#okay but these colors make me nut

[flowerakatsuka]

i'm painted in colors here and there and you, too, are painted in colors everywhere

i'd like to personally thank @brofightiscancelled & @awittlebabbyboy for giving us the most glorious yanaichi feast they've been giving us with their postgrad plan au, ( also for just giving us the au in general, it's so freaking interesting and i love so much about it oh my god?? )

anyways, fellas, is it gay to happily wear the color you associate with your totally platonic roommate?

[zytes]

wip that I’m working on of a new profile pic for my discord bc my old one is now 5ish years old, but the last one and the one before that were also slimes that I’ve drawn - my @ has to do with slime, etc etc; wanted to share bc I feel like my illustrative ability has improved vastly since the last time I did this, even if the tedious parts still feel remarkably daunting

[gayabeilles]

trying to make a roux with gluten free flour and I got scared when I saw black flecks bc I thought I’d burned it but no.

worse.

I melted the goddamn whisk.

[karmaphone]

also I finally did the nine tailed deer quests and 😭😭😭

[nkogneatho]

𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐘

—a/n: ngl i cooked. overcooked even, so imagine some of the nastiest shit, this has it all. if i studied this much in my exams i would have a higher CGPA. anyways. hex codes are given. hope you like it.

—cw: dick+pubes+balls+cum analysis (kill me pls), monsterfucking in sukunas, creampie and breeding, never heard phrases from my dicktionary, not proofread plus it's 4 am i am half asleep

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

code: length: #ffe8d6 , tip: #f2aab7

We all know it. King of long dick. okay but no fr he has the longest dick in jjk. but let's get to the details. so size?? a whopping 7 inches. but you know his dick does this thing that when it gets hard, it curves slightly so hey!! maybe the true size is 7.2 or something. about color...his cock has the same color as his normal skin tone but as it approaches to the tip, it falls under a blushing pink gradient. and god his tip is so pink when he's hard, it feels likes all the blood in his body is settling there. his pubes hmm? white bush. he does trim it tho. but c'mon man!! it's gojo satoru we're talking about. he gets off seeing your nose rubbing against his white trim when you deepthroat him. also it's very rare for people to deepthroat him because as i said, longest dick. which is why when you actually manage to take him all the way in, the rare feeling of the throat sucking in has him shooting his translucent load down your throat. how does his cum taste? slightly sweet. duh. he's a sweet tooth and the reason he doesn't get diabetes is because all the sugar goes into his semen.

𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈

code: length: #ad8272 , tip: #875f54

*long inhale* bigfatcock bigfatcock bigfatcock bigfatcock bigfatcock bigfatcock bigfatcock bigfatcock bigfatcock bigfatcock bigfatcock bigfatcock bigfatcock bigfatcock bigfatcock. incase i wasn't clear. he has a BIG FAT FUCKING COCK. he has the cock of our dreams. his size is long and girth is thick asf. length would be about 6.8 or 6.7. well about the girth...3.5 inches. yeah. good luck sucking that in your hole lmao. let's get to the tone. his cock has much darker color than his body. he has one of those milktea brown cocks. and the cockhead is even darker like coffee. oh wait! the cockhead. right. so hear me out. DID YOU KNOW HE HAS A FAT MUSHROOM TIP? the kind that is so thick that it gets lowkey stuck in your hole when he pulls out. my man has to tell you to breathe and relax so he can get it out. about his balls, bitch they're as the same size as big lemons. like you know why he wears those baggy bottoms otherwise everyone would see those nuts easily. they're not even nuts. nuts are dry. his have so much cum inside that if he doesn't shoot his load in you or on you once a day, they'll actually explode. cum taste? i said it before here but incase you're new here, it tastes like if someone put a little lemon and msg in thick and creamy alfredo sauce. bye.

𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔

code: length: #c99a89 , tip: #fcd7ca

*evil laugh* i am not holding back on him but hear me out. HORSE COCK. have you seen it?? it's like curvy girthy cock. me thinks he has long hair and broad shoulders. and have you seen his hands??? it all sums up. isn't as long as gojo but god that meat is fat as fuck. his size has to be around 6 inches and the girth from a 2d angle is about 2 so i found the pythagorean theorem of his cock which is like 6.324 inches. so his tip starts at like 5.324 inches. about the tone...his dick starts darker—or maybe it's cuz of his pubes—at the base but as it reaches towards the head, it blends into the color of his skin tone. geto likes to clean shave sometimes but you know when he saw you drooling over his happy trail when he came out of the shower with a flimsy towel wrapped around his body, yeah he couldn't get that drooling expression of yours out of his head. so he trims it to the length that wouldn't get in the way and is easy to keep it clean but also enough to make you salivate. his balls are very similar to a fig in shape. aren't really fat but they grow hella tight when he is close to cumming. the taste of his cum is sour. i am telling you. like not too sour but it sorta has the acidic taste to it. but nonetheless it tastes good on your tongue. on his too, when he kisses you after shooting a load in your mouth

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎

code: length: #e8cca9 , tip: #b59267

chooo choo mfs. i am about to go off. dw i won't slander him, he has already suffered enough. #justicefornanami but anyways back with my girthy cock agenda. now listen. he is not long. i mean he has an average size but the girth??? sheesh! that makes up for it. his length has to be like 5.8 or max to max 6 though gotta love that 4 inches girth, big fat meat, exceeeding half the size of his length. now if you don't understand this concept in numericals, let me indulge you in a scenario that might help. imagine him coming home frustrated from work and all he needs is a warm shower. but there you are all slutty in your outfit and all he wants to do is blow your back out. so he gets hard...like really hard. and it's so painful for his cock to stay put under all those layers of cloth that if he doesn't free it, it will tear it's fat way out. so when he finally decides to unbuckle the belt, pull his undies down with the waistband, his cock jumps out and slaps against his shaved pelvis. so loud that you can hear it over the noise of the tv. now you get it? no? okay hear this one. when he wears an underwear coming fresh out of the shower, his dick takes up about the area similar to a size of a bowl. about his tip, he has a fat tip bruh. not too fat because the base is much thick but yeah. now time for the taste, mixture of citrusy and salty. like when he cums in your tongue it has that salty flavor but the after taste is sweeter and falls more of the citrusy side. maybe like a tangerine. wow i really went off. apologies everyone.

𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

code: base: #805149 , length: #f5d7c6 , tip: #edc8bb

i am in my monsterfucking era so this is gonna be monster kuna. so we all know four arms, two dicks yada yada yada but did you know sukuna has a special ability?? like we all know he can summon his mouth anywhere but did you know he can summon his dick too? anywhere on his body. he does this thing where if you act too bratty, he'd throw his palm your mouth and you'd think he's just blocking your voice but this mf pops out a whole ass 8 inch monster cock in your mouth that has you gagging and choking, eyes rolling back. *728 dead. 263 injured* there's no size for kuna since he can adjust the size but if we're talking tones, the base of his cocks (wow. plural. would you look at that) have reddish undertone. like tomato red but the actual dickbod has like peachy pink color. his cockhead is long and kinda blends into the length. his cum tastes bitter and sour. not repellent but the taste is still strong. don't underestimate this man though. he'll rip your holes apart yet have you begging him for more. that's what simply is the power of the king of curses. he has you compelled. but i gotta give it to sukuna fuckers. y'all have some of the strongest pussy/ass.

𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎

code: length: #f2e7c4 , tip: #d6b596

chosito's cock represents a shampoo bottle. now you might ask which one. the retail shampoo bottle that you use as your mic in the shower. he has a pretty and perfect dick. his girth is thick enough for you to wrap your fingers around you and his length enough to fill you up. whenever you stroke his cock, you can't stop looking at it. it just fits right. like it was made for you. so perfect. his size falls under 5.6 to 5.9 inches and the girth is 2.5 inches, so it's like a good ratio. he has an olive undertone and a darker mushroom tip. his pubes aren't trimmed but he keeps them extra clean. you know it because whenever you give him a blowjob and you take him all the way in, there is a floral smell lingering around the area. he doesn't naturally sweat a lot plus he has a very bouncy skin with slightly soft texture so his cock is always pleasant to suck. choso also has very visible veins. and when i mean very...i mean very. like i mentioned his skin has a soft texture so the skin on his length is flimsy and kinda see through. so when you are settled between his legs, stroking him, your eyes are so indulged in watching the blood rush through them and when he cums, his veins start slightly moving and his balls tightens. Oh! Balls. can i say it?? okay i'll say it. Breeder balls. i told you he has a 5.6 inch cock, y'all would have been disappointed. but see the creator of this universe took a few mass off his dick only for it to be filled in them breeder balls. which is why, he cums a lot. when he shoots a load, he almost gives you a facial. his cum is sweet with a metallic taste. but hey! it's a pleasure to swallow his cum. but you know why i compared his cock to a shampoo bottle? it because when he is so horny and hard and you give his base a few big squeezes, he'll spurt out a thick load of cum like your shampoo.

Tags: @bluberrimuffintop @anxious-chick @yuujispinkhair @osamwah @arisaturn @multistan-247 @sensitive-neuvi-enthusiast @mrskokushibo @desi-the-blue-eyed-kakushi @crescentmoontsuki @dianagracesworld @ariachaos @pu-re-love @trueformsukuna @loyal-to-my-dilf @baizzhu @w0nderbeluga @splatmastr   @vuggevise @makisslut @moonish-en @lufemia @jeanboyjean @marshadowstea @frustrated-kitten @katsukichu @sir-kuroo @aleks-chan @dreadsuitsamus @justiceforquentin @kitashousewife @jiaspoon @sintiva @dawn-bunni @mostlyhornyandsad @dilfslayer3000 @shadowy--night @palebananafury @shutyourwhoremouthbecky @figlia-della-luna @marenalee @aoitoge @lahniu @kayjayxx @seraphinaivy @megumistoehair

[littlenazzz]

“ closeted agere things! 🌸

* mostly targeting regressors who can’t regress freely for whatever reason <3

gear

- pacis can be hidden in stuffed animals! if you don’t feel like doing that you can use boxes for things like old phone boxes, old glasses cases, or anything that wouldn’t look suspicious or out of the ordinary!

- if you’re comfortable with wearing a mask and like using pacis, you can hide your paci behind a mask when you go out! You can even get a cute reusable mask to make you feel more small!

- instead of onesies, you could use some body suits! if it seems too suspicious to wear them alone, you could pair it with some shorts/sweats, no one can say a thing :) you can even find ones that are full body or have build in shorts!

- have a prepared response! try thinking of a well thought out excuse that can help you incase you get caught! try not to stress about it too much, though!

ordering

- ordering can be really difficult! trying to find a way to order gear when i was living with my parents was quite hard, and i couldnt find a lot of good advice on how to do it. the method that worked best for me was ordering it to a support friend or carer’s house!

- quite a lot of etsy agere-gear businesses have options for discreet shipping! the meaning for this can vary — whether they hide the gear in a small plushie or container or something, or they ship it and ensure that it reaches you and only you!

regressing

- this point is honestly harder to explain, especially because of how different every little can be from each other!

- if you regress to an older age, perhaps 7-10 or are a middle, then it can be easier for you to regress in public while causing minimal suspicion! (especially if you are high-functioning at those ages)

- involuntary regressors may find this a bit hard — i recommend trying a bunch of different exercises to get out of your headspace (only if you want to, or if you’re in a dangerous situation of course!) i have quite a few techniques that work for me; can make a post about that later!

little things that can make you feel smaller

- packing yourself a small snack when you go out! (eg. gogurts, small nut packets, chopped vegetables (or shaped veggies!), fruits, shape crackers, etc!)

- adult coloring books can be a bit hard to do when little for me, but some pages are pretty okay, especially when you’re trying to blend in :)

- having small plushie keychains!

- cute patterned socks! you can keep them hidden in long shoes, but if no one would question you, then you’re good!

- fidget toys

- using a water bottle with a straw!

that’s all for now! i just wanted to add, please please make sure you’re staying safe! i know gear can be tempting to buy, but if you’re in a situation where there’s no where to hide it and getting caught would compromise your safety, please keep that in mind! staying safe is way more important than anything else.

take care munchkins, buh bye! 🫧

[bamfkeeper]

Pregnancy

RQ: 'Hi! Hope you’re having a good day! I Saw your requests were open! Would I be able to get some headcannons for Kurt as a father/with a pregnant reader? If not that’s perfectly fine!' - @cherri-leaf

Warnings: Kurt x f!reader, pregnancy topics, birth and baby themes

A/N: This is not helping my baby fever. Do I care? Nope. Soo happy to get one of these, I love writing things like this. Ignore any grammar errors bitte und danke.

Kurt would be the best father to be. When he found out you were pregnant, he was completely overjoyed.

He would absolutely do everything in his power to make sure that you are comfortable and happy throughout your pregnancy. He can hardly wait, and he'd want you completely stress-free during.

Kurt would always ask what he can do to help, he wouldn't want you bending over or lifting anything.

Kurt is an excellent cook, so he'd be cooking a lot of your meals. He doesn't want to control you, but he only wants you to be eating the best foods he can get you. And cooking it himself, he knows exactly what is going in your body and feeding your baby.

His German heritage comes out more, he likes to feed you typical German meals, most of which are high in protein and good for your body. Lot of meat and potatoes, and lots of fruits and veggies.

He does let you have desserts too, he makes them himself though. Or if you want to bake with him that's obviously okay! He loves to bake, as long as you don't get too tired with your belly.

He loves massaging you, knowing how laborious and exhausting pregnancy can be. He always tries his best to massage parts that hurt. Kurt massages your legs, ankles, feet, back. He also tenderly will massage your breasts, it's good for milk production and to help the tissue as your milk comes in.

One of his favorite things is to sit down and lay his head beside your belly. He loves listening to your little one most around, gently rubbing over it and speaking to it. He talks in German to your little one, speaking soft and sweet, laying kisses all over your stomach.

Kurt does a ton of research on pregnancy too. Before you are even pregnant and you're both trying, he reads books and watches videos of pregnancy and what it does to your body, getting as much information as possible about it. He wants to know what he can do to take the best care of you. Plus he wants to understand what's happening to the love of his life.

Some of it makes him cringe, and he frowns seeing how your internal organs shift, or all the symptoms and mental strain pregnancy causes. "Liebe...I will do everything I can to help you. It is scary, but I will be right here." he reassures, even if you have no worries about it.

Does he go nuts over the nursery? YES. Circus themed, naturally. Without the bad parts of his youth of course. Lots of fun colors, circus stuffies, (elephants, zebras, lions, tigers, bears, oh my!), and he absolutely paints it with you.

He also loves to shower you with gifts during your pregnancy, some for the baby, but some for you too. He always makes sure your friends know what you need when the baby showers comes along.

Baby clothes shopping? He goes nuts. "Liebe, bitte, bitte our little one has to have lederhosen! Bitte!" he begs and pleads with you, and you can't resist for long.

