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avatarchic · 1 year ago

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TWENTY-SIX MONTHS

— starring. baby daddy!todoroki shoto x fem!reader

— tags. miscommunication trope, angst, pregnancy and giving birth, friends with benefits, vague relationships, running away, slight single parent!au

— warnings. ages are unmentioned, but shoto is in his late 20s/early 30s, smut, soft sex, cunnilingus, praise, p in v, use of petnames (baby, pretty girl), reader gets called a good girl once, shoto is highkey a munch

— word count. 8.2k

— requested? no

— notes. this one ruined me tbh LOL i have a nasty habit of slipping btw present and past tense so the tenses in this one might be all over the place :')))

Whatever you and Todoroki Shoto had together, you knew it wasn’t romantic.

You were his outlet. His source of relaxation when being a hero became too much to bear on his shoulders alone. You were fantastical. You were illusionary. With you, he was no longer Pro Hero Shoto, Number Three Hero. With you, he was just Shoto. And for your moments away from the world hidden beneath wrinkled sheets and closed curtains, that was enough for him. When morning came, and those curtains had to be drawn, he would become Pro Hero Shoto again, and you would wake up to an empty bed.

For you, he was everything.

For you, he was your hero before he became a Pro. He saved you from succumbing to the stress of standing out to survive as a support class student. He saved you from your insecurities and false ambitions, and he saved you from living a life you didn’t truly want. Todoroki Shoto was your best friend before he became the man shrouded in shadow — the man you hid away in secrecy to bed whenever he wanted.

He told you he would be gone for a while. A mission in upper Kyoto that took him away from your arms while you stayed safe in Tokyo. He assured you that he would be fine and return to you as soon as possible. If you were a fool, you might’ve taken those to heart and swooned under the pretense of love. But you knew better.

Before Todoroki Shoto came Pro Hero Shoto. You would be a fool to think he would pick the first before the other. You would be a fool to think that you, a citizen with no name, could ever stand by his side. In your eyes, Shoto put his work before himself. Admirable, strong, ever-the-reliable Pro Hero Shoto. The nights he spent with you as just Shoto made you wonder who else got to see his true self.

The second month of his absence came, and you were sick. An illness had overtaken you, leaving you bedridden for days on end. At first, it had just been nausea. You put it off as motion sickness — you often had to take the train to and from anywhere. Perhaps your stomach had simply met its limit and was taking it out on you with lashes of sickness and vomiting.

After a week of being washed away in your bile, you realized that you had yet to bleed that month. Rather, you realized you hadn’t had your monthly bleeding for a while. You weren’t stupid. You knew what it all meant, and you knew the consequences of your actions had finally caught up to you. You hid away from the world, only leaving to purchase tests from the store.

The answers mocked you. PREGNANT. TWO MONTHS+.

You considered getting rid of it. To keep it your dirty little secret. Shoto would never have to know — no one would ever have to know. But as you stared at your reflection in the mirror, your hand resting atop your stomach, you felt at peace for once. As if you finally had a reason to keep going.

Five months had passed since he was gone, and you felt it now more than ever. You never explained to any of your friends or neighbours who was responsible for the swelling of your tummy, nor about the packages of furniture fit for a nursery that showed up on your doorstep. They never asked. No one knew your trysts with Shoto, and you planned to keep it that way.

For his sake.

You wished. You desperately wished that he could stay by your side, that he could support you through this time of anxiety and worry. You daydreamed of welcoming him home, your little bundle of joy wrapped in your arms as you kissed Shoto on the cheek — a reward for working hard as he always did. You thought about spending more than just nights of pleasure with the two-toned man, about wearing his ring and raising your beloved child together.

As a family.

Thirteen months had passed since you last saw Todoroki Shoto.

Thirteen long, gruelling, and lonely months were spent mourning his absence, even though he was still alive somewhere. It felt like the clouds that followed you for weeks parted only when your son was born. He looked like you. He had your nose and your eyes. He had the same rounded cheeks you still adorn, even well into adulthood. His voice was like bells on a clear sunny day, and when he lay in your arms, you declared that you would love him for all you were worth.

Even if the tuft of red and white on his head brought you immense heartache.

A selfish part of you wished that nothing of your son, whom you’ve named Yami, would resemble his father. That way, you could truly hide his origins — your past that you refused to uncover. But the bigger part of you was overjoyed. The moment you laid eyes on his hair, matted down with blood and amniotic fluid, you sobbed uncontrollably. The nurses and midwife recognized the two-toned hair immediately and watched you with pitiful eyes as you clutched Yami to your chest.

You moved away the second you were discharged from the hospital, baby carrier in tow. You wished your neighbours well and thanked them for being so kind to you in the years you lived among them. You were gone within that same week.

You lived peacefully in your new home, tucked away in the countryside of southern Japan. You opted to stay away from TVs and the internet, worried that seeing his face might make you regret the rash decision to pick up and leave. Yami was growing quickly, already large for a four-month-old. His hair grew out, more red than white.

You didn’t know if Shoto had made it back from his mission. If he did, you weren’t sure how long he had been back or whether he had sustained any injuries. You didn’t know if he went to your apartment to search for his fantasy. You didn’t know if he thought of you at all.

You didn’t know if he was alive.

The longer you spent away from the man, the more your heart yearned for him. Whenever Yami would quiet down for his nap, you stared out the window at the acres of empty farmland. In the vastness of space, you could only think of him. The man who had taken your heart from the tender age of fifteen. The man who possessed your life in his hands, though your essence seemed invisible to those blue and grey eyes.

The fool in you wondered if he ever had feelings for you — if he ever burned for you the way you did for him.

You felt like a dessert. Scorched inside and empty. Golden sands represented him—burning to the touch and yet all-encompassing. Even without him by your side, he was always there. He surrounded you, dragging you in, and you let him.

Yami’s babbling would always break you out of your reverie, the pangs of guilt and sorrow gnawing away at your still-beating heart. The routine remained the same, day after day. After he woke up from his nap with an incoherent cry for his mother, you would settle him onto your lap and cry. You sobbed into his soft tufts of hair, apologizing for taking him away from his father, for hiding him away from the world just because you were a coward.

Yami was your darkness. He was your uncovered secret.

Two years and two months had passed since you last saw Todoroki Shoto.

Yami was seventeen months old and starting to look more and more like his father. He took his first steps earlier than any parenting book had told you he would, and it wasn’t long after when he said his first word. It seemed the world was against you, and the universe was punishing you for keeping Yami away. You broke down for the first time in a while when that first word hit your ears.

“Da… Dada…”

You weren’t alone in your silent, unspoken wishes to be at Shoto’s side. Poor Yami, who had never met his father, spoke Shoto into existence with that one word.

“My baby,” you sobbed, hugging Yami tightly to you as he babbled, repeating those two syllables over and over. “My poor baby. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Mommy’s so sorry, my baby…” You rocked back and forth, crying endlessly. Yami’s hands grasped at your clothes, hair, and face. His little round features twisted into a grimacing cry as he watched tears pour from your tired eyes for a reason he didn’t yet understand.

The day he spoke his first word was when you showed him a picture of his father for the first time. Recognition flashed behind rounded eyes, recognition for a man he’d never met.

While you were grocery shopping — Yami balanced on your hip, a paper bag full of produce in the other arm — you heard Shoto’s name.

“Didn’t you hear? Pro Hero Shoto is here! In town!”

“Isn’t that weird? Why would such a hotshot be here, of all places? We aren’t even on most maps…”

“Who cares?! Do ya think I can get an autograph?”

You break out into a run without paying attention to the rest of the conversation. You hold Yami to your chest, supporting his head as you run with all your might. The paper bag of fruit and vegetables lay forgotten behind you, surely to be crushed by any passing vehicles. You run until you can’t run anymore, chest heaving in exhaustion. Using your object manipulation quirk, you open the front door to your house without taking your hands off Yami.

You whisper sweetings into his ear, telling him everything would be okay. Maybe you were telling yourself.

Not long after you returned home, the door rattled with a gentle knock. The very door you locked moments ago. You hold your breath, not wanting to see anyone. You didn’t want to see him.

Your name was spoken in that soft voice you missed so much. Before you could stop him, Yami started sobbing, his high-pitched cries alerting the person outside that you were there. You shush Yami desperately, rocking him back and forth in an attempt to calm him down. You kiss his forehead, silently begging him to stop crying.

Your name was called out again, this time panicked and louder. Yami’s cries increase in volume, and you feel your eyes water all the same.

The door hinges begin to frost over, and it’s knocked down in seconds. The loud noise scares your son, causing him to sob uncontrollably as he grasps painfully at your hair. You hide him behind you as you face the intruder head-on. Without blinking an eye, you use your quirk to lift the door off the ground, pushing it against the intruder, hoping to push him out completely.

The door is pushed away easily. After all, you are no match for Pro Hero Shoto.

He has gotten larger in the twenty-six months since you last saw him. His shoulders grew broader, his hero uniform barely hiding the dense but lean muscle that hid beneath it. His hair was longer, falling into his eyes as if he didn’t have time to take care of it. The man in front of you looks different from the man you knew, but it is undoubtedly him.

He breathes out your name, steam rolling off his left side and icicles glistening atop his skin on his right. He steps over the forgotten door, into your house, and into your safe haven, large and commanding of your attention. You try to make yourself bigger, to hide Yami from his eyes, and perhaps to hide your shame as you stare at the father of your child.

“I looked for you everywhere,” he gravels, his voice deep and crackling with emotion. “I came home, and you were gone. Do you have any idea how fucking scary that was?! No one knew where you were, and your apartment was empty. I didn’t know if you were safe, I didn’t know if you were alone…” Shoto steps closer to you, anger seeping into his expression. “For fuck’s sake, I didn’t know if you were alive!”

Your heart hammers in your chest as he grows closer, his fists clenching angrily by his side. His eyes search you desperately, searching for any sign of injury or abuse. They trace over your wrists and ankles, perhaps looking for signs that you were held here not on your own will, that you didn’t leave him just because you wanted to.

You pick your brain for the right words to say. You have thought about this day for years, and now that he’s in front of you, you don’t know what to think. Your mind is a mess of shame and joy, your heart struggling in a fight against itself. Analyzing him, your eyes rake over his body. There were a few more scars you don’t remember, some fine lines on his face that weren’t there before, but it was him.

As your brain wraps around the fact that Shoto was really there after over two years, Shoto collapses to his knees in front of you. He all but crawls over to you as he shoves his face into your thighs. Hot, stinging tears hit your skin as he cries into your lap, his hands reaching to hold you. Large, calloused fingers grasped at your thighs, pulling you closer to him.

“I was so scared,” he admits, his body shaking as he cries silently. “I thought… I thought a villain had taken you.”

Your hands hover behind you, keeping Yami hidden. His cries have thankfully subsided the second Shoto entered the room, but you weren’t sure for how long that would last. You can feel him grabbing at your shirt, trying to peek around you. Resisting the urge to wipe away Shoto’s tears, you grip onto your son tightly.

“How did you know I was here?” You lick your dry lips, wincing at how raspy your voice is. The first words spoken to this man in over two years are painted over with wariness and caution, very unlike the words of encouragement and longing you had given him your last night together. “No one knew I was here. Not even my family, so how did you…” You trail off, unsure if you want to know the answer to this question.

Shoto pulls away from your lap, looking up at you with bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks. “I searched for you every day. I never stopped once I realized you were gone. I was in communication with every hero in this fucking country, hoping that one day one of them would spot you.” He hastily wipes his cheeks, his trembling hands remaining at your side.

“Why did you go?” he asks in a whisper. His voice, low and cracking, is broken as he speaks. “Why did you leave me? Did I do something? Was I…” Shoto swallows thickly as his insecurities taint his mind. “Was I not good to you? Did I make you leave?”

His endless questions send you for a loop. In front of you was not Pro Hero Shoto, but just Shoto. Your Shoto, the one you long for in your dreams. The one who paints your every happy memory and the one whose name you whisper into the dead of night.

And yet, as you feel Yami’s tiny hands grab your arm, you can’t answer any of his questions.

“Dada…!”

The both of you freeze, and the world stands still for a moment. Shoto’s trembling gaze slowly left yours, meeting the eyes of the toddler behind you. The first thing Shoto notices is his hair — bright red with streaks of white bleeding through. He feels his heart stop and start again, his hold on you finally slipping as his body goes somewhat limp. He falls back onto his heels, fully kneeling before you now.

Snapping out of it, you turn around and take Yami into your arms, facing away from Shoto as you shush the poor baby, calming him down quietly. Shoto can only watch as you handle him with a gentle care he isn’t privy to.

Without sparing another glance at Shoto, you start to walk away. He calls out your name hastily, and you can hear him clamber to his feet. Swallowing harshly, you look at him over your shoulder. Shoto looks out of place in your cozy living room, too large for the space. And yet, he appears small. His shoulders are hunched in as he reaches out to you with a face that begs you not to leave.

“He… needs to be put down for his nap,” you whisper, kissing Yami’s temple. “We… can talk after.”

Before you can regret your words, you head into his nursery, painted a soft yellow. You coo at your son, gently resting him in the large crib that took up most of the room’s space. You hum a lullaby to him as you stroke his hair, looking down at him with nothing but love.

Even long after he fell asleep, you don’t move. You stay there for a while, watching Yami so closely you don’t notice the presence at the door.

Shoto’s voice comes in a whisper. “He… He is mine, isn’t he?”

You can only nod, shame filling your soul as tears slip from your watery eyes. “His name is Yami,” you speak, your voice cracking.

Shoto flinches but waits patiently as he watches you come to a stand. He doesn’t rush you as you place Yami’s favourite stuffed animals by his side, leaning down and kissing his forehead before approaching Shoto.

“Let’s talk in my room,” you whisper, glancing at Yami before shutting the door behind you.

The two of you enter your room, the stifling air suffocating you as you shuffle over to your bed. Shaky hands reach for your pillows as you keep your back to the Todoroki, fluffing them to keep yourself busy. Your throat feels grating as you swallow down harshly. The room feels both hot and freezing, which you assume is his doing.

He doesn’t say anything either as he stares at the back of your head. Your hair looks different from the last time he saw you, and the clothes over your body aren’t articles he can remember you own. He thinks back to that night when quiet goodbyes were whispered between sweaty sheets. He wonders what went wrong.

His eyes wander, his frightful gaze tearing away from you only to look around your room. There are remnants of you everywhere. Family pictures hang from the walls, and old posters he vaguely remembers from your apartment are pasted against grey paint. It was you, but different. It wasn’t as colourful as your old room, and your trinkets are either out of sight or gone altogether.

When his eyes rest on you once more, a million questions run through his mind. Why did you leave him without a word? Images of your child, the very one who bore a striking resemblance to himself, flash in the forefront of his mind.

“How have you been?” you croak out after too many beats of silence. Hugging a pillow to your chest, you turn ever so slightly, only glancing at him from the corner of your eye as if it were painful to even look at him. Perhaps it is.

Shoto can only stare at you in disbelief, his brows curling upward as his heartache shines through. “How have I been?” he repeats breathily, his low voice raising half an octave. His mouth opens, but the words die on his tongue. Only after an excruciatingly long moment does he find the words again. “I’ve been miserable. You were gone.”

You wince at the strain in his voice, gripping the pillow even tighter. Your knuckles whiten under your tight hold. “I’m sorry,” you whisper pathetically, swallowing the lump in your throat painfully.

“Why?” he asks again, his voice cracking as he takes a tentative step toward you. “Why did you disappear?” Shoto reaches for you, stopping just short of grabbing you by the shoulders. He can’t tell if he wants to shake you until you see sense or hug you and never let go.

“I had to,” you urge, finally meeting his eyes. Your breath hitches, and you regret turning to him, but now you can’t look away. Those mismatched eyes that used to bore into yours with unreadable emotion as he draped his body over yours were tired, dull, and pained.

Shoto is the first to break eye contact, staring at your floorboards as he attempts to string together his thoughts. “Was it me?”

With furrowed brows, you shake your head no. “Shoto—”

“If I knew,” he rushes out, interrupting you. His gaze drops to your stomach, and he imagines what you might’ve looked like, swollen with his child. “If I knew, I would’ve come back sooner. Fuck the mission, you needed me and I…” He cuts himself off, bringing his hands up to your shoulders. His grip is tight enough to force you to look at him straight on, yet gentle. You think you can feel them trembling over your clothes, but you aren’t sure if you’re imagining it or not. “I’m so sorry,” he almost cries. The pillow in your hands falls to the carpeted floor, but neither of you cares to pay attention to it.

“Shoto, no,” you whisper, cupping his cheeks as you press your lips together. You thumb away his unshed tears. “That’s not why I left.”

“Then why?” he breathes.

You purse your lips, biting at the inside of your cheek as you reflect on those lonely nights spent under cold blankets. “You’re a hero,” you speak slowly. “I never had a place in your life, Shoto, not really. I’m a nobody. If… If I stayed, I would have been holding you back. You deserved more than that.”

Shoto narrows his eyes at you. “I deserve you,” he blurts, his tongue stained with vexation at the mere implication of your words. You watch as his lower lip wobbles momentarily before he steels his expression. “It isn’t your place to decide whether or not you should be in my life. That’s something for me to decide, but you took that away from me.”

“Took what away, Shoto?” you exclaim, raising your voice for the first time that day. “The sex? The comradery? You could have easily found that in someone else.” It hurts to admit, but you know it’s true. During those days together, you were a mere placeholder for someone better than you. Someone who could relate to him more than a nobody civilian could ever hope to.

After all, Pro Hero Shoto could have anyone he wanted.

Any anger left in his body dissipates as his body tenses. His face scrunches into something painful, mouth ajar and eyes wide as his grip on your shoulders tightens slightly. “What?” he whispers, the word dripping from his tongue like ice water. “What are you talking about?” The room feels like it’s dropped a few degrees, and if the frost that clings to his skin is any indication, it might have.

Averting your gaze, you try to wedge yourself out of his tight hold, but he doesn’t let you, taking another step forward. You’re practically chest-to-chest as he shakes your shoulders gently. “What are you talking about?” he repeats with an urgent tongue. “Someone else? What are you talking about?”

You heave a sigh. “Don’t play dumb, Shoto. You’re… you. You could easily find someone to replace me.”

“Is that what you think?” he breathes harshly, steam rolling off his skin, melting the frost. “That you’re just some replaceable body in my bed? Do you really think that lowly of me?” His expression twists as he reaches up to cup your jaw. His touch is burning, and yet you find yourself leaning into his palm.

“Isn’t it the truth?” you murmur, your voice catching. “I’m not anyone special, Shoto.”

“You’re my girlfriend,” he spits out, angry at the notion that you were a nobody. “You’re special to me. Isn’t that all that matters? I couldn’t care less about the fact that you’re not a hero. That never mattered to me, so don’t give me that bullshit.”

Your eyes snap open as you stare at Shoto in shock. You feel your body freeze over, and suddenly, your lungs are empty. “... What did you call me?” you croak.

Shoto stares deeply into your eyes, his own darting back and forth as he tries to read you. “My girlfriend.” His voice wavers as he tries to understand why you look so confused.

“We weren’t dating,” you cry incredulously. “What are you talking about?” You watch Shoto as realization washes over his distraught expression and something within you cracks. “Shoto, what are you talking about?” you ask again with a frantic pull to your voice. Shoto’s hands slip from your shoulders.

“Weren’t we?” he whispers quietly, any strength sapping from his body as he limply stands before you.

With your heart beating faster than ever, your breath leaves chapped lips in uneven puffs of strangled air. “We never talked about being anything more than just…” You trail off, the past couple of years draping over your shoulders, weighing you down heavily.

“You thought I was with you for the sex?” Shoto doesn’t know how to feel or how to act. His face twists as several emotions run through him before his mind settles on heartache. His multicoloured eyes try to meet yours, but you’ve already looked away. He moves his body, craning his neck to take a good look at you. He wants to see you. He wants you to see him. He utters your name in a broken whisper. “It was never just sex for me, baby,” he declares, his voice cracking in sorrow. “You had to have known that.”

He moves closer, cradling your face as he gently forces you to look at him. When he sees the indecisive glaze that’s taken over your eyes, he feels his heart break just a little more. “Please tell me you knew. That you know it was more than that.”

You blink away tears, your chest rising and falling quickly as you meet his intensive gaze. “You’d only come to me at night,” you mutter, caught between wanting to lean into his touch and wanting to pull his hands off of you. “You never stayed. You were always gone in the morning, Shoto. What was I supposed to believe?”

Shoto fights back a wince as he mulls over your words. He sighs, absentmindedly rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs. “I was so busy with hero work,” he murmurs in horror-filled realization, frowning at himself. He shakes his head, his shaggy hair falling into his eyes. “That’s not an excuse. I should have tried harder to be around. But it was never just sex for me.”

His throat bobs as he swallows thickly, his forehead coming down to rest against yours. His eyes flutter closed, wet eyelashes sticking together as he lets out a trembling breath. “Please believe me, baby,” he pleads quietly. “I’ll be better. I’ll show you I love you. I’ll make sure you know this time, so please…”

Those three words pull the air from your lungs, but when he opens his eyes, you’re left truly breathless. Love, sorrow, and regret swirl in his blue and grey hues. You don’t remember the last time you’ve looked at Shoto like this. “Please come back to me.”

“Shoto—”

“I’ll stop being a hero,” he interrupts you, a deep frown tugging at his lips. “If that’s what it takes.”

You make a face, your brows knitting together tightly. “Don’t be stupid, Shoto,” you hush. “Being a hero is your life. I’d never ask you to throw that away for me.”

“You’re my life,” he presses. One of Shoto’s hands moves to cup the back of your head, carding through your hair. “Our child will be my life. You matter more to me than anything else.”

Sighing, you close your eyes as you lean into his touch. “I’d be even more upset if you gave up,” you murmur. “I understand that being a hero leaves you with little free time. So—”

“No,” Shoto cries out. “Don’t make excuses for me. I should’ve tried harder. I should have realized things between us weren’t clear.” He pauses for a moment, his brow bone tensing as he bites at his lip. “Do you love me?”

With a softened gaze, you knock on his forehead with a weak fist. “You’ve always been it for me, Sho.”

Shoto smiles at the nickname, a slight tick of the corner of his mouth. If you hadn’t been so close and hadn’t known his expressions as well as you did, you might’ve missed it. He leans closer, his nose brushing against your cheek as he kisses your tear-stained skin sweetly. “I love you,” he hushes, tugging you closer. His fingertips trail up your spine until they’re entwined in your hair. “I love you.”

A shiver runs down your spine at the sensation as you curl into him. Your hands trail up his broad chest as you wrap your arms around his neck. Inhaling deeply, you stare at him in hesitation. “Is this real?” you murmur, your mind swirling with the vivid dreams you’ve procured over the years. “You’re really here, right? And you really…”

“I love you,” he says again. He says it one, two, three more times, whispering into the side of your neck and he nudges himself into the empty space. His lips, which are cold against your blistering heat, brush against your earlobe as he all but whimpers your name. “This is real. I’m here, baby.”

