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declareqenius · 10 months ago

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all the ashes in my wake

summary: part two of "some would sing and some would scream". wanda and natasha have several heated conversations while they wait for you to wake up. it's been days and both of them miss hearing your voice, and they know the last thing you would want to see is them fighting, but wanda can't help tearing into natasha for everything that happened. natasha's guilt eats away at her.

warnings: mentions of the violence in pt 1, coma

a/n: guys i really just wanted to get this one out. i haven't read through it/edited it so any mistakes are... well, mistakes. but hey! we get wanda in this one! i feel like i could have gone a little darker as far as wandanat are concerned, but we do what we can! i hope you enjoy!

The infirmary room is cold and sterile and a heaviness settles over the exhausted woman. Wanda keeps hold of your hand as if letting it go means that you'll slip away for good. She's careful of the IV stuck in the back of your hand giving you fluids. In a way, it serves as a reminder that blood still flows through your veins and your heart still beats, and that even though your bright smile and musical laugh don't fill the room, you're still alive.

Wanda brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear. She doesn't know how many times she has done that in the past three days, but the gesture comforts her. Tucking your hair behind your ear so she can see your beautiful face better and looking into your sparkling eyes is one of her favorite things to do. Your gaze holds so much love and adoration and it always makes her wish she would never have to live without it.

Your eyes are closed now.

Wanda hates every second of it.

Bruce said that even if you don't respond that you can still hear everything. Wanda trusts that he's telling the truth and it wasn't something he said just to make her feel better.

So she talks to you. About anything and everything she can think of. Your favorite TV show that is on the air right now or the book that you recommended and she finally read. How much she loves you and how she can't wait for you to wake up. How sorry she is that she wasn't there sooner. She makes promises that she intends to uphold. Ones about revenge and torture and everything you would hate and tell her not to worry about were you conscious. Wanda smiles at the thought. She won't listen, though. The Celestials hurt her family. Hurt the love of her life. She can't let that go unanswered for.

Right now, though, you are her priority.

The door handle clicks and Wanda doesn't need to look up. She knows it's Natasha coming back from telling Steve and Yelena what happened. Can feel the exhaustion and guilt dripping from her without having to so much as glance in her direction.

"Wands-"

"I don't want to talk to you right now, Natalia. Sit."

Wanda nods to the unoccupied chair on the other side of the bed without taking her eyes off of you. She's being harsh and she knows it. Natasha was there with you. Right by your side. Made to watch as the leader of their enemies hurt you in the most sloppily calculated way. She was powerless against Najma and Wanda knows this, but all rationality left her when she burst into the cell and laid eyes on your bleeding body, slumped over, barely an ounce of life in you, and her anger nearly consumed her.

She almost leveled the entire block.

The only thing that stopped her was Natasha, carrying you in her arms, reminding her that time was scarce.

So yes, perhaps she is being too harsh with her wife, but somehow you had become their entire lives. Their reason for being. Neither of them would know what to do without you, and they came very close to losing you under Natasha's watch.

They will be okay eventually. They survived many fights and many arguments before you came along.

Tears form in Wanda's eyes.

"Yelena is wondering when she'll be able to see Y/N." Natasha's voice breaks the silence. It's rough and scratchy.

"After she wakes up."

Four words and Wanda can feel how they form on her tongue. Her Sokovian accent is thick with her anger and distress despite the words being spoken soft and firm.

"Wanda," Natasha starts to protest but the finality in her wife's tone makes her go quite.

"Nat."

It's then that Wanda decides to look up at Natasha. Decides to let her wife see her and every emotion that makes its way onto her face and every thought that swirls around in her mind.

Natasha pauses for a moment, taken aback by everything she sees her wife going through. The made-up scenarios. The what-ifs. She knows because she went through every last one of them when she was in that cell with you. To see the same thoughts cluttering Wanda's mind, well, it only makes her guilt worse.

She clears her throat, "Yelena is her best friend."

It comes out as more of a fact than an argument.

At that, Wanda turns her attention back to you, "I don't want anyone except for us and Bruce to see her like this. They don't need to."

"They want to know that she's okay, Wands."

"Tell them that she is. That she will be. That's all they need to know for right now. They need to focus on getting the jump on Najma and the Celestials. Our focus is Y/N. I think our family is capable enough to come up with a plan by themselves, don't you?"

Wanda's calmness is starting to make Natasha uncomfortable and she shifts in her chair. She refuses to touch you, though, afraid of what might happen if she did. Would your body crumble under her fingertips? If you were conscious would your body recoil at her touch? For letting you get hurt. For not protecting you like she should have.

Suddenly streams of tears silently make their way down Natasha's cheeks.

"I'm sorry I let this happen."

Wanda's eyes meet hers again and Natasha feels like she can breathe a little easier. It isn't perfect and she guesses it won't be perfect for a long time, but time will help. The fear will linger within both of them because Natasha knows Wanda almost as well as she knows herself, and she knows that neither of them will be letting you out of their sight for a while after you wake up. Until Najma is taken care of, at least.

Wanda tilts her head as she tries to get a better read on Natasha without using her powers. Even if they would help in the moment she has rules for herself: never on Natasha and never on you.

"They caught you off guard. It is a hard position to be in, radnaja."

Darling. The pet name helps Natasha relax a little more, but her hands stay folded in her lap.

"We needed- I needed to protect her better. We promised to keep her safe and I couldn't do that, Wands. I failed her and I disappointed you and... and what if she decides to leave when she wakes up? I would be the reason we came so close to losing her... and then to actually lose her? I don't know if we could survive it."

"Nat... Y/N loves us with everything she is. Just as we love her. I need you to be confident in that."

Natasha wants to scoff but instead she fidgets with her hands, "Confident? In what, Wanda? That she'll wake up and we'll pretend everything is fine and that we're not the reason she almost fucking died?! That the two people she loves most in the world couldn't protect her like they promised they would? I was powerless Wanda! I couldn't stop them! I-" Natasha's tears flow freely and although the tension in the room is building, she feels safe enough to let herself go in the presence of her wife, "I couldn't save her!"

"Natalia Romanova-Maximoff!" Wanda stands for the first time in hours but she does not drop your hand. It's the only thing grounding her right now. "This is not entirely your fault, radnaja. Maybe if you would have kicked and punched more when they took you then we would be in a different position. Maybe if you had given Najma the answers she was looking for then Y/N wouldn't have been injured as badly as she is but these are all what-ifs, Natasha! What if I had been there with her instead? What if I had been with both of you that night? What if I would have gotten to you sooner? What if she had died!"

Finally, the question that has been on both of their minds since Bruce had walked into the meeting room with your blood all over his neatly ironed button up and jeans- he didn't have time to even think about putting his lab coat on- and told them that you would eventually be okay.

"I have been asking myself that question every day for the past three days," Wanda finishes, salt on her tongue, nose red, and her scarlet hoodie stained with tears.

Natasha cannot find it within herself to tell her wife the new information Bruce gave her in the meeting. While he operated and stitched until he could barely stand any longer; you flatlined once. Your heart decided to give up for a minute and Natasha hasn't had the proper amount of time to process something like that, but the time would never come for Wanda to be able to process the reality of such a thing.

Both women stare down at you with puffy eyes and red noses. You are the most precious thing in the world to them. They hate seeing you so lifeless, and the only wave of hope keeping them afloat is your steady breaths.

The fight has left both of them, but an air of tension remains. They are nowhere near finished with their conversation. With taking their frustrations out. Hopefully they'll have everything figured out before you wake up. Natasha knows how much you hate playing peacemaker when they actually have fights and really get going at each other, but she also knows that her wife can hold a grudge.

She doesn't think Wanda will actually hold a grudge after you wake up, but for now her anger and grief towards Natasha are the only things emotionally anchoring her to reality.

"I miss her, Wands," Natasha sniffs and wipes the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.

"Me too, Natalia. Me too."

They sit in silence for a minute, taking everything in. There are no windows in the room and during the day that means zero sunlight. You always say that time in the sun is one of the most important parts of your daily routine, and it always helps you cool down when you're stressed out or in a bad mood.

Natasha is the first to break the silence, speaking directly to you.

"You are going to hate this room so much when you wake up, detka," she muses with the smallest smile.

Wanda only glances at her before turning her attention back to you and sitting down in her chair, trapped in her mind just as Natasha is, but not all hope is lost and for that, the older woman is grateful.

"Believe it or not, she was the calm one. During everything."

"Natasha."

Her name is said softly although there is still a warning behind it, but she needs this and she believes that Wanda does too. Even if she doesn't know it yet.

"Please, Wanda."

Wanda just sighs and nods, never taking her eyes off of you.

"Najma had me struggling within ten minutes. Begged her to take me instead and to let Y/N go. I don't know why I thought it would work, but I think I just wanted Y/N to know that even if I couldn't get us out of there in that moment... I was trying. I would keep trying."

Natasha's voice is still scratchy as her exhaustion slowly catches up with her.

"Y/N was so firm with me. She said not to tell Najma anything and she meant it. I don't think I've ever heard her be that direct before, but she left no room for argument. She knew what the information would do to the family because she... she sees us as her family, Wands." The redhead sniffs and wipes at her eyes when her tears return, making a prominent trail down her cheeks.

"We are all she has left and she means the world to us! And... and I let her down so much. So, so much, Wanda. She stayed so calm! She did so good! She talked to Najma. She had a conversation with the woman who had a knife to her cheek!" Natasha's laugh is reserved, but her features are shock-ridden and amazed, bordering on flabbergasted and anxiety-filled.

Wanda finally looks up at her wife. Natasha is starting to spiral and there is no way to stop it other than just letting her get it all out, so the Sokovian keeps listening to and watching her wife. The recount of events is told with animated hand gestures and tears gliding down Natasha's cheeks, and Wanda's heart clenches.

"We were doing so well. She was doing so well. Then, Najma stabbed her and my heart dropped. I thought it was over. I thought we had lost her for good." The hand gestures come to an abrupt halt and the tension in the room is once again palpable, but not so much as before.

Natasha looks down at you with pleading eyes, "Please forgive me, malyshka," she drops to both knees and finally takes your hand in hers and whispers, "please."

She kisses the back of your hand delicately and you can feel each tear drop as they land in the exact spot she kissed. There is no need to wonder why your girlfriend is crying. You remember everything.

Your eyes slowly blink open to see Natasha's own eyes closed and Wanda staring at her wife with a thoughtful expression. The love they have for each other makes you want to smile, but the urge to reassure your sobbing mob boss girlfriend wins.

"I..." talking hurts but you need to say the words. Natasha needs to know! "Forgive... you. Always... Natty."

#wandanat x reader #some would sing and some would scream #some of you might be mad about the ending #HOWEVER #nat needed that so badly guys #reader will play peacemaker eventually i promise

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hatsukeii · 4 months ago

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冬に死ぬの方がいい (I'd rather die in the winter) / denji x reader

genre(s): strangers to friends to lovers??? not fully lovers yet because it’s at the end so it's like kinda ambiguously romantic ig, angst with a not too angst ending!! hurt/comfort SO heavy on the hurt/comfort omg... also despite the tldr there is no death here like for the most part

warning(s): spoilers up to the end of public safety saga, canon divergent and timeline inaccurate at points because i haven't read csm in AGES, explicit depictions of SA and like near-death poverty because denji actually cannot catch a break um????? no explicit nsfw tho also not fully and completely proofread i will be editing as i go when i spot mistakes

wc: ~6.6k

tldr; dying in the winter doesn't seem so bad after all

Do you know what it feels like to die?

In the seventeenth winter of Denji’s life, he thinks he does, as the planks of termite-infested wood and sheets of metal collapse into his shed without warning in the dead of night, the blizzard of winter snow unrelenting in its advances. He dreams of the coldest winter he’s survived, a splinter of decayed, rotting wood knocking him awake from his half-slumber, before crumpled rubbish attacks him from all directions. His arms scramble around Pochita to hunch over his motionless, sleeping body as boulders of wood and rusted metal hammer at his back. Purpled, blistered fingers swat and claw at the rough patterns etched into the planks, skin ripping as Denji crawls into a foot of snow.

In the seventeenth winter of Denji’s life, he curls up against his temporary home- the glass window of a convenience store, too afraid to enter. People come and go, crinkling bags of plastic shrugging into protective arms, parents tugging a little harsher at their children, who point and slobber at his ghastly figure, partners who hold each other’s waists a little closer as they pass.

“What a poor guy.”

“Fuck, that scared me.”

“Is that guy dying or something?”

Dying. Do they know what it feels like to die?

Denji’s head is hung low when plastic wrap lands on the back of his skull. His fingers, frozen stiff, swipe at the glossy packaging, before a fleeting moment of warmth graces his frozen fingertips. He doesn’t look up to the sound of plastic ripping, or to the hand that slips a heat pack into his arms. He doesn’t look up when someone kneels to his level, and his vision trains further into the ground when they offer him half of a steaming red bean bun in a paper packet beside his body, their eyes peeking through the gap between his knees.

“Sorry, that’s all I have.”

He doesn’t make a sound when a bottle is twisted open, doesn’t move when they grab his hands and begin trickling water from their thermos onto his fingers. He only winces as the blisters begin to thaw, steaming as the remnants of wet snow melt beneath his feet.

“I hope we never meet again.”

Denji only looks up as you turn to depart the store, etching into his mind the person that moves further from him with each step, and the eyes that meet his own, but only between his knees, and the fleeting touch that may have just saved him that night, in the seventeenth winter of his life. The person who had to see his shrivelled, curled up figure, and had to feed his dried, crusted mouth with half a red bean bun that still sits on the ground beside him, and had to touch his bleeding, puss-filled, blistering fingers to thaw them.

He too thinks he would rather die in the cold of this winter than meet you again.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Die, Denji does, but only in the eighteenth spring of his life, when the blisters on his fingers have scarred into hardened skin, and he has found himself a new shed to spend his nights in. He dies with a chainsaw cord through his chest, and it’s a million times less painful than he once believed, at least until the dying pump of Pochita in his heart almost begs for mercy. Suddenly, his chest feels just a little too heavy, and he realises he’s never known how warm blood was until it drowns him in pools of sticky, metallic red. When two strong arms reach out to hold his collapsing body, he’s sure that he knows what it feels like to die. Denji’s limp figure hangs motionless in your grasp, and you frown at the mess of dried blood that paints his toothed head in specks of brown. This is not somewhere safe for him.

Denji opens his eyes with his head in someone’s lap, bumpy roads jolting him awake from his unconsciousness. He stares into the back of the front passenger seat, warm fabric beneath his cheeks as he inhales the air freshener of the car and raises his hands to his eyes. The hardened skin of his fingers seems to have scabbed and fallen off, leaving him with hands more akin to that of a teenager. A normal teenager. He senses something else, something toying with his matted strands of golden hair. Fluttering touches stir and spread on his scalp, a whole palm nuzzling into the top of his head and eliciting a satisfied sigh from his lips.

“We’ve got another hour to go. Sleep more if you need to.”

There it is, the voice that haunts him in his sleep and chases him in his waking hours. The voice that tells him he did a good job after every hunting gig, snickers with him when he cheats the yakuza out of a sleazy hundred yen coin, lulls him to sleep at night with the promise of bread, and butter, and honey, even some jam. The voice that he remembers all too well, and can’t seem to run from, no matter how hard his mind races.

His mind freezes, but his body betrays him as his head turns in your direction, vision meeting the full face that hid behind the cover of his knees on that winter day, when he swore he knew how it felt like to die. He once envisioned his death to be silent, frozen in his final breaths into the winter sky. Then, he thought of it as a mess of red, putrid blood flooding his orifices as he drowns in a dumpster of sliced up human remains. Now, by some miracle, he lies in the lap of a familiar stranger, staring back at their gaze that remains unchanged from the one they shot at him between his reddened, shrivelled legs, exactly one hundred and fifty four days ago.

Denji isn’t completely sure if he knows what dying feels like anymore.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

There is vomit in Denji’s mouth. There are mouthfuls of grainy, soured bile that barge through Denji’s lips as he sits on the ground of a restaurant, arms pulled into his chest. Himeno’s grip on his jaw is unshakeable, no matter how hard he thrashes and gargles, doing anything he can to separate himself from her. She pulls him closer to her as she continues spewing all the food she’s consumed throughout the day into his throat, and his eyes dart toward you, who grimace in disgust at the horrific scene that ensues before your very eyes.

Do you know what it feels like to die while still breathing?