He makes a lot of jokes when your baby moves around a lot. "Heh, takin' after me already? Mein Gott...a little acrobat you are..." he coos to your belly, "Careful now, little one, you're gonna hurt your mama." he kisses your belly where the baby seems to be doing summer saults.

Kurt does really well with your hormonal changes too. He understands, sometimes you get impatient or lose your temper, never at him, but things are so overwhelming and stressful sometimes. You get frustrated with your self esteem or the fact that standing up is always a struggle. He calms you down, helping you ground yourself. "What do you need, schatz...anything. Food, space, love?" he questions, wanting to ensure you are okay.

When you go into labor, he tries his best to stay calm but...he can't help it. He freaks out. He rushes to you, no teleporting, it makes you too dizzy. He helps you to Beast's lab, no hospitals, he heard about how they treated Madelyne, he didn't want to deal with that.

You feel better surrounded by friendly faces anyway.

Of course it's just him in the room when you do give birth, he talks you through, telling you how good you're doing...how close you are, to breathe, etc.

He is so worried, giving you lots of love and making sure you're doing okay above all else.

When your little one arrives, he is in complete awe. Imagine how you want the baby to look ofc, but come on...it's gotta be a little blue!

It is such a sweet bundle of joy, it doesn't cry more than necessary when it's first born, and you hold your baby as it's placed on you. Kurt doesn't care if it is a boy or girl, that is his little one and he will cherish it with you.

Kurt respects the motherly bonding, so he steps back and lets you hold and be the first one to cuddle and kiss, and of course warm the baby with your skin. It's a sight he won't forget.

Ideally, he'd like to name the baby a German name, but he of course talks with you if you have any cultural or personal preference. You both come to a conclusion on what to name your new baby.

He's the best after too. He does everything he can while you recover with the baby, and helps wherever is needed. He helps if you nurse, he cleans and cooks still, makes sure you have hot showers ready, anything you could imagine.

You know you and your baby will be forever and always be loved by your adorning blue teleporter ~

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

Dividers by @/adornedwithlight

[ghostboneswrites2]

hiii! I just wanted to say I absolutely love your fics, you write Daryl so accurate and well 😊 beautiful reads all throughout your page!!

I was wondering if you could write something where daryl comes to like the reader eventually (fem!reader), and she’s shy, keeps her distance, and only is spoke when spoken to, a little like Daryl himself! he then goes to her home to ask her about what stock is needed for foods or something idk haha (Alexandria era) and sees her masturbating through the window, calling out his name, obviously he had no idea she even liked him as she keeps herself to herself. so he joins her, and guides her through it 😉

I hope this is okay to work with if you wanted to use it! Have a great day 🤎🙏🏽

A spider fell on me while I was writing this :') and thank you so much for your compliments they mean the world!!!

Note: OOOOOO SPICYYYYYY 

Don't Stutter

18+ MDNI || Warnings: profanity, graphic depictions of masturbation and smut, fingering

No summary needed, request says it all :)

**NSFW GIF BELOW CUT**

        He watched from a distance as you strolled through the streets of the peaceful community. Not a single incident in months, how about that? It was nice to relax for a while.

        Deanna had put a halt on recruiting for a while, after the attack by the Wolves, so Daryl had kind of been twiddling his thumbs, begging for an excuse to leave beyond the walls. He felt so closed up.

        He had too much time on his hands, too much room in his brain for thoughts and feelings. He didn't like it. Ever since he stopped going out, he crossed your path often. You were quiet, shy even. You rarely spoke up unless spoken to. You didn't make eye contact often, if at all. But most of all, you were beautiful. From your head to your toes. He'd often find himself admiring your (hair length) (hair color) hair. It framed your face perfectly. When the sun would shine just right, your (skin tone) skin would glow in ways he hadn't noticed before.

        Your body was something else entirely. The shape of you drove him nuts. The way your ass swayed when you walked. You didn't even have to try, you were effortlessly seductive.

        He gulped as you walked up your steps and went inside. He wondered how hard it would be to initiate a conversation, to get to know you. He shook his head. Surely that was a foolish idea. As a whole, he had bigger things he needed to be worried about. So, surely asking you about something important would be harmless, right?

        You worked at the pantry with Olivia, who had mentioned to him recently that they'd need to stock up soon. He decided to ask you to make him a list. Then, he'd get to talk to you, and he'd have an excuse to go on a run. Two birds, one stone, right? Right. He sucked in a breath of confidence and strode to your door. He went to knock but his fist stopped just centimeters from the door.

        "Oh.." He heard you whine. Were you crying? He tried to peek through the tall slender windows on either side of your door. The glass was lightly frosted, so the image was blurry, but he could make out a silhouette on the couch.

        "Daryl.." You moaned out louder. His heart stopped. His neck and ears heated ashe gulped. Were you...?

----

        You stared at the sidewalk as you walked home from work. You couldn't get the image out of your mind. Daryl was there earlier, rearranging shelves for you and Olivia. In his tight black button up shirt, his muscles bulged against the fabric, aching to bust out. Or, maybe you were just aching to bust them out. Either way, your lustful mind couldn't get enough. The visual was painted vividly in your mind's eye, and you'd be storing it permanently in your vault of lewd thoughts about the quiet archer.

        The entire rest of your shift was spent silently fantasizing about all the ways you'd let him use and abuse you, if only he wanted anything to do with you. You'd never even spoken to him, beyond a quiet and polite thank you or a curt nod in passing. By the time you made it to your door, you were throbbing between your legs. You couldn't hold it back. You didn't even care to scurry up the stairs and hide away in your bed. No, you simply threw your pants to the ground and sprawled out on the couch, slipping your fingers right inside your panties.

        You started with a gentle trace up and down your slit with a single finger. You stared up at the ceiling, using your imaginary paintbrush to paint a picture on the white canvas. Images of Daryl, his arms, his hands, the way he walked, each drag of a cigarette.

        You got worked up pretty fast. You got tired of teasing yourself. Wasn't lusting over an unattainable man torture enough?

        You slipped a finger inside yourself and sucked in a sharp breath, using your wetness to rub circles over your clit. "Oh..." You whined, closing your eyes, picturing his fingers in place of your own. You sped up the pace a little, rocking your hips as the tension began to build. You pictured the way he'd look down at you if he were there instead of your fingers. How he'd hold you still so you couldn't wiggle out of his grasp, how he'd make you cum until you begged him to stop, and he'd probably keep going.

        "Daryl.." You moaned out, feeling a knot build in your abdomen. You were getting so close.

----

        He listened closely. You were moaning, that was for sure, but all he could see through the foggy windows was a blob on the couch that appeared to be moving.

        Fuck it, he thought. The tension was killing him. If you were moaning his name in there, there was no reason for him to hold back and be polite. He only hoped he could catch you in the act.

        He carefully grabbed the doorknob, hoping you wouldn't hear him. He twisted softly, and when he realized it wasn't locked, he pushed the door open.

        You jumped up and pulled your hand out of your panties, startled and wide-eyed as you stared at him. Shame washed over you as he gazed at you, pushing the door shut behind him.        

        "Daryl.." You breathed quietly. Your heart was beating so fast your chest could explode. He made slow steps over to you. Each thump of his boots on your floor made you flinch. "W-What are you doing..?"

        He glanced down at your wet panties and back up to you as he approached, towering over where you sat on the couch.

        "Could be askin' you the same." He rasped. You gulped.

        "I was just--"

        "You were sayin' my name." He cut you off. Your eyes grew wide. So, he definitely heard you.

        "No I wasn't." You lied.

        "Mm." He hummed. "Sure sounded like it."

        "Well even if I was you shouldn't be eavesdropping at my front--"

        "Shh." He hushed, tracing a calloused finger over your lips and down the front of your throat, hooking it on the collar of your shirt. His gaze was predatory, scanning down your body with a sense of starvation that made you tremble.

        He dragged another finger up your thigh, sending shivers up your spine. He admired the goosebumps that raised on your soft skin in the wake of his touch. His eyes met yours.

        "Tell me to stop and I will." He whispered. Your eyes widened as he leaned in and fluttered shut as his lips brushed against yours. You gasped into the kiss as he snapped with elastic of your underwear against your skin. He pulled back and peered down between your legs. You hadn't told him to stop, but he still hoped his next move would be okay. "Lemme see."

        "W-What?" 

        "Lemme see." He repeated, tugging at the hem of your panties. You were too nerve stricken to act, so you just nodded.

        Slowly, he dragged your panties down your thighs and held them up with a nearly invisible smirk. You glanced at the wet spot and blushed shamefully. "All for me?" He teased.

        He spread your legs wide.

        "Show me." He instructed. Your eyebrows met in confusion. "Show me how ya play with yourself." He clarified.

        "I-- I don't.."

        "Don't get nervous on me now. Sounded like ya had it under control just a minute ago." 

        With a shaky hand, you reached between your legs and aimlessly traced a circle over your clit with a single finger, never looking away from his face. He watched you for a minute and shook his head. 

        "Stop." He ordered. You did. You gasped as he traced his own finger right down your slit one time. "Like this..." He took your finger back to your clit and guided it, gentle laps around your clit causing your hips to jerk. "Now, do it just like that."

        You continued as he took his hand away, holding back the noises that threatened to escape. You kept asking yourself what you were doing, if this was even real. 

        He admired the show for some time, but it became quickly apparent you'd never make yourself cum with him watching like that. You were too nervous and clumsy. You couldn't keep a rhythm and you faltered every time you started to build yourself up to a climax. He gently pulled your hand to the side again.

        "Need some help?" He offered. You didn't respond. "Need an answer, darlin'."

        You hesitantly nodded.

        "Mm. Gon' need more than that." He taunted cockily. You nodded quicker this time, eagerness in your eyes. He smirked. "That's more like it.." He cooed, tracing his fingers up and down your clit gently. You let out a tiny whine. 

        Between him cutting you off right before you came earlier, and all those times you almost came trying to masturbate in front of him, you were so sensitive, and he could tell. Your clit was swollen and red and every little touch made you jolt and writhe.

        "Don't hold out on me. Let me know ya like it." He said as he slipped a finger inside you. You gasped and moaned as he massaged you, slipping a second finger in when he found your sweet spot. You bit down on your bottom lip and rolled your hips. Your moans grew louder and more confident as pleasure crept over you. That bashful, reserved girl from the pantry was quickly melting away, leaving you in a raw, lustful, dirty state. 

        Your eyes closed as your head fell back on the couch. His thumb pressed down on your clit as his fingers worked carefully inside. You moaned again as his rough thumb traced skillful circles over the sensitive area.

        "Say my name." He ordered.

        "Daryl.." You moaned shamelessly. He smirked.

        "Again."

        "Daryl." You whined. He was getting you close.       

        "Look at me." He demanded.

        You opened your eyes and watched him. Your eyelids were lazy and your eyes were glazed and sex drunk.

        "Say it."

        "Daryl." You squeaked. You were so close. That knot in your stomach was back, tied so tight that the rope was begging to snap.

        "What's my name?"

        "Daryl." You breathed.

        "C'mon, darlin.' Ya wanna cum or not?"

        "Daryl... Daryl.."

        "That's it." He slowed his pace to a stop, leaving you right at the edge. 

        "Daryl!" You whined and pouted. 

        He ignored your plea and pulled your shirt over your head before he tugged your bra down to expose your breasts. Your nipples were hard and bumps littered your skin as the cold air conditioning hit them. He pinched one hard, eliciting a small cry. He played with them a little before he slipped his fingers back inside you and worked his thumb over your clit again. You shuttered and exhaled a shaky moan. That was like, the fourth or fifth time your orgasm was cut off right before it started. It was torture. Painful, blissful, pleasurable torture. 

        You flinched and squirmed against his fingers, walls clenching and pulsating around his fingers, making it a little harder for him to work them. Nonetheless, he pressed on.

        "Look at me." He demanded. You obeyed. Your eyes welled up with tears as he built you back up. 

        "Please..."You begged.

        "Please, what?"

        "Please, Daryl."

        "Wha'd'ya want?"

        "Please, Daryl. I wanna cum."

        Triumph washed over him as you begged. 

        "I'm so close." You whispered. 

        "Then say it."

        "Daryl." You cried.

        "Again." 

        "D-Daryl.."

        "Don't stutter."

        "Daryl!" You moaned loud. A wave washed over you as you finally reached the climax. Your body shuddered, legs shaking as you moaned and writhed. He kept going until you rode the entirety of your high, only stopping when he was sure you couldn't take anymore.

        He looked down at the wet stain between your legs where the couch cushion soaked up all your cum, save for the mess all over his fingers. You shook and whined as he pulled his fingers out, watching with your mouth hung open as he sucked them clean and licked his lips.

        "Next time, just ask." He whispered as he kissed your forehead and left your house.

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[loaksky]

— 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒖𝒔𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒆 | 𝒂. 𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏

emt!abby x clumsy fem!reader, fluff / angst / smut (mdni!), wc: 8.8k (abby makes me ill).

synopsis: abby’s recuperating from a rocky relationship. tending to you more than once has gotta be fate.

content warnings: language, 18+ content (MDNI!): fingering (abby & reader receiving), oral (abby receiving), standard emotional constipation, non-graphic depictions of injuries / blood. let me know if i miss anything! not proofread well!

tagging those who interacted with my interest post! @eden-nox , @feeeeebbb , @thecowardwrites , @dawn-bunni , @dykefromstatefarm , @kingofcrabs17 , @deadliebalboa , @caitlinisfruity , @matchabxba , @abbysidechick

main masterlist | tlou masterlist

THE FIRST TIME ABBY TENDS TO YOU is an embarrassing circumstance all its own. And not necessarily because you’d hurt yourself, but because of one meddling little sibling in particular.

It’s nearly 2am in the morning, a little brisk outside of the apartment complex, and Abby’s trailing behind her rotation partners up three rickety flights of stairs.

“Seattle EMS!”

The door’s flying open and a frantic girl no older than fifteen is ushering the trio in the apartment.

“It’s my sister,” she says quickly. “She cut her hand with a knife. Won’t stop bleeding.”

Abby’s observing her surroundings, eyes flitting around the space as they file quickly down the hallway, walls neatly littered with polaroids, picture frames, and various other decorations and knickknacks.

As they spill into the living room, Abby’s eyes settle on you, sitting on the coffee table in nothing but an oversized tee and some boyshorts.

There are tiny smears of red across your thighs, right hand applying pressure to your left palm with a wad of paper towels. One look at your face shows draining color and Abby’s setting the duffel on the floor.

“Need her rate and blood pressure,” one of her partners says. “Anderson, can you assess the damage?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Abby says, kneeling in front of you.

She swears she feels a jolt of electricity pass through her nitrile gloves when her fingertips brush your skin. You’re shaky, eyes droopy because you’ve never been great with blood.

“I’m gonna take a look,” Abby says softly, coaxing the paper towels away from you. “That okay?”

You nod, hair falling into your face as she turns your palm over to analyze the wound.

