#torn slipper | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

moonchildstyles · 2 months ago

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y/n and harry broke up. he goes on a date, and y/n drives in the rain.

wordcount: 8.5k+

—————

(Y/N) knew it was hypocritical to be feeling jealous at the moment—pathetic, even. She was there that night, she knew she was the one that ended her relationship with Harry. He was single, and there was nothing wrong with him going out with another girl; he could take her to whatever restaurant he wanted, including the one that they had found together last month.

It had only been a couple of weeks, though. And, he had been the one that wanted to try and work things out with her. Harry had been the one that was insistent that they could work through this—the miscommunications, the lack of time together, the passive aggressive arguments—, but now he was the one moving on nearly immediately. She wanted to cry that it wasn't fair, that he was supposed to still be torn up about it the same as she was.

It wasn't as if she didn't love him anymore or was itching to get out and meet other people, she was just finding herself more unhappy than she was happy when she thought about him. He had told her that he loved her, that he wanted her—needed her—when she had sat him down, she thought neither of them would be moving on this quickly.

But, it's fine. It's whatever. Good for him.

Locking her phone, she placed it face down on her kitchen counter with a startling slam. She didn't double check to see if she had cracked her screen, instead stepping away from the device all together as if it wanted to sulk just as back as she. If her phone was a good friend, it would delete the Instagram app as soon as possible; there was no reason to see any more pictures of Harry and his new friend at dinner.

Forcing her head to clear, (Y/N) padded through her apartment with the intention of cleaning up. The last weeks had left her with heartbreak brain, chores having been pushed to the wayside as she recovered. When was the last time she went grocery shopping? Had she really run out of tissues or did she have an extra stash in some closet she'd been too lazy to check?

She shook her head, taking the pile of dirty socks to her washing machine while her mind raced with distractions. It was late, but she could go grocery shopping, at least to pick up a few essentials so she didn't order in again for the next couple of days. Seeing the world for another reason instead of work would be good for her, she thought. Even if the thought of putting on shoes that weren't slippers made her want to tear up.

After starting up the washing machine, she trudged up the stairs towards her room. The cloudy night called for something warmer than the ratted t-shirt and frayed shorts she had on, leaving her to rifle through the collection of sweats she had tucked in her dresser. No matter the garment she pulled out of the drawer, didn't seem to be enough; not thick enough, soft enough, warm enough. Leaving the pieces in a mess in the drawer, she didn't let herself think before she was drifting to her closet where there was a too familiar hoodie hanging up.

The smell wasn't quite as strong as it had been weeks ago, but there was still a faint scent of Harry's cologne embedded in the fibers. It was truly nothing more than a plain black hoodie, the material showing wear in the way the strings were tied into a bow at the neck with frays at the end, holes lining the sleeve hems, and a lipstick stain smeared on the back shoulder in a shade she had on her bathroom counter. Though it was his hoodie, she had stolen it enough times that it lived at her home with Harry taking it back every now and then, imprinting himself on it for her to revel in once he gave it back.

Taking her bottom lip between her teeth, she knew it was a bad idea. There was no reason for her to wear that hoodie. Really, it was surprising that he hadn't asked for it back yet—especially if he was going out with other girls.

It would be crazy for her to wear it, right? It was not normal to be mourning a relationship she ended. That was not her hoodie.

She slipped it on, anyway.

As much as (Y/N) was crazy, and hypocritical, and jealous, and insensitive—she missed him.

This whole thing would be a lot easier if she wasn't still in love with him. If he had just broken her heart and ruined those feelings for him, she wouldn't be feeling insane as she pulled the sleeves over her hands and pretended as if she wasn't breathing in his scent.

Going out didn't seem so bad when she had this on, though.

Collecting her bag and keys, she made a point to rush through the final steps of readying herself before she was going out the door. If she waited too long, she might end up crying in this hoodie instead.

Outside, it was raining much harder than she had initially thought. Pulling up her hood, she attempted to protect her hair from the droplets though there were casualties that were immediately pasted to her face. By the time she made it to her car, the hoodie was beginning to grow heavy against her back, rain streaked down her bare legs (in the interest of getting out of the house, she didn't change from her shorts like she'd wanted), and her lashes made heavy with mist.

Once safe inside her car, she pulled in a heavy breath.

She could do this. While Harry was out at dinner on a date, she'd go pick up some spaghetti noodles and more cheese than she should eat in a week.

Because she wasn't upset. She wanted to be broken up. She's fine.

With a forceful turn of the key in the ignition, (Y/N) gladly focused on the mechanics of driving through the rain as opposed to everything else on her mind. The clean scent in the air filtered through the cab, comforting her more than she realized.

No doubt, she could do this.

Pulling onto the main road, she turned up her music to be heard over the sound of the rain beating against the windscreen. The pavement was slick, dyed a slate black with the help of the droplets, puddles growing in every small divot in the road. The streetlamp twinkled off of the gathered water, rippling with each added drop. Everything was just a bit bleary through the windshield, even with the reach of her wipers going in overtime to wipe away the streaks.

While she was never a huge fan of driving in less than perfect conditions, especially at night, the scene out here tonight was a perfect match to the pit in her stomach. It made sense for the weather to act this way, she thought; she was too torn up for the world to be given a cloudless, warm night.

The music playing sifted through a playlist she'd found the other day, her search having been nothing more than for "breakup music". While she didn't know every song, or if she was even allowed to be moping to the tunes considering she was the one that cut things off, the lyrics she could catch were felt in her chest with a weight on her lungs. The ones about the other party moving on before the singer was ready stung particularly sharp tonight.

Especially when an all too familiar song started up, a voice she'd heard thousands of times before pleading with his ex lover to keep from calling her new flame "baby".

This song had come out long before (Y/N) had met Harry, written with another in mind, but she remembered listening to it back then. She remembered wondering just how heartbroken one would have to be to write stanzas just as these, how hurtful it would be to see your love finding someone else to take your place.

(Y/N) automatically reached out to skip the song, not even knowing it was on the playlist despite it being an obvious pick, but her hand stopped short.

It'd been weeks since she heard his voice, even longer since he sang around her. Even if this was through speakers, mastered and fit to music, it was something she'd been missing despite pretending she didn't. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, dropping her and back to the steering wheel as if she hadn't just submitted to self-torture.

As the tune went on, (Y/N) no longer had to wonder what kind of heartbreak went into poetry like this. She was right where Harry used to be, wishing he would give her just a bit longer of pretending to be his baby before he chose another.

She hadn't realized she was tearing up until her wipers were unable to keep her view from being blurry. The rain outside now paled in comparison to pools glimmering at her waterline. Her skin felt hot, resistant to the chill seeping through her vents. She didn't even make it through the full of the outro before she repeated the song once more, knowing it would only spur her tears on that much more.

Before she knew it, her bottom lip was quivering before a broken sob puffed from her lips. She sniffled with tears racing down her cheeks, searing over her warmed skin.

It wasn't her business, but did he share the same bite of sushi with this new girl that he'd also given to (Y/N) a month ago? Did he order the same bottle of rosé? Did he reach across the table to push her hair out of her face just as he did for (Y/N)? Was tonight going to be the first date they would relay to friends and family when asked how they had found someone so special? She had no right to ask any of these questions, but was Harry going to fall in love with this new girl?

Did he think of (Y/N) at all tonight, like she was thinking of him?

The idea of being on Harry's mind at all was enough to have her hands tensing around the wheel, but the thought of not crossing it at all had them shaking instead. Her eyes were flooded, hands wavering on the steering wheel, skin warm and nose wet. The rain beat down against the hood of her car with as much force as her heartbeat, riding the tempo as if she couldn't hear it well enough in her ears.

She shouldn't've left the house tonight. It would be way easier to sob like this if she wasn't having to also keep track of the road in front of her and the slick pavement beginning to flood with more water than the drains lining the sidewalks could handle. At least she seemed to be the only one out on the road at the moment.

Scrubbing her hand over her eyes, she attempted to clear them in hopes of regaining her focus. The song was over now and she planned on wiping that song and subsequent album from her vicinity as soon as she made it to the grocery store.

By the time she blinked her eyes open, lashes sticking to one another under the weight of her tears, she was only a few hundred feet away from the vague outline of a stoplight. She hadn't even seen the light shift from green to yellow, let alone to the blazing red that shone overhead.

Of course, now would be the time she saw one other person on the road, already creeping out into the intersection to use their own green light.

In a knee-jerk reaction, (Y/N) stomped on her brakes. Her breath caught when she felt that tell-tale give under her tires, the feel of the back of her car shifting out of sync with the steering wheel.

The broken rattling of her heart was replaced by the pounding of the beats against her ribs as she realized there was no way she was going to stop. She was currently gliding over the road, her tires unable to grip onto anything underneath them through the layer of rain on the pavement. All she could do was turn the steering wheel and hope that her car followed, hopefully missing the poor bystander who would learn that she wasn't paying as much attention as she should have been when coming to the intersection.

Every thought in her head seemed to happen in slow motion, but the world around her raced by in a second. She could feel her mouth moving, her voice muttering curses that made no sense, but there wasn't a single sound she heard over her heartbeat. Beyond her windows, the rain blurred every moving shape, her foot still heavy on the brake despite it being a fruitless effort.

Headlights shone against her face for a brief second before she cranked the wheel, spinning just in time as she hit the middle of the intersection. Her new bleary view showed off the vague outline of the pole of the stoplight for a brief moment before spinning out even further until she was facing the direction she'd come in, her car turning in a complete one-eighty in her lane until everything suddenly stopped with a metallic crunch.

She heard the impact before she felt it. Her driver's side door whammed into the pole of the stoplight, denting through the layers of metal with the window cracking and breaking. Prisms of glass rained over her, grazing her face and tops of her thighs with prickling shards. Her dented door threaded to push in on her before stopping, leaving a pressure against the side of her body and a complicated way to get out of the vehicle once she found her head. Her dashboard was lit up with every caution insignia as if she had no idea of what had just happened. Through the broken window, rain began to stream in, seeping into the cuts on her face and legs. She shivered though she couldn't feel a single chill from the air, her body beginning to reel from the accident she had just found herself in.

In the back of her mind, over the pelting rain and pounding heartbeat, she heard her breakup playlist filtering through the remaining speakers.

A wretchedly familiar voice singing about fine lines and being alright.

"Hon? Are you okay?"

Turning to face the nice woman who'd come to check on her after witnessing her blunder, (Y/N) opened her mouth to respond.

She burst into tears.

—————

Harry really needed to stop wearing this necklace.

He'd known that for the last few weeks, and, yet, every time he'd thought to unclasp it and put it at the bottom of a jewelry box to never be seen again, he never had the strength to. Instead, he continued to wear it every day, absently playing with the single pearl sitting at the base of his throat.

Natalie watched as he fiddled with the pendant, but he still couldn't get himself to stop his idle hands.

He hadn't even wanted to be here tonight, anyway—he had to self-soothe somehow, even if that meant playing with the necklace his ex-girlfriend gifted to him.

Natalie was nice enough, a friend of a friend of a friend who'd been around to some parties here and there, but she wasn't (Y/N). Harry had only agreed to come out tonight in hopes of giving him a reason to wash his hair and eat something that wasn't bread or coffee while sitting on the kitchen floor. Even with clean hair and an order of his favorite sushi cleared from his plate, he still felt slices of guilt; one for going out with someone while still being very hung up on his ex, and for going out at all with someone who wasn't (Y/N).

Harry wasn't stupid, he'd caught the cell phones pointed in his direction when he and his date had been seated. If it wasn't up already, it was only a matter of time before those photos would be circulating on all of the socials and appearing on timelines. He could already picture the headlines for tomorrow morning, detailing the mystery woman on this dinner date while questions about his previous flame were posed. He just hoped (Y/N) would somehow be able to dodge these flecks of news—even for only a couple of days.

Hopefully, he'd have a chance to talk to her before she knew. If she was open to hearing from him, he'd explain where he was coming from in even agreeing to this date, and maybe she'd take him back. If she knew he was still in love with her, willing to change his schedule, relearn how to communicate, start going to therapy weekly again, would it be enough to salvage their relationship?

"But, what about you?"

Being pulled from his head, Harry had to face Natalie with a blink of his eyes. She had been talking about a movie or something—or was it her last holiday?—, but he hadn't heard a single word. Another pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach.

He thumbed over the pearl at his throat. "Um... I'm so sorry, wh—"

Divine intervention came in the form of his phone vibrating in his pocket. He shot an apologetic smile at Natalie before slipping the device out of his pocket, eager to pick up for whoever was on the other side.

Until he saw the contact name, anyway.

(Y/N)'s mother. She was calling him.

"Who is it?" Natalie asked, canting her head at Harry's startled expression.

"Um... Jus'—uh—someone I haven't heard from in a while. I have to take this, 'm sorry."

He didn't catch Natalie's reaction before he was rising from his seat and heading towards the front door with the phone pressed to his ear. Rain sprinkled over his head while thunder cracked in the distance. A darker storm was moving in.

"Hello?"

"Harry?! Harry, are you there?"

"'M here, yeah. Is everything alright?" He'd never heard her voice in such a frantic state, especially not over the phone like this. Was she that upset over the breakup?

"(Y/N)—It's (Y/N). She's been in an accident, and I—we—Her father and I, we're—She's alone. I-I know you two broke up, but she's in the hospital by herself and the nurse said she's not doing okay, she's—I don't know, I don't want her to be alone but I can't get on a flight until tomorrow morning and there's—"

Frantic chattering continued on through the receiver, but there wasn't a single syllable that was able to breach his thoughts.

(Y/N) was in the hospital. She'd been in an accident and was now at the hospital. Alone. She wasn't doing well while she was in the hospital after being in an accident, all alone.

His stomach turned.

"Wha—Where's the hospital? What hospital is it?"

Was he having a heart attack? Every beat of the organ fluttered at the base of his throat, the chambers squeezed tight.

He needed to find her. She couldn't be alone. She had to be okay and he needed to be there.

Her mother shakily relayed the name of the hospital and room number, stumbling over the syllables until Harry had them seared into his memory.

"I-I'm so sorry to ask you, I know what—"

"No, no," he shook off her words, "Th-Thank you for telling me. 'M going to her right now, I'll let you know how she's doing."

Shaky goodbyes were shared with quiet sobs sounding on the end of the other line. Harry felt breathless as he stowed his phone away, hands shaking with fumbling fingers. His head was a mess.

All he wanted to do was go—get in his car and go, be with (Y/N). But, there was Natalie sitting at their table, a dessert ordered to the table with their check of sushi and wine waiting with their server. There were people around them who would no doubt post about any kind of commotion he sounded tonight, perhaps even leak his location if hearing he was on the way to a hospital in the city. (He usually liked to see the best in others, but it'd happened before, these wild invasions of privacy).

Despite every instinct pushing him towards the parking lot and abandoning the night, Harry forced himself to walk back into the restaurant. He held a thin grip on his control, but it was enough to get him back to his table with Natalie so he could quietly speak with her.

"Is everything okay?" she asked before he'd even taken his seat.

Swallowing, his throat bobbed as he shook his head. "No, actually. I—'m really sorry, Natalie, but I have to go. My, um, a friend of mine—they're in the hospital. I need to go."

Natalie's features were marred with surprise, mouth dropped open with her lashes in a glimmering flutter up at him. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. That's so scary. No worries, go ahead I'll take care of everything. Call me when you can, okay?"

Meeting the blue shimmer of her gaze, Harry felt his features tighten. She was much too nice for him.

He wasn't going to call.

