#n the crashes were actually getting less so i had a good feeling

[appreciatingtokrev]

i think my phone is forever dead and i am genuinly crying about it

[parfaitblogs]

perfect night 𝜗𝜚 s. reid x reader

in which your boyfriend pays not enough attention to you when you especially need it. 

spencer reid x fem!reader. fluff. 0.5k words. established relationship. reader is (semi) drunk and wearing makeup.

a/n: wrote this in 45 minutes. you can tell. i have a super crazy weird condition where i have to write fluffy drunk!r x spencer every two weeks or else ill die. apparently. here’s a draft because i feel like i need to post but also i have nothing to post..

spencer reid who looks up when his door handle rattles at the late hour of three a.m., though concern is nowhere to be found in his body because he can hear giggles and incoherent mumbling from the other side. who pretends to be engrossed in his work when you finally stumble inside, humming of the last song you remember listening to — poker face? maybe. you're not too sure, actually. your lips wet from licking them too many times, the top of them stained from reapplying your lip liner in your phone camera while drunk — you cannot properly do it in that state. 

spencer reid who doesn't even flinch when you slur out a 'hiiii' and climb into his lap at his desk, and only wraps one arm around your waist, pulling you into his chest with an acknowledging hum. who looks over your shoulder as he continues to scribe away at the paper in front of him, while you kiss all over his neck. spencer reid who turns his attention to you when your index finger pokes into his shoulder, asking 'what's wrong, honey?'. who laughs at you when you huff that he isn't paying attention to you, before explaining that he 'needs to finish this case report'.

spencer reid who compromises that by the time you finish showering and getting ready for bed, he will be done, and then he's all yours for the rest of the night. who laughs again when you very happily get off of him, and bounce towards the bathroom — you did crash into the wall right next to the door (he was concerned until you started laughing at yourself about it). who smiles when you return smelling less like alcohol and more like that body wash he oh-so loves, in his shirt which was another can of worms that had him smiling. 

who lets you climb back into his lap — now on the couch — and finally, finally pays you some proper attention. hands bunching the fabric of his shirt around your hips, staring at your still tipsy-induced grin. who traces circles on your hip bones and asks 'did you have a good night?'. who listens intently as you tell him everything that happened — or, as much as you can remember. which wasn't a lot, but he didn't seem to mind your long pauses and 'wait let me think's cutting up your explanation. 

spencer reid who waited until you confirmed you had finished telling him everything before he kissed you — an action you were sure he had wanted to do for awhile (he always waited until you had finished talking to kiss you. he refused to cut you off). who swallowed your laughter and randomised noises and huffs time and time again, until you were falling quiet and, eventually, limp. 

and spencer reid who must have taken you to bed when you fell asleep, because you woke up under blankets and to the smell of peppermint from the diffuser across the room for your head.

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly ♡

[coffeeshades]

credits to the gif maker!

GUILTY AS SIN...? - PART I

summary: one summer with the man you can't have, but can't stop thinking about.

pairing: cillian murphy x popstar!reader

word count: 5.5k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). mentions of sex. angst. cussing, slight age gap, mentions of alcohol and divorce. no use of y/n, heavily inspired by ts and ttpd. if i missed something please let me know. (also this is a work of fiction, none of it reflects how i feel about the people mentioned in this, most importantly cillian's wife, who im sure is a sweetheart irl. it's fiction, just relax and enjoy it, and if not, move along, friends.)

a/n: hi everyone! this turned out pretty long so i will be splitting it into parts so it's easier. next part will be posted soon. i hope you all have as much fun reading this as i had writing it. enjoy!

part two

The breeze riffled through your hair as you drove, the sun warming your skin through the open windows. The Irish countryside stretching out before you, lush and green, with rolling hills and quaint villages dotting the landscape. The scent of wildflowers and the sound of nothing but the wind in the trees filled your senses.

It was rare, really. The silence, the feeling of complete freedom, and the solitude that enveloped you. A fleeting escape from the chaos of your everyday life.

The ping of your phone interrupted the peaceful moment. You tapped on the pop-up notification after briefly glancing at the directions to your destination. It was a message from Cillian. Well, two, actually. One was asking how far you were, and the other was a Spotify link followed by a question mark. Ever since he started hosting his bbc radio show, he's been sending you potential songs for his playlists to get your opinion. Not that he needs it anyway. But you always appreciate being included in his process.

Your lips curled into a smile as you clicked on the link. The familiar sound of The Blue Nile's "The Downtown Lights" flooded the car, instantly making you feel a wave of nostalgia. It's been ages since you've listened to that song. The synth-pop melody carries you up the pine-dotted path to where his house perches atop a hill, overlooking the crashing waves below. You've been here a couple of times, and yet it never gets less breathtaking. The Victorian architecture contrasting beautifully with the rugged coastline, creating a scene straight out of a painting.

The car glides right past the wrought iron gates, and you cut the engine in front of the stone steps leading up to the grand entrance. You shoot Cillian a quick text letting him know you're here, unbuckle your seat belt, and hop out of the car.

The June sun beats down on your skin instantly, heat radiating off the cobblestones as you open the backdoor to look through your bag for a hair tie. The smell of saltwater mingles with the sound of gulls overhead, sending you into sensory overload. "Gotcha," you mutter to yourself as you finally find the hair tie and pull your hair back into a loose bun.

"You drove here?" you hear him call out from behind you, his voice tinged with surprise. "And you're alone?" you turn around to see Cillian walking towards you, a curious expression on his face.

"I actually had to throw a tantrum to convince them to let me come alone," you reply with a chuckle, feeling a sense of pride at your small victory. "I was like, It's Ireland. What's the worst that could happen?"

Being who you are means being guarded against any potential danger or harm at all times, being driven to almost everywhere, and always having a security team around.

Cillian laughs, a sound that makes your heart flutter and makes you want to hear it again and again. "Well, I'm glad you made it here in one piece, love," he says with a grin. "You're not a very good driver."

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment. You did regret your decision to drive from the airport 10 minutes later when you realized you were on the wrong side of the road. But he didn't need to know that.

"I made it in one piece, didn't I?" you playfully retort, trying to salvage your wounded pride. Cillian chuckles and shakes his head with a twinkle in his eye. You stare at each other for what feels like an eternity. He looks good, you thought. Unbelievably good. Well rested. His jet black hair was perfectly styled, even though you know he didn't put any effort into it—the slightest hint of silver at the temples, his sharp jawline, and those piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through you. Though they looked a little tired, as if he had been through a lot since the last time you saw him.

You quickly avert your gaze, feeling a rush of heat on your cheeks.

"It's good to see you," you finally manage to say, trying to sound casual. Cillian's smile softens, and he replies, "It's good to see you too." He opens his arms, inviting you in for a hug. The soft fabric of his t-shirt brushes against your skin as you embrace him, and for a moment, everything feels right in the world.

"Come on, let's get inside," he says, leading you towards the house. Once inside, you make your way to the kitchen. The house was quiet; you wondered if anyone else was home. Cillian's family wasn't by any means loud or boisterous, but the silence felt heavier than usual.

"You hungry, love?" Cillian asks, opening the fridge, pulling out a white ceramic container, and setting it up on the kitchen island. You take a seat on one of the stools while he stands across from you.

"For something sweet?" you smile, seeing the container filled with what seems to be a piece of strawberry sponge cake. His mom must've made it. "Always," you reply. He hands you a spoon and takes one for himself, the two of you sharing the dessert in comfortable silence.

Until he broke it.

"How was Madrid?" he asks softly.

"It was good, great crowd," you reply, taking another bite of the dessert. "But tiring," you add, feeling the exhaustion of the long trip settling in.

"How many nights did you perform?"

"Four."

"Jesus, that's quite a lot, isn't it?"

Your eyes meet his; confusion clear in your expression. "You think that's a lot? Didn't you used to do four or five nights in a row of the same play?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. "for months…?

"Yeah, but that was a different kind of exhaustion," he explains, taking another bite. "Performing the way you do in front of a live audience for three hours is a whole different ball game, love."

Love.

There it was again. That godforsaken term of endearment that he seemed to throw around so casually. It made your heart race every time he said it, even though you knew it probably meant nothing to him. But the way he looked at you now, with a hint of admiration in his eyes, made you wonder if maybe—

"Want the last bite?" he offered, taking you out of your thoughts. He pushed the container towards you, a small smile playing on his lips. His gaze was intense, as if silently urging you to take it.

"Oh, hello," a voice exclaimed from behind you, breaking the moment. You drop the spoon on the counter, a little startled. As if you were caught in the act of something forbidden. You turned around to see Yvonne, Cillian's wife. She said your name with a surprised tone, making you feel guilty for some reason. "I didn't know you were here," she continued, her eyes flickering between you and her husband.

You started to rise from your seat, confusion clouding your thoughts. That's weird. Cillian usually lets his wife know when you're visiting, but this time it seems like he didn't. She walked towards you, enveloping you in a hug. "When did you get here?" she said.

"Not long ago," you replied, relieved that she didn't seem upset. "I, uh, wanted to take a break and thought Ireland might be a good place to do that," you added, hoping to diffuse any tension that may have arisen. She nodded understandingly. "And you're staying here?"

"Oh, no, no," you quickly assured her. "I rented a place nearby, so you don't have to worry about me."

"Nonsense," Cillian interjected. "You can stay here. There's plenty of room."

"She's already paid for it, Cillian," Yvonne retorted, giving him a stern look.

Something was definitely off.

This was the last thing you wanted. You've specifically chosen the cottage for two reasons. First, to have space. The whole point of this trip was to finally have peace and write music. You've been stuck for months, not being able to find inspiration in your usual surroundings. Everything felt dull inside you all day—an emptiness that was smothering.

Second, you needed to stay the fuck away from Cillian. Being close to him was dangerous territory, one you didn't want to navigate right now. The plan was to come and visit and occasionally hang out and that's it. The thought of being in such close quarters with him was overwhelming. Staying here meant risking your heart and sanity.

You hesitated, also not wanting to intrude on their space, but Cillian insisted.

"Okay…How about if I stay for a couple of days and then move to the cottage?" you suggested, hoping to compromise. "Sounds perfect to me," he said.

This was going to be a long summer.

For the next few days, you dream too much, don't write enough, and try to find inspiration everywhere. As you settled into the routine of staying at Cillian's, you found yourself enjoying the peaceful surroundings and his company more than you expected. The days seemed to blend together, filled with laughter, deep conversations, and stolen glances that left your heart racing.

But you also felt constantly distracted by his presence, making it difficult to focus on your writing or anything else, for that matter.

All you could think about was him.

The piano room surrounded you with its warm, inviting atmosphere, and you found yourself drawn to it more often than not. The big windows overlooking the garden let in streams of sunlight, casting a warm glow over the bookshelf. You felt the softness of the carpet as you sat on the grand piano bench, running your fingers along the keys absentmindedly.

You started humming a tune that had been stuck in your head for days, the words appearing softly and effortlessly as you played:

Please

I've been on my knees

Change the prophecy

Don't want money

Just someone who wants my company

[Hum, Hum, Hum]

Who do I have to speak to

About if they can redo

The prophecy?

The humming went on whenever you didn't know what to say next, filling in the gaps between the notes on the piano and the lyrics:

A greater woman has faith

[Hum, Hum, Hum]

I'm so afraid I sealed my fate

No sign of soulmates

I'm just a paperweight

[Hum, Hum, Hum]

Spending my last coin so someone will tell me

It'll be ok

[Hum, Hum, Hum]

The melody filled the room until you stopped abruptly, frustrated that the lyrics weren't coming as easily as before. You closed your eyes with a groan, trying to clear your mind. "Fuck," you muttered under your breath, elbows resting on the keys of the piano.

"You good?" Cillian's rough voice broke through your frustration, causing you to look up and offer a weak smile. You don't know how long he's been standing there or how much he heard of your struggles. "Just hitting a wall with this song," you admitted, running a hand through your hair.

"Ah, I see," he nodded sympathetically. He moved towards the records stacked on the shelf and pulled one out, placing it on the turntable. "I don't want to mess with your creative process or anything, but maybe a break with some music will help," he suggested.

Radiohead's "Fake Plastic Trees" began to play, taking over the room with its haunting melody.

"So you play one of the saddest songs ever?" you deadpanned, "Thanks."

He chuckled softly, "You were playing some pretty intense stuff; I figured it would fit right in."

Oh, so he did hear you.

"Ah, I know it's different from my usual stuff," you said quietly, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious about your music. "I might scrap that one. They might not be onboard with the change."

"And why's that?"

Thom Yorke's voice faded into the background as you contemplated his question, unsure of how to respond.

You shrugged, "I listen to sad music, not make it."

"I liked what I heard," he reassured you, "and change is good. It keeps things interesting."

His low voice was soothing, and you found yourself feeling more at ease with the idea of trying something new. Pop has been your comfort zone for so long, it's what stands out of you, but most importantly, it's what sells. At least, that's what's important to the industry. Maybe it was time to push yourself out of it.

"I guess you're right," you replied, a faint smile creeping onto your face.

"As always," he said, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. He stood leaning against the table where the record player sat, arms crossed, looking as if he had too many things to say and not enough words for them.

"Would this be a good time to ask you if everything's okay?" you inquired, noticing the weight of unspoken thoughts in his eyes. "With Yvonne, I mean," you added, nervous to bring up the topic.

That first day, when you arrived at the house, you could sense there was something going on between them. Something bad. The tension in the air was so obvious, but you didn't want to pry. However, as the days went by, it became increasingly difficult to ignore the fact that she hadn't been around or the absence of a certain ring on his finger.

"And here, I thought you were never going to ask," he replied, his words laced with sarcasm.

"I was waiting for you to bring it up," your voice trailed off, unsure of how to proceed. "I-I didn't want to overstep."

He studied you for a moment, or at least, you assumed that was what he was doing. Finally, he averted his gaze and cleared his throat,"We've separated."

A cold feeling settled in your chest as you processed his words. The reality of the situation hit you like a ton of bricks, and suddenly everything made sense. "Cillian," is all you managed to say, the concern evident in your voice.

He still wouldn't look at you. Knowing him, in moments like this, he wouldn't want to be coddled or pitied, so you save your apologies for later.

"What happened?"

He waved his hand dismissively, still avoiding your gaze. "Nothing, really," he said, his tone final. He didn't look upset, but rather resigned to the situation. "It hadn't been working for a long time; we both knew it was coming. I guess we were holding on for the boys more than anything." You could see the sadness in his eyes, despite his attempt to appear nonchalant. The weight of his words hung in the air, leaving you feeling defeated and unsure of what to say next. You don't think there's anything you can say that will make this or him feel better.

And boy, did you wish you could take away his pain with just a few words.

Cillian walked slowly over the piano, stopping in front of it. He streched his arms over the wooden soundboard, gripping the edges tightly as if seeking some sort of solace in the instrument. He finally looked at you.

"Why didn't you say anything, Cill?" you asked softly, "I would've—"

"You would've what?" he interrupted, his voice strained with emotion. "I didn't want to worry you, you have more important things than my marital issues."

You could see the pain in his eyes, and it tore at your heart to see him suffering in silence. "You're my friend. These things are important to me, Cill," you said gently, reaching out to touch his hand in a gesture of comfort. He flinched slightly at your touch, but then relaxed, leaning into your hand.

He didn't say anything, but you knew he appreciated your words. You could tell by the way his shoulders slumped in relief and the way his fingers loosened their grip on the edge of the piano.

One morning, you woke up to the wind gently rustling through the trees outside your windows. The morning light was clear and clean, leaking through the glass and falling against the walls of the room in soft patterns. It felt too early to be awake, too peaceful to disturb the tranquility of the moment.

You roll over to look at the little clock on the bedside table: 6:20 AM. It wasn't worth trying to go back to sleep, so you threw the covers and climbed out of bed, feeling the cool wood floor beneath your feet as you walked to the bathroom.

You splash cold water on your face and brush your teeth, trying to wake yourself up fully. Holding up your hair, you tie it into a ponytail while walking over the bedside table to grab your phone and airpods. You put one in your ear and hit shuffle on one of your morning playlists. You couldn't function without some music. "Keep On Loving You" by Cigarettes After Sex starts playing.

On your way to the kitchen, you walked by Cillian's room and noticed the door was slightly ajar. Who the hell sleeps with their door open? Psychos, probably. Curiosity getting the best of you, you peeked inside to see him sprawled out on his bed, body illuminated by the soft morning light filtering through the curtains—characteristic warm and cool shades revealing every hollow and speck of bare muscle. He slept with every limb stretched out, a stark contrast to his usual composed demeanor. It was a rare sight, quite poetic.

He looked so peaceful, completely unaware of your presence. So you let your mind wander.

You imagined yourself crossing the room, pulling yourself on top of him. You imagined the way his bare body would look beneath you, his chest rising and falling with each breath, his dark hair messy around his face, his skin warm against yours. His hands—rough and soft at the same time—running over your thigh, your breast, your neck. You could almost feel the heat of his touch, the intensity of his gaze as he looked up at you.

But then reality snapped back into focus.

"Fuck," you muttered under your breath. This was just a fantasy, a dangerous game to play with someone who was somewhat off-limits. But truth be told, the temptation was becoming harder to resist with each passing moment. It was all you could think about ever since he told you about his troubled marriage.

It took a long time for your heartbeat to slow. You headed to the kitchen to get some coffee, hoping that the caffeine would help clear your mind. As you rummage through the cabinets for a mug, his voice startles you from behind. "Need some help with that?" he asks, making you jump.

For a moment you thought you were still imagining things, but you turn around to see him standing there with a t-shirt on as opposed to five minutes ago. Great, him walking around shirtless in his kitchen, sleepy-eyed, messy hair, and rough morning voice would've been lethal.

"I've got it, thanks," you reply, shaking the mug slightly in your hand. You quickly pour yourself some coffee and try to focus on the task at hand: looking for the sugar.

"Sleep well?" he asks, voice still husky from sleep, his accent more prominent. He's rifling through the cabinet for a mug of his own. You can't help but notice the way his muscles flex under his dark t-shirt as he reaches up. You hum in agreement, trying to hide your blush as you take a sip of your coffee. "You?"

"Grand," he replies, pouring himself a cup of coffee and leaning against the counter. You exchange small talk about the upcoming day, but your mind keeps drifting back to how good he looks in the morning light.

"Any plans for today other than locking yourself in the piano room?" he teases, and you shoot him a playful glare. "Maybe I'll actually venture outside for once," you quip, laughing.

"How does the beach sound like?" he asks, "The boys are coming over, and they're bringing some friends, and I thought a trip would be a nice change of scenery."

"I could use some sun," you admit, feeling a smile tug at your lips.

"Let's make it a beach day then," he suggests, setting his mug on the sink. "We leave at 10, piano woman."

"Ha ha, very funny," you say sarcastically, rolling your eyes. "But I'll hold you to it, annoying man," you reply.

"Annoying man?" he repeats, raising an eyebrow. "I thought I was your favorite person."

"Only on days that end in 'y'."

•••

"Are you done with your sad boy music?"

Cillian bursts out laughing, the sound taking you by surprise. He's been playing Radiohead on repeat for the whole car ride, and you were starting to feel like you were in a melancholy music video. "I like their music as much as the next person, but I think I need a break from the sadness," you say.

"Fine, fine," Cillian concedes, reaching for his phone to change the song. The bleak atmosphere in the car lifts as "Linger" by The Cranberries starts playing, filling the space with a more pleasant vibe. Cillian glances at you, he's wearing dark shades that hide his eyes, but you can still see his stoic expression softening as he catches you smiling at the change in music.

"Better?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Instead of answering, you start silently singing along to the lyrics, gesticulating dramatically for added effect. Cillian smiles at your antics, his own lips twitching in amusement as he watches you. The boys were so caught up in their conversation with their friends in the backseat that you were pretty sure they weren't even paying attention to the music or your impromptu performance. With a small smile on your face, you face out the window and enjoy the rest of the car ride in content silence.

When you arrive at your destination, all of you unbuckle your seat belts once Cillian puts the Bronco in park. You all pile out of the car, stretching your legs and taking in the sights around you. You close your eyes for a second and take a breath. The sea air—you loved that smell.

•••

A few hours later, after countless swims and some snacks, you find yourself lying on a beach towel, book in hand, feeling the warmth of the temperature on your skin. You're reading a book you picked up at an airport several months ago by Elin Hilderbrand, or the queen of beach reads, as many call her. You were completely engrossed in the story until you felt Cillian settling down next to you.

His hair was damp from the water, and his skin was slightly glistening. Gosh, he looked absolutely stunning. "Mind if I join you?" he asks.

"Not at all," you reply, closing the book and sitting up. "Having fun?"

"Lots," he says with a smile, reaching over to grab his sunglasses. The two of you sit in comfortable silence. The laughter and chatter of his sons and friends coming from the water redirects your attention back to the beach scene before you. You look back at Cillian, his eyes fixed on his sons.

"They love you, you know," you say softly, watching the genuine joy on his face as he watches his children.

"I don't know if I'm doing it right," he says, eyes still fixed on the boys. "I worry I might've fucked them up by letting my relationship with their mother fall apart."

He continues, "Sometimes I feel they resent me for it."

"Why do you feel that way?"

"I don't know, they just seem distant sometimes. Like they're holding back."

"Hey, that's normal for kids to have mixed feelings about their parents' separation. I was so happy when mine got divorced because it meant no more fighting, but it was also tough to adjust to the changes. It's very conflicting stuff," you say, huffing a small laugh. "Also, they're teenagers now, right? That's a tough age to navigate even without the added stress of divorce."

Cillian nods in agreement, exhaling out a yeah.

You squint against the sunlight beaming behind his head before continuing.

"You're a great dad, you always have been. Just show up and be there for them when they need you, even if they don't always seem to appreciate it. They'll remember it in the long run," you offer, remembering how much your own father's presence meant to you after your parents' divorce. "And I'm not a parent, but what parent feels like they're doing everything right all the time, anyway?"

Cillian turns to look at you. He studies your face for a moment before offering a small smile. "I guess you're right," he says sincerely.

"Fork found in kitchen," you retort, breaking the tension with a bit of humor.

He chuckles, "That's clever."

"Well," you continue, "I've been accused of many things over the years, but being unoriginal isn't one of them."

He laughs. Just like he did back in the car: a genuine, carefree laugh that makes you feel a little lighter.

"Want to go for one last swim, piano woman?"

You roll your eyes. "Will you stop calling me that?"

"Not likely," Cillian replies with a grin. "It's too fitting."

You stand up and stretch. You're wearing a one-piece teal-ish swimsuit that you swear you only chose based on comfort and not because it makes your ass and breasts look fantastic. Cillian's eyes linger on you for a moment before he looks away, and you swear you can see a hint of a blush on his cheeks. He doesn't move.

"Are you coming or…?"

"Right, one last swim," he finally says, standing up and following you towards the water.

Maybe that one last swim wasn't a great idea after all.

And why is that?

Because not even five minutes into the water, you thought it would be a good idea to jump from a high rock, and now you're sitting in the car with your knee scrapped, throbbing in pain, and regretting your impulsive decision.

•••

"You're so fuckin' stubborn."

You try to move into a more comfortable position while ignoring the pain shooting up your leg by pressing a hand against one side of the door to keep yourself steady. "And you're so clearly overreacting."

Cillian pushes his bedroom door open. He's also clearly pissed. The ride back to the house was deathly silent. Well, not silent. His sad boy music made a return, and this time with Broken Social Scene. You couldn't ask him to change the music without starting another argument. Even the kids were quiet, beyond asking several times if you were okay, which you assured them you were. Obviously a lie.

As Cillian walks around the room, you reach for your midi white beachy dress and look down at your knee in horror. It's no longer just a bruise, but a gash that is slowly oozing blood. Not as much as before, but still. It looks nasty underneath the shirt Cillian used from his car as a makeshift bandage.

He grabs the first aid kit from a shelf and turns around to face you.

"Take off your dress."

"Pardon me?"

"Take off your dress so I can properly clean and bandage the wound," Cillian repeats, his expression serious. You look down at the blood-stained fabric as if you needed any more confirmation. "Off, C'mon."

You stiffen at his demand, your body going completely rigid at his bossy tone. You watch him stride into his bathroom. He pushes aside some stuff on the counter and tosses the kit onto the counter.

Okay, yeah. He has good reason to be upset. You had no business jumping from that rock.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he'd said before, right when he went to get you. And now you can see the anger still simmering beneath the surface.

You can hear him shuffle in the bathroom while you remove your dress. You still have your swimsuit on underneath, but you feel exposed without the extra layer. Maybe the pain is catching up to you or the fact that you have upset him or that he's waiting for you in the bathroom to take care of you but tears sting your eyes as you try to process the situation. You take a moment to collect yourself. You cannot go in there like this, he cannot see you this vulnerable. At least, not now.

He's braced against the counter, head hung low, when you push open the bathroom door. You nearly back out to give him some space or time to compose himself, but his eyes meet yours and his expression straightens. He clears his throat and then freezes. "I—you're wearing your swimsuit."

"I am. Were you expecting me to change into something else?"

"No," he grumbles, "I mean, nevermind."

He turns back and starts grabbing sterile gauze, his movements slightly jerky. He gestures for you to sit on the counter. "Up."

"I'm not sure I can do that given my—" Before you're done speaking, he scoops you up and sets you on the counter. Your hands are locked around his neck, and his are firmly gripping your waist. They fit perfectly there, like they're made to hold you close.

