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prythianpages · 7 months ago

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I Can't Pretend | Eris x Reader

summary: After your sudden disappearance, Eris takes it upon himself to find you. When he does, he breaks down and can no longer hide his feelings for you.

warning: angst, suggestiveness, smut (p in v, loss of virginity); this one is kind of a rollercoaster of emotions and the longest imagine of this series (at 6K words)

a/n: you can find the masterlist to this series here or read this as a stand alone imagine (: all you have to know is that reader is engaged to Eris's brother and in the part right before this one, reader and Sawyer got threatened by Beron. this piece here is brought to you by Tom Odell's Can't Pretend.

“There will be a bedding ceremony at your wedding.”

“You just marked your death sentence.”

Your body grows cold, muscles tensing once again. The tears running down your face feel endless as you stare at the door closing behind the High Lord. When it finally shuts, the sound feels like a sentence in itself, locking you into those promises. Bedding ceremony. Death sentence. The words repeat themselves over and over inside your head like a haunting melody.

You’re going to be watched as you're forced to be intimate with Sawyer. Then, you’re going to die. You want to run…but where to?

A whimper drags you from your thoughts, directing your attention back to the male lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. Your fate is sealed and cannot be helped. But you can at least help him.

You hardly recognize him as you kneel beside him and help him sit up. Blood trickles from his face and every exposed inch of his pale skin is littered with open wounds that make bile rise in your throat. You can also sense all the broken bones in his body, something urging you inside to mend them.

“Let me help you,” you whisper, unable to hide the tremor in your voice and your hands. Slowly, you bring your hands to his face, grimacing at the lack of warmth.

A choked, rattled sound escapes from Sawyer. He instinctively leans in to your touch, welcoming the surprising wave of relief that comes with it. It’s as if something deep inside you is calling to him, telling him that you can fix him.

“Did you…did you mean it?” He croaks out.

You don’t have to ask to know what he means. “Yes.”

Sawyer’s pained expression softens for a brief moment. “Sometimes…” he begins and as you blink away your tears, you catch the way he averts his gaze, focusing on the splatters of his own blood that taint the marble floor. “Sometimes, I wish the Cauldron had made me different too...”

“The Cauldron makes no mistakes,” you assure him, your voice steadying with every breath. “It doesn't matter who you love. All that matters is that you love strongly and freely. I sense you have a good heart…which I’m coming to find is a rare thing in a place like this.”

“I thought I was an asshole.” There’s a subtle hint of regret in his tone.

“Yes,” you say with a small exhale. “I’m afraid that you still are… An asshole with a good heart.”

And for the first time since you met him, a faint ghost of a smile graces Sawyer's lips as he looks back at you.

You continue to help heal Sawyer, the same way you’ve done for others in the past. The cuts on his face close as your fingers brush against them, the swelling of his face goes down and the broken bones begin to mend. It’s like a miracle. There’s no trace of any injury left behind other than the blood that has not yet dried.

It’s strange for it to be quiet between you both. You’ve grown accustomed to the insults thrown your way in his presence and even the look of disgust that usually mars his features when looking at you. But all you see is the bewilderment in his face.

As the weight of silence threatens to consume you, you find yourself humming to deter the thoughts lingering in your mind. It’s a familiar melody, one your mother would gently sing whenever your injuries and the sickness that would often befall you begged for relief. Just as it did in those tender moments, the melody you hum washes over you, bringing an immediate sense of comfort.

The warmth returns to your veins and Sawyer, too, senses the soothing energy as it radiates from your touch. His sharp aches dulls into a distant memory. “I didn’t know you were a healer,” he says quietly and then realizes how little he knows about you. He has an inkling that his older brother knows more. “Are you from Dawn Court?”

“My mother was. I think I inherited it from her side,” you reply, helping him to his feet.

As the two of you stand, the door slams open, causing you to involuntary flinch. To your relief, it is Lady Raelynn and not her fearsome husband. Her breaths are quick and shallow and eyes full of concern.

“Oh thank the Cauldron,” she breathes, rushing toward her son. She assesses him for injuries, not caring over the blood that stains her hands as she softly touches his face. “Let’s get you cleaned up. The healer is already waiting in my quarters and I’ve had my maid prepare some tea to soothe your ails.”

The way she speaks leaves an unsettling feeling in your stomach, as it gives away that situations such as this occur with such frequency. Lady Raelynn then turns to you, gaze dipping down toward your hands. They’re stained with Sawyer’s blood. “The both of you,” she adds as emphasis.

Her hand reaches for yours but you take a step back, suddenly feeling sick. She had already included you in the disconcerting routine. The urge to run comes over you again as Beron’s words resurface in your mind. Is this what your life will become? A routine of suffering and torture until death harshly claims you.

“I’m okay,” you say, taking a deep breath. It’s a lie and you all know it but they don’t push you further. They share a glance filled with understanding, deepening your revulsion. You think you’re going to throw up. “I–I think I need to rest.”

“Of course,” Lady Raelynn nods, a deep frown settling upon her face. “Please allow one of my maids to escort you back to your room.”

Eris has grown to know fear over the centuries. It held him in its grip, bringing forth tears and whispering sweet nightmares into his ears until there was no trace of hope left behind. But this feeling surging through his veins and creeping into his heart is much, much worse. Like a fear he’s never known before.

You’re not in your room. You’re not in the gardens. You’re not in the library.

All air has left his lungs and he feels like he can’t breathe until he finds you. There’s one more place within the Forest house he’s yet to check. He’s racing toward it, his pace reflecting the erratic rhythm of his heart. He knows he should tread carefully but you’re flooding him with your emotions through the bond, pushing away all rational thoughts from his mind.

The doors to Lady Raelynn’s quarters slam open. His eyes are drinking in the room like a man deprived of water, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Y/n,” your name is spilling from his lips in a choked breath. “Where is she?”

His gaze lands upon Sawyer, who sits on the couch and then to his mother, who sits right next to him. You’re not here either. His heightened senses take in the bloody cloth in his mother’s hands–not your blood–and then, the somber expression on Sawyer’s face. Across from them, three teacups rest on the small table, the faint scent of chamomile wafting over to him.

Suddenly, Eris is livid. His gaze darkens and he’s rushing toward his younger brother. Hands roughly grasp onto the front of Sawyer’s shirt, forcing the younger male to rise to his feet. Flames tickle around his throat, tightening with every second.

“What did you do?” Eris seethes. It’s more of a demand than a question.

“Eris!”

“Answer me,” Eris nearly growls, his eyes mirroring the flames tightening around Sawyer’s neck. “Or I swear to the Cauldron, I’ll–”

“Eris!” His mother calls out again.

This time, she’s successful. She steps in between her sons, a hand at Eris’s chest and she can feel the frantic beating of his heart. The flames around Sawyer’s throat loosen their grip but only a little.

“Your brother has endured enough blows today.”

“He looks perfectly fine to me,” Eris retorts, amber eyes taking note of the lack of injuries on him. Despite his mother’s words, he’s inclined to give him one. One that will remain and act as a reminder to never cross him. He already knows that whatever happened, was Sawyer’s fault.

“Yes,” Lady Raelynn begins, voice heavy with caution. She knows Eris will find out what happened one way or another and though it fills her with dread to be the harbinger of bad news, she rather her son hear it from her. “Because y/n healed him.”

The sound of your name brings Eris back down and the flames around Sawyer’s throat extinguish. He looks at his mother, silently urging her to go on.

“Your father caught the ear of the rumors circulating in court and well…well, he called for a bedding ceremony.”

Sawyer swallows thickly at the reminder. He casts his head down, overwhelmed by Eris’s heated gaze that is directly solely on him now. A realization hits him then and slowly, he lifts his head. “You care for her, don’t you? All this time…,” his voice trails off.

Eris falters. He shakes his head, a mix of horror and panic tainting his delicate features. “I told you–”

“Then you should know,” Sawyer interrupts him, lips pressing into a tight line before speaking again. “Father plans to kill her after the wedding.”

Flames erupt from Eris’s fingertips, itching to wrap around Sawyer’s throat once more. He warned his brother not to be a fool. To be more careful because this was not just a matter of life or death for Sawyer but for you as well. Eris just needed more time to help you and he fears Sawyer just deprived him of it.

A firm push from Lady Raelynn stops him from raising his hands. “Eris, your brother is not the enemy,” she reminds him, tone pleading with him to hear her. “Y/n is in her room. Go to her. She needs you.”

Eris's fiery temper flickers, dissolving into the familiar grip of anxiety that had driven him to this chamber. He takes a step back and Lady Raelynn’s hand drops back to her side. “She’s not in her room.”

It’s now Lady Raelynn’s turn to panic. “What do you mean she isn’t? My maid personally escorted her there. She even helped draw her a bath.”

“She’s gone.”

Sawyer lets a curse under his breath, a shiver running down his spine. “One more mishap,” he murmurs, fear swirling in his eyes. He falls onto the couch, sinking into the cushion with dread. “One more mishap and father warned…,” his eyebrows furrow, not being able to finish the threat Beron had made to the both of you and Eris feels his heart at his throat.

“She couldn’t have gone far.” Lady Raelynn speaks but it does nothing to reassure Eris.

“When I bring her back,” Eris says, voice steady with determination because he will find you. He takes another step back, toward the doors. One hand grasps for the knob while the other points a finger at Sawyer. “Then, I’ll deal with you.”

Sawyer says nothing but Lady Raelynn nods, urging him to go. “We’ll cover for you,” she assures him. “Please be careful.”

Eris leaves without another word, the doors closing shut behind him.

“He loves her.” Sawyer's words are tinged with sympathy and bitter amusement. A humorless chuckle escapes from him and he looks toward his mother. Her gaze remains fixed on the doors of her room, where Eris had left just moments ago, as she gives a silent prayer to the Cauldron.

“Are we cursed? To love those we cannot have?”

“I’m afraid you all have inherited it from me,” Lady Raelynn confesses softly, her voice carrying the weight of years of unspoken longing, clouding her eyes with regret and sorrow.

Leaves crunch beneath Eris's boots as he makes his way toward the stables, the crisp autumn air biting at his cheeks. His face dons his usual mask but his heart is still racing. He would much rather take his hounds in his quest to find you but the risk of raising suspicion held him back. It’s not uncommon for him to ride during these hours of the day and it’d give him a better vantage on covering as much ground as he can as opposed to winnowing.

The sound of a high-pitched whinny echoes through the air as Eris approaches, drawing his attention. His gaze settles upon the stablemen, their focus fixed upon a solitary stall.

“Lord Eris,” one of them greets, bowing his head in respect. “Do you wish to ride? I can ready your horse. Just give me a moment.”

Eris offers no response as he strides purposefully toward the stablemen, his curiosity piqued by the source of the anxious sounds. The stableman follows his gaze, his expression troubled. It’s your horse, Maximus. The white stallion throws his head back, pawing at the ground with such force that the dirt rises in swirling clouds.

“He’s been restless all morning, my Lord.”

“I’ll take him,” Eris finally speaks, his gaze lingering on the horse. From where he stands,he can sense the tension rippling through Maximus’s powerful frame. It reminds him of the way his hounds act when they sense something is wrong. “Perhaps, a ride will soothe him.”

The stableman’s eyes widen in alarm. “I would advise against it, Lord Eris. This one has a temper that only Lady Y/n can soothe. He’s bitten us before.”

Eris lets out a quiet amused huff, undeterred. “I’ll saddle him myself,” he says and it’s as if your horse understands for it tilts his head to look directly at Eris, a silent exchange passing between them.

The stableman simply nods, reluctantly handing the necessary equipment to prepare your horse. As Eris steps into the stall, Maximus steps back with a deep and heavy exhale. “It’s okay. I’m y/n’s��y/n’s friend,” Eris reassures though the word ‘friend’ rolls off his tongue awkwardly.

As he utters your name, Maximus's body relaxes slightly, mirroring the calm that had settled over Eris earlier in his mother’s quarters. He admires the way Maximus’s eyes soften slightly, betraying his deep love for you. Animals are the true definition of unconditional love, he thinks. However, there’s a flicker of doubt in the horse's eyes at the mention of the word "friend," as if he could sense something more. It makes Eris wonder if your horse can see past the glamor he meticulously placed over himself and you.

Maximus doesn’t move when Eris takes another step forward. He pats his neck softly, running his fingers down the silky white strands of Maximus’s mane. The white stallion’s head lowers and ears relax under the gentle touch.

“Can you take me to her?”

Maximus taps one of his hooves in response and Eris smiles.

Eris can feel your bond growing stronger and stronger as Maximus gallops, taking both of them deeper into Autumn’s forest. Around them, trees adorned with golden leaves blur into a whirl of color. The sound of thundering hooves fills the air. He pulls on the reins and the white stallion immediately obeys, coming to a gradual stop.

“Stay here.” Eris commands as he dismounts.

Maximus lets out a noise in protest but does not fight when Eris secures him to a nearby tree. He looks around the forest, allowing his senses to guide him through the labyrinth of trees. He feels a sharp tug against his ribcage, prompting his head to turn right. How did he not think of it sooner?

Eris quietly makes his way toward the clearing ahead, where the meadow he often frequents is. The canopy of the tall oak trees filter the golden sunlight into a mesmerizing dance of light and shadow. A kaleidoscope of wildflowers blooms along the edges, their petals kissed by the wind. His senses sharpen with anticipation. It’s as if a taut string is pulling him inexorably closer to you.

He’s flooded with relief when he finally spots you but it is short lived as he takes in your appearance. Relief is quickly replaced by a terrible sinking feeling that he feels in his very core.

The river is a distant murmur as you face it, your back to him. The shifting patterns of light and shadow play across your form, casting you in muted hues. You’re dressed in his clothes, the same ones he had given you when the two of you snuck out. The ruffled long sleeves do nothing to protect you from the biting Autumn winds and he frowns as you curl into yourself, arms wrapped tightly around your waist. You seem smaller somehow, more vulnerable. He’s already taking his coat off as he approaches you.

“Angel,” he calls out softly, placing his coat over your shoulders, but you don’t move. You don’t even react…are you even breathing?

Eris steps around you, his eyes pools of amber concern and as he comes to stand in front of you, his heart clenches. Your eyes are bloodshot and puffy. Tears stain your rosy cheeks, making his knees weak. Yet it's the emptiness in your gaze and the absence of radiance in your expression that shatters his heart. This court has broken you beyond repair. You, who always shined so bright, who lit up his world, were losing your spark. This is what he had been trying to prevent and he failed.

His hands cup your face in a tender caress, internally wincing at the lack of warmth he feels. Drawing upon his powers, he channels heat into his hands. As the warmth envelops you, he watches as your distant gaze gradually returns to him.

A pained expression clouds his features, tears stinging at his own eyes. He knows the answer, recognizes it the more he looks at you. He knows because you wear the same expression he does after facing Beron’s temper. But he needs to hear it. His brows furrow, barely able to contain the anger that had been left simmering. Anger not directed at you but at his father.

“Did he…did he hurt you?”

“I’m okay.”

There’s a roughness to your voice he’s never heard before that kills him inside. You lean in to his touch, tilting your head slightly to the right. Consequently, the same cheek Beron had struck earlier. Eris frowns. There’s no mark on your pretty features, no trace of harm of any kind. Though, he knows better now.

So he asks again. Differently and more carefully, this time. He’s trying very hard to tame the fire raging through his veins for your sake, worrying that he’d scare you if he allows you even the slightest glimpse of it.

“Did he touch you?”

You shift your head, attempting to escape his hold. But Eris doesn’t allow it and takes your silence as an answer. He swallows thickly. His father had laid his hands on you. Fiery tongues surge from the earth, swirling around you both and painting the air with bright hues of amber and scarlet. How dare he? His father is going to pay for this, Eris will make sure of it. He’s going to return the pain Beron inflicted on you tenfold. He’s going to ki—

“I’m okay.” You try again and it’s as if you’re also trying to convince yourself.

Eris leans his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m so sorry, angel,” he murmurs, voice thick with longing and regret. He had been so careful about leaving Autumn since your arrival and the one time he has to leave it, is when you find yourself in trouble.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

“You’re here now.”

He feels the softness of your hand against one of his, prompting his eyes to open. His amber orbs glisten with a haunting luminosity as quiet tears escape them. “I put you in this situation,” he confesses quietly.

Confusion flashes onto your face, your eyes searching for answers and he feels his heart at his throat. “I arranged your marriage, knowing the life I would be damning you to. This is all my fault.”

“You couldn’t have known. You didn’t know me then and my father…this marriage would’ve happened any–”

“Don’t.” He interrupts you, inhaling sharply, voice strained with emotion. He doesn’t think you’d be defending him if you knew what he did to your father just hours ago. “Don’t defend me. I don’t deserve it.”

And then he reluctantly drops his hands, stepping away from you, needing to put some distance between you both.

“I don’t deserve you.”

“Eris–” You take a step closer but he holds out a hand, flames erupting from the ground right between the both of you.

“No. You don’t understand, Angel. I’ve tried to fight it but I can’t contend. You’ve pierced through every defense of mine and now… I’m exhausted.I can’t pretend anymore.” Eris bows his head, flames dancing around him with heightened intensity. He collapses to his knees, surrendering to the turmoil within.

“You awaken sensations within me that I’ve never known. Sensations that both exhilarate and terrify me. If you–if you only knew the depths of my capabilities, the lengths I would go for you, the sacrifices I’ve already made...”

He can already imagine the heartbroken look on your face when you find out the truth. That he, your mate, the very being that should bring you nothing but joy and shower you in love brought harm upon your family. You’re one and only remaining family member. It did not matter if your father was a monster because either way, you adored him. Or rather, the idea of him.

Eris should tell you the truths he learned. How your father poisoned you for years, treating you not as his daughter but as a mere experiment instead. He only read snippets here and there from the journal, read just enough to be sickened with the horrors purposely inflicted upon you.

And Eris will tell you. He knows he needs to. But you’re breaking and he can feel you on the verge of shattering apart this very moment. If he tells you now, he fears–

“Eris.”

Your voice pulls him out of his racing thoughts and he winces. As if it physically pains him to hear the sweet way you say his name. “Don’t say my name like that, angel,” he nearly pleads. You don’t know what you do to him.

The flames pulse around him with the rhythm of his heart. He decides at that moment that you can hate him all you want after. As long as you’re alive, as long as your radiance returns to you, that’s all that matters. He just desperately needs you to be you again.

“Just tell me, angel, and I’ll do it,” Eris says, closing his eyes as he tries to steady his breath. “Tell me what to do to make you feel better? I can’t bear the sight of seeing you like this so please tell me.”

His words strike a nerve in you, the devotion in them unfamiliar to you. How cruel, you think, tears pooling at your eyes for an entirely different reason. You’re marrying the wrong Vanserra. You take a step forward, the flames of Eris’s fire threatening to swallow you whole.

“You care for me?”

“Devastatingly so.”

Another step forward. Your heart hammers in your chest. The flames lick at your feet and you should fear them. But you don’t. Because it’s Eris and though you shouldn’t, you want him. Not Sawyer or anyone else. You want Eris. All of him.

