

“Yeah, I wanna dance to me, me, me, me, me,

When I go to the club, club, club, club, club…”

You are lying across the orange couch with your left ankle elevated on a stack of pillows and covered with an ice pack. You flip a page in one of those heavy coffee table books with lots of pictures from Barnes & Noble; Baela’s parents bought it when they were furnishing the apartment, and again you are reminded—the weight in your hands like solid gold—of how much they believe in her. The book is about the history of Los Angeles. “Becca pushed me.”

Jace gasps and looks up from the refrigerator. “Why would Baela do that?!”

“No, Jace, Becca,” you say. “My agent’s fiancée Becca. That’s who pushed me.”

“Oh,” he says, and resumes rummaging around in the refrigerator until he finds a cannister of Pillsbury biscuits. He cracks it open and begins plopping pucks of dough on a baking sheet.

“Did Becca find out?” Baela asks you as she does the Reverse Warrior pose. “About the…you know…”

You shrug, guilty, defeated. Your swollen ankle pulsates hotly. You are bone-tired and wholly uninspired, a foreign feeling that makes you wonder if the part of you you’ve always assumed was eternal could die after all. “I guess. I kind of tried to confess but she seemed to already have it figured out.”

Baela snaps upright and gawks at you. “Why would you confess?!”

“I thought you said what I did was wrong.”

“Well yeah, it was, but that doesn’t mean you tell his fiancée! You don’t know her! What if she’s crazy? What if she’s like that astronaut lady who put on a diaper so she could drive nine hundred miles to pepper spray her ex’s new girlfriend?!”

You frown morosely down at the book. “You’re right. It was stupid. I just felt bad.”

Jace slides his baking sheet of Pillsbury biscuits into the oven. On the kitchen counter, your sunflowers are beginning to wilt and shrivel in their vase. You have fed them and meticulously trimmed their stems at an angle as Google recommended, but still, they cannot last forever. Perhaps you’ll dry them and they will endure perpetually in some other form, trapped in a pressed flower frame, arranged into a wreath.

Now Baela is sympathetic. “Are you in a lot of pain? Your foot’s not broken or anything, right?”

“It’s my ankle. And according to Google, it’s probably just sprained.”

“Do you want me to take you to an urgent care place for an x-ray? Or get you a brace from the Rite Aid down the street?”

“I really don’t think I need an x-ray…and if my parents see the health insurance got billed, they’re going to freak out and call me asking why I’m burning through even more of their money. But a brace sounds awesome!”

“Okay,” Baela says, and gives you an encouraging smile. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes. You’re going to slay the Marvel audition on Friday.”

“How’d you know about that?”

She points to the calendar. “You wrote it on there.” And sure enough, you did: red ink in a small black box labeled Friday, July 11th. That’s two days from now. Baela says to Jace: “Come on, we’re going to Rite Aid.”

He is distraught. “But I have to watch my biscuits!”

She groans. “How long do they need to bake?”

“Fifteen more minutes.”

“We’ll walk fast,” Baela says, and drags him out the door. Blessedly, Jace takes his iPhone and its disturbing Charli XCX music with him, now playing a song that sounds like television static.

As you lounge dispiritedly on the velvet orange couch, you return your attention to the book about the history of Los Angeles. A hundred years ago, Elysian Park was an oil field, lattice-like wooden rigs peppering the hills that now host Dodger Stadium, narrow sloping streets of working-class homes, Aegon’s unpretentious half-duplex, and you wish you weren’t thinking about him but regrettably you usually are these days.

You grab your phone and open Instagram. You are startled to see Becca’s profile picture in the row of stories at the top of the screen. She must have accepted the follow request you sent her weeks ago.

Why the hell would she do that now?

Surely, there are no benign reasons. After a moment’s hesitation you can no longer resist and click on Becca’s story to view it. It’s a photo of her giving Aegon a kiss on the cheek; they’re both laughing, his nose is scrunched up, it’s honestly pretty adorable. You tap the X in the corner of the screen to escape the image as quickly as possible, and yet it remains: red neon glowing on the backs of your eyelids, flames of arson in your throat.

You go to Becca’s profile. A quick browse of her stories and posts reveals homemade baked goods, scenic outings in nature, faux-candid selfies, and lots of home decorating. She has a blog that is linked in her bio—rebeccawilsonwrites.wordpress.com—like she’s freaking Gwyneth Paltrow recommending jade yoni eggs on Goop. She also has three Pekingese dogs, woefully inbred wobbling wheezing creatures, and you are reminded of your mother’s colony of Akitas.

Becca’s most recent culinary masterpiece is apple cinnamon bread. The loaves look flawless, golden brown and scrupulously sliced. Her caption reads: Made with delicious Honeycrisp apples, picked fresh at a local orchard! @superstargaryen loved them! Then there is a series of emojis: apples, hearts, bread, more hearts.

You return to your main feed and scroll manically through the photos and video clips there, desperate for a distraction. You see a post featuring a quote from Robin Williams—I think the saddest people always try their hardest to make people happy—and a foggy memory is evoked like the rippling distortion of heat refraction rising up off a freeway.

You think: Didn’t Robin Williams die by suicide because he had a terrible disease?