He reaches behind him, both your faces close together now, and grabs your wrists, pulling them away from his neck and onto your thighs. He puts a hand on your uninjured leg, his touch gentle yet firm. "This is going to hurt." You stare at his impossible blue eyes and think to yourself: yes, this is going to hurt.

"Oh, shit shit," you gasp, gripping his forearm. "Holy fuuuck."

"I've got you, breathe," he commands, and you allow yourself to focus on his voice, letting it ground you. The antiseptic burns both your nostrils and knee as he continues to clean the wound, the pain shooting through your leg causing you to clench your teeth.

"I'm sorry," you breathe out.

There's nothing but silence in response.

"I told you multiple times not to go up there," he finally says, his voice tinged with frustration. "And yet."

"I know," you whisper, feeling guilty.

"Don't do that again," he commands, his accent thickening with emotion. "You could've hurt yourself even more."

"I know," you repeat, not sure how else to respond.

His head is bowed in concentration as he finishes cleaning the wound, his hands steady despite the anger in his voice. You can see his dark eyelashes fluttering slightly as he works. He applies a little more pressure to the bandage than he should've, and you let out a soft moan. This doesn't go unnoticed by him.

The air in the room seems to shift. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, you see something soften in his gaze before he looks away.

"You're not supposed to like that."

Your cheeks heat up immediately.

He's gotten closer to you, your hands somehow made their way to fist his navy blue linen shirt. His body is between your legs, the delicate material of his pants brushing your skin. His breath is warm against your cheek as he leans in closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I can't say I mind it either." Your heart races at his proximity, unsure of what to do next.

His hands slide up your thighs, gently caressing your skin, sending shivers down your spine. He's going to kiss you, and you can't help but wonder if it's the right decision to let him.

But now is not the time to be rational about it.

"I'm not gonna stop you," you say quietly, "I wouldn't know how."

His eyes darken, pupils dilating with desire. He doesn't move.

It's like you're both aware of the line you're about to cross, so neither of you moves.

You keep your eyes firmly on his face. His lips inch closer to yours, and you feel the heat of his breath on your skin. Your body is angled towards his, hand gripping the edge of the counter. Your slightly damp hair, now cold, making you shiver.

He's impossibly hard against you, the material of his pants is thin, and you're aware of every inch of him pressing against your throbbing core.

"And I wouldn’t know how to stop kissing you," he whispers, his voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. He shifts slightly, causing his erection to press even more firmly against you, both letting out a soft moan. His mouth hovers just inches from yours, just kiss me, you thought.

There's a knock on the bedroom door, which is, by the way, open.

"Dad?" You both freeze.

The bathroom door is slightly ajar, offering a sliver of privacy but not enough to shield you from any potential interruptions.

"Yes?" Cillian calls out, trying to sound casual despite the intense moment that was just interrupted. "We're ordering takeout, do you want anything?"

"No, buddy, we're good, thanks," Cillian replies, his voice strained as he tries to keep his composure. You hear the steps retreating down the hallway.

Cillian steps back, and the absence of his body against yours is jarring. It clearly would've been a mistake to take this further, but a mistake that would've felt so fucking good.

"We shouldn't do this."

He clears his throat. "Yeah."

He moves towards the door, his movements tense and purposeful. "I'm gonna—" he says, motioning the door.

"Yeah," you quickly reply, "I got it."

You watch him leave, the air heavy with unspoken words and unfulfilled desires.

a/n: thank you for reading! please share your thoughts with me, let me know if you guys enjoyed it :)

part two

[woso-dreamzzz]

Copy II

Alessia Russo x Child!Reader

Katie McCabe x Child!Reader

Summary: Your sister is just like your brothers

When Alessia changed teams from United to Arsenal, it means you got a new Russo kit. You get every shirt of every team Lessi's ever been on.

You've even got her college football shirt but that's a sleepytime shirt so you don't wear it out of the house.

You wear your new Arsenal shirt out of the house though because Lessi's taking you to training with her. One day, she tells you, the number on your back will be yours rather than hers and you'll be the Russo playing.

By the time you start playing with the big girls, Lessi will be at the end of her career or already retired. You'll never play with Alessia Russo, the football player but she promises you that you can always play with Lessi Russo, your sister.

Arsenal is different from United so you can actually attend because Lessi lives closer now.

It's shooting training today and that's your most favourite. You can't join in when the big girls first start training but you can be included near the end.

You've been excited about practicing with Lessi all week but now, as you watch her, you can feel that excitement fade away.

Some of the Academy girls have been invited to practice with the first team. They're bigger than you so they can play with the big girls from the beginning.

There's one in particular that's getting personal attention from Lessi. Your sister's adjusting her position and showing her the correct technique the exact way that Lessi does for you, down to slightly nudging her around with her boots.

Alessia's smiling at her with the same smile that's usually reserved for you.

You thought that smiling was only used for you. You thought you were special because Alessia only smiles at you that way.

Apparently not.

Apparently you and this Academy girl are the exact same in Alessia's eyes.

A long time ago, when you much littler, Gio and Luca both yelled at you when you tried to play with them. They kept pushing you away and you kept trying to get involved until they yelled.

Mummy took you away as you sobbed and had to explain that sometimes your siblings didn't want to play with a little girl like you. She explained that sometimes people your siblings' ages like to hang out with people their age.

You were silly to think that only applied to your brothers because it's clear that Alessia is just like them. She wants to hang out with only people close to her age too.

It's that time in training where you can join in but she still hasn't called you over.

She's just like your brothers.

You want to be just like Alessia. You want to make her proud but she's forgotten about you just like your brothers do.

You really, really want her to be proud of you though but you don't know how to compete with the bigger girls who can kick harder and run faster than you.

You're still little compared to them.

"Alright, little Russo?"

Katie sits down next to you, nudging her knee against yours.

""Why aren't you practicing, huh?"

You burst into tears immediately and Katie jolts in shock.

"Ah, shit. No, wait, not shit. Don't-Don't repeat that! Crap! Er..." She folds you into a hug quickly. "Do you want me to get Less?"

"N-No!" You blubber," Lessi doesn't want me! No Lessi!"

"Oh, kid, I think your sister-"

"No Lessi!" You insist.

"Okay," Katie says," No Russo. Come on, let's take you inside and get you something to drink."

You don't know why you confess everything to Katie but you do. She's nice and warm and gives good hugs. Not as good as Alessia's but still good.

She keeps you with her and lets you help out in the gym before you crash out on the mats halfway through her session, one of her jackets thrown over you in lieu of a blanket.

Katie keeps working on the weights, one earphone hanging in her ear pumping music to keep her motivated while the other dangles.

It's because of that single earphone that Katie's still aware enough of her surroundings to hear the door bang open and Alessia to come tumbling through it.

"I've lost my sister!" She announces," Fuck, Katie, have you seen my sister?"

"Over by the mats," Katie replies," She was very upset. You didn't include her in training when you said you would. You gave a lot of attention to the Academy girls. She felt pretty left out."

"It was an accident!" Alessia insists," I swear! I didn't mean to."

"Hey, you don't need to convince me. Convince your sister."

You're laying on the mats, asleep under Katie's jacket, and Alessia shakes you awake. You come back into consciousness groggily and sit up, rubbing your eyes.

"Hey, tesoro," She says softly," I heard you were feeling upset."

You nod.

"I'm sorry," She says," It was my mistake. I didn't mean to leave you out. Sometimes the Academy girls need help sometimes."

"I need help too," You whisper.

"Not like them, do you know why?"

You shake your head. "Why?"

"Because you're a little superstar. They're just not as good as you."

"But they're big girls."

"Being big girls don't mean they're the best. Not like you are."

You grin up at Lessi. "Really?"

"Of course. You know I wouldn't lie to you."

[wosoragebaiter69]

you are broken on the floor

alexia putellas x keeper!reader

overview: goalkeeping means sacrificing your body, how far would you go?

A/N: i feel rlly sad so i got the discord to come up with ideas (thanks @totaly-obsessed + @alotofpockets)

TW: Blood, Severe Injury, Brutal Angst

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Ever since a child, you loved the feeling of saving footballs. If any of the teams you were on needed someone in goals you'd be the first the volunteer, along the way you actually got good at it and eventually signed with Barcelona in 2021, making good friends along the way.

Along with joining Barça, it came with getting a girlfriend. Who was the best person you'd ever had in your life romantically.

Being a keeper in the best club would always mean injuries, trying to keep a clean sheet like any defensive player wants.

Sometimes though, injuries are worse. Life threatening in some cases, career ending in others. It's something no player even wishes upon their most rivalled team.

You just had to be unlucky didn't you?

Barcelona were comfortably winning against Frankfurt 3-0, when a gap in defense allows a German player to make their strike. You fall back onto the line hoping the punch the ball away.

Seems like life has other plans.

The player shoots left, you dive left and push the ball away. However with being airborne, you can’t stop. Your body crashes into the post with a loud thud.

The stadium goes quiet, your screams and cries horrific. Your body looks… wrong.

Your collarbone isn’t straight, it’s indescribable. Bones are poking out. There’s blood running down your face where your head has cracked open after hitting the post.

It’s sickening to watch.

Players immediately rush over, forming a circle around you as to not show a fellow player in such vulnerable state.

Alexia is by your side trying to comfort you, trying to keep you still. Seeing you in this much pain makes her heart ache. If she could take it all, she would.

Paramedics are by your side instantly as the circle of players back up to give them space to work, Alexia sits helplessly watching you worm in pain.

After quick testing to make sure you were still alive and conscious, they get you on the stretcher. Which includes more screaming, and more pain.

Alexia watches as you get taken off the field in a hurry, fans of both teams clap and give you a standing ovation.

“Alexia, she’s strong. Let’s finish and win this game for her yeah?” Mapi pats her best friends back, also devastated at the turn on events.

“Ye- yeah.” The captains broken voice says.

- - - - -

As the rest of the minutes in the game are being played, you’re fighting for your life in the back of an ambulance.

The pain getting unbearable, you find yourself slowly slipping in and out of consciousness. Paramedics are doing things around you, but your eyes are too glossy to really tell. Your mind is also too fuzzy to think straight.

There is one thing you want, Ale. But, with everything? You wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve ruined some of your vocal cords from screaming so loud.

Soon enough, you succumb to the darkness. Letting it engulf you to a place less ridden in pain and chaos.

- - - - -

The game is over, an unspoken heaviness in the air surrounding both teams. There is little interaction with fans, whom luckily understand the pain the players must be feeling at the time.

Alexia, Mapi and Ingrid get in the Norwegian’s car and drive straight to the hospital where the medical team said you were going to.

When arriving, Ingrid drops Alexia and Mapi before parking, understanding they need each other. You were important to everyone, but Mapi was like your sister and Ale was obviously your girlfriend.

They rush inside, talking quickly to the nurse at reception who gives them sorry smiles, updating them all that she could. Which was that you were alive and in emergency surgery.

They don’t argue, it’s pointless. So they sit down on uncomfortable plastic chairs, playing a waiting game until you were coherent and safe.

- - - - -

4 hours and many freak out sessions later, a doctor walks over to the three girls explaining the situation you’re in.

“It’s a grade 2 concussion to her head, in cases like these there is chance for memory loss. I believe she has all her memory, we were talking about different things before I came here. It’s a high possibility that she has no memories from the accident though.” He pauses before continuing.

“She experienced a dislocated collarbone. We’ve put it back in its original place, recovery could take 1 year and she might never be to the level she was at currently again. We had to do work on surrounding ligaments which makes the recovery time longer.” The girls take in the information.

“Have you told her she won’t play for a while?” Ingrid asks the question on everyone’s mind.

“I did, she was upset in her own right. If that is all your questions, she has her own room. I believe you all know concussion protocol?” They nod.

“Ok, room 3146. If you need anything at all just shout.”

“Gracias, for everything you’ve done.” The doctor smiles at Alexia.

“No problem.”

- - - - -

When reaching the room, the 3 Barça players see your state, a gauze wrapped around your head and a large cast across your torso, restricting movement.

“Amor?” Alexia asks cautiously.

“Hi Ale.” You look at the other two. “Mapi, Ingrid, nice to see you.”

Alexia sits by the chair on the side of your bed, looking up with teary eyes.

“Please, please don’t ever do that again.” She sobs, cradling your face softly. “I can’t- I can’t lose you.”

“Ale, you’ve got me. I’m right here, please don’t cry amor. Por favor.” You look over to the other two in the room, smiling softly.

She takes a couple minutes to settle down and finally talk.

“Have you heard about your recovery?”

“Sí” You watch her sigh, tracing patterns over your hand.

“Lo siento, but I’ll be with you the whole way ok? I promise.” She says without an inch of hesitation in her voice.

“Te amo mucho Ale. That means so much more than you could ever know.” She responds by leaving a lingering kiss against your hand.

“I’m glad you’re ok. Had as all worried.” Ingrid smiles lightly.

“Yeah.. I don’t remember much about what happened. I might later on but for now I’m content without the memories.” She laughs.

“Well, all of the culers and people at Barça wish you a safe and great recovery. Even if the doctor hasn’t said it, you’ll come back stronger I know it.”

“Thanks Maps, I think I stay in the hospital for a few more days then I’m clear to go home. I have to wear this for like 6 weeks then start the strengthening physio whatever.”

“Ah, can’t wait to see you on the pitch again then amiga. Well, Ingrid and I will leave you and Ale to talk on your own. If you ever need funny company instead of serious company I am always here.” You hold onto your laugh smirking.

“Alright León, keep it moving.” You joke back and watch the couple leave.

You think back to what recovery is going to be like. A very long journey. It seems your girlfriend notices your thoughts.

“Shh, you’ll be fine and as Mapi said you’ll come back better.”

“Thanks Ale.” She leans over and presses a kiss to your lips softly.

- - - - -

The next few weeks are tough, you feel as though you’re useless. Alexia has all this stuff on her plate already and you’re just another one. However she is always quick to shut those thoughts down. No matter how moody, or how angry you got at her. She stayed, just like she promised she would.

Who knows what the future holds, maybe something, maybe nothing. What does matter though? Is who you go there with. For you it’s Ale. It will always be Alexia.

—————————————————————————

PART 2 - here

also i did say i was sick now i’m feeling better.. physically (not mentally since i just wrote this fic)

[blackhairedjjun]

rebound and restoration

pairing: choi yeonjun x fem reader | genre / tropes: angst -> fluff, friends to lovers, post-breakup, non-idol au; ft. soobin + mentions of the rest of txt; reader is yeonjun's age (soobin calls reader "noona") | word count: 5.4k | warnings: post-breakup heartbreak, profanity, food, kissing

additional note: fic is mostly written but contains a few texts

summary: with his heart still aching after just getting dumped, yeonjun turns to you, one of his closest friends, for comfort. that is, until he kisses you - and your friendship starts to change.

author's notes: honestly i feel like if i don't post this soon i'll be dissatisfied with it forever and edit it endlessly and it'll never get past my drafts LOL perfect is the enemy of done!! anyway i wrote this while i was feeling stressed and insane during the holidays and wanted... an angsty kiss for whatever reason. lmao yeah

(support by reblogging banner by @cafekitsune)

when yeonjun arrives at your apartment, it’s still early in the evening; the two bowls of pho you ordered for takeout are still hot, and you’ve left your laptop open at a selection of cheesy netflix rom-coms. perhaps the selection is a bit ironic, but you mused that the feel-good escapism is just what he needs.

he pulls you into a hug and you give him an extra squeeze and a few pats on the back. you can’t help but ruffle his hair a little as he pulls away. 

“hey, jjun...”

“y/n!”

“how are you feeling?”

“ah, a bit better, i think.”

he gives you a slight smile, and you’re too relieved to notice that it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. it’s a miracle to you that he’s even smiling again two weeks after his breakup. you still remember the cracks in his voice when he called you after it had happened, the rims of his eyes red with crying when he finally crashed at your place half an hour later. that night you held him tight as he told the story to you in between sobs: hana had broken up with him over a call that lasted less than a minute. she was bored and tired of him and just stopped caring, she said, if he were a toy she could throw away if she didn’t want to play with it anymore.

you swallowed back the anger in your throat back then, though you couldn’t help the tears of your own that fell. now you push the anger back down again as you lead yeonjun to the small table at your kitchenette, one of the bowls of pho steaming in front of him. now is not the time for indignation; your friend needed comfort, and it’s comfort you will give.

yeonjun’s eyes light up at the sight of the pho. your heart swells, and you don’t hold it against him when he sits down ahead of you and picks up his chopsticks, ready to dig in. in between slurps he grins like he’s just received the best present of his life. “this is so good!” he said in between mouthfuls of noodles. “it’s been way too long since i had this.”

“i know! feels like we haven’t had this in ages.”

“remember when we tried to make our own?”

“oh god, not that!” you laugh, dropping your chopsticks. “we got impatient and that broth tasted like nothing.”

“your kitchen smelled like ginger though,” yeonjun recalls with a giggle. “it was nice visiting for a while.”

“my kitchen smelled like ginger more than the actual broth, jjun.”

“maybe we can try again one of these days? and if we mess up, at least you’ll have a nice-smelling kitchen again.”

all you can do in response is laugh, and for a moment you forget that you stopped having pho nights together when hana entered his life.

he fills you in on video game night with soobin and kai, shopping with beomgyu, and his so-called revenge gym day with taehyun; he beams with pride while describing his new weight record just as much as he does when talking about managing a hard-earned victory over soobin at tekken. you laugh along with him, knowing that his friends blocked out their schedules just to comfort him for a day. and when you talk about your new project at work and the new books you bought yourself as a treat, his eyes fill with that indescribable look you’ve seen before. you can’t quite place what it is, but it reminds you of afternoon light, of summer days, of lingering hugs after a long day together.

you don’t need to ask for yeonjun to help you clear out the table and pick up the snacks you set aside for your movie, and you make no effort to resist. there are no words exchanged: he simply places all the disposable pho bowls and chopsticks together, and you reach for a clean garbage bag and put them all in. the only communication between you is a shared look and a nod.

perhaps it’s just your imagination, but that look lingers a little longer than you’re used to, and you can’t help but give him a satisfied smile.

you’ve seen him look at hana that way, too many times to count, especially during that early-dating phase when the thrill of emotions was still high. you wondered what it was like to be on the receiving end of that gaze, for yeonjun to look at you as if you were the most precious thing in the world. and you wondered if hana really was that precious 一 if she were just as precious to him as you, his best friend, if not more so.

you let yeonjun select the movie. at first you doubt your idea to present him with rom-coms, of all things, but you let out a sigh of relief when he happily chooses one of them. both of you have seen this one many times over, but you don’t mind. there’s comfort in knowing that a happy ending is guaranteed to happen.

the two of you are slouched on your couch together, the laptop balanced on a pillow between the both of you. yeonjun sits close to you, an arm around your shoulder, a gesture that he hasn’t done with you since he started dating. you let yourself lean against him (so that you can see the screen better, you tell yourself). the two of you start a running commentary on the movie 一 “why would he say that?!” “aww, they look so cute together,” “oh god, that was so stupid!” 一 and both of your laughter fills the apartment, the sound like a duet in harmony.

it’s so easy this way, you think 一 just you and your best friend in your own little corner of the world. you steal a glance at yeonjun while he’s absorbed in the final confession scene, a soft smile on his lips and his eyes gleaming with anticipation for the big kiss. a string of memories flash before you before you can help yourself.

“she said yes,” he says, his whole face flush with excitement. “she said she’ll be mine.”

his hands are on your shoulders and he gives them a gentle squeeze. “there’s no way hana can’t like you. you’re one of my best friends, i’ll make sure you get along.”

“i think hana’s mad at me,” he tells you as he fiddles with the beanie in his hands. “but don’t worry about it, we’ll talk it out, i promise.”

his head is in his hands as you sit across him from a restaurant booth. “i don’t know what i did wrong, she looked so bored through the whole date...”

you hold him close as he sobs in your arms, his whole body shaking. “sh-she said she’s... tired of me…”

“y/n?”

you snap back to reality as yeonjun glances at you, his head tilted. the ending credits of the movie have started to play. “are you okay?”

“i-i’m fine.” you reach out to touch his cheek, then hesitate. “are you okay?”

“i’m fine, y/n.” he picks up on the meaning of your words. “i know i looked really bad that night, but i’m getting better, i promise.”

“good.” your eyes meet his, and your cheeks grow warm. “we can have nights like this as many times as you want until you feel better, okay?”

“yeah, i know. i missed having nights like this, actually.”

“me too. i really liked it when we did this all the time...”

“i know. i’m sorry. hana didn’t like一”

“hey.” your hand comes up again and this time, you gently hold on to his cheek. “it doesn’t matter what she thinks anymore.”

“y/n... i’m really sorry. i feel like i neglected you, and you’ve been my friend for so long...”

tears form in his eyes, and you feel them warm against his cheek. you wipe them away with your thumb as you move closer to him. he continues to ramble as you do.

“i feel like an idiot. like a total dumbass.” the pitch of his voice begins to rise. “god, i was so convinced that hana and i were the perfect couple, that we’d be happy. i-i thought about her more than she d-did about me, y/n, and i stopped hanging out with you一 when you’ve always一”

“jjun, please don’t apologize anymore,” you say, your voice trembling. “i’ve never been mad at you over her, not even once. i just want you to feel better, okay? i... i just want to see you be yourself again.”

you want to see the yeonjun you’ve always loved.

you’ve lain awake at night wondering if he’s ever sensed your feelings for him, and if he’s ever felt the same way. on the day he told you that he and hana were officially together, you spent that night sobbing in your bed, convinced that your friend would never see you as a lover. and yet you said nothing of that night, and of other nights similar to it, because you told yourself that if hana made him happy, then you would be happy too.

and now you want more than anything to see him happy again.

yeonjun says nothing, but instead places a hand on top of the one you have resting on his cheek. you feel it trembling, but you don’t resist as he grasps your hand to intertwine his fingers with yours. he swallows hard to push back the rest of his tears, and his eyes soften. once again there’s that indescribable look of his that makes you feel light.

“y/n...”

he says your name softly, as if in reverence. his face inches closer to yours and you don’t pull away; instead you feel lighter than ever, your gaze falling to his lips as your eyes flutter shut. everything that follows feels slow, gentle; his nose brushing against yours, then your lips on his.

he kisses you slowly at first, but as you kiss him back you fill with a new fervor, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting him wrap his arms around your waist to pull your body flush against his. warmth blooms in your chest, and every movement of yours betrays your feeling: your lips moving against his, your hands making their way into his hair. you want to kiss him until the pain he feels has been replaced by the love you have for him 一 i love you, i love you, i love you.

you’re completely absorbed in him and let out a soft sigh when yeonjun snaps out of it 一 he breaks apart from you, breathing hard, eyes wide as he’s hit by what he’s just done.

“shit, y/n一” he gets off the couch, one hand running through his hair over and over again. “i’m so sorry. fuck, i shouldn’t have done that一”

you’re snapped out of your trance as you stand up to chase after him. “jjun, hey, wait! listen to me—”

he’s picking up his bag from the foot of your couch. he can’t even look at you, instead occasionally letting out a shit or two under his breath.

“yeonjun, please一”

you stand in front of him to block his way from the exit. at first his head is bowed, avoiding your gaze, but when he finally looks up his expression is solemn.

“you are not a rebound to me,” he says at last. “please don’t ever think that i just used you to make me feel better.”

“i never accused you of that! look, i’m sorry too, it was my fa一”

“i’m really sorry, but i can’t stay here anymore. i’ll make it up to you, y/n, i promise.”

“wait一”

yeonjun walks past you and before you can protest any further, he’s out your door. you push it open and try to chase after him, but after a few steps you stop, thinking better of it. what would stopping him even do?

you walk back inside and slump back down on the couch. the screen of your laptop faintly glows, and a half-eaten bag of chips has fallen to the floor. all at once the reality of what happens sinks into you: the kiss, his words, his departure.

you are not a rebound to me. the words echo in your mind.

a strange tension fills you, and you can’t even tell what emotion it’s supposed to be from: confusion, frustration, anxiety. with your whole body seemingly on edge, you grab a throw pillow from the opposite side of your couch and press it into your face.

you sob into it the tension crashes down on you in full force.

一

for the next few nights the scene replays in your dreams: yeonjun leaning in ever closer towards you, your lips meeting his in a fervent kiss 一 each night’s dream-kiss more fervent than the last 一 and him suddenly pulling away. you awaken each time just as he breaks the kiss, the shock and confusion coursing through you again, and immediately after you reach for your bedside table to check your phone.

still no text from yeonjun.

you consider texting him again, but each time you type a new message you erase it, the blinking cursor driving you mad. how would you even know what to say? do you want to apologize? to beg for his forgiveness? to ask if you can still be friends?

you hate to admit it, but every morning you lie in bed for a few moments more to allow the dream to sink in. the look on yeonjun’s face appears vivid to you, from his eyes blown wide to his mouth slightly agape. your mind travels back to the moment he breaks the kiss, as if a sudden force pushed him away, the shock of it hitting you. then it wanders to the kiss itself, the feeling of his lips soft against your own, his arms warm as they hold you by the waist…

you shake the memory away, drag yourself out of bed, and continue on with your routine: breakfast, shower, get dressed. you resist the urge to check your phone for as long as you can. you stare at the little contact photo you set of yeonjun and remind yourself: you’re his friend. you need to help him heal. 

you recount your worries to soobin over snacks one day.