Denji wants to die. He wants nothing more, than to really die here on the ground, somebody else’s vomit spilling from the corners of his mouth. Yet the way your eye twitches at his pathetic attempts to free himself, and the wandering of your gaze between Himeno, who just refuses to let go, and Denji, who can’t seem to force her off, sends him to the depths of hell before he’s even lost consciousness. There is no empathy in your gaze, only disgust. Denji once thought that having to touch his frostbitten, rotting body in the winter was the most shameful thing that he could put you through. He thinks this is tenfold worse. He glues his eyes shut, praying for this all to be over, and just misses the slam of your soda can into the wooden table, and the shuffling of your feet towards the combined bodies of himself and Himeno. The weight of Himeno’s suffocating grip lightens, and Denji is just able to wriggle out of her grasp, before he’s falling again and his head hits the ground.

You watch the pool of puke that spreads beneath Denji’s cheek, seeping into his hair and sticky with bile and spit. Himeno babbles on, half a jug of beer in hand, and eight empty ones in front of her. You wince, tugging at Denji’s sleeve. He is motionless, blacked out, and you can’t help but feel a pang in your chest. How did he, of all people, end up here? You look around at the people that surround the table, all of which bear lines of jagged scar tissue beneath the rolled up cuffs of their shirt sleeves, across the skin of their faces, along their huffing chests. You touch the scar on your shoulder through your shirt, scratching at it through the fabric. The itch does not fade, gradually becoming more and more intangible, yet so obviously present. This is not a place for people like Denji, or you, or anybody with half a will to live. If eighteen years of training and living under the public safety sector has taught you anything, it is that you never want to be near this place. You did not save Denji’s life last winter for him to let something as wretched as this line of work ruin it once again. You did not reminisce about him on the way home, half a red bean bun in hand, praying that he might find solace in this perverted world, only to have him return to the root of all things depraved. You did not scream for three days straight, the speech devil clawing open the skin of your esophagus at every breath you took, just to watch him jump into the stomach of another devil, giving up whatever little shred of sanity he had left.

Your hands come up to form shapes, fingers twisting and jabbing at each other in sentences of sign.

Makima, should I take him home with me to Aki’s?

“I’ll taaaaaaaake him…!”

For somebody who is clearly far gone, Himeno is quite perceptive of what others around her are planning. Makima smiles, waving you off, and you frown. Grabbing your soda, you leave the restaurant without a word. Nobody else follows.

In the eighteenth spring of Denji’s life, he wakes up in a bed for the first time. His body sinks into the soft, linen sheets that cover the plush mattress, and there’s a weight that sits comfortably above his chest. He isn’t sure what it is, yet it wraps around his sweaty body like a cloud, threatening to lull him into slumber against the midnight that settles in a blanket of blue and ribbons of silver through lidded blinds. He does not want to die here. For once, Denji decides that he will bask in the rare warmth of a quilt on his chest, and the smoothness of silky fabric beneath his arms, his body finally relaxing after eighteen years of endless running, reluctant hunting, cold slumber on planks of wood and chewed up, moulding mattresses. That is, until, a familiar body crawls onto him from where his feet lie.

“Hey… Denji.” He freezes, the bed transforming into a bed of nails and pinning him down like needles that stab through fragile, fluttering wings of butterflies on framed planks of wood.

“Wanna sleep with me?” Himeno’s hand comes up to hold Denji’s cheek, creeping impossibly close to his flushed chest.

This is what he wanted, right? Every night, as Pochita drifted to sleep on Denji’s shrivelled chest, he would tell him that getting laid would be the greatest honour of his life, wouldn't he?

But Denji wants to scream and cry, until his throat goes hoarse and his ribs crack under the pressure from the sheer exertion of his lungs. Himeno comes even closer now, and he can smell the bitter beer and putrid puke that laces her mouth. He doesn’t move. He can’t move. He can’t speak either, as her lips begin to pepper across his face, and along the shaft of his neck. Her kisses send his throat in a frenzy, panicked wheezes and groans vibrating into her mouth as she takes his Adam's apple in an open-mouthed kiss. He can’t breathe, and his legs won’t move to save him as her saliva dribbles down his neck, into his frantically heaving chest. Denji is frozen in place as Himeno peels off her sheer shirt, and he almost chuckles dryly, the concussion from before throbbing at the side of his skull. Safety? Comfort? A roof over his head, a house that won’t collapse even from the strongest of winds, a place to sleep in that won’t end up twisting his back? How audacious. Who is he kidding?

Denji thinks he should have just chosen to die when he woke up in this bed.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The day that Makima catches wind of Denji’s incident with Himeno is the day that he is moved to Aki’s residency. At the click of a key turning in a lock, you walk out of your room groggily to see a figure in the dark, who drops a half-empty duffel bag onto the ground at the doorway. Denji shrugs backwards as you flick the lights on, arms coming up to cover his eyes. The flat is warm, smells that he doesn’t know wafting into his twitching nose as he removes his hands from his vision to look around. You stare at Denji, who wanders around the kitchen counter, eyes searching every surface for something, anything.

“We have leftover curry, if you want it.”

There’s that familiar voice again, calling out to him, offering him food, and safety, and a roof over his head. He turns to you, and you nudge your head towards the fridge, hands in the pocket of your hoodie. His eyes are bloodshot, and he doesn’t make a sound, or say a word. He simply glides towards the fridge, pulling it open and rummaging the racks for a plate of leftover curry rice. The clanks and clinks of glass dishes on plastic stirs the Hayakawa residence awake, Power swinging the door to your shared room wide open as the handle slams into the wall with a thud. Aki’s room remains closed, but you hear an abrupt hiccup from the other side of the door.

“What is this thing doing here! Why is it taking my food!”

“He needs food, Power. Plus, it’s not even yours. Go back to sleep.”

“No!”

Power huffs, and you forcefully shove her into the room, shutting the door behind you and flicking the lights back off. Denji unwraps cling wrap from the dish, balling it in his fist and tossing it aside as he searches for a spoon, metal utensils clashing against each other in wooden cabinets as his impatient fingers sift through forks, and knives, and chopsticks. Upon finding one, he travels to the couch, where you are sitting with your legs manspread lazily. The black screen of the television reflects the two of you on the couch; Denji’s tired arms reeling spoonfuls of cold curry and meat into his mouth, and you watching him eat, hands clasped and elbows propped up on your thighs. He lets each bite linger on his tongue for a little longer than it has to, savouring this new sensation of proper food in his mouth. Then, he wipes his mouth on his rolled-up sleeve, and sniffles at the realisation that his stomach is no longer throbbing and growling dully.

“Do you want to sleep?”

Denji doesn’t respond. He thinks you have hidden away the last two words to that question. He would rather die than hear confirmation of it.

“You can take my bed if you want. I can take the sofa for now.”

He doesn’t get up from the couch. Instead, he drops the spoon onto the empty plate, and feels his body tip sideways. His head lands in your lap again, the same way it did in the company car, on the day that he died for the first time. Your arms shoot up to accommodate him, body tensing as his hair hits your leg. He sighs, small snores eliciting from his nose as he passes out on you, still clad in his work suit. You tug the windsor knot of his tie loose, before running your fingers through his blonde locks, and rolling your head back over the edge of the couch. You can only take a guess at what happened with Himeno the night before that rendered him so unresponsive. So unlike the brash, boisterous version of him that beamed at Himeno’s offer of a french kiss, before having puke forced into his mouth. You cringe at even the thought of it, taking note of Denji’s little hums in his slumber, limp arms hanging off the couch and feet dangling off the edge. Swiping a thumb across his lip, you collect the curry that remains around his mouth, and he jolts unconsciously in his sleep, before relaxing against you again. Wind whistles past the glass windows of the living room, and it’s almost as if Denji shivers at the sound of coldness, even if it is blocked by the four walls that surround him. Your hand on his head moves to cradle his jaw, which shifts periodically as he breathes in, and breathes out. You hope that he can stay like this forever.

Another hiccup sounds from Aki’s room, Power kicks and flails at blankets in muffled thumps.

You bring your other hand to your mouth, parting your lips against your thumb to take a first taste of the untouched plate of curry that was supposed to be your dinner.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

“She even touched my shoulder! My shoulder, guys!”

On a windy night of Denji’s eighteenth autumn, he beams at the dinner table, grains of rice spewing from his stuffed mouth as his chopsticks wave and swing in the air. He hits you in the face, a piece of limp spinach slapping onto your cheek from his utensils, and Power screeches, jagged teeth bared in her maniacal laughter. You side eye him, picking the vegetable off your face and silently shoving more rice into your mouth. You’ve noticed the skip in Denji’s step upon his return to the Hayakawa residence, the dusty blush that lines his cheeks as he grabs at the fabric of his shirt around the shoulders, and sniffs it, the bashful giggles he gives himself when he waves you off for asking him what’s got him in such a good mood. Knowing your line of work, that won’t last, no matter how hard you try to speak it into existence.

“Yeah, she touched your shoulder. We get it.”

“No no no, you don’t. I think she likes me! Like, really likes me!”

Denji slams his hands onto the coffee table now, shooting up to defend his proclamation of love on behalf of some random girl. You sigh, opting for a piece of beef from the plate in front of you. On your tongue is soft meat, savoury sauce, sour, putrid dread. Aki shoots you a glance from across the table. He watches your eyes widen for just a glimpse of a second, and nods, a mutual understanding clearly reached between you two. You take a fistful of Denji’s shirt, yanking him back down to ground level, and he pouts as you shove bundles of spinach and ladles of sauce into his bowl. He bites his thumb, gnawing and nibbling as his chopsticks pick aimlessly at his meal.

“Stop biting your finger, Denji. That’s gross.” You grab his wrist and pull his thumb out of his mouth.

“Nah, I made a promise to Makima.”

“Makima?”

Aki chews on his rice silently at your question. Denji stares at his nail, jagged and peeling from biting on it constantly.

“She’s the one for me. That’s why she told me to remember how it feels when she bites my thumb.”

At that, your palm makes contact with the back of his head, knocking it forward. Denji wheezes, the wind knocked out of his windpipe at your sudden attack. Aki shovels individual grains of rice into his mouth, clearing his bowl. Power joins in your antics, hands chopping at his body even after you’ve stopped to glare at him. She gets bored of your inaction quickly, scratching her ass as she leaves the table for the shared room. Denji’s eyes are trained onto his bowl, the food looking less and less appetising by the second.

“She did what?”

Denji stretches his palm in front of his face, inspecting it as if it was some antique object. His chest sinks, feeling your eyes burn holes into the side of his head. Makima promised him love, and sex, and everything he has ever wanted. He isn’t sure why it seems so wrong to you. You once told him you wanted him to find someplace safe, no? Where do you think he would be, if not for Makima bringing him in on that fateful spring day?

“Well, she let me cop a feel because she cares about what I want. Even said she’d grant me any wish if I got the gun devil.”

“She does not care about you, Denji!”

Denji scowls, hands waving erratically as he searches for his words. Aki leaves for the kitchen sink silently, the sound of running water serving as a backdrop to your wordless fury. You slam your hands onto his shoulders, shaking him back and forth. His eyes meet yours, and he sees something that Makima, that other girl from today, Himeno, Power, Aki, none of them have shown him before. Desperation. Fear. Worry.

“You know what? Go back to that girl you met in the phone booth. Do what you want, just don’t get me roped into your shit. And remember, I told you so.”

You shove him away, retreating into the shared room. That night, Denji sleeps on the couch instead of you. He doesn’t think about the girl from the phone booth, or Makima. He dreams about the day that you thawed his frostbitten fingers outside a convenience store, the day that had him thinking he knew what it meant to die, but really had no grasp on it.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Denji learns the taste of flowers in the eighteenth autumn of his life, when he shoves an entire bouquet of them into his mouth in a cafe. The petals turn into mush on his tongue as he chews and swallows them. He waits for some girl that tried to bite his tongue off and murder him two days ago, sitting alone on a bar seat in a bustling coffee shop. Stares and murmurs ensue behind his back, couples and friends alike glancing at his pathetic figure that waits for a fabricated promise, flowers stuffed in his mouth. He tastes the bitterness of the flowerbuds, the type of bitterness that seeped through his veins when she kissed him, and ripped his tongue from his mouth. The type of bitterness that he can’t seem to fully carry, even after she tried to blow him up. The type of bitterness that is covered by the sweetness of flora, which somehow still makes its way through to his sinuses. Like recollections of how she showed him how to swim, laughed at his awful jokes, taught him to read and write, and turned all shades of red and pink at his flirtations. Rose-tinted recollections of a military trained spy, whose very purpose was to blush on command, laugh on command, lure him into emotional investment, before biting his tongue off, slashing his wrists open, and ripping his heart out of his chest.

He doesn’t like the way these flowers taste. He throws the half-eaten bouquet onto the ground of the cafe, and pushes his way out of the shop.

When Denji returns home, you are squeezing whole bottles of throat medicine into your mouth on the living room sofa. He points at his throat, and pretends to pull a pin from his neck. You nod, clawing at the air around your throat. He shoots you a thumbs up, unsure what to say as he faces the consequences of his fortunate victory against the bomb hybrid from the night before. You wave him off, eyes never meeting him as you mouth, it’s fine, I’ll be good. From across the living room, he catches the blood that coats your entire bed of teeth, the dark, deadly shade of crimson splattered across your lips. He hears your screams again, and again, and again, as he stands in the doorway. Blood curdling commands coming one after the other, he can almost feel his throat rip open with every word, taste the blood that you cough up after finishing the bottle of throat medicine.

Walking towards the couch, he plops down beside you, his weight creating a dip in the soft fabric. You pretend to pull a pin at your throat, and point at Denji, who sighs hopelessly. You falter, brows furrowing at his disappointment. For the weeks leading up to today, Denji had not removed himself from Reze- some unknown girl he met in a telephone booth. He had beamed about his advances to you- namely regurgitating a saliva coated flower from his mouth magically, and you had listened patiently, fists gripped by your sides. He told you he wanted to run away with her, after all this mess and carnage was over, only for her to become the root of another senseless massacre. Your hands move to form shapes, sign language that Denji has picked up on throughout the past months of living and working alongside you. His skills are scarce, yet he just makes out what you are asking.

Beach, girl, run?

He shakes his head, back hunching in defeat. She didn’t care about his heart, only the Chainsaw devil’s. Even her blushes and laughs were rehearsed to perfection.

“She didn’t show up to the cafe anyways.”

You frown, hitting Denji’s chest with the back of your palm, eyes still not meeting his own. He bites his thumb, and you slap his hand away from his mouth without even looking. Signing furiously, your fingers contort into a flurry of shapes. Shapes that Denji can barely decipher, but understand just enough to feel your disdain.

No biting… unbelievable. Makima, Reze. Gross...

Denji smiles weakly, wiping his thumb on his blood-stained uniform. Your teeth are bared until the tips of your canines just peek through the opening of your lips, before you retract them and gnaw your bottom lip meekly. He takes in the corners of your worried eyes and irked brows, and he thinks that even Pochita feels a little guilty in the way that his chest seems to beat agonisingly with every pang, like a nail burying itself into his heart at each pump. You punch his shoulder, finally taking a good look at his haggard figure, before reaching for another bottle of medicine and twisting the cap open with a click. You gargle and cough at each swallow, splatters of blood spitting into a white tissue from your throat at each sound you make. Suddenly, Denji wishes he didn’t throw the flowers away at the coffee shop. Maybe a few petals could ease the pain too, because he’s sure it’s the petals he ate that are making him feel a blooming warmth in his chest right now.

“You don’t have to be sorry. Plus, you saved my life out there yesterday. So, thanks.”

You smile at him with your lips pursed, and Denji hopes that he doesn’t die before you find your voice again.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

In the beginning of Denji’s eighteenth winter, he slashes a chainsaw through Makima’s body. He watches her cut up, mutilated organs fall to the ground, throwing the chainsaw next to them. There is no pity, or rage, or overwhelming sadness. All he can do is stare, coated head to toe in her blood. He takes her skin, and bones, and organs in a plastic bag, inhales blood that smells akin to rat shit and bile. He walks into a new apartment, devoid of the Hayakawa name that was once engraved into the tin mailbox of his old home. It is empty, no one greets him on the couch as he walks in.

He throws the bag of remains onto the counter of his new kitchen, bought with the money left in Aki’s will. He’s sorry, he thinks, because he doesn’t feel anything right now. Not anger, not worry, not fear. Aki is dead. Power is dead too. He should feel something, at the very least for you, who was wheeled onto an ambulance as he picked up the remains of Makima with his bare hands.

