#that being said i was sitting outside eating dinner earlier and was filled with such relief that i have like. 2 friends here

[justinefrischmanngf]

was remembering every time i’ve had meaningful physical contact with another person and wondering why i was going crazy over it and it’s literally because i saw my family for a week and a half and there was so much hugging (not 8 hugs a day i still dont know how that’s possible. but like. regular hugs and family catch ups so that too) and now i’ve touched another human being once in the week and a bit since i’ve been back………………………….. maybe i’ll shake someone’s hand tmrw and that’ll be twice .

[a-b-riddle]

Gaz & his Love (Part one?)

The '141' stops as soon as they are back home. After that, they are just close friends. Simon, John, Kyle and Johnny had managed to settle down and find themselves sweet little things. All who adore their brave men and all who share different tastes

In this 'series', it's essentially bits of each of the 141 one and their kinks they have with their partners. With that being said, I don't really care if you think that Soap is submissive or Ghost is into CNC/Primal play. That's great. But in this fantasy, this is what it is. It's what I wanted to write. If you want Kyle Garrick to be a pleasure Dom and John to be a Daddy Dom. Cool. Go find other fictions that write that, or be the one to write them. I'm not going to argue about what kinks they would really have.

CW: NSFW. Edging. Use of chastity belt. Spanking. Mentions of figging. D/s dynamics. Self-deprication. Aftercare. Impact play.

4.5 k words.

Not proof-read

The downside of having a Dom with a huge dick is that he was stingy with it. Thus making him a huge dick. And when it became very apparent that you lacked any self control and restraint from touching your greedy little pussy, Kyle had found that edging you was the best form of punishment, if not just to push your limits.

He wouldn't necessarily call himself a sadist. The moment you started to cry (at least outside of the bedroom) he was quick to remedy the situation. The term brat tamer didn't sit right with either of you. You didn't like the idea of having to be tamed and Kyle liked, loved, that you could be, well, you.

But that didn't mean he didn't like setting you a little more straight. Making sure you stuck to your goals. Showed yourself the same kindess you insisted others be given. And most importantly, helping you remember that iced coffee does not count as a meal; an issue that is a reoccurring struggle.

Although Kyle did not like hurting you, he loved making you squirm. Edging, teasing. Making you cum so many times that you had to beg him to stop. Eventually he would.

You were ovulating and you tried to usually use that as an excuse to convince Kyle to let you have free reign over your orgasms. But you both knew that if he gave you an inch, you would take a yard. You would be chasing that euphoria all fucking day and you both shit you needed to get done.

He had went out on a quick errand, promising to be home at 6 and then the two of you could head out for dinner. He had gotten back earlier than expected and imagine the surprise he walked into when he came back home earlier than expected.

When he had found you rubbing yourself, legs spread without a care in the world, he practically beamed. You knew the rules and you broke them. He knew that the penance he had lined up would break you and he couldn't wait to be the one to help put you back together.

You had given a half ass apology when you first realized he was standing in the doorway of your bedroom. His eyes looking at you as if he were just waiting to eat you alive. You had expected anger or, at the least, a bit of irritation. As he stood there, saying nothing you took the initiative and offered to bend over, making his life a bit easier. You did have your moments where you did like being good for him.

But instead, he ordered you to stay on your back. Slowly walking to you. The sound of your heartbeat filling your head. He reached at the posts of the bed, pulling at the restraints that he always kept there just in case the moment arose where you needed a bit of… correcting.

He was tender as he wrapped the cuffs around your wrists and ankles. Adjusting the straps so you have very little movement. You have expected him to flip him on your belly so he could spend the next hours spanking your poor ass raw.

But given that the punishment needed to fit the punishment, you assumed it would be a night of bringing you to the brink of release only to deny you. You thought you knew what was in store.

But fuck were you wrong.

Once he had you exactly how he wanted, barely able to move, he stood. Staring only for a moment before making his way out of the bedroom.

He left you there, giving you a chance to guess how many times he would edge you until he finally felt like you had learned your lesson. And even then, the bastard still wouldn't let you come.

The sound of his approaching footsteps made your heart race.

He came back in with a box in hand. No markings or anything noteworthy. Just a plain cardboard box. With curious eyes, you practically burned a whole through it, trying to figure out what exactly could it be.

Too small to be a sybian or a fucking machine. You already had a decent sized collection of toys and paddles… Before you could keep guessing, he set in on the floor, just out of view before going to your dressers.

Smoothly, he pulled off his t-shirt leaving him only in a pair of jeans that hugged him perfectly. Kyle didn't say anything as he pulled out a Hitachi wand, some clamps, a dildo and a roll of duct tape.

Fuck. This was already going to be a long night.

Not taking his eyes off you, he made his way back on the bed pulling out something you hadn't noticed before. Your gaze zeroed in on the malicious object. A tool that Kyle knew you had a terrible familiarity with.

A simple and standard clear plastic ruler.

Dammit.

Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.

It was more delicate than a paddle so Kyle had no qualms about using it on your pussy and with you were spread out with not even enough wiggle room to block him with your thighs. The precision made it so he could hit your clit directly. Every. Single. Time.

Couldn't get that kind of a precision with a flogger. One time when you

Immediately, he sensed your apprehension. Saw the sudden unease in your eyes. Kyle knew that you didn’t like being punished as much as you liked the release you got from it. There were some punishments that were completely off the table, personal hard limits for both you and him. But then there were some, like hitting and slapping your pussy that blurred the edges of what you could stand and what you couldn’t.

And although he loved bringing you to tears, the thing that made him get off was the fact that you wanted this as much as he did. You trusted him to not take things too far and dish out punishments that fit the infraction. Having your mouth gagged for extended periods when you smart off at him. Getting bent over his knee after being a little pain in the ass. And in this instance, torturing your pussy because you couldn’t keep your hands off her.

"You know your safe words and cues?" He asked, wanting to remind you could stop this at any time. You looked up at him, momentarily forgetting the intimidating instrument of torture he so casually held in his hand. His eyes cast over you hungrily. An absolute vision.

"Yes, Sir." He tried not to smile as he sensed the tremble in your usually steady voice. He liked you scared, hell even fighting against it. But he needed your consent. He needed to know that in that moment, you were relying on him to do what he knew what was best. You needed to let him take control and give everything to him.

"I don't think I need to remind you that during your punishments, you're not allowed to cum." He said twirling the ruler slowly, now wanting to taunt you.

Fuck.

You couldn’t look at it. It was like getting a shot. If you weren’t looking, it didn’t hurt as bad, right? "No, Sir." You swallowed, eyes staring at the ceiling.

Now that wouldn’t do. He thought. He needed your attention. Plus unless he had you blindfolded you or specified otherwise, you knew that during a scene you were to look at him when you answered him. You hissed as the piece of plastic landed on your inner thigh.

"Eyes on me." He ordered. You obeyed already shifting from his brat to his good girl. He hid his smile. It was hard when you started to get into your sub space to refrain from breaking you down too quickly. Kyle enjoyed the aftercare as much as he did taming you, but going about it too quickly wouldn’t help the lesson stick; a lesson you were in desperate need of learning.

“We’re going to start off with twenty.” You wanted to argue, but you had practically asked for it. How could you not remember to at least lock the door? You nod, too afraid to speak, your hands gripping onto the restraints to help ground you. "Count." Was his only response as the first swat came.

You hissed at the sinister slapping sound and the sting of pain that followed. "One." You breathed out taking a deep breathe in before the next one came.

"Two." Your voice rushed out. Two. You were only at two. Again. Deep breath.

smack

"Three." You squeaked. Another breath. smack. "Four!"

Kyle didn't know where he wanted to look the most.

At your face. Your eyes squinting and closing tightly at his lashing. At your tits. How your nipples had already started to pebble. Maybe he should take the ruler to those next...

But he had to keep his focus on your pussy. With each swat the clear ruler had come back with a little bit more of your juice. This was making you wet. You would never admit it and you didn't have to, but both of you knew that this turned you on. Being able to give up control, even for a moment. Having to let go was hard. But Kyle was the only person you could trust without micromanaging.

By the time you got to twenty, the tears that had pooled in your eyes had fallen. If he could have a painting commission for that very sight, he would have paid anything to have it. Instead, he had to settle on burning the image in his mind forever.

"Good girl." His praise was meant to mock you and acknowledge that he was satisfied with how you took your punishment.

"Are we not done?" You asked.

"Oh no, Love." He said picking up one of the clamps. "That was just for breaking the no-touching rule." He leaned over your body, taking a nipple in your mouth. You gasped. Your back arching into his touch. Wanting more. Needing more.

He flicked his tongue, faster and faster before suckling hard and releasing you with a pop. Before you could open your eyes, you felt the pinch from the clamp. No warning.

"Fuck!" You squirmed. Opening your eyes only to shoot daggers at Kyle, who was now straddling your waist with a smile playing on his lips.

"Onto the next one?" He asked, but you didn't entertain him with an answer. He took your other nipple in his mouth. Repeating the same motions that you yet again fell for. Trying to fight the need to arch your back. To hum as his tongue and your body worked against you.

Another pinch came. Even with the knowledge that it was coming it still hurt like an absolute bitch.

He got off of you only to crawl toward that delicate place between your thighs. You were dripping onto the bed. It took everything, every ounce of self control Kyle had to refrain from swiping his tongue up your folds. He could make a day out of eating you out until you cried and begged for mercy. He had done it before even if it took you almost 45 minutes before tapping out.

But when you saw him pick up another clip and his hand drawing closer to your exposed pussy you're first instinct was to call out yellow. He saw your recoil and stopped. His eyes met yours, searching for an answer. You both knew the ball was in your court. But it didn't feel like... enough?

"Green." You put your head back down against the pillow, waiting for the sharp sting. Instead it was just a gradual pressure. Slowly building instead of an instant pinch. Then another. And another. And another. It wasn't until you heard the harsh ripping of tape before you looked down to see what your boyfriend was doing.

He had put four clothes pins on your labia major, two on each side. The piece of tape he had just ripped with his teeth was used to hold the clamps against your leg. You didn't speak. Neither of you making eye contact as he continued to the other side until you were left fully exposed.

He sat back on his ankles, looking down and admiring your pussy as if it were artwork and he was the dedicated artist. "Mind if I take a picture for later?" He asked, his tone softening. "Something to think about when I'm on a mission." He gave a cheeky wink, but let you know in his voice that you could say no. Pictures and videos had always been a sore subject for you, but you had sent some here and there, although he had never prompted you before, even after all this time.

"Yes." You said. "But can it just not have my face?" The same request as always. You trusted Kyle, but there was always that what if possibility.

What if his phone got hacked?

What if someone got ahold of his phone or he was innocently trying to show one of his collegues a picture and then BAM, there's your pussy?

"Of course, Love." He said, pulling his phone from his back pocket before taking a few pictures. Without you asking, he turned the screen around. His fingers swiping through the photos to let you see your glistening, spread cunt. Just your cunt. Not your face. No identifying marks. "Look how pretty she is." Kyle's coo of approval made your stomach flutter.

Without any other remarks, he returned his phone back into his pocket and kneeled between your legs, resting on his own. "How many times did you come?" He asked. Although you frequently disobeyed Kyle, you never lied.

"I didn't." You shamefully admitted. "I just couldn't get there."

He hummed as if contemplating his next course of action. "Well then," he said. He grabbed a pillow near your head that you weren't using. Putting it in the space between your knees before lowering his body onto it. His mouth was hovering above your pussy. "Let's make up for that then."

The bastard had grabbed the pillow to make himself comfortable.

Fuck.

You were going to be here a while.

Eight. He had pulled eight orgasms out of you. He had switched things up between each one. Sometimes one finger before adding another and then a third. Using the dildo. But his mouth never left you and he never let up. Each one was as intense, if not more, than the last. You were crying by number four, but still hadn't begged him to stop.

But he was damned and determined to get you there.

You still hadn't by number twelve. You couldn't. Not from sheer stubbornness, but you simply couldn't. It was all too much. It was hurting at that point, but a new feeling, a heaviness consumed you. Your tongue was too heavy in your mouth. Your stomach was flipping, tightening its self into a little ball.

You weren't sure if you were hot or cold anymore, but you were certain that at any moment you were going to be sick. You were approaching number thirteen, feeling something more than just an orgasm threatening to escape you. You were going to throw up.

“K- Ky?” You stammered, forgetting your words. What was your safe word again?

“What’s your color?" He asked, pulling away from you for the first time in almost an hour.

“I-” you didn’t know. You didn’t want to tap out. You had disobeyed, this was the punishment. Kyle had never took things too far. You didn’t decide when this was done. He did. “I need a minute.”

Your head fell against the pillow. Closing your eyes, you try to breathe slowly through your nose. The wave of nausea didn't pass as your heart continued to beat so violently you head practically pulsed along with it.

While you were trying to get your shit together, fighting the sickness that started to swell inside you, Kyle began to fiddle with your restraints.

“What are you doing?” You asked, not having the strength to pull your head up to look at him.

“You’re done.” There was a finality in his voice, leaving no room for argument. “I’m calling Red.”

“What?” You asked, confused. "I-" You stuttered, taking a moment to gather your thoughts. Process what was happening. "You can't call Red for me."

“Yes I can and I did.” He said, finishing the remaining cuffs before going for the clamps on your nipples.

“But you weren’t finished.” You don't know why you were arguing, but it felt wrong for him to just stop everything.

“Who said I was?” He smirked before gently taking off the clamps. Further down he moved, settling back down between your legs before rooming the clamps he had put on your aching pussy lips. You sucked in a breath as the blood rushed back.

“I feel like I’m going to throw up.” You hadn't mean to say it out loud.

“Yeah. You’re done.” His tone annoyed.

“Please don’t be mad at me right now.” You said, throwing an arm over your eyes as if that would somehow shield you from the embarrassment. A sort of if I can't see them, they can't see me mentality. “I held out as long as I could.”

“I’m not mad that we needed to end the scene.” He explained, his tone not as annoyed as before, but still holding a certain sharpness to it. “I’m upset that you should have called yellow and didn’t.” You hissed as he removed the fourth and final clamp. “I’m guessing that you didn’t to prove something.”

Kyle was good at breaking you. It’s what you wanted. It's what he wanted. But he could only be sure to not cross the line if you drew it out for him. He didn't hold the power here, you did.

“Tapping out of a punishment makes me feel bad.” You confessed, still not daring to look at him. “It makes me feel like I bit off more than I could chew and that I’m trying to weasel my way out of a punishment and I don’t like that.”

He decided right this second wasn't the time to have this conversation. You were already starting to drop and he needed to get started on your aftercare. “Let’s get you showered off and then we’ll talk,” he offered, scooping you up from the bed before you had a chance to argue.

He ran the water on luke warm to help your temperature get back down before slowly building it up to a comfortable heat. You leaned against his chest as he ran his hands up and down your back.

Before you could really stop it, the tears came. Kyle felt your body shaking against his chest.

“Shhhh,” he soothed. “It’s alright, Love.”

"I don't know why I'm crying." You sobbed. "I just didn't want to weasel out of it."

"Using a safe word doesn’t mean you’re ’weaseling’ out of a punishment when it becomes too much,” He said, pulling you away to look at you. His fingers rubbing small circles on your arms. “It just means it just got to be too much. You needed to end the scene. End of story.”

“I know," you said, the crown of your head pushing against his chest as you looked down. The water still cascading down on you both. "But it still doesn’t feel that way.”

“Would you like me to keep punishing you?” You knew he was asking it rhetorically, but that didn't stop you from answering honestly.

“Maybe not anything with impact.” You offered. “Like lines or something.”

“I’ll think of something. Later.” He said grabbing your soap off of your little shelf and lathering you up. "Lets get you all cleaned up." Kyle's after care was just as important to him as it was to you. It helped ground him. Make him remember that everything in the bedroom was a fantasy.

You didn't think he was a monster. He wasn't cruel. It gave him an opportunity to also help build back what he had broken.

By the time he as finished rubbing you down, you were practically putty in his hands. "Finish up while I go and change the sheets." He kissed your forehead, leaving you to it.

“How you feeling?” He asked as you made your way back into the bedroom. He had already changed into a fresh pair of jeans and threw on a button up. Sometimes you hated how beautifully put together he could get almost instantly.

“Better.” You gave him a soft smile before noting his outfit.. "You're all dressed up."

"I figured we could still make dinner if you wanted to. You need to eat something." He wasn't wrong. You didn't want to get into the discussion about your only meal for the day had been an iced coffee. So you quickly got ready. You sat on the edge of the bed, putting on your socks when you noticed it again.

The box on the floor that Kyle had brought in earlier. The one he never opened.

“What’s that?” You pointed. Kyle wanted to say that the two of you could open it later, but he had been so exciting to go and pick up his order he could hardly wait.

“It's what I was going to finish the night off with," he answered with a gleam in his eye as he picked up the box, putting it on the bed. "Think of it as a surprise."

"What the fuck is that, Kyle Garrick?" You said, pulling your legs tightly to your body. As if coiling yourself into a ball would ever stop him.

"It's something to help you." That mischievous glint was back in his eye. Your heart stopped as he finally tore through the box like a kid at Christmas. Beaming with pride as he held up the sinister piece of metal.

“Kyle,” you began. “That's not a-”

“A chastity belt.” He finished. “Yes. It's my assurance.” He held up the chunk of metal, allowing it to shine in the bedroom.

"For what?" You're voice reaching a higher pitch. Kyle tried not to laugh as you practically squeaked. You always did it when you were nervous. "Making my life into the Handmaiden's Tale?"

He rolled his eyes at your over-exaggerated comparison. "To make sure you can't cum until I say so." He set the contraption down on the ibed before pulling out a small set of keys and a padlock out of the box as well.

Holy fuck. He was serious. "Since I can’t trust you when I’m not here, you’ll start wearing it when I have to go out.”

“Kyle, please.” You begged. It was no use. You had fucked up. Kyle could handle your brattiness. He loved having you over his knee, making your ass burn. But disobedience and being a little shit were two different things. He gave you a rule and you broke it. Plain and simple.

You had secretly hoped that he would just pull out the ginger root. Figging your poor little asshole until you were a crying, blubbering mess. The aftercare during such a session was so intense it almost made it worth it. Failing in comparison at the one he had just given you, although it was still wonderful.

But you had came without permission. Not only that, but you were strictly told NOT to touch yourself. A rule that you had broken time and time again.

You huff, but honestly the idea of being unable to do anything. Having to beg him…. You could already feel yourself getting wet. “Not now though, right?”

“Later” “Your punishment wasn’t finished.”

“How long would I have to wear it?” You asked, thinking maybe he’ll just

“Let’s start with five days.”

“FIVE?” You practically squeal. No way. There is absolutely no way you’ll be able to make it five days without something to give you some sort of stimulation between your thighs. Even if you had just come so many times it had quite literally made you sick. “Kyle, be reasonable.”

“This is me being reasonable.” He said, grabbing a light jacket from his wardrobe. “Do you think I got one of these last minute? Your lack of control is an issue I will be damned and determined to fix.” He retreated into the your closet with something to keep you warm. “Tell you what,” he said crossing his arms as you put it on. “Make it a week.”

“Kyle!” Your jaw fell open, ready to protest.

“Hush and let me finish.” He ordered, holding up a finger to pause any more interruptions. “One week straight. 24/7 . The belt stays on unless you need to shower or go to the bathroom. Make it a week with no complaints and I’ll give you a week where you don’t have to ask.”

Your ears had suddenly perked up. A week of being able to rub yourself absolutely raw without any repercussions.

“A week and after that I get a week where I can come anytime I want?” You clarified, not fully trusting his wording. "I can cum when you fuck me and when I masturbate. I'm allowed to masturbate?"

Your spew of words had him laughing. "You act like I'm a genie trying to trick you!"

"That's exactly what you are!" You argued, your tone now growing less appalled and more playful.

"Fine!" He sighed. "If you last a week, you can have a full week of absolute orgasmic freedom."

"Deal!" You held out your hand, waiting for the deal to be made before he could go back on his word.

As soon as the two of you had gotten home, Kyle had started the countdown. It felt weird. Definetly uncomfortable and something you weren't entirely sure you would get used to.

The next morning, Kyle was already down in the kitchen. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filling your senses as you joined him.

"How'd you sleep?" He asked, smirking over the rim of his mug already knowing the answer.

"Fucking terrible." You huffed out. You had practically tossed and turned all night. He was almost tempted to take it off, but a deal is a deal. "This thing is so uncomfortable. It's like a pair of medieval panties."

"You tapping out after one night?" He asked, already knowing he should have made a counter off to your deal instead of simply it making it a challenge for you.

"Not a chance." You smiled, shooting him the same smile he was giving you. "But I think maybe a cup of coffee could help perk me up."

You kissed him as he handed you your own mug. Humming as his hand traveled to the base of your neck, pulling you closer to him. Deepening the kiss until you were nearly breathless.

You had hoped next week's freedom would be worth it. It surely wasn’t right now as the chastity belt rubbed irritatingly against your core.

[boozenboze]

Pyeon Sang-Wook x Male reader

Females She/Her and She/They DNI

M/n was one of the most helpful people in the apartment. One reason being that he was a Doctor,and he his good friends with Eunhyuk. Before all the crazy shit occured M/n would assist the male with his studies and even helped him with bills. It was hard taking care of yourself along with your sibling with no extra help so he appreciated it.

When Hyun-su came back from gathering stuff throughout the apartment, M/n would be the first person to check up on him before he had to go into the room. The h/c haired male made Hyunsu feel more secured, especially because of the looks the other renters gave him. Hyun-su could never come back down to the main floor without M/n wiping any blood off his face and giving him his portion of food.

Today went by like normal, M/n checked up on Dusik who he had a nice co nversation with. He also went on a walk around the complex to see if he left anything useful in his apartment. As he ascended the stairs, the faint smell off smoke filled his nostrils. He approached and opened the rusted door and grunted when the door jammed.

The noise alerted the man who was outside smoking, which caused him to turn around. The two locked eyes for a while before the man with the cigarette turned around. M/n said nothing and only smiled as he stood next to the man while leaning over the railing. Their was a comforting silence between the both of them as the male puffed out smoke from his mouth.

He didn’t know how it happened.One moment he was standing in a peaceful silence with the gangster looking man only to now be dressing his wounds. The man had came to the main floor with a bite on his shoulder and to top it off he killed one of the residents. M/n himself was slightly scared from the situation, but was left to suspect that the guy may have done something to him beforehand.

The old man ended up tazing him, and because of the role he was given at the complex he had to patch him up. He had ran his fingers through the mans hair that was suprisingly soft although it seemed like he had gel in it before taking off his shirt and disinfecting the bite.

M/n’s eyes widened in shock when he felt something around his neck. His eyes snapped down to the man whom he’d talked to not so long ago. The pressure around his neck left him after a few seconds before a coarse voice spoke to him.

“Sorry.” The injured man said as M/n sucked in some air and massaged his neck.

“Your- ugh fine.” M/n responded as he put some clothes on the nightstand for the man to wear.

“Get some rest Sangy, you gave yourself a bad image by killing that man earlier.”M/n spoke in all seriousness as Sangwook looked to the side.

Now you may wonder, why is M/n acting so calm despite almost being choked out. The two men did know one another.....kinda. M/n would see the man sometimes when he was headed to his apartment. M/n was the one to always greet him but never at all started a conversation. Keep in mind this was when M/n had first moved to the apartments. Out of hospitality and M/n wanting to know his neighbors more invited him over for dinner. He didn’t expect the man to show up but he did. M/n didn’t learn much, but he did learn his name was Pyeon Sangwook. He gave him the nickname Sangy and thought the man didn’t like it because of the look he received. Though that thought was quickly put away when the he stopped saying it at one point and the male made it known that he liked it. Since then they’d either get takeout from a restaurant or eat noodles and sit in slience The silence was never awkward but comforting nonetheless.

“Stay for a bit.” His voice came out groggily as M/n took a seat next to him on the bed. Sangwook sat up and leaned against the board of the bed. His hand reached out to grasp M/n’s, that was surprisingly soft to the touch compared to his calloused ones.

“I thought you died:”M/n spoke truthfully as Sangwook sighed.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, I was to worried about you.” Sangwook spoke softly as M/n chuckled.

“I can handle myself, even you know that.Theirs no point in worrying about me Sangy.” M/n said as Sangwook pulled him closer, before kissing him on the lips. When they pulled away they both were smiling as M/n rested his head on the mans chest.

“Lets stay like this for a while yeah?”

“Yeah...lets do that.”

[jakeysfallingsky]

Among the Wildflowers - Chapter 5 - Jake Kiszka x Reader

Happy Wednesday!! Here is Chapter 5, earlier than I thought I could finish it. :) Thank for for all of the love with this story. I hope you enjoy this one!

18+ Content - Minors, do not interact.

Summary: You're a hairstylist in Nashville, and the boys in Greta Van Fleet become your clients when they relocate to the city. They quickly all take a liking to you, one sweet guitarist especially. Jake is patient in his pursuit of you, but will your self-created set of rules hold you back from ever being anything more with him?

Word Count: 5300+

Warnings: 18+ content - unprotected sex, fingering, slapping, etc.