“Sheesh,” she whispers. “What’d you do?”

When you’re silent for a moment, warmth momentarily returning to your cheeks as embarrassment floods your system, Abby’s eyes swing to your younger sister who’s seemingly clocked the considerable tension between you and the hot EMT.

“We were making brownies,” she fills in helpfully. “Big sis was chopping up the nuts.”

One of Abby’s partners chuckles, the one filling out the paperwork, and Abby glances at you again, something niggling in the pit of her stomach when she sees the flustered way you bite your lip.

“Personally not a fan of nuts in my brownies, but that’s a hill I’ll die on.”

Abby’s trying to distract you, take your mind away from a the gnarly gash cut deep in your palm line. It works, she thinks, when you crack a small smile.

“Me neither,” you agree, and it’s the first words you say all night.

Your voice has a sweet rasp, one that makes Abby’s gut twist.

“Guess this means nuts really are a no go,” you say, hissing momentarily when Abby makes start with cleaning your wound.

For a moment she forgets you’re talking about brownies and your little sister’s searing gaze should be confirmation enough, but after gathering all of your important information and spending the next forty-five minutes cleaning you up, Abby’s being stopped in her tracks as they file out of the cramped living room.

Your little sister catches her as the two other techs swing into the third floor hallway.

“My big sis is gay, FYI,” she giggles mischievously. “Like real gay.”

You call her name, absolutely horrified.

Abby can’t help the smile that splits her face.

“Mmm, good to know.”

You’d barely recovered from that moment, still reeling nearly a week later after your failed sleepover party with your little sister that ended in the hottest tech seeing you in the worst condition possible.

And while you thank every force above that Abby hadn’t seemed too perturbed by your sibling’s antics, it’s still something that makes you rub the heel of your palms into your eyes and kick your feet in annoyance before bed.

But just when you think you’re finally getting over it, you cross paths again.

Fate has a cruel way of flexing its humor because you’re turning an especially crowded corner in the freezer section of Whole Foods when your toe catches the corner display.

“Shit!” you hiss, basket clattering to the floor.

Your jar of extra garlic-y marinara is rolling away and a few of your lemons are scattering between avoidant feet.

“Hey, you alright?”

And you’ve heard that voice before, familiar hum haunting your dreams for the past week and a half.

You look up just as the body associated with the voice crouches in front of you, pasta sauce in one hand and trio of lemons in the other.

Of course it’s Abby in all of her glory. Her hair is loosened from her braid, falling over her broad shoulders as she searches your face. She’s in her work polo, few buttons undone and belt somewhat loosened.

Something akin to recognition flashes over her features as she takes you in.

“Thanks,” you whisper when she rights your basket and carefully sets the runaway items inside.

“You’re always hurting yourself,” she teases, standing to her full height before offering her hand out to you.

For a moment you were caught up, so engrossed in seeing Abby again like a direct manifestation of your very fears (and a wet dream or two), that you hadn’t noticed that people were staring.

Your face is hot as your fingers brush her palm and she’s hoisting you up like you weigh nothing. When you shift your weight to the foot you’d tripped on, your face screws up in discomfort.

Abby’s scarily perceptive, equal parts because it comes with the job even when she’s off duty, and also because it’s you. She doesn’t know what’s so different about you, especially because she hasn’t bat an eye at another girl in the past seven months since her previous break-up, but she can’t take her eyes off of you. She’s certain her pupils are blown wide by now.

“Does it hurt?” she asks, steadying you with warm hands.

Abby has to force herself to glance up at you when she happens to notice the way your chest hitches, pendant on the dainty chain that rests between the divot of your collarbones glinting under the fluorescents.

“A little,” you admit.

Abby doesn’t hesitate to take your basket alongside hers and offers you a perfectly sculpted arm.

God you could actually combust, not only because you’re beyond embarrassed but because Abby’s too fucking hot for her own good.

“Easy,” she tells you as you move through the aisles slowly.

She’s guiding you to a quiet corner in the foodcourt, setting you gently against the bench before plopping down next to you.

Your lips part to thank her, tell her that you’ll just rest here for a moment before going about your day, but she’s lifting your leg into her lap and undoing the strap of your sandal wordlessly.

“Oh—”

Her gaze swings to yours.

“Gotta get a better look,” she tells you with an easy smile, fingers gentle around your ankle.

She starts rolling, testing your range of motion. When your expression pinches, she’s rummaging through her basket, only to produce a frozen bag of peas a few moments later.

“Doesn’t look like any bruising is forming and you’ve got your full range of motion,” she observes. “Just a rolled ankle. Nothing some ice won’t fix.”

You stare at her unblinking, nodding stupidly as she applies a slight amount of pressure with the frozen vegetables.

“I, ah—” you let out a low hiss and Abby shouldn’t lick her lips, but her mouth’s dry and the skin of your legs are like butter. “I think I’ll be okay.”

The concern that shades Abby’s features makes you squirm on the bench, ankle still propped in her lap.

“Did you drive?” Abby presses, and she knows that this is a bad idea.

The two of you could be on your way, paths officially untangling, but something inside of her is compelled, tugged hard at the sight of you.

“No…” you trail off sheepishly. “I walked.”

Abby’s lips part, words escaping her before she can stop and think twice.

“I’ll walk you home,” she offers.

“Oh, Abby, you don’t have to do that,” you say gently.

It’s like someone squeezes the air from her lungs at the sound of her name leaving your lips in a rasped hum, makes her wet her lips again because her mouth’s gone dry.

“You’re probably really busy, I don’t want to be a bother,” you add with a soft smile.

“You wouldn’t be,” she assures you. “Just wanna make sure you make it home safe.”

And it’s such a sweet sentiment, one that makes warmth bloom in your chest and your tummy. But there’s a dull ache, a squeeze that makes your thighs involuntarily press together. It’s barely perceptible and you hope to whatever’s in the universe that Abby’s not keen when it comes to body language.

The planes of her face are serious, bump on the bridge of her nose pronounced as you watch the set of her jaw. Fuck, did you want her bad, feel embarrassment creeping because if anyone nearby could intercept your brain, they’d find a slew of less than appropriate thoughts accompanying the more tame.

Without another word, Abby’s hooking your sandal back on, patting your shin gently before setting you right and gathering the combination of your groceries and hers.

You make a move to follow her, but she levels you with a warning glare.

“Stay put,” she urges. “I’ll take care of it.”

“But, Abby—” you splutter.

Your name is stern on her lips and another dull ache ebbs as she stands over you in her uniform, muscles stretching the fabric taut.

She’s off a moment later and after what seems like an eternity waiting almost helplessly, Abby returns with a few paper bags. She’s stuffing the receipt in her pocket and your expression shifts, lips pursing.

“How much do I owe you?” you ask as soon as she offers her elbow to you.

“Don’t worry about it,” she quips, body tensing in the slightest as she acclimates all over again to the feeling of you clinging to her. “Now let’s get you home.”

“Abby!” you whine, drawing her name out petulantly.

It’s so domestic, all of it. Carrying your groceries with your arms looped through hers and the two of you strolling down the sidewalk to accommodate your hurt foot.

“What?” she mocks, and you can’t help but smile.

“You’ll be late for work,” you say softly, unable to stop the passing observation of how sturdy she feels against you.

“I’m off.”

And something like relief, excitement, jolts at the thought. Makes you hush the rest of the way to your apartment building like the courage is still brewing.

The middle-aged woman that sits at her desk in the lobby and plays Candy Crush half of shift pauses to spare the two of you a passing glance as you walk in, eyebrows raising and lips twitching.

“Afternoon, Marianne,” you greet sheepishly.

“Good afternoon,” she parrots, rolling her lips to hide the amused grin threatening to spread.

Abby is none-the-wiser as her eyes flit around the lobby in search for the elevators.

The ride up ends up being shrouded in total silence save for the whirring of the lift’s gears and your shallow breaths. For a moment, Abby wonders if she’s overstepped. If she’s made you uncomfortable and read all the signs wrong.

As the two of you approach your door, the very one her and her coworkers had banged on a little over a week ago, she’s trying to come up with the words to apologize, tell you that she really just wanted to make sure you were okay.

(Even though she’ll only ever admit to herself that perhaps part of it was self-indulgent and the softness of your skin was like a high).

But you’re beating her to it, untangling to shift your weight to your uninjured foot and turning to face her.

“Do you…” You swallow and blink once, then twice, gathering the rest of your courage. “Do you wanna come in?”

Oh— Abby hadn’t been expecting that. She’d been expecting you to fumble with your groceries and close the door in her face for good. But now you’re looking up at her through thick lashes and a shy grin and all she can think to herself in this moment is that she’s a goner.

“I’m making dinner,” you add. “If you’d like to stay.”

Another slice of domesticity that has Abby’s wires crossing.

“Sure,” she agrees easily, and it takes everything inside of her not to teem with too much excitement when you turn to slot your key into the lock and the door springs open.

Your apartment is just how she remembers it from the little details she’d picked up the last time she was here. That same scent of lemons and what she thinks could be incense. Though it’d felt a little out of line, unprofessional to be too engrossed in her surroundings the first time, especially when her eyes caught a particularly suggestive photo among the wall hosting polaroids.

You’re with a group of girl friends, bent over in a too short skirt so that the swell of your ass is pressed to the girl in the center’s front. The shot gives a perfect eyeful of your cleavage in a tiny little triangle bikini top and the cherry on top is the pair of red cat-eye glasses sliding down the bridge of your nose as you wink at whoever is behind the camera.

You pause at the end of the hallway when you notice Abby’s no longer close behind.

“Looks like somebody knows how to have a good time,” she observes jokingly, but her cheeks are so incredibly warm because christ you’re beautiful.

You’re sheepish.

“Definitely retired from that life,” you tell her, and she notes that the neat sharpie dates back nearly six summers ago. “Now I like to bake with my little sister and injure myself.”

Abby can’t help the smile when you start gazing at all the other polaroids tacked into a heart formation on the crisp white walls.

“You seem like the life of the party,” Abby says, eyes lingering on another polaroid of you in what seems to be a dorm room with a joint pinched between your fingers, sporting a feather boa, a paper crown that says ‘birthday girl’ and those same red sunglasses.

You huff out a laugh.

“I wouldn’t say that...”

She wonders if she’ll see that side of you. So far you seem so quiet, reserved. It makes her want to peel away the layers and learn you.

The thought makes her blink hard.

“Kitchen’s this way,” you say after a few moments pass, turning on your heel to pad down the hall and swing left.

Light pours from where you flip the switch to the kitchen’s fluorescents.

Abby finds that the living room and kitchen is far tidier than the last time she’d been here, obviously cleaned after the entire baking debacle with your little sister.

My big sis is gay, like real gay. The words were like a subtle push. One that made Abby weigh the potential.

She’s setting the paper bags on the counter, making a move to go through the bags to help you put the groceries away, but your hands close over hers, slightly smaller and warm as you halt her movements.

“You’ve done enough for me,” you say, smile crooked. “Make yourself at home.”

And the household phrase is so cliche, but makes a split second reel of what making herself fully at home entails. She’d never admit it out loud, but part of it is bending you over the kitchen island.

She swallows the lump in her throat as you limp around the kitchen.

“You should rest your foot,” she says.

Your smile widens.

“I’m okay,” you assure her.

She leans against the counter, watching as you file everything in its rightful place. The muscles in her face involuntarily twitch when you stand up on your tip toes to throw a box of cereal on top of the fridge.

Your ass looks absolutely edible in your jeans and the low cut of your top shows the way your shoulder blades contract.

Definitely doesn’t help her blooming kitchen fantasies.

“You want something to drink?” you offer.

“Just water, please,” Abby clears her throat, gaze snapping up to meet the gaze you throw over your shoulder.

And she has to use the cute little glass you give her as a lifeline, nearly crushing the frosted green glass to bits multiple times over the course of you prepping dinner and the actual thing.

Because not only are you wickedly witty in a way that’s easily overlooked, but you’re phenomenal in the kitchen. Nearly drools watching you cut through your produce while chattering happily about growing up on the west coast and your college years.

You work through the building heat to set a painted ceramic dish piled high with pasta that Abby absolutely devours with nearly as much fervor as she likes to think she would you.

“Good?” you ask hopefully, leaning forward on your elbows.

“Better than good,” Abby says eagerly. “Great, fantastic.”

“Yay,” you cheer pure-heartedly and she could melt. Especially when she polishes off the plate and you sit up straight. “More?”

She easily agrees just for the sake of watching you.

“You should, uh—” You scratch the back of your neck nervously as she continues eating. “You should stop by again. If you, y’know, wanna…I cook a lot and there’s usually a lot left over.”

Abby could scream in excitement. She’s one intrusive thought away from reaching over the island to squish your cheeks and tell you that there’s literally nothing else in the world she’d wanna do than to see you again. Instead she forces her composure with an easy smile.

“I’d really like that.”

And the way she sits back in her seat, legs obviously spreading under the surface to stretch has you wiggling uncomfortably. The last few buttons of her polo have come undone, exposing a freckled expanse of skin that you’d love to sink your teeth into, and somehow, sometime while your back had been turned, she’d opted for undoing the rest of her loosening braid to throw it into a topknot.

The tension is palpable, thick enough to choke, and at times, as the two of you chat over the kitchen island, it has you stumbling over your words.

Even more so when you walk her to the door at half past ten. She’s leaning against the doorframe like she doesn’t want to leave, and truthfully, you don’t want her to. Want to spend as much time as you can caught up.

“I’ll call you?” you bite the bullet despite the tremor in your fingertips.

Abby nods, arm banded around her paper bag of groceries, a tupperware of leftovers nestled on the top.

“Yeah, please,” she hums.

And there’s one final moment of tension that clings between the two of you as she kicks off the doorframe and you close the door, back pressed against the wood.

After that night, the lines you dance blur impossibly. Always a will she, won’t she that seems to equally frustrate the two of you for vastly different reasons unbeknownst to the other.

You because you can’t get a read on Abby, always teetering over a steep edge trying to get her to bite your advances. But you know, know that there’s something there. Abby because she’s given more and more reason to fall into you with every passing moment, but can’t seem to take the plunge, entirely too freshly single to think about another commitment that could fail and leave her already mending heart beyond repair.

And she knows it isn’t fair, especially when the tension both romantic and sexual is absolutely brimming. You’re nothing like the partners she’s been with before, especially not her last girlfriend who was practically your polar opposite. You were gentle, sweet, funny. Good at practically anything you could get your hands on.

But something stalls her, keeps her from diving headfirst despite late nights laying on your living room floor talking about things both minute and infinite, cooking with you in the snugness of your tiny kitchen, even inviting you to outings with friends and vice versa.

So you take the plunge instead, one Saturday evening weeks after your first meeting, after spending long swathes of time tangled in each other’s presence.

You’re at a bar with her and her friends, slight buzz giving you the smallest nudge of confidence to cling to her arm. And god does Abby look good tonight, especially so, in a dark button up and fitted pants. She’s got her hair down, tickles your cheek when you nuzzle against her shoulder.

