#the water at home has tasted weird and off to me AND ONLY ME for a couple of weeks now | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lesservillain · 11 months ago

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—ii. gotta promise not to stop when i say "when"

cw: more grumpy eddie, a lot of piss talk (sorry)

an: credit for the edited picture of eddie goes to itsscarrlett and the picture of jason patric is implied to be sam.

Tears sit on your lash line as you pull up to the Munson house today. Parking on the side, just out of sight to “keep your car safe in case unwanted visitors show up,” you lift your head, willing the tears not to fall before going inside. It’s already been a tough week for them, the last thing you need is to bring your own dramatics into their lives. Normally you could let things slide off your back, but the customer’s that had come into CoffeeHouse today were demanding at best, cruel and abusive at worst all week.

“Damnit, Ed!” You hear Wayne yelling from down the hall as you open the front door with your key, given to you on your first day earlier this week.

“Hi,” you squeak out as the older man storms past you and into the kitchen. He does a double take, a wild look in his eye at someone else being in his home, calming down once he realizes it’s you.

“Hey there, darlin’. Didn’t think you’d be here so early today.” He has an almost clean plate in his hand, save for some untouched veggies that look like they taste like cardboard.

“I’m sorry, I can come back later if—”

“No, no, you’re fine. Did ya get outta class early or…?”

“No, Friday is my short day,” you say, swinging your bag over the back of the couch and letting it land on the seat cushion. “I came from work. It was…rough, so I left a little early. Sorry I should have called first.”

“It’s alright,” he assures, turning to walk into the kitchen where you follow him. “I just gave Eddie his dinner so he’s still awake. Gonna need to give him his pain meds before I go. He’s been in a sour mood all day, complaining about…uh,” Wayne ducks his head bashfully, not wanting to look you in the eyes.

“Well I guess it wouldn’t be weird for you to hear it given your profession and all, but he’s, uh, been complaining about it hurtin’ when he pisses.” His voice trails off, barely audible over the sink being turned on as he cleans Eddie’s plate.

“Well, that’s not good,” you say with concern. “Has he been drinking a lot of water? Staying hydrated?”

“Yeah, yeah—well, as much as he’s willing to drink. Been trying to keep him from sippin’ on sodas all day, but the ice maker in this fancy fridge hasn’t been working for some reason lately and he wont drink the water if it’s not cold.” Wayne lightly bangs his fist on the side of the fridge.

“What about his urine? Does it seem like it’s darker than normal lately? Or cloudier than normal?”

“Uh…maybe? I’ll be honest, I’m not really lookin’ at his piss when I’m dumping the urinal for ‘em.”

You give an understanding hum, sympathizing with him. It has to be awkward, everything he’s had to do for his nephew since he came home from the hospital. There’s nothing that you want to do more than help them out. But, there is one big problem that’s been keeping you from doing so: Eddie.

Eddie will not let you come in his room, let alone take care of him. He makes Wayne get him set up for the night before he leaves, and then stays in his room with the door shut for the rest of the night. You still haven’t even seen him since you first came on Monday. Any time you’ve tried to come in, even just to check on him, he’s pulled his covers over himself to hide away from your view. The most you’ve seen is a few tendrils of curly hair illuminated by the light of his tv when you peaked in before going to sleep.

It felt like housesitting more than taking care of anyone. You almost forget you’re not there by yourself, the sounds of Eddie’s bed creaking when he adjusts it or the light sound of his TV playing being the only reminder that you’re not alone.

“Do you think he may let me go in there and…check?” You tilt with a shrug of your shoulders. “Like instead of you dumping it, maybe I could do it? Just to see if I notice anything abnormal. If he has a UTI and it’s bad enough that it’s bothering him, he may need an antibiotic.”

“He needs a swift kick in the ass if you ask me.” Wayne sighs, pushing off from the counter. He opens a cabinet and grabs Eddie’s medications for the night. “But, I’ll see what I can do. He’s not in the best mood for negotiatin’ right now, but I’ll see if I can get him to give. Gotta let you help him out sooner or later.”

You nod, waiting at the end of the hall as he talks it out with Eddie. There’s a bit of a back and forth between them, muffled by the living room TV playing behind you.

You wondered if Eddie would even let Wayne take him to the doctor if he needed to go. He’s clearly very stubborn, but you’re sure a lot of his anger must come from being in pain from what happened to him. It's hard to blame him for not trusting people after how this town treated him, but you wish he would at least give you the chance to prove yourself.

After a few moments, Wayne walks back out with a not so promising look on his face.

“No dice,” he sighs, hands slapping against his sides before sliding into his jeans pockets. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” you shrug, “maybe he’ll warm up to me someday.”

“He better. He can only keep up this ornery attitude for so long.” Wayne eyes the clock on the wall behind you, taking a half step back into the hall. “D’ya mind if I take a shower right quick? I did a little yard work outside and I don’t want to feel all sweaty at the machine tonight.”

“Of course! I’ll keep an ear out for him if he rings.”

“Thanks,” he takes the few strides toward the bathroom, calling out before he goes inside, “The food on the oven should still be warm if ya wanna help yourself!”

The mention of food has your stomach growling. It had been such a busy day you struggle to remember if you even ate anything at all, and chicken parmesan that sat in the glass container looked mouth watering. The smell of the savory dish had you making a plate so quick you almost dropped the new glassware on the floor.

You were just about to take a bite when the tingle of a bell rang from his room. Your head perks up, eyes widening in disbelief.

Just as quickly as you made your plate you abandoned it, moving hastily until you reached the slightly cracked door. Muffled groans could be heard from inside of the room, your hand flexes over the door handle.

“Um, Eddie?” The groans stop. It's silent besides the sound of his TV. You grab the handle, pushing the door open slightly.

“Eddie, it’s—“

“Go away.” His strained voice is stern, stopping you in your tracks.

“I-I’m sorry, I heard your bell—“

“I said go away.”

“Okay, I’m sorry.” You back away from the door, pulling it until it's cracked once again.

But you don’t move from the door. Rather, you do what you normally do in these situations. You think. Think about how you should have stuck up to him. You should have told him that Wayne is busy, that he either gets your help or no help at all.

You also think of a kinder scenario, where you’re able to walk in, peel his covers back and tell him it’s okay, that he can trust you, if he would just give you a chance.

The sound of the bathroom door opening startles you, making you take a step back from the door in front of you. Wayne walks out with a puff of steam, looking down the hall towards the living room, then down to you. He gets spooked seeing you there, shaking his head and his hand flying to his chest.

“Everything okay?” He asks with a worried tone.

“Um, Eddie’s bell, he rang it. But he didn’t want me so—“

“Jesus,” Wayne exhales, “Okay, thank you for trying.” He walks past you and opens Eddie’s bedroom door. “Boy!” You hear him say just as the door closes. The rest of the words are muffled as they go back and forth, and you take that as your cue to go and finish your dinner.

The night was going just the same as it had been the last few nights this week.

“…I have a date to play this morning,” Dorothy declares as she enters the kitchen. Blanch yells out “With a man?!” in shock.

“No, with a Venus Flytrap.” Dorothy retorts with a roll of her eyes.

You laugh at Dorothy’s quip, the late night replays of the Golden Girls keeps you distracted as you half study for an anatomy test. It’s been your favorite subject so far, but it’s still proving to be difficult even this far into your schooling. Your book sits open in your lap, sitting on top of your blanket that you’ve brought from home while you sit cozied up on the Munson’s couch.

You glance up at the clock on the wall that reads just a little past 11pm. You groan, closing your book and sliding off the couch to the floor. You grab your bag and open it, pulling out your clean uniform and laying it out on the back of the couch for your opening shift. You go through your night routine and check the front door locks before getting yourself settled on the couch for bed.

Just as you get settled under the covers, you hear the soft tingle of a bell from down the hall. You jolt upright, looking down the hall where Eddie’s TV illuminated the small crack in his door. Did you actually hear his bell? Surely he knows Wayne went to work tonight, right?

The bell rings again, more aggressively this time and you respond by practically sprinting down the hall, almost tripping on your blanket as you go. You’re about to burst through the door, but stop yourself in time to remember to knock, hand on the knob to keep the door from opening.

“E-Eddie?” You call into the slight opening.

“...yeah,” you hear, less muffled than what you normally hear from him.

“Can I come in?”

It’s quiet for a moment before he speaks again.

“Yes, please.”

Carefully, you push the bedroom door open. It’s dark, barely visible thanks only to the TV in the corner. As you step in your eyes adjust, landing on the form in the bed that is Eddie. He’s still mostly covered by his piles of blankets, but you can see a pair of eyes with the glare of the light hitting them looking straight at you, the rest of his face covered with his comforter.

“Hi,” you say with a little wave, immediately cringing at your actions. “Um, how can I help you?”

Eddie blinks at you, unmoving. The covers over him suddenly rise, pulled down just enough for his arm to snake out, his whole body shifting to reach for something on the floor. Quickly, you move forward and to the side of his bed, not wanting him to over extend himself.

As you get closer, you see him lifting up a plastic bottle — a hospital urinal, off of the floor slowly. For a split second you remember the easy grip silverware that you’ve been washing for him, and you instinctively reach out for the urinal before he can lift it much further off the ground.

“Let me get it for you, Mr.Munson,” you say, taking the very full container in your hands. When you look over to him, you’re able to see more of his face from his covers shifting. Or, at least what wasn’t covered by long curly hair, his pinched brow and frown lines highlighted by the TV light. He lets go of the urinal, grabbing his covers and pulling them up and over to hide himself once more.

With a sigh, you make your way into his bathroom, flipping on the lights so you can better see where you’re dumping the urinal. When you get a proper look at the container in your hands, you have to suppress a gasp when you notice the almost brown color of the urinals contents.

“Fuck,” you whisper quietly to yourself. This is not good. Eddie definitely needs an antibiotic, like, 3 days ago. Especially if he’s complaining of back pain, he could be getting a kidney infection, and he’s in no state to be dealing with that—

“What’s taking so long?”

Eddie’s strained voice snaps you back into reality. You quickly dump his urinal, running a little water into it and dumping that as well before running it back out to him.

“Sorry, here you go,” you place the container back on the ground, before rushing back into the bathroom to wash your hands.

“Can I get you anything else?” You ask as you turn off his bathroom light.

“No,” he says from under his covers.

You breathe in, “Okay, um, well I’m going to go lay down. So, just, ring the bell extra loud if you need me again. Okay?”

A grunt is all you get as confirmation from him. A hand pops out from under the covers with a remote in grasp, pushing the power button and leaving you in the dark.

A loud crash wakes you from your sleep. Practically flying down the hall, you push in Eddie’s bedroom door and flip on the light.

“Oh my god!” You shriek out at the display before you. Eddie’s face down on the floor, halfway between his bed and his bathroom. You rush to his side and give him a quick look over, the first thing you notice being the cord from his lamp tucked around his ankle…his only ankle.

Looking over him more you realize that the plaid pajama pants he’s wearing are tied at the halfway point, emphasizing the missing lower half of his right leg. Now, you knew Eddie had difficulty with mobility. You’d seen the wheelchair in his room before, and the easy access details that were built in the house didn’t escape you either. But, you were not made aware that he was an amputee.

“Eddie, are you okay?”

There’s a pregnant pause before he finally takes a deep breath in, letting it out with audible annoyance. He turns his head hair covering his face the same as before, blowing it away with a puff of air in a comical way that makes you snort when it falls even more into his eyes. You take it upon yourself to move his hair out of the way for him, revealing a very disgruntled and very…handsome face.

“Hi,” he says, shortly, looking up at you with one big, chocolate button eye.

“Hi,” you respond, unable to suppress your smile at his attitude. “Need some help?”

“Guess you could say that,” he huffs, positioning his arms to push himself up.

“What would you like me to do?”

He says nothing, only lifting his hand up in a way that silently asks for yours in return. You take it, bracing yourself as you help him sit up. He grunts as he gets up onto his ass, face scrunching up in pain from all the movement.

“Are you hurt somewhere?” You ask, landing on your knees next to him ready to assess any injuries.

“Not anymore than I already was,” he says with a sarcastic groan, leaning back on both hands as he breathes through the pain.

“Well, I guess that’s good,” you say, the tension leaving your shoulders as you come out of panic mode.

As you give him a moment to collect himself, you take the opportunity to really look at Eddie for the first time. His hair is dark, wild curls sticking out every which way from being hidden under the covers. Now that it’s mostly out of his face, say for some overgrown bangs that are currently half covering his forehead, half sticking up, you can see his face pretty clearly. He really does have handsome features, his plump lips sticking out to you the most.

A scar covers a large part of his right cheek traveling down his neck and almost to his shoulder. Similar scars of various sizes go down his arms and are littered across his torso, all of them looking very new for being a few months old already.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” Eddie says with a tight smile and a sarcastic tone.

“I’m sorry,” you say solemnly.

“S’alright. Can’t blame you for looking. I’m kinda like a car accident when you can’t look away.”

“No, no,” you shake your head, raising to your feet. “I’m sorry that this happened to you.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything, his head dropping down where his hair could cover his face. He’s truly a pitiful sight, a broken man on the ground with all of his scars on display. You notice his hair is matted in the back where small rat’s nests have formed and you think about how clean the bathroom looked earlier. How long has it been since he’s left his bed?

“Do you want to take a shower?”

Brown curls fly as Eddie’s head snaps up to look at you, an offended look on his face. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m not trying to say anything, I’m asking you if you want to take a shower. Also, follow up question, why were you trying to get to the bathroom the begin with? Wait,” you stand up straight, a wave of hot nerves washing over you, “did you ring your bell and I didn’t hear it?”

A deep breath in, and a deep breath out. “No,” he says, his vision casting down to his lap, “I, um… I had to piss. But my piss can’s full, and I—” He huffs, hand running through his tangled hair. His voice picks up an octave, “I didn’t want to wake you up. I don’t want your help.”

“I understand,” you say, “I don’t think I would want a stranger's help trying to take a piss either.” As you talk, you cross the room to where his wheelchair is parked, pulling it over to him and kicking the locks in place. “But — and I’m sure this wont help when I say this — I am in nursing school. I’ve seen some things in the last year. Things that are, unfortunately, permanently etched into my corneas for the rest of my life.”

He watches you with wide, curious eyes as you stand in front of him, placing yourself with your legs on either side of his. Crouching down in front of him, you reach your hands out to help him up, waiting for him to take your hands in return.

“What I’m saying is that there isn’t anything to be embarrassed about with me. You don’t have to hide from me.”

He looks at your hands, then up to you. You give him a smile, gesturing at him to take your hands, which he finally accepts after a moment of silence.

There’s a slight buzz that radiates in your shared touch, his rough, calloused hands grip tightly in yours. You ignore the head that creeps to your ear and count to three, bracing yourself as he uses all of his strength to pull himself up. With a quick pivot he plops down in his wheelchair, his breathing heavy after using so much energy.

“You okay?” You ask, waiting for him to catch his breath.

“Yeah,” breath in. “I’m fine,” breath out.

“Maybe we should skip the shower tonight?” You question with a raised brow.

“I never agreed to a shower in the first place,” he retorts.

You nod your head in acceptance. “Well, what if I at least brush your hair while you’re up—”

“No. Nope. No thanks.” His resistance was punctuated with exaggerated hand movements.

“Alright, alright,” you ceded, not wanting to push your luck. “Do you still need to pee or am I helping you back in bed?”

“I can do it myself,” he says, sloppily maneuvering his wheelchair towards the bathroom, facing away from you. Without another word, Eddie pushes the bathroom door closed and leaves you standing in the middle of his bedroom. You blink a few times, until you remember him mentioning that his urinal is full. Grabbing it from the other side of his bed, you take it to the hall bathroom to dump out, keeping a tentative ear in case Eddie calls out for you.

At the same time that you walk back into the bedroom, Eddie opens the bathroom door and wheels himself out. The look on his face is pained, brows furrowed together with a wince.

“Are you okay?” You ask, setting his urinal back where he could reach it.

“I’m fine,” he says shortly, making an attempt to straighten his face.

“Doesn’t look like it.”

He gives you a sharp glare. “I said I’m fine.”

You were about to throw your hands up in defense, not wanting to poke the bear. But, something inside you told you to keep pushing.

“Eddie, can I be honest with you?”

He stares at you from the other side of the bed.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you say sarcastically. “I’m pretty sure you have a UTI. Do you know what that is?”

“Yeah, I’m aware,” he states with a huff.

“Okay…so can I ask why you’re not going to a doctor for it?”

His eyes clamp shut, and he breathes in sharply with a bit of a shake.

“Listen, I get you’re like a student nurse or something. But, to me, you’re just a glorified babysitter, alright? You don’t know a damn thing about me, so just…” Eddie looks up at you, waving his hand dismissively. “Answer the bell when it rings.”

Do his words sting a little? Maybe a tad. But really you feel bad for him more than anything. Wayne’s told you that Eddie was a troublemaker at times before what happened, but he has a heart of gold and has always meant well. The sadness in the old man’s eyes looks a lot like the pain in the eyes of the younger man before you. And you know pain makes people behave in strange ways.

“Hey, little lady. I think it’s time for you to get up and goin’.” Wayne’s soft, gruff voice stirs you from your slumber, pulling you from the light sleep you had fallen into after making sure Eddie got back into bed okay. Rubbing your eyes, the light from the kitchen illuminates the wall clock reading 4:30 in the morning. You let out a low, petulant groan as you rise from the couch, sliding down to the ground below to grab your things and get ready for the day.

The smell of coffee penetrates your nostrils as you wash your face, followed by a scent of eggs and bacon that makes your stomach cry out. You were definitely going to have to stop somewhere and grab something to eat on the way to work.

Just as you step out of the bathroom, Eddie’s bell rings from his room. Not wanting Wayne to leave his food to get cold, you cross the hall and knock on Eddie’s door. When he gives you the go head, you push the door open and are once again greeted by only a lump under a mattress.

“What can I help you with?” You ask as you enter the room.

“Are you making food?”

“Oh, I’m not. Wayne is though. Do you want me to have him make you a plate?”

“Wayne’s home?”

“Yeah, he just got—”

“Then why are you still here?”

Your mouth snaps shut. If you weren’t so tired, you’d probably just brush it off as him being grumpy. But your lack of restful sleep had you pivoting on your heel and closing the door behind you. You didn’t have the energy to deal with his attitude this early in the morning, so he could wait.

“Smells good in here,” you say cheerfully, pushing Eddie’s comment to the back of your mind.

“Glad you think so. Yours is sitting right there for ya.” Wayne nods his head towards the bar seat where a plate of eggs, bacon and toast sits waiting.

“Oh, Mr.Munson, you didn’t have to—”

“Now, now, can’t send ya into work on an empty stomach now can I?”

You pull out the seat and sit in it slowly. You feel guilty for eating their food, but you would also feel terrible to turn down a meal made for you.

As you start to eat, you watch as Wayne makes another plate. He takes the time to break up the pieces of bacon into small parts and cuts the scrambled eggs up to make them more loose. He grabs the plate and a bowl full of what looks like oatmeal and excuses himself from the kitchen.

It only takes a moment of him being gone for you to notice that he forgot the silverware sitting on the counter. You thought about just leaving it, not really wanting to deal with Eddie any more at this point, but Wayne did make you food after a long shift at work so you might as well do it for him.

You bump the door open softly with your hip, utensils in one hand and some napkins in the other. The bickering between the two men ceases as they hear you come in with a sweet smile on your face.

“Might be hard to eat without these,” you say sweetly, placing the items on Eddie’s tray. Wayne’s eyes dart back and forth between you and where Eddie is sitting up, uncovered. Eddie glares at you, not acknowledging his uncle’s reaction to what he thinks is the first time you’re seeing his nephew.

Wayne’s hand taps against Eddie’s arm subtly. “Thank you, ma’am,” he says with raised brows, looking at Eddie expectantly.

“What?” he says, playing dumb.

“Ed, seriously.”

“Ugh, fine. Thanks.”

“You are so welcome. I hope you have a good weekend, Eddie,” you say as you turn to leave the room. “See you on Monday!”

Water splashes under your tires as you drive up the muddy driveway to the hidden Munson home. It’s been a dreary day, overcast and a consistent downpour setting the mood from the moment you woke up. All the studying you did in the Munson’s living room last week paid off when you passed your test this morning, and the rest of the day consisted of lab work, which was the only reason you managed to keep your eyes open until the end of class.

As you park your car, pulling your hood over your head to protect yourself from the rain, you rush to your back seat to grab your bags and the two pizza boxes you stopped to get on the way over. A comfort food for you, and you doubted that the two men inside would turn down a slice. Hopefully Wayne would take some with him to work so he wouldn’t have to worry about his lunch.

With full hands you opted to knock on the door instead of trying to fumble your keys out and juggle two large, hot boxes of pizza. It took a moment but the door eventually swung open with an overjoyed Wayne on the other side.

“What’s all this now?” He says with a chuckle, stepping aside for you to come in.

“It’s my favorite rainy day food,” you say as you kick your muddy shoes off, leaving them on the porch and stepping inside. “And I figured I’d get enough to share. Payback for breakfast on Friday.”

As you entered the home, you were pleasantly surprised to find that there had been some decorating done over the weekend. Some shelves line the walls in various spots, mostly empty except for a mug and a couple hats, but it made a world of difference to the space by comparison.

“Ya don’t have’ta pay me back for anything like that,” Wayne says as he takes the boxes from you and takes them into the living room. “It’s the least I can do. I wish I could pay ya something for being here.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better I wouldn’t take your money anyway,” you say taking in the made kitchen table, no longer covered in boxes. “I like what you’ve done with the place, by the way.” You look at Wayne directly and really notice the dark circles under his eyes. It looks like he hasn’t slept all weekend.

“Thanks…it’s nothing compared to the old place, but over time…” A distant sadness lives in his stare as he scans the room, looking past you before finally focusing once again on the food in front of him. “Well, I’m hoping that we can make it feel like a home, eventually.”

A loud groan from down the hall startles you and Wayne’s head drops with exasperation. “I better go check on him,” Wayne sighs, pushing off from the counter and taking off towards Eddie’s room.

“Is everything okay?” You ask, following behind him.

“Not really,” Wayne says, “Whatever he has, it’s gotten worse since you left. He’s got a fever that we’ve trying to fight—”

“A fever?!” You stop at the mouth of the hall, “And he still hasn’t seen a doctor?”

“Trust me, if I could get him to go I would. But he’s convinced it’ll pass on it’s own.”

Shit, this isn’t good, you think. Quietly, you peak in the door behind Wayne and you have to catch yourself before you audibly gasp. Eddie’s laid up in his bed, face flushed and his hair pulled up and out of his face with a washcloth on his forehead. The sheets around him look like they’re drenched from sweat and he’s covered in nothing but a thin sheet, likely burning up from the fever.

Backing out of the doorway, you pad down the hall as quickly as you can and grab their wall phone, fingers hitting the keys as fast as you can move them. You had thought about doing this all weekend, but you’d just hoped that maybe Eddie would cave and let Wayne take him to a doctor.