You go to Google, conduct some basic research, and confirm the details. Then you search: Viserys Targaryen Lewy body dementia. But you find no relevant results.

You open your email, and at last you have your distraction: a reply to a message you sent yesterday night, an invitation for an interview.

~~~~~~~~~~

Her office is on the third floor. Early afternoon daylight floods in through the glass walls; there is a large tropical orange flower in one corner of the room, a specimen that could never survive here in the arid Southwest without shade from the sun and religious misting. Marion May Davis, Mari for short, is in her mid-fifties and has lines in her face and natural grey hair cut into a tidy Anna Wintour bob. She looks her age, and she looks real, two things you liked about her when you found her online. Mari is an agent. Maybe she’ll even be your agent soon.

“Oh, I love Maroon 5,” she sighs romantically as she scrutinizes your resume.

“Me too!” you lie, smiling so forcefully your cheeks are beginning to ache. You don’t want to leave Aegon, but you have to. He’s torturing you, he’s killing you. The Marvel audition is tomorrow, and you cannot bring yourself to care about it. There is a pink neon sign on Mari’s office wall that reads in whimsical cursive: good vibes only. Not terribly original, but you appreciate the sentiment.

You tap your black ballet flats anxiously against the bamboo floor as you watch Mari contemplate your resume. You have hidden your ankle brace in your purse. You are wearing a simple sleeveless grey sheath dress that Baela saw at a Brooks Brothers and bought for you—It’s so classic! she had said—and matching cool-toned eyeshadow: sparkly lilac Betrayal by Urban Decay, silver Iced Out by Huda Beauty.

Mari asks: “Did you have any trouble finding the office?”

“No, not at all! But I did have to park super far away because I am awful at parallel parking, and somehow it feels even hotter than usual here.”

“Well, we’re so far inland.”

You are in Tarzana, and it is Thursday July 10th, and you have the sense that time is rapidly ticking down, not just to the end of the year when your parents will summon you back to Minnesota but to September when Aegon is getting married on Turks and Caicos. From outside you can hear cars and pedestrians on Ventura Boulevard, an east-west asphalt artery of shops, hotels, and offices in northwest Los Angeles, the site of a former ranch established in 1919 by Tarzan author Edgar Rice Burroughs.

Mari puts your resume down on her transparent glass desk, naked except for a MacBook Pro. Frigid air pumps out through the vents on the ceiling. “Okay, I’ll take you.”

“Really?!” you squeal; and yet you cannot ignore that this feels bittersweet. Aegon’s really getting married? I’m really leaving him? “Yay!”

“Yeah, I like your energy. And your outfit is great, very European, very chic. The makeup, well…” Mari chuckles. “They’ll do that for you at shoots. But tone it down a bit more for auditions. They want to see you as a blank slate they can scribble all over.”

“Sure,” you agree instantly. “I’ll do anything you say. I’ll be your best client ever!” I won’t even hook up with you and thereby enrage your significant other!

Mari is typing on her MacBook Pro. “Give me a few days to send your stuff out and see what I can find for you. I love that picture of you with the sunflower…where was it taken?”

“The Flower District,” you say, thinking of the day you went there with Aegon and got ice cream afterwards, and he had remembered that you like vanilla.

“Delightful.” Mari is still typing. “I’m also going to email you the contact info for a friend of mine. He’s a plastic surgeon, he’s fantastic, I recommend him to all my clients. I’d like you to do a consult with him.”

You are ripped out of your not-so-distant memories, your effortful enthusiasm, and you have to be intentional to not seem offended. “Thank you so much, I really appreciate that, but I’m not interested in breast augmentation.”

“Oh no, I was thinking of your face.”

You stare at her. Reflexively, you touch your fingertips to your cheek. “My face? You want me to change…my face…?”

“Not change, dear!” Mari says. “Just enhance. Just make little tweaks here and there. I think you could really benefit from a rhinoplasty, and maybe something around the brows too…a lift? John will know when he examines you. He’s a magician! Have you seen the before and after pictures of Blake Lively? Or Mindy Kaling, or Taylor Swift? You’ll still look like you. You’ll just be an even better version of you!”

Outside, some tiny dog is yapping from a stroller or a purse. In this office, icy air blows down from the ceiling vent. You study Mari: undyed hair, no face or neck lift, probably not even Botox or Juvederm. “But you…you haven’t had any procedures done, have you?”

Mari smiles patiently, like she’s trying to explain a hard truth to a child, the fact that parents don’t always stay together or that pets inevitably die. “I work behind the camera, dear. Not in front of it.” Then she resumes typing on her MacBook Pro.

You watch her for a few seconds, listening to cars whooshing by on Ventura Boulevard. Then you grab your black Michael Kors purse—borrowed from Baela’s closet, at her suggestion—and stand up. Your wounded left ankle gives a shriek of protest. “Thank you for your time, but I don’t think this is a good fit. Have a great weekend!”

“What?” Mari says, peering up incredulously at you from behind her laptop, like she’s not used to being the one who gets dumped. You are already at the doorway.

“Bye!” you call with a wave, and sprint to the elevator at the end of the hall. You hammer the circular button and run inside when the doors open. Once you are alone and descending, listening to an instrumental version of Despacito, you take your ankle brace out of Baela’s Michael Kors purse and put it on. Then the elevator doors open again, and you are in another cold sterile hallway, and you hurry through a glass revolving door and escape out onto Ventura Boulevard.