Her friends’ eyes are inquisitive, curious because touches between the two of you rarely linger for longer than a few moments, but you’ve been glued to her side all night. She doesn’t say anything though, doesn’t shrug you off, even wraps an arm around your shoulder when you return from the restroom.

So with a few more drinks and a little more liquid courage, you’re toeing a little over the line. You’ve pushed her hair over her shoulders, pressing your lips experimentally to the skin behind her ear. It’s a sensation that has her freezing up almost imperceptibly, but you can tell with the way her muscles grow taut under your fingers.

“What’re you doing, angel?” Abby asks quietly, span of her large palm gripping your thigh.

“Nothin’,” you hum, nose bumping her ear.

She breathes out a hollow laugh, tries to turn her attention to her friends who are obviously trying to ignore your displays of affection. But then your lips are brushing with more force against her collar and she’s sliding out of the stuffy booth to get some air.

Her resolve is obviously crumbling, even more so when she stands at the bar waiting for the next round of drinks and your arm bands around her waist, the other flattening below her belly button. When your pinkie slides beneath her belt buckle, she’s pushing off the counter.

And for a moment you think you’ve upset her when she gathers all the stout glasses and winds through the crowd to return to the booth you’d previously occupied.

You barely make it to the back of the bar when she’s emerging from the bodies and grabbing you roughly by the bicep.

“Abby—”

Her lips are slotting yours before you can apologize, and she tastes like cherries and liquor. Her arms wind around your waist, one hand on the small of your back, the other grabbing a handful of your ass.

“Abs,” you whisper breathlessly, unable to feel any embarrassment for taking up a high traffic aisle as she bites your bottom lip.

“Your place or mine?” she asks, voice gravelly. “Because you started something that I’m gonna need you to finish, princess.”

And your knees are jelly the entire trek to your apartment, insides liquid and tummy fluttering because a warmth has begun to pool in your panties. The way Abby can’t keep her hands off you through the elevator ride up makes it all the worse.

“You’re such a fuckin’ tease, y’know that?” she hisses in your ear as you miss the keyhole a few times. “For the last six weeks all you’ve done is toy with me and—”

Her breath hitches when she presses her front to your back and slides her hand up the skirt of your backless sundress to feel the stickiness forming between the plush of your thighs.

When you finally force the door open, Abby’s kicking off her shoes and her fingers are making work of her top buttons. You’re quick to swivel on your heel, shoving her roughly against the front door to push up on your tiptoes and pepper kisses over the curve of her jaw.

“Me?” you huff petulantly, an uncharacteristic gleam in your eye as your fingers are deft on her belt buckle. You unbutton her dress pants. “You waltz in here all the time looking so…so…fuckable.”

Abby nearly chokes on her breath.

“And you try to play coy, but I see right through you, Abby,” you say in such a gooey tone. She throws her head back and moans. “I see the way you look at me. The little things you do. You’re not subtle Anderson.”

And that’s new. Calling her by her last name.

Your hand’s down the front of her pants, under her boxers and you feel it. How wet she is. Feel the slick between her folds as you circle her clit.

“Oh, fuck,” she breathes, lips parted as she takes the sight of you in.

“Wanna make you feel good,” you sigh, biting your bottom lip as you stare up at her.

She nods eagerly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you hum.

Her hands come up to cup your cheeks, leaning down to steal a few kisses before her hand’s wrapping around your wrist and pulling you from her heat.

“Open,” she barks, guiding your fingers to your lips.

You do so without argument, the taste of Abby making your eyes hood.

You make a noise in the back of your throat, and Abby’s walking you back towards your bedroom.

“You wanna make me feel good?” she asks, back of her knees hitting the edge of your mattress. She’s got you situated between her legs, shucking off her top and shimmying her trousers and boxers off in one go. “Then get to work.”

She’s spreading her legs, gaze locked as you lower until you’re eye level with her cunt. The pale moonlight that filters the window making it absolutely glisten.

You’re kissing the skin of her inner thighs, hands on her knees as you glance up at her, only find her with her bottom lip tucked harshly between pearly teeth.

“Want you bad,” you admit breathily, biting the taut skin before laving at it with the flat of your tongue.

All you receive is a shaky breath, seemingly knocking the words straight from her lips.

“Nothing?” you taunt, biting the other side.

Abby’s opening her mouth to say something snarky, but your lips are on her clit and your middle finger’s sliding in with ease.

“Jesus, fuck,” she whispers breathlessly.

And you’re smug as you eat her out, vibration of your moans rumbling through her core when she threads her fingers through your hair and tugs ‘til the tension in your scalp stings deliciously.

“Shitshitshit,” she chokes when you add another finger.

Under normal circumstances, she’d be embarrassed when her body locks up and her legs shake after what seems like only mere moments, but after she comes down and the fog clears, she’s wiping that smirk off your pretty face.

The sight is one to see, Abby leaned against your headboard with your back plastered to her front. The skirt of your dress is scrunched around your waist, flimsy straps knocked from your shoulders.

She’s merciless, thick fingers plugging you full.

“Ah, Abby,” you hiss, hand wrapping around her wrist.

“Can’t get over how tight you are.” She bites your earlobe. “You can barely take two.”

As testament, she stuffs you deeper. The squelch is downright filthy, your arousal pooling down your slit and onto the sheets. For a moment Abby’s pulling her digits from your heat, spreading her fingers in front of your face to show you the stringy strands of clear that web her knuckles.

“See that, princess? See how wet you are?” she teases, other hand taking a palmful of your tits while her mouth maps each blemish and mark with kisses across your shoulders and neck.

“So fuckin’ pretty like this,” she husks. “Wish you could see how pretty you look.”

You throw your head back, chest heaving as her fingers curl inside the spongy walls of your cunt and applies such a toe-curling pressure against the spot that has you seeing stars. It makes your back arch, knees twitching against the legs that Abby uses to keep your thighs spread.

“You gonna cum, pretty girl?” she whispers, blowing air against the shell of your ear as her ministrations grow sloppy.

You nod quickly, body tensing.

“M’gonna fuckin’ cum,” you whimper, “Please, Abs, don’t stop. I’m—”

Abby could cum all over again when your chest pushes forward into her hold, head lolling back against her shoulder as you let out a pitched whine that sounds a lot like her name.

“Fuck!” you swallow, falling slack against her sticky skin as you gush.

Her other hand drops to your clit, lazy circles making your pussy clench around the fingers still stuffed inside.

“That’s right, princess,” she huffs. “Cream all over my fingers.”

Your breaths stutter, pussy clenching as you let out a needy little moan.

“So good,” she praises. “Such a good girl.”

And you’re absolutely boneless, head knocking gently against hers as you push further into her chest. You feel her weight shift as she reaches, then the gentle feeling of her cleaning you up despite sleepy overstimulated protests.

It’s warm in your room as Abby slinks down the pillows and pulls the covers up. Her chin rests on top of your head as you cozy up to her, mumbling about how much you like her and how you’ve waited for such a moment.

You don’t remember the last thing you say before you doze off.

Abby does, though.

It keeps her up the entire night. Has her eyes blown wide as she stares up at the ceiling and the weight of the evening dawns on her.

Always wanna be with you. You’re my person.

And she doesn’t know how it’d gotten to this point. How did she let herself get so entangled with you? She’d always been aware that there’d been something there, that she was crushing and was almost a hundred percent sure you reciprocated, but this was far more than she’d anticipated.

It’s a step away from the ‘l’ word, and she’s not so sure it’s something she’s willing to fall into.

So Abby does what she does when she’s scared and she’s running. She’s replacing herself with your pillow as the sun comes up, heart squeezing when your cheek nuzzles against the fabric and your lips part to blow a breath.

She’s dressing as she makes her way to the front door, takes a final look at the polaroid wall that stares back at her as she tugs her shoes on, and slips out of the apartment building into the chilly Seattle air.

You’d been prepared for a lot of things growing up and into yourself. Had learned to swallow the bitter side of sweet, but nothing could have prepared you for the splintering feeling of Abby’s absence.

You wake up a few hours after she leaves, naked and hugging one of your pillows. The apartment is eerily silent as you wait in stillness for any signs that she’s just an early riser.

There’s no shower running, no clattering in the kitchen, no shuffling in the hall. And when you survey your surroundings, comforter wrapped around your shoulders, you suck in a deep breath.

Maybe she has work.

It’s a futile attempt to rationalize the situation, but you know Abby. Know that she’d leave a note, maybe a text, or—

You scramble for your phone, but deflate when you find a notification to water your virtual plant. For good measure, you open her text thread, but all that stares back at you is the confirmation that she was picking you up the night prior.

“Oh, Abby,” you whisper to yourself, something like sickness making your stomach twist.

The cursor blinks, keyboard clicking as you type and retype anything that’ll confirm that maybe you’re just being paranoid, reading into things too much.

So you settle on good morning 💘.

It’s almost instantaneous.

Read at 7:47am.

It takes a little under two weeks for Abby to surface again. Not without ample prodding. You’re a communicator, she realizes, as she sits outside of Jo’s Coffee and stares down at the string of texts from you over the past week and a half.

pretty girl: good morning 💘

pretty girl: have a good day at work

pretty girl: i made dinner if you wanna stop by

pretty girl: can i swing by the station with lunch?

pretty girl: just want you to know that i’m thinking of you

pretty girl: meet for coffee? wanna see you.

pretty girl: text me whenever you’re comfortable, i’ll leave you alone til you’re ready 💗

That final text is what makes her crack. Makes the guilt eat away at her. So she messages you when her shift is over.

me: jo’s at 4

pretty girl liked ‘jo’s at 4’

She looks up when the chair across from her scrapes against the concrete. You drop into the seat, fresh-faced and obviously newly showered. But she can see it in your eyes, the bags that puff like you’ve been crying.

And you have, even if you won’t admit it, because Abby’s the closest thing you’ve felt to what love could be like and these past two weeks have been agonizing as you try to pick apart every single facet of your situationship with her.

“How are you?” you ask, giving her a weak smile over the table.

“Good,” Abby lies, but you don’t see through her poker face and it stings, thinking that she’d been so unaffected by all of this.

You nod, fiddling with the fake leaves of the center piece.

“I missed you,” you admit shakily.

And fuck, did Abby miss you too, but she can’t find it in herself to face her fears head on. So she just nods, biting the inside of her lip.

“Didn’t miss me?” you tease, trying to make light of the situation.

“I don’t think we should see each other anymore,” Abby cuts to the chase, words leaving her lips like a shot that echos in the night.

It makes your ears ring, your brows furrowing as your lips twitch into a frown. Abby braces herself, knows what a brewing argument feels like. It’s sick to say that it’s familiarity, that sharp words and hoarse voices are a norm.

But you just shrink in your seat.

“Why?” you whisper.

Abby sucks in a deep breath.

“You don’t remember what you told me?” she asks like an accusation.

You blink.

“You told me that you wanted to be with me. That I’m your person,” she says.

And you wonder what’s so wrong with that. Especially when you’ve spent two months glued, when you were so sure it was mutual.

“I do,” you affirm softly. “You are.”

Abby squeezes her eyes shut, shakes her head.

“I’m not—” She clears her throat. “I don’t want a girlfriend. I don’t need the distraction. Especially not now with work and my personal life.”

Ouch. That had hurt, Abby calling her time with you and any subsequent moments nothing more a distraction.

“Oh.”

She doesn’t know why your response frustrates her, makes annoyance pinch the back of her brain as she takes you in, but it does. Full force.

“We’re better off as friends,” Abby says. “It’s easier, it’s—”

“Friends don’t fuck each other, Abby,” you say simply, and the calmness in your tone makes her upset.

She’s used to the shouting, to the arguing and being at each other’s throats in conversations like these. But you never fail to amaze her as you keep your composure.

“I have no intention of sleeping with you again,” she says stonily. “That night was mistake. I hadn’t been with someone in months and you were giving me attention and—”

In her frustration with the entire conversation, she hadn’t realized that tears were pooling in your eyes. That you were trying not to cry.

Her face softens when she notices.

“I’m sorry, I just—”

“You what?” you murmur. “What were these past three months, Abby?”

“I dunno,” Abby sighs in annoyance. “Two people enjoying each other’s company? We were drunk and—"

You simply nod, knuckling away the brimming tears before shrugging your bag over your shoulder.

“Where are you going?” Abby sighs when you stand.

“Home,” you answer quietly. “Whatever. Let’s just forget any of this ever happened.”

She grabs your arm over the table, opening her mouth to apologize again, but you’re shaking her off.

“Take care of yourself,” you tell her.

The days blur like the edges of a muddy watercolor.

You start to think that things could look up, that maybe Abby was put in your life for some reason you’ll uncover in the future. But the universe can be so cruel sometimes, knows exactly what to do to shatter the broken pieces you’d tried so hard to glue together.

It comes in the form of a night out nearly a month after you’d last seen Abby. She made no additional efforts, just left you wondering if you’d imagined it all, and your friends are especially tired of your moping.

It’s a surprise!

And you’re not really one for surprises. Especially not now, but they’re dragging you out, carting you across town. Your stomach sinks to your ass when you see the familiar neon lights. Feel your chest tighten on the trek up the stairs to the same bar that preluded your spiral.

You could throw up when you’re situated in a booth with your friends and you glance at the bar by chance.

Abby’s leaned against the counter top, looking as good as ever, but she’s not alone. There’s a girl that hangs off her shoulder, skin umber and eyes warm. She makes no moves to distance herself and you don’t know why you feel the anger begin to sizzle. Abby hadn’t been yours in the first place.

“What do you wanna drink?” one of your friends asks.

“Nothing,” you answer stiffly.

She follows your gaze to the countertop, sees the way your eyes burn.

You’d kept your situation with Abby private, didn’t want to jeopardize such a potentially good thing with your well-meaning meddling friends at such a fresh stage. But now that it’s soured, you stare openly.

“That’s her, isn’t it?” she asks, and your avoidance is answer enough. “C’mon, let’s show her what she missed out on.”

As it turns out, it doesn’t seem like much. Because she doesn’t even blink when you sidle up to the counter with your friend, three patrons between the two of you.

You’d always thought the two if you had a sixth sense for the other, but Abby’s oblivious to her surroundings, too engrossed in her drink and the pretty brunette hanging off her shoulder.

One of the bartenders goes up, asks what he can get for the two beautiful ladies, and your ears perk when her voice sounds. Nearly throw up the empty contents of your stomach all over the bar top when you see the way she slings her arm over the girl’s shoulders.

“Another vodka soda for my girl.”

She’s buzzed, you can hear it, but it’s the most sound declaration you’ve heard from her in the time you’ve known her.

You break away from the bar, and you run.

Abby feels like a shell of herself.

She’d gone out over the weekend, celebrating a visit from a close friend from the east coast. And it’d done a good job of numbing the pain for a little while, of taking her mind off of you.