Harry didn't say anything before he was rushing out of sight, only stopping at the hostess station for a slick second to tell the staff to charge the card attached to the reservation. Natalie was open to order whatever she wanted for the rest of the night, but she wasn't paying for a single cent. This would be his apology for never calling.

It was with shaky fingers that he typed in the name of the hospital (Y/N) was at—all alone—as soon as he was in his car. Though his heartbeat didn't settle much, his head felt a bit clearer knowing that with every mile he was cruising down the street, he was growing closer to (Y/N). His hands couldn't stay idle for very long, consistently reaching up to the necklace around his throat.

(Y/N) was going to be alright, right?

The question warmed the backs of his eyes, flushing his skin. As much as he wanted—needed—to be at her side, Harry realized he wasn't sure what he was walking into. Her mother had said she wasn't doing okay—whatever that meant. What kind of scene was he going to walk into?

Stop lights and brake lights passing in a blur through the growing rain, Harry made it to the hospital in record time. The pavement was slick, reflecting the glow of the streetlamps and the many car lights bumbling through the carpark. He didn't think before he was pulling into the first spot he found, parking at a sloppy angle before he was rushing out.

With the rain coming down, his hair fell across his forehead, slicking to his skin. The droplets acted as the tears he was unwilling to shed until he saw (Y/N) in person.

He marched his way into reception, shoes squeaking over the linoleum. Behind the desk, a woman perked up, spotting him with bored eyes before she perked up with recognition he knew too well.

"Hi, um, how can I help you?" she sputtered.

Unable to muster a greeting smile, he kept his eyes low. "I—um—I need to see someone, please?"

The rest of the checkin passed in a daze, Harry only barely able to keep himself from begging to see (Y/N). He relayed as much information as he could, showing any kind of identification needed. He was more than thankful to hear that her parents had approved his visit during their initial phone call, something he filed away for later so he could thank them when he had a clear mind.

The best thing he heard, the one that stuck glaringly in his mind, was the fact that she wasn't housed anywhere to be treated for critical pain. She was being held somewhere safe and hopefully comfortable.

Following the given directions, Harry felt like a ghost as he floated through the different doors and elevators. He moved restlessly while he dinged through the floors, feet shuffling while his eyes were trained on the rising numbers.

Was this the slowest elevator on earth? Or were they always like this?

Once set free on the correct floor, Harry floated through the halls, sweaty palms pressed into the pockets of his pants. All he could focus clearly on was the room numbers pinned beside the doors, the thumps of his heart bubbling in his ears.

After going down what felt like endless miles of hallways, the correct room number finally appeared before him. The door was shut, the lights inside dim. His hand hesitated on the door handle.

He had been so consumed with making it to her, to make himself feel better with the sight of her, that he hadn't really considered if she would even want to see him. If she wasn't asleep at the moment, would she just kick him out? She had been the one to break up with him, anyway.

Before he could doubt himself any more, he pushed through, keeping his steps light over the linoleum.

Just as he thought, the room was quiet and dark, rain streaking down the window. There was a warm glow coming from the standing lamp at the corner of the room, machines beeping along with the television with a made-for-tv movie playing. A whiteboard marked with her name was pinned to the wall, filled with stats and jargon Harry didn't have the mind to decipher.

Amongst it all, (Y/N) was laid in the hospital bed with the thin covers pulled to her middle. Her eyes were shuttered, showing off the bruising underneath alongside the myriad of cuts over her skin. As peaceful as she appeared, sleeping away under the crumpled sheets, Harry couldn't help the tears that touched his eyes.

With the door closing behind him, he drew closer to her bed. It didn't take much examination to spot the tear tracks glimmering on her cheeks, the swollen puff of her lips. It was the same way she'd looked when she had told him she didn't want to be with him any longer.

Harry wasn't sure what broke his heart more: the obvious evidence of weeping on her features, or the fact that her tears would have skated over every cut and scratch marring her cheeks?

He shuffled over the floor. He wanted to be at her side, hold her hand and let her know she wasn't alone anymore, but he didn't want to wake her. There was a reason that she wasn't allowed to head home after being checked out by the hospital team, the more rest she received the better.

Instead, he gingerly made his way to her bedside, taking a spot in the uncomfortable chair seemingly waiting for him in the lamplight. With the way she was laid up in the bed, he had an unobstructed view of her relaxed features, some of the more notable injuries on her face bandaged up while others were left treated with nothing more than a glistening salve. She didn't look particularly comfortable, especially knowing how she usually liked to curl up with her hands to her cheek and legs to her chest, but this was better than nothing.

Better than being in a wrecked car somewhere.

The thought was sobering, enough to have those tears he had been urging away to resurface on his waterline once more.

She was here. (Y/N) was okay—hurt, but well enough to be left to sleep on her own. She was no longer alone.

He hung his head in his hands. He didn't want to think about what kind of accident would have put her here, blood on her face with machines monitoring every vital in her body.

With those tears in his eyes, peeking up at her between his lashes, she looked like a watercolor painting. The edges were blurred, leaving the general outline of the person that filled his dreams and became his muse for the better part of the last year and a half.

He couldn't believe the last month of his life. He'd lost her. And for what? Because he didn't think it was important enough to send her a text when he was going to be out later than initially thought? Because it was easier to let his schedule happen to him, as opposed to shaping his life around making enough time to spend time with her? Because why would he talk to her, tell her where he was coming from, when he could be passive aggressive and sweep everything under the rug instead?

The beeping of the heart monitor was the pitched baseline that anchored him to the room. Every dotted sound kept him from being swept away in the rivers of tears dripping down his heated cheeks.

He could have lost her today. In the worst case scenario of this day, he would have received a very different phone call. He wouldn't have had the chance to sit at her side right now. He wouldn't have seen these healing injuries on her, instead having only old photographs to remember what life looked like on her.

As cracked as his heart was at the moment, he would take these cuts and scrapes, this uncomfortable chair, the stiff set of her bedding, over any other ending this night could have had.

The rain pelted against the window as Harry fixed his gaze to the love of his life.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, if it had been nothing more than a few minutes or if it had been hours at her side, until there was the soft click of the doorknob twisting with the door pushed open. Entering was a nurse in soft purple scrubs, hair pulled back and a clipboard in her hands. She had her eyes trained down before looking up to catch Harry wiping his eyes and (Y/N) unstirring in her bed.

"Oh, hello," she murmured, voice soft as they were both aware of the patient in bed, "I didn't know she was having any visitors tonight."

A barely there smile curled Harry's cheeks, his skin smooth of dimples. "Yeah, got here as fast as I could. Have you been helping her?"

The nurse shook her head, "A little, but she's been asleep for most of it. Poor thing cried herself into exhaustion, so I doubt she really remembers meeting me."

Her statement had his bottom lip quivering. Harry had to remind himself to be grateful she was even here to cry.

"She's doing alright, though?"

With a quick glance at the clipboard, the nurse nodded her head. "Yeah, she's doing much better—now that she's calmed down a little. We've just gotta keep an eye on her for tonight. She got a good crack to her head, so I want to make sure she doesn't sleep for too long tonight."

Harry gave her a nod, a moment from offering to wake (Y/N) for her before the nurse stepped forward. In gentle tones with a hand to her shoulder, she woke (Y/N).

Unlike her, she had been sleeping rather lightly, jumping awake after only a single call of her name. (Y/N) fluttered her eyes open, lashes sticking together from the dried crust of her tears, enough so that she reached her scratched hands up to rub the mess away.

"Hi," (Y/N) greeted, her voice in a croak as she got her bearings.

"Hello," the nurse responded with a gentle smile, "Sorry to wake you, hon. I just wanted to check on you, then you're good to go to sleep, again."

"Okay," (Y/N) breathed, struggling to sit up.

Without thinking, Harry surged forward, helping her as much as he could. The second he put his hands on her, (Y/N) jumped, having not seen him prior.

It was clear she was more than surprised to see him with the way her eyes widened, blanching at the sight of him.

"Harry?"

He offered a quiet, thin smile, sitting back in his spot once she was stable, sitting up for the nurse. "Hi."

Before much else could be shared between them, the nurse began running her tests. Small talk was shared between the two, (Y/N) glancing more than once in Harry's direction. His hands were a fiddling mess in his lap, watching with rapt attention as every evaluation was run.

"Everything's looking okay—what I expected we'd be seeing," the nurse mused, writing down her information on the clipboard in hand, "But, how are you feeling? Any extra pain, anything you want me to take a look at or mention to the doctor?"

"I'm fine," (Y/N) smiled, the expression less than convincing, "Nothing hurts any more than earlier."

"Okay, okay," the nurse nodded, "That's good, let me know if that changes. I'll be back to check on you in a few hours, so get in your rest while you can."

A pointed look was placed in Harry's direction at her last statement, a teasing curl to the corner of her lips. (Y/N) gave a sheepish nod.

"Right, thank you."

The nurse departed with a couple of well wishes and a reminder that she'd be back in a few hours. Once the door clicked behind her, a stiff silence settled between them. The only sound came in the form of the mechanical beeping of the machines around her and the ending of the television movie playing.

(Y/N) had her eyes facing ahead, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth. Harry stared at her.

"(Y/N)—"

"You're here."

His throat bobbed as he heavily swallowed. "I am," he nodded, dropping his gaze to his picked cuticles in his lap, "Your mum called me."

A furrow had her brow pinched. "Her and my dad are on vacation right now."

Another nod, a strand of hair touching over his forehead. "They'll be back tomorrow morning, but she wanted someone to be with you tonight."

Maybe it was the way her shoulders tensed, the glassy look that took over her gaze, or the pinch to her features, but something brittle settled in the air between them. Every breath felt delicate as he waited for any kind of response.

"I'm sorry."

It was his turn for his brows to knit together. "For what?"

That fragile tension between them cracked.

"You were on a date."

Harry hung his head, lips thinning. He thought he would have more time to explain this.

"'S not what it looks like, (Y/N)."

She shook her head, voice quiet under her breath. "So it wasn't a date?"

Sucking in a breath, his lungs squeezed. "I mean—It—Yes, it was a date, but—"

The beeping of her heart monitor heightened, the pitch seemingly hitting higher than a moment before with the pace quickening. "So it is what it looks like."

"(Y/N), 's more—there's more to it than that."

(Y/N) only shrugged at his half-hearted response, her head hanging between her shoulders.

Harry felt just as defeated as she looked now. This wasn't how he wanted to reunite with her, but he guessed beggars couldn't be choosers. This was the opportunity he had, and he wasn't going to turn it away.

"What happened tonight?" he murmured, shifting the conversation away from his own blunders. Unfortunately, this avenue would be an easier section to stomach than anything she would want to know about his date.

"I got into an accident."

"I know," Harry gently prodded, "But, what happened? Y'usually only hit curbs, not anything else."

His shoulders loosened when his teasing was enough to draw a huffed laugh from her, a slight smile softening her features.

As much as they may have deteriorated recently, he did know her. He knew her better than he knew himself.

"It was just raining really hard, and—I don't know—I wasn't able to stop like I thought. I slid and hit a pole, and... yeah."

As much as he did like teasing her about her more precarious driving habits, he knew more than anything that she was cautious. It wasn't like her to settle into accidents like this—she rarely ever drove in weather like this anyway, let alone at night.

"Y'never drive in the rain," he pressed, an unaired question bookending his words.

"I know."

Harry looked at her, waiting for more than those two syllables. It was fruitless, he knew.

He hung his head, running an absent hand through his hair before his fingers found the pearl at his throat. Eyes on the floor between his feet, he couldn't look at her as he spoke once more.

"(Y/N). What happened tonight?" This isn't like you. Why did this happen?

The air in the room seemingly went still.

When he chanced a look up once more, he saw her sitting in her hospital bed with sparkling tears in her eyes. His chest panged at the sight. He knotted his fingers tighter together, forcing himself to see from reaching out.

"(Y/N)...," he started, voice decidedly more gentle than a moment before.

She shook her head. "I didn't want to be home—and I was crying, and I wasn't paying attention and the rain was heavier than I thought—and just... Everything happened."

What was worse? Hearing that she had cried more than once tonight, before she'd even got in her accident, or seeing her recount it with another set of tears racing down her cheeks?

This time he couldn't help himself; Harry reached out to touch her wrist. Her skin was warm under the chill of goosebumps on her skin. While she didn't move to hold his hand like she used to, she didn't flinch away. That was enough, he thought.

"Why were y'crying, lo—(Y/N)?" He internally cringed at his slip up. He had no place calling her anything but her name. "What happened?"

Another shake of her head. "It's stupid," she sniffled, fluttering her eyes closed with the tears clinging to the tips of her lashes.

"Not if it made y'so upset that y'ended up here tonight," he crooned, words a quiet lilt only for her to hear, "What happened?"

"I—It's..." she cut herself off more than once, throat bobbing, "I don't... I was the one that broke up with you, I-I'm not supposed to be upset. It-It's not fair."

Her voice was barely a whisper by the time she finished speaking. His hand on her wrist tightened, a snug warmth against her skin. He ran his thumb over the bone, pretending he didn't feel the cut just on the underside.

He waited.

Another made-for-tv movie started on her television.

He waited.

She took a deep breath. Her eyes still closed.

"You went on a date tonight."

Harry's shoulders deflated.

"(Y/N)—"

"No," she peeped, shaking her head with her arm stiffening under his hold, "No. You were on a date, and I'm crazy and I'm not supposed to be upset, but I couldn't handle it—I didn't want to be home alone an-anymore. I didn't think you'd be over it already since I'm not, but you-you can do whatever you want an-and I need to be okay with that. And, then you—your music, it started playing while I was driving and I-I—Harry, I couldn't stop crying and then I crashed." Her voice was clogged in her throat, muddy and thick. Her tone came in waves, ebbing and flowing until it gave out. "I'm sorry."

There was no chance Harry had of keeping his own tears at bay as he listened. It was too much—all of it; hearing her beginning to sob over the thought of him being over their relationship, how just the sound of his voice over her speakers brought her to tears while driving, the fact that she'd seen photos of him out on a date had driven her from her home to get away from herself.

He felt his skin flush, the warmth heading down his neck the same way his tears did. He sniffled his nose, his lips rolled between his teeth to keep himself from blurting out each thought he couldn't help but to have.

He doubted telling her how much he loved her was going to be much help when she was so dedicated to the thought of him already finding someone new to replace her.

"You—" he cut himself off when his voice came a croak, clearing his throat with his hand on her wrist. "Y'don't have to be sorry, (Y/N). You're not crazy, either—I don't know what I would do if I'd seen y'go out with someone else, either. Y—'M jus' sorry, I never—I didn't mean to—"

"It's okay, it's okay," she murmured, shaking her head as she slid her arm out from under his hand, curling into herself while she refused to open her eyes. "It's not your fault—you—I ended our relationship, you can do whatever you want." A shuddering breath had her shoulders shaking, lungs rattling. "I-I'm sorry you're here instead of with her."

Just short of climbing up on the bed beside her, Harry pulled his chair as close to her side as he could. There wasn't anything he could say—nothing that he could imagine would shift her mind on what she'd seen and decided was the truth. All he could do, even if it involved uncomfortable bending of his joints, was collect her into his arms and hold her. It was only then that the slow roll of her tears were let loose into full weeps, her face buried into his neck.

She burrowed against him, sinking into him as if the last month hadn't occurred. His hands spanned over her form, familiar with every plane and curve. His fingers caught on the raised abrasions that could be felt through her thin gown, but Harry could only be grateful that those were the only evidence of her accident. The mechanical beeping of her pulse skittered high, enough so he worried that the nurse could be alerted of the disturbance. Nonetheless, he held her tighter.