“Hello?” The familiar voice of your family doctor, who you called Ms. Gene, on the other line pulls a sigh of relief from you. She had been a friend of your grandmother’s and always told you to call her if you ever needed anything, even after hours, staying true to her word when your grandpa had his heart attack and she walked you through how to perform CPR at 12 years old.

Over the phone you told her the symptoms that Eddie was having, but replacing his name with yours. “Oh, my word,” Ms. Gene says on the other line, “That sounds like a pretty bad infection, dear. Probably going to need an antibiotic and some Pridium to help with the pain. Are you still staying with your friend, Tonya? I can call it in to a pharmacy over there for you.”

“Oh, um, I’m actually doing some volunteer work in Hawkins. If you could call in to me, like, as soon as possible, that would be perfect.”

“Hawkins? Where that Earthquake happened? Well, I can’t say I’m surprised you’d go somewhere like that to help. Where do you want me to call it in to?”

“Uummmmm,” you stall, running over to the cabinet where Wayne keeps Eddie’s pain medicine, grabbing a bottle and reading the pharmacy’s information to her.

“Alright, I’ll call that over for you,” she says sweetly.

“Thank you so much, Ms. Gene. You are a life saver!”

“Of course, dear. Oh, before you go,” she say, grabbing your attention again. “I noticed here that you haven’t called for your birth control since February. Is there anything you need to tell me?”

“No, ma’am,” you cringe, “I just, um, I’ve been busy with school and I h-haven’t exactly needed it.”

“Ah, I see,” she says with an obvious skepticism. “Well, if you do start needing it again, just give me a call, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

Just as you hang up the phone, Wayne walks back into the kitchen with a defeated look. The combination of Eddie’s condition and Wayne’s obvious stress has you feeling the tension in the air, making your words come out your mouth before you think about them.

“Wayne, I, um,” you stutter, “I need to run into town, to-to the pharmacy. I was going to stop on the way in and totally forgot.”

“Oh, okay,” Wayne turns to look at the clock on the stove. You’d gotten there early again, which hopefully would mean that you had enough time to get to the pharmacy and come back before Wayne needed to leave.

“Ya know you can use our stuff here, right? Don’t have to bring all your own things from home.”

“O-oh, thank you. But, um, the stuff I need is…personal.” He looks at you with a quirked brow and a slight tilt of the head. “Girl stuff,” you state, hoping that would be good enough of an excuse. And it was, the tips of his ears going red when he got the idea.

Thanks to Wayne’s very detailed directions you were able to get around the construction and to the Hawkin’s pharmacy and back within an hour. The rain had let up to a sprinkle when you pulled in again, Wayne walking out of the house as you pulled the keys from the ignition.

“Sorry, I hope I’m not making you late. Did you grab some pizza?”

Wayne lifts a plastic bag with the food and a couple soda cans, “Got some right here. And it’s alright, I’ll be just fine. Did you, um, get what you needed?” You mimic his move, lifting your plastic bag as well, which elicited a hardy chuckle from the older man. “Good, good,” he says with a nod, “In the hall bathroom, I went ahead and cleared you a shelf in the closet in there. So, feel free to keep your stuff there. You don’t have to,” he says assuredly, “but I figured I’d give ya the option, ya’know?”

Your cheeks squish your eyes with how hard you smile, overwhelmed with the consideration of your needs. Something you’re not used to.

“Thank you very much, Wayne. That was very sweet of you to do.”

His ears turn red again, but he smiles back. “I’m — we’re not really used to having women around, but I want you to be comfortable here. You bein’ here has been more helpful than you think.”

The praise goes right to your heart, and you beam so hard you’re surprised the clouds didn’t part and let in a ray of sunshine over you. Instead, the rain starts to pick up again and the two of you part ways quickly to escape the downpour.

As soon as you get settled inside, you bust out the prescription bags and look over the medication directions. The antibiotic that Ms.Gene prescribed is for 10 days, and you realize that you didn’t even think about what you would do when you weren’t there. You don’t think Wayne would be mad about getting Eddie an antibiotic since he’s still being so stubborn, but you also don’t want to assume. Maybe you’ll wait to tell him on Friday when Eddie starts to feel better.

You prep the medicine and head down the hall where you can hear Eddie moaning lowly from his room. Knocking first, you push the door open and find Eddie to be in the same condition as he was when you saw him earlier. You felt awful for him, almost missing the bad attitude compared to the pained sounds he’s giving you now.

“Eddie,” you coo softly, grabbing his water jug from his bedside table. His eyes flutter open, half lidded and following your movements as you stand next to him. “Eddie, I’m going to sit you up a bit, okay?”

“Why?” He huffs out, wincing as the head of his bed raises him up to an almost sitting position.

“I have some medicine for you,” you say, showing him the pills in the little plastic cup.

He shakes his head, “No, no, Wayne already gave me my night meds.”

“These are different from those,” you offer the small cup to him to look at. “I just went and picked them up for you. The yellow and black one is an antibiotic and the little brown one will help with urinary pain.” He keeps shaking his head, refusing the medication. You look up at the ceiling, breathing in and out to calm yourself before you get frustrated. “Eddie, why don’t you want to take them? You have to feel terrible. Do you not want to get better?”

His eyes stay trained on his lap, the gears in his brain turning. His mouth opens to speak, but quickly snaps shut as he shakes his head more. “I don’t have to explain myself to you,” he says, his voice going up an octave as his eyes go glossy.

“No, you’re right. You don’t,” you say softly. “But, I do want to help you, despite what you want to think. If there’s something I can do to help you believe that, I would love to hear it.”

His head luls to the side, eyes moving back and forth before rolling to look at you. “Let me see the bottles,” he says.

“The bottles?”

“Yes, the pill bottles.”

“Oh, okay!” You set the cup on the bedside table and run into the kitchen. Grabbing the pill bottles you all but sprint back to his room, presenting the two orange bottles to him. He doesn’t take them, rather he leans in and looks over them closely.

“Is that your name?” He nods to where your information is listed on the top of the label.

“Yeah, it is. I had to do it that way. Can’t request something for you so I figured this was the next best option.”

“And Wayne said it was okay?”

“Well, about that…” You set the bottles down, “I kinda forgot to tell him. But with the grief you’ve been giving him, I’m sure he won’t be too upset.”

“Whatever,” Eddie says with a roll of his eyes. “He knows why I don’t want to go…”

You grab the cup of pills and present them to him again. “I’m sure he does. But, you really need to start these before you end up in the hospital. Or worse, the infection spreads and you get blood poisoning and die.” Eddie huffs out a small laugh, but you choose not to ponder on it and instead grab his water jug. “So, are you gonna take them or am I gonna have to call the squad to come get you by the end of the week?”

He sighs and presents a scarred hand to you, the tissue thick and uneven where it looked like some of it may have been graphed. You turn the cup over and let the pills fall into his palm, watching as he brings them to his mouth and takes a sip from the straw of his water. You didn’t ask him to, but he opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue as if to show you he’s taken them, a reflex you wonder if he got from his long stay at the hospital.

As you watch him, you can’t help but look him over again. Admiring his profile, the way his adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows. You notice that his scars on his chest cover his left pec, his whole left nipple missing in the mess of healed flesh. The bumpy flesh on his sides smooth out in the middle, to his belly button, where a trail of hair disappears into the thin sheet—

“Can you put the bed back down now, please?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” You snap back to the present, heat on your cheeks and shame in your gut when you realize you were gawking at your patient. Your patient who is sick and needs your help to take care of him. Pin needle tingles flush into a layer of sweat over your body from the guilt.

“Is there anything else you need?” You ask as the bed reaches its flattest position. Hurriedly, you grab everything you left on his bedside table and move it back to where it was next to the bed.

“Um, yeah,” Eddie’s voice strains as he stretches his right hand to reach his bedside table, fingers moving slowly in an attempt to pick up the wash rag you saw on his forehead earlier.

“Want me to run it under some cold water?” Walking around the bed, you pick the damp rag up. Your fingers brush against his, making you retract them back to your body which sends the wash rag to the floor. “Sorry, sorry,” you say quickly, bending over to pick up the rag. You make a beeline to the bathroom, turning on the faucet to it’s coldest setting, splashing a little over your cheeks as it runs out.

“I, uh, I don’t need the washcloth anymore,” you hear Eddie’s voice call out, softer than you’ve heard from him so far. It sparks a bit of concern in you, making you lean back to check on him. He’s pulled the blankets back up over him, his whole body turned away from you. When the TV’s volume goes up a few clicks, you just assume that his pain meds are kicking in and making him sleepy.

After turning off the water, you ask Eddie one more time if he needs anything, to which he simply shakes his head, refusing to acknowledge you anymore. You leave his door open a crack as you walk out and rush across the hall into the second bathroom. You let out a quiet shriek, running your hands over your face as you replay the way you looked at him over and over in your mind. What the hell was wrong with you? Are you that touch starved that any bit of skin makes you act like an 1800’s man who’s just seen a woman’s ankle? You need to get it together, sooner rather than later.

Maybe a shower will clear your head.

“Eddie,” you call out from across the hall. No answer.

“Eddieee,” you call again. Nothing.

You step out of the bathroom and take the few steps to the bedroom door.

“Eddie?” The sound of shuffling and a few curses make you jump back.

“Eddie, is everything okay—”

“Yes, I’m fine, what do you want?” He sounds aggravated, and you think that maybe he had actually fallen asleep and you had just woke him up.

“I’m sorry, I was just going to tell you I’m going to take a shower. I’ll let you go back to sleep.” There’s no response other than a creak from the bed, so you leave it at that.

After two days of rain, Wednesday is much clearer. The early september sun beat down on your face through the window as your teacher goes through the day’s notes. But you’re barely able to focus on the words, your mind elsewhere as you think about the lack of sleep you got the last two nights.

As if you had manifested it, your period decided to show up yesterday morning when you weren’t expecting it and you became a victim of period insomnia that night. Even worse, you almost bled through your school uniform on the way from leaving the Munson’s. Thankfully you were able to rush to the bathroom just before class started, but you only felt worse the rest of the day.

You’re not sure if you were wearing your discomfort in your features or if Eddie was just feeling merciful, but he had been fairly pleasant for you when it came to taking care of him. He even promised to let you work on fixing his hair once he was feeling better.

Well, he didn’t say yes, but maybe is good enough for you for now.

With about thirty minutes left in class, your teacher calls your name and snaps you out of your daydream

“You’re needed in the counselor's office,” she says monotonically.

“O-okay,” you stutter, gathering your things quickly and heading to the main offices.

As you walk in, the lady at the desk is on the phone, not paying you any attention and she plays with the gum in her mouth. You stand there for a few minutes waiting for her to get off the phone, but she seems to be having a personal conversation, her beehive hair tilting to the side as she puts the phone between her ear and shoulder.

You’re about to open your mouth to say something when a door behind her opens. With some papers in his hand, the guy from your volunteer sign ups, Sam walks out. His brows perk up when he notices you, bright smile on display as he makes his way to you.

“Hey, I was just about to come get you,” he says with a soft chuckle. “Thought maybe you got lost on the way here.”

“N-no,” you say, “I was, um…waiting.” You glance over at the receptionist, whose eyes are glued to the man in front of you.

“Ah, I see,” he says with a nod. “Well, if you don’t mind stepping back into my office with me here.” He motions for you to follow him back to the door he came out of. You can feel the eyes of the beehive staring daggers into your back even after he closes the door behind you.

“Please, have a seat,” he gestures to the chair in front of what you assume is his desk as he sits down behind it. You sit down, straightening your skirt in an attempt to get comfortable as he pulls a folder out from a drawer.

“So,” he starts, “I just wanted to, um, touch base with you on your volunteer work. More specifically, how you’re feeling with your client.”

“You mean Eddie?” You ask.

“Yes, yes, Eddie Munson. I think I told you that day that he wasn’t a very sought after client, and I’m sure by now you’re aware as to why.”

“Because of the accusations.” It’s not a question, rather a statement.

“Yes, exactly.” He leans forward in his seat. “The company that’s running the program was surprised that anyone had agreed to take him. But, I told them that a…” He pauses for a moment, subtly looking you up and down, “...very special person took Mr.Munson in without hesitation. And when I tell you they were relieved — it would be an understatement, truly. But…”

“But?” You ask with a quirked brow.

“But,” he continues, “I’m just…I just want to make sure you’re feeling…safe.”

“Safe? Like when I’m there?”

“Yes. I know he lives with his uncle so you’re not alone, but if you were to be left alone with you, would you feel safe?”

Oh, this guy has no idea.

“Absolutely,” you say without hesitation. “Eddie is wounded at best and grumpy at worst. But I can’t think of a single moment where I’ve ever felt unsafe. I’ve actually felt quite welcome there. They’re very sweet people.”

Sam nods with a satisfied smile as you talk, visibly relaxing in his chair.

“Good, that’s great to hear,” he says, making a note on a paper in the folder in front of him. “I’m glad we were able to find a good fit, for the both of you it seems. Now, on the day you signed up, I did forget to have you fill out this paper here—” He slides a paper in front of you with the VisitingAngels logo on the top. “This is just asking for your basic info; name, address, a good phone number. It’s all for the volunteer company to keep on record. It must have been missing from the folder I had that day.”

“Oh, okay,” you say, pulling the chair up to the desk. Sam slides a pen over to you, and you can feel his eyes on you as you fill out the paper. You spare him a quick glance, and he flashes you a smile. He’s more handsome up close you think.

Once you’ve finished you slide the papers back to him, his finger touching yours as he takes them.

“Great, thank you,” he says, tucking the paper into the folder and closing it.

“Of course,” you say, straightening up in your chair. “Was there…anything else you needed me for?”

Sam hesitates for a moment before clearing his throat.

“Actually, yes. I, um, I think you volunteer later in the day, is that correct?”

“Yes, I’m usually at the Munson’s house by 5. Why?”

“How long would you say you’re usually there for?”

You feel beads of sweat forming in your hairline. Did someone find out you were staying overnight with Eddie? Would he get in trouble if you were? Would you get in trouble? Would they take him away as your client?”

“Um, I would—I think I leave at 7, on-on average. Yeah…I get there, make sure he eats and get him settled for bed. Sometimes we sit and talk. Y-you know, caregiver stuff.”

“I see, I see,” Sam nods. “So that means…This Friday you don’t have any plans after 7 then?”

Your head reels back. “I’m sorry? I’m not sure what you’re asking.”

He laughs nervously, adjusting himself in his chair. “I, um, well, I’m asking if you’re free on Friday night, because I wanted to see if I could maybe take you to dinner?”

Your eyes dart around the office in disbelief. What is happening right now? You don’t get asked out. Tonya gets asked out by guys at the bar. The girls in your class get asked out by guys in other majors. The girl who bullied you in high school gets asked out by your crush. But not you…

“W-what?”

“Sorry if this seems sudden, but I’ve honestly been thinking about you since that day we met and…I don’t know,” Sam shrugs, closing in on himself a bit. “I just thought I would ask. But I understand if you can’t.”

Damn it.

“Well, I can’t on Friday,” you start, and the strings of your heart pull when the man in front of you deflates. “But…I could do Saturday?”

“Really? Okay, I can make that work.” Sam grabs a post-it note and writes his name and number down before handing it to you. “Here's my number, just in case. I guess I’ll pick you up—” He opens the folder again and points at where you wrote Tonya’s address on the paper, “...at your place around 7?”

You nod. “Sounds like a date.”

thank you for reading.

tagging @boomhauer bc i know you want to share your art lol

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson st #canon divergent #eddie lives #eddie munson lives #eddie munson slow burn

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silv3rswirls · 8 months ago

Text

Hound

Summary: What did a suffering lamb even accomplish? Who did it save, when would it end?

Warnings: serial killer/yandere jk, kidnapping, stalking, references to death, suggestive scenes, delusions, religious themes/trauma, minor description of sick/rotting bodies/animals, murder, reader goes on a weird little adventure with killer jk?? She dies at the end

Note: idk I kind of lost the original plot of this one and this is what it turned out to be. Please mind the warnings and as always, hope ya’ll like it. ALSO, I didn't have it in me to edit this, so mind that. I might come back to this

There’s something in the corner; watching. It’s been there so long, you couldn’t remember when it invited itself in. It’s starving and sickly, black fur clinging to bones and eyes droopy and white. You stopped feeding it a long time ago, but still, it lingers. In every facet of your life, it lingers. You’ve lived like this for so many years, have you always lived like this?

What time was it?

Your eyes shifted from their fixed position on the wall to the clock, passing over the thin, gold cross mounted just beside it. Your eyes strained to read it against your bedroom's dark wood panels and dim, ugly yellow light. Whatever time it was, you knew it was time to get out of bed and start dinner before your husband got home from work. You make your way to the kitchen, the house dims now that the sun has set. You avoid flicking many lights on, it’ll save money your husband insisted. You hated fumbling around a dark house but had given up arguing with him a long time ago.

You peek through the sheer curtains, the sink running and steaming water burning your hands as you finish that morning's dishes. It was dark, and windy as the tree in your front yard shook and branches brushed against the roof. It was the cusp of winter, very cold but snow hadn’t started to fall yet. The neighborhood was quiet, street lamps harsh against the dark backdrop of houses. You stare hard outside, it's there. Standing there, watching you. That sick dog, with hackles raised and tongue hanging from its mouth.

The curtains fall back into place as you turn the water off and dry your hands. You pass the phone, that’s been ringing for the past five minutes. You don’t answer because it's just your parents again, all they wanted was to guilt you into going to church with them on Sunday morning. They went every day, once upon a time you had gone as well, but now you could only stand to give them Sundays. Last week you had pretended to be sick to get out of it, your husband went along and you were sure he spent most of the day badmouthing and complaining about you not coming.

The last time you found yourself in a church you were standing at an altar listening to a man feed the room empty vows. You stood stiff, draped in satin, with eyes downcast. This is what everyone wanted; this is what you wanted. What a waste, as he fumbled the paper with his crudely written vows. What a waste of a man who couldn’t memorize a few short promises. What a waste of a man who couldn’t stand there and pretend to be in love with you, to dare to call himself righteous, the perfect match to keep their daughter in line with a faith you had stopped believing years ago.

You didn’t want to get married. You had stopped liking the fantasy of having a husband years ago, and around the same time, you began to feel a sour taste over your parents' religion. What happened to you? What happened to our beautiful girl? They would ask, more so plead with you for answers. Truthfully, you had stopped believing in god. It was restricting; days to weeks to months to years. It was always the same. The same scripture, the same ravings of the pastor that drove such fear of doing anything wrong into you, leaving holes in your body that oozed with guilt and shame; you didn’t know why.

You had begged god to save you, even after all the terrible things he must’ve seen you do. Still, on the morning of your wedding and every day after that, you begged. Knelt until your knees were raw and aching, your hands clasped so tight until your nails pricked your aching skin and drew blood. You begged, for something, anything, you weren’t even sure what anymore. But nothing ever changed. When would god find time for you again? You live, you do as you’re told. You do everything you’re supposed to, and yet nothing. You live how you’re told. You grow, you work, you’re a wife. You follow and you ignore the hound scratching at your walls. You’ll die soon, you can feel it. When will he come back to you?

That night you refused to go inside, letting your feet go numb buried in snow in the backyard. Looking into the treeline, you’d rather be fed by the creatures lurking there than by some angry boy playing dog inside. You wanted to hurt him, for him to feel how you had the past year. He didn’t think you could, but you wanted to show him you would.

But when you looked down at your trembling hands, stiff and half frozen from the cold, you knew there was no way you could show him. How you felt and how you acted were two different things; forever separate as much as you wanted them to be the same. You could talk a big game, think about how so badly you wanted to hurt him, and that was all. It had to keep being enough.

Something in you wanted more, so much more. You could rest because of it. You had stopped fighting your parents now, you were hoping things could change. Maybe you’d find peace again, though you weren’t sure how. You grew weary, tired of hating god and resenting your parents. You wanted so badly to be separate from it all. To no longer have a feeling of guilt hounding you. To no longer hate the church and everyone in it, the teachings and echoes of preaching lingering in your mind. The years you lost there; lost to fear and manipulation. How you hadn’t been able to enjoy a single thing in your adolescence. How after your first kiss you had gone home and sobbed until throwing up. As you were on your knees cleaning it up, trying to hush your cries to not wake your parents, you closed your eyes and pleaded between gasps and hiccups for god not to hate you. How you trembled and sat there until your skin was rubbed raw against the carpet,

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face and looking around the dark living room from the kitchen. You felt like you could see it; that creature lying on the sofa staring at you. Mouth parted, teeth pointed, its soul-bearing into your own. You turned away with the familiar feeling of guilt washing over your body. Your gaze rested on the floor, but the faint outline of shoes made your brow furrow; your husband wasn’t due home for another hour. Very slowly you pick your gaze up to see the man standing in the hall. Faint light from the open backdoor pooled in behind him. You stared at the young man longer than probably should have. Maybe you should've screamed sooner and ran before he got that close to you but you had frozen in place.

Break-ins didn’t happen around your neighborhood, let alone kidnappings.

What horrible luck that you’d be the first?

What had you done? What had you done to deserve this?

He carried you out of your house, but still, you couldn’t bring it in you to scream for help. You wondered deep down if anyone would help you. He puts you in the back of his car and drives, the windows down and bitter cold pouring in. You’re lying in the backseat, wrists bound tight. He’d been eerily silent through this whole ordeal.

“How come you haven’t begged me not to kill you yet?” He asked, looking back at you. His voice came jumbling from his mouth fast, a bit irritated. Like he had been frustrated with your lack of struggle.

“Were you going to kill me?” Your skin crawls with goosebumps from the cold.

He pauses and stares at you, “Do you want me to kill you?” He turns back to watch the road, neither of you answering his question. A long stretch of silence follows, he doesn’t look at you again, not even a glance from the mirror. “I’ve been watching you for a long time. I’m going to give you what you want, and then I’m going to kill you.”

You’re throat dries and your face pales. “You don’t know what I want.” Watching you? You felt an uneasiness come over you as you thought back to what you had done the past few weeks. Nothing to be honest. You had barely left the house. You imagined him peeking through windows, hiding in the yard, and watching you collect groceries and throw the trash away. Had he been in your house before? You look at him, he didn’t seem familiar at all. You’d never seen him around before.

He dragged you from the car, you didn’t struggle but you remained limp, dead weight for him as he covered your eyes and drug you inside. When inside you feel his boot on you, pressing into your shoulder. Pressing into you, your eyes trail over the shine of leather and then up to him. He was standing above you. Taller, stronger, better than you; that's what he wanted right? You’d stare at him, was this what you wanted?

The house was messy, recently abandoned you assumed. It was clear he had been holding up here for a while. He shoved you on the ground, circling around you as you looked up at him. “What are you going to do?” You ask.

“Gonna kill you.” He admitted earnestly. “I know you, I’ve been watching you for a long time- really, I’m just helping you.”

Was he your savior? Was he doing you a favor? Would he do to you what you had never been brave enough to do yourself? Is this what you truly were? An animal built to serve? To be depraved, to crawl across glass and pour blood for someone like him?