Denji eats dinner alone at his new coffee table, also bought with the money from Aki’s will. He shuts his eyes, and pretends that Power is bickering with him. He can almost hear her frenzied shouts, feel her hands slap his back, and his head, and his chest. Aki should be sitting across the table, sipping his tea mindlessly, or lighting a cigarette and filling the room with nicotine. He shoves Makima’s flesh into his mouth, swallowing without so much as chewing on it. The idea that he is shovelling human flesh into his stomach while fully human makes his skin crawl and stomach flip. He wants to throw up. His eyes water at the grooves and fibres in the meat that etch themselves into his tongue.

He squeezes shut his eyes even harder now, instead envisioning you beside him. You, who force strings of vegetables into his meals at dinner. You, who speak only when needed, and rarely in sentences that drag on for more than you deem the need to, and showed him how to live on with half a red bean bun and a thermos. He has never known the curves of your body like the rest of his prospects, never thought to try and learn them either. He doesn’t know of your past, or your present either, really.

Despite that, you know the shrivelled figure of his past, his habit of thumb biting, his fear of sharing a bed, his disdain for spinach over any other vegetable. And when you spat at him, I told you so, you were right. Himeno wanted him to fuel some petty, one-sided feud. Reze ripped his tongue out of his mouth, only to apologise, before snapping his neck and leaving him in the dust. Makima, the one who swore to give him sex, and love, and safety, and purpose, everything he could have ever wanted, binded him in a dog’s collar so he could watch as she tore Power in half from the torso. All Power wanted was to give him a cake.

You confuse him to no end, but something sits between the two of you for certain. Something that shrouds his heart in a warm glow, one that almost calls out at him to keep it there. A glow that creeps up to his mouth when you can’t speak, threatening to spill out of his lips and into yours so he can heal you, for once. But the glow always seems to turn into poison that leaks back down his throat. He swallows his words, bites his lip, bites his own fingers. He doesn’t know how it feels to die, only because you’ve shielded him from it all along.

The remains of Makima have been consumed. Denji throws the plates and bowls into the sink carelessly, his chopsticks following suit. When he swings open his cabinet to two new boxes of throat medicine, he can’t help but stare at his purchase. He really only had you in mind when he filled the cabinets of his new apartment with the only familiar thing a grocery store could offer. Maybe he should give you a visit soon.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

In the eighteenth winter of Denji’s life, you learn that he is afraid of living. Your backs against the sheets of your hospital bed, the two of you stare at the ceiling light that blinks periodically, just as it has for the past week that you’ve been here for. Its flickers have gradually become more erratic than the days before. You stare at the familiar cracks that spread from beneath the light bracket towards the rest of the ceiling, arms behind your head.

“Does it still hurt to talk?”

“Just a bit.”

He hums in understanding, continuing his aimless staring. The hospital television whirs in static and vague sounds of people speaking behind the two of you, and you shift in place, the bed sheets wrinkling and shuffling beneath your body.

“Can I tell you something?”

You nod wordlessly.

“I’m starting to think I can’t live anymore. Like this whole devil thing has made me less…human, I guess.”

“Why?”

Denji clicks his tongue, hissing a sharp inhale through his teeth.

“I don’t really see the point in touching tits, or having sex anymore, you know? Like, all those things that I thought I wanted so badly, they didn’t make me feel how I wanted to. But then, I’m not sure how to live. Shouldn’t I live so someone can love me? Is that not what everyone lives for?”

You glance at him, the messy blonde hair that presses into the mattress, lousily tucked white shirt that creases around the waist, eyes that once were zealous turned tired, unfeeling. You pull one hand out from beneath your head, the one that doesn’t have an IV drip attached to your index finger. It travels to Denji’s crossed arms, untangling them from each other so you can grab at his hand. His fingers are unresponsive until you give him a squeeze, then another, then a third, and they finally relax against your own. He turns, meeting the eyes that peeked through his knees in his seventeenth winter. Eyes that look at him with worry, whether he is sitting at a dinner table, beaming about some girl whose flirtations have blinded his rationality, or if he is curled up against the glass door of some convenience store at midnight, breath stagnant and frozen in the winter air.

“Do you think they loved you, Denji?”

His vision travels to the mattress beneath him. He thinks they did, or maybe they didn’t, or it was somewhat in between love and indifference, or whatever that’s supposed to feel like.

“I don’t know. They all wanted chainsaw man’s heart. But nobody wanted mine, you know? Nobody ever wanted Denji’s.”

You give his hand another squeeze, and he feels another pang in his chest. This is what it feels like to die, Denji thinks. Not blood gushing from his chest, or being frozen solid as people walk past his crouched body, but knowing that his efforts to become worthy of appreciation have only amounted to being used for his power. This is what it feels like to die, a hollow boy with nothing left in his chest but a devil that pumps blood for him. Even his heart is a contract that he has to follow.

“I didn’t save you a year ago today for you to think that, Denji.”

Your weak elbows try to prop your body up to look at him from above, before they collapse back into the mattress and elicit a hiss of pain from your mouth. It’s by some miracle that you’re even alive right now, and that your throat has healed enough to make out short sentences. Short proclamations like this, that you’ve waited so long to make. Denji catches your fall, a palm cushioning your elbow. His hand is still in yours as he shifts to look at you properly.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you want to know?”

He opens his mouth, and his scrambled words get caught in his throat. So, he nods, the bags beneath his eyes relaxing. You let go of his hand, instead running your fingers along his chest and laying your palm flat on his heart. It beats in rhythmic thumps, steadily pulsing on the lines of your hand.

“What are you feeling right now?”

Denji’s mind is a jumbled mess, yet he can clearly tell what he is feeling. “Warm.”

“Are you nervous?”

“No.”

Your hands move to the back of his head, scratching and rubbing at his scalp with the pads of your fingers. Denji leans into your touch, eyes still trained onto your own. His heart continues to beat steadily, and he feels something building up around it. Something that has his breaths getting heavier, and his vision of you becoming even clearer than it already is.

“What does this feel like?”

“Nice.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

Your hand makes its advance to his cheek, cradling it gently. Dusty pink scatters across his face, and Denji has to remember to breathe. In, out, in, out. Your thumb swipes across the dark bag beneath his eye. He thinks this is bliss, so unlike the drooling, panting mess he used to be for Makima, or the bumbling, fake persona he played up for Reze. He is more sober than ever, and his hand hovers over your body. He doesn’t want to just cop a feel. He wants to touch every inch of skin that you inhibit, trace over whatever scars you might have accumulated from the trials of time, plant kisses wherever you want him to, whenever you want him to.

“What does this feel like?”

“Can you stay like that?”

“Sure.”

He reaches for your wrist, holding onto it like a lost boy in a crowd. His fingers feel for smoothed scar tissue in your palm, around your knuckles, on your wrist. He pulls your hand away from his face to take a look at the lines that etch themselves into your skin, lips hovering just above your fingers.

“Can I kiss you?”

You nod. He starts on the scar of your palm, one that you earned during a fight in the early days of your work. He kisses the fleshy scar that slashes across your hand, peppering along its length.

“Can I keep going?”

“Yeah, keep going Denji.”

His head dips to the faint white lines that decorate your arm, from your wrist to the connection between your forearm and bicep. His hair tickles the sides of your arm as fluttering kisses plant themselves into each poisoned, torn open line of your skin. You squirm, hospital gown coming loose on one shoulder as the cool air of the room hits the scar that reaches from your shoulder to the dip between your collarbones. Denji notices, and pulls your arm away from him.

“Can I?”

You wince, the scar beginning to itch and throb.

“Please, do it.”

His fingers trace along the jagged scar, before he nuzzles his face into your shoulder, and moves along to the centre of the dip just above your chest. You roll your head back to give him space, and he kisses up your neck and onto your jaw. He’s inexperienced, nose bumping into your flesh when he comes up to look at you again. His eyes flicker to your lips, and you answer his question for him as you pull him into you. The glow in his heart rushes from his chest to his mouth, but his teeth bump into yours, and you pull away. It tastes like your blood, the blood that has saved his life more times than he can count as you rip your throat open for him. He wants to taste it again as much as you want him to.

“What does that feel like?”

Denji knows what it means to die now, but he thinks he’s starting to understand how to live too. If this day, in the eighteenth winter of his life, is what dying and being reborn feels like, he would rather die in the winter when his time comes.

“I think it feels like love.”

author's note:

guys this took SO LONG i really do not have what it takes to do a longfic in 2 days anymore after that tsukishima one... but im so proud of this tho like i had so much fun writing it and i love my baby boy denji so much omg also wishi i am so sorry it took this long to come out but i hope you like it sososoosososososos much

anyways tags!!

@wishi-selfships @staraxiaa @kuroppiii @akaakeis @iiwaijime @chuuya-brainrot @fiannee @bailey-reeds @hiraethwa @catsoupki @wyrcan

198 notes · View notes

cherryredstars · 1 year ago

Text

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x afab!reader

Warnings: Straight-Up Porn, 18+

Summary: To help you imagine what I picture when I write my smut.

A/N: Been waiting for this.

Word Count: 537 (Edited)

⯌ Miguel is trying everything to empty your pretty little mind. He's doing everything in his power to make you think of the pleasure he's giving you and that pleasure only. He's constantly whispering "That's it, mami. You can take it. Stop with the running, mkay?"

⯌ He LIVES for teasing you. He loves playing with your pretty little pussy until you're desperate for him to give you more. He has you squirming and begging as his fingers move over you ever so lightly. "What is it, hermosa? I thought this is what you wanted? Thought you just wanted me to touch you, hm?"

⯌ He can't help but play with you. He can't help how much those pretty noises turn him on. Imagine he's got you facing your full body mirror, making you watch as he plays and paws at you. "Always soundin' and lookin' so pretty for me. Watch how good my fingers look playing with that pretty cunt, yeah?"

⯌ Miguel just desperately fucking into you after a bad day :((. It just makes him feel so much better when he feels you clench around him from how good he's making you feel. At least after this, he'll blow off enough steam and get a good night's rest. You do want to take care of him, don't you? Just imagine him mumbling sorry, over and over again because he knows how rough he's being but he can't help it :((.

⯌ Just a few weeks after the incident in Just a Bit of Training (here). Once you got it down, he's obsessed for the next month. He's taking every opportunity to see how many times he can get you to squirt when he's got you under him. "That's a good girl. Just like how I taught you."

⯌ He's so sloppy when he's eat you out :((. Especially if you haven't seen each other in a long time or if he's just stressed. He just wants to get lost in your sweet pussy. He loves getting your slick all over his face and he isn't letting up until he's satisfied or his tongue gets tired from constantly licking you. He's mumbling into your clit about how good you taste and growling at you to stay still.

⯌ If he isn't eating you out like he's starved, he's taking his sweet time. Just wants to savor your flavor on his tongue. Whenever he just gets the urge to, asking you so nicely to bend over the counter so he can have a taste. Our polite boy being gentle :)).

⯌ Loves filling your hole with his cum. Loves just watching it ooze out of you. He has so many videos on his phone of his cum just leaking from you. He saves them for when he misses you or needs something that he knows will get him off quickly.

⯌ Miguel letting you ride his dick after teasing you. He knows what he's doing, and he couldn't be happier when you push him down and ride his cock so desperately. "Aw, is that what you needed, mi vida. Just needed to fuck yourself on my cock, is that it?"

Bonus The Oscar Issac audio because I love you guys :)).

My internet has been down for a week so I’m sorry it took so long to update!

#across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel ohara x you #miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 x you #across the spiderverse smut #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara smut #spiderman 2099 smut #atsv smut

975 notes · View notes

yanderestarangel · 1 year ago

Text

⸺ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

💌 hi angels, lorenzo here, I'm starting the blog this hiatus, I know I haven't made many requests and apologies to those who waited for the requests to be written, I have more than 84 drafts, but I have no motivation to post or write for now.

The blog isn't over, I'm just taking a break until my creativity returns, again I'm sorry about something and thanks to everyone who helped me, correcting my posts or giving me kind words, your affection and comments always made me feel good,there are a lot of great mk1 content writers here, you won't be missed much lol.

I'll be back when I feeling creative again, thank you guys for everything.

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୨♡୧| headkanons mk1 | finish him! | with all the men of mk1 | extreme smut | TW: rough sex, extreme sex, smut, use of powers, sex with clones, v!sex, ftm reader, pet names, afab anatomy, blowjob, threesome sex, nsfw, pain kink, possessive and violent sex, sex without a condom, prolong orgasm, cock warming, oral (f!r), creampie, extreme degradation, humiliation, supetestimulation, male reader, bdsm, daddykink, fingering, masturbation.

୨♡୧ | headkanonks mk1 | kenshi takahashi x johnny cage x reader | TW: afab anatomy, fluff, soft headcanons, threesome, smut, nsfw, double penetration, blowjob, kenshi and Johnny make out with each other, gay sex, anal sex, vibrators, ice play, switch!reader, sub!johnny, dom!kenshi, daddykink.

୨♡୧ | headkanons mk1 | 𝐆𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐆 + 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐊 - 𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 | TW: gang bang, sub!reader, dom!mens, blowjob, double blowjob, double penetration, anal, masturbation, ass play, pet names, triple penetration, unprotected sex, cum play, monster fuck, cock warning, exhibitionism, sadism , masochism, sex with ropes, bdsm, rough sex, extreme sex, objectification, degradation, porn plot, afab anatomy, oral f!re, orgasm denied, monster fuck.

୨♡୧ | headkanons mk1 | trio lin kuei | "changing in front of them - they secretly like you." + bonus character edition. | TW: afab reader, no pronouns used other than "you", smut, nsfw, little angst, v!sex, blowjob, fingering.

୨♡୧ | headkanons mk1 | trio lin kuei | "what would it be like to exchange nudes with them?/how they send nudes? | TW: afab anatomy, pet names, dirty talk, pussy talk, whining, nude exchange, mutual masturbation, m!masturbation, smut, nsfw, sex phone, porn plot only.

୨♡୧ | DILF!BI HAN HC | TW : daddykink, betrayal, dilf!bi han, age gap, breeding kink, handjob, v!sex, afab anatomy, pet names, power play, dark!bi han, sex without a condom, possessive sex, objectification, aforementioned pregnancy, sex with pregnant reader, exhibitionism.

୨♡୧| headkanons mk1 | shang tsung | morticia addams and gomes concept | TW: marriage, stable relationship, gender neutral reader, gothic romance, implicit smut.

୨♡୧| headkanons mortal kombat | "what is the sexual difference with the s/o of the two johnny cage?" | TW: afab anatomy, aggressive sex, age gap, fluff, v!sex, degradation, possessive sex, red flags, dilf johnny cage, mk1 and mk11 canon spoilers, pet names, smut, daddykink.

୨♡୧| headkanons mk1 | trio lin kuei | fingering the reader under the table | TW: afab anatomy, fingering, pussy talk, smut, exhibitionism, public teasing, pet names, degradation, dirty talk.

୨♡୧| headkanons mk1 | soft!bi han | comfort and smut edition | TW: daddykink, care, comfort, soft behavior, afab anatomy, v!sex, fingering, eat out, praise, somnophilia.

୨♡୧| headkanons mk1 | taking care of the lin kuei trio | soft smut edition | TW: smut, v!sex, blowjob, afab anatomy, mk1 spoilers about the canon story, mention of fractures, care, slow sex, no pronouns used other than 'you', nsfw text, whining.

୨♡୧| headkanons mk1 | neko!bi han | sfw, soft edition | TW: fluff, sfw and just bi han being a cute grandmaster.

୨♡୧| headkanons mk1 | "reacting to the volume of their bulge appearing in your belly" | TW: size kink, afab anatomy, pet names, v!sex, hard smut, not reviewed.

୨♡୧| 𝐒𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 - 𝐕𝐀𝐌𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄!𝐋𝐈𝐍 𝐊𝐔𝐄𝐈 + 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 | TW: afab anatomy, dark!bi han, dark!tomas, sub!reader, headcanons, hard smut, bloodkink, master x sub, dark themes, v!sex, blowjob, praise, degradation, sex with blood, objectification, aggressive fuck, porn plot, anal sex, size kink, hard!dom bi han, hard!dom tomas vrbada, dumbification, bdsm, hunter!play.

୨♡୧| 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐌𝐊1 | 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐎 𝐋𝐈𝐍 𝐊𝐔𝐄𝐈 | "𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐀 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐏 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄/𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐏 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄?" | TW : afab anatomy, v!sex, 69 upside down, praise, provocation, oral (f!re), sex without a condom, pet names (good boy/good girl), no pronouns used other than "you", himbo/bimbo reader.