But it’s Tuesday, the first day of her rotation this week and she hates that this feels worse than her previous break-up despite the unlabeled status of your relationship. You hadn’t even put up a fight, just took her rejection in stride.

It makes her feel infinitely worse, knowing you didn’t have it in you.

She doesn’t even realize she’s spaced out in front of the drink coolers of the convenience store after her shift when a voice snaps her out of it.

“S’cuse me.”

And she knows that voice. It’d been her greenlight all those nights ago.

Your little sister is brushing past her, going straight for the Body Armors and Gatorade. She must feel the way Abby stares because she’s side-eyeing the older girl from her post.

“Oh, it’s you,” she says, turning her nose up in the air.

Abby swallows.

“Hey to you too,” she says hesitantly.

Your little sister humphs, snatching the golden berry flavor and a yellow Gatorade. Abby takes a moment to glance at her basket, sees fever medicine and Tylenol among other things like instant ramen and Vitamin C gummies.

“Are you sick?” she asks.

Your little sister’s face screws up in annoyance.

“No, but my big sis is,” she says matter-of-factly.

That information makes Abby’s heart sink.

“She alright?” she asks carefully.

“She’s seen better days no thanks to you.”

And on a normal day, Abby would laugh because your little sister is witty, just like you. Can see where she gets it from. But right now, all she can imagine is you bed ridden and coughing up a lung.

“I can take a look at her,” Abby offers suddenly. “I—”

“Yeah fucking right,” your sibling scoffs.

Her language stuns Abby and this time she really can’t help but chuckle.

“You think this is funny?” she gripes. “You broke my sister’s heart. She’s been so fuckin’ sad because of you and you’re laughing.”

Abby sobers up quick, shakes her head.

“No, no, that’s not—,” she splitters urgently. “I– I’m laughing ‘cuz you’re just like her.”

Your little sister doesn’t look convinced, uses the back of her hand to wipe her nose as she levels Abby with an unrelenting stare.

“You suck, y’know that?”

“Yeah,” Abby sighs, hands flailing in defeat. “Trust me, I know.”

“And you’re a pussy,” your little sister adds childishly. “I know you really like my sister.”

Abby doesn’t even bother denying it, just stands there with a prepackaged sandwich that pales in comparison to your cooking and a diet soda.

“I do,” she affirms quietly.

“Then do something about it,” she says surprisingly. “My sister’s a catch, the coolest person I know. You’d be the biggest fucking dumbass if you don’t lock her down.”

And her candidness makes Abby crack a smile.

They stand there for a few moments in silence before your little sister is shoving the basket in Abby’s arms and prancing down the aisle.

As soon as Abby’s paid, black plastic bag in her grasp, she finds that your little sister has lingered outside of the convenience store.

She’s shoving a key in her hands.

“She’s too tired to open the door,” she says. “She likes extra lime in her ramen and runny eggs. Also hates swallowing pills so you’ll probably have to crush it up and put it in her water or something.”

“Who’s the EMT here?” Abby grumbles.

Your little sister pins her with a narrowed look.

“Don’t fuck this up Anderson,” she warns. “If Big Sis asks, I took a train to the mall to meet up with my friends.”

And just like that, she flounces away.

You’re asleep when she sneaks into your apartment.

She kicks her shoes off, sets the bag of convenience store goods on the kitchen island before padding through the living room to peek into your room.

Buried under a mound of blankets, just your eyebrows and forehead peek from the top as you snore softly. When she peels the covers away, she not only finds that you’re sweaty and your cheeks are flushed, but you’re wearing her favorite hoodie.

She hadn’t realized she left it here, but seeing you in it has her sinking to her knees by your bedside, chin resting on her bent arm.

“Hi, angel,” she whispers quietly, pushing the sweaty strands of hair from your face. “Missed you.”

You don’t budge, cheek smushed in your pillow as you snooze peacefully. And maybe she shouldn’t have come here, because all it’ll take is you asking her to stay.

She tucks the blanket to your chin, leans forward to press a kiss against your temple.

In the kitchen, she’s only reminded of how much she misses you. Misses this. She’d spent nearly everyday here during your time together. Brushed shoulders with you while you guys cooked together, leaned against the counter while you took extra care plating her food despite her protests of ‘we’re gonna eat it anyways’. You guys frequently laid out on the living room floor, snacking while watching movies, flipping through coffee table books or getting existential.

She’d made so many memories here, made a home out of you.

The thought stirs something emotional inside of her, makes tears prick the corner of her eyes as she rips open the packet of ramen and digs the seasoning sachet out.

Frustration wells as she goes through the motions in your kitchen by herself. Wonders why you had to go and be so fucking wonderful and make her fall for you.

She’s halfway through and angrily brushing her tears away when she hears your door creak open and your voice croak your little sister’s name in question.

When you stand in the doorway of the kitchen, her name is falling from your lips.

“Abby?”

You rub your eyes momentarily and Abby feels like the biggest piece of shit on the planet as you stand there with the hood of her pullover on, Christmas pajama pants and some crew socks.

“Hi,” she breathes.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, bewildered eyes bouncing around the kitchen as you take in your surroundings. The bags under your eyes are swollen, your lips chapped as you fidget in the archway.

“I ran into your sister at the convenience store,” she admits. “She said you were sick.”

“And?” It’s like you can’t fathom the fact that Abby would have any concern for you. Something like anger bubbles at the idea.

“What do you mean and?” Abby asks, eyebrows furrowing. “You’re sick and I… I care about you.”

There’s that normalcy again, that familiar feeling of emotions beginning to reach its boiling point. But she’s not angry at you. Could never be when all you’ve been is perfect to her. And perhaps in the back of her mind that plays the tiniest role, because you’re everything she could ever want, need, but she steady fucks it up every go around.

“Do you?” you whisper.

You look small, defeated, unable to meet her eyes.

“Of course I do, what are—”

“You really hurt me, you know that?” Your breath hitches. “You came into my life like fate, over and over again. Still do apparently. And you— You made me like you more than I’ve ever liked someone in my life. You let me see you, let me fuck you, let me… let me…”

It’s your first real display of heightened emotion. You don’t bother trying to hide your tears, or hide the way Abby’s built you up and ruined you these past four months.

“And then you just left.”

The lump in her throat nearly chokes her breathless.

“I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt, y’know?” you continue and Abby’s hands tremble. “That maybe you really just needed the time for yourself, but then I saw you, and—”

“Saw me what?” Abby interjects. “Where?”

“At the bar,” you squeak. “She’s really fucking pretty, and I hope she makes you—”

“What are you talking about?” Abby grills, taking a step towards you.

“If you didn’t want to be with me, if you didn’t feel the way I felt about you, you could have just said that,” you whimper, dashing the tears away in embarrassment. “You didn’t have to make an excuse about not wanting a distraction.”

“I’m so lost right now,” Abby says. “I—”

“I saw you at the bar this weekend,” you tell her straight. “You were with a girl, called her yours.”

And that floors her. She’s almost a hundred percent certain she would’ve felt your presence a mile away, But as you reveal that you’d only been meters away from her, the closest you’ve gotten in weeks, it makes her gut pinch.

She wracks her brain, tries to recall that weekend, tries to think of any woman who’d give you the idea that she’d choose anyone but you.

She draws a blank at first, but then she remembers the bartender’s passing comment.

You and the birthday girl are too sweet.

Abby had fake retched and Nora’d drawn out an exaggerated ewwww as the bartender set the vodka soda before them.

She’d been far too engrossed to realize that you’d been in the vicinity. But she’s not so sure she would’ve done much to take advantage of your presence if she had.

This is her first act of courage in months and she’s falling head first as she crosses the berth between the two of you.

When she stands a few inches away, you look up at her, thick lashes wet and nose snotty. You look like a mess, but Abby’s always thought you were beautiful.

“Nora’s not my girlfriend,” is the first thing she says.

You think you should feel relief, some semblance of hope flickering, but this feels a lot like uncertainty and you hate the limbo.

You don’t say anything, just wipe your nose on the back of your hand.

“I’m sorry,” Abby whispers, hands coming up to grasp your shoulders.

You make a noise in the back of your throat, corners of your mouth turning down in that telltale sign that you’re not done crying yet.

“C’mon, angel, stop crying,” Abby says weakly and the nickname makes your stupid heart flutter.

Her thumbs are brushing underneath your eyes, over the puff of your eyebags before she’s crushing you to her chest, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other winding around your shoulders to keep you anchored.

Your arms wrap around her waist, taking in the scent of her pine body wash and the softness of her detergent.

“I hate you,” comes your muffled hiccup.

Abby only hugs you harder.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

And perhaps she deserves that, but you’re pushing your face further into her chest and she barely hears you.

“I missed you,” you admit a second later, back of her work shirt fisted between nimble fingers.

A shuddering breath leaves her at the admission, makes her body relax as the two of you stand at the edge of your kitchen.

“Missed you,” she murmurs, savoring the way your body feels melding against hers for the first time in weeks. “Fuck, I missed you so much.”

“You’ll stay?” you whisper.

“Yeah, yeah,” she assures you. “I gotta go home and get some stuff, but of course I’ll stay.”

Your hold tightens and your head shakes.

“I mean stay, Abby,” you clarify. “With me. Don’t…don’t run away anymore.”

Her breath catches in her throat, a new onslaught of tears choking her as she nods fervently.

“Yeah,” she croaks, kissing the top of your head. “M’not going anywhere.”

BONUS

You don’t know where the time goes. It all seems to blur together in the moments you spend with Abby, and before you can wrap your mind around the fact, a full year has passed the two of you by.

“You look so pretty,” Abby comments, sitting on the edge of your bed with her legs spread.

She’s watching you through the mirror, blue eyes piercing and unblinking.

You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the way she always seems to make you warm.

“Thanks,” you mumble, unable to hide the smile that twitches while you screw the cap back onto your lipgloss to take one final look at yourself.

“Not gonna say it back?” Abby feigns annoyance, pushing up from her seat to wrap around you, one hand bracing against the dresser as her chin drops to your neck.

“Then it’d be insincere,” you deadpan, head tilting to rest against hers.

She humphs under her breath, shamelessly sliding a hand up your dress.

You stop her fingers in their tracks, pushing off from the drawers to create space between the two of you and alleviate the warmth beginning to bloom behind your navel.

“We’re gonna be late for Nora’s birthday,” you quip, fingertips barely brushing the doorknob before Abby’s hands are gripping your waist.

She’s hoisting you to throw you against the mattress playfully.

“She’ll survive if we’re ten minutes late,” Abby assures you wolfishly, climbing over you to cage your body between her thick thighs.

“You’re gonna mess up my hair,” you whine, pushing at her shoulder.

Abby captures your wrists in one hand, other tilting your chin up to slot her lips between yours. The taste of the fresh coat of lipgloss you’d just applied makes her smile against your mouth.

She relaxes a fraction when you reciprocate, tongue languid. A noise of approval rumbles from her chest when you nudge her onto her back and bite down on her bottom lip. With a wicked glint in her eyes, she’s pulling away, hands resting against the curve of your ass.

Now you’re straddling her, manicured hands mapping from her waist to her shoulders to feel the ripple of taut muscles underneath. She’s tense, obviously waiting for your next move with bated breath and kiss bitten lips.

But then you shift teasingly over her zipper.

“Let’s go,” you hum, pressing a final kiss to her jaw before climbing off of her anticipating figure. “No dessert before dinner.”

neng © 2023

[divergentboa]

⋆˚࿔ cw. sub!eren, afab, dom!reader, black coded, dacryphillia ( ? ), overstimulation, cowgirl, mentions of teasing, dirty talk, pet names ୨ baby, sweetheart, pretty girl ୧, cream pie, slight praising, mdni

“oh, fuckkk.”

a whisper drips from his lips as his jade colored eyes immediately roll toward the back of his head when you finally sink down onto his cock after so much teasing, and his mind is just as scrambled as eggs on a hot sunday morning. all while slowly plunging yourself upon him, you pepper wet kisses along his jawline down to his neck in a soothing manner.

incoherent babbles are the only things that eren could fathom once your hips finally meet his. it feels like absolute heaven. your gooey walls so warm and snug and, oh, he begins to think that he hasn’t even been fucking you right because your pussy is so stupidly tight.

he genuinely tries not to combust right then and there. that familiar knot is already built up and it takes everything in him. but he knows that even if he does you’ll give him a sweet smile and tell him how it’s okay.

it was basically suffocation, the way your slit easily sucked him in. his beating hot tip pressed up against that little spongy spot that he loved so much. eren could feel his his waterline dampen and he’s embarrassed because you haven’t even moved yet.

you’ve barely touched him and he’s a mess.

all slumped up against the headboard. softly tanned skin flustered and glistening with a thin layer of sweat building up, breaths increasing every second. wild baby hairs sticking to his forehead and his lips are slightly parted. once you begin moving, he’s quick to nestle his face into your neck with a whimper.

“s-shit baby, fuckkk me, please.”

you let out a small giggle and you feel his dick twitch inside of you when you do.

“already am, ‘ren.” a kiss is planted on his jaw and eren swears he almost cums. his slender hands rested on your fat brown hips as he pathetically bucks his own up into you, trying to match the way you bounced and rolled your hips on his dick. groans and whimpers fall uncontrollably out of his body and you’re no better. moaning prettily into his ear, and eren has a whole eargasm.

you sounded so pretty, moaning his name and telling him how good he felt. his body shook everytime you touched him and it was simply fascinating.

“y-you’re s’deep, baby.” you groan, throwing your head back.

giving up, erens entire head just drops onto your shoulder and you swear that you felt him drooling. your pussy squelched vulgarly every time you slammed your ass onto his thighs. every inch of him touched your walls and it was beautiful. every vein, and even the small upturn of his tip he had. your pussy clenches on his dick and he moans. it was high pitched so you know that he’s close.

“m’god, babyyyy, you feel so— hngg.” eren shudders.

you whine softly, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you felt your high coming as well. your eyes flickered down onto him, leaning down to give him a gingerly kiss.

“c’mon, make a big nasty mess in me, m’sweet boy.” you moan, bouncing on his dick, even going as far as to spelling out your name cause you was really like that.

he must’ve took your words to heart because abruptly, you felt his dick twitch once more before you felt him release a thick, huge load of his nut spill deliciously into your leaking womb. it was sooo much, he couldn’t stop. he felt his balls empty out slowly, like it was never going to end.

“mm. so much, eren. all for me?” you fuck him through his orgasm and his body furiously shakes, still not down from his high as his head slumps on your shoulder once again. it just kept coming, and it was oozing out of your hole but eren was quick to force it back in with a stutter of his hips, desperate.

“pleasepleaee, don’ waste none, sweetheart. fuck, i got s’much f’you. take it all, pleaseeeefuckkkk.” he babbles, breathily.

not proofread lol

[lisenberry]

We drift in and out

Chapter 3: Did I find you, or you find me?