The sun is blinding, the heat like an oven, your heart pounding heavily in your ribcage; your ankle throbs through the dose of Advil you took this morning. You stand on the sidewalk, jostled by women carrying shopping bags and men striding importantly by as they talk on their phones, and you try to remember which direction you came from.

I don’t want another agent, you think dizzyingly, nauseatingly. I want Aegon. But he’s driving me insane, and he’s hurting me, and soon he’ll be gone.

You get your bearings and walk east. It must be a hundred degrees. The palm trees are sparse and very tall and cast almost no shade; sweat drips down your face, your underarms, the ridge of your spine. You can’t tell if you’re panting because of the heat or because you’re freaking out or both. It’s probably both.

Your phone is ringing. You yank it out of the Michael Kors purse and answer in a breathless huff. “Hello?”

“Hi, honey!” Mom chimes. “How are you?”

“I’m okay,” you say, although you’re certainly not. The sun is beating down like you’re a lizard under a heat lamp. “I just had an interview with—”

“Listen, we have to get you home for bridesmaid dress shopping,” Mom continues briskly. Ambiently, you can hear Clara chatting away about different fabrics, chiffon and tulle and satin and lace. “I’m looking at flights right now. How’s the first week in August?”

“Well, Mom, I’m really not sure because my schedule is changing all the time and I never know when I’m going to have an appointment or an audition and my manager Josh yells at me when I don’t put in enough hours at Cold Stone and—”

“This is important,” Mom snaps. There is the click click click of her manicured fingernails against her laptop keyboard. “Your sister only gets married once.”

“I know it’s important.” But what I’m trying to do out here is important too. “And I’m really happy for her and I’m thrilled about the wedding. I love weddings.”

“Then act like it.”

“I just honestly don’t have a regular schedule right now and missing a week can make a big difference. Do I have to be there in person for the dress thing? Can I just send you my measurements? You and Clara have a vision for this, so just pick whatever you want me to wear.”

Mom sighs impatiently. “No, we can’t do that! Honey, you know you have difficult proportions. We need to see the dress in person and order any alterations.”

“Okay,” you concede, feeling woozy and leaning against a streetlight that burns your arm. “Fine. Yeah. The first week in August is great.”

“And it’s especially vital that you look your best because you’re going to be the maid of honor. Yay! Isn’t that exciting?!”

You touch your furrowed forehead; it’s slick with sweat. Your period started this morning, and that can’t be helping the situation. “Does Clara want me to be her maid of honor?”

Faintly, you can hear Clara saying something about her best friend Kinsley, and your mother shushes her. “It should be her only sister,” Mom tells you.

“…Is that a no? Because Kinsley can do it, I really don’t mind. If I land a role I’m not necessarily going to be able to fly back for planning and parties and stuff—”

“You will be the maid of honor,” Mom insists. “Your father and I are paying for the wedding. We want you to be the maid of honor. Friends come and go, but family is forever. That’s the end of it.”

“Okay,” you say, and it comes out like a whimper; the heat is overwhelming. “Mom, I have to go, I have to try to find my car. I forget where I parked.”

“I’ll email you the tickets once I buy them.”

“Thanks!” you manage weakly, then hang up and wobble on your sprained ankle in the direction of your Honda, eastward, away from the ocean, back towards the Midwest from which you once made your botched exodus.

Suddenly you feel violently ill, and your vision begins to go dark, and you know you need to sit down before you pass out on the sidewalk and roast to death. You dart into the nearest building, a T.J. Maxx, and flee through throngs of shoppers to the furniture section. You collapse into a leopard-print armchair and sit there slumped and gasping, glistening with sweat, the room spinning around you. There is a fawn-colored shag rug on the floor that reminds you of one of Becca’s Pekingese dogs. You lean over and vomit the contents of your stomach onto it: a piece of toast with a teaspoon of peanut butter, a banana, some red grapes, a lot of Diet Coke.

Oh God. Oh no.

You look around to see if anyone has noticed yet; it doesn’t seem like it. Then you quickly roll up the shag rug and shove it under a dresser. You return to your leopard-print armchair and cover your flushed face with your trembling hands, your blood like boiling water beneath your skin.

Do I have to change my face to be an actress?

You shake your head, trying to expel this thought like seagulls from a picnic, sharp bold beaks pecking mercilessly for crumbs.

I have to get out of here. I have to get back to my car.

Your 2003 Honda Accord is parked no less than a ten-minute walk away. You wait a little while to give yourself time to cool down—a T.J. Maxx employee asks if you need assistance and you politely decline, then he frowns down at the floor as if he’s thinking: Isn’t there supposed to be a rug here?—and then you venture back out into the heat. Immediately upon leaving the shade and air conditioning of the T.J. Maxx, your nausea returns with a vengeance and you stumble as the sidewalk sways beneath your black ballet flats. People laugh at you like you’re drunk or high. You retreat back into the T.J. Maxx and seek refuge in the leopard-print armchair.