♡ ONE SHOTS ♡

୨♡୧ | yandere mk1 | bi han x gn reader | tw : angst, psychological horror, kidnapping, obsession, forced passion, stalker, yandere themes, dark concept.

୨♡୧ | old man | kenshi takahashi | tw: afab reader, vaginal sex, rough sex, degradation, overstimulation, painkink, sexual punishment, dom!kenshi.

୨♡୧ | double punishing pleasure - kuai liang and bi han x afab reader | tw: double penetration, anal sex, vaginal sex, blowjob m!receive, degradation, asphyxiation, saliva, pet names, submission, master!kink, porn plot, smut, nsfw, punishment, afab reader, power play.

୨♡୧ | no going back | bi han x reader | tw: angst, daddy issues, daddykink, praise kink, slight smut, gn reader, description of mental suffering, unreliable narrator.

୨♡୧ | daddy's good boy | bi han x ftm reader | ⸺ tw: daddykink, blowjob, face fuck, dom!bi han, sub!reader, afab anatomy, ftm reader, degradation, pussy talk.

୨♡୧ | submissive bi han | tw: afab reader, v!sex, handjob, sub!bi han, dom!reader, panty gag, overstimulation, self degradation.

୨♡୧ | worship ass - with some men from mk1 | bottom version

୨♡୧ | dumb midnight thoughts - bi han | sub zero mk1 | tw: smut, afab reader, m!receive oral sex, blowjob, saliva, anal sex, vaginal sex, degradation, no pronouns used other than "you".

୨♡୧ | ex husband kenshi x afab reader | TW: afab anatomy, pet names, degradation, v!sex

୨♡୧ | rays of pleasure | dark raiden x ftm reader | tw: dacryphilia, rough sex, degradation, creampie, ftm reader, vaginal sex, blowjob, fingering, extreme, praise kink, afab anatomy

୨♡୧ | dumb midnight thoughts - smoke | tomas vrbada mk1 | tw: smut, afab reader, praise kink, feminine and masculine pronouns used in pet names "good boy, good girl","my prince, my princess"

୨♡୧ | crybaby | bi han x afab reader | tw: unreliable narrator, mourning, blood, death, smut, mentioned death, hallucination, angst.

୨♡୧ | let me care of you | kuai liang | tw: smut, afab anatomy, vaginal sex, blowjob, no pronouns used other than 'you'.

୨♡୧ | sub!kuai liang x dom!reader | TW: fingering, anal sex, tongue job, m!r, sub!kuai liang, face riding, ass worship, dom!reader, no pronouns used, fuck face.

୨♡୧ | dumb midnight thoughts | kenshi takahashi mk1 | tw: outdoor sex, vaginal sex, afab reader, pet names, riding kenshi's dick, smut.

୨♡୧ | Johnny cage x reader smut | TW: breeding kink, afab anatomy, sex without a condom, v!sex, ride on johnny's dick, praise kink, pregnancy, smut only, daddykink, dom!johnny.

୨♡୧| virgin!bi han x experienced reader | TW: virgin!bi han, v!sex, blowjob, smut, experienced reader, afab anatomy, pet names, dom!bi han.

୨♡୧| DILF BI HAN SMUT | TW: fingering, use of powers, dilf!bi han, age gap, possessive sex, unhealthy jealousy, dark!bi han, smut, degradation, blowjob.

୨♡୧| "𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐌𝐘 𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄!"| 𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐒 𝐕𝐑𝐁𝐀𝐃𝐀 | TW: ftm reader, afab anatomy, v!sex, oral sex ( f!receive ), unprotected sex, creampie, dom!tomas, size kink, exhibitionism, degradation, pet names, possessive sex, porn plot only, smut, nsfw, praise, rough sex.

୨♡୧| raiden x reader - smut | TW: somnophilia, clit teasing, oral (f!receiving), praise, morning sex, afab anatomy,smut, pussy worship, pet names, no pronouns used other than "you".

୨♡୧| "ride me" | cowboy!johnny cage x ftm reader | TW: afab anatomy, porn plot, ftm/male reader, dom!johnny, sub!reader, pet names, oral (f!r), creampie, age gap, v!sex, himbo/roseboy reader, ride Johnny's nose.

୨♡୧| BI HAN SMUT | TW: v!sex, riding on Bi Han's face, mentioned stretch marks, oral sex (f!re), praise, passionate sex, smut, nicknames, afab anatomy, no pronouns used other than "you".

୨♡୧| 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 | 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐊1 | TW: afab anatomy, eat out, v!sex, mommykink, fingering, pet names, bottom and top versions, mutual fingering, no pronouns used other than "you".

୨♡୧| arranged marriege - first time | tomas vrbada x reader | TW: ftm reader, husband x husband, v!sex, blowjob, rough sex, dom!tomas, unprotected sex, praise, degradation, pet names, stable relationship, creampie, breedkink, smut, afab anatomy, horny.

୨♡୧| 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐮𝐩 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐧 | TW: smut, praise, pet names, angst, ftm reader, pussy worship, v!sex, afab anatomy, handjob, cum play, husband x husband, fingering, overstimulation.

୨♡୧| "daddy's pretty boy" | sugar daddy!kano x ftm reader | TW: daddykink, afab anatomy, semi public sex, smut, v!sex, sugar daddy concept, age gap, praise, blowjob, degradation, spanking, kano is extremely vulgar (as he is kanonically)

୨♡୧| 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐮𝐩 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐤𝐮𝐚𝐢 𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐠 | TW: angst, insecurity, smut, v!sex, oral (f!re), husband kuai liang, afab anatomy, pet names, praise, rough sex, aggressive sex, use of ropes in sex, creampie, overstimulation, dirty talk, husband x husband, ftm reader.

୨♡୧| 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐮𝐩 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐯𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐝𝐚 | TW: angst, smut, ftm reader, aggressive sex, crying, overstimulation, v!sex, ride, unprotected sex, tomas begs for your forgiveness, afab anatomy, not reviewed.

୨♡୧| 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐧 | tw: afab anatomy, v!sex, sleepy sex, praise, smut, somnophilia, ftm reader, soft!dom bi han.

୨♡୧| 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐧 | TW: v!sex, superstimulation, fingering, soft!dom bi han, ftm reader, afab anatomy, male x male, feminization ( I think ), smut, porn plot only, praise, pet names, morning sex, sex without a condom, orgasm denial, overstimulation, cum play.

୨♡୧| 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐢 𝐡𝐚𝐧 | TW: afab anatomy, lactation!kink, v!sex, soft sex, fingered, not revised, pregnant sex, mother/father used to refer to the reader, praise, soft dom!bi han, bi han!husband.

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baronessvonglitter · 4 months ago

Text

Cherry, Cherry 🍒 Chapter 18 🍒

"I Wanted It To Be You"

Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: 7,467

Summary: Moving on from Joel, your life takes many unexpected courses: college, marriage.. yet you keep wondering What If..?

(Warnings contain spoilers, so please check beneath the cut if you're curious)

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, age gap (the difference is 17 years, and there are a few time skips throughout this chapter), starts in late 2003 and ends in 2023, Angst Angst Angst, brief mention of jailtime, breakup, parental issues, heavy on the mom guilt, underage drinking, dry humping, anonymous drunk sex (never ever do this, folks), vomit, reader going through a slutty era after getting her heart broken (just like Joel in Chapter 14), allusions to smut, time skips (labeled), panic attack, mention of drugs and alcohol, rough sex, creampie, surprise pregnancy, infidelity, lil bit of a makeout sesh with Tommy, semi-public sex, pussy pronouns, light degradation, Ellie is Joel's daughter, mention of cyberstalking (not as serious as it sounds), mention of reader having a therapist, Joel and Tess are married. If I left anything out, please LMK!

Author's Note: this took forever to write because the more I edited the more I wanted to add. And I know this chapter has quite a few time skips, I just wanted to highlight the important parts as much as I could. ALSO: I apologize for the unrealistically speedy law process at the beginning. I have no idea how that situation would pan out, but it would almost definitely drag out for months if not years.

So much angst here, but now the reader is all grown up! I wanted to add the convo with Sarah but this chapter was already getting so long, and I think it'll fit better in the next installment anyway.

Series Masterlist

"I would've said yes."

You've lost count of how many voicemails you leave Joel, who's been ignoring your calls, but this is the only time you say it, that you admit your love could have gone a different way if you'd just gotten back to that hotel room together.

You replay that night over and over in your head, but with different endings. In a perfect world, your father would never have even been there in the first place. In a separate, less perfect world, you would not have called out to him, just ignored him the way he ignored you. Then you'd have some peace of mind, and you'd belong with the man you love.

Each time you call Joel, you expect to hear his gruff voice on the other end of the line. And soon enough the ringing stops and goes straight to voicemail, where you leave him the words of your bleeding, broken heart:

"I would've said yes."

You haven't taken the ring out of its box, worried you'll jinx whatever luck you have left. Joel is supposed to kneel, take your hand in his, and place the ring on your finger. You've never envisioned what getting engaged would look like, but it definitely bears some semblance to tradition.

When Chris refused to press charges, the law stepped in and did it for him. Thirty days in the Bexar County Jail is what they sentenced Joel. That was why you couldn't reach him, why you felt like you were hitting a brick wall. It's a relief when you're finally able to speak to him.

"I'm so sorry," you cry to him over the phone, his voice like a warm and soothing balm. You imagine yourself curling into his embrace, allowing his arms to enfold you, make you small and safe, hidden from the dangers and ugliness of the world.

"You ain't got nothin' to be sorry for," he grunts.

"I love you." You sound pitiful over the phone but you don't care. "Joel, let me come see you and we can work it out. Please."

He sighs. "I got somethin' I need to tell you. Might change your mind how ya feel about me."

"What?" you ask quickly, your young mind scrambling to imagine what he could say, as if to fortify your already shattered heart. Your stomach sinks, nausea threatening to make the bile rise in your throat. "Joel, what is it?"

He's quiet for awhile and when he speaks it's monotone. "I've been seein' someone else."

It sounds like he's speaking a foreign language. You shake your head, looking at your wall calendar. It's only December. You last saw him in late September. The biblical manger scene on the church calendar your mom put on the fridge is an evil harbinger of time now lost.

"Who?" you ask, dreading the answer.

"Doesn't matter," he says gruffly, sounding uncomfortable.

"Tell me who," you insist.

With a deep sigh he relents. "Hailey."

Again, it's like hearing a foreign language. "Hailey? The girl I worked with? The one who went to Sarah's party? That Hailey?"

"Yeah."

"How.. how did this happen?"

"Ran into her at a bar my first night out of jail. I was lonely and she was.. she was there for me."

"What do you mean? Did you-" you take a moment to breathe, try not to let your emotions take over.

"I slept with her. That's all it is between us, just fuckin'."

It's like a punch in the gut. No, worse. It's a blade plunging into your heart over and over.

In a blur of upset and disappointment, you utter the words of anyone who's ever had a broken heart: "How could you do this to me?"

There's no answer for it from his side. His refusal to go into detail feels like he's hiding his fling with Hailey on purpose, withholding part of his new life to you, but you never stop to think he might be saving you from the pain he knows is due.

You cry after hanging up on him. You cry more than you did when he left you in San Antonio. You cry until you can no longer see because your eyes are puffy, nearly tiny slits that still somehow shed tears when you think of Joel with your ex-friend.

Once the sadness has been cried out, there remains only rage, simmering and profound. With small, practiced movements, you take the engagement ring in its box and mail it to Joel's address. No note, and no explanation needed.

"You're not yourself," your mom mentions one night when you push your plate away, your dinner barely touched.

"Not hungry," you mumble.

She sighs in exasperation. "I don't know what to do with you. You won't talk to me." She pushes her own plate away and downs the rest of her cheap wine. "You come home from God-knows-where, with a damn bruise on your face."

You touch your cheek where your father had accidentally knocked you backwards, wishing it was the only physical pain you endured from that night.

"..you don't bother with the chores anymore, you lock yourself away in your room, probably not even studying. Do you even attend classes anymore? Do you even care about your future?" she continues.

"No," you say quite simply.

"No??"

You shake your head and shrug, as if answering something as easy as 'do you want to watch a movie later?'

"I don't. Give. A shit."

Anita scoffs, refilling her glass. "Great. That's just great. Maybe I'll drink this entire bottle and give myself alcohol poisoning. Then I wouldn't have to deal with your shitty attitude anymore."

The scrape of your chair as you push away from the table is as loud as nails on a chalkboard. "You want me to talk? I'll talk." You lean forward, relishing this moment where your mom looks scared as shit.

"I said I was in College Station, but I lied. I was fucking Joel every weekend I was away. We met up in hotel rooms and fucked each other's brains out. And the best part of it all was that he loved me," your voice breaks but you're wickedly delighted by the look of shock and disgust on your mother's face.

You're on a tirade now that can't be stopped. "Two months ago I found Dad in San Antonio. I did," you nod, a psychotic kind of laughter breaking from you when she gawks. "And do you know what? He's forgotten all about us. He has a new family, new kids, new young wife. And he doesn't give a shit about you or me. He never really has, has he?" You realize you're standing, towering over her as you spit out all the venom she's ever poured into you right back at her.

"Now.. how does it feel to have the truth shoved in your face? To be deprived of the fantasy world you wanted so badly to live in, cushioned by your idiotic pretenses? Because I'll bet you could've gone your whole life not knowing, staying innocent. Well, Mother Dearest, fuck you."

Without a word you pack your things, your body moving way ahead of your brain, stuffing every necessary item into a couple of bags before you leave her house, with the intention to never return again.

Summer 2004 Louisiana

Staying with friends in a shitty apartment, you finish the rest of the semester before transferring to another school. Three schools in one year probably isn't a very good look on your transcript, but it's the first choice you make that is truly your own. Working two jobs over the summer you finally have the money you need to survive as you begin a new chapter in Louisiana.

You do everything in your power to get over Joel. The first step was deleting his number from your phone, even though you've already memorized it by heart. To be safe, you also delete Tommy's number, and Sarah's. It feels final, and a small part of you wishes they could get a notification informing them you no longer consider them important enough to keep, even as data.

It still stings when you think of Joel with Hailey. She's older, more experienced, and can probably do whatever he wants without being asked. After you've deleted the Millers from your contact list, you hover over Hailey's name, pressing it and, in a moment of antagonism, send her a text. I thought you were my friend, Turns out you're just a fucking slut Then you delete and block her number.

Dating other guys doesn't come very easy. It's as if they can smell the heartbreak on you, sense your loneliness and unease, the untempered anger simmering below the surface of your smile. You're a walking red flag and you know it, but that doesn't stop you.

You grind on a guy at a club after he buys you a few appletinis. Never mind that he's twenty five and trying to get you drunk so you'll fuck him. With your twenty-dollar Charlotte Russe dress hiked up as you drag your sopping panties over his clothed hardness, he sucks the apple flavor off your tongue, one hand gripping your hips while the other slips inside your underwear to rub your clit and you come for the first time in months. So loud, in fact, that you're caught and promptly kicked out of the club. When your partner (you never remember his name) asks to continue at his place, you decline, already walking to the next bar.

Once the high wears off, you are consumed with guilt as you think of Joel. What would he say if he found out? Would he even care? Maybe he's fucking Hailey right now.

And it hits you that it's already been a year since you first slept with him.

You pause in the middle of the street, coming back to earth when a car honks at you, cursing at you to hurry up and fucking move dumb bitch!

Walking on, you can't get the memory of the feel of Joel out of your head: the way his tongue licked into your mouth, fingers traveling down to play between your folds, telling you he needed you nice and wet before he fucked you, those thick fingers slipping in and playing you like a well tuned instrument, his lips gliding over your throat, resting just above your pulse point, then finding their way down the slope of your breasts, taking each nipple between his lips, his beard rasping against your skin.

You try to force the thought away, but it returns manifold. His mouth, the stiffened warmth of his tongue lapping at your cunt, drinking up every fucking drop and telling you you taste so sweet. He doesn't stop until you come more than once, finally fitting himself inside you, teasing you with the first few inches. Sure you can handle the rest, babygirl? before sliding in in one smooth thrust, joining you body and soul, moving against you just how you need.

You cover your face with your hands and wander into an alley, overcome with despair at the loss of your love, the loss of what innocence you thought you had. Both of those things given to someone who only saw fit to fuck you as he wished and discard when he couldn't handle the reality of your personal life.

"Are you okay?" a voice asks, approaching softly from behind. You turn and see a man, another college student like yourself, dressed in jeans and a striped button down. His features blur together until all you hear is his soft Southern accent and all you smell is his Curve cologne. The next thing you know you're kissing him, begging him to touch you, fuck you, and then he's spinning you to face the wall, dress hiked up, panties pulled down. Your arms support you against the wall as he pushes into you from behind and all you think about is him fucking the pain away, pumping into you hard and fast. He's nowhere near as big as Joel, but you've been so touch starved that the sounds coming out of your mouth are shameless.