"There's nowhere else I want to be," he murmured into her hair, his voice watery like the tears running down his cheeks.

Reaching towards him, (Y/N) wrapped her hands in the wool of his jacket, fingers clawing into the fabric in a tighter grip than he'd expected from her state. "E-Even tonight?"

Her cry was thin and pathetic, causing Harry to pulse his arms around her once more. "Tonight—every night. As long as 'm with you."

He could feel the flutter of her lashes as she cinched her eyes shut tighter. Her voice was barely a whisper when she spoke again, just audible given how closely he had her wrapped around him, "Wh-What about her?"

He shook his head against her hair, his nose skating over her crown. There would be a time to really unpack why he found himself at a candlelit table with Natalie, including everything that was going through his head every time she spoke to him, but that wasn't tonight. She needed him, and all of the reassurance he could give more than he needed to clear his conscience and monologue over his feelings.

"She's not you and that's all that matters to me," he told her, sincerity dripping in his tone, "All I want is you."

(Y/N) cried in a blubbering sob, "I didn't think you loved me anymore."

Harry's own eyes had to be shuttered closed then, a fruitless attempt in hopes of stemming the tears falling out of his eyes and into (Y/N)'s hair. "I didn't think y'loved me anymore, darling."

"I-I do, I do," she countered, shaking her head in his neck with her grip tightening on him, "We-We just never saw ea-each other anymore, and I-I thought you were mad at me all th-the time and I thought we'd be happier apart—b-but I was wrong and—"

"It's okay, it's okay," he soothed her, starting a circuit of his palm over her back, "I-I understand. But now we know—you're all I want, an-and I'll do anything to make it work with you."

"You're all I want," she whimpered, voice tight, "Don't leave me."

While a part of him was soaring knowing that she was still in love with him, that this wasn't over the way he'd thought, he was still more than heartbroken to hear that she was so torn up and broken herself. She thought she had no choice but to end the relationship in hopes of making both of them happier elsewhere. He never imagined himself making someone he loved feel that way.

"I won't."

—————

Rubbing the lack of sleep out of his eye, Harry stood back as (Y/N) checked out of the hospital. Her mother was twined to her side with her father looking just as distraught, though he was better at giving his daughter space. They'd come straight here as soon as they landed only a couple of hours prior, walking in on Harry who had stayed far longer than the originally carved out visiting hours with (Y/N) still in his arms.

Gratitude was exchanged between them—Harry for coming to (Y/N)'s side at a moment's notice, and her parents for telling him at all and letting him be there for her—with a thread of stiffness lingering afterwards. Harry couldn't blame them; the last they'd heard about him was the fact that he'd been dumped by their daughter along with all the reasons why. They didn't know what had come of the night before, yet, only seeing the aftermath of their tear puffed faces and his arms wrapped around her.

Truthfully, Harry wasn't even sure where he stood with (Y/N) at the moment. Promises uttered through sobs after a traumatic event wasn't something he was going to hold her to. Even if he wanted to believe she was still in love with him and wanted to be with him like she'd said last night.

Armed with paperwork and parents at her side, (Y/N) nodded to the nurse at the checkout with a plastered smile. Though they were still clear on her skin, the cuts and scrapes she'd earned in her accident didn't look so bad when she smiled with light in the eyes.

Though he was still a bit too far away, he could hear the mumblings of a quiet conversation happening between (Y/N) and her parents. He was sure she was going to go home with them, and sort out everything else that couldn't be helped with a night at the hospital, but he'd wait until he knew she was safe before he'd leave himself.

He watched from the corner of his eye, giving them privacy, though he could see (Y/N) waving off her parents before stepping towards him. It was a lingering departure, her mother refusing to let go too readily, though she eventually resigned herself to head down the hallway towards the bank of elevators with her husband and her daughter's paperwork.

(Y/N) took shy steps towards Harry, empty hands a fiddling mess.

"You're still here," she said, voice quiet to match the waiting room.

He shrugged, a small smile having curled the corner of his lips. Was he supposed to remind her that she had asked him to stay, or keep that ex-boyfriend barrier in place? (If it was even still standing, given the way she'd fallen asleep in his arms just hours before).

"You're doing alright?" he asked instead, scanning over the planes of her face as if he didn't have them memorized already.

She nodded. "Just sore, but I think I'm just going to feel that way for a little while. My head's doing better, though—I still have a headache, but I don't think it's because of the accident."

Though she ended with a laugh, Harry figured she wasn't sure what to make of last night anymore than he did.

"'M happy you're alright," he told her, sincerity weaved through his words, "Are your mum and dad taking y'home?"

"Yeah," she nodded, looking over her shoulder to the couple waiting at the elevators, "I think my mom wants me to stay at their house tonight, but we'll see."

"Oh, y'don't want to spend hours watching soap opera reruns tonight?" Harry teased, a sly smile touching his lips. The curl only stretched when (Y/N) laughed.

"Not particularly, but who knows," she said, sparing another glance over her shoulder to see the audience waiting on her, "Um, we talked a lot last night."

"We did, yeah," he nodded, throat bobbing as swallowed, eyes dropping from her own, "But, we don't—'m not—If y'don't feel the same way as y'did last night, 'm not going to ma—"

"I do," she cut him off, a bright chirp that matched the spark in Harry's chest. "I do feel the same, I mean. We should probably talk a little more, though, right?"

A dimple dented Harry's cheek, suddenly feeling incredibly more alive than just a heartbeat before. "Probably."

"Are you busy tomorrow? In the morning?"

It didn't take a second thought before Harry was moving his schedule around to keep his morning stark open tomorrow. Those meetings could be moved—maybe even made into an email or a quick phone call.

"Not for you."

The blooming smile she gave him was reminiscent of the first time he pulled that flirtation on her.

"Good," she quipped, "I'll call you tonight or something, then. Maybe we could get breakfast tomorrow?"

"I'll be there," he cemented, "Jus' tell me when."

The rewarding light in her eyes made it easy for Harry to forget the last month of his light (except for the night he'd just spent with her, of course).

"I will," she told him, "Bye, Harry."

Maybe it was the way she hesitantly stepped towards him, or the shy way she had her lips rolled between her teeth with a budding smile, or the memory of her warmth against his chest, but Harry didn't think before he was collecting her into his arms. (Y/N) melted into his chest on instinct, wrapping her arms around his middle. He could feel the mush of her cheek against the cuff of his shoulder. Despite the sterile scent of the hospital clinging to her, underneath it all was the familiar fragrance of her shampoo and sweet body lotion she somehow never ran out of.

Drawing away first, (Y/N) only put enough space between them to get a look up at Harry. Though her eyes were bloodshot, bags darkening underneath, and the shadow of her tears lingering in the corners, he'd never seen anything more beautiful than (Y/N)'s eyes.

"I'll see y'tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow."

Long after she untangled herself from his hold, Harry still felt (Y/N)'s warmth long enough to carry him home and keep him company until his phone rang a familiar tone later that night.

—————

ahhhhhh I never write angst so I hope this turned out all right! thank you sm for reading, and sorry for any mistakes! if you have any ideas or anything at all send them in!

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honestsycrets · 1 year ago

Text

starved | [miguel o'hara x reader]

❛ pairing | new papi!miguel x new mami!reader

❛ type | oneshot: explicit content

❛ summary | peter says he's sex-starved. he isn't. he's just... adjusting to less time with his wife.

❛ tags | breastfeeding miguel, lactation kink, slight pregnancy kink, touch starved, pissy miguel, spanish is not translated, mention of violence, some cursing, f!reader.

❛ sy’s notes | written as per poll request! thank you everyone who voted.

Miguel likes to work.

Or, he thinks he likes to work.

The fate of the multiverse and all that boring ass bullshit. Peter has heard it all, twice, thrice over. What he knows is what he sees. What he sees is an overworked man running through anomaly files, sending out orders, and not spending time where it really mattered.

“Is that who I think it is?” Peter’s annoying ass house slippers flapped over the ground by Miguel’s feet. Peter’s hands rubbed together, sparking little bursts of heat between his palms. “It is! Mireya!”

Mireya, the newest addition to his small family. She was nestled comfortably in the crook of one of Miguel’s muscular arms as if it were the safest place in the entire world, suckling on what was left of a bottle of breastmilk. Miguel turned to place the empty bottle down on his desk. Peter followed, peeping over Miguel’s arm at her. Despite Miguel’s reservations, her bright brown eyes bored Peter with interest. She cooed at him. “Can I hold her? Let me hold her, it’ll be great! Aw look, she has curls.”

“My daughter isn’t your doll.”

“Look how pretty, she’s just like her mami. All sunshine and dimples and--,” Peter reached forward, easing his scrawny hands under her plush little arms and picking her up. Miguel’s hands fell onto his hips, shifting weight from one foot to the other, glancing down at his feet expectantly. “You know, for a new dad, you’re grumpier than usual.”

“Peter.”

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he bobbed back and forth, spinning in a circle. She giggled the kind of laugh that was all sugar, making Peter grin even harder. “I mean, wasn’t Mireya your idea? Are you-- y’know?”

“Y’know?”

“Sex starved,” Peter whispered like it was a great, terrible secret. As if in this vast space of silence, someone might catch his words and convict him because of them. Miguel’s half-lidded eyes slid against one another, held for a second, then spread open in an annoyed flick. He fluttered his gloved fingers at Peter to hand Mireya over.

“I’m just saying if you need a night alo--”

“I don’t. I’m not sex-starved.”

He waved him off. His eyes fell on his daughter, boring back up at him with those beautiful eyes he had waited so long to see. He shifted his weight from one leg to another, lulling her back into her late-night slumber, cradled against his chest.

Sex starved, he said. What a shocking joke.

His room was no place for a child. It was perpetually dark, dimmed for his sensitive eyes. So, at the end of the day, Miguel had your room to return to. A real home, one with more than a ratty run-down chair and a lifetime of regrets. A home that he couldn't make alone. Miguel pressed past the bedroom door where he found you overcome by sleep. Just like Mireya in his arms.

He turned his gaze down to Mireya once more, her soft and squishy body a vision of peace. Tiny fists balled up over her belly as she slept in her soft velvet onesie. The whole world in his hands: the start of a happy little family. Only right now, it didn’t feel so happy. Those were the cycles, the push and pull of life.

Tonight would prove to be another silent night with his thoughts. His chest swelled with a rush of air, bunching up his shoulders as he moved to the adjoining room to set Mireya into her warm crib. Torn from his warmth, her palms stretched out, ready to wail. Miguel placed his hand along the wooden rail, his stomach flopping into throbbing anxiety in his stomach. She could wake you up. "Shh," he set his finger in her tiny palm. Mireya’s small hands rested listlessly around her head. The wail never came.

“Mi vida,” your sleepy voice fell over his ears, a gentle caress. He longed to hear it from your lips again. “Is she already asleep?”

“Sí--” he glanced over his shoulder, catching just a sight of one of his favourite little slips. Dusty rose with delicate lace details. He studied the edge of the gown, flowing over your thick thighs as you walked. Shock.

“You look beautiful." You looked down at your soft belly, a mincing smile pulling at your lips. He knew you were nervous, the way your hands obscured your plush belly. Mesmerized, his finger fell away from Mireya's soft grip. Peter's words echoed in his mind, a deep annoyance. It made his skin crawl, this growing annoyance in the acknowledgment that he had no sex in weeks, months. He took a step forward.

“I hope she doesn’t sleep through the night. My breasts are full,” Your fingers skimmed the taut skin. The glint of your wedding band invited him forward as if… you should be his tonight. You were his wife-- and though he didn't expect you to give him relief, he missed you. Miguel dipped his head, stroking the sore muscles of his neck.

Are you, y'know, sex-starved?

“When does she ever..." he couldn't help from saying. He grazed his fingertips over the swollen skin of your breasts, glancing from the skin to your deep, shy eyes. His breath thinned, realizing that you were disengaging, too scared to look him in the eye.

“She does, Miggy,” you breathed. His jaw worked, annoyed. “Lately. You’d know if you came home at night.”

If it was lately, he had no knowledge of it. Every lab screen he pulled up, every status report from Lyla, and every silent night in the lab, obsessing over how his little girl was doing-- he missed it. He should be coming in more often, crossing the threshold of work to family life. His hand cupped the underside of your breast. You winced, embarrassment working on your face. You pushed his hand away, likely feeling exposed by his touch on your tender skin.

“Does it hurt?” He leaned down, mingling his smoky, musky scent with your delicate one. He leaned in to place a soft, open-mouthed kiss along your neck, the warm pulse of your skin against his plump lips.

“Miggy, you’ll wake her up.”

Your fingers laced in his before you pulled him out of the room with a click of the door. He settled his hand on the middle of the door, sliding his hand up your waist, the soft fabric crinkling over the movement. He glimpsed a look at your soft panties cupping your round ass. “Miggy, I… I can’t. I’m tired.”

Of course, you were tired-- He underestimated how much work you took on in her care. He willed the wisps of his desire to snuff out. The distant flicker of hope followed promptly after. Maybe, one day, you would want him again. It wasn't today.

“Ya veo,” he suppressed his frustrated growl, wrinkling his forehead. “Another time.”

It wasn't the next day. Or the one after that. Or the one after that.

The anomaly whirled along a cobblestone street, exploding in a cloud of dust and stone. Its many black dipped hands flickered, dulling into little more than a negligible tremor of their limbs. Everyone else noticed the complacency that came with loss of consciousness. Miguel did not.

Miguel sauntered forward, dragged it by its muddy boots out from the crumbly remnants of the wall, and whirled it into another. It wasn't moving. It was done, tired, exhausted. He didn't care, his large hand encompassing its tendril hair and smashing it over the dusty floor. A violent crack, crack, crack of its head scratched his inert need to destroy something, anything, anyone. It fell from his hands with a slump. Miguel spat a bit of blood to the side, his cheek chewed raw under the tension of the moment.

“You need to take Peter up on that offer.”

Miguel stretched his neck one way. Then the other.

“We’ve been over this,” Miguel grumbled, hiking the pummeled body over his shoulder. It gushed blood, streaming into a diluted pink with the downpour of rain. A simple contusion, Miguel said. It was just a contusion. And a concussion. Maybe a gash or two. It would heal if the thing woke up. “I don’t need help.”

“You thrashed it, whatever it was,” Jess said pointedly. Miguel’s finger ran across his watch. The air was stale without an acknowledgment of Miguel’s churning temper, growing into a churning tempest by the passing minute. He stared long and hard through his mask. She drew out the silence as she waited for his response.

“It’s a contusion.”

The portal whirled to life before them in a slurry of vivid color, an unforgiving abyss. Jess slumped her bike with weight on one thigh, hand on her belly. The longer Miguel stared at her, so full and pregnant, the more he was reminded of you. He pinched the bridge of his nose. There was no use-- he saw visages of you everywhere he looked.

“Doesn’t look like any head contusion I’ve seen,” Gwen slid into the portal. His lip curled, annoyed by the obvious objection to what he was saying. If they would let it go-- he could go on about his life, wait for this obsession with his sex life to abate. Wait for you to come back to him.

“You can’t keep taking out your—“

“I am not sex-starved!”

“Convincing.” Jess sped into the portal.

Miguel soothed the stress out of his forehead, opening and closing his palm, a current of energy coursing through his palms. They picked— and they picked— and they picked at him. At some point, he was bound to explode. He only hoped you wouldn't be in his way when it happened. He whipped the anomaly through the portal and followed after.