You can’t help but believe him, your eyes closing as he presses kiss after kiss on your skin, moving down your neck until he’s reached your collarbones. He nips at the spot, his tongue jutting out to soothe the darkening mark he’s left behind. “Sho,” you scold weakly, your nails scraping against his scalp gently as you brush his hair out of his face.

Shoto grins boyishly at you, his hands resting on your hips as he guides you backwards, stepping over the forgotten pillow you dropped. “Let me show you,” he breathes out, looking down at you with wide eyes until he has you sat on the edge of your unmade bed. “Let me show you how much I love you.”

Then, he pauses, a brief flash of bashfulness flickering behind his embering gaze. “Please?”

You’re reaching out for him before you can answer, tugging him down to your height. You don’t reply with words, pressing desperate lips against his as you pull him over you until he’s pinned over your trembling body. Strong forearms rest beside your head, his skillful tongue swiping along the seam of your mouth. You almost moan at his taste—a taste you never forgot.

Shoto slants himself against you, your bodies resembling a mess of limbs. He flips you over with ease, strong hands gripping your hips to seat you atop his shaking lap. The shivers that run down the expanse of his body don’t go unnoticed, and you peck his lips once, then twice, before pulling away. He’s staring up at you breathlessly, lust-blown eyes dark but widened as he takes in the sight of you.

“Are you okay?” you whisper, stroking along the edge of his scar. Shoto leans into your palm, his eyes briefly fluttering closed, relishing in your warmth that he was deprived of for so long.

“I’m okay,” he murmurs back, brushing his lips against your palm. “I’ve just missed you so much.”

Your heart aches at his soft-spoken admission, and you kiss him again to tell him I missed you, too. This kiss is sweeter than the last, softer in its closed-mouth motions. His hand reaches up to palm your jawline, his other remaining on your hip. He sighs into you, breaking the kiss to leave fleeting pecks over your cheeks. “My pretty girl,” he whispers into your skin.

His hand trails up and down your side, as he gently pushes you against his growing erection. You let out a whimper at just how hard he already is, the tent pushing against your clothed cunt teasingly. Grinding your hips down, you relish in the gasp Shoto lets out. Busying his hands with the hem of your loose tee, he pushes himself off of the bed to chase your lips.

Shoto kisses you with a fervour you damned yourself for running away from. He kisses you like he needs your taste on his tongue to live, like you’re a lifeline, and he’s teetering on the edge. Gentle teeth scrape against your bottom lip, just barely grazing your swollen skin. Pulling away to rid you of your top, Shoto bites his lips at the sight of your bare chest. He lays back, propping his head up on your pillows. Tracing a hand down his strong pecs, you tilt your head back at the sight of his complete enamour.

Red cheeks hollow as he takes in a shuddering breath, looking up at you with nothing but love and adoration. “You’re perfect,” he breathes out, his hands tracing your sides so slowly. His thumbs, calloused from years of hero work, barely graze the underside of your breasts before his hands trail back down to your thighs.

“Take these off f’me,” Shoto urges, tugging gently on the fabric of your shorts. Those dark eyes never leave your face, as though he’s committing it to memory.

You don’t hesitate to obey his request, shifting off of his lap just enough to tug off the last of your clothing, fingers dipping beneath the band of your panties to take them off as well. Shivering, you sit back down on his lap, biting down on your bottom lip as you lean back. Shoto makes it clear how much he appreciates the view you’ve given him, his lustful gaze caressing your entire self. His eyes land on the apex of your thighs, and his bitten lips part in admiration.

A wide hand rests on your tummy, just below your belly button, as he gently pushes your hips back and forth. His other hand finds its way to your ass, gripping and rubbing the skin there in tandem with your movements.

You let out shallow breaths at the feeling of his rough jeans against your bare clit. You’re sure you’re sopping wet already, soaking the front of his pants with your slick, but you can’t find it in yourself to care when he’s looking at you like he’d cry if you stopped grinding down on him.

His eyes stay glued to where your hips meet, and he whispers your name lovingly. “C’mere,” he rasps out as he sits up with haste, wrapping those big arms around your midsection and pulling you even closer to him. Shoto kisses the tops of your breasts, moving up and up until his lips meet yours again in a searing kiss.

“Missed you s’much,” he gravels out against your lips, reaching up to cup your left tit. You whimper out when his thumb brushes against the hardened bud, his tongue following shortly after. His lips curl around your nipple as he kneads into you. Breaths leave your throat in shortened huffs as he bites down gently.

Pushing you gently, you find yourself on your back again with Shoto hovering over you. He lets go of your nipple with a pop, lips shiny with saliva as he kisses down your stomach. Arching into his affections, all you can do is lay there and bask in his gentle touches and sweet kisses.

“Sho,” you whimper out when he mouths your skin lower and lower. Strong hands push your hips up until your dripping cunt is in front of his face, and your legs are dangling over his shoulders. Your back arches deeply, his fingers digging into your sides to keep your bottom half suspended in the air. It’s almost embarrassing how wet you’ve gotten—you can’t recall the last time you’ve felt this aroused. “Please…”

Shoto smiles at you softly, looking at you through his lashes as he brushes his lips against your clit, making you jolt. “Patience, baby,” he chuckled. “I haven’t tasted your sweet pussy in too long. Let me take my time with you, yeah?”

When he asks so nicely, how can you refuse?

He leaves open-mouthed kisses where your inner thigh meets your pelvis, kissing and licking just around where you need him most. Pathetic moans slip through your wobbling lips as you press them together, trying not to be too loud. Your body is goo in his hands, and he knows this well. He easily keeps your back arched up off the bed, his beefy arms not straining at all.

When his lips finally close on your weeping cunny, you cry out louder than intended. “Shh,” he whispers, sitting back just far enough to leave you whimpering for more. “Don’t wanna wake the baby, do you?” Those teasing eyes meet yours again, and his teasing expression softens ever so slightly at your already fucked out look. “Be good and quiet f’me, love.”

“Okay,” you stammer out, screwing your eyes shut when he kitten licks at your slit.

Shoto kisses your inner thigh with a grin. “Good girl.”

Without missing a beat, he attaches his lips to your pussy once more, his skilled tongue licking and prodding exactly where he knows it makes your legs shake in pleasure. He eats you out with such expertise as if it hasn’t been over two years. You wouldn’t be surprised if he had a map of your body memorized.

Long, thick fingers push at your entrance, just barely pushing in before pulling out. “More, please,” you beg under your breath, arching into his mouth. “Please, Sho. I can take it.”

Shoto hums as he sucks on your clit gently, drawing circles over the bundle of nerves immediately after. “I know you can, baby. This pussy was made just for me,” he sighs into you, the loud slurping noises coming from the point of contact making you curl in on yourself. “You were made just for me, baby.”

He finally pushes two fingers in, curling up just how you like it. He groans as his tongue moves with ardour, his eyes rolling back behind closed lids as he savours your taste. “Fuck,” he mumbles. “Missed this s’much.”

Shoto’s fingers push in and out, in and out, your slick gushing around them as the filthy sound of your clenching cunt fills the room. His lips are glued to your clit, drunk on your wetness as he fingers you deeply.

“I’m close,” you warn him, gripping the sheets tightly. Your body jerks, your thighs shaking and closing around his head as you feel the string in your tummy grow taught. “Sho—”

“I know,” he growls, kissing your clit again as he looks back up at you. He watches your face twist and scrunch in pure pleasure, moaning at the sight. Pushing a third finger in, his eyes slip closed at the feeling of you clenching tightly around him. “Come for me, baby. Need to feel you come.”

His voice drips with honey, coating your body in its warmth as your back bends. “Fuck,” you cry, slapping a hand over your mouth as your thighs tremble hard. “I—”

Before you can say anything else, you’re cumming around his fingers harder than you ever have in the time away from him. Fat tears line your lashline as he fingers you through your orgasm, lazily licking figure eights around your clit as he continues to push his fingers into you gently. He doesn’t stop, making you come again and again until you’re weakly pushing his head away.

His tongue laps your pussy clean, the lower half of his face covered in your slick when he finally sits back. You watch with lidded eyes as he wraps his lips around his fingers, his tongue jutting out to lick them until they’re no longer soaked with your essence. Moaning, you reach up for him, grasping weakly at his clothed chest. “Need you,” you plea, pushing at his clothes in a sad attempt to take them off.

Shoto only chuckles, leaning over to kiss you. He tastes of mint and musk, the taste of your come on his tongue making your eyes cross. He holds you tight, pressing you against his chest, and his hands run up and down the length of your spine. His head tilts, his mouth ajar as he licks into your wet cavern.

Leaning back, you kiss and lick at his face, cleaning him of your juices. He only sighs blissfully at your ministrations, stroking your hair out of your face as he presses his lips against your temple. “I love you,” he murmurs. “God, do I love you.”

You leave one more kiss along his jaw, settling back onto the mattress as you look up at him. His hair is messy, tousled from the many breathless kisses you’ve exchanged in the last hour. His rouge-tinted cheeks make him look younger than he is, yet you can see fine lines at the corners of his eyes and between his brows.

“I love you, Sho,” you declare softly, tucking his long bangs behind his ears. He gazes at you with more affection than you think you’ve ever seen him express, and it takes everything in you not to combust on the spot. You trail one hand down his chest, dropping down to his tented pants. Palming his clothed hardness, you glance at him pleadingly, smiling at the moan he emits the second your hand grazes his hard-on. “I need you now, please.”

Shoto nods, kissing the crown of your head before leaning back. You watch with careful eyes as he undresses, his hands moving with less grace than he’s known for. As he fumbles off his shirt, you unbuckle his belt, throwing it haphazardly across the room. You barely register the thud it makes as you tug down his pants. His hard cock slaps against his abdomen, coated with precum.

Fully nude, you sit back to admire Shoto in his entirety. There are many scars you don’t remember littered over his muscled body, and your fingers trace them gently. “I almost forgot how pretty you are,” you say, sitting up to kiss his collarbone.

“Pretty?” he repeats, laughing softly as he grips at your waist.

You hum. “Very pretty, Sho.”

Unable to wait any longer, he manoeuvres you back onto the pillows, adjusting you as he places one beneath your hips. “Gotta have you now, baby,” he groans into you, reaching down to fuck into his fist. You watch with wide eyes as he rubs himself for a moment more, pushing your thighs up against your chest.

Pushing his angry cockhead against your slit, he thrusts shallowly against your soaked pussy. A low moan rumbles out of his throat when his head catches on the hood of your clit. He uses a thumb to guide his length to your entrance, a whimper of your name tumbling from those bite-swollen lips once he finally pushes into you.

Your jaw drops as a wanton noise claws out of your throat. Shoto is sure to move slowly, only moving in an inch of his dick at a time before pulling out. You had forgotten how thick Shoto’s cock is, the stretch of your swollen pussy around his length burning through your body. “S-Sho…”

He groans at your voice, dropping his head to your shoulder as he fucks into you slowly. “I know, baby,” he lets out breathlessly. “I know. You’re doing so well f’me.”

His hips finally press against you after some time, his dick pushing against your pulsing gummy walls. He stills, letting you get used to the intrusion as he kisses you again and again. Propping himself on his elbows, he shakily brushes your hair out of your face, kissing your forehead. “You okay, baby?”

Nodding fervently, you wrap your arms around his neck, pushing his chest flush against yours. “Yeah.” Your voice comes out weakly, barely above a whisper. “You can move—” correcting yourself, you look up at him with pleading eyes. “—please move.”

Without another word, he pulls out slowly, only to thrust back into your hole nice and deep. A loud groan leaves his lips as he settles into a quick tempo, his hips slapping against the back of your thighs as he starts to really fuck into you.

Barely keeping your eyes open, you watch his expression twist with gratification, his brows tilting upwards as his lips part. With lidded eyes, he watches you, too. “You’re—fuck—so pretty,” he whimpers, pressing his forehead against yours as his thrusts become faster. “Missed you. Missed you s’much.”

Sitting up, he grabs at your waist as he fucks you zealously. His thumb flicks at your clit, rubbing tight circles that leave your legs shaking. His cockhead rubs at that spongey spot in your cunt with every thrust, making your eyes roll back. “Sho,” you cry out, the thought of keeping your voice down long gone in your pleasure. “Sho, Sho—!”

His mouth opens as he lets out a stunted shout riddled with lust and overstimulation. “You’re so fucking tight,” he grins down at you, his stomach flexing with each movement of his hips. “Fuck, baby. Can feel you clenching around me s’tight. Are you close?” His words come out harshly, exertion tugging them from his throat sluggishly.

His thumb never stops over your clit, moving in tandem with his hips as he slams into you. Unable to form coherent words, you can only cry out in vague confirmation, grabbing at his forearms. You can feel your slick dripping down the slope of your ass, soaking into your pillow and the sheets beneath you.

Shoto’s smile falters as he feels his own orgasm near, his rhythm becoming desperate as his eyes screwed shut. His head drops, his mouth opening slightly as he chases his high. When your cunt grips tightly around him, he’s sure he’s going to lose it. Harsh breaths heave out of him, his flushed skin causing his hair to stick to his forehead.

“Come for me again, baby,” he begs, barely able to pry his lids open to look down at you. “Please, come, please, please… Gotta feel you…!”

Whether it’s from his words, the whimpering tone that tugs at his voice, or the way his cock throbs inside you as he nears his own high, you feel your orgasm crash over you in waves. “Shoto,” you sob, your body jerking violently as you come hard. He lets out a high-pitched groan as he releases inside you, his thick seed filling you up in seconds. His hips tremble and twitch as he keeps shallowly thrusting, pushing both you and himself into overstimulation.

“I love you,” he mewls, pressing his lips against yours in a hungry kiss as he wraps his arms tightly around your middle. Without pulling out, he slumps over you, knocking the air out of your lungs.

Laughing quietly, you weakly push at his shoulder. “You’re heavy,” you complain, still breathless from the countless orgasms he’s pulled you through. “Get off, Sho.”

“No,” he murmurs into the nape of your neck, cuddling into you tightly. “Don’t wanna let go.”

You roll your eyes. “You can hug me without crushing my ribs.”

Huffing, he rolls off of you, taking you with him as he lands on his back. You both groan lowly at the movement, his dick twitching inside you once you settle onto his lap again. “You’re insatiable,” you comment, feeling him thrust weakly up into your wetness.

Shoto only grins up at you, showing off that rare smile you missed so dearly. “You can’t blame me,” he tells you, wrapping his arms around you. “I have so many years of love to show you.” He kisses your shoulder. “I meant it. Before, I mean. You are everything to me, and I know our baby will be too.”

Your eyes wet again, fresh tears bubbling at the corners before dribbling down your cheeks. “Shoto…”

Looking up at you, he stares with an indescribable look in his mismatched eyes. “I wanna be in your life. I want to be in his life, too, if you’ll let me.” Leaning up, he kisses you sweetly. “So, please, come back to me.”

You only manage to nod tearfully before the shrill cry of your baby echoes throughout the house. Shoto eases you off his messy cock, watching as his release dribbles out of you. He lets out a breath, kissing you sweetly before moving you off of him gently. No words are exchanged as Shoto throws his clothes back on, wrinkled and unkempt. He pauses to wipe you clean, using your shirt, after throwing you an apologetic glance.

A smile reaches your eyes as you watch Shoto bound out of the room to get your child.

©AVATARCHIC please do not plagiarize, repost, translate, or copy any of my works.

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kyunghwannie · 3 months ago

Text

Entangled In A Dance Of Love (Part-2: Confirmation of Love and Heartbreak) [18+]

Ft. TWICE's Hirai Momo, Minatozaki Sana x M!Reader

Genre: Romance and Love Tension- mostly, Smut-15%? (Only with Momo..yet), Love Triangle

Tags: Anal, Titjob, Breeding, Dom!Momo, Roughness(?), Face-fucking, subtle degradation and praise

Description: Well, Why is Momo so hard on you? Who knows what's gotten into her after Sana joined the game.. But you can't deny that there's going to be some confrontation or confirmation but surely a heart break as well.

(This is my first ever smut I've ever written, iam generally a shy person so i tried my best on the smut. Iam still learning on how to write it with good depiction. So bare with me for now)

Stream MISAMO "Haute Couture" album!

Two Months Later -

Time had slipped through your fingers like sand.

Somewhere between the grueling practices, the unrelenting training schedules, and the ever-present pressure of living up to your title as JYP's ace trainee, the days had blurred into weeks.

And now, two months later, you were here-late 2023, sitting in your dorm room after yet another brutal dance session with Momo.

You barely had the energy to lift your arms, much less process how much had changed in such a short span of time.

Momo's training had been ruthless.

She pushed you to your limits-and then past them.

At first, it had been purely professional, her guidance sharp, her expectations high.

But as the weeks passed... something shifted.

It wasn't just about polishing your dance skills anymore.

There was an undercurrent, a silent tension that neither of you addressed but both of you felt.

The way her gaze would linger a fraction longer than necessary.

The way her voice softened-just slightly-when she corrected you.

The way she seemed... almost possessive when others brought up your name.

And then there was Sana.

You weren't stupid.

You had noticed the way she had inserted herself into your life.

Unlike Momo, Sana didn't push you until you collapsed.

She didn't demand perfection.

Instead, she snuck into your world like a warm breeze-effortless, natural, dangerously comfortable.

She'd drop by unannounced with snacks, casually throwing her arm around your shoulder as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

She'd tease you, flirt just enough to keep you on edge, but never enough to make it clear what she truly wanted.

And the worst part?

You didn't know what to do about it.

Momo was your mentor.

Sana was your sunbae.

And you? You were just a trainee-caught in the crossfire between two of TWICE's most unpredictable women.

Leaning back on your dorm bed, you let out a long sigh, staring up at the ceiling.

This was getting dangerous.

But the question was...

Dangerous for whom?

---

You exhaled, staring at the ceiling, letting your body sink into the mattress. Every muscle in your body protested in soreness, a dull ache settling deep into your bones from the past two months of non-stop training.

And just when you thought you could have at least one evening to breathe...

Your phone vibrated.

You barely had the strength to lift it, but curiosity won over exhaustion-a mistake you instantly regretted.

[JYP Training Schedule]

Dance Training (Mentor: Momo) - Last Session of the Day: 6:30 PM

Your fingers went limp, the phone slipping from your grasp, landing on your stomach with a soft thud.

Y/N: "No... no, please... Not today... Not her... Not again..."

You could feel tears stinging at the corners of your eyes.

The kind born from pure, existential suffering.

It wasn't just dance training.

It was training with Momo.

Two hours-minimum-of relentless footwork, brutal conditioning, and the suffocating feeling of her sharp gaze analyzing every single one of your movements.

You could already hear her voice echoing in your head-

"Again."

"That was sloppy, Y/N."

"Are you giving up already? I thought you were the ace."

Y/N: "I just... I just wanted a moment to exist..."

You turned your head to stare at the clock. 4:12 PM.

Two hours and eighteen minutes until your inevitable demise.

Your stomach twisted, knowing exactly how the evening would go.

Momo wouldn't go easy on you.

Not even a little.

And worse? She'd be in one of her "moods."

Ever since Sana had inserted herself into your life, Momo had been different. She masked it well-still the same strict mentor, the same composed sunbae-but you weren't an idiot.

She was being pushy, more intense than usual, as if trying to stamp out any external influences-especially a certain Minatozaki Sana.

And that meant hell for you.

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face.

Maybe if you faked death, you could get out of it.

...No, Momo would probably still drag your lifeless body onto the dance floor.

You stared at the ceiling, lips trembling, tears welling up as a dramatic sense of despair settled deep in your soul.

Y/N: "Why... why must I suffer like this?"

You turned to your side, clutching your pillow like it held the answers to life's greatest mysteries.

Y/N: "I was just an innocent ONCE... a devoted fan... a humble admirer of my sunbaenims..."

A single tear rolled down your cheek as you sniffled dramatically.

Y/N: "I used to be the one watching their performances from behind my laptop screen, replaying their dance practice videos like a student of the arts... And now... now I am the victim of one of them..."

You turned onto your back again, eyes glossed over as you remembered the first time you saw Momo dance. The way she owned the stage, her movements effortless yet deadly, as if she were born to command the rhythm itself.

Y/N: "I admired her... I loved her work... I treated her like a goddess..."

You sat up suddenly, gripping your blanket in sheer betrayal.

Y/N: "So why is she the reason I collapse after every session like a shrimp?!"

You had never doubted your love for TWICE before.

But after two months of merciless training under Hirai Momo...

...you were starting to question if this was what ONCEs were meant to suffer.

Y/N: "I just wanted to support my idols... not be tortured by one..."

The irony wasn't lost on you.

You had spent years as a dedicated fan, hyping them up, watching their performances in awe, admiring their talent.

Now?

Now you were personally experiencing that talent in the most agonizing way possible.

And yet...

Your stomach sank as you realized something even worse.

Even though Momo put you through hell every session...

...you never once considered giving up.

Not because you had to.

But because you still admired her.

Y/N: "Damn it..."

You rolled onto your stomach, burying your face into your pillow with a muffled, frustrated scream.

You sat up instantly, heart pounding in your chest as an existential dread settled in.

Y/N: "No... no, no, no, no, no!"

Your hands clutched your head as your brain spiraled into a worst-case scenario. Momo wouldn't do that to me, right?

She wouldn't... she wouldn't make me do that again.

Not "Set Me Free.".

The hell that was TWICE's powerhouse anthem, a song that burned every fiber of your being every time you danced it.

A song that drained the very soul from your body.

A song that, at this point, you had danced so many times under Momo's supervision that even hearing the intro sent a traumatic jolt down your spine.

And yet... what if she made you do it again?

Your breath hitched.

No. No. NO.

Your hands clawed at your blanket as a flashback hit you like a freight train.

- Two weeks ago. -

Momo stood before you, arms crossed, lips curling into a satisfied smirk as you gasped for air, drenched in sweat, kneeling on the hardwood floor of the practice room.

Momo: "Again."

Your soul left your body.

Y/N: "Sunbaenim... I... I can't..."

Your arms trembled as you barely held yourself up, your body on the verge of collapse after dancing Set Me Free five times in a row without a single long break.

Momo tilted her head, raising a brow.

Momo: "Oh? But weren't you the 'Ace Trainee'? The one who can do everything?"

Y/N: "I can... but I also want to live..."

Momo hummed, crouching before you, her sharp gaze locking onto yours.

Momo: "Then prove it."

She reached for the speaker, finger hovering over the play button, and in that moment, you swore you saw your life flash before your eyes.

- Now. -

You shot up from your bed, panting.

Y/N: "SHE WOULDN'T DARE!"

...

...would she?

You grabbed your phone, scrolling to your messages, desperately searching for something-anything-that would confirm today's training agenda.

Nothing.

Y/N: "No. No, no, no, no, no-"

You shoved your blanket off, scrambling out of bed like your life depended on it.

You had to mentally prepare.

If Momo wasn't planning to make you dance Set Me Free tonight, then fine.

But if she was...

You needed to have your will written.