“But I…I don’t want to die.” He gives you this pitiful look; his lips pout and his eyes soften for a moment. As if telling you you didn’t know what you were talking about, and how pitiful it was you couldn’t accept it. “What’s your name?” You ask, feeling silly for being hopeful you might be able to get any information out of him. “Jungkook.” You lower your head, wondering if trying to collect any information for authorities was even worth it. Everything about this man was intimidating. He was larger and stronger, it didn’t matter if you fought or not he could drag you around like a ragdoll all he wanted.

Jungkook gets up and walks around the living room, rummaging through piles of what you assumed were his things. “I’ve been watching you for over a year now.” He admits, “Since you went on vacation for your friend's birthday. You were so drunk at that bar, I was going to kill you then, but something told me not to.” He turns back to you with a small bound notebook in hand. “So I followed you back here and got to know you more. Imagine my shock when I realized you were getting married. Was that trip your last night of freedom, is that why you got so messy?” You stare up at him, unsure of what to say. Yes, it was your last night. You came home and your parents pushed you into marriage sooner because of it. He hands you to the notebook, urging you to open it. “I’ve been watching you since. Your life turned out to be so interesting, I couldn’t just kill you after everything.”

You flip through the pages slowly. Pictures of you and your family. Pictures of you at the altar. Scribbled paragraphs about things he heard others say about you, quotes of things you were sure you had said. Notes and bullet points of every piece of information he got. “So, what do you want to do first?”

“Can I take a bath?” You ask, mind going a bit blank and voice flat as you set the notebook down and try to take it all in.

He let you. The water was hot and steaming when he pushed you in and closed the door. No windows, no way to get out. You settle into the water, the sweat from stress and anxiety washing off as you try and fail to relax. Could you be forgiven for things not of your control? You sink further into the water. You could hear him outside in the hall pacing. His steps were heavy and loud, ringing in your ears as you stared up at the night, fluorescent bathroom light. They did this to you, they all did this to you. Why were you being punished? Why had Jungkook laid eyes on the most pitiful woman in town and decided it was to be her? You thought about your wedding day, and your husband back home. Maybe if you had just settled, stayed with them, and did your duty as a wife Jungkook wouldn’t have stumbled into your life. Yes. you should have wanted less, you decide. Because it seems Jungkook was ready to give it all to you.

You raise your hands out of the water, the deep imprints of the zip ties he had kept you bound with were still there. Angry and a pale red color. The bathwater around you, swirling unpleasantly around you. The hot, humid air inside the bathroom, the hum of the lights, and the moths flying around them.

You felt rotten like your teeth were falling out, hanging just barely to your gums. Truly, you felt disgusting.

Jungkook is in the hall waiting when you finally get out. You looked up at him and saw nothing. No starving dog trying to pretend. No confusion, or games, or lies. He knew what he wanted to be and he was exactly that. He wasn’t lying, pretending, or trying to make you believe his actions were right. He said it outright; he wanted to kill you. He was going to kill you.

“I want my wedding dress” you slowly say.

“You don’t like the one you wore at your wedding, you cried the day you tried it on.” Jungkook glances at you, watching you silently agree with him.

“So you won't get it for me?”

“Don’t you want more?” He asks, “I’ll get you a new dress, whatever one you want.”

Jungkook stares at you the same way the beast that lingered in the corners of your house did. An eager stare, unrelenting, you couldn’t move out of its sight. “I just want that dress.” You repeat, clasping your hands together and pursing your lips, “You said I could have whatever I wanted…”

A smile stretched his lips, “I’ll get it for you.”

You lay down on the floor of the backseat of the car. Your hands are zip-tied again, and you can’t see Jungkook from your position. What an odd turn of events to say the least…you had fully expected to die the moment he dragged you out of the car and into that house, but now you could see faint glimpses of familiar landmarks leading to your neighborhood from what you can make out from the window. You think about the day of your wedding, and the events that even led up to your parents making a match for you and pushing for it so hard. Despite how vocal you had been about your unhappiness with everything about your childhood, how much you never wanted to step food into their church again; they held a firm belief that you’d come crawling back. If they shamed and argued and pushed enough you’d come back.

For as much hate you felt, twice the amount of guilt weighed you down. After a while, it all became so hopeless. It was exhausting. It made you sick, you couldn’t do anything without guilt nipping your heels, chasing you down until you drowned in it. You couldn’t live, so you came home. Let them talk you into marriage because it would fix everything, they insisted. You just needed a husband, the stability of it, someone to care about other than yourself. Have a few kids and you’ll start walking the right path again.

You waited, but it never came. You never felt better about any of your choices. Deep down you had known you wouldn’t, but you had spent so much of your life blind. Going back to it didn’t help, it wasn’t even familiar anymore. Nothing ever changed. When will God find time for you again? You live, you do as you’re told. You do everything you’re supposed to, and yet nothing. You live how you’re told. You grow, you work, you’re a wife. You follow and you ignore the hound scratching at your walls. You’ll die soon, you can feel it. When will he come back to you?

You weren’t even sure why you wanted that stupid dress. You weren’t sure if you cared what happened to you, or feared what Jungkook was going to do. Maybe it is comforting, in a weird way. No one paid attention to you, no one bothered with you. They wouldn’t until you changed, and deep down you didn’t want to change. But outside of your life now you had no idea what you would do. You never had higher dreams than staying local and marrying within your church growing up. You didn’t even attend college. You never aspired for more, now it felt like it was too late. Jungkook was talking to you from the driver's seat but you couldn’t hear him. Too enveloped in your head to focus on him, he was spouting things he had found about you the last year or so. How he’d never felt a need to stalk the people went after before, let alone this in depth. It was “life-altering” and you were going to be special to him.

The car stops and you feel a weight on your body; the canine-like creature is standing over you. Paws pressing to your stomach and legs, its breath hot, its ears perked up as Jungkook gets out of the car. You feel an immense guilt weighted on you and you consider stopping Jungkook and telling him to just leave and kill you.

You didn’t want this. You did want this. You weren’t sure. Your husband was home, he wasn’t going to just let Jungkook in to take what he wanted.

You lay there for what felt like an eternity until he came back, opening the back door and pulling you out of the car. It’s still dark out, chilly, and unmoving as he hooks his arms under yours and drags you back inside. He sits you down in the entryway and locks the door. You look around. “Where’s-”

“Don’t worry about him.” Jungkook shows your husband's wedding band now on his hand. “Come one” he scoffs, “you knew what I was going to do.”

You stare at him, glance and the very faint outline of the body on your kitchen floor. Had you known? You feel a bit sick, deep down you had hoped for it. He leaves you there to find the wedding dress. Jungkook smiles at you one more time before going towards the back bedroom.

When Jungkook saw you, he had every intention of following you out of that bar to kill you. It was his typical hunting ground. Every few months when the desire struck him again he would wait patiently for the right girl to cross his path. You were hard to ignore that night; annoying, he had half a mind to kill you just to shut you up. But when he followed you outside, watching you slump against the wall and fiddle with your phone he took a moment to watch. Turning away and nursing a cigarette on the opposite side of the entryway.

The way you sniffled and cried on the phone with your mom, asking if there was any other way than to get married. You were too drunk to give him a coherent story of what you were going through, but apparently, you just hated the dress and the groom so much. He crept closer as you hung up, making some lighthearted comment about how rough you looked, and offered you a cigarette.

You talked a bit more about your ass of a fiance and how you felt like you had no other options anymore. He asked where you were from and you told him. He left you there once your friend found you and would see you again a month later. He’d been crammed in his car for days, a map of the town and surrounding forests resting on his steering wheel as he scribbled out the last few leads he had gotten on where exactly you lived. he looked up and there you were, walking with a group of older women into a boutique down the street, exiting with a pretty wrapped box a bit later. He followed you home, and everywhere after that. Watched you walk down the aisle, the wedding open to all members of the church, and allowing him to walk right in. he watched you go home and cry in the backyard, watched you talk your dress off through the window, watched your husband fuck you for the first time. He watched you sit restless every day after that.

Jungkook found your dress backed away in that same ornate gift box on the top shelf of your closet. He smiled and smoothed a hand over the box. All he knew was that he wanted you, wanted to make you happy, and then he wanted to kill you. Put you out of your misery. You’d be better off, he told himself. Clearly, you needed to be saved, so he’d kill for a better reason this time.

You were crying when he came back. Looking up at him with red, water eyes and pressing your lips together to try and keep quiet. Jungkook set the box beside you, kneeling in front of you and tilting his head. But all you can see before you is that beast, sitting with flattened ears and tongue hanging from between rotting teeth. Staring at you with those eyes, like they were reflecting everything upsetting right back to you.

“All this guilt, there’s no use feeling it.”

“I can’t help it.” You choke out. “I can’t stop it, I see it- feel it everywhere.” You rubbed your eyes, looking at Jungkook and trying to stop your trembling bottom lip.

“Crying won’t won’t make things different. Just because you’re guilty won’t make this better. Your guilt won’t purify you.” He clicks his tongue, reaching to push your hair out of your face. “You wanted me to kill your husband, and that’s okay.”

“Thank god, the psycho thinks everything is alright. How comforting.” You weep.

“Stop holding back, come on. You want things to change, doesn’t matter how they change right? You hated him, I heard you say it myself so many times. Say it.”

“I wanted him to die.” You admit quietly. Something in you wanted this to happen. Asking Jungkook to come back here, a part of you knew the possibility. “It’s just not fair. It's not fair. I’ve done nothing but what I’m supposed to do. My whole life, I’ve been trying so hard my whole life to be what I’m supposed to be, but I don’t understand. Everything was supposed to be better, but I hated him. I hated him so much. Then you got here and I…I just wanted to feel all the pain that he’s caused, but I can’t even stomach it. I wanna be cruel, don’t I deserve to? I can’t stop crying though.”

Jungkook coos, pulling you into the chest and wrapping his arms around you. “Baby, there’s nothing wrong with that. That’s why I’m here, I want you to let go, want you to just do what you want. I watch you every day. You’re so miserable, it’s so weird. I felt bad for you.” Jungkook muses, “I’m here for you now baby, we only have a few hours left though.”

“Can I put the dress on?” Your voice was low and tired. Jungkook nodded, shifting over to take the box's lid off and peel back the tissue paper wrapped around your wedding dress. He takes it out, unraveling it carefully as you watch.

Your wedding had been a disaster. You cried through most of it, though no one seemed to care at the time. Your late husband was glad just to have a woman to take home. He wasn’t romantic at all, nothing about him attracted you to him. He was one of the slimier men you had come across in your time in the congregation. He interpreted things how he wanted to, and often reminded you of all the things in your life you had done wrong and had yet to be forgiven for. This was the man your parents hoped to whip you back into shape. It worked in a sense, you supposed. You had been forced to settle. Your hate faded each dull day that passed, you grew weary and unhappier.

The dress was modest. Long-sleeved, high neckline, mane with heavy ugly satin. You put it on there in the hall, feeling too numb to worry about any shame you had in front of Jungkook anymore. He zipped it up for you. Jungkook was kneeling, fixing the skirt, and letting it fluff out. He smooths it down and looks up at you. Despite the heavy eyes and tear-stricken face he smiled, “You look pretty.”

No one told you that on your wedding day, no one told you that the day your mother chose the dress for you. You smiled, feeling a small ounce of joy for the first time tonight. “What do you want to do now?”

You ignore his question, “Is that why you’re doing all of this, are you obsessed with me or something?”

“I guess in some sick way I am.” He wanted to kill you, but at the same time, you were the prettiest girl he’d seen in a long time. Something about the repressed guilt and how you teetered on the edge of breaking completely just got him he supposed. “I watched you the night of your wedding, you were so perfect. Everything was perfect until he came in.” He scowls at the thought, “It’s a shame.”

“Do you want to…” you trailed off, your voice a bit nervous.

Jungkook’s fingers twitch, he's playing with the trim of your skirt. “I do” he murmured, “I’ve thought about you every night since I met you” He raves, “you’re the only one- why? Why do you make me so crazy?” He asks, brushing off any answer you try to give him. “Want you, need you” He breathed, the fabric of your wedding dress bunching up as he pulled at it.

“I can’t-” you grabbed at his hands. You could feel it, the guilt creeping in. Your eyes land on your wedding ring. Torn with morbid want and a last shred of gut-wrenching guilt, you looked into his eyes. Tempting dark pools stare back at you he grabs at your hand. “We’ve come so far already, don’t stop now. Besides” he makes it a point to flash your late husband's wedding band. “I’m your husband now.” you flush, the words twisting in your ears are wrong; everything about tonight was wrong. It felt like a dream more than reality.

“I know you think I’m attractive” he pushes through the layers of the dress, his hands cold as he rests them on your thighs. “It’s so wrong of you baby” he purrs, “you know I’m gonna kill you, but you want me don’t you?”

“I know” you whimper, chest heaving as you watch him. His fingers trace against your skin, his hand moving between your legs.

“When’s the last time your husband touched you?” He asks, “This is what you want, right? You want someone to want you?”

Your fingers twist in his hair, gripping tight as if you were about to fall. Your legs trembled under the weight of guilt and need over what was happening. He was right though, it had been a long time since you felt wanted at all. The moment you had sex the first time those years ago, you knew no one would want you. Not in the church, not here. Impure, a whore. Your mother had even said it when you sobbed and told her.

Your back arches, your thighs tremble, and you let your grip on his hair loosen. You fear toppling over, your breathing a bit ragged. You felt his lips trace your inner thigh, leaving half-hearted kisses and sinking his teeth into your skin.

“You look so pretty in your dress.” Jungkook reappears, kneeling before you a minute longer. Fixing the skirt of the dress, smoothing the fabric down then reaching for your hand. He traces the wedding ring a few times.

“Where do you want me to do it?” Jungkook’s question falls on deaf ears. You’re sitting in the passenger side of his car, still wearing a dress and still trying to steady your pounding heart.

Where did you want to die?

Did you want to die?

You were scared of living as much as dying; but was there anything left for you anyways?

Jungkook you supposed, there was a weird want for him. Maybe it was messed up, he was into you. He took all this time to watch you and wanted you to be happy before you died. You weren’t sure if you were happy.

Before you got out of high school the town church moved to a new building. A bigger, newer, and nicer one. The old one was small, typical of what you would imagine a small, secluded town’s church would look like. He took you there, unprompted. It was fitting maybe. You walked in front of him and listened to Jungkook load the gun and mutter under his breath. Once inside you stand in place, waiting for him to turn and shoot. You look around the familiar space, your stomach turning, memories of the past playing in your mind.

The cross mounted above you is entrancing, draped in sheer black fabric, and its shadowy outline is stark against the moon's light. Your eyes flicker back to Jungkook, who seems to have caught onto your staring and also happens to stand before you draped in the moonlight.

Your last moments would be here. Everything around you felt distorted, and unreal as you looked around another time.

Staining his hands red and tearing into something clean was all he was. All he wanted. You were both ugly in a sense, he was just more open about it. You look up at him. It’s scary now. You had known what was going to happen from the moment he took you. You knew. You knew he wouldn’t give you a happy ending, only give you a temporary release from everything. He killed your husband, it made you happy. He let you prance around in a wedding dress and pretend one last time you could do it all again. He played well with you, you had been able to push aside the dark truth of your situation for a time. But now he was standing before you, reveling in some kind of glory of it all. Did glory taste different to him? You couldn’t imagine- but was letting him kill that man no different than this? In a way, you had killed your husband, was this all some kind of long, drawn-out punishment for that? For lifelong confusion and defiance?

You hoped someone would find you when you were. Find your carcass and see, understand that you had been, still were, always being ripped open. Torn to pieces and dragged to muddy waters, you hoped they’d know you hadn’t been scared, maybe even welcomed it. Let them know this was love; in some twisted way. Love from Jungkook, or god sending him your way. You stopped believing in god a long time ago, grappled with it for so long, but you hoped he had loved you; at least once. Make the struggle worth it, prove you wrong. Or maybe it was love from yourself for closing your eyes and accepting it.

Please, let this be love. Let your body be stained with love for once.

taglist: @aft3rhrs

#bts x reader #bts imagine #yandere bts #yandere jeon jungkook #yandere jungkook #yandere jungkook x reader #yandere jungkook imagine

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blue-slxt · 1 year ago

Text

Settling In

*Request*

🔞Minors Do Not Interact🔞

A/N: Okay so I'm reposting this because I found out that the person who requested it was a minor and I don't play that shit on my blog. I am only for adults. So if you liked the old post, that one is gone now. All characters are aged up.

Pairing: Ao'nung x Fem!Sully!Reader

Warnings: Teasing, Smut, P in V, Rut Cycle, Breeding Kink, Choking, Creampie, Binding, Marking, Scenting, Blood, Belly Bulge, I think that's everything.

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: Ao'nung has teased you relentlessly since your family came here. What happens when you stumble across him in the midst of his rut?

This felt like some kind of living nightmare. You and your family having to flee your home in the forest and come to the sea. Uprooting your entire lives, leaving everything you knew, forgetting who you were, and coming to start from scratch. The Metkayina way of life was beautiful and their village is wonderful in its own way, but it still doesn’t feel like home. Not even close. The one good thing that’s come out of this whole thing was meeting Tsireya. She’s been a welcome comfort for you and your siblings while you adjust to your new lives here.

She’s warm and bright and patient. It makes you wonder how someone so radiant could ever be related to someone like Ao’nung. Just the taste of his name in your mouth was enough to make you scrunch your face in annoyance. He was always just a pain to everyone, but a lot of times it felt like he put extra effort into tormenting you as Neteyam’s 5-fingered twin. The way your dad explained it, apparently twins are a human thing that can happen sometimes. The na’vi aren’t really familiar with the concept since it doesn’t occur naturally for them, but here you stood. The exception to the rule. And Ao’nung never let you hear the end of it.

Over the months, you learned to ignore him and tune out his endless teasing. Occasionally, when he would get tired of being ignored, he knew which buttons to press to get a response from you. Today was one of those days.

You sat out on the beach with Tsireya and Tuk and your mood sours when you notice Ao’nung walking your way. “Tuk, how about you go feed some of the ilu with Tsireya?” you suggested to her. You can tell what kind of mood he’s in from the mischievous glint in his eye. Her face lit up with pure joy.

“Can we?” she says to Tsireya.

“Of course. Come with me.” She holds her hand out for Tuk to take and you watch as she happily trails behind her into the water. The sight is enough to momentarily warm your heart before you have to harden yourself to deal with Ao’nung.

“Oh, am I not invited to join the party?” he drips sarcasm.

“I don’t need her getting caught up in your bullshit.”

He shrugs his shoulders and holds up his hands, “I wouldn’t mess with her. As far as I can see, she’s the only one of you that seems like a true na’vi.” You set your jaw and take a deep breath trying to center yourself.

“I mean the whole lot of you came out weird. Especially you. She wasn’t born with a weird extra finger or a spare copy. That child is more na’vi than you will ever be.”

He hit that button. You snap and hiss at him in warning. He’s unphased staring back at you with an amused smirk. He found it adorable to watch you get so worked up. And he loved being the one to get you worked up. “Fuck off” you snap at him before walking the other way towards the water with Tsireya and Tuk. Ao’nung turns on his heels and walks away feeling satisfied.

“I swear, Tsireya, I cannot understand for the life of me how you can be related to that!” you gesture back towards the shore at Ao’nung’s retreating figure.

“I know my brother can be a lot. He only teases because he thinks you are pretty.”

You roll your eyes, “That has to be the dumbest thing ever.” She giggles a little, “I never said he was smart, but it is the truth. Why do you think he’s always going out of his way to find you all the time?”

Tuk looks up at you, “Is Ao’nung going to be your boyfriend?”

You fake gag at her question, “Absolutely not Tuk Tuk. Now, show me how well you feed the ilu.”

…

Later on at dinner with the village, you sit with your family while they all talk amongst themselves. You’re not really paying attention to the conversation since you’re still a little agitated. Your eyes scan over all the people surrounding you and how happy they all look and wonder if eventually you’ll find that same kind of happiness. Or at least something close to it.

Rolling over the people, your eyes are met with a pair staring back. Ao’nung watches you from the other side of the bonfire. His face is serious and his breathing is heavy enough for you to see the dramatic rise and fall of his shoulders from here. What’s his problem? If anybody should be staring someone down, it was you. A nudge to your arm brings your attention back to your family. Neteyam is next to you giving you a questioning look. “It’s nothing ‘Teyam.”

“I think you forget, we have known each other since before we were brought into this world. I know you well enough to know that it is not nothing.” It was true. Neteyam knew you better than anyone. Whether that was because of him being your twin or because he took his role as the oldest so seriously, who knows. Most of the time, you’re actually pretty grateful that Neteyam could understand you so easily.

“Tsireya said something earlier and it messed with my head.”

“What did she say?” he scoots closer to you so that your conversation can be kept between you two instead of the whole family.

“She said…she said that Ao’nung thinks I’m pretty or something and that’s why he’s always teasing.” “Well duh. As much as I hate to say it, it is pretty obvious that he has a thing for you. And you’re not so innocent in all of this either.”

“’Teyam!” you are taken back by such an offensive suggestion. First Tsireya and now your own brother?

“You might not notice, but I do. Yes, he’s always picking at you, but you love this little game that you two play. It’s nauseating.” His tone is teasing, but he means it.

Ridiculous. How could you ever want someone like that? Your head turns to look back over at him, but he’s gone. You look around between the seemingly endless sea of people and can’t find a single sign of him. That’s weird, but you’re glad that maybe now you could continue on with your meal without eyes burning into the side of your face.

…

Looking around your marui, the rest of your family is peacefully sleeping. You had no idea how they did it. You couldn’t stop your mind from constantly analyzing all the ways that this place was so different from home and that thought literally kept you up at night. It had become something of a routine for you to sneak out on nights like this after everyone else was asleep. You’d tiptoe out of the pod and wander out into the forest by the beach.

It was nice here. It was the one thing here that reminded you of home. The plants and fruits were different, but the atmosphere was similar enough to give you some comfort. In particular, there was one large tree that you would visit most nights. You’d climb and sit on one of the giant outstretched branches and just listen to the sounds of the night.

This is everything right here. This is what helps you feel like you can finally breathe. At least, until you hear a scream in the distance. Immediately, your instincts put you on high alert. You stand from your spot on the branch with your knife in hand and look around as far out as you can see. A faint orange glow catches your eye from the mouth of a cave not far from you. That’s odd. Who else would be out here at this time? And why do they sound like they’re in pain?

You know that it’s probably not the smart thing to go investigate, but you’d also never forgive yourself if someone got hurt and you could’ve prevented it. You climb down and make your way through the forest towards the light you saw.

The closer you get, the more you can start to smell something in the air. It reminds you of fresh rain on tree bark. It’s almost sweet. You follow the scent to the opening of the cave, “Hello? Do you need help in there?” Your voice echoes around the inside of the cave and you’re only met with groans of pain for a response. “I’m coming in!” You grip the handle of your knife a little tighter before taking a step in. The glow grows brighter and finally a small fire comes into your vision.

You were already on edge, but the next thing you saw was what fully threw you off balance. It was Ao’nung. He was sweating so much you thought he might dehydrate himself, his hands were bound behind his back, and he was writhing around in pain. “Ao’nung?” His eyes snap to you and he looks completely different. Instead of his usual sea blue color, his eyes looked a deep purple.