The next couple weeks flew by. You and Jake were both so busy, but managed to make time for each other here and there during the week and all day long on the weekends. Your time together was filled with Jake’s cooking, going for walks, watching movies, and plenty of sex. You and Jake couldn’t get enough of each other, and there was more than one occasion where the thought of sneaking into the bar bathroom when his brothers weren’t looking or ducking behind a bush in the park seemed enticing because waiting to get home was proving to be exceptionally difficult. True to his words from the farmer’s market parking lot, Jake loved being close to you and touching you in some way at all times. It could be holding hands, an arm around your shoulder, a hand placed gently on your lower back - he needed to be physically connected to you constantly. 

It was the night before the boys were set to leave for three weeks and Jake asked you to come over and spend the night - not that you would ever dream of going home and sleeping alone in your own bed. 

You came over as soon as you could after work and brought pizza for dinner. Neither of you wanted to cook or go out. Letting yourself in with the key that Jake gave you the day after you gave him one, you announced your presence. “Jaaaaaaaake! I’m here!” You yelled. 

He was in the kitchen making both of you a drink and greeted you with a small smile and kiss. “Hi baby.” He said softly. Dressed in his favorite comfy black joggers and well-loved t-shirt with the top half of his hair messily pulled back and short wavy pieces framing his face and ears, he looked so cozy and gentle. 

You can tell he’s a little wound up from the excitement and nerves about leaving for more shows, and you assume a little anxious about leaving you for a few weeks.

Your assumption is correct.

“How was your day?” You ask him as you turn to grab plates and napkins for the pizza.

“Alright.” He says, not offering anything else. It’s unlike him to not have much to say to you. Your stomach sinks, knowing that he is not himself tonight.

“Just alright? Did you do anything fun, or get any sunshine outside?”

Jake shook his head. “Not really, just some last minute packing and stuff.” He mumbles. He hands you the drink he made. It has bourbon and cherries and other ingredients you can’t name, but it’s delicious.

You take a sip. “Oh Jake, this one’s good. In another life, you’re a fancy chef and bartender I think.” 

He smiled with closed lips slightly at your compliment but his eyes stayed glued to the counter. “Let’s eat on the couch,” he tells you, “I just want to lay down with you.”

“Are you feeling okay? You don’t have a headache or anything, do you?” You place the back of your hand on his forehead to feel his temperature. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking about tomorrow.” He turns to grab his plate and waits for you to grab yours. Always the gentleman, he allows you to walk first. 

You both sit on the couch and set your plates down and you grab his hands before he can get settled. “You’re going to have so much fun and bring so much happiness to a lot of people. And we are going to talk or text everyday and even though I’ll miss you like crazy, these three weeks will fly by. I promise.” 

Jake’s eyes met yours. “I’ll miss you more. Yeah, it’ll be fun, I just,” he sighs and runs a hand through his hair, “I get really nervous about tour even though everything always turns out fine and it’s great but I’m just more anxious this time around because I’m leaving you at home, too.”

Both of you picked up your plates and started eating. “We used to go months without seeing each other Jake, it’ll be a bummer being apart for a few weeks but we will be okay.” You remind him. 

“It’s different now,” he says in an annoyed tone laced with a little bit of hurt that he’s never used with you, “it’s different and you know that.”

You know his emotions are tense and you don’t want to say anything to make it worse. “I’m sorry.” You sighed, thinking that was the best thing to say and go back to eating your pizza. 

Jake takes another bite but he isn’t hungry anymore. He watches you finish your slice and he silently takes your plate and his to the kitchen. You watch him carefully.

Jake comes back and lays down on the couch with his head in your lap. You take his hair tie out, loosen the tangles, and run your fingers through his hair, knowing how little touches soothe him. It’s a wordless way of telling him things are going to be okay. 

“Want to watch a movie?” You ask. “Yeah.” He says quietly and you can see the gears turning in his brain, he’s thinking about something and trying to put words together in his head before speaking out loud. He was someone that put thought and consideration into the words he spoke. That was one of the many things that you liked about Jake. He was incredibly intentional in all that he did.

You reached over to grab a warm blanket off the back of the couch and laid it over Jake. Grabbing the remote, you start scrolling on Netflix.

“Thank you.” Jake mumbles as he gets cozy under the blanket, head still in your lap. 

“For what?” You ask, fingers lightly playing with his hair again, eyes on the TV. 

“Everything.” 

“You don’t need to thank me, Jake.”

He hums. “No, I do. I’m just so thankful you want to know me and care for me. I feel like you know me and you see me beyond Jake the guitar player. I know I can be moody and emotional but you see me for me and you like me. At least, I think you do.” He pauses to giggle a little bit and you do too. “You’re so beautiful inside and out and I don’t know how I got so lucky to know you, but I care so deeply for you and thank whatever higher powers placed you in my life a few years ago every single day.” He finishes and presses a kiss to your thigh where his head is resting. He had been turned away from you, facing the TV the entire time he spoke out of shyness. Despite feeling comfortable and safe with you, there’s still a piece of him that is so shy with a dash of insecurity about sharing how deeply he feels for you. 

“Jake,” you say, as emotions are rising in your throat, “you’re going to make me cry. Come here, baby.” You try to flip him to at least lay on his back. “Let me see your pretty face.”

He slowly turns over, cheeks pink as he peers up at you. You reach down to plant a sweet kiss on his lips. You try to pull back but Jake slips his arms around your neck, gently holding you in place. “Don’t stop kissing me, please.” He breathes desperately with your lips touching. He was trying to commit the feeling of your lips on his to memory, (as if he could ever forget what it felt like to kiss you and touch you) knowing that would be all he has for a few weeks. 

It’s an odd position that you’re sitting in but you oblige, eventually shifting Jake from under you so you can lay on top of him. He’s urgently kissing you, his hands holding your face while your forearms are on the couch keeping you up, around his head. You pull back to take a break, both of you breathing heavily and staring at each other. 

Jake tugs you back down to his lips before his hands start roaming, squeezing your ass and thighs. His breathing is erratic, but yours is too as your lips meet his and your hands explore up and down his warm body. His tongue is entangled with yours and you can feel the desperation and longing on his lips and you wonder if he can feel the same on yours. Jake breaks the kiss and you place your forehead on his, your chest heaving. His sweet eyes are dripping with lust and adoration, the two emotions swirling together in his honey irises. “Need to make you mine,” he says lowly and a little out of breath, “say you’re mine, baby.” 

Not giving you a chance to even process what he said, let alone respond with words, he flips you without warning so he’s on top and fully in control. He smirks at the surprised squeak you let out. Your arms fly around his neck and pull him back down to your lips. No words are exchanged, and you keep hungrily kissing him as if your breathing would stop if your lips detached from his. 

Jake takes your bottom lip between his teeth and pulls. “Say it.” He says forcefully, with an air of authority mixed with desperation, his need for you to verbalize your commitment to him becoming stronger and stronger with each passing second. “Say you’re mine. Say we’re together.”

“I’m yours, Jake. All yours, just yours.” You breathe onto his lips without any hesitation and kiss him urgently and he breaks from your lips to start leaving kisses and small bites along the side of your neck, dipping down into your chest. His heart is beating so fast, but relief washes over him at your words. His kisses and bites and movements don’t stop being desperate, though. He’s soaking up every inch of your breathtaking body, never wanting to take a moment with you for granted. 

“So gorgeous… I’m yours, sweetheart… all yours.” he whispers as he bites into your soft skin and sucks, finally running his tongue over the places where his teeth have been. 

Your hands find the bottom of his shirt and quickly work it off his body, your fingers dancing around the soft expanse of his chest and stomach before coming up to sweetly cup his face and guide him back to your own. You don’t move to kiss him, you just look at him for a moment, taking him in. Lust is seeping out of every single one of his pores and he knows he’s only going to get worse after you say whatever is about to come out of your mouth. He stares at your lips with hooded eyes in anticipation, breathing heavy. 

“Jacob Kiszka, I need you to fuck me so incredibly hard right this very fucking minute.” You say with your death grip on his face. 

He huffs an out-of-breath laugh, adrenaline coursing through his veins after the emotional rollercoaster of the last ten minutes. “You want to have some fun baby?” Jake coos, his voice dripping with want, and he takes one finger and slowly trails it down your jaw. You nod and he smiles adoringly at you before his warm eyes turn dark. “You need me to fuck you right now?” He asks in a deep voice, his eyes boring into yours with a piercing stare.

You bite your lip with a smile and nod and Jake instantly has his hands under your shirt, lifting and nearly ripping it off your head, and without missing a beat, your bra follows your shirt. His lips instantly move to your chest, sucking your nipples and leaving small bites while his hands grip your hips tightly. You try to hold back a whine but a small whimper manages to escape your throat.

Jake doesn’t look up from his position in between your tits but he mutters “I want to hear you baby, all of you. Let me hear that pretty voice sing for me.” 

He turns his attention back to your nipples and your hips thrust upward involuntarily and a loud whine makes its way out of you. Jake looks at you from his position on your chest and grins. “That’s more like it, baby. I know my girl likes to make pretty noises for me.” Without warning, Jake plunges two fingers inside of you and you throw your head back with a moan and he chuckles.

He starts pumping his fingers relentlessly while kissing his way back up your neck, finally meeting your lips. You kiss him hungrily, your hand traveling to his pants while his fingers continue their dance inside of you and around your clit.

“Why are you still wearing your clothes?” You pant, fully out of breath and Jake huffs a laugh. “Take my fucking pants off then, I’m not stopping you.” He manages to get out, equally as out of breath as you are as you start to palm his throbbing cock over his pants.

You start to pull down his joggers and boxers the best that you can while his fingers show no signs of stopping, but you have trouble pulling them down his fantastic, show-stopping ass from this angle. Sitting up a little bit, you gain some leverage and are able to slip them down to his ankles while Jake is nearly crouched on top of you.

“God, if only your ass wasn’t so nice, that wouldn’t have been so hard.” You mumble as you grasp him in your hand and begin to work him up and down. Jake swallows hard as your movements start. “I know you are not complaining about my ass right now.” He growls and flicks his middle finger in a particularly diabolical way inside of you, nailing a sensitive spot perfectly and you moan his name in response. It’s the most beautiful sound Jake’s ever heard and he’s craving more of it.

You continue to pump up and down his shaft and his fingers twitch inside of you. Feeling a surge of boldness, you take advantage of his vulnerable state and quickly flip your positions, you now being on top.

A shit-eating grin spreads across your face as Jake looks up at you in disbelief. “I think I changed my mind, I’m going to fuck you instead.” You say against Jake’s lips, giving him a final kiss before removing your hand from his cock and positioning yourself over him, fully sinking all the way down. Jake moans deeply with his hands on your hips, feeling how tight you are. You start grinding into him, moving up and down, riding him at a slow pace to start. He flexes his hips up into you just a little bit, perfectly hitting all of the spots inside of you calling out for him.

“You feel so good inside me, baby,” you whisper praise into his neck, “you were made for me.” Jake responds with a whimper, feeling you squeeze around him as you bounce up and down slowly. You pick up your pace a little bit, and Jake’s hands slap your ass and grip onto it tightly. You yelp, feeling the sting of his hands, but it just spurs you on. “Does my filthy girl like it when I slap her?” Jake pants, your faster pace making it difficult to get words out. You answer with a hungry kiss to his lips, taking his bottom lip in your teeth and slowly pulling it down, not sacrificing your relentless up-and-down rhythm on his cock. 

Jake, while he certainly enjoys the view of your tits bouncing up and down while you ride him into the sunset, can only take a lack of control during sex for so long. He grips your hips and carefully flips you again, resuming your original position. You bend one leg at the knee and he guides it over his shoulder, quickly sliding back into you at an angle that is so pleasurable and filthy at the same time. 

Jake picks up where your unforgiving quick pace left off, pumping inside of you deeply and quickly. His pants are mixed with moans and the noises he’s making are so incredibly sexy. You throw your head back at the sensation of his cock pounding into you. “Jake, baby, you’re hitting it so good, please don’t stop.” You whine. Jake can feel himself nearing an orgasm, but wants you to cum first. Always the gentleman. 

“Can you cum for me sweetheart?” Jake asks, and his voice is so sweet despite the roughness of him continuing to slam into you over and over. “Let go baby, go ahead and let go for me.” Your head tilts back on its own accord and you moan Jake’s name one last time as your orgasm hits you impossibly hard. Jake helps you ride out the final bits of ecstasy before he reaches his climax as well, his movements slowing as he kisses down your chest as he completely finishes inside you. You’re brought back down to earth and your eyes open to Jake looking at you with a tired, fucked-out smile.

“That was so good baby, God. You did so good, so, so perfect for me, angel.” Jake praises you as he kisses your cheek and carefully slides out of you, making sure that you’re good before getting off of the couch. He gives you one quick kiss and then runs to his bathroom and returns with a washcloth and gently cleans you up and hands you his shirt to put on. 

“So are you my boyfriend now or something?” You ask cheekily and Jake grins, jumping on the couch and tackling you, both of you erupting in sweet giggles. You’re on your back, looking up at Jake as he leans overtop of you, and he gives you possibly the biggest and most beautiful smile you’ve seen on him yet. “Yeah, I think I am.” He says, his voice full of adoration, and he leans down to press a loving kiss to your lips. 

You both take one last shower together. Jake holds you close around your waist under the warm water as you wash his hair. His calloused hands are gentle as they wash his sweet smelling soap all over you. Jake runs his hands softly over every inch of your body, especially over the finger-shaped bruises forming on your ass. He’s already missing every beautiful piece of you. 

Jake hands you a towel once you’re done and you start getting ready for bed together. Still unable to locate his rumored hairdryer, you force him to sit on the side of his tub, just like he did weeks ago, as you comb his wavy hair. “You can’t go to bed with wet hair,” you grumble, “it’ll be crazy in the morning.” 

He chuckles. “Whatever you say, you know best.” He says sweetly while he’s watching you work on his hair. Your eyes are completely focused on the task at hand, and your tongue is just barely poking out of your plump lips. He thinks it’s charming and cute and it takes Jake an incredible amount of restraint to not yank you into his lap for another round. 

You know he not so secretly likes it when you play with his hair, so you grab some of the soft wave gel you told him to start using but he usually forgets about, and start raking your fingers through his shoulder length hair. Jake’s eyes shut, but not before he moves his hands to gently hold you at your hips, rubbing slow and small circles under his shirt that you’re wearing. Once the product is evenly distributed, you start scrunching his hair for him, smiling as you see his waves form. You lean down to hold his face with one hand and give him a tiny kiss on the nose. Jake’s eyes flutter open and he smiles at you.

You stroke the tiny hairs growing on his upper lip. He hasn’t shaved in a few days. “You know, you haven’t grown out your mustache in months. I always liked it.” You said fondly. 

Jake hummed. “Yeah, I liked it too, I don’t know how it would look with my hair being so short though.” 

“Well I, for one, think it would be really hot.” You tell him as you pull him up and lead him towards his bed. 

“Oh really?” He asks as you both settle in under the covers. He pulls you to him and nuzzles his face into the top of your head. 

“Mhmm,” you hum as you settle into his warm embrace. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.” Jake says and kisses your hair. You both lay in each others arms, unmoving. 

Jake sighs after a few moments of silence. “I’m really going to miss you.” He says, a sprinkle of sadness and longing in his words. 

“I’ll miss you more, boyfriend.” You sleepily mumble in response and Jake’s stomach fills with butterflies at his new title. He squeezes you tighter, sensing that you’re about to fall into a deep sleep.

“Goodnight baby, sweet dreams.” He whispers and kisses your hair. You’re already asleep. 

Jake lays there, overwhelmed with relief and happiness. He could leave for tour knowing it was finally official between you two, even though it really didn’t need to be said out loud. Truthfully, you both had been committed from the start.

You both were falling in love, hard. 

•

•

Jake’s alarm went off far too early for both of your likings. He groaned, reaching blindly behind him for his phone, not wanting to separate himself from you. Your legs and arms were tangled up in his, per usual, but letting go of your warm embrace was the last thing he wanted to do on this final morning with you. 

You stayed snuggled up into his chest. Jake leaned his head down to kiss your hair. His fingers started lightly tracing across your shoulders and up and down your back as he whispered your name. Normally, he was more than content to just lay with you while both of you woke up slowly, but he wanted to take advantage of every moment with you this morning to the fullest extent. 

“Hey sweetheart, I’m sorry, but I need you to wake up, please.” Jake said softly into your ear. You groaned and snuggled into him deeper, not wanting to leave the warm nest of blankets or comfort of Jake’s chest. 

“Just because you’re my boyfriend now doesn’t mean that you can be mean to me.” You sleepily pouted into Jake’s chest, still not making any effort to move. 

A deep chuckle leaves Jake’s chest as he squeezes you closer to him. “You’re so dramatic.” He says lovingly before rolling you off of him and yanking the covers back. You gasp at the loss of contact and cold air hitting you. 

“Jacob Thomas!” You yell but you’re instantly smothered by Jake climbing on top of you, peppering tiny kisses all over your face while he holds you down. The laughter leaving your lips is the sweetest music he’s ever heard, a song that he wishes would never end. His heart aches for you as your laughter dies down and he stares adoringly into your eyes.

“You’ll have to forgive me for wanting to spend some time with my girlfriend this morning.” He says, finishing with a kiss to your forehead before taking your hands and helping you out of bed. It’s the first time he’s ever gotten to use that word for you, and he can’t help the wide grin that takes over his face at the realization. 

You playfully slap his ass as you both head to the bathroom to get ready for the day and he scoffs before yanking you into his arms, your back pressed to his chest, as he walks the two of you together down the hall. 

You’re so thankful he’s in a silly and happy mood this morning. You weren’t sure how today would go, but are so glad to see that Jake is going to be just fine. 

Well, you may have spoken too soon. You both get ready and you notice that Jake quiets down a little as he gets dressed and puts a few final items into his backpack. Pulling the sheets and comforter up, you make his bed while he sighs and zips up his backpack. 

“No sadness yet,” you tell him as you pull him into you for a hug, “we aren’t saying goodbye for awhile.” 

Jake nods into your shoulder and squeezes you tighter for a moment before pulling back. You grab his hand and lace your fingers together and walk down the stairs.

You’re busying yourself with making coffee and Jake quietly slips out of the kitchen to find his favorite round sunglasses. He returns as you’re pouring two mugs, one with no creamer for yourself and one that’s just shy of 25% french vanilla creamer for your boyfriend who doesn’t actually love coffee. 

“Jake, why are you wearing sunglasses inside? You aren’t leaving for a bit.” You ask. He shrugs and grabs the mug filled with light brown coffee and takes a sip. 

“I get that you sometimes want to be a cool mysterious rockstar when you’re out and about, but I want to see your pretty eyes.” You say quietly as you reach over to remove his sunglasses. He tries to stop you but he’s still holding his mug so you’re faster. 

You gently push his sunglasses up to rest on the top of his head and his red-rimmed eyes meet yours. All of a sudden, you understand why he was wearing his sunglasses in the house and your heart breaks for the sweet boy in front of you. 

“Oh baby,” you start, moving to hold him around his waist, “it’s going to be okay. I promise.” You hug him tightly and his arms find their way around you. 

“I know,” he says in a small voice, “I know everything’s going to be okay but I’m going to miss you.” He finishes with a sniffle.

“I’ll miss you tons too.” You say before pulling back to look him in the eyes.

“I don’t want you to hide your emotions from me, I want you to feel safe feeling whatever it is you’re feeling with me. Talk to me. Especially while we’re apart, okay?” You say sweetly and Jake nods. “If you’re having a good day, or a bad day, or an okay day, I want to know it all.”

Jake runs a hand through his hair and nods again. “Thank you sweetheart, I know you’re there for me. I am just really in my feelings this morning. I never have really been… with anyone when I leave for tour and I think I’m just having a little bit of a hard time.” He finishes with a dry chuckle and you go on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek and rub his back. 

“We’ll get through this and figure it all out together Jake, it’s going to be okay. Think of how sweet our time together will be when you get home.” You reassure him as you hold him close. He kisses your hair as a silent thank you. He appreciates your loving words more than you realize, and he can feel his anxiety starting to lessen. You have a way of bringing him back down to earth like no one else can. 

You let go of him so you both can drink your coffee. “Hungry?” You ask him and he shakes his head. “Good, because you have no food. I checked.” You giggle and he cracks a smile. 

“Can we sit outside together?” He asks and you nod. He laces a pinky finger with yours and leads you outside to the comfy chair on his back deck. 

He sits down first and you sit in his lap with one arm around his neck. No words are needed, you both are enjoying the closeness and the warm morning sun while you sip your coffees. These are some of his last peaceful and quiet moments for the next several weeks, and you want him to savor them. 

Jake speaks first as he watches squirrels chase each other in the grass. “I should have meal prepped for you. You’re going to starve these next few weeks.” He says fondly.

You tilt your head back and laugh. “It’s your dry sense of humor that I’ll miss most, Jacob.” 

He laughs with you. “Not my cooking? How are you going to survive?”

You pinch his cheek and he swats your hand away playfully. “Believe it or not, while I certainly will miss your excellent kitchen skills, it’s not what I’ll miss most.” You tell him.

His warm eyes are filled with an emotion you can’t quite name, but something about the way he’s looking at you is making you feel fuzzy. 

“What will you miss the most about me?” He asks softly. 

You hum and trace along his jaw lightly with your fingers. “I think it’s just your presence and everything about you. Your energy brings so much happiness and peace everywhere you go. You see me and understand me in a way that no one ever has before. Being around you feels like home.” 

Jake’s heart swells as he listens to you speak. All he’s ever wanted is to love and be loved in return, and he feels himself nearly there with you. He squeezes you tightly and nuzzles his face into your neck. He presses a kiss into your soft skin and looks up at you with a sweet smile. 

“You make me feel the same way. Not to copy your answer.” You both chuckle. “There’s so much I could say about the way that you make me feel supported and cared for. You feel like my home, too.” He admits quietly. And I think I love you. 

“We’re just a couple of softies, aren’t we?” You grin at him and Jake chuckles. “We sure are, baby.” 

There’s a knock at the door and you reluctantly climb off of Jake, knowing your time has come to a close. He grabs your hand and you both walk to the front door and open it to see Sam, Josh, and Danny grinning. 

“Hey guys, just give us a quick minute.” Jake says as he hands his backpack to Josh. “I’ll be right out.” 

You step past Jake and give each of the three boys a quick hug. “Have so much fun, I can’t wait to hear about it all.” You grin and they all smile and say goodbye to you before turning back and walking down the driveway, giving you and Jake some privacy.

He tugs on your arm and leads you away from the door, out of sight from the others. He squeezes you impossibly tight. “This is it sweetheart,” he says quietly, one hand gripping the back of your head with his other on your upper back, “I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll see you soon, baby. Have the best time.” You pull back from the hug and Jake’s looking at you with all of the adoration in the world. You can tell there’s something else he wants to say, but doesn’t. You don’t press him. It’s not the time.

He presses his lips to yours in a kiss that you both wish would never end. There’s so much that is said between the two of you wordlessly as your lips move together. You pull back just to lean in again to give him one more, unable to tear yourself away from him. 

“Bye Jake.” You whisper. “Bye sweetheart.” he whispers back just as softly. He gives you one more hug, rocking you back and forth, before reluctantly letting go. Jake’s eyes are a little red and he has a bittersweet smile on his face. You can feel that your eyes and smile are matching. You stand in the doorway as he walks out, and you wave as they drive away, feeling your heart heading down the road with him. 

•

•

TAGLIST: @reesetrippingthelight @spark-my-nature @katelynn-gvf @ohgodthefeeling-gvf

[vergilthelibrarian]

*rises from the dead* here’s a lil something something for y’all

YandereEx!JaeminxGN!Reader

~

At first, the feeling of being watched subsided.

Moving into a new apartment felt like a breath of fresh air, and living on the 4th floor made you feel safer than from when you lived on the 1st floor of your old apartment.

You'd sit on your fire escape in outside of the window in your bedroom of your new apartment, looking at the people who went on about their day in the city.

It was nice until that itchy feeling of eyes watching you slowly started coming back and it that feeling would get worse at night as you would look out of your window, feeling as though someone was looking at you back.

You began closing the curtains, specifically your bedroom curtains, more. It made you feel slightly more safe.

There's noway it can be him again right?

You changed your number, made new social media accounts.

'Maybe you're just being paranoid again...

You flinched as the buzzer of your doorbell filled your small apartment.

Walking out of your room, you went to your little control panel of buttons that allowed you to talk, listen, and open the door for whoever came to visit you.

You didn't have anyone visiting you though but still you pressed the talk button.

'Hello?" you said, quickly pressing the listen button.

You didn't hear anything.

Some folks rang the wrong button to the apartments here so you shrugged it off and went to your kitchen, now realizing how hungry you were.

You decided to cook something easy and quick, some egg stirfry rice with some sauteed veggies.

As you cooked, the sound of the buzzer went off again.

Turning the heat of the stove down low, you quickly went over to the panel once more, pressing the 'talk' button and asking hello.

Pressing the 'listen' button, once again you were met with silence.

Sighing, you pressed the 'talk' button.

"Who is this?" you asked, then pressing the 'listen' button.

Being met with no answer once more, you rolled your eyes, going back to the stove to finish your food.

Once you were done with your food, you made your self a plate then sat at your dinning table.

Putting on your headphones, you watched a random Vice documentary on your phone, taking your time to eat, not hearing the heavy thump of a muddy boot making entry into your room via the fire escape.

The man turned around, cursing to himself as he closed the window.