You stepped into the practice room, shoulders still tense from your earlier panic attack over Set Me Free.

The air was still, the mirrored walls reflecting your nervous figure as you set down your bag.

Your legs still felt wobbly, the trauma from past training sessions etched into your muscles, but you tried to shake it off.

Y/N: "Alright... maybe today won't be that bad..."

A loud thud made you flinch.

The door swung open.

Hirai Momo had entered the chat.

And she looked pissed.

You froze, watching as she walked in, a storm brewing in her dark eyes. Her lips were pressed tight, jaw set, and if looks could kill-

Well, you would have been dead before you could even breathe.

Your soul left your body.

You hadn't even done anything wrong today!

...Had you?

Momo dropped her bag, cracking her neck as she eyed you like a predator sizing up its prey.

Momo: "We're doing variations today."

Her voice was calm. Too calm.

That was not a good sign.

Y/N: "V-Variations?"

Momo: "Mhm."

She stepped closer, rolling her shoulders.

Momo: "I want to see how fast you can adapt to different styles of choreography. So we'll be doing various TWICE songs."

...Huh?

Your stomach sank.

Y/N: "Wait, wait, wait. Why only TWICE songs?"

Momo's sharp gaze flickered toward you.

Momo: "What? You have a problem?"

Y/N: "N-No! But- mean, can't we add some boy group songs too? Maybe something with less-"

Momo: "No."

Your words died in your throat.

Momo crossed her arms, her expression unwavering.

Momo: "You think TWICE choreographies aren't intense enough?"

You went silent.

Y/N: "I... I never said that-"

Momo: "Good. Because I'd shut you up either way."

Your soul fled to another dimension.

Y/N: "...I see."

There was no escape.

---

Your chest heaved, lungs aching as you gasped for breath.

Y/N: "Haaah-haaah-hrrgh-"

Your body shook from the exhaustion, sweat dripping from your chin as you leaned forward, bracing yourself on your thighs.

But even then-it wasn't enough.

Your body was starved of oxygen.

Your mouth parted wide, sucking in deep gulps of air, but it felt like you were drowning on land.

Your vision blurred for a second, and for a terrifying moment, you thought you were going to pass out.

Momo: "...Y/N."

Her voice was calm, but you barely registered it over the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

You slumped forward, catching yourself on your hands, palms pressing against the cold floor.

Oxygen.

You needed more oxygen.

Now.

Your mouth hung open as you desperately sucked in air, but it still felt like you were being strangled.

Momo sighed, stepping closer.

Momo: "You're hyperventilating, idiot."

You barely heard her as your mind frantically tried to regulate itself.

Then-suddenly-

A hand grabbed the back of your shirt, yanking you up.

Before you could react, something cold was pressed against your lips.

Momo: "Drink."

Your fingers trembled as you took the bottle from her hand, water spilling down your chin as you took huge, greedy gulps.

Your breathing finally began to slow, the rush of air into your lungs less suffocating.

Your head tilted back, eyes fluttering closed as the cold liquid cooled your burning throat.

A few more minutes passed before Momo sighed, her arms crossing.

Momo: "Pathetic. I thought you had more stamina than this."

Her words stung-but you were too tired to respond.

Your entire body felt like it was made of lead.

Your arms trembled as you weakly pushed yourself up from the floor, still breathing heavily, your vision slightly swimming from the sheer exhaustion.

Momo had already grabbed her things, a towel draped over her neck, as she headed toward the door.

You didn't even know why-but something inside you twisted painfully.

Even though your body screamed for you to stay still-

Your lips parted, your voice hoarse and breathless.

Y/N: "...Momo-sunbaenim."

She froze mid-step.

You didn't even see her reaction-you were too busy staring at the floor.

Y/N: "...I'm sorry."

Your fingers curled into your sweat-soaked shirt.

Y/N: "I-If I disappointed you today... I-"

You sucked in a shaky breath, still not daring to look at her.

Y/N: "I really... tried my best."

A long silence filled the room.

Momo stood motionless, fingers tightening around the strap of her bag.

Then-without a single word-

She turned and walked away.

The door shut behind her, the sound echoing through the empty practice room.

You barely had the energy to react.

You just slumped back down on the floor, your head resting against the cold wall.

Her grip on her bag tightened, her jaw clenching as a sharp wave of guilt slammed into her chest.

What the hell was wrong with her?

Why did she push you so hard?

And why-when she heard you apologize so sincerely, with so much raw emotion in your exhausted voice-

Did she feel like the worst person alive?

Momo: "...I'm such an idiot."

Her eyes shut tight, frustration bubbling inside her.

Momo: "Why am I being so immature?"

This wasn't what she wanted.

She had plans. She had reasons.

But today, she let her emotions take control.

And now, you-had apologized to her, even when she was the one being irrational.

She exhaled harshly, gripping the strap of her bag before walking away-

But the guilt lingered, crawling under her skin like a heavy weight that she couldn't shake off.

A Month Later - Under Her Control

The past month had been... strange.

At first, Momo was just your strict but talented mentor-pushing you past your limits, making sure your dance flowed, your rhythm synchronized, your every step sharp yet fluid.

But somewhere along the way-she started worming her way into your daily life.

At first, it was small things.

Like handing you a water bottle before you could reach for one yourself. Or grabbing a towel and tossing it at you before you even realized you were sweating buckets.

Then it escalated.

Momo: "Y/N, you're eating way too much junk. I'm sending you a proper meal plan."

And the next day-boom.

Your phone buzzed, a detailed meal plan from her sitting in your messages.

And because you were a good student, you followed it.

Then it became clothes.

Momo: "Y/N, are you seriously wearing that?"

You looked down at your black hoodie and sweats. What was wrong with it?

Momo: "You look like a sleepy high schooler. Hold on."

The next thing you knew, she dragged you to a department store, making you try on outfits that-frankly-you never would've picked yourself.

And because you were too tired to argue, you let her pick.

Soon-she wasn't just your mentor.

She was your meal planner.

Your stylist.

Your supervisor.

And somehow-you let it happen.

Not because she forced you.

But because... you were getting used to it.

Hell-was she even controlling you?

Or were you just stupidly obedient?

You had no clue.

But right now-you sat in the practice room, sipping on the protein shake that Momo had forced upon you, staring at yourself in the mirror.

Y/N: "...What the hell happened to me?"

Your hair was neatly styled. Your outfit? Approved by Momo.

Your meals? Decided by Momo.

Your training schedule? Dictated by Momo.

Y/N: "...Am I even my own person anymore?"

The door suddenly swung open, and you didn't even need to turn around to know who it was.

Momo: "Alright, dummy. Time to start."

You sighed, finishing off your drink.

This was your life now.

And you let it happen.

At first, it was just a mentor-student relationship.

Momo was my dance coach. A sunbaenim I admired. A K-pop legend whose movements were so sharp yet fluid that even idols envied her.

But now?

She had become something far more than that.

Something deeper.

Something I couldn't even describe.

I didn't even realize how much she had wormed her way into my life until I looked back and saw just how deeply entangled I was in her presence.

At first, she was just strict and demanding.

But then she started staying back after practice, watching over me as I cooled down, asking if I was eating well, correcting my posture even outside dance.

Then she started sending me good morning texts.

Then reminders to eat on time.

Then checking in on me whenever I got too silent.

Then one day-when I was just sitting in the practice room, drained and lost in my own thoughts-she just sat down next to me and sighed.

Not as Momo the Mentor.

But as Momo the Person.

Momo: "Y/N... you okay?"

I didn't even know how to answer that.

Because truthfully?

I didn't know how I was feeling anymore.

My whole life had been practice, training, expectations, and the relentless pursuit of being good enough.

And somehow, Momo became the only person I could talk to about it.

She didn't push. She didn't force words out of me.

She just sat there-waiting.

And before I even realized, I was confiding in her more than I had ever confided in anyone.

I told her about the pressure, about the expectations, about the nights where I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, wondering if I would ever be enough.

And she just listened.

Really listened.

And when I was done, she just patted my head and said-

Momo: "You're too hard on yourself."

It was such a simple statement.

But for some reason, it almost made me tear up.

Because for the first time in my entire career-someone wasn't demanding more from me.

She just... saw me.

And that was when I realized-

Momo wasn't just gaining control over my training.

She was gaining control over me.

My habits. My daily routine. My emotions.

And I-being the obedient fool that I was-just let it happen.

Months of Momo slowly taking control of my life.

Months of her presence growing larger, more influential-until she wasn't just my mentor anymore. She was my constant.

She picked my meals.

She picked my clothes.

She picked when I rested-because without her, I wouldn't.

And yet, I never once complained.

Because despite how strict she was, despite how much control she had over me... I trusted her.

She took care of me. She understood me. She was the only person I could confide in.

And that's why-when Sana started spending more time around me-I didn't think much of it.

She was a sunbae too.

She was warm, kind, playful.

She made the long, tiring training days feel lighter.

But what I didn't realize... was that Momo noticed.

And she did not like it.

---

It happened late at night.

I was still in the practice room, running through choreography alone. Sweat dripped from my temple as I exhaled sharply, trying to keep my stance firm despite my exhausted legs.

Then-the door swung open.

And there she was.

Hirai Momo.

Her expression was unreadable.

Her gaze was piercing.

Her stance-too relaxed, too controlled-like a beast preparing to pounce.

Y/N: "Momo...?"

She didn't answer.

She just closed the door behind her and walked forward-slow, deliberate, almost predatory.

I instinctively stepped back.

Why... did she look so intense?

Why did she look like she was about to do something irreversible?

Then, her voice cut through the thick air.

Momo: "You've been spending a lot of time with Sana lately."

I blinked.

That's what this was about?

Y/N: "Oh... yeah. She just-"

Momo: "Why?"

Her voice was sharp.

It wasn't curious.

It was demanding.

I swallowed, suddenly feeling like a cornered prey.

Y/N: "She... checks in on me sometimes. We talk. She's nice-"

Momo: "And I'm not?"

That made me freeze.

Y/N: "What? No, I didn't mean-"

Momo: "Then why do you need her?"

She took another step forward.

I stepped back.

But my back hit the mirror.

Now I had nowhere to go.

I had never seen Momo like this before.

Her eyes weren't just sharp.

They were burning.

Not with anger.

Not with irritation.

But with something deeper.

Something that made my breath hitch.

And before I could even process it-

She placed her hands on either side of my head, caging me in.

I inhaled sharply.

Y/N: "Momo, wh-"

Momo: "Look at me."

I did.

And in that moment-I understood.

This wasn't about Sana.

This wasn't about me spending time with another sunbae.

This was about her.

Her claim.

Her possession.

Her dominance.

And I-the fool who had let her take control of my life-hadn't even realized what was happening until now.

Then she leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper.

Momo: "You're mine, Y/N."

My breath hitched.

Her hand brushed against my jaw-light, teasing, but enough to send a shiver down my spine.

She was close.

Too close.

Her scent surrounded me-vanilla, sweat, and something uniquely Momo.

My heartbeat was erratic.

My knees felt weak.

I was trapped.

Not just by her presence, but by her aura.

By the sheer power she exuded.

Then-her fingers ghosted over my collarbone.

Slow.

Deliberate.

I just stood there-helpless beneath her gaze.

And she smirked.

A small, knowing, dangerous smirk.

Momo: "You're such a good boy, Y/N."

Her voice was low, sultry, laced with amusement.

She was toying with me.

And she knew I wouldn't stop her.

Then she tilted her head, brushing her lips dangerously close to my ear.

Momo: "I won't let you go."

I could feel the heat radiating from her-too close, too overwhelming.

Her fingers traced the collar of my shirt, barely touching my skin but leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

I swallowed hard.

Y/N: "Momo..."

My voice came out weaker than I intended.

She smirked.

Her hand moved lower, teasing the fabric near my chest, barely grazing my collarbone.

I felt my breathing hitch.

This wasn't playful Momo.

This wasn't strict mentor Momo.

This was something else entirely.

She loved that.

Her lips brushed against my ear, her breath sending shivers down my spine.

Momo: "What is it, Y/N?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, my fists clenching at my sides.

I needed to get a grip.

But then-she tilted my chin up.

Forcing me to meet her eyes.

Dark. Intense. Possessive.

My breath caught in my throat.

I could see it.

Desire.

Not just lust.

Something deeper.

Something that had been building for months.

Then-her lips curled into a smirk as her thumb brushed against my bottom lip.

Momo: "You let me control everything, Y/N."

I needed to breathe.

I shuddered.

Momo: "Your food."

Her other hand trailed down my side-slow, teasing.

Momo: "Your clothes."

My pulse spiked.

Momo: "Your training."

Then she leaned in, her lips barely an inch from mine.

Momo: "So why not this too?"

My mind went blank.

I felt her fingers slide under the hem of my shirt-just barely, just enough to test me.

To see if I would stop her.

But I didn't.

I couldn't.

Because the truth was...

I didn't want to.

And she knew it.

Her smirk deepened.

Her nails lightly dragged against my stomach, making me tense.

Then-she finally closed the gap.

Not a kiss.

But a whisper.

Right against my lips.

Momo: "Tell me to stop."

I couldn't.

I didn't.

Because at that moment...

I wasn't sure if I even wanted her to.

---

(A/N: Bare with my smut scene. Iam still learning to write beautifully and shy shy shy person hehe)

The dance studio is quiet now, the mirrors fogged with the ghost of your sweat-drenched rehearsals, the floor still vibrating with the memory of Momo’s sharp critiques. She leans against the wall, arms crossed, her gray tank top clinging to the curves of her perky breasts, damp from hours of drilling you. Her eyes—normally playful, even when she’s yelling—glow with something darker, hungrier. You’ve seen her like this before, but not like this. Not with her teeth digging into her full lower lip, not with her legs shifting restlessly under those high-waisted leggings that cup her plump ass like a second skin.

Momo: voice low, her Japanese accent thickening with tension “You… and Sana. You laugh with her. Let her touch you. Fix your hair. Her hands clench into fists at her sides. Why do you let her get so close, Y/N? Hmm?”

Your throat goes dry. You’ve spent months memorizing the way Momo’s hips pop during choreography, how her toned stomach flexes when she demonstrates a move, how her perfect, pillowy lips purse when you’re not giving 200%. But this? This is new. Her jealousy coils in the air like smoke, mingling with the musk of your exhaustion.

Y/N: “Momo…Sana-sunbaenim and i aren’t close in that way...

Her pupils blow wide. In one fluid motion, she’s on you—hands fisting your shirt, slamming you against the mirror. The glass chills your back as her nails scrape down your chest, her knee wedging between your thighs, pressing greedily against your hardening bulge. Her breath hitches, warm and sweet against your neck.

Momo: growling, lips brushing your earlobe “Prove it.”

Her tongue is in your mouth before you can blink—hungry, demanding, tasting like coconut water and mint. You groan, hands sliding down to knead the supple swell of her ass, squeezing until she whimpers. She breaks the kiss, panting, and yanks her tank top over her head, revealing pert, pink-tipped tits that bounce lightly as she shoves you to the floor. You land with a grunt, staring up as she peels her leggings down mile-long legs, leaving her in nothing but a lace thong soaked through at the center

Momo climbs over you, her pussy hovering inches from your face

Momo: “You want to worship me, Y/N? Start here.”

You don’t hesitate. Gripping her hips, you drag her down onto your tongue, lapping at her slick folds. She moars—a high, broken sound—as you suck her clit, your nose buried in her pelvic bone. Her thighs tremble, her hands fisting your hair as she grinds against your mouth, juices dripping down your chin.

Momo: voice shaking “F-fuck, just like that! God, your tongue—ahn!—should’ve shoved my panties in your mouth weeks ago…”

You flip her suddenly, pinning her beneath you. Her tits jiggle as her back hits the floor, nipples pebbled and begging for your mouth. You oblige, sucking one while your hand snakes between her legs, two fingers plunging into her sopping cunt.

Y/N: muffled against her breast “You’re the only one I want, Momo. Only you.”

She arches, crying out as your thumb circles her clit. Her hips buck, fucking herself on your fingers, those dancer’s legs hooking around your waist to pull you closer.

Momo: “I need your cock. Now. Don’t care if it’s my pussy or my ass—just fuck me!”

You flip her onto her stomach, spanking her round ass hard enough to leave a red handprint. She gasps, spreading her legs shamelessly, her tight little asshole winking at you. You spit into your palm, slicking your dick—throbbing, leaking pre-cum—before pressing the fat head against her puckered entrance.

Y/N: “This what you want, Momo? You want me to ruin this perfect ass?”

Momo: face mashed into the floor, voice garbled but fierce “Fucking break me, Y/N—nngh!”

You slam home in one brutal thrust. She screams, her walls clenching like a vise around you, but you don’t stop. Can’t stop. Her ass swallows you whole, every snap of your hips earning a ragged moan as her tits sway beneath her, nipples scraping the floor. She reaches back, clawing at your thigh.

Momo: sobbing “D-don’t you dare hold back! I’ll fucking kill you if you—AHHH!”

You lean over her, one hand fisting her hair, the other groping her tit as you piston into her. The slap of skin echoes off the mirrors, her creamy cheeks reddening with every impact. She’s babbling now, a mix of Korean and Japanese curses and pleads for more, her asshole milking you relentlessly

Y/N: “Momoring-! Hnngg, iam close.."

Her body seizes, her scream ricocheting off the walls as her pussy cums, her ass squeezing you like she’s trying to drain your soul. You follow, burying yourself to the hilt as hot ropes of cum flood her depths. She collapses, trembling, as you pull out, your baby batter dribbling from her gaping hole.

---

Later, as you both lie tangled on the floor, her head on your chest, Momo traces the bite marks she left on your collarbone. Her voice is soft now, almost shy.

Momo: “Sana… she doesn’t make you cum like that, does she?”

You sigh, tugging her closer.

Y/N: “No has Only you, Momoring.”

Momo: “Oh? Iam Good. Now… let’s see how many times you can make me scream before the cleaners show up.”

Dragging you up, Momo’s painted nails dig into your shoulders as she pushes you onto the studio’s leather couch, her eyes glinting with predatory intent. Her tits—full, peach-perfect, still glistening with sweat from your earlier pounding—brush against your chest as she straddles your lap, her core grinding against your already hardening cock. She grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head, her voice a velvet command.

Momo: “You don’t get to move. Not until I say so.”

You nod, breath catching as her thumbs flick over your nipples, her lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. She smirks at your shiver, then rises to her knees, dragging her tits along your shaft, the soft weight of them making your hips jerk instinctively.

Momo: slapping your thigh “I said still, Y/N. Or do I need to tie you to this couch?”

Her breasts engulf your cock, the slick heat of her cleavage squeezing you like a vice. She rolls her hips, making her tits bounce rhythmically, the pink peaks brushing your tip with every sway. Pre-cum beads at your slit, smearing across her skin as she leans forward, her breath hot in your ear.

Momo: “This what you wanted? To watch Twice’s main dancer turn herself into your personal fucktoy? She licks a stripe up your cock-slit. Bet Sana’s tits couldn’t even wrap around half of this monster…”

You groan, fists clenching as she works you faster, her japanese tits jiggling obscenely, the wet sounds of flesh on flesh filling the room. Her dominance is intoxicating—every command, every touch, a reminder that she owns this moment… owns you.

Y/N: “Momo, I’m close—fuck—!”

Momo:slowing her pace, smirk venomous “Uh-uh. You cum when I tell you to cum.”

---

She releases your wrists abruptly, slithering off the couch to kneel between your legs. Her hands grip the base of your cock, stroking roughly as she tilts her head up, lips parted. The sight of her—makeup smudged, hair messy, those doe eyes locked on yours—sends a vicious throb through your dick.

Momo: “Cover my face. Now.”

You don’t hesitate. Pushing her aback to pump your cock in her cleavage once more before pulling out, aiming for her smug, pretty face. Thick ropes of cum stripe her cheeks, her eyelids, her tongue as she sticks it out greedily. She moans, lapping at the tip, swallowing every drop that lands in her mouth.

Momo: “Look at me. Perfect, right? Bet you wanna take a photo for Sana… show her who you really belong to.”

You’re still panting when she stands, marching you toward the floor-to-ceiling mirrors. She spins you around, your back pressing against the cold glass as she drops to her knees again, her cum-streaked face staring up at you devilishly.

Momo: “You’re gonna fuck me in front of this mirror. And you’re gonna watch.”

---

Giving you a few minute of dirty talk, She stroked your bulbuos cock, already hardening again. Rising fluidly, she hikes one leg around your hip, guiding your tip to her soaked entrance. The mirror fogs where your palms press against it, Momo’s reflection a blur of golden skin and messy blonde hair as she sinks onto you with a cry

Momo: clawing at your shoulders “F-faster! Don’t just stare—fuck me like you mean it!”

You obey, driving into her with deep, punishing strokes, your eyes locked on the mirror. Her tits bounce wildly, her ass clapping against your thighs as she throws her head back, swearing in a mix of Korean and Japanese yet again. Her hands fly to her nipples, pinching them hard as she rides you, her cunt fluttering around your cock.

Momo: “See that? She grips your chin, forcing you to look at your reflection—your cock disappearing into her glistening pussy. That’s where you live now. In. Me.”

You spiral closer to the edge, but she senses it, suddenly pulling off and spinning around. Her back presses to your chest, her hand snaking behind to grip your shaft, guiding it back into her ass without warning. You shout, the dual sensation of her tight heat and the lewd mirror image overwhelming.

Momo: panting “Don’t you dare cum yet. I want your dick down my throat first.”

---

She drags you to the floor, lying back with her head hanging off. You loom over her, cock glistening with her juices, and she opens her mouth like a starved thing, tongue out, eyes blazing.

Momo: “Facefuck me. And if you make me gag, I’ll bite.”

You hold her hair rather gently, sliding into her throat with a groan. She takes you greedily, gagging slightly but never breaking eye contact, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes as you thrust deeper. Her tits heave with every ragged breath, her hands squeezing her own nipples roughly, and you can feel her vibrating around you—a submissive paradox, still utterly in control

Y/N: “Momo—I can’t hold back—”

Momo said glaring up at you, lips stretched obscenely

Momo: “Do. It.”

You explode down her throat, her neck working to swallow every drop. When you finally pull out, she coughs, wiping her lips with the back of her hand, then licks it clean, smugness radiating off her like heat

Momo: “Now… clean me up. My pussy is dripping again with your generous work.” She spreads her legs, fingers parting her swollen lips. “Use. Your. Tongue.”

---

Momo’s fingers are knotted in your hair, yanking your face upward until your eyes water. She’s perched on the edge of the studio’s grand piano now, legs spread wide, her puffy, glistening cunt inches from your mouth. The scent of her arousal—musky, addictive—hits you like a drug, your cock twitching helplessly in your pants. She smirks, grinding her hips forward, her swollen clit brushing your lips.

Momo: voice sharp, commanding “Lick. And if you stop before I say, I’ll make you choke on my strap-on for a week.”