Without warning you vomit, splashing your shoes and the wall in front of you with appletini puke, and the guy pulls out immediately, getting away from you as fast as he can, tucking himself back into his jeans.

You rest your forehead against the cool brick wall, spitting out the sour taste in your mouth as tears weep freely from your eyes.

September 2004

At the start of sophomore year you're the only one who doesn't have family come down to help move in, to visit with and take silly, memorable photos with. Nobody comes to your dorm and helps you decorate and put your belongings away. By the time your assigned roommate comes with her parents and little brother you're already set up, fresh sheets on your twin bed, your side already claimed.

You're reading when she comes in, a young girl, freshman, with hope in her eyes, excited to meet you, looking forward to her new life away from Montana or Missouri or wherever she says she's from. You're barely listening.

Who you do notice is her dad: mid-forties, slight beer belly, wearing a polo shirt and cargo pants with brand new New Balance shoes. You make eye contact immediately before he shifts his gaze away. His daughter, your new roommate Jessica, starts to unpack, asking you questions about the classes, what student groups to join. You offer what advice you can, stretching out on your bed in your tank top and running shorts. Her dad's eyes roam over your curves when his wife and kids aren't looking, and you unabashedly flirt back, making sure your shorts ride up, pulling down your tank just a little to expose more cleavage.

Once they leave for a quick tour around the campus you're back to your reading.

Jessica's dad comes back. Alone.

"I think I forgot my wallet in here," he says, giving a forced look of timidity as he checks his pockets.

"You didn't," you smirk, putting your book down and sitting up. "But you can stay if you want.."

He doesn't make an excuse about his family and you wouldn't care if they walked in anyway. Once the door is locked his hands are on your body, grabbing your ass while your hand goes down his pants. You tell him exactly what will make you come, and he does it so willingly it almost touches your heart.

Later as he's leaving and you're trying to get his cum off your bedsheets, he's asking you not to say anything to his daughter, as if you'd proudly exclaim that you fucked him, having barely remembered his name.

You're learning that a lot of men are the same at their very core.

You're a fantasy for the older ones, a college coed with daddy issues and an IUD. Having already been with an older man, you know just what they like, and when you give it you live for the way their eyes light up, and a little of their youth comes back to them for a moment.

It's almost pitiful how easy you figure out the opposite sex. Once you know what they want it's easy to become that, to dress how they want, to feign interest in the things they like, even to keep your thoughts to yourself. You learn to live inside your head, which until now has been the hardest thing to do.

But it's necessary when you're holding onto the headboard of some frat guy's bed while fake moaning as he's holding your hips, going as fast as he can because that's what they do in porn. Each and every guy has a Scarface poster above the bed, or Playboy centerfolds taped to the walls, neon lava lamps on the nightstand along with CDs by Kanye West, Franz Ferdinand, or Velvet Revolver. Your thoughts are elsewhere as you give halfhearted head.

You learn to feel nothing, not even pleasure, because they certainly can't tell that you fake every sigh and gasp.

But the older men, the professors, TA's, even men you meet off campus at the bars in town.. they are what interest you. It's not common for you to find yourself bent over a desk during your professor's office hours, or with your panties around your ankles when a one-on-one study session turns to something else.

You fuck men who remind you of Joel because you can't fuck Joel. It's his hands on you instead of theirs, his breath hot on your ear.. but no one else can fill the part of you that Joel hollowed out for himself when he made you his on a hot Texas summer night.

Though you think about him every day, soon enough, you start to wonder whether he was ever even real, or just someone you made up.

March 2006

Spring Break finds you at a beach house on the coast. The friends you came with are nowhere to be found, and you're pretty sure your drink is laced with something. The music is so loud that you hurry out into the night, seeking solace before the roaring waters of the gulf, black water topped with silver waves. Their rushing sound is soothing, yet you sink to your knees because your world is too heavy.

"I'm dying," you whisper to yourself, crying. Your chest feels tight. It's so hard to breathe, and it feels like your heart will explode.

Only one person on the entire planet comes to mind, and after all this time you still remember his number. You dial it, fingers savoring the press of each button on your phone. How many times have you called Joel and hung up before he could answer? There have been a couple of times when you dialed him while having sex, not sure if he ever picked up, hoping that he heard you moving on and moving away from him. That'll show him.

But you can't even breathe to talk to him. And what if he doesn't answer? What if he's changed his number?

You leave all his numbers entered on the screen but you don't hit the call button. Not yet. You have to think of something to say. Tell him you love him before your body rejects the air it's trying so desperately to claim into your lungs.

"Hey, are you all right?" a gentle voice asks behind you, and a hand is on your shoulder.

You flashback to that night in the alley, the guy who took advantage of you, but this time it doesn't go that way.

A man with soulful eyes and a kind smile kneels next to you, his hand remaining on your shoulder. "I think you're having a panic attack. Can I help you with that?" His voice is as kind and gentle as he looks, and you nod.

"Can you breathe for me? Like this." He inhales deeply and slowly, and when you try it it feels so foreign but you manage it.

"There you go," he says quietly. "Now breathe out.."

Soon he has your breathing back to normal, and you don't have to force your body to do what it naturally does.

"Tell me five things you can see," he continues.

A shaky breath in. Hey, at least it's a breath. "Um.. the water.. the sand.. the moon.. you.."

That's when you get your first good look at him, beyond the smile that works its warmth into your heart, and the eyes that search yours, exuding humanity that you haven't experienced in a long time. He's really cute. You can't deny that your heart skips a couple of beats.

"One more thing?" he says, his voice soft.

You snap back to reality. "Uh.. a ship.. out there in the distance?"

He glances behind him at the water, seeing the great big liner, possibly a cruise ship, on the inky horizon, and takes a seat next to you. "How are you feeling now?" he asks.

"Good.. I think. Better." You nod. "Thank you."

"May I?" he lifts your hand from your lap and turns the palm up, his fingers poised above your pulse point. You nod again.

He presses his touch to your wrist, and you watch his eyes calculating, his lips silently moving while counting. Despite everything you've been through the past two years, this is the most intimate thing you've felt.

"Your pulse is normal." He gently places your hand back on your lap. "Do you want to go back to the party or do you want to stay out here a little longer? If you want to go back," he adds, "I'll be with you, make sure you're okay."

You opt to stay on the beach, embracing the quiet for a little longer. This is the first time a man has had you alone and hasn't tried to fuck you. It's nice, for once.

Towards the end of the night he leads you back to the party house, guiding you through the throng of people there, the air rife with alcohol and the pungent aroma of weed. You're holding his hand, you realize as you walk together. He's your lifeline in this very moment. You grab your jacket and purse from one of the bedrooms, passing by couples making out, some slipping into rooms to do much more than kissing. To think you could have easily ended up there with a random guy makes your skin crawl.

"What was your name again?" you shout to him over the music.

"Justin!"

"Dustin?"

"Justin!"

You both laugh. You tell him your name and of course he mishears you.

He drives you to the small motel room you're sharing with your friends who are inevitably crashing at the beach house, too drugged or drunk or fucked to return for the night.

Justin smiles at you as the engine idles. "Is it okay if I ask you out?"

You exchange numbers, your heart thrumming with a pleasant nervousness. You haven't had a boyfriend since..

..not since Joel.

Don't think about him.

"You can reach out to me if you ever just feel like talking," he says. "I'm here."

So you do, and after a week of texting and a couple of late night calls and getting to know each other, you go for a date for the first time in three years.

Justin picks you up in a Honda Civic, and as you get comfy in the passenger seat you breathe in the scent of the black ice air freshener and his spearmint gum. The radio blasts Smashing Pumpkins at a level you know is too much but it only adds to the excitement of the evening.

He's a year older than you, native to Louisiana, and on leave from the Army.

Living just a half hour from your campus, you start to spend much of your time together. Movie dates, dinner dates, and dates where you just drive around, talking about nothing and everything.

You only sleep with him three months into your relationship, desiring to take things slow for once, to know him better than you have ever known anyone.

It's nice. It's like what you see in the movies, two people wrapped up in each other, soft, no words needed. For once your head isn't forced down into the pillow, or your pussy spit on. For once it's just normal, and normal feels so good.

June 2008 New Orleans, LA

Bourbon Street is alive, electric, no matter that it's a Sunday night. People will drift into work tomorrow still drunk on Zombies and Hurricanes. The entire street reeks of piss, but people either don't care or have been here long enough that it no longer harasses their senses. But more often than not, people are having too much of a good time to care.

You're behind the bar at little hole-in-the-wall place, slinging daiquiris and kamikaze shots when you hear a familiar voice and a tap on your shoulder. "Hey there, Cherry."

You turn and your eyes go wide. "Tommy!" You reach over the bar to hug him, nearly spilling a beer on him in the process. "It's been ages! How are you?

He looks older, more mature, even though it's only been five years since you last saw him: he's letting his facial hair grow, but his eyes still sparkle with mirth and kindness. "It's good to see you, girl." He's no longer with Sofia, their romance having ended a few years before, on friendly terms or so your cousin claimed. You always blamed yourself for the demise of their relationship, believing that your breakup with Joel cast a shadow over her own connection with Tommy.

"What are you doing here?" you ask.

"We're good, just here in town, expanding the business."

"We?" Your hands start to shake, and you put away the bottle of gin you have your grasp on. Your heart starts to pound before the next words even leave his mouth.

"Yeah, me and Joel are lettin' off a little steam, wanted to toss back a few before we go back to the hotel."

You feel his eyes on you before you're even aware that he's here. Looking up, at a small table near the entrance, is Joel Miller. Your heart stops, and you don't know how it is you're still alive. He looks you up and down, appraising every feature and detail about you, and you wonder if you've changed in five years or not. You wonder if he still loves or hates you.

"...and we thought this was that bar where girls dance and pour tequila down guys' throats, but this is just as good 'cause you're here."

Tommy manages to snap you out of your trance. "Oh.. you mean Coyote Ugly.."

"Yeah, they opened one in Austin a couple years back but this one ain't never wanna go nowhere," he motions back with his head to Joel.

You return your gaze to the older brother but he's no longer looking at you, his glance dotting along the crowd, following a younger woman as she saunters up to him, smiling, flirting. Your stomach turns and you force a smile at Tommy.

"Whatever you want is on me."

Tommy's smile and laughter is infectious. "You sure about that, Cherry?"

"I'm sure," you say, pouring out a shot for yourself. "You know, nobody's called me that in a long time."

"What's that?" he catches a bright sparkle on your left hand, and quickly takes it within his own. "Cherry, you didn't tell me you were engaged!"

Joel must have one ear straining to listen because Tommy's outburst got his attention right away and he swivels his head to look at you.

"Yeah.. he's a nice guy." That's how you describe Justin to everyone: he's a nice guy. He'd proposed last year after your one year dating anniversary. "He's in the Army, they're shipping him out a week after our wedding. And I'm going with him."

"He's a good guy if he's an Army man," Tommy approves, just as Joel approaches, the woman he was talking to now gone. "So? Are we invited to the weddin'?"

You can't tell if he's teasing or not, and Joel's poker face gives zero indication as well. "I already sent out save-the-dates, but if you'd like to come I won't object. The more the merrier." For the first time you see Joel up close and your heart stutters, an irregular beat that you'd gotten used to in the aftermath of your disastrous breakup.

He's still so fucking handsome: the dark brown of his hair fading to what you can already see as gray, with gray patches in his beard. There are more lines around his eyes. There's still that jolt of electricity when your gazes meet.

"You happy?" he asks, his countenance giving nothing away of his true feelings, so it's difficult to gage whether he's legitimately asking, or simply being nice.

"I'm happy." But it sounds forced, like taking the pliers to your own mouth to fix your own abscess.

Joel only nods as you pour a couple whiskeys for them. "To Cherry getting married!" Tommy beams his salute and the three of you down the shots quickly.

It's sometime after your shift, and you're in the parking lot with Tommy, his arms around you as he presses you to the side of his truck. Or maybe it's Joel's truck. You don't know and you don't care, all you want is to feel something again. The nearness of Joel all night has rewired your brain, and as Tommy deepens the kiss, you're disappointed that it's not Joel's taste, not Joel's scent that surrounds you. Luckily he's not a bad kisser, and his hands roam everywhere you want them to be.

Better the wrong Miller than no Miller at all, your whiskey-soaked brain tells you.

"Always thought you were pretty," he whispers, hands palming your breasts over your shirt. "But you were Joel's from the moment he set eyes on ya, told me so himself. Leave that one alone, she ain't for you.'"

"He didn't want me enough.." your voice cracks as tears spill effortlessly down your cheeks.

"Don't cry," he says gently. "I don't got any tissues with me." He uses his thumb to wipe away your tears. "Still want me to give you a ride home?"

You nod, telling him you need to make a quick trip to the ladies' room to fix your makeup, and in the narrow hallway where the restrooms are hidden from the rest of the bar, you run into Joel.

"Sorry," you mumble, trying to get around him, but he puts his large hand on your shoulder to stop you.

"You gonna take my brother home and fuck him? Then marry some Army jackass?" he says as in disbelief.

You put your guard up, tougher now than you were five years ago. "What I do is my business. By the way, how's Hailey?"

"Who?"

"Don't play dumb." You push past him and start for the women's room to fix your makeup when Joel stops you again.

"You ain't gonna fuck my brother tonight, or any other night, babygirl," he utters.

There's a fire lit under you now. "Oh? What are you, the Morality Police? Fuck off."

"Fuck me," he says. "You know you want to. You're probably wet from Tommy, and I appreciate his gettin' ya ready for me, but I notice the subtler signs: your eyes are glistenin', you've been lickin' your lips every time you look at me, and you probably haven't noticed, but your nipples are pokin' right through your shirt. I bet they're just beggin' for attention, huh?"

He says all this while just standing in front of you, not crowding you like any other guy would. And you realize he's not even trying to rile you up. He's giving you a choice.

"What makes you think I want you? I have a good man who loves me. He's all I need."

"Needs and wants are different, babygirl. Once you're married you're stuck with him til' death. Hope you realize that."

"I'm aware." But it's already hit you: you'll be with Nice Justin for the rest of your life. You'll be a Nice Wife and maintain a Nice Home for the inevitable Nice Kids you'll have. You hate Joel for putting this thought in your head.

"He fuck you like I did?" he asks in an intimate tone.

You shake your head, already pulling him into the restroom with you. "Joel, no one's ever fucked me like you did."

Your body delights in the quick, sweet reunion with him. It's as if time has never separated you, as if both your hearts are whole again. His mouth greedily devours your kisses. He tastes like whiskey and cigarettes, the latter a bad habit. You're shoved into one of the stalls, fumbling with the lock while Joel's hands find their way across your body, one under your shirt, palming your breast, the other going into your jeans, expertly finding your soaked panties, crooking his fingers into your cunt.

Your back is pressed against his broad chest, his cock already hard inside his jeans, rubbing furiously against your lower back until he bends you forward to press against your ass, finally pulling your jeans and panties down in one go.

Too much time has passed for you to be gentle or even careful. He presses you to the stall door, nothing but heat and raw need between you. Words not needed, your only communication grunts and whispered curses that echo against the tiles of the cramped space.

"You ain't takin' no slow and gentle with me, sugar. i ain't got the patience for that right now." He nudges against you and it's a wonder you don't burn up with all the fire that inflames you. After so long it's a labor of love to fit him again, but as his fingers add pressure to your clit you get wetter, opening for him as easily as you did years ago.

"There she is," he says. "Been waitin' for me, been needin' a real man to fill ya up, ain't ya, babygirl?" he huffs in your ear, breath warm against your skin. "Answer me, baby."

"Yes.." your voice comes out in a hiss, your brain only thinking about his cock, the way it stuffs you, the only thing that completes you.

"That's what I thought. These lil' college boys don't know what to do with such a tight, pretty pussy. And neither does your fiance." He hikes one of your legs up, tucking your knee under his arm, keeping you nice and open, watching himself slide in and out of your weeping slit, slamming himself against you as he sinks his thumb into your puckered asshole, eliciting an all-but muffled gasp from you. "I know you called me just so I could listen to them fuckin' ya.. I know you never came with them, not once. This pussy is mine, has been from the very start."

You're no longer a virginal high school grad, and he takes what he wants from you, giving you what he knows you need.