What am I going to do?

You fumble your phone out of the Michael Kors purse and go to call Baela…then you remember she’s currently on a transcontinental flight to Paris to film Yorgos Lanthimos’s new movie. You call Jace three times, but he doesn’t pick up. Maybe he’s in class. Maybe he’s asleep.

Aegon?

“No,” you mutter to yourself. “No way.” Out of ideas, and not able to think all that well anyway under the present circumstances, you call Mason. He picks up on the second ring.

“Hey!” he says excitedly. “You back in Minnesota?”

“No, sorry, I’m in L.A.”

“Oh.” There’s a pause. “How’s that going?”

“Actually, not that great at the moment.”

“Yeah, you sound weird.”

“I’m really sick. I think it’s the heat. I’m trapped in a T.J. Maxx and I can’t get to my car, and even if I could I’m worried I’d crash while driving home.”

“Damn, that sucks,” Mason says distractedly, and you can hear that he’s typing two thousand miles away in his Minneapolis office.

“What should I do?”

“Call an Uber?”

This is sensible, and yet you moan helplessly in your armchair. A T.J. Maxx employee is sniffing around the dresser where you’ve stowed the soiled shag carpet, grimacing. “A ride all the way down to Harbor Gateway is going to cost over a hundred dollars. And my parents will see the charge on my card. And what if I pass out and the Uber guy robs me?”

“Call your agent?” Mason suggests. “He probably won’t rob you.”

“I can’t call him.”

“Why not? Isn’t that his job, to take care of you?”

You blink dazedly at a rack of baby clothes, sailboats and elephants and ladybugs. “It’s complicated.”

“Well I can’t drive to L.A. to pick you up, so you gotta figure something else out.”

“Okay,” you surrender. “Thanks anyway. Bye.”

“Bye. Let me know next time you’re home for a visit!”

“Totally.” But you have no interest whatsoever; you can’t even envision kissing him. You are, to your misfortune, very much so a one-dude kind of girl, as Aegon put it.

You stall for a moment, opening random apps on your phone, scrolling blindly through Instagram. Now you feel less sick and more exhausted, like you could fall asleep and never wake up, although you’re developing a powerful hammer-like thudding just above your left eye. Another T.J. Maxx employee asks if you need help finding something, and you pretend to be considering buying the leopard-print armchair. A manager is using her radio to ask if anybody knows where the shag rug went. Out of alternatives, you call Aegon.

“Hello?” he says when he picks up, like he’s surprised to see your name on his screen.

“Hi,” you reply miserably. “I’m dying.”

He snorts a laugh. “You’re not dying. Where are you?”

“I’m stranded at a T.J. Maxx in Tarzana. I think I have heat sickness or something. Every time I try to walk to my car I almost pass out.”

“Yeah, you’re not used to temps like this, are you?” Aegon sounds kind, gentle, wise, and you hate how much you want to like him again, to be friends, to be more than that. “Well, you’re in luck, because I’m just finishing up a shoot in Studio City and I can probably be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Cool!” you cheer feebly.

“A T.J. Maxx, right?”

“Yup. On Ventura Boulevard.”

“Okay. See you soon, I’ll let you know when I’m close.”

“Thanks,” you murmur drowsily.

“No problem,” Aegon says, and hangs up.

You drag yourself to the bathroom, splash cold water on your face, gulp some down to clean your mouth out and immediately throw it up into the sink. You hide in a stall and rest your head in your hands for a while—ankle throbbing, skull aching, cramps in your lower belly—and only leave when Aegon texts you that he’s two minutes away. As you stumble past the leopard-print armchair now damp with your sweat, you see an employee discovering the shag rug under the dresser and unrolling it. He recoils and shouts: “What the fuck is that?!”

Just outside the T.J. Maxx, Aegon is double-parked and receiving jeers and honks from his fellow motorists. He ignores them. Aegon has closed the top of his Chrysler Sebring convertible and inside the air conditioning is on full blast, an Arctic tundra, the ice cream freezer at Cold Stone Creamery. You throw yourself limply into the passenger’s seat and pull the door shut, which feels like it takes immense effort. Then Aegon surges into traffic and barrels down Ventura Boulevard. You rest your head against the car window and close your eyes.

Aegon prods you with a large chilled bottle of blue Powerade he must have grabbed from a 7-Eleven or something.

“I can’t drink that,” you say dimly.

“Yes you can.”

“Do you have, like, a sugar-free version or—?”

“Shut up. Drink the Powerade.”

You take the bottle, twist off the top—again, this seems to take far more strength than it should—and swallow several gulps, hoping they’ll stay down. Almost immediately, the hammer strikes just above your orbital socket begin to dissolve away, and you feel a little more alert, and your nausea does not make another appearance.

“Better, right?” Aegon asks.

“Yeah,” you admit, touching your skull in dull amazement.

“It’s the magnesium. It’s good for headaches. And the salt helps you rehydrate. What the hell are you doing all the way up here in Tarzana, anyway?”

You sip your Powerade as you stare out the window, watching buildings and palm trees soar anonymously by. Aegon gets on the 101 heading east towards Elysian Park. You know that’s where he’s taking you without needing to ask. “Do you think there’s something wrong with my face?”

“What?”

“My face. Like my nose and my eyebrows. Do I have weird eyebrows? Is that why no one thinks I can be an actress?”

“Your eyebrows are fine,” Aegon says, glancing over at you, confused. He’s wearing the black suit that he dons for film sets, a skinny tie, a half-untucked white shirt. He notices the brace on your left ankle. “Damn, Sunshine, you’re a mess today. What happened there?”