“You’d really do anything for me?”

Eris lets out a sound–a mixture of an exhale and laugh. It’s humorless and singed with disbelief as if he can’t believe you’re really asking him that after he just confessed it all to you. But you need to hear it again.

“I would traverse all over Prythian, surmount every obstacle, and brave the fiercest storms just to see the light of your smile. All you have to do is ask.”

And then you’re taking that last step, braving yourself against the searing heat that dances in the air to reach him. Because if you’re going to die, you need him to know. You need him to know the truth that lingers in your heart.

That he’s your golden hour, painting your world in shades of warmth and love, but also your midnight hour, where secret desires and dreams are whispered under a canopy of stars and now…

Now, he’s everything in between. You’re every waking thought and the last before you sleep. You need him to know that you burn for him. Ardently. Your breath catches and Eris’s eyes snap open, widening as his fire reaches out to embrace you.

But it doesn’t burn you.

The two of you look at each other in awe before you’re falling to your knees in front of him, the flames enfolding around you in a tender caress. Neither of you say a word. Your hands reach out to cup his face, coaxing his gaze to you. He doesn’t stop you this time. Not even as you lean in and press your lips against his. He should pull away but he doesn’t. Instead, his lips move against yours, kissing the warmth right back into you, giving a piece of light from him to you.

You pull away, just enough to speak but still close enough to feel the warmth of his mouth. “And if I ask you to take me in a way only a lover could, what then?”

He looks at you with such an intensity it sets you alight but then he’s averting his gaze and there’s an ache in your chest. “Please,” you whisper, eyes glistening with tears.

You always dreamed of what your wedding would be like, who you would marry. A part of you always knew that it would be arranged. Still, you foolishly hoped that in light of the arrangement, love would blossom. That your husband would hold affection toward you and learn to love you. That on your first night together, he’d be gentle and caring.

But your dream was morphing into something darker. Your husband would never love you in the way you desire. He hated the very thought of you and though you caught a mere glimpse of the caring male underneath the harsh exterior earlier, it did nothing to soothe you. It can’t be Sawyer.

The night you dreamed of was becoming a nightmare. The last thread of hope was hanging precariously, threatened by the sharp blade of anxiety and fear. You can’t lose the last part you hold dear to Sawyer. You can’t let Beron win. They don’t deserve to forever hold this over you.

You look at Eris, your last thread of hope. “Your father called for a bedding ceremony and I don’t want that to be my first time. I don’t want Sawyer to…to…”

“I know, angel,” Eris murmurs, not letting you finish your sentence. He wipes at your tears and then places his hands over yours, which remain on his face. He gives a gentle kiss to your lips but his body is tense. The thought of you having to endure the horrors of a forced bedding ceremony. Your body on display for others to see, the emotional and physical pain it will bring upon you, the—

Eris has to force himself out of those dark thoughts, the bond in his chest roaring with a fierce and protective anger. He kisses you again. This time, on your forehead. “It’s not going to happen.”

“But your father–”

The fear in your eyes pains him. He pulls you closer, nose brushing against yours as he forces you to look into his eyes. “Do you trust me?”

“With my whole heart.”

“Then trust me when I say that no one will touch you against your will again.”

“Even though your father, the High Lord, has condemned me to death?”

“No one,” he repeats, voice firm as he pulls you close to him. One arm wraps itself around your waist while the other cradles your head to his chest. He brushes his fingers through your hair, basking in the sweet scent of rose it brings forth.

Silence envelops you both and you allow it to embrace you, the same way Eris does. In his arms, you are safe, you are warm. It is just the two of you…against the world.

“Tell me what you’re thinking of,” Eris speaks softly.

“I’m thinking…” your voice trails off as you shift in his hold to face him. His hands fall to your waist and you make yourself comfortable in his lap, placing a knee on either side of him. “What if it's your touch I will?”

Heat and desire pour through the bond, filling his veins.

“Your eyes I dream of,” you whisper, threading your fingers through his red hair and tilting his head up to look into his eyes. When you lean in to delicately kiss the corners of his eyes, he shudders beneath you.

“Your heart I want.”

Your hand trails down his neck in a tender caress, stopping at his chest. Right over the organ that beats for you. The golden threads stir under your touch and he swallows thickly, eyes locked onto you. He wonders if you can feel it–the way the bond is singing madly like it wants to be heard. With a sudden boldness, he tugs on it.

His eyes widen when your body seems to react, lurching forward slightly. Your movements still, hand lingering on his chest and he watches you with bated breath. You felt it…but your end of the bond remains quiet. Still waiting to unravel, only giving him a glimpse of the emotions stirring within you.

Something that both uneases and relieves him. He wants to know exactly what you’re feeling–if your emotions resonate with the same fervor that consumes him. He wants you to understand the depth of his devotion to you. However, amidst his yearning, your oblivion toward the bond allows him to mask the subtle shift in your scent. A silent sacrifice that weighs heavy upon his heart but a burden he is glad to carry if it means he can safeguard your innocent heart from the cunning foxes at court.

Your hand continues its path downwards, tracing a tantalizing path toward his. His heart stirs with a flutter of anticipation. He can feel the unspoken yearning in your touch. With trembling fingers, he intertwines his hand with yours, each brush of your skin igniting a wildfire in him that grows brighter as you bring his hand to your lips.

“Your hand in marriage I long for.” You press a soft kiss upon the fourth finger of his left hand and his resolve is faltering. Teetering on the edge of surrender…

The flames surrounding you both catch on the ring on your fourth finger, the very one claimed by his brother. A forced and loveless claim. Yet still, regretfully, not him. A stark reminder that you are not his and perhaps, will never be. The simple golden band glistens precariously as if acknowledging his thoughts. He should stop you.

“Y/n–”

“Your touch I crave,” you continue, your longing turning into a desperate need as you kiss him. Harder, with more urgency, sending a delightful sensation down his spine that makes his cock twitch.

As your hips roll against his, Eris abruptly pulls away. The hands at your waist tighten, keeping you still and holding on to that last wall of defense. He wants you but he shouldn’t.

Your brows furrow and Eris hates the hurt that flashes in your eyes. The hope that deflates. “I’m sorry.Have I misinterpreted your—““

“I want you too,” he interrupts, needing to reassure you. He licks his lips, gaze flickering to your own, already missing their taste, before lifting back up. “Gods, do I want you but not like this.”

He gestures to the autumn meadow around you both. The meadow that is painted in hues of crimson and gold and alive with the whisper of falling leaves and dancing flames. It’s beautiful. The epitome of Autumn. But it’s no proper place to have you.

“You deserve better. You deserve for your first time to be special.”

“It does not matter where we are. As long as it’s with you, it is special. Please,” your bottom lip trembles and Eris leans in, gently kissing it steady. “I want you to be my first. I don’t want it to be Sawyer or anyone else. I want it to be you.”

“We don’t have to do this now. There will be another time,” Eris utters but his voice lacks strength. The promise in his words hangs in the air delicately like a wisp of smoke that is already dissipating into uncertainty.

“Time,” you echo quietly, a wistful shadow casting over your features. “What if we don’t have time? What if–what if this moment is all we have left?”

Eris wants to respond but the words catch in his throat. There’s nothing he can say to reassure you there. He knows you’re aware of the impending dangers that wait for you back at court. His father will be watching you closely now, security will be tighter. Eris will have to be more careful, tread lighter and with higher caution.

There’s only a little less than two weeks away from your marriage to Sawyer. The three of you are running out of the time and there is still so much to do. The stolen moments with you will have to cease and he senses you’re aware of this truth as well. This may be the very last one between you both.

If you thought Autumn was a terrible place before, then you’re about to learn that it’s much, much worse. It’s a living hell. And Eris curses the Cauldron for its cruelty.

Angels like you shouldn’t live in hell.

“So much has been taken from me and I fear there is very little choice I have remaining in this world. But this,” you pause, placing his hand over your racing heart, an urgent plea echoing in the rapid rise and fall beneath his touch. “This is mine to give and it wants you. I want to give it to you before it’s too late…”

Eris’s entire body tenses, muscles tightening with restraint.

“And if your heart feels the same, then I need you,” your voice trembles under the weight of your emotions and suddenly, Eris feels like he can’t breathe. “Like fire craves the kiss of air–”

No one has ever looked at him with such devotion, spoken to him with such passion. It’s overwhelming and threatening to drown him in its intensity. While his mind is screaming for him to run away, his heart wills for him to stay.

“–like flowers thirst for the tender caress of rain, like–”

Eris’s lips crash onto yours. His kiss is searing yet gentle and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and he groans into your mouth. He carefully guides you back onto the soft bed of fallen leaves and golden grass, cradling the back of your head with one hand while the other remains over your heart.

He kisses you until you’re both breathless and forced to pull apart. His body hovers over yours, amber eyes drinking you in. He tenderly kisses the remnants of your tears away, reveling in the way you softly sigh and lips begin to curve upwards into a smile.

“I love you, Eris.”

The three words hit Eris so hard there’s a crack in the last wall of defense. He’s terrified to move, not wanting to leave this moment but also in fear that if he does, that last wall will crumble entirely.

“Me? Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more unequivocally sure.”

Eris studies you intently, captivated by every subtle shift in your expression. There’s nothing but unwavering love and desire reflecting back at him with such luminous intensity that it threatens to blind him. He can no longer think properly. Every reservation, every thought telling him to stop is slipping through his fingers.

All he can think about is you and how you love him. You love him! You love him! You love him!

And when he meets your eyes again, it’s too late.

The damage has already been done. That last wall of defense is crumbling at a devastating speed. A soft flush creeps up his cheeks, betraying the vulnerability that seeps through his every pore in surrender.

“Is this what you really want?”

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut in anticipation as his nose brushes softly along your neck. “Even if it’s just for this moment, let me be entirely yours. Every beat of my heart. Every breath. Take it all.”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Eris murmurs against your neck, inhaling sharply and when the honeyed scent of your arousal greets him, he whimpers.

Gentle is not a word Eris Vanserra would use to describe himself. That is, until he met you. His mate. The one who dismantled the walls he spent centuries constructing around his heart in months with little effort. In your presence, lies a burning desire to soften the edges of his demeanor. To be the gentle male worthy of your affection.

You wield a power over him unlike any other, leaving him utterly captivated and surrendering to all rationality. He should tell you he feels the same but he is beyond words. How can mere words capture the magnitude of his devotion?

So when you’re asking–begging–to be his, he can’t bring himself to say no. Not when this may be the very last moment shared between you both. Not when you’re giving him the perfect opportunity to show you the depth of his feelings instead.

Everything fades into insignificance. Nothing matters but this moment. With a touch as light as the brush of butterfly wings, his hands explore your body. Tentatively, as if scared to burn you with his burgeoning desire. Always asking for permission–”is this okay?” “yes”–before venturing further, before discarding your clothes–his clothes.

Flames continue to dance around you both, a protective circle and barrier against the cold winds. Each flicker of light casts intricate shadows upon your faces, your bodies. Eris pulls away just enough to admire you. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, leaning down and capturing your lips for what feels like the hundredth time. But it will never be enough. “So, so beautiful.”

You’re melting like wax beneath every touch and then his lips are tracing down the paths his hands have forged. Gentle and somehow still urgent. His mouth lingers on the swell of your breasts, sucking and eliciting the prettiest sounds from you.

“If it’s too much, you tell me,” he utters, holding your gaze as he rests his chin on your stomach. He can sense your nerves. He’s nervous too. He wants this to be perfect for you. As perfect as it can be, given your circumstances.

“We can stop whenever you want.”

You nod but it’s not enough for Eris. “Words, angel,” he says, pressing a tender kiss to your stomach. “I need your words.”

“I’ll tell you,” you breathe, body arching into him. “I promise.”

Eris presses another kiss to your stomach before continuing his path downwards, to where he can feel you aching for him the most. He’s breathing so hard and kissing every inch of your skin, setting you ablaze. His nose brushes against the apex of your thighs and he’s flooded with your arousal. It’s overwhelming all his senses and he’s pulsing with need to have a taste.

Still, he pauses to look up at you through his long eyelashes.

“Please,” is all you manage to say.

Eris moans in anticipation, drinking in your otherworldly beauty, the same way he wishes to devour you. One hand rests on your hip while the other reaches for yours. His fingers intertwine themselves with yours and when you squeeze them, he lowers his mouth and finally has a taste.

You throw your head back with a choked cry. “Eris!”

Eris groans, lapping and working his tongue against you. He’s never loved his name more. “You taste absolutely divine,” he breathes, losing himself in you. If this is how you taste, his cock throbs painfully as he imagines how you’d feel.

You reach your peak soon, crying out his name again. He lifts his head and brings your locked hands to his lips, admiring the look of pure bliss on your face. “Beautiful,” he whispers again, heart swelling with warmth. Overcome with emotion, he dives for your lips and pours them out into his kiss, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue.

The hand not intertwined with yours, caresses against your core, fingers prodding at your entrance. Your mouth parts in a gasp at the intrusion but he eases you through it until you're clenching around his fingers and begging for more.

“Are you sure you still want this?” He can’t help but ask, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Yes.”

“I’ll go slow,” Eris promises, his amber gaze filled with softness and tenderness. Blush rises to your cheeks and it’s instinctual, the way you look away. He lets out a low sound in disapproval. “Eyes on me, angel.”

When you meet his gaze, his pupils are blown but his gaze remains soft and warm. Your lips curve upwards and he does the same. Both of his hands are locked with yours, resting on either side of your head. He holds your gaze, slowly sinking into your warmth and stilling at the furrow of your brows. He kisses them, allowing you to adjust and wanting to ease any discomfort you may be feeling.

“You’re doing so well for me, angel,” he encourages, voice strained. The bond in his chest is surging with pride at being your first and with a primal fervor to be the only one who gets to have you like this.

He feels like his heart is going to burst into flames and when he finally sheathes himself inside you, everything catches fire. His mind. His body. His soul. Every muscle, every nerve in his body is coming undone with every thrust. His kisses, though still soft, grow intense. So hot yet so sweet.

Fire consumes him, its vibrant flames igniting not destruction but building something new. Something beautiful. Something heavenly. where hopes and dreams, once thought lost, are resuscitated. The wounds of his heart being mended by you.

His body presses further into yours, mouth pressing feverish kisses down your neck, whispering sweet praises and worshipping you for the divine being you are. Your moans grow louder and you’re clenching around him tighter. “I love you,” your voice is a mere whisper but he hears it loud and clearly and you don’t seem to mind his lack of response. Not when he’s following after you, bodies shuddering as release courses through you both.

Eris pulls you close to his chest, arms tight around you. He can feel your heartbeat. Fast but steadying and in tune with the rhythm of his own. The gentle rise and fall of your chest let him know you’ve fallen asleep. Letting out a sigh in content, he closes his eyes, wanting to bask in this moment longer.

His fingers lightly trace along your back, tracing the four words he couldn’t bring himself to say back to you earlier.

I love you, too.

a/n: I've never written soft smut before so I hope it was okay. I also hope I was able to convey the desperation between Eris and reader well. I debated a lot on whether keeping the smut or scrapping it. Huge thank you to @stormhearty for helping me out with this part and giving me her input! ily! ❤️

series tag list: @fabulouslyflamboyant5 @fxckmiup @stormhearty @skyesayshi @sfhsgrad-blog @crazylokonugget @evergreenlark @secretlyhers @mybestfriendmademe @ib525, @96jnie, @glitterypirateduck @thatsassyhufflepuff @acourtofbatboydreams, @mal-adaptive-dreams, @dandelionfairyyy, @queerqueenlynn, @circe143

general tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria

#eris x reader #eris x y/n #eris x you #eris vanserra imagine #eris vanserra x you #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra x y/n #acotar imagine #acotar x you #acotar x reader #acotar x y/n #eris angel au #eris vanserra smut #eris smut #acotar smut

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shotmrmiller · 10 months ago

Note

WHAT YOU WROTE WAS AMAZING PLS IM SOBBING I LOVE IT SO MUCH GIVING U SMOOCHES

but okay so you sleep by yourself that night he comes home. you know he goes out with the boys — mostly on the weekends but sometimes the weekdays too — so when he comes home just a bit later than usual it doesn’t ring any alarm bells even if you pout a little. and you damn near run into his arms and snuggle into his neck only to smell — not him. something, someone else has touched what you thought was yours.

you pull back from the hug to look him over further. clothes mussed up, lips looking like they were bitten, a little flushed. a little like when you two —

you swallow thickly, throat lining with glass and tears as you suck in a breath. you find that you can’t actually form words for a moment, worried that only bile and venom would come out.

“did you fuck someone?”

he looks panicked — guilty — and you don’t even need him to say it for you to know what he’s done.

“who?” you ask, voice barely there, only able to be heard over the icy silence that followed your question. he replies one of the other pets. you nod, more to yourself than anything, trying not to scream your heart out at him.

but your heart cracks the moment he opens his mouth.

for the first time since you began living with him, you slept alone.

(you did scream at him. tripping over your words and panicked breaths and streams of tears. how could he do this. he didn’t call, didn’t ask. did he even think to? did he even care?)

you’re exhausted. too tired crying like you’ve never cried before, feeling like the weight of betrayal is crushing you as you sleep.

you almost fear that it’ll kill you.

the next day — friday — he knocks on your door before he goes to work. he tells you to have a good day. you don’t acknowledge him.

but you miss him. you absolutely fucking hate him but you miss him so much, it hurts. that particular ache is almost worse than the one of betrayal.

almost.

by mid day, you figure you should give him a chance to talk. he obviously feels guilty, and you love him. despite everything, you love him.

so you clean yourself up and try to look a little pretty for him, wearing a cute slip lingerie dress and bows on your ears.

you clean up around the flat a little. you fold his clothes — he’s been grumbling about it lately and always say he’d do it later. so you do it for him, folded with precision and left to sit on the edge of the bed.

you’re still upset and anxious and everything in between. the nerves make it hard to feel anything and you feel too sick to eat. but you nibble on some bread, knowing he wouldn’t want you to neglect yourself. you love him.

when it starts getting later, you decide to make him his favorite cookies. it’s been awhile since you’ve made him anything, and you’ve always enjoyed making these for him. the sweetest kisses tend to follow.

the night rolls around to the point where you know he’s off work. it’ll take him a little to get home, so you settle on the couch and wait.

but as the hours tick by, later and later, the worry grows and gnaws and threatens to split you from the inside out.

maybe he’s out with the boys again? you’d think, given the circumstances, he’d want to come home to you. but old habits die hard, you suppose.

but it gets later. and later.

later than he ever would be out even when things were perfect between you two.

it shatters you. where was he? what was he doing? was he —

the thought makes you sick.

he comes home after midnight. after you wretched in the toilet and cried yourself to sleep — again.

didn’t he love you too?

he sees the cookies put away in a container and a pit grows in his stomach, a void ready to eat his heart. whatever is left of it, anyways.

there’s a note sitting on the top.