“i feel like i’m being selfish,” you say in between munches of potato chips. “he hasn’t even moved on from hana”— soobin winces at the acridity you mutter her name with—“and now one of his closest friends kisses him like she’s madly in love. how is he supposed to move on? he’s hurting enough as it is.”

soobin sets aside the bag of chips you just finished. he rubs his face with his hands as he tries to choose his words carefully.

“you’re not being selfish, noona. you sound like you’re trying to be careful so that you don’t hurt him,” he says at last. “and yeonjun hyung feels just as bad about it. he feels bad that he even started the kiss, and for making you feel like a rebound. you two sound like each other, to be honest.”

“i know he feels bad, it’s just 一 i don’t know how that will fix...” you wave your hands wildly in the air, “this.”

“you can start by talking to each other?”

“he didn’t reply to my last texts. and i… i don’t know if i should text him again.”

a moment of silence. soobin opens a pack of candy and chews on it, just to give himself time to think. he fiddles with his phone as he does, absentmindedly scrolling through his old texts, when one of them catches his eye.

“so, there’s this new restaurant that beomgyu wants to check out.”

“really, soobin, what does this have to—”

“he was thinking of inviting all of us there to hang out,” he continues. “including you and yeonjun hyung. we can plan for it a week or two from now so that you have space? and then you can get used to talking to him again there. if things get awkward, i can ask beomgyu to fill in.”

you purse your lips. “i dunno, i might cry if i see his face again.”

“if you don’t feel like it, just call in sick.” soobin’s mouth twitches into a small grin as he says it — you know he’s used that excuse to get away from social situations he doesn’t want to be in. now you’re starting to see the appeal of it.

“okay. i’ll think about it.”

—

ultimately you do decide to go, and two weeks later you’re the first to arrive at the restaurant. you can feel your hands trembling as you push the door open and your heart hammering in your chest. in your head you’ve prepared what you want to say to yeonjun and you mentally rehearse your words for the hundredth time.

you slide right into the booth and take a deep breath. you check your phone to keep yourself busy, letting yourself calm down until your hands have stopped shaking. as you’re scrolling through your camera roll looking at some memes beomgyu sent you, someone slides into the booth seat opposite yours.

“hey, y/n.”

yeonjun gives you a shy smile and the nervousness in your stomach kicks into overdrive. he looks much better now; the bags under his eyes have lessened, and his smile seems genuine. still, you can’t help but remember the last time you saw him, and you shudder.

he sees your reaction and winces, averting his gaze. when he speaks, his voice is soft. “y/n... are we okay?”

the question breaks you and whatever words you have prepared fly out of your mind. as you try to grasp at them again, tears prick at your eyes.. “yeah... yeah, we’re okay,” you say. you take a gulp of water to hold back the tears. “i was never mad at you, jjun, i’ve been worried out of my mind一”

“i’m sorry i never replied to your texts.” he places his hands atop your trembling ones. “i just felt so ashamed that i didn’t know how to face you.”

“and i’m sorry i never tried texting you again, i just didn’t know what you thought of me, and i was so scared that i lost you...”

“i was so scared that i lost you.”

you sniffle. “that makes both of us then. god, we were so stupid.”

“i missed you, y/n.”

“i missed you too, jjun.”

you let out a laugh of relief and he laughs too. with the sound of his laughter melding with yours, everything else seems to melt away: the tears in your eyes, the other noises of the restaurant, the baggage of the last two weeks. sitting before you is your old friend, holding onto your hand to comfort you, laughing together with you just like you always have. 

and just as always, you want nothing more than for your friend to be happy.

“so,” you begin, giving him the most reassuring smile that you can muster, “let’s start over?”

yeonjun glances down at the table, but you can see his eyes crinkling as they usually do when he smiles. “yeah, let’s do that.”

when beomgyu enters the restaurant right afterwards, all it takes is one glance at the scene before him to understand what happened. he turns his head towards you, meeting your gaze, and you give him a nod.

it’s going to be okay.

一

the kiss becomes an unspoken part of your history together, never mentioned and never acknowledged. you stop searching for hidden meanings to it, and instead settle on the explanation that it was simply a spur-of-the-moment reaction from pent-up post-breakup emotions. it doesn’t matter to you whether or not this explanation is true; it’s the explanation that gives you the most peace of mind, and that’s what matters. as the days pass, you think of it less and less, and eventually it is filed away in your memory, like a book never checked out of the library collecting dust. 

in the meantime, you pour your energy into rebuilding both your friendship with yeonjun as well as his fragile heart. the first few hangouts with just the two of you are awkward with a tinge of melancholy, with conversations feeling a little too short. fortunately, your shared friends are there to help: you and yeonjun are invited to video game nights at soobin’s, or a cute new cafe that kai wants to check out, or just a walk around the park. the silences feel less awkward when it’s quickly filled by a joke from beomgyu or witty remark from taehyun.

from time to time you see the shine in yeonjun’s eyes disappear, even for just a moment, when he encounters something that reminds him of “the ‘h’ word” (as beomgyu refers to her): a park bench where they had a date, or a dress on a passerby that looks a lot like something she would wear. sometimes one of his friends would recognize it and quickly divert his attention elsewhere. soon those diversions occur less and less often as fewer and fewer things remind yeonjun of her.

but things don’t truly feel normal to you until a month and a half later. your project at work has gone well, and yeonjun has completed the first draft of a mixtape he’s making. just as you muse to yourself that a reward would be nice, your phone buzzes.

that afternoon you and yeonjun stroll down the shopping district a few minutes away from his house, trying on this and that. it isn’t long before you find yourself spending over your budget; it’s hard not to when yeonjun is constantly egging you to buy something you really want. “c’mon, y/n,” he whines as you put back another cute button-down on the rack. “you deserve it! you can wear it to work for the next phase of your project!”

he giggles when he sees your eyes light up at his words. “we do have another presentation for it,” you muse.

still, you draw the line when you spot an elegant tan jacket worn by one of the storefront mannequins. you stare at it longingly as if you’ve found your soulmate, and yeonjun sweet-talks you into entering the shop and trying it on. but when you see the hefty price tag on it, you sigh.

“i can’t justify this, jjun…”

“but you look great in it! and you want it so much. you’ll feel worse if you don’t get it.”

“maybe…” you glance down at the shopping bags in your hand. “i dunno, i’ve spent so much already.”

you sigh in defeat and turn back to the store exit before you can second-guess yourself. yeonjun doesn’t follow immediately, but instead watches you go as he lingers a bit longer.

later that day, the two of you sort through all the things you bought (mostly clothes and accessories, but also a vinyl for yeonjun and a novel for yourself) in between giggles and wide eyes and a shower of compliments. yeonjun puts on a completely new outfit for you and struts down his apartment like a runway model, and he pulls you up from the floor to do the same. soon you’re laughing and clapping at each other’s performances, and yeonjun even whips out his phone to take photos of each other’s best looks.

as you rummage through your haul for one more outfit to assemble, your eyes land on a familiar spot of tan fabric. your mouth falls open when you pull it out and see that jacket — the one you’re pretty sure you didn’t buy. you glance up at yeonjun and he licks his lips before forming a mischievous grin.

“jjun, is this...”

“it’s yours.”

“you didn’t have to一”

“i saw the way you were looking at it, y/n. i just had to get it for you. c’mon, put it on.”

hesitantly, you take off the jacket you’re already wearing and put on the new one. it fits perfectly, just a little loose to let air flow in, and you love how it frames your figure. yeonjun is still smiling at you, but it’s a different smile. he looks at you as if you’ve transformed in front of him.

“you look really pretty,” he says. “let me take a few pics, okay?”

he snaps a few photos of you and you pose for the camera, and a comforting warmth settles over you. if this happened a few months earlier, you would have blushed and your heart would be doing somersaults, but now all you feel is a light flutter. everything feels fit in, like the final piece of a puzzle slotting into place.

you lock eyes with yeonjun as he takes the last photo and puts his phone away. as you whisper “thank you” to him, the gleam in his eyes is reflected in your own. there it is, that indecipherable look of his that makes you feel warm.

you still love him 一 there’s a part of you that still knows that. but over the last month and a half you’ve simply learned to live with your feelings, letting them fill you with lightness for a few moments and then letting them go. feelings or not, you’re just glad to have yeonjun in your life again. even as a friend, his presence is a soothing balm against the stresses of life.

一

months later, yeonjun is sprawled on your couch again, his head on your shoulder as you scroll through your list of rom-coms on your laptop. at one point the two of you resumed your pho and rom-com nights, and you’re glad for it; few things give you as much comfort after a long week of work.

after scrolling back and forth a few times, you pause on the same movie you’ve always watched together and give him a quick look. he simply smiles.

“don’t you get sick of this one?” you ask.

“not really, the ending always feels nice. are you… tired of it?”

“no no, i— i was worried that you’re tired of it.”

“me? never.”

“perfect, ‘cause i’m not either.” you give him a knowing grin and press play.

at this point you both know this movie so well that you recite along to every line. you do the female lead’s lines, yeonjun does the male lead’s, and you even sing along to the soundtrack. yeonjun stretches out on your couch even more, his head ending up in your lap, and in the movie’s quiet moments you find yourself playing with his hair. when the big confession happens you can feel him holding his breath and then releasing it in a laugh when the two leads finally kiss.

the credits roll and he glances up at you, smiling in satisfaction. you smile too and hum along to the end credits song. as the movie ends, you let yourself bask in it: you stretch out your arms, yeonjun sits up to lean on your shoulder again, and you lay your head atop his. the two of you remain like that for a while, sitting in comfortable silence.

“don’t you ever get jealous of them?” you ask.

you feel his head shake a bit as he chuckles. “i hate to admit it, but yeah. rom-coms always make getting together look so... fun.”

“right? i wish my life was like that.”

“god, me too.”

“i swear, it drives me insane,” you huff. “every time i watch this i want to start dating again or something.”

a few more moments of silence. yeonjun lets out a soft exhale and you feel his body grow tense. the air in your apartment seems stuffier.

“speaking of which, i have to tell you something.” 

“me...?”

you’ve never heard yeonjun sound so solemn. his head weighs down on your shoulder. “y’know, i’ve been uh... thinking of dating again.”

“oh... where are you dating this time? did beomgyu set you up again?”

he shakes his head, looks up at you for a split second, then looks down at his hands. you see the tips of his ears turn pink.

“actually, i... i have someone mind. someone i want to ask out, i mean.”

with those words the feelings you’ve brushed aside for so long come back in full force. your heart beats so hard it feels like it’s slamming into your chest. when you speak, your voice shakes.

“oh... who’s the lucky one?”

“i-i’ve known her for a while. she’s sweet and fun to be around... we’ve been hanging out a lot more often these last few months. we get along really well, at least i think we do...”

“sounds like you have chemistry with this special girl,” you say, the words heavy on your tongue. the hammering of your heart floods your ears. “so what’s stopping you from asking her out?”

yeonjun sits up to face you fully. you sense the effort it takes for him to look at you 一 has he ever been like this around you before? 一 and you reach for his hands. they’re trembling, and his ears go from pink to red.

“a long time ago,” he starts, voice shaking, “i kissed her. i kissed her after my last breakup. and i wasn’t thinking straight, i was just so lonely that i wanted to be loved again 一 but i can’t do that to yo— to her, she’s one of my best friends, i don’t want yo— her to be a rebound 一 but then you said we could start over so we did and i dunno, at one point i started liking you, i fell so hard i don’t know wh一”

you interrupt him with a kiss, your lips gentle on his. you feel him kissing you back, his movements gentle as his hand comes up to hold your head in place. you find yourself pressed against him and he’s even warmer than you remember, warmer than those dreams you had so many months ago.

when you break apart, his eyes are glazed over in a look of pure admiration. 

“y/n...”

“jjun, i...” heat spreads across your face. “i’ve loved you for years.”

“then why didn’t you say anything?”

“how could i? what if you didn’t feel that way and it ruined our friendship? and with all the other guys too?” your heart is still beating fast but you let out the words while your boldness still has a hold on you. “and then you dated hana and i cried but i wanted you to be happy 一 then you broke up and you kissed me and i liked it, and i hated myself for liking it because you were 一”

yeonjun pulls you into him, arms encircling you, and as you keep rambling into his chest he soothes you with one hand combing through your hair. his other arm grips you firmly, and your own arms find a firm hold around his neck.

“i love you too, y/n,” he whispers into your hair before leaving a kiss there. “it’s okay.”

“i love you, so much...”

he pulls apart to get a good look at your face. as he sees a few tears start to roll down your cheeks, he brushes them aside with his thumb.

“so this girl,” he says, affection lacing his words, “after we kissed, she said we could start over. and we did. and i’m really glad we did, because i fell for h一 for you so hard.”

you lean your head forward so that your forehead touches his. “really?”

“really. and i...”

“do you want to kiss her again?”

yeonjun’s breath hitches and his eyes meet yours. there it is 一 that same look of his that makes you feel light. the one that, you realize, makes you feel loved.

“can i?”

“please,” you whisper.

he closes the gap between your lips and his, and this time you feel only relief and bliss.

[p0orbaby]

Fun Sponge

summary: the beach isn’t for everyone, Ella!

warnings: none I don’t think

a/n: some more grumpy!reader for you all. i’m just writing myself at this point

word count: 882

-

“You’re so weird”

“Thank you”

“That wasn’t meant as a compliment,” Ella clarifies, then sighs as Alessia turns and narrows her eyes at her.

“What?” Ella asks. “She’s the only person I know who doesn’t like going on holiday”

“I do like holidays, I’m just confused about why you have to crash ours,” you said, a barely there smile playing on your lips. You tightened your arms around Alessia’s frame as she sits sideways in your lap. “Why did we bring her again?” you whisper to her, your lips grazing her ear. You feel her shiver.

Alessia chuckled softly, her fingers tracing circles on the back of your neck. “Baby, we’re with the whole team, remember?” she whispers back with a smirk.

“Yeah, but they’re all way less annoying,” you muttered, your attention focused again on the brunette sitting beside you.

“I can hear you, you know?”

“Good, you were meant to”

“Babe, calm down”

Alessia is good like that. Always there to make sure you don’t get too ahead of yourself. Though sometimes you wish she’d let you have at it. Tooney can be a collosol pain in your ass.

“Less, tell your girlfriend to stop being boring”

“I’m not going scuba diving Ella. I’m very partial to solid ground and I will not entertain sharing my personal space with rogue sea life” You deadpan.

Ella rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed. “You’re impossible. What’s the point of a beach holiday if you don’t even put one toe in the sea?”

“Oh I don’t know. To enjoy the sun, rinse the all-inclusive cocktails, hope and pray for peace and quiet, ogle Alessia in her bikini. Lots of points” you state matter of factly.

She shot back, “But it’s a beach! You’re supposed to enjoy the whole package, not just mope in the shade”

You wrap your arms around Alessia even tighter and bury your face into her neck. Your opinion on the matter set firmly in stone.

As you nestle into your girlfriend's warmth, Ella’s exasperation lingers in the air. She huffs, “Fine, enjoy your smoked pineapple margs, alone. We’ll be over there making sandcastles or something before our diving slot if you change your mind. Coming Less?”

Alessia hesitates, glancing at you sceptically before untangling herself from your embrace.

Your head snaps up, the look on your face one of utter betrayal. “Seriously? You’re ditching me for some sea turtles?”

Alessia chuckles, leaning forward to grab the palms you had reached out for her. “I know, I know, but it sounds fun. I’ll make it up to you later. I promise”

Ella grinns, seizing the opportunity. “And balance has been restored. Look after our stuff yeah?”

You rolled your eyes. “Sure, I’ll be here, guarding the sunscreen like it’s the only thing I’m useful for”

Alessia pressed a quick kiss to your cheek, then several to your lips, “I’ll be back before you know it. I miss you already” she shouts as she walks away.

“Glorified bodyguard” you mutter to yourself as the two girls stride into the distance.

At least you get to read some of your book in relative peace.

-

You have no idea how much time has passed, but suddenly a shock of cold water splashes over you, jolting you awake with an uncharacteristic yelp.

You lift a tired hand in front of your face to block the sun from your eyes, only to find Ella standing over you, grinning mischievously.

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead! You missed out big time, but don't worry, I'm here to fill you in”. She announces, then proceeds to recount the whole thing with an overwhelming level of detail.

Alessia, expertly anticipating your annoyance plops down beside you and whispers an apology, offering a comforting kiss to the underside of your jaw. Her warmth soothes your initial irritation as Ella continues her painfully enthusiastic monologue.

"And then, this giant sea turtle swam right past me. I swear, it felt like a scene from a documentary, but we were actually living it!"

You manage a half-smile, your mind wandering as you try to savor the last moments of your nap.

"Oh, and the coral reefs! They were like a living, breathing masterpiece. I could've stayed down there forever”

Alessia nudges you, a hand coming up to stroke some hair out of your face to get your attention. Your eyes meet hers and she rolls them playfully.

"I even saw a clownfish! You know, like Nemo? It was adorable!"

You nod absentmindedly, your thoughts more focused on your girlfriend as she leans over you to finish the rest of your abandoned margarita than Ella’s rambling. She smells like sunscreen and seawater and you can’t help but relax a little.

Eventually Ella stops and you let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding in. Finally she’s run out of steam.

“You know what? That actually sounds super fun” you say, and Ella looks at you like a cat who’s got the cream.

“You think?”

“Absolutely fucking not”

She shoots back, offended “You’re impossible. Did you even hear anything I said?”

You wave a dismissive hand in her direction, “Something about sea turtles and coral reefs, right?”

“Oh my god, I hate you. I actually hate you so much”

“Can I get that in writing?”

[niallhorxns]

Niall Horan x Reader: Worth Fighting For

Prompt: The distance while he's on tour is difficult, you and Niall try to make it work.

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: none

A/N: Hi all!! So excited to be writing again. Please enjoy this slightly angsty, short fic. And please feel free to send any / all Niall requests my way :)

Niall’s contact photo pops up on your phone. The ringer interrupts the song you were playing through your car speakers, but before you even slide to answer, you already know the sound of his voice is going to be way better than whatever poppy tune had been on.  

“Hey babe,” you smile widely, trying to balance your phone between your ear and shoulder as you drive home from work. The fact that you would be seeing Niall tonight has been the only thing keeping you smiling throughout the day. Not even the heavy traffic can interfere with your good mood.  

Since you’ve been together, you’ve dealt with Niall spending long hours at the studio– and occasionally taking long weekend trips to Ireland or New York. But this tour was so much more difficult than any of that. 

When Niall left for his latest tour, you both were dedicated to making things work. You planned FaceTimes and phone calls and flew in to see him whenever you could. However, the last few months had been harder than you could have ever anticipated, and the distance had definitely taken a toll on your relationship. 

But right now, none of that mattered, because Niall would be home tonight.  

“Hey there,” Niall says back. You can hear chatter in the background and briefly wonder if he’s landed yet.  

“Are you almost home?” You ask, hopeful.

There’s a brief pause, then Niall sighs. “That’s actually what I was calling about—“

“Oh no,” you interrupt. “Was the flight delayed?”

“No…” he clears his throat, “I’m actually still in New York.”

The moment he says the words, your coffee canister slips from your hands, spilling over your lap and car. The heat immediately seeps through your skirt. You’re lucky you don’t crash as you try to wipe it up with the napkins stuffed in your cup holder.  

“Shit,” you gasp, your thighs burning from the hot beverage. “Shit, shit, shit—“  

“Baby?” You hear his worried voice through the line. 

You flip your blinker on and pull over on the side of the road. You wipe up the remainder of the coffee, ignoring Niall asking if everything was okay on the other end of the line.  

Once your legs no longer feel like they’re on fire, you pick your phone back up, and already on the verge of tears resume your conversation.

“Are you serious?” You ask. “I thought you had three nights off.”

“I know– I do, but we got the opportunity to play on Fallon, my agent booked it–“ 

You can tell he’s trying to dodge a fight, which you’ve been doing a lot of lately. Last week you were mad when he canceled your FaceTime date to go out with bandmates instead. The week before that, he was frustrated that you declined his offer to fly you out to Denver with less than a day's notice.

Seeing each other today has been what you were both holding onto. Or at least that’s what you thought.

“Why do you have to play Fallon, Niall? It’s not like you’re desperate to grow your image–”

“I know, but it’s a good opportunity to expand to other listeners–”

You sigh, and without raising your voice say,  “I just… We’ve had these dinner plans for so long— I mean my parents have been talking about this for weeks.“

“I know, I know, I know—“ he says frantically, “I’m so sorry, believe me, I’d much rather be there than here… this place is nuts.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, and close your eyes, listening to the sound of traffic rushing by your parked vehicle.  

“Okay,” you sigh, feeling so defeated and drained all of a sudden. “Okay, well, we’ll miss you.”

“I know, tell everyone I say I’m sorry for not being there.”

“Yeah, alright,” you agree.  

“So we’ll just talk later then?” He asks, the noise in the background getting louder.  

“Okay,” you say before hanging up. 

You can’t help but notice that the “I love you’s” were skipped.  

You drive the rest of the way home with your fingers tightly clutching the steering wheel. Your knuckles are white by the time you pull into the driveway. You drag your bag and coffee-stained self into the house to change and get ready for dinner with your family.  

You try convincing yourself that the night will be fun, regardless of the fact that Niall bailed.  But the moment you sit around the table at the restaurant and count that you are in fact the ninth wheel of the family, you know things are doomed. Plus you can’t shake the achy feeling inside your chest that makes you fear for your relationship with Niall. You’d been holding onto this weekend together with everything you had. It’s kept you grounded, and reminded you that this distance between you and Niall won’t last forever– that this tour will eventually end. 

Except now, you have nothing to hold on to.  

“Where’s Niall?” Your mother immediately asked. Of course she does– because your family loves Niall. 

Without even thinking, you lie, “His flight got delayed. Bad weather. Tornadoes, I think—“  you’re not sure why you don’t tell the truth. Denial, maybe. Embarrassment that his job would always come before you.

“Bad weather?” Your brother asks, “Where is he?”

“New York,“ you say quickly. 

Your brother pulls out his phone. After a moment his brows furrow. “Huh, weird. The weather app says it’s sunny and clear there.”

Instantly you feel your face turning red. “Yeah… weird,” you say. 

Your brother opens his mouth– probably to ask more questions, but his girlfriend elbows him, indicating for him to shut his mouth. You give her a soft smile in appreciation.

You stay quiet for the majority of the meal, and you don’t feel much like eating. You try to listen to your dad talk about golf, but all you can focus on is how Niall might chime into the conversation. You try to listen to your older brother when he complains about his meal, but all you can imagine is how Niall would nudge your leg and offer you a sly smile, knowing how much that annoyed you. 

You can’t be present because all you can do is think about how much you miss him– you miss his laugh, and the smell of his aftershave. You miss how warm hands always are, and how they’re always touching you– every chance he can get. You miss the way he can always lighten the mood, and how safe you feel just knowing he’s around. You miss him with everything inside of you– and his absence tonight only makes you miss him more. 

All-in-all, you’re relieved when everyone is ready to head home.  

“Hey,” your brother’s girlfriend catches up to you before you can head to your car.

“Hi,” you smile.

“Is everything okay? I just— I wanted to make sure, because you do know New York doesn’t really have tornados, right?”

You nod and let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, I know. And Niall’s flight never got delayed,” you take a deep breath, “I guess that just sounded better than the fact that he didn’t even get on his flight. Got caught up at work,” you explain.

She sighs empathetically. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I just—“ you feel the tears starting to fill your eyes and you wipe them away, embarrassed. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh no,” she says empathetically.

“The distance is just, really, really hard. Way harder than I ever thought—“ Even you can tell how choked up your voice sounds. “And I just don’t see it ending anytime soon. I mean, sure, this tour will end. But he loves his job, so I know there will just be another one. And another. And can’t ask him to give that up. But I can’t compete with it. I just don’t know if I can do it—”

“Maybe you should talk to him about this,” she suggests, as she soothingly rubs your shoulder. “Tell him how much it’s bothering you. Be honest.”

You nod. “Yeah you’re probably right.” You wipe your runny nose on your sleeve.  

“Let us know if you need anything, okay?”

You nod, thanking her and hugging her goodbye. She’s right. You do need to talk to Niall. But that’s a conversation you wish you could just keep on the back burner, ignoring until everything ignited. You dreaded it the whole way home.  

When you did finally arrive home, you puttered around the house– put the dishes away, washed your face, got into your pajamas, all as an effort to stall. Finally, you curled up on the couch. With no more excuses to delay the inevitable, you pulled out your phone and clicked on Niall’s contact. You hated this– everything about it. You hated that you hated it– hated that you were dreading calling your favorite person in the entire world… the only person who made you feel whole. 

The phone rang three times before Niall answered. “Hey baby,” he said cheerfully. “How’re you?”

“Okay,” you said quietly. “How was Fallon?” 

“Not bad– that guy from the TV show you like… the one on HBO? God, I can’t remember the name of it now. But he was there. Made me think of you. The crowd was fun– a few people actually knew the words. How was dinner?” He asks.  

“It was fine—“ you lie, not really wanting to fake small talk. “Everyone missed you.”

“Yeah, I wish I could’ve been there.”

You clear your throat as you anxiously pick at the skin around your thumb.  

“Listen, Niall. We need to talk—“

“Babe,” he protests, like he knows where this is going. “I already apologized for not being there— I wanted to, but I couldn’t say no after they booked the gig–”

You don’t want another fight. You’re too tired, too drained, too sad to fight. You love Niall– so much so that you wanted him around all the time– needed him. And you know Niall loves you too. But Niall also loves music, and touring. One was always going to interfere with the other, and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it. And suddenly, the realization that this just isn’t going to work hits you like a ton of bricks.