You drink your Powerade as you debate whether to tell him about Becca. You decide against it. “I tripped and fell because I’m an idiot.”

“Why are you dressed like that?”

“So my new agent will take me seriously.”

Aegon must be startled—he turns to look at you, then back to the rushing five eastbound lanes of the freeway—but he stays calm, dispassionate, like he’s trying not to scare you away. “Is that who told you to cut up your face?”

“Turns out I don’t like her, so. Never mind.”

“Guess you’re stuck with me,” Aegon says, sounding a bit relieved.

“I am.” And maybe you’re relived too. “For now.”

“You down to get lunch?”

“I don’t want to vomit in front of you.”

He smiles. “I’ve seen worse things, I guarantee it.”

“What about my car?”

“Where exactly did you leave it?”

You have to think for a while, finishing the Powerade and letting your mind become useful again, and then you recall that you parked on a side street by a dog daycare, Dog-E-Dayz or Dog-E-Den or something like that.

Aegon picks up his phone and calls his receptionist Brandon. “Hey, Brando! Listen, your favorite client left her car in Tarzana. Yeah, I know. Way out there. So it’s parked near a dog daycare about a half-mile from the T.J. Maxx. Can you look up the address and get a tow guy to pick it up and take it down to the garage at her apartment building? Great. You have the model and plate number and everything? You’re a genius. And I’ll pay you extra for the inconvenience. No, no, I insist. Talk to you later. Bye.”

Then Aegon plugs his phone into the aux, and for some reason he puts on an Eminem playlist, and you doze against the cool clear window until you get to Chinatown.

The waitress Lanying asks Aegon about his siblings—“How is Aemond? What about Helaena? Okay, and what about Daeron?”—and Aegon smiles and nods and patiently reiterates that they’re all fine. You are led to the usual spot by the fish tank, massive black-and-orange oscars floating behind the glass and glowering at you, their bulging eyes reddish and hostile. Soon the table is cluttered with a tea kettle and two cups, wonton soups, your moo goo gai pan, Aegon’s boneless spare ribs. You eat cautiously, each bite slow and groggy. A family seated nearby has a baby girl, and she giggles and smacks the table with her tiny chubby hands each time you wave at her. Aegon watches this, oddly wistful for someone who admittedly has never wanted children.

“Here,” Aegon says, offering you a forkful of his boneless spare ribs. “Eat.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“You look droopy. You need fat and sugar and deliciousness.”

You acquiesce and let him feed you the morsel of pork, sweet and fatty and rich and sublime. You chew very slowly, and still it’s gone too soon.

“You have to eat more,” Aegon says. “I think that was part of the problem today.”

“Thank you for rescuing me. I’m pretty sure it was just the heat. And I was kind of upset about the appointment with the agent lady, and my mom called and stressed me out about Clara’s wedding. And oh, by the way, I got my period so no need to worry about that. Whoo hoo.”

Aegon doesn’t seem to appreciate the joke. He gazes at you thoughtfully, then uses his fork to point at the baby girl at the next table. “Do you want kids?”

“Oh yeah, definitely. I love kids. But I have like fifteen more years to reproduce, and if I want to be an actress I kind of have to do that first.”

“I figured. You worked at summer camps in Watts, right?”

“After-school programs. All the other employees hated me, I never wanted to yell at the kids or tell them what to do, I’d just get down on the ground and play with them. I’m so great at Uno.”

Aegon smiles. “Yeah?”

“And Sushi Go, and Scrabble, and Apples to Apples.”

“Apple girl from Appletown,” Aegon says, skimming the zodiac calendar written in red ink, twelve animals and their descriptions, attributes, shortfalls, perfect mates. Then he taps it. “Which one are you?”

You flinch, cave in, feel tremendously low. He really doesn’t remember. It didn’t matter to him, I didn’t matter to him. You stab at your moo goo gai pan with your fork, looking down so he won’t see how upset you are. “You are so fucking mean.”

But Aegon is bewildered, like he’s not sure what he’s done wrong.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Monday, July 14th, and you are ringing up a Gotta Have It-sized Cookie Doughn’t You Want Some for a Los Angeles Southwest College student when Aegon walks into Cold Stone Creamery, the string of metal bells jangling against the glass door. You go to meet him by the ice cream freezer, where Aegon scans the menu of Signature Creations. He is carrying a manila folder and wearing a yellow t-shirt with a tan jacket thrown over it, dark jeans, and white-and-gold Nike Killshots. He seems confused.

“You don’t want an Our Strawberry Blonde like last time?” you say. You haven’t seen or heard from him since your Marvel audition, which was pretty dismal. Aegon stood in the corner with his arms crossed over his chest, and even though he put on his black sunglasses and grinned at you when it was over, you could tell he didn’t mean it.

“Oh yeah,” Aegon says. “Yeah, I do, thanks. That’d be perfect.”

You make his ice cream, Aegon pays in cash, and then you ask Josh if you can take your fifteen-minute break now. Aegon evidently wants to talk to you; he sits at the table by the window and watches you expectantly. Josh reluctantly agrees and you take a seat across from Aegon. He holds out his spoon and won’t speak to you until you take a bite. Eventually, you do: chunks of fresh strawberries, sticky caramel, rich fluffy whipped topping, jarringly sweet and cold and perfect, even if it’s not what you’d usually order.