“What are you doing here?” he’s out of breath trying to get the words out.

“I heard you yelling from almost a mile away, I thought somebody needed help. Believe me, I wouldn’t have wasted my time if I knew it was just you.” You cross your arms and shift your weight to one foot and his eyes watch the swing of your hips intently. He sucks in a sharp breath and doubles over. Your eyebrows knit together trying to understand what’s happening. “What is your deal?” You catch sight of a bulge poking through his loincloth and finally the last piece slots into place. “Oh shit…it’s your rut.”

He just nods his head since his mouth is too busy salivating.

Now it makes sense. The weird way he was behaving during dinner, the sweet smell in the air, and the hungry look on his face.

“Well, shouldn’t you be at home? I mean why the hell are you all the way out here like this?”

He shakes his head. “Too much…Need to stay away…”

Your chest tightens with a pang of sympathy for him. You’ve gone through many heat cycles without relief and it is excruciating. The suffering is unmatched. There’s only one thing that truly takes the pain away.

“This is crazy. I’m cutting you out of these.” You start to move towards him, but he tries to shuffle away from you.

“I don’t think you get it. If you cut me out of these binds, I won’t be able to stop myself. So don’t do it unless you’re ready to deal with what comes after.”

“I’m a big girl, Ao’nung. You think I don’t know what I’m doing?” you roll your eyes at him and move towards him again. “I mean it. This is the last warning I’ll be able to give you.” His tone is serious and his eyes are focused. But you don’t falter. You swallow down your nerves and continue forward. “Just shut up and let me do this, okay? Before I change my mind.” You crouch in front of him and reach around to his wrists. “Honestly, I don’t know why I’m even helping you. You’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass since I got here. But luckily for you, I’m feeling generous.”

You saw away at his bindings and your chest presses into his face. He inhales your scent and his hips twitch searching for something to grind against.

Before you cut all the way through, you pull back and look him in the face. His face tries to chase after your chest, but his restraints keep him in place. “This is the one and only time I’m helping your ass. Got it?” He can’t even bring his eyes up to yours when he nods his head. You tsk at yourself for getting mixed up in this mess, but there’s no turning back after your knife cuts through his ties.

His arms immediately fold around your waist and pull you into his lap so that you’re straddling him. He buries his face deeper into your chest breathing you in. “Chill the fuck out. Your scent is going to get all over me.” You try to crane your neck back, but a strong hand grips your throat and pulls you back forward.

“That’s kind of the fucking point.” His voice is a dark growl against your skin. His tongue drags a long stripe from the middle of your chest up to your collarbone and even further up to your ear. Your breath grows shaky. “You talk so much shit, but look at how your body reacts to me.”

“Shut up.” Your voice comes out more desperate than you mean for it to. He was right and you hated that fact most of all.

He’s growing impatient when his hands hold your hips and start grinding you into him. You let his hands guide you to where it feels best for him. His bulge presses against your clit with every drag.

He kisses and sucks on your neck and you just know he’s going to leave a mark. “Don’t…everybody will know…”

He only chuckles at your pathetic plea, “Everybody will know when you’re walking around carrying my baby.” He pushes his hips up against you and he can feel how you’re soaking through your own loincloth and his too. The waiting finally gets to be more than he can bear and he pulls his tewng to the side to finally free his impossibly hard dick. You feel yourself desperately clench around nothing. He pulls yours to the side and he lines himself up with your begging hole. You take a big breath to brace yourself, but you were not prepared for him to slam you down onto him in one swift motion and you scream out in surprise.

“Fuuuck…” he groans out feeling the way your walls frantically squeeze around him. You’re given no time to adjust before he’s lifting your hips up and down on his own.

It’s too much. It’s like he’s tickling the bottom of your ribs. When you finally take a real breath, all that comes out is a filthy moan. Looking down, you can see the imprint of his tip poking through your skin right at your navel. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen.

“Haah…fuck…Ao’nung…”

Ao’nung needs more. More friction, more of your sweet noises, more everything. That’s all his mind can think of right now. Just how much he needs you right now. He lays you down on the floor of the cave to give himself better access to pound into you.

His eyes are burning into your face and the eye contact is too much for you. It’s too embarrassing. You turn your head to find something else to look at, but he won’t have that. His fingers grip your jaw and turn your face back towards him. “Look at me. Take it.” He emphasizes his point by tightening his hold on your throat. Between his merciless thrusting, the intense eye contact, and his fingers around your throat, you can feel your orgasm quickly approaching. It makes you feel lightheaded and even as your vision starts to blur, you never move your eyes from his face.

Just before your consciousness slips away, he releases his hold on your neck and moves his hands down to massage your breasts. He nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck and bathes you in his scent to mark you even further. His teeth sink into your skin deep enough to draw blood. He goes mad at the taste of your blood spilling onto his tongue.

“Oh, I’ve always wanted to fuck this perfect little body. Just watch you take it over and over. Fuck, I want to give you a baby.”

Was this just his rut talking? Or did he actually mean it? You couldn’t be sure anymore.

His pace gets faster and his groans get louder. “Fuck, I’m gonna fill this little pussy up.” His grip on your body is so tight, the veins in his arm are bulging out.

“Ah! Ao’nung! Yes!” your head falls back and your legs shake as you fall into your release. The way you clamp down around his dick pushes him over the edge and thick ropes of white spill over into your womb. It feels like fire in your veins, but it’s addicting.

Ao’nung keeps thrusting into you languidly trying to ensure he fucks as much cum back into you as he can.

He collapses on top of your heaving chest with closed eyes and you stare down at his face to try and check his condition. When he looks back at you, you breathe a sigh of relief seeing his normal blue shade. Never did you think you’d actually be happy to see Ao’nung in any circumstance.

“You okay?” you ask cautiously. He nods still catching his breath. “Great…You wanna get out of me now?”

“Oh, right.” He lifts himself up and pulls out of you and a primal part of his brain is pleased to see that none of his seed spilled out of you.

You stand to fix your clothing and hair. “So, you can go home now, right?”

He scoffs a bit more to himself than at you, “My ruts last 3 days. I am fine for now, but there’s no telling how long it’ll last for. I have to stay here until I’m out of it.”

All the nerves in your body come alive with…something you can’t readily identify right now. “Oh…I see…”

“So you’ll know where to find me if you’re ever feeling generous again.” He winks at you and you know that your face is flushed.

“You wish, fish boy.” And with that, you turn and leave back to your home. Thankfully, it’s still hours away from sunrise so everyone is still asleep. You stealthily slip back into your marui, but of course one person’s ears perk up.

“What are you doing?” Neteyam whispers to you. Shit.

“Nothing.”

“Why do you smell like that?” he asks. Shit shit shit.

“Don’t worry about it, ‘Teyam. Just go back to sleep.” You lay down and hope that will be the end of it. Neteyam knows better, but he’s far too tired to go back and forth with you about it right now in the middle of the night.

You finally get the best night of sleep you’ve had since coming here.

…

The next morning, you all have the day off of training so you get to hang around at home instead. You sit on the edge with your feet hanging over into the water. Jake comes and sits next to you, “You okay, baby girl?”

You smile softly to yourself at the nickname. You loved it, but you also felt like you were getting a bit old for it. “I’m okay, dad. I’m just still getting used to it here.” He nods in understanding. “But I think I’m starting to settle in.”

#avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar fic #awow #avatar smut #aonung x fem!reader #aoung x reader #aonung imagine #aoung smut #aonung #ao'nung fic #aged up ao'nung #ao'nung #awow smut

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lovelyjj · 9 months ago

Note

Heyyy, I’ve come to ask for your words again, can we do a JJ finding out you write poetry about him?? I write poetry and was wonderin, thanks in advance!!!

💜 anon

Poetry

jj maybank x reader

wc: 937

a/n: one of the poems I found on pinterest creds to the original here is the link

It was no secret that you and JJ were close. The two of you were the perfect pair. You were always together. What started off as a friendship quickly turned into a romantic relationship.

You and JJ practically lived together. You had a couple drawers in his room at John Bs. You were always over there spending time with JJ. You liked your little routine. You went to work at a coffee shop a couple mornings a week.

Then you went to the château to meet up with JJ. You would do everything together. You’d go on rides on his dirt bike, swimming in the marsh, going out on the boat, drinking in the hot tub, the list was endless.

This particular evening you were in the hot tub with the pogues. You were drinking and laughing and enjoying each others company. It was times like these you found yourself grateful for having such great friends.

JJ pulled you onto his lap and wrapped his arms around your waist. He rested his chin on your shoulder. He wasn’t really listening to the conversation at all. He was distracted with your body pressed against his.

“So how are things with you and Pope,” you asked Kiara who was right next to you.

“It’s good it’s just kinda weird since we’ve been friends for so long and now that we’re together it’s like how do we do this. But i like him a lot,” Kiara whispered.

“That’s good,” you responded.

“You and JJ seem as great as ever.” Kiara commented.

You nestled into JJ’s touch, “Yeah we are.”

“I’m happy for you” Kiara replied.

You talked with your friends while enjoying the warm water. When you were finished in the hot tub you went inside the château.

—————

The next morning you left the château early to go to work. JJ was bummed because he loved waking up with you. Eventually a couple hours later JJ woke up.

JJ decided to get up and get ready for the day. He was looking for a certain shirt that you happen to wear to bed and go home in. He was looking everywhere. He even looked in your drawers.

He sorted through your clothes in the drawer. He lifted up your clothes and that’s when he found a notebook. Now JJ wasn’t one to go through and look at your private things but he wondered what a notebook hidden under clothes would have in it.

JJ opened it to the first page and what he saw shocked him. It was a poem.

he is like sunshine

filling me up with joy

he is my sunshine boy

Then he flipped to the next page, another poem.

I think i found the love of my life

i think i might one day be his wife

when he kisses me I feel alive

when he holds me is when I think we thrive

He flipped the the next page after that.

blonde locks blue eyes

tan skin pink lips

he looks like a dream

Another page.

I’ve tasted your lips,

your skin

and never realized

I was deprived.

Your kiss, your touch

that awakens my soul,

making me want more.

I didn’t know

I would crave you so much.

I never realized

I was even homesick,

until

I found you.

The notebook was filled with poetry about him. He was filled with warmth. He couldn’t believe you wrote love poems about him. JJ thought that was one of the nicest and sweetest thing anybody has ever done for him.

JJ thought you were a skilled writer. Your poetry was perfect. He almost cried he was so moved by your beautiful writing. JJ made a mental note to bring this up to you when he sees you next.

——————

A few days later you were on your way to the château. You missed JJ even though it’s only been a few days. The plan was to just hang out and watch movies nothing special.

John B was in the kitchen when you walked in.

“Hey John B,” you greeted.

“Hey Y/N, JJ is in his room,” he stated.

“Thanks,” you smiled.

You made your way to JJ’s room excited to see the man of your dreams. You knocked on his door and he said to come in.

“Hi Jayj,” you exclaimed.

“Hi sweetheart,” JJ got up from his bed and gave you a hug.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and when you pulled away from the hug you gave him a kiss on the mouth.

“Mhhmmm, missed you mama,” JJ hummed after the kiss.

“I missed you too,” you replied.

“I wanted to ask you something,” JJ requested.

“Yeah sure shoot.”

“Um I found this journal, and and it’s filled with poems. I just i never knew you were a poet.” JJ explained.

“You were never supposed to see those,” your hand hit your head.

“I’m glad I did, I can’t believe you wrote those things about me.”

“Well you’re my muse my inspiration, you’re the air that I breathe,” you expressed.

“Oh my love, I love you so much. I hope you know that. I’m flattered. You should be a writer.”

“I love you too. And hey maybe I will but I’m shy and scared to put my work out there.”

“You never know.”

“You’re right who knows,” you threw your hands up.

Then you launched yourself at JJ and tackled him to the bed and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“You make writing poetry so easy because every time I look in your eyes I see a world of possibilities.”

187 notes · View notes

dira333 · 10 months ago

Text

Doomed to love you - Kakuzu x Reader

Warning: Angst with a bit of fluff, Dark Themes, no happy end - it's Kakuzu after all...

Words: 4,6k - tagging @snuggleboots, @missalienqueen and @wing-ed-thing because I think you might like it

Bonus points if you get what the Kid's names are all about...

10.

His father’s hand is heavy on Kakuzu’s shoulder.

Across from him, your mother does the same with you.

You’re shorter than him, your long hair tied into pigtails. There’s the ghost of freckles over your nose, but it could also be the sunlight, broken into a million pieces by the cascading waterfall Takigakure is soon going to be famous for.

You look like a kid, which shouldn’t be that weird. He’s just got ten years old himself.

But everyone at the Academy aims to look older while you seem perfectly fine looking the way you are.

The grip on his shoulder changes, shakes him out of his reverie.

He looks up at his father who stares down at him. Right. Don’t expect any help from the old man.

When he turns toward you, you’ve put your hands in front of your mouth as if to hide a smile. Your mother looks tired.

“Shake hands.” She tells you - or him?

So he does, stretches out his hand for you to take, and watches with almost morbid fascination as you lean down and press your lips to the back of his hand.

By the laws of his and your Clan, you’re married now.

There are no laws for Divorce in Takigakure yet.

Your mother dies a year later.

You move in with him because he’s your husband and has to care for you. His father likes to remind him of that every time there’s not enough food on the table for all three of you.

A good man, his father declares, makes sure that his wife has enough to eat.

A good father, Kakuzu wants to throw back at him, would make sure his child doesn’t have to go hungry. But he doesn’t. Because while he might not be scared of anything, he’s too smart to get into trouble with the old man. It’s less risky to stay hungry and give his portion to you.

By the time he’s twelve, he’s doing odd jobs on the side whenever he can, handing you the money whenever he’s sure no one can see it.

You’re a quiet one. He’s too tired to talk most nights anyway, so he’s glad you don’t chew off his ear when it’s time to slip into bed at night.

Ever since his father took up drinking and lost the house, they share a single room and huddle together for warmth at night.

“Kakuzu,” You whisper. His eyes snap open, Kunai ready. It takes him a moment to realize it’s you. You haven’t spoken in so long he’s forgotten the sound of your voice.

“What?”

“Sh.” You move a little closer. Your legs are warm against his. He’s never noticed before how warm you are. “Don’t wake your father. I’ve got a job.”

“A job?” He furrows his brows. “You should still be in school.”

“Like they teach me anything useful.” You quip back at him. “There’s this rich family who’s got a gaggle of kids. I make one hundred ryō an hour looking after them.”

His mouth waters at the number. One hundred ryō could buy him a decent meal every night.

“How many hours are we talking?”

They get to planning. Two days later everything is set in motion. They move out while his father is out drinking, taking with them what little stuff they can find use in. There are no rules that forbid them from signing a lease on an apartment now that he’s a full-fledged Shinobi, even at twelve years old.

You celebrate your first night with a home-cooked meal, the best he’s ever tasted. Sure the Miso soup could have used a little bit more salt and the fish had been charred at the edges, but there was no one looming over him, taking away all the good pieces, ruining every conversation with drunken rambling.

“I will never be like my father.” He promises and you smile. It lights up your face, and transforms you into a being of light and lightness.

Kakuzu’s only twelve years old, but he’s seen death and he’s seen misery and he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that if this is what love is, he will never get tired of it.

Kakuzu’s fifteen when he catches an illness that almost kills him.

Painful spasms shake him as he coughs, skin aflame with a fever that wants to devour him whole.

He barely remembers anything but finding himself with his head in your lap, your hands moving through his hair.

There’s a strange lightness to your voice as you talk to him. He can barely focus on your words but they sound like magic, like you’re summoning something from deep inside him.

When he wakes up from a deep slumber days later you look younger, somehow.

“What was that about?” He asks from the safety of his bed. One day, soon, he will buy a new mattress and a proper Couch, but it held out the last three years and he wants to have a bit more saved, feel a bit safer before he starts splurging again.

“What do you mean?” You’re at the stove, cooking something. He can smell ginger and citrus. You’re a terrible liar.

“You know what I mean.”

“No, Kakuzu, I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t bullshit me!” His temper comes and goes like a lightning strike, leaving him weak and shivering.

You stare back at him, eyes wide.

“I’m sorry.” He crawls out of bed. “I’m sorry.”

Kakuzu is fifteen when he finally understands the terms and conditions of this marriage.

Some Kekkai Genkais let you live longer than others.

On paper, it could be really just that simple. Your Kekkai Genkai lets you live on for years and years and years, your only threat the darkness of your mind.

“Many of us have killed themselves after they lost their partners.” You explain with his head in your lap again, your hand in his hair.

“Is that what happened to your mother?” You don’t answer his question but he can tell the truth from the way your eyes lose their light.

“But why me?” Kakuzu asks, two days later when you’ve curled up next to him after Dinner.

“I have two theories,” you explain softly. “Your Clan has brought forward many members with an exceptionally long lifespan.”

“And the other theory?”

“My Kekkai Genkai feeds on negative emotions. Misery. Sickness.” You fall silent. He doesn’t need you to keep going. He knows his family.

His father, who’s still not managed to drink himself to death. Whose temper is so famous that he’s often sent on three-man-missions alone.

His grandfather, who’s rumored to have killed his first wife over a burnt meal. Who’s still alive because he’s too stubborn to die, living off the roots of the great tree on the edge of Takigakure.

“I’ll never be like my father.” He promises you, again. You press a kiss to the back of his hand like you did when you met for the first time. It’s the only answer you give him.

Kakuzu is eighteen when his comrades make jokes about his wife.

They call her the beauty of Takigakure, say she’s even prettier because she never opens her mouth.

He gets cut from the mission roster for two weeks because he breaks one guys chin, and stabs the other guy in the thigh.

If you mind the blow to your wallet, you don’t show it. You’ve always been good at making a decent meal with the least amount of money spent.

But you sit him down when it happens again, a few months later.

“Stop it,” you tell him. “You’re becoming like your father.”

Fear engulfs him. He feels like he’s drowning, like that time he was six and his father threw him into the big cave, told him to swim or sink.

Warm lips press onto his, breathe oxygen into his lungs. He holds onto your waist to keep himself from going under once again.

As long as you’re there, as long as he has you, he will be able to keep afloat.

20.

Kakuzu turns twenty just two days before his daughter is born.

She’s got his eyes and your hair, his voice and your eerie stare.

You take one look at her and shake your head, sorrow washing over your features.

“What?” He asks, scared for his life. He’s never seen anything as precious as this little thing in your arms, that’s living and breathing and depending on him.

“She hasn’t got my Kekkai Genkai.” You say, the words like a knife to his heart.

“Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent.”

The nurse, an old woman that helps with births and the like for a few scraps of meat and a few coins on the side, pats your head.

“What a beautiful healthy thing you’ve got. Cherish it, will you?”

He can see the light dim in your eyes. He makes a promise to himself that even though it might flicker, he will make sure that it does not go out. Ever.

Kakuzu likes this little life of his.

He likes waking up to his daughter on his chest, gurgling and garbling, grabbing everything her little hands can get. He likes the sight of you feeding her, how her cheeks are plump and warm, her belly full of milk. He likes seeing you in the village unexpectedly, knowing that the bundle tied to your front is the living, breathing proof that you like him enough, that he might even love you.

It makes everything seem a little less burdensome. Passing his father in the streets, pretending not to hear the insults. Gong on missions that aren’t paid nearly enough for the danger they bring. The lack of good meat on the market, the hunger of the people in the streets.

Being able to come home to you, to your soft smiles and his daughters quiet mumbles.

He could live like this, he thinks. Forever, if necessary.

But his daughter is named Fū, after the soft winds that come and go.

When she’s just two, a sickness falls over the village. You do everything you can but just as the wind does not stay, neither does Fū.

Silence has fallen over his home.

Silence has fallen over Takigakure.

There are mornings when he hardly gets out of bed. There’s barely enough money in his pocket to afford the few scraps of meat that are offered at the market. But the beer is cheap.

If he drinks one, he can almost forget the way Fū looked in his arms. If he drinks five, he can almost forget she ever existed.

There’s a sharp pain in his left leg.

Kakuzu blinks himself awake and tries to pull away.

“Stop it.” Your voice is hard and cold.

“What-”

“You stepped into broken glass.” You tell him. “I’m sewing you back together.”

“Don’t.” He mutters meekly.

“Why not?”

“I don’t-” He stops. He doesn’t know.

“You promised, remember? You wouldn’t become like your father.”

“I’m not-”

“Kakuzu.” You move, your face now above his. You’ve turned younger again. Have you taken all his misery?

“You should just leave me.”

“I will never, ever leave you.” From you, it sounds more like a threat than a promise. He closes his eyes for a second. Fū blinks back at him. He opens his eyes again.

“What do you want?”

“For you to stop drinking.”

“Granted. What else?”

You falter. “I-”

He sits up and grabs your arms. You’re so close now he can taste your breath. It’s a good thing Fū never got your eyes. There’s a truth in them he will probably never get used to.

“I’ll tell you.” You promise. “Not today. But I will tell you.”

He does not touch a drop of alcohol ever again.

Six months later he’s one of the most renowned Shinobi of his village, not that it pays much.

Konoha is a steadily rising threat in the distance but at least the crop is good this year, leaving everyone well fed.

When he returns home from yet another mission, bruised and bloodied, loneliness hanging off him like a second skin, you take his hands and press it to your belly.

“I want to be a mother.” You tell him, eyes alight. “Again and again and again.”

Kakuzu almost shatters at the prospect.

He’s barely survived losing Fū. How can he go through that again?

But he owes you. For keeping him alive. For giving him Fū. For liking him enough.

He watches your belly grow and wishes for a way to know if this one will inherit your Kekkai Genkai or the lack of his.

Two days after his second child kicks for the first time, he’s called to the village leader.

The mission is as simple as it’s deadly. Kill Hashirama Senju.

He will not survive. He will not see his child grow up. But he will also not have to see it die.

Still, there’s something he can do about this. Milk the opportunities he’s got.

“What’s in it for me?” He asks, his nose lifted to the sky. “I have a family to feed.”

You’ve never clung to him as tightly as you do the day he leaves.

When you kiss him goodbye he can taste the words you’ll never say.

Don’t go. Don’t leave me behind. I love you.

He bends down and presses a kiss to the swell of your belly.

“Take care of your mother for me.”

You must have bewitched him. Cursed him in his sleep.

That’s the only reason he can find why he survives. It had been a suicide mission after all.

He returns home, glad to be alive. He’s stopped at the village entrance, dragged through different caves than those who’d lead him home. To you. To the child that’s about to be born.

Kakuzu misses all of it.

Instead, he’s sentenced to life in prison. And for what? For not dying on a mission that was meant to kill him?

He’s too proud to beg for forgiveness. But he asks for word on you.

They refuse him even that.

All that’s left is Fū, who visits him in his sleep. And you, whose voice he can hear in every waking hour. It’s the only thing keeping him from going insane.

The gurgling laughter alerts him.

It’s a sound that doesn’t belong in a prison.

“Shhhh….” A voice whispers. He knows that voice.

He calls your name, desperate to prove to himself that he hasn’t lost his mind.

You step out of the shadows into a lone ray of sunshine breaking through the cave walls. You’ve gotten a little older. Life up there must have been treating you well.