Rain water dripped from his soaked black windbreaker. It started pouring rain suddenly which was a shame since it was so nice earlier.

He turned back around, the curtain covering the window once more as he crept silently out of your bedroom and into your tiny hallway.

He gasped slightly as he saw you washing dishes, headphones blasting with whatever you were listening to, back turned to him.

He gulped as he walked over to you, praying you wouldn't be able to hear him.

You jumped, the dish in your hand falling in the sink as you felt hands cover your eyes. A pair of soft lips skimmed your ear, hot air hitting the skin in a rhythm. A familiar scent overtook your senses and your heart sank as his voice entered your ears.

"Guess who?" He whispered.

Your body began shaking.

No.

No.

There's no way it could be him.

How did he even find you?

"J-Jaemin?" you breathed in, the smell of his cologne so strong, it started giving you a headache.

"Humph!" you heard come from him and you just knew he was pouting. "You could've saved me some dinner. You know how much I love your cooking…”

[otomefoxystar]

Finiding the Light - Chapter 11

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Pairing: Mitsuhide X OC ( Evelyn)

TW: Self doubt

It had been almost three weeks since she started sewing, but she had finally finished. They were sitting in the gardens having lunch, and Mitsuhide watched as Evelyn ate the fruit in front of her. He was glad she was trying so hard. "Do you Want to put those clothes you made to use and train?” She raised an eyebrow, “What kind of training are we talking about here?” He drank a sip of water and put the cup back on the table as he swallowed. “Just the basics for now, self-defense, so if you are ever in a position like that again, you can get out of it. Then we’ll progress to weapons. I’ve even had Ieyasu agree to teach you how to use a bow.” She laughed, “I can’t imagine Ieyasu teaching me that he gets frustrated with the medicinal stuff.”  Mitsuhide’s lip drew up in a smirk. “He cares about you and your safety, too. I’m sure you can handle him.” She put her chopsticks down and popped a strawberry in her mouth. The flavor filled her mouth “It’s too bad you can’t taste these strawberries are delicious.” Mitsuhide smiled. “I’m just happy that you’re enjoying them.” 

After they finished, Mitsuhide had her change; she came out wearing pants and a lightweight Kimono. There was no Obi, so she didn’t need to worry about feeling constricted. Mitsuhide had his arms crossed and nodded his head in acceptance. “We’re going outside.” They walked side by side to go outside. Once they were on the expanse of the outdoors, he faced her. “You’re going to have to be able to free yourself if an attacker holds you from behind, and from the front, you need to know the weak spots and remember if you’re attacker is male there, it’s always good to hit them in the more sensitive areas.”  For the next couple hours, he showed her how to escape if she were captured, where to hit them to take them down so she would have time to flee. 

Training had become a new part of their daily routine, and he trained her hard, ensuring she got the moves down correctly. When she finally was proficient enough in self-defense, he moved on to weapons, starting with a sword and occasionally training with the gun. However, the sword required more training, so he primarily focused on that. Training made her hungry, so she ate more; she didn’t ignore her hunger anymore. She was embracing it.

After her bath she joined Mitsuhide for dinner. He looked at her and smiled. “What?” She asked with a curious tone in her voice. “You seem better, you’re eating, and you’ve not only gained weight but muscle. You don’t seem so miserable. She took a bite, then swallowed. “The training is a good distraction from the pain, better than not eating.” He nodded. “It’s a healthy distraction.” She gave him a rare but small smile. “Was that a smile I just saw?” She shook her head. “You’re imagining things, Mitsuhide.” He shook his head and laughed. “No, it was definitely a smile. I’m glad you’re feeling better, Evelyn.” They ate with light conversation.

Ieyasu had come before she woke up. “Does she always sleep late?” Ieyasu asked Mitsuhide, “On most days, yes, but she’s been getting up earlier than she used to. Before, she wouldn’t get up before lunch. It’s better now.” Ieyasu raised a brow. “She’s getting better, Ieyasu. It might not seem like it, but she is.” He frowned. “I believe you. I just worry about her, but I’m glad you’re training her. It was a good idea.” Fully dressed, she walked out to the dining area. “Lady Evelyn, I have your breakfast. You can sit down; I’ll bring it out.” Mitsuhide got up and motioned for Ieyasu to exit his study. “Let’s go see her shall we?” When Evelyn saw them, her food was being brought out. “Good morning, sleepy head,” Ieyasu said, then he looked her over. “You look well. Much healthier than the last time I saw you.” Mitsuhide sat down across from her on the pillow that was seated there. “She’s been working hard.”  Ieyasu sat next to her. “I can tell.” A compliment from Ieyasu was rare so she would take it, but she wasn’t going to make a big deal out of it. 

“Thank you Ieyasu.” After she finished her meal Ieyasu showed her how to use a bow and even brought one for her to use along with arrows. It gave Mitsuhide some much needed time to read some letters he’s been putting off. After hours of training with the bow, Ieyasu got the arrows from where they had fallen. She handed the bow back over to him. “No, that’s for you. I want you to keep it.” She looked at him surprised “You do?” He nodded and smiled. “Just take it and practice; you’ll get better in no time. Now that you know the basics, it’ll only get easier. Let’s go inside.” She followed him inside and put the bow and the arrows next to her sewing supplies in the corner of the room that had somehow become the corner where she put her things.

When they found Mitsuhide in his study, he had a grim look on his face. “Mitsuhide?” She questioned if he was alright; he looked her over and stood up. “Nobunaga wants us to return to see him.” She turned white and could hear the blood pumping in her ears. Ieyasu squeezed her hand, “It’s just a meeting, but Evelyn, you’re better. Maybe it’s time to come home.” Mitsuhide walked towards her and put his hand on her shoulder. “Let’s just see what Nobunaga says, then we’ll figure out the rest. You can stay as long as you want I already told you this.” He said as he narrowed his eyes at Ieyasu. “She’s got to learn to stand on her own without you, or is it you holding onto her.” Ieyasu snapped. “Forget it.” He hugged Evelyn with one arm. When he released her, he looked at her pale face. “I’ll see you soon.” and he turned to leave. Evelyn followed him and watched him pack up his bow and mount his horse. “Get some rest, you did well today.” He trotted off towards Azuchi 

Mitsuhide slowly walked up to her side. “It’s going to be alright.” She looked over to him. “Will it? I’m scared of you leaving me. What if you have to? What will I do then?” He turned to face her and grabbed her hands. “You’re stronger than you think.” 

“I’m scared, Mitsuhide.” He lifted her chin with his finger, and she looked at him. “Promise me one thing.” She looked at him, curious about what he was going to say. “What?” He looked at her with that look he got when he was serious about something. “Don’t reverse all the work you’ve done. Don’t hurt yourself.” She furrowed her brow. “I won’t.” He smiled and stroked her cheek. “Good, we would all be devastated. Me especially I’ve grown quite fond of you. You’ve become an important person in my life.” She threw herself against him, hugging him tight. He hugged her back just as tight. “You’re important to me too, Mitsuhide.” 

After dinner, Evelyn settled into the bath, letting the water ease her sore muscles. Training was hard on the muscles. Forget about running and workout videos. All you need to do is wield a sword or bow, and you’re golden. She washed her long hair and exited the bath, getting dressed in her night clothes. Mitsuhide was at his desk and watched as she got tucked into the futon. He had several candles lit and decided to turn in himself; after he changed, he looked down at her, seeing that she was well on her way to falling asleep. He blew out the candles and settled in the futon next to her.

When Evelyn woke up, Mitsuhide was still in bed. She had a particularly hard night, and although she tried to deal with the wakefulness and cry quietly on her own, Mitsuhide woke up anyway and was there for her just like always. He was probably tired from consoling her. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, trying to wake up, and he blinked his eyes open. “Mitsuhide, did I wake you?” He chuckled. “No, I was already waking up.” In her wakefulness, she noticed their legs tangled together and blushed. She brought her legs away. “Why are you getting flustered? I always wake up to us like that; I’m sure it happens when we’re both asleep. It’s not like you haven’t been wrapped up in my body before.” She hit the side of his shoulder. “Stop it! Why must you tease me?” Mitsuhide chuckled lowly. “Because you’re fun to tease, little mouse. You get so worked up.”  She rolled her eyes, “Ugh, you’re insufferable.” 

Mitsuhuide got out of bed and looked down at her. “We’ve got to see Nobunaga; a little haste would be appreciated. “  She stood up and looked in the mirror, studying herself while Mitsuhide dressed. She looked worn out, with dark circles under her eyes. Her face was thinner than it used to be, and she didn’t like how it looked; her collarbones were defined and protruding. Why hadn’t she noticed how sickly she looked before? Tears formed, but she picked up the hairbrush and brushed through the knots. As Mitsuhide excited the dressing screen, he looked at her and saw the tears, noticing her turmoil. “Why the tears, little mouse?” She set the brush down once she was satisfied. “I don’t look like myself.”

She hadn’t realized how bad it had gotten; how could Mitsuhide and Ieyasu, even Sasuke, not be worried?! She ignored it, and she chose not to see it. “  You look better than you did a month ago.” She looked at him with a flabbergasted expression as if what he said was so unbelievable. However, he considered that to her, it must be because the look she was giving him was telling him how disgusted she was with herself as if she had committed the worst crime imaginable. “How could I look worse than this?” He grabbed her shoulder, making her turn to look at him. He wiped her tears away. “Evelyn,  it shows how far you’ve come. Perhaps you had to heal a bit before you saw the truth.” He paused. “Now that you are seeing more clearly, what will you do about it?” 

Determination flashed behind her eyes, and her face hardened as she stood up straighter. “I’m going to get over this, I am going to keep getting better and healthier.” More tears rolled down her cheeks. “I want to be okay, Mitsuhide. I want to be me again.” He wiped her tears away yet again. “You are forever changed, my dear, but-“She shook her head and cried harder. He lifted her chin so that she was looking into his golden eyes. “But this is a new you, a stronger you. Just because you won’t be the same again does not mean you are weak and broken. You most certainly are not; you are a strong woman. I hope you know that.” She let a small smile grace her face. “Thank you for believing in me.” He looked at her tenderly. “I’ve always believed in you.” She wiped the rest of her tears away, and he looked at her. “Let’s go see what Nobunaga needs us for.” He said as he held out his hand for her to take and so they left his manor and made their way to the meeting hall where everyone waited.

[heartlandians]

Filling Empty Spaces (Amy/Mitch), part 213

Mitch and Amy find an unexpected connection due to absent lovers. Set around season 11->.

A/N: I didn’t have a beta for this story, so hopefully there won’t be too many grammar errors.

* * * *

Tim looked around the dinner table, going from Casey to Lisa to Jack and eventually to Amy who was helping Lyndy with her food. Next to the little girl, there was an extra plate set, reserved for Georgie, but her seat was now empty as she had not joined the rest of them to eat. 

The family wasn’t usually this quiet during supper, but it was clear to Tim that wasn’t the only thing that was off.

It was as if everyone was avoiding eye contact with one another or finding their dinner as the most interesting thing they had ever seen as Tim wasn’t able to catch anyone’s attention with his deliberated staring.

Eventually, after taking a sip from his glass of water, he cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry, but I have to say this”, he said, even though his tone sounded anything but apologizing. “Doesn’t anyone else find it strange that Georgie is sitting at the porch while the rest of us are having dinner?” the man continued, gesturing on his left, toward the kitchen wall that separated them from the porch bench outside.

Amy glanced at her father, sulking more than anyone else, but then returned looking after Lyndy, as if she had not been challenged to explain what was going on. Right now, all she wanted to do was to be invisible; the less anyone would focus on her, the less she had to disappoint people.

“She said she was not hungry”, Lisa decided to explain when everyone else was quiet, as she often saw her role as a peacemaker and this moment was no exception. “I’m taking her to Wyatt’s after we’re done eating.”

“Wyatt’s? What for?” Tim inquired.

“She’s spending the night there”, Lisa replied.

When the words registered, Tim’s eyes moved to look at Jack’s reaction and the old man knew exactly what his ex-son-in-law was after; while staying under Jack’s roof, Georgie was to follow Jack’s rules.

“Lou said it was fine since Jen’s there”, Jack muttered.

“Okay...” Tim spoke, but still could not understand the initial problem. “She’s sitting outside, she’s not hungry, wants to spend the night at her boyfriend’s... No one else finds that odd? It’s almost as if she is upset about something”, the girl’s grandfather stated the obvious he knew the others knew too. 

But this wasn’t about sharing the findings with them, it was just his way of fishing out the details he did not have but was sure the others were keeping from him.

Lisa exchanged looks with Jack and then Amy, but didn’t want to say anything, as she felt like it was not her place. Then again, she didn’t have all the information either.

Amy felt the guilt tightening her chest as she set her fork quietly aside. The little appetite she had had earlier was now gone.

Casey, who was sat next to Tim, studied the looks too and while she could sense something was off, unlike her partner, she wasn’t eager to push it as it probably had nothing to do with them. 

The more the quiet lingered, the more Amy felt like she couldn’t bear it. She eventually stood up, making others look at her in anticipation.

“It’s me. Georgie’s mad at me”, she announced.

This seemed to surprise Tim. Just few seconds ago, he would have been willing to put his money on Georgie being mad at Jack’s old school ways of handling things and that explaining why the old man was okay with her going to Wyatt’s as he would rather not fight about it since Georgie had Lou’s approval.

“You...?” Tim expressed his surprise too. “Why?”

While admitting being the source of Georgie’s upset had been hard for Amy, somehow this was even worse. There was a moment where she considered just telling everyone about her and Mitch, ripping the unavoidable shock off like a band-aid, but Amy still wanted to tell Lou first before anyone else. 

If Lou was going to be upset about it, at least she wouldn’t have to be more upset about others knowing before her - or maybe even hearing about it from someone else who was not Amy. 

“There was something... we disagreed on”, Amy kept it vague.

Tim stared at her, waiting for a more informative explanation, but it never came, so the man directed his eyes at others. 

Did they know, and was he the last one in the dark, as always? 

“On, what?” he kept milking it.

“I rather not say before we can talk things through”, Amy finally scoffed in frustration. “I’ll... tell you eventually. Just not now, okay?” she added, hoping her dad would just drop it.

“But--” Tim began to argue before he felt Casey’s hand on his as it laid next to his plate.

He glanced at her, getting a soft shake of a head, asking him to leave it. Tim was not the most patient man, but Casey’s tender request made him let go.

Still, he couldn’t stay quiet too long.

“I’m just worried about her; you get that, right?” Tim wanted to add since not interfering forcibly was a big gesture from him. He might have been curious by nature, maybe even intrusive to some degree, but more than that, it was about looking after his granddaughter.

Amy nodded, understanding that. 

“I know. I am too, but... the dust has got to settle first before I can even talk to her about it.”

“And I’ll pack her dinner to-go before we leave to Wyatt’s”, Lisa added, hoping it would ease Tim’s mind as it was something she had thought about anyway when giving Georgie a permission to excuse herself from the dinner.

Tim nodded, seeming a little more pleased. At least he wasn’t the lone soldier on this front of caring. “Okay.”

Amy finally sat down as well, feeling stupid for standing up in the first place, but it was like she was following some type of involuntary patterns in order to be able to contain the nervous energy that inhabited her right now.

* * * *

After dinner, Amy was helping Casey with the dishes while Tim and Jack were in the living room, entertaining Lyndy while Lisa had taken off with Georgie. The atmosphere was now more relaxed, but still somewhat somber.

“Are you okay?” Casey asked when she handed Amy a plate to dry with her kitchen towel. 

Amy, who was lost in thought, sharpened her gaze and looked at her father’s partner by the sink. She could sense there was no intense demands behind Casey’s words, so she nodded after a moment of hesitation.

“Yeah. Just... there’s a lot going on”, Amy admitted to her. 

After dinner, she had gone to the toilet to text Mitch about Georgie knowing. They had exchanged few messages back and forth before Amy had joined the family again so her stay in the bathroom wouldn’t look too suspicious. 

Casey nodded. “That happens sometimes.”

“I hate to keep things from people, because it feels like lying, but...” Amy sighed. “I also feel there are phases I need to pass before I can share things with others. This isn’t just about me; if it was, things would be very different.”

Casey nodded as she was able to see it from the way Amy behaved. She also knew Amy to be a caring person, so whatever pressure was weighing on her, it wasn’t good for her mentally and it showed.

“Well, no one can tell you’re doing it wrong before they’ve been in your boots”, Casey wanted to say, hoping to ease Amy’s burden, if even a little bit. 

While Amy agreed with that, she knew it wasn’t as simple. 

“There’s always enough blame to throw around -- it’s sadly kind of something I’ve gotten used to, especially when it comes to family. We can be so much alike, yet so different. And don’t get me wrong, I love everyone but--”

“I know what you mean”, Casey cut her off so Amy didn’t have to feel like explaining too much as her social batteries seemed to be low already. “When Hank got sick, he didn’t want the rest of his family to know as he didn’t want them to treat him differently. I respected that, even when it was hard. So, when the truth eventually came out - because it was hard for it not to since it got so bad - his family got mad at me, for enabling Hank’s will. It was difficult to navigate supporting Hank while being at crosshairs with my in-laws. But the respect I had for Hank was more important than the discomfort I felt when standing by his side. Besides, their anger and disappointment in us came out of fear, I get that now.”

Amy listened Casey’s story, feeling sad for her.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

Casey smiled a little bit. It was an expression that looked soft on the surface, but hid wounds that were still not fully healed.

“Thank you. -- I may not know what you’re going through, but my point is, you gotta do what you think is right in the moment. That’s all we have, really. Maybe others will realize your reasons later on. Or maybe not, but... at least you were following your own moral compass. You gotta find that North.”

Amy nodded, setting the last plate aside before putting them all back to their place in the cabinet. 

“Do you think you could do me a favor...?” she asked.

Casey was washing the sink, glancing over her shoulder. 

“What is it?” 

“Could you stay with Lyndy while I’ll go run... an errand?” Amy asked. “I know Grandpa and my dad are here, but...” she added, glancing toward their direction before lowering her voice, “I’d feel better if you were too. Maybe I’ve gotten paranoid, but after Grandpa’s heart attack and dad’s surgery, I’d prefer if there was someone else here too, in case something happens.”

“Sure. How long do you think you’ll be?” 

“Maybe an hour?” Amy gave an estimate, wondering if that was too much to ask out of the blue.

“Yeah. Sure. No problem. I don’t mind spending time with Jack and Lyndy”, Casey said, actually looking pleased to get a reason to stay a little longer. Being at their ranch with only her, Tim and the horses could get a little lonely sometimes for a social butterfly like her.

“Thanks, Casey. I owe you.”

Casey shook her head. “Oh, don’t mention it.”

[annakie]

Four Hours and Fifteen Minutes

I cannot put into words how normal today was until about 11:15 this morning.

Fry woke me up, mostly, around 6am.  I also needed to pee, so I got up, then went back to bed.  Fry kept being annoying, so I didn't really sleep that last hour, and eventually I sat up and browsed Reddit.  Fry started being EXTRA annoying, telling me every few seconds that I needed to get up and feed them, so I put on my headphones and played music, especially when Leela started joining in the chorus from the living room.  They don't get fed until after 7am, or they start expecting it earlier and earlier.

Later, as I was still sitting up browsing, Leela jumped up onto the bed.  She occasionally comes and visits in the bedroom since it's opened up after Patchy died in August, but rarely stays long.  She didn't stay long this time either, but for about five minutes she walked around me, and I petted her a bunch as she did.  She hopped back down and headed to her bed on my desk, between one monitor and my computer, a bed on a heated mat on fairly low heat.

Always in the back of my mind now, especially the last two months, is a reminder that I almost lost her in April, 2021.  Since then she's been on borrowed time, when the emergency vet brought her back around when one of her kidneys started failing and got infected.  She's only had one working one since, and her blood levels have started inching up in bad kidney-related ways.  So the last two months she's been on a pretty strict diet of low-phosphorous food.

Tomorrow, I reminded myself, she had a vet appointment to get those levels checked.  I was hoping for a good report, though she does still get her treats, and sometimes sneaks off to eat Fry and Pemily's not-low-phosphorous food. Still, she's been happy and energetic the last two months and I had very little to report.

Eventually I got up, fed the Outside cats (still working on making them inside cats), grabbed a small handful of their food, sprinkled some on the floor to make Fry hunt for it.  Opened the bedroom door.  He, Pemily and Leela ran in.  Fry ran to his hunting spot while I called Leela and Pemily to follow me back to the Office.

Leela got about six pieces of the junk food, Pemily got about twice that.  I grabbed Leela's water bowl and now-empty-except-for-crusties food bowl and Pemily's little water bowl, along with my Yeti mug.

Leela yelled for food as soon as she finished her few pieces of kibble.  I opened a new can of her food and spooned out over half of it into a clean food dish, filled the two small water bowls with cold, filtered water from the Brita, and walked back to the desk.

I set Pemily's water bowl down first, and Leela headed for it, before I called her back over to her own bowl of cool water and plate of food.  She ate, ravenously, and drank her cool water with gusto.  I headed back to the kitchen, filled my Yeti with ice, refilled the ice tray, poured water.

A little while later I made coffee and a bagel, Leela had almost finished her food and wanted the remainders smooshed so she could eat it better, I smooshed it.

A little while after that she was about done and calling for more food, loudly.  So I went back and put the rest of the food from the 3.3oz can in the dish, knowing she wouldn't quite finish it.  That's fine, Pemily or Fry could have it before I got Leela's dinner that evening.

I was right, she only ate about half of the remainders of the food.  Whatever.

At 10:30 I had a meeting.  I had to tell Leela to shush a time or two and apologize for her friendly talkative nature.  I also told my boss about the vet appointment the next morning.  He asked if everything was OK.  Yeah, I said, probably!  Just a check on her blood levels, since she only has one working kidney.  She's old, almost 18, but aside from that, she's doing great.  Hopefully we'll get a good report tomorrow!

I stopped Pemily from eating Leela's food as she snuggled in to the other bed on the desk, then the meeting started in earnest.  I was mostly just taking notes, which is easy but requires a lot of looking at the screen.

At about 11 Leela hopped off the desk and went to her bathroom spot, and relieved herself.  Then she had a good run around the house for about a minute, as is her way after her morning constitutional.  She was yelling as she ran, as is usual, but I had my mic muted so didn't have to shush her or apologize for her.  I don't mind it.  She's running and happy, which must mean, she's healthy.  Run all you want, itty bit.

At 11:15, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Leela standing up on her hindquarters for an inordinately long time.  I looked over and she was falling backwards off the desk.  I didn't have a hope to catch her.  I expected her to leap back up in a few seconds.

But she didn't.

So after about fifteen seconds I got up and went behind the desk and looked, and she was laying on the floor, looking dazed.  She didn't look like she hit her head, more like she was splayed out.

I carefully checked her to see if she was hurt, but didn't seem so.  She was slowly moving herself. Still, I was concerned. I unmuted my mic and said I need to be out of the meeting for a bit, remuted, then took my headset off.

I picked her up and put her in the other cat bed so I could see her easily, Pemily had left at some point.  For about a minute she just laid there looking around slowly, then she got up and walked back to HER bed.

OK.  She's alert, she's walking.  Nothing seemed broken or hurt.  She just had an oopsie, she'd caught her claws on something, yanked her arm back too hard, lost balance and fell.  Clumsy, but it happens.  I'll keep an eye on her.

After being out for five or seven minutes, I put my headset back on and finished out the meeting.

For the next two hours I was checking her every ten or fifteen minutes.  She seemed a little slow, but mostly alert, and she didn't throw up or show other signs of trauma, so I let her be, and let her sleep.  I’d mention it tomorrow at the vet.

Leela was awake around one forty five.  She was alert and acting completely normal.  She ate a bite or two of food.  I was watching her, with one eye on my work screen, when her entire body tensed up, she pulled one arm to her body in a true claw-like manor, and was shaking a little.

No, something WAS wrong.  I tried comforting her for a second then grabbed my phone.  By the time I got my camera recording it was mostly over, but I caught some of it at the end.

She has a doctor's appointment in sixteen hours, I thought.  What is this?  Can I google it?  She went back to being normal within a minute of the incident.  I thought about the icy roads outside, if it would be safe to leave, or if it was an emergency now.

I tried, for about ten minutes, and of course none of it was good.  I realized I was being dumb.  I grabbed my phone and started pulling up my vet's number.

And then she did it again.  It was definitely some kind of seizure.  Now near freaking-out levels, I dialed, and it connected to my fucking headphones, and the next time too despite me trying to stop it.  The third time, now I was full on shaking as I held Leela through the end of whatever was happening to her, I tried to hold my panic in as I talked to the office.

They put me on hold to check to make sure they had the capacity or if I'd need to go to the emergency vet.  I quickly threw on clean clothes while waiting, forgoing a shower I probably really needed.

Bring her in, they said.  I'll be there in twenty minutes, I said.

The ice had, thankfully, mostly melted on the roads throughout the day.  I slid a few times, there was a lot of slush out there, but I told myself from the second I got her in the carrier and into the car, that I had to drive safe.

I did.  And I talked to Leela the whole way, wanting to hear her cry because that meant she wasn't seizing.

And I thought about December 28, 2016. Driving Cebu to the vet after I woke up and he'd been throwing up blood and barely responsive.  I thought about my dashcam recording of that morning that I found myself watching, listening to Cebu moan in pain and me begging him to hang on, knowing I was taking him to leave, more peacefully than now.