You dive in, tongue slashing up her slit, lapping at her juices like a man starved. She hisses, thighs clamping around your head, cutting off your air as you suck her clit into your mouth. Your nose buries into her soaking folds, her taste flooding your senses. She rocks against your face viciously, grinding her pussy into you, her moans sharp and needy.

Momo: panting “Fuck—yes! Harder! Bite it, you coward—ahn!”

You nip her clit gently, and she shrieks, slamming your face deeper into her cunt. Your jaw aches, but you don’t stop, tongue flicking her entrance before plunging inside. She gyrates, fucking herself on your mouth, her hands raking through your hair hard enough to tear strands out.

Momo: “That’s it—! Make me cum so hard I forget my fucking name!”

Her thighs quake, her orgasm hitting like a freight train as she jerks your head side to side, milking her pleasure from your tongue. You lap at her greedily, swallowing every drop, until she shoves you back, gasping.

---

Before you can breathe, she’s on her knees, not letting your cock rest as she started slapping against her already cum-streaked face. Her eyes blaze as she grips your shaft, slapping it against her cheeks, smearing your pre-cum with her saliva.

Momo: “You wanna fuck this throat? Prove you deserve it.”

You nod frantically, and she snarls, slamming her mouth onto your dick. Her throat opens, taking you to the hilt in one brutal thrust. You gag, reflexively bucking upward, but she pins your hips, nose buried in your pelvis as she gags, tears streaming down her face. She pulls off just to gasp, “Harder!"

You fist her hair, fucking her throat like a toy, her mascara running, lips bruised and shiny. She gags, spit dripping down her chin, but never breaks rhythm, her nails digging into your thighs. The wet, obscene sounds of her throat stretching around you echo off the piano’s polished surface.

Momo: between heaving breaths “Cum—ghck!—cum down this throat or I’ll never let you touch me again!”

You explode, hips stuttering as you pump her mouth full. She swallows every drop, coughing violently when you finally pull out, her voice hoarse but triumphant.

Momo: “Good boy. Now… breed me.”

---

She climbs onto the piano bench, ass in the air, her pussy glistening, still twitching from your tongue. You grab her hips, lining up, but she stops you.

Momo: glaring over her shoulder “Ask.”

Y/N: voice wrecked “Please, Momo… let me fill you up. Please.”

She smirks, reaching back to spread her drooling cunt..“Beg harder.”

Y/N: “I need to cum inside you—please—I can’t think about anything but your fucking pussy—”

Momo: cutting you off “Then take it. Breed me like the slut I own you to be.”

You slam into her, her walls clenching like a fist as you fuck her with desperate, jackhammer thrusts. The piano keys jangle discordantly beneath her trembling hands, her tits swaying wildly, nipples scraping the wood. She screams your name, her cunt gripping you like she’s trying to suck your soul out through your dick.

Momo: “G-gonna put a baby in me? Huh? Do it—fill me till I’m dripping!”

You grunt, knotting inside her as you cum, pumping her full even as she climaxes again, her juices mixing with your spend. She collapses onto the piano, gasping, your cum already leaking down her thighs.

Momo turns to kiss you, ferocious and sweet

Momo: "I fucking love you so much.."

---

The room was silent except for the sound of our heavy breathing.

Bodies tangled.

Skin damp with sweat.

My chest rose and fell erratically as I lay sprawled on the cool floor, my limbs utterly spent.

And on top of me—Momo.

Equally breathless.

Equally wrecked.

Her face was buried in my neck, her hair sticking to my skin.

She didn’t move.

Neither did I.

For a while, we just existed.

In the aftermath.

In the silence filled with unspoken emotions.

Then—her arms tightened around me.

Momo: "You okay?"

Her voice was hoarse. Soft, but laced with exhaustion.

I swallowed thickly, my throat dry from everything that just happened.

Y/N: "I… yeah."

It came out more like a breath than a word.

Momo finally lifted her head, her deep brown eyes meeting mine.

Something flickered there.

Something gentle.

Something warm.

A complete contrast to the way she had just ruined me.

Her fingers brushed across my cheek, her touch softer now.

Momo: "You're shaking."

I blinked.

But now that she pointed it out—yeah.

I was trembling like a damn leaf.

She frowned.

Then, before I could react, she shifted, pulling me into her arms as she flipped onto her back, bringing me on top of her.

My head landed against her bare chest, her heartbeat steady and calm against my ear.

I sighed.

Letting my body relax into hers.

Y/N: "…You’re warm."

Momo chuckled.

Momo: "So are you."

I felt her hand rub soothing circles against my back, her fingers tracing lazy patterns.

It was comforting.

So much that I nearly melted into her touch.

A deep yawn escaped me, exhaustion creeping in fast.

Momo hummed, her lips pressing lightly against my forehead.

Momo: "You did good."

A warm feeling spread through my chest at her praise.

Y/N: "You too…"

Momo chuckled again, the sound vibrating against my cheek.

Then—she pulled the blanket over us.

When did she even grab it?

I didn’t know.

Because I was already drifting.

Momo exhaled softly, shifting slightly before whispering—

Momo: "Sleep, Y/N."

I wanted to say something.

Something witty.

Something snarky.

But all I managed was—

Y/N: "Mmm…"

Momo smiled.

I felt it against my skin.

Then—she held me closer.

The silence between us stretched for what felt like forever.

Momo’s grip on me never loosened, her arms still locked securely around my waist. Her fingers traced slow, absentminded patterns along my bare skin, as if grounding herself.

I wasn’t sure what she was thinking.

But I could feel the weight of it.

Something heavy. Something serious.

And then—I asked it.

A question that had been lingering in the back of my mind since the haze of exhaustion had started to clear.

Y/N: “…What will we do now?”

Momo stilled.

Her fingers stopped moving.

She didn’t answer immediately, her breath warm against my temple as she mulled over her response.

And then, after what felt like a small eternity, she finally spoke.

Momo: "I’ll handle it."

There was an edge to her voice.

Something firm. Unwavering.

Like she had already decided.

Like she had already claimed me.

The air shifted.

Her hold on me tightened, her presence demanding in a way I had never felt before.

I swallowed, suddenly aware of just how intense this moment was becoming.

Then—her next words came.

Words that felt like a command.

Momo: "Focus on loving me."

My heart skipped.

My eyes widened slightly.

She pulled back just enough to look at me, her dark brown eyes searching mine.

Something about her stare made me feel bare.

Momo: "Do you love me?"

Her voice was low.

Not a whisper.

Not loud.

But it held weight.

A question that left no room for games.

I sucked in a sharp breath, suddenly feeling like the air in the room had gotten too thick.

Love?

I hadn’t even had time to process what we had just done, and now this?

I felt her fingers press against my jaw, tilting my face toward hers as she waited.

She was serious.

And yet, despite the suddenness, despite the intensity—

Maybe I was.

Maybe I did feel something.

Something undeniable.

Something that had been building from the very first moment she stepped into my life.

So, I gave her the only answer I could.

Y/N: "Maybe… I’m reciprocal."

It was soft. Uncertain yet honest. And that seemed to be enough.

Because Momo’s lips curled into something dangerous.

Something possessive.

And then—she leaned in.

Her breath fanned against my lips, her fingers tightening around my jaw just enough to make me shudder.

Terms of Loving Momo

Momo lay beside me, her body still warm, pressed close as if she had no intention of letting me go anytime soon. Her fingers, slow and deliberate, traced the ridges of my collarbone, down to my chest, before stopping just over my heartbeat.

Her breathing had calmed, but her grip on me remained possessive.

She was thinking.

And then, she spoke.

Momo: "If you’re going to love me, you need to know what that means."

Her voice was firm but not cruel.

It wasn’t a demand, but a declaration.

She didn’t want a half-hearted answer.

She didn’t want uncertainty.

She wanted assurance.

Her eyes locked onto mine, waiting to see if I understood.

I swallowed, feeling my throat dry, but nodded anyway. "Tell me."

A slow, almost dangerous smile played on her lips as she adjusted herself, shifting so that she was hovering slightly over me, her arms caging me in.

Momo: "Good."

Then—the rules came.

1. No Lies, No Secrets

Momo: "If you love me, you don’t get to lie to me. Not about the small things. Not about the big things."

Her fingers slid down to my wrist, where my pulse was still racing.

Momo: "I want to know everything. What you’re thinking. What you’re feeling. What you want."

Her eyes darkened, her expression serious.

Momo: "If something’s wrong, you tell me. If you’re upset, you tell me. If I do something that hurts you, you tell me."

Her voice softened just slightly, but her fingers tightened.

Momo: "I won’t play guessing games, Y/N."

A lump formed in my throat.

She meant it.

This wasn’t just about trust.

It was about respect.

I nodded. "I understand."

She studied me for a second before continuing.

2. I Am a Priority—Not an Option

Her fingers trailed back up, resting against the side of my neck.

Momo: "I’m not saying you can’t have your own life."

Her thumb stroked over my skin slowly.

Momo: "But if you love me, you don’t put me second. You don’t make me an option while you figure things out."

Her expression hardened slightly.

Momo: "I refuse to be a second thought."

There was a vulnerability behind those words.

A truth she wasn’t saying outright.

She had probably been made to feel like an option before.

She wasn’t going to let that happen again.

I inhaled, pushing myself up slightly so that I was no longer lying down. "I wouldn’t do that to you."

Her eyes softened—just barely.

Momo: "Good."

Then, her lips curled into something more playful.

3. You Don’t Get to Look at Anyone Else

She tilted my chin up, forcing me to look at her fully.

Momo: "This one is obvious."

Her voice dropped, turning dangerously sweet.

Momo: "Your eyes? They’re mine."

She leaned in, her lips brushing against my jaw.

Momo: "Your hands? Mine."

Another brush of her lips—this time against my throat.

Momo: "Your thoughts? Your body? Your time?"

Her breath was warm against my skin.

Momo: "Mine."

My breath hitched.

She meant every word.

4. I Set the Pace

She pulled back just enough to look at me again, her gaze locked onto mine.

Momo: "I don’t like rushing things."

She studied my expression, as if making sure I was really listening.

Momo: "That means I decide how fast or slow this goes. If I want to take my time? You let me. If I want to keep you waiting? You wait."

I blinked. "Even if I’m dying?"

A small smirk.

Momo: "Especially if you’re dying."

I groaned. "That’s cruel."

She only grinned.

Momo: "I like watching you squirm."

I swallowed hard.

I didn’t doubt that.

Not even a little.

5. You Don’t Break My Heart

And then—her expression shifted.

Her teasing faded.

Her grip loosened slightly, but her voice turned more serious than ever.

Momo: "This is the most important one."

She leaned in closer, pressing her forehead lightly against mine.

Momo: "I don’t care how strong I am. I don’t care if people think I can handle anything."

Her fingers curled into my shirt, gripping it tightly.

Momo: "If you ever break my heart, I will never forgive you."

A lump formed in my throat.

I wanted to say, “I would never.”

But something told me she had probably heard those words before.

And that they had probably meant nothing.

So instead—I said something else.

Something I knew I could promise.

Y/N: "I’ll be careful with it."

Her breath hitched—just slightly.

And then—she sighed.

Momo: "You better be."

Conflicted Thoughts: The Minatozaki Sana Problem

Momo was asleep, curled up against me, her breathing soft and even. The warmth of her body and the weight of her arm draped over my chest should have lulled me into a peaceful rest. But my mind wouldn’t stop running.

I stared at the ceiling, heart still trying to process the whirlwind of everything.

And then—Sana came to mind.

Y/N (in mind): "Shit."

I had been so wrapped up in Momo’s storm, in the way she took control of me, of us—that I hadn’t stopped to think about the chaos I was walking into.

Sana… She wasn’t dumb.

She was playful, teasing, and at times, chaotic. But she wasn’t dumb.

She had been watching me.

I had seen it—felt it.

The way her eyes lingered, the way her jokes sometimes carried a hint of something deeper.

The way she stuck around a little longer than necessary whenever we talked.

The way she reacted to Momo's presence around me.

And now that I thought about it—Momo had noticed too.

That was why she had been so aggressive.

That was why she had pinned me down with her emotions, her control.

She wasn’t just trying to claim me.

She was trying to beat Sana to it.

I let out a slow exhale, gripping the sheets.

Y/N (in mind): "Sana-sunbae… I wasn’t too dumb to notice that you… might have a thing for me."

The problem was—Sana wasn't someone who took defeat well.

She wasn’t the type to back down when she wanted something.

Sana was competitive.

She was possessive.

And yet—she was sensitive.

For all her flirting and confident demeanor, she was the kind of person who, once she realized something she wanted was out of her reach, would break down.

Y/N (in mind): "And if Momo’s revelation hits her… it won’t just be jealousy. It’ll be heartbreak."

I turned my head slightly, watching Momo’s sleeping face.

She looked peaceful.

Composed.

But earlier—she had been terrified.

For all her dominance and control, there had been something fragile in her voice when she had told me her rules.

She was afraid of losing me.

And now, I feared the same for Sana.

Would she fight for me?

Or would she cry herself to sleep the moment she realized she had already lost?

I bit my lip, torn.

Y/N (in mind): "Shit."

This wasn’t just a love story anymore.

This was a battlefield.

The Moment Everything Changed

The air in the room was warm, thick with the remnants of what had just happened. Momo’s body was still tangled with mine, her breath slow and even against my skin.

I hadn’t moved much, still too caught up in my own whirlwind of thoughts about Sana.

And then—the door clicked open.

Sana: “Y/N-ah! I brought—”

Her voice was cheerful. Giddy, even. The kind of excitement that was infectious, like she had been looking forward to seeing me after practice.

But the moment her eyes landed on us—her whole body froze.

Her smile faltered.

Just slightly. But I saw it.

The way the corners of her lips twitched.

The way her eyes widened for a fraction of a second before something—something else—crossed over her expression.

I didn’t move.

Momo didn’t either.

She was still draped over me, her bare shoulder peeking out from under the sheets, her legs tangled with mine.

There was no way Sana could misinterpret this.

There was no way she could pretend she didn’t see it.

And yet—for a second, she tried.

Sana: “Oh…”

She let out a soft laugh—forced, nervous.

Sana: “I, uh… I thought you’d still be practicing.”

Her eyes flickered between us, searching.

For an excuse.

For an explanation.

For something that would make this make sense.

But there was nothing I could say.

Nothing that would soften the reality that she was standing in front of.

Momo shifted slightly, lifting her head.

Her eyes locked onto Sana’s, and for the first time in a long time—there was no teasing.

No playfulness.

Only silent acknowledgment.

And Sana understood.

The realization hit her like a bullet.

Her fingers trembled around the snack bag.

Her mouth opened as if she wanted to say something—but she didn’t.

Because what could she say?

That she had been too late?

I swallowed hard, trying to find my voice.

Y/N: “Noona, I—”

(A/N: The OC is a 97 liner. Thats why Momo and Sana or older to him)

Sana smiled.

It wasn’t her usual bright, dazzling grin.

It wasn’t the kind of smile that made people feel warm inside.

It was the kind of smile that people used when they were trying not to cry.

Sana: “It’s okay.”

She took a step back.

And then another.

Sana: “I should go.”

Her voice was quiet, too quiet.

The way her eyes glistened under the soft lighting of the room made something in my chest tighten painfully.

She turned toward the door.

And then she was gone.

Just like that.

The sound of the door clicking shut echoed in the silence.

Momo let out a small breath, but she didn’t move.

Neither did I.

Because this wasn’t over.

This was just the beginning.

To Be Continued....

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dearhargrove · 1 year ago

Text

thirty feet under

Evan Buckley x reader

summary The last thing you expected to see on the news tonight is Eddie trapped under 30 feet of mud with your husband desperately trying to get him out. Knowing how reckless he could get, you drive there after informing Bobby and have a talk with Buck.

word count 4734

tags basically s3 e15, reader and Buck are married, fluff, and hurt :<

a/n I dunno I was just sad watching that episode like the way Buck was immediately trying to dig Eddie up? I'm crying actually. I love these two fr. Yeah wtv I just needed to write something where Buck isn't suffering lmao 😭

masterlist

You've been following the news ever since you first saw that the 118 was at the scene of the small boy trapped in the well. You had nothing better to do, and if you had the chance to watch your husband work? You took it.

What you weren't expecting almost an hour ago was the drastic changes and complications arising as they tried getting Hayden - the trapped boy - out.

The obnoxious news reporter is talking about the weather and what's happening but you've stopped listening long ago. Your eyes were transfixed onto the background where Eddie was getting ready to go down the second tunnel they'd made in order to reach the boy safely.

However, something wasn't right. You don't know if it's Hen’s nervous expression or the overall unease of the team that carries through the screen, but something feels off.

You bury your hands in your hair as you continue to watch. The rain is pouring hard, the mud seems to be making everything worse and there were more firefighters arriving at the scene by the minute.

You're basically praying when the cameraman zoomes past the news reporter and onto Eddie as he's being let down into the hole. Evan is behind the winch, brows furrowed. You could see it on his face too; noone in the team seemed to be happy with this.

Considering they were letting one of their own down a 30 foot drop without fully knowing how stable the ground was, you understood.

For the first time since the broadcast started the blonde is quiet, microphone held at her chest as she watches and waits to see what's going to happen.

You're quite literally on the edge of your seat, knees pressing into the couch table as your hands press together anxiously. You trusted Bobby. He would never allow a plan to go through if it wasn't thoroughly planned and ensured at least a certain amount of safety to his team.

Nevertheless, your eyes move to Buck. He's clenching the remote control of the winch so tight in his hands you're sure if the material weren't as slippery from the rain he would've broken it. He doesn't just look stressed anymore but anxious.

That's a look you don't see often; he's confident and stubborn (arguably stupid and reckless). If he does something he commits to it and he's sure of it. But right now? He's the opposite. Bobby has a hand on his shoulder and you're thankful for his sensitivity to Buck’s feelings, the silent comforting visibly (to you - who could read Evan like an open book) helping him.

“Come on,” you chant under your breath as minutes pass. How could this be taking so long? Wasn't there a limited amount of time Eddie could be down there? You're sure he was wearing an oxygen tank and you remember Evan talking about the limited time that posed.

“And what is that- the rope has seemingly snapped! Neither the boy or the firefighter of the 118 is back up,” the news reporter is almost yelling now and you're thankful for her awful screeching voice as it had made you listen to what she's saying.

Wait. Did she say the rope snapped?

You frown and stand up, unable to keep sitting as you spot Evan’s devastated look as he discusses something with Chim. Oh goodness. This isn't happening. Why is the rope the only thing coming back up?

“The weather is getting worse as the firefighters decide to send down a second one, hoping this time the rope works. We're expecting a thunderstorm and the rain will continue-” you blend her out again as you see Chimney now in Eddie's spot.

“Jesus,” you mumble. He's down in a second, everyone moving even faster than before. Evan had his fists stemmed on his hip, watching the descent of his friend. Knowing him as well as you did, you're almost one hundred percent sure Buck had discussed going down instead - no doubt being shut down by either Hen or Bobby.

You couldn't help but feel glad he hadn't been the one as you could continue keeping your eyes on him.

It's Bobby's eyes which widen first, jaw dropping. Next follow Hen and lastly Evan. There, secured on the rope is Chim with a tiny boy wrapped in some kind of foil that would help him get his body temperature up again. His mother is crying as she welcomes him back into her arms, your lips quirking into a smile at the wholesome scene.

Now only Eddie was missing.

The 118 was discussing something in the back when you decide to text Bobby, seeing Evan being reprimanded by said man.

I'll come over and stay out of the way - just gotta make sure Buck does nothing too stupid…

You text the captain and receive a thumbs up emoji a moment later. You grab your phone, keys and wallet before hurrying to your car and driving there.

When you arrive your glad for the raincoat you'd picked, pulling it tight around your body as you try finding a spot where you wouldn't be in anyone's way.

You find it soon enough, and the first thing you notice is something akin to an argument breaking out between Hen and your husband. You sigh and hope he wouldn't do anything reckless, because by God that was his specialty. Bobby pats his shoulder more aggressively than necessary and points in your direction.

Buck turns around and when he spots you his face practically melts; excusing himself as he jogs over to the fence you'd decided to stand.

“How is it going? Where is Eddie?” You ask almost immediately and Evan sighs heavily before frowning again. You press your thumb against his forehead and smooth out the worry wrinkles, him already so used to the gesture he barely notices.

“He's- he's trapped. He cut his rope for some reason and we can't reach him over the radio. We're sending someone else down to see what happened down there.”

You curse and slide your hand to rest on his cheek. His skin is cold and wet from the rain and you're certain he caught a cold by now.

“You're not going,” you say. It's a question and demand at the same time; you trust him to do the right thing but he easily becomes reckless. He didn't like when you pointed it out, but it was true. It had gotten you two into an argument more than a handful of times but he never ceased to be stubborn when on a call.

“What do you mean? Of course I'm going, Eddie's down there!” He huffs and stiffens, leaning away from your hand on his face in the same notion. “Evan,” you start and he looks up from his feet and into your eyes, the pleading look in his eyes making you melt a little.

“I know you're capable of doing this but-”

“No! I'm capable so why shouldn't I?” He interrupts and you unhappily note the reporter approaching. You glare at him before putting on a fake smile when the woman stops in front of the two of you.

“Do you have a minute?” She asks and you almost roll your eyes at the flirty tone she regards your husband with.

He smiles shortly and excuses himself, looking at you meaningfully before going back to the rest of his team. She turns to you and before you can escape she starts talking, the camera right in your face. Great. You'd been ready for bed when you decided to drive here (and look accordingly) and now you're on national news.

“How do you know him? What did you talk about? There seemed to be some tension.” She makes an oohing noise and this time you can't contain your eye roll. “I was simply talking to my husband. Now excuse me please,” you see the shocked look on her face and she nervously adjusts her hair before turning back to the camera.

“Evan Buckley!” You say loud enough that not only Bobby but Hen and Chim turn around as well, eyebrows raised in surprise at your presence. The one you actually addressed was currently busy getting into a harness.

You stand behind him, mumbling thanks to Bobby when he steadies you as your feet slip on the mud and wet ground. “What do you think you're doing?”

Buck looks at you over his shoulder, red goggles on his face and similar gear to what Eddie had worn. “My job,” he grunts and you sigh exasperatedly. “I see that, I have two eyes.” Frankly you didn't want to be this upset. He wasn't special as in he should get special treatment; the team risked their lives daily all the same.

But you were scared. You'd seen it many times; he'd get an idea and pull through with it, no matter what anyone says or what the odds are. It simply pisses you off that he never thinks of anyone else.

He acts like no one cares whether he lives or dies and that's what's really bothering you, once again as he is getting ready to go down.

The desperation must be visible on your face because Bobby's comforting hand moves to your shoulder and you exhale and look at him, lips quivering.

“I'm sorry I shouldn't be bothering here, I don't know what came over me.” You apologize and suck up the tears stemming from foreboding fear.

He shakes his head, “It's okay, you know we'll tell you if you're in the way.” You nod and wrap your arms around yourself, ready to at least tell Buck you loved him before he went down.