There’s a bundle tied to your front. You step closer, lift the bundle through the bars that have been made to keep out grown men, not a newborn baby.

“Her name is Mito,” you tell him quietly. “She’s got my Kekkai Genkai.”

Mito. To hope, to wish, to desire. It’s a fitting name for the little girl that’s peering up at him. She’s got your eyes, too.

“I’ve not been a good husband to you.” He tells you. “You should leave me. Find someone who’s a better fit for you.”

His words say one thing. His arms cradling Mito close another.

You reach one hand through the bars, cradle his cheek.

“I’m bound to you.” You state. “I will go nowhere without you.”

Kakuzu looks down at Mito, how she fits into his arms just as perfectly as Fū did.

“What life can I give you?” He asks the little girl. Her chubby fingers try to grab the marks on his hands. Prison tattoos.

Your thumb presses against his cheekbone. His eyes flicker up to yours. There’s a determination in them he’s never seen before.

“I’m bound to you.” You repeat. “Not to this village.”

Kakuzu feels strangely nostalgic as he leaves the city, four beating hearts and a forbidden Jutsu in his possession.

In a way, it’s just like when you fled his fathers house, took everything with you what you could use.

This time he’s not holding your hand through it.

This time you’re waiting on the other side of the cave system, the little ox wagon hidden from sight.

Mito sleeps soundly when he arrives, bloodied and proud.

She sleeps through everything. Her parents departure from the only place they ever called home. Her father's transformation through Earth Grudge Fear.

He briefly wonders if she notices a difference when she looks at him. If his little girl can tell the difference between the man he was before and the man he is now.

Because he can tell that it has changed you.

You grow older outside of Takigakure. There’s not enough Misery to sustain you. One morning he wakes up to crowfeet around your eyes. He finds a grey hair on your head a week later.

It brings a new fear to his life.

And fear brings out demons he didn’t know he carried.

The little house he built for you lies in ruins over a fit of anger.

Mito hides behind you, fear in her eyes that look so much like you.

He’s breathing hard, doesn’t even know why he flipped in the first place.

You rake a hand through his hair, pull him close until your heads touch.

He can taste your breath, can feel the misery lift off him.

“Tomorrow,” you tell him calmly, “You will leave. Go on a mission. Bring me back a son.”

50.

He’s fifty now.

Mito got married last year. He barely sees her anymore.

There’s a clear distaste in her voice when she speaks to him.

She looks at him like he looked at his father.

Does she promise her husband that she will never be like her father?

Does he believe her?

Because Kakuzu has seen what her temper can do.

She’s his daughter after all.

Yet, he believes in the power of names. He believes that she can be what she desires.

His youngest daughter is two months old. You named her Rin in his absence.

He’s missed her birth, Han’s too. But he held your hand through Yagura’s birth, pretended not to shatter on the inside when you took one look at the little boy.

“He’s not got the Kekkai Genkai.”

Still. Yagura might be his favorite child.

He’s a quiet boy. Likes to hide behind Utakata when no one’s looking for him.

Utakata is his oldest living child, found on that first mission that you sent him on.

“Bring me back a son,” you had said and he’d thought it nonsense until he stumbles over him, starving on the side of the road.

Kakuzu doesn’t mind coming home now. He doesn’t mind staying away either.

It’s a fragile thing, this thing between the two of you.

Should he call it love? He doesn’t have anything to compare it to.

He knows you’re never lonely, not with the gaggle of kids that run around your feet all day. He knows you won’t age, not when there’s almost always a kid that cries because it got hurt in one way or another. Not when there’s a growing village nearby, of farmers and their women, with a baker and a monk, all of them looking for someone to tell their sorrows to.

He knows his temper is better left outside his home, directed at people who have the misfortune of crossing him at the wrong time in the wrong place.

Yet he longs to be by your side just as much as you long to have him with you.

He can tell by the way you pull him close when he’s home. How there’s no one allowed to sleep in your bed but him.

When you kiss him, he feels like everything will turn out all right, eventually.

When you hold him close he can almost forget the way Fū looked the day she died.

When he’s got his arms around you, nose buried in your hair he can pretend he won’t die the day Yagura dies.

67.

Long before he turns seventy, Kakuzu understands how you feel.

He still looks barely past thirty. It might be Earth Grudge Fear or a Kekkai Genkai his Clan never bothered to explore, but you and he both have lived too many years on this cruel earth to still be this young.

He’s so tired.

Mito lost her first child to a famine.

Yagura lost an arm trying to save Utakata from a mob. So what if his son was born in the land of water? That does not take away his right to live!

There will never be an end to this madness, this sorrow.

There will never be an end to your life if you don’t make sure of it.

“Don’t die.” He tells you at night.

“Don’t die.” You tell him when you see him off.

There’s but a thin line separating the two of you from death and it’s the other's presence.

He cannot leave you behind. He will not leave you behind.

If this isn’t love, what is?

81.

Kakuzu’s barely over eighty when he meets Pain.

Bright orange hair and eyes as cold and determined as yours.

He pretends he’s not interested. But he is.

He’s long grown impatient of this world. Of its neverending cycle of pain and misery and sorrow. Why must his children die? Why must you suffer to stay alive? Why must he stay away from you to keep you safe yet come back to make sure you keep on living?

Mito barely looks at him now.

She’s learned by now that she can never outrun his temper. It’s etched into her bones.

Yagura has grown almost silent after the loss of yet another of his siblings.

He’s a grown man, hair turning grey, yet he still crawls into his father's lap when he’s home.

He wants to go back to the simple days.

If only he could turn back time.

If only he could hold Fū one more time.

91.

Hidan trails behind him.

There’s movement in the bushes.

Hidan reacts immediately, draws his scythe, curses loudly.

“Shut up.” Kakuzu gnarls. His hand shoots out, catches the perpetrator around the neck.

It’s a little girl, Kunai drawn. His mouth turns dry at the sight. Her eyes remind him of his little Rin, never mind the fact that Rin’s already got three kids of her own.

“Let me down!” She screams bloody murder at him. He drops her like she asked for. She runs away with bloody knees.

“Aw, why did you let her get away?” Hidan asks. “I could have sacrificed her.”

“Take grown-ups for that.” He huffs.

They rest in an inn that night.

Kakuzu thinks of you like he always does when he counts his money. He should check in with you soon, to make sure you’ve got enough for the next months. Winter has been hard this year and you’ve picked up another stray. He got a beetle plush at a fair last month, won it in one of those rare moments when Hidan’s occupied with something stupid. He knows Yagura is going to love it.

“We do offer some special fun if you’re interested.” The innkeeper's grin speaks volumes.

“What do you have in mind?” Kakuzu asks. He’ll kill the guy if he gives him a reason to.

And the guy is stupid enough to do so, dragging a filthy little girl out of the kitchen.

It’s the girl that tried to trap them in the woods earlier, clothes filthy from crawling around the kitchen.

“How much for her?” Kakuzu asks before he can stop himself. The girls' eyes remind him of Fū in this low light. The price is low, telling of the man’s desperation. Or maybe he’s just not a good businessman.

“I’ll take her.” He pays upfront and demands another serving of food, pushing it toward the girl who’s now sitting next to him, trying to crawl into herself.

“Eat.” He demands roughly. “You’re nothing but skin and bones.”

“I’ll let you have your fun then.” The innkeeper moves backward, a slimy grin distorting his face.

“Hidan,” Kakuzu’s tone lacks any emotion. “Take care of him. But be quiet about it.”

They leave the next morning a little richer - dead innkeepers don’t need any live savings - and with a child slowing them down.

“What’s that all about? You a pedophile?” Hidan eyes the kid curiously.

“Shut up.”

They turn away from the main road.

It’s less than two days over the mountains if they keep moving at this pace. Most of the time he’s got to carry the kid anyway.

“What’s your name?” Hidan asks the first night when they’re sharing a rabbit Kakuzu caught.

“Kushina.” The girl says before directing her eyes at Kakuzu. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Why should I?” He asks roughly. “There’s no meat on you.”

A rustling in the bushes gives him away.

Kakuzu stops short, hand outstretched to keep Hidan back.

“Yagura.” He calls. “I’ve already spotted you.”

Yagura steps out with a smile. His hair has turned almost completely grey yet his eyes are that of a child.

“Have you got me a present?” He asks.

“Why would I get you one? You still suck at hiding.”

Yagura just laughs, stills when he spots Kushina.

“Oh! You brought me a friend!” He crouches down in front of the girl, his remaining hand outstretched. “Hi. I’m Yagura. Do you want to meet my Mom? She likes children.”

Kushina looks up at Kakuzu as if asking for directions. He jerks his head, telling her to go.

Yagura whisks her away, never as quick on his feet as when he’s presented with a new sibling.

Hidan’s muttering something behind him.

Right. He shouldn’t have brought him here.

“Listen.” He mutters darkly. “You can turn around and go back to the village we came from. I’m going to meet you there in a week.”

“No way.” Hidan grins. “I want to see what you’ve got hidden in the woods. Some secret family?”

“So what?” Kakuzu gnarls. “If you dare to threaten them-”

Hidan falls silent, face strangely void of any emotion.

“Fine.” He huffs eventually. “But if you’re late, I’ll leave without you.” He turns back, coat swishing behind him as he moves quickly.

Kakuzu’s not sure what he did to be granted such a favor, but he’s not going to second guess it.

He rarely gets time off as it is.

Kushina’s already laughing freely with Yagura by the time he has to leave again.

All those years of misery forgotten in just a few days.

You pull him close, hug him tight.

You barely look older than thirty.

Most people tell you that life must have treated you well.

Kakuzu knows the truth.

“What’s your next target?” You ask.

“The main one in the land of fire.” He recalls. “The nine tails.”

“That’s the worst one, right?” You ask. There’s something scratching at the back of your throat.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m so tired.” You tell him. “I’m so tired, Kakuzu. I want to go home.”

“I know.”

He kisses you, tries to tell you through touch what he cannot say with words.

I love you. Don’t leave me. I’m with you till the end.

“This is the last one.” You tell him when he pulls away. “You hear me? No more kids. No more missions.”

He nods. “I promise.” He says but he knows just as well as you do that his promises don’t mean much.

“I love you.” You whisper, for the first time in over eighty years.

You’ve never had to say it before.

Later, when it’s much too late for it, he’ll wonder why you said it.

He’ll regret he never said it back.

#my writing #Kakuzu x reader #Kakuzu angst #kakuzu #Akatsuki x reader #Akatsuki angst #Naruto x reader #Naruto angst

159 notes · View notes

netherfeildren · 1 year ago

Text

Someone's Wife in the Boat of Someone's Husband .4

Series Masterlist : Moodboard

(Joel Miller x F!Reader)

Content Warnings: Mutual masturbation; Come eating; Angst; Vague mention of abortion; Discussions of child neglect; Discussions of unwanted pregnancy

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: Some of this is so… phew… idk what came over me or how i come up with some of this shit. sorry (but not really). Joel’s a little nasty in this beware

Art is by Denis Sarazhin.

Word Count: 7.7K

Read on AO3

A single person is missing for you, and the whole world is empty.

Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking

To think that despite his momentary acquiescence to your need for space, he was not, afterwards, made into a raving, snarling beast prowling its cage after having tasted you, would be fallacy – because that was what he was calling it in his mind, for now. Not yet ready to accept it within himself as a full blown rejection, so yes, for now, space, time.

He returns home with Sarah after the lakehouse – Eva gone off with her girlfriends on an extension of the weekend, wanting to draw out the farewell to summer just a little longer – to their routine of lunches and snacks and daycare and evenings playing mermaids and dinosaurs in the little pool in the backyard that he’d gotten for her at HEB. He tries to be good, to remain calm, controlled, but it’s just short of impossible. He feels as though he still has the taste of you on the surface of his tongue, the sounds of your moans ringing in his ears at all hours of the day, in bed at night, hard and aching and alone, wanting you. This turns out to be a different type of hell to the one he’s usually used to, that of monotony and loneliness and resentment. No, this is burning and painful, a type of fire that whips through his arteries and chars his bones and leaves him dizzy and disoriented.

He’s never experienced something like this before. Not in his entire life.

It is not easy, per se, but productive, to lose himself in his work, and the start of Sarah’s school year. She’s in a 3K program for the fall, her first time going to a real school, and the work and preparation and pure fucking anxiety induced at the thought of his baby going to such a big school is overwhelming. No small feat to accomplish all on his own.

But at night, after he’s worked himself into the ground all day, and read Sarah her bedtime story, at least three times, sometimes up to seven, but never passing ten, that was their very strict rule, and tucked her in and checked the closet and under the bed and behind the door for monsters, when he’s finally found himself alone and quiet and with a spare, but infinitely painful moment to think of you, he lets you in, in full force.

He pulls his shirt up over the back of his head, tossing it into the hamper as he passes his closet into his restroom, undoes his belt and jeans, pulling his contraband from the pocket, to push them off as he reaches to turn on the shower.

As he lets the water heat up, he pauses to look at himself in the mirror. Tall, long frame, still pleasing to a woman, he’d imagine. Well, he hopes so. He’s still strong, his shoulders broad, his chest built from the long hours of hauling and climbing and exhaustive physical labor. There are a few grays threaded through the dark curls at his temples. Sprouting, just in the last year, to remind him that he’s getting older. One of his buddies had told him that eventually everything went gray, everything. That weirded the fuck out of him, to be honest. He hates the thought of you seeing that, thinking of him as old. You’re so much younger than him. So pretty. Too pretty. His middle has gone slightly softer since hitting forty, but only slightly. There’s no helping that. And the small creases at the corners of his eyes… shit, he’s getting old. But his cock is still long and thick, and he’ll give that to you as much as you’ll let him. If you ever let him. All the time if he can. All he has to do is find a way to see you again, to convince you to let him see you again.

He feels a small bitter ribbon of self consciousness curl through his stomach as he takes himself in. He doesn’t want you to think of him as some old man. Some old, sleazy man who’d seen you and been so fucking desperate for you, he hadn’t cared that he was married, that you’re too young for him, that he has a family, and responsibilities and a life, like some pathetic fucking pervert. You’re just so lovely, so soft and pretty and you smell so good, always. And he’s been so alone for so fucking long. He is lonely. And you, you’d looked at him, you’d seen him, you’d wanted him back just as fiercely as he’d wanted you, even if just for a moment. How was he ever supposed to be strong enough to resist that? And further than your wanting, you’re good and kind and smart and so fucking funny and adorable. Joel could be strong when he needed to be, but he could also be weak, and he thinks that you, perhaps, have the power to make him weaker than anything else.

What do you do when you meet a woman, have a child, get married, and then find the person who you could very well fall, probably, very deeply in love with?

Because yes, even now, he is emotionally aware enough to recognize that. More than anything, he can recognize that he has, as of yet, never been in love, but that you present the great, great possibility for that. And yes, it’s too soon, and maybe nonsensical or crazy or what have you, but Joel has always been a man that’s known himself well. When he knows, he knows, and when he chooses, he chooses, and he is very close to knowing and choosing you.

He looks down at your panties laying on the bathroom counter – the ones he’d stolen. After you’d slipped them off, too wet from your come, from him making you come – they’re his now.

He runs his thumb and forefinger along the silk lace at the edge. They’re a pretty, soft blue. He loves the color blue now. It will, forevermore, be his favorite color after this. The cut in the back is high, he knows the soft flesh of your ass was left mostly uncovered by them, he remembers he felt it when you rode his thigh. He wishes he could have seen it. He hopes he’ll have another chance to see it.

If he thinks about it hard enough, he can imagine that the middle gusset is still damp from you. He brings them to his face, presses them to his nose and inhales deeply. The scent: still faintly musky, but also, slightly sweet. He sticks his tongue out to taste the fabric, and a violent shiver passes through him. He has to clutch at the countertop to hold himself upright. His cock is fully erect and leaking now.

He has to taste you. He has to get the chance to. He’ll die if he doesn’t. He’s sure of it.

He brings the soft lace down to his aching erection. He doesn’t care if he’s disgusting. He doesn’t care about anything. All he wants is to feel you. To temper this fire churning in his blood. He can’t remember the last time his body felt like this, the last time he wanted something this fucking badly he felt like he’d die if he didn’t have it. Maybe never – he doesn’t think he’s ever felt like this. He wraps your panties around his hard length and starts to jack himself off. Strong, tight strokes from base to tip with the tiny, blue silk sliding along his fevered skin. The sound of your orgasm, the look in your eyes as you humped his thigh, ground your little clit on him and soaked his denim. He should’ve touched you more when he had the chance. He wants to fuck you so badly, wants to sink into the tight, wet clutch of your cunt and fuck you full of his come. Mark you. Brand himself into your skin so that you’re never without him. He wants you to smell like him. He wants to feel the wet gush he felt on his jeans on his cock and dripping down his balls, and Jesus fucking Christ, he comes at that. Long, thick ropes of white spend, spitting from his swollen tip at the thought of your pussy coming around him, a desperate whimper escaping in the quiet loneliness of his restroom.

He thinks of you constantly, what seems like every moment of the day, in the weeks that follow. As much as he tries to keep a straight head on, he can’t. He craves you, dreams of you, fucks his hand to the memory of you coming for him, spilling his seed over and over again in the shower at the remembered look in your eyes and the sounds you made for him. He can’t help himself.

Outside of that, everything else in his life is bleak and slow and… and he doesn’t know what else to call it, except for sad and wanting. Lonely. To have touched something so alive, so beautiful and sweet and perfect, and then be forced to return to the barren landscape that is his life in everything outside of his daughter, it’s jarringly difficult to do. He wants to be strong, to do what you asked of him, but it had been so long since he’d really wanted something for himself. Couldn’t remember what the last thing had been, really, and so to now have something to desire, something to want and think of, it makes him weak and fills his head with all kinds of excuses to see you, to call you – he’d forced Tommy to steal your number for him out of Gerri’s phone – to go to your work and wait for you to come out, just so he can catch a single glimpse of you.

He restrains himself from that, though. He forces himself to focus his mind on other things, Sarah and school and playdates, and he works himself like a dog, taking on more contracts than he ever has before. He doesn’t give himself any time to rest, any time to think, and in the few moments that he does, when he stares at your number on the screen of his phone, imagining what it is he’d say to you if he called, if you answered, what the sound of your voice would be like saying hello to him, saying his name, or in the moments when he fucks himself raw and spent and sad, those are the moments when he feels weakest, when he feels most alone, when he’s almost overwhelmed with wanting.

He only lasts a measly three weeks after the lake house before he’s outside of the elementary school, one late Wednesday afternoon during the second week of the new school year. The sky is dark and angry, on the verge of a downpour, and he’s been waiting, agitated and anxious, for about half an hour, before you finally come out the double doors.

The lightest sprinkling of rain is starting up, and he jumps out of his truck’s cab, jacket in hand, to approach you. He says your name softly as he comes up on your side while you’re distracted, digging in your purse for something.

You jump slightly at the sound of his voice and turn your wide, worried eyes on him, “Joel–” your voice, soft and breathy, so sweet, “Is everything okay? What are you doing here? Is Sarah okay?”

He holds his hands up in what he hopes is an appeasing, non-threatening gesture, he doesn’t want you nervous. Fucking Christ, asking for Sarah with that look of worry in your eyes, “Everything’s fine, sweetheart,” how in the fuck is he supposed to not be obsessed with you? “I was just – I was just hoping we could talk, is all.”

You look around at the sparsely filled parking lot, as if searching for witnesses, or perhaps, an escape, but then you turn back to him and pause to take him in. He watches the sweep of your eyes down his body, and then back up, stopping to search for something in his eyes. Whatever you find there must give you the answer you need because you nod your head once, “Alright, we can talk,” you say softly.

“My truck? Can we drive for a bit? I’ll bring you back.” You nod again, and he drapes his jacket over your shoulders to protect you from the drizzle as he leads you to his truck. “S’bout to come down hard,” he murmurs as he opens the passenger door for you, taking your wrist in his hold to help you up into the truck. He can’t help himself, he reaches for your seatbelt and buckles you in himself – is filled with an obscenely embarrassing fizz of pleasure at the gesture of it.

You’re looking at him with the most concerned little frown marring the soft spot between your delicate brows, “Are you okay?” your voice slow and unsure, and then more of him being unable to help himself, to keep his hands to himself, because he reaches up and gently brushes his thumb over the little frowning wrinkle, nods his head once.

“I’m okay, baby.”

He drives for a bit, takes you to a spot up in the hills he likes to come to sometimes when he needs to think. Somewhere the two of you can be alone and quiet, just for a moment. He parks the truck by a copse of trees, a view of Austin on the other side of the two of you. The rain has turned into a violent downpour by now. He shuts off the engine and looks out at the view of the city.

“I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t bother you – you asked me to stay away, but –” He lets his head fall back against the headrest and sighs, and the sound of it is so weary, pained in a way that’s so very, very sad. It makes you hurt for him. You reach across the center console to grip his bicep, you can’t help yourself. You could see from the first look at his face that something was wrong. You know he wouldn’t have come to look for you if he didn’t need you now.

“You’re not bothering me. I know I shouldn’t, but I wanted to see you too.” You only confess this because of the look in his eyes. The glassy, burdened look of them. You wish that you could climb into his lap and wrap your arms around his neck, press your warmth into him. The rain hits the windshield like bullets, the sound deafening. The world outside of his truck’s cabin seems distorted, as if this liminal space the two of you sit in now, has been carved out of the rest of the real world, and the two of you exist here now, only, together. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’,” he wraps his hand over yours on his arm, drags his thumb over the smooth little hills of your knuckles. His gaze out the window is so far away, lost, something almost childlike in its desolation. You watch the strong ripple of his neck as he swallows, clears his throat. “Nothing – just wanted to see you. ‘Dunno… Felt so tired today.” He closes his eyes for a moment, “Couldn’t stop myself. Wanted to just give myself this one thing.” He lets his head roll against the seat to look at you, gives you the gentle curve of his crooked smile. So beautiful and so sad, and you can tell that something is endlessly wrong. You feel afraid, for one moment, that he’s going to start crying, the sadness in his eyes is so overwhelming. You don’t think you’ll be able to stand the sight of his tears, you think they might break you. “Just wanted to look at you, to sit here with you, just for a little bit.”

“Alright.” You’re quiet for a beat, watching him watch the rain. Part of you wants to give him space, give him quiet, but you need to know what’s wrong. You can’t bear the look in his eyes right now. “Did something happen?”

He’s silent, as if gathering his thoughts or his strength around him, and then: “Eva had a pregnancy scare this week.” A jagged shiver slices through you.

“What?” You croak, you try to pull your hand back, but he clamps down on your bones, holds you to him. “But I thought–”

He shakes his head, “Not mine.”