I thought about December 25th, 2016.  When I didn't take Jim to the vet soon enough and he died in the middle of the night, alone without me, and probably scared.

I thought about August 12th, 2022.  Worried, but not really giving thought to the fact that Patchy had gotten THAT bad.  Thinking they'd re-hydrate her, give her some anti-nausea meds and tell me to double her prednisone again, buy her a few more weeks or months.  Until Dr. N saw her blood levels.

I tried not to think about that, tried not to think that this could be Leela's last car ride.  That I could be leaving there without her.

I mean fuck, her KIDNEYS are supposed to kill her.  I've known that for almost two years!! What the fuck was THIS!?

I made it to the vet, with only a light amount of crying and icy road problems along the way.  Took her inside and she'd been vocal the whole time AND while waiting in the lobby, voicing her displeasure.  Got her into a room and she'd peed in the carrier.

I took her out and was starting to clean it up when Dr. N came in.  

I gave him the history of the day.  Of how ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY NORMAL she was all morning.  The time of her first seizure.  I was sure I hadn't seen anything like it earlier in the morning or anytime yesterday.  I was with her like twelve to fourteen hours most days.  It's possible she could have had one overnight but... she was normal by Breakfast so I didn’t think so.

Yes, she ate a lot.  She pooped and RAN before the first one.

Okay, he said.  It could have been a lack of oxygen and too much stress from the running. While we were talking, she tried jumping off the table, but I caught her pre-jump and held her.

Let's do bloodwork.

He took her, took some blood, they cleaned her up of any pee and cleaned the carrier as well.

They brought her back in and it was awhile for the results, so I was just holding her, talking her, then she climbed down and was hanging out on my Kaidan hoodie crumpled in the corner of the bench.  I was absentmindedly petting her watching animal planet on the TV in the room... when she fell over onto me.  Seizing.

I stood up carefully and laid her flat and called for Dr. N.  A few seconds later he and the vet tech rushed in, put her on the exam table and held her through the seizure.

And when he was done, he looked up at me, still petting her as she recovered and told me the news.

Her bloodwork was very different this time than last time.  Her kidney levels looked fine.

But some other numbers (he said them but I don't remember) were off the chart.

She's got lymphoma.

FUCKING.  LYMPHOMA.

THE SAME.  FUCKING.  THING.  THAT.  KILLED.  PATCHY.

They aren't related.

It happened in the last two months, and we didn't do any further tests, but he was sure that at the levels she had, and you know the fucking SEIZURES, it must have spread to the Central Nervous System.

He said we could TRY anti-seizure meds and prednisone, the same medicine Patchy was on for the last thirteen and a half months of her life.  But this had ravaged Leela much faster than it had younger, healthier Patchy.

I could take her home and try over the weekend, he said.   It would be at least a weekend before we knew if it would help.

If it didn't help, she would be seizing all weekend.  She could die at any time from one of the seizures.  It would be uncomfortable and painful for her.  It would be difficult for me, especially if she didn't respond well.

It's possible it would buy her weeks of life, but literally one of the numbers she had was off the chart.  Normal bad was like fifteen thousand.  Hers were like two hundred thousand, he explained.  They ran the tests twice, that's why it took so long.

It was my decision, he said.  Give me a few minutes to think about it, I said.

He left.  I held Leela and cried and tried to decide.  She was worth the pain of trying to me.  Tomorrow is Friday, I could see how tomorrow went on the meds, and they were open half of Saturday so I could bring her in then, if things didn't go well---

she seized again.  In my arms.

Each one looked worse and lasted longer.

I called for the doctor but he was with another patient.  I just held her and rubbed her head through it, until she twisted so much she almost slipped out of my arms.

I put her back on the table, and kept her warm while waiting.  Dr. N came in and I told her she seized again, just minutes after the last one.  He looked at me, and we both knew.  We knew.  I nodded.

He gave me a few minutes to say goodbye.  I told her over and over again how much I love her, and that she was going to go see Jim again.  Tell him, and Target, Sampo, Cebu and Patchy how much I love and missed them.  

They took her to put the catheter in, I texted my boss and my family.

They brought her back in, already sleepy.

And then the medicine went in, and I petted her until her last breath.  She still had bits of food on her nose from breakfast.  

I thanked Dr. N.  Told him I wanted to full package individual cremation, gave Leela one last kiss on the head, and left.

It was like, four hours and fifteen minutes from "Leela fell off the desk" to goodbye.

I left the vet in a daze, feeling like I'd been punched in the face.

I came home, changed into clean pajamas, didn't look at her spot where she was supposed to be on the desk.  Grabbed my Yeti and a new box of Puff's Plus and went to the bedroom, where I laid for three hours, crying wondering how the fuck this happened.  Texted one person, then felt like a jerk for dumping on them.

Called my mom, telling her all of this made me feel better.  

Eventually got the courage to come out here and start typing this.  After I cleaned up her bathroom area, and swapped out her tiny cat bed for one of the bigger beds.  There's no reason why Fry and Pemily can't sleep there now.

I tried showing Fry he could go there now, but he left immediately.  Different reaction than them happily reclaiming the master bedroom the instant I left the door open when Patchy was gone.

I've wracked my brain for some kind of sign that I'd missed.

Patchy had slowly gotten sick, eating less and less and throwing up more and more when she got lymphoma.

Leela has been eating like a horse and only thrown up hairballs a few times.

Leela gained weight.

There was a sneezing thing Leela had done a few times lately but it didn't seem neurological.  I had videoed her doing it last week, once out of the like, three times she did it in the last two months.  I didn't ask about it today.  I could next time I go in, I guess.  Not that it matters now.  That’s the only thing I can think of, though.

I just... I can't wrap my head around how fast she went from "having a great morning!" to rapidly seizing five times in four hours.

I still worry that I should have given her a CHANCE.  It was four hours.  It's not impossible that she would have gotten through it and...

...and her blood numbers were way off the charts.  And she likely would have had many more seizures, and she could have died here at home and I could have done nothing to stop it but watch her suffer.

Fuck.

She deserved to leave peacefully, and not in pain.

She was old.  Two months and a week from eighteen.  Once she became mine, she had a mostly happy life, once Fry stopped bullying her.  

I very nearly lost her almost two years ago and every day since then has been bonus time.  I used to morbidly joke that the money I spent on saving her life back then would be divided by the number of days that she survived past that, and I paid that much for every day of her life had been worth that much.  The number is $7.71.  I'd so gladly give $7.71 every day for another almost two years with her.

She's with Jim now, I am telling myself.  In my little cottage in heaven.  Cuddled up with Jim for the first time in a long time.  They were friends.  Jim didn't really like other animals but he did tolerate or even love Leela.  They didn't cuddle often, but he let her when she wanted to sometimes.

So now I'm imagining her up with him, Cebu hanging out nearby.  Meeting Target and Sampo, checking in on the bedroom and seeing Patchy there.  Jim and Leela in a spot near where they know I'm going to be, just within arms reach, waiting.

I'll write a memorial post later, write down everything I want to remember about her.  Right now I just am in that place where I am trying to believe it's real while desperately hoping it's all a very bad dream.

[authordanielleforrest]

Fated Mates of the Drakoan: Episode 8

After dinner, they settled in the living room, each of them holding their stomachs as they groaned over how full they were. Jess felt ridiculous as she recalled thinking that the two rabbits would only be a small supplement to their diet. Now, she suspected her guilt had twisted her perceptions, leaving her unable to see the truth. Not only had Amanda made a fairly big meal, the biggest they’d had in days, but she’d asked Thom to put the rest in the smoker out back. “Usually, I wouldn’t suggest running the smoker for only a few pounds of meat, but I can’t see wasting it,” Amanda had said. So they’d ended up eating on the back patio with the rich scent of smoking meat filling their nostrils, enhancing their meal and reassuring them that there was still more to come.

Maybe because of all of that, the mood in the room was better than it had been in days. They all felt more secure, hopeful, and happy, and as they relaxed into their seat cushions, the conversation naturally transitioned to the aliens she’d seen earlier. This time, Amanda was the most engaged initially, making up for having been absent for the first conversation. Before long, the lassitude caused by the meal evaporated, each of her friends sitting on the edges of their seats as they debated the significance of the alien presence.

 Jess understood why they were so obsessed, but also, she just wanted a break. She wanted to talk about stupid shit like Dungeons & Dragons or the latest Sci-Fi movie or show. She wanted to listen as Scottie enthused about the game he was playing or Amanda enthused about a recipe she couldn’t wait to try. What she wouldn’t give for just a little slice of normalcy right now!

But as that wasn’t possible, and the conversation continued to obsessively spiral around the aliens, she stood up and paced to the window. She looked out at the sky over the houses across the street, calmed slightly by the stunning array of colors painting the day’s end. She leaned against the window, which was surprisingly cool against her shoulder, and tried to tune out the voices of her friends.

She couldn’t really blame them for their interest. Not only was it a subject that affected them all greatly, but it was a mystery, and while trapped in their own home without internet, it wasn’t like there was much else to talk about.  

But they weren’t there. They didn’t have to see the aliens in person, didn’t have to feel the adrenaline and fear that came along for the ride. After the day she’d had, she was completely exhausted and just needed a break from it all.

She sighed as she continued to stare out the window. There wasn’t even anything to look at. All their neighbors were inside, no cars were going down the street, no animals were being walked, no children were playing. From this vantage point, it was easy to imagine that the world had already ended, that humans were gone and only their constructions were left to speak of their existence.

So, at first, what caught her attention was simply movement. Since everything was so still, any movement was noticeable. But since it was at the very edge of her view through the window and partially obscured by trees and bushes, that was all she could see.

She craned her neck, leaning harder against the glass. In her mind, she imagined the pane giving way and spilling her out onto the bushes below. She looked away and smiled, but then focused back on the place where she’d spotted movement.  

What was it?  

Was it just a neighbor outside?  

Could it be the government finally trying to make some sort of contact with its citizens?

The next thing she noticed was dark clothing. It blended well with the deep green of the vegetation, noticeable but not stark. As she continued to watch, she started to draw conclusions. It was definitely a person. They were alone. They were walking somewhere. For several minutes, she couldn’t see much more than that. The mature neighborhood had equally mature trees with thick, low-hanging branches. From outside, she probably could have seen more, but from here? There were just too many obstacles.

Several more minutes passed as she curiously but idly watched the person travel through the neighborhood, inexorably moving in her direction. She had no idea where the person was going, but she was now invested in finding out.  

Who were they?  

What did they look like?  

Where were they going?  

She couldn’t even hear the conversation going on behind her at this point. It wasn’t even background noise. She wasn’t even sure if they were still in the room with her. And she didn’t care.

Then she finally got a real glimpse of the person. It happened in stages, her nose now cartoonishly plastered to the window. At first, she could see their form unobstructed, but they were cast in shadow. All she could tell was that they looked big in comparison to the bushes behind them. Then they started walking out into the late evening sun, revealing a mouthwateringly powerful build in a dark outfit. In her boredom, she fantasized about running her hands over those muscles, maybe even untucking that shirt and sneaking her hands up underneath it. She wondered what he would do if she changed course, instead reaching into those surprisingly tight pants. Would he groan? Gasp? Stop her?

What are you doing?

She pulled back, a little disgusted with herself for mind fucking the poor bastard.  

Not cool, Jess. Not cool.  

Shaking herself, she focused back on the guy, but this time paying attention to the mysteries he still had, like his currently shadowed face.  

Wish I had binoculars.

It was easy enough to see his big, well-defined muscles from this distance, but his facial features were a lot smaller and thus a lot harder to discern. Was he handsome? Cute? Boyish?

Why am I doing this?

Am I really this bored?

Still, he was a mystery, a mystery that had nothing to do with the threat looming over their heads, and she eagerly awaited the unveiling of the answer, happily devouring any distraction she could lay her hands on. She held her breath as the line of shadow crept higher and higher, on the brink of revealing him fully.

She frowned when sunlight finally touched skin. Was he sunburned? Was the sunset creating an optical illusion? The line of shadow continued to move upward, revealing surprisingly red skin, leaving her with a new mystery to solve. Why was he so red?  

When it exposed his mouth, it didn’t look like he was in discomfort, so she nixed sunburn as a potential cause.

As she continued to watch, a sinking dread started to settle in her stomach. He was growing closer, and his skin was just too red, too vibrant, to be the result of the warm light from the setting sun.  

He stepped out onto the street, now only a house or two down the road, and the air froze in her lungs as recognition finally clicked in her brain, and the mystery was solved.

It’s him.

Memories of the encounter this afternoon flashed through her brain. Red skin. Black uniforms. Swishing tails. Foreign words.  

Paralyzing fear.

Her lungs started to complain, the pressure building as she continued to stand there, staring at the impossibility before her.

It can’t be.

But it was. The proof was right before her, walking toward her one step at a time. Her hands felt cold against the glass, her fingers reflexively gripping the slick material. She finally sucked in a breath, and it was like the world had suddenly started up again.  

He followed me home.

She stepped back from the window, panic flooding her as the paralysis ended.  

He followed me home.

“Jess?” someone said, but in her current state of mind, she couldn’t tell who’d spoken.

She continued backing up, unable to take her eyes off the approaching form. Her legs banged into the coffee table, and she stalled, taking a moment to keep her balance.

Then he turned slightly, and their eyes met through the glass.

He sees me.

He knows where I am.

Then a smirk lifted his lips, and the fear took control.

She screamed.

[theteasetwrites]

The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning

Chapter 29: Try, Try, Try

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader ❧ Era: Season 5 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: scary situations, mild swearing ❧ Word Count: 4.5k

❧ In This Chapter: Spirits are low despite narrowly escaping Terminus and reuniting with your group. Upon meeting a strange priest, however, things begin to look up, and a new lead regarding Beth's whereabouts reignites the search.

❧ A/N: Here we are—Season 5. Man, do I have some exciting stuff planned for this season. And if you know the show, you know we get to a very nice place... but that's later. For now, the gang has to narrowly avoid being cannibalized, we meet a priest who vomits on Reader's shoes, and Daryl and Reader resume their search for Beth (yes, slight canon divergence since Carol is the one to go with him in the show... but this is fanfic, my friends).

You were still coughing profusely from the smoke bomb they threw into the train car. You couldn’t see a thing despite the sunlight beaming through the now open ceiling.

Your group was expecting them to come in through the door first. They took all your weapons away, but that wasn’t stopping you all from preparing to put up a fight when they came to get you for whatever it was they had planned.

The smoke cleared a while later after the chaos subsided, and you couldn’t feel Daryl’s presence anymore. You waved your hand in front of you to clear the lingering smoke, still coughing and squinting your eyes desperately to see what was going on.

When the smoke cleared, you searched frantically for Daryl. He wasn’t there. Neither was Rick, Glenn, or Bob. You turned to Maggie. “Did you see what happened?” you asked.

She shook her head. “I couldn’t see anything. They took Glenn,” she said, her voice quivering.

You rubbed your forehead trying to calm yourself. “Okay, okay,” you said, pacing around. “I’m sure they’ll be fine,” you tried to convince yourself.

The man with the mustache, who introduced himself earlier as Abraham, looked at you sternly. “So we’re just gonna sit our asses?” he asked. “They might be dead right now, and we’re next if we don’t get out of this death trap.”

Maggie backed you up. “They’re fighters, and they’re smart. They’ll figure something out.”

The young woman named Rosita crossed her arms. “I hope you’re right,” she said. “If they don’t come back for us, I don’t see a way of getting out of here.”

You swallowed hard. “They’ll come back.”

Michonne looked worryingly outside the small crack that let in your only source of light and availed a small vantage point. “What do you think they want with us?”

You had a few ideas.

The one that kept coming back to you, and the one you tried to push away the most, was something out of a horror movie.

If you were in a better mood, you would’ve smirked at the thought. Horror movies. They were one of your favorite guilty pleasures back in the day (that is, back when you weren’t living in a bad Night of the Living Dead reboot).

You weren’t a big fan of the exploitation shock-horror films like Cannibal Holocaust, but you did have a soft spot in your heart for anything that involved a family of backwoods hillbillies, usually inbred, hunting a group of unsuspecting tourists as they passed through their territory—Deliverance, The Hills Have Eyes, and, your perennial favorite, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre were genre staples in your VHS collection.

In the case of the latter, the family hunted the young travelers for dinner. Unfortunately, the darkest parts of your mind considered that, maybe, these people were cannibals.

It was bad enough that the world was filled with flesh-eating corpses, and now you might be dealing with the more dangerous threat of living cannibals.

The signs added up when you thought about it: the great lengths the group went to to get people to come to their “sanctuary,” the mystery meat Mary was barbecuing, the relatively small amount of people they had considering how much they advertised, the strange altar you found, and the fact that they were aiming at your feet when they shot at you.

And now, they had Daryl.

You shook your head to rid yourself of your catastrophic thoughts. “Doesn’t matter,” you said to Michonne. “We’re getting out of here, one way or another. Alive.” You turned to Maggie. “With the others.”

Maggie took your hand and smiled at you. Well, it was more of a slight upturn in one corner of her mouth, but it was something.

Before she could say anything, a loud boom reverberated throughout the train car. You were familiar with that sound—you heard it back at the CDC and at the prison when the Governor attacked: it was an explosion, you were sure.

Abraham rushed to the crack to see if he could get a view of what was happening. You peeked over his shoulder as he banged against the metal wall in frustration. “What the hell is going on?” he asked through gritted teeth.

You peered out to see some people running around frantically. They had guns, but they looked terrified.

“Someone hit ‘em,” Michonne said.

“Maybe our people got free,” said Sasha.

You felt a tall presence beside you just before he, Eugene, pushed past you towards the door. “Excuse me,” he said with fear in his voice.

“What the hell are you doing?” Rosita asked impatiently.

“I might be able to use this shell to compromise the door,” he said. “From the sound of things, there may not be anybody left to open it.”

He was an odd one, Eugene. You liked him. He said he was a scientist who knew the cure to the disease, and that interested you. It always frustrated you to think that this was the state of humanity for the rest of your life. If there was a cure, you wanted to be a part of it.

That was what brought Abraham, Rosita, and Eugene together—they were trying to get him to Washington, D.C. so he could meet with other scientists there and work on the cure. The idea excited you, and if your group made it out of this, you were hoping you could all join them. Plus, they were going to have to go through your home state of Virginia, and you thought a change of scenery would be nice.

“Eugene, I’m sorry, but shut up,” the other new woman, Tara, said to him.

“Okay,” he huffed.

You gulped, hoping what he said wasn’t true. “It could have been them,” you said. “Maybe they caused the explosion somehow.”

“Hey,” Carl’s voice came out from the other side of the train car. You didn’t recognize it at first. It was still hard to get used to how much deeper his voice was nowadays. He was growing up so fast that there were times you swore he was older than you. “My dad’s gonna be back. They all are.”

“They are,” Maggie agreed. “And we need to get ready to fight our way out with them when they do.”

You got to work making wooden shanks with Maggie, all the while shuddering at the sounds of moaning and snarling coming from outside your train car. Whatever that explosion was, it must’ve torn down some of their fortifications and attracted a herd of walkers. That was the least of your problems, though.

You just hoped the herd would be a distraction for Daryl and the others to escape.

When the door to your train car suddenly opened some time later, Rick was the first person you saw.

“Come on!” he yelled, wielding a large sniper rifle. “We fight to the fence!”

You tightened your grip on the sharp wooden shank you made and joined the others as you poured out into the chaos.

Stepping out, you felt Daryl’s eyes on you. He grabbed your hand and pulled you to his side. “Let’s go!” he yelled.

You used your shank to stab any walkers coming your way, aiming for the eye as it was the best point of penetration for your sharp albeit weak makeshift weapon.

Daryl pushed you forward towards the fence, killing several walkers with a metal pipe all the while.

He hoisted you up over the fence. Climbing over, you took Daryl’s hand and helped him up with you. Just as he didn’t want you leaving his side, you didn’t want him going anywhere, either.

Making your way back into the woods, Daryl helped Rick track your group back to the place where the duffel bag full of weapons was buried.

“Right here,” he said.

“What the hell we still around here for?” Abraham asked.

“Guns, supplies,” Rick replied. “Go along the fences, use the rifles, take out the rest of ‘em.”

“Rick, we got out, it’s over,” said Glenn.

“It’s not over til they’re all dead,” Rick replied.

There was a bit of arguing between Rick and some of the others about your group’s next move, when out of the corner of your eye you saw the familiar movements of Carol approaching your group, Daryl’s crossbow and your axe in her arms.

She had been separated from you all for a while now, a few days before the Governor attacked. Daryl told you that she was the one who killed Karen and David when the illness first hit. It was her way of stopping the problem, though it didn’t work.

You didn’t agree with what she did, not one bit. Neither did Daryl, but seeing her before you reduced you to tears. You ran and hugged her first, practically picking her up with the strength of your embrace. “You’re alive!” you cried.

When you found out that Carol caused the explosion and fought to set you free, you were willing to let her back into your group. Rick was, too.

That wasn’t the only reunion that day. Carol led you all to a small shed where Tyreese was hiding with Judith. The three of them had been together for a while now, and Rick’s face when he saw his baby daughter was truly something to behold.

Tyreese and Sasha reunited, reminding you of your own brother who you missed dearly. When he hugged you too, you were surprised. You didn’t think he liked you much after your initial hostility towards his group back at the prison, but he didn’t seem to mind that much at all.

You felt so whole, so alive. You were surrounded by your family, some you knew less than others and some you knew since the very beginning. Still, you were all a part of each other.

A few days passed relatively uneventfully. Your group was still wandering the woods in search of the next place to go. A part of you worried that it would be like this for the rest of your lives, but then you remembered that Abraham and his group were heading to D.C. You kept your ear open around him and Rosita, and you heard that they were planning on asking Rick about the group joining them. You were hoping he would take that offer when the time came.

In the meantime, you found yourself in the middle of nowhere. One night, you and Daryl were on watch, sitting in comfortable silence against a tree until you asked him what had been on your mind since Terminus.

“What did they do to you when they took you out of the train car?” you asked.

He was quiet for a while, looking at you as he chewed the inside of his bottom lip. “Took us to some kind of butchery.” He paused again. “Leaned us over a trough, bludgeoned the first guy. Before they could get to us, that explosion distracted ‘em, and we were able to take ‘em out.”

You swallowed hard. “They’re cannibals,” you said, more as a statement than a question.

Daryl nodded. “Guess so.”

You let out a deep breath. “God, I’m glad they didn’t eat you,” you said seriously.

He raised an eyebrow at you. “Why? You don’t think I’d taste good?”

You snorted and shook your head. “No, I just like having you around.” You elbowed him playfully. You shared in a brief moment of silence. “You think we’ll ever find someplace permanent?”

Daryl stared at you silently for a while. “You want the truth?”

You sighed and nodded your head. “Always.”

He looked down at his feet. “Nah. Gonna be us on the road for a while. Ain’t no place left in this world either unsafe or crawlin’ with psychos.”

You nodded sadly, looking off at a cluster of small white mushrooms that caught your attention. “You’re probably right.”

He noticed your reaction, and quickly began berating himself for his callous comment. Sometimes he forgot how sensitive you were. “Hey,” he said, resting his hand on your thigh, “it ain’t all bad. We can find places to hole up, stay there till it ain’t safe no more. Just don’t want ya to get your hopes up. Ya tend to do that.”

You looked back up at him. “I know, I just… wish we could have a real home, security. That’s all I want. I think we deserve it after everything we’ve been through.”

Daryl nodded. “We do. Ain’t about what we deserve anymore, though.”

“It’s a cruel world,” you said, then nodded to the mushrooms you were eying. “And I bet those mushrooms are poisonous.”

He followed your gaze and scoffed at the sight of the very same mushrooms you were picking the day he met you. “Don’t you know destroying angel by now?”

You smiled. “Of course, it’s my favorite mushroom.”

Suddenly, you both darted upwards at the sound of a rustling in the bushes nearby. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly where it was coming from, but you felt a pair of eyes on you, too. Daryl had a feeling someone might be following you, he told you in confidence earlier that day. You had hoped it was just his overprotective paranoia, but the sound and the feeling seemed to back up his theory.

The next morning, Daryl couldn’t find any tracks to indicate someone was following them, but you both knew what you heard, what you felt. You knew there were probably survivors from Terminus, and maybe they were following you. You just hoped they weren’t hungry.

With a lack of concrete evidence that you were being followed, your group continued on walking through the forest. You had spent so much time out there lately that you never wanted to see the color green ever again.

The group’s slow gait quickened to a jog when you all heard the screams of a man crying for help in the distance.

“Help! Anybody, help!” the voice cried in desperation.

It was a strange sight—a man in priest’s garb atop a large rock, and at the base of the rock were several walkers clawing at him.

You all took out the walkers, and when the priest climbed down to greet you, he vomited on your shoes.

Looking down at your feet in disbelief, you moved away from him and almost felt like vomiting yourself. Luckily, being surrounded by rotting corpses for almost two years gave you a stronger stomach.

“Sorry,” the priest said to you. He composed himself, and you just stood there bewildered. “Thank you,” he said to the group. “I’m Gabriel.”

“Do you have any weapons on you?” asked Rick.

He chuckled. “Does it look like I would have any weapons?”