The door opens but he doesn't stop, just quiets his own noises and clamps his hand over your mouth to squelch your sounds. The stall door jiggles and you put your hand over it until the person grumbles and walks away, muttering about having to piss. When they're gone Joel pumps into you relentlessly, chasing his pleasure and yours. He knows by now what will make you come, which combination of touches and kisses make your knees weak and your clit stand at attention.

"Fucking come for me, you little slut," he whispers, his tone almost loving if you didn't know better, and when you let go the pleasure is almost painful. Years of need and pent-up longing are released as your cunt squeezes around his rigid cock, milking him, smiling when you feel the warm spurt of his come as he presses deep at your cervix.

"That's my girl," he says proudly, your come spilling out already, lining his dick with a mix of both of you. "She's wrecked, split wide open like she's meant to be.. gonna send you back to your man drippin' with my come, used up like a good lil' whore."

His words add a sweet sting to the pleasure that has yet to ebb, resounding through your veins like thunder that takes its time in rolling away from the storm. Whore.. well, he's not wrong.

When your heavy breathing has subsided, you feel him start to slip out of you and you put your hand back on his thigh, a silent gesture to hold off.

"Missed you.. needed you," you mutter, tears of joy and relief and heartache brim in your eyes, until you allow the pleasure of the moment to take over without thought or feeling.

"I know.." he says softly, slipping out of you, careful as you're still sensitive.

That could have been the end. You could have gone your separate ways, but you're drawn to each other, and that doesn't go away easily. When you emerge from the rear entrance of the bar, Tommy looks up, and you can tell he expected that you'd end up with Joel instead. He simply nods as you pass him, walking with Joel to the tiny apartment you share with Justin, who's out of town visiting family. And as you and Joel spend the rest of the night locked in each other's embrace, you realize you don't care if he walks in on you, kicks you out, breaks off the engagement. You're with Joel and nothing else matters.

By dawn you wake up to find that he's gone, leaving only the scent of him on the pillow next to you. No note, no explanation, no goodbye. And once again you're sure you only dreamed up Joel Miller, used him as a mental escape for the life you were tying yourself down to.

It's very atypical for you to forgo a period, even at your most stressed, you can count on seeing that bright red stain on the toilet paper around the middle of every month. And when, by mid-July, you haven't even spotted, the first thing you do is take a pregnancy test.

All the men before have been careful, or you've been fortunate enough not to have a scare. But when you finally force yourself to look at the the little blue plus sign developing on the test strip, you realize this is no scare.

You're pregnant with Joel's baby.

The wedding takes place as expected, and your heart sinks when you walk down the aisle, seeing the joy on Justin's face. You've told him the baby is his, and he doesn't doubt it for a moment, that's how much he loves you. But for a fleeting moment you want so bad for it to be Joel at the altar instead.

The ceremony goes by in a blur, as everyone warned you it would. Group pictures are taken, the videographer is capturing the moments that photos alone can't encapsulate.

"Over here, honey!" photographer gets your attention. You barely hear him as you watch a figure walking out, one of the last guests to leave the church. From behind he looks like Joel, but you can't quite tell, and when your eyes fully focus, he's gone, and your own vision can't be trusted.

Tommy gave his regrets that he couldn't attend, and Joel simply never RSVP'd. But in your heart you know it was him, you know he had to come and see for himself that you're moving on, growing up and growing away from him. The only tether you have to him is the baby growing in your belly.

"Front and center, Mrs. Williams," Justin smirks, giving your cheek a soft kiss. "One more picture then we're onto the reception."

March 2009

Your daughter is born in the springtime, a loud and howling child from the moment she leaves you. The only time she's quiet is when she's in your arms.

"We need to decide on a name," Justin says, a little miffed that his daughter cries when he holds her despite his best efforts to soothe her.

"I told you, I like Ophelia," you say, gathering her into your arms to feed her.

"It's such a prissy name. And I can already tell she's not gonna be prissy."

"Then what do you suggest?" you ask tiredly. He doesn't seem to understand you've gone through labor for twenty four hours, only thinking of himself.

"Eleanor, after my mother."

You groan. "I always hated that name."

"Please, babe. It'll make her so happy to have her granddaughter as her namesake."

"Fine. Fine. But her middle name is Ophelia."

"Deal." Justin smiles as he fills out the paperwork.

"Eleanor.." you tell your baby. "But I'm going to call you Ellie."

Your mother once told you that when you become a parent, your life is not your own anymore. She said it as a kind of warning, a prophecy yet to be fulfilled when you were just a pre-teen, rolling your eyes at her warning you away from all kinds of danger.

You never expected she'd be right. Every waking moment holds more weight than ever before. Ellie is completely dependent on you, even as she grows and becomes more independent. It's you she looks to for validation when she does something right, and you she looks to when she knows she's in trouble.

She's smart as a whip, quick with a comeback and well versed in anything she can get her hands on. She excels in sports too-- individually, at first. As she gets older you notice a little bit of a mean streak in her. While she craves friends and wants to be part of a team, she has trouble making connections sometimes.

You have to wonder if part of that comes from Joel, his stubbornness and his lone wolf tendencies. Has he unknowingly passed down the most insecure parts of himself to his daughter? Sorry, his secondborn daughter?

Now there's literal proof of Joel Miller as a person, in human form, and she's trudging upstairs with her field hockey equipment and slamming her bedroom door.

Between the years of 2004 and 2008 you could almost convince yourself that he didn't exist, that he was a figment of your runaway imagination, born of a father complex and attachment issues. You work on yourself in therapy, feeling small as you divulge the innermost secrets of your heart and the intrusive thoughts, even going so far as to reveal that you've looked for Joel on social media, now that everyone has a profile.

Born of an intrusive thought, you type his name into the search bar on Facebook. Getting quite a few findings of those with the same name, you narrow the search. Joel Miller, Austin Texas His company logo comes up as its own page, and you notice it's changed, probably Tommy's idea as Joel never liked change.

Searching further you find his picture. There it is: Joel Miller, Boston Massachusetts

Huh?

You click on his profile while your heart thumps strongly within your ribcage. You wish you could let it out, set it free.

There he is, looking older than the last time you saw him, the grey more prominent in his hair, looking serious in his selfie. Even though it's just a selfie, a random moment in time, you can't help blushing, as if he's looking at you through the screen, appraising your own measure of aging. You wonder what you were doing that exact moment he took the picture.

But your hunger for knowledge needs to be fed, and scrolling down you swear you misread it at first.

Relationship status: Married

There's a roaring in your ears as your mouse hovers over the name next to those words: Tess Servopoulos

From there you check out her profile, see that she's from Detroit, five years younger than Joel. While his profile pic is only of himself, hers shows them together, on a hiking trail somewhere, Joel's arms around her from behind.

You slam the laptop shut, your blood buzzing in your veins. You feel distractingly alive, the heartache spreading through every muscle and nerve ending. Your past is brought to full fucking focus.

Against your better judgment you open the screen again and search through Tess's photos, specifically the ones of Joel. Most of the comments are from a couple of guys named Bill and Frank, who after some digging you come to find are married, and friends with Joel and Tess. You hit the jackpot when you find a video she uploaded, a fifteen-second clip of Joel holding a baby. Your heart stops when you realize the baby isn't his but Sarah's, and he's now a grandfather.

It feels like you're spying on them. You know so much about them by now, and the one glaring omission is children. They don't seem to have any.

Going back to Joel's profile, you hover the mouse dangerously over the Add Friend button. When you click it, it's the strongest rush you've felt in ages.

Weeks later, he hasn't accepted it. The sparkle of your anticipation is dulled, and with a heavy heart you click to cancel the request.

A couple years down the road you get a notification from Facebook Messenger while you're watching Narcos.

Message Request. Sarah Miller Hey! It's been forever! How are you?

dividers by @saradika-graphics 👑

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banquetwriter · 9 months ago

Text

୨୧ untitled ୨୧

pairing: Johnnie Guilbert ♡︎ Reader

warnings: ୭̥⋆*｡ crying, major deppression

summary: ʚ you go through a depressive episode and Johnnie helps ɞ

Words: 1777

An: so this was horrible for me to write and I'm so so sorry

Guilt was racking through your body. You don't have any energy left in your body nowadays, it's the reason you haven't posted in almost two months. It's the reason your room and subsequent house are filthy. It's the reason why no matter how hard you try you never ever seem to fit in.

Your cheeks are tear-stained, and you haven’t washed your face in god knows how long. You've showered sure, but you haven't done your proper skincare in weeks.

Your depression has been a part of your life for as long as you can remember. It gets better, sometimes, other times it drains you of everything you have. Every day felt like a battle for you. You sigh looking at your phone it is almost 4 pm.

Your boyfriend, Johnnie, had texted you almost 2 hours ago. The rough nights you experienced led you to wake up late in the afternoon, so the plan usually involved Johnnie heading over whenever you woke up or after he was done filming.

He has wished you a good ‘morning’ and to let him know when he could head over. You wanted to indulge, truly you did, but Johnnie didn't deserve that. He had enough in his life to worry about. There was no need to worry him with your pathetic life.

The issue is you couldn't keep him on the hook like this. You sighed picking up your phone, you numbly typed out a plain excuse, telling him today wouldn't work. You put the phone down and roll over in your bed again.

You sat curled in a little ball staring out your window. There were crows sitting on top of the next-door building. You sat and quietly observed the birds, watching them move side to side. You wish life were that simple, all you had to worry about was eating and flying around.

You didn't have to worry about the eternally crushing depression that sucks your life form. Your face heated up again with the thought of Johnnies, tears pooling in your eyes.

You missed him so much. He was such a caring loving person, it wasn't always easy for him to show that. He had his ways though. Always make sure you eat, get decent sleep, etc.

Your relationship was usually the opposite way, you know just how much he struggled. You were going to be there for absolutely all of it no matter what. Nothing was going to stop you from loving him. He shouldn't have to worry about you.

But he did, it was the reason why when he saw your texting while editing he immediately called you. You were always such a beacon of positivity for him. He knew the signs, from himself and his friends. You had stopped eating unless he forced you to.

You were wearing long sleeves and sweatpants only. You never went out, just stayed in your room. He can't even remember the last time you said more than a few words to him in a single conversation. He placed the phone next to his ear and nervously tapped his foot on the floor of his room.

“Hello?” you answered with a croak. Johnnie never called you unless he really really missed your voice. Which for him was usually the case when it was nighttime. Those were extreme cases, he hated talking on the phone and absolutely despised it. Too many nerves for him.

He didn't speak for a second, half expecting you not to answer for some reason. “Hey,” he starts. You hold your breath for a second knowing what the conversation was about before he even started to speak.

“Can I please come over? I'm worried about you.”Johnnie says over the phone, fiddling with the zipper of his jacket. You inhaled with a shaky breath. “You can. It won't be a lot of fun though,” you mumbled back to him fiddling with your piercing.

“Well- when can I come over?” he asked. This awkward tension filled the phone line, the systematic white noise causing your heart to beat heavily. “Whenever you want Johnnie I'm not leaving the house anytime ever,” you reply sarcastically earning an annoyed grunt from Johnnie.

“I can be over soon, I'll let you know when my Uber shows up and I'm on my way ok?” He knew your bad attitude was because of something, and no matter how much it was upsetting him he needed to be here for you.

You on the other hand could cry from guilt. How dare you be a pathetic sack all day, cancel on your boyfriend only for him to kindly offer to be there for you and you are rude to him? On top of that, he has to pay to drive to YOUR house! “No Johnnie don't call an Uber I will come pick you up.” you offered, standing up and searching for your keys.

“I thought you weren't leaving.” he rebutted. You took a deep breath, “but I love you, so I'm not gonna make you pay to cheer me up ok?” you spoke finally finding your keys. “I don't want to stress you out.” you heard over the phone.

You tried to fight his kindness but after a minute it was clear he wasn't going to let you drive. Today was a relaxing day for you, at least it was supposed to be.

You were a protector, it's what made Johnnie fall so in love with you. You were so kind and caring for him, constantly taking care of him when he had those days when he just couldn't take it anymore.

You never did it with the intention to receive it though. So when Johnnie knocked on your door and you trudged to open it for him it shocked you how much he did care.

You tried to make yourself look strong but as your eyes locked tears pooled crowding your vision. You turned away from the door and him as you covered your face with your hands.

You couldn't stop the pull of dread that filled your heart. You felt your knees touch the floor as you collapsed onto the ground. You could hear the door close and Johnnie rushed to your side. He was speaking about something, maybe he was saying how you were going to be ok.

Maybe he was begging you to tell him what was going on. You weren't sure. All you could focus on was ringing in your ears, the thumping of your heart, and the crocodile tears that leaped from your face.

His hands ran against your back and shoulders. Eventually, you were able to look up at him. He wasn't wearing any makeup, just a hat with a button-up and skinny jeans. All you could mutter out was a broken “I'm sorry.”

Your voice cracked and shattered as you spoke. Your boyfriend and the love of your life stared at you back, his face heating up his own tears forming. He sat with you behind your couch on the floor.

“Let's move to the couch,” he said his voice coming out falsely confident, you shook your head, yes taking his hand that helped you up. He wasn't used to helping people like this, he would try his best and maybe give advice.

But he tried to do what you did with him. He sat you down on the couch, taking note of your appearance. You had dulled messy hair, dark almost permanent circles under your eyes, you looked pale and gaunt your face seemingly shrunk.

He rushed away from you, getting you a cup of water, something you did for him without fail. He set it in your hands knowing the coolness would ground you. He moved to your side sitting down next to you. He hesitantly placed his hand on your chest feeling your heartbeat.

It was rapid and intense as he pulled you close to him, wrapping his other arm around you and tilting his head on your shoulder. As you slowly sipped the water between hiccups he felt your heartbeat slow and your breath wasn't so rapid. You were calming down.

Once you finished your cup you set it down and shifted so your head was resting on his almost bare chest. He moved his hat off and sat normally on the couch as you cuddled up to him. He wasn't sure what he should say that could help.

After all, he wasn't very good at this but he so desperately wanted to be. “I don't know when this really started for me. As long as I can remember I was different. Things that seemed so small for other people worried me so much,” you spoke, finally breaking the silence.

He knew some of your past and struggles but nothing too deep. He wanted to hear them from you. This was the best way to do that. He didn't say anything yet, he just looked down and observed you as you played against him.

“I felt this feeling when I was all alone and it was cold and rainy outside. It was almost like a shiver up my spine. I was feeling so safe and protected all alone like that, if I hadn't frozen I could have stayed in the rain forever.” he wasn't sure where exactly your story was going but he knew you and he also knew it was important.

“I was so comfortable with being alone, that stayed with me. There are days more often than not when I cannot do anything. I sit and rot in my bed all day, I don't sleep, I don't eat, I don't do anything.” Johnnie did not know that. He knew since he was busy with filming you often just stayed home.

It doesn't sound like that was a good thing, however. “I am drowning but I've pretended to stay afloat for so long. I'm so fucking tired Johnnie I don't know what I'm going to do anymore.” Your voice was calm but powerful.

You didn't move but you could hear Johnnie's heartbeat increase. “I haven't taken care of myself in so long.” this was whispered, for a second you weren't sure if you had said it out loud. You suppose you did when Johnnie pulled you away from you, your confession hung on the air like wet clothes.

He took a second before he nearly engulfed you with a hug. He squeezed your whole body tight, “Please don't leave.” was all he whispered in your ear. He cradled your body tightly. He slowly started to rock you back and forth. The lull of his body slowly sent you to sleep.

#jake and johnnie #johnnie guilbert #johnnie guilbert fluff #johnnie guilbert x reader #johnnie guilbert x you #johnnie x you

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not-goldy · 5 months ago

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I ain't gonna lie. For the first time I been thinking about Jikook locked away isolated together in the middle of nowhere all day every day serving and now seeing how they can't stop bickering. I really hope they haven't gotten in there and started cause it's way stressful in there, then it is in a cozy camper in the peaceful woods, that had them bickering in 5 minutes of arriving. I been thinking about that all day. I also was thinking about JK saying he wants to do this after military for years with Jimin and I am really hoping Military doesn't break that plan and hinder it in any way when they come out. I hope they come out the same. They'll be different, but I hope also the same. I am also hoping that pent up tension they had, was completely out of their system before they enlisted. Like got everything off their chest. I mean as soon as they got a break, they just kinda went their separate ways tho riding with other people. Not saying that's bad or anything since they were going back home together, but dang, they really push the hell out of each other's buttons for attention. They been doing this for years and know their dynamic better than we do tho and for all we know this is how they've always been in private, but what we were seeing of them in OT7 was more contained, edited and watered down and subdued because of the Hyungs around them keeping them in check. No wonder RM was ready to fight the staff for putting him with Jikook. For the first time, I get it RM, I feel you man. I feel for all their Hyungs, cause they're both totally unhinged and wild as hell. lol Gotta love them.