“Well, you didn’t get the Marvel job,” Aegon says.

“I’m not shocked. They barely looked at me.”

“But I might have found you something else.”

“A dog food commercial? A brief and soulless flashback of somebody’s dead wife?”

“A feature film,” Aegon says, and you stare numbly at him.

“What?”

“Indie, Sundance. Starring role. First billing. I got you an audition.”

You snatch the balloon down just as it begins to float away. You’re trying to prepare yourself for disappointment. “They’re not going to like me.”

“They might,” Aegon says. He lays the manila folder on the table and slides it over to you. “I’m not supposed to let this out of my office, so don’t lose it.”

“It’s the script for the audition?”

“It sure is.”

This can’t be happening. “How did you get them to agree to put me on the list?”

Aegon shrugs. “I didn’t do anything. They reached out to me.”

You place your palm on the folder to make sure it’s real. “What’s the movie about?”

He smiles as he licks strawberry ice cream from his spoon. “Vampires.”

“It’s horror?”

“Kind of horror. Kind of romance. I think it’s just right for you.”

“When’s the audition?”

“This Saturday.”

“Okay,” you say, savoring it, this liminal hope you can’t stop yourself from feeling. You’ve always been an optimist. Perhaps no number of curses can change that. “Okay. I’ll be ready, I promise.”

“Don’t forget about the charity gala,” Aegon reminds you. “It’s Saturday night, the same day. But there are like ten hours in between so it shouldn’t be a problem, even if the audition runs late.”

You peer through the window at pedestrians walking by outside. It’s twilight, and streetlights are turning on, and neon tubes glow with cold chemical fire. “I don’t think I want to go to that.”

“You have to. It’s work. I can introduce you to industry people.”

“Is Becca going to be there?”

“Of course. But she won’t bother you.”

Why does he cheat? you think forlornly, and then you remember something Aegon said the day you first met: Life is short. I try to keep it delicious. “I’ll go,” you agree under duress.

“You sure will,” Aegon says, and scrapes the last of the ice cream from his bowl and gives it to you, his plastic spoon heavy with melting pink magic.

When you return to your apartment well after 11 p.m., Jace is sprawled across the orange couch in his pajamas and watching Blade. He is noisily slurping Pad Thai from a takeout container. You kick off your work Sketchers and remove your ankle brace. It still twinges, but you’re healing.

Abruptly, you recall Aegon’s paranoia concerning Jace’s presence at your 4th of July festivities. “Hey, Jace?” you say, getting an idea.

He glances lazily over at you. His dark hair falls in chaotic curls around his face. “Yeah?”

“I have to go to a charity gala on the 19th. That’s this Saturday. It’s very fancy and very formal, and I don’t really want to go alone and have no one to talk to. Do you want to go with me?”

You had imagined this might take some convincing, and yet Jace is immediately amenable and has only one question. “Will there be free food?”

“Yeah, I assume so. Probably an open bar too.”

“I’m in.” Then he winks and makes a joke. “It’s a date.”

[azsazz]

Might Bite Back

Vampire!Azriel x Human!Reader

Summary: Anon Reqs: "how do you think vamp az would react it he lost control of his blood thirst and accidentally hurt reader?" and "OMG a fic where Vamp!Az loses control and accidentally hurts reader and then he realises what hes done!! I LIVE for those fics, we need more vamp az!!!!!!!"

Warnings: Biting, blood, vampire things.

Word Count: 2,544

Notes: This belongs on the vampire Azriel timeline.

_________________________________________

Something startles you awake.

It isn’t a noise, it’s the lack thereof that startles you awake. 

There’s an eerie silence to the black consuming the room. You curse yourself for falling asleep when you’ve been so desperately aware of the fact that he lurks at night, watching, waiting.

Your body is rigid, heart stuttering loudly in your chest, and the only part of you that moves is your eyelids as you blink wearily, sleep still clinging to your body, your mind searching through a hundred scenarios, trying to pinpoint what is going on. 

This is different from the silence you’ve slowly become accustomed to, when you were taken in the dead of night by the undead. His fangs had gleamed in the moonlight and you’d screamed so loudly that the trees surrounding the secluded home shook. Crows cawed in warning, flocking from trees and night creatures startled from the woods. Your blood wooshed in your ears like the wind pulling your hair from your nape, carrying your sickly sweet scent to his parted, hungry lips.

Your heart pounds in your chest exactly like that night. When you had felt like nothing more than prey.

Turning your head slowly, as if the slightest movement might make the darkness snap, you look towards the door. The chair you’d stuffed beneath the knob is still in place, and though you know the flimsy construction of wood would not withstand an ounce of his force, it serves as a piece to make noise should it shift, in case you’ve fallen asleep, much like you had tonight.

You force your rampant heart to calm, ears straining over the waves of blood rushing through them as you listen for the silent entity sharing the home with you. You’ve picked up on the noises that you could, trained your ear to hear the signs of the vampire that has locked you in this gothic tower. The whisper of fabric on cold skin, since his silent steps are impossible to pick up. The shifting of the air in the rooms as he moves, growing colder with his menacing presence. The rustle of his wings when he stretches them in frustration. The shivers crawling up your spine whenever he’s near.

But right now, there’s nothing. 