“Joel… what? Are– are you–” You blink furiously, at a loss. What do you say to the man who you’re kind of having an affair with when he tells you his wife, who is also seemingly having an affair, might be pregnant with another man’s child? This is all so, so fucked up. So ugly. You swallow, turn to look out at the rain. You don’t want to cry, but you can’t seem to help the tears from pooling. A bombardment of recurring images from your childhood slingshotting through your mind; your mother, leaving, angry, cold, quiet. Always pushing you away. The sound of her crying through her bedroom door, your child’s ear, pressed to the cool grain, trying to get as close to her as possible even though she doesn’t want you. Always shutting you out. Your father, dead to the world on the sofa in the living room, drowning in his liquor and yearning and hurt. The sight of a tall, handsome stranger, coming up the front walk to ring the doorbell, to take your mother away with him. The way he’d crouched down from his great height to ask you what your name was because she hadn’t even bothered to tell the man she was having an affair with, the man she was leaving you for, what your name was.

What is it about being unlovable, you wonder, and why is it that some are cursed with it so cruelly, while others are not?

“Hey,” Joel tugs on your wrist, pulls you closer to him. “I told you, we’re not like that, we’ve never been. I don’t want you thinkin’ somethin’ else, that I haven’t been honest.” He drags the pad of his thumb over your cheekbone, tips your head back to catch your eyes. You let them flutter shut and swallow, open them again. If you talk you’ll cry, but he needs words from you now. You swallow again, shake your head.

“It’s– it’s not that. I believe you. And even if it was otherwise, I have no right–”

“Stop. Don’t say that. You know that isn’t true. You have the right to honesty after what I’ve told you, after what we’ve done.” You try to pull back, but he brings his palm to wrap around the back of your neck and grip you by the scruff. “Stop,” he grits, “Don’t pull away from me.”

You bring your palms up to his chest, clutch at the collar of his shirt. “I’m not. I’m not, I’m sorry. It’s just–” you huff a sharp, bitter laugh, “Sometimes it’s like you’re just telling me the story of my childhood, over and over again. Like you’re living it again for me. This all sounds very pathetically familiar.” A tear finally falls, you can’t help it. A weeper in a long line of weepers, always.

“Sweetheart…” he brushes the track of your tear away with his thumb.

You shake your head. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Is she?”

“She’s fine. Took her to the doctor this morning.”

“God, Joel– I don’t – I don’t know how you do this.” Another tear. You think of your father, how weak, how broken he was after her. He could have never shouldered the things Joel does. You feel very sad, very sorry, for the both of them, as different as they are. You feel sorry for the whole miserable lot of you, really.

“She needed my help, she was scared–” his thumb sweeps a slow, hypnotizing path up and down the back of your neck. The rough callus on his thumb catches at your sensitive skin and makes you feel hot and sweaty and overwhelmed for the feel of it on every other tender place on your body. “Terrified, really. Of being trapped like that again.”

“Trapped?”

“Sarah was never her plan. Neither of us were. She never wanted any of this.”

“You told me the marriage wasn’t conventional… but I didn’t – I didn’t think Sarah was included in that…” Your stories are too similar, the similarities too painfully familiar.

“We met at a bar, it was–” he looks away, and you watch a hot flush flood his cheeks. He’s embarrassed to tell you this. “It was a one night thing. Her birth control failed, and then – it was just – well, ending the pregnancy was never an option for her, and I told her from the get go that I’d do whatever she wanted, support her in anything she chose. She chose to go on with it. So I asked her to marry me, it made sense, it was– it was the convenient thing. At least, at the time – in my mind, it seemed so. But we – we were strangers, there was no connection. And then… I don’t know. It wasn’t, eventually – it wasn’t the right thing, at all, for any of us. She never wanted to be a mother. She told me once, after, that she’d chosen wrong, she’d made the wrong decision. And I always tried to be supportive, but by that time, well – we had Sarah by that time, and I– I loved her more than anything I’d ever loved in my whole life. Didn’t even know it was possible to love anything that much – and it made me so fucking angry with her – to– to hear her say something like that, that she should’ve gotten rid of her. It was – I don’t know – a very complicated and painful thing – for the both of us to grapple with, I guess. But I–” he pauses, takes a deep breath. His eyes shift madly, looking out the window as if the rain will bring with it an explanation or an escape for whatever it is that’s churning inside his mind as he tells you this. “There was never really anything to be angry with, I don’t think. No real reason or focus for my anger. I realized it’s impossible to fault a person for not being what they were never meant to be. She never wanted this. And I hadn’t planned for it, it just happened. And the decisions we made were made, and then things just ended up as they did. Sometimes – I don’t,” he frowns, shaking his head, “I don’t know how to say it, but–” He turns to you now, a wild, pleading look in his eyes, “But how can I say that we made a mistake, without saying that Sarah was a mistake? Because if I’ve ever done a single thing absolutely perfect, in my whole entire life, it’s that little girl. She’s perfect. You know what I mean?”

You nod, swallowing back your tears, “Yes.”

He frowns at you, his eyes filled with infinite tenderness, “Don’t cry, sweetheart.”

“I’m not,” you lie, turning to press the back of your hand to your hot eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s just – it reminds me of myself, of my own mother. She – she was the same, I think. Never meant to be a mother. But not bad. It’s just what it was. And hearing you, hearing this, it makes me so sad for you, for all of you. I’m sorry.” He leans forward, wraps his hand around your jaw to press his brow to your wet cheek and just holds there. The two of you breathe each other in, match the cadence of your breaths to the other. You snake your arms around his broad shoulders to press yourself closer to him. It scares you, this feeling of necessity he forces out of you, like you need him, even this soon, for strength, for comfort, for happiness. You’ve never felt like this before, and it’s coming on so quickly, overwhelming you. You feel like you need him, and if you don’t have him you’ll never be happy for the rest of your life, you’ll never be able to forget him, to let him go. He shifts to nuzzle against your cheek and then your jaw, and then the hot press of his lips to the tender spot behind your ear. A violent tremble moves through you at the feel of his soft mouth against your skin, and you dig your nails harshly into his shoulders.

“I just– lemme just–” he mumbles against your skin, and then that hand wrapped around your jaw is turning your head and forcing your mouth open so that he’s kissing you, licking into your mouth and everything goes tight and painful and white hot inside of you. “Jesus–” he says against your mouth. He forces your head back to deepen the angle, his other hand coming up to fist painfully in your hair, and you whimper into him. His answering groan is deep and rumbling and so, so wanting. Your heart feels like it’s flipping and squeezing and pinching inside your ribcage. You can hear how much he wants you, this, in the cadence of the sounds he makes. The kiss is wet, sloppy, full of teeth and all the desperation and yearning of these past few weeks. The days and days of not seeing him, of remembering your encounter in that dark room at the lake house, the way he’d made you come against his thigh, the sound of his own orgasm, the inhibition, the flush in his cheeks as he spilled in his jeans for you. The desperate, pathetic nights of your cunt stuffed full of your fingers, so wet and aching and still not enough even though you’d made yourself orgasm multiple times at just the memory of him. You claw at his hair and neck and back, you want to draw blood, imprint yourself on him in some way, the same way he’s imprinted himself on you. He brings the hand in your hair down to your waist to press you closer to him. The center console digs painfully into your ribs and you want to climb over it and settle in his lap, but you know you shouldn’t, that if you end up over there you’ll let him fuck you, and that you’ll never come back from that. Not ever. He drags his hand up to your breast, grips the heavy weight in his large palm and squeezes, and it hurts and it feels so, so fucking good that you rip yourself away from his mouth, push at his broad chest to force him away from you. The both of you stare at each other, wide eyed and panting great, heaving gasps. His hair is sticking up at all angles, messy from your pillaging fingers, his eyes glassy and his cheeks flushed almost feverish.

Oh, you want him so badly. This will be your undoing.

“We– we can’t– I didn’t come here with you for– for that,” you gasp, pressing your fingers to your wet mouth.

“I know– I know– shit, we–” He passes a palm over his mouth, and you feel another tear slide down your burning cheek. You’re surprised you don’t see steam rise at the contact. “Fuck – fuck, baby, please. Please, don’t cry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I got carried away– ”

“I’m not crying– I’m not.” Maybe if you say it enough times it’ll be true. You turn to wipe it away on the hill of your shoulder, try to hide your face.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched you

“I wanted you to. I want it so badly,” you cry, squeezing your eyes shut tight. You feel inconsolable.

“I know– I know.”

You want him so badly, so badly, so badly, you want him to keep touching you forever. “It hurts, Joel. It hurts–”

“Jesus, what hurts? Tell me.” He leans forward, gripping your knee painfully tight, and you press yourself into the door at your back, “Fuck– is that sweet, little cunt aching for me? Tell me, baby.”

You nod

“Fuck, what if– what if we just – just watch each other? What if you pet your cunt for me, and let me watch? Just– just to make the ache go away? Would that be okay?”

You shake your head, unsure, but your hand is clutching his over your knee now, digging your nails into the top of his palm and letting him slowly push your knee open further.

His voice is so coaxing. Oh, he shouldn’t use that tone of voice against you, you’re powerless to it. “You can, it’s okay. It’s just to make the ache go away, it’s okay,” and you have no choice but to capitulate, no desire to not give in.

His palm on your knee slides up your thigh, pushing your skirt to bunch at your hips, and he hooks one finger into the side of your panties to pull them down as you lift your hips, allowing him to divest you of them. So easy, you’re so fucking easy, and you don’t even care. All you can focus on right now is the throbbing ache between your legs.

His eyes don’t leave yours as he says, “Spread your legs… that’s it.”

“Don’t– don’t look–” you stutter as you bring your shaking fingers to your core, and he’s leaning back to undo his belt and drag his zipper down. You can’t look either, you can’t, if you do, you’ll lose, you know it. You see the peripheral movement of him reaching into his clothes to pull the heft of his cock out, the shift of his upper body as he lifts his hips to readjust his pants to free himself. Your cunt is slick and throbbing, painfully swollen.

You watch the movement of his shoulder as he starts to jack himself, “Just your clit first, baby. Soft, little circles, yeah… how does that feel?”

“Good– good, yes.” You’re panting, mouth hanging open. There is fire in his gaze, all for you, only for you.

“Yeah? You need more?”

“Please, Joel–” You don’t know what you’re begging for, but you don’t think it’s for your touch alone.

“Give yourself one finger, sweetheart. Just one – tell me how wet it is? Are you soaked for me?”

You press one finger inside, and yes, yes, your’re fucking soaked for him, you say. He groans at that, the rhythm of his shoulder gets faster. “I have to look, baby. Please, please, I have to see how wet it is.” The tops of his cheeks are flushed red, but as you watch the downward shift of his eyes to your spread sex, the place where you’re impaling yourself with a single finger, his eyes flare, the flush seems to ricochet even higher, hotter. You pull your finger out to cup yourself, hide yourself, burning with shyness and lust, but fuck, the look in his eyes, it’s bright hot, devouring. No one has ever looked at you like that. Never.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he moans, “Put ‘em back in. Fuck yourself, make yourself come. I have to see it.” So fucking gorgeous, you hear him mutter under his breath, and you finally give yourself permission to look down as you stuff two fingers back into your desperate pussy. Fuck your rules, you have to see him.

He’s huge.

Thick and long, the size of his cock is not made smaller by the massive breadth of his fist holding it in a vice-like grip, jacking it, tight and fast. The head is flushed a deep, angry red, the slit at the top weeping a pearly stream of precum that makes your mouth water and the muscles in your pelvis tighten – you want to taste him, you want him to fuck your mouth until you’re forced to swallow his load. There’s a thick vein running up the entire length of the underside of the shaft that you’re sure you’d feel his pulse in if you set your tongue against it. He’s pulled his heavy balls out over the edge of his jeans too, and he cups them and squeezes.

“Spread yourself wider for me – yeah like that… Lemme see you stretch that cunt.”Oh, he’s so dirty.

You’re sucking in quick, shallow gulps of air, on the verge of hyperventilating as you watch his massive palm beat at his cock, almost dizzy with lust, your blood rushing in your head, your pussy sopping wet, tight as a knot. This isn’t enough, you want to stop, you want to go further, you want him to touch you, to climb into his lap, to take that heavy, thick weight inside of you and feel him stretch you to the point of pain. “Don’t look– you shouldn’t look–” you don’t know why you say it, maybe because you feel you have to, but it’s nonsensical when your eyes are glued to him.

“I have to look, baby. Please, don’t ask me that. I have to see it – fuck, you’re so gorgeous, look at you. Prettiest fucking cunt I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

“Stop,” you moan, arching your back further to crook your fingers inside of yourself, hitching your knees higher to pet at the spongy, tender spot inside you that you’d like him to own. “St– stop– I’m– m’not your baby– don’t– don’t– oh fuck, I’m gonna come–” your eyes roll to the back of your head at the sound of his choked growl, his eyes glued to your stretched sex, the sounds of your wetness and his slick palm echoing in the truck cabin.

“You are, you are – even if you won’t let me touch you, won’t let me have you – you fucking belong to me now. Already, even like this – look at you, about to come for me with just my eyes on you.” His hips start to lift into his fist, his hand almost a blur for how fast he’s fucking himself, teeth gritted, tendons in his strong neck popping starkly under the surface of his flushed, sweaty skin.

“Fuck– fuck, it’s so pretty.”

“Stop– please, Joel, I need��”

“Wanna taste it and fuck it and fill it with my come–”

“Oh my fucking God–” you’re going to come, now, now, it’s right there. You tell him.

“One more finger – lemme see you stretch yourself… yeah like that… my good fucking girl,” grunted as you stuff a third finger inside and start to spasm, mewling high and desperate for him, grinding your clit against the mound of your palm. You want his cock to stretch you like this, and you tell him. The sound he makes at your desperate plea, as if it’s been ripped out of him, painful, desperate, savage. You watch the wide head flush an almost deeper shade, verging on purple now, and he squeezes the base cruelly, his sack fisted tight in his other hand, and he starts to come, a thick white stream of milky spend that makes your mouth water, sliding over his fist and spurting onto his exposed belly. “Oh God, Joel, I want it.” You can’t stop the words, the sight of his orgasm forces them out of you.

“I know, baby, I know. I want to give it to you,” he says through clenched teeth.

You both stay frozen like that for a moment as you come down, panting and staring at each other wide eyed and flushed and trembling. That was, perhaps, no, it was without a doubt, the most intense thing you’ve ever experienced with a man, and you’d barely even touched each other. Pain and pleasure coalesce to leave you shaking and sweating, your skin hypersensitive. You’re scared you’re going to start crying again and scare him, give him the wrong idea – that you’d not liked this, that you’d not wanted this. When the truth is that nothing could ever compare to how much you wanted, needed it. How much you’ll want this forever now. You want to take him inside of you. The sheer force of your desire almost has a flavor, a shape to it. The strength of it, so potent, it is almost made sentient – a living thing.

You pull your wet fingers out, and he snaps forward suddenly, to snatch your hand towards himself and brings the slick digits into his mouth, his tongue laving hot and wet between the spaces, sucking on them. All the while his eyes are zeroed in on the space between your legs, on the place that is still clenching and stretched, so ready and eager for him to fill. You gasp at his ferocity, at the feral look in his eyes because you can see, you can see that almost sentient desire you’re filled with, reflected in his own eyes.

“Joel–” you whisper as he presses one final kiss to the wet tips of your fingers, his eyes fluttering shut as he holds there for one moment.

“I know–” he whispers back, and when his eyes come back to yours, there is such a depth of understanding in them. You realize in this moment, in this shared look, that the two of you are the same in an essential way. It isn’t just your desire that connects the two of you now, it’s so much more. A loneliness, a sentimentality, perhaps, a keen sense of familiarity. That vein of shyness, of being closed off, that fear of opening up, of being hurt, of being left. He’s the same, you can see it, feel it.

You’d never thought you had a very good sense of self identity – your perception of yourself skewed in the image of your mother, of who she was, of her shadow, of the things she’d done, but in this moment, looking into the reflection of Joel’s eyes, you feel you see yourself very clearly, almost securely, for the first time. It is recognition the two of you are sharing now, for some reason, in some way, you recognize him. And you find it ironic, that now, in this moment of all times, when you’re doing the very thing that you’d always been so afraid of, of turning into the thing that you’d always feared because of your mother, it is ironic that you are finally able to cast away her shadow, her image, and see only yourself, so clearly, so wholly, because of him.

And yet, despite the sudden, blinding clarity, oh, it was all so dark, so dark, that it be this man, this unavailable, married, unreachable man, that would make you feel so wholly seen, so understood, so connected.

Your wrist is left wet and sticky where he’s gripped you with his spend covered fingers, but you’re careful not to wipe it away. You want to be left with the tightness of his dried come over your skin.

“Don’t say that we shouldn’t have done that,” he tells you.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Good.”

“I was going to say that I wish we could do it again – that I wish we could do more.”

“Shit–” he whispers, passes his dry palm over his mouth and then up into his hair, to tug at the messy curls. You move to right your clothes, and he follows your lead, tucking himself back into his jeans. “Me too.”

You let your head rest back against the window as the two of you stare at each other in silence for a moment. It’s comforting, filled with companionship, understanding, the intimacy of the moment the two of you just shared. Your cheeks feel hot and you can’t help but smile at him, just a little, a small laugh escaping, and then he’s returning it, smiling and laughing softly too, until the both of you are wracked with the most ridiculous, schoolyard giggles, like two blushing teenagers. It’s a wonderful moment for the purity of it, the two of you together, laughing. Later, you’re sure it will make you very sad and desperate to relive it, but now, oh, now, it really does feel so wonderful. You wish the two of you could live here forever, together in this moment, in the warm, intimate space of his truck’s cabin.

You talk for hours after that, about nothing and everything. His work and yours, your art, his love of building things, of taking care of things, music and movies and books and Sarah. Always, Sarah.

“She has an obsession with bats right now, weird kid, and there’s a sanctuary up town. We spent a few hours there on Saturday, she loved it. Scampering around in this Snow White princess dress she’s refused to take off for the past three weeks. Won’t part with the damn thing, not even to let me wash it.”

He loves her so much, and it makes your heart pinch and your eyes go hot and weepy. He is, you think, an exceptionally good father, an exceptionally good man.

Eventually, however, it gets late enough that the two of you realize you need to get home. He drives you back to the school in the most comfortable of silences, your hand intertwined reassuringly in his strong embrace. It feels worryingly natural, right.

“Will you let me see you again?” he asks when he pulls up next to your lonely car in the school parking lot.

“I don’t– I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Joel. This will only go further from here if we continue. And I don’t– I can’t be your–” you frown, shaking your head, disgusted at yourself for even having to say the words, “I can’t be your mistress,” you tell him bluntly.

“I would never, never ask that of you.”

“So, then what is it supposed to be? You’re going to leave your wife? That– that isn’t what I want. I don’t want to be the thing that breaks your marriage up, your family, that leaves Sarah in a broken home. I cannot be that.” It would be your worst nightmare come to life.

He says your name in the most serious tone you think he can muster, as if he can imbue the understanding of his words into your stubborn skull with the resonance of it, “There is no marriage to break up. She’s leaving soon, I know it, I can tell. She’s done. She’s leaving Sarah, and I don’t think she’s coming back this time. I don’t think I can let her just – just come in and out of our daughter’s life like that. Something needs to stop or change. I have to do something to make this better for my girl.”

“I understand that, and I can’t– I can’t tell you how sorry I am to hear that for Sarah. For you. Really, I understand more than I can tell you – but still, when it comes to you and I, or you and her – I can’t … I can’t get into that like this. I– I, I don’t–” you pant, “I don’t know. I’m sorry. But I can’t do that, this. Not now.”

“Baby–”

“No, Joel. You don’t understand – I watched my mother cheat on my father my entire childhood, until she up and left us one day, left him. I watched him love her for years, unreturned, suffer for her, and then I watched him kill himself slowly, drink himself to death until I buried him.”

“That isn’t what Eva and I are–”

“I cannot have an affair with you. I know – I know that’s basically what we’re already fucking doing – I know I’m a hypocrite–”

“You’re not–”

“But I can’t also be the reason you leave your marriage. It would kill me – do you understand?” your voice cracks, you’re shocked you’re not crying right now. “Please, Joel.”

He looks at you for a moment, you’re afraid you can see anger in his eyes, but then they go soft, understanding, and he says, “Yeah… yeah, sweetheart. I understand.” Your eyes flutter shut, and you let out a shaky breath, relieved, but at the same time, filled with a sick twist of disappointment. What would you do if he pressed you, if he forced you? You know part of you would like it. “Can I at least call you? Only sometimes, please. Just to talk – to hear your voice.”

You start to shake your head, but when you open your eyes and take in the pleading look in his gaze, you can’t say no. “Alright, yes… yes, you can call me. That’s okay.”

“Can I kiss you? Just once more?” You lean over the console and press your lips to his, sudden and rough, as an answer, your teeth clicking together harshly. Of course, you want to kiss him again, of course.

One long, tight moment, you clutch his wrists to keep them from pulling you in closer, and then you’re pulling back, scrambling out of the truck and forcing yourself away from him. You need to get away before you lose all strength of will and just let him do whatever he wants to you. You hear him get out, as well, and follow you around to your driver’s side door, waiting behind you as you dig for your car keys in your bag. You open the door, and then turn back to him, you can’t help yourself, and he lifts a hand to drag his thumb across your cheekbone, along the edge of your jaw. His eyes look so sad, like he’s afraid this’ll be the last time the two of you ever see each other again. The tears are back and angrily demanding release, but you try and take deep breaths through your nose to keep them at bay while your entire frame shakes and shivers at the restraint. He nods once and leans forward to press a long kiss above your brow, and then he turns and walks back to his truck, gets inside. He waits until you’ve gotten in your own car and are driving away, great heaving sobs wracking your body, overwhelming you, before you see him finally turn his truck on and start to drive back home, back to his wife and child.

Chapter .5

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

End Notes: This was kind of a heavy one, if there’s anything you’d like to chat about (or yell at me for all the angsty bullshit) pls come do so :)

#someone's fic #Joel miller #joel miller x female oc #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller/reader #joel miller/you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #joel miller imagine #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #tlou fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction

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hoseokslefteyebrow · 4 months ago

Text

The Anomaly || JJK

Chapter 4: Homesick

summary : In which you're isekai'd from your (own) parallel Jujutsu Kaisen universe to the canon universe.

wordcount : 2k

Pairing: Jujutsu Kaisen X Reader, eventually Character x Reader (idk who yet tho)

Masterlist | Next

You find yourself seated in a familiar spot. The scenery is the same as back at home, the sun setting on the sight of Tokyo Jujutsu Tech. There have been a lot of days where you and your best friends have lost track of time talking to one another late at night in this very spot.

You're worried,mind running with scenarios of how home would be doing. How is your own world? Are you having this human body - cursed spirit issue too? The one you had been fighting was quite tough- were your classmates alright? Was your best friend alright? Or had everyone written you off as dead? Considering you disappeared right after a battle, it wouldn't surprise you. You're not sure. Your eyes sadden, losing yourself in your thoughts. You refuse to believe that everyone believes you're dead, that they've given up on you just like that.

You glance down at your bracelet. It's ordinary, crafted from simple wood. It matches your best friend's bracelet back at home. You wonder if his works. It's filled with water, imbued with your cursed energy. That way, he could always find you when he needed you, and you could always find him when you needed him. You doubt it works. You can't feel your connection to it currently, your cursed energy with you and you alone.

" Are you okay? That last mission seemed to be quite rough on you. "

You glance up, only noticing Yuuji standing there now. Had he been standing there for long?