“sleep well.”

the writing was shaky and it looks like a few tears spilled onto the words as you wrote them.

your usual xoxo at the bottom was crossed out.

you beat me to it:)

you bloody beat me to it. Fool me once.

your eyes are blank as if the life had all but faded from them, and in a way, they had.

Sitting him down, you calmly, (calmly, because there is nothing in you left other than acceptance, and youll be damned before you ever beg a man to want you) say, "I'll be leaving in the morning."

He tries to say something but nothing he could ever say will fix what he chose to break. "No, the fact that i'm even bothering to tell you is a courtesy you don't deserve. You've made your bed, now continue to lie in it with whoever you keep seeing after work." Smoothly, you get up and walk towards your room.

There is no rancor in your heart for whoever it is he's been with. After all, the one in the relationship with you was him.

You stuff a towel under the door, covering the gap, and clutch your collar to your chest, letting the last tears youll ever cry over him track down your cheeks. He doesn't deserve to see nor hear your pain.

You call an uber while he's at work and disappear.

When he comes back home, the place is dark and empty. He sits at the dinner table alone, with two fingers of whiskey in front of him, and in his hand is the last note you left him, stiff with dried tears and an xoxo at the very bottom.

What makes him crumble is when he sees the glint of your personalized collar on his nightstand, and it finally hits him that you're gone. For good.

listening to eurielle while writing epic sad is just chefs kiss.

#i am LIVING for this angst i stg #my anons are incredible #better than me in every way shape and form #task force 141

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pretty-little-mind33 · 6 months ago

Text

Tom Ryder x fem!reader

Summary: You're Tom's makeup artist for a movie he's shooting and you absolutely hate him. However, one round of karaoke later, your feelings temporarily shift.

Genre: Fluff, smidge of angst, Enemies to Lovers (very one-sided lmao)

Warnings: Tom is a stupid asshole (but he's also just a mess), swearing, reader is described as shorter than Tom, light misogyny, slapping, alcohol, being drunk/high.

TOM RYDER MASTERLIST

The bar is dimly lit and the loud music resounds in your ear as your knee bounces. You stir the straw around your drink, sighing as you turn to Vanessa, your co-worker. "He left me another post-it note on the desk yesterday telling me he wants a new lip oil because his now tastes weird!? His last one is only from last week and it's the same brand he always uses! I'm so sick of his bullshit, V," you drop your head in your arms and then peek up at Vanessa again, "He's such a dick."

Vanessa laughs, sipping on her margarita, as she shrugs, "Didn't you know that when you took the job, honey?"

"I mean, sure. But those could have been rumors," you pout and sit up, moving some hair behind your ear as you look around the room, where other crew members have gathered around the karaoke machine.

"Listen, don't think about Tom Ryder. You're off the clock and everyone knows he's a world-class asshole—a pretty world-class asshole, I will let him have that," Vanessa hums and also turns her attention to the rest of your friends and co-workers as she claps her hands.

You look down at your drink, your cheeks feeling warmer than usual. Not thinking about Tom Ryder was easier said than done when you had to work on his face 5 days a week. He was so infuriating most times, either talking down to you when you worked or wouldn't cooperate with anything you told him to do because he was on his phone. Sometimes he really makes you want to stab the mascara stick into his eye.

Still, you can't deny he's extremely handsome and that just annoys you more.

Suddenly, you hear a bunch of cheers and hoots from outside, directly accompanied by the sound of the door slamming open. When you hear an all too familiar voice, your eyes widen and you snap around to make sure you hadn't just imagined it.

Tom Ryder coming to one of the crew parties? No fucking way. Obviously, he's always invited to them but in a very arrogant fashion he never shows up—which is one of the reasons you do, because he never does.

Only this time he did and he's not alone.

Tom is dressed in another one of his boisterous outfits, his shirt loosely unbuttoned to reveal his chest and a peak of his toned abs. Pink-tinted sunglasses sit on his nose and his dirty blond hair curls messily around his face.

He looks drunk, or high, when he walks in and you can't tell which one it is because he's constantly moving and laughing. He's accompanied by a few other low A-list actor friends he has and a pretty blond model hangs on his arm, her giggles instantly infuriating you.

How can she stand to be near him for more than a minute? Even less hold his arm and be his eye-candy?

You turn back around, desperately attempting to calm the bile rising in your throat. God, you hate him. You feel even worse when he leans beside you at the bar and orders a drink from the bartender, snapping his fingers as he does. He doesn't even address your presence beside him and your blood boils.

Your anger immediately turns to disgust when you hear the man hosting the karaoke scream out Tom Ryder's name.

"Tom Ryder everyone! I loved your new movie, man, it was awesome! How about a song?" the man asks, eyebrows wiggling as the crew clap (mostly out of politeness) and his friends make loud, drunken noises like a bunch of animals.

"C'mon! One song—for all the pretty ladies in the crowd!"

Tom seems intrigued when the man mentions the girls. You roll your eyes and your hand tightens around your glass as he walks up to the host, raising his hands in surrender and feigning humbleness. "Alright, alright, I have to give the ladies what they want, don't I?" Tom boasts, winking at one of the camera girls he never looks at otherwise.

Someone put you out of your misery now.

The host seems ecstatic to have someone this famous next to him and asks Tom for a quick photo, which Tom obviously doesn't turn down. You pretend to gag when Vanessa turns to look at you and smirks at Tom's behavior..

"How about a duet, Ryder?" The host asks as he hands him the mic.

"Nah, I usually sing solo," Tom says, his words slightly slurred, and then he leans in to whisper something in the host's ear—which probably goes something like, "Unless she's got a nice rack, then by all means invite her up here."

You lean in and whisper into Vanessa's ear, "Ten bucks he takes home the girl he ends up singing with," you say with a frown, your voice a little strained. Vanessa laughs and then the worst thing happens.

"You," the host shouts and you look up alarmed. Your eyes are wide when you realize everyone, including Tom, is staring at you. "The angry-looking girl in the back. Why don't you come up and join him? I doubt he'd bite."

Laughter, including some nervous ones from your friends, resounds around the room as Tom's smirk widens. You'd be surprised, you think. You find your voice again and say, "Um, can't you ask one of them?" you point to the group of eager fangirls swarming around the small stage as they ogle Tom.

"C'mon, sweetheart," Tom slurs, squinting at you, "One song won't kill you."

But you might just kill him.

Vanessa, the traitor, nudges you again and you stumble from the stool. You glare at her but when all your friends, including Tom's more obnoxious friends, chant encouragements you feel completely trapped.

The walk to the small stage feels eerily similar to a walk of shame as you look to your co-workers in hopes someone will save you. No one does and you ignore the stares from all the girls who wish they could take your place.

You're blinded by the lights as you step on the stage and approach the host. "Atta girl," the man smirks patronizingly as he hands you the second mic. You scrunch your nose at him and then look up at Tom, expecting him to be ignoring you like he usually is, but instead, he's staring.

His cheeks are pink from being intoxicated and he tilts his head, watching you clutch the mic nervously.

The host doesn't warn you when the song begins to play and he walks away. You realize too late you and Tom are now alone and everyone is watching you as dread slowly fills your stomach.

You don't even know how to sing! This is so humiliating.

The familiar melody of, "Don't Go Breaking My Heart," fills the air and you feel the heat rise in your chest and up to your ears. Your heart is pounding so loudly you can only faintly hear Tom start to sing the song. He sounds fairly good and you aren't surprised considering he's an actor.

Your voice catches in your throat and you feel tears rise. You don't sing when it's your turn and the crowd is silent.

Suddenly, you jump when you feel a strong hand on your hip and you snap your head around to look at him. Your hand finds Tom's hand immediately, gripping it, and just as you're about to pull it away, he leans in and whispers, hot against your ear, "Baby doll, you're making me look bad," he states, his tone as condescending as it always is, and your heart does a somersault in your chest.

He looks down at you this time, his blue eyes lock with yours for a moment and his hand falters on your hip. For an actor, Tom Ryder has surprisingly no poker face because when he sees your distressed state, his demeanor shifts, and instead of frustration, he takes on a different approach.

He takes your hand, suddenly twirling you around and you make a small sound as you stumble. It's been a few seconds since anyone has sung the song, so he sings again and this time, his eyes stay on yours as he sings your lyrics.

"You know this," he mouths, encouraging you as he does this weird, clearly drunk-induced shimmy that makes you laugh despite your better judgment. He points to the small screen where the lyrics are displayed.

You take a breath and then sing, focusing on him instead of the crowd and your head feels light. You would have never guessed there would be a day when you'd find comfort in Tom Ryder. Your friends clap with amusement and laughter swirls around the bar as you both continue to sing and dance.

Occasionally, Tom will pull you in closer but you'll move away, flustered, and when the song finally ends, you move back and almost trip on the mic's cord.

With a gasp, you expect to fall flat on your ass but instead, Tom wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you into him as your palms press on his chest. You're breathing heavily and so is he, his hand is still on your back as his eyes roam over all your features until you push him away and walk down the small stairs and back to the ground where all your friends are whispering and clapping.

You feel like you can't breathe, your heart beating so quickly. You mumble a quick "excuse me" to Vanessa, snatch your purse from the bar counter, and open the door to outside. The cool air calms your burning skin and you lean against the building.

What the fuck was that? Why was he looking at you like that?

"You know, it's normal to be nervous around someone like me," Tom's voice interrupts your panic and you spin around, not expecting to see him. "But running from me? Now, darling, that's truly a first," he finishes with a chuckle and an obnoxious smirk.

"You're so full of yourself," you whisper automatically but then your eyes round as if you've realized what you'd said.

Tom looks surprised but he also remains cool as he strokes a hand down his jaw and puts it on his hip. "Mm, I assume you're not a fan then."

You cross your arms and look anywhere but directly at him because fuck, why did someone so incredibly stupid and pretentious have to be so darn hot? "You could say that, sure," you shrug. "Not everyone likes you, Tom Ryder." You shut yourself up as soon as the words leave your mouth. This isn't exactly something you should say to someone who you work with.

However, Tom's expression sours and he lifts his eyebrow. "You don't like me?"

You turn to him, eyes locking with him this time. "That isn't what I said."

Tom's eyebrows crease and he squints at you, removing his stupid sunglasses and they push back his blond hair. "You're confusing me." He sounds genuine.

You can't help but chuckle at his idiocy and surprisingly for you, your laughter makes him smile. He leans in and you lean away, eyes round when you realize how close he's becoming. "You have such a sexy laugh," he says cockily, "Bet I can make you do it again."

You hate to admit this but your heart does flutter at his words. Can anyone really blame you? It's Tom. Fucking. Ryder. You try to remind yourself how much of a dick he is—and always has been—but as you look into the blue of his eyes, his reassuring touch burns imprints on your skin and you feel dizzy.

Shit.

"You look familiar," Tom straightens himself, "Have I seen you somewhere? You been in any magazines? You certainly have the look."

You ignore the so-called complement and stare at him. He has to be kidding. You've been doing his makeup for over six months now and he supposedly sees you almost every day. You worked on his face every single day—how could he not recognize you? You open your mouth to ask if this is a joke but he interrupts you.

"Seriously, I must know you from somewhere. Gimme a hint, baby,"

Your stomach sinks and you feel so so stupid. Tom doesn't sense your shift as he's still focused on whatever fleeting emotion may have been between you before as his hand finds your hip.

Instantly, your palm connects with his cheek, and the sound cracks into the air. "Don't touch me," you say harshly, ignoring how shaky your voice is.

Tom looks at you, his hand over his bruised cheek, "You hit me?!" he says in disbelief, "What the fu—"

You don't stick around to hear his whining as you turn around and run from him.

Again.

"Hey–wait!" you hear Tom's shout but why would you turn around now? Tears of frustration brim your eyes as you hastily walk down the empty sidewalk.

There is no way you're fucking crying over Tom fucking Ryder right now, you tell yourself and pinch the inside of your eyes.

No way.

You ignore Vanessa's incessant calling and her worried texts when you arrive at your apartment. You scream in frustration, throwing your heels across the room and scaring your poor cat, Pumpkin, as she sprints into the living room, her claws against the floorboards.

Quickly, you follow her and scoop her into your arms, "'M sorry, baby," you coo and nuzzle your nose into her fur. "I'm sorry Mommy scared you."

You hear Vanessa's fifth call from your purse but you're too exhausted to deal with her and the fallout from what had happened tonight, so instead you sit on the couch and cuddle with Pumpkin, scratching behind her ears.

* * *

When you pull into the parking lot of the new set the next morning, you haven't slept well and you feel like shit—it doesn't help that they're filming outside today, in the summer heat, and grainy sand infiltrates into your Converse.

You groan as you walk over to the makeup trailer and see Vanessa waiting for you. You almost called in sick this morning until you realized how guilty that would make you look, so you sucked it up.

"Y/n?!" Vanessa shrieks and pulls you behind the trailer. "Where have you been?! I've called you a hundred times, why haven't you answered any of them? I was worried Ryder somehow took you home and that I'd lost 10 bucks—"

"Gross, why would you think that?" you say with disgust as if you weren't surprised to hear that after you left Tom hadn't returned to the bar.

"I mean, for one, Ryder was missing and no one knew where he went. And second, are you shitting me? Girl, the tension was more than palpable! You were practically dry-humping Tom Ryder in front of everyone!"

You feel like someone has just punched you in the stomach and your voice comes out high and nervous when you exclaim, "I was not! It wasn't like that, V! Is that what everyone thinks?" Vanessa nods as an answer and you want to scream.

"I swear, I- nothing happened—even outside—I- funny story I slapped him because he's a jerk and I- I don't like him!" you ramble and your heart thumps quicker when Vanessa looks behind you and her mouth curls into a devious smirk.

"Don't look now, sweetie, but your boyfriend just arrived," she pauses and checks her watch, "An hour late. As usual." Vanessa looks you dead in the eyes and then she teases, "Chop chop, time to put makeup on your man."

Your eyes widen and you pull Vanessa further behind the trailer so Tom won't see you or her. You hold her shoulders. "Please switch with me for today. He won't even notice the difference, and Allie doesn't need to have her makeup done until noon so that way I don't have to see him! Please, V, I'll do anything!"

Vanessa crosses her arms, "Nothing happened with him, hm?"

You look at her, your eyes round and pleading, "Please."

"Fine, but you're paying for my lunch later," she says and taps your nose, "and giving me a detailed rundown on what happened with Ryder."

You nod reluctantly, whispering a small thank you under your breath as she turns to walk into the makeup trailer behind Tom. You let out a breath, leaning against the trailer. You know you'll have to face him at some point—just not now.

The day drags on and on as the heat is becoming almost unbearable. You stand to the side, your makeup kit secured to your hip as you watch the scene from under a tent. It's another action sequence and it's very obvious Tom's makeup is fading from the warmth and his sweat.

Shit, you realize, he needs a touch-up. Vanessa didn't use the correct primer.

You look around, hoping to see Vanessa and tell her Ryder needs a touch but the director's voice cuts in and you tense, "Cut! Someone come to fix his face!" Jody turns to you, her eyes kind as her voice becomes a little less stressed when she sees you're prepared for this, "Can you fix his makeup?"

Shit, shit, shit.

This is your job, you can't say no so you walk out onto the set where Tom is leaning against a prop rock. He straightens himself and when he turns, he doesn't have the chance to process your presence as you guide him down and fumble with your kit.

He's taller than you so he's leaning down so you can fix him up properly. You put your hand on his jaw, near his ear, to steady him as you touch up under his eyes and near his cheekbones.

He's staring at you and you know he recognizes you this time, his blue eyes wide and puppy-like.

Silently, you add some powder on his cheeks and nose so the product sticks better this time and when you let him go, Tom opens his mouth to speak, but you shake your head no, and then you turn your head and hurry back behind the camera.

Your ears are burning from embarrassment as you walk directly to the makeup trailer, without looking back at anyone.

You've barely closed the door when it slams open and you scream. You spin around just as someone tries to hold onto your arm and on instinct you grab the hairspray that's in your kit and spray it directly into… Tom's eyes.

He screams too, his voice high-pitched and very un-sexy, as he clutches his eyes. Seeing him only causes you to scream again. "Ryder?!" you exclaim and immediately take his arm, pulling him inside the trailer as he wails like a child and rubs at his eyes.

You slap his hands away and push him down under the faucet, pouring water into his eyes and in the process drenching his blond hair and ruining his mascara.

"Fuck," he groans as he sputters out water as he jerks away from you. You move closer to him and without thinking hold both of his cheeks in your hands, looking directly into his, now slightly irritated, eyes.

"Does it hurt?" you whisper, clearly concerned.

Tom rests his hands on yours and pulls them away, "What do you think?" he groans and blinks a few times. "You're the girl—" he mutters and pinches his nose, "at karaoke. I remember you now."

You realize how close you are to him now and, overwhelmed, you step back. "Lucky me," you mumble sarcastically and take his arm, pulling him to one of the seats. "I have to fix your face again or someone is gonna fire me."

He's weirdly docile as he looks at your work as you dry his hair. Once you're done, he speaks up, "Why'd you run from me? I mean, c'mon, the way you looked at me with those fuck-me eyes—"

Tom has no shame and of course, he wouldn't. He's probably never really been rejected in his entire life and women have most likely let him speak to them like this. You pause and pull his chin harder so he's looking at you as you continue with his mascara.

"Tell me honestly Ryder, do you even hear yourself when you speak?" you ask, your voice strained.

"What?" Tom asks, sounding genuinely confused.

"You're an asshole. That's why I ran from you." You drop his chin and your word vomit comes out without you being able to help it as you cross your arms, "I mean—I have been doing your makeup for months! And you've only ever left me your stupid post-it notes when you have a demand! No "Hi," "Good morning," "How are you?" No. Nothing like that. And I tried! I really tried in the beginning because like everyone else on this fucked up planet I thought you were awesome."

Tom opens his mouth to make a snide comment but you instantly press your finger to his lips.

"I really thought, "I'm so lucky to be Tom Ryder's makeup artist!" and then I found out Tom Ryder is a shit person that doesn't—"

"I'm not a shit person," Tom deadpans and stares at you as if your words have hurt him.

You tilt your head and drop your arms to your side. You don't even know what to say to him anymore.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry I made you feel shitty, okay?" Tom defends and his cheeks are pink, "I just—I am really bad with faces—and I-I was completely shit-faced and high on–"

He pauses, stands, and wraps his hand around your jaw, his thumb stroking your bare cheek as your eyes widen and you tense. Something about his charm makes it impossible for you to move and because his touch is gentle, you aren't too worried. For now. "'M sorry. I am. Can't we call it even since you hit me and sprayed me in the face with whatever that fucking was?!"

He continues, "—listen, I liked karaoke with you and I was shit-faced so I know I must have been a dick."

"You're always a dick, Ryder," you comment, your tone less mad than earlier.

"Then, you don't know me very well," Tom shrugs, "or like at all."

"So—you're saying all this dick-ishness is a persona?" You sound very skeptical and Tom just shrugs as his thumb strokes over your skin once more and then he drops his hand, putting some distance between you and him.

"No. Not entirely. But, you know, that doesn't mean I'm incapable of genuine feelings, Y/n."