“Azriel?” you ask into the darkness, and you sound nothing more than a terrified child. There are no monsters lying beneath your bed, waiting to snatch you up by your ankles. No, this monster roams the large home freely, sharp teeth on display so that you know exactly what he can do. The only time you’re even a smidge safe is when the sun blinds through curtains you force open daily, but even the sweltering rays are not here to help you now. You are petrified beyond all belief, despite the softer instances you’ve seen of the slightly unhinged vampire who’s trapped you in what you know will be your grave.

There is no answer to your call, but you don’t expect one. He’s a predator first and foremost, and he thrives off of the quickening pace of your heart, the sound of your blood rushing through your body, the shuddering of your bones as you tremble. You catch him sometimes, when you quiver before him, how he licks his lips, fangs pressing into the soft skin of his unfairly luscious lips.

Your mind is screaming at you not to move, not to get up and find out what’s awoken you and has you feeling this unease. Surely, Azriel cannot be in danger. He is the danger. 

No one has tried to breach your room, the chair hooked up against the door, and you wince at the scrape it makes when you pull it away and turn the knob.

The door gives easily, almost swooping in on a phantom wind. It’s not him. Your body is too accustomed to his presence by now. And the lack thereof a darkness that rattles you so deeply it makes your thighs clench, you know he is not near.

The hall is long and dark, freezing cold. So much so that you can see your breath puffing before your face. Azriel doesn’t understand that you need heat to survive in your inferior human body, and you won’t tell him. Maybe it will become so cold at night that you’ll fall into a peaceful slumber, each shallow breath icing over until your heart freezes in your chest. Then, you won’t be trapped anymore.

But there’s a part of you that’s driven down the hall, seeking him out. A part of you that you shove away when you wonder if he’s alright. A part of you that likes knowing that he’s there, watching you when you’re doing the most mundane things to keep yourself from getting bored to death in this hell. When you read in front of the window, or cook yourself something in the kitchen. When you put on a particularly expensive dress for what? For…for him.

Your footsteps are silent against the carpets but to him you know you sound as if you’re stomping around the corridor, making as much noise as possible. It’s normally your tactic during the days, wanting him to know your displeasure for this place. The thought of him being able to hear your soft steps, your hardly there breaths makes you quake in both fear and excitement, knowing how he always knows your location, and can seek you out no matter where you run.

“Azriel?” you call again, softly. It’s hardly a whisper at all, and there is no response.

Your fingers tremble where they’re pressed to the wall, following the darkened corridor. They brush over the frames of artwork curling at the edges, paint dusty and faded with time. You caress the wooden railing, following it down the staircase, ignoring the nagging in your mind that’s telling you to run.

A fire crackles in the hearth and you pause, confused. All this time Azriel has never kept a fire going, not even per your request with chattering teeth and bluish fingers. He doesn’t like them, and you don’t ask why. You don’t care why. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

You don’t know what possesses you to move closer to it when the popping of logs is a clear warning sign.

Pausing on the last step, foot hovering before the floor, the hair at the nape of your neck prickles. It winds down your spine like an icy rope, settling into the very marrow of your bones. It doesn’t feel right. Nothing feels right.

Before you can whirl around, race back up the staircase to your room, a voice sounds softly in your ear. “You smell impeccable, crow.”

You whirl, a scream tearing from your lips as you tumble from the stair. You catch yourself on frozen toes, staring up at Azriel with wide eyes, who is shrouded in shadow. He’s standing with preternatural stillness, spine tall. His wings are tucked tightly behind his back, and the talons stick high above his head like horns. 

“Azriel?” you ask, taking a step back. Two.

He doesn’t answer, he follows. Azriel takes one step forward for every one you move away, towards the sitting room with the fire. Orange light bathes him, and you can feel it roaring hot at your back.

As the firelight washes over his stoic face, your stomach roils in horror. This is not the Azriel who had stolen you away, who had given you dresses and your own space, who tried to make you feel less like you were robbed of your former life and more like this had been a choice.

But none of it has been a choice. And you are reminded just what he is capable of at the sight of red-rimmed eyes, the lack of color, the baring of sharp fangs that call your name. 

Bloodlust.

His pupils have swallowed the stroke of hazel completely. You watch as his fingers curl and his nostrils flare when your heart triples in pace. His unfocused gaze sharpens on the column of your throat where your pulse pushes through your skin. 

“Please,” you beg, but he doesn’t seem to hear you. Azriel is no longer there, instead, the very beast that lurks inside of him has taken control and is thirsty for blood.

Azriel lunges and you scream, pivoting on your heel. If you can make it to the iron poker by the fire you may be able to slow him down, stun him as you claw at the front door to try and get away. It’s no ashwood, which would kill the vampire who is much too fast for you to even take a step, grabbing you and pulling you back into his chest.