E/NSFW/MDNI

CW: Consensual Somno, Light Breeding, Canon-Typical Violence, Angst

6k (I know, I went nuts)

10k COMPLETE!

This whole fic started with one picture of a man with hairy arms holding a baby. Everything that came after was a fever dream.

Ch. 1 , Ch. 2, AO3

You had one last night together.  Eighteen short hours before a black Land Rover would pick him up and take him away.  Off to catch a plane to some forward operating base in a remote, foreign place.

He’d been home with you for four months, by far his longest leave yet.  With each day, you’d gotten more comfortable, wondering if maybe he’d become permanent.  That instead of just playing house, you were living something real.  Building something special together.

That your plans could change, and you could let the fearful part of you rest.  That doubtful voice that kept you always prepared.  Always on.  The survival mode that kept you moving forward but also stopped you from slowing down long enough to breathe.  To enjoy.

It was a skill that benefited you in your work.  The single-minded attention to detail and success.  And when you’d learned you were pregnant, it had kept you from giving into the panic of the unknown.  But once she was born, you didn’t have a choice, but to sit with it all.  The joy, and the exhaustion.  Slow, blissful days had become your routine.    

Now you were facing the plan again.  The one he wasn’t in.  You’d survive, of course, but the bleakness of it cut like a wound.  You should’ve known nothing so perfect could last forever.  Maybe you did know, deep down.  Maybe he did, too, and that’s why you kept each other just a bit out of reach. 

But you still had a little more time.  A few more memories to make before it came to an uncertain end.

You popped out to Marks & Sparks for supplies to make dinner.  It had become a little holiday for you in the last few months.  He’d stay home with the baby, and you’d put on real clothes and do your hair and escape for a few hours to squeeze the fruits and smell the cheeses.  Go aisle by aisle and daydream about new recipes to try.

Not this time.  This time you hurried through as fast as you could.  Wasted not a minute as you snatched up everything on your list and rushed to get back to them.

They weren’t in your apartment when got home, so you crossed the hall and knocked on the door to his. 

“It’s open!”  His voice rang from inside, as you tried the knob and walked in.

He had the baby’s highchair in the kitchen, and the dining room table set with fine china and candles.  Music crooned from some hidden speaker, something classical you’d never heard before.

“What’s all this?”  You asked, as you set down the bags of groceries on his counter. 

“I thought we could eat out tonight.  Something different.”  He stood with his hands at his hips, and a burp cloth strung over his shoulder.  A scheming smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes.  They didn’t crinkle at the edges the same way you’d gotten used to.

“You’re okay with me making a mess of your kitchen?”  You teased.  “You know I’ll use every pan and utensil at my disposal.”

Your place was lovely, but his side of the building had twice the space, and a balcony that overlooked Hyde Park.  During the few times you visited, it had felt like stepping into a different world.  Like a fancy hotel suite in a far-off country, in the way that it had visitors but never really felt lived in.  Sanitized into a blank slate, adaptable to anyone who crossed the threshold in search of an escape from their mundane reality.

Or like a museum, it was a place that existed outside of time. 

“You cook, I’ll clean up.”   He leaned his hips back against the granite and opened his arms to it welcomingly. 

It made sense that he’d want to spend his last night in his own home.  His own bed. 

“Suit yourself,” you plopped a smacking kiss on the baby’s downy head as she sat contentedly in her chair, chewing on a colorful toy.

When you turned your attention back to him, he waited patiently for his greeting.   The longing with which he first looked at you and your daughter the day you’d come home was back again.  It had seemed like the start of something then.

This time it felt like the end, as you pulled up on your tip toes and pressed a kiss to his lips.  Short and sweet.  If you hooked your arms around his neck and buried your face in his neck, like every corner of your soul was aching to do, you’d never let go.

The food would rot on the counter and the hard things would never get done. 

So, you settled back down and unpacked the bags in front of you. 

“Will you pick the wine?  I’m making your favorite.” 

In lifetimes past, you would’ve dressed up and gone to The Midland in King’s Cross for dinner.  Fed each other oysters and champagne.  Danced until the early hours of the morning and crashed wildly into bed.  Shared a cigar afterwards, naked but for the shelter of each other’s arms.

This time, you made roast beef with fingerling potatoes, minty peas, and glazed carrots.  Topped with gravy and with a side of Yorkshire pudding to sop it all up.

It’d be some time before the baby could join in on the feast, but she flailed with enthusiasm at the smells and the excitement with which the two of you ate.  Oblivious to how much her lukewarm cereal and the bottle that she could now almost hold on her own paled in comparison.

In place of a West End show, there were airplane spoons and milky sneezes to keep you laughing.  Something to focus on besides the future.  Besides each other. 

The chasm that was too deep and too far to cross, let alone name.

As if on cue, with the last sip of wine, she started to fuss.  Fisted her eyes and arched her back in surrender as John rose to soothe her.  You’d have many more nights to put her to bed, but who knew what awaited him.  You gave him the time alone as you collected the place settings and started the cleaning that he’d promised you.

The little one sighed so heavily against his chest as she curled into him, burying her fingers in his shirt.  You knew the feeling, ached for it as you silently cursed your ability to dirty so many dishes making a meal. 

He was gone long enough for you to handwash the china and fill the dishwasher, and you wondered if she fought sleep, or if he simply lingered a little longer.  Did he tell her a story, or share some secret that was just between them? 

The polished wood floorboards creaked under his weight when he finally returned to the kitchen.  There was a stiffness to his towering form, as if he was flexing under an invisible weight.

“Just in time.  Everything’s already done,” you chided, gently, as you dried your hands on a towel.    

“I set her up in the portable crib with the monitor.  In the bedroom next to mine.”

“Her first sleepover.”  You still couldn’t look at him.  You hadn’t yet, had you?  Not really.  Not since he got the call earlier that day.

Since you’d told him he was never meant to be a part of your life.  That you could live without him.

A lie that he’d surely seen through, but you needed to keep for yourself as you busied your hands and kept your back to him.

But he wouldn’t let you hide, as he stepped behind you and pulled you in. 

“Don’t pull away.  Please.  Not yet.”  He tucked his grizzled chin into the curve of your neck. 

“I’m trying.”  You let your head fall back against him, vaguely aware that the music was still playing.  Something sad and slow as you swayed to the beat of it.

His hands rested on your hips as he spun you around to face him.  If a kiss could fix everything, you gave it to him then.  Did your best as you fisted his hair and pulled him down to you, while his palms roamed lower to cup your ass and lift you onto the counter.

Like meat and wine, you savored his lips and his tongue as he delved even deeper.  Splitting you open and demanding more.  Demanding everything. 

Your shirt was over your head and his roughened fingers scratched along the skin of your back, massaging and kneading the sides of your spine while he unhooked your bra.  The same muscles you’d kept rigid all day he coaxed into pliancy with each stroke as a weak moan slipped past your lips.

“That’s a girl.  Be soft and sweet for me, will you?”  He started off slow at the tip of your ear, trailing light, tickling kisses down the shell and to where the lobe met your neck.    

It sent shivers down your arms, and your naked breasts budded to peaks as they grazed against the cool smoothness of his shirt.  You didn’t want cool, or smooth, just heat and texture as you pulled it off his shoulders and wrapped your legs around his hips.

He groaned at the contact, a fierce and hungry sound as he took one of your hands and slotted it between you.  Pressed your palm against the bulge in his pants and grinded against it, letting you feel the way it grew and hardened at your touch.

“Tell me you’ll miss me.  Fucking lie to me, just say it,” he grated out, against your collarbone.  Miss him?  Lie to him?  It would be a lie to say you wouldn’t.  “I need to hear you to say it.” 

“I miss you already,” you whined, as you slid your hands from his groin to his ass and anchored him closer to the dampening heat at your core.

“I’m right here.” 

“Then take me to bed.  And show me how much you’ll miss me.”  It was your turn to grind against him, rubbing the bud of your arousal greedily along the lip of his fly through your thin linen pants as your tits bobbed wantonly against his furry chest.

“Not going to last long if you keep doing that, love,” he growled, lifting you up again and carrying you down the hallway.  “I’d rather take my time.”

And he did, starting with his fingers, then his mouth.  Drawing out each sensation like he was mapping the stars.   Exploring the far reaches of your body and forging new paths until you were shaking and spent. 

You marked him in return.  Staked a claim on the meat of his pec with a dark red love bite as he came hard and hot inside your pulsating quim.  Filled you up with a contented smile on his face, as if there was no better feeling in the world.  No place he’d rather be.

“Be back before it fades, okay?”  You nuzzled the hair around the spot with your nose as you drifted off beside him, his fingers lazily circling your hole to push the leaky drops of his seed back in. 

Did he have hopes that it would take? 

Did you?

Later, a strangled sound, like a wounded animal woke you from a fitful sleep.  At some point, you must’ve turned to your side and faced away from him because he was behind you.  Pulling at your hips and burying his head between your shoulder blades.

“John?  What is it?”

“Just a dream.  A bad dream.” 

You felt the swell of his cock as he sought out the smooth shelter between your thighs.  Arching against him instinctively, you curved onto your back and parted your legs as he absently rutted around to find your opening.  Still brimming with the sticky spend from your last bout.

He’d always been a giver, but this one was just for him as he worked out his nightmare on your flesh, your insides, your soul.  It felt like a battle.  A whole damn war as he smothered you with his heavy, dead-weight body and took ground, pounding away at your sensitive, stimulated cunt.

You wondered if he was even awake, or if he was still in the dream, as he fucked into you roughly and muttered far away words.  Bit back his own tears as they mixed with the sweat on your skin.

“Mine...Fucking mine...Not letting you go...Not to anyone else...”

Deprived of oxygen from his bulk on your chest, you almost blacked out with the force of your climax, caught by surprise at the way the mound of hair at his base aroused your clit into bloom with each thrust.  A tenderness amidst the brutal onslaught.  A divine mercy. 

If you had air, you’d have screamed at the intensity of it.  Spotty flashes of light broke the darkness as you felt the last of your spurting aftershocks flutter around him, soaking you both and easing the incinerating friction from the stretch of him. 

You could only clench your teeth and your walls as he shuddered with the strength of his own fresh release.  With his face buried in your shoulder, you knew he didn’t smile this time.  The sorrow of it hit you like a blow to your heart as you felt him stiffen with awareness, the fog of sleep clearing from his consciousness.

“I’m yours.  There’s no one else, John,” you panted, begged, as he eased up onto to his elbows to give you enough space to take a breath.  “Only you.”

********

Before you knew it, the black Land Rover was waiting like a harbinger along the street below.

“Here’s the keys to the truck, and to my place.  Just in case.”  He tossed a set into the bowl you kept on the sideboard.  “I know how much you’re dying to go spying in my cupboards.”  He raised a amused eyebrow to match the gentle hitch in his mustache.

“I wouldn’t do that.”  Except you totally would.  At the first opportunity.

“Afraid of what you’ll find?”

“An expired box of Earl Grey in the kitchen, perfectly sorted socks in the bedroom.  Stinky smelling beard oil in the bathroom.”  You flashed a cheeky grin at the last, in an effort to keep the tone light. 

If he could be strong, so could you.  You wouldn’t be the one to break.  No matter what you felt like on the inside.  You’d save it for when he was gone.

“Beard oil?  This is all natural.”  As if you’d insulted his manhood, he smoothed his mustache down with two hands, in a way you’d seen him do a thousand times.  He’d trained any willfulness from his facial hair with nothing but nose grease and perseverance.  Molded by time and patience, like marble cliffs and silt-shined creek beds.

“But I was right about the socks though, wasn’t I?”

“And the tea.”  He hitched his mouth into a smile and turned his focus to the gurgling baby perched on his hip, yapping and cooing like she was in on the conversation.

The way he looked at her gave you hope that he’d call it all off.  He’d sit back down on the couch and turn on the football.  Put his heavy feet up on your table and let his flight leave without him.

“I’m sure we can find some priceless antiques in there she can teeth on.”  They would start coming in soon.  Another change he’d miss.

“Look, you don’t have to wait.”  He paused to clear the words he was looking for from his throat.  “I understand if you—”

“I just got you, John,” you cut him off, saving him from the self-sacrificing speech, and looked down at her chubby fist wrapped in a white-knuckle grip around his finger.  “You’re not getting rid of us yet.”

Don’t let go, sweetheart.  Don’t let him go.  You willed it into her with your own thoughts.

Your world had gotten so small since she was born.  You’d gone from having a job that needed you, coworkers and clients with a network of responsibilities, down to having just one job. 

One person who needed you.

But it would’ve been a lot smaller without him.  How lonely would you have been without someone to share it all with?  How much of him had seeped into your life, and your heart?

“Be nice to your mum,” he whispered against her soft head, as he kissed her cheek and passed her back to you quickly.  Looking everywhere but at you.  “You have Kate’s number?  In case you need anything?”

You pulled him closer with your free hand to his waist, forcing him to see you.  Eyes wide and blue, he looked scared.  For the first time.

Anything more than a kiss to the forehead would have broken you both.  You’d already said your goodbyes the night before, and again that morning.  So, you simply tilted your head up to him, your own eyes kind and trusting, and felt his beard graze your skin one last time.

And then you watched him go.

********

By the third week, nothing in your apartment smelled like him anymore.  Everything had been washed, and the windows had been left open too long to let in the cool fall breeze.  Looking around, you realized that nothing in your home was his.

He’d come through your life with a force and left no trace behind, as if he was never even there.  It wasn’t right.  You wished with renewed clarity that you’d taken more pictures of him.  That you’d recorded every moment. 

Something to show your daughter, someday, if she ever questioned whether or not she was loved.  Something you could show yourself, when your mind tricked you into believing it was just a dream.

It was the need to seek out that connection, that comfort, that had you unlocking the door to his flat and letting yourself inside.  It was dark, and too quiet.  Cold and cavernous, like he was the one who heated it and gave it light. 

With the baby bouncing on your hip, you explored from room to room.  Three bedrooms and four bathrooms.  And still, you couldn’t find a trace of him anywhere there either.

His sheets had been washed since you’d spent the night.  His bathroom scrubbed of any lingering soap by the cleaning company that came once a month to keep it free of dust and spiders while he was away.

Trapped in time until the next visitor passed through.

Your grief and frustration sprung anew as you moved into his office.  Surely it would have something.  The indent of his body in a leather seat, or the half-burnt end of a forgotten cigar.

But his chair was too firm to leave a crease, and his ashtray was clean.   

There were no medals or honors hung along the walls, and the top of his desk was empty, except for one framed photo.  It was exactly what you were looking for, but at the same time, something you never expected.

It was from four years before, when he’d talked you into running a marathon together for a charity for wounded veterans.  You remembered the day clearly but never knew someone had taken a picture.  It must’ve been at the end, because you were both dewy-faced and soaked in sweat, smiling like mad.

His arm was around your shoulder and yours was at his waist.  You looked like a couple.  Like you were in love.  Was that how you always looked when you were together? 