You're surprised when you hear your name fall from his lips. Tom sees your expression and another one of his smirks curls at his lips, "As I said, I remember you now. Always did—my hot makeup artist—ask anyone—ask Gail, I mention you a lot. I was just hammered, you know? High out my mind—and it heightened all my fucking senses that I couldn't get your laugh out my head for hours."

"If you're joking," you say and glare at him, "it isn't funny."

Tom puts a hand on his heart dramatically, "'M not. Scouts fucking honor."

You look at him and for once, you can't read him. "Well, either way, that doesn't change how much of an asshole you've been to me. You never said "hi" but you told Gail about me? Sorry, but that doesn't impress me."

You walk up to him and tilt his head using his chin, examining his make-up once more, and then you take his arm and try to pull him out of the trailer, "Now, c'mon, you have a job to do—go do it," you hiss.

"But—"

"No," you start but he won't move. He turns around and stares at you. Fuck, he's strong. "Why won't you leave?" you ask, breathless as you step away from him.

"Do you hate me so much that you won't even consider that I genuinely find you interesting?" he asks with a hint of insecurity in his voice again. "That I liked spending time with you and I think you're pretty."

Your chest tightens and you sigh, "I- I don't know," you admit and you look up at him. You can't deny that your feelings have shifted and a little voice in your head screams that this is a trap and he'll eventually break your heart.

"Here," Tom fumbles with the pants of his costume and pulls out a pen and a post-it note.

"You seriously just carry those on you?" you crack a smile, finding that weirdly endearing.

Idiot.

"Yeah," Tom says like it's the most normal thing ever and then he writes down something on the paper. When he hands it to you it's the name of a restaurant. You frown, it's your favorite restaurant. He'd written a time beside the name.

"How do you know this is my favorite restaurant?" you ask.

Tom looks up, his smirk turning into a smile. "I didn't—it's mine."

Your frown deepens, "Hm, I didn't take you for a low-priced family-run Chinese restaurant kinda guy—don't you have a personal chef or something," you say and look at the time he's written down, "What is this anyway?"

Tom shrugs and adjusts his hair. "I do but I like this place. The family who owns it never tells anyone I've been there, it gives me some privacy," he sounds serious and he walks closer to you, "Don't tell anyone, it might ruin my reputation and then your favorite restaurant might be swarmed by a bunch of fangirls," he smirks, pleased with himself.

You can't help but chuckle.

"And this," he points to the time, "is where I'll be tomorrow evening if you'd like to join me," he says nonchalantly and then opens the trailer door. Just as he does, he takes his phone and takes a picture of the time so he remembers it and he sends you a wink. "I won't wait long but if you do come, it's on me."

You stare at the paper and realize Tom Ryder has just asked you on a date. You look up but he's gone and your heart does about ten thousand summersaults as your brain screams in agony. Your cheeks feel warm as you fold the paper up and put it in the pocket of your jeans.

You're so very screwed.

You hear a ding and then a text from Vanessa saying, "Ryder's mic was on—crew heard absolutely everything—we didn't wanna interrupt your moment," she adds a mocking winking emoji but you don't care.

That's the least of your worries now that you have a date with Tom Ryder.

#tom ryder #tom ryder x reader #tom ryder x fem!reader #tom ryder x y/n #tom ryder x you #tom ryder fluff #tom ryder smut #tom ryder fanfic #tom ryder fanfiction #tom ryder imagines #tom ryder the fall guy #the fall guy #the fall guy aaron taylor johnson #aaron taylor johnson fic #aaron taylor johnson fanfiction #aaron taylor johnson #tom 🎬

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crowsandkisses · 7 months ago

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De-polute me - Astarion x reader

Note: Astarion means a lot to me as a character and this is kinda based off of my own trauma because I see a lot of myself in him. I also haven't written in a minute so pardon any weird phrasing.

The reader is as vaguely described as I could manage so any and all can enjoy

cw: Trauma, vomit, panic attack.

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

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Astarion knew he had to snap out of it. To come back to the present where he lay with his lover. But he couldn’t.

It was like watching the world through water. Everything was the same but somehow not. Like there was a distance and the other side held a place where he couldn’t survive right now. Where the air would leave his lungs with no way of replenishing itself. That he would choke on what he was faced with.

He watched how you slept, chest slowly rising and falling in the dim light of the fire. Still in a state of undress.

His eyes lingered on the bite on your neck. Two little puncture marks that had been reopened by his fangs so often they’d started to scar.

It made his stomach twist and turn, bile rising up his throat as he zeroed in on these tiny wounds.

He felt filthy for having left them there, even though you’d assured him time and again that it was alright. Sometimes you even enjoyed it.

But he couldn’t think of anything but how much of a parasite he was.

Leeching off of your goodwill and kindness, repaying you with his body because it was the only way he knew how. To lie on his back, purr some pretty phrases and slot into that old, familiar role of seductive pretty boy.

He had to give something back. He had to. Otherwise you’d likely come to demand payment regardless. Everyone always did. No kindness was just done for the sake of being kind.

His stomach turned again as guilt set in, draping over his shoulders like a heavy blanket. He knew he shouldn’t think these things of you but he couldn’t help it.

Quietly, he rose from his spot next to you. A place he didn’t feel should belong to him. Hells, he had seen the way Gale looked at you when he thought no one else paid attention. He could give the gentle kind of love Astarion felt incapable of.

He could grant you warmth Astarion didn’t possess. He could cook for you, share a meal, not have to leech off your body to keep himself alive.

Astarion walked a distance further into the treeline and all at once, his body lurched and his last meal found itself on the forest floor. He gagged and retched, tears flowing down his cheeks from discomfort and humiliation.

His pride felt wounded as he emptied his stomach, spitting after to try and clear the sour, copper taste from his mouth. He still stood bent over, vision blurred with tears as he fought a sob.

Suddenly he felt like a child again, desperately longing for his mother, who’s face he’d all but forgotten. He let himself cry, granting himself the luxury of it. His shoulders shook, his fangs sinking into his bottom lip as all the negative thoughts filled his head like a storm.

Then suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder, a soft voice taking him out of his head. He jerked up as if burned. He whirled around, furious he’d been caught unaware, without his knife. What if it was-

But whatever imagined horror he conjured up was nothing compared to the horror that the person who crept up on him was you.

His heart hammered against his ribs and he could hear his blood rush in his ears, vision going blurry at the edges. His breaths came stunted and he was only vaguely aware that you were speaking. But still, he felt like he was watching things through water, only this time he was drowning.

Like an animal fueled by instinct, he stepped back. He didn’t want you to touch him. For him to taint you further. He was trying to find words to say but the panic was too great.

For a moment, he thought he was about to die. That somehow, inexplicably, this would be the end of him. To die in a forest, in his own sick because he was caught in a moment of weakness .

A perfectly humiliating end to the life of a parasite of no consequence. A man who’d been so corrupt it nearly cost him his life only to be reduced to nothing but a pretty face and a willing cock. All to lead people into their untimely death, like the monster he was. A pretty face with a rotten core.

He didn’t realize he was saying these things aloud, nor that he was crying until your hand gingerly wiped his tears away. He flinched and he saw the heartbreak on your face, another twist of the dagger that had lodged itself into his chest.

“Breathe.”

The one word cut through the fog in his head and somehow he willed himself to obey your gently spoken command. The first breath in was stunted, like a small child after a crying fit. But breathing was easy enough to do, a simple thing to focus on for just a moment as he found the hurt, humiliation and pain he felt.

In, out. In. Hold. Out.

In. Hold. Out.

In. Out

He calmed down slowly, his vision sharpening, his heart slowing down.

And there you stood, eyes trained on him with a look of concern in your eyes.

His first instinct was anger. He already had a cutting remark on his tongue but he swallowed it.

You were worried about him. You were just trying to help.

“Are you okay?”

Astarion found himself bristling again at the comment, righting his back and pointing his chin, as if he had any pride left to hold onto. As if you didn’t just see him in the middle of a panic attack because god forbid you saw him as weak.

“I’m fine.” He lied, hating how unsteady his voice sounded.

You looked at him in a way that let on you were the farthest thing from fooled and he didn’t want to give up the game. To tear himself open, cry into your arms like a small part of him wanted to.

Eventually, you nodded.

“Can I touch you?’

The simple question knocked the wind out of him. A simple ask of consent disarmed him fully and he wanted to loathe himself for it again but couldn’t. He was so tired.

“Please.” Came his reply. Soft and pained as he finally stopped fighting himself.

You had barely embraced him when a new torrent of tears came. He buried his face in the junction of where your neck met your shoulder. A place he was intimately familiar with, but right now it wasn’t about sating his hunger. He felt your hand gently stroke his back as you comforted him.

Years of habit made him wonder when you’d use this against him but he did his best to ignore the thought. Instead focusing on the here and now. On the smell of your skin, how soft and warm you felt against him, of the sound of your voice as you told him he was alright. That you were there.

And for a moment, Astarion allowed himself to feel it.

To feel safe.

He felt the urge to be sick again.

Despite himself, he breathed deep like he had earlier, his crying slowing to a soft sniveling. He untangled himself from your embrace, your eyes still on him. He couldn’t bare to meet your gaze, clearing his throat as he studied the forest floor beneath your feet.

“Is there anything you need?” You asked and the question seemed a little absurd to him. He quietly shook his head.

“If it’s all the same to you, darling, I would like to go back to bed. And not speak of this again.”

His tone was a little harsh but you seemed to not take offense. You merely gave him the ghost of a smile.

“Come. I have a waterskin so you can rinse your mouth.” you said, half turning to the campsite.

Astarion nodded. He wanted to say thank you but the words rested heavy on his tongue only for them to die there.

In silence, the pair made their way back to the fire. With that frustratingly soft look on your face, you handed him your waterskin.

Astarion rinsed his mouth, relieved to no longer taste blood for a moment. He handed it back to you before quietly settling in so you could sleep and he could close his eyes for a moment.

Then tomorrow you could both pack up your things and move on to the next place. Kill what needed killing and pretend to be heroes.

“Would it be alright if I held you?”

Astarion looked up, surprised because despite himself, he was already getting back into his own head. He deflected it, as he usually did.

“Cannot get enough of me, darling?” The words, even if they were meant in jest, rang a little hollow. You gave him a look and he simply nodded, almost reluctantly settling in your arms.

He focused on the sound of your heartbeat, the rhythm of it lulling him into something close to comfort. He heard your breaths slow, sleep dragging you back into the land of dreams.

Astarion’s own eyes grew heavy as he settled against you, And for a moment, despite the fact the gods had never listened, he found himself thanking them for making someone like you.

Because even if he still had a long road to go, you made him feel a little less like a monster, and a little more like Astarion Ancunin.

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3

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m3vl0vesu · 16 days ago

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𝔸 𝕡𝕣𝕠𝕥𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕕 𝕗𝕝𝕒𝕞𝕖 𝕡𝕥𝟚

Tw: Violence, suggestions of abuse, suggestions of bullying

A/N: I finally made a part two you guys!!! It was short and simple, the real stuff comes later :)

Part one>>

Your thoughts

The anxiety bubbled in your throat-or maybe that was bile- as the stench of cigars hit your nose. You followed the light smoke into the kitchen, your father seated at the table. His eyes scanned over you, narrowing as he did a double take. “You're late.” His voice was rough and hoarse, maybe he didn’t notice.

You hated that that was a good thing. “The bus was late…” Your voice was barely a whisper, you were mumbling again. “Speak up.”

“The bus was late.” The stench of cigars was stronger as you saw a cloud of smoke surround your dad, it was a sight you’ve seen for as long as you can remember. “There's a door right there, can’t you do that outside?” Nothing in your tone indicated sass, it was a genuine question. You waved your hands, even if you were used to the smell you still didn’t like it. “You can deal with it.” “And you can deal with smoking outside.”

Rude. Just rude, he stunk up the kitchen and he didn’t even bother to use an ashtray. Just a mess for me to clean up. Why even bother? Shit. “Fix your tone.” “Right, s-sorry…sorry”

He turned around, giving you permission to leave the room. It was always a surprise to see him home, and if you were being honest? You wish he never came back.

Only thing you could see were the stairs, after every step they creaked. With your head down you made it to your bedroom, the familiar site making your shoulders feel heavier. You tried your best to close your door without a slam, and it was hard. Your fists needed to hit something, someone. And you hated it, but violence is just how your family does it. Violence

. Monday 4:59 Jason Todd (Third person)

Violent. Unstable.

Bruce's words echoed in his mind, sure the old man was probably just trying to get him back ‘home’ ,but to Jason? It just seemed like another way to cage him. Jason was an adult now, he learnt how to do adult things. And he did that alone. He could take care of himself, sure he forgets to clean his wounds sometimes…and he might be getting evicted-but still!

With a grunt, he fell onto the worn-out couch he owned. The familiarity of it made the tenseness in his shoulders decrease a little. It was a bad day. One thing on his mind was that kid, why were they all busted up? A small chuckle left his lips when he remembered what they said ‘You’re not a wall??’ they sounded…funny.

Plus it was pretty dangerous for a kid to just be out and about in Gotham streets. The kid would be fine right?

They didn’t seem weak but…but…

But why do I care?

With a sigh he fell asleep. If he can’t do it at night, he might as well sleep the day away.

.Tuesday 1:30 (Second Person)

It felt like the walls were closing in on you, the rush of people getting to class. You hated it, the overlapping sounds of their footsteps and their mindless chatter. You could feel their sides as they passed by you, a few hands here and there, your head still hurt.

Two more hours of this bullshit. This wasn’t going to work, you needed to skip. But you couldn’t afford another detention, literally.

They threatened to expel you, your wrist still hurts from that night.

Your nerves were on fire, nothing could calm you down. Definitely not whatever useless subject you had next. Science was it? It was time to use the sick or injured card.

You had enough bruises and it worked last time, but that meant entering the classroom, raising your hand, people having their eyes on you as you asked to go to the nurse.

They implied that new rule, the one where your parents would have to pick you up. Of-fucking-course!

Your life was as shitty as ever, and that damned limp had barely gotten better. At least the swelling on your ankle stopped. It had been like that for a week, it was probably a good idea to go to the nurse for that but why bother, then she’d tell your parents. And no-one needs that.

Even though something at the back of your mind desperately wanted them to notice. While deep in though someone bumped into y-

“Ah. Sorry about that.” The words held no real apology but at least he had the decency to apologise. “No it’s alrigh-” holy f-it was the Wayne kid. “...t. I-It’s fine”

You didn’t really know why but he always creeped you out, it was odd. I mean it was always odd seeing a proper Gotham elite not have some vendetta against you but that wasn’t it. He had a particular distance from everyone, and his guard was always up. All he did was sit and watch, he read people well. Just like you did…maybe that was it. The thought of someone knowing how you felt irked you, it just wasn’t what you're used to. He looked down at the floor, maybe your ankle, and walked off. Leaving you with a small chill down your spine. Guess you had to get to Science, he was in your class anyway. Couldn't risk it, he might be a snitch. He did look like one.

.3:19

School was closed early after a villain was spotted nearby, which was odd they never really came this close to the school during the day. If there was a villain spotted nearby that meant-

ShitThe buses weren’t coming. Even if you tried calling your Dad he would say he’s at ‘work’ or ‘too busy’ and Mom was too ill to drive, that asshole probably took the car as well.

Guess that meant walking, you dreaded any time you had to walk. It was usually long and unbearable, going from the relatively clean streets to the graffiti-filled alleyways near where you lived.

The penthouses would turn into small apartment buildings, just further proof just how big the gap was from the privileged to the others.

When you had to walk you usually kept some sort of weapon on you. Everyone did. Didn’t mean it wasn’t going to suck.

The dozens of kids slowly turned into three or five going the same way you were. Some behind and some in front, your old headphones blasting whatever emotional music you were listening to. When you turned the corner you saw him, them.

Instinctively your hands balled up into fists, they were laughing. A laugh that bounced around in your mind, you pray that they don’t fucking notice you-

…

Well never mind then.

“Look who we have here…” The boy had a mop of brown curly hair and a freckled face, he was a few inches shorter than you. It always made you chuckle, but today you just walked away, that's when you felt the collar of your shirt being pulled from behind. Do these dipshits get off on your torture or something? “Hey-” Your reflexes were fast, too fast. Your elbow hit his jaw, fuck you hit him too hard. When you turned around, almost falling he almost pounced on you. Almost. He was grabbed by his collar, like a small kitten would be grabbed by their mother. You stepped back, looking up at the mans face…he seemed familiar.

“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size? I saw a squirrel nearby, maybe that would do.”

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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 6 months ago

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Obligation [Joel x f!reader]

Read on Ao3

Fandom: The Last of Us

Ship: Joel Miller x you/f!reader who is 52.

Tags/warnings: Throwing up, unplanned pregnancy, angst, Joel doesn't take it well but is soft, implied abortion.

Summary: You've been fucking Joel Miller for a couple of months when you realize that you're pregnant - which you didn't think possible because you thought you were post-menopausal. How does one get an abortion in Jackson - and how are you going to tell Joel?

Words: 4,267

A/N: For all my old gals out there, as well as those who don't want kids.

My masterlist

I think I may be pregnant.

The realization reverberates through you, bringing with it another wave of nausea. You barely have time to stick your head down the toilet before you throw up. The acrid taste of bile fills your mouth and nose, and tears stream down your cheeks. You grip the toilet seat as you continue retching, your stomach hellbent on emptying itself.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck. Shit. No. No, no, no, no, no, how can this be?

What an idiot question. You almost laugh at yourself in the midst of this misery. How does one become pregnant? Well, fucking someone like Joel Miller on a regular basis is a good start. He fucks you deep and good, the bed and his body creaking in unison as he has you pinned underneath him, his broad, heavy body a welcome weight on you, his cock balls deep inside your wet cunt when he finishes and leaves you full even after he's pulled out. His thick, creamy cum dripping out of you when you fall into blissful sleep, sometimes with him staying over.

You know how babies are made, for God's sake. You just didn't count on you still being able to make them. You're past 50, and your period stopped years ago. This is new to you, you’ve never been pregnant before or even had an interest in trying, but you’re not stupid. You’ve been feeling tired lately, out of sorts, a dull nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach like just before your period, and last night when Joel grabbed your breasts, you almost punched him. Even now they’re so sore even the weight of them hurts.

And now this. Morning sickness. You haven’t eaten anything strange, you were okay last night, and paired up with everything else that has been going on… you must be pregnant.

Thank God Joel isn’t here, you think dimly. He didn't stay over last night, quoting an early morning today to go on patrol. You didn't mind. What you have together is casual, and you're not the one who needs to be cuddled – or coddled, for that matter. You like it when he stays over, but don’t care if he doesn’t. It has worked out well for a few months now.

And now this. You draw a quivering breath, and slump against the wall. It seems like your stomach has settled, so after a couple of minutes, you carefully stand up and bend over the sink, rinsing out your mouth with cold water before splashing some in your face. Straightening your back, you meet your tired gaze in the small mirror above the sink. There is nothing different there, except a lack of energy, but nothing that could reveal the fact that you are carrying a growing clump of cells in your belly.