You thrash, screaming, but your efforts are futile. No one can hear you in the depths of these woods. Your strength is no match for him.

Azriel must be in there somewhere, as he is not crushing your body into dust. No, he wants you otherwise unharmed except for holes in your neck. That, he doesn’t mind seeing, tasting. It’s exactly what he’s taken you for, isn’t it? Just when you’d begun thinking that he might not be as bad as the stories you were told when you were young, tales of bloodthirsty creatures who would tear your throat out to taste your pretty blood.

Now is your time.

His grip is strong around your wrists. You kick back with your leg but can hardly reach him. He is immune to your weak hits. You can feel him leaning over you, closer and closer until his fangs are a whisper against your skin, a tease pinpricking right over your thrumming pulse.

“Devine,” he whispers, and the sensuality of it rips through your body like a lance. As you part your lips to exhale another beg, he bites. You scream.

You tremble in his iron hold. His fingers feel like icepicks as they dig into your flesh. Your scream melts into something long as heat courses through your body, the adrenaline and sting of his teeth burning you to your core. It feels…good. 

It feels like you’re walking on flames, yet they aren’t burning you. They’re caressing you in the best way, holding you, cradling you like a babe. For the first time since you’ve arrived at this horrible place, you feel warm. Like Azriel is embracing you, and he is, because you’ve stopped fighting. His hands are around your waist, holding you tightly, and yours are buried in his thick hair. Heat courses through your bones, pooling between your thighs. Your mind whirls with pleasure as he suckles, the hot press of his tongue lapping your skin, mirrored in the pulse of your throbbing clit.

You relish in the feeling. His body pressed tightly to yours, the strain of his cock through the thin fabric of your nightgown. You can feel the way his muscles loosen the longer he leeches from your neck. 

And you enjoy it until you become woozy, when the euphoria seeps from your blood back into his mouth. When his grip feels like each individual finger is imprinted on your bones. Your neck throbs painfully, and your vision is blackening with shadows in the corners. Your head lolls a little, unable to keep it up.

“Azriel,” you choke, but it’s hard to get your lips to form the words. It’s difficult to do anything except lean into him, to let him take his fill. But you have to try, because this is not how you want it all to end. “You’re…” you huff a painful exhale, “You’re hurting me.”

He goes still, bones popping with the effort. His hold on your falters and you sway, and as badly as he wants to pull away, to run and hide in a whisper of darkness, he catches you, because he’s harmed you and the bloodlust has been wiped away by your words alone. Words he swore he’d never pull from you. Words that will haunt him for centuries.

You’re hurting me.

His vision clears, goes sharp, staring right at the two holes in your neck, thick, red blood still dribbling from the punctures. The beast in him rages to lean down and lick you, keep sucking at the marks until your already slowing heart stops completely. He wants to feel the last beat of your heart beneath his hands, his lips, but he forces himself to do the one thing he hadn’t been able to do tonight: focus.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers in horror, when his mind catches up to what he’s looking at. You, looking so broken and fragile in his arms, pale. Your head rests against his chest, eyes fluttering with the strain to keep them open. Your mouth parts but no words come out. 

Azriel wants so badly to drop you, to get away from you, because he’s so stupidly allowed his bloodlust to consume him. He selfishly thought that he would be okay for a few more days, that he wouldn’t have to hunt in the aftermath of a brutal storm because all of the animals would be hidden away. He’s been stupid to think that, and the worst has happened.

He shoves the couch closer to the fire with a shove of his boot. The logs pop and he winces, hating the sound. He’d started the fire as a way to lure you down, the warmth calling to you. It was as much of a present for you as it was a distraction for him. A warning he was giving himself, not to enter the room with the fire roaring in the hearth. He hates the way the flames taunt him. You hadn’t made it to the room before your scent had stuck in his throat and his beast caught a whiff. 

Your body looks frail when he sits you down. Your eyes have closed and your lips have lost color. Azriel knows that if his heart was capable of pulsing, it would be a pounding drum in his chest, beating with worry. He races to your rooms, ripping your blankets from your mattress and is back by your side in a matter of seconds. He tucks you in tight, worrying over you as if you are a sick babe. But you’re not, you’re a pretty little thing that he’d taken in the dead of night for his own selfish reasons. For company, for your heart. But never for your blood. 

This is not how any of this was supposed to go.

Azriel’s mind races with thought. The wounds on your neck have stopped leaking, and they’ll close up quicker if he just licks over it one more time but he can’t force himself, not when he’d violated you like this, hurt you. He needs to leave. He needs to get as far away from you as he can. 

The lethargic beating of your heart tells him that you’re going to be okay. You will be wobbly for a few days, throat in pain, but you’ll live. He didn’t go too far tonight. He didn’t drink you dry.

So Azriel does the only thing that he can. The only thing that he’s ever been good at. 

He leaves.