“I know…” you say as non-confrontational as possible, “I know it’s your job, I understand that, but I— I need you here, Niall. And maybe that’s selfish of me, or whatever, but it’s true. I need you here. And I don’t know if I can do this distance thing, I thought I could, but I don’t think I can. It’s… Honestly, it’s killing me.”

“What do you mean you can’t do it?” Niall asks. “I mean, what do you want me to do? Quit? Do you want me to quit the tour?”

You squeeze your eyes shut in anticipation of what’s about to happen.  

“No, I don’t want that,” you say, your voice becoming thick with tears. You could never take performing away from Niall– you wouldn’t be the thing that came between him and his passion. “I hate that this is through the phone, but I don’t think we should do this anymore. I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

A long, heavy silence settles over the air. It sends waves of blood pumping to your ears. It’s deafening. 

You begin wondering if you should provide more of an explanation, but then Niall speaks. 

“Baby—“ he pleads, his voice suddenly full of desperation. “Please, I know you’re mad about tonight but I can fix this—“

“I’m not mad,” you tell him honestly, pushing the emotion in your voice down and trying to muscle through. “I understand that you couldn’t say no. I know you wanted to be here but couldn’t. But I come second to your job, Niall. And I always will. And that’s not your fault. But it’s not my fault either. And I– I just think that I need more than that.”

He’s stammering incoherently on the other end, and you imagine what his face looks like right now. Is he crying? Are his eyebrows all scrunched up?

He tries protesting again, but you can’t think about anything other than getting off the phone.  

“I’m really sorry this isn’t in person, you deserve that. But I just can’t keep doing this,” you explain. “When you’re back in LA, shoot me a text and I can get your stuff together.”

“Baby–” he pleads. 

But you cut him off. “Goodbye,” you whisper, hitting the end button before he can convince you to change your mind. As soon as the line goes dead, you break out into uncontrollable sobs.  The weight on your shoulders that you thought would be lifted only felt heavier as you let yourself fall back against the cushions of the couch you bought together.

Your chest aches. Desperately, you clutch your arm around yourself, trying to hold everything together. 

It hurts like fucking hell. 

It’s the kind of pain you know will leave lasting scars– the kind you know you’ll carry with you forever. And the only person you’d ever want to call to help you through it is the one you just broke up with. 

Broke up. 

You and Niall broke up. 

You cry harder. 

You cry and cry and cry– until there’s nothing left inside of you, until you’re pretty sure if you cried anymore, you’d need an IV to replace all the fluids. You cry until finally, you drift off into an uneasy sleep, curled up on the couch with Netflix playing on the TV, the screen lighting up the otherwise dark living room. 

The clock below the TV reads 7 am when you wake to the sound of the front door opening.  

Your first instinct is to scream, but you catch a glimpse of the familiar, dark haired man crossing the room before that can happen.

“Niall?” You say groggily, rubbing your tired eyes. “What are you doing?” You feel like you might still be dreaming.

“I know you probably don’t want me here,” he says, he’s out of breath, panting, even– like he ran across the country overnight to be here. That’s when it hits you that Niall is really here– not across the country in New York, but standing in your shared living room in LA. 

“Just hear me out—” He begs. When you don’t protest, he continues. “I love my job,” he states. “Playing music has always been my dream, and then that dream came true. I love touring– I love performing.I love being able travel around so much—“

You let your eyes wander to the floor, wondering where this all is going.

“But none of that compares to how much I love you,” he says, his shoulders finally deflating.  “And I’ll quit in a heartbeat if that’s what it takes. Please, please don’t be mad– I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work, I swear.”

It had been so long since Niall had told you he loved you, that you feared it might no longer be true. But as soon as he says the words with such honesty and passion, your face scrunches up and the tears start to fall, because you immediately believe him. For a moment, you forget that you’d practically broken up with him over the phone.

All you care about is that he’s here. Niall is here, standing in front of you in real life for the first time in so long. As soon as he sees your face crumple, he’s crossing the room in two quick strides. Before you can protest, he’s kneeling in front of you on the couch. 

Your knees– you think. But then one of Niall’s hands is cradling your cheek softly while the other rests on your thigh, and all you can think about is how grateful you are that he’s home. 

“I’m not mad, I just… I– I miss you–” you sob before leaning forward, arms winding around his neck while you crash into him. “I miss you so much, all the time.” 

His arms wind around you tightly. He smells so familiar, and when he tightens his grip around you, you immediately feel safe and secure and whole again– the way only Niall can make you feel.   

You’re not sure how long you stay like that. But you’re afraid that the minute you let go, things will fall apart again.  

“I miss you too,” he whispers, hand coming up to stroke through your hair. “God, I missed you so much.”

You lean into his touch, try to memorize the feel of it. Then, you sigh into his neck. “I could never ask you to quit your job. You love your job more than anything. You’d be so unhappy and I’d hate myself for making you unhappy.”

Niall pulls you away from himself– holding you out in front of him. “You come before my job, okay? It’s not even close. If I quit music, I’d miss it. Of course I would. But I can write songs here– play my guitar here. Eventually, it’d feel okay. But if I lost you–” Niall shakes his head, like the thought alone is too unbearable. “I don’t know if I’d ever be able to be happy again. You come first, okay? Always.” 

You give Niall the best attempt at a smile that you can come up with, enough to show him that you appreciate his gesture. It’s nice actually hearing how much Niall cares for you. He smiles back, it’s weak and doesn’t reach his eyes, but it’s a smile all the same. And it’s Niall’s. 

But then it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a slight frown before he says, “What if you came with me?”

Taken aback, you immediately shake your head. “What? On tour?”

He nods, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Yeah, why not?”  

You open your mouth, presumably to list the reasons why that would be such a bad idea. But your mind is blank. 

“You can bring your laptop– work from the bus, or hotel or whatever. We could travel around, see things. Just be together.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You’d get sick of me–”

“Are you kidding? I’m sick of being away from you.”

“Niall– there’s no way. I have work– what about the apartment?”

“It’s an apartment, not a dog. It doesn’t need food or water. Plus, I won’t be touring all the time. Just for a few more months. We’d get through it, then figure out what to do next. But we’d be together.”

The more he talked, the more you realize that maybe it isn’t such a bad idea. Like he said, it’s only a few months. Maybe it really could work. 

And in that moment, on top of admiration and love and endearment, you feel hopeful– hopeful for the first time in a long time. Because even though things between you and Niall are far from perfect, you love him and he loves you. And that’s worth fighting for.  

[woniefication]

Lost and Found Love P.Sunghoon

Warnings: Car accident,mentions of bruises,hospital setting

930 ish words/Park Sunghoon x fem reader/Non Idol AU/Angst+fluff+might be spelling errors!

You never thought it would come to this.

Right now you were in the car with your husband,well soon to be ex-husband Sunghoon,driving to court to finalize your divorce papers. Your relationship was slowly but surely starting to fail; neither of you felt happy anymore. Sunghoon was going well over the speed limit,but that was the least of your worries.

You looked out of the passenger seat window, suddenly you felt your eyes get blurry. Oh great. Tears. Sunghoon looked over at you rolling his eyes.

"oh cmon, drop the act Y/N, Youll be fine you wont even notice I'm gone. You noticed his hands tightening on the steering wheel.

"How could you say that Sunghoon! You wasted my time! How am I supposed to recover from this?!" You retorded wondering how he could be so insensitive.

"Dont make me start screaming again lets just spend these last moments together in peace." Sunghoon sighed heavily his eyebrows furrowing.

As you got closer to the courthouse you noticed Sunghoon growing more impatient his foot pressing hard on the gas pedal.

At the last turn a vehicle came crashing into you guys at full force, the last thing you saw was the airbag.

——————————————————————————

Slowly blinking you took in your surroundings, a hospital room, you survived after all. Why were you here in the first place?

Next to you was a man in a hospital bed that looked just as confused his sharp features noticable despite the blood and bruises on his face. He looked tired you felt bad, did his family not visit him often? Your curiosity won over so you decided to spike up a conversation.

"Hey, how are you, what happened?" You asked in a quiet tone not wanting to startle him.

He looked up at you, fidgeting with his fingers,he looked so innocent. " Oh hi, to be honest... I have no idea but im glad that I survived whatever this is..." He responded while pointing to his bruised arms and legs. "What about you, you look equally as bad." He said in a joking tone his voice carrying a hint of curiosity.

"I'm equally as confused, no idea how I got here either! I barely remember anything about myself." You laughed though you felt your world crumbling.

You saw his eyes light up as if he just won the lottery. "Me neither! Do you think we were involved in the same accident? Maybe my car crashed into yours or we were in the same train accident. I'm Sunghoon by the way! What's your name?"

Just as you were about to answer a young woman came in who looked like a Nurse.

She spoke up her voice soothing your headache that you managed to ignore up until now "So Mr and Mrs Park how are you both feeling?"

The expression on your face as you heard that was indescribable. Was she reffering to you? What was your last name again and why did the guy have the same name? The shock on Sunghoons face was as confused as yours. What is going on?

"W-what..?" Sunghoon choked out finally breaking the silence, the tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife.

"Oh...uh-oh! I'll be right back!" The nurse said as realization hit her. The nurse quickly left the room.

You both were left to wonder what she meant. Soon after an older man entered the room looking way more professional.

He sat down on a chair infront of the bed of both of you, sitting opposite both of you.

"Mr and Mrs Park I have some good and bad news listen carefully." He took a deep breath closing his eyes before continuing. "The bad news is, that your both suffering from memory loss. "The good news is that its temporary lasting three to six days or even less."

You thought you were dreaming, What the hell is even happening?! You had billions of questions.

"This might be shocking news to the both of you, but you both are actually married to eachother. The more time goes on the more you'll regain your memory its best if the both of you just rest. If theres any further questions feel free to ask the nurse."

With that the doctor left the room completely unbothered,like this was an everyday occurence.

Just then you noticed the sparkling ring on your ring finger, the doctor wasn't kidding after all.

The man next to you wasn't some guy that just looked familiar, he was the man you have been spending who knows how many nights with.

"We really are married...It's all making sense... who knows where we were going? Maybe on a date?" You chuckled.

Sunghoon let out a loud laugh, you noticed how attractive he was. "Maybe, or maybe we were driving home?" I wonder how our house or apartment looks like."

You chuckled feeling a bit happy that you guys were connecting, you understood why you had married this guy, he was exactly your type. With that you both decided to rest.

Over the next few days you started regaining more and more of your memory remembering almost everything except of the crash. No matter how hard you tried you just couldn't remember.

When you both felt healthy enough to go home, you got discharged from the hospital and went home living the happy married live with the love of your life.

The truth was Sunghoon had never lost his memory this was all part of his plan the crash,the memory loss everything. But you didn't know and he'd make sure it will stay that way.

[inlovewithquestionablecharacters]

Hi,

could you please write a one-shot, which takes place in the hannibal universe, where the fem!reader has been placed on witness protection under Hannibal‘s care by the FBI. She soon finds out that he is the actual killer they‘ve been searching for, but reacts different than expected…(with nsfw in the end?)

Have nice day/good night

Hannibal X reader: A wolf in sheep's clothing

Warning: smut, body parts, dead people, references to canibalisim oral (m receiving), fingering, penetration ( p in v), mean Hannibal, domish Hannibal, no use of y/n, not proofread.

Word count: 1,6 K

It had been a harmless act. You never expected the consequences it would cause. You stood before it, eyes wide as you realized what you were looking at. Hannibal had given you one rule. Never go into the basement.

If only you had listened to him.

Three months ago you were placed under his care. The Chesapeake Ripper had killed a lot of people close to you and the FBI thought you could be his next victim. So instead of waiting for you to become one of the corpses they would have to examine they decided to place you under eye witness protection. You'd been placed in Hannibal's care, moving into his guest bedroom until the killer was caught. That is if the FBI ever managed to catch him. Each day you grew less convinced you'd ever get your freedom back. This killer was meticulous and to make matters worse Will was almost reaching his breaking point. 

In the beginning you were a bit weary of Hannibal. He seemed far more proper than anyone you'd ever met. You'd join him in the kitchen as he cooked, watching him in silence. The last thing you wanted was to be a bother. It was obvious to Hannibal you were growing interested in him the longer you stayed at his house. One night he finally managed to pull you out of your shell. He assured you that you didn't need to feel like you were stepping on eggshells around him. After a while you became comfortable around him, often finding yourself drawn to his presence. 

The only thing Hannibal had prohibited you from doing was going into the basement. He'd warned you that it was an old house and he didn't want you getting hurt under his care. You'd obeyed his wishes but it was rather difficult to keep your curiosity at bay. So when Hannibal told you he'd been called over to the FBI for an emergency you took your shot. 

You really should have just let it be.

You moved closer to the table, trying to see if your eyes were deceiving you. You took a sharp intake of breath as you realized you had been right. You were staring at a severed leg. A human one. You suddenly felt very faint. You had to get out of here before Hannibal got back. You turned around, immediately realizing it was too late. Hannibal stood before the stares, an eerie light illuminating only half of his face. He stayed quiet simply staring at you.

"Hannibal i-”

“It’s a shame. I really was starting to like you.”

Hannibal moved forward, causing you to take a step back. You bumped into the table. Something fell to the floor with a crash but you didn’t move your eyes off of Hannibal.

“Perhaps I'll eat your heart.”

It should have startled you. The way Hannibal spoke about you like a piece of meat. But it didn’t. A sudden rush went through your body as he stalked over to you, his hand moving to grab onto your chin.

“If you were going to kill me you’d done it already.”

You were surprised you've managed to get the phrase out without stuttering. It seemed so was Hannibal. His grip on your chin slackened a bit. He could smell something seeping from you. He had expected it to be sweat, a cause of your fearful state but it wasn’t what it smelled like. You smelled aroused. Well weren’t you just full of surprises?

“You do realize I killed them.”

“Yes. I know.”

“And you still find yourself getting wet at the mere thought of me.”

You let out a pathetic sound, body sagging more into Hannibals. 

“You let me live. Why?”

“You never did anything to deserve my blade. The same can’t be said for your friends.”

“I broke your rule. I came down here.”

Hannibal hummed, his thumb moving against your cheek. Your pupils had become more dilated as the two of you spoke. Hannibal caught onto it. 

“Not enough to kill you for it.”

“Can’t let me go either.”

“Right again. Don’t know if you’ll blab.”

“I won’t.”

Hannibal considered it for a moment. Something told him you were telling the truth. He knew he shouldn’t risk it. He should just kill you and get it over with. But the way you were looking up at him was making the blood rush down from his brain into well… other regions. He leaned his head down a bit, waiting to see what you’d do. You stared up at him, inching your face closer. He could feel your breath on his lips but he refused to be the one to break. Luckily you had no problem seeming like the weak one. You pushed your lips against Hannibal. Your brain screamed at you to stop but your body wanted to keep going. 

So you did. 

Hannibal released your chin, taking a step back. You let go of the table behind you, moving away from it. Hannibal watched you sink to your knees, his eyes gazing at you as your hands moved to grab his thighs. You moved your hand over his dick, caressing it through the fabric of his pants. Hannibal let you have your fun for a bit, watching you slowly release his dick from its confines. It sprang up, almost slapping you in the face due to your proximity. You gazed up at Hannibal through your lashes.

“Are you ready to prove you can keep your mouth shut?”

You nodded at him eagerly, opening your mouth for him. Hannibal placed his hand on the back of your head, guiding you forward. Your mouth wrapped around his dick, the warmth engulfing him. Hannibal forced the grunt that threatened to spill from his throat down. His grip on your head was rough, his pace relentless. He fucked your face at a brutal pace and you let him. Tears sprang from your eyes as Hannibal continued to bully his dick down your throat, one of your hands moving to rest beneath your body. Hannibal watched you hump against your hand, trying to bring yourself  some release. You moaned as your hand moved against your clothed clit, the vibrations causing Hannibal hips to buck forward. You’d barely registered he was cumming until you felt his seed flood into your mouth. He was oddly quiet when he came, his lips moving into a thin line as his brows furrowed. 

You swallowed his cum before moving off his dick. Your jaw hurt from going at it for so long, and your eyes stung from the tears but you felt as content as ever. Hannibal opened his eyes, looking down at your expectant face. You were waiting for a command. Hannibal couldn;t help but smile. He placed his hand under your chin, pulling you up to your feet. Hannibal turned his head to the side, his thumb tugging at your bottom lip. He pulled your face to his, giving you a brief kiss. 

“You did good. You deserve a reward don’t you think?”

You nodded at him enthusiastically. Hannibal's hand moved towards your pants, his fingers toying with your waistband. You whined as he continued to tease you. He enjoyed seeing you squirm against his hand, it reminded him that he was the one in control of this situation. He slipped his fingers into your underwear, gathering up the wetness of your folds before plunging his digits into you.  You gasped, hand moving to grab onto Hannibal's arm. Your nails dug into his skin as he continued to move his hand against you. He was stalling for time of course. As much as he enjoyed seeing you grasping onto his as he brought you pleasure he had other things on his mind. 

You were so close to your orgasm but before you could feel it wash over you Hannibal took his hand away from you. You looked at him in anger, forgetting for a moment you were dealing with a murderer.

“Take your pants off and go over there.”

You did as he commanded, removing your pants before moving to face  one of the walls of the basement. You gasped as Hannibal hand made contact with your back. He trailed a line down your spine until his hand reached your ass. He caressed the flesh for a moment. His body moved closer to yours, heat radiating off it. It was then that you realized he too had stripped himself of his bottoms. 

“Widen your legs.”

You obeyed once again, moving to widen your stance. You placed your hands on the wall, bracing yourself. You felt Hannibal line himself up with your entrance. He entered you with one thrust, the force of it making you press against the wall. Your cheek scraped against the rough wall as Hannibal thrusted into you. You had been so close to cumming it didn’t take long for you to reach your high. Hannibal  continued to fuck into you for a while before his own orgasm washed over him. With a grunt he coated your walls with his seed. As he pulled out you felt some of his cum begin to seep onto your bare thigh. You pushed your head off the wall turning to face Hannibal. He was observing you in silence. 

“Thinking about if you’re going to kill me?”

Hannibal gave you a wolfish smile.

“The moment you sank to your knees I made up my mind.”

He walked over to you his whole body exuding a sort of barely restrained madness.

“You will keep your mouth shut or our deal is off.”

“I promise.”

Hannibal turned to leave the basement but before he got to the stares you called out his name.

“Just promise me something.”

“And what would that be?”

You glanced over at the leg on the table before turning back to Hannibal.

“Don;t feed them to me.”

Hannibal looked at you for a moment before nodding

“As you wish.”

[issdisgrace]

A RIVALRY, A CRASH, AND 3 SIMPLE WORDS

WARNINGS: kinda sad, car crash, burning, hospitals, idk what else to put

A/N: This is for @marksbear2. I hope you like it. Also sorry it took a while I have been procrastinating.

You and Lando have been rivals since day one. Always trying to finish higher than the other, always trying to score more points than the other, and ALWAYS bickering when you weren't on track. Whether it was about the actual race or not, you guys always found an excuse to bicker.

And in hide sight it was so clear you guys were in love with each but neither of you knew what you were feeling towards the other and it was so confusing so it was just easier to fight with each other than figure out what you were feeling.

So you guys continued like this for a while as both of you climbed the ranks to Formula 1. And in the end of both were called up at the same time Lando of course to McLaren and you to Mercedes.

While so many things changed for the two of you and you now had to be more civil to the other than in prior years. Ultimately, that didn't change how competitive you guys were and it didn't change your bickering.

And from the very beginning of your guys' F1 careers there were bets in all the garages, included your guys on who would confess to who in the first place. The bets were split in almost every garage, but they more leaned to Lando, confessing first and boy where they wrong.

It was Monaco 2024. It was a race you guys did every year. You thought it would be just like last year's smooth sailing. You qualified good not as good as of course you wanted to but good none the less. Then the day came and with it came a deep dread in your stomach. Something bad was going to happen. You knew it.

Then Checo had his crash in lap 1 and that dread only grew stronger, so strong you thought you were going to throw up. But you pushed the feeling to the side and got ready to start up once again. Before you knew it was lights out and away you go again. It was lap 39, halfway through the race when engine trouble started.

Your team told you to stay out. That it would be fine and they would figure it out. That definitely didn't make you feel any better than before. Then at the beginning of lap 78 you were suddenly on fire, not smoking, not anything like that, on fire. Before you could think, you lost control and crashed into the wall others still flying by.

Adrenaline coursed through your veins as you tried free yourself from the car. You could see and feel the flames burning. It was burning through your suit. You couldn't feel anything as you continued to try to free yourself and just as freed yourself help arrived. Climbing out of the burning car, when you stumbled towards the medics. Multiple people with fire extinguishers put out the flames on your body.

It was only when you were loaded into the amblulance and on the way to the hospital when your senses returned. The overwhelming pain hitting you like a semi truck along with a putrid smell you thought was the smell of your burnt flesh. But you didnt really have time to fully process it because before you knew it you where at the hospital and being rushed into to surgery.

Lando was almost to the finish line when he heard over radios that you were on fire and then crashed. He felt like he was going to be sick, a thousand thoughts racing through his head. The loudest thought by far was you were going to die and he would never get to tell him he loved you. He was scared, no scared didn't even describe how he was feeling. He was petrified.

As he got out of his car and rushed to Zak Brown, the team CEO to get details of your crash and if you were ok. He told Lando you were ok as far as he knew. Lando felt a little better hearing that but he told Zak once podium was held he was going to that hospital to be with you. He didn't care of the consequence he needed to be there.

Zak being the man he was told Lando not to worry and he would handle the FIA if they gave him a hassle. Lando thanked him profusely before heading to podium.

It was over before Lando knew it and he was rushing back to his driver room to change, gather his stuff, and head to the hospital. Once he was there at the hospital, he rushed in and started asking about you. He lied when the nurse asked him what his relation to you was and said he was your husband.

The nurse told him that you were just prepped for surgery and were on the way to it. And it wouldn't be for a couple hours until you would be out of it. So he would have to wait until he was allowed to see you. He spent the next couple of hours pacing up and down the waiting room anxiously waiting for you.

It felt like a million years had passed before the nurse came and got him. He grabbed his stuff and quickly followed the nurse to your room as she told him the surgery went well and graphs were a success and that it probably be awhile until you woke up because of the anesthetic and the pain meds they pumped through your system.

His heart broke into millions of tiny pieces when he saw you in the hospital bed. He immediately made his way to your bedside and pulled the chair that was nearby towards you and sat down. He didnt even notice the nurse leaving as he gently grabbed your hand. It was now that all the tears he had been holding back started to flow and he ended up crying himself to sleep.

When Lando woke up, his head now rested on your chest as you combing your hand through his hair. He looked up at you surprised that you were awake. He pulled away from you question after question spewing from his mouth. You just hushed him and pull him back into. I love you; you said as you rested your head against his. I love you too; he said back as he wrapped his arms around you. His body would sure complain about the awkward position later, but he would deal with that later.

He needed this. You need this right now. You guys would talk about what your relationship was going to look now on later. You just need to be in the moment with each other.

[sunshine-and-moonshine]

Cod With Monster!Reader

Requested: No

Warnings: Reader is described with some monster features depending on which character, blood drinking, Reader is dead in Ghost’s section, descriptions of blood and a slit throat, a decent amount of spice Soap’s along with some dub-con, also mentions of eating human flesh, Reader is described with a green dress in Soap’s part because it’s part of the mythology that I read, Reader remains Gn though.

A/N: This is the post I got way too into. Soap’s especially is….way too goddamn long.

Price - House Spirit

Price first met you when he moved into his new home. He was annoyed when he thought he had mice, what sounded like their little claws scurrying all under the floorboards and in the cellar, unaware that that was just you moving about. So preoccupied with his own worries, he never wondered how dust never seemed to collect in home, despite him being gone for months at a time, how his clothes and sheets always smelled clean and unwrinkled, or how his dressers were always full despite not actually having done his laundry since he moved in.

It all comes to a head one day when he was home on leave and decided to check his cellar for the first time in the whole 3 years he’d technically lived here. Unfortunately for you, you didn’t even know he’d come home that day and were too busy reorganizing your little nest in the back corner of the room to hear the door open or his heavy footsteps coming down the steps. Not until you could feel his bewildered gaze staring holes into the back of your head.

Things from there were….tense. He wanted to believe that you were some strange person who was either trying to rob him or maybe someone who was suffering mentally and was confused. Something that didn’t fuck up his entire concept of reality and what was real and myth. That was, until he got a good look at your little horns, your long and floppy, almost bunny like, ears, and the swishing tail behind you. He promptly backed himself up the stairs and slammed the door to the cellar shut.

It took another week or so before he went back into the cellar, but this time you were hidden away from his eyes. It took some coaxing from him to get you to reveal yourself, promises that he wouldn’t hurt you or try and force you to leave. Once you did come out, he was all questions, what you were, why you were here, why you were staying in the fucking cellar of all places when he had a bed he didn’t even sleep in when he was home.

After that, things were a bit rocky but….almost domestic. He enjoyed coming home and seeing your ears perk up so cutely when he walked through the door, or how your tail swished a bit faster when he greeted you kindly. Overall, he enjoys your presence and it’s no skin off his back if you want to do all the cleaning that he can’t be bothered with on his few lazy days. Or if you feel like cooking for him when he comes home. Or if you wake him from his ptsd induced nightmares, touching his face and holding his hand, making him warm tea and something to eat to help stop his shaking.