Was this what you’d been missing out on all this time?

Surely, there were others.  You’d open a drawer and find photos of him with other people.  His parents, his friends.  Other women.

But as you pulled them apart one by one, you only found files of old bank statements and tax forms.  Until you got to the bottom.  A lone manila envelope, padded and thick.

With your name written in the wonky, hurried strokes of his hand.

Your own hands shook as you turned it over to find it sealed.  He must’ve wanted you to see what was inside, or else it wouldn’t have your name on it.

Right?

It felt like paper, documents of some kind, but with something else to give it bulk.  You shouldn’t have seen it, shouldn’t have gone digging through his stuff.  But he’d known you were going to snoop.  Had practically dared you to, didn’t he?

You tucked it back in where you’d found it.  Whatever it was, he could give it to you when he came back.  You’d promised him that you’d wait, and you would.

However long it took.

Just as you shut the drawer, your phone began to buzz in your pocket, jolting you guiltily as if you’d been caught.  You took it out, expecting it to be just another spam call, but paused in immediate horror at the name across the screen. 

(John’s) Kate

He’d saved the contact in your phone in case you needed to get in touch with him.  You couldn’t think of a situation where you’d be justified in pulling his attention away from a job, but you could only think of one reason she’d be calling you.

“Hello,” you answered.

*******

Two hours later, your apartment was full.  Well, there were only four guests gathered around your coffee table and perched with varying degrees of curiosity and tension along your couch and side chairs, but it felt overcrowded considering their size.

Three men that you’d never seen before, and then there was Kate.  Somehow, she took up just as much space as they did.  She carried herself with an air of authority that made your spine straighten reflexively. 

“He didn’t tell us he had a family.”  The clean cut one in the ball cap, who’d introduced himself as Kyle, spoke first as you poured him a cup of tea.  “We all wanted to express our support in person.”

“There wasn’t much to tell until recently,” you smiled, slightly, trying to be a good hostess despite the circumstances.

“You’ve been his emergency contact for the last five years,” Kate added as she declined your offer of milk and sugar.

“I didn’t know that.”  That was as long as you’d known each other.  Did he really not have anyone else? 

“He’s a very private man.”  She did you the favor of talking about him as if he wasn’t gone.  As if there was still hope.

“How did you know about it?”  MacTavish, the stocky Scot with the close-cut mohawk intoned back to her, with a bristling hostility you couldn’t miss.

“I’m CIA.  It’s my job to know everyone’s secrets.” 

You thought maybe she was trying to make a joke, but her face was dead serious. 

“We never would have let him—” He looked regretfully from you to your baby as the blond one with the black surgical mask cut him off with a supportive hand to his knee.

“Have any of you ever successfully talked him out of something once he’d put his mind to it?”  You looked around at the faces of the men staring back at you.  The people he spent all his time with when he wasn’t with you.  “I’m sure that’s why he didn’t tell you.  Afraid you’d treat him differently if he was a real person.”

Perhaps for the same reason he’d never told you how he felt.  Afraid to make it something real.  Something it would hurt to lose.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened, please,” you continued, bracing for the worst.

“A massive fuck up from the beginning, is what it was—”  Kyle interjected, heatedly, before he was interrupted by a pointed look from Kate.

“It’s mostly classified, of course.  So, we can’t go into details.  But John requested an indefinite leave of absence about four months ago.  In the interim, his team was assigned to assist another task force in a sensitive operation.”  She spoke evenly as if reciting a sequence of events before a committee.

And you listened, all the while searching for the bits she left unsaid.  The parts that she hid behind her narrative. 

Phrases like, ‘severe loss of life’, ‘pinned down in hostile territory’, and ‘unable to ascertain status’, were cold, calculated ways of saying something went horribly wrong.

You weren’t a naïve civilian who devoured sound bites at face value.  You worked with government contracts all the time.  American, British.  They were all the same.  ‘Cover your ass,’ was their collective motto.

When she finished, you had more questions than answers.  But one thing stood out in your mind.  He hadn’t been home for so long by accident.  He’d chosen to stay.  He’d given up his team, indefinitely, to be with you. 

“So, if I understand correctly, it was a massive fuck up.  You him called away, despite his clear wishes to be left alone, to save your ass and theirs.”  You turned your attention from Kate over to the team.  “And he got you out.  And you left him behind?” 

He’d quit for you.  But he’d gone back for them. 

“Not willingly.”  The one in the mask, Lieutenant Riley, spoke up for the first time.  His eerily dark eyes shot daggers at Kate, as if the fault was hers.

“He knew what he was doing.  We needed to reassess the objective and regroup.  And I’m available to discuss it at length with you another time, Lieutenant.”

“We know he’s alive.”  MacTavish reassured you.  “If he was dead, they’d be broadcasting his body and celebrating all over the dark web.” 

Oh, what a relief.  The visual turned up bile your throat.

“And if he’s been taken prisoner or something?”

“He’s an exceptionally valuable hostage.  We’ll have a few weeks at least, while they interrogate him, before he’s ransomed.”

Tortured, she meant.  The bile turned to acid, and you forced yourself not to be sick. 

“So, what now?”  You were in a daze.  Kate’s firm, rational, voice grounded you and kept you present when all you wanted to do was breakdown.  To scream and cry and pound your fists against their chests to get back out there and find him.

Her position demanded it, you imagined.  Judging by the tension flowing between the team, they ached to do just that.  It was as if they were held back by some invisible muzzle.  Reined in by years of service.  One strong woman was all that kept them from charging off to take matters into their own hands.

“We’ll keep you updated as soon as we have news,” Kate answered, softer than before.  Perhaps aware that her words alone held little comfort.  That they were as grim as hollow condolences.  “But here, standard protocol.  We had it stripped of anything sensitive.  There’s only a few pictures and text messages left.  It’s unlocked.” 

She handed you his battered old phone.  The screen was scratched up, and the case was cracked enough to be useless protection.  You didn’t think they even supported this model anymore.  You couldn’t help but smile when you saw it. 

‘It’s busted to bloody hell, but still hanging on’, he’d said about it once with a proud laugh.  You prayed that he was the same, wherever he was.

“Thank you.  It was nice to meet you all,” you replied, politely, suddenly anxious to be alone.  To fall apart in peace.  “I wish it was under better circumstances.  Maybe next time we can have a drink and a proper laugh.  When he’s home.” 

“We’ll get him back, Mrs. Price.”  It was Kyle who pulled you into a hug, as if you were family.  “I promise.”

It was the first time anyone had called you that, and you didn’t correct him.  In the moment, it was a comfort.  A universal truth that you longed to hear from someone else’s lips. 

The others followed suit with their goodbyes, but their warmth and concern were a shallow replacement for the man you were missing.  Kate settled for a stoic handshake before you closed the door on them all and set your back against it for support.

The phone in your hand was heavy as you pulled it up to see his text messages, looking for any possible clue or something to keep hope alive.  There were a few off color jokes between him and his mates.   Notes to you about what was for dinner, and silly photos he’d taken of the baby.

One single text exchange with Kate.  As if he’d deleted them as soon as they came in.  Or perhaps Kate had wiped them as part of her pruning.  It was from four months prior. 

I hope you know what you’re doing.

Never more certain in my life.

Were they talking about you?  Of his choice to leave?  It reminded you of something else he’d left behind.  Something you’d forgotten in the whirlwind of the last few hours.

When you held the envelope again in your hands, you didn’t think twice about ripping through the seal.  Inside was a stack of handwritten letters, all dated and signed with his name.

You focused on the one on top, from the day before he’d left.

Hey love,

If you’re reading this, then something must’ve happened to me.  Or your curious nature got the best of you, and you went snooping around my desk.

I hope it’s the latter because it’s time you knew, and who knows when I’ll get the courage to tell you myself.  But if it’s the former, then I’m sorry.

I can’t say I’m surprised, though.  There’s only so many times I can dare death to find me before it wins.  You just have to know that I did my best, for whatever it’s worth.

I never felt like I could have a family.  I didn’t deserve that sort of peace after the things I’ve done.  I’ve taken too many lives to have any chance at a happy one.  Killed too many sons to be entitled to any of my own.

It’s been my purpose.  What I’m good at.  And I never wanted to bring that burden home to anyone else.

Then I saw you again after I made myself a promise to stay away from you this time.  You were so fearless and calm.  I just wanted to be near you.  Close enough that you might scare away the darkness in me.  

If someone like you, and her, could trust me and see any good in me, then maybe I’m not such a monster after all. 

You made me believe in fate.  In something bigger that was beyond my control.  I just hope that it’s not done with me yet.  That it’s not done with us. 

If this is the end, then I just want to say thank you and leave you with everything.  Everything that I have, and everything that I left unsaid.

These letters are from all the other times I’ve done this.  The other missions that called me away since we met, in the event that I didn’t come back.  You were the only thing worth coming home to, and I’m sorry I didn’t share them sooner. 

If you’re just being nosy, and I’m already warm in our bed with the baby drooling on my chest, I hope I’ve already told you a thousand times how much I love you.  How lucky I am to have known your love in return.

And I hope you’re already wearing one of these rings.  I couldn’t decide which one, so I’ll let you choose.  They’ve been in my family for ages.  All yours now.

All my heart, John.

The pages were flooded with salty tears by the time the jingle at the bottom of the envelope caught your attention.  Five different rings.  Yellow and white gold, glistening diamonds, emeralds, and sapphires.  Old and new.

But not yet.  You didn’t dare to touch them yet.  Didn’t choose.  You believed in fate, too.  He wasn’t gone, and it wasn’t the end. 

*******

The next days passed by in a blur, waiting by the phone.  You were thankful for the baby, as she didn’t let you wallow or crumble the way you wanted to.  There were still diapers to change, and bottles to fill.  Smiles to fake and colic to soothe.

You wondered if she missed him, too.  If she even noticed he was gone.

It was three in the morning when you got the call, and you shot up in bed, sleep quickly forgotten when you answered.  You didn’t even bother to look at the caller ID.

“John!”

“Hiya, darling.”  His voice was a faint groan of relief. 

“Where are you?”  You held the phone away from your face just long enough to see the long, foreign number with a country code you couldn’t place.  “Does Kate know where you are?”

“I don’t have a lot of time.  I’m in the blind.  I just wanted to hear your voice.”

You flung off your covers and rushed to your computer.  He was in trouble.    

“I’m here.  Are you hurt?” 

“Not bad.”  You could hear him smiling, the way the words huffed out through pained lips.  It was definitely bad.

You had to keep him talking, to stay on the line long enough for you to work.  The laptop took forever to start up.  You hadn’t used it since you’d left your employment, and it must’ve needed a hundred updates.  But you didn’t have time as your fingers trembled anxiously over the keys.

This was what you did.  This was your job.  You designed software that could find people.  Find targets.  Needles in the giant haystack that was the world.

You set the phone to speaker mode and plugged it in to your program.

“Whose phone is this, John?”  It would be encrypted, you presumed.  You wouldn’t be lucky enough to have its location turned on. 

“An old friend.  I’d put him on, but he’s not with us anymore, I’m afraid.  Poor fellow took a fall.”  Another gurgled laugh.  “But his name was Makarov.  When you talk to Kate, tell her the mission’s complete.”

“You can tell her yourself.  You’re going to be fine.  Just keep talking to me.”

You buzzed through lines of code, searching for the one you needed. 

“How’s the poppet?  Is she being a good girl?”

“She’s sleeping.  She’s okay.  Misses you.  Can’t wait to see you.”

Got it!  You broke through the encryption and pinned his location using satellite GPS.

“It’s not looking good, love.”

“Do you believe in fate, John?”  You asked, as you used your laptop’s connection to call Kate.

There was a reason you’d met each other.  You were certain now that nothing had been by chance.  You were meant to find him.  You were meant to find each other.

“Ah, went pawing through my drawers, did you?  Which ring did you pick?” 

“I’ll show you when you get home,” you promised as the line finally connected.  “Kate!  I know where John is.  You have to hurry.”

You sent her the coordinates to the exact centimeter.  He was deep underground, in some kind of a bunker.  Or an old mineshaft.  To her credit, Kate didn’t argue or ask where you got your intel.

Two hours later, you were still on the phone with him.  The light began to creep slowly through the curtains, bringing with it a brand new day.  But his breath had slowed, and his words came thicker from his throat.

“Just a little longer, okay?”  You didn’t let him sense your fear as you quietly willed your life into him, to keep him hanging on. 

Where the fuck were they?

The line had gone too quiet when you heard the blast. 

“John!  John, what was that?”  You prayed it was the team, and not a fresh wave of enemy combatants come to finish the job.

“In here!”  John’s voice, with a renewed strength. 

“Bravo-7 to Watcher.  Eyes on Bravo-6.  We’ve got him.”  You heard Lieutenant Riley’s unmistakable accent breakthrough as he got closer to the phone.  “Have med-evac waiting topside.  He’s in rough shape.”  He switched from his comms to John.  “Can you walk, Cap?”

“Well, you aren’t fucking carrying me, Ghost.  That’s for bloody sure.”

“Please don’t leave me.”  The tears that you finally let fall were of release.  Of relief.  You didn’t know if he still held the phone, or if it lay forgotten on the ground as they carried him away.

“Careful what you wish for, darling.”

[thepersonnamedsam]

learning how to drive - sv5

pairing: sebastian vettel x genz!driver (platonic), 22 grid x genz!driver (platonic)

summary: you may have your super license to drive your f1 car, but driving outside the paddock? not really your thing

word count: 1k

warnings: nothing really

note: the genz!driver is maybe 17/18 and does not have a drivers license. i have no idea about driving a car, so just ignore that part

masterlist / taglist

The second the grid had found out that you had not yet made your driver’s license, they were joking about it. You’re driving at 300 km/h every second Sunday, but you are not driving at a normal speed on the roads? What was wrong with you? Actually, you had a fair reason not to drive on the streets, you were scared. You feared hitting another car, or someone hitting you. You were scared of ignoring road signs or missing a stop sign. 

“Our youngster is scared to drive, are you not racing this weekend?” Lando had made fun of you the most, finding it funny that the younger driver was not driving a normal car. Daniel had a laugh or two with it as well, but always hoping you’d know he was only joking. Even Max cracked a joke, never really participating in bullying the driver, as he respected you very much and saw himself in you at some times. But when Danny starts to joke, Max was fast behind him laughing silently along.

George, Alex, and Charles were trying to be encouraging but they were still making jokes about it. “Should I get you tomorrow? We can share a ride, as you can’t drive”, George laughed, and you just stared at him annoyed. You still agreed, every single time he asked you. 

You were grateful for your friends, but they were still annoying like nothing in your life was. So, when Seb noticed your fear, he felt bad for you. He wanted to help you; that’s why he offered to teach you how to properly drive. Not in an F1 car, but in a worn-down Subaru Outback H6-3.0. The car belonging to his father and was the perfect car to learn to drive in. It was a manual car, it’s important to know how to drive stick. The car was old, so if you kissed a wall, it wouldn’t be that big of a deal.