" Ah, sorry, I didn't notice you. I'm alright. I've just got homesickness at the moment. "

He hums, noticing your sad eyes as he sits down beside you.

" The way you stood up for Nobara was badass. It was cute too though. Are you two close in your universe? "

He's calm, watching the scenery with you. Your presence is somewhat comforting. New, yet so oddly familiar.

You hum.

" Yeah, we are. I was so happy to learn that another girl would be joining our class. We hit it off right after meeting in the city for the first time, when we went to pick her up. I think that got Sukuna a little jealous. "

You're smiling fondly at the memory, meanwhile Yuuji has to remind himself that you're talking about a different Sukuna, not the one he's harboring.

" Ah, he's your best friend right? "

You hum.

" My one and only. "

" What about us? "

You turn to him, blinking.

" What about us? "

" Are we close? You've mentioned that we used to be close when we were younger. "

" Ah, yeah. We were inseparable as kids. Until you grew more athletic and developed a love for horror. I'm a whimp- I don't like horror at all. It makes me downright unable to sleep. Sukuna would laugh at me when I came over to sleep over one random night, because of my fears. I wanted to prove him wrong, so I watched a horror movie with the three of you. It backfired, and I was unable to sleep. Sukuna ended up feeling guilty enough to watch Pokemon movies with me all night. We grew closer after that. I realized that I too was one of the people he has a weak spot for. In my universe, you're one of those people too. "

Yuuji blinks, not having expected that at all.

" Sukuna as my twin.. The idea of that leaves a really bad taste in my mouth. "

You laugh softly.

" I think it's weird you share a body with him in this universe- and that he had 20 fingers. And that you swallow them for breakfast, basically. "

Yuuji laughs, agreeing with you. A comfortable silence settles over the two of you. You lean your head on his shoulder for a moment. Back home, you were touchy with your friends, often linking arms with Nobara, or straight up pulling Sukuna along to where ever you pleased. He always pretended to hate it, but you know him better than that.

Yuuji doesn't seem to mind, instead relishing the comforting gesture.

Yet, you can't help yourself from asking him the next question. You need answers.

" You've mention that you've... Killed, instead of exorcised before.... "

You're careful in your words, allowing him to stop you if he wants to. When he doesn't, you continue to carefully speak.

" I just wondered... Do you maybe know why? - As in why they were in a human's body? "

Yuuji shakes his head, eyes on the floor.

" I don't. There's a curse who's strong enough to transfigure people though. I know you're afraid too, but if we don't figure out how to send you home soon, you might have to fight more human-cursed spirits. "

You nod at his words, your eyes downcast on the floor.

" I don't like it either. I hope we manage to kill patchface and these cursed spirit people before anything too rash happens though. "

You hum, about to reply when-

" It's because of you! You took me in, and now the severed parts of my soul have awakened. "

Your eyes widen, head raising to stare at the mouth and eye that has sprouted on Yuuji's cheek. What the fuck was this?-

" To help lots of people, was it? Brat! People are gonna die because you live! "

" Hey, don't tell that to Fushiguro. Don't you dare. "

Yuuji's stoic, different. It's obvious he doesn't like Sukuna.

You don't like this Sukuna either. You can tell he's nothing like your Sukuna.

" And what are you looking at?! "

" You're an eye and a mouth on my friend's cheek. "

You deadpan the obvious as you blankly stare at him.

He cackles, Yuuji slaps his hand over him, trying to shut him up.

" That's enough out of you. "

It doesn't stop him, Sukuna's mouth appearing on the back of Yuuji's hand.

" You don't belong here! You should die! "

" That's rich, coming from someone who's a mouth on a hand now. I'd say you should die. "

While you're busy mocking him, Sukuna has an unsettling realization. He's met you before. You're not from here, and you're definitely not supposed to be here. You were a sorcerer he was forced to face back in the Heian era. Your reverse curse technique was strong, strong enough to be used as a weapon. Your domain too, was one he hated. He absolutely hates you. He needs you dead before he can carry out his plans of regaining powers. Facing both Gojo Satoru and you would set him at a huge disadvantage. One that not even his current plans could face.

However, there's no need to rush in killing you though. It appears that you don't even know your potential just yet, your body protected with regular cursed energy.

Yuuji scoffs, slapping a hand on his own to stop Sukuna from spouting nonsense. Thankfully, he disappears.

" Soo, that's your Sukuna. "

" Yeah, sorry about that. "

" It's fine. I don't take things randomly appearing mouths say to heart. "

Your smile eases Yuuji's worries, his previous guilt gone, replaced by a warm feeling. The two of you sit in silence a little longer, enjoying each other's company and watching the sun set on Jujutsu Tech.

A few days pass, and you find yourself and your classmates in Tokyo's shopping district.

" Aren't you buying way too much? "

Yuuji releases a puff of stress, holding the many bags Nobara has shoved in his arms.

You're walking a few paces up front with her, your arms linked together. You have bought some stuff too, considering that was why you were here in the first place. There was no answer on when you could return to your own universe, no one has any idea how just yet. Your financials are finally properly supported by Jujutsu Tech, and you've entered the shopping district. You're only really buying stuff you need, though that is still quite a bit, leaving you with three bags.

You're only holding one. For some reason ( an unspoken one, everyone was surprised when he offered), Megumi was carrying your other two bags. You've promised you'll buy him a crepe as a thank you, but he's brushed you off, telling you it was fine and that you should save the money.

" Half of that is yours, you know? "

You blink at her, that's not true.

" This bag is all that's mine! "

Just as Yuuji raises his bag to show her, one threatens to fall out of his arms. He manages to catch it.

" Drop one and you're dead. "

" Ah, Yuuji, do you maybe want me to carry some bags? "

" No Y/N, Itadori is a strong guy. He's fine. "

" I don't think being strong is part of the issue Nobara-"

And then.... One of the clothes she bought slips out of the open bag, on the floor.

Everyone's eyes widen.

You raise your hands, attempting to stop Nobara, but as expected, she's already punching him. Megumi tugs on the back of your uniform, holding his own high in embarrassment as Nobara scolds Yuuji.

" Come. Let's pretend we don't know them. "

He's already walking a few steps away with you, arm around your shoulders, When his phone rings.

He takes his arm off you, taking out his phone.

" It's Gojo sensei. "

You're not sure why he's informing you. Maybe because you know him as well.

Their conversation ends soon enough, and he turns around, facing Yuuji and Nobara again.

" What? "

Finally, Nobara releases Yuuji.

" Gojo sensei is calling us. "

" Huh, why? "

Nobara's pouting, you guess that she wanted to spend the whole day lingering around Tokyo's shopping district.

" It's a mission, 'a top secret one'. "

You snort, the words familiar.

" Ah, so this Gojo sensei is the same as the one back in my universe. "

" Does your Gojo sensei say that often as well? "

You grin at Nobara, nodding.

" Last time he called us for a 'top secret mission' was because he wanted to get crepes and didn't want to go alone. "

You smile fondly at the memory. Eventually, it had only been Yuuji, Nobara, Megumi and you. Sukuna wasn't around, because he was simply god knows where. You hadn't felt bothered enough to find out back then. Your best friend had been offended that you had gone without him. You only found him hours after the place closed. As a peace offering, you spent your money on expensive fruits (strawberries) and chocolate, dipping strawberries in chocolate late at night.

Nobara laughs at your words. Some people are apparently the same no matter the universe.

" Why not go? Gojo sensei still said it is top secret after all. It must be big. "

You smile at Yuuji softly. He was so cute sometimes.

" Yeah well, Y/N is right. He does say it all the time. "

Yuuji hums at Megumi's words.

" Yeah, so what? "

All four of you exchange smiles, and make your way back to the busstop. This time, you link arms with Megumi, simply because he's the closest. He shoots you a surprised glance, but his expression softens, features softening into a smile.

This Megumi was so different of your own. This one is nice to you.

The Anomaly Taglist:

@luxylucylou @kalulakunundrum @strxbxrrylover @aethersslave

#idkeitherman #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #megumi fushiguro #nobara kugisaki #platonic jujutsu kaisen #yuji itadori #megumi x reader

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snowywolf1005 · 8 months ago

Text

YANDERE LAW X READER

Note: You never escape this man. He will get you no matter what. You will die.

You opened your eyes to see you were in a ship. You can't remember what happened. You were on a bed, and you tried to get up.

But you were hand cuff, wrapped around your wrist. You tried to pull them off, but "you know if you pulled your arm hard, it will start to bleed"

You looked to see a man sitting at his chair. You ignored him. Then the chain broke, and you finally free your hand.

Law was surprised and walked toward you, "I know you don't know me, my name is trafalgar D. Water law," he said.

You were shocked, you heard his name. "So what your name?" Law question, you didn't say anything. Law took out his sword and put on your neck.

"Name"

"(Y/N)(L/N)..." You said with a shaking voice. You only know your name. Law smirk, "Where am I?" You question. "Don't you remember? You were one of my crew members. And I'm your captain. You were knocked out from the battle"

You were his crew members? And you knock out?

So many questions. "Here I brought you some food," said law as he gives you some food. With fish steak, bread, and roast beef.

You grabbed a fork and started eating. The food tasted wired and different, Law sit next to you and pat your head.

"Eat every lat food you eat can't let the food be a waste isn't?" Said law, you keep eating, not even miss each food.

But you keep questioning yourself, why were you hand cuff when you woke up? Is there something that law was hiding? Is he really your captain?

There are so many questions, but you try to ignore them. After you finish the food, Law gives you medium pills.

"What this?" You asked law, he looked at. "This? This helps you to feel better and make sure you use it, " he said.

You take a pill and swallow it. You felt wired for some point, "Now you should take some rest for now" said law.

You nodded your head when you were sleeping. You were having some weird dreams.

'P-please... leave me - ALONE!...'

A voice cried.

'You know the rules, darling, you belong to me. Not anyone'

'Law voice?' You thought

'*hic* I wanna go... h-home...'

'Home? you already got home'

'N-no...'

'Don't worry, this won't a pit'

'AAAAAA!!!!!!!!!'

You woke up, and you were sweating. 'It just a dream,' you said to yourself, as you falsleep.

You didn't realize that Law was sitting next to you, watching. He put his hand on your hair and cut a piece of your hair.

Then Law takes out of a small jar and puts your hair in it.

TIMESKIP

And you with law with your check-up health. As law looks at paper of your health, he stops. You felt nervous.

"Is something wrong?" You asked. Law, look at you, "your health has one problem," he said.

"What is it?" You asked, "love, your missing love, but don't worry, it's a fairly common condition. Since your body does not produce love on its own, you should take these pills, " said law.

He gave you a can of pills. You ate the pills, "law, this medium will make me better?" You asked. "Yes," he answered.

You trust law more. He takes care of you, but you keep having this dream. But you realize maybe this dream you are having is just memory?

Every it is, you think law is lying to you?

Like lat times, when we're walking the hallway. You saw Windows doors and see, law cleaning himself.

And you saw he took his cloves out full of blood. Law gets his papers started writing, and you can't see what he is writing.

You went to bed, and then you felt something that someone was hugging you. You look behind you, and it was law. "L-law, what are you doing!?" You asked.

"I just want some cuddle," he said, closing his eyes. Your cheeks came red, "(Y/N), I love you," he wisperd to your ears.

You blush by his words. He is in love with you, and you love him. You thought he wasn't in love with you.

"I-i love... you too, law"

THANK YOU FOR READING!!!! IF YOU WANT YANDERE ONE PIECE!!!!

COMMENT BELOW!!!!

#yandere one piece #yandere one piece x reader #yandere law #yandere trafalgar law #yandere law x reader #yandere one piece law x reader

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robbinghisdick · 4 months ago

Text

Putting a pause to hero work didn't help Dick get more rest like he thought it would. With no financial backing from Bruce, Dick was left working as many hours as he could to afford rent and time off once the baby came. He was exhausted beyond belief and sore all over. His due date was still a solid month away and it might as well have been an eternity. He was done.

Once home, he cooked and told himself he'd worry about the dishes later. As he went to the couch, something moved in his peripheral vision. His reaction time was slow, body jerking and tripping over his own feet. The bowl fell from his hands as he prioritized catching himself on the counter. The porcelain bowl shattered as it hit the ground.

Dick glanced to his side to see Slade staring at him and his head hung with a heavy sigh. Of course he invited himself over. Why not. Looking at the broken remains of his dinner, the only thing he could currently stomach, he felt his eyes burn with incoming tears. He should've been able to catch that.

Don't be ridiculous, Dick scolded himself, it's just some noodles and a bowl. Getting angry at himself only served to make his eyes water more. He straightened up and swallowed hard.

"It's not spilt milk, but are we really going to cry over this, Grayson?" Slade asked.

Dick squeezed his hands into fists, eyes closing and taking in a deep breath. "I'm not in the mood, Slade." He hadn't been in the mood for Slade's taunts for a while now.

"No kidding."

Something in Dick snaps. "Oh fuck you!" He snarled. "Get out!

Slade seemed taken aback, hands half raised. "As ease-"

"NO! Get the fuck out of my apartment!" Dick started to storm forward, ready throw Slade out by force. "How many times do I have to tell you-"

Slade's eye narrowed and rushed forward, grabbing Dick by the shoulder. He forced the other man back a step and Dick heard the crunch of Slade's boot against broken porcelain.

Dick stared down at the floor, at the remains of his dinner and how close he had been to stepping in it bare footed.

The anger deflates into a sob.

Once the tears spill he couldn't stop them, defeated and exhausted.

"Please just go," Dick begged, hating himself for crying in front of Slade, hating the way the man was looking at him.

Unsurprisingly, Slade didn't listen. He moved Dick around the broken plate and gently pushed him towards the couch. "Go sit down. I'll clean this up."

With his breath hiccuping with sobs, Dick wasn't in the place to argue, and he really didn't feel like bending down to clean up the mess himself. He sat on the couch but continued to watch Slade as he went to open up the pantry and grabbed a broom and dustpan.

"Your due date must be getting close if you're getting this worked up over nothing," Slade unhelpfully commented as he began to sweep.

Through tears, Dick glared at him. "Well maybe I'm just tired of some weird old man not listening to me when I tell him to leave me alone."

Slade gave Dick an unimpressed look. "You've sought me out before, don't give me that." The dustpan is emptied in a trashcan before a rag was grabbed, wiping up the remainder of the mess. "Did you really just make yourself plain boiled noodles?"

"They had butter and salt..." Dick said, tensing at the judgement he felt coming from Slade. "Listen, right now I will throw up if anything has too strong of a taste or a smell." He sighed heavily, fresh tears welling up in his eyes. "And I'm out of butter." So great. Couldn't even remake the meal Slade startled him into dropping.

He could hear Slade approaching, but didn't look up at him.

"Do you want me to go to the store or pick something up?"

Dick buried his face into his hands. "I want you to leave."

"Not one of the options I just gave you," Slade said, unbothered.

One of the last things Dick wanted to do was rely on Slade. He didn't want to owe him anything, he didn't want Slade to think he was needed. But Dick knew he wouldn't be able to drag himself to the store. Shame coiled heavy in his chest at the thought of reaching out to his friends for something so dumb. Slade was already here and couldn't think any lower of him.

Shoulders drooping and hands dropping away from his face, Dick relented. "Okay."

"Store?" Slade asked, continuing when Dick nodded, "Do you need anything else?"

Dick shook his head.

"The corner store is on a few minutes walk away, go ahead and boil the noodles, I won't take long."

///

Dick had calmed down by the time Slade returned and he finally got to eat. He was too tired to shrug Slade off as he joined him on the couch. Whether he liked to admit it or not, Slade was warm and was so easy to melt into.

He jolts slightly as Slade's hand touched his swollen stomach.

"When's your due date?"

Dick sighed heavily, not lifting his head from Slade's shoulder. "She's not yours," he said instead of answering the question. To be fair, there was a nearly non-existant chance that the father was a man Dick hooked up with for a one-night stand. They used protection, but that was never 100%. However... Dick knew she was Slade's. It was barely a doubt in his mind. All he could do was pray that she'd have dark hair and look nothing like Slade. Maybe if Dick kept telling him that the baby wasn't his, he'd loose interest.

"So it's a girl?"

Dick finally lifted his head to give Slade a stern look. "Whatever the baby is doesn't concern you."

Slade met Dick's gaze unwaveringly, reaching up to brush some hair out of Dick's face. "You keep telling yourself that, kid."

Dick grimaced. "Don't call me kid."

With a muttered, half-hearted apology, his hand cupped Dick's cheek and he pulled him close. Dick knew he should push Slade away, but leaned into the kiss.

More than he liked to admit, he missed being kissed. Dating and hook-ups were obviously off the table, but Dick wanted to feel the press of another body against his own. The stroke of a hand through his hair, the warm press of lips, and the caress of calloused fingers against him.

The guilt in indulging himself and Slade caught up a couple minutes later and he broke the kiss with a sigh and a turn of his head.

"Why are you here?"

"It doesn't seem like you and the Bat have made up and you're, what, seven? Eight months pregnant?" Slade tilted his head slightly. "And I imagine you haven't told many, if any, of your friends about me, so you've likely cut yourself off from them. Someone has to check on you."

At times like this, Dick was reminded how much he hated that Slade knew him, at least just enough to be entirely correct. The only people who knew about Slade were Roy and Donna. Things were already in a rough patch with Bruce before he got pregnant.

"Do you have a contract in Blüdhaven?" Dick asked, deciding to ignore what Slade said.

"No. I'm not taking contracts in Blüdhaven or surrounding cities right now."

Dick blinked, baffled. "Why?"

"You're pregnant, you can't be Nightwing," Slade answered.

For a moment, Dick stared at Slade as if waiting for the man to realize how ridiculous he sounded. Right now was literally the perfect time to take advantage of the fact that Dick physically couldn't stop him.

But there it was. With what Slade lacked in respecting boundaries, he made up for in respecting Dick as a hero. A thorn in his side he'd never actually try to take out for reasons Dick couldn't entirely understand.

"What?"

Dick felt the urge to cry again, but this time his eyes didn't water. "Why are doing this?"

Slade huffed. "You could just say thank you." He doesn't seem particularly annoyed.

You make it hard to hate you, are the words that don't leave Dick's mouth. Slade had done unforgivable things. He's hurt him, he's hurt his friends. But they've also worked together, he's seen Slade draw lines and do good. If he were a full blooded monster, it'd be easy for Dick to hate him enough to shut him out. Maybe then Slade would take him seriously when he asked him to stay away.

It wasn't love... so why was this so hard?

#sladick #sladedick #dc universe #dick grayson #slade wilson #my writing #elani grayson #technically lmao

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heavyhitterheaux · 5 months ago

Note

A fluffy request I can think of is something where jack tells reader ‘ur kisses taste like heaven’ 🥹🥹

Has a sprinkle of angst involved, but mostly fluff!

It was your first night at home after being released from the hospital and Jack had been on edge. He kept watching you like a hawk and barely left your side. The only time that you were able to have a moment to yourself was if you escaped to the bathroom for a few minutes. But all in all, you couldn't blame him.

You died in front of him twice and that had been his biggest wake up call. Knowing that at that point he was so close to losing you and losing you forever, he vowed to make sure every single day that the two of you had left on earth, he would make sure you knew how much he loved you.

The two of you had been downstairs for the majority of the day and when 10 PM rolled around, you found that your eyes were getting heavy and thought that making your way upstairs was probably a good idea.

As soon as you moved, Jack jumped up right behind you.

“Are you okay? You need anything?”

“No, babe. I'm okay, just getting a little tired. I just want to lay down.”

“Okay, I got the bed all ready for you.”

“Sounds good. I'll probably take a shower first.” You replied as you put your hair up into a ponytail.

“Should you be standing up that long? Do you need me to help you?”

Knowing that it would probably make Jack feel safer and you as well, you quickly agreed.

“Could you just sit in the bathroom with me so I won't be by myself?” You asked as you looked up at Jack and wrapped your arms around him.

“Of course, baby. Anything to keep you safe.”

As promised, Jack stayed with you the entire time in the bathroom as you took a quick shower. It felt good to be back in your own house and in your own bathroom with familiar territory surrounding you.

As you stepped out, he immediately handed you a towel and helped you dry off, making sure to pay close attention to your incision and making sure he was extra careful.

“Does it still hurt?” He quietly asked as he was slowly wiping away the water droplets surrounding it.

“Not as much anymore. They told me to take Tylenol if it does.”

After putting on lotion and Jack getting you a fresh set of pajamas, he helped you get settled in the bed before making his way to the other side and laying down next to you.

You immediately cuddled into him and he quickly embraced you and kissed the top of your head.

“You have no idea how much I missed this and missed you.” You quietly confessed as Jack rubbed small circles along your back.

“Right back at you.”

“It feels weird to have a somewhat flat stomach and no children in the house.”

“Soon enough, baby. They just need to get stronger and all three of them will be home before we know it.”

You started playing with Jack's beard and he simply closed his eyes as you two held onto each other.

Lifting your head, you lightly kissed him as he eagerly kissed you back. Jack cupped your face with his left hand and gave you a few more kisses before pulling away from you. He rested his forehead against yours as the two of you laid in a comfortable silence for a few moments.

“Your kisses taste like heaven.” You quietly said as a few tears slipped out and Jack was quick to kiss them away.

“I didn't know if I would ever be able to feel your lips against mine again. You know how much I love you and I'm sorry if I ever took you being my wife for granted.”

“Baby, I'm okay. Promise. They wouldn't have let me leave the hospital if I wasn't. And I love you more.” You told him because at this point, the both of you were in an upset state.

“I know but I'm still going to worry about you. I mean, you're my wife. How can I not?”

“But you know if it was left up to me that I wasn't going to leave you or them.”

“With your stubborn ass, I know.” Jack replied as you both laughed.

“I'll let that slide one time and one time only. But give me more kisses so I can sleep.”

Jack granted your wish as he gave you several more before you laid your head on his chest hoping to fall into a deep sleep.

Once Jack heard your breathing slow down, he still kept an eye on you making sure that you were okay.

He finally fell asleep around two in the morning, but was jolted back awake around four. Looking down and making sure you were okay, he slipped out from the bed and made his way into the bathroom splashing water on his face and peered in the mirror.

In a whispered breath, he muttered “fuck.”

His nightmares had returned.

#jack harlow #jack harlow fic #jack harlow concepts #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow x black reader #jack harlow fanfic #jack harlow fluff #jack harlow imagine

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caseylovemail · 5 months ago

Text

babydoll

Rated M Calex drabble, AU where Casey lives with Alex while she's censured. Angsty non-explicit sex and weird power dynamics leading to mildly dubious consent ahead.

Nobody knows that Casey is living with her. Alex is a little more distant with the Special Victims Unit than she used to be, not wanting to give herself away. One of the detectives—Olivia, of course—eventually asks Alex how Casey is doing, and Alex, just barely stopping her nostrils from flaring, tells Olivia that she doesn’t know.

But, silently, after Olivia leaves, she looks at the clock, and realizes that Casey is making their dinner right now. And when she gets back, while they eat, Casey will ask how work was, what’s been happening, and Alex will remind her that she isn’t supposed to discuss cases with her, and then she will discuss it anyway.