On the other side of the portal, there was Peter— again. Cooing with his hands on his daughter— again. His dark mask faded away, his suit wicking water off his frame. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he located you beside Jess and Gwen. You nudged its crumpled body with your shoe. He didn’t often feel ashamed of his actions. Usually, they were necessary. Something was wrong, your face pinched and curled in disgust. He felt the string of your disapproval pulling through his arms, a slight, incriminating tremor flickering through his finger. He willed it away.

“What did you do to this poor thing?” you turned to Jess, a click-click-click off your tongue. He’d hardly call it poor. “It’s overkill.”

“Girl, ask your husband,” Jess folded her arms, reclining on her bike.

“Mi Miggy?” you went to him. You leaned over, pecking his cheek with a terribly insulting kiss, tickling his jawline. He swallowed. Blinked. Then frowned and brushed off your fingers, finding the care misplaced. You could care for an anomaly but didn't care to ask him how he felt. What he needed. Your voice wilted that sunshine quality, dropping almost to a whisper. “¿Qué te pasa, Miggy?”

“Nothing.”

“Miguel--"

“I said nothing!” He knelt down, grasping its ankle and dragging it down the long, drab hall that stored a variety of anomalies. A line of blood soaked the floor, swerving after his rumbling steps. You took a step forward, snatching his wrist between your fingers. He whirled around, a tremble on his lips firmed out into an unforgiving glare. You let up the pressure on his wrist, allowing him to spin his hand free. “Déjame en paz! There is nothing shocking wrong!”

Mireya cried. So did you.

The admittance that Peter was right wasn’t one that Miguel was about to make openly.

Although he showed up that night, as you informally requested, the night proceeded awkwardly. There was no talk over dinner, not as he watched you feed his little girl, swaying by the window of the enormous city below. As you gazed into the sea of twinkling lights, Miguel came up behind you. His palms encompassed your slight shoulders, moist against your exposed shoulders. His naked chest grazed your back.

"Are you going to apologize?"

Why should he have to? If anyone listened to what he was saying-- he wouldn't be in this mess. Still, Miguel steeled his face. He placed a mincing kiss on the top of your head. His voice thinned out, barely a feather on his lips.

"I snapped."

"You did a lot more than that. You scared her."

You let him sit with his regret until you fell asleep. He debated returning to the lab or his room to try again tomorrow. But he knew his wife. You were attentive to everything that he did. You might take it as a sign of his disinterest. After minutes turned to hours, he breached the door and slid into your bed when he was sure you were asleep.

When his eyes coursed over your figure, he realized all he missed. It was too long since he felt the warmth of a real kiss. Not the brief pecks on his lips as he rushed out the door to help Jess or Gwen or any other number of spiders demanding his attention. He missed the warmth in your eyes, the way they turn into crescents with a happy smile or jaunty laugh. He longed for that sensation of your fingers combing through his hair, taking your time and curling his fluffy hair behind his ear, eyes trained on his alone in a sea of spiders. That… sensation of being the only one that you wanted.

Mireya was that for you now. He longed for it every time he came into the room, seeing you sway with his child in your arms, cradled against your breast, feeding her into a restful sleep. What he thought was a mere seed of jealousy turned out to be a terrible beast, tendrils of resentment that you can’t see what he needs. He needs you. And it isn’t his beautiful Mireya’s fault, no. It’s his.

Instead, he lay there with his palm wretched around his cock, soaked in the artificial lubricant, throbbing into his hand. He remembered his words that night. A begrudging -- Mami, give me a baby-- and how well you took him. Your body seemed to know what he wanted, swelling with his child after a few weeks. He buckled into his palm, cranking around the base and swirling up to his leaking tip, bubbling with his need. He circled his finger over the head, swiping the fluid away.

“What are you thinking about?”

Miguel paused, sweat crept down his thick throat over his broad chest. He shuddered under the weight of your silken words. His hand coiled around his cock in one more jerk, somehow accepting that he had been caught.

“Are you thinking about me? Or is there someone else?”

"Someone else?" he breathed. His lips dropped into a frown, agitation simmering to a boil. It cooled when you looked at him-- but really looked at him. The bed shifted under your weight, ruffling pillows aside. You hoisted your legs over his body, pushing his cock against your soft vulva and his stomach, breasts pushing into his face. So close that Miguel inhaled the uniquely sweet smell of your milk obscured by thin lace.

“Why would I have anyone else?” he asked, his chest distantly aching. His gaze tracked from one breast to the other. He stole a glimpse at your face, stricken with shyness. The slight pout of your lips, eyes refusing contact. “Do you even want me?”

Undoubtedly yes.

“You don’t come to see me. You don't fuck me. You don't even--"

"You're always tired."

"But you could wake me.”

“Could I? To deny me again?” It hadn’t meant to come out so passive-aggressive, but with the natural inflections in his voice, he knew you could read him like a book.

“Oh, papi," not that soft voice. He might hope again. "I always want you.“

Hmpf. Debatable.

“Even when you��re jerking off in my bed. Or couch.” You slid your pink tongue along your lower lip, guiding your body against his. The wet draw of your juices over his dick drew his sharp scarlet eyes to the sight, knocking your stiff clit with his dick. For a moment, his words failed. He should have known you would watch him.

“Is that why you're so... angry? Because of me?" He made a small noise, barely a huff. You drew his hands to your full breasts, obscured by a thin layer of fabric. This time, he smothered a groan in his chest. How pathetic, he thought, to be moaning from something as simple as your firm breasts back in his hands. What was he-- twelve? "Have I been neglecting you, Miguel O’Hara?”

“Yes-- you've neglected me,” he murmured, dragging the lace underneath each breast, knocked together by the straps of the fabric. He melded your breasts again between his hands, massaging the sore skin. His thumps flickered over your nipples, stiffening them into peaks. With a small pinch to your breasts, milk dribbled over his fingertips.

"I won't do it again," he wondered if you missed his touch by the full, grateful hum of your lips, your palms disappearing into his dark hair. You coursed along his dick again, eliciting another piteous noise of longing from his throat. "I promise."

“Hm," was the only agreement. "What a mess,” he teased, not bothering to look at you. It had the desired effect, your shoulders shyly bunching up, the cute pout of your lips, warmth in your cheeks, quivering eyes. He loved it when you looked so fucking shy, so vulnerable, and all for him. "You're leaking all over my hand."

“I’m-- sorry,” you flushed, “It… happens.”

“Mhm, you're full,” Miguel flicked his pink tongue along your stiff, fat nipple, drawing it into his mouth with a suckle. Sweet milk soothed his tongue. He hungrily drank it up, shifting his other hand back to angle his cock at the entrance of your core. A hand left his thick locks and jerked to his broad shoulder, stabilizing your hips down to sink onto him. Blood welled to the surface with your claws scratching piteously along his sunkissed skin. With a bit of resistance, he slid perfectly into your body, just like he always did. A satisfied sigh escaped his lips against your breast. It was somehow different-- the tug and stretch of his cock-- as he fucked the mother of his child. Maybe it was all in his head. “Shock, you’re gorgeous on my dick.”

“Miggy--”

He shifted to the other breast, his hands nearly stapled on your hips, encouraging you to do the work. Your warm milk slid into his mouth, down his starved throat. The pleasure of knowing he was draining you of your milk was tempered with the ever-present fact that soon, you’d have his spunk in your belly again. Your hips flushed, drawing around in quick circles, flushed with his pelvis. Small waves of pleasure grew in your belly. Your stiff clit glided against his skin, again, and again with the undulations of his hips. You felt pinned between his mouth and dick, restricted in movement, but all his, devoured by his need.

“Come here, mi hermosura,” Miguel released your breast from those lush lips, sliding his tongue along his lips to catch the remnants of your sweet milk. He slid down along the pillows, flushing your chest to his, and propped his legs slightly for a better angle. His muscular arms wound around your back, cock pumping into you with renewed vigor. He knocked against your cervix in this position, holding you fast and tight in his arms. You nestled against his sweaty chest, accepting his thrusts so well.

“Miggy-- I’m not-- on anything.”

“You're breastfeeding, close enough,” he mused in your ear as though it were a joke.

You might have argued with him if you weren’t so blinded by that fantastic juddering of his hips. As it were, pleasure rocked all thoughts of birth control out of your mind. Miggy, an ever-present lover, groaned as he held out through your orgasm milking and soaking his swollen dick in your cum. Not a moment later, Miguel forced a long stroke of his dick inside your cunt, reaching his climax buried deep in your tremoring walls. You squeezed him tight, milking him dry of his orgasm until it all faded into fuzzy pleasure. You sighed as his arms loosened, warm and full of Miguel after so long. His soft dick slipped free, cum oozing onto his thighs, but he couldn’t be bothered to deal with the mess.

He set a kiss on the top of your head, then your forehead, and eventually snatched your lips in a warm kiss. You could taste the sweetness of your milk on his tongue and flushed. Your head dropped down on his chest, listening for the gentle whining of your daughter. It was silent but for the intermingling of your heaving breaths.

After all the issues: the disappointment, the fighting with Peter and Jess, Miguel couldn’t help but chuckle. All it took was jerking off in your bed. He should have known-- you never did like to be left out on his fun. You were always a jealous lover, even at the threat of his own hand.

“Hm? Why are you laughing?”

“Peter said I was sex-starved."

“Well," you glistened a smile, kissing along his jaw. He huffed. "He wasn't wrong."

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superhoeva · 28 days ago

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"what the fuck is that?"

the small pout you give logan almost matches the timid expression of the ball of fur snuggled in your arms.

"her name is clover," you scold at him before peeking down at the pup with a sweet smile. "and she's our new puppy."

head tilting, logan's eyebrows furrow. "wh-clover? it's not a fuckin' plant, for christ's sake. and where'd you even find it?"

you roll your eyes, hip popping to one side as you stare back at the man with an unimpressed look.

"one of my friend's dog just had a whole litter, and she was looking for nearby owners so they can all stay close and visit each other."

a scoffing laugh jerks logan. no, no. sure, he'd do anything for you... anything except this. this means walks and accidents. scooping shit and torn slippers. teething and begging for food that's his.

no matter how cute either of your faces might be, there's no way this is happening.

"you're lucky i only took one of them, you big grump. here," you tell logan, passing along clover despite his annoyed grumbling. "you two get to know each other a little better, okay? i'm gonna run to the store and grab some stuff to get her through the night, then we can hit the pet store tomorrow and spoil our girl, huh?"

the end of your sentence rises a good octave, as you plant your eyes on the dog logan's holding like he doesn't know how. you scratch gently behind her ears, and the man before you huffs. damn it. you're warming up to each other already.

"i'll be back soon, okay?"

you don't give logan a chance to answer before you plant two quick kisses–one for him and the other for the puppy who looks as sure about this as he feels–and traipse out the door with a pleased grin.

the silence that's left once you're gone is enough to force an eye roll from logan. glancing down, he meets stares with clover (he's not calling her that, by the way)–and huffs.

great.

you're back quicker than logan thought you'd be. that's his only explanation for the sight you're met with upon returning to the house; logan shaking with deep bursts of laughter as clover attacks him with a swarm of kisses.

the two have moved to the floor in the living room, logan on his back and barely able to hold back the excited dog as she wags her tail with almost too much energy.

clover's the first to notice you, skipping away from logan to greet you in the form of a few yips and fast circles around your legs.

logan rolls over, rising to his feet with a stifled groan. all he does is plant a wet peck on your lips and scoop up a happy clover.

"i guess she can stay," the man shrugs, masking his acceptance of the situation with an unbothered expression. "still not calling her fuckin' clover, though."

#older bf!logan #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett fluff #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine imagine #wolverine fluff #logan howlett #wolverine

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 24 days ago

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The Coldest Blue

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x twin sister!reader Warnings: Angst. Word count: ~2.1k

Summary: When her husband returns unexpectedly from the ongoing war, she is elated. However, the sinister news she receives in the days that follow threatens to shatter her happiness.

Author's note: Happy Halloween! No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

She startled as a cold hand was placed gently upon her arm, the sensation tugged her violently from the warm and blissful comfort of slumber that she had been about to succumb to. As she turned over in the bed, her heart felt as though it ceased beating in her chest, and her eyes widened in shock as she took in the unexpected sight of her husband.

“Aemond!” She gasped, all traces of sleep suddenly cleared from her mind.

She reached out to touch him, and immediately he clasped her hands in his. The contact sent a shiver down her spine - he had always had that effect upon her, the simplest brush of his fingers against hers often caused butterflies in her stomach. It had been that way ever since their mother had informed them they were to be married. However, the juxtaposition of the chill of his skin against the buttery-soft warmth of the crisp, white bedding was jarring.

He must have come straight to her after having dismounted Vhagar, and his skin was still chilled from the night air of the flight – all the way from Harrenhal – a place that had torn her twin, her husband, away from her for months. It was no surprise that he felt shockingly unfamiliar, the last time they had touched felt like a distant memory.

She had made a home in loneliness, the ache of his absence, alongside continuous fear and uncertainty had become so familiar that it felt like slipping on an old pair of slippers. No longer would she pine for the weekly raven that delivered news of his well being, and declarations of his love and loyalty to her, instead she must now grow accustomed to his presence by her side, though it was an adjustment she was all too happy to make.

“I did not know you would be returning,” she said softly, a twinge of guilt in her tone – had she known then she would not have been abed, she would have prepared for his return, provided a warmer welcome. A man that had spent months away at war did not deserve to return to the sight of his wife’s sleeping back. “You did not send word.”

She propped herself up on her elbow, releasing his hands as she leaned against the pillows gazing down at him. Even in the dim candlelight that burned low upon the bedside table – she had taken to sleeping with a lit candle when Aemond had departed, unable to bear sleeping alone in the dark – his eye was still as vibrant as ever. At least that still feels familiar. Eyes of the coldest blue, that stared into hers with such intensity she was often torn between wanting to lose herself in it, or turn her face away for fear of that very thing happening.

“I just wanted to see you,” he replied quietly, as though it was the simplest thing in the world.

Her mind reeled with a thousand questions and he laid there patiently, watching her impassively, as she sorted through her thoughts, deciding upon which she would ask first.

Does mother know you’re back? Aegon? How are you feeling?

“Is it over then? Have you come back to me?” are the questions she finally settled upon.

“Mmm…it is over,” he told her, “Daemon is dead.”

Her breath caught in her throat as happy tears filled her eyes, not quite able to believe what she had heard. “I have missed you so,” she whispered in a trembling voice, “you cannot imagine how much it gladdens my heart to have you back.”

“You should sleep, my love,” he murmured.

“What?!” she demanded, outraged by the notion. Her lips parted and her brow furrowed as she stared at him incredulously. She had not seen him for months, how could he simply appear in their bed without warning and then just expect her to fall asleep?

“I have not known peace in such a long time,” he explained softly, “I just want to watch you as you sleep. I did not mean to wake you, I just could not resist touching you.”

“We need to tell mother that you are back,” she argued, reaching for him again. Once more, he took her hand in his, his slender fingers chilly against the soft skin of the back of her hand. “Aegon must know you have returned.”

“Later,” he insisted, “sleep.”

Despite the commanding nature of his request, his vibrant, blue eye held within it a silent plea that she could not ignore. She sighed, turned onto her side, and closed her eyes. There was a part of her that had daydreamed that Aemond would ravish her upon his return, eager for the closeness and intimacy that only she could provide, after such a long separation. She was more than a little disappointed that he had made no such attempt, though she supposed he was tured after his journey home.