Bickering? Sorry I'm not gonna read that.

When Yoonmin "bicker" its cute cos they giving old married couples vibe

When Kook rough handles Jin its a match made in heaven. When he stresses Namjoon out its a boy crush.

But when Jikook "bicker and rough house" it's weird and unheard of right?? Even though they are literally the same person's in those other dynamics.

We been here before several times and yall are starting to get on my nerves yall remember when jimin and Kook were drunk playing soccer or football and he shoved Jimin so hard I nearly passed out seeing that??

Or when Jimin injured his leg after breaking Jungkook's mosquito net and falling as he was being chased off by Jungkook???

This is them. They not doing nothing we haven't seen or heard them do before.

Jimin asks him to carry a heavy table and he goes carry it Jimimshi you're strong you got this.

I don't think they both would do this or want to do this if they felt they had to be anything BUT THEMSELVES.

If their interaction makes you uncomfortable to watch perhaps it should be a sign to you that you've over romanticed them.

Of course this is THEM like what ain't you understanding 😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩😩

THIS IS JIKOOK TOOOOO AH

Remember when we talked about what we expected from the show and yall asked me and I said I want to know what Jikook's idea of entertainment is????

This is them curating a show for you - a show they think showcases their dynamic sells their chemistry and is entertaining- so to hear you say all this as if they were sneak filmed and unaware of their environment or how they coming across to people watching them is difficult to read through.

Like I said they owe us nothing and this is nothing they themselves haven't said to us that they do behind cams. It's just the cameras don't follow them well into those private lives you talk about even though they wish they could follow them and capture that moment.

You are the same people who would have gone feral if Jimin eating out Jungkook's neck was caught on camera but imagine how annoying it would be if JK solos also came on here complaining that was abusive and bullying for him biting Kooks neck like that.

Yall are becoming insufferable stop.

Jimin done told us all about Jungkook whooping him spanking him scolding him manhandling him remember when he said JK whoops him and JK said don't say stuff like that....

However you feel about this part of their dynamic it seems they both enjoy it.

And hybe pays attention to the metrics it saw how engaged sparked each time they shared those glimpses into their private life each time we discussed it raved over it and they know it's something we like to see.

Stop making this something it's not cos yall sounding like delulu solos at this point like what really did you think was going to happen?? Tell me your ridiculous expectations of two closeted queer men and I'll tell you just how delusional you are.

People call them a bunch of smoking vaping alcoholics who chase women up and down the clubs like they collecting Pokémons

If they not gonna show them smoking vaping getting drunk to a stupor chasing and hitting on boys and girls fucking random strangers down the street talking shit bout army and all the people they keeping it on their chest for- what the fuck makes you think they will out themselves like that on their show???

Yall keep reading negative meanings into their relationship and interactions and yet they keep telling and showing yall they want to be together, they enjoy eachother's company and want to do the things yall thing they hate or that is hurting one of them.

Jimin is not afraid to establish boundaries or cut toxic people off and out of his life. If he felt JK was one he knows what to do. He is one to call JK out for not returning texts and calls, for not wishing members a happy birthday for speaking rudely to members for going out to club during Pandemic.

Yes he's manhandling Jimin and yet Jimin will chose to go to the moon to the desert to military

Certain parts of their "private lives" have been censored and will always be censored

Military won't change their plans cos how else would they explain their relationship if not through content

Like yall get that they coming up with these shows to justify why they gotta be together right????

Like yall get that if it's not because they "work" together they SHOULDN'T BE AROUND EACH OTHER ALL THE TIME RIGHT????

THEY ARE SUPPOSED TO BE LIVING SINGLE LIVES INDEPENDENT LIVES IN SEPERATE HOMES DOING SEPERATE THINGS BECAUSE FOR ALL INTENT AND PURPOSES THEY ARE STRAIGHT

At least to the public eye.

THATS WHAT PEOPLE WHO AREN'T GAY IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH EACHOTHER ARE SUPPOSED TO DO.

AND BELIEVE IT OR NOT THATS WHAT THEY WANT YOU, THE MEDIA AND THE GOVERNMENT TO BELIEVE🙂

UNTILL THEY ARE OUT THEY WILL ALWAYS GIVE PERFORMATIVE HETERSEXUALITY

AND UNTILL ONE OF THEM TRANSITIONS AS A TRANS WOMAN THEY WILL ALWAYS ACT LIKE THE BOYS THAT THEY ARE

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spee-eeeeee · 4 months ago

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“Welcome our house! My misty”

Tomas (a little bit like Yandere)x female reader

I wrote this in Japanese and then translated it into English with Google Translate, so I've edited it but apologize if there are any mistakes! I hope you like this,,,

Warning: kidnapping

An unfamiliar ceiling spreads out before your eyes. Where on earth are you? Yesterday, you were sure you had been sleeping in your room like usual. But when you woke up, you found yourself self lying on a bed with clean white sheets. A blanket had even been carefully placed over you. You looked around, and saw a teddy bear on the edge of the bed, two small tables and chairs nearby, and no windows in the room. And a wooden door.

　Stay calm, don't panic. There's nothing good to come from being in a hurry. Everything will be okay,,,,First, you took a deep breath to calm your palpitations. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. You felt a little better. Luckily, your hands and feet weren't chained or tied with rope. You got off the bed and touched the doorknob, but of course it wasn't unlocked. There wasn't much furniture in the room, so there was nowhere to look for anything, and you couldn't find any clues to escape from this room. There was nothing you could do, so you reluctantly sat on the bed and sighed.

　Suddenly, you heard the sound of the door in front of you unlocking. You could only stare at the door as it creaked in surprise. Then, a man stepped in.

"Good morning, sweetheart ,,,,you're awake! How are you feeling?"

The man asked you as if you were lover, as if you'd known each other for a long time. Even though it was your first meeting.

"Who are you? Did you kidnap me here?"

You couldn't help but ask. You never know what someone might do if you provoke them. The man was visibly muscular, and if he hit you even once, you’re sure you would lose consciousness easily. Perhaps seeing your confused and impatient expression, the man began to introduce himself.

"I haven't introduced myself yet. I'm Tomas. Sorry for being rough with you. But I don't mean to hurt you."

　Even if you make a big fuss and try to escape, you won't be able to win against this man. You have no choice but to obey him obediently.

"Are you hungry? I made breakfast for you! I'll bring it to you so wait a moment."

　He said, and left the room. Of course, the door was locked again.

A few minutes later, you heard the sound of the door being unlocked again, and Tomas came into the room with a smile on his face, carrying a tray. He put it on the table, sat down in the chair opposite, and looked at me. He said with a slightly shy smile.

"I hope it's good."

On the tray were an egg omelet with ketchup, a colorful vegetable salad, steaming hot soup, and water. If this wasn't the place where the kidnapper...you mean, Tomas, had brought you, what an exciting breakfast it would have been. No one would want to eat something made by a kidnapper. It wouldn't be surprising if there was something foreign in it. Suspicious medicine... But you thought it would be bad if you didn't eat here and upset Tomas, so you reluctantly moved to the seat opposite.

　you prepared myself, and took the omelette. The fluffy egg spread in my mouth. It wasn't bad at all, in fact the opposite. The soup had a mild taste. The salad dressing seemed homemade, but it was very well made. You didn't want to admit it, but you had to admit that it was delicious. When you finished eating your breakfast, Tomas said happily.

"I'm glad you like my cooking. From today you'll be living here! And as your lover, I'll do anything to make you comfortable my misty,,,"

Living is the wrong word to locking you in. And he just called you his "lover." You couldn't keep up.

"Well, I'm going to go and clean up this."

While you were thinking about what he was going to do, he gently pulled me to him and kissed your forehead. You were frozen in shock, but he picked up the tray and left the room. You didn't have time to feel disgusted. All you could do was stand there.

Part2↓

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cinhomi · 11 months ago

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It’s 🎀 again so hear me out ok!.Dilf!Felix wo is your friend’s dad….

(That’s all I’m saying)

WOAH WOAH WOAH my cutie coquette anon I'm on my knees for you this is beautiful (sorry for the long wait love, hope I'll be forgiven with this one)

edit: I went pretty wild with this so uhm...

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: age difference, cheating, breeding kink, degradation

okay but, let's figure out his appereance first yeah? he aged like fine wine. not a wrinkle in sight, maybe just the ones around his eyes and mouth, he doesn't bleach his hair anymore so they are now dark, but no grey accents are in sight. a faint trace of beard makes his chin appear a bit rough, his freckles are darker and doubled over his body, after so many summers spent on the beach - where he had sex more often than his own bed.

so you see this handsome man with a black turtleneck, elegant pants with a leather belt, gold accents around him: a thin necklace, the buckle of the belt, his ring. he comes in the kitchen where you and your friend are revising stuff for an upcoming presentation... you haven't known her for too long, so it's the first time you're at her house. and it's the first time you see her dad. and you also can't help but close your thighs together when your eyes linger a bit too much on his figure.

"hi sweetheart, are you perhaps the girl my sunshine always talks about?" oh, oh... his voice is deep... it's so unexpected, it makes your chest throb from the sound, and also from the way he looks at you.

and really, it's inevitable. you're such a gorgeous young girl, smart, witty, so sweet around him... your friend finds it weird that you're so interested in her dad, always asking her about him, batting your eyelashes at him when you're in the same room. but when you have dinner together he sists across from his wife, so, well, the spot beside him is the only one available, and he also can't help but nudge his elbow with yours when he compliments you, and he can't stop his hands from caressing your legs under the table. you don't say anything about it, so he figures that it's okay.

and, to be honest, you wouldn't expect it from Felix, but he's growing tired of his marriage. he's bored. he's always been loyal, devoted, he always worshipped the ground his wife walked on, but she's not the same anymore and now it's just them exchanging few words during the day and sleeping far apart on the same bed. anyone outside the four walls of his house would say they're still the perfect couple, but a little peak inside would make the last remains of their marriage collapse. that's why they don't talk about it. and, they also don't want to make their daughter worry, even if she's old enough to understand.

but when you enter their lives... it's so over for him. he should feel bad that his cock gets rock hard when he thinks about you, so much younger than him, his daughter's new friend, but in reality he's even more excited at the idea of it all. he does ask himself if with age he got to develop weird fantasies and if there's something wrong with his brain, but when you act like an innocent sweet deer in front of him, there are only images of him ruining you forever in his brain. maybe it's the thrill of the age difference, a little corruption kink, the fact that it's wrong and taboo.

so you play a little game and have to much fun with it. you flirt in front of everyone and they see it as something cute, not twisted and contorted like you two intend. you wearing your most accentuating colthes is just a coincidence. he starts to wear sweats and not underwear at home, but it's also a coincidence. it's also a coincidence that when you friend and her mother go out together you find yourself at her house and her father is also there!

"don't you feel like a little slut? huh? fucking your friend's father- fuck this little pussy..." he mumbles as he's deep inside you. as soon as you arrived he was all over you, caressing, kissing, licking. he felt the fabric of your pants under his palms, and then he slowly took off your skimpy clothes. Felix, he took you to his bedroom, where he usually sleeps with his wife... and if it didn't make you wetter than the Pacific Ocean you'd be lying.

he made you lay down, spread your legs, took his index and middle finger to close around your clit and looked at you writhing on top of the already messy sheets. he got all over yous chest, biting your tender flesh, feeling your firm breasts and looked at them, hypnotized by your pretty nipples and their shape. ah, he forgot how a woman could be so beautiful and magic...

Felix fingered you. nice and slow, because he wanted to collect your juices first of all, and he wanted to have them straight from the source. so he also ate you out. and he fucking moaned while doing so. "you taste- taste heavenly sweetheart, oh my god. oh my- you're so much better than my wife-" and after his words he finds himself squished between your thighs. he doesn't mind.

and when he breached your cunt with his cock, oh, he threw his head back. his grip on your sides getting harder and his thrusts powerful. he looks at you in adoration as he watches you bite your hands to be quiet, hiding your jiggling tits, squirming with your legs around him.

his adam apple is prominent, you see it move as he swallows. his lips part and low desperate grunts leave from them increasing together with his speed. "good girl, fuck- fuck you're such a good girl..." and he says that because you're letting him use you however he wants. a hand suddenly caresses your cheek, just to travel down to your lips, your neck, your cleavage, until his leverage is by holding a breast and your side. but Felix also flips you so that your face is squished between the cushions decorating the bed. he hovers over you and makes his pelvis slap against you, lost in the feeling of your walls sucking him in, making him hiss and almost protest from how much it feels good. he's about to pull out when you whine and plea him to cum inside. oh, he must have such a huge load in store...

but at the request electricity gets through his whole body and he spasms in shock. this time he isn't in the right mind to question his fantasies.

"what if I knock you up sweetie? huh? wouldn't that be a biiig mess pretty girl?" and your cunt clenches again, and again, and again, it seems like you want to milk him, forcefully make him spill inside. "you're such a filthy whore, god the sweet ones always turn out to be the dirtiest..." and he knows because, well, of course he had girls all over him before marrying.

he does, in fact, end up cumming inside you. and he gets you with your calfs on his shoulders again, to try taste the mix of the two of you. Felix, poor man... he gets so addicted to you, he doesn't wait to be alone with you and takes you even with his daughter and his wife still in the house.

"shhh- sh sh pretty, you don't want them to hear you hm? or else everyone will know how disgusting you are, 'kay?"

#✉️: letters to cinhomi #from: 🎀 nonnie #cinhomi thinks #felix x reader #felix x female reader #felix smut

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tenpintsof-sundrop · 7 months ago

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Some Kind of Disaster - Preview

Gally (TMR) x Fem!Reader

Concept: You saw Gally take a spear through the chest, and you are more than shocked to find him alive and well, in front of your eyes.

Preview Word Count: 970

If you like this preview, follow my writing blog @sundrop-writes and turn on notifications there as the full fic will be posted there sometime within the next few months when I have the time and energy to edit it. I may or may not make a TMR taglist, I'm not sure??

A/N: This is based entirely on the movie version of Gally, as I haven't read the books and don't plan on doing so. The title comes from an All Time Low song of the same name - which I would highly recommend listening to in order to get the vibes for this fic. Also apparently this is the same concept as a dozen other Gally fics, but I don't really care right now - because I got inspired to do it and it's entirely self indulgent, and this is my take on the concept lmao. I am currently on hiatus, but I've been working on fics as a form of stress relief during this time - but I haven't been editing fics. This fic will be posted after its edited sometime within the next month or two. (And there is already a sequel in the works, shhh.) Anyway, I hope you enjoy this, and feedback is much appreciated!

Warnings: the full fic will be smut, but this is more of a tease of that; the reader character uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; spoilers for the films if you haven't seen them; arguing that turns into kissing; Gally has a self-deprecating/insecure inner monologue; mentions of Newt x Reader (it's one-sided in this fic, but may be something more later on ;)); Gally being possessive, Gally being rough (but the reader likes it); mention of Gally masturbating to thoughts of the reader; implications of Gally being taller than the reader (which I think is likely for most people cause Will Poulter is pretty fuckin tall); technically virginity loss (but it's not a big focus of the fic) - it's more about two people naturally enjoying their first time together (and I wrote this the same way I would write a first time in a relationship with two slightly more experienced characters) - and also nothing majorly sexual comes up in this part; this section: heated kissing with intentions towards sex, and that's pretty much it.

...

“Look, I’m sorry I’m not like them, okay?”

He spat out these words bitterly when you didn’t speak, and this left you confused. “I’m sorry I’m not some dumb brave hero guy-”

You reached out and roughly shoved the middle of his chest again. Unknowingly, this aggravated the healed scar where the spear had gone through him, sending a dull ache through him at having the tender pink skin so roughly prodded without his chest armor on this time.

“You’re so stupid!” You barked back, utterly insulted by his words.

He thought this was par for the course, that you would begin hurling more insults before storming out. He thought that you would tell him his supposed ‘death’ had been the best thing that had ever happened to you, and the longing looks Newt had given you were truly something more.

“God, you’re so-!”

You choked on your own words and tears welled up in your eyes, and you took a sharp breath before you continued.

“You are that dumb brave hero guy!” You yelled back, speaking like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Gally gaped at you, and you continued.