The thought makes you nauseous again, and you step back to the toilet, expecting to be sick, but there is nothing else to expel, so you flush the toilet, and slowly make your way to the kitchen. Despite being sick, or because of it, you’re hungry, so you take out what provisions you have, and sit down at the table. You usually take your meals in the dining hall, but you don’t want to show yourself right now. God knows what will happen if anyone asks you how you are. And what if you eat, and then throw up again?

Slowly, you gnaw away at a slice of bread with cheese on it, while trying to get yourself together and think over your options. But no matter how you try to think about it, there are no options except one: you have to get rid of it. The reasons are many, but the two most pressing ones are the simple fact that you have never wanted children, and this is not a world into which children should be born, as far as you’re concerned. The more you think about it, the more certain you are. But how in the hell are you going to get an abortion? And while you may not be shy, how the actual fuck are you going to tell the doc that you, a 52-year-old woman, didn’t think to protect yourself? Or that you know your own body so badly that you didn’t even know that you’re, in fact, not post-menopausal?

You stopped crying years ago because tears have no function in this world, but now your humiliation makes your tears well up. You sniffle wetly, put down the piece of bread, and angrily wipe at your eyes.

“Fuck,” you mutter, but there is no stopping the tears. When the first one runs down your cheek, you bang your fist to the table and scream.

“FUCK!”

You let the tears fall, confident that there won’t be too many. When you’re done crying, you finish your meagre breakfast, wipe your face, and get dressed. A day of work awaits you, and maybe if you work hard enough…

You shudder at the thought. You may not have any experience in this department, but you know that your age is a liability. Things could go wrong, and you could die. You don’t want to die. You didn’t survive for all these years just to get taken out by a goddamn unwanted pregnancy.

Fortified by your sheer will to live, you open the front door, and get to work.

During your lunch break, you slip into the Jackson library, which is only just one room in the schoolhouse. The collection consists of whatever has been found during raids, as well as works that the residents have brought with them. The stacks are neat, though, thanks to the teacher who also doubles as a librarian. The collection is divided into main classes, and you quickly find the small section for Biology. There is a middle school book with a chapter on human reproduction, but that’s just the basics. You check the Medicine section, finding nothing. You leave the library, mentally chiding yourself for thinking that you’d find anything there to help you deal with the fact that you’re geriatric, pregnant, and in need of an abortion, with no hope of having one because there are no hospitals, only one doctor who operates out of a simple cabin with barely any equipment or drugs.

Anxiety rises in you again, bringing bile with it. You slink in behind the nearest house and bend over. What little breakfast you had lands before your feet, and you spit away the taste.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck am I going to do?

You take a steadying breath before reappearing back on the street, aiming for your house. So purposeful are you to get away from people, that you don’t notice the tall man next to you before he puts his hand on your arm.

“Hey.”

You start, jerking back before you recognize Joel’s frowning face.

“Sorry,” he apologizes immediately. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod, casting your eyes down as you continue your walk. “Just didn’t see you there.”

“Going to lunch?”

“I already ate.”

“All right.” His hand is on your arm again, now effectively stopping you in the middle of the street. He stands in front of you, broad, tall, and smelling of horses.

“You sure you’re okay?” His voice is lower now, so as to not have anyone overhear him. “You look a little pale.”

Joel Miller has been nothing but good to you. He doesn’t talk much, and what little he talks, happens in the darkness after you’ve fucked, when there are no barriers left between the two of you. He keeps to himself, to the girl who was with him when he arrived, to his brother. To you, now. You may not be able to make him laugh as Ellie does, but he saves soft smiles for you. He’s loyal, kind, and helpful. And despite all that, you’re going to lie to him.

“I didn’t sleep well.” You look into his eyes, even giving him the ghost of a smile. “You wore me out, but I still couldn’t sleep.”

His face softens visibly, a smile playing in the corner of his mouth as he leans in and whispers: “I’m sorry, darling. Just have to try harder next time.”

Something flutters in the pit of your stomach, but it doesn’t translate to the usual heaviness between your legs. Instead, you just feel sick for having lied to him.

Joel’s hand travels down your arm to your hand, thick fingers quickly squeezing years before letting go.

“See you later?”

You hear the question, know what it means.

“I think I better get a good night’s sleep?”

Joel flashes a sympathetic grin. “Good idea. See you around.”

You watch him stride towards the dining hall, broad back squared, head held high in constant vigilance, even here within the walls of Jackson.

He’ll figure it out eventually. He’s smart. He’ll know something’s up.

You shake your head to get rid of those unwanted thoughts, and then you return to work.

The next morning starts the same way the previous one did: with your head down the toilet bowl. This time you feel even more sick because you didn’t get much sleep, and when you finally emerge out of your house, you run into Joel, who’s halfway up your porch.

“Morning,” he greets you, then stops as he sees your ashen face. “What’s wrong?”

“I think I’m coming down with something,” you shrug, stacking another lie upon the previous one.

“Maybe you should stay home, get some rest,” he suggests, and even if he’s wearing his customary frown, you can hear how his voice is laced with concern. Managing a smile, you brush your arm against his.

“I’ll just get antsy. I’ll take it easy today, I promise.”

He’s happy with that and doesn’t question you when you don’t go to communal breakfast.

For the next few days, you do what you can to avoid Joel. You don’t want him to know that you’re sick in the mornings, don’t want him to touch you and find out how tender your breasts are, don’t want to talk to him or even see him because it only reminds you of the solution you inevitably have to find soon. You’re going to have to come clean to the doc at the very least – unless you try to deal with the situation by yourself somehow. But you have no idea how to do that without hurting yourself, and that’s the last thing you want to do.

Finally, it’s Joel who takes the first step. You have declined his visits for a week when he surprises you by knocking on your door one night. His face is backlit by the porch light that creates a halo around his ragged, curl-prone hair.

“Can I come in?”

“I’m tired,” you mumble, but he speaks your name, and you realize that there is no running away anymore. So, you step to the side to let him in.

He stands before you, arms crossed over his broad chest as he stares at the floor between the two of you. You can’t look at him, so you stare at the same spot. There’s dirt from his boots there, but you don’t care.

“Listen, I…” he starts, clearing his throat. “I know nothing’s been explicitly said here. About us, I mean. It is what it is. But I thought we had a good thing going, and now it seems like you don’t want anything to do with me anymore?”

Your stomach drops, and for a moment you fear that you’ll throw up your dinner as well as you did your breakfast.

“Joel…”

“I just want to know if I did something wrong, so that I can apologize and then leave you be.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you tell him quietly, wrapping your arms around yourself to prevent the slight trembling that’s starting to travel through your body. Your nerves are shot, and you press your lips together to keep your teeth from chattering.

“Then what is it?” Now he’s looking at you. You can feel his eyes burn into you.

Does he have to sound so fucking gentle? It would be easier if he yelled at you, or stormed out, or hadn’t come at all, but you should have known that Joel Miller would be so fucking gentle about it.

You take a deep breath, then finally look up into his eyes.

“I’m pregnant.”

Joel stares at you, his face blank. There is just nothing there for several breaths before his brows rise and his arms fall to his sides.

“You’re what?”

“You heard me.”

He still looks at you like he doesn’t understand.

“But… how is that possible?”

You lean your head to one side and give him a come on kind of look. Joel scoffs, scratches his head, then shakes it.

“Aren’t you too old?”

“That’s what I thought.”

“You didn’t know?”

You don’t like the hint of accusation in his voice.

“I’m sorry I haven’t seen my healthcare provider in a while!” you snap, now irritated. The change in tone causes in a change in Joel as well.

“If you weren’t sure, then why the hell weren’t you more careful?”

“So it’s my fault?” Your voice is now raised, and your hands come to your hips. “You took one look at me and thought, ‘Oh, this old hag surely has no eggs left’, and then you happily stuck your dick in me, to hell with any other consequences?”

“You should’ve said something!” he growls, now visibly upset. If you weren’t so intimately familiar with just how soft he could be, you’d be afraid of his dark storm cloud demeanor. But you’re not afraid: you’re pissed off.

“I didn’t know,” you articulate. “I haven’t had my period in years, and I’m over fifty! How the fuck could I have known that I could get fucking pregnant!”

“Is it even mine?” Joel retorts, and for some reason, that’s what makes you snap. Before you know it, your palm has connected with his cheek, and you’re pointing at the door.

“Get out. Get the fuck out, now!”

You don’t need to tell him twice: the door slams only a moment after. You’re no longer feeling nauseous, or trembling. You’re just empty inside.

He's back the next morning. You did not expect that, and eye him with apprehension where he stands in the doorway, shame etched into his features.

"Can I please come in?" he asks quietly. You're nauseous again, but you don't want to be a bitch. He's a good one, you know that, despite everything. He deserves a chance.

You let him in, gesture for him to go on through to the kitchen. Following him, you swallow down the nausea, and hope that you won't have to throw up. It would be so humiliating.

Sitting down, you nod to him to do the same. He perches uncomfortably on the edge of his seat, sincere gaze searching for eye contact.

"I'm really sorry," he finally says, his voice low but earnest. "I handled myself poorly."

You give him a Ya think? look but say nothing. He gets the message.

"I didn't expect... or think..." He falls silent, looks down at the scratched surface of the table. You stare him down relentlessly, waiting for him to speak on. He's slowly rubbing the knuckles of his right hand, like they're itchy or in pain.

"I had a daughter, a long time ago. She... I lost her on the first day."

Your heart could break from the choked agony of his voice. Swallowing hard, this time to fight the lump in your throat, not nausea, you reach across the table to put your hand over his.

"Joel..."

He looks up at you, now with a new fire in his eyes.

"It was a long time ago, but I've lived in that pain every day, until Ellie took me out of it. And now... this feels like a second chance."

He raises your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your palm. You stare at him, suddenly wary.

"What do you mean, second chance?"

"To have a child with you."

You stare at him in bewilderment, barely even sure you heard him right. He hurries to elaborate.

"I'll take my responsibility. I'll help you raise the child. You won't have to do it all alone."

You quickly pull your hand out of his, like you burned yourself.

"Joel... I'm not going to keep it?"

Before Joel can say anything, your stomach revolts, and you shoot out of your chair, only just making it to the sink before you throw up. Spitting and turning on the water to wash away the vomit, you cup your hand under the stream of cold water, and drink to eradicate the sour taste in your mouth. Barely having swallowed the water, you throw up again.

Joel's warm body pushes gently against you, and his hand is on the small of your back.

"That's it," he murmurs, "deep breath, you're okay."

"I'm fine," you gasp, trying to breathe through your mouth to avoid the smell that seems to penetrate everything.

"I know," he replies calmly, reaching for a glass and filling it with water before handing it to you. "Here."

You drink carefully, hoping it'll stay down. The cold water chills your entire stomach, but you do feel better.

"Thanks." You glance up at him, hand holding the glass shaking a little. Joel notices, and takes it from you.

"You're welcome. Wanna sit down?"

You nod mutely, and he leads you back to the kitchen table. You can walk by yourself, but it's comforting to have his hand on your back. You're no longer alone in this, and it's a bigger relief than you thought.

You bow your head and hide your face in your hands for a moment, steadying yourself. Hearing the other chair scrape against the floor, you finally look up at Joel.

He looks sad but resigned.

"How far along are you?" he asks quietly. You shrug.

"No idea."

"Probably over six weeks."

You shrug again and draw your hand through your hair.

"I meant what I said, Joel." You try to sound gentler. "I'm not keeping it. I can't. I don't want it."

He casts his eyes down, and for a second you think you see a tremble in his lower lip. Then he sniffles with a grimace and looks up again.

"Okay."

You raise your brows. "Is that all you're going to say?"

"It's not my decision, sweetheart." This term of endearment is new, and you're not sure what to make of it.

"You're not going to try to convince me to keep it?" you dare him, but without vehemence. You're just tired.

Joel shakes his head, but you can see that he has something on his mind.

"Joel?" you prompt, and he finally sighs deeply.

"Are you sure you won't regret it?" His voice is eerily toneless, like he's trying his best not to sound accusatory. You rub your forehead with both palms in an attempt to suppress the headache that you can feel building up behind your frontal lobe.

"I've never wanted kids," you tell him in the same, dispassionate voice. "Not when I was younger, and surely not now. Not in this world, not at my age. Not at all."

He flinches, like your words hurt him, but then he nods solemnly.

"Okay. What are you going to do?"

You take a deep breath to steady yourself, because the question faced you with the fact that you have absolutely no idea how to deal with this.

"I don't know."

Your voice breaks, and the first tears well up in your eyes.

"Fuck." The tears spill down your cheeks, and you hide your face from Joel, embarrassed by this sudden display of desperation.

"Hey..."

He's around the table in a heartbeat, crouching by your chair and collecting you into his arms.

"It's okay, sweetheart, we'll figure it out. We'll talk to the doc."

The tears multiply, and you sob audibly from sheer relief of having someone else take charge. You haven't lived with the knowledge of your condition for barely a week, but it has weighed you down more than you knew. And now Joel knows, and he is telling you that it's going to be all right.

"I - just - feel - so - stupid!" you whimper between the sobbing, and Joel strokes his hand down your back.

"Not as stupid as I feel. It's okay, I promise you it'll be okay."

You draw a deep, quivering breath, and square your shoulders. They feel lighter, and you wipe your eyes and cheeks before smiling weakly at Joel.

"Thank you."

"I got you," he smiles back, a dimple appearing in his cheek. You haven't seen it before. It feels like a promise.

Carl, Jackson's doctor, is a GP, but has had to deal with a variety of emergencies over the years. He doesn't bat an eye when you, seated next to Joel, tell him of your predicament, and that you want a termination. He asks for a urine sample, handing you a cup that you, frowning, take with you into the bathroom, do your business, and leave it on the counter, as per Carl's instructions. Coming out of the bathroom, Carl asks you to come back in the afternoon. You agree on a time before you and Joel step out. He squeezes your hand before you part to go to work.

Returning later to Carl's office, you find out that you are, with a seventy percent accuracy, indeed pregnant.

"It's the best test I have," Carl explains. "If a thin film forms over the urine, pregnancy is likely. If not, there is no pregnancy."

"And it couldn't be anything else?" Joel asks, surprising you. Carl looks pained for a moment, and you realize what a difficult question that is. Your hand moves on top of Joel's on the arm rest.

"Given the symptoms; breast tenderness, morning sickness, light cramping... I can't think of anything else to explore."

"How do we stop it?" you want to know. "Can we even?"

"A surgical abortion is technically possible," Carl nods, and you feel your shoulders relax. "I've done it a couple of times before I came to Jackson, even."

"Well, good."

"Is it safe?" Joel's voice seems tight. "Is it doable here, in these conditions?"

Carl hesitates for a moment before leaning forward to rest his forearms on his desk.

"The procedure itself doesn't take longer than fifteen minutes, but our conditions are, as you probably understand, not ideal. I can sterilize the equipment, but our biggest concern, apart from post-surgical infections, is pain relief."

He lets the information sink in before he adds: "I simply do not have the means to sedate you or give you the pain relief that you are going to need. I wish I could tell you this in any other way, but I can't: It's going to hurt a lot."

You swallow tightly. Joel's thumb passes over the back of your hand.

"Okay," you tell him in a small voice. "I don't have a choice. I'm not going to have a kid in this world. There's no way. We have to do it."

Later, after an extensive talk with the doc, you step out onto the main street of Jackson, Joel right behind you. Without words, the two of you slowly walk towards your house. Not until reaching it, do you sit down on the porch steps. Joel sits down next to you, shoulder to shoulder.

"Are you okay?"

"That's a hard question to answer," you sigh, rubbing your forehead. Joel sighs as well.

"Yeah."

You sit in silence and watch people go by. Ellie passes further away together with a friend, waving hello to you but not coming over to chat. You and Joel wave back.

"What does she know about us?" you ask quietly. Joel grunts.

"She knows we hang out, that I like your company, but I haven’t told her that we… you know.”

"I’m sure she knows. She's a smart girl."

"That she is."

You wet your lips. "Listen, Joel... I just want to say... thank you, I guess. For being there for me."

"Of course," he replies softly. "And I really am sorry for how I reacted."

"I'm sorry for slapping you."

"I deserved it."

"Kind of." You shoot a quick grin at him, and he grins back.

"Don't think about that," you shake your head. "And I want you to know that you don't have to be involved in what comes next."

"I'm not going to - "

"You wouldn't mind having a baby," you cut him off, "so I'm not going to have you watch me take one away."

"It's not a baby yet," he reminds you pragmatically. "And I said we'd figure this out together. I'll be there, every step of the way. I'll make sure you get through this."

He speaks with a quiet, gentle confidence that makes you want to cry again. You never knew how much you have longed for someone like him.

"You don't have an obligation," you try one last time. Joel turns towards you and cups the back of your head with one large hand.

"I want to be obliged to you, sweetheart."

He leans forward to let his lips brush over yours.

"Let me," he whispers, and you wrap your arms around him, accepting both his offer and his kiss.

#joel miller #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x mature!reader

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cutecinnamon · 7 months ago

Text

Concurrence II

{ Concurrence II: "The Captain's Incubator" • Levi x Reader }

CW: ⊹₊ MDNI ⊹₊ Mention of Insults ⊹₊ Pregnancy ⊹₊ Morning Sickness ⊹₊

:gif by pinterest

• 2.1k word count •

Note: Please read "Concurrence I" first since this is a series to avoid confusion for the story, here is the link ♡ Concurrence I

EDITED: Concurrence III is already up! ♡

:divider by @cafekitsune

Synopsis:

The following weeks after (y/n)'s pregnancy was confirmed she started to experience morning sickness. Rumors also started to circulate inside the regiment, majority of the scouts started to give (y/n) disgusted glances and words of insult. Until one of them namely Floch decided to insult her at the mess hall, catching Captain Levi's attention.

PART II

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

The next few weeks were a bit more bearable.

Despite Levi still keeping the same cold and stern demanor towards you and to honestly everyone at the regiment, atleast you knew he was looking after you and that he cares.

Although it was subtle, it was hard to gone by unnoticed as Levi rarely shows this side of him.

He made sure that you ate properly for you and your baby, that you had time to rest despite still being active in your squad, he also secured the fact that you can only participate in light missions to not further exhaust your now fragile body, and most importantly he always makes sure you were alive and safe.

Although you're relationship was not the very best due to the dent left by your betrayal, it was enough for you that at the very least, he did care about your well-being and your baby.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Your new routine of retching and heaving every morning was not the best, but then again it was part of the pregnancy to feel morning sickness, your appetite was also a bit affected as you became a bit more picky in terms of your prefference in taste.

Levi was woken up by your muffled sounds of throwing up at the sink inside your shared quarters as you tried your best to be quiet in order not to wake him,

You knew that Levi had insomnia and it was a rare event for him to get a good deep sleep.

"(y/n), are you alright?" Levi asked, his voice still sleepish and low due to the circumstance of just waking up from bed.

You wipe your mouth and opened the faucet, cleaning the remains of the quantity you just discarded.