She had expected the excitement of the past few moments to prevent her from falling asleep. To her surprise, the pull of sleep dragged her under swiftly, a comforting, inky blackness enveloping her. Eyes of the coldest blue filled her dreams that night.

When she awoke the next morning, her tired mind was convinced she had dreamed Aemond’s return, especially as when she turned to his side of the bed, it was empty, utterly unrumpled as though it had not been slept in. Her heart sank, disappointment settling upon her chest like a stone that threatened to crush her. The mere act of throwing the covers back and climbing out of bed felt like an effort, her bones felt heavy with sadness.

She padded barefoot, slowly, to the adjoining nursery, stopping in her tracks when she saw the back of Aemond, stood in his riding leathers, looking over the cradle of their son, Rhaegar. The warm wave of relief that washed over her almost made her knees buckle, such was the elation that she had not imagined the return of her beloved twin and husband. Her cheeks almost ached under the strain of her smile, she had not expressed such joy in a long time.

Rhaegar had been a tiny babe when Aemond had pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head in farewell all those months ago. Now, he was approaching his second name day, and growing to resemble his father more with each passing day, his features possessed a sharpness that was uncanny to Aemond’s.

The infant babbled happily as he sat in his cradle, chubby fists clenched around a wooden dragon toy.

“Are you pleased to see your father?” She cooed as she came to stand beside Aemond.

Rhaegar squealed upon seeing her, waving his toy vigorously.

“You may hold him if you wish,” she urged her husband gently.

Aemond shook his head. “He seems happy enough, I do not wish to disturb him. My boy…he has grown.”

She hummed in agreement, nodding. “He looks more like you with each passing day.”

Aemond reached out a hand towards the child, stopping short of touching him. His expression became pensive, a faraway look in his eye, before he pulled his arm back, letting it drop back to his side.

His behaviour in the short time he had been back was puzzling to her, yet she knew that war changed people. Hopefully, as time passed, he would return more to himself, and be the man she married once more.

He turned and walked from the room as the nursemaid entered and lifted the child from his cradle in order to wash and dress him for the day.

As she returned to her own chamber, she noticed that bread, fruit and cheese had been laid out upon the table, by her chambermaids, for her to break her fast. Aemond had taken the armchair beside the fireplace, his favourite place to settle before he had left to defend Aegon’s claim to the throne.

“Will you join me for breakfast?” She asked hopefully.

“No,” he responded, “I have little appetite.”

She pursed her lips. She wanted to press the issue, he needed to eat, to maintain his strength, yet she did not wish to nag and cause him any additional torment after he had already endured so much.

“We will have to take Rhaegar to see Vhagar now you are back,” she said, attempting to lighten the mood, as she seated herself at the table and placed grapes upon her plate. “He is big enough now that he can actually comprehend what she is.”

“Vhagar…did not survive the battle,” Aemond uttered, staring off into the unlit fireplace, his tone sombre.

No wonder he seemed so different. Losing his dragon would have been a devastating blow to Aemomd, after all he had endured to claim her. She was his most prized possession.

“I am sorry, my love,” she murmured, rising from her seat and approaching him. “How…how did it happen?”

“Caraxes and her were surprisingly well matched. They both now rest at the bottom of the God’s Eye…alongside Daemon, and…”

He stopped, shaking his head and lifting his gaze to meet hers. The sadness within made her want to cry. As she stepped towards him, he held his hand out, the coolness of his skin enveloping the warmth of hers.

“And what?” she pressed quietly.

“It does not matter. At least I am reunited with you, I got to see you.”

She was about to respond when a knock at the door interrupted her. She sighed, calling out for them to enter.

A page boy opened the door, just enough for him to slip through the crack, before bowing to her. “Princess, the King has requested that you go at once to the Small Council chamber.”

She frowned, scoffing as she replied, “can it not wait until I am dressed?”

“Apologies, princess,” the page boy said, not meeting her eye, “the king insists that it is urgent.”

“Very well,” she huffed, tying her robe tighter around her nightgown, “I shall be there momentarily.”

The page boy bowed, leaving the way he had come.

“I suppose we could not avoid it forever,” Aemond said wearily, rising from his seat.

He trailed after her as they walked to the Small Council chamber, his steps quiet behind hers.

“Do not forget that I love you, I always have,” he told her softly as they approached the heavy doors.

“And I love you,” she said in turn, her heart fluttering as the coolness of his fingers briefly entwined with hers.

She did not knock, simply pushed open the door and stepped in. Only Aegon and their mother stood at the long, wooden table.

Her mother’s big, brown eyes were tearful, as Aegon leaned over a parchment that was rolled out before him, his features pinched in anguish. His bottom lip trembled in a manner that only occurred when he was angered to the point of near hysteria.

She had expected them both to be overjoyed to see Aemond, considering he stood at her side, but both seemed too engrossed in the contents of the letter they were reading.

“Oh, my dearest love,” her mother whispered tearfully, clutching a handkerchief as she stepped towards her and embraced her tightly.

“What? What is it?” She asked, and pulled back, brow furrowed in concern as she looked at her mother and then Aegon.

Alicent kept her arms around her, stroking her hair gently, as Aegon looked up from the parchment. His voice was quiet, almost croaky, as he spoke. “News from Harrenhal.”

What more could there possibly be?!

“So?” she asked in exasperation, “what is it?”

“There was a battle between Aemond and Daemon above the God’s Eye…”

I know this, I know this, I know this!

She wanted to scream in frustration, he was not telling her anything she did not know already. She pulled her shoulders up towards her ears momentarily, an impatient gesture for him to continue.

“Daemon is dead,” Aegon said, swallowing thickly, “and so is Aemond.”

She almost wanted to laugh. No, he was not! What a ridiculous thing to say.

“No, he is–” she reached out to Aemond, grasping the front of his riding leathers, her breath hitching as her hand passed straight through him.

Her blood ran cold as her horrified eyes lifted to meet his.

“I just wanted to see you,” he murmured, eyes of the coldest blue looking straight into hers as he faded away to nothing.

“...he’s gone,” she whispered tearfully. The painful clenching of her heart dulled every other sensation, and she did not even feel it when her mother wrapped her arms tighter around her.

Eyes of the coldest blue, let me see into you.

He had returned to her one final time, and would never again.

Read on AO3

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loves4ge · 6 months ago

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close your eyes

toji fushiguro x reader

established relationship

injured toji!!!!!!!!!

if you were already asleep, you wouldn't hear the soft click of the front door. it was quite late, actually, so it wouldn't be a stretch to assume you'd be sleeping. but you couldn't. not without toji. he had certainly spoiled you, wrapping you in his arms each night, rubbing palms into your back, lips against your hairline.

you sit up in the bed, waiting for toji to climb upstairs and get into bed with you. but minutes pass without any appearance of the gruff man, worrying you. slipping into fuzzy slippers the two of you bought at a flea market months ago, you trudge downstairs. there's a pink bow on the band of one of your slippers, reminding you that you took off the bow from the other one to make a little hairclip. for him.

you slide down the stairs, feet heavy with sleep.

"toji?" you call out, his name leaving your lips smoothly, dripping honey and warmth. a groan sounds in response, somewhere from the kitchen.

that doesn't sound promising at all. grimacing, you manage your way to the kitchen in the dark.

you fumble around, gliding your fingers across the wall in an attempt to find the light switch. successful, you flick it on.

“god, toji.” there he is, in all his glory, slid up against the cabinets lined under the kitchen counters. his face is bruised, shirt torn with haphazard and bloodied bandaging peeking through. his face is screwed up in a grimace, and his scar glimmers in the dim, amber light of the kitchen bulb.

"didn't mean 'ta," he shifts, hand tightening over a particular spot on his abdomen, "didn't mean 'ta wake you up."

your frown deepens, a sad sigh leaving you. dropping to your knees, you place your own hands on his forearm.

"love, what… don't say that." you exhale a breath, kissing a seemingly devoid of any hurt spot on his shoulder. he doesn't twitch at the contact; a good sign. there's a first aid box somewhere over in the kitchen which is probably why he dragged himself here in the first place.

you crawl to the cabinet storing the box, retrieve it, then return to where toji is. he is hardly ever this quiet. it scares you.

"what happened?" you murmur softly, using scissors to cut up his shirt. you remove the scraps, and examine him with tender eyes.

"nothin'. just got hurt. it happens." he is short, curt. you expect it; he's not the type to sing kumbaya and hold hands when it's time to open up.

"alright. i'm gonna remove these bandages, okay?" he manages a short nod in response. his hands are limp at his sides as you unravel the gauzy strips. it's hard not to flinch at the red, ugly gash large as a kitchen knife. god, you are gonna be sick. although, you are glad it is shallow, not requiring any stitches.

you work in silence, pressing a cotton pad soaked in disinfectant. toji groans, his hands curling up into fists until his knuckles turn white. after prepping the wound, you start to unwind the roll of medical gauze.

"sit up please." he tries to.

you start winding the bandage around his torso, leaning in close, your face pressing against his bare chest. you snip the bandage, securing the end.

"thank you." his voice is scratchy, and when you look at him, all you can see are the whispers of purple blooming against his cheekbone. your body is sagging in exhaustion, though your mind is running in overdrive.

"i'm so," you start, cutting yourself off as a sob creeps up your throat, "i'm just so, so worried about you, toji. i just- i can't," tears gather in your eyes while he looks at you, expression unchanging, "i don't want to. scratch that, i can't do this without you." there's a watery crack in your sentence but the both of you disregard it.

"i love you." toji says, pain and admiration swirling in those eyes of his that you love so much. you crack a rueful smile at his statement.

"i love you too."

toji smiles, though it probably hurts to do so. his hand that was at his side now travels to yours. you entwine your fingers, softly. he looks at you.

#sage -> writes!#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu toji #toji fushiguro #soft toji #jjk fluff #jjk angst #jjk imagines #toji x reader #gojo satoru #geto suguru #nanami kento #soft jjk #jjk crack #jjk x reader #toji fluff #jjk hurt/comfort

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fuji-sen · 2 months ago

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the 'evil imposter' just wants to be a baker!

Prologue: The Foodie turned Imposter?!

Part 4: hilichurl style stew

[ part 3 ] || [ masterlist ] || [ part 4.5 Special! ]

divider is made by @/saradika-graphics

When you finished the sad attempt of a cup (or rather pot) of Mint Tea, you felt marginally better and decided to try and carefully explore the area again and try to catch or forage for something you could actually eat.

But first. . you sniffed at yourself and gagged at the smell of fish and sweat that clung to you and your now very much torn and raggy clothes. You couldn't help but frown in sadness at the state of your favorite set of pajamas as well as losing your slippers. Your feet were beginning to ache from the rocky and unsafe paths you unfortunately had to cross to get to where you are today.

You backtracked to the pond you had taken water from, it was small but big enough for you to clean yourself in. Looking around, the area was void of any humans, perhaps because this was Stormterror's area after all.

Hearing the sound of something squishing, you turned to the small pyro slime that tried it's best to catch up to you. "Are you going to be accompanying me little one?" you asked and it stared at you, bright eyes blinking before it nodded in excitement. "Alright, you're too cute to be mean too, let me just bathe." You said, and it understood you as it settled itself on a small rock near the pond.

Fighting back a smile you shook your head fondly, strangely feeling already attached to the warm slime. Then you neared the pond, first dipping your foot in the water as a moan of relief escaped your lips from the cool waters. So you went in deeper until your waist was submerged. Then you begun to undress yourself, it's not like there was anybody or rather any person near the area to accidentally peek at you.

Peeling off the now wet clothes, you flung them, watching as they slapped the surface of the water and now merely float about. You'd scrub them clean later, because all you wanted to do was relax and rid the smell of fish off your body.

However your relaxation was short lived as when you tried to go deeper to hid your chest in the waters, you whimpered at the pain from your arms and you finally noticed the scars that littered your body. It was healing, but still the wounds were there. You didn't know electro attacks could leave such hauntingly beautiful scars, you remember seeing it in the internet, from people who were struck by lightning to gain branch like scars that spread across their bodies.

Yours was no different, the librarian had struck you at the side of your left arm, it started at your shoulder before branching out in purple glowing lines. It trailed down your arms and even to your chest.

Hesitantly you let a finger traced the lines but you could only wince at the remnants of electro, it felt like grazing at a live wire, making you jolt up. And letting it touch the water triggered 'electro-charged.'

You sobbed once more, you'd been doing it quite often. . a part of you wondered at how you never seem to run out of tears.

"It's. . *hic* it's bad enough they had to hurt me" you complained to yourself as you tried to ignore the pain and began to scrub your body raw against your better judgement, hopefully the scars disappeared as did the smell of rotten fish. . you did not want to live with a reminder of how the characters you had grown to love had hurt and betrayed you.

It felt like hours until you stopped, staring at the your raw skin, the scars didn't disappear nor the remnants of electro. Bathing was supposed to be relaxing yet now you only felt pain due to the elemental reactions.

Standing up you gathered your clothes, rubbed them in silence in an attempt to clean and rid the fabric of the dirt that clung to it. Then you proceeded to get out of the pond, uncaring that you are naked as you laid the clothes on the rock for it to dry. .

"huh, wheres. ." you frowned worriedly when you noticed your slime friend was gone.

Did they leave you? did something bad happened. .

You started to chew on your nail, your nerves slowly starting to consume you once more until. .

"Unu! Unu!" you flinched turning as a group of hilichurls came, approaching you as they were led by the same slime friend you were worried about.

You felt your cheeks flushed as you jumped into a bush to hide your body from them, embarrassed. The slime was the first to approach while the hilichurls hesitated.

Realizing that you were naked the slime turned and communicated with the hilichurls in a language you didn't quite understand, who knew slimes could talk anyways? that wasn't mentioned in the games!

"mani. ." (to give) a hilichurl was the first to step up, bowing as it held out some fabric, your eyes narrowed, were they giving you clothes? Seeing your hesitance and confusion, the slime bounced about in a way that you could only deduced as encouragement. So you stood up, hand outstretched and the hilichurl took it as a sign to approach.

Slowly and respectfully it placed the gift in your hands and you felt the leather and animal skin to be nice as you wore it quickly and then stepped out of the comfort of the bushes. You smiled warmly at the hilichurls "Thank you."

The hilichurl then fainted with a weak "*Mosi mita. . ."

"a-are you okay" you worriedly crouched down, poking at its mask and was only to be met with silent, the hilichurl was definitely out cold. .

The samachurl facepalmed at the sheer idiocy of the hilichurl, but they couldn't really blame them for they were truly in the presence of their God, their most revered mother. "Olah, Unu" (Hello, Creator) the samachurl greeted, getting your attention as they bowed as well, laying down their staff to ease your suspicions and cautions towards them.

"h-hello" you greeted awkwardly, also bowing causing them to shake their heads, were you not supposed to bow to them? still, you watched as the samachurl motioned the pyro slime to give them something.

You crouched as the slime, remembering something, quickly approach you. What happened next surprised you, the slime had spat out a vial of purple liquid. You remembered it as one of the craftable potions that could help you in battle, raising your resistance to a particular element.

"Ah!" you realized it was to raise a person's electro resistance.

Testing it out, you put some of the potion into your hands and began rubbing it on the scars that now decorated your arms. . the tingling sensation disappeared and the purple cracks of electro were gone. .

you slumped in relief, staring at the hilichurls then at your slime as you grabbed the slime, ignoring the warm burning sensation "thank you. ."

‎𐂐◯𓇋 (๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑)

Seeing as the hilichurls were far nicer than the knights of Favonious, it didn't take much for you to agree to follow them to their camp. Your little pyro friend was still in your arms as the burning sensation slowly disappeared. You didn't bother to check your arms to see whether the 3rd degree burns simply numbed all the pain away.