“We don’t give two short and curlies what it looks like,” Abraham retorted.

Gabriel turned more serious. “I have no weapons of any kind. The word of God is the only protection I need.”

You scoffed, and Daryl said what you were thinking. “Sure didn’t look like it.”

Gabriel smiled at you both. “I called for help,” he said. “Help came.”

You all stared at him. Surely this was some kind of joke. A priest? You were beginning to think they didn’t exist anymore, and if they did, they certainly weren’t wearing the whole getup.

“Do you—do you have any food? Whatever I—I had left… it’s on her shoes now.” He chuckled nervously as he gestured to your boots.

“We’ve got some pecans,” Carl said, offering the man a handful.

In return for your group’s kindness, or maybe just from fear that Rick would kill him, Gabriel led you all to the church he was living in. His church.

It was Episcopal, called St. Sarah’s Church. Funny, you thought, Mom always hated the Episcopalians. They were much too tolerant for her taste.

You, on the other hand, had an aversion to churches of any kind. Still, a roof is a roof, as you and Daryl would say.

When Rick, Daryl, Michonne, and Glenn finished ensuring the church was safe, you all began filing inside.

The inside of the church was immaculate, except for the piles of empty cans of food. That must have been what he was living on. Still, you found it odd that one man could survive on his own for so long without having killed any walkers or any people as he said. He didn’t even carry any weapons. There must have been something he was hiding.

Abraham, however, was not pleased with the group getting too comfortable at Gabriel’s church. He insisted upon starting to work on the church short bus and using it to get you all to Washington, D.C. You wanted that too, but you also wanted to take a respite for a night.

Everyone else seemed to agree with you, and Rick made the decision to stay.

Shortly after setting up camp in the church, Gabriel agreed to lead Rick and a few others to the one place nearby he hadn’t scavenged for food yet. While they did that, you and Daryl got to work filling up jugs of water from the creek.

“I don’t trust him,” you said as the two of you began walking back to the church down a dirt road, with several jugs of water. “I mean, how did he end up by himself, and with all that food? It’s kind of suspicious.”

“Guess we’ll find out,” he replied.

You were silent for a while, with the chirping of birds and the running of water from the nearby creek the only sound between the two of you. Though you were tired of the constant green, you didn’t mind the sounds of nature so much.

“Maybe he was the one following us, watching us in the bushes,” you suggested.

He shook his head. “Nah, it wasn’t him. He wouldn’t have made it that far from the church.”

Another few more beats of silence. “Maybe…” you trailed off as you laid eyes on an abandoned car ahead of you on the road.

The car seemed to work when you and Daryl tried it, so you decided to leave it there for backup in case things went wrong.

That night, you all feasted on what Rick brought back from the scavenge. You felt a little bad for Daryl, though, as his squirrels seemed to be pushed to the wayside. Still, he cooked some up for you all, and you gladly took a big helping to satiate his pride.

“It’s good, honey,” you said to him as you sat on the church floor, watching the others eat their canned food on paper plates. “The best squirrel I’ve ever had.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder before giving him a kiss on the cheek. He tensed up as he usually did when you kissed him in public. He tossed a piece of squirrel into his mouth. He never used forks.

“You’re just sayin’ that,” he mumbled as he chewed.

You rolled your eyes. “It’s true.” He smiled at you affectionately, seeing every ounce of hope he had left in this world in your eyes as the flames from the candles danced in lively profusion against the color of your irises. “I’ve never met anyone who makes squirrel the way you do.”

He chuckled at your faux romantic talk, knowing that you had never had squirrel made by anyone else before.

Rousing you both from your quiet conversation, Abraham made a toast to you all, proclaiming loudly that you were all survivors. You raised your wine glass (which had water in it, you weren’t about to get drunk on your shitty tolerance), and toasted to each other.

You leaned over and gave Daryl a sweet kiss on the lips, to which Carl let out a mock disgusted “ew” sound. That was the little kid you once knew, you thought. Daryl playfully tossed a squirrel bone in the boy’s direction, but it ended up hitting Rick in the face. Daryl’s aim was a whole lot worse when he was wine drunk.

When the laughter died down, Abraham began to speak seriously. “Is that all you wanna be, survivors?” he asked. “Wake up in the morning, fight the undead pricks, forage for food, go to sleep at night with two eyes open, rinse and repeat? ‘Cause you can do that. You got the strength, you got the skill. Thing is, for you people, for what you can do, that’s just surrender. Now, we get Eugene to Washington, he will make the dead die and the living will have this world again, and that is not a bad takeaway for a little road trip.”

You exchanged a look with Daryl, a look of questioning as to whether or not to get your hopes up again.

“Eugene,” Abraham continued, “what’s in D.C.?”

Eugene was quiet for a moment as you all turned to look at him for an answer.

“Infrastructure constructed to withstand pandemics even of this fubar magnitude. That means food, fuel, refuge. Restart.”

“However this plays out,” Abraham continued, “however long it takes for the restart button to kick in, you can be safe there. Safer than you’ve been since this whole thing started. Come with us. Save the world for that little one.” He gestured to Judith as she sat in Rick’s lap. “Save it for yourselves. Save it for the people out there who don’t got nothing left to do except survive.”

You looked to Daryl, then to Rick as Judith cooed at him. “What was that?” he asked the baby. “I think she knows what I’m about to say. She’s in. If she’s in, I’m in. We’re in.”

You all cheered and clapped. That was it. You officially had a destination. No more wandering around Georgia aimlessly. Washington, D.C. it was. A new thing to look forward to.

What Washington meant to you wasn’t just a new start, it was the journey through Virginia. You would have to pass through Richmond, and your hometown was just a stone’s throw away from that city. Though you weren’t especially close to your mother, your stepfather, or your younger stepsister, seeing what was left of your family home would provide some kind of closure for you.

Though you had your doubts, it was possible your brother was there, too. He had an even worse relationship with your mother, but if he left Atlanta for anywhere, it would have been there.

In any case, you wanted to see what was left. You knew your mother probably wasn’t alive, and you felt a little guilty that you didn’t try harder to find her, but things, as they so often do, happened.

You found your family in a group of strangers. You lost some of them along the way, but they were still your family.

You found the best man you ever met in Daryl, and he was everything you could ever want.

Though your life wasn’t at all how you thought it would turn out to be, it was as damn good as it could get. If you could find some sort of closure with the whereabouts of your biological family, that would make the weight on your shoulders that much lighter.

When you and Daryl were finished eating, Daryl surprised you by pulling you up by the arms and taking you for a moonlit stroll along the road.

You laughed as he pulled you out of the church. “Where are you taking me, wild man?”

He pulled you closer to him. “Nowhere,” he said. “Just wanted to walk a bit.”

You smiled as you began walking, your hands intertwined and swinging between your bodies. He had his crossbow over his shoulder, and you had your axe looped around your belt as always. Though you wished you could walk around freely, the world was a dangerous place now, and walkers lurked around every corner.

You walked in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds were of crickets and other nocturnal creatures, and the gravel crumbling beneath your feet with each step.

“How do you feel about going to D.C.?” you asked him.

He shrugged. “How do you feel?”

You tilted your head at him. “I asked you first.”

He thought for a moment. “If you’re okay with it, I’m okay with it.”

You let go of his hand to loop your arm around his and lean your head on his shoulder. “Good,” you said. “I have a good feeling about it. I know we shouldn’t get too excited, but I’m just glad we have a destination, you know? Something to keep us going. And who knows, the world might change after we get there. Things could… be kind of normal again.”

He looked at you solemnly. “What if there ain’t anythin’ left, like at the CDC?”

You were silent as you gathered your thoughts. You did think about that, but it was a thought you put out of your mind. “There can’t be any harm in at least trying. That’s what we do now, right? Try. Try, try, try.” You sang out each repetition of the simple word with a happy melody before looking at him and smiling. “Try for each other, for our family.”

He nodded. “You’re my family.”

“You’re my family, too.” You looked forward, then saw the same car you and Daryl stumbled upon earlier that day, the one you left there just in case of an emergency. “There’s our car,” you said. “Don’t think we’ll need it. That bus will fit us all.”

Daryl grunted in agreement. “Yeah,” he said. “Shitty car anyway.”

When the sound of screeching tires hit your ears, you and Daryl ran to hide behind the car. On the intersecting road just ahead, you saw another car speeding past. Rising from your crouch, you both focused your eyes on a white cross painted on the back window of the car.

“Those are the people who took Beth!” you said.

Daryl moved quickly to punch out the brake lights of the car with the stock of his crossbow, that way it would be harder for others to see it. “Come on!” he yelled to you, throwing himself into the driver’s seat as you jumped into the passenger side.

You knew the rest of your group at the church would wonder where you two went off to, but you also knew they’d understand your decision to try to find Beth. It had been weighing heavily on both of your minds since you lost her, and you felt you owed it to Maggie to find her.

As you kept your eyes focused on the taillights of the car in front of you, Daryl always keeping a distance away so you wouldn’t be detected, you had a sneaking suspicion of where they were taking you: Atlanta.

~

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Series Masterlist Next Chapter ➳

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[tteokdoroki]

waves that hurt | k.bakugou + i.midoriya.

♡ pairing: katsuki bakugou x gn!reader x izuku midoriya.

♡ word count: 3.04K

♡ rating: everyone.

♡ genre: pro hero!au, hurt, angst and comfort.

♡ summary: dark days mean dark waves that crash across your mind, intrusive and mean the waves pull you under— but they are the helping hands that pull you up and let you breathe.

♡ warning(s): please read ! heavy tw for depression, intrusive thoughts and self depreciation, self doubt and low self-worth. this fic is written mostly from personal experiences and may not be accurate to how everyone feels! mentions of therapy.

♡ author’s note(s):  this is my contribution to @doinmybesthere​ ‘s mental health awareness collab, this is kinda personal to me and something i experienced recently!! i hope it can provide some comfort to anyone out there, please don’t forget to check out everyone else’s works and i hope you’re all safe ‘n well <3

♡ masterlist | requests | kofi

“kacchan, it’s much worse this time, i really think you should come home early tonight.”

deku whispers into the phone, his marred hands rub slow and soothing circles into your back from over the duvet— you can feel his warmth, light and airy through it but he feels and sounds much further away. a million miles across a dark ocean that trickles through your thoughts, intrusive and mean, keeping you under and away from clear air.

you wouldn’t want to pull him into this, bother him with the way you drown in dark thoughts— so you pull away from your boyfriend and tuck yourself away into the sheets.

izuku doesn’t retract his hand even as you pull away, listening to katsuki grunt orders down the phone— make sure yn’s eaten, make sure yn’s had water. basic things you should be able to do on your own but can’t, paralysed by the anxiety and depression that clamps down on you like a vice and refuses to let you up so you can just breathe. you want to breathe and not feel like the world is crashing down on you, to have a second to yourself where everything seems like it’s okay.

brushing fingers over the nape of your neck, toying with the coils of your baby hairs, your boyfriend speaks, only gently. “baby,” says quietly, his weight causing the bed to dip. “katsuki will be home soon, do you want to come with me to let him in?” you shrug, a sick feeling twisting in your gut. you see the black tendrils and waves in the back of your mind, bringing forth a new batch of ugly words that force you down. are you really that much of a burden these days that katsuki has to call it quits on work for you? “how are you feeling?”

you don’t know, you don’t know how to tell him that every thought you have hurts and there’s a pain in your chest with every breath you take. “i don’t know, it’s just...bad izu…” you want to explain how you feel deep inside, but the words are trapped like balls of tar in your throat— fear that if you say something he’ll walk away.

“you don’t have to say anything, don’t force yourself to…” he speaks with a soft voice, cotton to your ears in an attempt to soothe you. you can just about feel the clean air flowing through your lungs at the sound— it tells you he loves you, no matter what and you almost believe it before sinking back under. “let’s get you some water okay? wouldn’t want kacchan scolding us would we?”

the joke hangs in the murky and heavy air for a few seconds before you muster a small smile— your green haired boyfriend lets out a tiny sigh of relief and pressed a kiss into your hairline, the affection simmers under your skin and briefly brings light to your dark mind as izuku starts leading you to the kitchen.

you’re curled up in izuku’s lap when the front door pops open with a click— signifying your other boyfriend had arrived home. you flinch, hiding yourself in the blankets keeping you warm and locking away the dark thoughts from the eyes of your lovers.

part of you hated them seeing you this way, that’s why you forced yourself to keep everything away from them— but they knew, they always did and always came to your rescue. you didn’t want them to feel like they had to look after you when the days were bad and draining and your mind took hold of everything that you felt. you didn’t need the weight of your own problems on the shoulders of two pro heroes who had enough to deal with.

in the end, you would destroy them like you did with yourself.

you can hear katsuki shedding his gear by the door, feeling his intense and heated presence flood the room and barely penetrate the barrier you created for yourself even while you lay in izuku’s arms. for as long as you’d known the two— even from back in your U.A days, bakugou had hated self-pity, of course in recent years he’d cooled down a little and spoke less on the actions of others but even still, you weren’t sure if you could handle him looking down on you for looking down on yourself and for feeling this way.

the blanket is suddenly lifted from your head, momentarily blinding you with the overwhelming light that is your boyfriend, katsuki bakugou. a twinkle of concern lines his ruby eyes and you can see traces of his charcoal eyeliner that he usually smudges underneath his mask— he’s so beautiful but you’re afraid of the twitches of worry, afraid that he’s mad at you for being the way you are.

“hey honey,” bakugou hums, crouching to your level to cup your cheeks, stress bleeding from his body when you nuzzle into him.

izuku gives you a squeeze, an encouraging one and you nod. “hi,” is all you can muster, afraid of blurting the intrusive words that crackle across your brain.

katsuki sits back on his haunches, looking between you and his boyfriend before he attempts to kick off his shoes. the room is full of a thick, ugly quietness that you know you’re responsible for— they don’t have to say anything, you know that it’s you. because when you’re like this it’s hard for bakugou and midoriya to talk, afraid that they’ll say something to set you off and you afraid that they’ll leave if they knew how you really felt. how trapped and alone you felt inside, how the twisted darkness added tones to your vibes and dragged you down with every step that you took.

they don’t need to say it because it flows from your body like a rushing river and drowns them, fills their lungs and it’s your fault for infecting them with your own bitter taste of life.

“have you eaten?” the blonde of the two boys asks, looking you dead in the eye. you want to answer, but again the viscous back from earlier starts to flood through your body. you try to take care of yourself of these days where you feel it the hardest, but it’s difficult to move and to breathe— and the drive to complete even the simplest of tasks is barely ever there.

you move to speak, caught up in the thick smog of your own brain when izuku gives your body a squeeze and shakes his head, the forest of his hair brushing against your cheek. “you’ve had water, right?” izuku has no problem answering for you. “but nothing to eat,” he whispers, keeping his voice low as if to hide his worry from you— it’s light in his tone but tremors throughout the number one’s body. you feel sick for making him feel that way.

katsuki’s gaze shifts back from his boyfriend to you, his expression unreadable because he knows how you get if they worry too much about you. you’re thankful, partly for that at least, his blank face prevents your mind from reading too deep into things and blaming yourself for things out of your own control.

“‘m makin’ your favourite for dinner. you’ll eat it, no questions asked.” the explosive pro hero states firmly, rising from his place crouched down by your side, obviously not before thumbing over your cheeks to wipe away evidence of your dried tears. “gonna run you a bath too, damn nerd better get you upstairs and ready by the time it’s done.” deku’s chest rumbles with a light hearted chuckle beneath you, lifting the heavy weight of the air within the room— bakugou had always loved brashly, with a fiery intensity that hardly left room for the answer ‘no’, and while izuku was more tame, they balanced one another out in a way that felt more like a warm hug than a battle. they grounded you, in the best of ways.

true to his disgruntled words, your blonde headed boyfriend runs you a hot bath. you don’t miss the addition of lavender oil to the perfectly warm water, the baking soda which you’re sure he only knew to add because his mother had said it would remove the demon spawn toxins in his body. izuku is the one to help you strip, holds your hands as you kick off gross comfort clothes and folds them away, after pressing kisses to your groggy face and chin.

it’s almost funny to see the two biggest and beefiest pro heroes sit on your bathroom floor crossed legged and beside the tub— both of them taking up the majority of the room. you know for a fact that no one would believe the sight unless they saw it, but they’re there. both of them, izuku midoriya and bakugou katsuki are with you encompassed in the silence while you wash away the ugly words that plague your mind and fill the pores of your skin.

they’re still there.

even as sweet lavender water moves in soft waves over your bare body, while black ink moves in the same way across your brain— tattooing self-depreciating thoughts into every inch. you’re not worth their time, they say, you’re wasting it. because how could their precious time be put to good use if you’re taking it up, they could be saving people but instead your boyfriends are here, drowning in your own darkness.

they’re still fucking here.

when they could be out there saving the people who needed it, who were suffering out there in the world outside of your home.

and the suds against your body, the warm water sloshing over your thighs isn’t enough to get rid of the burning sensation of vile phrases printing themselves against your body and clouding every thought that you think. toxic, mean and nasty things you can’t scrub away— none of it is enough to make you feel like you deserve bakugou tenderly lathering you up with the rose scented soap his mother had sent you for christmas or the sips of cool water midoriya brings to your lips in order to prevent you from overheating in the steam of the bathroom.

deku catches the painful twist in your face, pausing his movements to study you. “whaddya need?” you need it to stop, to find something to replace the pain and doubts that fill you.

“water, hotter,” you croak quietly, tears building up in the base of your throat as katsuki catches on and flicks the tap for a stream of hot water to fill the tub. “please,”

they tell you to let them know when to stop if the heat gets too much, but the scalding water burns away any reminders of the self loathing you feel across every inch of your mind, your body and your soul. it stings at the darkness in a way that’s painfully soothing and maybe if you sink under— it could stop hurting completely. if you could slide deeper into the water, would the waves of darkness not crash so hard?

and then the damn breaks, like a tsunami the guilt and anguish you feel crashes over your body and takes control, leaving you fighting for oxygen in the form of your happiness.

everything that you’d been holding back flows freely in salty tears from tired eyes, scorching a path down the apples of your cheeks and mingling with the contents of the tub below. your boys, they don’t notice at first, how you cry and curl in on yourself until you think the world won’t notice you anymore but then just as they always do, they’re pulling you into their warmth and bubble of light— freeing you from black intrusive tendrils even if it means they have to crawl into the tub and wade their through the ocean you’ve made to set yourselves apart.

“don’t—!” you heave with an uneven voice, signs of you falling apart evident in every way. bakugou and deku pull away from you slowly, with dripping shirts and worry written across freckled faces and red eyes. they’re scared for you, hate seeing you force your feelings down and away from them. “please don’t touch me—you’ll—“

the water in the bathtub sloshes from where you retract from their touch, backing yourself up against the wall and away from your boys. “we’ll what?” izuku presses but only gently, keeping you afloat, stopping you from sinking and bakugou stays put in his place, letting the latter talk you down.

you shake your head, trying to think of the right words but it’s hard to, with the crashing waves heavy against your ears. how do you tell your lovers that everything hurts, to think and to feel, to live day by day. you don’t want to bother them with and an extra stress to their busy lives. but you can’t keep it in any longer, bursting at the seams. “you’ll drown. i-if i touch you, i’ll pull you under, you’ll drown with me and you won’t be able to breathe and all those horrible things that i think about will burn in your lungs until you give up fighting like me,” your tears and hiccups interrupt your words, but they listen. bakugou and deku, they listen and they stay.

“yn—“

“because if you do, then all that i feel will be a burden to you— i’ll break in ways that can’t be fixed and you’ll be forced to pick up the pieces and i’ll just be a burden,” you continue, not even pausing to take a breath while you continue to cry. “if you stay to pick up the pieces, you’ll be taken away from people who need you, who are worth saving, and can be helped and—“

you can’t recount how many nights, similar to this in which you wondered why and how two pro heroes could want and love you, why they dealt with your down days that sometimes outnumbered the ups— even if they’d shown you how much they cared, you couldn’t help but feel guilty as if your sadness took up their time to save someone else.

“you can be helped, yn. you don’t have to go what you’re going through alone, you’re worth the time and the effort of helping, no one deserves to suffer,” the green haired of your two boyfriends cuts through the tail ends of your words, still keeping distance until he knows it’s safe to touch you again. there is no look of condescending pity on his face, no sign to show you’ve pulled him into the dark of your mind. it’s just izuku, trying to help you pull through.

you look to katsuki hesitantly, he hasn’t said a word. “but i don’t want to be seen as...as weak, or to worry you because i can’t get out of my own head—“

“y’not fuckin’ weak, we’d never think that of you. we see you try to hide your pain, pretend things don’t get to you when they do. but fuckin’ handlin’ things on ya own can make y’stronger than any two heroes combined,” a look of anger flashes across his features, finer with age and tired with work. but bakugou isn’t angry with you, but with himself for leading you to believe that you were an extra weight on his shoulders. both of their shoulders. “yer not gonna get rid of us or scare us away, we love ya, we’re here for ya ‘n if it’s help that you need or think yer not worthy of, we’ll find some. it’s okay t’ask for help.”

maybe it’s hearing it from someone else, that your pain and your depression is valid, that you’re not an extra weight on the people you love that allows you to come up from a tar-like ocean for fresh air in your lungs, for the waves to calm and the storm raging in your mind to soothe. maybe it’s the two of your boyfriends being there for you despite the fear that you’d scare them away with not being okay that washes away some of the awful things you think.

you know that their support won’t make things go away over night, that it will take time for you to heal but for now you can keep your head above the water just long enough to breathe.

“can i touch you now? is it okay?” deku asks, feeling less distant from you than at the start of the day, but as your body shakes with the last of your tears all you manage is a nod before the number one hero is pulling you into his chest from the tub and the number two is wrapping a towel and his arms around you.

you sit sandwiched between the two, they keep you at the surface— holding you tight while you let out what you’ve been holding back. “we can get some help if y’want it, the doctors...therapy might be nerve wrackin’...scary even, but it can help and we’ll be there every single step of the fuckin’ way,” katsuki reasures you with pets to your head, rocking you back and forth on your bathroom floor, steam clinging to the air that you can finally breathe.

izuku nods along in agreement, pressing kisses to your wet hairline. “we’ll be here. you won’t be alone.”

the murkiness of the water in your mind starts to clear, but only just— their warmth starts to push through the clouds like sunshine brushing against your skin. a light to the dark that's plagued your every waking moment, the waves no longer crash and destroy but instead lap comfortingly at your painful thoughts and tame them just enough for you to have a moment of clarity.

you don’t have to be alone or millions of miles away, you deserve the hands of your loved ones that offer you help instead of pushing them away. the process of healing and things like therapy or meds will be hard sometimes, but katsuki and izuku will be here by your side, to help you manage days where darkness rolls in waves that hurt and help you breathe once again.

[sweetiesicheng]

dk - sick

word count : 738

-

as you walked closer to your car after leaving your workplace, your phone started ringing. you took your phone out of purse and saw that your boyfriend was calling you.

"hello?" you spoke once you answered the call.

"y/n? hey, you’re off of work, right? can you do me a favor, baby?" he asked.

"yea, what's up?" you asked and unlocked your car. you got inside of you car and put your purse in the passenger seat.

"can you bring me medicine? i can't find anything in the cabinet besides allergy pills. and can you bring me food?" he asked.

"babe, are you not feeling well?" you asked in concern.

"yea, i haven't been feeling well since i woke up. i called in sick and had my sister bring me breakfast and lunch. i thought i'd be fine by now, but i still don’t feel good,” he replied.

"yea, i'll go to the pharmacy right now. what do you want to eat?" you asked.

"honestly, i couldn't taste lunch, so i don't think it matters," he says, managing a chuckle out. "just order takeout and have it delivered. you can leave the medicine outside my door too."

"no, let me come over. i'll take care of you for the night. i don't have work tomorrow anyways," you said to him.

"but my germs are not good germs."

you burst out into laughter.

"i'll protect myself from your not good germs. i'll sleep in the guest room if that'll make you feel better," you said, hoping that he would agree. you heard him sigh before having a small coughing fit. "you okay?" you asked.

"yea, i'm alright," seokmin replied. "you can come over if you want. i just don't want you to get sick either," he said to you.

"well, if i do get sick, then you can take care of me and we can call it even," you said with a smile on your face.

he laughed, "you got it."

"i'll go pick up food and some medicine. need anything else?" you asked him.

"can i have a kiss on my forehead?" he asked.

you smiled, "i'm sure one wouldn't hurt. i'll see you soon."

"okay," he replied but a coughing fit followed after.

"drink water," you said before hanging up.

—

after buying food and medicine for seokmin, you drove to his apartment complex. you let yourself into the building and went to his apartment. you let yourself into his apartment.

"seokmin, i'm here," you announced as you closed the door and locked it. you took your shoes off and put your favorite slippers on. "seokmin?" you called out again.

you put everything in your hands on the kitchen counter before walking to his room. you slowly opened the door and peeked your head inside to see your boyfriend asleep on his bed.

you walked back to the counter and grabbed the medicine out of a paper bag. you filled a glass with water and brought both items into the room, setting them down on seokmin's nightstand.

you turned the lamp off in his room, since it was left on, before exiting, closing the door behind you.

you went back to the kitchen and started taking out what your bought. you opted to make dinner instead of ordering takeout.

looking through the fridge, you grabbed a few things to make dinner with and started cooking for you and seokmin.

all of a sudden, you heard a loud thump from inside seokmin's room. you put down the chopsticks you were using and went to his room. you opened the door and found him on the floor next to his bed.