The only thing he insists on is that you move out of the cellar and into an actual room.

Gaz - Dullahan

Gaz met you when he was lost in the woods, a chopper having crashed and left him stranded in the middle of nowhere. He was thirsty and hungry, having run out of emergency rations and water days ago, with nothing nearby to help him. He was on Death’s door, his eyes heavy, his stomach long since having stopped it’s rumbling, body weak and feeling like lead. But, as his eyes began to close, he heard the strangest thing just before he lost consciousness.

The beating of hooves on the ground beside him.

When he came to, Gaz was feeling significantly less thirsty and weak, but still very much tired. The warmth of whatever he was laying on brought him a sense of ease and relaxation.

Until he registered that what he was laying on was ever so subtly moving up and down. At the same time that he made this realization, something cold and wet nudged at the palm of his hand, making him shoot upright. Whatever it was startled at this and snorted almost angrily, making him lose his balance and fall back.

What he saw only confused him. A large black horse with a long mane and tail, it’s eyes completely white and leaving him feeling cold every time he looked into them.

And then a voice, your voice, calling out to the giant creature. “Dubhshláine, come.” You said, and it did, but not before sniffing at Gaz’s face one more time before it trotted over to your side. Then Gaz was pushing himself back up, eyes searching for the source of the voice, almost shouting when he saw the headless body that was petting the snout of the great beast.

It took….a while for you to calm him down, frantically trying to keep him from running, your voice shouting from somewhere that he needed to calm down and that he shouldn’t move when he was like this. But his struggle only ended when he was practically dry heaving in your arms, dizzy from trying to exert himself like that when he was recovering from dehydration and starvation.

Things went a bit smoother after that, at least, once you reattached your head and offered him some berries and meat that he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to eat, despite you insisting that it was just goose. He did end up eating it though, if only to stave off the incessant rumbling of his belly. And that night, as he let you guide him into a cave and helped him into a large pile of warm furs, you promised him that you’d help him get home.

But he couldn’t help but think that going home meant he’d never be able to hear your soothing voice again.

Ghost - Poltergeist

Ghost is someone who goes to thrift stores every once and a while. A habit of his, as he doesn’t like to spend too much money, and part of him likes to see what sort of things other people have collected and gotten rid of over the years. Priceless things and useless things alike. Normally he sticks to buying little, only things he needs, like a cheap and worn t-shirt because his last one finally became too ripped to wear in public.

But on that day, something else caught his eye. A simple and small Jade necklace tied on a black string. His fingers brush over it, running his thumb over the hole in the middle where the string was tied. Ghost should have known something was wrong then, as he never took interest in jewelry. Ever.

The owner seemed to take notice of his attention and told him to just take it, as it had been sitting on the rack for ages, longer than he could remember. What he didn’t tell Ghost was that people constantly avoided it, avoided even looking at it, even the owner himself. It instilled a sense of dread and fear, and made people’s hearts race. The owner had tried to simply throw it out but it ended up right back on that rack, time and time again. And if it wasn’t making this strange masked man uncomfortable then he was more then welcome to take the fucking thing off of his hands.

Ghost is surprised at the offer but accepts after a moment of hesitation. The necklace becomes sort of a good luck charm for him, and he rarely, if ever, takes it off. It’s always so warm against him (it grew almost scorching whenever he took off his clothes), making him feel a sense of security that he wasn’t sure that he ever felt before.

But soon things…changed. He noticed that if he neglected to touch the necklace for a certain length of time, things would happen around him. Things moving from where he left them, pictures falling from walls, objects jumping off of shelves. Like a brat throwing a temper tantrum after being denied attention. It was something that he brushed off time and time again as the wind or loose nails or whatever other thing he could think of. Ghost didn’t believe in the paranormal.

At least, he didn’t. But when he wakes up in the middle of the night to hands oh so gently petting his face and chest, an eerie and croaky sounding cry echoing quietly in the room, he starts to believe just a little bit. His eyes slowly peek open when your hand on his face drifts down to cup the back of his neck, your other hand going from his chest to his hip as you press soft and sweet kisses to his chest, focusing particularly around the necklace that laid in the center of his skin. He only got a good look at you when you started rubbing your cheek against his clavicle, that same noise as earlier coming from your mouth.

And god when he saw you.

Your throat was slit open, that much he could make out, wide and deep, so deep that it must have damaged your vocal cords, which explained why you sounded so croaky. The blood from the cut was all down your front, staining your once white t-shirt and the panties that adorned your body. And you looked almost see through, but Ghost could certainly feel how corporeal you were.

Ghost’s eyes quickly shut again when you started to move, straddling his hips as you pressed those same kisses to his face before curling yourself against him, burying your face into his neck. You seemed…..lonely, almost. And Ghost decided he could work with lonely, especially when he had been left feeling the same way for the longest time.

Soap - Baobhan sith

It was a stupid wish, made in the dead of night, when he was lonely and sleep deprived on a mission in the middle of nowhere, his comrades sleeping around him on the forest floor while he took the watch shift. It was a wish for companionship, to not be as lonely as he often felt. Sure, he had the 141, but the 141 were family. Not a lover that would hold him tight, press kisses to his lips, tell him that he was loved and cherished.

And that was when you appeared. He didn’t see you at first, too lost in his own thoughts. You only caught his attention when you shifted, your curious and mischievous eyes peeking out at him from behind a tree trunk. He was stunned for lack of a better word, especially when you came out fully, your long green dress dragging on the ground. What were you doing out here?

He called for you quietly, his voice full of concern. Were you hurt? Looking for help? Lost? He stepped closer but you stepped back, gesturing for him to follow you, to chase you. And it was stupid that he listened. He was a soldier and he was leaving his sleeping comrades defenseless. He shouldn’t have set his gun down and took off after you, no matter how worried he was. But something about you was clouding his judgment, making him lose his way.

He stumbled through brambles and branches, through bushes and mud, your giggling the only sign that he was even going the right way. And then finally, a break in the darkness. A little homey cottage, the sudden light almost feeling blinding to his retinas. But when he opened his eyes again, you were there, excitedly beckoning him again, coaxing him into what was supposedly your house.

Soap knew he should turn back, should wake away, but his body only moved forward, his mind a fog of confused desire as you pulled him in for a kiss, your back pressed against the door. He was putty under your touch, just waiting to be molded into whatever shape you wished for, whatever shape pleased you best.

And apparently what pleased you was having him under you on your soft bed, riding his cock for your pleasure and your pleasure only, batting away his hands every time he tried to touch you. He was desperate for it, for more of you, like you were a drug he’d never be able to come back from, that he’d never stop craving.

And then you came and all he could think of was how you were pulling away, how wanting he was, how he couldn’t let you leave him like this. He didn’t notice the red in your eyes or how sharp your teeth became, how you started to go for his wide open neck, his blood pumping so deliciously fast for you.

And then you were flipped, so distracted by the thought of your own meal that you didn’t notice that he’d grabbed you until it was too late. He pushed your face into the pillows as you started to wiggle, his other hand clenching the meat of your hip tightly to keep you still as he plowed back into you, making you cry out in surprise and pleasure.

He’s overcome with the need for his own pleasure. With the need to drown himself in the pleasure your body gave him. His cock was twitching, he was so close. So so close. He needed it, needed it more than he needed the air in his lungs. He leaned in-

And you screamed.

Your cry was loud and sharp, like a banshee’s wail ringing in his ears. It shattered the haze in his mind, sent the wool flying from his eyes. He looked down and he saw your skin steaming from where his dog tags had touched your back. You seemed relieved with them gone, your body shaking under him, snarling at him over your shoulder.

It clicked for him suddenly, everythinh falling into place like one horrible puzzle that was missing its final piece. He’d grown up on old stories and legends of creatures that harmed humans, ate them down to their bones but were repelled by iron. His tags were steel, so he supposed they were close enough to iron to merit their effect on you.

You watched him. He watched you.

And then all at once he was moving again, finding your little squeak of surprise both amusing and cute. You were confused but he had never been more certain in his life. As he used you like his own personal whore, his mind was made up. You were his now. You couldn’t leave him. You were the first person in so long to take away the loneliness, the pain.

He flipped you onto your back, holding your hands above your head with one hand as the other whipped his dog tags over his head, wrapping them around your wrists as you hissed at him, bucking wildly. It only served to impale you further on his cock, making him groan with delight before his mouth was on your skin, nails raking down your sides now that you were successfully restrained. And he didn’t stop til you were a drooling whimpering mess on his cock, his cream dripping from your sore hole as he pressed kisses along your face and hands. Showing you how good he could please you and take care of you.

And then, you’d come with him, right? You chose him that night in the woods, and he chose you right back. Except instead of a quick meal, you ended up with a Sergeant who was head over heels for you and refused to leave you out in your woods all alone.

At least he was cute.

[chronically-ghosted]

i'm swingin' blind and you're stunning me without any gloves

rating: E for Explicit! 18+

word count: 9K

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

summary: the night continues while the two of you dance around the inevitable. dieter's restraint is foiled by dreams of a water bed.

warnings/tags: depictions of drugs, age gap, cum eating, piv sex, not actually incest but close, concerns about getting old, reader is at least 18 (by how much is up to you), no use of y/n, oral (f receiving), hand jobs (m & f receiving), unprotected piv, squirting, the barest hint of overstimulation, oh and SMUT.

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“Do all movie stars have six empty bedrooms they don’t use?” 

“They’re not always empty . . . I mean, it’s good for parties. Gives people space to get out of the chaos if they want, or if they need a place to crash. Keeps the energy, uh, flowing. Keeps the vibes good.” 

He uses the joint to take the place of having to explain that the room you just passed was in fact used as a revolving door for anyone who wanted a bump only two weeks ago. The second floor stretches out into the darkness, the nasty weather outside beating against the windows. He keeps a slow steady pace, the high making his insides comfortably warm as you wander in and out of rooms, like a less frantic, totally-fuckable version of that Scooby Doo gag. He’s quite sure he’ll never be able to watch Saturday morning cartoons the same way.

So far, you’ve been content with asking rather inane questions, filler questions that he suspects you’re hoping reveal more than he’s giving. The response to the question being more important than the answer itself. 

So no one lives in these rooms? No.

Do you ever use these as anything else other than bedrooms? No.

What’s outside by the pool? A gym.

A gym with full length mirrors that he used to adore snapping selfies in, in his younger cop show days, and without much prompting, would admit to masterbating to on occasion. 

You’ll always be your own greatest critic so fuck ‘em.

You come out of the last bedroom, smirking faintly as though someone had told you a particularly naughty secret, humming faintly to yourself. He never much cared for giving tours but given that you walked ahead of him and gave him adequate time to ogle the backs of your thighs, he could think of worse ways to spend time with you. 

“Mhm hmm,” you mutter to no one in particular. The carpet is plush, but that is the only thing you could say you really enjoyed about the style of the house. Everything else, especially the almost clinically clean air to it, makes it feel like a hotel, as if Dieter is mold growing in someone else’s house. Again, these are filed as things that helped fill out the picture of the man your uncle had become, if not the man he wanted to portray.

“So where do you sleep?” 

He had been lulled into such a stupor of quiet fantasy fueled by his warm high that he didn’t even think twice when he pointed down the hall. 

“God, it just keeps going, doesn’t it?” 

Turns out the path to moral degradation isn’t a straight line, but a curved slope. One he finds himself on, going down round and round and round, the longer he watches your legs, the curve of your ass, the bright smile as you quite obviously tried to get a glimpse of the old Dee. But that's the thing about drugs that he finds he so actively craved – of course there is the euphoria, the chemical sensations, the wires of your brain plugged into different outlets and restarting the whole system. But he's found that’s when people tended to be their most honest, most unpolished and they weren’t afraid to be like that. 

There was a lot of talk around the ego and the ID in his early acting classes. Who was your character when their ego had been pulled back like strips of skin? 

But as he got older, the question he became more obsessed with was, who were the people around him when they weren’t being paid to like him?

You, of course, are different from all that. You hadn’t built up an ego quite yet. You hadn’t built up the mechanisms required to survive the world because you hadn’t needed to. Sure, you could deflect and get what you wanted by batting your eyelashes, but there are times he felt ugly in the skin he had built. Like somewhere along the way, he had tried on all these hats and now they had all attached themselves to his head and he couldn’t tear them off if he tried. His costume didn’t fit– his face wasn’t even visible any more. 

And who exactly had spent the last fifteen minutes trailing after his beautiful, carefree niece, a single breath away from getting so hard it hurt, in this massively empty mansion? What version of himself wants to snake a hand into those shorts and effectively ruin you for anyone else – wanted to grip you so hard there’d be bruises and tears in your eyes when you came? 

Which one of them is he willing to show you?

All of them. None of him. The ID.

You glance over your shoulder, curious that he hadn’t answered you. 

“Yeah,” he sighs, smoking between his two fingers again. “Could get lost in a place like this.”

You pause in your inspection, eyes soft because of the drugs or the low lighting or something else, and take his hand. “Lucky I’ve got you then.” 

His mouth is instantly dry in a way that has nothing to do with the weed. He offers you the joint and you smoke too, eyelids drooping, allowing him another second of looking. 

And then another smile breaks across your face.

“Fuck,” your laugh turns into a cough. “Did you ever get that stupid fucking waterbed you wouldn’t shut up about? I remember you swearing the first thing you’d buy when you were rich and famous was a waterbed – which I thought was so fucking cool because I’d never heard of a waterbed before because I was seven and it sounded like something totally made up — so of course, someone rich and famous could have one.”

You’re still holding hands, your palm dry and warm, when he laughs too. He takes the joint back from you, eyes narrowing as he looks at you out of the corner of his eyes.

Turns out moral degradation is a fucking cannon ball. 

“Why don’t you go see for yourself?” 

You squeeze his hand, eyes bright, before almost sprinting down the hall to the room on the right. He follows you, struck by the notion this is the first and last time you’ll ever enter his bedroom. This has to be the end of something.

He hears a grunt and a groan and he can’t help but smile. He saunters into the room, leaning up against the door frame with his hands in the pockets of his robe. You are face down on the mattress, hands under your chest. 

“This is not a water bed,” you grumble, the sound muffled. 

Once again, Maria deserved a raise just for making his bed. 

“No, it’s not,” he says slowly, as he edges a teasing tone into his next words. “Look, I did get a fucking water bed, alright? Just about a century ago when they were still a thing.”

You ease up onto your elbows and glare at him. “Can’t believe you got rid of it. What a waste.” 

And then you’re sliding back onto your knees, hands planted on the covers, and for just a second, he swears he can see the outline of your cunt through the material that could hardly be called shorts. 

His knees actually buckle for a second before he stands up right and physically has to close his eyes. Looking away wouldn’t have been enough. 

But you don’t see all of this. You’re frowning down, as if glaring hard enough will bypass physics and liquidate the mattress. 

“What happened to it? The water bed, I mean.” 

Just as he’s gotten his heart rate back under control, your question throws everything into a spiral again. 

Do not fucking tell her about the hookers and the brass pasties. Or the cock ring. Definitely do not mention the cock ring. 

“It, uh, popped.” 

You smirk over your shoulder. “It was a sex thing, wasn’t it?” 

The question lingers, Dieter unable to make a coherent word that didn’t sound like take your pants off right fucking now, so he swallows and shakes his head. By some minor miracle, you shrug and don’t push it, sliding off the bed and completing your assessment of his life by regarding the book collection against the opposite wall. 

It’s bigger than you expect someone like Dieter to have, but its placement in the house – almost hidden in his private bedroom – suggests that its volume is not there to impress. It’s his personal collection and, judging by the bent spines, books he’s actually read, perhaps several times. There’s a small desk next to it, crouching in the corner and littered with sheets of paper that look like they were torn from a sketchbook. 

He couldn’t decide which version of himself he wanted you to see less: Dieter, full of vices, or Dieter, bratty actor who only acted in the first place because he couldn’t cut it as a real artist. 

Your hands run over the sketches, eyes annoyingly unreadable, and just as he’s about to leap forward and scoop all of the sketches into the trash, you move on. Your interest is caught by some of the books. You make noises that are both outside of the realm of approval or disgust and he finds himself nervous. Book reading is about the last thing on anyone’s mind once they’ve reached the final destination of The Bedroom, so he’s never worried about what someone might think. But this isn’t just someone, it’s you. 

His mouth opens to make some quippy remark, when you gasp and lunge forward, grabbing something at the back of the shelf.

“Holy shit, that’s you!” 

You hold up a picture of his high school’s production of Othello and there he is fifteen and smack dab in the middle of the cast. 

“Oh fuck, I forgot that was there,” he groans, dropping the nearly gone joint into an ashtray by the side of the bed. You’re practically glowing with excitement and he rolls his eyes as he takes it from you.

“Jesus Christ, look at that kid. Has no idea what kind of dumbass he’s going to grow up to be.” 

Three years after that photo was taken, he had left in the middle of the night for Hollywood. Of course, just as he had finished packing up his piece-of-shit Chevy, Enrico caught him. Exploded in his face and scolded him in his old man ways for leaving without saying nothing. 

He kept this photo because it was the last thing that reminded him of home and yet so distant it didn’t hurt as bad any more. 

“I think he did spectacular for himself,” you grin at him. “Who knew The Dieter Bravo was such a softie for the old days?” 

He smirks at you, finally sick of you kicking his ass all night. There is a line between fucking you and out sassing you, one he could live with. You aren't fucking ready for that Dieter. 

“No way,” he rubs the bottom of his lip with his thumb, artfully contemplative, and purposefully distractingly hot. “Just keep it around for the spank bank. Ms. Lemons was a babe.”

You narrow your eyes at him as he leans across you to put the photo back.  “Oh yeah? I gave my first blow job in that blackbox.”

“No, you fucking didn’t.”

“Yes I did!” 

“What was his name?”

“Jeremy.”

“Jeremy what?” 

“Jeremy . . . Barnes.”

“Pssh, fake name, fake boyfriend, fake story.” 

“He was real! I just . . . can’t remember his last name right now.” 

“Blurs together with all the other guys you’ve blown, right?” 

You bite the corner of your mouth, your smirk so tight he can almost picture your toes curling. Not that he’d dare break eye contact with you now. Now that he’s got you practically pinned to the bookshelf, photo forgotten and something that’s been slinking around for the past three hours finally rolling on its back and exposing its belly. 

He knows The Look, he practically invented it, and he can’t quite remember why it’s not okay to get that from your niece and someone twenty years younger than him. Right now, the portion of his brain that can sort that’s fucked up and it’s not that hard to refrain from being a fucking creep is filled with smoke, a sort of hissing sound there that is not unlike a shaken soda begging for release. 

And dear God does he want release. But he’s willing to edge it just a bit longer, scrape that muscle as gingerly as he can before touching it where it needs to be touched.

“I have no idea what you mean,” you say softly, meekly being cowed for the first time all night. Fuck, do you have to make it so easy?

“That’s right. You don’t. Because if it were any good, you’d remember it.” 

He puts a hand above your shoulder to stop himself from sinking into you. Weed made the world feel plushy, moldable – and he just wants to lounge in the dip of your bottom lip. You look so different from the girl who showed up soaking wet at his front door. 

Your breathing hitches the closer he comes, your eyes fluttering as you watch his fingers dig into the spines of the books. 

“What’s his first name again, darling? Do you still remember that?” 

You gasp, loudly, as if his itching fingers had finally sunk in between your legs, but you’re sliding away from him and pulling out something from the shelf. Something white and something he should have fucking hidden better. 

“Oh my God, is this my senior yearbook?” 

You’re wandering over to his bed, leaving Dieter reeling, his own spell so alarmingly effective he is caught beneath it too. It takes him a moment to blink as he realizes maybe this is where you reneg and decide you don’t want to fuck him after all. 

“It’s not as weird as it sounds –,” he begins, heart in his throat, and hands safely in his pockets as he joins you near the bed. You still haven’t looked up as you flip through the glossy pages.

“Sure, sure.” 

“Look, your dad sent it to me and I didn’t even open it,” he says honestly. The package was delivered on the Tuesday afternoon when he woke up so hungover he actually thought he might die, and couldn’t bear the thought of not recognizing you in the class photo. 

Funny how that all fucking worked out. 

You hadn’t leapt off the bed, called him a dirty old man, and ran away to call the police. Which are probably good signs. So, slowly, he sits down next to you, halfway on the bed and halfway off. 

“He sent it just a few weeks ago. I didn’t really think much of it at the time,” he says quietly. So you had been on the high school’s newspaper staff, as well as being the captain of the journalism club and ran the book club. You were on the volleyball team and co-Secretary of the student body government. Here, he spent all night trying to find out what kind of person you are when half your life is waiting for him upstairs. “But maybe he sent it as, like, some sort of . . . fond reminder.”

You snort, your thumb tucked under your chin as your hand touches the memories on the page.

“No, it fucking wasn’t. He was guilt-tripping you.” 

So your dad definitely still remembered the fight all those years ago. Dieter grimaces. His gaze slides from the stock pages, to your knee, down the crease of your thigh. 

“You know, he would have made me your godfather if–,” 

“If you weren’t such a fuck up. Yeah, he told me that too.” 

You finally look at him and find him nearly out of breath, eyes wide as though he had been struck by a sledgehammer right to the chest. 

“Actually, he told me if I came around more.” 

Your face crumples, the flippancy gone.

“Fuck, Dee, I’m sorry.” You cup the back of his neck with your palm in a soothing gesture and it stirs something within him. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It is what it is.” Deflection, distraction, escape.

You smile gently, thumbing his curls as your eyes roam his face, seeing right through his bullshit.

“You know, you kinda became the cautionary tale around us growing up,” you murmur, gaze searching his face. “Not sure why, though. Since you’re, like, a gazillionaire.”

Not worth it. None of it’s worth it.

“I get that. I get why he didn’t want me around. Probably best that I fucked off and never looked back.” 

The corners of your eyes crinkle, as though he had said something that didn’t make sense. You stop combing his hair and run your thumb over his ear. 

“But I don’t think you are,” you say slowly, as though you didn’t need to explain. “A cautionary tale, I mean. I think you’re . . . an inspiration. No one in our town ever fucking leaves, but you did. You got the fuck out and lived your dreams. And that’s pretty cool.” 

There’s not any hope for me, not if you knew all the fucked up shit I want to do to you. 

Don’t look at me like that. 

When he looks around for some self control, something to pull himself out of the pit he’s dragging you both in, there’s nothing. All eroded. 

Moral degradation is a smooth fucking shot. 

The yearbook drops from your lap, clatters to the ground as he takes your face with both his hands, his rings pressing into your cheeks, and kisses you so hard his lips knock against your teeth. The force of it rocks you flat against the mattress, your fingers wrapping around his wrists, grounding you to him – don’t take this back, don’t let go – and his tongue runs against your bottom lip once before your mouth opens without hesitation. He can feel that, that desperation, that eagerness to let him in, and he groans into the hollow of your mouth and you take it, you match it, just like everything else he'd given you this night. 

Your tongue rises to catch him, to guide him, to show him the places you need to be touched. He’ll get there, you little thing, so he nips your upper lip and you gasp, your body tightening beneath him. He grins – there’s so much you have to learn. 

His palm drifts away from your jaw, thumb gentle as it coaxes your cheek to the side, before he latches his lips to your neck, sucking and then a quick bite– all eased by his tongue. Your fingers dig up into his hair, clutching him to your chest as there is anything, anywhere else he’d rather be in the world. As if anyone could pry him off you. 

He dives back into your mouth, air rushing out of your nose in a silent moan, and your knee hooks out around his hips, pulling him into the cradle of your lap. You jerk back –

“Dee, you’re – holy shit –,” 

Your hips brush up as if you had somehow gotten it all wrong the first time. As if he isn’t rock hard above you. Your eyes widen as he smirks down at you.

“Yeah, baby, that’s all you. All you do to me.” 

He chuckles, dropping his head to your chest, breathing deeply, head spinning from kissing you so thoroughly. He inhales, nose rubbing against the soft material of your shirt, ideas of peeling it off you with his teeth. Your scent, it’s all at once intoxicating, mesmerizing, and . . . familiar. 

He groans, almost nuzzling your chest.

“Fuck, this smells like that nasty deodorant from 711 I used to buy ‘cause I couldn’t afford anything else.” 

You slowly open your eyes up at him, a distantly embarrassed smile curling up the corners of your mouth. You look hazy, blurred, lips flushed and pink from getting them sucked and bitten. Had he not just licked your entire mouth clean from spit, you might have blushed.

Your fingers curl gingerly around the back of his neck. “Well, you never forget your first.”

His mouth falls open. You had successfully knocked him back on his ass for a second time that night. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he husks, a grin breaking across his lips as the hand at your shoulder pulls gently at the sleeve. “This is my shirt? This has got to be older than you are.”

A small part of his brain, the part that definitely would object to fucking his pseudo-niece, goes warm at the thought that some part of him still lived in that neighborhood, was still there for all the important moments of your life. 

That is until the very active part of his brain lumbers in, quashes all gentle feelings and promptly wrestles for control of his mouth to ask you flat out if you ever touched yourself while wearing it. Not that he didn’t want to know, but if you said yes, he would have come right there on the spot, perhaps so hard his dick popped off. So he did not ask you that, but he did satisfy that part of his brain by molding his hand around your hip, so he could feel the cool fabric on the back of his hand, and your warm, plush skin against his palm. 