Their camp was similar to the ones you saw through your gadget, except it seemed livelier, and far more large and filled with more things like tents, beds, crates of definitely stolen goods.

You found yourself ushered to be sat down, were the younger hilichurls slowly approached you filled with restrained excitement. They played with you in a game you didn't quite understand, they gave you small gifts like flowers and interestingly shaped stones.

You accepted it all, a part of you was overwhelmed from their actions and affections. .

did you deserve this?

weren't you some imposter of a god that you never knew existed?

Seeing your dampened moods, the hilichurls took it as a sign that they had offended you and dejectedly began to give you space. Your pyro slime friend was called over as they settled themselves in a pile of wood and lighting it up to make a good sized fire.

The other hilichurls began to bring out ingredients as another three were busy hanging up a pot just above the fire your pyro body managed. Curiously you stood up and approached, watching as they began cooking. Their utensils were crude, improvised and makeshift versions of the real deal. It seemed they had gotten stones and carved and sharpened them out.

They had carrots, radishes, meat and more.

Scrunching up your brows you tried to remember some basic hilichurlian speech, awkwardly you got their attention and shyly asked "mi tomo?" (I help?")

"Nye."

You felt an arrow stab your heart 'did they just say no? in a matter of seconds?!' you felt a bit offended, until the samachurl from before guided you away, taking your hands into his own as he looked at the cuts and callouses you obtained from hard labor "Unu. . " it muttered sadly, finger tracing the scratches.

"Oh. . i'm fine, so please, let me help you." you whispered hoping he'd understand, the samachurl shook their head, "nye." No again. You frowned at that, why? did they not want your help?

Seeing your confusion the samachurl tried his best to communicate but you didn't quite understand their language so after wracking his brain, he said with a slow way as he focused on each syllable. .

"please rest,. . . Unu."

You blinked, okay you reacted, that meant you understood him "let your . . . wounds . . .heal." he added taking long pauses between each word. Human speech although familiar to him, he had not used such speech for such a long time. .

"Okay" you nearly stumbled over your words as you sat down and the Samachurl tended to your wounds more. "I'll rest."

The hilichurl's special stew was delicious, you had an extra serving as you tried to decipher the spices they had used. It was mostly filled with meat and had a few carrots and potatoes as well as thin slices of radishes. You couldn't help but chuckle at the hilichurls who seemed to not eat the vegetables as much as compared to the meat. They reminded you of children, so you couldn't help but dote on them. Wiping their masks (as they ate with their masks on, only raising them up to reveal their mouths) when it go messy, tucking the younger hilichurls first and helped clean up the pot.

The pyro slime was fed with fire and combustible objects and leftovers of meat. Once he was full, he left the fireplace where only ashes and flickers of flames remained. "Are you full?" you asked watching as the pyro slime let out gulps of smoke, was he burping? that was an interesting sight at least.

Calloused fingers pet the top of the slime, "thank you for getting help."

The day had ended better than the first, you slept with the hilichurls bundled in warmth, wearing fresh clothes and with a full stomach.

*Mosi mita means "eat meat" which is also a positive expression or an expression of happiness. Yes, the hilichurl fainted out of bliss because their creator smiled at them. most of the words in () are rough translations you can find in the official hilichurlian website.

taglist: @fantasyhopperhea @rhoswen-drake @cchiiwinkle

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cactus-cuddler · 5 months ago

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¸.·✩·.¸¸.·¯⍣✩𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

Natasha Romanoff

x female reader

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Word count: 1k

Plot: after an argument with Natasha, your partner, you retreat to a friend's place feeling lost and devastated. Two days later, Natasha surprises you by showing up to leave a letter. Filled with anxiety, you're unsure whether to read it, fearing it might end things between you.

Genre: dramatic(?), hurt & comfort

Author's note: English is not my first language so sorry if you find several errors!

You and Natasha had a big argument, and it's been two days of silence since then.

The tension had been building for days. You were caught up in a demanding project with your colleague Wanda Maximoff, leaving Natasha feeling neglected. When you finally got home, exhausted, you barely acknowledged her before heading straight to bed, which only fueled her sense of isolation.

Things came to a head during dinner with friends, where they praised your successful collaboration with Wanda. Natasha made a joke that inadvertently embarrassed you, hinting at jealousy and discomfort about your relationship with Wanda. The atmosphere soured, and the argument erupted as soon as you got home, lasting for hours until you stormed out, slamming the door behind you.

Now, without Natasha, you feel lost. After two years together, the thought of it all ending over a silly argument pains you deeply. But neither of you is willing to break the silence. You're now at a friend's place, barely eating or sleeping, yearning to be close to Natasha again, to talk to her, to feel her lips on yours.

You're lying on your friend's couch, looking and feeling like a shell of yourself. Your friend tries to comfort you with your favorite ice cream, but it does little to lift your spirits. The only thing that could truly make a difference is Natasha, but you doubt she would come – until her familiar voice surprises you at the door. You're almost convinced you're hallucinating; why would Natasha show up now after days of silence?

"Do you want me to call her?" your friend asks softly, unaware you can hear every word.

"I don't think she wants to see me," Natasha's voice replies, resigned and filled with sorrow.

"Are you planning to leave her a letter without talking to her?" your friend asks more urgently.

"It's all I can do," Natasha murmurs quietly.

You leap from the couch, rushing towards the door, but your friend manages to close it before you can reach Natasha.

"Was she here?" you ask tearfully upon returning, heart sinking as your friend nods and hands you a letter Natasha left for you. You're torn; each line could either heal you or hurt you further.

You leave the letter unopened on the coffee table, sealed in a red envelope. Is it a cruel gesture signaling the end before you even read it? You hesitate, fearing more pain, as your friend sits beside you, offering a comforting embrace.

"Natasha looked just as lost as you do now," your friend says gently, stroking your hair with maternal warmth. "She's scared of losing the person she loves most in the world. You both scare each other."

"I love her so much," you whisper, choked with emotion. The anguish threatens to overwhelm you.

"Do you want to know what she wrote?" your friend asks softly.

You manage a smile, acknowledging she's right. Taking the letter, you retreat to the bathroom for a moment alone with Natasha's words – words that could either devastate you or offer hope.

A smile of relief spreads across your face. Natasha wants to work things out. Leaving the bathroom with renewed determination (and lingering anger), you tell your friend you're heading home to face things with Natasha. She offers to accompany you, but you choose to go alone. Natasha deserves the chance to make amends, even if you, too, have apologies to offer.

The walk home, typically a twenty-minute journey, feels longer under the weight of uncertainty. You hadn't bothered to change out of your pajamas and slippers, a minor detail that you know won't bother Natasha.

"You're adorable," Natasha says softly, a faint smile lifting her tired eyes and dark circles. Despite her disheveled appearance, you find her endearing. Her smile, however small, warms your heart – a glimmer of hope that you both can mend what's been broken.

"I owe you an apology," she whispers, fidgeting with her hands nervously. Her agitation is palpable, a rarity in your typically composed partner.

"Me too," you reply in the same hushed tone, sitting together at the kitchen table, side by side. Silence hangs heavily between you, filled with unspoken words and shared history, the essence of your connection.

With hearts in hand, you begin to talk – really talk – sharing everything you've bottled up during these tumultuous days. There's a flicker of possibility, a chance that your love might survive this storm.

"Do you remember when we tried to bake a cake together?" Natasha asks suddenly, a hint of mischief in her voice. It's a memory you promised never to share.

"You were the one who said to put it in the oven. I was sure you meant the fridge, but I didn't dare contradict you," you say, laughing softly. The memory of burning an ice cream cake had led to blaming each other before eventually blaming the kitchen.

"And do you want to try making that cake again?" Natasha asks.

Your eyes light up with joy, eagerly accepting her offer. This cake symbolizes more than a sweet treat – it's a metaphor for overcoming a crisis that nearly tore you apart. Perhaps this time, the cake will turn out perfectly.

Thanks for reading and let me know if you want me to bring you a one-shot where you and Natasha burn that ice cream cake!

#mcu #marvel #marvel mcu #fanfic #headcanon #the avengers #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x you #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff x female #natasha romanoff x you #black widow x y/n #black widow x you #black widow x reader #black widow x female reader #black widow

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fairytsuk1 · 2 months ago

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four seasons | (s)

apart of the meet cute: gone wrong series, click here for more!

prompt: meeting at a holiday resort, both with friends or family tagging along

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader

words: 5.4k

warnings: enemies to lovers, strangers to lovers, spin the bottle, marijuana mentioned, alcohol, drunk sex, begging

It's everything you thought it'd be and more. The sun shines on you in a bright gleam that warms your skin. Your plans had finally made it out of the group chat! This was going to be the best vacation ever. Your sandals slap against the concrete as you trod to your friends with your luggage.

"Hey! Can you guys believe this? It's so beautiful!"

Ayami beams, her short hair bouncing as she nods eagerly, "I can already feel myself re-energizing! All this nature and ocean—oh, it's going to be wonderful!"

Ryoka's hand slips around her girlfriend's waist with a relaxed smile. "Hell yeah. We should go ahead and check-in."

"Already done! No need to thank me," Natsumi brags as she flings the dark oak door open, "had to do it since you guys were taking your sweet time getting out of the car!"

Your cheeks hurt from how much you're smiling. You must've done something heroic in your past life, maybe saving a war-torn city, to have this warm feeling fluttering in your chest. The resort is made better with your friend's banter and complimentary slippers that sink into plush carpet.

An attendant explains things in a blur, yet your eyes are locked onto the glittering ripples of water that peek through a window. The pool is on the first floor, she says. And don't forget to ____, you ignore. Soon enough, all four of you are dashing to claim a spot on white resin lounge chairs. It feels like a dream when your manicured toes glisten under the hot summer air. It becomes more like a fairy tale when your wandering eyes land on something interesting.

He's hot. Scratch that; he's more than hot! Lecherous eyes start at sopping blonde hair pushed back by muscled biceps and veiny forearms. The way the water rolls down his back is absolutely sinful. Even his abs flex as he cockily smirks, pushing back against his red-headed friend during their game of roughhousing.

Not only is he easy on the eyes, but he looks like he fucks, which is the perfect maraschino cherry on top. You could bite into him, and it'd be sugary sweet as the sticky juice runs red down your jugular. Yeah, you could eat him alive and he'd love it. Confidence thrums through you, and you know your time is now. At the same time, he stands casually in the water, merely observing and completely unaware.

You slip in effortlessly and unnoticed, lurking like a shark behind him as you plan your words before making yourself known.

"Hey," you chirp, hands wading in the water.

You expect him to turn to you with a sly smile; maybe he'd grow close and lean on the pool edge as he asked for your name and whether you were single. Only he didn't do any of that. His eyes scan you like you're a drab beige wall, and then he has the nerve to shrug you off.

"Hey."

It's awkward. It's tense. It's very unexpected.

"What's your–"

"I don't need a drink right now," he dismisses with a casual wave.

It actually stuns you into silence. Your mouth drops open and then closes, and then opens again, "I-I'm not a worker! Do workers wear bikinis where you're from?"

The man sneers at your reaction and finally turns to face you. He's taller, broader, and you wish he wasn't so fine because he was turning out to be such a dick. You stand up straighter, squaring your shoulders to stare frustratedly into his eyes.

"No, but I don't bother paying attention to extras when I'm trying to relax," and lewd eyes dip down to your cleavage, "but maybe I can spare you some time."

"An extra!? Oh, fuck you!"

It comes out harshly, and your bottom lip droops as you stare at him: "I just came by to introduce myself, but never mind. I'm leaving."

"Then introduce yourself, or did I scare ya' off?"

You've never met a man so bold. A man with the audacity to call you an extra and still so obviously commit your curves to memory. Introductions come out in a stutter from you with warm cheeks, "and what's your name, so I can report your behavior with the front desk."

"It's Bakugou," he grunts. "Be my guest."

"I will," you challenge.

"How about I report you for harassment, hah?"

"You insulted me first!"

Bakugou shrugs with a smirk. It irritates you beyond belief to see his smug little face. The sun burns too bright and hot on you two, firing you up and encouraging you to storm out of the pool. Bakugou takes the opportunity to leer at your ass as you crawl out the side, wet swim skirt sticking to your curves and making him tug his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Damn," he grunts as you prissily walk off.

Perhaps he judged you too harshly. But then he thought about it, and you just seemed like a spoiled brat. A pretty one but a brat nonetheless. He didn't take things like that. He reassures himself under his breath, but his thoughts know what he's really thinking about: sliding those wet bikini bottoms off you and spreading your legs. It would be all for him, too. You did approach him first.

You, however, collect your things in a huff. Your move to the other end of the pool may have been petty, but you don't care. Things had to be thought through. Was it worth actually pursuing this sexy asshole guy? As you type a pro-con list into your phone, Ryoka pats your shoulder, "Are you planning on missing the game for your phone?"

The exercise will do you some good. After squeezing your friend's hand and promising to return after you change, you opt to release your frustrations on a good game of volleyball.

After a bit, it's even hotter and you've only gotten sexier. It's important to note as Bakugou stares at you from the sidelines. Sure, you were prissy, but your body was killer, and the snarl escaping you every time you spiked the ball sent wrecking balls of fantasy into his mind. You were a spitfire, and Bakugou tries to swallow the flush when you look at him in an intense adrenaline haze.

A block. A quick run to the side for a spike. Light cheering. This was the sweet escape you needed, giving you just enough space to let out your blood thirst. If you had fangs, then you'd be chomping at everyone's face! You were in the groove. Your eyes pass over him easily. And then you meet again.

Parted, pink lips with beads of sweat on your upper lip. Your hair falls messily, framing your face with sticky strands as your dark eyes pierce Bakugou's. For a minute, neither of you seems to exist in this reality. You both stay in this limbo for a second longer than you should before your head snaps forward to bump an incoming ball. Bakugou’s frozen to the core with genuine butterflies in his stomach. He doesn't even think this has ever happened to him before, or even that it ever would.

A whistle is blown, and you’re cheering with your team. It always felt good to win. It was even better when you knew you had eyes on you.

"Good game, good game! Yeah, you did amazing, Ayami…" You towel off as you relish in the glow of your success. It wasn't all due to you, but you were being a bit of a try-hard.

You don't even notice how Bakugou makes his way through the crowd. How his lips curl into a frown as someone bumps into him, and how he taps your shoulder with a gruff, "Hey."

Your head turns with hair that cracks like a whip. Obviously, you recognize him immediately. You're not happy.

"Hey," you mutter, toweling off and ready to escape. "Nice seeing you."

"Wait a minute," Bakugou's hand curls around your wrist, and you're so irritated to feel heat rush through you at seeing the sinewy muscle move. "Lemme talk to you."

"I gotta get in the shower. So, no."

"You're being stubborn. I'm sorry for earlier," he huffs with eyes that lack the confidence to look straight at you. "Let me buy you a soda or somethin'."

"What makes you think I want a soda from you, an extra?"

He almost wants to shout in your face, but he knows there's no way around that. Bakugou mumbles about not meaning it while kicking at the ground, and your posture stays stiff. It happens so quickly you almost miss it, but you catch a glimpse of a smile on his lips.

"What's so funny?! You're a real jerk, laughing and everything when you insulted me and–"

"You're all defensive at being called an extra. It's cute."

"I have a name," you nearly stomp your foot in exasperation despite the flush crawling up your skin.