"are you okay?" you asked and went up to him. you helped him up and sit on his bed.

"i think being sick is making me crazy," he laughed. "when did you get here?" he asked.

"like half an hour ago. dinner's almost done, want to eat?" you asked.

"sure," he replied.

he got up and brought his medicine and water outside with him. he sat down on the couch while you returned to the kitchen.

once you were done, you brought the food over to the couch and placed everything on the table. seokmin immediately started eating.

"oh, i forgot something," you said, remembering what seokmin asked for earlier.

"what?" he asked.

you gently grabbed him and kissed his forehead, "get better soon."

he giggled, "thank you."

[bontenten]

Bewitch

Pairings: Osamu x F!Reader x Atsumu; Miyacest WC: 7.4k Genre/Warnings: smut, fairytale retelling (Hansel and Gretel), magic au, dubcon/noncon, incest (miyacest), fear, knife, monster, bondage, snuff, vore, gore/blood, object insertion, body horror, a bit of size, tummy bulge, oral (m.receiving), anal (m. receiving), masturbation (f. & m.), voyeurism, arson...

Summary: The unexpected guests at your cottage have a mysterious past and hidden agenda. Will they allow you to accompany them on their journey?

Travelers are advised not to spend the night in the Dark Woods. It's said that beyond the last hiking trail, past a brook, lives an Evil Witch. That witch is vile and merciless; often, fools lost in the woods are never seen again. It's said that she must be over 800 years old, feeding off of the essences of children and young men unfortunate enough to cross her paths. It’s said that she even eats fellow witches. No one really knows. After all, no one who has seen her has lived to tell the tale.

It's been a few months since your teacher has left you to fend for yourself here in the woods—your first time alone during this apprenticeship. She said she had to attend a big conference with a whole bunch of other grand witches. You asked if you could tag along, but she insisted that you stay and watch the cottage. The lack of company is about to drive you insane so you often resort to conversing with yourself or the forest itself.

The soft moss muffles the sound of your footsteps as you begin the trek back home, a faint off-trail path away from the main road that no one else would usually notice. On any other day, you would just go home without a fuss, but loneliness makes people do some bizarre and odd things. For instance, the desperate longing for companionship leads to you dropping a not-so-hidden trail of fancy pebbles to inadvertently lead someone to your abode.

For most travelers, going off-trail is akin to a death sentence as any wrong turn might lure them into the forest's deadly maze. Not for you though, you know this place very well: every fallen tree, overturned log, the wanted signs nailed to the trunk...

Wait. A wanted sign?

You can make out from your distance that there are two heads on it, but the details are fuzzy, and the bounty looks smudged. Before you can get a closer look, you hear the birds caw in the trees, signaling the beginning of sunset. You pull your attention away from the poster and continue on to your way home.

The cottage is extremely cozy and warm. The windows are bejeweled and the door is solid wood. You live here comfortably with your teacher, after all, learning about the principles of magic and what it means to be a witch. It's much more than curses and spells, as your teacher would tell you, witches have character and a moral compass. Although there are certainly those who decide to experiment with the darker arts.

While you get a fire going in the huge furnace and boil some water on the stovetop, you hear two voices squabbling outside followed by three raps on the door. You're stunned by the noise, turning to face the shut door wondering if you were just dreaming about the noise. Is it? Visitors? No, you must have heard wrong.

"'Samu, I bet it's a farce, let's not." The voice sounds both tired and weary, almost out of breath.

"Let me just try again, I can smell a working kitchen in there, someone is definitely there," another voice insists. Three more knocking sounds. "Excuse me! Is the owner of the house available? My brother and I followed a path of colored stone and came upon your establishment...could you spare us some water? A bite of food?"

Two men, though they sound friendly. You're frozen in the kitchen, staring at the door that remains between you and the strangers.

"Is there someone home?" The second voice tries again. "Please, my brother is not feeling very well."

Your initial wariness for the stranger melts when you hear about the brother, which does not sound like a lie based on the raspy voice you first hear. A witch's character is fundamentally kind to all sentient beings, especially those in need. But you're still nervous, so you end up grabbing a metal ladle before carefully going to open the door. When you crack the door open, you see a pair of twins. Beautiful men, one blonde and one grey-haired. The former, with a quirky grin, although his eyes certainly look lackluster. But the other seems like he's at the right place, eyes peering past you into your home, fixated on your kitchen.

"I'm Osamu. And this," he gestures to his twin, "is my brother Atsumu. We're a bit lost, you see."

You nod your head in a casual greeting and introduce yourself as the resident apprentice at this cottage. As a good host should, you open the door to the weary guests preparing to welcome them in.

"Are we welcomed in?" Osamu asks, not moving from his spot. Atsumu isn’t budging either, arms crossed and only looking at you from the corner of his eye, waiting for your answer.

Without giving much thought you nod and open the door wider. "Both of you are most welcomed in."

"Then we thank you for your hospitality," Osamu says, taking a step inside, dragging his twin with him.

Words, especially spoken words carry power and hold intent. And a witch's words, no matter how careless they slip out, contain magic. Welcome, as you say. So welcome, they are.

You shut the door behind them and prepare to go give your first-ever guests some water. When you turn around, you notice Osamu already in the kitchen, the sleeves of his tunic rolled up past his elbows.

"Your food is about to burn. Heat's too high," he tells you, expertly taking control of the sizzling pots and pans. "I got it, don't worry."

Feeling flustered at the faint smell of scorching food, you hurry over to see if you can be of any assistance. "Let me help out."

"No, it's quite alright."

How can a host let her guests do all the work like that? And the first company in a while too! What an utter failure.

"How—" you try to argue back, but you're cut off by Atsumu tugging on your wrist, dragging you over to the sofa in the corner.

"Don't worry about him, he loves to cook." Atsumu brushes out the wisps of his bangs with a huff. "And actually quite good at it. Anything that goes through his hands...well, in short, all become part of his design."

Like his twin, Atsumu's frame is broad and huge, but there is a quality of emptiness of sorts. Osamu's shoulders are wide but there's more substance to it, whereas Atsumu's form seems contained. You can't help but use your learnings to see if you can figure out just what's off about Atsumu. He's slowly walking around the living room and studying the portraits hanging on the wall. He picks up a frame that is set above the fireplace and comments, "None of these are you. How come?"

"Oh, they're my teacher. I'm just a witch-in-training at the moment, so—"

"A witch?" Atsumu questions, clenching the frame tightly. His hands begin to shake, the glass under his thumb beginning to crack.

You did not expect Atsumu to display such a visceral reaction upon the mention of witches. After all, witches normally stayed far away from ordinary human society and when they do mix, it's often a role of healing. But the look that sparks in Atsumu's eyes, it's almost—feral.

"'Tsumu!" Osamu yells while stalking over quickly from the kitchen. He throws his arm around Atsumu's neck and drags him off into the shadows. You can't make out the muffled voices and deep growling noises that are coming from down the hall.

It's their private matter, so you go back to the kitchen. True enough, Osamu's hands are almost like magic. The bubbling pot of broth doesn't seem to be on the verge of overflowing, the onions caramelizing beautifully, filling the air with deliciousness.

Moments later, the twins come back. You notice that Osamu clothes are wrinkled from tugging Atsumu around, but at the very least, Atsumu is looking much better than before.

The three of you set the table for dinner. Osamu brings out the plates as though he knows the kitchen inside and out already. Atsumu comes emerging from the cellar with two bottles of fine wine that you didn't even know your teacher had stowed away. Surely, she wouldn't mind? With Osamu and Atsumu sitting to the left and right of you at the round table, it almost feels like a more familiar, cozier gathering between friends than a situation of a host and her guests.

They tell you that they have been traveling across the lands for a long time now, looking for a cure for Atsumu's illness. It reminds you of the hollow, repressed form you saw earlier and your curiosity gets the better of you. They don't tell you the nature of the malady, but what they do share is that they are looking for a witch to undo the curse on Atsumu, a result of dark witchcraft.

"I am a witch!" you exclaim, feeling your call to action at the moment. "Please, is there truly nothing for me to help to undo the spell?"

Osamu leans in close to you, and wipes a bit of sauce staining the corner of your lips with the pad of his thumb. He smiles. "We're looking for a very high-level witch. One day, maybe you'll get to the level of magic needed."

"You're too weak," Atsumu bluntly points out. You're sure Osamu means to say the same thing, but Atsumu's words are really sharp.

"I know," you sigh. "My teacher tells me that all the time. So, I'm really trying. I'm sure there's at least something I can do."

"I definitely think that. Don't be so hard on yourself," Osamu comforts. "Have you been living alone here for a long time?"

You feel two pairs of eyes glued onto you waiting for your answer. You smile reflexively before your eyes trail to the empty plate and carefully choose your words. "Yea. Just me and my teacher. She's a grand witch...maybe if you wait here for a few days, you can meet her when she comes back from her conference."

"We—"

"We'll be gone tomorrow!" Atsumu snaps, staring into Osamu's eyes.

Osamu doesn't pay any mind to Atsumu, and puts an extra piece of dessert onto your plate.

"We have a long way to go. Atsumu's condition isn't getting better, so we can't stop in one place for long."

It makes you a little sad, because you were hoping to spend some more time with the twins, both of whom you have grown fond of. Osamu and his gentleness. And even Atsumu, despite his quick remarks and outbursts, adds a particular spice to your mundane life.

"Maybe we'll bring you with us," Osamu comments lightly, "'Tsumu, wouldn't that be nice?"

"She'll just be dead weight," Atsumu retorts. You wonder if he absolutely hates you. Is that why he is always so against you being next to Osamu?

Osamu puts an arm around you and blows on the shell of your ear. It tickles and you can feel his body enveloping you. "But she's so sweet," he tells Atsumu and whispers into your ear, "Aren't you?"

You find your wandering gaze looking into his half-lidded grey eyes. His face is right next to you, lips just hovering barely five centimeters away. The overwhelming presence of him is undeniably alluring. Your breaths become shallow as your heart rate speeds up with desire.

"I'm exhausted! 'Samu you too. We're going to bed!" Atsumu drops the silverware onto his plate and stands up. He comes around the table, muttering curses under his breath. Atsumu grabs Osamu by the wrist and drags him off towards the guest bedroom you have shown them before.

You didn't quite catch Atsumu's angry mutters, but you hear "slut" and "harlot" thrown around a few times. Were they directed at you? No, you're not like that, you tell yourself. Atsumu must have been thinking that you are trying to seduce his twin. After you clear out the table, you decide to clear up any misunderstanding.

You tip-toe down the hall to the guest bedroom prepared to knock when you hear muffled sounds coming from inside. You carefully press your ears to the crevice of the door and clamp a hand around your mouth upon hearing the stream of moans.

"'Samu, 'Samu please, ah—"

That's Atsumu? Your eyes are wide and still trying to process the shock of what you're hearing. You tell yourself you shouldn't be here. You should not be listening to whatever is happening behind the closed door, but you can't help it. Hearing Atsumu's moans makes you want to squirm.

You slightly jump when you hear a slap, followed with a pleasured groan. The sound is so clean it feels as though the phantom hands are touching your own heated skin.

Osamu's chuckle nearly makes your knees weak.

"Don't get cocky, if it were any other day ngh—, any other day, I would be the one pushing you into the mattress."

Slap. "Shut up, cute 'Tsumu. I like you being so needy for me like this. What do you want from me? Tell me."

"Fuck me, 'Samu."

"With pleasure."

The wood creaks loudly and you tell yourself, you really need to get out as you back away and try to quickly walk down the hall back to your bedroom.

You throw the door open and lock the door behind you with a click. With your eyes closed, you try to steady your breath and the building heat in your core. It's quiet. There's no noise coming from their room. But they are twins! 

You remind yourself that a witch is all-accepting and kind. There are so many circumstances beyond your understanding, judgement is not a part of your nature. And if what they are performing is wrong, what should you say about yourself? You peel off your clothes and step out of the soaked panty that is proof of your lust.

Pillows are fluffed and covers are pulled over your body. You try to sleep, but each time you are about to drift, Atsumu's cries of pleasure come back into your head. Your hand trails down your navel until the fingertips trace over your clit. Gathering some slick from your cunt, you drag it across the sensitive bud.

You shudder from the touch as images, constructed in your fantasy, cloud your mind. You imagine Atsumu's hands spreading your legs apart and Osamu's teasing words next to your ear. He would tell you to open wide and shove his cock down your throat. You suck on three of your fingers until lips wrap over the knuckles, your saliva pooling from hunger. And slip your fingers into your cunt easily, curling them against the plush walls.

"F-fuck me," you moan into your pillow.

With pleasure.

You quiver, clit pulsating, and your pussy juice dripping into your palm. The wash from the high soon takes you into sleep. All throughout the night, you squirm and feel the phantom sensation of being watched. Not just observed, but studied, by two pairs of glinting hungry eyes. You can almost imagine them on either side of the bed, trapping you into the mattress no matter which way you turn.

A few times the weird feelings almost pull you awake, but you don't dare crack an eye open to confirm your suspicions until the morning light begins to filter through the windows, rousing you from sleep. The air is filled with fragrant herbs and the sizzle of delicious brunch from someone awake before you.

No doubt, it's Osamu, because who else can it be? Atsumu? Please. The twins....

You climb out of bed and stretch your neck on the way to the washroom. Your bedroom door is open, but it's too early to notice that detail.

"Morning!" Osamu greets you from the kitchen. You find a fresh mug of coffee shoved into your hands from him.

You mumble thanks and sip at the brew while watching Osamu fry the eggs. Osamu looks to be deep in thought, probably thinking about something pleasant from the faint smile ghosting on his face. You feel a pang of guilt from both listening to their private lives, and also the strange feelings that maybe they heard your private life too—it's all your paranoia talking.

"You're so talented," you blurt out, fisting the fabric of your long skirt.

"Thanks, but better not let 'Tsumu hear ya, he gets jealous super easily."

Even if Atsumu hears, it's fine. You really mean both of them. Both of the twins both seem super talented as a duo; like they've been out there and seen the world. Meanwhile, you're still stuck here, without company. Would it be possible...if they simply stayed?

Osamu senses the words that are stuck in your mouth and answers them for you. "We're gonna be leaving right after breakfast. There's still lots of ground to cover today," he explains, plating the pancake before preparing to ladle a spoonful of batter for the next one.

"Do you have to leave?" you ask, almost pleading.

"It's cozy here and comfortable. We enjoy your company too, but we have to go. Your teacher would hate us, immensely, and on top of that...let's just say, we're always on the run."

"You say it like you two are fugitives or something."

Osamu chuckles and leans closer to you, hot breath flaming your cheeks, or maybe it's just the heat from the stove. A teasing grin pulls his cheeks up slightly as your eyes flicker over to see his lips spell out, "Maybe. Scared?"

Embarrassed, you take a defensive step back, squeaking and bumping into another body.

"MORNING!" Atsumu announces behind you. He's in good spirits and he has his hands on your waist to steady you; he sniffs your hair and smiles before letting you go. "I smell something delicious."

"Breakfast is ready," Osamu says, plating the pancakes. "Hungry 'Tsumu?"

"Tch." Atsumu shoves past you and knees Osamu, mood doing a complete 180. You're almost left like a fly on the wall as you watch the scene unfold.

Osamu is quick to catch his balance while keeping watch on the stove. "Not awake yet?" Osamu grins and passes him a plate of pancakes, essentially telling him to shut up and eat. "Who shoved a stick up your ass? Go eat."

"Fuck you."

"Hm."

Atsumu grumbles but digs into his food anyway. Osamu catches your amused expression in the corner and explains, "It's always like that between us. It's our...way of showing how much we care."

"I know." It's sort of endearing, the banter between the two brothers. Even if the world turns against them, no matter what the odds are, at least Miya Osamu will have Miya Atsumu, and Atsumu will have Osamu. Perhaps it's exactly that sort of bond the two share that you're envious of. Body and soul. Because if only you could have just an ounce of that sort of familiarity with another. But you're just an outsider without an invitation to join in.

While you're mulling over your thoughts, you don't catch the darkening gazes being exchanged between the twins. At some point, Atsmu's plate is already emptied and the wooden table is cleared while you're still lost in your mind. Osamu is fiddling with the metal tea strainer, bobbing it up and down to brew a mug of tea. He threads a cotton string in and out like it's a plaything.

"Do you really want to be with us?" Osamu asks nonchalantly. "'Tsumu and I were talking about it. If you do, maybe we can work something out."

"I just..." You feel like this is your final chance to tell them that you don't want them to go. None of the going around circle hinting that you have been doing. This is the moment to just tell it to them. If you miss this chance, you feel like you won't have another. And even though a pit pulls at your inwards telling you to reconsider, you're brave. "I just want to be together with you all, and help you cure Atsumu. My teacher is so talented, I'm sure she'll have a remedy."

They grin.

Osamu is a great cook, he can do that. Atsumu sometimes seems lazy, but he's super strong and quick to help too. And you can pick up all sorts of other tasks in the area! Maybe because they're so helpful, your teacher will even let them stay once Atsumu is cured. Maybe they can learn magic too! You have heard of warlocks who are powerful with spells too. And you can already imagine, the three of you, like a team, eventually going out into the world to fight demons and monsters and—

"Open wide," a sultry voice sounds next to you. Backing away automatically, you find Atsumu standing right behind you.

"W-wait," your voice shakes, stuck in your throat. "What are—"

His fingers reach for your mouth, prying it open. Before you can voice your distaste, a warm, metal ball gets shoved into your mouth, the thin chain quickly tangles into your hair. The faint traces of tea seep out of its small holes down your tongue and throat, while some spill out the corner of your mouth like trails of drool down your jawline.

Osamu smiles and wipes the liquid away with his thumb, relishing in how your widening eyes gape at him in confusion.

"Being together," he answers the question you wanted to ask, "is what you want isn't it?" He takes a spool of kitchen twine and begins to secure the tea strainer in your mouth. The thin cotton threads wrap around your head over and over again, tightening the steel against your tongue.

You shake your head and try to take another step away from the man you're beginning to become wary of, but the strong grip of Atsumu's hands on your shoulder prevents you from squirming at all. His fingers dig into your flesh, and when you turn to look at him you catch a glint in his eyes, glowering down at you.

"No, no, no, behave," he taunts you, "listen to 'Samu. He'll make you feel real good, trust me."

With the gag in your mouth, all you can let out are weak, warbling gargles from the back of your throat. Why are you doing this? You weren't like this before? Loud snorts flare out your nostrils from the fear screaming through your body.

Osamu comes back with a paring knife, examining the edge under the sunlight filtering in through the stained glass. He presses the cool blade along your cheek, dragging with the dull edge just enough so the sharp end doesn't cut your skin. You feel your knees growing weak and if not for Atsumu's hold on you, you would sink into a shuddering heap on the floor.

"You know, I think you might be the best meal yet," Osamu compliments, blade trailing down to your collarbone. The tip of the knife toys with the first button, pressing tension on the x-cross stitching. Snap. The first button pops off, dropping onto the wooden floor and rolling away to an inconspicuous corner. "I'll prep you well."

Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap. The knife flicks again and all the buttons clatter on the floor before running away for refuge.

Atsumu has cleared the table already and you find yourself hoisted up and laid onto the surface like a slab of meat on a cutting board. The cold surface presses against the back of your shoulder and ass. Osamu ties your wrist together with a hemp rope and secures the other end around the table leg. He also secures your ankles to two other anchor points.

You're utterly exposed and ashamed at your body's display, mortified at how your body is reacting when you catch sight of Atsumu, his eyes dilated, looking at your slit that you know is drenched already. The rough texture of the rope presses painfully into your skin from how tight the bindings are. You can only let out gagged whines in complaint, chest rising up and down from the loud breaths.

"Can't do, love," Osamu chides, kissing the knot at your wrist, satisfied with the results. His fingertips trail down to cup your jaw and his thumb runs across the tea strainer. You close your eyes and groan at his touch. Osamu murmurs, "I won't let anything go to waste."

Atsumu is growing impatient at the sight of his twin treating you like the finest specimen ever. You're not the first one. You won't be the last one, but he still can't stand the sight of someone looking just like himself having first tastes while he's missing out himself. He wants to shove Osamu aside, but he knows that Osamu absolutely hates it when he ravages the meal when it's not ready.

Atsumu unzips his pants and lets his hardened, leaking cock spring free. You stare at Atsumu who is fixated on his own pleasure. His hand wraps around his cock and pumps the length up and down.

Osamu turns your head to look at himself instead. "Someone there is impatient, but let's not learn from him, okay? I want to take you slow, make sure you'll be ready. I don't want you stressed, you release too much cortisol and that toughens the meat."

Anything that goes through his hands...well, in short, all become part of his design.

His hand kneads your breast and toys with your nipple, circling and tugging on the tiny, erect bud.

"Relax," he whispers into your ear. "Just like you did last night."

You try to clamp your thighs shut from reflex. Immediately the resistance from the rope ties stop your movements. Osamu squeezes your thighs and pushes them apart once more.

"Right here isn't it, after hearing me fuck 'Tsumu..." Osamu's finger runs down the sides of your labia. "You just couldn't help touching yourself too huh?"

He knows. They know. You feel your cheeks burn at the realization.

"There's nothing embarrassing about it. If anyone should be, it should be us twins, " Osamu's fingers easily slip in, your pussy already dripping with arousal. "Oh woops, I shouldn't need to comfort you. You're clearly not shy."

Osamu's fingers are thick and long, able to reach far deeper than you ever can. Your tongue is still struggling against the gag while your saliva steeps the tea leaves trapped in the ball.

"Oi," Atsumu cuts in with annoyance. "I thought you said to not play with food. What the fuck are you doing, chef?"

Osamu stops his finger in you for a moment before dragging them out. You're trembling at the sudden emptiness and desire to fill the space immediately. The lack of stimulation is irritating and you are desperate.

Osamu walks up to Atsumu, bringing his drenched fingers covered in your slick to his lips for a taste. Before he can do so, Atsumu grabs Osamu's wrist and takes in those digits, sucking on them gingerly.

Osamu smiles and runs the other hand through Atsumu's hair.

"Patience is a virtue, 'Tsumu, I was just getting her fully prepared for you. I'm giving her all to you already, you couldn't even let me have a taste of her?"

Atsumu releases Osamu's fingers with a pop. "I never said I wasn't going to share," he mutters before pulling Osamu in for a kiss, passing the taste of you along their tongues.

Your body jostles as you finally get a visual matching what you heard last night. You feel your pussy leaking with more excitement, the arousal drips all the way down to your asshole. And the more you squirm, it's as though the rope ties become tighter and tighter, rubbing your skin raw. But even that pain is incomparable to the need to quell your fire.

Atsumu pulls away and presses one last kiss on Osamu's nose. "I always love what you serve, thank you 'Samu." Your heart rate rapidly speeds up as Atsumu comes towards you. He's positioned between your legs, both hands on your thighs, marveling at the display of your body. His hands feel hot.

Atsumu grins. "You probably didn't expect me to be the one taking you, huh?" He guides his cock to your entrance, the bulging tip prodding along your puffy lips. "Did you want Osamu to be the one fucking you?"

No? You want to argue, straining your head up slightly, but only tea-laced saliva drips out from the corners of your mouth.

"'Fuck me, 'Samu. Fuck me, please.' Is that what you heard? Is that what you wanted to say too?"

Your screams are muffled whimpers.

Osamu snorts off to the side, watching Atsumu do exactly what he accused Osamu earlier of: playing with his food. Hypocrite.

Atsumu glares at Osamu before turning his attention back to you. "You'll be begging for me, Atsumu, after I'm done with you."

He lines himself at your entrance and inches himself in, groaning at how your cunt is somehow just sucking him in. You're so warm and tight inside, wrapping perfectly around every part of him. He sits in you for a moment, just enjoying being blanketed by your muscles and chuckling how you tighten around him every now and then.

You whine, urging Atsumu to move a little.

"Okay, okay. Geez, and 'Samu says I'm impatient." Atsumu slowly draws his cock out and snaps his hips forward, the base of his balls slapping against your ass. He delights at how you squeeze your eyes shut and continues rocking into you at a comfortable pace.

Osamu enjoys standing off to the side for a while. He always liked watching Atsumu savor and delight the food he prepares. Atsumu always eats with such gusto. It should have always been that way, until the witch ruined everything. The curse, an experiment with the dark arts, should have never happened. Above all else, it should never have been on Atsumu. Osamu can only wonder if the reason they are subjected to this fate is because they are twins. Until a cure is found, Atsumu, his most beloved other, will have to replenish himself in this way.

A sharp pain rips through you and tears well up in your eyes. You feel Atsumu's cock suddenly begin to pulsate and grow in size. At first, you thought it was because you're clamping down on him too hard and will yourself to relax. But the cock, the thing, is certainly unnatural now. And between your tear-stained vision, you can just barely make out... Monster.

You begin to thrash wildly, head tossing side to side, back arched as much as you can in a futile escape attempt. Atsumu's claws rest on your hips while he pounds into you furiously. His groans, now deep growls, send vibrations that you can feel within your throbbing clit. You fear that you'll actually be ripped in half by the way Atsumu is thrusting into you. The engorged cockhead hits your cervix each time and his ball sack, even heavier, bowls and knocks against you.