You like her being drenched in you, don’t you? 

You swat at his chest, rolling your eyes, oblivious to his rapidly darkening thoughts. “It is not older than me, but if it was . . . would that be a problem?”

You pick at imaginary lint on his shoulder, hips rolling just enough to indicate it better not be a fucking problem, and a smirk on your face that reads innocent and filthy all at once. 

Dieter shakes his head, grinning as he inches his wide palm up your hip, across the thin flesh of your ribs and – 

Does not find a bra. 

You had not been wearing a bra the entire night.

Your smirk deepens, your back arching into his palm, as his thumb brushes the underside of your breast, then over your tightening nipple. You moan softly, eyes fluttering, when he pinches it deftly. His jaw ticks, teeth grinding from the pleasure of watching your mouth arch open. 

It’s like you had been given a list of all the things that turned him on and you are crossing them off one by one. Like you had skinned him and read all his little nasty thoughts written on his ribs and made them your own.

Like you were made for him. 

He leans forward, the bristles of his beard and mustache rough like matches against the shell of your ear, his voice so weighty it could have been another physical thing he intended to drive into you, intended to rub against you to make you keen with pleasure. 

“It’s not a fucking problem, you little brat. Only problem is gonna be if it keeps me from watching those pretty tits bounce while I fuck you.”   

There it is. Out in the open. As if all his flirting and touching and tongue between his teeth hinted at something else besides you spread out under him. Half delirious from being so hard, he grins as he bites the bottom of the shirt – his shirt, Jesus Christ – and pulls it up and he ducks his head under the material and presses a sucking kiss into the valley of your tits. 

He likes giving head from underneath the sheets because, yes, it was hard to breathe. It was hot and stifling and everything smelled of sweat and sex and eventually his brain was forced to make a decision about what motor functions to hold onto and he made it focus on sensations until he was sure he’d be swallowed up by the cunt under his mouth or impaled by the cock in the back of his throat and if that’s how they found him dead, he’d be absolutely fine with all of it. 

Dieter Bravo – died doing what he loved. Giving immaculate, delicious head. 

The heat under the shirt is nowhere near as intense but it’s enough to make him flush with want. He licks the sweat gathering underneath your right tit, holds it on his tongue before he lathers both his spit and your sweat over your clearly-painfully tight nipple. Every touch of his makes you stutter and he can feel you unconsciously rubbing your hips up against him. 

“This isn’t going to end up on Youtube or some shit, right?” You ask above him, your voice rough as though your throat is dry. “You don’t have cameras filming this, right, Dee?” 

He chuckles with his nose rimming your left nipple. Do you have a voyeur kink? He muses vaguely. 

Fuck, I knew I shouldn’t have gotten rid of that mirror. 

“No, baby, it’s not going on Youtube.” He runs his warm palms up the curves of your side as he tugs his head out from underneath the shirt. “All the videos go directly to a password-protected server in the Cloud.”

“Dee–,” you groan as he lunges forward and kisses you hopefully so hard it knocks those silly thoughts from your brain before pulling back to grin helplessly at you. 

You cannot physically describe how impishly adorable he looks with his hair mussed, his lips pink and twisted in a smirk – you cannot really do anything at all, really – but your hand slides up from his shoulder, across his warm neck and settles into his cheek. The last bit of brown is swallowed by a swelling blackness as you rub your thumb across the bottom of his lip. This thing that has been eating at you the longer you’re around him edges you on, daring you to push him just a bit further because it knows you’d just love what he’ll do. It knows more than you, but it’s not exactly smarter than you. It’s just simply fascinated by Dieter Bravo. 

Your own mouth parts, your eyelids growing heavy, as you swipe across his lips one more time before sliding your thumb into the warmth of his mouth. Eyes never leaving yours, his tongue greets your thumb, massaging the pad before licking around it like he’d swirl off the top of an ice cream cone. He sucks gently and you can’t fight the noise that comes out of you. Almost shocked, surprised that you can feel this aroused with all your clothes on and just his tongue. He drags his tongue across the back of your knuckle and the groan is louder now – you want to bite into him – and he pushes his hips into the mattress. 

“C’mere, baby girl–,” 

Dropping your thumb, he dives in again for your mouth, this time the back of his hand grasping your neck. He kisses you and kisses you and kisses you as if forgetting there was another way to relieve the tension in his gut, the spark that's fanning smoke like a brushfire into every place your skin, your spit, touches his. 

“Take– this– off–,” He pants between the hot presses of his mouth to your jaw, your neck, the spot beneath your ear that makes you keen in a new way. His hands are scrambling over yours to get the shirt up and over your head, desire almost making him panic that everything is going too fast but not fast enough – he wants to be inside of you in every way that matter – he wants you to smell like him – to breath his same air – 

He’s not so much kissing as opening his mouth over your skin, his teeth and tongue and lips fighting over themselves to get to you first. He wants to linger, wants to take his time but the pressure – he deliriously thinks he can smell you – and only when his fingers clamp down on the waistband of your shorts – he has half a mind to punish you for walking around in these things, making his sanity unwind in the hallways of this fucking place, until the only truly sane thing to do is fuck you and fuck you good – the thought is so strong, almost violent he pauses. 

He looks up to the devastation he’s left in his wake – bright, purple spots on the inside of your breasts, under your ribs, the small swell of your stomach, your chest heaving – and he watches your face. You realize he’s stopped moving, slowed in his volcanic thunderous roll down to the clutch of your cunt, and you meet his gaze. You swallow, mouth too dry to form words, so you splat a hand on his shoulder. 

"No robe. I’m not – not going to let you f-fuck me in a bathrobe.” 

He grins. Of course, you would sass him after a make out session so intense he doesn’t even care if he comes in his pants. But he obliges, pretty much willing to cut off a finger if you continue to purr at him like you are. 

“Excuse you, this is lounge wear.” He leans back onto his knees and shrugs himself out of the green robe. Your eyes flash to the triangle on his forearm and he’d be fucked to admit he didn’t get it entirely for the look in your eyes right now. Chicks always dug the tattoos. Your tits bounce as your breathing hitches. 

Not Daddy’s girl, his smoke-heavy, lust-soaked brain chants at him, not Daddy’s girl. 

God, he’s so hard it hurts. 

He goes back down, dropping himself between your legs, arms tucked up under the backs of your thighs. He mouths the inside of your thigh – a distraction as his hand, like some sort of fucked up, horny magician performs a slight-of-hand, “iiiis this your clit?” – rubs you over your shorts. You are soaking wet and he’s fighting the urge to just dig in there, suckle you through the wet spot. He hadn’t actually made someone come that way before, but now seemed like an excellent opportunity to try. 

“You know, for someone who has to couch-surf, you talk a lot.” 

He noses the rim of the bottom of your shorts, allowing a full gaze down to your ass. 

“Sorry if I’m sick of fucking boys who look like their mom dressed them.” You are breathless, shaky, unwinding at the seams and you know exactly what to say to dig right into him. 

He bites the soft place at the back of your thigh and you groan. 

“I thought you couldn’t remember any of them before me,” he purrs, watching that damp spot grow darker the longer he talks, the longer he holds off on touching you where you and him and the entire fucking world knows you need to be touched. 

Maybe you ran your mouth too, when you were nervous, overwhelmed. Maybe you laughed too loud when you didn’t know what else to do, and maybe you gave him shit because the second words stopped coming out of your mouth, you’d have to sink into whatever he was giving you. You’d have to kneel to the white lighting between your legs. Maybe you were afraid there wouldn’t be white lightning at all. 

Families share similar insecurities, after all. 

He waits until you open your mouth again before hooking his fingers under the band of your shorts. 

“Hmm, there’s actually a fairly long list of guys before you. Guys who–,” 

He sucks the skin just an inch to the right of your hip bone, just before the patch of curly hair, he sucks it into his mouth and bites so gently he knows that your brain nearly splits in half from the hairline fracture between pleasure and pain. 

You gasp and you’re already arching off the bed. He breathes across those coarse, damp curls and inhales. 

Girlsex. 

Girlsweat. 

It’s like there’s acid corroding his brain, eating away at the clamps holding his sanity together and he’s gonna go fucking ballistic if the acid doesn’t get to him first. But he wants the burn. He wants the chemical smell. 

He wants . . . to put his dick into something. 

But first – 

You’re pliable. Easy to move as he scoops your shorts off your ass – Oh, fucking Christ, there’s her entire backside, isn’t there? – over your thighs and he hurls the shorts over his shoulder. He inhales–

God, this pussy is going to kill me, he thinks or maybe says out loud before he tips forward into that black, fluttering hole. When he licks you, you both moan. 

He remembers specifically doing planks for as long as he could to build up the upper body strength to languish here for hours.

Well, at the time, here wasn’t here here, but if everything before this was practice, then he was ready for the Olympics, dick as hard as a goddamn gold medal. 

He swipes up with his tongue, licking and sucking and swirling like frosting was going out of style. Frosting, that’s it. That’s what you reminded him of. Fat, sweating, sweet frosting. And there was the cherry on top. 

He guides your clit into his mouth, his fingers digging into the tops of your thighs as if to pull himself deeper into the wettest goddamn pool at the fucking YMCA. He sucks once and your hands fly into his hair. You’re making sounds that somewhat resemble his name, but they’re too high, too pitchy, too airless to be anything coherent. 

He wants to tease you about all the boys you mentioned. Wants you to go back on your word, beg for him to believe that there was no one else before him. If there was, it didn’t matter because this is it. This is the best you’d ever have. 

Even when you left him, you’d never forget – 

Disgustingly, he slurps up one lip of yours into his mouth and you cry out, fingernails digging into his scalp so hard that it hurts and sends another rush of blood into his weeping cock. He mouths up before teasing your clit again – around it but never on it – before diving back down and lapping up your other lip. 

“Dieter–,” you garble as if you know it’s filthy. He can hear your breathing tighten in your chest, feel your thighs clench around his ears, and he swears if he gets out of this with hair in tact, that’s the most he’s going to ask for –

And he french-kisses your clit.

You come, gasping, writhing, back arching off the mattress and he bares his forearm across your stomach, reaching up to pinch your nipple. 

Settle down. We’re only just getting started. 

He’s got to control himself but staring up at you, your face flushed with pleasure, he can’t quite remember what he’s supposed to do next. 

You are naked underneath him. Naked and heaving and he licks the dampness staining his mattress just to have your taste in his mouth again. This is going to be a problem, if he can’t think straight without his mouth on you. 

Oh my God, duh, fingers. 

He pulls himself up the length of your body, and his hands sink into your hair. His fingers curl around your ear as he makes you look at him.

“How are you feeling?” It’s an echo of what he asked earlier. You’re still warm but your breathing has slowed. Your eyes are open, even if they’re fighting to stay open as if you are concussed. 

“Good. Great.” You mutter, hand falling to his chest and tangling with his shirt. 

“You wanna keep going?”

Your eyes open wider as if someone rang a dinner bell and you’d been walking on hands and knees, starving for weeks. You swallow thickly, nodding frantically, and the hand leaves his chest, winding down between you and, before he can stop you, slides under the material of his sweats and strokes him. 

Your hands are like velvet.

Fuck, then what’s your cunt gonna feel like– 

Do not fucking come right now. 

“Oh, I see,” you huff, a smirk curling your mouth up, as if you had won some unnamed battle. You roll your shoulder to go aaall the way down his cock and stroke him. You think about licking your hand, but the precum leaking out of the tip of his head at a truly flattering rate is enough lubricant to keep your hand from sticking. “I can’t walk around without a bra on, but you can walk around in these thin fucking sweatpants and no underwear.”

He grits his teeth, dropping his head to his chest, trying to breath through the freightcar rattling down his spine.

“It’s my house, you little cocktease,” he pants, gasping as you run your thumb against the vein underneath his shaft. You pump him again and again and he groans low, with his eyes shut to keep them from rolling back in his head. “I can– yeah, right there – do whatever I want. Move your hand. I want to stick my fingers in you.” 

His words aren’t so crass they make your ears red, but it’s the unrestrained need in his voice. You slowly withdraw your hands and you go wipe the threads of him on the mattress as he sits up to take his shirt off. 

“Don’t. Just– gimme a second.” 

He yanks the tank shirt over his head, setting down in between your legs again and blinking like he’d forgotten where he was. He takes your hand, licks your palm as clean as something as dirty as this could ever get, and then penetrates your hole with his middle finger. His tongue slides in the crevice between your ring finger and your pinkie and when he adds a second finger below, you both can feel the moment your brain is wiped blank and your body twitches along with it. 

“Mhmm, good.” He pulls you down closer to him, fingers plucking your strings like the finest guitar. Your knees are spread wider than when he had half his body down there. He’s watching you practically drown his hand in the wetness seeping out, his other hand holding or balancing your knee. 

He hovers above you, watching you roll and writhe and beg. His forearm is strained, his hand must be soaking, and he thinks your face contorted in pleasure might be permanently burned into his brain. There is still some part of him that knows that’s wrong. He shouldn’t have the faintest idea of what you looked like, high and blissed out of your mind, while his fingers stroke and dig and pluck and rub to drag you higher and higher – 

The pad of his middle finger brushes something spongy and you nearly slam your legs shut over his arm, if it weren’t for his free hand pinning you open. 

“Dee,” you croak, head shaking, “that was – you can’t–,”

His eyes flutter at the sound of your voice so wrecked. He needs to memorize that exact spot, save it for when you don’t have enough sanity left to push back. It’s scary, he knows, but you must be out of your goddamn mind if you thought he was going to let anything bad happen to you. 

“Look at my thumb. Baby, look down.” 

You wrench your eyes open, past your quivering chest, down his long forearm, down to where the black bullseye on the meat of the space between his thumb and palm is winking at you. 

He’s stroking you with his thumb on your clit and the bullseye winking up at you. It’s eye-fucking you and that’s enough to break you. He wants to drink whatever drips out of you as your body locks up, head thrown back, and you come. You break through and his hand curls around your knee, gently, as he watches your body crescendo for the second time that night. He sucks his fingers, almost pensively, as if he is going to carve something out of you. Remake you. Split apart your atoms and rebuild you whole. Sex as an act of re-creation. 

He kneels his way out of his pants, cock pounding red, leaking, the hot center of where his want for you is infecting him like a sickness. 

Slowly, he drags one of your knees over his shoulder, half of your body hovering just above the mattress. 

He wants to ask if you need it rough or slow. He can’t be gentle right now but he does have enough awareness to keep from hurting you. But maybe you, like him, like a little bit of pain. 

He wants you on top, wants to see you sing for him, but he knows your legs are jelly. He knows there’s a white static hum in your brain and he’s so grateful for the pleasure of it. 

He rubs the top of your thigh and noses the back of your ankle up by his ear. 

“Do you want me to put a condom on?” he asks quietly, before kissing that spot below your ankle.

“Are you clean?” He’s so fucking broad and his rings pinch your skin when he pushes too hard and he’s asking for your comfort. You also want to feel every inch of his cock and you beg him to say yes. 

He nods, suddenly irrationally thankful of Paul’s monthly mandated screenings. You get the clap once, and your fucking manager never lets you forget it. 

You huff, realizing you’re so close your cunt can almost taste it. “I-I’m on the pill. A-a-and I’m clean too.” 

As if he had ever denied you anything, as if his willpower hadn’t barely lasted four hours, you tense at the anticipation of his cock. 

He’s just as warm, just as ready, so he grabs your other ankle and draws it next to your other one against the back of his neck. He sinks back just a bit on his ankles, fingers spreading you and grabbing himself and then–

It’s like getting the wind knocked out of you and getting sprayed with a hose of fire all at once. 

“JesusfuckingChrist, you’re tight.” 

He edges deeper as he sits up right, going slow not because he hadn’t unwound you properly but because if he went any faster, he’d obsess over the idea of getting rug burns on his dick. 

“Dieter, oh God–,”

Hands leaving your ankles to wrap around your thighs, he rocks his hips back and drags out his cock just as much as the both of you can handle before thrusting forward. Again.

Again. He can’t seem to fill you enough. He wants to be bigger, thicker, girthier, if only to plug you up more. 

But, fuck, your cunt is better than your hands but only because it’s so warm and wet and throbbing and he swears his heartbeat is in his ears. 

He thrusts almost lazily, dipping his head to kiss your shin before dropping it back, your toes brushing his hair. His hands greedily squeeze your thighs, thumbs rubbing circles. 

It’s like he has to recover from the shock and sensation of fucking you. It’s too good. It’s too much. 

He’s inside of you.

If there’s a relief fund for grilled cheese, he’s going to have to donate every red cent he’s ever owned. 

Your hands clench the sheets, mouth open and, yes, beautiful tits bouncing with every thrust. It’s not them hovering above him, begging to be bitten, but it’s close and he smooths his hand down from your thigh over his chest, down your hip and he kneads your breast. 

“Oh, fuck, Dee, fuck . . . you feel so fucking good.” 

I want to die in this cunt. 

“So good, baby.” 

It’s back, that pressure that connects the backs of his eyes, to the back of his gut, all the way to his pussy-soaked cock. This time he lets it build, lets it dangle out of reach, and his thrusts become faster, hurried. You jerk beneath him and let out a full whine as if he had spanked you. 

He fucks you some more this way, just to feel that tightening in his gut, before he pulls your legs off his shoulders and you whine again, this time out of annoyance. 

He has the where-with-all to smirk.

“What, baby doesn’t like it when I take away her toys?” He pants, almost feeling light-headed. You scowl at him but don’t push back in the least as he turns you onto your hands and knees. 

“It was just starting to feel good, you a-ahh–ss–,”

He jerks his hips into you without warning, fully seating you on his cock and your head drops between your shoulders. 

“If you weren’t such a brat, you’d be kind of cute,” he murmurs as he rubs his thumb over the knots in your spine, the sensation of your cunt sucking him in almost detaching him from this plane of existence. He knows you like to be teased, with his words, with his fingers, his mouth. He wants to give you everything – anything – he’s so pussy-obsessed he can feel it like ozone in his mouth.

He never wants to stop fucking you. He’s being unstable about it. 

“You like that I’m a brat,” you say and push back with your hips. The sensation does make him stutter and you take it as a win. His rings sting as they squeeze your hips. 

He’s sliding down that pressure, winding himself up so tightly in it he wants to stop breathing – 

He starts pumping faster. The sounds that echo in that room are like music to his ears.

The sheets ruffling as your hands clench around them. The jolt of the bed as it lurches back and forth.

Your moans as he fucks every thought out of your head. “Fuck, you’re so big. It’s not fair.” 

The wet slap of his thighs meeting yours. 

And it all narrows down, the universe closing to a single focal point–  all of it runs right to his cock rubbing up inside your cunt like it owns the place.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you groan, head down. “Please – please fuck me harder, Uncle Dieter.” 

With a growl that surprised even him, he drops forward, one hand anchoring himself to your hip and the other coming up around your throat. You gasp as his fingers dig painfully into your skin. He pulls you both up right, nose in your ear and teeth tight in his jaw. 

He punctuates every word with a particularly brutal thrust that gnaws at something truly devastating inside you. 

“Don’t – fucking – call me that – while – I’m inside – you–,”

You turn your head, flush with his and the hand that’s on your throat slides up to your cheek and he holds you there, pins you there as his cock pounds the daylights out of you. 

“Say my name.” He husks. There’s something cataclysmic happening inside your cunt and he has the launch codes. 

You can’t remember feeling so full before. So up your eyes and your mouth and your ears and your heart – God, maybe there really hadn’t been anyone before him. 

“Oh, fuck, Dieter,”

“No, honey, my real name.” 

Your eyes flicker open and something in his chest roars. He’ll kiss you after this. He’ll kiss you so hard you end up on another fucking planet. 

“David.” 

The sweat on his temples mixes with yours and he wants to smear himself in your fluids. This close, his beard and mustache rub roughly against your skin and you wonder how long the burn will last after all this. You’re clenching his arm, clenching his lower back to you, you think you’ll make him bleed in half-moon cuts of blood. 

“All of it. All of it, baby girl,” he whispers to your cheek, your jaw. “Say it. I need to hear it. I need to hear it from you.” 

Your fucked-out mind spins, clutching at the memories of the past, to a name you hadn’t heard in a decade, while the man you’ve known all your life threatens to undo your sanity. You lock eyes with him, the precipice of something so large and looming, you can’t wait to be crushed by it.

“Davíd Moralés.” 

And that bastard’s cock intentionally pushes against that spongy spot and you shriek. Honest to God, yell, as you come, with Dieter wrapped up against your back, sweat streaking both of you.

“Get down,” he hisses suddenly and almost throws you off him. You land on your back, your entire body pulsing as one single organism, and he grabs his cock in time to aim it at your chest. 

He comes, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut, as he sprays you with white ropes. It’s warm on your tits and you shudder through your aftershocks. You feel like you’re sinking into warmth as he keeps coming, your inner thighs drenched and dripping, and finally, he leans away and collapses on the bed next to you.

There’s ringing in your ears. 

You feel swollen all over, your nerve centers humming and firing and crackling as though someone whapped you over the head with a 500 volt electric baton. You want to keep sinking, keep drifting, keep existing in this warm, non-corporeal form. Everything feels so good here.

You had no idea you, or anyone else for that matter, could come that hard. 

“Holy shit.” 

You can’t help but grin through the short huffs of breath you swallow down in gasps. 

You want to sass him but it feels a bit like spitting in the face of God. “Yeah. Holy shit.” 

He sits up on his elbows, glancing over his side at you, the begrudgingly fantastic cock between his legs as deflated as you are. 

“Are you okay? Fuck, sorry, I got a little crazy there at the end.” 

You shake your fist loosely, with your thumb and pinky finger extended. “I don’t hear customer service calling. In fact, I think the line has been permanently disconnected.” 

You both laugh softly and his eyes roam over your face. This is why he only saw vampy women. It was easier to wake up to something almost over-the-top hot, than this. Than you, with your beautifully flushed cheeks, plump lips, and eyes that searched only for him. 

His gut twisted painfully. Okay, you nutted so hard you’re pretty sure your dick isn’t going to work for a week, now wake up. Wake up and smell the fucking arrest warrant. 

Uncle Dieter. You're his niece. 

What the fuck were you thinking? Where could this possibly go?

Instead of inspecting the small-starting-to-grow painful throbbing in his chest, he sits up and pleasantly inspects the mess you both made all over you. You follow his gaze, smirking as he intentionally smears his cum over your skin with his thumb.

“Oh, and that thing you did at the end, where you made me–,”

“Yeah?” He grinned wickedly, almost begging you to use your words, but you had been so good for him. He’d save that for later. “You liked that?”

“At the risk of sounding desperate, yes. A thousand times yes. But totally unfair and totally cheating.”

He snickers and leans down to your thighs. “Yeah, okay, Ms. I’m Not Wearing a Bra.” 

The smell of you is intoxicating and it’s drenching your thighs, the sheets below you. Maybe he could strip the bed before Maria came – oh, fuck, what if it’s in the mattress?

He hauls those thoughts out of his mind, his dick twitching uncomfortably, as he bends forward and licks the inside of your thigh.

“Oh my God, Dee, you can’t possibly be –,”

“Relax. I’m not. Just wanted to clean you up.”

He licks the drying liquid from your skin – you hiss, so very overstimulated – dragging his tongue up, never breaking eye contact with you as he slinks up your body, shoulders rolling – “Dee, wait, you’re gonna–,” and licks the cum off your chest. His own cum. 

“Oh, fuck, that’s nasty,” you murmur, eyes transfixed on his mouth as he swallows. He chuckles, finally deciding you’ve had enough for one night, and he leans forward and presses his lips on your temple. 

“I’m not ready, but it sounds like you might be.” 

He reaches back to the floor where his shirt was so casually discarded. He gingerly wipes your thighs, your hips, your stomach and chest. There’d be time for a proper wash later, but right now he thinks he’s going to pitch forward into unconsciousness in less than thirty seconds. His limbs are heavy, his eyelids are heavy but he can’t stop smiling.

You grin at him as he tosses the very used shirt back onto the ground and gets up from the bed to disappear into the bathroom. You roll onto your side, after unpeeling the bedsheets like you had done it a thousand times. When he comes back, you rub your face against his pillows and he realizes if he’s going to hoard the sheets, then he’s going to have to do the same to the pillowcase. 

“I’m not gonna wake up and find you mouthing that shirt, am I?” You ask, a smirk already cradling your lips. He huffs at you as he hands you a glass of water. You take it, gratefully, only vaguely aware that he probably did that kind of thing all the time with his other conquests. 

That thought threatens to sour your good mood so you put the glass back onto the bedside table and curl deeper into the sheets. 

He climbs in behind you, and rubs his nose over your shoulder and up into your ear, his hand spread across your hip. 

“Only if I wake up in the middle of the night and can’t mouth your tits.” 

He’s purposefully being sexy, being teasing, but there’s a question there. A request. A quiet ask that for all his thick dick swinging, doesn’t have the cojones to verbalize. 

 You smirk at him and roll back slightly to catch his mouth. You thread your fingers through his hair and squeeze once. 

“Baby, I couldn’t stand up right if I fucking tried.”

He grins, eyes warm. “Wow. Even if you fucking tried?”

God, this is such a bad idea.

“Even if I fuck-in’ tried.” 

But despite all his not-at-all begging, he wakes up alone. 

He wakes up in broad daylight – the storm had passed. Too bright light streams in from between the gray curtains, illuminating the one thing he never wanted to see: your side of the bed empty. 