"I forgot. You stuttered it out last time," he provokes calmly with a tilt of his head. Really, he just wants to hear that pretty name on your lips again.

You try to tell yourself that there's no time to think about the compliment that flies and waves in the air like a kite. You introduce yourself calmly, emphasizing the syllables and ensuring he gets it.

Bakugou repeats your name so slowly. So pointedly, velvety tongue and eyes narrowing. You could imagine him whispering it into your neck as strong hips hump to meet yours. Maybe in the morning, with a kiss on the cheek and the taste of coffee on your tongue. He puts so much care into repeating your name that you almost cave when he asks if you want to get smoothies together.

You're a strong, independent woman. That and, well, his pissed-off face was sexy. Your glossy lips smirk at him as you cock your hip, "Sorry, I'm getting drinks with friends. I'll catch you later, though, yeah?"

"...Alright, yeah."

The way you ditch him in the dust leaves him half-chubbed in his shorts. God, you were such a cock tease. If only he could kiss you and show you what you're missing out on by playing cat and mouse. Thick fingers adjust his shorts, and Bakugou pushes his hair back, opting to turn back to his friends indulging in flower necklaces and drunk karaoke.

If you wanted to be the mouse, he had no problem being the cat.

Everything's clear-headed and far too boring and bright. Within time and the coaxing with your friends; you're grinning ear to ear after too many puffs of a joint and sips of cocktails. Things tilt around you, and the music sounds irresistible as you feel the rhythm lend you dance moves. Everything feels like ecstasy as you twirl in circles with your crew. The alcohol was flowing, and you were starting to have that craving for closeness as things ramped up and up.

Natsumi practically topples you over as she blushes into your face. "Come with me. I made some friends."

“Friends? What kinda friends?”

"Don’t ask, just go. Come on, you have to! They’re cool, you really gotta meet 'em," your friend pleads as you give her a reluctant look.

"Well, okay…"

Natsumi hiccups as she escorts you a few tables over. She giggles about someone being your type, and there's a real worry that the alcohol is clouding her mind, and you’re about to have to reject a loser.

"Hey, Natsumi! I was wondering where you went!"

A yellow-toned boy speaks up, face flushed as he waves a sloppy hand from where he rests on a beachy pull-out. Next to him, Bakugou nurses a rum and coke, eyes red and cast downward towards the ground. They lazily crawl a path up to your eyes, a bit woozy but flickering with recognition.

No fucking way. Of course, he's here, and of course, he looks fantastic! You know your dress looks immaculate. There was no denying that, but Bakugou left your mouth embarrassingly dry. His white button-up was nice, but it was more about what it revealed; tanned skin and the promise of more the further you looked. As you looked down at his body, Bakugou looked up at yours.

As you sit down, you can't help but open your mouth, "What are you doing here?"

"My friends dragged me out, I could be sleeping by now."

You find yourself letting out a small laugh and turning toward him with interest. He really wasn't so bad.

“You sleep early?”

“You don’t?”

Amid it all, Bakugou and you end up squished together as the budding love story of your two friends blossoms. Every time their heated make out spills into limbs crossing over into your bubble, you grunt in frustration, inevitably scooting closer to your frenemy with a slight sway.

"She is so ridiculous," you comment on Natsumi with a slight huff. "So is your friend, by the way."

"Maybe they're made for each other," he snorts.

A beat of silence passes by as you both observe each-other. It was really more like admiring, though.

"Why're you so standoffish? I said I was sorry, called you pretty, ‘nd you don't wanna give me another chance?"

He grumbles when he says it but looks curious as his teeth sink into his lip for a split second. You almost get lost in the motion as you unconsciously lean closer like a moth to a flame.

"I didn't peg you as someone who begged."

"Sometimes you make mistakes, hm? And I'm not begging, babe, trust me."

The conversation dies, but the tension grows larger. The way his voice dropped made your thighs squeeze together. Blood flowed south as Bakugou traced over your red lips and briefly down to your cleavage–nice, he smirked.

"Well, whatever," you pray the sip of your lychee martini gives you a long enough reprieve to think of how to coyly flirt back. "What are you doing here anyway? Vacationing? Dying of an illness and this is your last hoorah?"

"Just relaxing. What're you doing besides bein' a brat. Spending daddy's money?"

"I paid for this trip myself, actually!"

"I like a smart woman," he says, moving to brush his thumb lightly against your cheek. He pulls away just as fast, and you can smell the breeze of his icy cologne. "I paid for myself, too. Can't rely on anyone or anything!"

You see the mask slip just a second. The calm persona dropped to reveal his boyish grin and messy hair.

"Yeah, you really can't."

It was so terrible that you knew deep down he was cute. You couldn't pretend at all. Now that you're starting to know him, you're falling head first into really liking him. You weren't sure if your girls' trip vacation could withstand a passionate, whirlwind romance.

"Oh my god, you know what would be totally fucking fun right now? What if we played a game? You guys know spin the bottle! C'mon," Natsumi beams excitedly.

"I haven't done that since I was still smoking cigarettes!" Ryoka shakes her head with a laugh.

"But, come on," she gives you all a pleading look. "If we haven't done it in forever, wouldn't it be fun to do it one last time?"

Natsumi's heartfelt yet drunken rambles strike a chord within all of you. You glance at Bakugou, who doesn't reply, only shrugging in acquiescence to the group. To hell with it, you call, raising your drink in the air.

"You know what, let's go for it! You're right, Natsumi."

Bakugou eyes you curiously as you stand to hug your friend with a slight wobble in your step. You had a point. To hell with it!

Moments later, you all were knee-rubbing, stumbling idiots sitting in a circle. The more you admire Bakugou as you sit across from him, the more you're hoping the stars align with the spin of the bottle. The kiss would be innocent. Fun and games. It meant nothing. That's what you told yourself to repent for your future sins.

A bead of sweat glides down the back of your neck as the glass goes round and round. You watch as Natsumi eagerly kisses a flushed Kaminari, who is all too eager to receive it. Ryoka and Ayami are familiar but sweet. Kirishima lands a peck on you, but it's nothing crazy.

You miss the way Bakugou's eyes glitter with disappointment every time the green bottle spun past him mockingly, taunting him deviously with the promise of vodka-tinged kisses. Only then do you both find a line drawn between point A, you, and point B, him.

"Finally," Ryoka slurs out.

Suddenly, you're nervous. You're nervous as you sit up a bit more and scoot closer over the bottle containing the will of fate. He looks calm and relaxed, his eyelids lowered just enough to make him look… wanting. Knees graze the carpet as you inch closer until you both can feel each other's breath.

The music is still bumping. The alcohol is still flowing, yet you're stuck in this standstill with nothing to break you out of your reverie. Other than the kiss that's planted on your lips, Bakugou tastes like rum and mint gum. You wonder if you taste like lychee, or maybe you'll mix into an entirely new flavor that leaves you both with incessant cravings.

You're unsure when or who pulls away first, but it happens. Your butt plops down right as the round of giggles surrounds you. Bakugou smirked as he sat back, crossing his legs and taking a smug swig of his drink. It was unfair that you were left dazed; he was the reason for it all.

You okay? He mouths over the talking that's come instead of the next bottle spin.

Are you? You ask with a smirk, flipping your hair in jest.

Bakugou rolls his eyes, shaking his head with a full-on grin. You feel something fond bloom in your chest. Something that makes the sound of ringing bells when you see that flash of teeth and a glimpse of a slick tongue. Someone suggests dancing, and pairs of legs come into view as they stumble out as a crew, a unit. There are two missing cogs. You both stay sitting and facing each other.

"I thought you said you were okay," he jokes as he scoots closer.

You realize you have a tendency to mimic him, "I am. You're the one who didn't even try to pretend to follow."

"I don't pretend anything, pretty. I do and say what I mean."

There's a beat of silence, and your clit throbs at the tone of his voice.

"You know what I mean?"

His voice is deep, almost mocking, as he croons at you. You're going to fuck. It might be now, on the last day of your resort, but it would happen. Set in stone, if you will.

"I think I do."

"Mhm. Let's go dance, gotta show you what a real dancer looks like."

Bakugou offers a firm hand and pulls you up like you weigh nothing. It makes you feel tiny, and you wonder if the same effect will happen as you sway your hips against his dick.

You find yourself dancing to Nelly, and hearing lulls about being a promiscuous girl. It makes satisfaction thrum in your chest at having success in your findings. Grinding did, indeed, produce the same effect. Bakugou was trying to dominate your form, and you let it happen.

Bit by bit, you find yourself caring less about the group and becoming more preoccupied with Bakugou. You let him buy you drinks, giggling as your hands jokingly interlace before you pull away coyly. He only smirks at you, chasing you wherever you go, as if he didn't want you to forget him in your intoxicated parade.

He tells you to call him Katsuki when you slur his last name out, gripping the white button as you pout tiredly, "I want to go back to my room."

"Since when am I your keeper, huh?"

Katsuki lays a steady hand on the curve of your waist and lets you fall into him.

"Don't be mean, we bonded sooo much. I thought you were this asshole guy, but you're actually kinda funny and sexy."

"I think I knew that last part. Remember when you tried this on me before?"

"Are you dumb enough to still reject me?"

"Nah, not this time," he says, making sure to drink in your gaze as he does.

Thankfully, you'd already had your first kiss. That made it easier for him to lean forward and press his lips against yours. The promise of something more, and you practically purred as you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders. Katsuki's hands skirt down your back, down to your hips, and pull you so close, "You're sexy, too."

A bartender squawks at your behavior, and his voice floats over the music and sticky kisses to yell for you to get a room! The man at your side noses your neck and then juts forward.

"Come to my room," and he's so gruff. Like he knows you want this, "Wanna get you alone and see how feisty you are then."

You tug your bottom lip between your teeth. Surely, your friends would be fine; your eyes flit between him and the crowd dancing behind him. Yeah, they'd be alright. Your hand slips into his, and he's quick to tug you next to him by your waist. He makes you unsteady and chuckles, "Let's get goin', then."

Neither of you is composed as you tumble through Katsuki's–clearly luxurious–room onto his plush bed. He's not afraid to lift you with his raw strength and place you right where he wants you. It makes you laugh, tinged with shyness, as his red predatory eyes sweep over you before settling on your face.

It's silent as both eyes hold this deep, wanting gaze. He crawls closer, and you lay back further; he's on top of you with a forearm dipping into the mattress and a veiny hand supporting his weight. Katsuki doesn't touch you as if he's waiting for something. You can't wait anymore, and you're ungracefully yanking him closer till his body weight rests on you, and you can feel his hardness poking at your thigh.

He must have been waiting on you–the bastard! But you can't deny that feeling the rippling strength resting on your body and pressing you into the mattress feels good. You and Katsuki exchange saccharine kisses as your bodies grind together like you're one. He grits his teeth and takes a sharp inhale when your wandering hand brushes against his bulge, "don't, fuck, don't do that."

"Why? Sensitive?"

Katsuki's vermilion eyes meet yours and narrow, "you're such a tease, you know?"

His voice is low and honeyed as he slowly peels your skirt from your thick thighs.

"All I did was ignore you the first time–"

"And then I did the second!"

Seemingly having had enough of your quips, a hush falls over you when his hand swats at your thigh, "Yeah, and you're still under me, begging for my cock. Ironic, right?"

He then snickers when sticky strings stretch from your slick pussy to the cotton underwear.

"She's beggin' too."

In a flash, he's lapping at your folds and groaning at how sweet you taste.

"Oh! Oh my god, w-wait!"

“Nuh-uh, no waiting.”

He's so messy with it. His chiseled nose bumps against your clit with every lap as he mixes spit with your leaking arousal; it's so debauched, and yet you're wailing for more as you try to push his face further between your thighs. Katsuki groans and your eyes meet right when he suckles your clit with his plush, rosy lips.

"Y-Your mouth's so good, ohfuck!"

Katsuki lets out a pleased hum before wrangling your squirming hips under a flexing forearm, "don' move too much. Wanna enjoy this, babe."

His right hand comes up to toy with your soaked hole. His teeth are sharp, and he's downright predatory in how he sinks two fingers into you. They're thicker than yours; a keening whimper escapes you.

"C'mon, tell me how it feels. Since you've been dyin' for it, I want a review, baby."

There's a wet clicking sound as fingers crook against that deliciously torturous spot, leaving stars bursting behind your eyelids.

“Gonna cum! Wanna cum, ‘mygod, ‘tsukiii!”

"Already? Such a needy girl," and he latches his tongue to your puffy clit, massaging it as your pleasure uncoils into a white-hot explosion.

Somewhere in the haze, you can hear Katsuki murmuring, "Good girl, good girl," and leaving sharp kisses on your inner thighs. He chuckles at how you jump, how cute, and sighs into your neck before biting your pulse point.

"Holy fuck," you mumble, hands wringing into his shirt as he peels off his shirt and makes his way up yours.

"You alright? Looked like things were good," and he has the nerve to snicker at you. "It's okay to admit it."

"You're such a cocky bastard. When are you gonna fuck me?"

Katsuki's hands are practically already in his pants as he unbuckles his belt. He shoves his jeans down, and your eyes widen at how big he looks, the fat head leaving a dark patch of pre-cum against his gray boxers. You're coming closer as he tugs off his underwear, leaving him exposed. His cock bobs, smearing on his navel, while a throaty groan escapes his lips once you wrap a soft hand around him. He's so hot and weighty in your hand that you can feel how he practically pulses in your hand; you can't help but want to go in for a little taste…

He's gentle as thick fingers press back on the crown of your head, a tut escaping his lips as he shakes his head, "No way. I'll cum way too fast, wanna give it to you good."

The scratchiness of his voice leaves your thighs pressing together. Katsuki kisses you before motioning for you to settle on your hands and knees.

"Like this?"

You're practically mewling at him! Your back arches so tauntingly, cute butt perked up in the air and swaying back and forth. Katsuki draws close, and your eyelids are fluttering when his fat head bumps against your soaked folds, "ohfuck, stop admiring me already."

"And here I thought you wanted it all nice and sweet," and you're whimpering as the head barely breaches past your pussy. "But, I'll give it to ya' how you like it."

With that, his hands are smoothing over the curve of your back as his heavy balls press against your pussy clit. You're already caving for him, with eyes threatening to roll towards the ceiling as his hips stick to yours. He's so full inside you that you can barely move, barely breathe, only able to leak around him as he grunts, "so fuckin' tight. 'S like you're a virgin."

"Katsukiii. Fuck, pleasepleaseplease move!"

He hums thoughtfully, hips rocking just the slightest inside your gummy walls.

"Ask me again," and he punctures it with a thrust that leaves you breathless.

"Please, wanna feel you fuck me. I-I've been waiting for your annoying ass, I wanna cum so bad…"

The man behind you doesn't seem convinced, though his hips move just a tad faster. " C'mon. I know you can do it. What is it you want again?"

He's pushing you to your breaking point. Katsuki's strong enough that he can press forward and bend you further into that delicious arch, nearly fucking you into the mattress if he would just move!

"Oh god, fuck me. Need to feel you take control, Katsuki, I-I can't! I need you, need you so bad, 'm gonna cry. I jus' wanna feel you breed me, please!?"

"Was that so hard?"

Within seconds, he's hunkering down and fucking you within an inch of your life. Your hands desperately cling to the duvet as if that'll ground you, but he's moving too hard and fast!

"S-So deep, ohshit!"

"Ngh, yeah? You're fucking grippin' me, I love how you sound, how you taste, how you feel–fuuuuck. Let me have it, baby."