"Yes captain, just the usual." You responded to Levi, not wanting to worry him.

"Make sure to clean the sink properly brat, I don't want to see any pieces of leftover bile in there." Levi reminded with his usual monotone way of speaking as he ran his fingers through his hair fixing a few strands falling at his face.

"I promise to clean it Captain, it is my duty to keep our quarters clean afterall..." you then gave him a small smile.

"Make sure to maintain that attitude kid." Levi said as he made his way towards the small kitchen counter to prepare his tea.

"Its either kid or brat huh?" Ask him and chuckle lightly.

You find it heartwarming when Levi calls you brat or kid, even if it is his way of sometimes annoying you and your squadmates in a very subtle manner.

"Do you want some (y/n)? It might help with your nausea." Levi plainly asked.

"Yes Captain, I appreciate it." you responded as you made your way towards the small kitchen to help him.

Levi professionaly prepared the tea for the both of you, he was very fond of drinking and preparing tea as it was his way of also relieving stress,

It also became a routine for him to drink early in the morning and randomly when he feels like he is up for it.

"Captain, I'm sorry for accidentaly waking you up while I wa-" before you can continue, he cuts you off.

"Don't sweat it, its not your fault that the baby inside you is making your body act up like this." He casually said, his tone proving he is unbothered by the sudden disturbance to his sleep.

Levi then went to the wooden cabinet and grabbed two pearl finished small teacups, one of it in pastel blue, which was your personal cup and the other one in pastel green which is his, he then fills it up with fresh warm tea up to its rim.

He then gestures for you to take a cup and you politely nodded thanking him once again.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

You were now on your way to the mess hall, walking beside your Captain.

Both of you are now wearing your scout uniform as you both walked side by side at the hallway occupied by many scouts also walking towards your direction.

Although you were still not showing since you were just a couple of weeks along, the rumors did spread pretty fast despite it not having proper confirmation.

After entering the mess hall, you were then greeted by either scouts gossiping while looking at you in a disgusted way or them avoiding even the slightest glance of you like you were a walking plague.

You just silently followed Levi through the crowd as you both went towards an empty table beside the table of your squadmates.

"Make sure to eat properly." Levi reminded with his usual stern and firm tone of voice, it sounded more like a command.

You nod and sat down at the chair while Levi takes both of your plates to get some food.

While sitting down, your squadmates greeted you, despite the bad treatment and rude glances they were the contrast.

They greeted you as usual, with their warm smiles and welcoming warm glance,

They care about you, and they don't see you differently.

"Hey, (y/n) how are you?" Armin asked while Jean, Connie and Sasha were arguing in front of him if potatoes taste good if grilled.

"Hi Armin, I'm doing alright." You politely answered and gave him a small smile.

"You should avoid them (y/n), those douchebags don't know anything." Mikasa stated, looking at you, it was obvious she was annoyed with how the others were treating you, throwing glances like that without even knowing the full story behind what happened.

Although the survey corps was a rather busy regiment with the sole purpose of protecting humanity, cutting titan napes, and now investigating any bit of information from Marley, the people in it do have the time to gossip and spread rumors.

Especially about you.

Eversince the news spread about your situation and so called "betrayal", majority of your comrades treated you differently, some of them even regarded to you namely as,

"The Captain's incubator"

"The Captain's stress relief"

"Marleyan whore"

And other insults that you started to just stomach knowing that proving a point was worthless at this rate.

Levi cameback with a good amount of food at your plate, it was evident that he was looking after your health more, making sure you ate enough for yourself and the baby.

You accepted the plate and politely said a "thank you." To him, he then responded with a simple nod as he sat down the chair beside you.

Your sqaudmates beside you also started to eat their meal,

While eating, you felt your nausea attack you again and the overwhelming feeling to discard the contents in your stomach, you then excused yourself from Levi who was silently eating beside you.

You stood up and made your way towards the bathroom connected to the mess hall.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

After the not so surprising routine of another retching and heaving session, you decided to exit the bathroom door to head back towards your table.

Thankfully all the scouts are busy eating their food or rather occupied with their new found gossips or existing once about you, making throwing up easier knowing they are too busy minding their own bussiness to even hear you.

As you made your way towards your table someone called you and insulted you making the other scouts look towards your direction.

"Well... well... if it isn't the Captain's Incubator."

Floch called out to you, insulting you in the process, although you were feeling the strong urge to punch his asshole looking face, you decided to keep a calm and professional demanor.

"Its nice to see you too Floch." You casually replied despite him calling you the "Captain's Incubator."

"Are you in a hurry? I'm just here to ask how the rumored Marleyan Incubator is doing." Floch said in a somewhat teasing tone despite keeping his voice in monotone.

"I honestly am in a hurry, the Captain is waiting for me and I still need to finish my food." You responded trying your best to be civil and ignoring the fact that he called you a "Marleyan Incubator".

"Come on (y/n), I'm sure someone like you isn't all that good to follow the Captain's every order like a little dog." Floch said clearly insulting you in front of everyone at the mess hall.

You decided to stay silent and just walk away to head back towards your table.

"Come back here you walking baby making machine."

Before you could talk back to him, you saw Levi walking towards Floch, there was a different glint of rage expressed in his orbs.

He stands between you and Floch, facing him.

"Captai-" before Floch even finished addressing him with his military title, Levi cuts him off.

"Shut up if you don't want me to cut off your filthy tongue, do you understand?" Levi stated calmly yet firmly, it honestly sounded more of a threat just hiding in the coldness of his professional tone and way of speaking.

"But Captain its true though, the Queen really did order her to just carry your child like an Incubator, and not to mention, she betrayed the whole regiment, especially you since she was under your special operations squad."

Floch rebuked, clearly annoyed that Levi was even trying to protect you.

Levi noticed now, even earlier how the other scouts kept gossiping and looking like they were enjoying the show,

Of Floch insulting you.

Aside from your squad who he stopped earlier from standing up, planning to speak up for you,

because he wanted to do it himself.

"I would appreciate it if you stop talking to the mother of my child like that." Levi firmly stated.

"Rather than spreading shitty rumors and insulting her in front of me, I think that seeing you become Titan's feed is even more amusing than the show you're currently pulling off right now." Levi continued his gaze not faltering, making him more intimidating in front of everyone, especially to Floch that he called a titan feed.

Floch fell silent, he felt embarassed and at the same time his fuel of rage started to ignite towards (y/n) as the scouts were now looking at his direction.

He did not expect the Captain to speak up for you but he did.

After a few seconds of silence Floch speaks as he made eye contact with Levi's piercing gaze, he knew that behind that professional and nonchalant demanor, Levi really was pissed and annoyed.

"My apologies Captain, I won't speak ill of her again." Floch said as he lowered his head a bit to show respect for Levi.

"Just get out of my sight." Levi stated still with his firm and stern approach.

After Floch walked away, Levi grabbed your arm gently as he leads you back to your table near your squadmates.

Mikasa, Armin, Eren, Jean, Connie and Sasha were all looking at Levi with their jaws slightly hanging and their eyes flickering with a bit of surprise not expecting the Captain to stand up for you during earlier.

Levi then gave them a glare making them focus back on their food like nothing happened.

"You should eat now, your food is getting cold." Levi stated while he took a bite from his own meal.

You nod and took a spoonful of rice and grilled meat with gravy.

"Don't let it get to you brat, and don't let them speak to you like that again." Levi said firmly, once again it very much sounded like a command.

"Yes Captain, and thank you for earlier..."

You genuinely did thank him for that,

regardless of your current status he still decided to defend you in front of everyone.

"Don't mention it, its nothing." Levi responded in his usual monotone voice.

You gave him a quick small genuine smile, Levi saw it. and for a second you saw a bit of light in his eyes, something warm.

Levi then proceeded to look away, bringing his attention back to his food.

Another small smile made its way to your lips as you took another bite from the food in your plate.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

"(y/n) betrayed Marley, I told you she can't be trusted to bring Intel here, she may have the skill but she is certainly not the type to become a puppet." Porco stated.

"We can't blame her, everyone has the freedom to one's own belief, but regardless she is a Marleyan, she should be at Marley's side and not those people, This is a war." Pieck calmly responded.

"I heard that the traitor is expecting a devil's child inside her womb." Zeke spoke, cutting of the conversation between Pieck and Porco, his tone was his usual, but they can tell that he has plans for her.

"I don't think it is fitted for an Ex-Marleyan Warrior to carry an Ackerman child, a child of a Paradis devil." Zeke added, it was clear as day that he was already planning something.

Taglist: @levislegislation @dontfollowab @3llawrit3s

( Edited: I tried to proof read it one more time and I decided to change a few words and I tried to correct as much error as I can ♡ )

I really enjoyed writing Levi's lines for this one, but I was really contemplating about a lot of scenes here and I am very thankful for the opinions of those I asked ♡ ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

If you also want to be a part of the taglist, please do tell me,

I'll be starting the drafts for Concurrence III soon, I hope you all enjoy this one, ♡

- Cinna

#concurrence #levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi x y/n #aot levi #snk levi #captain levi #attack on titan

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powerfultenderness · 3 months ago

Note

Wait how would neighbour könig react to a sick reader? Like they’ve holed themselves up in their apartment and are really unwell. I’m in my sickly Victorian child era and need comfort from this hunk of a man 💕

Exchange

Rated: Mature Word count: 2965 Notes: I flipped flop so much on what kind of sick, but settled on König taking care of you during your period because it allowed the exchange that takes place.

Eating dinner alone in the comfort of his own home had been something König used to look forward to. For one, the food was better than what was offered at the mess hall (not that it was particularly bad). There was also the quiet his home offered, no loud and rambunctious soldiers turning meal time into some form of entertainment or competition. As he rose in rank, he started working while eating, then when he finally got his own place, he discovered he didn’t have to. He could take the time to simply enjoy his meal. It was refreshing, to say the least, and turned into a routine. He liked routines…until he didn’t. Until you moved in next door.

Lately there had been a little dance between the two of you. Sometimes you’d invite him over for dinner, other times he’d invite you over. As much as he wanted to sit you down and insist on a set schedule (every day), he didn’t want to scare you away. The next best thing, he figured, was to bring you dinner himself, no excuses, just because he wanted to spend time with you.

He was confident when he knocked on your door. You had expressed interest in this restaurant before and now he was certain to win some favor by sharing his favorite foods with you.

He was confident until you opened the door.

“Hey, König.” You started, a quiet pained sigh following your greeting, “I’m not really up for hanging out tonight.”

“What’s wrong?” He asked as he took in your appearance.

You were wearing what he assumed was your pajamas, a t-shirt and a pair of black shorts that normally would have had him drooling over your exposed skin, but that he was too worried that you were hunching over slightly in obvious pain.

You shook your head, “nothing. I’m just not feeling good.”

“Let me help,” he lifted his hands, intending to herd you back inside and either to the couch or your room, but as he did so he brought the container of takeout closer to you.

“Ugh, König!” You slapped a hand over your mouth and nose and quickly dashed to the kitchen, where you flung yourself over the sink and threw up. It wasn’t much, all liquid, bile and spit and what little water you had managed to get down.

He cursed quietly and followed you, dropping the food on the counter before gently touching your back. At least he tried to, but you waved him off as you grabbed a kitchen towel to wipe your mouth, though you kept it pressed to your face as you spoke. “I’m just really sensitive to smell right now.”

“Oh!” He realized that it was the take out that had caused you to suddenly throw up and apologized before darting out of your flat with the food.

You were still in the kitchen when he came back, having dropped the food off at his place. “Darling, please tell me what’s wrong. I want to help.”

“Nothing.” You sighed as you tried to stand straight, though one of your hands remained pressed to your lower stomach.

“You just threw up on an empty stomach, I do not think that is nothing.”

You scoffed quietly and resisted rolling your eyes. “It’s nothing. I just need to rest, so I’ll see you later, alright?”

You tried to get him to leave, instead he moved even closer to you, setting his hands on your shoulders.

“Please. Let me help.”

You looked up at him, worry clear in his eyes despite the mask he still wore, and sighed as you broke eye contact by dropping your head onto his chest. He didn’t seem to mind and started to gently rub your shoulders.

As you leaned against him, he started to worry even more. You felt so weak, trembling slightly in his arms, he had to resist the urge to scoop you up and take you back to his home, where he could properly take care of you.

“It’s just my period, it’s bad the first day. Just let me go back to bed.” You mumbled and attempted to pull away from him, of course he didn’t let you.

“Okay.” He easily picked you up in a bridal carry, ignoring your squeaked protest, and walked you back into your room.

He’d been in your room enough times to see how unusual it was currently. Your bed was a mess, blankets in a tangled bundle with your pillows strewn about, used tissues scattered on the bed and the floor. Your nightstand had a glass of water and some pill bottles on it, next to your laptop which was turned toward the bed with some movie on pause.

He gently set you down on your bed and helped straighten out your blanket so you could get comfortable. You mumbled your thanks as you curled up on your side.

“Do you need anything?”

You were about to tell him no when your knee hit the, now cold, heating pad under your blanket.

“Uh, actually, can you throw this in the microwave for ninety seconds?”

He nodded with a soft “of course,” and gently took the heating pad from you.

Once he was back and handed you the warm compress, he kneeled next to your bed. “Anything else? Something to eat? Fresh water?”

You groaned and shook your head. You were so nauseous you could barely hold down enough water to swallow the pain medication, there was no way you were ready to eat yet.

“Cuddles?” He asked as you were shaking your head.

You actually chuckled, his own smile softening his eyes.

“I like cuddling with you, König.” Though it didn’t happen as often as either of you would like. “But not now. I move too much and I don’t wanna bleed on you.”

König pulled your blanket up to your shoulder, as it had fallen when you reached for the heating pad. “A little blood doesn’t scare me, darling.”

You laughed again and scrunched up your face. “Gross.”

“Oh,” you looked back up at him, “you really wanna do me a favor?”

He nodded, almost too eager to finally do something to help you.

“Can you take me to work tomorrow? I hate driving like this.”

“You’re going to work tomorrow?” He blinked rapidly, surprised to hear that you were considering this in the state that you were in.

“Yea,” you laughed again, “my period isn’t exactly a good excuse to miss work. Besides, I’ll feel better in a few hours.”

König hummed like he wanted to disagree but nodded. “Alright.”

“Thank you. I usually leave around seven.”

Of course, he already knew that. Not that he was going to say so out loud.

König stood back up and hesitated, looking back and forth between you and the door.

“What?” You prompted him.

“You need to lock the door.”

“Ugh!” You turned your face into your pillow, hiding a grin. “Just leave it unlocked.” You’d get it later. You had to get up eventually.

“I’m not leaving your door unlocked all night!” König chided as he looked back at you. Especially not when you were this weak and vulnerable! “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

You pushed yourself up with another weak laugh and rolled your eyes. “König, you can barely fit on that couch sitting down.”

“Well, I’m not leaving you with your door unlocked.”

“I’ll lock it later. Or, or just use my spare key.”

König stiffened, “spare key?”

“Yea. It’s on the shelf in the living room, in the white and blue bowl. With a Hello Kitty keychain.”

As König followed your directions, finding the key easily, he fought with his own thoughts. You were not giving him free access to your flat whenever he wanted! You were just letting him borrow it because he was the one insisting the door be locked.

After taking a moment to settle his racing thoughts, he popped back over to your room and knocked on the door to draw your attention.

“Found it,” he said as he held up the key with its cute little cartoon charm attached.

“Good.” You peeked up at him before settling back down, “thanks, König, goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

He double checked that the door was locked before he made his way back to his own flat. And even though he thought he should return your key to you tomorrow, he looped it onto his own set of keys.

König was concerned when in the morning you admitted to still not having eaten. He was even more concerned when he picked you up from work you admitted to also having skipped lunch.

“It’s fine,” you reassured him, again, as he helped you down from the truck. “I’ll eat later. Right now I just need a nice hot shower and to stretch.”

Thankfully it was the weekend and you’d get to spend the rest of your period in peace.

“Stretch?” He asked as he opened the door to the building.

“Yea,” you put a hand on your lower back. “My back doesn’t like when I hunch over so much.”

König followed you inside and up the flight of stairs, all the way to your door, silent. Maybe you read his insistence on your well-being wrong, most men would rather not talk about women's periods, why should he be any different?

He was so close to you as you unlocked your door though, that you had to open it and partially step inside just to properly turn to face him. You were about to thank him, but he was leaning down almost in your face.

“Wha-”

He took your hands in his and looped them around his neck, “hold on.”

“What?”

He then wrapped his arms tightly around your back and stood up straight, pulling you into a hug that lifted you off your feet.

You let out an involuntary groan as relief flooded you as your back released, the accompanying pop of your back cracking loud enough for both you and König to hear clearly.

He set you back down, glad of the mask hiding his burning face, and loosened his hold on you until his hands were softly resting on your hips.

You looked up at him, a bashful smile lighting your face as you continued to cling to him, your voice barely above a whisper. “That felt really good.”

His eyes went wide and he quickly pulled his hands back, blood thrumming at the little whimper that you let out when your arms fell away from him. He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. If he didn't leave now, he'd do something inappropriate, like push you up against a wall and devour you. The thought stirred him until he looked at you again, at the way you pressed a hand to your lower belly in an attempt to alleviate some of the cramping, and reminded him that now was not the time.

“I should, uh, leave you to that shower.”

You hummed and smiled, “alright. Thanks for the help, g’ni-”

“-And I’ll stop by to check on you in an hour.”

You breathed out a laugh, “you really don’t have to.”

“Will you eat?”

You made a face and groaned. While not nauseous enough to throw up from something as small as sipping water anymore, you weren’t quite feeling like eating just yet. Though, maybe you were at the point of questioning whether you were nauseous because you weren’t eating, or if you weren’t eating because you were nauseous.

You opened your mouth to answer him, to tell him that you’d eat later, but he shook his head. “I’ll bring you something to eat in an hour.” And he walked away before you could protest.

You sighed, well, his heart was in the right place…

You were feeling infinitely better after a hot shower, glad to put on your comfiest t-shirt and shorts and wait for König to show up with food. Just as he said, a little under an hour later he knocked on your door.

“I got you soup.” He said instead of a greeting when you answered, holding up a covered, steaming, glass container.

“That actually sounds nice, thank you, König.”

He smiled, the little creases around his eyes giving tale to it, behind his mask, as he walked in. “Good. I was afraid you would say you would eat later.”

“I mean, it’s technically later now.”

He shook his head and motioned towards the bar stools you had pushed up against the counter. “Sit.”

He’d been over enough times to know where things were in your kitchen, and served up some of the soup with a glass of water. It was a light soup, mostly broth with finely diced vegetables.

“Is this what you eat when you’re sick?” You asked as he continued to move around your kitchen.

“I don’t get sick.”

You scoffed a laugh that you tried to play off as you blowing on the hot soup.

“...Yea.” He answered truthfully as he put a kettle on.

“No shame in a good ol’ Cup a Soup. I have some in the pantry, you didn’t have to raid your stash for me.”

“Had to make sure you would eat.”