Osamu unfolds his arms and comes over.

"It'll only hurt if you don't relax," he tells you, reaching out to press on your clit. "Just let him have his way."

"Go fuck her somewhere else," Atsumu snarls. His voice is warped and bellowing. Your mind is getting foggy as Osamu's fingers on your clit don't stop teasing the bud while having a petty talk with Atsumu. And Atsumu, ticked off by Osamu, picks up his speed.

"There we go, now that's beautiful," Osamu comments, taking his hand away and watching you unfurl in your pleasure. Your abused cunt is puffy when Atsumu pulls out, and you feel the thick liquid start to flow out when you take breaths.

"No, don't do that," Osamu chides, taking three fingers to gather the cum spilling out and stuffing it back in. "Better keep it all in. 'Tsumu isn't done with you yet."

Not yet? You can't even voice your thoughts except weakly shaking your head and moaning into the steel gag. In the moment, your stomach rumbles loudly.

"'Samu, she's hungry," Atsumu points out, rubbing your tummy. "You feed her and I'll stuff her."

Osamu ruffles Atsumu's long hair and gives his new, erected horns a teasing squeeze. Atsumu yelps at the touch. "'Samu!"

"Okay, okay," Osamu relents and stands next to your head. You see him take the paring knife again and slide the icy blade between the cotton ties and your hot cheek. A quick slice and you feel the pressure of the gag release. Osamu removes the tea strainer from your mouth and tosses it into the sink.

"Must have been so over-brewed, I apologize for that," he says. You know he doesn't mean it at all.

"Why?" you croak out. Your jaw and cheeks are sore from being held in position for so long. There's so many things you believe you can ask why about. Why they are prepping you like a meal, fucking you like a toy...Why Atsumu is the way he is. Why Osamu is not who you think he is either. Why you.

Despite Atsumu's grotesque figure, you're sure that you fear this twin more. Osamu's thoughts are so well-hidden behind his eyes; he never gives away what he's thinking or planning. You can only accept his decisions from the receiving end.

"Because of Atsumu," Osamu answers. Everything is for 'Tsumu. "I'll feed you."

Osamu cradles your head with both hands, his fingers tangled in your hair. He prods his cock against your lips. Feeling your resistance, he grips your hair tightly, painfully pulling on your scalp, and presses the tip of his cock to force your lips open. You nearly gag at the length entering your throat and your hands ball into tight fists. Your nose is buried in the base of his cock, pressing into his balls. Each breath you take is heavy with his musky, hot scent.

It's easy to focus on Osamu's cock fucking into your throat, leaving an unamused, monstrous twin off to the side preparing to turn your attention back to him by force.

Atsumu rubs himself against you, preparing to enter you again. You're sure that he has become even bigger. When the tip pushes through, your body attempts to fight the intrusion in self-preservation. The claws at your hips dig in and Atsumu all but pulls you onto his length like a sock. You scream around Osamu's cock, throat clenching around his thick length, and nearly black out from the stretch.

You never had anything this big in you before. Atsumu lifts you up slightly, his grasp becoming large enough to encircle around your whole waist. Your ankles are still tethered and tug on you, much to Atsumu's annoyance. He easily slices through the bondages with a sharp claw. Now free of restraints, Atsumu can cradle you more easily, finally pushing the last section into you. 

Crack!

You can’t cry while you're stuffed with Osamu’s cock, but tears stream endlessly from your eyes. You’re sure your pelvic floor is broken, completely forced apart in a futile attempt to accommodate Atsumu stuffing you beyond your physical capacity. Your hips give out as your two legs, bone out from their sockets, dangle grotesquely.

“Just focus on me,” Osamu wipes your tears away and continues to pump into you. But you cannot focus on the human object in your mouth when your whole lower half and inwards are broken, stretched or squashed.

"Hey look ‘Samu! It's bulging," Atsumu marvels at the imprint of his tip pushing your flesh out from the inside. “Look, my cock is saying ‘hello’.”

Atsumu excitement translates into messy thrusts, treating your body like a game. “Maybe I can even touch your dick through her!” 

Your whole body is numb, the brain shuts its pain signals off completely, and hormones pour through your bloodstream in overdrive. The broken climax spasms through your body like the last bits of a faltering system.

“Better hurry...she’s...she’s fading soon,” Osamu warns between his grunts. He clasps your head and spurts his seed into you. You mindlessly swallow every drop of him, letting the contents slowly flow down your throat. You can’t process anything nor recognize any of the murky images. Who are you? Where are you?

Your memory fades in and out as your eyesight drifts between black and white. You can’t do anything about how the monster is now on all fours over your body, unrecognizable as Atsumu. You don’t feel any fear towards this grotesque figure. You don’t register how his tongue licks your neck.

Your mouth is now empty but you can’t formulate syllables.

“I’m sorry,” you hear Osamu whisper before sharp fangs pierce into your jugular, digging in deeper and tearing a chunk out. Red sprays across your body in fast spurts, drenching Atsumu and covering Osamu. The teeth at your throat gnaw at the flesh, starved, tearing through the skin, fat, and tissues like a child crunching fruit. 

You can feel the droplets falling onto your face like fresh rain after a storm. You vaguely remember your teacher and her warning of strangers. She always reprimanded you and you wanted to make her proud. There will no longer be any chance of that now. You weren’t a good student, and only an utter failure.

Osamu waits for Atsumu to finish you off. Atsumu always gets messy at this point. Osamu tried to help Atsumu section his prey off by cutting and organizing the limbs and even attempted to debone the meal beforehand, but Atsumu has his preferences, and Osamu respects them. So, Osamu delegates cleaning duties to himself instead. 

You’re already beyond recognition when Osamu comes back with barrels of oil. All that is left is a kitchen stained with blood and a pile of bone with chewed connective tissue left. Atsumu sometimes eats the bones too, but not always.

“‘Tsumu, are you full now?” Osamu asks, reaching out to cradle his twin. Atsumu has now transformed back to the way he is supposed to be. Osamu threads his hand through Atsumu’s blonde hair and inhales his twin’s scent.

Atsumu doesn’t respond and tugs at Osamu’s collar, trailing down his arm to bring Osamu’s hand to his own cock.

Osamu grins and kisses the top of Atsumu’s head. “Do you want to fuck me ‘Tsumu? I know you like to, after your meals.”

Atsumu whines and nips at Osamu’s jaw, pushing the twin down on the blood-stained floor.

“Okay, okay.” Osamu unzips and pulls down his pants before crawling onto all fours.

Atsumu’s hand cups Osamu’s ass and pries the cheeks open before curiously fingering at the specimen plugging Osamu’s hole. Atsumu holds onto the base and turns the object, before laughing.

“‘Samu, what is this you have in your ass,” Atsumu teases. “I like this presentation.”

This time, Osamu is the one embarrassed. “Last meal, it hurt like hell. So...I wanted to prepare a little.”

“With an egg holder?” Atsumu cackles again, fiddling with the ceramic object. “Should’ve just told me ‘Samu, I could never bear to hurt you.”

Atsumu holds onto the base and slowly pulls the object out before tossing it aside. He smiles and teases Osamu’s enlarged hole that’s opening and closing around nothing. Gathering up some saliva, he spits onto Osamu’s asshole before lining his cock at the rim and slowly pushing in.

Along with the curse comes a near insatiable lust. Atsumu knows that if he doesn’t fulfill his need to fuck or be fucked, he will snap. He doesn’t really care who he kills during a frenzy of that sort, but it’s too risky to get Osamu caught up in the collateral.

The witch that wanted to create the perfect weapon, failed. She failed because she underestimated the twins’ bonds for each other. She failed because the twins discovered that witches excrete a very special hormone in their body after climax, and it is exactly that substance that is slowly curing Atsumu. With every witch eaten and absorbed, Atsumu is healing and gaining magical powers. He is even capable of passing those essences to Osamu. One day, everything will be the way it's supposed to be.

Osamu plays with a few strands of Atsumu’s hair. Atsumu’s softened cock still buried inside of him. Atsumu has his jaw resting on Osamu’s shoulder.

“You make me feel so good,” Atsumu sighs, enjoying the quiet moments after his high.

“And what about her?” Osamu asks, gesturing to the table where your remains are still at.

“She made me feel good too. The best one yet, but don’t be jealous.”

“Come on, let’s clean up and get out of here.”

After washing their bodies and changing into clean clothes, Atsumu and Osamu are ready to say goodbye to the cottage they have overstayed their welcomes at.

"Let's go 'Samu, we're already behind." Atsumu finishes dumping the last bucket of oil along the edges of the room.

The clamor of boots stride across the creaking wood. As though with the passing of its owner, the cottage itself has lost the will to live.

"Coming," Osamu calls back, walking past the makeshift funeral pyre for you. He notices a flash on the ground and bends down to pick up a button.

"'Samu! Get the fuck out or I'll burn ya down too!"

"Yea, yea."

Osamu drops the button into his shirt pocket and joins his twin outside. Atsumu strikes a matchstick and tosses the small flame into the cottage. Fire meets oil and spreads in an instance, engulfing the cottage in an angry blend of orange and red, devouring all contents and remains within. The smell of scorched wood reaches the twins who are looking at the sight from a distance.

"She was good," Atsumu comments, looking at his twin unsure about what Osamu's grey eyes are thinking about. Atsumu realizes that he didn't specify what good exactly means. But it doesn't seem like Osamu is paying much attention. Is Osamu thinking about you? Is he unhappy? Does he regret what happened to you? Although what's done is done already, if time can go back, would Osamu choose? You or Atsumu?

Osamu slips his hand into Atsumu's, erasing the unspoken worries away. He gently leads Atsumu onto the trail, leaving the burning cottage behind.

"Stop thinking such nonsense," Osamu mutters, squeezing Atsumu's hand. No matter what happens, Atsumu will always come first. His needs, his desires. That's what it means for Osamu to love Atsumu. Even though the rest of the world may not understand the relationship the twins share, calling it depraved and disgusting, it's still selfless on their part. What sin is there to honestly love? What sin is there to try and save his loved ones?

While Osamu admits to himself that he does feel a deep attraction to you and knows that Atsumu feels the same pull as well, there's nothing that can be done about Atsumu's condition. But it's not as though you are completely gone. Your essences and core are within both twins, being absorbed as one with their bodies and soul. You'll forever be with them in that way, even if you no longer have any sentient memory of it.

Osamu fiddles the button in his pocket; there's still a physical reminder of you in that tiny form.

It must be about a twenty-minute trek from the burning site. Although the flames are already far from eyesight, the scorching smell and embers still drift over. The twins pick up their pace, eager to exit the forest before nightfall and make it to the next destination. On the way, they pass by the tree trunk with a wanted poster.

"They never get my best angles!" Atsumu complains, ripping a wanted poster that is nailed to the tree trunk.

"It's not like you have a good angle, ‘Tsumu."

"Shut it, we look the same ‘Samu. You're just calling yourself ugly too!"

Osamu shrugs and continues his trek down the main trail. Atsumu huffs, tearing the parchment into indistinguishable pieces before throwing the shreds up into the air like confetti.

"Wait up!"

Osamu stops in his tracks. "Hurry up, loser. We still have a long way to go."

Atsumu takes a few wide strides and swings his arm around his twin's shoulder. Behind them, a very light drizzle falls from the sky.

[penguintransporter]

Say Something (John Stones imagine)

This is angsty, and I wrote it in one sitting while cooking dinner, so if there are any mistakes or something, don’t be too harsh. I will go back and check it once I have more time on my hands. I wanted to write this for a long time, and consider it as a warm up to the next chapter of Forget Me Not which should be posted before Wednesday. Anyway, read, enjoy, and tell me what you think. 

credits to whoever owns this picture. 

—

It’s wet and cold outside; quiet too — the sky grey and heavy with the rain that just waits for the right moment to spat on the sleepy streets of the city. 

From where she sits, at the shiny, marble made kitchen island, she can hear the front doors open at the exact time as every day — the sound echoing throughout the minimally furnished house — something she wasn’t a huge fan of, but it was his bachelor pad before she came along, and she felt bad for disrupting it, so she went along, hoping that she would eventually get used to it. 

She hears him twist the locks, and the familiar dull sound of his backpack as it hits the hardwood floor upon being thrown from his shoulder, followed by the sound of his car keys carelessly hitting the small bowl on the side-table. 

She wants to roll her eyes at his habits, wants to yell out a sarcastic remark; a joke — something that usually makes the two of them laugh at his messiness, but she doesn’t. 

More than anything, she wants to bolt towards him like she did all these months, give him a hug and kiss him welcome — sometimes more than innocently, but she doesn’t. 

Instead, she pulls her quivering bottom lip between her teeth, and keeps her eyes focused on the sad, lifeless garden behind the windows; wet and splattered with rain. 

“Before I forget—,” John calls out as he walks through the corridor, “Jenny called this morning, asking if we are still on for the dinner next week,” he adds — voice still loud before it sinks down to the usual volume as he enters the large living space with adjoined kitchen area, divided with a large dining table. “I said we are, but— oh, what’s this?”

He is not looking at her, but the dining table, set for two — the aroma of his favourite dish filling his nostrils as he approaches the chair where he usually sits. 

“I made food,” she replies, getting up slowly as she wraps both of her hands around the cup of herbal tea she made earlier, hoping that it would calm down her nerves. “I felt like cooking.”

“Oh,” John mouths — the smile spreading across his features as he takes two long strides and wraps his tattooed arms around her shoulders, kissing her forehead. “You know I don’t mind having a toast or something, but I am not saying no to this. This looks amazing.”

She closes her eyes — the realisation of what he has done dawning on her; breaking her heart, and she takes a small intake of breath before stepping away from him and his warm embrace. 

“You’re welcome,” she smiles a little before making her way towards the large staircase that leads to their bedroom on the second floor.

Seemingly not paying attention to her, John sits down — long legs getting comfortable under the table before he starts piling the food on his plate. “Where are you going?” he suddenly asks, stopping — the large serving spoon mid-air. 

“I am not hungry,” she answers, stopping for a second, “just made tea.”

John laughs a little — the laugh that made him fall for him in the first place; the melody that made her realise that she was in love with him some time later. “But you are always hungry,” he comments as he grabs his cutlery. “Come on, I’ll wait for you before I start. It looks delicious.”

“Just eat,” she whispers as she walks upstairs and enters the room, setting the tea on the top of the dresser, next to the framed photograph showing a girl and a guy who only several weeks from that day would be making out against his car in a parking lot in front of her work.

In the picture they are happy; careless even. John, as tall as he was, had one of his arms wrapped around her shoulder, the other ruffling her hair, as they sat next to one another on a plaid, picnic blanket — a goofy smirk on both of their faces. It was thanks to his mate that they met — both of them killing time as their friends tried to chat up one another. A string of sarcastic remarks have been exchanged, followed by sharing food, and before they knew it they were laughing like children, talking about everything and anything. 

That day she fell for him, and so did he for her.

Shaking her head lightly, she opens the dresser in front of her, picking up some of the clothes, neatly folded inside — a couple of t-shirts and a pair of leggings, before crouching down to grab some trousers and a thick jumper. Standing up straight, she makes a move towards the bed before packing the things in her weekender bag she had prepared earlier that day.

“What are you doing?”

It’s his voice that sends a shiver down her spine, and she turns around, looking at his figure filling up the doorway, and she cannot help but feel the love for him break her up, and as much as she tries to resent him for what he did, she just cannot. 

She still wants him to hold her when they watch TV together, she still wants him to kiss her senseless, make her call out his name over and over again late at night, wants to wake up next to him and shut his alarm off on his days off. She still wants to wear his jersey and chant his name when he gives his last breath on the pitch, and wants to sit in the silence of his car in the Etihad garage after the way too many goals were conceded. 

“I will be staying at my mum’s for a few days.”

“”How come?” he asks, leaning away from the doorway and stepping inside the room, “you didn’t mention anything.” She shrugs as she turns around, continuing with her packing. She cannot say for how long they’ve been silent, but she can feel that he is getting impatient by the way he’s barged into the room, stopping behind her back. “Okay!” John raises his voice suddenly, making her jump a little — the quietness of the atmosphere gone and replaced by nerve-cutting tension. “What’s wrong?” he asks, as he walks around to be able to face her. “You’ve barely looked at me since I’ve arrived, the same thing yesterday, and the day before. You are distancing yourself, and now you’re suddenly going to your mum’s.”

She tries to keep her composure steady, but she feels like breaking at any point when she looks at him — eyes focused on his own. 

“When were you planning on telling me about what had happened in Greece this summer? Was it Abby or Leah, or both?” 

The words she was dreading to say come out of her calmly and coherently, despite her nerves, and she watches him and the way his stern face turns into one of worry — eyebrows furrowing; a nervous hand finding its way through his curls. 

He is silent, but he quickly looks away from her, and she knows that everything she had heard is true, no matter how hard she wanted it not to be. 

“How did you find out?”

She wants to laugh at this reaction, but she doesn’t. Instead, she stays quiet as she places the last items in her bag before zipping it up. “It’s funny,” she finally speaks up quietly, “it’s funny how you care about how, and for the three nights straight, I’ve been wondering why it had happened, John?” 

“It happened because I was drunk, please, you have to—,” he keeps talking, but she doesn’t hear a word that comes out of his mouth — her heart breaking into tiny shreds, landing on the floor of their pristine bedroom. John is pacing around the room, both of his hands in his hair before he stops — his face a painting of pain. “Why are you not saying anything?”

“I don’t—,” she stops herself, rubbing at her face with both of her hands, “nothing I say will change the fact that you slept with someone else, John. It won’t change the fact that you cheated on me, so why hurting myself even more...”

“I didn’t mean to, I—it happened…” he whispers, taking a step closer, “here, hit me—” he demands angrily as he grabs both of her arms and pulls them closer to his chest, “tell me I am a bastard, that I deserve to die, do something, just don’t be—don’t be silent. She was a mistake, and I will be ashamed for what I did, but just please...don’t—”

She pulls her arms away sharply, looking up at him — nothing but despair and disappointment written over his handsome features before stepping away and picking up the bag in her dainty hands. She lingers for a second in the doorway — her eyes watering with the tears that she had kept for so long inside. 

It hurts, John. It fucking hurts. — she wants to say, but bites back her words as a small, silent sob leaves her throat, and she finds herself running down the stairs before slipping out of the warm house and under the heavy, grey clouds, slowly spitting the rain on the city.

[bluejayblueskies]

For the Touches Ask Game, if you can, a little Jonmartin with Touching/9?

Thank you so much, I love your writing!!! 😭💕

touches prompt list

9 - holding hands across the table

i did a season two lunch dinner date fic! cw for mentions of paranoia/stalking and murder (in typical s2 fashion)

.

They’ve been having lunch together for two months when Martin asks, with enough stuttering that it takes Jon a moment to process his words, if Jon would like to get dinner with him.

Jon hesitates only briefly before agreeing. Between finding out about Martin’s CV and the newly delivered CCTV footage, he’s almost entirely convinced that Martin did not, in fact, murder Gertrude Robinson and that his various attempts to make sure Jon eats and sleeps and drinks tea are simply a result of Martin being… well. Being nice, he supposes. If overbearingly so.

Why Martin feels the need to coddle Jon, he doesn’t quite know. But if he’s being honest with himself, he’s… not complaining. His frequent skipping of meals often isn’t an intentional thing, born instead of his tendency to get so wrapped up in his work that hours fly by without him noticing, and while sometimes he’s irritated when his flow is interrupted by Martin’s cheery greeting, more often than not it’s… a relief. To step out of the Archives, away from the feeling of eyes on the back of his neck, and pretend like he isn’t working alongside a murderer.

Maybe a murderer. He… he doesn’t know. According to the CCTV footage, Tim and Sasha and Martin and Elias all have alibis. But he still can’t shake the feeling that he gets, sitting in his office or walking down the corridors or reading through statements, that something isn’t right.

That there’s something in the Archives that’s not supposed to be there.

So, it’s… nice to get outside. And as much as Tim may joke about it—or… used to joke about it, at least—Jon does, in fact, try to eat three square meals a day if he can remember to do so. Try being the operative word. He’s been… caught up in work lately, and often he glances at the clock to see that it’s well past ten and he’s accidentally skipped dinner entirely. He hadn’t thought Martin had noticed, given that the man doesn’t live in the Archives anymore and typically leaves promptly at five along with Tim and Sasha, but evidently, he was wrong.

As Jon sits across the table from Martin at the small café they’ve chosen for lunch, he has the fleeting thought that Martin’s been sneaking back and watching him work and that’s how he knows that Jon has been missing dinner. He lets himself feel it, takes a deep breath, and pushes it away with considerable effort. No, that’s not… he trusts Martin. He does. Or he… he wants to. He’s trying.

“Jon?”

“Hm?” Jon blinks up at Martin, who’s clearly waiting for a response. “Sorry, I-I didn’t catch that.”

Martin’s cheeks are dusted a rosy red. He fiddles nervously with the black ring on his finger—a bit thicker in width than Jon’s, the metal smooth and bright where it reflects the sunlight. “Is—is this Friday okay? At—at seven? I-I can, um, meet you at the Institute. U-Unless you’d like to meet there! That’s, er. That’s fine with me too.”

“The Institute is fine,” Jon says, picking at his sandwich with a frown. The bread is damp and squishes under his fingers. “Perhaps we can go somewhere a bit less… soggy.”

“R-Right, yeah. I, um. I was actually thinking… you know that new bistro o-over in Clapham? M-Maybe not, it’s, er. It’s new. But I-I heard it has good South Asian food, which, um. I know you like.”

Martin’s face is fully crimson by this point. Maybe we should sit inside next time, Jon thinks. Or at least in the shade. The sun is rather intense. Martin picks up his mug of tea and takes a long sip, staring resolutely down at the table once he’s done. Jon waits, but it appears that Martin is done rambling, so he says, “Yes, that sounds fine.” Then, because it’s polite (and not untrue): “I am… looking forward to it.”

“O-Oh? Oh!” Martin looks at him, a wide smile spreading across his face. “Y-Yeah, um. M-Me too.”

We should definitely sit inside next time, Jon thinks as the back of his neck grows warm, the tips of his ears surely darkening. Good lord.

He doesn’t think the heat is responsible for the way Martin’s smile makes something in his stomach flutter. He decides to blame that on the atrocious sandwich because… well. It’s as convenient an excuse as any.

Because Martin is just looking out for Jon’s wellbeing. This is no different than him bringing mugs of tea when Jon is recording statements or accompanying him to A&E to get stitches after Michael or inviting him to lunch in the first place. This is not, he tells his ridiculous, over-zealous, butterfly-filled stomach, a date.

Because it’s not. Martin is simply a coworker—an employee—and a friend. Who he trusts. Maybe. Probably. And thinks about sometimes when he’s unoccupied. His hands, mostly, which look very soft and very capable. His smiles as well, each one like a gift meant just for Jon. The way he carries the heavier boxes that Jon can’t quite manage and can reach the top shelves to retrieve statements without even having to clamber up onto the bottom ones.

All completely normal thoughts to be having about a friend

So, when Jon wears the soft maroon button-down on Friday that he’s been told brings out his eyes and takes care to arrange his hair into something other than the haphazard braid he’s been managing lately and digs a bottle of peach nail varnish out of the bottom of his drawer the night before to coat his fingernails with, it’s just because he feels like it. Not because this is a date. Because it’s not a date. It’s just dinner. With Martin.

Who shows up to the Institute at quarter to seven wearing a nicer jumper than usual—cable-knit and mustard yellow, looking incredibly soft to the touch—and with small black studs decorating the lobes of his ears. He smiles widely when he sees Jon, also standing outside earlier than agreed upon, and Jon almost turns around to see if someone’s behind him. But there isn’t. That smile, unfettered and full of joy—it’s… it’s for him.

Surely, Martin is just… happy to see him leaving the office while it’s still light out for once. He’s certainly chided Jon enough times for his habit of falling asleep at his desk. (Which he’s been trying to do less lately, if only because it would be easy for someone to sneak up on him while he’s unconscious and slip a knife into his back or poison his tea or shoot him three times in the chest or—)

“R-Ready to head out?” Martin says, abruptly halting Jon’s train of thought. He tries not to look like he’d just been theorizing about his own inevitable demise as he mumbles his assent and follows Martin away from the Institute and into the still-bustling streets of London.

And if he presses close to Martin’s side while they walk, well. It’s just because every brush of unfamiliar contact against him feels overwhelming, enough so to make him flinch away. And if he takes Martin’s hand for a small period of time, well. It’s just because the crowd has thickened and he doesn’t want them to get separated. And if he feels particularly warm in his jacket when Martin laughs awkwardly at his own joke and rubs at the back of his neck, well. That’s just from exertion. It is quite a far walk to the restaurant.

The bistro is lovely. Jon typically doesn’t go for places like this—tucked between two nondescript buildings with a glass front that reveals soft, intimate lighting within and flowers planted in boxes outside—but once they’re inside and seated at their table, it’s… oddly charming. Jon shrugs out of his jacket, and even though it’s the same shirt he’s been wearing all day, Martin compliments him on it with a flush. The change from frigid winter air to the warmth of the bistro brings heat to Jon’s face as well, and he rolls up the cuffs of his sleeves to just below his elbows. Martin makes a choking sound, but when Jon looks up with a frown, he has his glass of water pressed to his lips.