You flinch at the Crack of the thunder. And then there's white sparks everywhere as the lightning strikes the crane, causing the LED lights to fail and cast everything in darkness. There's screaming and you just barely see Buck unclasping his harness before his arms wrap around your waist and he throws himself backward.

You scream as you cling to his arm, utterly confused until the crane creaks horribly and starts falling. It looks and feels as if it's in slow motion but it gets faster the closer it comes and then it lands on the earth with a loud booming sound.

You heave in shock at the whole thing until Buck let's go of you and runs the few steps to the well.

And that's when you see it. Your face falls and your pulse accelerates when there's not one or two holes but none. Someone to your left yells that the ground collapsed and over the ringing in your ears you see Buck kneeling over the spot as he claws at the mud, screaming in vain.

You whimper when the realization comes that Eddie is still down there. Under pounds if not tons of earth with no way out. You Clasp a hand over your mouth as tears fall down your face. Eddie would make it, you convince yourself in order to calm down enough to think rationally - especially to be there for who needed you most right now.

“Baby, come on, you'll save him but you need to come this isn't safe,” you urge as you tug at Bucks shoulders. He resists, muscles straining as he keeps digging only for every hole he makes to be filled with more mud. “Evan, please,” you cry and he snaps out of it, heavily breathing as he turns around to look at you.

He's crying and you can see the pure desperation and fear replaying on his face. “Inside! We need to discuss plans!” Bobby yells and makes a motion with his hand before all of the remaining 118 hurries after him and into the house.

“Let's go, yeah? They're thinking of a way to find him,” you repeat to your devastated husband. He whimpers and tries to say something as he weakly claws at the earth, you shush him and pull him into your chest, uncaring of the mud and dirt covering you both now.

“He'll be okay. You know Eddie. He would never leave Christopher alone.” he shakily nods and moves his hand to your hips to squeeze them. He knocks his forehead against yours and you can feel his exhaustion as he leans fully onto you.

“Buck you gotta calm down and focus. You can do that, right?” He nods dazedly and you move your hand onto the nape of his neck, cupping it to ground him.

“Eddie needs you. Focus. No stupid or reckless decisions.” He manages a tiny glare at you before he closes his eyes and inhales deeply, opening them when he's ready. There's new determination cursing through him as he stands up and pulls you to stand with him.

The pouring rain sticks his hair onto his forehead and you swear he's the most beautiful person to walk this earth. His blue eyes wander over your face and he seems to find what he was looking for when he presses a tender kiss to your lips, nose and forehead.

“I'm sorry I just- I can't lose him. Chris can't lose him,” he mumbles and you nod in understanding. “Shh, I know.” You keep your hand to cup his face for a moment and then sigh, ushering him towards the house. He frowns and pulls you with him but you smile and shake your head, “I'll go relieve Carla. I haven't seen Chris in a while anyway.”

He nods but is reluctant to let you go, kissing your forehead again and mumbling an ‘I love you’ into your skin. You smile and soothe your thumb over his knuckles, “I love you more. Be careful.” You say the last part with a warning but worried tone and glance at him with a small frown.

He huffs amused and pecks your temple before stepping back and adjusting the hood of your raincoat to sit tightly on your head, “I will be. Tell Chris I said hi and that I want to do a sleepover again.” You laugh and he does too for a second until his eyes and expression dull and the looming threat to Eddie's life moves back to the forefront of his thoughts.

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, mumbling something and then looking up again. He begins to say something when a commotion to the side drowns his voice out. Confused you both turn around and his arm slips around your waist to keep you close - a habit you adored.

“What?” You mumble. The huddle of people clears and in the middle is Eddie - his arms are limply slung over two other firefighters’ shoulders and his head is hanging down. His entire gear is dripping wet as if he'd gone for a swim (well technically he probably did… you note mentally as the positive shock wears off). His helmet and goggles are missing, hair sticking to his forehead and most worryingly his eyes are bloodshot and red, earth and mud dirtying his usually clear skin.

“What..?” Evan breathes out and his arm drops from around you as he runs over to his best friend and carelessly pulls him into a hug. You see Eddie's smile as he rests his head in the crook of Evan's neck, sluggishly moving his arms around the others shoulders to hold himself up. The two men who had helped him hover for a second in case their help was needed again but when Evan keeps clinging to the older they retreat.

Then you feel Hen, Bobby and Chimney rush past you - the two paramedics with their first aid bags. You're unsure whether to put your plan from a moment ago into reality or if you could be of help here when Buck starts dragging Eddie along and over to you.

With a stressed sigh you approach them, stopping a foot in front of them with a warning glance, “You both should get in the ambulance and let these two,” you point to Hen and Chim, “do their job. No wandering around, boys.”

Evan pouts and Eddie manages a chuckle that still clearly showcases how tired out and overall done he is but you welcome it nevertheless. “You're like, way too strict. He basically just drowned,” Evan starts, and both you and Eddie roll your eyes - you in fond annoyance and Eddie in amusement.

“Wow. Why do I always get the attitude?” He huffs and side eyes you as he drags Eddie to the ambulance but not before mouthing another ‘I love you’.

Shaking your head you pull down the hood of your coat and nod at Bobby, signaling him you were going to leave now. He nods and turns back to whatever important duties he had now.

After a last glance into the ambulance (where Buck actually sat still for once) you get your keys and drive off. The drive to Chris and Eddie is only about half an hour and when you get there you still see the light in the kitchen on. This was unusual - normally Carla would just watch some TV with the lights off when she waited until early in the morning for Eddie to come back.

You knock on the front door and wait, the older woman opening the door with a wide smile, “Thought I saw you approach. I saw you on the news, you wanna tell me what that's about, girl?”

You laugh and shake your head, reciprocating the warm hug and stepping into the house. “It's pretty boring. Thought I'd spend the night here today, Eddie will probably not be home tonight or tomorrow…” You solemnly explain and she hums.

“Saw it on the news. And.. for some reason he did too,” she sighs heavily and walks you to the living room. And surely there is Christopher perched on the sofa with a worried little frown on his forehead as he watches the news.

You furrow your brows and nod, “Did he see it all?” She nods again and you understand why the little boy wasn't in bed although it was nearing two in the morning when his usual bedtime is nine thirty.

“Chris? Hey, buddy!” You smile and ruffle his hair. He grins at you in that adorable way and you wave at Carla over his shoulder as she grabs her bag and keys. “You wanna explain why you aren't in bed?” He looks a bit guilty but pouts stubbornly. “I saw dad on the news.”

You didn't really need more explanation - you knew Chris worried for his father in the same manner Eddie was probably currently thinking about his son.

“I saw him too. And you know what?” He looks at you with big but tire, dropping eyes. “He's with some nice doctors now and he's gonna be completely fine again very quickly. Doesn't that sound good?”

He ponders for a moment and then slowly nods, “Buck?” A chuckle escapes you and you grin, “He's fine too.”

“Then why were you angry with him?” He asks and it takes you embarrassingly long to connect the dots. The news reporter seemingly had shown your and Evans little dispute earlier. “I wasn't angry with him he was just being stupid,” you shake your head and explain.

Chris hums and looks back at the news report. You bite your lip in thought and then tilt your head, “Do you want to talk to Buck?” Christopher basically lights up and nods eagerly clasping his hands under his chin as you video call Evan - praying he was still with Eddie and that in a few minutes Christopher would be calmed enough to finally go to bed.

“Baby? Don’t worry I’m fine the doctors just checked me out,” he’s slumped in a hospital chair in a way you know will have him complaining about his neck hurting tomorrow and his eyes are just as droopy and tired as the ones of the boy next to you.

“That’s good. There’s someone who really wants to talk to you.” Chris squeezes into the frame and you chuckle before handing him the phone, watching Bucks face light up as he sees him, “Chris! Hi, bud! What are you still doing up?”

Said boy giggles and starts recounting his evening. You start cleaning up a bit meanwhile, getting everything ready for Chris to go to sleep and for Eddie to return home without going straight to cleaning (because he would and that man really needs to rest for once).

The living room gets suspiciously quiet and you put down the kitchen towel and plate to check up on the two boys. “Chris?” Your heart melts when you see him laying down on the sofa with your phone clutched in your hand, still on the call and showing your husband also napping.

You gently take the phone and put it on the table to briskly talk to Evan after putting Chris to bed. Then you put an arm under his back and the other under his knees to carry him to his room. Luckily Christopher doesn’t wake up and you quickly tuck him in before leaving the room with the door opened a bit.

You turn off the lights except for the small lamp next to the sofa and pull a blanket up to your chin with your phone back in your hand.

“Buck?” He grunts in his sleep and the phone slips from his hand until it’s laying on the hospital bed and you huff a quiet laugh.

“Alright, I love you.” You whisper and hang up, quickly texting him to tell you when Eddie would be back.

The next morning you wake up to someone poking your cheek repeatedly and before remembering where you were you almost turn around and continue sleeping.

Then a small but very much insistent voice calls your name.

You squint your eyes at the light streaming in from the sun, the shadow keeping your eyes from being blinded belongs to Chris. “We need to visit Dad.” He decides in a sure voice. You stretch and sit up, reaching out to gently make him sit down as well.

“Visit him? I don’t know if we can yet I’ll have to ask the doctors…” Chris huffs unhappily and you nod in understanding. “I know, but you’ll see him soon.” Reaching for your phone you stop in your tracks when there’s a thump at the door before two voices can be heard throughout the hallway and into the living room.

Christopher looks at you with a confused look and your nervousness evaporates when you hear an exclaimed curse and another voice scolding him after. Well, that could only be your husband and the only one Chris wanted to see right now.

“Dumb and dumber are here,” you whisper to Chris and he giggles. After Bobby had called them that once Chris had picked it up and now it was kind of an inside joke between him and almost all of the 118 - to the displeasure of the two guys.

He holds his arms out and you pick him up, sneaking to the door to watch as one of them seems to try and get the key to fit into the designated spot.

“Let’s let them in?” The boy in your arms nods and you open the door, staring at Eddie and Evan with raised eyebrows. “You guys should never try robbing someone.”

Bucks jaw drops in offense and you can practically see the rebuttal on his face but he keeps it to himself and simply holds up two plastic bags, “We got breakfast.”

Chris is busy reaching for Eddie who seemed a bit unsteady on his feet but other than visible bruises he looked fine. You smile at him and pat his shoulder as he walks inside, kissing his son's head and gently murmuring about something as you focus on Evan.

“Morning,” you finally greet and lean up for a kiss, Evan gratefully giving you one. He grins down at you and then at the boy in your arms, “Chris! Did you protect her all night?” He asks with an exaggerated voice and you laugh and roll your eyes but take the plastic bags with food from him and pass Chris into his arms.

You leave the two to themselves as you look at Eddie and sigh before hugging him, “You scared us half to death yesterday.” He shrugs and grins “What else would I be doing other than stress you guys out?”

Your jaw momentarily drops and he grins with a shrug and fakes sympathy as he pats your shoulder. You two walk into the kitchen to prepare the food onto plates.

“How are you? Be honest,” you warningly add, fully aware of his habit to minimize his worries and pains same as your husband.

“Sore. Probably added some trauma to the collection.” He jokes and you look at him over your shoulder with a glare that makes him laugh. “No really. I’m fine. Just needed some rest and the bruises will go away with time.”

Nodding, you cross your arms over your chest and catch a glimpse of Buck holding Chris up and pretending to be an airplane. “How is he? He was ready to dig the earth up with his own hands when you got trapped.” You sigh.

Eddie nods and shakes his head, “Yeah, no he was pretty worried. I got quite the lecture when I woke up.” You both laugh at that and then you pass him two plates while taking the other two, “Let’s eat breakfast.”

When you’re home that evening you both are dead tired and yet Buck insists on carrying you up the stairs and helping you change into your pajamas (though you’re sure that was just for his enjoyment).

“I have tomorrow and the day after off. You know what that means? All day in bed,” he grins as he flops down onto the mattress next to you. With a smile you comb your hand through his hair and smooth your thumb along his temple.

“You definitely need to rest.” You agree and he turns his head to look at you, “Nope. I need you. So you better call in sick as long as I’m off.”

You huff at his demanding tone, raise both eyebrows and lean back on your elbows. The mattress and pillows make you groan in comfort as you concentrate your gaze onto him.

He was halfway laying down on his side with his arm propped up under him. He was wearing some black shorts and a dark blue t-shirt that was too tight around his biceps. His eye bags are worse than usual and you can tell since that night Eddie almost died he hasn't been sleeping well. His hair is an adorable mess and you don't refrain from reaching out and gently carding your hand through it.

He hums and closes his eyes with a small smile tugging on his lips. “I'll call in sick,” he perks up and opens his eyes again, a smirk replacing his earlier smile before you interrupt, “But only because I can actually feel that I'm getting a cold and not because you're asking me to.” He pouts and it goes unsaid by either of you that he played a big part in you taking some sick days.

After all, you usually put your health on the back burner, focusing on your job and other things like grocery shopping. Buck had always had a problem with that, lecturing you whenever he came home to see you passed out on the couch with tissues around you and a mountain of blankets keeping him from being able to throw himself on top of you.

“Alright, baby. I'm gonna be Doctor Buckley!” He grins and sits up, dusting off his shoulders and puffing out his chest. The action makes you burst into laughter and you fall on your back. He takes that as an invitation to lean over you and pretend to check your airways and pulse, pressing his ear over your sternum.

“You're so childish,” you comment and he happily ignores you to convert his checking of your breathing to laying on your chest with an arm wound around your waist.

It grows quiet and there's a comfortable atmosphere as you play with his hair while he snoozes on your abdomen.

Maybe you wouldn't mind being sick for a few days if this is the doctor taking care of you.

#evan buckley x reader #evan buckley #9 1 1 fanfiction #911 fanfic #911 show #oliver stark #eddie diaz

501 notes · View notes

irawhiti · 2 years ago

Text

no tagging please lol

hey so uh. a little while back i was forced to leave where i lived for my own safety due to racist violence. i'm currently homeless living in an uninsulated caravan full of holes with my parents in the middle of nowhere (literally, it's over an hour to the nearest small town and 30 people live in an entire hour radius. i'm very remote.) with no electricity, water, or plumbing. we had a generator but it's been broken for several weeks now and we have EXTREMELY limited power because of it which means we have no heating at all. on top of that, since we have no heat or plumbing, if i want to take a shower i have to pay a minimum of $30 ish for petrol and the shower cost to get a lift into the nearest town and back. i can't really wash using a basin as often as i want to because of disabilities that are severely affected by cold and i'd have to wash out in the open in a field since we have no shed to wash in which is uhh... haha not ideal lol. as you can imagine. we don't really have any neighbours (they can still see us but they're not here right now) but it's extremely paranoia inducing. it also means i have to handwash all my clothes which has been causing issues with my disabilities too.

i hate to ask but could i please get some help to buy some warm clothes and bedding or something? several people on the block have contracted hypothermia in the past week and due to where we live we get hit with antarctic storms fairly frequently. i've been trying to stay positive but i'm honestly so fucking cold and getting increasingly malnourished, like i'm australian and all my clothes are only really good to keep warm if it's above like 15c/59f. it's also just very expensive just to exist here because it costs $40 in gas to get to the closest town we can actually buy groceries from + we need to buy and scavenge firewood wherever we find it because campfires are the only way we can heat up water or cook anything right now. i've been foraging and trapping invasive animals to supplement my diet but it's really not enough and i've been getting sick from malnourishment again. we also had e-coli in the household recently and three of us have gone into hospital (including myself) in the past month and i'm kind of at my limit. since we have no power i've had to pay a stupid amount for my phone bill and data also like everything is truly so fucking expensive.

pāypāl.me/hoodypet

please specify that it's for irawhiti, this is my friend's paypal. thank you so much if you can help me at all, i'm trying to take this shit in stride but i'm kind of absolutely fucked right now as much as i hate to admit it

#i hate doing this lmfao but uh. i'm not doing too well.#i don't even have a bed #i have some fabric on a base we made up but it's not a bed and it causes a lot of pain

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solarnomoon · 7 months ago

Text

your eyes on me -♥̩͙ sim jaeyun smau

chapter 03 - dino for the huzz

the time of reckoning has come! everyone is linked to their soulmate when they're born, but only after they turn twenty does that link become visible. however, you don't expect much, because the stupid red line tied to you is only seen when they're close by. for now, you'll just help your best friend with their soulmate, hoping it'll happen to you too.

previous <> masterlist <> next

"y/n, why do you even have that shit?" heeseung asks, still laughing even after two whole minutes. y/n had set his mask on the table next to them after scaring them, winter letting y/n know that the boys in front of them happened to be some of enhypen.

some of the others in the store had given them a weird look, but nothing more than a quick judgment before moving on with the rest of their lives. y/n, though sometimes shy and more introspective, has basically no limits when it comes to winter, especially considering he knows that she'll support him through and through. he's grateful for it, which is why he wanted to pull up in a stupid mask anyway, just to get a laugh out of her.

the last thing he expected was some of the guys to be there as well, causing him to be a little more embarrassed than he usually would, but they seemed to take it well, which gave him at least some comfort.

"a boy can't just wear a mask for fun?" he responds, looking over to sunghoon, knowing he's done the same thing. "remember halloween?" he raises his eyebrows, and sunghoon just rolls his eyes.

jay looks between y/n and his friend, "what the fuck happened during halloween?"

sunghoon takes a sip from his drink, while pulling up the picture, revealing that him and y/n had switched costumes halfway through just for fun, and because both of them had masks on, they genuinely both thought that they could trick people that they were each other. it didn't work, due to their height difference, but drunk boys could try anyway!

"so yeah, we thought it was gonna be funny, but we looked dumb as fuck." sunghoon then nods his head over to y/n, "and this one over here was like 'oh em gee sunghoon i love you so much, you're amazing!'" he mimics in a high pitch voice, trying to sound like y/n.

y/n just scoffs, lightly hitting him, "i do not sound like that you fuck."

winter laughs loudly, getting the attention of everyone. when she meets eyes with y/n, she quickly looks away and corrects herself: "yeah, hoon, what the fuck." when y/n looks back, she sticks out her tongue playfully, indicating she definitely agrees with the guy.

"anyway, what time are you guys coming over?" y/n asks, realizing that it is in fact getting closer to 4:30, which is the time they decided to meet up. "i still have to get ready... or not, honestly i don't know what to wear."

sunoo, sitting down at the table playing a game, answers him. "probably around like 4." he looks up when he dies, face contorting into a smile, "wait, can i get ready with you guys? i don't like getting ready with ni-ki, he always steals my shit and then hogs the bathroom."

"yes, of course king! lix and chae are coming over soon, so we can all get ready together!" y/n replies back, getting excited that he's able to hang out with more people other than just heeseung.

sunoo smiles, going back to playing his game.

"what about me?" heeseung pipes up, pout evident on his face.

"ou..." y/n retracts away, closer to winter, "who is this man..."

"okay fuck you too."

taglist (open!): @bubblztaro @zhaegon @nootnootpinguuu @gnusihcom @strayy-kidz @starchasing-cryptid @matchawook @ashersdeadinside @isa942572 @sumzysworld @xavi-in-kpopland @winuvs @channieismylove @kkurbys @onementally-unstabel-kid @leoleoleone @conwunder (bold means i couldn’t tag :o)

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justwhisperingfantasies · 5 months ago

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The One That Got Away -5-

Characters: Reader. - Jensen Ackles - Eric Kripke - Karl Urban - Antony Starr - Jack Quaid - Erin Moriarty - Karen Fukuhara - Chace Crawford - Tomer Capone - Seth Rogen -Lily [o.c] - Brett [o.c] - Frank [o.c] Summary: Jensen comes to Toronto to read over his contract with his lawyer and tries to make you realize your marrying the wrong guy. Finding out how far the limits can be pushed before something breaks. Warnings: Language. Drinking. Angst. The Boys Spoilers. My Master List Series Master List Tag List Hope y'all enjoy 🩵

October 2007.

“Ya know Ackles.” Jensen turned his head towards Jared but couldn’t take his eyes off her. “You won’t have to say anything if you keep staring like that.” He teased.

“Can’t help it.”

Jared shook his head. “So, what are you gonna say?”

“I really don’t know yet, but it’s happening this time.”

Her eyes went wide as they met Jensen’s, mouthing the words “help me.” she nodded to his uncle Larry. He was probably talking her ear off about something she didn’t care about.

He shook his head slowly as his lips twisted into a smirk.

She peered at him with her lips pressed tight. But then, her expression softened, and a smile broke out as Uncle Larry glanced back at her. The moment he turned away, though, her face went back to threatening, Jensen couldn’t help but laugh.

Pleading she stuck out her bottom lip.

‘Damnit you win ‘he thought

“y/n!” Jensen yelled across the yard. She smiled and winked at him. “Come here!” She said a few words to Larry and began making her way over. As she got closer, Jensen popped the cap off a beer and passed it to her.

“Thank you. I owe you one.” She took a drink.

“I’m pretty sure you still owe me from the last cook out.”

“Sorry Ross, they expire if not used in 30 days.”

“Um, who made those rules?”

“Me.” She flashed him a smile.

“Hey if we are still going to the lake, let’s go.” Jared exclaimed looking at his watch “I wanna get a good spot.”

“No! They need to start Hoyte. I’m telling you Jensen he is going to be big.” She argued as they spread out the blanket

“I don’t know….” He playfully taunted.

“Change the subject before she hits you Ackles.” Jared laughed. grabbing 2 of the blankets from the pile.

“She won’t hit me, she loves me.” He smirked at her.

“Keep bad mouthing my boys and we’ll just see about that.” She threatened him, making him laugh. “And you!” She pointed at Jared. “I can’t believe you Padalecki, bailing on your friends for a girl. Whatever happened to bros before hoes?”

The boys laughed. “Well, bro. Sex is always an exception to that rule.” Jensen explained making her roll her eyes.

“Come on Jared. It’s getting dark, it’s going to start soon.” Sandra whined

“I’ll see you two later.” Jared waggled his brows and walked away.

Jensen’s phone dinged as he sat down next to y/n on the blanket.

Jared: DO NOT CHICKEN OUT THIS TIME ACKLES!!

A light chuckle escaped his lips after reading the message.

“What’s so funny over there?” She asked him

He cleared his throat, “Uh, nothin’ Jared being stupid.”

He took a deep breath stealing a whiff of her sweet perfume as she leaned in front of him, her arms stretching for the cooler. Her brows furrowed looking back at him.

“What? You smell good.” he confessed.

She chuckled. “Well, thanks.” She said sitting back up beside him.

“Look, I gotta tell you something.”

She stopped mid drink. “What did you do?”

“Why do you just assume I did something?”

“Because you’re you” she giggled.

“that’s just rude.”

“So, what’s up, Ross?”

“I um.” Her eyes flicked to the screen as the movie started to play, he needed to get this out. “Fuck it. “He turned his hat backwards and leaned in. He felt her breath hitch as his lips pressed against hers.

“Jensen are you sure about this?”

“Sweetheart, I’ve never been this sure about anything in my life.”

She smiled and slid her hand onto the back of his neck, pulling his lips back to hers.

He would always remember that night, the night when she finally became his.