(This little game might come from a secret need to control her, to humble her, to remind her that Alex is powerful where she is weak, but Alex doesn’t want to admit that she is that kind of monster.)

Alex will tell Casey that dinner was wonderful, that she was thankful that Casey was taking such good care of the house for her, and then Casey will run them a bath. Alex will touch her beneath the water, and Casey will touch her too, and Alex will pretend that Casey has no regrets about what they are doing.

(She pretends that Casey hadn’t turned her down the first time, only to offer herself later as an apology. She pretends that Casey is in love with her, not young and afraid and alone.)

After, as if to make up for always toeing the line, Alex will wash Casey’s hair, her body, keeping her porcelain doll in perfect condition. Casey will writhe at the affection, and Alex will kiss every new freckle that she finds.

(Oh, her skin has gotten so pale—Alex needs to take her out more often.)

They will towel off and fall asleep in each other’s arms after Casey whispers thank you. Alex will wake up in the morning, and Casey will wake up right after her, rushing to prepare breakfast for Alex before she has to go to work, and then she will spend the day doing what she always does: reading, cleaning, and waiting for Alex to come home.

(Alex is waiting, too. She loves Casey so much, as more than a plaything, more than a pet, but this is all she has.)

Alex knows this will not last forever. She knows that the shell of a woman barely taking up space inside of her home is not Casey Novak, but a walking formation of internalized frustration and despair. She knows that, when Casey returns to work—and Alex knows that she will, Alex knows that Casey is down but not out—this fantasy world will cease to exist. And yet, she cherishes it, whatever “it” is. She cherishes the way Casey’s eyes light up at the sight of her, she cherishes the manufactured intimacy. She even cherishes the crying spells, after a period of time, when she realizes how sweet the tears taste on her tongue, how tightly Casey holds her when it’s over. Alex comes to love the beautiful mess that is called Casey, fleeting and pitiful as she is. She’s happy that she uttered the words you should come stay with me, and she is happy that Casey was broken enough to accept.

#let me cook...#teddy talks #svu #calex #casey novak #alexandra cabot #alex cabot #law and order svu

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senualothbrok · 7 months ago

Note

Hello friend!! I have been thinking about undiagnosed sorcerer Gale a lot lately, so I am making it your problem too.

You only gradually become aware of it, and once you are you wonder how you hadn't noticed. Maybe it's the passage of time, each day one step away from the nautiloid and the Netherbrain and all of it--each day that much more distance from Gale's last audience with Mystra. The burden of the Orb hadn't been yours, but it had been heavy enough that you felt lighter when you saw his face as he stepped out that portal. Maybe, like the wounds you both bring back with you to Waterdeep, your mind needed the chance to heal before it could process even more.

More in this case is living with Gale. It had been one thing being on the road, chased from danger to danger; all you'd been able to think those nights you'd collapsed into his tent with him was we made it, with a fervent hope he'd be next to you when you woke and still next to you the night following. Now, you lie down with him night after night and wake up to him morning after morning, and as you let yourself accept that this is how things will be, you start to notice.

The tower is suffused with magic.

It's not only the spells and wards that Gale has woven into the very heart of it, or the numerous enchantments he's created to make life easier, or the artifacts and books you've brought home with you. It's Gale himself.

Surrounded by magic and slow to shed the exhaustion that's clung to you since Baldur's Gate, you need some time to sense the difference, but once you do it's there, a touch on your sleeve or a whisper to catch your attention. When you search for it you can't see it, there's no breeze to stir the curtains or the profusion of flowers Gale brings home day after day. You don't smell that dreaded rosewater or taste cloying honey-sweetness on your tongue. It's a sense that goes beyond sense, speaking to the parts of you that lie under your bones and between your nerves--it's something that escapes your words just as you think you've found the ones to describe it. The sense of him wraps around you like a comforting memory, smoothing its unfelt fingers across your unquiet spirit; the happiness you feel, the life that suffuses you, doesn't compel you but invites you just to be.

It's different when you're in bed together, like tonight, when Gale is salting your skin with kisses. Tonight he's all around you, flowing into and filling every part of you like water, Gale himself spilling over at the edges. He's not glowing but you feel alight with him, woven into him, his threads twisting around yours to draw you close. You're not in one of his illusions--the world around you is very real, if hazy and distant, and Gale's body is hungry, solid flesh and bone against yours. The sensation doesn't vanish even when Gale pauses to ask you what's wrong and you realize you're staring at him.

"I can feel you," you say awkwardly.

"I'd hope so," Gale says laughingly, though he notices your uncertainty and sits up, bracing himself back on his haunches. "What is it?"

You explain as best you can, though every word out of your mouth sounds more foolish and inaccurate than the last. You find yourself tangled in a thicket of your own making and are just about to panic your way out of it when Gale says, faintly embarrassed, "Oh. That--that hasn't happened in quite some time. Years."

I'm so sorry, friend, that it's taken me so long to reply to your once again beautiful piece. I feel like my writing is pretty awful at the moment so I do apologise. I just wanted to get it out though (despite being in a weird creative space and putting off writing a little bit!)

Thank you so much, as always, for your exquisite work <3 ---

You do not need to ask. There is an intuition that exists between you, so that you often know his intentions before he speaks, and he senses your desire before you tell him. You know that part of this comes from the joining of your souls, sealed by your love. But you suspect the other part comes from something altogether different, that sensation that you cannot yet name.

“Admittedly, it wasn’t as innocuous as what you’ve described, back then.”

He pulls you closer, as if he needs your skin on his, even though you feel his being like a flame inside you.

“By all accounts, there was more force to it. It was more of an explosion, if you would.”

You arch an eyebrow. He flashes you that languid half smirk that drives you wild. You wonder if he feels your arousal as his own, like two rivers flowing into each other. He watches you with dancing eyes, savouring your reaction.

“Not that kind of explosion.”

You laugh a little. His lips are smooth and warm as they graze the tips of your fingers. For a while, you fumble for words to explain, ever grateful for his patience.

“It feels like a spell,” you manage eventually. “Even when you’re not casting. Like I’m floating in the Weave, except that you’re the Weave. You’re all around me, inside me, everywhere.”

He gazes at you, fingering this chin absently. And then he nods. There is a kind of solemnity in the gesture, the slight gathering of Gale’s brow. You wonder how long Gale has hidden this part of his nature, or shied away from examining it too closely.

“When I was a child, I learned to control it. But with you…”

He buries his head into the crook of your neck, the heat of his sigh blazing like your pulse. There is a force to it, then, an ache to his longing. You feel it like a flood.

“I want all of you,” he rasps. “And I want to give you all of me. Perhaps that’s why.”

Your open mouth finds his, wet and desperate. His breaths are ragged, swirling into yours like a clouds swallowing clouds. He is a warm bath, lapping at every inch of you. You are about to drown yourself in him when he draws back, so abruptly you feel bereft.

“Does it disturb you?”

The wavering in his eyes almost makes you wince. Traces of his uncertainty, the measure against which he still judges himself. You shake your head sharply, immediately.

“No.” You press yourself against him, swelling with tenderness and desire. “The more I find out about you, the more I love you. Nothing could make me love you less.”

He hesitates for a moment. You feel, as well as see, the last of his doubt fading. His smile is a ripple of light through you, a pleasure almost as intense as pain.

“That’s a relief,” he whispers, as his fingers flutter downwards, and his taste becomes your own.

#drabble tennis #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #ask #gale x reader #gale x tav

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sixhours · 8 months ago

Text

One Day at a Time - Chapter 5 - Labor

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel Miller x f!OFC, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, SMUT, gratuitous smut, dubious consent (drunk sex), unplanned pregnancy, fluff, references to past miscarriages, angst, hurt/comfort, romance, age gap (~21 years), childbirth, fluffy baby stuff, I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

Charlie and Joel find a new routine, stumbling around each other in the early days–passing each other in the hall with stilted greetings, overly polite glances, two lone wolves sharing a den.

The hardest part of having her around is her insistence on doing things . He finds the laundry hamper in his bathroom empty, the dishes washed and put away in the cupboard, the floor swept and the bookshelves dusted.

“You don’t need to clean up after me,” he grumbles after finding a bunch of his shirts folded and pressed and stacked neatly on the bed in Ellie’s old room. “Didn’t ask you here to be a maid.”

“I have to do something,” she says from her place on the couch. “They have me on reduced hours. All I do is water plants and sort donations, and there are only so many books to read. At this rate, I’ll be halfway through the library by the time the kid is born.”

“That’s the point. You’re s’posed to rest,” he says.

“I haven’t bled in three weeks,” she says. “The kid’s fine. I’m fine. A load of laundry isn’t going to kill us.”

He winces. “Don’t say it like that. And I can do my own damn laundry.”

In a vain attempt to get her to stay put, he brings home stacks of DVDs from the library and makes movies a nightly routine. If nothing else, it keeps her off her feet for a couple of hours, and he already knows they have similar tastes. Sometimes Ellie joins them, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch with a bowl of popcorn in her lap, and their weird little arrangement feels almost familial.

On one such night, Charlie is fast asleep when the movie credits roll. Ellie bowed out halfway through, claiming she couldn’t take the cheesy dialogue for one more second.

Charlie’s head is propped on a pillow next to Joel’s thigh, and he resists the urge to push an errant strand of silver hair out of her eyes. Instead, he draws a fingertip down her cheek until she stirs.

“You missed the best part,” he murmurs. “And you’re droolin’.”

“Mmm.”

She wipes a hand across her mouth and blinks up at him. It’s a long, lingering look that has him brushing the hair from her eyes after all, eager to have an excuse to touch her, if only for a second.

He realizes with a dull sense of shame that he wants to gather her in his arms and carry her to bed. The liquor that put them here may have acted as a lubricant, but at a different time, under different circumstances, he would have tried to get her to bed regardless.

The thought is pushed roughly aside as he stands slowly, stiffly, stretching through the low-level ache in his back, ignoring the creak in his knees.

He puts out a hand to help her up and she takes it, using it as leverage to hoist herself off the too-soft couch, overcoming her unfamiliar extra weight. Her hand lingers in his once she’s up, just a second too long, and he feels that familiar spark of heat low in his spine.

He fakes a cough and takes his hand away, grateful she can’t see the flush creeping up his neck in the low light.

“C’mon…let’s get you to bed.”

He plods up the stairs behind her, purposefully looking at his feet instead of the sway of her hips ahead of him.

“G’night, Joel,” she yawns, lingering in the doorway to his bedroom.

Christ, even her yawn is cute.

“Night,” he grates out, ducking into the spare room and closing the door behind him. He’ll wait until she’s settled, then he’ll go to the bathroom down the hall and take his second shower of the day, because there’s no fucking way he can jerk off in Ellie’s old room.

It’s different from what Joel remembers. There is no attempt to outfit a nursery, no crib or cradle to put together, no paint swatches smoothed onto the walls. There is no discussion of names, of gender, of a future beyond the current day; just a nightly mark in his pocket calendar, one more day in a long countdown. He doesn’t know if it’s a shared fear of losing the pregnancy or of making it too real; probably both.

Instead, they refer to the baby as a fruit, based on the list in the “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” book that someone, probably Maria, dropped on their doorstep.

“How’s…is it Avocado?” he asks, returning home from patrol. Tommy must have pulled some strings with the council because he’s been put on daytime shifts only, no overnights, and nothing longer than six hours.

“I think it’s Pepper now. No…wait,” Charlie frowns, reaching for the book and flipping to a dog-eared page. “We’re up to Sweet Potato.”

He wrinkles his nose. “How is that a fruit?”

“I dunno, but it’s making me want fries.”

He does his best to stifle the urge to follow her around and pester her to eat, to drink, to relax, but tonight the question slips out before he can stop it.

“You hungry? Did you eat?”

“I was joking,” she sighs, and he catches the tail-end of an eye roll. “But no, I haven’t eaten yet.”

“Heard it’s pizza night at the caf. Prob’ly still have the good stuff if we go now. No mushrooms.”

“Sounds like heartburn waiting to happen,” she smiles. “But sure.”

They walk to the cafeteria together, a diversion from routine. Except for their nightly movie dates, they keep separate schedules, more like roommates than future parents.

”So, uh, you didn’t tell me before. How’s ‘Sweet Potato’?”

“Active,” she says, rubbing her stomach. “At least I think it’s the kid. Could be gas.”

He snorts a laugh. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It feels like…bubbles. Like fizzy bubbles, popping,” she says.

He nods. “You’re, uh, what, twenty weeks? Halfway.”

“You’re keeping track,” she says appraisingly.

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

Her lips quirk in a smile. “I’m not.”

He’s managed to keep his head down and avoid the rumors, but he feels eyes on them when they enter the cafeteria together; the old man and the reclusive widow. It’s almost enough to make him turn around, but her hand is suddenly warm in his, steadying him.

“Maybe we should give them something to talk about,” she whispers, arching an eyebrow.

“Pretty sure this is ‘something’ enough,” he says, gently poking at her stomach with the edge of his tray.

They find a table in the corner, someplace Joel can keep his back to the wall and glare at anyone who offers more than a sideways glance. Normally the caf’s pizza is good, but tonight it tastes like cheese-covered cardboard. He’s head down, focused on cutting up his food into little squares when a familiar voice pipes up.

“Hey, lovebirds!”

He looks up to find Ellie standing at their table, holding her tray and grinning.

“Not gonna interrupt your date, just wanted to say ‘hi.’ I’m eating with Cat and Dina,” she nods to the other side of the room.

“S’not a–”

“Have fun,” she chirps. Then she’s gone.

“Sorry,” he mutters, pushing his food around on his plate. “She’s…a lot.”

“How’s she dealing with all this?” Charlie asks, gesturing between them.

“Same way she deals with everythin’,” he snorts. “Bein’ a wiseass.”

Charlie looks over her shoulder to where Ellie is now laughing with her friends.

“How’d she end up with you, anyway? You’re a bit of an unlikely pair.”

“Made a promise to a friend,” he says roughly. “Then she…stuck.”

“The unwitting father,” she says, smiling a little, then frowns. “I used to wonder what kind of mother I’d be…before this. Now I just hope we make it out of this pregnancy alive.”

“You will,” he says quickly because he can’t bring himself to imagine the alternative. “And you’ll do fine. The first years, it’s mostly just about keepin’ ‘em alive…stop ‘em from doing stupid shit.”

He’s watching Ellie as he says this.

“Then you love ‘em and hope for the best,” he says softly. “Not much else to it.”

“Sounds like you speak from experience,” Charlie says curiously, and a pit of anxiety burrows deeper into his stomach. Sometimes he forgets she doesn’t know about Sarah.

“I took care of Tommy,” he explains, flushing. “Our folks weren’t, uh, around much. It was just me an’ him for a long time.”

She nods. She’s finished her pizza and he’s still moving his around on his plate. He pushes his tray over to her.

“Here. M’not hungry.”

“You sure?”

He nods, and she takes the tray and picks up one of the tiny pizza squares he’s carved out, popping it in her mouth.

“Well, she seems pretty happy, all things considered,” she says, chewing thoughtfully. “You must be doing something right.”

He winces, thinking of Ellie’s dead weight in his arms and the despair in her eyes when he couldn’t tell her the truth.

“M’not so sure about that.”

The moan drifts across the hall, and Joel is out of bed and at her door in an instant. He’s only half dressed, hasn’t even put a T-shirt on. Ellie hasn’t had one of her nightmares in months, but he’s operating on pure instinct, something drilled into him from the time Sarah was a baby. It’s a honed reflex; he does it without waking, without thinking.

He stops at the threshold, blinking away the sleep before he can knock on the door to his bedroom.

His bedroom. Ellie sleeps in the garage. Charlie is here now, not Ellie.

Another low moan, a gasp…a sigh.

His face gets hot as he realizes what’s happening. He stands frozen in the hall, her breathing carrying through the door. Panting, another moan. Arousal sends a tight knot of heat to his groin.

Fuck.

He turns on his heel, eager to put space between them, to give her some privacy, but his foot lands on the squeakiest floorboard, the one he’s been telling himself he needs to nail down before someone trips on the damn thing, and the sound is unmistakable and deafening.

All sounds from his bedroom cease with a tiny gasp.

Shit shit shit.

He’s fixed in place. There’s the sound of her soft footsteps on the other side of the door, the creak of the knob as it opens.

“Joel?”

He turns around, fists clenching at his sides. “Sorry…I thought you were, uh…sick.”

She’s watching him intently, silver eyes burning into his in a way that takes his voice. She’s dressed in a thin tank top and underwear, the fabric clinging to her skin, dewy with sweat from the heat of the summer, or from…other things.

His brain goes fuzzy.

The lacy edge of the tank top barely covers her, swollen as she is, breasts and belly normally covered by an oversized button-down. His eyes are drawn to the naked swell of her abdomen over the crease of her thigh.

Then she’s reaching toward him, and he catches her wrist before her palm makes contact with his bare chest, but just barely. The heat radiates off her and he feels every single degree of temperature.

“I…should go,” he murmurs, but his throat has gone dry and it comes out as a croak.

“Joel–”

He’s still holding her wrist when she moves toward him and presses her face to the center of his breastbone, her breath like a blessing on his skin. He can’t stop her, can’t turn her away, even as his hand holds her wrist steady and apart, the rest of her slides against him. Her forehead presses at the spot under his chin.

It’s so slow–so painfully, breathtakingly slow, this connection.

“We–” is all he can get out when he feels her lips on his chest, an open-mouthed kiss to his pec, and he shudders. Her tongue peeks out, lapping once at the tender skin, tasting him.

His other hand cups the back of her bare neck, intending to pull her away, but he’s entranced by the softness at her nape, the warmth of the skin, the way the muscles and bones shift under his palm. She has deftly extracted her wrist from his grip and is holding the hand that was meant to keep her at bay, fingers laced together and tucked between their bodies like a secret.

She tips her head back, waiting for the last vestiges of his control to break. It’s her eyes that do it, silver and shining with want…and sadness.

I’m here, I’m here, you can have this.

Oh, he really should turn away.

He kisses her like it’s the first time because he can’t remember the first time; only that it put them here. Maybe it hadn’t been the alcohol after all, because he’s lost himself to the first sip of her mouth. She tastes like chocolate, sweet and rich and deep, and he is so achingly hungry when she licks the taste of herself into him.

She’s pulling him, or maybe he’s pushing her, guiding her to the bed. His bed. Where she’d been touching herself not moments before–

He groans and separates himself from her just as she sinks onto the mattress.

“I need…I need a minute,” he gasps. He feels insane, primal, out of control. He needs this to just slow down and give him half a second to think, but he can’t fucking think because the blood is no longer answering to the part of his body that controls decision-making.

Charlie gets to her knees on the bed, swaying a little as she adjusts to her burgeoning center of gravity. “You asked how you could help. This is how. You can be with me.”

“Is that…really what you want?”

She blinks at him, slow and measured. Her voice shakes. “I want…I want to forget, just for a little bit. I want to…pretend.”

“I’m old enough t’be your father,” he grits out, even as he’s drawn to her, even as his hand finds hers and closes the distance. He watches their fingers entwine as if enchanted, her narrower ones sliding between his thick ones, the clutch of her nails skipping across the ridges of his palm.

“But you’re not my father,” she says evenly.

“The midwife said no–”

“It’s fine,” she soothes, placing his hand on her waist. She’s so fucking close and she smells like sex.

“Please.”

The catch in her voice dissolves what’s left of his restraint and his arm slips around her more fully, pulling her into him, his hand finding the soft skin under her tank top. He holds her close, feeling the thrum of his pulse at his throat when she kisses him there, licking at the scruff of his beard.

Then she’s urging him onto the bed, straddling his hips with her own, draping herself over him, her skin melting against his like warm honey. He feels feverish with want, with need, so lost in the sensations he’s denied himself for months that he might as well be drunk for all the control he has.

He nuzzles at one breast, cups the other, dark-tipped and heavy in his palm. She arches and whimpers when his thumb grazes a nipple, keens when he licks and licks and sucks it into his mouth, feels the pebbled skin tighten under his tongue.

She sits up on her knees, urges his boxers down over him before he fully realizes what she’s doing. He tries to still her with a hand to her hip.

“I don’t wanna hurt–”

“You won’t,” she says, and then she’s pulling her underwear aside and sinking on his length with a gasp and a whimper, fingers gripping his chest to steady herself as she rocks against him, taking him inside with slow, careful thrusts. A groan wrenches itself from his throat and he has to stop himself from thrusting up into her.

“There, there,” she whimpers, finding the right angle, pressing against him, rolling her hips until his cock is stroking and hitting that spot over and over. It doesn’t take long until she’s panting, whimpering, please, please, yes there, please, as she uses his body to climb higher.

He’s murmuring now, soft words of encouragement and praise and nonsense at her throat, her neck, wherever his mouth can reach. He doesn’t stop even when she kisses him, rumbling into her mouth, laying the words against her tongue with his own like an offering, yes, baby, just like that, so good, take it, take it, I got you, take it.

She comes with a final roll of her hips, pressing him inside her as deep as she can and grinding against him with a wail. He feels the pulse and flutter of her contractions around him, her eyes clamped shut, blunt nails digging into his shoulders. Her lip quivers and she lets out what sounds like a sob.

She slides off him with a whimper, tucking into the crook of his arm.

“Just…a sec,” she breathes.

He’s dizzy with her scent, her touch, still not entirely sure how they got here…again. But now her fingers are skating over his stomach and down, taking him in her hand and stroking him, watching his face.

“You don’t…have to,” he grits out, rolling to face her and edging backward to give her space. But she’s shimmying out of her underwear and hooking her leg over his hips, pulling him closer. She reaches between them to stroke his cock through her folds, then urges him inside with a sigh.

Pleasure sinks its hot tendrils into him as she rocks against him, her face pressed to his chest, soft panting at his collarbone. His free hand roams the landscape of her body, the hard swell of her womb pressed into the softness of his stomach, the weight of her breast in his hand.

He feels her fingers at the base of his cock, slicking herself, and his hand follows, covering hers.

“Show me,” he whispers.

She does, and he picks up her rhythm, swirling the pad of his finger around her swollen clit, yes yes, like that, more . He’s surprised when she comes again almost immediately, so sensitive, clamping tight and nipping at his clavicle. She grips his hip and grinds against him, forcing him to fuck her through it until he’s cresting.

“Gonna…soon…” he pants, trying to pull out, but she locks her leg tighter around him.

“Inside,” she whispers, grabbing at his jaw and pulling his mouth to hers.

He groans, pulling back to see her face. “You sure?”

“S’the worst that can happen?”

She looks down at them, at the swell just above where their bodies are joined, and then tilts her chin up and grins, a coy, fucked-out smirk that makes his cock ache and kick and throb inside her.

“Oh…oh fuck ,” he whispers, and then he’s pouring into her.

Her hand is splayed on his cheek when he comes to, her eyes closed, nose pressed to his jaw.

“Y’okay?”

“Mmm,” she sighs, a tiny, breathy little thing. She’s already half asleep.

“Should I—“

“Stay,” she murmurs, leg still locked around him.

He does.

#fanfic #joel miller #the last of us hbo #the last of us #fic recs #pregnancy #babyfic #baby #smut

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