You're wailing as you gush around him. The smell of sex is overpowering, and your panting breaths mingle with Katsuki's. You can't help but push back just a bit, the two of you joined together so intimately. His muscles ripple with every rock into your cunt. You wish you could see how debauched he looks–though your ears are privy to the hot groans and curses flying out of him as he slides home over and over and over again.

Katsuki loses himself in your pussy, head tipping back to expose the expanse of his throat as his balls tighten with his orgasm. God, fuck, did you say to breed you? He tries to recover as he watches your sneaky hand desperately rub you till you're trying to run from his thrusts (to which he only tuts and brings you back full force towards him). The slick, papping sounds echo, and you're not even sure what you're saying as you wail for him.

"Oh, 'm gonna cum all over you. Ohfuckfuckfuck, wait! I-I'm gonna, Katsuki!"

"Yeah? Cum all over this dick, let me feel it. Fuck, 'm gonna cum too, gonna fill you up."

Your wrist twists another tight circle, and you're falling apart. Your thighs shake and tight walls squeeze Katsuki, trying to draw him as deep as possible as he hits your g-spot dead on. A cry escapes you, and you know his base is creamy from your orgasm. In the haze, you can tell he's close by how his fingers twitch around your hips; you start mewling weakly for him, "cum inside me. Ohmygod!!”

He's sure he's leaving bruises, and yet he doesn't even care as he shoots rope after rope inside you. God, your pussy sucks him in like it wants every drop; despite the sensitivity, Katsuki can't help but keep moving till you're whining from overstimulation. Pulling out slowly and giving your thigh a playful swat, the two of you practically collapse into the soft sheets.

Katsuki's hand quickly grabs your chin and pulls you to face him. " Are you good?"

With your hair mussed and bruises littering your body, you were more than good. A soft nod, and then you're scooting closer for warmth. Katsuki lets it happen to your joy, a strong arm wrapping around your waist as he hoists you close.

"Good, you gonna run off of me, now?"

"No. Are you?"

"It's my room, you stalker," he teases with a toothy grin. His features are relaxed, and his red eyes are a bit glazed.

He looks wonderful. Beautiful, even.

—

You review your mental checklist one last time as you pace about your room, door open. How could it have all ended so soon? You'd spent the rest of your days happily fucking, drinking, and soaking in the luxuries of the resort.

Katsuki lingers by the doorway. A flicker of fondness grows into a fire when you turn to see him and smile. When did he get so soft?

"Hey! What's up?"

"What's up? It's your last day, and you're what's upping me."

"Katsukiii," you drag out the syllables and catch the faintest smirk on his lips. "Don't get too sad while I'm gone."

"Please," he scoffs and rolls his eyes, the two of you making eye contact that holds longer than it should.

The two of you shouldn't be so dramatic; you should try to steel yourself. It's not like you've known each other for that long, Katsuki thinks before reaching out and pulling you into a loose hug.

"See ya," he grumbles.

"Hehe, text me! Call me whenever," you mumble into the muscle of his chest.

He smells like the start of a campfire, mixed with a cool cologne that wafts like the breeze of a nearby ocean. You pull away and look into the tides of his eyes, the Red Sea staring back at you, before he gently kisses your lips.

"I'll think about it. For now, I'll walk you out," and he wraps a possessive arm around your waist.

There was no other option; he was walking you out. You squawk at his comment, "That is not an 'I'll think about it' statement!"

"Oh, yeah? Well, lemme think on it."

"Stop it!"

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farfromstrange · 1 month ago

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Fictober Day 16: Touch-starved

Fictober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Prompt: Touch-starved (🌼)

Summary: After weeks of being incredibly busy, you are starved for Matt's touch, so you seek it out. Of course, he’s eager to take care of his girl.

Warnings: Fluff, slight angst

Word Count: ~960

Read Me On AO3! (Coming soon)

The blue light of his computer screen illuminates his face in a soft white glow.

His glasses lay discarded next to the stack of court papers Matt is sifting through, weeks worth of work that has kept you apart from him. The wrinkles on his forehead are deeper, and the bags under his eyes are a little more swollen. Though even as he sits there, beyond exhausted and worked to the bone, you can’t help but think that he has never looked more breathtaking.

His arms flex as he types. He hasn’t held you in so long. Do you even remember what it feels like? You’ve both been stressed, but every time you get a minute, the city calls for him, and he has to go. He always has to go.

Matt is starving you of his affection, and he doesn’t even realize it. He doesn’t realize how badly you miss him, or how long your days have been, too. He’s so caught up in this case that you are a mere afterthought, but you can’t blame him. He’s not always like this. You know he loves you, and you know he will make up for it when he’s done, but your brain is far from rational when you just need him to hold you.

When you need to feel loved.

You get up from the couch, your slippers dragging over the floorboards as you make your way over to him. You wrap your arms around his shoulders. “How’s it going?” you ask.

He exhales heavily. “It’s… not,” he says, leaning his head against yours.

You kiss his temple. “You’re exhausted.”

“I’m so tired.” He leans back against you, and it’s like your skin is set on fire. You want to bury yourself in him. He squeezes your hand, once, twice, even a third time—I love you, but then he pulls away. “But I need to get this done.”

A whimper escapes you. “No.”

“I’m sorry. You know I–”

“No.” You shove his laptop aside. “I’ve had a shitty day, and I need you.”

You are not the kind of girl who begs. You are not the kind of girl who would force a man to pay attention to her, but you’re lonely. You are so lonely.

Matt tilts his head in your direction. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

“Please,” you beg again.

For him, you would get on your knees and pray. You would pray to a God you don’t believe in because you miss him, and you would do anything to be held by him.

He hears the ache in the way your heart hammers against your ribcage. He hears the sad undertone in your voice, the desperation and the starvation from weeks without him. Matt realizes then that he neglected you. He neglected you, and you are begging for him to stop. You are begging for him to take care of you because you may need him, but he also needs you. You are both on the verge of falling apart.

He pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you and pulling your body tightly to his chest. He pulls you close enough for you to melt together like iron.

You almost start crying. He holds you, and you almost start crying like a baby. It’s pathetic, really, and it hurts, but it hurts so good.

You don’t ever want him to stop. You don’t ever want to feel like this again. Missing him when he is right there is most debilitating.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers into the crown of your head, cradling you like a fragile porcelain doll. “I’ve got you.”

Your nails dig into the fabric of his wrinkled dress shirt. His scent fills your nostrils, and it seeps into your wounded soul like a healing balm of solace.

“I miss you,” you confess.

“I know.”

You nuzzle your nose into the crook of his neck. “Can you just… take me to bed and cuddle me? Just until I fall asleep.”

Matt seems torn between you and his laptop for a moment, unfocused eyes darting around as the crease between his brows deepens, but then the feeling of you creeps into the forefront of his consciousness, and he succumbs to his heart’s desire.

He lifts you effortlessly, carrying you from the living room to your shared bedroom. His work lies long forgotten on the messy dining table. You are where he needs to be, not in court, not out on the streets, and certainly not in a virtual Word document.

His work will still be there tomorrow; if he doesn’t take care of you like he is supposed to, you might not be, and he can’t, for the love of God, lose you. You are the reason for his every breath. Without you, he is nothing, and so he lies you down on the mattress, takes off his shoes, and climbs in beside you.

He sustains you.

Your breathing slows. “Thank you,” you whisper.

Matt shushes you. “I’m sorry.”

There it is again, the guilt he carries like a shield. You squeeze his hand. “It’s not your fault. I just need to have you close. I need to fall asleep with you,” you say, “because I can’t fall asleep without you. I can’t…”

A tear rolls down your cheek. He reaches up to wipe it away. The last thing he wanted was to cause you such pain.

“Okay,” he says, tightening his hold around you. “Okay. I’m here. I’m here, baby.”

You listen to the steady thumping of his heart, the way it slows down with every breath you take.

He’s here; Matt is here, and he’s not going anywhere. A whispered ‘I love you’ from his lips is the last thing you hear before you fall asleep, safe and sound in his arms.

You are right where you belong.

@ebathory997 @the-b33skn33s @scoliobean @drmeghanjones @lanae111 @gpenguin666 @linamarr @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @thatonegamefish @amberritonicole @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @xnatyx @zomtart @ethereal-blaze @littleagxs @ravenclaw617 @lucienofthelakes @steve-chandler

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock angst #daredevil #daredevil x reader #lizzi’s fictober 2024 #charlie cox

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ivyyisbored22 · 7 days ago

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𝐂𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐨𝐧—𝘏𝘢𝘯 𝘹 (𝘧𝘦𝘮) 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

A Stray Kids one shot

Synopsis: Your cramps have been unbearable, leaving you curled up and wishing for the pain to pass. Jisung, your sweet boyfriend, shows up with your favorite chocolates, a tub of ice cream, and a perfectly planned movie night.

Content Warnings: Fluff. Soft, sweet Jisung, cuddles, kisses, holding hands, mentions of period cramps. Just love♡

Note: I know this man would shower you with endless love and cuddles during this time, god I'm so desperate I need bf Han to cuddle me when I'm crying coz of cramps.

If this isn't your thing, you're more than welcome to skip it. Reblogs, likes, comments and feedbacks are always appreciated.

ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴏꜰ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ɪᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪʟʟɪᴏɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴘᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ.

Word count: 1.3k (Sorry if it's too short, I just wanted to write something quickly since I'm currently dying with cramps (⁠╯⁠︵⁠╰⁠,⁠))

𝑬𝑵𝑱𝑶𝒀!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

"Fuck...Not today..." You whine as you feel a sharp pain in your lower abdomen, your hand flies over your lower belly to soften the cramp but it was pointless.

You slump back onto the couch, pulling your legs up to your chest and resting your head on your knees, the painful cramp feeling like it's going to last for long hours today.

You were in too much of pain to get up and take a pill and hot water bottle, but if you don't, you know it's not gonna go down anytime soon.

The soft buzz of your phone on the coffee table pulls your attention away from the ache. You groan, leaning forward to grab it, only to wince at the movement.

A message from Jisung lights up your screen. You smile softly reading his text.

Hannie : Morning, baby! :D How are you feeling today? Wanna do something fun? ^^

You sigh, staring at the text, torn between responding honestly or brushing it off. The idea of Han's bubbly energy feels exhausting right now, but you also don’t want to push him away.

Me: Not great. Cramps. I think I’m staying in today. Sorry Ji :(

Sending hit and you toss your phone to the side, reluctantly getting off the couch and preparing your cozy hot water bottle. The warm embrace of the bottle against your lower belly offers some relief as you walk into your room, wrapping yourself in a blanket.

As you made yourself comfortable under the warmth of your blanket and hot water bottle, your eyes started slowly closing, falling into soft sleep.

After what felt like sleeping for hours, a faint sound from the living room woke you up, you groaned holding the bottle on your tummy and rubbing your eyes together.

The door to your bedroom was closed, you don't remember closing it and then again you heard someone moving around in the hall.

It has to be Han.

He was the only one who had the keys to your place if he wanted to spend the night after working for the day in the studio. It was almost like you both lived together since he had some of his belongings and hoodies at your place.

You slowly pushed the blanket over and slipped into your slippers and opened the door, making your way to the living room, the sight in front of you made your jaw drop.

The coffee table was set up with your favourite tub of ice cream, chocolates, snacks, your favourite strawberry milk and a bouquet of flowers.

You spotted Han fiddling with the TV remote, changing the batteries, he turned around just in time and spotted you standing at the entrance of the living room.

"Oh hey baby. Sorry if I woke you up." he said softly, almost apologetically, that made you pout cutely.

"Hanji you came," You walked towards him, Han laid the remote on the couch and opened his arms for you.

You immediately hugged him, his minty cologne engulfing your senses as you buried your head against his chest. Han wrapped his arms around you, soaking you with his warmth.

“Of course, I did,” he says, hugging you tighter. “You’re in pain, and I’m not about to let my girl suffer alone.”

You looked up at Han with so much love filled in your eyes for him, his gaze fell on you with an equal amount of love and care, stroking your cheek.

He reached for the flowers on the table and handed it to you, your fingers brushed against his as you took them, the beautiful colours and delicate petals made your heart swell.

“They’re beautiful,” you whisper, your voice soft with gratitude.

“Not as beautiful as you,” Jisung replies with a cheeky grin, but his eyes remain sincere.

You smiled bashfully and leaned up, Han leans just as you do and presses his lips on yours. His tongue swipes over the seam of your bottom lip, your hands wrapping around his neck pulling him closer.

Ham deepens the kiss, his hands finding their way to your waist, holding you gently but firmly, as if afraid you might disappear. The world around you fades, leaving only the warmth of his lips against yours and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your hands.

When you finally pull away, breathless but content, Jisung rests his forehead against yours. His eyes flutter open, and the corners of his mouth curl into the cutest smile.

“Better?” he murmurs, his voice low and soothing.

“Much better,” you whisper, the dull ache in your belly almost forgotten in the moment.

He chuckles, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles on your sides. “Good. Come sit.”

Han guides you to the couch, plopping down beside you and pulling you into his lap. You let out a surprised laugh as he wraps the blanket around both of you, ensuring you're snug and warm.

“Alright,” he says, picking up the remote and clicking on the movie he had cued up. “I figured a classic rom-com would do the trick. Ice cream is mandatory, and I’m here for all the cuddles you want.”

You glance at him, your heart swelling again at how much thought he’s put into making you feel better. “Ji, you really didn’t have to go through all this trouble.” Your fingers traced the sharp lines of his jaw, brushing your lips against his soft skin.

He tilts his head, giving you a mock-serious look. “First of all, it’s not trouble. Second, taking care of you is literally my favourite thing to do. So, no arguments, okay?”

“Okay,” you chuckled, resting your head against his chest, snuggling closer to him as the movie begins to play.

True to his word, Han makes sure you’re completely spoiled, feeding you small spoonfuls of ice cream and sneaking kisses between scenes. His fingers thread through your hair absentmindedly, lulling you into a state of complete relaxation.

At some point, you shift slightly to glance up at him, your voice barely above a whisper. “I love you Hanji."

He looks down, his expression soft and adoring. “I love you too baby girl.”

A shade of crimson paints your cheeks, your fingers threading his hair, his lips falling on yours. Slowly you both shifted, Han laying on his back and you on top of him, fingers intertwining as your lips moved together in a slow, unhurried rhythm.

The warmth of his embrace and the gentle way his hands held yours made the world feel soft and safe, like nothing else mattered but the two of you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, as if the words were meant just for you. “Even when you’re not feeling your best, you’re still the most gorgeous person in the world to me.”

Your cheeks burned a deeper shade of red, and you couldn’t help but hide your face in the crook of his neck. “You’re too sweet, Hanji. How am I supposed to handle this?”

He laughed softly, his chest rumbling against you. “By letting me spoil you as much as I want. No complaints allowed.”

You lifted your head to meet his eyes, the depth of his love shining through them. “I don’t think I could complain even if I wanted to.”

Jisung’s grin widened, and he gently rolled the two of you so that you were back on your sides, his arms wrapping securely around you. He nuzzled into your hair, pressing a tender kiss to your temple.

“Good,” he whispered. “Because this is where I want to be. Right here with you.”

His words were like a balm to your soul, and as your eyes grew heavier, you let yourself sink into his warmth, the steady beat of his heart lulling you into a peaceful slumber.

Han stayed awake a little longer, watching you with a soft smile, cradled in his warmth and love, making you feel safer and more cherished than ever before.

Enjoyed this one shot? Consider checking my masterlist for more. Requests? Check 𝚁𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 (& 𝚁𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜)

Thank you for reading!

xx,Ivyy

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