Jensen

He blinked back the tears as his dream from his memories faded. He reached for his phone; through squinted eyes he looked at the time 7:43am. He knew she would be awake, his finger loomed over her name. ‘Fuck it’

It rang twice. “Hey, its y/n leave me a message and I’ll get back to ya.”

“Motherfucker.”

He called again.

“Jensen, Everything ok?”

He cleared his throat surprised she answered “Uh, yea.”

“You need something?”

“Do you remember the night we got together?”

“Jensen…”

“Hear me out.” he insisted

She sighed. “Ok...”

“Do you remember what movie was playing?”

“Did you really call me this early to ask me what movie we watched the night we got together?”

“Don’t act like you weren’t already awake.”

She chuckled. “Do you remember the movie?”

“I do.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He chuckled. “It was PS I love you.”

“I know. What about it?”

“I just wanted to see if you remembered.”

“I also remember your corny ass writing PS I love you on every note you left me in your trailer for a month after that.”

“Um, not corny, romantic”

She laughed.

“Ok maybe a little corny, but it was cute right?”

“Yes, Jensen it was cute.”

He stayed silent.

“Are you done reminiscing?” she asked.

“For now. So, what are you doing?”

“I had to take care of a few things. Lily is picking you up today, don’t worry I texted her your Starbucks order.”

“You’re an angel.”

“I don’t know about all that,

“I do.”

He heard a tapping sound

She sighed “Yes, I’ll be right there, calm down.”

“Well, tell Brett I said hi.”

“Probably not the best thing right now.”

“You guys still fighting?”

“Yea.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called.”

“You’re fine.”

“Do you want to get this done or do you want to talk to your boyfriend all day?” he heard Brett sneer.

“Ross, I gotta go. I’ll see you in a little bit k?”

“Ok.” He sighed as he hung up the phone.

Jensen.

“Aw, thanks Lil.” He took the coffee cup from her hand after settling in her passenger seat.

“Well, babes said if I didn’t want to deal with grumpy Jensen, I had to keep pumping you full of caffeine.” She remarked pulling out of the hotel parking lot.

He laughed. “She ain’t wrong.”

Lily tapped her fingers on the steering wheel as she drove.

“So, how much shit did I stir up last night?” he asked

“No comment.” She said pulling into the complex.

“Oh, come on.”

“I’m not going into details, but it’s pretty bad.”

“Like I should stop with my shit?”

“Maybe just take a break today.” She said honking the horn twice

He sighed and looked out the window. Jack and Karl came out separate doors.

“Where’s y/n?” Jack asked, getting in the backseat.

“She had some stuff to take care of. She’s meeting us at the studio.” Lily explained.

“Off tasting cakes?” Jensen’s stomach twisted at Karl’s question.

“Eh, something like that” Lily pulled out onto the road and started tapping her fingers again.

“What’s got you so nervous?” Jensen asked her.

“Uh, what makes you think I’m nervous?”

He looked down at her fingers and raised his eyebrows.

“Because I’m enjoying the song?”

Her phone started to ring, Lily’s hand rushed to the center console, grabbing it. Making the car swerve a little.

“Hey.” She answered, once it was to her ear.

“How’s that going?”

“Oh, I can imagine.”

“No. For real though that’s adorable.”

“I just gotta pick up Chace and then I’ll be on my way.”

“Ok, I’ll see you when you get there.”

“And you better fucking get there.” Lily snarled.

All 3 pairs of the boy’s eyes snapped to her.

“Bye babe.”

“What the fuck was that about?” Karl asked.

“Well, she’s going to be late. But promised she would be there.”

“Ya think he’s doing this on purpose?” Jack asked.

“Do you?” Jensen asked

“Well a, it’s the reading for Soldier Boy. He’s been jealous since Eric asked her to help with him. And b, Jensen.” Jack explained.

Lily huffed. “Yes, I think it’s on purpose.”

Jensen

The more the chairs filled, the more worried he got. He raised his wrist, looking at his watch.

“She will be here.” Karl whispered.

“Cutting it close, y/n”

He looked up when he heard her name, feeling a pang in his chest at the sight. Her eyes were slightly pink and puffy with small bags underneath. She nodded at the comment, tilting her head down. Trying to hide her stress under the bill of her baseball cap.

“Alright. Looks like everyone is here.” Eric announced, “We wanted to do this table read to get a feel for chemistry and character interactions before we make everything official.”

She finally looked up, giving him a fake smile. He flashed one back. She looked over at Eric as he started again.

“Everyone this is Jensen he will hopefully be signing for the soldier boy role later today.”

“Just depends how many helicopters are in my contract Kirpke.” Jensen teased.

Everyone laughed except for the one person he was attempting to amuse. She shook her head and gave him a half smile; he took the small victory.

“Does anyone want a water, snacks, or coffee before we start?” Lily asked.

“Who made the coffee?” Antony asked, looking over to y/n

Lily huffed. “I made it exactly like she does.”

“Oh, yea I’ll take one then.” Antony laughed.

“So, any questions, concerns, comments, before we start?” Eric asked. Everyone shook their heads. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Reader

You glanced at Jensen, a smile spread across his face as his eyebrows jumped, making you chuckle.

Your eyes fell to the script as Eric cleared his throat.

Eric: “The scene cuts to a motel where Butcher, Hughie and Soldier Boy are. Soldier Boy empties a bag of food from Vought-a-Burger as Hughie scratches his ear and sees blood on his finger.”

Jensen glanced over at her; she was looking at her page smiling.

Jack: “What the hell?” he whispered. Looking at the blood on his finger.

Jensen: “Where’s the Chop Socky Oriental Sauce?”

He talked in a voice lower than his own, but not quite Dean’s.

Jack: “They … don’t have that… anymore.”

Jensen: “Why the fuck not?”

Jack: “Uh, many… many good reasons.”

Jensen: “Did you get the other shit?”

Eric: Butcher takes out a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of pills.

Karl: “Here you go, guv.”

Jensen: “Man, I miss Bennies. It’s how we won D-Day, you know. We were wired to the fucking gills.”

Karl: “Listen, let’s have a little chat about this team-up, yeah?”

Jensen: “Yeah, what the hell do I need a team for? The last one handed me to the Reds.”

Karl: “And we got you out of that little pickle. We wrapped up Crimson Countess and delivered her like a fucking Christmas turkey, and I even sorted Gunpowder for you.”

Jensen: “Why am I supposed to be impressed with that? That’s like killing Emmanuel Lewis.”

Light laughter filled the room.

Karl: Well, he grew up a bit since you last saw him. Anyway. You want payback on Payback don’t cha? Well, it just so happens we are experts at exterminating shitbag supes. You see it’s a whole different world out there now, son. We’re here to help you find your way.

Jensen: “Well I can find them on my own.”

Jack: “Are you sure? I mean, do you know what GPS is? Or- or Bluetooth. Or… I mean…. The internet?”

Jensen: “You made those words up?”

Jack: “No… no, no. Those are real words. Um… and you need those to find them. Alright? You need us.”

Karl: “The kids right. And all we ask in return is that you add one more name to the list.

Jensen: “Who?”

Karl: “A right cunt named Homelander.”

Jensen: “I’ve seen pictures. Who is he?”

Karl: “He’s the new you.”

Jensen: “No one’s the new me, pal…. But why him?”

Karl: “Let’s just say you’re not the only one that wants payback.”

Jensen: “Hm.” He chuckled. “Alright you help me find the rest of my team, and I’ll help you will this Homelander.”

“Well, babes, what did you think?” Karl shouted across the room.

“Eh he’ll do.” You winked at Jensen.

Jensen

Her phone started ringing. She whispered to eric who nodded his head. She stood up, bringing the phone to her ear and walked into the hallway.

Eric stood up “Alright, grab some water, go to the rest room, grab a snack. y/n and I will be right back.” He followed her.

Jensen looked at Lily and raised his hands in a questioning way, as his eyebrows arched.

She shrugged.

“Wonder what that’s all about.” Karl stated.

“I think I know.” Jensen confessed.

“Alright then, out with it.”

“Last night after we dropped everyone off. y/n and I got into a tiff, and I might have pushed a little too hard.”

“Ah well, a gem can’t be polished without a little friction, mate.”

“Yea, but what happens if there’s too much friction?” Jensen retorted.

Eric and y/n finally came back in, Eric whispered something to her as they sat back down. She nodded.

“Alright, let’s run a couple more.” Eric announced.

Jensen.

“So Frank, what do you think?” Jensen asked as he finished reading the contract

“I think it’s a damn good contract, Jensen.” Frank confirmed turning to the signature page. “I think Eric really took care of you.”

Jensen looked up and winked at her, knowing who really took care of him.

“If I were you, I’d sign before they change their minds.” Frank laughed.

“If you say so.” Jensen leaned on the table and signed his name below the printed version. “Alright. I am officially your Soldier Boy.” He affirmed as he laid the pin down. He watched a conspiratorial smile cross her face as everyone clapped.

“Looking forward to working with you.” Seth said as he stuck out his hand.

“Likewise.” Jensen said, shaking his hand. The other writers and crew followed suit and headed out the door after he went through the same routine with them.

“Jensen!” Eric exclaimed

“Eric!” Jensen matched his tone, shaking his hand.

“This is gonna be fun.” Eric said with a waggle of his brows.

Jensen chuckled. “Yea it is.”

“Frank.” Eric turned to him. “Thanks for coming out.”

“Not a problem.”

“So how many choppers did you end up with?” she smiled.

“Like you don’t know.” Jensen replied.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

He chuckled. “Right.”

“Is that y/n?” Frank asked playfully, elbowing Jensen.

She turned to him with a smile. “Hello Frank.”

“Little lady, I haven’t seen you in a coon’s age.”

“How’s the wife?” she asked.

“Sheila is good. Gonna be mad she missed you.”

“You should have brought her; I know all the good shops in town.”

Her smile faded as Brett walked up and rested his hand on her shoulder.

“You ready, dear?” Brett insisted.

“Yep,” Her voice was cold, he walked back over to the door.

“Frank, it was lovely to see you again.”

“You too darlin’. Next time you’re in Austin, you have to come and see what Sheila has done with the house.

She smiled. “I’ll call you.”

She tipped her hat to Jensen. “See you at Owen’s?”

Jensen nodded.

She started toward the door. “I’m comin. Hold your horses.”

“Well, you’re the one that wants to get this all done today.” Brett barked.

“Yep, the sooner the better.” She countered.

Reader.

“So did you get everything taken care of today?” Lily asked sitting on your bed scrolling on her phone

“I did.” You looped the earring through your earlobe. “Lost a shit ton of money on deposits though.”

“Trust me. It will all be worth it.” She beamed.

You looked at yourself in the mirror. “Do you think this dress is trying too hard?”

“No. I think you look amazing. He’s not gonna know what hit him.”

“Oi!” Karl yelled from the living room.

“Bedroom!” You yelled back at him.

Karl let a whistle out as he walked through your bedroom door.

“Holy shit.” Jack remarked.

“Is it too much?”

“N... No. you look amazing.” Jack choked out making you chuckle.

“Where’s Brett?” Karl asked.

You shrugged with a smirk. “I don’t know.”

His brows furrowed as he looked around. His face lit up when he realized none of Brett’s stuff was there. “You kicked him to the fucking curb, didn’t ya?” you smiled. “Ah. Fucking finally!!”

You laughed. “Alright let’s go.”

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

Your heart raced in your ears walking down the hallway to Jensen’s hotel room. You stopped in front of his door and took a deep breath. The anxious energy made your hand heavy, knocking a little louder than necessary. You waited, but there was no answer.

“Jensen. We are going to be late!!” You yelled, knocking again.

You waited, still no answer.

You pulled out your phone and tapped the green icon next to his name.

“Hey It’s Jensen. Leave a message.”

“Hey, where are you? And why is your phone going straight to voicemail? Give me a call back. K?”

You hit the red icon and scrolled to Jared’s contact.

“Hey babe, what’s up?” He answered.

“When’s the last time you talked to Ross?”

“A few hours ago. Why?”

“Well, I’m here to pick him up for this dinner. He ain’t answering the door and his phone is going straight to voicemail.”

“Maybe he took an Uber there. When I talked to him, he said he was getting ready.”

You started walking toward the elevator. “I guess he could of.”

“I bet he’s already there. Let me know when you find him.”

“Will do.” You hung up the phone.

You stopped at the reception desk once you made it to the lobby. “Hey, do you know if the guy in 514 called a cab or Uber?”

“He did, right after he checked out.”

“Thanks.” You said, turning to walk out the door.

You pulled out your phone again.

“Hey It’s Jensen. Leave a message.”

You sighed and hung up.

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

“Kripke party.” You told the hostess as you approached her stand.

“Right this way.”

You followed her, your eyes searched for him once you spotted everyone, but he wasn’t there.

“Here you are ma’am.”

“Thank you.”

“Hey babe, Where’s Jensen?” Karl asked.

Jensen.

“Hey, what the fuck is going on? y/n’s calling me asking where you are. Your phone has been going straight to voice mail. And you haven’t replied to any of our text mess.”

“Jared.” Jensen cut him off. “Can you come pick me up at the airport?”

Jared sighed. “Yea. I’ll be right there.”

The bartender approached him as he sat down “Macallan neat please.”

The bartender poured his drink and started to turn back around.

“Leave the bottle.” Jensen handed him his card. He nodded and sat the bottle back on the bar.

Jensen pulled out his phone. 3 missed calls and 2 text from her. 2 missed calls and 4 texts from Jared.

With a hefty sigh he put his voicemail code in and raised the phone to his ear.

“First new message” the robotic voice said

“Hey, why is your phone going straight to voicemail? Give me a call back. K?”

“Thanks.” Jensen said as the bartender handed his card back.

“Second new message”

“Hey buddy, call me when you get this.” Jared said.

“Third new message.”

There was ruffling, he wasn’t sure if she pocket dialed him or if she thought she hung up. “No, straight to voicemail again.” He could barely make out what she was saying. “Well can you really blame him?” There was another voice, too far away from the phone to hear their words. “I probably fucked it up.” ….. “Shit Lil how do I delete this.”

“End of messages.”

He saved the message and tapped the red icon. Raising his glass to his lips with his free hand he opened her text conversation.

Y/n: Where are you? Call me.

Y/n: Look I know I’ve been stupid, but can you just call me please.

“Hey man.” Jared sat down next to him. “You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“Can I get ya anything?” The bartender asked

“Corona bottle please.”

The bartender reached into the cooler, popped the cap off, and sat it in front of him.

“Thank you.” Jared said handing him some cash. He turned back to Jensen. “So?”

“So, I came back to Texas.”

“You don’t say.” Jared smarted off.

“I made things between her and Brett really bad. I guess they have been fighting since last night. She looked so stressed out today and I could tell she had been crying. So, I took the problem away.” He took another drink of his scotch.

“Jensen, you’re not a problem.”

“I was for them.” He finished his drink and started filling it again.

“So, you just gave up?”

“What else was I supposed to do J.p, kidnap her?”

Jared swallowed and rubbed his chin. “Not a bad idea,”

Jensen gave him a blank stare.

“I’m just fuckin with you.” Jared chuckled, pulling out his ringing phone.

“Hey y/n”

“Yea, I got him.”

“Ok? Bye.” Jared laid his phone on the bar.

“How pissed is she?”

“She didn’t sound mad at all. Just worried.”

“That’s worse.”

“So, Ackles, you’re really giving up?”

“Yep.” He shot the rest of his drink. “Maybe this is just my karma.”

“What do you mean?”

Jensen filled his glass again. “She had to watch me marry someone else. Maybe it’s my turn.”

“Against your will.”

“But she didn’t know that.”

“I get what you’re saying, but.” His phone rang again.

“Yes?” Jared answered.

“We are sitting at a bar.”

“I don’t know.”

Jared chuckled. “I really don’t babe. Why don’t you ask him yourself?”

“You sure?”

“Ok.”

“Bye.”

Jensen sighed as Jared sat his phone on the bar.

Jensen.

“Good morning sunshine.” Jared said as Jensen walked into the kitchen.

“Coffee?”

“Just brewed.”

“Do you have to talk so loud?”

Jared chuckled. “You hungry?”

“No,”

Jared’s phone dinged. He smiled as he looked at the screen.

“Something funny?” Jensen questioned him

“Just Gen telling me how boring her meeting is.” He typed a message and sat his phone back down, shutting the screen off. “So, what are your plans today?”

“I should probably go check on the brewery.” Jensen took a sip of coffee “Thought about going out to White Rock Lake and putting a pole in.”

“Seriously?”

“A man can’t go fishing?”

“A man can. I just haven’t heard you mention that lake in a very long time.”

Jensen shrugged. “What are you doing today?”

“Um.” Jared picked up his phone. “I got a couple zoom meeting today should be done in 2 and a half-ish hours. If you want company.”

“Sure.”

“Our usual spot?” Jared asked.

“Yes sir.”

Jared was typing on his phone again.

“Tell Gen I said hi.”

“Will do.” He said with a grin.

Jensen

He watched the waves dance in the sunlight, the lake hasn’t changed at all since the last time he had been out here.

As his phone started to ring, he debated on letting it go to voicemail, trying to savor the peaceful moment.

The phone went silent.

“Hey Ross, you know that thing in your back pocket works better if you actually answer it.”

His heart dropped as he turned around.

Reader.

“Hi Jensen.”

“Wh, what are you doing here?” He stammered.

“Well, my best friend blew me off and ran back to Texas.”

“I felt like I was doing more harm than good. You looked so stressed out yesterday.”

“Oh, I was but not because of you. Well actually kind of.” you explained, walking to him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You stepped closer. “You see if you would have stuck around just a little bit longer…” you took another step. “I would have told you that after the fight you and I”

“Wasn’t a fight.”

“The heated discussion you and I had.”

“Better.” He smirked.

“Can I continue?” you teased.

“I’m all ears.”

“After that I went home and go into a fight with Brett.” He opened his mouth, you raised your hand and his mouth shut. “He asked me if I love him. I said no.” Jensen closed the distance between you. “And then he asked me if I love you.”

“And you said?”

“Would my ass really be here right now if the answer was, no?”

He laughed.

“All those errands I had yesterday, that was us canceling everything. And I returned what I could. I wanted it to be officially over before I told you.” you looked up into those green eyes.

“So, you just wanna be friends?” He joked.

You chuckled. “Shut up Ross.” You grabbed the back of his head and pulled his lips to yours.

Tag List - if you would like to be added [click here]

@deansgirl010101 @mariahoedt @nightxcreature @quietgirll75 @idk6505

@jackles010378 @mqdhvtter @litpicks @perpetualabsurdity @barnes70stark

@nancymcl @hobby27 @madebyhappymeals @impala67rollingthroughtown @n-o-p-e-never

@deanwinchestersgirl8734 @deansimpalababy @mandee7 @roseblue373 @deans-spinster-witch

@iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @1313diana @lmg14 @aand13b

@phoenixqueen @deans-baby-momma

#jensen fucking ackles #jensen x reader #jensen x y/n #jensen x you #supernatural #jensen ackles #jensen and jared #jensen ackles fanfic #jensen fanfic #jensen ross ackles #jared and jensen #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles x reader #jensen #whisper writes

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sulemio-week-official · 10 months ago

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Tumblr President Sulemio is back🍅✨🍅✨🍅✨

We're doing a 100 themes of sulemio challenge! Tag the account and/or use the tag #sulemio100 so we can reblog your work! Check the link for more info🍅

You can make any content (edits, amvs, fanfiction, art, cosplay etc). 🍅

If your work is nsfw please tag it appropriately for us to retweet.

There is no time limit to this event, we will keep retweeting as long as you use #sulemio100 and or tag the account🫧

If you're posting on ao3 you can add it to the collection archiveofourown.org/collections/100_themes_of_sulemio_challenge

You can interpret these prompts however you want!✨

This event will happen parallel on twitter so be sure to check it out🌈

You do not need to do all the prompts.👍🏼

Have fun!

The link will have FAQs🎈

If you have any questions give us an ask or a message✨

Prompts:

1- Prologue 2- Angel 3- Gaming 4- Syzygy 5- Ocean 6- Gurgle 7- Childhood 8- Supplication 9- Picnic 10- Desert 11- Cereal 12- Hot Chocolate 13- Trespassing 14- Princess 15- Harpy 16- Summer 17- Forest 18- Crepes 19- Birthday 20- Interpreter 21- Cooking 22- Boat 23- Ikea 24- Lifetime 25- Yuri 26- Vibraphone 27- Date 28- Mountain 29- Popcorn 30- Goldfish 31- Collar 32- Hound 33- Cuddles 34- Hiccups 35- Thunderstorms 36- Mercenary 37- Enamel 38- Donuts 39- Psychopomp 40- Debauchery 41- Gunpla 42- Shapeshifter 43- Fatherhood 44- Kaiju 45- Couch 46- Sex 47- Prohibition 48- Lies 49- Hobby 50- Wallpaper 51- Video Game 52- Sky 53- Skiing 54- Hotdog 55- Rome 56- Alcohol 57- Gamer 58- Stockings 59- Kiss 60- Christmas 61- Tattoo 62- Ruins 63- Flowers 64- Nature 65- Codependence 66- Kamasutra 67- Azure 68- Poof 69- Snowball 70- Magic 71- Break 72- Nostalgia 73- Doomed 74- Cozy 75- Heaven 76- Family 77- Virtual 78- Desperation 79- Mental 80- Misanthropic 81- Musical 82- Trainspotting 83- Gardening 84- Stupid 85- Oblivious 86- Thief 87- Jealousy 88- Forearms 89- Eri 90- Forever 91- Yearning 92- Surfing 93- Neck 94- Pining 95- Headpats 96- Cassowary 97- Forgiveness 98- Metanarrative 99- Overstimulation 100- Epilogue

#sulemio #miorine rembran #suletta mercury #g witch #the witch from mercury #gundam witch from mercury #gwitch #gundam the witch from mercury #sulemio100 #LET'S GOOOO

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sl-vega · 1 year ago

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ʚɞ UPCOMING WORKS

↳ a list of all my upcoming bluelock fics this month! (i may add more) so let me know if you wanna be tagged in them, I won't tag anyone directly in this post due to tumblr's limitations, but i will take note of your user, i will still check if tagging you is possible and i will let you know if there are any issues with tagging you, also if you change your user right before one of the fics comes out, please let me know. everything here is first come first serve! (not that i think any of the taglists will get filled up)

❀˖° SCARY? MY GOD YOU'RE DIVINE

╰┈➤ pairing(s): Itoshi Rin, Hiori Yo x [GN!] Reader

In which your boyfriend hates the way he looks due to his uncanny resemblance to some of their family members that they aren't exactly fond of, but you're here to assure them that they're perfect just the way they are.

(3/30) taglist: @/hellothere9597, @/zestyseggsydaddy69, @/peepeepopoooo

ꨄ︎ FAKE THAT LOVE!