“Sorry,” Martin says once he’s placed the glass back on the table. “Just, um. Uh. Tickle in my throat. A-Allergies, you know.”

Martin’s face pinches in what looks like a repressed wince, and Jon tries to be reassuring. After all, Martin is taking time out of his schedule to be here with Jon, and Jon doesn’t want to seem ungrateful. His grandmother taught him proper manners, and besides, he is… rather glad to be here.

His commiseration about his own experiences with seasonal allergies turns into a mini-lecture on the species of pollen-producing plants in their area. He only realizes he’s doing it when the waiter comes by with a cheery smile and asks if they’re ready to order.

Jon’s mouth snaps shut mid-sentence. He has not even opened his menu.

“I. Um.” Jon is about to ask for more time—which he strongly dislikes doing, as he’s had the waiting staff forget more than once about his table and he’s had to go through the mortifying ordeal of hailing them down like a-a bloody taxi—when Martin tilts his own menu toward Jon and points to an item in the middle of the page.

“They have chicken karahi and naan. I, er. I heard it’s good if you’re… interested.”

Jon blinks at the menu in surprise. “That… sounds great, actually. Er, medium spice, please.”

Martin orders his own squash curry, and the waiter takes their menus when he departs, leaving the spot in front of Jon oddly empty. Jon taps his fingers on the newly barren tabletop a few times, trying and failing to remember where he’d left off in his lecture. Ultimately, he gives up, deciding that Martin isn’t going to be interested in hearing about all of that and he’s already said enough on the subject.

Then, Martin says, “So, you were saying—about the pollen?” and something in Jon’s chest squeezes, an emotion he doesn’t know the name of. Relief, maybe, as Martin’s words manage to spark his memory and he picks up his train of thought again easily enough. Yes, that’s… that’s probably it.

The first few times they’d gone to lunch, Jon had made an effort to stop himself from rambling, as he was prone to do any time someone gave him the opportunity. He’d engrossed himself in his sandwiches and rice bowls and mediocre Chinese takeaway in order to keep from launching into an explanation of the origins of said folding takeaway containers or the documentary he’d watched recently about the Zhou dynasty. And the first few lunches had been… awkward. It wasn’t because Jon thought Martin was a murderer—he doesn’t think he’d have agreed to go for lunch if he truly believed that Martin might harm him. It was just… how things like this went when Jon was involved. He knows he struggles with casual conversation, and he’s never understood the purpose or execution of ‘small talk.’ He would be perfectly content to eat and exist in silence, except all too often he feels expected to provide some sort of conversation or entertainment, upon which point the silence becomes horribly oppressive and stress-inducing.

But he also knows that talking too much can be just as bad as not talking enough. His grandmother had always told him so. So he suffered through the awkward silences for the first few days, and Martin had let him, clearly assuming that if Jon wasn’t speaking, he shouldn’t either.

Then, around their fourth or fifth lunch together, Martin had begun to ask him questions. They were casual, genuine, and so clearly targeted at Jon’s interests that Jon was convinced that Martin was somehow following him home or searching through his computer history or—or something. On their eighth lunch together, Martin asked Jon about the newest exhibit at the museum—it had been about sharks, if Jon remembers correctly—and Jon couldn’t help asking how Martin knew that he’d gone to see it. He hadn’t explicitly asked if Martin had been following him, but he’s sure the sentiment was clear in his eyes.

The tips of Martin’s cheeks had grown red, and he’d said that Jon had mentioned a few days prior that he was planning on going. All traces of fear and paranoia had left Jon’s mind then, replaced by surprise and, beneath it, something warm and bubbly. Martin had remembered.

Their conversations had gotten a lot easier after that.

Despite how Martin seems to enjoy Jon’s long-winded tangents, he… does still make an effort not to hold a completely one-sided conversation. So, a few minutes into the continuation of his pollen discussion, he finds a natural stopping point and says, “So, er. You… like being outside?”

Not the most… articulated question Jon has ever asked. But Martin doesn’t seem to mind. His fingers curl around the bottom of his water glass, his palms smudging the condensation. “Yeah, w-when I can find the time, I suppose. I-I try to go for walks around my neighborhood if I can, if it’s not too dark by the time I get home, and there’s this park in—”

Martin cuts off with a small cough. He lifts his glass and takes a long sip, while Jon sits and drums his fingers against the table and tries not to bounce his leg too noticeably. “Sorry,” Martin says as soon as the glass leaves his lips, giving Jon an apologetic smile that somehow seems… artificial. Like it’s been plastered atop another, heavier expression. “S-Something in my throat again.” He hesitates, then continues, “There’s a park in Devon that I-I like, whenever I’m in that area.”

Devon’s quite a trip away, Jon thinks but doesn’t say. Why do you go to Devon? he doesn’t say. Is that where you go on Saturdays? he doesn’t say, because—well. It’s rather embarrassing, among other things, to admit to the fact that you’ve gone through your employee’s desk calendar because you thought he might have shot an old woman three times in the chest and had plans to do the same to you. Particularly when you are having dinner with said employee.

Ugh. Probably best not to think about the fact that he is technically Martin’s boss when he’s sitting three feet away from him at a candlelit table on what, to an outside observer, might look startlingly similar to a date.

But it’s not a date. Because Martin didn’t say it was a date, and he’s just trying to care for Jon, in that… over-the-top way that he does. Jon tries to muster up some irritation at the reminder that he’s likely being coddled, just for habit’s sake, but comes up empty.

He hasn’t been truly irritated with Martin in quite some time. He… doesn’t really know when that changed. When Martin became a source of comfort, rather than of annoyance.

“Jon?” Martin says. Right. Martin is still sitting across from him.

“Right,” Jon says, trying to sound like he hasn’t been drifting off in a hundred different directions. “That sounds… nice.”

Martin’s lips curl up into a small smile. “Yeah. I-It is. It, um. It makes the trip worth it, to be able to sit on one of the benches and just… write poetry.”

Jon has read some of Martin’s poetry, though Martin doesn’t know that. Jon doesn’t like poetry. Jon liked Martin’s poetry. These are, apparently, two truths that can and do coexist.

Jon does not mean to say, “Could I hear one?” But it appears that he is weary enough and relaxed enough and distracted enough that his verbal filter has small, critical holes in it. Damn.

Martin sputters. “U-Um, well, I-I suppose… I could, I-I do have a few, er. M-Memorized, if you—you really…” He trails off uncertainly. “You’re. Um. You’re sure?”

Well. Nothing to do but lean into it, Jon supposes. “I wouldn’t have asked if I weren’t sure, Martin,” he says, a bit snippier than he intends. The tips of his ears are hot, and he is deeply thankful that the dimness of the bistro hides the way they’re surely darkening.

“R-Right.” Martin clears his throat, looks down at the table. “I-I suppose I’ll just… do a short one?”

He proceeds to recite, in quiet, surprisingly stutterless lines, one of the poems that Jon already knows from the notebooks he’d left behind in the Archives. It’s… his favorite, if he were forced to pick one. But there is something different—something more—about hearing Martin speak the words aloud rather than simply reading them on a page. Martin pauses in places Jon hadn’t thought to pause, lingers on words he hadn’t thought to linger on, and adds a softness to the ends of lines and phrases that Jon finds himself enraptured by.

Logically, he knows that it’s not good poetry. He’d begrudgingly taken a poetry class during uni, had hated every minute of it, and had donated all of his books to charity shops the moment he wasn’t in need of them anymore. He’s read Dickens and Poe and Whitman—all the works that are considered great representations of their art form.

Martin’s poetry is nothing like theirs. His lines don’t follow the same rhythms; his words are clumsier, his images less profound. But still, even though Jon knows that it is technically not good poetry, he… he likes it.

He tries not to analyze that feeling too closely.

“So, um. Yeah,” Martin says after he finishes, rubbing his thumb over his ring. “I-It’s not really… great work, heh, you know, s-sorry.”

Jon is not the comforting sort. He’s been told that he’s too sharp at the edges, skin too full of spines and thorns. So he surprises himself, and probably his grandmother from beyond the grave, when he reaches across the table and takes Martin’s hand in his. It’s soft and big, the pads of Martin’s fingers lightly calloused from a past history of manual labor, and Jon thinks just for a moment how small his own hands look in Martin’s. He surprises himself even more when he says, honestly, “I enjoyed it, Martin.”

Martin blinks at him, eyes wide and owlish. His hand is rigid in Jon’s, like he’s afraid that if he moves, he’ll frighten Jon away like a skittish cat. “O-Oh.” It’s hard to tell in the dim light, but Jon thinks Martin might be blushing. “Well. T-Thanks.”

Jon nods once stiffly. He does not retract his hand. At first, it’s because he doesn’t think to do so, too wrapped up in the feeling of his skin against Martin’s. Then, it’s because it’s been long enough that doing so would be more awkward than keeping his hand there. He asks Martin about the inspiration behind the poem, for want of another conversation topic, and Martin talks about the trip he took to the countryside once and how it stuck with him, and Jon’s hand remains atop Martin’s. Martin takes a drink from his glass, and Jon takes a drink from his, but both of them use their free hands, as if in unspoken agreement that this is just how things are now. Jon’s hand is resting atop Martin’s and it will be until he has just cause to move it and that is just the way of the universe. Nothing to be done about it.

Their food comes, and looking extremely regretful about the fact, Martin extracts his hand from underneath Jon’s and reaches for his fork. They don’t mention the loss, and it’s quiet for a period of time while Jon eats his chicken karahi and Martin eats his squash curry and Jon tries not to openly moan at how good the food is.

Something must show on his face, because Martin smiles warmly at him and says, “Well? Was that Yelp reviewer correct when they said that the chicken karahi is ‘literally the best food they’ve ever eaten in their entire life’?”

Jon swallows a bite of admittedly very good chicken. “Well. I don’t know that I would quite go to that extreme, but it is rather enjoyable.” Reminds me of the way my grandmother used to make it, he doesn’t say. That feels like a date conversation, and this isn’t a date.

(It feels very much like a date.)

(It isn’t a date.)

“Good,” Martin says. Then, he smiles, wide and unabashed and like a ray of sunlight, and Jon quickly buries himself in his food again so he doesn’t say something foolish like I really like it when you smile at me like that or Is this a date? or I would very much like this to be a date.

They finish eating, and the waiter takes away their plates with the promise of bringing the check soon. Jon’s hands rest on the table, index finger fiddling with the edge of the cloth placemat in front of him. He’s in the middle of trying to convince himself that yes, it would be ridiculous to take Martin’s hand again, you should definitely not do that on this very much not-a-date, when Martin reaches out and takes Jon’s hand in his. Properly takes it, pressing their palms together and slotting his fingers easily between Jon’s and knocking their rings together as he squeezes gently.

“Um,” Jon says eloquently. He should very much not ask if this is a date. “What are you doing?”

Nope, that’s worse. That’s definitely worse.

“Oh!” Martin lets go of Jon’s hand immediately, and Jon does not try to chase Martin’s hand as it retracts, thank you very much. He’s more dignified than that. “S-Sorry, I thought… I, um. Never mind. I-I shouldn’t have… sorry. Again.”

“It’s fine,” Jon finds himself saying. Then, in an effort to do damage control: “I… didn’t mind.”

“You… didn’t?” Martin seems confused, which is understandable. If Georgie were here, she’d tell him that he’s giving, quote, ‘mixed signals.’ He’d never quite understood what counts as ‘mixed signals,’ and he doesn’t know that he ever will.

“I did not,” Jon confirms. “I just… I suppose I…”

He should not ask if this is a date. He really, really shouldn’t.

“Is this a-a date?”

It appears he’s found another one of the holes in his verbal filter. Lovely.

Martin’s eyes grow impossibly wider. He makes a series of sputtering sounds as Jon waits and tries not to bounce a hole through the floor with the heel of his foot. “You—you didn’t…” Martin seems to have a miniature internal debate with himself, his face cycling through a dozen different expressions over the next few seconds. Finally, he sighs and says, eyes fixated on the table between them, “I had… intended it to be. Though I suppose if—if you didn’t know it was a date, that. Um. Kind of defeats the purpose.”

“Does it?” Jon’s mouth says without his permission.

“I-I mean… you can’t really have a one-sided date,” Martin says with an awkward laugh. The waiter is nowhere to be seen, which Jon is grateful for and disheartened by in equal measure. This situation would certainly be easier with a convenient escape.

“I… suppose.” Jon worries at the edge of the placemat, pulling on a loose thread. “Though, it’s… if this were a date—or, I suppose, if I-I’d known it was meant to be a date—I… wouldn’t have acted much differently.” He pulls harder at the thread, feeling a bit bad for the way the fabric bunches around it. “I… would not have been… that is to say, I would have liked it if… rather, to say that I didn’t think about it would be, er… well, incorrect.”

Martin stares at him, clearly unable to make sense of Jon’s admittedly disjointed, half-finished sentences. Jon sighs and says, under his breath, “I am not opposed to considering tonight a date.”

Martin’s cheeks are red enough now that Jon can see the flush, even in the dim light. “U-Um. What?”

“I am not opposed,” Jon repeats, louder, “to considering tonight a date.” Lord, that’s mortifying to say out loud. How do people do this? To emphasize his point, he sticks his hand out, palm-up on the table. It’s stiff and awkward and he probably looks like a cat with its hackles raised. He focuses on the cable knit of Martin’s jumper so he doesn’t have to see whatever amused or mocking or disappointed expression is on Martin’s face as he realizes just how bad Jon is at all of this.

Martin is quiet for a moment. Then, just as Jon is about to pull his hand away and flee for the exit, he feels a touch against his palm. Martin’s hand settles tentatively atop his—not weaving their fingers together, not even properly holding it, just… pressing together, palm to palm. Jon can feel Martin’s heartbeat faintly against the tips of his fingers where they press against the inside of Martin’s wrist. “Okay,” Martin says softly, like Jon has just given him a precious gift. “Then it’s a date.”

It’s a date. Jon’s skin has absolutely no reason to prickle at those words, nor does his stomach have any reason to squeeze and sprout butterflies. He nods, a bit brusquely, and opens his mouth to say something—god knows what—when the waiter appears next to their table, somehow having both comically bad and impossibly good timing.

Martin pays, despite Jon’s insistence that he can cover his own share, and then they’re back out in the cool night air, making their way toward the tube station. The first few minutes are quiet. There’s a tension between them that feels more anticipatory than awkward. Their hands brush once, twice. Then, on the third time, Martin hooks his fingers around Jon’s and clasps his hand in his, and Jon lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

They hold hands all the way to the tube station, up until they have to part ways to take separate lines. Jon runs through all the things that he thinks he’s supposed to say in a situation like this—I had fun tonight or We should do this again sometime or… something—but ends up saying instead, “How long have you…?”

He trails off, squeezing Martin’s hand a few times thoughtlessly, like a warm, bony stress ball. Martin seems to infer the rest of his question, however, because he squeezes Jon’s hand in return and says, “It’s… new for me too, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Jon nods and squeezes Martin’s hand again. He thinks that’s going to become quite a habit if they keep this up. “Right.”

Martin hesitates, before letting his grip on Jon’s hand loosen slightly. “We… we don’t have to do this again if you don’t want to. I-I know things are complicated right now, and I…” He worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “I want to do this again, for… for what it’s worth. But I get it. If you don’t, that is. For—for any reason.”

“I do,” Jon says, surprising himself with his conviction. “I-I don’t… you’re right. Things are… complicated.” That’s certainly a word for it. “But I… I trust you, Martin. O-Or… I want to trust you.” He takes a deep breath. “I am making the decision to trust you.” It’s hard and it’s terrifying and there’s an animal instinct deep within Jon that’s telling him not to expose his vulnerable side, but… somehow, despite all of that, Martin makes him feel… well. Not safe, but as close to safe as he can get right now. Which is an accomplishment in its own right.

Martin exhales slowly and gives Jon a small, hesitant smile. “Thank you. I-I know that’s difficult, and I…” Martin squeezes Jon’s hand, just once. “I-I’m happy.”

And Jon finds that he means it when he says softly, “I’m happy too.”

Martin gets on his train, and Jon gets on his. And despite the ever-present itching beneath his skin and the persistent belief that something isn’t right and the knowledge that he is likely a hunted man, from the moment he lets go of Martin’s hand to the moment he closes his eyes and curls onto his side in bed, that happiness remains.

[iwadori]

hii i saw ur taking requests and I wanted to ask if you could do a fic with the miya twins,suna and iwa comforting their s/o after they have a dream of them cheating on her? tysm!

Cheating Misunderstandings with the haikyu boys (Osamu,Atsumu)

Word Count:1.8K

Genre:angst,fluff

masterlist

AN: This was kind of on the lines of what you wanted, but I hope you enjoy it. Also you guys will see an ‘Empress appearance’ in this work....so don’t kill me.

Osamu:

You were walking to miya onigiri ready to pick up Samu to go home

But when you got to the front door you see Osamu in the shop winding touching another girl

You couldn’t see the girl or Osamu properly because of the angle you were at

But you wouldn’t say your eyes were decieving you, so you did what you should do turn on your heel and get out of there.

You were back at your apartment and you were fuming, you were at your desk and decided that distracting yourself with your mountainous amount of paperwork that you had for your job would be better than sitting down and stewing over watching your boyfriend cheat on you.

‘How long has this been going on,’ you thought to yourself ‘Who even is she? She can’t be a worker’ since you knew everyone that worked there and the manager Empress would definitely not let a worker get with Osamu since you were besties after all.

Distracting yourself, obviously didn’t work and you sent yourself into a spiral of social stalking, trying to find this girl. Which didn’t work, as you only saw her hair and her height which was around a foot shorter than Osamu’s. ‘Stupid Osamu’ you thought, how could he do this? Why would you do this?

You wanted to cry, you were going to cry. Outside you heard a car door shut, and looking out your window you saw Osamu walking out the car with his keys in his mouth and bags (presumably food) in his hand.  

You heard some knocking, well kicking at your front door and a light shout of “Babe, can you open the door my arms our pretty full here.” You didn’t answer, you didn’t even move cause you knew if you saw his face it’ll most likely be him saying ‘Y/N im sorry, but theres someone else’ the thought alone made you cringe. You were knocked out of your thoughts with again the kicking of the door and Osamu saying with a laugh “C’mon babe all you really gonna leave a guy stranded out here, ive got your favourite too and its going to get cold”

You reluctantly opened the door, not actually greeting Osamu and just going back to your room to pack away your paper work and close your laptop. To your surprise Osamu was behind you and gave you a quick kiss to your cheek, which you would usually smile and ease into but today you cringed and quickly moved. Making Osamu look at you with a side eye.

By time he was setteled in you were sitting down at the dinner table eating, with the sound of Gordon Ramsey’s Hell Kitchen filling your awkward silence. Osamu did try to speak to you but you always just responded with “yeah,” “sure,” or “maybe.” Short simple answers that Osamu definitely didn’t like.

When dinner was over and it was the time when you two usually watched a shitty reality tv show together, you decided to go to bed early to avoid any more awkward conversation with Osamu. But before you could clamber into bed, Osamu grabs your arm saying “Y/N, what’s wrong with you?”

“What do you mean Samu?” you say with a forced smile on your face even though he couldn’t see it, you just did so he didn’t see you start to tear up “nothing’s wrong with me.”

“Are you Y/N?”

“mhm” you murmured trying to shrug off his hold, you sniffled a bit (attempting to do it quietly) but he heard it.

“No y/n, what’s wrong can’t you just turn around.” The force of you pulling away and he pulling you close, left you falling onto your bed and the tears just started to fall. Osamu immediately crouched down to your eye line “whats wrong love?” he said with a tender voice.

You shook your head in response, “what’s wrong?? Please tell me Y/N.”

“Why would you do that to me?” you say your voice breaking as the tears streamed your face. Osamu started to panick seeing you cry.

“Do what Y/N, what do you mean?”

“You cheated on me? Was I not enough for you? Don’t you love me anymore.”

“Who Y/N!Who.?”

“You touched her, I saw you. I can’t believe you would do that. In public as well” you accused “How could you do that to me.”

“Y/N, baby listen I don’t know what you mean?”

“Don’t call me that Miya, you’re such a fucking liar oh my god.”

“Can you please explain to me what you’re talking about?”

“You. In the shop. I saw you, touching her” you say scowling saying the last line as if It was poisonous.

“In the shop? What do you-” a spark flashed in Osamus eyes before he stood up and started pulling you out the room “You need to come with me.”

“Miya, what are you doing? I’m not going anywhere with you.” you groaned

“Yes you are, and stopped calling me that.”  

He dragged you outside to his car and opened the door for you, standing expectedly waiting for you to get in. “Im not getting in,” you say folding your arms

“Oh yes you are. Just get in the car.”

“But im in my roblox pyjamas” you groaned again feeling like a child.

“And you still hot babe don’t worry” he said winking at you ushering you into the car “Just get in it’ll be a quick ride anyways.”

You pulled outside of onigiri miya and Osamu begin to drag you out again taken you to the office where the security cameras are. He did something on the community and pulled up a date and time which was the time you were at the store earlier.

Playing on the screen was the recording and the incident which you saw before, but this one was a differnet angle. You saw a girl walking one way and Osamu walking the over with a drink in his hand, him spilling the drink on her and cleaning her off with a paper towel. Which you thought was him groping and touching her.

Your cheeks heated up hard in embarrasment, as you realised how you acted and how you got it all wrong. You saw Osamu with a glint in his eye and smirk on his face and before he could say anything you said “Dont. Let’s get back to the car.”  

All was forgotten on your car ride home and you decided to discuss eachothers days (skipping out the ‘cheating’ part.) However after you watched you shows and finally gotten into bed, when Osamu was holding you right against his chest (so close where you could hear his heartbeat) he said, “Y/N, although we agreed to not talk about this incident...even though I will definitely be telling Empress, I just want to let you know that I will never even think about cheating on you let alone actually doing it, I love you so much that the idea of cheating is so uncomprehendable I don’t even want to think about it.”

“Love you ‘Samu, and I'm sorry for making this into a big old thing when I could’ve just asked you about it.” you say in response

“It’s okay babe,” he said kissing your forehead “It’s okay.”

Atsumu

You and Atsumu have been dating fairly recently meeting in your through your friend Empress who was the manager at Atsumu’s brother Osamu’s shop Onigiri Miya.

You’ve only been together 6 months and you’re ready to tell him that you love him

However you being the perfectionist that you are, wanted it to be perfect so of course you had to practice on friend, Empress’ boyfriend Hajime.

“Okay so go.”

“Atsumu, I think you’re a stand-up guy and you’re pretty cute can I love ya.” you said punching Iwa on the arm.

“Y/N, you can’t say that.” Empress said face palming.

“Okay, Atsumu I’ve fallen for you and I can’t get up?”

“No dad jokes Y/N.” Hajime said shaking his head

“Why theyre soo funny, what about Atsumu you’re a pain in my ass.” you said winking at Empress.

“Gosh Y/N! Take this seriously for once.” Hajime said blushing at your obvious innuendo.

“Well how did you two confess you undying love to eachother?” you asked and smiled at both their reactions, knowing that they definitely haven’t done that.

“Just say your confession Y/N,” Empress said rolling her eyes

“Okay Atsumu,” you said taking a deep breath “Ever since I met you after your brother spilt a drink on me at his shop and you tried to cheer me up with your terrible jokes I knew that you were the one for me. I love your passion, your drive your determination to make me feel better all the time even when I don’t need you too. I love being with you and I...”

Hajime looked at you expectedly, “I love you,” you said smiling “There I said it I love you!”

“Oh my gosh Y/N! That was so cute you should definitely sa-”

“What the fuck Y/N!” exclaimed a voice next to you “You love this clown.”

“Who are you calling a clown,” said Iwa squaring up to Atsumu making both you and Empress roll your eyes at the heeping testoterone filling the area.  

“Haji let’s go,” said Empress dragging her boyfriend away “and Y/N I'm pretty sure you two need to talk.”

When Hajime and Empress were an ear shot away, Atsumu looked at you with a glare. “So Y/N, is this what you’re doing now slu-”

“Don’t even go there ‘tsumu, you’re such an ass sometimes.” You say walking away “And by the way I was practicing with Iwa to say I fucking love you, you asshole.”

You already stormed off before Atsumu yelled, “Wait! You love me?”

“Of course I do you ass.” you say scowling.

Atsumu jogs over to you and says, “I love you too Y/N” he picks you up and tosses you about in the air, practically doing sommersaults, “Im so happy! Wait till I tell Osamu bout this he’s probably hasn’t told his girlfriend about this.”

“Babe, they’ve been dating for years” You said with a laugh “But go ahead ‘tsumu tell the world.”

“I’m sorry for misunderstanding things.”

“And...?”

“And I'm sorry for calling Iwa a clown, knowing he would definitely beat my ass.”

“And..?”

“And I'm sorry for being an ass.” he said with his head down.

“You are an ass Atsumu,” you said with a smile “But you’re my favourite pain in the ass.” You said winking at him making him burst out with laughter at your stupid innuedo.

Whenever Atsumu sees Osamu he tells him about how much you both love eachother, which always leads them into an argument about who has the better girlfriend and who loves their girlfriend more which always has you laughing.

AN: do you guys see the connection between the two?? Cause if you see the connection I’LL LOVE YOU FOREVER :3 Hope you guys enjoyed it, what do you guys think?