His heart clenches so fast he thinks he might be sick. There’s real nausea as he stumbles to his feet and pulls his pants on from last night. He’s about to rush down the stairs, frantically flipping over everything in hopes of finding a note, even if it told him to fuck off. 

You’re twenty years older than me, you fucking creep.

Just wait until my dad hears about this. 

I never want to see you again. 

Just as his mouth dries up till his lips crack, he sees something on the other side of the bed that makes him freeze in his tracks. It’s your phone, plugged into the wall. He goes over and taps the screen. The battery has only 15%. 

And then a post-storm breeze rattles the patio door handle and it opens slightly. He sees your barefoot through the cut in the door frame. 

Holy fuck, you’re still here, just outside. 

Heart now jettisoning into his throat, he opens the door to a truly spectacular morning. His patio looks down to the freshly-washed Los Angeles, the sky a cobalt blue, the air cool and faintly smelling of rain. People run and lead their dogs through the streets and for a minute he thinks he can hear the ocean. 

But what makes it truly spectacular is you. Curled up at the small table in one of his white shirts and those sanctimonious shorts. You’ve got a cup of coffee in your hand and you’ve got his favorite book, Eco’s The Name of the Rose, lying flat beneath your fingertips. But you aren’t reading. You’re looking at him.

“Well, hi there. Did you dream you missed a flight?”

He blinks. “What?” 

“You just, sort of, rushed out here, looking like you forgot something.” You frown. “Is everything okay?”

He swallows and it’s all he can do to keep from dropping to his knees and pressing his face into your lap. 

“Yeah, fine, fine. All good. Fine.” 

You turn back to the book, staring at it as if it was giving you a pep talk. Then you shut it and turn back to him.

“So, um, last night . . .” 

Here it comes. I regret it, all of it. You drugged me and took advantage of me. I can’t believe that you would–

“Was great.” 

He swears he hears his blood rushing in his ears. You smile at him, but clearly uneasy. As if you are the one second-guessing it all. 

Fuck, Bravo, put on your big boy pants.

He pulls out the other patio chair and sits down next to you. He clasps his hands, leaning forward on his elbows. His rings clink together. He nods, trying to catch your eyes.

“Yeah. It was fucking fantastic. I mean it. One for the books.”

He waits for you to say but. 

You wait for him to say but.

Neither of you do. You grin and put your coffee on the table. 

“So, in the events of last night . . . surprisingly, I forgot to charge my phone.”

He doesn’t want to touch you because he thinks it might spook you so he runs his gaze over your lovely knuckles, your wrist. 

“Sounds like, then, you might need to stay awhile.” 

You swallow, unable to contain the growing smile on your face. You duck your head and he follows you and your breath fans his face. 

“Guess so.” 

If he tells it, he says he kissed you.

If you tell it, you say you kissed him. 

Doesn’t matter though. Doesn’t matter that the coffee grows cold and he ignites something in you that you didn’t know existed.

When he finally pulls away, he’s still smiling. 

“This might be a bit weird, but . . . wanna see my other kitchen?”

The End

[ziipzeepzop-eez]

Greetings, i hope you're doing good🤍

Can i please request ROTTMNT brothers with their little sister?

Type: hc, platonic, hurt/comfort.

Scenario: it's about little sister reader who had been in a relationship - since she's the same age as Mikey - but she got cheated on and dumped so once her family knows - *cough* thanks to Donnie and his trackers *cough* - they go get revenge for their heart broken little sister.

(If it's okay with you can you add future Leonardo acting like the oldest brother/father to reader? It's okay if you don't want to, no pressure)

❝ home is where your heart is. ❞

⋆ ˚☁️ ⁀➴ − ⌗ 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐱 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

❝l 𝓪/𝓷: the wayyyyyy, i actually feel kinda baddddddd, for the fool that had the audacity. to even consider - much less f o l l o w through, with cheating on THE. ✋ Hamato [Name] ................. *crickets chirping* .... nah, no i don't. HAHAHAAA (also i am so so sorry this is so late- you sent this in to me LAST YEAR....... 😀............. *runs off bawling*)

‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ | aiight. to summy this entire shindig up: i feel sorry for the sucka that did you so wrong. because lemme tell you right now babygirl lah– you. you? you, are the most estimable treasure. the cherished jewel of the Hamato Clan. whoever this joker is, just know, they fumbled the bag DEVASTATINGLY HEAVY. oh, the agony is unimaginable. unimaginable, i say!

kinda like . . . how you felt that day.

numb,

yet every nerve ending felt like it'd been cauterized – an open wound burned closed.

the same way you'd burned your heart shut, sloppily, hurriedly, with the same grace as you'd gathered your dignity as soon as you laid eyes on your once-beloved,

. . . and their new one.

THAT DAY you come home from up top, eyes red and puffy, heartbreaking whimpers streaming from your lips as you stumbled through the main entrance. –where had your heart gone?

‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ | in my professional opinion (*mocking hyena laughter echoing through the trenches*) : emotional pain, is unarguably, the worst kind of pain one can go through.

by fate, by coincidence, by the supreme pizza maker in the sky − all of your siblings were joined together in the main living room the moment you came home.

it'd be later on that you'd find out that each one of their sibling senses were tingling. it's exactly why they all coincidentally commence a living room rendezvous – which in of itself wasn't odd! it just became a tragic thing very quickly.

you didn't know whether to be relieved or even more devastated.

i concur you'd decide on a secret third thing −

when the previous relaxed vibe was wiped clean as soon as you'd stepped in and everyone caught wind of your devastation immediately, leaving a cold backwash of worry and alarm.

mikey was the first to reach you. when quickly followed by the other three, voices overlapping, all in varying tones but all uniform in inquiring 'are you okay?' . . . well. *blows heavy breath* you couldn't help the utter anguish that crashed into you in a relentless wave. being in a familiar and safe environment allowed your mind to slow down to a coherent level, and therefore allow what you witnessed to really sink in . . . you collapsed. metaphorically and physically.

"hermana? n/n, hermana, hey- hey hey- shhhh, what happened, what happened—?" leo, for all the panic that was pumping through his bloodstream, tried his best to comfort you: his foremost reaction to when you were in pain or discomfort of any kind. raph was a mess above all three of you; having previously been checking for wounds of any kind, he cringed back instantly when your cries only got louder. for a split second he was horrified he had hurt you, but a once-over showed that it . . . blessedly wasn't that? then- what . . .? donnie hovered nervously, eyes wide and shiny but even then, his hands were outstretched to you. reactive instinct. like he wanted to pull you - his only little sister - into a hug of sorts, but didn't know if it'd be received. –yet you clung to mikey with all you could hold yourself up to right then. even though he himself had no clue what was going on, he held you close and tight, tears of his own burning behind his eyes at the sight and sound of your wailing. "[n-name]? sisi, what–?" "t-they broke up with me," you bawled, your own words folding you over in despair once more. the room instantly got colder. no voices besides your own were heard. "they, th-they dumped me," you gasped, choking with hiccups, "a-and they, th-they were w-with someone e-helse! an- another per, hhu, person!"

seeing you in the aftermath of such an affair nearly killed all of your siblings.

you were so devastated that it just, broke their hearts. almost as much as yours.

you weren't like yourself.

and sure, that's to be expected!

i mean, it was your first ever relationship − your first everythings concerning intimate romance.

(well, that can happen in one's teenagehood, more or less.)

and to have what you'd thought was a beautiful bond, just.. flushed down the drain? just like that?

tha shii hurteded mayn, ngl. 😔✊

justice for [name] hamato, seriously. tf is wrong with people and dumping one of a kind gems??

‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ | there are five stages of grief, even after a breakup. denial, anger, bargaining, depression, then acceptance.

and though it's a messy, painful time for you – your family is there with you through it all.

mikey (bless him) is of course, the one who assists in you recognizing all these stages and is an immense aid for caring for your delicate emotional state.

also helps that he's practically your twin. i mean, c'mon: ever since you both were tots, you were inseparable.

dare you say he knows you better than you know yourself. and that'd go even without his impressive emotional depth.

"you're amazing." he whispers. under your shared blankets and the dead of night, in contrast to the cacophony of invasive voices in your mind, his voice connected to your conscience buried beneath the mental rubble and held taut like a string of fate. no, is what you want to say. but you don't. you can't. because deep down, you know your brother is right. that all of them are right. mikey sits up in your shared hammock, the one used for special occasions, and tugs you up with him. he presses his forehead to yours and it's no secret that his gaze is made of fire. but instead of burning right through you, leaving you to shrivel up and disintegrate, to wallow in the wake of its aftermath – it's warm. it's light. "say it." "'you're amazing,'" you drawl; it's the clearest you've spoken in days. your pseudo twin blinks, eyebrow ridges met to his invisible hairline. a moment passes. two. then mikey snorts, quickly followed by you, and before you know it you're both dissolving into a mushy pile of giggles and obnoxious snorts. it was gleeful and euphoric and by the end of it, mikey is clinging to you like a koala, overjoyed. and you let him. it felt heavenly to laugh like this again. to smile.

as for your other brothers,

i can imagine Leo dragging you into self-care sessions at random.

i would say nights but really, with you guys' schedule, it could be for any time at all aksjhhd. nights are generally reserved for patrols and on the town's !! self-care is all day, every day !!

painting your nails; smoothing a face mask with care from his esteemed varietal top-notch collection on you as well as himself; stashing up a whole bunch of snacks, pizza, candy and comics (he makes sure to get your go-to orders + whtv you may be craving in the moment); turning on some fairy lights and happily binges all your favorite movies/series with you.

he'd give you tight hugs & make a bunch of well-timed jokes to get you into a better mindset on your gloomier healing days — but he can be serious as well !!

and when that happens, it's usually accompanied by heartfelt words and him tucking you against his plastron, like he could shield you from all the monsters and bad, evil things of this world.

(he'd always damn sure try.)

for all of his annoyingness, you mean the world to him and if losers like your,

🤢 ex 🤮 can't see that—

🗣THAT'S THEIR EFFIN' PROBLEM. ALL THEIR LIFE. NOW ISN'T IT??🗣

ahh one way or another, your other two dumpling brothers get lumped into the soup of self-care too !!

they do it for you, [name]. even if they don't always really want to,

they do it for you. 😤

Raph is so sweet. as your eldest brother I feel like he'd feel somewhat responsible for your heartbreak, but you get reassured that it's not your fault, and you reassure him that it's not his either. (please be patient with his logic, he'll get there eventually 😮‍💨😅) and in the aftermath he's spoiling you absolutely rotten.

carrying you everywhere (if that's whatcha dig.) getting you whatever you want: snacks, food, books, stuffies . . . anything man, he's already got it. and he cuddles you at night, giving you gentle shell rubs and churring deep in his chest — it never fails to lull you to sleep. 🥹 worked then, works now.

Donnie is a constant presence. He's not good at this "emotional stuff", or so he claims, but Don's the one who you subconsciously think of for a gentle, solid place to just be safe and be. not for distractions and laughter like Leo, not for being overly coddled and doted on like Raph, but... to just. Exist.

To be grounded.

Brought back to a steady surface.

ironically, it's the most sorting out of your emotions that you do in Donnie's presence: the most emotionally constipated of all your siblings c:

& he gives surprisingly good advice when you ask for it!!

but here's the thing.

Donnie always believed nobody was (or ever will be) good enough for his little sister, and this just solidifies it.

"Trash, everywhere."

"Donnie please—"

so ya might want to either retreat to a different mindset when this comes about or just don't take it to heart. there are wonderful suitors out there !! this one was just a bad rep. 🥹

(don't worry! dr. delicate touch elegantly exits stage left. don't mind the path of fire left in his wake! it's simply protocol. 😇)

‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ | you know the mainstream energy that all siblings carry? when they get annoyed with you but the second anybody else tries you — they're out for blood?

your

🤢 ex 🤮

never stood a chance.

donnie had it alllll handled that exact night.

he was slinking off and typing away furiously at his little tech-wrist, even as raph cradled you

even as leo quickly made up the bedroom with all the combined blankets and pillows and stuffies throughout the lair

even as mikey clung to you with big, watery eyes and tried his best in reassuring you (he might've been more devastated than you about the situation ngl ✋🏼)

and while donnie hovered, he was working.

y'all should know homeboy by now —

he is always working.

i imagine all of them would wait until you're sufficiently distracted, and that's where your sister and dad come in!

april taking you out for some one-on-one time, some fresh air, either to go for something fun around the city or back to her place for an evening in, (aaaand because your big sis needs to get her get back on your behalf too *slings bat across shoulders* —) quality time cuddles and movie night with papa splinter!! <;3 : your dad is good at damage control; you're his only daughter, of course he cherishes you. plus, he raised you alongside your brothers. your very rambunctious brothers. (/lh) all things considered, i think he's a wonderful parent where it counts. he was heartbroken for you that very same night. after all, you'd cried for him like a baby, hands reaching weakly while marble sized tears dribbled down your cheeks..... he hadn't seen such behavior since your tothood.💔,

but splinter is an accomplished man. he was much more in control of his emotions and therefore acted as an anchor of sorts to you in the moment you needed it most.

he was the one to calm your brothers down and gave them all one by one tasks as he cradled your body in his arms. no matter how old or big you'd get, you'd always have a place in your dad's loving embrace. and the night your brothers plan to make their move, which would probably be a day or so after you came home, the old man took up his role and fed you milk and cake while doting. giving you his undivided attention and care whilst he strokes your head and cheeks, reminding you of how precious you are to him —

"my precious [name]," splinter says lowly, cupping your face with his small hands. his eyes are grim, but they shine with fondness as they gaze into yours. "my jade. my little shining sky. you never cease to amaze me. life is a relentless ocean, and you will sometimes be swept away by the waves and crash against the shores . . ."

he takes your chin gently, stroking just so with his thumb. "but we will not let you drown. your strength and resilience is a true testament to how valuable of a being you are, my daughter. never forget that."

" . . . m'kay, papa." you croak. you bury your face into his chest, comforted by the warmth and softness of his fur. "alright. i promise."

meanwhile, snap clip to your siblings. blending in with the night as they move with deadly swiftness and silence, moving with intention. purpose.

whether you know what they're up to or not is entirely up to you

but i think they'd go that mile in ensuring you didn't know the mapped out details of what they were planning.

because — well, y'knaur,

they didn't hold back one bit. 🙂

whether your 🤢 ex 🤮 was a human, yo'kai, it don't MATTER.

"these hands rated e for everyone" 🗣️ — the mad dogz fr.

‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ | a detail I won't be letting anyone forget any time soon: you're all super powered genetically augmented mutants that were initially created for the sole purpose of war and worldwide domination.

you really think your

🤢 ex 🤮

— stood a chance?

nah fam....... nah.

I wanna say your siblings would be lenient, I really do (no tf I don't LMAOAOAOA-)

but realistically, I think they'd deal some heavy damage.

whether physically, emotionally, or mentally-

because you're their sister.

their baby. their princess.

and no matter how much they may lovingly tease you, and vice versa, they ain't about to let that ish slide.

the dealing of their cards is definitely not as worse as it could've been! but bad enough to not wish it on nobody else.

I mean you've got Dr. Delicate Touch, Raph in his big burly glory, and bro is Big Mad™, April is armed with her trusty bat and a Mayhem that's ready to be sicced, not to mention the deadly disaster twins —

they're all out for blood.

ohhohooooo man, they would render your

🤢 ex 🤮

into a pile of MUSH.

there are no remains. there is no recovery. the [name] hamato protection squad takes no prisoners. they kick names and take ass, even.

Dr. Delicate Touch had no preservations. (Ion even need to get into detail for that *shudders in fear*)

Donnie has the homewrecker's information, from birth to present day, down to the very microfibers of their genetic information to what they had for breakfast that morning - and he uses it to further inflict the irreversible damage that was started from Dr DT,

Leo can be, and was, terrifying. He's a broad two-edged sword that can slice through, clean and precise - so sharp you wouldn't feel a thing until he's done with his job of sawing you asunder, splitting through every atom with lethal precision.

and Raph definitely used his height and build to the highest advantage. He's got your 🤢 ex 🤮 cornered and trembling in their boots, tail between their legs (whether literally or figuratively that's up to you c:).

now legally, I cannot tell you what they did!! ,,,

but just know that they brought you to some serious justice.

"you so much as breathe their name again," they growl, "it'll be the last breath you ever take."

they wouldn't hold back their disgust. they probably make your 🤢 ex 🤮 (I will never get tired of typing that PLSSS) feel like a worthless pile of [redacted] from words alone.

and for good reason, tbh.

your 🤢 ex 🤮 had shared space and time with your family as well.

now - whether they were close with each other is ambiguous,

but realistically speaking: if they were your partner, I'd imagine they'd all at least be tolerant of one another to a certain degree.

because, well..... your siblings value your happiness.

even if you may or may not have had to scold them countless times for any odd behavior towards your now 🤢 ex 🤮, they left you both be.

......for the most part.

you'd think the shovel talk was enough!!

but after that encounter, they wouldn't give your ex a second thought.

they weren't worth the time, and you were an absolute enchantment. not even worth whatever your 🤢 ex 🤮 had going on.

they probably wish your 🤢 ex 🤮 "a happy life" to conclude the whole ordeal sksnsjdnk

oh I just know the sarcasm from the disaster twins was dripping with venom.

left boo boo kitty SHAKING FR 💥

but it simply cements the fact!!

your 🤢 ex 🤮 just wasn't the one.

when the wound of betrayal isn't as fresh, some time down the line, Leo would probably try to make you feel better by saying this is a "canon event" and essential to your "badass character development" 😭✋ (I can't stand him y'all plss-)

and even tho Raph cuffs his shoulfer for it, it really did make you feel better.

because, you know your worth.

you know you're a catch ✨👑💞 and if anyone can't see that,

then that's simply a personal problem of theirs.

YOU DESERVE BETTER QUEEN 👑💪❣️💅🏾 THEY AIN'T NOTHING.

‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ | bottom line, no matter what. your family has your back.

it didn't matter how much time it took, and how much time it will take:

they will always be there for you.

they're not perfect but they try the most!! 😭❤️

and in the times where your brothers act like.... well, brothers (/aff),

you've got a kick-ass sister to turn to.

and she's MORE than happy to lend a helping hand and back you up in the midst of tragedy 😉

and it's with them that you really do see the situation for what it is.

did it hurt? yes.

but that's the motions of life, babe.

and you WILL rise (see what I did there? AHA-) from this stronger.

not only because you're an absolute LEGEND.

..... but also, because your family is pretty great at reminding you of that too. 🥹

headers / dividers credits !! : @chachachannah @rookthornesartistry

subject to editing after posting for grammatical corrections and polishing! :)

sniper baby I'm so excited to finally have this out for you, I hope you liked it !!! muwah muwah ❣️ good things come to those who wait. 🫂 and boy oh boy have you WAITED AND MORE. XD

© ziipzeepzop-eez all rights reserved, all reservations apply.

[babiebom]

When You Fall (VIII)

A/N: i got the sweetest message from someone(idk if they’d want me to call them out) and somehow it made me want to start on this chapter so I guess it literally just takes someone being nice for me to actually do something lmao. Also happy new year!! Also also whenever I’m writing one of these chapters and the tumblr notif shows up it jumpscares me. Like how do y’all know?

Tw: depression, reader decides to force themself to be happy, cursing. The usual

Wc:3.0k

Previous Next Masterlist

Sweat dripped from your forehead as you attempted to clear some of the farm from debris. It was taking long to clear everything, and though you knew that most of the land would be unused until you actually got enough money to plant more things and get a coop or barn.

Shadow ran around wildly, barking happily as she snapped her teeth at the air. It’s funny, watching her as she runs. Getting pets didn’t make being in a depressive pit completely go away, but they did make that pit less dark, less daunting and lonely. Mango lazed around on the porch, his tail slowly waving side to side as he watched you.

Sticking your rake into the ground and wiping the sweat again, you grin at your animals, letting out a labored breath. “Okay, so, I love you both very very much. And I’m sorry that I can’t take you but they’re hosting an Egg Festival in the town and I’m going.”

You move to sit on the porch, Shadow dashing to crash onto your lap. You open your arms and let her move her big body onto you with a roll. “And I swear I’m not going to enjoy being away from you both, but I have to go as part of my healing. I’ll be back soon.” Neither one of them did anything other than stare at you and then go about their own business as you get up and head inside to shower. Shadow trails behind you after a moment, her tail wagging so hard her butt wiggles along with it. You take one last glance at her as you finally get in the shower, hoping the day goes by quickly.

Walking into the town’s square, it’s like a decorating bomb went off. There are banners and decorative flags and other things littered around in a way that made you think whoever decorated spent way too long out here only for them to be messed up by the wind. There’s so many layers of tape that you feel irritated for whoever had to fix it.

“Farmer!” Pierre calls out from behind his booth. You want to ignore him, not really ready for social interaction but go over to him anyways. Forcing a smile onto your lips you lean on the booth counter, looking at the things he has stocked.

Some strawberry seeds, lawn flamingos, plants, a painting, a bright pink banner, a plush bunny, and a….decorative pitchfork? What kind of stock is this? What does this have to do with the egg festival? You blink a couple times and attempt to control the look on your face, maybe you could buy a couple of strawberry seeds. Even if you don’t plant them this season you can always wait. “Hey Pierre! Selling some good stuff?”

He smiles and moves his hand around, gesturing to his stock. “Yeah, looking to buy anything?”

“Sure…a couple strawberry seed packets…and that plush bunny.”

“It’s pretty cute huh? Okay that’ll be 2,500g.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat. 2,500g? The man has to be insane! What the fuck costed so much that you were being charged this much? “Yeah, prices are a little steep. But I have to make a living somehow,” he chuckles when he sees your expression. You try hard to keep your face in check, not wanting to snap on the man in front of everyone. You were here to make progress, not to make enemies.

After giving him the money you take your new things and stuff them into your backpack. The letter said the festival ended at two, and looking at your watch it was only 9:30. That meant 4 and a half more hours of agony trying to force yourself out of a depressive pit that you aren’t really all too sure you’re ready to leave just yet for the sake of getting better.

Well, at least there’s food…

Hurrying along, the sight of the buffet table makes your mouth water. Not eating breakfast and working all morning in a large field without totally knowing what to do is a bad idea, but now that you’re looking at all the different types of food you can’t help but praise yourself for how lucky starving yourself got you. Now you can eat, then when you get home you can pass out and sleep until tomorrow. Like another rest day that feels like a reward after running around in the dirt.

As you fill your plate with food, you can see Gus and what’s his name…’Clive?’ You think to yourself, nose scrunching in confusion, ‘No, that's a stupid name. Carl? It has to be Carl…what other C names are there?’ In your thoughts you almost drop your plate and gain the attention of the two men, Gus smiles brightly and waves you over while the other man averts his eyes. Weird…

“Hey Gus!” You smile warmly at the older man. There was a twinge of stress in his eye, but it seemed rude to point that out to him. His eyes moved over the rows and rows of food and it occurs to you that he must have cooked almost everything himself being the Towns Saloon owner and all.

“Hey farmer! I was just telling Clint here…you’ve met Clint right?”

You shake your head at his question. You had only seen him around maybe once and heard his name in passing from the blue haired girl who was talking to him when you passed by and from Maru when you were in the clinic. Thank Yoba Gus said his name or you would’ve been stood awkwardly just like you are but more so because you wouldn’t have known his name. “Oh well, he’s the towns blacksmith…anyways I was just telling him how I hope everyone’s enjoying the food. I’ve been cooking for days to get the food ready.”

“Days? Wow thats a lot of work…”

“Yeah I made fried eggs, boiled eggs, poached eggs, deviled eggs, scrambled eggs, chocolate eggs, you name it!”

“I mean it is the Egg Festival…”

“Yeah, not to mention the other foods. I’d be upset if it turned out horribly.”

You take a bite of whatever was on your plate in front of him, trying to make a show of how good it is, but not really needing to act because WOW can this man cook. How’d he even make this? His eyes light up at your expressions and mannerisms, his shoulders relaxing at the sight of you enjoying the food. “No Gus, I swear this is amazing! You don’t need to worry about anyone not enjoying the food at all!”

“Thank you for the kind words, Farmer, it means a lot to me.”

You nod vigorously, not wanting to ignore him but now overcome with the urge to stuff down as much of the food as you can. What the fuck was in this? Drugs? You can’t even remember the last time you were this hungry.

With your plate you walk around, smiling at anyone who talks to you, and try to carry on conversations that you didn’t really care much about. It had been weeks since you moved here, and you were just now meeting everyone personally. There were so many people living here in Pelican Town that you wonder how you had managed to avoid 60 percent of them whenever you ventured out.

As you make your rounds to the buffet table for the second time, the sight of a bright red cape catches your eye and the man with the eyepatch flashes in your mind. You hadn’t seen him since that day, but you had to find out what those stupid jelly things are.

“Marlon!” You call out, rushing to the man in the corner. He looked surprised that you were speaking to him, but made no moves to walk away or ignore you. Instead he looked slightly pleased. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

His eyebrows quirk up in amusement, “I could say the same about you, don’t hear anything about you going around.”

You shrug and realize that just as much as you stick to your farm, he must stick to the caves and mountains. Neither bad, but awfully lonely when you think about it. You wonder if there’s anyone he lives with up there. “I just thought that you would prefer to be adventuring or something…like in the caves?”

“Yeah, but even with my bad leg I never miss a festival.”

“Oh…say you know down in the caves how there are…things right?”

“Yeah the monsters?”