╰┈➤ pairing(s): Itoshi Rin x [FEM!] Reader, Shidou Ryusei x Sae Itoshi

rin's older brother is coming back from college just in time for the itoshi family's thanksgiving dinner, and with a boyfriend in tow, so naturally, like the spiteful little shit he is, he decides to get you to pretend to be his girlfriend to one up sae. (tldr; rin is petty, so he gets his friend that he may or may not have feelings for to be his fake girlfriend, and family shenanigans ensue

(2/30) taglist: @/hellothere9597, @/peepeepopoooo

༘⋆✿ BOY CRAZY FOR A CRAZY BOY

╰┈➤ pairing: Shidou Ryusei x [FEM!] Reader

being rin's childhood best friend, you've naturally grown fond of his older brother, sae, a sentiment that you've carried far into your adulthood like the hopeless romantic you are (much to rin's dismay) so after practically begging the poor boy to set you up with his brother, he begrudgingly agrees. but what happens next when you arrive at sae's apartment, only to find his crazy roommate? and what happens when you start to fall for him instead?!

(1/30) taglist: @/peepeepopoooo

𝜗𝜚 FIRST DATE FOR THE SECOND TIME

╰┈➤ pairing: Karasu Tabito x [FEM!] Reader

after karasu accidentally ghosted you without explanation after leaving for bluelock for a few months, it's safe to say that you assumed he dumped you. but what's worse is that you suddenly see him on tv playing in the blue lock vs u-20 match. but suddenly, after traveling to shibuya to take your mind off of him, you happen to run into the same stupid crow that broke your heart again. but part of you wants to try again with him, so will ya' give him a chance?

(2/30) taglist: @/peepeepopoooo, @/eloniezv

✿-INEFFABLE BUREAUCRACY-✿

╰┈➤ pairing(s): Itoshi Rin x [GN!] Reader

campaigning season has come to an end, and with a heavy heart, you had to accept the fact that you lost the student council election to the ever so lovely rin itoshi, but during lunch, your former rival pulls you aside for a personal matter. now what ever could it be? (or in which two so-called "enemies" get over themselves and finally realize that they could be more than just rivals)

(3/30) taglist: @/hellothere9597, @/zestyseggsydaddy69, @/peepeepopoooo

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ CAFE CRUSHIN'

╰┈➤ pairing: Karasu Tabito x [BARISTA!] Reader

after the recent Blue Lock 11 VS Japan's U-20 game took the world by storm, a certain Karasu Tabito had caught your attention, not that you're expecting anything to come from your little crush, there's no way you'd actually meet him in person,....right? spoiler alert!: turns out that you do, and now you're face-to-face with your so-called celebrity crush, and your co-workers aren't helping that matter

(2/30) taglist: @/peepeepopoooo, @/eloniezv

#✎ᝰ. vee's catalogs #itoshi rin x reader #hiori x reader #shidou x reader #karasu x reader #karasu tabito x reader

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a-yellow-van · 1 year ago

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Wish You Were Here | Part 3

You and Joel get stuck in a blizzard during patrol. It leads to something unexpected.

Series masterlist

Pairing : Joel Miller x f!reader

Fanfic tags : canon compliant, slow burn, romance, some smut, angst, hurt/comfort, joel and the reader are terrible at feelings, female reader, no use of y/n, reader is in early 30s, past relationships, trauma/PTSD, grief, loss, post-apocalypse, jackson joel, joel is a good parent to ellie, protective joel, major character death, original characters, queer characters, bisexual main character, age difference, canon-typical violence

WC : 8.9 k

Warnings for part 3 : Minors DNI! swearing, drinking, mentions of trauma and PTSD, mild violence, explicit sexual content (masturbation, unprotected sex, p in v sex, rough-ish sex, praise kink, pet names, limited aftercare), more hurt than comfort I'm sorry

Writing this one hurt a lil. But I'm happy with it. So please enjoy.

It’s been half an hour. Thirty minutes of riding side by side in complete silence, interrupted only by the sounds of Old Beardy and Willow’s hooves rhythmically crunching in the snow. It seems like an eternity. The tension is so intense it’s almost palpable. Your presence, a blur in Joel’s peripheral vision, is putting him on such an edge that, at any given moment now, he could turn around and gallop back to Jackson, or start saying things he’d better keep to himself, or get you off your horse and take you by the waist and…

No. Nope. Stop it.

His grip on the reins tightens and he bites his inner cheek until the stab of pain rips his mind off that absurd train of thought. He stares straight ahead at the deserted highway, the stretch of the 191 carved in a broad valley. The landscape is lost in a sea of white, the concrete below invisible, crashed cars resembling large animals sleeping in a snowy den. Joel’s face is numb from the cold, rugged skin humid, a few wild strands of hair on his forehead pearling with ice. The brim of his insulated cap isn’t enough to shield his eyes from the stinging wind, but still, he stares, almost unblinking. His neck itches with the urge to turn and glance at you; he has been actively fighting it ever since leaving. He has to remain collected, he has to concentrate on the job. That sentence is playing on loop in his head like a mantra, so much so that the words are getting jumbled, barely making sense anymore.

He doesn’t understand why it’s been so difficult to just move on from what happened. Not one day during those two weeks has passed without his thoughts drifting back to that brief intimacy he shared with you, without wondering what you’re doing, how you’re doing. And he loathes it. Hates being confused, hates not having control, hates that you’re having such an effect on him. So, before he drives himself crazy, he decides to start counting the cars until the both of you reach the first checkpoint on the Hoback route. Joel has calculated about five miles since Jackson, only around three to go until the job gets more active. There are two cars on the right, their shapes stuck together in a permanent collision, and one on the left. Joel can make it.

Small, repetitive rituals like this always helped him focus; back when he was working construction, a lifetime ago, he’d recite stupid ad jingles to himself, trying to remember as many as he could and associate them with the correct brand. There was a famous one that Sarah used to sing just to annoy him, delighted when it worked without fail every time. He’d be reading the newspaper in the morning, or watching a game, or driving her to school, and she’d pipe up out of nowhere. And then it’d be stuck in Joel’s head for days. Some annoying rap about credit reports. How did it go again? F-R-E-E, that spells free…something something dot com, baby. Sarah’s mischievous giggles, after he begged her to stop, echo around his mind. Less than a year back, it would have sent him down to a dark, sunken place with slippery walls nearly impossible to climb out of. Not anymore, after Ellie. The memory’s still stained with grief, but it doesn’t feel so crushing to carry. He’s accepted it as part of him. Joel tries to recall the rest of the lyrics to that damned song; he thinks Ellie might get a kick out of it. She’s always so eager to learn about even the most meaningless things that existed before the outbreak.

It does the trick to distract him from you. It works so well, in fact, that he nearly misses the turn to the checkpoint. He pulls on Old Beardy’s reins suddenly, steering him in the right direction. The horse neighs in protest.

So much for concentrating.

You’ve certainly noticed the mishap, but you don’t comment on it, much to his relief.

Get a fucking grip.

Joel begins down the side path to an abandoned gas station, the tension rising. Maybe, if one of you were to point out the obvious, it would make this whole situation a bit less miserable. But Joel isn’t going to be the one to do it. It would come out all wrong, anyway.

The place is small, a few pumps decaying under a canopy that’s barely holding on to four crumbling steel rods. The convenience store isn’t in better shape, its windows shattered, the signboard crashed by the entry. You take initiative and move towards the back of the building; Joel takes it as a cue for him to check out the front. The advantage of being an experienced patroller is that you can do your job without much communication; at least there’s that. He jumps off Old Beardy and walks up to the building, unworried but readying his weapon nonetheless. If there were infected around, he’d have spotted them already. Just as he thought, the interior is empty, what’s left of it is covered in a thin film of dirty snow. Just for good measure, he checks the storage and the restrooms in the back. Still nothing. He jogs back to his horse just as you turn a corner, you and Willow coming back into view, calm, unperturbed.

You don’t wait for him to leave. He scrambles to mount Old Beardy, and you’re already back on the highway. It sustains Joel’s growing irritation; he almost yells out for you to slow down. Sure, ignoring each other is one thing, but being unsafe and disrespecting patrol rules is another. So, as a punishment, Joel spurs Old Beardy into a run and catches up before overtaking you, almost knocking you off Willow. He hears you gasp out in surprise. You try to swerve to the right, but he blocks the move. He wants to make you crack. Because he can’t be the one to do so first. You try the same move, to the left this time, and again, Joel is faster. He takes things a step further and lets out a dry, arrogant scoff.

That’s it. You’re about to rip into him. But only the whistling of the wind responds; you keep stubbornly quiet. You don’t even give the man a glance when he finally lets you pass and get back on his side, your expression set in stone.

Damn it. You’re good.

Joel doesn’t attempt anything else, deciding it’s wasted energy. You both continue on the road, status quo, for another hour. You stop at a few other checkpoints around the highway : an old RV park, a fire station…Warm, sheltered places that would draw in people, or things, at this time of year. But there’s no sign of life anywhere. By this point, Joel would usually have had to take out at least a stray runner. It’s almost unsettling. Like the calm before a storm. That little seed of concern plants itself inside his mind, heightening his senses. You must feel it too, because you guide your horse closer to his, and he notices your right hand leaving the reins to rest on the rifle hanging from your shoulder.

Sombre clouds are accumulating in the sky, hanging low, menacing. The wind increases as you both reach the highway exit to the small village of Hoback, carrying sharp snowflakes that cut Joel’s exposed cheeks. The path is narrow, flanked by tall conifers that grow denser, their branches drooping down from the weight of the snow. You’re forced to get behind the man, your gaze on his back piercing, nervous, uncomfortable. The both of you still don’t talk, but the atmosphere has shifted, the unspoken conflict momentarily forgotten.

Joel moves forward cautiously on trot, alert, scanning his surroundings. The first cluster of residences comes into view, simple log cabins settled at the foot of a hill a couple yards away. From the distance, nothing looks out of place. He signals for you to follow him, and you patrol up and down the short street, hastily inspecting the houses on both sides. They’re frozen in a dead silence, immobile, ravaged by years of negligence and harsh elements. Instead of being reassuring, the absence of movement only causes Joel’s foreboding feeling to develop. Something is very off here. The both of you repeat the process through the village, falling into calculated, practised gestures. And, while patrollers have the habit of checking some key places for supplies to bring back to Jackson, this time, your pair instinctively works as fast as possible, not entering a single house. There’s an unwritten agreement to get the hell out of here as soon as you can.

You’ve cleared out most of the village and, at last, you reach Snake River, the sounds of its turbulent waters mixed with the wind is tumultuous. There’s a bridge ahead, just large enough for a car. Its wooden structure is unstable, some slats have fallen, the rest are icy and split in places. This next part has to be done on foot; the horses would collapse through the bridge and drown if they even took one step on it. Once you cross the river, you’ll need to walk a couple miles to the outskirts of the village, finishing off the route at an old golf course. The clubhouse is a great lookout to the area; it holds the patrol logbook. Joel halts Old Beardy before the river, and you stop next to him. The animal shakes his head, freeing his mane from the layer of snow. Joel hesitates, not quite ready to leave the protection and speed horseback offers. He’s debating if an acute gut feeling is reason enough to turn back and leave patrol unfinished.

That short moment of doubt is precious. Because a second later, nature seems to fall completely silent around you. As though a predator is roaming nearby. Sudden, horrible snarls erupt from the woods stretching to your right. The ground trembles beneath fast, uneven footsteps. A lot of them. Too many. Time stops as Joel looks in your eyes for the first time in hours. They’re full of fear.

And then a runner stumbles onto the trail about three hundred feet behind, twitching, its mangled head snapping in your direction. Followed by another. And another. It jolts the man right into action.

“COME ON!” He urges you, spurring Old Beardy to a gallop.

There’s no way to go, but forward. Joel barrels around the bridge and down the slope, reaching the riverbank. You don’t leave his side, thighs clenched around Willow’s flanks, arms straining with the reins. And as your horses hooves hit the ice, the horde has crossed the distance, pouring down the embankment. There’s at least twenty. Some of them fall into the water, the current seizing them immediately. But it’s not enough to stop them. Joel’s heart is hammering out of his chest, his body rocking with the movement as Old Beardy pushes on, fueled by the danger. Joel lets go of the reins, expert fingers grasping his rifle. He swiftly points it at the first runner that lunges at his left, and lodges a bullet in its brain. The next one steps on the corpse, ready to attack. It meets the same fate. The gunshots coming from your side clearly indicate that you’re handling yourself. Before long, Joel has emptied the chamber, not one bullet wasted.

“RELOADING!” He shouts.

You cover him, taking out an infected, mere inches before his claws dig into Joel’s ankle. He doesn’t have time to thank you, however, pulling the trigger the second he readies the rifle again. You both maintain the rhythm up for what seems to be hours, the horses snorting through the effort, runners dropping like flies. Joel has lost all sensation; he doesn’t feel his lungs burning or his muscles pulling; the adrenaline has completely taken over. He keeps riding. Shooting. Reloading. And…Yes, there.

Only two of the fuckers left.

One on your side, one on his. He fires. Perfect shot. He thinks the two of you might make it out unscathed.

But then, something happens. Your weapon is pointed at your own runner, about to shoot. But you hesitate. Joel watches as the creature strikes. Willow panics. She rears up. And you are thrown to the ground.

——————————

That runner.

It looks so much like her.

Your body hits the riverbank, head bouncing on a rock, wind knocked out of you. A sharp pain erupts in your skull, high-pitched ringing explodes in your ears, stars appear in your vision. In a fraction of a second, the creature is straddling you. You weakly push an elbow against its chest, keeping its jaws from locking around your neck. It twitches, screams, clacks its teeth.

And you just…accept it. Twenty-one years of surviving, and this is how it ends.

You close your eyes.

And you’re back in the forest. That day. You’re running, faster than you’ve ever done in your life, branches grabbing at you, slicing your skin, like they want to prevent your escape. You glance over your shoulder. She’s gaining on you. Her eyes have turned a milky white, her clothes are ripped, her skin bloodied. But she still looks so much like herself. She still sounds like herself. Your baby sister. Her discorded weeps fill you with a gutting terror. You can almost make out the repeated word. Your name. Tears fall down wildly as you dart between trees, your breathing erratic, throat on fire.

“PLEASE! ANI! STOP!” you howl. But she’s gone. She can’t understand. So she chases, and you run.

Until your foot catches on a large root, sending you tumbling through the underbrush. Your gun clatters away from you. You lay there, stunned, dirt in your eyes, your nose, your mouth, ankle bent at the wrong angle.

She pins you to the ground, broken nails digging in the skin of your arms. You flail around, kick at her, trying to free yourself from her impossibly strong grip.

“STOP IT! ANI! STOP!” you cry out again, voice raspy, hollow, desperate.

Your right hand pats around blindly for the weapon, your left is pushed against her forehead, forcing her mouth away from your exposed shoulder. Your heart is beating so fast it seems like it’s stopped. Maybe it has. Maybe you’ve died, and this is just a flash of your last moments as you drift into peaceful, eternal rest. Or maybe it’s a horrible nightmare, and you’re about to wake up, a hand laced in your sister’s soft hair, light snores escaping her lips. She always looks so innocent when she sleeps, like all worries have washed off her, like she’s been sent back to a happy childhood in her dreams.

Your fingers brush against cold metal. You close them around the handle.

Bang.

The shot echoes, in the past and in the present.

You’re still alive.

The runner’s corpse slumps down against you, coating you with gore, a foul smell making you gag. You’re paralyzed, trembling, chest rising and falling erratically, gasping for air. You look up at the angry grey skies, the snow plummeting down, catching in your eyelashes. Everything stands still for an instant.

It all comes rushing back as the dead infected is ripped off your chest, discarded to the side like a rag doll. You sense a presence crouching down next to you, and Joel obscures your view.

He calls out your last name, loud, snapping you back to reality. You focus on his face; it’s flushed, expression tight with stress, eyes darting, searching for yours.

“Hey! Are you okay?” he yells.

Joel takes you by the shoulders and pulls you into a sitting position, the sudden movement making you dizzy. You stare back at him, eyes wide, blinking rapidly, unable to answer. Stunned.

“HEY! Did it bite you?” he continues, shaking you.

You move your head side to side in response, causing it to throb in pain. You wince, raising a hand to your occiput. Your glove comes back crimson. Joel’s eyes fall to the blood, and he mutters a curse. He reaches into his coat pocket to take out a rag, balling it up and pressing it to the back of your skull.

“Keep that there for me. Can you do that?” He speaks in a low, steady tone, but there’s an edge to it you pick up on. You nod and execute yourself. Willow comes over and nudges you with her nose; her way of apologising. You pat her with your free hand, reassuring. It was your fault.

Joel runs back to Old Beardy, the poor beast trembling from the fright. He takes something out of his pack’s front pocket and brings it back : a small bottle of rubbing alcohol. He twists the cap off with his teeth and kneels behind you, taking the rag and pouring some of the liquid on it. He rubs it on your wound, eliciting a shriek.

Holy shit that hurts.

Joel inspects the injury, parting your hair to expose it, the rough fabric of his gloves like sandpaper on your scalp.

“Cut isn’t deep. But you’re gonna get a mean bump.” Joel explains, applying more pressure. He stops the bleeding, aided by the cold, and wraps the rag around your head, securing it with a tight knot. “We gotta keep moving. Can you stand up?”

This version of Joel, assertive, protective even, catches you off guard. It’s such a stark contrast from his attitude earlier in the day. It nearly makes you forget how close to death you just came.

“Uh, I-I think so-” you reply, regaining your voice, before attempting to push yourself off the ground and falling back down. Your head spins.

Joel offers you his hand, which you take to pull yourself up slowly, your whole body protesting. Bile rises up to your oesophagus. You lean over, breathing through your mouth.

“Shit. I think you have a concussion,” you hear Joel say, from far away.

And, then, as if things couldn’t get any worse, the storm picks up. The snow gets so dense you can barely see five feet in front of you. The man takes the lead, urgently guiding you towards Old Beardy. He helps you mount, taking you by the waist, and you don’t even think to resist. There’s no way you can ride by yourself in this condition. Joel gets on and takes the reins while you hold on to him, chest pressed against his back. He whistles for Willow over the wind. She follows right behind.

Joel leads his horse out of the riverbank and into the surrounding woods, visibility getting even poorer. You’re blinded by snow, breathing it in, wheezing. You put all trust in Joel’s sense of orientation, praying that somehow, he gets you back onto the road. He presses forward, a hand raised in front of his face to protect it.

What a stupid fucking way to go out. Lost in a blizzard. With Joel Miller. At least the town would have something to talk about.

But then, miraculously, the trees begin to thin out; ahead, you can make out the faint outline of a trail.

He did it.

You squeeze Joel’s torso tighter, as if to thank him. Old Beardy perseveres, pushing one leg in front of the other. Your head is getting heavier, the concussion pulling you towards a dreamless sleep.

“Hold on. We’re almost there.” Joel affirms. You’re not sure who it’s destined for : himself, you, or the horses. Maybe all four. But it’s all you need to let go, and you pass out, head slumping on Joel’s shoulder.

——————————

You wake up to the sound of snow pelting against glass. Your skull feels like it’s being drilled into with a jackhammer. You pry your eyelids open and try to get your bearings, vision foggy, as though you opened your eyes in a chlorine pool. You find that you’ve been laid out on a frayed, deformed couch, springs digging into your back, a quilt smelling of mothballs thrown over you. Your winter attire has been taken off. You push yourself up on your elbows and look around the room. It seems to be the small living area of a cabin; there’s a rustic coffee table where both packs lay next to the bloody rag that acted as your bandage. To your left is a large, frosted-over bay window; the outside is an infinite, oppressing white. Two sets of jackets and ski pants hang from antler-shaped hooks next to the front door, a puddle forming underneath. A stone hearth takes up the wall in front of you, fire crackling inside. And, to your right, a plaid armchair. Joel is sitting in it, leaning forward, forearms resting on his thighs, watching you intently with knitted brows. His expression is hard, severe, unfriendly; he’s back to his normal self. You hold his gaze, your sight slowly getting clearer.

“Uh. Hey,” you speak hoarsely, throat dry. It makes you cough, which prompts Joel to get up and rummage through your pack to retrieve your canteen. He tosses it to you carelessly, and you fail to catch it. It lands on your lap with a thump. Joel plops back into the armchair, huffing. He is very transparently upset with you.

Great.

You take a long gulp of water and wipe your mouth with the back of your sleeve, the day replaying in your mind like on a movie theatre screen, pausing on your near-death experience. And you’re baffled, ashamed of your own actions. You can’t believe Joel had to step in and save your sorry ass, like you’re some kind of damsel in distress.

Fucking rookie mistake. And now you have a goddamn concussion.

You massage your temples and suppress a groan. “How long was I out?” you ask instead.

“About an hour.” Joel answers, tone glacial, deprived of any sympathy.

“Did you try calling Jackson?” You nod over at the small radio sitting on the ground by the window.

“Couldn’t get a signal,” Joel answers, gruff, as if it’s an obvious fact.

You roll your eyes. You know he’s right, but still, you stand up despite sore muscles, and go over to the device, cranking it a few times before trying the channel knob. You’re met with static. Joel mumbles something under his breath; it doesn’t sound pleasant, or polite. You put the radio back down and return to the couch, avoiding eye contact with the older man.

You glance at your watch. It’s right after 3PM, and the blizzard hasn’t let up. You’re going to be stuck here a while. You rest your head on the arm of the sofa, staring at the beamed ceiling, lost in reflexion. About how genuinely worried Joel seemed when you got hurt, how he jumped right in to take care of you. It makes you seethe. He tucked you in so you’d stay warm. He even changed your socks; the wet pair is drying by the fireplace. How dare he? You shift on the cushions, stiff, ill at ease. And Joel chooses that moment to break the silence.

“What the hell was that back there?” He questions, his tone accusatory.

You tense up. The blame you’re putting on yourself is more than enough. He doesn’t need to twist the knife. You ignore him, your jaw clenching.

“Hey. I’m talkin’ to ya,” he nags.

It makes your blood boil, and you sit up to glare at him. “Won’t happen again,” you grumble.

“Yeah? You sure about that?” He continues, harsh.

You take a deep breath. “Look, I-”

He interrupts you. “You don’t freeze up like that. Ever. You understand me?”

“Oh, wow. I had no idea!” You strike back, not missing a beat. “I don’t need a lecture from you, Miller,” You spit out.

Joel lets out a chilling chuckle. “Oh, you’re welcome, by the way!” He barks, “You know. For keepin’ you alive an’ all.”

You spring to your feet, heat shooting to your head, exacerbating the migraine. “I didn’t ask for your fucking help,” you utter.

Joel gets up too, towering over you, hands balled up into fists. “Right. Next time I'll just let you get infected. That what you want?”

“I told you. There won’t be a next time!” You shout, holding yourself back from punching him in the gut, or kneeing him where it would hurt most, or pulling him down to the couch and pushing your lips to his neck and letting him-

No. Nope. Not again, not here, not now.

You desperately need some air. You move towards the front door, but Joel strides up to you and blocks the way, arms crossed.

“You ain’t going anywhere,” he warns.