You laughed a little at that, surprised at how well he seemed to know you. You would feel a little guilty for not finishing a bowl if it were something that he brought over instead of what you just had sitting in your pantry.

“What kind of tea?”

“Peppermint. With two spoons of honey.”

You were finished with your soup by the time he was done preparing your tea just the way you like.

Following a cute little exchange of an empty bowl for a fresh tea cup, he motioned to your room with a nod, “go lay down. I will clean up.”

“Kay. Thank you.” You didn’t argue with him this time, because all you really wanted to do anyway was climb in bed.

König followed after you just to grab your heating pad then headed back to the kitchen.

You were careful with placing your tea on the nightstand, close enough to reach while you’re in bed and but not too close to the laptop that’s facing the bed.

“I have something for you,” König started as he came back, just as you settled down.

First he handed you your heating pad, which you were glad to pull under the covers with you. Then he held up your favorite candy bar, “for when you feel better.”

You chuckled, “aww, thank you, König!”

He set that down next to your tea and shifted on his feet awkwardly before he looked at you again. “And this. Here.”

He held out his hand in a loose fist towards you.

“Hm?” You reached out to let him drop whatever it was into your palm.

You blinked at the slightly warmed metal in your hand and smiled when you looked down. A single key attached to a plain key ring.

König was looking up and away from you when you looked back at him, his hand rubbing the back of his neck as he stuttered out an explanation. “Just in case, yea? I want you to keep it.”

“Okay,” you said softly and reached over to the nightstand and slipped it inside the drawer. “I’ll keep it right next to me.”

König’s heart fluttered at how intimate the simple little gesture sounded and he was once again glad that his face was covered. “Need anything else?”

You hummed and patted the bed next to you. “Cuddles?”

His eyebrows shot up at your request. “I thought you didn’t want to cuddle?”

“That was last night! But if you don’t want to cuddle, it’s fine. I’m sure I have a plushie around here somewhere.” You sat up and glanced around your room, trying to remember where you stashed that cute teddy bear you had.

Before you could point out your bear, König moved around to the other side of the bed and lifted the blanket enough to slip under it, muttering for you to lay back down.

There was a bit of an awkward shuffle as he kicked off his boots and settled behind you, spooning you.

“Ack, you’re on my shirt, you’re choking me!” You half laughed as you tried to pull the tail of your shirt from under him.

He cursed and pushed himself up long enough for you to free yourself. “Why are you wearing such a big shirt?”

“It’s comfy!”

“And where do you get such a big shirt?” He teased as he tugged on the excess material before settling his hand over the heating pad that was slipping, keeping it close to your abdomen.

“I stole it.”

“You stole it? From who?”

“Mmhm.” Then you paused to hit play on the movie you had picked out, “just…someone.”

Your ex. You didn’t want to say it, didn’t even want to think of your ex while wrapped up in König’s arms, but your silence itself was loud enough for him to hear it.

“Do you do that often?” “What?”

“Steal other people’s clothes?”

You laughed, “well, it is hard to resist a comfy shirt.”

“Little thief.” He teased in German, chuckling at your “what?!” that followed.

You were familiar with his nicknames enough that you picked up on the word ‘little’ but you didn’t know the second word.

“Only of comfy t-shirts!” you protested when he translated for you.

König chuckled and nudged you slightly, “watch your movie.”

He didn’t pay attention to the movie, even if you did insist that it was good. He was too busy trying to figure out a way to tempt you with one of his shirts.

[Neighbor!König Masterlist]

Neighbor König taglist:

@warrior-of-justice @cumikering @ihateuguys @rand0m--fangirl @keiva1000 @dtftheavengers @takeyour-pants-off @aeeliy @milenko115 @sodonuthideout @onegami @nadiauddincrafts @nadiauddincrafts @grizzersmamma @flooftoof @techs-ass @virginalsacrifice @s0rc3r3r @sleeplessskeleton @introvered-violinist @tizylish @romula96 @peach-habibitch @mitchlow @queenotaku27 @fenixnegras @emmbny @love-dove-noora @lesbianmitsuri @supergirl16 @wybwtjmiadz @ghonigsloverbabe @thatmusedhatter @grassclippers @skystreamchan @lordlydragon @luvecarson @thetestsubject666 @mafer383 @darkangel4121 @puppylikethedog @trashitytrashitytrash

#könig x reader #x reader #könig x fem reader #neighbor!könig #anonymous #received: July 22 2023 #i do procrastinate but i get it done eventually #ahhhahah #sorry

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shaisuki · 1 year ago

Text

｡‧˚ʚ°ɞ˚‧｡ ─── OCEAN WAVES.

the sun's gentle with it's rays shining throughout the beach. the waves rolling along with the salty breeze. the sand's nice too. his footsteps disappearing when the waves rolls along with his problem.

he was free.

it wasn't so bad, after all.

he always wanted this but the need to save others came first but now there wasn't any of it. no curses. no overtime. just him. splashing with the cool water when the breeze fanning all over him and the sun bathing him in it's warm rays. there's no need to reminisce about the past but somehow it's time for him to look back.

sixteen.

sixteen he was when nanami gets a glimpse of how life flashes in your own eyes even it's not your own death.

sixteen he was when nanami first felt what death must feel like and the bitter taste it left with his tongue. bile rising and words stuck in his throat followed by the sensation of being choked. death didn't made him sick. it was the cruelness of how the world works for jujutsu sorcerers like himself and to haibara.

haibara was sixteen and so was he. the difference between him and haibara. he aged. haibara was sixteen forever.

the despair of being weak and being faced with the inevitable damaged him. it's part of the cycle, the system. he accepted it. embraced it but what of it to a sixteen year old?

and so he left. ran away.

away from the madness this world had to offer for someone like him. you're not the only who's damaged, kento. he thinks to himself sometimes and brushes it like a dirt when he moved on.

did he truly moved on?

twenty seven.

“nanami, long time no see.” you said the first time you meet him on the hallways of jujutsu tech. “i thought you weren't coming back — after that.” he can see how your shoulders shake, lips quivering. fully knowing what you meant. it has never been the same and with that you walked away from him.

it's like a slap to his face how he left you alone. you were there. felt the same pain of losing someone. you were also part of his life and he chose to ignore you. you needed him. the same he needed you but he was never good at his feelings and with his words and like a coward he is, he ran away from his feelings and to you.

hopefully, he won't run away again this time with you in the picture.

nanami didn't expect this that he would catch feelings at this stage of his life to you. a closure and make amends to you even it wasn't needed. you remind him of the happy times. the days of his youth and the last time he felt happy and with you, slowly, he was getting attached again.

“we're still allowed to be happy, kento. don't be too hard on yourself.” you say to him out of the blue. leaning your head in his shoulder and nanami moves his arm to cradle you. putting you in his lap and you fully lean in his arm. “you make me happy.” he briefly said to you and he watch as your eyes widens, tears pooling in your lashes and rolls to your round cheeks. his thumb wiping the tears and he found himself his reflection in the glossy eyes of yours. a man whose damaged to admit to himself. a man whose tired with the bullshit that he had to deal and a man whose capable of loving someone, of loving you.

far too damaged to function as one — to love. he couldn't afford to go through the same pain of losing someone again. he couldn't but the squeezing feeling in his chest tells him otherwise and he took a leap of faith again with you. he will protect you even it's the last thing he can ever do.

and with that his thumb brushing in your round cheeks. leaning down to catch your lips with his and just what like he imagined. all this years and he could have done this sooner. kissed you with love and adoration with the longing and the sadness.

the kiss it was fine. just both of your lips brushing with each other along with murmurs of your names. it's gentle that the tears won't stop pouring and nanami is there to wipe it all and kisses your tears away with the promise of starting again.

twenty eight.

after months of being with you, nanami will be always reminded of how history always repeats itself. of how things are out of reach for him.

you were gone.

“see you on the other side, kento.” you smile at him. he watches as the light and warmth in your eyes disappear. there's no tears for him and he wants to laugh at himself. he swore to protect you and guess who protected him — you. there's no regret visible in you more like relieved.

shibuya was cruel. walking around with corpses scattered in the streets and he carried your lifeless body and placed it on the ambulance waiting. you were far long gone to be revived and nanami kisses your forehead. the gesture you loved so much before walking without looking back.

at the brink of death — he sees haibara. pointing behind him and itadori was there. he was contemplating that itadori shouldn't be burdened and carry such heavy matter in his young hands but haibara was stubborn and nanami let out a small smile and with that he turned around.

“you take it from here.”

the salty air, the cool water and the waves gently splashing in the sand with his feet dipped in the grainy sand. nanami think this must be it. he served his purpose and along those ridged lines of the sand. the look in his eyes doesn't change. those brown eyes with the hardness although they're a little softer. he's contented.

nanami stretches his arm. looking at the sand beneath his feet. smiling at himself. feel the gentle breeze in his face. he wasn't tired anymore. it's not too bad he thinks as he continued to walk. waves rolling like a blanket being covered to your body at night. it was gentle. splashing himself with water and relishes on the coolness of it

in the other side of the beach he makes out a figure. a all too familiar figure. it's you. staring at the distance like you were waiting for someone, dressed in a white sundress. your head turning to the side to meet him, look at him with a smile dancing in your lips.

he stops in his tracks. can't believe what his eyes were seeing before his tentative steps turning into a full running to get to you.

“kento.” you murmur. foreheads pressed together and nanami could almost cry. you're here with him and he hugs you tightly. afraid that you'll disappear from him again. “you look so happy there. i'm really glad you're happy, kento.” you whisper to him but nanami shakes his head.

“i am. now i'm with you.” you giggle at his words. nuzzling at his chest and nanami draws circles in your back. if this was the afterlife it wasn't so bad now he's with you. he calls your name and you raised your head to meet his gaze.

“it wasn't so bad, after all.”

#ᝰ.ᐟ shai's drabbles #chubby reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x chubby reader #nanami kento x reader #nanamin #nanami kento #jjk angst #nanami x reader #nanami angst

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writing-whump · 1 month ago

Text

It hurts like a bullet, but we don't talk about that

Isaiah sick at an international wolf meet at night. Shawn for some awkward comfort.

Isaiah was fine.

He was completely and utterly fine. No stress. So he broke up with his girlfriend after a year and two months after saying 'I love you' for the first time.

So what. Worse things happen all the time.

Seline didn't really explain. No, she actually explained too much. Hell, he didn't want to think about it.

It still felt so unreal. He thought they were doing fine, that the pack was fine, that he was gaining stability under the little stumble with the heart attack.

This was a shame, of course. And it was humiliating in a way, but he wasn't going to let this consume his attention. He would just disconnect from the issue for a while, until he was sure the emotions wouldn't cloud his judgment and make him unobjective. Time healed everything. In a few weeks he wouldn't feel anything at all. Or disconnect again.

It was no trouble. Like a switch. On or off.

To take a physical and symbolic break too, he let Shawn drag him over to a wolf meet. Conference. Half a year...something. It was important, whatever it was.

Isaiah listened and ignored all the whispering and the looks that he was there. Did he enjoy it a little? Did he really want their attention, the superiority like she said-

He shook his head like he was chasing away a bug. Sometimes thoughts like that - in her voice no less - would assault him out of nowhere.

His heart would speed up and he would get all sweaty and Shawn would give him a look and then make a loud joke, creak with his chair or drag attention to himself in some other emberassing way. That helped a little. Not enough, but a little.

They shared the room together. Isaiah wasn't sure why exactly, Shawn was just as rich, but he wanted Isaiah's name at the registration and Isaiah was too scattered to really look into it.

Shawn was weird on good days. What was a little of it in addition and light of recent events? Nothing.

Matthew said Seline wasn't home either. Went to a conference of her own and then to Rom with her mom and then straight to a colloquium. Maybe they would spend their first weeks after the breakup running around different cities. Just to avoid each other.

He felt a little better after hearing it. He didn't want to analyse why.

The day went on alright. The night was harder.

He woke up sweaty and breathing hard, startled in bed. There was that feeling on impending doom and threat and his chest was squeezing itself together. But he couldn't remember what he was dreaming about.

Isaiah looked at his phone, opening his contacts. He longingly stared at Seline's number. Then on Mattews. Then he put it away.

When he dropped back down on the bed, the bile rose in his throat. He could feel the chicken salad from dinner protesting inside his stomach walls. When his heart got this fast, he always felt nauseous, even now that he was more used to the meds.

With a defeated sigh, he struggled out of bed and went to the bathroom. At least it was a nice, luxurious hotel—lots of space, clean, with good lighting.

He braced himself against the toilet, drops of sweat flowing freely from his face and onto the smooth surface. His stomach hurt dully, the nausea coming and going like the steady movement of sea waves.

He didn't want to think about the sea. Or the girl he watched playing in it for the past month.

The thought was followed by an agressive retch that had him straining over the bowl. Drops of saliva joined the sweat. He followed the nasty strings all the way to the water, feeling entirely dirty in comparison to the smooth bathroom.

Another burp. His stomach muscles contracted and then he vomited the salad. All in one long go. He could barely catch his breath before another followed.

If he let it happen, it would cease to hurt sooner.

He spat out some pieces of green and flushed. Getting to his feet caused him to sway a little, but the panicky feeling was better. He would feel bloated and blah for a bit but hopefully catch some sleep until morning.

He leaned against the massive table the sink was build into, squinting at the light. It was too bright. Why did he switch it on again?

Why was he not moving? Where was he going? Suddenly he felt the overwhelming urge to just curl up on the carpet. Maybe if he stayed in this smooth pretty bathroom, he would catch some of its characteristics. It was so nice and cool.

"Oi. Isaiah, what are you doing?" Shawn's hair was a mess from sleep and he rubbed at his eyes.

Isaiah shrugged. He wasn't sure.

"You are taking too long with the light." Shawn gave him a weird look, the sleepy annoyance yielding to something concerned. "Come on, man."

Isaiah let Shawn guide him back to his bed by the arm. Thankfully, the second step was shutting off the light. He was glad for it.

Curling up against the soft matrass was a logical next step. He made himself as small as possible, shivering against the cold the sweat left behind on his back.

Shawn looked a little confused, but he reached over and pushed the covers over Isaiah just the same. "You okay?"

Isaiah burped loudly, too tired and shaky to mind. His body gave another full-body shiver. "Dinner...dinner didn't agree with me."

Shawn's eyebrows shot up. "We going with that story for now?"

Isaiah blinked, trying to identity the direction of Shawn's face. "We still going on with yours, aren't we?"

Shawn smiled sadly and sat down on the edge of Isaiah's bed. "That's fair."

"Yours is weirder." Isaiah managed to muffle the next belch against his hand. "Go to your own room."

Shawn snorted. "You got more of those lined up?"

"...Bye."

Shawn laughed this time. There was something strangely sad about it.

Strange was also the fact Shawn still wasn't leaving.

Isaiah rolled to his side, one eye covered by the pillow. "I don't have the capacity for you right now. Whatever you want, do it in the morning."

Shawn ran his hand through his hair. It was a stressful gesture. The man never touched his hair during the day, too careful of it. "Yeah, I'm aware. I'm sorry. I didn't...mean to make it more difficult on you."

What was that about? Did Shawn know about...? What did he know? What did he want?

"It's fine." If that did them in—the thing he didn't understand anyway—they weren't very strong, were they?

Isaiah let his eyes fall shut, not caring when or if Shawn went back to his own bed.

#sickfic #emeto #vomiting #hurt/comfort #bromance #my writing #werewolf wip #Isaiah

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lil-spider · 7 months ago

Text

So Damn Pretty

Chapter 10

Part 9 : Part 11

Pairing: Johnny Slaughter X Female Reader

Summary: Johnny is sex starved and you’re very attractive, so attractive that he doesn’t want to kill you. Instead he finds ways to keep you around longer.

Note: The story is coming closer to completion but that’s okey cause I’m gonna be in this fandom forever even if it has died a little lol. I’ve got plenty of Johnny fics planned :3. This chapter is for those who have been so patient! Love you all😘

Warning: This is 18+ and please do not read if your sensitive to heavy descriptions of non/con and violence. Including bondage, blood, gore, assault, objectification and unsafe sex. For those who don’t mind, I hope you enjoy.

I stare vacantly at the couple of eggs on my plate, not feeling hungry for them. I sink further into my seat and take a glance over at Johnny. Its just him and me sitting at the dining table; the rest of the family have already finished up their breakfast, but it seems he has an appetite this morning, digging in his second plate of crispy bacon. I look back at the two eggs; things in pairs have been bothering me lately. It seems my mind still can't get over those two girls. I thought I would be over it; at the time, it didn’t bother me, but the guilt comes in waves. Crashing heavily against my consciousness. I try to keep it down, not letting it depress me. I've gained trust from the family, and I don’t want to ruin it with my emotions.

With their trust comes more leniency. So much so that Drayton brings me along to the gas station, helping him out with whatever he tasks me with.

A surprising amount of locals come by. They didn’t question me; they just went about their own business. I didn't know how to go about it. I guess no one back home really cares that I'm missing. Even though I'm somewhat content with my current situation, I can't help but feel sad. No one bothered at all to look for me. I know I didn't have much family, but Nate and Jessica sure did; both came from big families. There should be people searching for them.

I quickly moved on from those thoughts, especially now that it's too late to go back. It's easier to just focus on other things. Even if there isn't much to focus on,.

At least today I can spend the rest of my time with Johnny out in the field. I love keeping him company while he works on the cars, and sometimes I help out by passing him tools or handing him a rag.

I glance over at him again while I smoosh around my runny eggs with my fork. He shoots me a small grin. I was going to smile softly back at him until a sudden shot of nausea hit me. Instead, I must have given him an ugly face because he looked at me with a raised brow.

Salvia starts poring up into my mouth, and with panic, I sit up, making the chair scratch on the floor, and bolt past Johnny to the front door, slamming it open. No longer able to hold it down, I grip the veranda's handrails tightly, lean over, and vomit my breakfast onto the poor bushes below.

"Ya' alright, darlin'?" Johnny asks as he walks up behind me, confused. He sees what is happening and places a large hand on my back and rubs it in soft circles while I spew out misery. Thinking I was finished, I turned around to face him, smiling wearily, but a second punch of nausea came flying in, and I turned back to vomit in the bushes again.

“I’ll go get Sissy.” He says this, grimacing at the sight of me puking, unsure of what to do.

He leaves, and in a quick minute, a concerned Sissy comes with a damp hand towel, and she guides me to take a seat on the white bench, dabbing my forehead while I try not to throw up straight bile.

"Oh, pumpkin, this is not good," Sissy worries, still wiping my face. Johnny comes back outside, also looking concerned.

“Take her to the living room, Johnny; she needs to lay down.” Sissy tells him, feeling my forehead and checking for my temperature. I’m not sure if I’m sick; I don’t feel hot.

Johnny, grumbling at being told what to do, still picks me up bridal style, carrying me effortlessly to the living room, and lays me down gently on the cowhide-covered couch.

“What’s wrong with her?” Johnny asks, turning to Sissy, wanting an answer to my sudden sickness. She places an old, rusty bucket down next to me, just in case I get sick again.