“Yeah um, have you ever seen the little Jello creatures? They’re really tiny and all but are like really strong for some reason, and jump at you like they’re legless spiders?”

“The slimes? Yeah you have to be careful with them. They might be easy to defeat but can quickly overwhelm you if you’re not careful.”

He frowns at you and you swallow. That’s exactly what had happened. The stupid things were just too much the more you ventured down. But you’d be ready for them next time, and whatever else is down there. “Yeah, they kinda kicked my ass last time I went into the caves.”

He nods solemnly, as if he could relate. Maybe he could relate, having a bad leg and an injured eye and living up there. There had probably been times that he’s gotten overwhelmed and hurt. The thought sends a shiver down your spine. If he could get hurt down there, and you have already been hurt, who’s to say that you won’t just die the next time you go down? It’s weird to think just how lucky you truly were when you were saved.

Thinking of being saved…your eyes flit around quickly trying to spot the man that had saved your life. Maru and Sam had said that Sebastian had gone down into the caves himself to save you, and even though you hadn’t seen him personally since meeting in the Saloon, the need to thank him was always in the back of your mind. And now you have the chance, Yoba you wished you were home.

You bid goodbye to Marlon and shuffled your way to the trio standing off at the bottom of the town’s square. Rehearsing what you’re going to say in your head, you hope that it would be a quick conversation, that you wouldn’t stutter over your words and that you wouldn’t act so awkward that they think you’re weirder than you are. But as you clear your throat as you walk up to them, regret settles in your belly at the looks on their faces. It was like being in school all over again and the kids that you thought were cool were too tight knit as a group and hated outsiders.

Before you could say anything Abigail speaks first, staring straight at you. “Do you think I’m too old to do the Egg Hunt?”

You frown at her in confusion before shaking your head. “No?”

She punches Sebastian’s arm as soon as the word leaves your mouth. “Ha! I told you I wasn’t too old. It’s like, why stop if I’m having fun?”

“How are you having fun searching for eggs with actual children?”

“Hey! Searching for eggs is like going on a treasure hunt! Besides, your sister does it too!”

Sebastian rolls his eyes at her, looking towards the river without saying anything more, choosing to sip on the punch in his cup. Sam looks like he’s suffering and you tilt your head, silently questioning him. “Ugh…it’s my doze…allergies.” His nose is so stuffed up that his words seem heavy. You wince at him and nod in understanding, Springtime wasn’t the best for people with allergies.

Sebastian clears his throat after a minute. “You know what I miss? The rotten egg toss.”

Both Sam and Abigail agree quickly, words coming out both of their mouths too quickly for you to really understand anything they’re saying. They’re very enthusiastic about it, recounting things that happened in previous years. In your confusion you look over at Sebastian, and he swallows his drink quickly. “We used to do a rotten egg toss, a couple years ago. It was only for like two years, Mayor Lewis put an end to it pretty quickly.”

“Yeah, too many people complained that it stunk.” Abigail laughed. It sounded pretty fun, tossing rotten eggs at a target or something, but the smell…ugh.

Before you could say anything else, Sam says he’s going to get more food before the egg hunt starts and they put everything away. Abigail looks between you and Sebastian and smiles. “I’ll go with him, either of you want anything?”

You shake your head, plate still full from the second round. “Maybe some punch? If it’s not too much trouble?” She shrugs and looks at Sebastian who just hands her his cup. She leaves without another word and without turning back. Ha…now it’s awkward…

“I didn’t think you were one for socializing.”

You’re surprised at his words, but think that in a small town there are rarely secrets. Everyone must know that you’re suffering. “Yeah um, just had a bad couple of weeks. I’m better now, though, ready to mingle and become part of the town…being alone is no good.”

He snorts, glancing at you and your heart stutters in your chest. Did he think you were joking? Were you that obvious in your dislike of talking to others? “Yeah sure…been there once.”

You don’t ask him what he means, understanding that he’s seeing right through your fake chipper exterior. For a minute the silence stretches on, but it’s not as tense and awkward as it was before. Maybe it was a good thing he could tell you were faking, there was no need now that it was only you two. “Y’know I’ve been meaning to thank you.”

“For?” He sounds disinterested, but when you look at his face he seems more…uncomfortable.

“You saving me? Your friends told me you went down into the caves to get me.”

“Fucking…yeah. It was no problem. You should be more careful, though, I was only able to help because I noticed that you didn’t come up.”

“Yeah…I really should…anyways. Thanks for saving me, hopefully you won’t have to do it again.”

He shrugs and says nothing.

“I owe you one.”

“Sure.”

The mayor claps his hands loudly, speaking into a megaphone that he’s holding. “If anyone is participating in the egg hunt, gather round. It’s almost time to begin!”

“You participating?” He asks, and for a second you almost say no before remembering that the whole point of coming was to become part of the community and bettering yourself.

“Yeah…you?”

“Nah…”

You nod and cough into your fist, unsure of how to separate yourself from him. “Well, I guess I’ll see you…later?”

“Yeah, sure. I’m either at home, or at Sam’s or the Saloon during the weekends…”

“Okay, cool.”

You walk away quickly, confused as to how you had somewhat made a friend of him? There was that saying that misery loves company…maybe he was the perfect person to be miserable with. He seemed like he had problems himself. Mayor Lewis claps a hand onto your shoulder a little harder than necessary, causing you to wince. “Enjoying yourself, Farmer?”

“Yeah…”

“That’s good! It’s about time you introduced yourself to the townspeople. Everyone was so excited to meet the new farmer in town and you just…disappeared. They thought you were a recluse or something!” He lets out a laugh that makes you frown. You had forgotten how much this guy could talk.

“Yeah well, family deaths will do that to you.” You keep your face straight as you stare at him. He coughs and sputters out some words before the conversation is effectively ended.

After another minute and a half the egg hunt begins and your heart starts thumping in your chest. The kids are already running off, and Abigail is darting around so quickly that you think that she’s going to knock one of them over. Looking at the other participants, the urge to beat them overcomes you. Winning at this means that you’re officially part of the community right? You’re putting yourself out there?

Your feet move without another thought from you and soon enough your basket is full with eggs. Looking at the others it seems theirs are too. You can hear Lewis counting down from ten and your heart races even more. How were you supposed to win this? You run across the square, hoping to get one last egg.

Five…

Where are the rest of the eggs? What the fuck is there no more?

Four…

In the corner of your eye something yellow gleams under the sun. An egg! Near the river!

Three…

You dash towards the egg, hand stretched out towards it.

Two…

A couple more steps to go, you’re unsure if you’ll get there in time.

One…

Your hand closes around the egg and into your basket it goes. Your heart thumps and your breaths come out uneven. But you made it! The last egg.

Lewis calls everyone back towards the center of town, eyes gleaming as he looks at everyone’s baskets. He seems happy to see more people participating in a dying tradition. There were only two kids in town so an egg hunt is bound to get boring as everyone gets older.

It takes five whole minutes for Lewis to count everyone’s eggs, yours being the last basketbhe gets his hands on. “Nine…ten…” Abigail groans in annoyance next to you. “Eleven! The winner is the Farmer! Come up and get your prize!”

Prize? If you knew there was going to be a prize you wouldn’t have tried so hard. Now someone was going to be mad at you for winning instead of them. You walk slowly to Lewis confused as to what he could be offering.

“Enjoy!”

He hands you a straw hat…well at least it’s helpful?

[thewulf]

Crash and Burn || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: Request! Y/N and Jake have a very… chaotic relationship. Many ups and downs between the two Naval Aviators. One moment they’re fine the next they are at each other’s throats. Everything goes wrong for the duo in training when Y/N catches Jake’s jet wash as he tries to show off for Maverick. Hurt/Comfort. Readers call sign is Jinx.

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Y/N

Word Count: 4,000+

Arrogant. Cocky. Selfish.

Just a few words to describe your least favorite classmate, Hangman. He had mastered the art of getting underneath your skin. Phoenix always told you to play it cool around him or he’d just keep doing the same. You never learned your lesson always arguing back when he had to say some stupid misogynistic thing about female pilots. You had to hand it to Phoenix though, she never let Hangman work her up.

You hadn’t known him prior to Top Gun like your other classmates had. They gave you a forewarning when it came to Jake. Watch your back or he’d be the one shooting at it. You didn’t believe it at first, but you learned.

Quickly, you understood their warnings toward him. The world revolved around Jake Seresin to Jake Seresin. You dreaded when Mav called your name to go up in the air with him. You had yet to have any sort of success when you flew with Hangman. It always ended up in one or both of you being taken down by Mav. Jake never communicated with you always throwing you off your game. He was so good at making you feel less than.

Today was no different. You heard your name paired with Hangman’s drawing a subtle sigh out of your mouth. You let your head rest against your palm as you thought over your options. You didn’t have a back seater today. Fritz called in sick with the flu leaving you flying solo, something you rarely did. You could beg Mav to switch the teams up or you could deal with it. You opted for the first option.

Heaving your body out of your desk you slowly made your way to your teacher while the rest of the class went to the locker rooms. You really didn’t think you had it in you to deal with Jake today. Not sleeping well the previous night due to getting into a heated argument with an ex-boyfriend all your energy was zapped. Certainly not a good combination to be taking an F-18 up in.

“Mav,” You paused waiting for him to look up to you, continuing only when you had his attention, “Fritz is sick today. Don’t you think another team should go up with Hangman?”

He shook his head looking down at whatever he was working on, “No, Jinx.”

“But I don’t have a wizzo.” You frowned knowing it really didn’t make a damn difference today. You were just running the first half of the course. You didn’t really need Fritz until it was time to train to drop the bomb.

He shrugged, “You’ll fly without a back seater today. Understood?”

Letting out another small huff of annoyance you nodded, “Yes sir.”

“Good, now go get ready. You and Seresin are up first.”

“Course we are.” You nodded leaving the classroom slowly to go get changed. You’d been lucky to avoid being teamed up with him the last few training sessions, but your luck seemed to end today.

Jake was interesting to you. You certainly didn’t hate the man, but he made it so hard to actually enjoy his presence. He always had that stupid cocky grin on his face like nothing could knock it off. You had only seen him slip up with Rooster once other than that he was his usual arrogant self.

Changing quickly, you knew the faster you were up in the air the faster your session would be with Hangman. Exiting the women’s locker room, you made your way to your jet. Going through the pre-flight checklist thoroughly you didn’t hear your teammate approach you.

“Going to be able to keep up today, Jinx?” Jake leaned his frame against your jet taking a full look of you. A soft smile formed when he saw just how focused you were on your task at hand, hardly paying him any attention. He’d never admit it, but he lived for moments like this with you. Moments where he could study you without the world knowing just what he was doing.

He met you at the Hard Deck the night before Top Gun. You seemingly knew Phoenix and Rooster from a previous deployment. You quickly grabbed Jake’s attention with that pretty smile and angelic laugh. Jake swore he could hear your giggle across the bar. A sound so pretty he’d never dare to admit it to anybody.

He grabbed your attention in any way that he could. Even if it meant being the bad guy in your reality. At least you were paying him the attention he craved from you. Quickly, he found what pressed your buttons and made sure to press them whenever he could. Just to get into a debate with you. He loved it. He adored you.

Looking up at the interruption you kept the level head on your shoulders. Trying to do what Phoenix did so gracefully, “Can you just fly the mission? Not pull your usual bullshit Seresin?”

Placing a hand on his chest he feigned hurt, “I’m wounded Jinxie.”

Ignoring him you continued, “Can you? For once.”

Smirking he started sauntering off, like he owned the damn air strip, “Doubtful darling. Gotta be fast.” He threw you a wink before disappearing into his jet.

Rolling your eyes, you tried not to let him get the best of you. It was typical Hangman behavior. One that you would never be able to crack it seemed. You thought maybe you’d be able to in the beginning. You should’ve just listened to Rooster and Phoenix instead of trying with him. All it ended in was arguments every single time you tried to have a normal conversation with the man. You couldn’t lie though, there was something so damn appealing about Jake Seresin that kept you crawling back for more.

Signing off on your paperwork you hopped into your jet. Placing your helmet on you smiled as you took in the front dash. You just loved this. It never ceased to amaze you just how lucky you were. You were able to fly jets across the world. Meeting new people and finding new cultures never got old to you. And you got to fly around on top of it all? You loved every single second of your Naval career. Not having a single regret about all of your adventures.

Taxing onto the runway you waited behind Hangman as he got the all clear. He was Dagger One in this scenario, and you were Dagger Two. Thankfully, all you had to do was keep up with him and not have him on your ass chirping you every five seconds. You hated flying as Dagger One with Hangman as your wingman. It felt like your heart would burst from the sheer stress of trying to deal with him.

You got the all clear taking off finding Hangman in the straightaway. You accelerated already noticing how fast he was moving before you even begun the timed trial. Mav raced in beside the two keeping an eye out, “Two minutes fifteen seconds until target. Time begins when Hangman clocks it. Good luck.” Mav flew off above watching the duo from his eagle eye view.

“Ready Jinx?”

You were honestly surprised he gave you any warning before he took off, “Ready when you are Hangman.”

“Let’s turn and burn baby.” You heard the clock begin. Locking your eyes onto the back of Hangman’s jet you decided he wouldn’t be getting away from you that easily this time.

You kept up for the first thirty seconds before he punched it even further, “Hangman you’re going to fast!” You yelled into your mask trying to accelerate yourself. You started losing him as he only punched it even further.

“You’re not going fast enough!” He countered.

Your eyes lowered knowing he wasn’t going to let up so you sped up as much as your comfort level would allow you, which still wasn’t fast enough, “Hangman slow down!” You began pleading with the asshole pilot.

“Speed up Y/N!”

He never used your real name. He was challenging you. Sighing to yourself you kicked it up a notch not feeling all that great with your speed and closeness to the ground, “I can’t keep up!”

You heard him audibly groan into the comms, “Jesus Jinx, fine.”

Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as his jet dropped speed suddenly. You knew you didn’t have enough time to slow down, or you’d plow right into the back of him. Decelerating at the same time you dipped slightly to avoid crashing right into him, “Shit, Jake what the fuck was that?”

“You said to slow down so I did.” You could practically hear the cockiness lace his voice from a mile away.

“Not like that you fucking asshole.” You sighed this time feeling your heart rate go down a bit. You’d had many close encounters in the jet but nothing like that.

“Hey Jinxie. Calm down.”

“Jesus,” You grumbled positioning your jet back up behind his, “Just go Seresin.”

You weren’t sure what happened but one second you were fine the next your right engine was out and your left one started sputtering, “Fuck.” Internally cursing you didn’t have a back seater to help you talk yourself through the next few minutes. Thankfully your training kicked in.

“Right engine out. No Fire. Restarting. Left engine compromised.” Calmly you spoke into your mask.

“Jinx?” You heard Mav’s voice come in.

“Jinxie what’s wrong?” Hangman’s voice chimed in right after Mavericks. He failed to see you behind him as he sped back up.

Desperately you hit the right combination of buttons, but nothing seemed to feed the engine the fuel it needed. “Shit. Not responding. Climbing to 5,000.” You pulled you plane into the climbing position trying to buy yourself some time.

“Jinx. What’s going on?” Mav sounded concerned.

As you were in the middle of pulling up your heart sank hearing another alarm go off, “Oh shit. Left engine out. No fire. Attempting restart.” You managed to stagger out. Again, you attempted to refuel and refire the engine

Mav came down to your level eyes wide seeing neither of your engines burning, “Jinx eject!” He sounded a bit panicked you noted.

Your training was kicking in though. You had maybe five seconds to try again. After that you’d have to eject or you’d be toast, literally.

“Restarting right and left engine.” Ignoring Mav’s orders, you punched and prayed the engines would respond.

“Jinx eject now!” Maverick commanded you.

“Fuck! Eject Jinxie! Now” You didn’t see Hangman come back around surveying the situation he believed he put you into.

No sign of life from your jet really caused your heart to sink knowing you really only had one option now. Your heart started racing seeing how low to the ground you already were, 2,000 fucking feet. This was going to hurt, “Fuck, ejecting.” You pulled the handle from underneath your seat sending you into the air.

The next thirty seconds felt like a blur as you were free-falling in the air. Your parachute worked it was just terribly disorienting. You’d trained for this but had never had to do it in the field. Shuddering, you heard your jet crash into the desert below. This wasn’t going to be very easy to explain to the admiral.

You knew you were far too low to the ground when you were in the jet to make a graceful landing. You just didn’t expect how bad it would actually hurt once you hit the rocks of the desert below you. You hit the ground hard and fast, the parachute not having the proper amount feet to descend to really break your fall.

Rolling to a stop as the back of your head hit a boulder immediately you knew something wasn’t right. Hardly being able to keep your eyes open you attempted to stand up only falling right back into the same spot you rolled into, “Fuck.” You groaned closing your eyes feeling terribly weak.

You didn’t see any blood on your chest or legs which was a very good sign, but you just couldn’t keep your eyes open. The only way you seemed to stay coherent after cracking your head against the bolder was fluttering your eyes.

Hearing the faint mumbles of Mav and Hangman you couldn’t really make them out. You tried to stand again but miserably failed as your legs shook far too violently to stand on their own. A small tear fell down your face as the feeling of utter defeat began to take over. You had never experienced your body giving out on you so dramatically before. It was humbling when you couldn’t even stand on your own two feet.

Trying to keep your eyes open you focused on the words coming through your comms. You faintly heard Maverick, “Jinx, please copy.”

Before your eyes completely gave out on you, you heard another soft, “Jinxie please!” Sounding awfully familiar to Hangman’s usually annoying voice.

Opening your mouth, you so desperately wanted to let them know you were alive. You were okay. But you just couldn’t seem to get the words out.

“Mav, I didn’t see a parachute, did you?” Shit, they thought you were dead? You were risky but not risky enough to kill yourself.

“I think I did. Fuck. Jinx, please copy.” He tried you one more time a little beside himself. He’d witnessed the entire accident in horrifying detail taking him right back to his own accident from years prior. You pulled your plane up just as Hangman punched it immediately shutting your right engine down and compromising the left with the wash he left behind. He’d seen it several times out in the field but nothing that bad since his own accident.

Frustrated that you couldn’t communicate with your teammates you began to cry more opting you to slide the helmet right off your head to get some fresh air. Feeling a warm trickle down the back of your neck you hesitantly turned your helmet over revealing a rather large crack near the base of it. This was a very bad sign.

Slowly you placed a hand to the back of your skull slightly horrified at the red blood that coated your hand entirely. Fuck. You knew this wasn’t good at all. Trying to stay conscious you unzipped a pant leg off your flight suit planning to use that as a cloth to apply pressure to your head wound.

With all your strength you had left you leaned your head against the boulder placing the piece of flight suit in between praying you had enough pressure to keep you awake while you waited for rescue. Realistically you knew you only had to wait a few minutes before a team of medics were on the way. They were probably already halfway to you. All you had to do now was keep your eyes open. You could do that.

Grabbing your helmet, you decided to listen to the air chatter knowing at the very least it’d keep you focused on something rather than falling into unconsciousness. It pained you to hear the desperate plea’s from not only Hangman and Mav but command as well. It seemed as if everybody was trying to get you to respond.

Again, you attempted to speak only to be met with the utter silence of nothing coming out. It’s like the rock knocked your ability to speak right out of your own head. It was a rather gut-wrenching feeling to not be able to say a word. Just to let them know that you were okay. But you couldn’t. Your body simply refused.

Another few minutes passed which felt like hours as you sat there in the beating sun. Just as you were about to give into the darkness you heard the helicopter above you. Looking over a few vehicles approached in the distance. A small smile flickered on your face knowing they finally made it to you.

Before you knew it a few medics approached you quickly triaging the situation. They realized how incoherent you really were as you tried responding to their questions but couldn’t seem to talk.

“Hey Jinx. We’re going to patch you up alright?” A familiar face leaned down brushing the hair out of your face, “Just try and stay awake, okay?” It clicked that it was your team’s physician. He knew you very well taking your vitals and stats all the time.

“Let them know we’ve got her. Critical care.” You heard him say before placing something cold around your neck.

“You’re going to be alright. We’re taking you to the base hospital.” He smiled softly at you before he gave the next round of orders to his team.

The next while was a blur of you floating in and out of consciousness mixed with tons of people asking you too many questions. None of which you could answer as your voice was still missing.

Finally, you were able to sleep given the okay from a worried looking doctor you’d never seen before. You couldn’t seem to care as unconsciousness swallowed you whole.

The faint beeping brought you out of the deep slumber you were in. Rolling your head to the side you spotted Hangman sleeping in the chair next to your bed. Initial confusion rolled over you and you unfortunately heard the beeping pick up pace rapidly.

The change in background noise brought Hangman out of the light sleep he was in. He had been waiting on you for the last twelve hours or so. Refusing to leave your side until he knew that you were okay.

The initial prognosis given to them wasn’t great. The medics noted you as delirious, out of it, non-responsive before you went out completely. It worried him beyond belief. Especially knowing it was likely his actions that got you here. Mav kept trying to reassure him that it wasn’t his fault, but you got caught up in his jet wash. Just like Mav did all those years ago. It’s a freak occurrence and 99% of the time jets handle it fine. You were just one of the unlucky ones.

He looked over to you seeing your panicked expression. His face softened as he realized how much this must be for you, “Hey Jinx. You’re in the hospital. Do you remember what happened?”

You felt some sense of relief knowing he was real. Sitting right there. You weren’t dreaming. You were back to the land of the living. You nodded recalling having to eject from your jet. You don’t remember much after that though.

“Can you speak?” He scooted the chair closer, so he was right up on the bed, right next to you.

“Yeah.” You managed to croak out. Your throat was feeling rather dry. Likely from all the sand and dirt you inhaled out there.

Grinning at the sound of your voice he grabbed your hand, “Good, let me go get a doctor.” He began to stand up before you stopped him by grabbing at his hand like he just did yours.

“No!”

He paused cocking his head to the side studying you curiously, “Just give me a minute. They’re going to ask a lot of questions and…” You paused not sure if he was even listening. This was Hangman after all. To your utter surprise he had his eyes locked on you, soaking up your every word. You decided to continue, “My head really hurts. I don’t want to talk to them just yet.”

Sighing Hangman looked all too conflicted. What was five minutes anyway? On the other hand, if your head really hurt you that bad why didn’t you want to see a doctor? Didn’t you want the help? Opting to go with your wishes he sat back down making a note of the time, he wasn’t going to give you more than the five minutes you requested.

“Thank you.” You smiled softly seeing him sit there against his better judgement.

“Sure. Are you alright at least?”

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath in, “I’m okay. I just don’t feel great.”

“You scared us up there. You scared me.” He admitted whispering it almost so you couldn’t here.

Mustering a small halfhearted laugh, “Like you really care Seresin.” His face dropped immediately after your comment. Meaning it in more of a joking manner you didn’t think he’d take you so seriously.

“Why would you say that? Of course, I care Y/N.”

“One less pilot you have to deal with.” You kept trying to joke with him, but he wasn’t letting you. Taking it far more seriously than you were.

Shaking his head he grabbed your hand, “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

He groaned. Frustrated that he wasn’t so great at showing real emotion, “Acting like I don’t care. I do care. A lot.”

“You have a funny way of showing it.” It slipped out way faster than intended. You didn’t want to make him feel like a total asshole, but your concussed brain had other ideas.

Head down Jake sighed, “I’m sorry Jinxie. I really am. I never would have thought… I wouldn’t have done that if I would have known…”

“It’s okay Jake.” You shushed him. You had never seen this side of the cocky Jake Seresin before. You weren’t even sure if Jake had a more human side to him. All it took was you nearly cracking your head open to get him there. Who would’ve known?

He shook his head, “It’s not though. What happened to you. Seeing your plane go into freefall and not seeing you eject was hell Y/N. And then you didn’t respond? Mav and I could only think the worst.” His stare could have bore holes into the back of your head.

Cheeks heating up you turned away from him, “Well, I’m still here.”

Jake smiled picking your hand back up feeling the urge to have you close, “Thank goodness for that.”

Stitching your eyebrows together you looked him over, “You going soft on us?”

“Not on us.”

“What?” You asked him sincerely.

“Only for you.”

Sucking in another breath you turned on your side to face him completely, “What do you mean?”

“I can’t lose you Y/N.”

Where was all of this coming from? While you had to admit he was an incredibly attractive guy you never thought in a million years he’d be going for you. All the two of you did was bicker back and forth. Sure, it never got nasty but the two of you could never agree on the same thing. Not even toppings on a pizza. There always had to be an argument between the two of you.

“Are you saying you like me Jake?” eyeing him curiously you couldn’t take your eyes off of him as you anxiously waited for his answer.

He looked up at you. Studying your face for any sign of contempt. For any sign that your repulsed by the sheer fact that not only did he have a full-on crush on you. He was sure he just might love you to.

Nodding his head in agreement it he finally admitted it out loud, “Yes Jinxie. I like you.”

Smiling to him you grabbed one of his hands this time, “You know we aren’t in middle school anymore Jake.”

“Hmm?”

“If you like someone you can be nice to them. You know instead of making them eject and landing them in the hospital.”

Chucking he looked you right in the eyes, “I’m sorry Y/N. Would you give me a chance to prove I’m not a middle school boy?”

Returning his laugh you squeezed his hand, “I’d love to get to know adult Jake.”

“Friday. 6 o’clock. I’m picking you up and taking you out to a nice dinner.”

Raising your eyebrows you took another long look at him, “I can’t wait.”