“Let. Me. Out.” You command. Your head is so painful you think it might explode.

Joel chuckles again. “You got a death wish or somethin’? Settle down, girl.” He talks down to you as if you were a child, smug, condescending; but that word makes your heart skip a beat.

You try to make a pass for the handle, but he grabs your wrist and shoves it backwards effortlessly. You’re seeing red. So you opt for the next best thing; you spin around abruptly and storm off to the other side of the cabin, into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you.

“Oh yeah. You do that. Real mature.” Joel yells out.

You hear the creak of the floor under his steps and the rustling of fabric as he sits back down. You take your frustrations out on the shower curtain, displacing thousands of dust particles, before biting down on your hand to muffle a scream. When you’re done, you climb into the bathtub and curl up against the lime-scaled cold porcelain, forehead on your knees. The space is dark, stuffy, suffocating. You wonder how you’ll be able to make it through the storm without ripping Joel’s head off. Or doing something exactly opposed to it. How easily that man is able to just get to you is incomprehensible. Enraging. And, worst of all, despite how reluctant you are to admit it…

Arousing.

It must be the concussion dysregulating you completely. But the feeling grows, and you extend both legs to squeeze your thighs together, trying to release the pressure building between them. It’s no use. There’s only one thing that would satisfy it, and he’s right outside the door. Without your control, your right hand moves to the waistband of your jeans, undoes the button and goes down, past the elastic of your underwear…Fingers reach down to your entrance, already slick, and glide back up to the hardened nub, the touch sending a rush of pleasure through your body. You rub clumsy circles around, slow at first, mind filling with Joel, his calloused hand there instead of yours, stretching you out, whispering filthy things in your ear. You increase the speed, biting your lip to keep yourself from moaning, cheeks flushed, the pressure becoming almost unbearable. You push two fingers inside, curling them to stimulate that sensitive spot, bucking into your own palm to deepen the sensation. In a matter of seconds, you’re unravelling, free hand gripping the side of the tub, your walls clamping down on the other, come seeping in the fabric below. Your lips part and you can’t help a low squeal from escaping them. You immediately clap your left hand over your mouth, heart racing.

Fuck.

Did he hear?

You take a few deep breaths, trying to calm yourself. The reality of what you just did comes crashing down. It only worked to heighten your desire. And your anger. You button your pants back up and step out of the bathtub, wiping your hand on a scratchy towel you find in the linen closet along with a colony of spiders.

You’ve been in here for too long. You have to go back out. It would raise suspicion if you didn’t.

——————————

Joel is oblivious, too busy sulking over the events of the day as he tends to the fire, flames illuminating his face in a flickering glow.

That was too fucking close.

The image of you, frozen up under the runner, keeps snaking its way into his thoughts. It infuriates him. How you just gave up, like your life was worthless, like you deserved what came to you. And yet, the sentiment is so familiar it makes his chest ache in a burst of empathy. He can sense the burden in you, the intense trauma you endured. Most people have, in this unforgiving world, but you…There’s something more. It was the look in your eyes when you saw that infected, as if it reminded you of something so vivid it stole you away for an instant. He knows because it’s happened to him. It still does, sometimes, although less frequently. They’re these moments of sheer panic, where he’s choking, the world blurring around him. He has to count things he can see, or touch, or hear…He feels so miserably weak after it’s passed, as if he’s just a small, scared old man. Maybe it reveals his true nature.

And he’s so angry at you for making him care. Because for some reason, he does. Ever since that night at the tavern. Maybe even before. How scared he got when he thought you might be done for is direct proof of it.

He can’t afford to have another person to protect.

A quiet cough brings him back to the present. He peers over his shoulder. You’re standing behind him, seemingly troubled by something; you fiddle with the hem of your sweater, gaze glued to the ground.

He turns back to the hearth, sighing, and forces out an irritated “You good?” The thing is, he actually is concerned with the answer.

“Fine.” You reply, your tone not an ounce more affable than his.

That is as far as the conversation goes. Joel eventually gets tired of rotating the same log with the fire poker, pretending the action is crucial to keep the flames alive. He goes back to the armchair, glancing at you. You’ve reclined on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, mindlessly chewing on a piece of dried meat. He decides to imitate you, because he needs something to do with his hands. So he digs in his bag for the sandwich he’d packed; it’s mushed, tasteless. You both eat in thick, loaded silence.

The sunlight is starting to decline, and the storm rages on, casting the room in an eerie shadow, the cold seeping in through every tiny crack in the cabin’s foundation. Joel shivers despite himself, shoving both hands under his armpits in an attempt to preserve his body heat.

A second later, you’re out of your seat. Joel watches as you climb up the spiral staircase that leads to the loft bedroom. You shuffle around the space, partially concealed by the railing, and come stomping back down, carrying a crumpled blanket. You hold it out to him at arm’s length. Joel cocks a brow; the sudden kind gesture leaves him completely confused. You jiggle the blanket under his nose, impatient. He decides to take it, and drapes it around his shoulders, the relief immediate.

“Uh. Thanks,” he mumbles.

You give a shrug in response, dismissive, wrapping yourself in the quilt and retreating to the sofa.

What the hell?

An hour ago, you were fiercely arguing with him. Now this. The flip-flopping is giving him whiplash.

Time passes, excruciatingly slow, nor Joel or you daring to say another word. The sun fully sets; the darkness outside is opaque, as if the little cabin is drowning alone in an abyss. There’s no way around it, you’ll both have to spend the night here. Around half past 5PM, Joel can’t stew in the tension anymore, so he goes to check on Old Beardy and Willow, confined to the veranda at the back of the house. They’re cramped, but otherwise fine. Joel risks a short trip to the yard to fill an old, warped bucket with snow for the horses to drink. As he shines the beam of his flashlight around, he notes that the blizzard has weakened slightly. This mess might be over in the morning. Just a few hours. He can last until then. It’s not like he has any other choice.

He feeds the animals with a pile of straw forgotten in a corner of the veranda, behind some gardening tools. At the start of the outbreak, he couldn’t help but imagine who inhabited the places he used as shelters, what their daily lives looked like, if they were still alive. Sometimes, he’d come across evidence of the contrary. It used to disturb him, he’d feel like an intruder, but he’d quickly grown desensitised. Cordyceps didn’t spare anyone. It made suffering the new normal. It’s useless to dwell on what was or wonder what could have been. So, he doesn’t pay more attention to the objects scattered around the space as Willow eats from his hand.

Once he comes back inside the cabin, he finds you exploring the kitchenette that’s crammed underneath the loft. You’ve opened the cupboards, revealing stacks of chipped, dusty dishes. You’re going through a drawer, a few utensils clinking inside. You haven’t noticed Joel, too focused on your search for something of value. He observes quietly as you move on to the second drawer, when he decides to make his presence known. He clears his throat before speaking.

“Don’t bother, I already checked while you were sleepin’.”

His words only make you search harder, meticulously inspecting the contents of the drawer, bent over, your back turned to him.

Goddamn it. You’re exasperating.

And yet, his eyes are drawn to a specific part of your anatomy, the curves made obvious by your position, your jeans hugging them so well he could just-

“Or do whatever the fuck you want,” he mutters, the hostility compensating for the sudden surge of lust.

He plants himself in the armchair, once again, the noises of your continued investigation grating, setting his nerves on fire. After a few minutes, they stop. And you come walking back to the living area with a subtle, conceited smirk on your lips, and a bottle of very nice, before-the-apocalypse whisky clutched in your right hand.

“Didn’t check well enough, Miller,” you say, failing to hide your satisfaction.

“Where was it?” He asks, upset at himself for missing the item.

“Back of the sink cabinet,” you answer smugly. “Quality stuff,” you add, reading the label. You’re absolutely right, but Joel isn’t going to recognise it.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get cocky,” he grumbles. You don’t waste time and unseal the bottle before raising it to your mouth.

“Don’t think that’s smart,” Joel cautions, making you pause mid-air. “Y’know. Concussion,” he continues, his tone more unpleasant than he anticipated.

You don’t listen to his advice, staring at him tauntingly as you sip. He’s quickly learning that you thrive in defiance. And this audacity you possess, it’s…Attractive. Joel inexplicably likes that you’re provoking him. Your expression remains neutral as you swallow, even when Joel knows for a fact it must sting like hell. You offer the bottle to him.

It’s been a long time since he’s had liquor that didn’t have an aftertaste of battery acid, and the sight makes him crave a good drink. It’d certainly make the night pass by faster. He knows it’s a terrible idea, considering where getting drunk with you led him last time, but it’s so damn tempting…

He takes the whisky from you.

——————————

You’ve made a considerable dent in the liquor. It’s dulling the pain in your head, reducing it to a distant ache. You’re sitting cross-legged in front of the hearth, and Joel has joined you on the ground, close enough to pass the bottle back and forth without having to stand up. His back is resting on the bottom panel of the couch, legs spread out casually. The fire, as well as the whisky, is enveloping you in a calming warmth, eating away at your inhibitions; you’ve taken your sweater off as a result, stripped down to a tight thermal shirt. There’s silence again between you and Joel, but this time, it doesn’t make you want to claw out of your own skin. It’s strikingly comfortable. And you find yourself wanting the man to come closer, longing for contact, connection. You haven’t forgotten your little adventure in the bathroom; in fact, the liquor is feeding those feelings, and they’ve risen to a nearly overwhelming level.

You take another sip, and, during the exchange, Joel’s fingers graze yours, sending your heart in a frenzy and a burst of flustered heat to your face. You jerk your hand away.

Idiot.

You play it off by brushing it through your hair. Joel’s mouth twitches upwards before he drinks.

“What?” You ask, defensive.

“Nothin’.” Joel passes the bottle back to you with a faint air of amusement. You decide it’s a good time to stop, and you set it down on the floor.

“Done already? I was expecting more from ya,” he teases.

You hate how well it’s efficient in riling you up. “Like you said. Concussion,” you retort, pointing at the site of injury.

“Hm. So now it's a good enough excuse,” he presses on, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Yup,” you answer simply.

“Really? That’s all you got?” His smirk is more assured now.

You give a drawn-out sigh in response, studying the fire like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

“Damn. I was startin’ to like the snark,” he says. It seems like the liquor has taken a toll on the man’s reservations, too.

“Don’t wanna waste my breath on you,” you reply, unable to resist the banter.

Joel chuckles. “Ah. There she is.”

You had forgotten how lovely Joel’s laugh is. How natural it feels to talk to him like this. Funny how booze seems to have that impact on the both of you. And, after a tortuous day of being at each other’s throats, you welcome the change of mood. “Did I just hear you say you like me?” You turn to gaze at him, an eyebrow raised.

“Nah. Must be your concussion.” He answers, deadpan, unfazed.

You can’t hold back a smile as you reply. “Hm. Sure, Miller.”

He pauses and appears to consider something, chewing on his bottom lip. “Uh. Joel,” he finally lets out, voice deeper, more serious. “Just- call me Joel.”

You’re taken aback by that sudden request.

His first name. It feels informal, intimate even, as though you’ve moved past the status of coworkers, into murky, foreign territory. You know you should refuse. You’ve dropped too many of your principles with this man already.

“Alright. Joel.” You gulp. “Uh, same goes for you.”

He gives a short nod, and mirrors your sentence, only with your name instead.

It’s significant. This moment. It feels like the two of you have reached a point of no return. Like from here on out, things can’t just go back to the way they were.

“Man, this isn’t how I was planning to spend the night,” you revert to humour to diffuse the returning tension.

“Yeah?” Joel follows your lead. “Got somethin’ you’d rather be doin’?”

“Pretty much anything else,” you quip. “I was gonna work on this painting I’m late on.” You’re not sure why you’re opening up about that aspect of your life, but it’s the direction the whisky has picked. It’s futile enough. Still safe.

“Oh. Right. Painting,” he says. “I knew you did that.”

He does?

“Didn’t you do one of Tommy and Maria?” He continues. “For their wedding?”

The man truly is full of surprises. And to think you were convinced he was completely indifferent to you, at least before today.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, that was me,” you reply after a few seconds.

“It’s good work. You managed to make Tommy look half-decent. That’s talent right there,” he jokes.

“Yeah. Thanks. I tried.” You chuckle, and your stomach flutters at the compliment. You’d shoot those butterflies one by one with a tiny gun if you could. “What about you? What’d you have on the schedule?”

“Hm,” he answers, “not much either. Was gonna ask Ellie to join me for dinner. And get rejected again.”

“I don’t blame her,” you comment, a teasing grin forming. “What teenager wants to hang out with a grumpy old guy?”

“Hey. Rude.” Joel feigns offence. “I can be fun,” he adds.

“Won’t believe it until I see it,” you push further.

“Okay then. Just you wait.” He glances around the room for inspiration, until he is hit by a stroke of genius.

“Truth or dare?”

You snort. “Are you twelve?”

“Truth or dare?” Joel repeats, voice raising in pitch.

You shake your head in disbelief.

Joel fucking Miller.

“Fine. Truth,” you capitulate.

Joel smirks. “Okay. Uh,” he concentrates, “What’s your favourite colour?”

You take a second to process the words that just came out of his mouth. And then burst out laughing.

“Come on,” Joel protests, a grin brightening his eyes, deepening the wrinkles around them. “What’s wrong with that question?”

It makes you double down in laughter. You wheeze, trying to catch your breath, and Joel joins in with a few low chuckles. The stoic mask has vanished. Why does he look so sweet?

“That-that- was the best you could come up with?” you get out between deep inhales.

Joel doesn’t back down. “You gonna answer it or what?”

“Okay, okay. Uh-”

You realise you haven’t thought about that tiny aspect of yourself in about two decades. Cordyceps has had that strange effect of destroying souls, personalities, the little things that used to make one human. By infecting some, and coercing others into survival. You’re not sure which fate is worse.

“It’s yellow,” you finally reply. Yellow like the sunshine. That was your sister’s nickname. And you were Moonbeam. Opposites who completed each other. And now there’s only one left, lonely, broken.

Joel nods. “Fitting.”

“Hm?”

“Your tattoo.” He gestures at your exposed collarbone, where a sun made up of a multitude of ink dots is etched into your skin. Joel is scarily on point; that was for her, too.

“Yeah.” You don’t linger on the topic. “Your turn. Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Joel replies instantly.

You’re not prepared. “Uh- I dare you to-” Your mind is sluggish, moving in slow-motion as you try to come up with something. “I dare you to sit next to me.” It comes out without your control.

Shit.

“Easy,” Joel brags. He pushes himself off the ground with a grunt and takes five steps before settling back down so close that your legs are touching. He doesn’t acknowledge it, eyes on the fire ahead, and neither do you. But it sends a chill up your spine and your thoughts to a dangerous place. You determine you’ve taken a long enough break from the whisky and take a swig of the liquid courage. Joel does too.

“Your turn,” he reminds you.

“Truth.” You still have enough wits left to be worried of what he’d make you do as a dare.

“Takin’ the coward’s way out?” He teases.

You drink again, ignoring the remark.

“Alright. Uh, tell me about- your first time,” he says, glancing over at you with a sly smile.

That’s a huge jump from the innocence of his first question. You shoot him an unimpressed look. “You’re gonna have to be more precise.”

“You know exactly what I mean. Now start talkin’,” he playfully orders.

You sigh. “I was seventeen. With a friend I had in the QZ. Nothing special to it.” Your teenage years aren’t a period you like to reminisce about; you had to grow up much too fast.

Joel stays quiet for a moment, and bumps your knee with his, in a movement that could be passed as accidental, or as an attempt at comfort. You’re not certain which is the truth. “D’you love him?” He asks, his tone genuine, devoid of mockery.

“Her,” you correct. “And…I don’t know. It was years ago. Doesn’t matter.” It’s a lie. You remember it like it was yesterday. And you did.

Joel’s expression is one of surprise, and embarrassment. He turns a shade of red deeper than he was the second before, the temperature having nothing to do with it. “Oh. Uh. I- Sorry, uh, didn’t mean to assume- That’s- Good for you- I-”

You’re very entertained by his reaction. People usually fall into one of two categories when you tell them; awkward ally or plain bigot. You’re glad it’s the first one. You cut him off before he digs the hole deeper. “It’s fine. Don’t beat yourself up. Your turn.”

He seems rather grateful for the change of subject. “Uh. Right. Truth,” he replies, regaining his composure.

You give him a taste of his own medicine. “Same question.”

Joel is unbothered, and tells the story nonchalantly. “Okay. It was my date at senior prom. Back of my car in the school parking lot.”

It makes you laugh. “Wow. How very original. I gotta know what kinda car it was.”

“My dad’s busted old Wrangler. I put that car through a lot of shit.” he replies, chuckling.

“I could have guessed that.”

For a second, you and Joel look at each other, smiling. He almost appears timid. And for a second, the horrors of the world retreat into the shadows that birthed them. For a second, everything is alright. You could stay here forever.

——————————

Joel could, too. He wishes time could stop here. Because he’s confident that the night will inevitably end in something he’ll regret. No way around it. It’s taking an enormous effort already to keep himself from reaching over and closing the distance between your lips and his. The booze isn’t helping. You’re not either, with that radiant smile that’s melting his hard shell little by little, and your eyes that keep wandering around his face, his chest, and lower too, though you try to be discreet. He’s doing the same, and he’s certain you’re aware of it. Now, it’s a matter of who will succumb to the temptation first.

You speak up again. “One last thing, Joel. Did you get the girl?” The question is lighthearted, but the memories it brings back certainly aren’t.

He sighs. “Yeah. I did.” Sarah’s mother. They’d been high school sweethearts. Young. Dumb. A tale as old as time. “Got married. Had a kid. The whole nine yards. Then she wasn’t ready to be a parent. And, well-” He trails off, the words slipping out, motivated by the liquor. He’d never have confessed such a thing in a different context. Especially not to you. And just like that, he’s ruined the mood.

Your eyebrows shoot up in shock, before your expression softens, as you realise what must have happened to said child. Pity? Compassion? Joel can’t be sure. “Oh. Uhm. I-I’m sorry. I didn’t know-”

“‘S’okay. It’s, uh, it’s been a while. And I got Ellie now,” he reassures, slurring the words slightly.

“What-what was their name?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“Sarah,” he answers after a pause. He’s only recently started being able to talk about her out loud without breaking down. He doesn’t know if that still applies when he’s inebriated. And he’s not willing to test it out. He drowns the sentiment in more whisky, before giving you the bottle.

“Uhm. That’s pretty.” You take a swig and hesitate. “I, uh, I- know what it’s like. To- to lose someone like that,” you say, softly. The pain the words cause you as they escape is evident. Joel believes you.

And then something happens. Your right hand leaves your lap, moves to the side and comes to rest on his.

His gaze travels from your hand, up to your face. It’s full of doubt, eyes wide, as though you’ve just made a horrible mistake.

It’s all it takes for the floodgates to open.

——————————

Joel grabs your forearm and pulls you into his lap. His mouth collapses on yours. You don’t protest, accepting the kiss immediately, gripping his shoulders to steady yourself, knees on both sides of his thighs.

A rugged hand goes to the small of your back, pressing your chest to his, while the other slides up to the back of your head, carefully tilting it to deepen the kiss. Tongues collide, hungry, eager. He sucks on yours, stifling a moan.

You’ve been pent up so long you’re soaking already. He breaks away from the kiss to trail his lips across your jaw, before going down your neck, biting and swirling his tongue on your pulse point, not mindful of the mark he’s undoubtedly going to leave. He earns a gasp, your fingers interlocking with his hair, holding him in place. You grind against his growing bulge to try and alleviate the fervent pressure rising at your core. He thrusts his hips up to meet yours, the friction sending sparks of electricity to your hazy mind. A hand wanders to your breast, fingers groping the soft flesh, flicking the nipple raised through your shirt. But you need more. Need him inside of you. Now.

And you tell him so, voice quivering with desire. “Please,” you add in a whimper.

It isn’t long before your clothes are ripped off, his lips refusing to break apart from yours for more than a few seconds. He lays you down right there on the floor, bare, trembling, aching for his touch. He sits back on his heels and admires you for a moment, eyes darkened, intense, reflecting the flames as if they are blazing behind his pupils. You watch, mesmerised, as he undresses in the dim, dancing light of the fire, casting him in an aura that’s almost ominous. He stands up to take off his underwear, cock springing free and hitting his lower stomach.

The sight makes your mouth water. God, he’s big.

He climbs on top of you, your legs encircling his torso, granting him access to your entrance. And he pushes into you. Hard. You’re so wet his cock slides in without resistance, filling you completely, nearly hitting your cervix, the jab of pain delicious. The act isn’t kind, or tender; and it’s exactly what you want. For him to use you, to ruin you. And he does. He fucks you senseless, each stroke bringing you closer to oblivion, to forgetting who you are. The sounds he’s letting out are outright sinful, grunts laced with dirty sentences that could make you finish on the spot. But you’re holding on. Until he lifts you up by the waist, angling himself to hit that bundle of nerves over and over again, making you cry out in ecstasy, clawing at his back. You’re almost there, your walls pulsate around him, driving him deeper inside.

“Think you should come for me, darlin’,” he hums into your ear, nibbling on the lobe.

You obey.

The orgasm ripples with such force it blinds you. You can’t even scream. You’re gone. Not a person anymore, but a being of pure pleasure. Joel coaxes you through it with a few more thrusts, erratic, uneven, as he reaches his own release. He pulls out of you at the last second, painting your belly with spurts of the thick, warm substance. Your entire body spasms before going limp.

All the fight has been drained out of you. You’re reduced to a panting, throbbing mess on the floor, arousal pooling out of you, coating your inner thighs.

“Did so good for me,” Joel praises, hands cupping your face, left thumb rubbing circles on your cheek. “So fuckin’ good,” he repeats.

You stay still, eyes closed, brain shutting down your functions one by one. As you’re about to drift off, you feel strong arms carrying you to the loft, carefully placing you on the bed, cleaning you off with a soft cloth. He climbs in and embraces you, limbs tangled with yours, and you nuzzle your head in the crook of his neck. His fingers gently brush the hair from your face to plant a kiss on your forehead.

“Sleep tight, darlin’,” he whispers.

It’s so vulnerable it makes your heart ache.

Because you know this’ll all be gone tomorrow, along with the alcohol evaporating from your system.

——————————

You’re right.

The sky is clear by the next morning, harsh sunlight brutally waking you. You’re alone in the bed, shivering, sore, his scent all over your skin. You get dressed, head pounding, filled with excruciating remorse.

Joel is waiting for you by the front door. Glacial. Austere. Haunting. The person that you went to bed with a few hours ago has been torn to shreds. As though he never even existed. Maybe he was a product of your imagination.

And, once you’re outside, standing side by side on the horses, ready for the return trip, Joel utters a sentence that reverberates in your head all the way to Jackson, its echo deafening as you ride in silence.

“What we did. It meant nothing. Understand?”

You keep the tears in until you’re back home.

To read on AO3

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel tlou #the last of us #tlou fanfiction #fanfic #pedro pascal #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #tlou part 2 #send help #fic: wish you were here

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