“What do you think all that was?” You gestured vaguely behind yourself, obviously speaking about the events earlier in the day - when he had rushed into heavy bomb fire to drag you and the others to safety. “That was the dumbest hero guy thing I have ever seen.” You said, putting a stain of emphasis on the word ‘dumb’, pinching his own phrasing for it right in the ass.

“That was nothing, I just did that because you were in danger, and-”

“And that’s exactly what Thomas would have done.” You replied, quickly cutting him off. “You’re every bit as good as him. You are.”

There was a tense moment where you stared him down, deep contemplation knit across his features while you waited for him to agree with you.

“I wasn’t when you left the Maze.” He added on, quiet guilt floating through his voice. “I wasn’t brave then. I was a coward. I couldn’t be what you needed-”

“You have always been what I need, Gally. When will you get that through your thick shank skull?”

You were done rehashing the past.

You were done contemplating the details of what could have been. It hit you truly then - all that mattered to you now was the fact that Gally, your Gally was in front of you, somehow alive and well. And though it was something you never could have predicted, you wouldn’t let such a beautiful thing slip through your fingers.

You reached out and grabbed the front of his sweatshirt, pulling him forward roughly. At the end of that jerking motion, he was met with your lips, and he sunk into the kiss without a second thought, closing his eyes and letting out a soft sigh that shouldn’t have suited him so well. Adding to that softness as he reached up to gently cup your cheeks while you gnawed at him with a feral passion.

This is exactly what he had been waiting for. This was the reunion he had wanted all along.

In a moment, the touch, your desperate grip on the front of his shirt, the way you ran your teeth along his bottom lip, edging toward something more - it triggered something within him. A possessive streak over you that had long been dormant; something once fueled by rage and jealousy and fear over the bad things that might happen to you if he wasn’t constantly looking over your shoulder. Now, it came from something much deeper.

That immature love he had felt for you that had only grown and matured during your time apart, adding to a hungry passion for you now that he had you back in his arms - now that he could feel the heat of your skin, smell you, hear the whimpering patter of your breath and know that you were so damn real. (Not just another falsehood of his imagination with the details poorly filled in that he tried to soothe himself with, while he had a hand on his cock.)

He was the one who charged at you this time, shoving you backwards and walking tightly with you, crowding you back until you hit a wall. You hadn’t truly taken in your surroundings, and if you had half a mind to, you would have noticed that this was some kind of dingy store room - used for scavenged spare parts for the vehicles and old guns that needed to be repaired in order to be put into use.

But your brain didn’t take any of that in when your back made contact with the wall, Gally still kissing you fiercely, making you downright dizzy. You didn’t have time to think when one of his hands took a possessive hold on your thigh, hiking your leg up around his hip while his presence loomed over you, like the perfect protective wall you always felt that he was. He continued the heated liplock for a moment before he pulled away for air, and then, a particular query couldn’t be contained within you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” You asked, half-teasing, still holding your death grip on his shirt.

There was a particular hum between your thighs - something hot and beating and alive, a calling that demanded to be answered. You knew that you would be devastated if Gally stopped too soon or didn’t rise to that call. So you had to know what his intentions were now to prepare yourself for the potential disappointment.

“Showing you how much I missed you.” He answered firmly, entirely certain, leaning in to capture your mouth again - pressing his whole body tightly against yours now.

It sent a thrill through you - knowing that he would answer that call and thensome.

#sundrop writes #tmr gally #gally x reader #gally maze runner #gally x y/n #gally tmr #gally tmr x reader #gally the maze runner #the maze runner #the maze runner fanfiction #gally tmr x you #gally tmr fanfiction #tmr fandom #tmr fanfic

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wonwooslibrary · 1 year ago

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svt as boyfriends ♡ jeonghan edition

member: yoon jeonghan genre: fluff, bullet points, established relationship word count: 668 summary: jeonghan's boyfriend things <3 warnings: none! author's note: i totally forgot to write this oops but heeeey it's done and it's jeonghan's turn! school has been a lot so i'm sorry that I haven't been posting as much </3 I'm trying to write more in my free time so we'll see :O

I feel like Jeonghan would be the “silent boyfriend”

Jeonghan gives the perfect college boyfriend vibes and I love that for him idk

Quality Time

Jeonghan slays so hard at quality time

As I said, Jeonghan gives college bf vibes and it’s totally because of his love of quality time!

When you are doing work, he’d totally agree to sit with you somewhere on campus or in a local cafe to study with you and help you memorize terms for your next exam!

If you don’t go to school, he’d totally help you with your work projects too!!!

If you don’t have work projects either, he’d just be there for you if you are having a rough day, just as someone to lean on and to listen to you talk <3

He’s so caring I love him

He would also definitely love to go on night walks with you when it’s late! He would totally find a spot where y’all can see the stars and take you there so you can stargaze and share some snacks

Words of Affirmation

Jeonghan is totally a “sweetie” or “baby” kind of guy and you cannot change my mind about it at all

I can imagine Jeonghan coming home from a long practice or something and finding you in the living room. He’d sit next to you on the couch and lean against you and be all like, “Hi baby, how was your day?”

(I’d actually scream pls)

He would always say sweet things to you like “I missed you, baby” or “I love spending time with you” aaaaaa

Jeonghan is a compliment machine so never think he would keep his thoughts to himself

“Sweetie, I love the outfit you wore the other day! It looked perfect on you”

(sobbing)

Physical Touch

Jeonghan obsessed with little or light touches

Loves holding hands when you’re waiting in line for something, or resting his hand on your knee when you’re sitting together on public transport

And of course don’t forget about the back hugs when you’re doing something like dishes, brushing your teeth or literally just standing and texting your friend back

Head pats !!! Loves just patting your head and combing through your hair slightly

Y’all would be the couple that I strive to be a part of in my dreams

Just imagine Jeonghan being a cuddly bf :(

Acts of Service

Helping you brush and do your hair!!! He definitely knows how to braid so imagine all the cool stuff he could do

And if you have short hair, don’t fear: he’s got the butterfly clips all prepared just to be silly

Definitely helps you with chores when you are busy or need to just take a break from existing

Likes driving you places, even if you are a better driver and also enjoy driving

He just likes making sure you get places safely and also don’t have to stress yourself out from how bad the traffic can be

He also just likes letting you be in control of his radio

Gift Giving

He would totally go to your favorite cafe or bakery in the morning and get your favorite treat and bring it back while you’re still sleeping so when you wake up, you get something amazing from him !!!

Spoils you all the time but instead of it being jewelry or something expensive, he just gets you small trinkets

Totally buys you pins for your bag when he goes literally anywhere

Also loves to get you little decorations for your place: including stuffed animals, one being an extremely soft lamb that you decided to name Mareep, like the Pokemon

Now, for something like holidays and your birthday, he would get something more sentimental, like matching bracelets or something!!!

He would want to get something for the both of you that he can still wear during practice, photoshoots and when he’s filming literally anything

Even if the audience doesn’t know what it symbolizes, he would know and that's very soft boyfriend of him <3

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bellaxgiornata · 8 months ago

Note

One last chance! Would you be willing to share a sneak peak from… any one of your amazing works, please? Wouldn’t be mad if it was jealousy!

Absolutely!! And since surprisingly sneak peaks haven't been requested as much as anticipated, I'll give you one from the upcoming smutty Matt and Frank Jealousy fic because I know how long you've been waiting for that one! But just a reminder, this is still a rough draft sneak peak, so it's not perfectly edited yet. The fun is below the cut 🤭

“Maybe I should come back and get a gym membership, then,” Frank said, sauntering over towards the bench next to Matt’s where he was currently folding up his cane in what appeared to be barely hidden irritation. “Sure wouldn't mind taking you on.” Surprise washed over you at his comment as you silently watched Frank set his gym bag haphazardly down onto the bench. Briefly Frank’s attention returned over his shoulder to you, casually flashing you a cheeky and flirtatious grin that had your breath catching at the sight. Almost as fast as it had appeared, the grin vanished as he focused back down onto his bag, beginning to unzip it. That grin on his face had left you no room to question the double meaning in his words, though. And judging by the faint shake of Matt’s head, he hadn’t missed that either. “Are you done, Frank?” Matt snapped. “I thought we came here to train, not to flirt.” Biting your bottom lip to keep yourself from laughing at what appeared to be Matt’s surprising and possible jealousy, you made your way across the gym and over to the cart where the clean towels were always kept. As you walked, you couldn’t help but catch the amused chuckle from Frank at Matt’s chastising. And once you reached the cart, you couldn’t resist taking your time loading the stacks of towels onto it while you listened to the pair of them behind you, your focus on the large window overlooking the street. “Didn’t seem to stop you from flirting with her a minute ago, Red,” Frank pointed out. “Yeah, well,” Matt continued in annoyance, “you just met her. That seems highly inappropriate.” “I’m sorry,” Frank shot, sounding anything but sorry, “but is there somethin’ going on between you two? Is that why you’ve got a stick up your ass all the sudden?” Eyes growing wide at Frank’s blunt boldness, your hand paused mid-way through setting a stack of towels onto the cart and instead hovered in the air as you grew entirely still. You were also curious to hear Matt’s response, considering the man was always flirting with you when you were here with him. Sometimes quite inappropriately, too, even if nothing more had ever happened besides that. Though, you certainly wouldn’t have minded bringing him over to your place after his workouts if it ever seemed like he’d say yes to the offer.

#bellas 2.5k follower celebration #jealousy sneak peak #matt murdock x reader #frank castle x reader #matt murdock #frank castle

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mindless-existence1 · 1 month ago

Text

Chapter three of unnamed fic

Main Masterlist

Mha Masterlist

Pt 1, Pt 2

Bakugo x GN!Reader fluff fic based off this audio

"How many men have you kissed?"

"Very few."

"But you offered me a kiss, why?"

"Such a foolish reason I'm afraid. I just wanted to kiss you." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Summery: You have practically latched onto Bakugo since the beginning of the school year. Why? Who knows.

Reader is very in tune with their emotions and speaks how they feel. Bakugo is the opposite. What a mix.

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

Content: Slow burn, romance, reader is flirty but they dont realize it kinda, y/n used maybe twice, curse words, no pronouns mentioned but is kinda fem (not fem heavy tho just reader does more feminine stuff ig), it's fluff guys

Words: 1,484

Ok so this has finally actually been fixed and edited correctly sorry about all that

Soft lights gently illuminated the dim street. It was almost seven, meaning it was almost time for you and Bakugos... date. He was hesitant to even call it that, more like a friend hang out. Bakugo didn't even want to call it that. You and him weren't friends, at least that not how he saw it.

It was clear that you thought of him like that but he didn't reciprocate, no not at all. You had asked him out for dinner but he couldn't tell if it was a romantic date or more platonic. This was the first time he'd been on any type of date and he almost went to Kirishima for help before realizing how stupid that would be.

You hadn't told him anything about the the restaurant so he assumed he should just go casual. The fiery teen walked down the dimly lit streets looking for the correct shop you had texted him. Looking down at his phone he hears a quiet 'ding' indicating a notification.

Now

Y/n: Hey I can see you! You're one shop away

Bakugo looks up, quickly turning his head around to try and find you. It didn't take long for his eyes to catch your waving hand and brightly smiling face. Something about how excited you seemed made his heart beat a little harder in his chest. Yelling at his feet to move he made has way towards where you sat outside the restaurant at one of the outdoor tables.

"Hey Bakugo! I'm really glad you said yes to coming." Bakugo nods, mumbling a 'yeah whatever' under his breath. The nights air was warm with a cool breeze that made the atmosphere pleasant. Bakugo was quite glad you chose a table outside, wanting to stay clear of the stuffy indoors.

"I haven't eaten here yet but it looks really good and I've seen you make yourself Ramen before so I thought this would be the best time to try it out." It was now that bakugo looked up towards the large sign that had a Ramen bowl on it illuminated by led lights.

Bakugo almost smiled, how... unexpectedly thoughtful. Before he could say something a waiter came out and gave the two of you menus along with taking your drink orders. Thanking the waiter with a smile you opened up the menu while he walked away.

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

It'd been a few minutes since you and Bakugo placed your orders, you had been talking about what you had done that day. Your voice seemed muffled and far away to the blond, all he could focus on was how good you looked.

Luckily going with causal was the right move with how you dressed, but somehow it still gave his stomach a twist like you were wearing something special. The way your lips and hands moved while you talked took all of his focus.

Bakugo was quickly taken out of his thoughts when your soft nimble fingers touch his rough hands. "Hey, what do you think your doing?" His voice lacked the normal bite, somehow gentle compared to normal. His hands rested in front of him on the wooden table, they were now getting held and rubbed by your smaller ones.

"I don't really know, I just noticed how you have scars on your hands. Have you always had those?" Bakugo could see how your eyes inspected the scar tissue that covered his rough palms. "Yeah I guess, at least as long as I can remember. They're cuz of my quirk."

You nodded along with each word, gentle fingers caressing the tense muscles in his hand. "You know your past partners are lucky, if I got to hold your hand I don't think I'd ever let it go." The way you say it makes it seem like a mindless thought, like you were just speaking your mind.

That familiar twisting filled his stomach, along with a deep blush that traveled up his face to the tips of his ears. Bakugo stutters out a meek 'what?' Not even hearing his response you continue speaking your mind.

"They're really nice you know, scars I mean. I've got a bunch from when I was a kid I got a lot from just being kind of stupid." You chuckle a bit at the memories of being young and reckless. What you say practically goes in one ear and out the other.

Bakugo can't help but replay "past partners" over in his head like a mantra. He blames pure stupidity on what he blurts out next. "I've never dated anyone before." It's quick and rushed out in one words but you hear it none the less.

"Really?" Your voice is laced with shock, confusion contorts your features when you look up at him. "Uh yeah." Is all Bakugo can get out, already admitting defeat on not being able to salvage the situation. "How? I mean you're you you know?"

Well what the hell do you mean by that? "I, I don't know. I just have never gone on a date before I guess." Well good job digging the hole even deeper. You can't stop your jaw from basically falling to the floor. That is before a smile rises to your face, "Well now you have been on one. Right now!"

Before bakugo can touch on that, your plates are bought out and layed in front of you. The warm steam floats around the two of you making and aroma of different spices fill the atmosphere around you.

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

A comforable silence falls over the table the tabke as you eat. That is untill you break it, "Hey Bakugo?" The teen almost bites his tounge before looking up at you, he let's out a hum of acknowledgement, a silent sign to continue.

"We're friends right?" Bakugo nearly freezes at your words, taken aback by the bluntness. He desperately trys finding the right words, because not so deep down he doesn't want to mess this up. You implied this to be a romantic date, while also calling him your friend.

"I don't do friends." Is all he says before putting another bite of food in his mouth. You chuckle, "That's doesn't really answer my question and you know it." Bakugo has to fight himself from rolling his eyes. "I'm just saying I'm not a friends type guy."

"Damn, I was kinda hoping you'd say yes." Dissappintment laces your words that send daggers into him. God how stupid, why would he say that. "Yeah we're friends." Once again he blurts out without thinking making him squeeze his eyes in regret.

Its all worth it though when he sees the joy plastered unashamedly across your face when you hear him. "Thank god." You laugh and shake your head a bit before taking another bite of your food. That comfortable silence falls back over the two of you like a blanket drapped over a sleeping baby.

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

It wasn't long before you finished your meal that the once pleasant evening turned crisp. The two of you quickly finished your food and payed, hoping to get back to the dorms before the icy air became too bitter. Bakugo offered you his coat, being naturally warm made him less vulnerable to the cold.

He might have also offered it to you in hopes of getting that fluffy feeling he got when he saw you in his shirt. Lucky for him the butterflys he had grown familiar with swarmed his chest at the sight of you bundled up in his plush coat.

The two of you were talking about nothing and everything all at once. Mindlessly chatting with you had become easier than he cared to admit. When you and the blond came to a stop at a long red light you stopped answering and in turn just opted to stare at him.

"You thinking of something you'd like to share" Bakugos gruff voice questioned you. "Would it be bad to say I really want to kiss you right now?" The cool breeze no longer pricked at Bakugos face after you spoke the thought of you and him kissing into his head. His face must have contorted to something that gave you the wrong idea because you turned away and chuckled a bit.

"I don't, I've never, I just-" you quickly cut him off the a reassuring pat to his chest. "Don't hurt yourself. I get that right now isn't the time but I thought you should know." You laugh. Bit but have a look on your face that says your serious. "When the time it right."

Before the blond can answer you are crossing the streets towards UAs gates leaving him on the other side to chase after you. "Common slow poke hurry up!" You call out to the flustered blond with a toothy grin, it only makes his beating heart hammer harder into his chest.

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

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