"Well, she ain’t burnin' up. Maybe it’s something she ate.” She’s replies are also confused about my sudden sickness.

I lay there on the couch, trying to keep whatever wants to come up down while Sissy and Johnny keep me company for a bit. It’s comforting to see how much they seem to care for me. However, after under an hour of resting and sipping on some water, I feel much better.

“I'm feeling better.” I said this to both of them, who looked surprised and relieved about my comeback.

“Somethin' must've upset ya' then.” She reasons. With that little incident over with, the rest of the day goes by as normal without any sign of sickness. It must have been something I ate.

That’s what I believed until the very next morning, and then the next thing happened on the third day. Sissy keeps my hair away from my face while rubbing my back.

It's another morning, and I'm back outside vomiting; it seems to be my usual puke spot outside on the veranda.

I know I've made everyone else concerned now. I can hear Nubbins questioning Johnny about why I'm throwing up so much. But he wouldn't get a solid answer from him, as he is just as clueless about my ongoing vomiting. I don’t understand either; at first, I thought I was dying, but what Sissy came up with seemed worse than dying. Her sweet voice contradicts the heavy words coming out of her mouth. I feel like I've been strapped to an anchor, and it's dragging me down, deep below.

“I think you may be pregnant, sugar; you ain’t got no fever, and sure, dang, know Johnny hasn’t been innocent with you." She explains smoothing my messy hair.

Now I feel like I’m really drowning. Oh, my good I’m pregnant, oh fucking hell. It explains everything: the weight gain, my emotions playing up, and of course the morning sickness. My legs start to wobble. Holy shit, I’m pregnant with Johnny’s baby.

Sissy notices my shaky form and decides to help me back inside. Holding my arms steady, she shuts the door behind us with her foot while leading me to the sofa. As I sit, she’s skipped off to grab a glass of lemonade while I try to calm down. Just as quickly as she left, she came back with a glass of delicious cold lemonade. Sissy places the drink in my shaky hands as I take a sip. Its sweet yet bitter flavour soothes me.

“When I was in California, some of her sisters from the ranch always threw up every morning when they were pregnant. It's called morning sickness, and it's always a telltale sign that you're going to have a baby.” She explains joyfully, sitting down right next to me and giving me an excited hug.

She then claps her hands together cheerfully. "Oh, how joyous a little baby!" She throws her thin arms around me again in another big hug while I sit frozen, completely gobsmacked by the revelation that I'm pregnant. I guess I must have forgotten how babies were made while I’ve been here; Johnny and I have been going at it enough. There is no denying that.

I placed my lemonade down on the coffee table and placed a hand over my belly. Johnny's baby is growing inside me and will later give birth to his baby.

Sissy stands back up, going over to a sleeping grandpa. I didn't realise he was there. But Sissy, with all her excitement, accidentally woke him up, to which she apologised by telling him about the new member of the family and how he’s going to be a grandpa again. How many generations old is this baby going to make grandpa? I wonder.

Grandpa Sawyer just let out these wistful groans in reply. Sissy explains that he’s excited for a new grandchild. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to understand him.

Then Johnny comes stomping in, shirtless and sweaty from being outside in the Texas heat. "What’s all the squealing you’re making? I can hear it from outside." He asks, annoyed.

I would've hoped Sissy would keep my pregnancy to herself until I was ready to tell her, but instead she just blatantly spills out to him that I'm pregnant.

“Bout’ time.” He says plainly, I gap at his laid-back attitude on this situation. He turns to my surprised face, and he smirks. He inches closer, bending down so his face is in front of mine.

“I told ya I wanted to be a dad, didn’t I? It’s why I've been working so hard on you.” His smirk widens as my face flushes red in embarrassment. Have I been baby trapped?

The day goes by like usual, even though I'm an emotional, vomiting mess. Now during dinner, and for some odd reason, I never get sick eating supper. The smell of any other food makes me queasy, except cooked meat. My mouth starts to drool when I smell it being cooked. Just barely being able to keep anything else down has made me famished, and tonight, Drayton's chilli has never tasted better. Going in for seconds and now thirds.

“I should've made extra batches just for the way you eat, girl.” Drayton commented, slightly impressed with how much I can put down.

“It’s just so good.” I moan out with a mouthful of chilli.

“It's better than good; it's the best chilli in the whole damn county.” Cook proudly states, sitting up a bit straighter.

“Oh god, enough of the chilli talk.” Johnny groans out, already frustrated with the conversation.

“Y-yeah enough!” Nubbins joins in, trying to entice a fight.

"Oh, shut it; look at the girl; she loves it.” He points over to me, still stuffing my face with utter pleasure.

“No more of this arguing! Y/N is in a delicate situation, and I want none of ya' messing that up!” Sissy puts her bit in, not wanting to be left out of the conversation. Ironically, this is her way of enticing an argument.

“What delicate situation, girl? She's just hungry.” Drayton asks, confused by Sissy’s words.

“She’s pregnant, and ya' can't do anything about' it.” Sissy again spills the beans on my pregnancy, but now to the rest of the family.

I look over at Johnny puasing my eating to see his reaction to Sissy not being able to keep anything to herself. “They'll find out sooner or later.” He just sinks further back into the chair, crossing his muscular arms under his chest, waiting for the onslaught of words from Drayton.

Bubba, who is next to me, is the first to react. He places his large hand on top of his head and pats it, like if I were a puppy. He groans gleefully, I guess, letting me know that he is happy with the new addition. He can be a real gentle giant when there isn't anyone to murder.

Cook has gone absolutely red as a tomato, while nubbins start snickering. "Oooh, J-Johnny, I-I-is in trouble.” It seems the night has gone his way for wanting drama.

"God, Damnit, boy, I knew this would happen. You can’t control yourself, can you? Always chasing tail, and now a baby.” Drayton stood up at the start of his rant but now has sat down, looking almost deafted.

“Your mother will go ballistic once she finds out.” Drayton points his finger at Johnny, warning him.

“Shut it, old man! You got nothing to worry about; it’s bout time; we’re all getting old, and we gotta keep the family going.” He counters Drayton's words.

It looked like Nubbins wanted to say more, but with Johnny quickly standing up and leaving, it was pointless.

Dinner practically finished up after that fight, and I just sat there silently, not sure what to do. I was supposed to help clean up, but I sneakily decided to go find Johnny. Anyway, with all the commotion still going on with Nubbins and Sissy messing with Drayton, it’s best I stay away.

I check the front veranda; Johnny has a few smoke spots he always goes to: the front, the back garden, and his shed. But luckily, my first guess was right, as I found him sitting on the outdoor bench. While walking to him, he quickly puts on his smoke, squishing it under his boot. “Shouldn’t smoke around you anymore.” He grins at me, and just as I take a seat, he places his warm hand on my stomach.

“The second I saw you, I knew you were the perfect girl to have my kid. So fucking pretty, I'm going to look after the both of you, I promise.”

His words send tingles all throughout your body; it’s electrifying. You place your hand over his, smiling back at him.

“Soon you’re going to get real big, darlin’; ya tits are going to get nice and fat too.” He teases with humour, but a familiar, hungry look starts building in his eyes.

As he inches closer to me, his large hand moves away from mine and glides up, grabbing a breast. He squeezes it firmly before starting to massage it. His warm breath is on my neck as he kisses right below my jaw. Wetness begins to pool in my panties.

“Run up the stairs to your room and undress before I take you right here.” As much as I wanted to tease him, it’s better to listen, or he really would take me here, in any position too. He gets very creative when he's horny.

I get up and leave, going to my room just as instructed. I closed the door behind me and set myself on the bed to undress. I wore a blue sundress today, so I just unzipped the side and let it slip right off. Leaving me in my white panties. Even though it didn’t take me long to undress, it wasn't quick enough for Johnny. He was already here, striding in and locking the door behind him, already semi-undressed too.

“Come on, darlin', only your panties left to go; take em off for me.” I happily obliged, hooking my fingers into the side, purposefully bending over, and sliding them down.

I look back to see the bulge in his jeans while he takes them off. Now he is just as naked as me. I will never get tired of looking at his body. His large muscles, pecs, sprinkled on chest hair leading down to his happy trail—the sight of his scars always makes me throb. Fuck, he is gorgeous.

With my ogling, I fail to notice him getting closer. Wrapping his large arms around me, he whispers into my ear, “I want you to take a seat on my face while keeping your mouth busy with my cock.” He groans before going to lay down on the bed. This is a new position, and with only a little hesation, I gingerly climb over him, placing my legs on the side of his head. Before I sink down, he grabs my hips roughly, bringing my swollen heat to his mouth.

I gasp as his tongue slides back and forth over my clit. I lean further down, grinding my wetness along his mouth needing more. His impressive cock, comes into view, precum leaking out; it’s red and aching to be sucked.

I lick his tip timidly before taking his whole length, making a sloppy mess while focusing on his head, I hear him groan as I go deeper. His grunting sends small, delightful vibrations along my clit.

My muffled moans fill the room as he holds me in place, my aching pussy being devoured while I simultaneously suck off Johnny. I hallow out my cheeks, pinch my lips, and let my tongue slide along his shaft. Working extra hard to get him to finish first.

It's difficult; he knows exactly how to get me off. He knows where I'm most sensitive and what feels best. My plans to make him cum first are starting to falter; I'm struggling to even keep myself steady. I put my tired arms on top of his muscular thighs, giving them a rest. I take a deep breath and continue to encompass his cock, swirling my tongue along the base. I’m a little sloppy with the rhythm now, but I don’t think he cares.

I can feel my orgasm building as Johnny doesn’t even stop for air, still sucking and licking my clit with undying hunger. His grip on my hips still remains strong, making me unable to pull away.

My limbs are starting to become sore. Needing him to finish, I start sucking his cock faster, my salvia drenching him, making it easier for it to slide along my tongue. My moans turn to whines as my own orgasm is right on the edge.

I feel him twitch in my mouth while his groans continue from below. "Fuck, I’m gonna cum." I choked out, stopping to take a deep breath.

Johnny slides his hands along my thighs as his tongue stays strong, massaging my clit, while keeping a steady pace.

I take his throbbing length back into my mouth right before my orgasm hits. The force of it makes my legs turn to jelly while I moan incoherently around him. I try to move away, my clit becoming increasingly sensative, but his hands grip back to my hips, holding me captive while he moves his hot tongue in my cunt, licking up my juices as he thrusts himself deeper down my throat. Not letting me until he cums.

I’m a whimpering mess; my thighs squeeze his face while I lick and sucking, getting him closer so my poor pussy can have a break.

My efforts were deemed successful as his cock started to twitch and stiffen. With my last lick, he spills himself. He groans as his cock pulsates while I swallow his whole load. With revenge, I continue to suck him, knowing he's going sensitive. He hisses and quickly pulls me off.

“Naughty girl,” he chuckles, slapping my ass hard.

I yelp from the harsh slap and roll my body to the side, recovering from the intense orgasm. Johnny, too, lays still panting. I move up and lay my head on his chest. He throws an arm around me as we both relax into each other.

Before I knew it, I'd fallen asleep on his chest.

It's in the middle of the night that I wake up to long, thick fingers inside me, thrusting in and out slowly.

“You awake, baby?” Johnny asks, now teasing my hard clit with his thumb. I moan out in response, gripping the bedsheets.

"Yeah, does that feel good?" His whispers, his face moving into the crook of my neck, his hardness pressing up against me.

"Ah-ah.” I try to say yes, but it’s morphed into moans.

“Fuck, your tight baby girl, gonna' feel so good when I put it in. He groans while I spread my legs further apart from his words. I'm going to cum soon with the way he’s going.

Instead, he pulls his fingers back, slides over on top, and plunges his hard cock inside me. He slips his wet fingers into his mouth, tasting myself, while his cock goes further deep inside.

I groan out while he stretches me. A mixture of sleepiness and arousal makes me clench around him. Johnny, in turn, pulls out his fingers, replacing them with his tongue and pushing it into my accepting mouth as he starts a fast rhythm, pounding into me.

All noise is blocked out, except for my moans and the slapping sound of his cock fucking in and out of my sopping hole.

“I'm going to keep you on my cock forever.” He groans into my ear, grabbing onto my swinging chest. Groping the fatty flesh.

I whimper at the thought of being his cock slave, as if I weren’t already.

He sits up, holding my hips tightly in one hand, and as the other goes to rub my clit, I hold my tits, stopping their swinging from his hard thrusts.

“I'm going to be full of milk soon.” I moan out, teasing him, thrusting back against his cock. I felt his cock twitch as he groans, knowing he's imaging my tits spilling milk. The hand that was squeezing my hip goes to squish a boob, swatting my hand away and pinching the nipple.

I throw my head back in ecstasy and wrap my legs around Johnny’s waist, getting closer to my second orgasm of the night.

“Ya' gonna' cum on my cock, sweetheart?” He teases, rubbing my clit achingly slow.

I whine as he also starts to stop his thrusting, keeping me on edge. Repeatedly pulling himself fully out of my cunt and slowly pushing back in.

Not giving in to his teasing, Johnny takes his cock and starts jerking it, leaving me feeling empty and frustrated.

“Use your words, darlin'.” He groans out, now stopping his rubbing on my clit, only focusing on getting himself off.

“Please! Please, I want to cum.” I moan wantonly, fucking desperate for him to continue.

It’s not enough; he is still waiting.

“please daddy.” I moan, testing out a new nickname.

It does the trick as he groans deeply, gliding his hardness back inside me and thrusting away.

Relief floods me when his cock goes back into my aching heat. I’m so close to finishing.

“I-I-I’m cumming!” I cry out as my pussy squeezes him tightly. My orgasm sends Johnny over the edge as he cums just as quickly inside me.

“Fuck yeah, baby, cum on daddy’s cock.” He moans out, shoving himself deeper.

I whimper from the overly sensative feeling of being filled and having two orgasms in a short amount of time.

It’s been a few weeks, and my bump has become more visible. It seems each day I just keep getting bigger and bigger. It does help my confidence that Johnny just can’t seem to keep his hands off me since I’ve become pregnant. It’s like the animal inside of him has changed. Becoming more protective and sex-hungry.

I won’t lie. Being pregnant has been a nice change; I’m doing less labour. Sissy considers me too delicate, and she doesn't want to stress the baby. Drayton has even been forcing Nubbins to actually clean up the messes he makes; he didn’t listen until Sissy and Johnny got on his ass about it too. Three against one, it took him to actually listen. It’s mainly bone scraps he leaves around, always making new traps. He even showed me how he makes him; it was impressive, especially how well they worked on the animals nearby. He explains that it was Grandpa who taught him everything he knows, from killing, slicing, and cleaning his blade, "back when Grandpa was still in his killing form." He told me enthusiastically.

It’s hard to picture Grandpa in his so-called 'killing form', even if it was years ago. He's just so old and motionless, but with the way he enjoys his blood, I can understand that he may have been more ruthless than anyone here.

Having less work has made me bored, only spending time in the lounge. I’ve been trying to find my stuff to do. I have no more clothes to patch up or anything to make. And I’ve cleaned so much that there is barely anything else to clean. I need to find something to do before I go crazy.

Johnny has noticed me being a little slumped, so he decided to bring inside some dead rabbits and teach me how to skin them. How lovey. Though it did cure my boredom, even if it was gross, and he did a much better job than me, he made it look so effortless. It was like it was his thousandth time doing it. Unfortunately, it probably was. During my time here, I learned that Johnny is an efficient hunter. The skulls of the animals and other people he killed are used as decorations in the house.

Those rabbits that we skinned went into a crockpot meal with mashed potatoe; Sissy made it with a bunch of herbs and veggies from her greenhouse. You can't get this type of fresh food in the city. Not including people.

I decided to try and work on my baking skills, asking Drayton if he could bring back some condensed milk so I could try to make some caramel fudge. He agreed; we already have butter and sugar, so it wasn't too much of an ask, and let’s just say my caramel fudge was a hit. Everyone has a surprising sweet tooth. Maybe not too surprising, as the pantry was stocked with tubs of chocolate drink powder.

So now during the day, to help my boredom, I've been baking treats and deserts, and it's nice that everyone likes my baking. Even Johnny, who seemed like someone who hates sugar, eats up the sweets much like everyone else. Sissy always gets excited to see what I've made for dessert. She tells me it's become her favourite part of the day.

Time goes by, and so I get even bigger. Including my chest, I think it's doubled in size; it’s embarrassing how big I’m getting. It doesn’t help that Nubbins snickers around me, poking fun at the size of his chest; he called me a cow one day, and sweet Bubba, who would do anything for his family, smacked Nubbins really hard on the back, making the lanky man tumble embarrassingly forward on the ground. which I've believed humbled him, as I got no more teasing after that.

Some of the spare clothes I’ve had that were modest are now very form-fitting and showy, just because of my growing size. Thankfully, there are old male button-up shirts that I can use to give myself some dignity.

I don't even know why I worry about my dignity when I let Johnny strip me naked and put me in compromising positions. Thanks to my growing breasts, Johnny couldn’t seem to hold himself back, and now we've been fucking everywhere, more than before.

One moment I’m relaxing outside in the middle of the day, the next I’m nude, riding his cock on the old, ripped-out car seats out back near his shed. I have to hold on to his shoulders tightly because he's making me go. Moving me up and down. He does it purposefully because he likes watching my tits bounce.

Being pregnant has made everything more sensitive. So when he places his mouth over my nipple and pinches the other, I almost cum. At least fucking outside, I get to be loud. I just hope no one is watching.

But as I get closer to cumming, the less I care if anyone can see. I’m enjoying myself. So I throw my head back, and I grind down on Johnny while I peak. Milking his cock through my orgasm, he squeezes my chest, holds me down tightly, and fills me up with his hot cum.

Just as my chest grows, so does my ass, so a day later I’m on all fours, holding the headboard for dear life, trying to keep my moans low as Johnny slams into me from behind. He smacks my ass as I thrust back onto him. He grips the fat hard. Making sure this time I finish from his cock alone. Just as I came, he pulls out and pumps himself until he shoots his load over my clit and pussy, making a mess. He reasons that since I'm pregnant, he can decorate me with his cum. He's especially loves shooting his cum over my face and chest. It's nice that he makes sure I have an orgasm right before he does.

Yes, all my assets may be growing; but most importantly, my stomach is too, With the baby getting bigger, Johnny's softer side comes out.

So now he has a pillow under my hips while he slowly ruts his cock while softly sucking my nipple. He slides his hand over my body, feeling all the curves. He slides his hands down and up my leg till he brings it over to my clit, rubbing it in delicate circles. I groan; going slow is new, but fuck, it still feels good to get pampered like this.

“We’re not fucking like this all the time, are we?” I'm still addicted to the hard and fast fucking Johnny is known for.

"Nah, Darlin, I just like the way you glow tonight and want it slow.” He says this while ironically speeding up, causing me to whimper.

As my orgasm gets closer, I hold his face in my hands and stare into his handsome eyes. “I love you, Johnny.” I pant out as I cum around him.

“I love you too, doll,” he responds, filling me up with his cum and kissing me hard.

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