“Seb I’m scared, what if I hit someone?”, your concern laced your voice. Seb sighed, already explained to you that you were first going to practice on an empty parking lot and not actually going on the road. You had done your theoretical driving test and passed, with flying colors, but starting your practical driving lessons? You just couldn’t do that. 

You sat in the car, both hands on the steering wheel, arms so outstretched Seb’s arms were hurting. “Just relax, y/n, everything is going to be fine. You are fine and you got this, it’s not your first time driving, remember? It’s your job to drive”, Seb tried to calm you down. His left hand touching your right arm and guiding it to a comfortable level. 

“Okay, now first press the coupling and shift the stick to neutral. That’s it, good job”, he told you, telling you what to do. “Now you step slowly on the gas, slowly, yeah?” You were doing it; you were driving the car! And the more time you spent in the car with Seb, the easier the driving got. You were just so happy. 

The next time someone mad a comment about your normal driving, you bit back. When Carlos approached you, already smirking you knew what was going to happen. “Hey y/n, do you think you could drive me to the paddock tomorrow?” His eyebrows wiggling like crazy. You had to hold back your smile. “Uh, yeah sure, I mean I can try, right?”, you answered him. Carlos looked at you with surprise in his eyes. He nodded; nut sure what to expect the next morning. 

When you texted him, that you were outside, he didn’t think you would be waiting for him in a Ford Mustang 1966, your first self-owned car by the way. He looked pretty stunned as he opened the door to the passenger seat. He whistled at your car and made a comment such as ‘Nice one’. So, you started the car and drove him and you to the paddock. The hotel wasn’t far away, but there still enough time to show him your new learned driving skills. You still weren’t technically allowed to drive on your own, not having attended the driver’s test yet. But no one had to know that you drove five minutes without supervision. Carlos was now there to supervise you. 

You passed him your phone; it was connected to a Bluetooth speaker. “Choose what to listen to, but don’t play Smooth Operator, or I’ll be singing to you the whole time”, you laughed at him. He was just aimlessly picking a playlist and pressing play. Kilby Girl by The backseat Lovers started to play. Nodding your head to the beat of the song, Carlos was actually a bit scared of you losing focus. But you didn’t, you arrived safely at the paddock where Seb was waiting. He had a huge grin on his face, proud of you to actually drive with someone else other than him. He hugged you, whispering how proud he was of you in your ear. You smiled; Seb was definitely your comfort person. 

Later that day, when an interviewer asked about your driving skills off the track, it had become a meme, thanks to some of the drivers, you answered honestly: “Sebastian has helped me learn to overcome my fear of driving outside the paddock. He sat with me in a car, for hours and explained everything to me. It’s hard to believe I got my super license before my actual driver’s license, but it’s fine. It’s something more to add to my resume.” 

Seb was standing behind the camera, smiling and feeling proud. He held up his two thumps and outstretched them to you. You smiled as well and bid your goodbyes to the nice interviewer. You were glad to have Seb as your mentor and you made sure to tell him that enough. 

[totaly-obsessed]

Could you write for Ella where reader is also a footballer but reader tears her ACL

Jersey Dispute

Ella Toone x reader request

-> Reader tears her ACL - sending Ella into panic - fluffy

-> probably not the correct timeline of a healing ACL

-> Combined with this request!

-> I hope this is okay, @ anon's!

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Ella hated knees. She really did.

Your girlfriend had been on the pitch, not too far away from you when you had gone down in a Manchester derby. Forgotten was the color of your shirt as Ella rushed to you. To her surprise you weren’t crying, you just sat there, waiting for the medics. “I tore it.” Those words still haunt her in her sleep.

You had waited for her outside of the changing room and together you slowly walked to the car. The ride was tense, the brunette not too sure how to approach the situation, but you cracked joke after joke, trying to loosen her up.

Sure this was bad, you knew it meant nearly a year of no football for you but in the end, there was nothing that you could do right now – you were just glad that the World Cup was just over, giving you a slim chance of getting ft for the Olympics.

Waiting for the surgery was the worst but Ella gave it her best to fill the house with laughter. And she did it fabulously. Quite a few of you and her teammates showed up, wanting to see how you were doing, which led to many fun evenings playing Mario Cart and watching movies.

After a month, it finally came; the surgery to make everything worse so that you could get better again. Your girlfriend was nervous, much more than you were, running around in circles in your hospital room. She had taken the week off from training and everyone understood that she wanted to be with you.

“Ella, please baby sit down. You’re driving me nuts!” With a shamed look, she sat down in a chair next to your bed, hands pressed between her knees but she couldn’t hold it, jumping up again, going back to pacing. 

“Ells, please…” You patted the space next to you, scooching over so that she fit. Now wrapped in your arms, tucked under a blanket she was finally able to breathe. “I’ll go into surgery in two hours when no emergency comes in. Mary will be here so-“ You could see her trying to defend herself, that she didn’t need a babysitter, but you put your hand over her mouth. “Shhh. Mary will come and you will go eat something. Then I‘ll come out of surgery and everything will be absolutely fine.”

Mary had arrived just in time when they took you for surgery so that she could take your frantic girlfriend out.

Just as you had predicted, everything had been fine.

Now, nearly a month later you had started physio-therapy and rehab at the Manchester City facility, leaving Ella to worry at Manchester United – so you called her every time you could to reassure her.

In the evenings it was hard for your girlfriend to let you help her cook. “Love, no! Sit back down, hmm?” Most of the time she just kidnapped you to the living room, sat you down on the couch, and went back to cook.

It was great, being able to spend so much time with your girlfriend and being able to catch up on Uni work – you loved it, Ella loved it, everybody loved it. The bickering was kept to a minimum with evenings spent curled up in each other’s arms. It was perfect, almost too perfect…

Nearly two months of pure bliss were interrupted by the first disagreement.

Manchester derbies were ferocious and the atmosphere electric, they were great. Ella saw your inability to play the match, as her opportunity to get you to wear her very red ‘Toone’ jersey. “Babe – pleaseee! You’ll look so good in it!” She had flung open the bedroom door, where you were currently sorting through the huge closet for clothes to donate. In her hands was a huge box, containing a whole stack of her shirts. “Ells we’ve been over this. I will not wear a Man United jersey.”

The brunette was whining and pouting letting the box fall to the ground, eventually flinging herself on the bed – desperate to get your attention. But you prevailed, having your back towards your girlfriend helping with that. You couldn’t cave – no way. “Quit it, Ella.”

Oof. That first name hit.

“But Baby-“ She was quickly shut up with a deep kiss after you had finally turned around, gracing the stunned midfielder with your attention. “I’ll wear your England jersey, yeah?” and with a pat to her cheek, you were gone again, leaving a stunned Ella behind.

Gameday came and Ella played her best game of the season – a hat trick and an assist, beating Manchester City four to one. Her motivation? You. Sat in the family section wearing an England jersey that had her name on the back.

And while you were sad that your team lost, there was just no way you could be mad when a grinning Ella came out of the changing room, match ball in hand, falling into your open and waiting arms, littering your face in tiny kisses.

“Ya’ gonna have to wear this every game day now – would’ve been better in a United shirt though.” With a disgusted groan, you shoved her off, but there was no chance to get the teasing smirk off her face for the whole day.

Five months later it was Ellas' turn to sit in the family section, wearing an England jersey with your name. Her legs bounced up and down, nervously waiting for you to get subbed on.

When you did, she couldn’t do anything else but grin – seeing you back on the pitch, knowing how hard you worked for this made her prouder than she had ever been.

She blissfully ignored Alessia taking a video of you coming on for Alanna Kennedy, and then turning the camera to a teary-eyed Tooney, clutching your jersey in her hands.

[lillchris]

You with the dark curls; You with the water colored eyes (Two Shot)

Chapter One: A Sour Apple Can Spoil The Whole Bunch

Responding to @my-favorite-sign-blog Word Count: 1.7k

a/n: The book title is inspo from the song "Dear Arkansas Daughter" Anyway seeing that this is my first fanfic in a while, I thought it was no better time to start than the present. Most of the plotlines in this book will be ideas from my delusional brain. In this fanfic, Jalen and Paige actually dated so just keep that in the back of your minds ;) I hope you all like this first chapter! <3 TW: Angst, Jalen Suggs, Mentions of cheating and divorce, Swearing, Homophobia

It was Christmas morning in the Fudd household, and with that came Christmas breakfast, it was a tradition the family had yet to break.

It was precisely 8:30am when Azzi looked at the alarm clock beside her bed, and heard the sound of her father's voice ring down the hall as he banged pots and pans that woke up all those who were sleeping.

"Come on everybody up! Rise and shine it's Christmas morning and you know what that means!"

Tim Fudd's morning enthusiasm was not reciprocated as Azzi rolled back over, and pulled the comforter back over her head, in hopes of blocking out the loud ruckus outside her room.

"I'll rise but I sure won't shine." Azzi mumbled groggily.

Just then the door burst open, and she soon felt a dip in the mattress as she groaned from the sudden disturbance.

"AZZI! AZZI! AZZI! Wake up! Come on get up!" The sound of Drew Bueckers voice blared in her ear as she rolled over once again.

"Wow I guess that didn't work, maybe you should try since your besties." Drew shrugged before getting off the bed and walking out of the room.

"Come on you big head, get up. It's rude not to greet your best friend after it took three-plus hours to get here." Paige said in a teasing tone as she attempted to pull the comforter off of Azzi.

"Just five more minutes Paige, pleaseee. You know I'm not a morning person."

"Okay fine, but I'm sitting on the edge of your bed waiting here until you decide to get off your ass and wake up." Paige teased as she picked up a mini basketball that was lying on the floor.

The constant sound of the ball hitting the door and bouncing back, over and over was enough to drive Azzi nuts, she sighed before pulling off the covers.

"When, and how did you even get here? I thought you were going back home to celebrate Christmas with your mom's side of the family in Montana?" Azzi asked sleepily as she rubbed her eyes.

"Well, it took me a minute to realize after I said goodbye to you at the airport a month ago, that I wanted to spend Christmas with you instead. So I bought tickets for the next flight out to Virginia, and viola here I am."

"Paige do you need me for anything else, me and Jose want to play Fortnite," Drew said with a sigh as he trudged back into the room with a PS5 controller in hand.

When Paige didn't respond, Drew took it as a sign, rolling his eyes before leaving once again.

"Come on Azzi I want some of your mom's famous maple apple pancakes fresh off the griddle before your brothers eat them all". Paige says with a long pleading, drawn-out sigh.

"Don't make me force you out of bed".

"Noo Paige Please. Just let me wake up naturally. Jose forced me to watch some stupid ass Christmas comedy movie, and I am so tired." Azzi says with her eyes closed still as an annoyed groan falls from her lips.

"You're getting up whether you like it or not, come on," Paige says mischievously as she swats at Azzi's knee lightly as an incentive.

"Alright guess I'm going to have to carry you out like the princess you are." Paige says before picking up Azzi and slumping her over her shoulder carrying her out.

" Think you might want to carry Azzi more gently, she is Sleeping Beauty." Tim Fudd laughs upon seeing his daughter carried out Fireman's lift-style.

"Well, she is a princess after all," Paige says with a smirk before carrying Azzi bridal style in her arms.

"Wait before you put her down," Jose says laughing, before taking a picture of a sleepy Azzi, as Tim and Katie just laugh.

"Alright, Paige wake up Azzi it's almost time to eat." Katie says with a smile as she sets the last of the pancake on a plate.

"Wakey, Wakey princess, it's time to wake up for real this time." Paige says with a smirk as she bops her best friend on the nose, as she puts Azzi down forcing her to stand up despite how groggy she is.

"I'm up, I'm up! " Azzi says yawning as she puts on one of Paige's hoodies that she's currently "borrowing"

"Hey, that's my hoodie! Haven't you had it for over six months now?" Paige says jokingly with an eyebrow raised and a smirk plastered on her face.

"Whatever Paige. I like it, it's so comfy and it smells like you. I've worn it for the past month since I missed you." Azzi says as she leans against Paige's shoulder, and everyone sits at the table.

"She has hardly taken it off since we picked her up at the airport a month ago." Katie states as she passes the syrup bottle.

"Yeah, she practically lives in it." Tim chimes in, as Drew and Jose give each other knowing looks, as they look across the table at the two girls, who seem utterly comfortable and relaxed in each other's presence.

"Oh? So you actually missed me?" Paige says teasingly to Azzi as she eats her scrambled eggs.

"Of course I missed you! Is that even a question!" Azzi says with her mouth half full of food as she half-jokingly rolls her eyes. She glances over at Paige, before nudging her in the side playfully.

In Azzi's mind, she wanted to say: of course I missed you I always miss you. But she refrained, something in her mind stopped her.

Just as everyone was finishing eating, the sound of the doorbell ringing shifted their attention.

"I'll get it" Tim said as he rose from the table, before heading to the door.

"Is Paige Bueckers here by chance?" A young man says as he stands on the snowy outside steps.

"And who are you?" Tim asks curiously.

"I'm Jalen Suggs, Paige's- friend. I would like to talk to her for a second.

"Oh, so you're- never mind, sure come in," Tim says clearing his throat, letting the young man inside.

"Paige, someone's here to see you."

"Here to see me? On Christmas? I don't know who could possibly want to see m-." Paige's words stopped just as quickly as they had been spoken. Her mouth suddenly goes dry, upon seeing him standing there.

"I need to talk to you, please." Jalen says with a insistent look as she approaches him, firmly grabbing his forearm, and leading him into the living room.

"What the hell are you doing here Jalen on all of the days Christmas! I thought I made myself clear-"

"You did, baby, but I-I want to apologize, for everything." Jalen pleads as Paige's blood almost boils upon hearing him call her baby.

Paige sighs, looking down and shaking her head, before glancing over at Drew who is watching them talk. He quickly snaps his head toward the TV acting like he isn't staring.

"Look, can we just- talk about this outside. The at least decent thing you can do is not have this conversation in front of my little brother." Paige sighs in frustration as she and Jalen walk out onto the small front porch.

-----------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, Azzi is helping her mom and dad clean up the kitchen.

"Whoa, what did that plate ever do to you?" Tim jokes as Katie shoots her husband a not the right-time look.

In Azzi's mind, the thought, the sight, the mention of that person, that man- Jalen Suggs, makes her blood boil to no avail. He was a dick, an asshole, hell, every insulting name in the damn book of insults, for what he put Paige through the last year and a half.

She despised him, how could he do that to Paige, Her Paige. She dismissed that thought quickly, as her mind trailed back to Jalen the more she thought about him the more her mind reeled and turned at just how much she disliked him.

"Azzi." The sound of someone's voice and the feeling of her mother's hand brought her back to reality, and it was only then did Azzi realize that she had been washing the same damn pan for over five minutes. She released the death grip she had on the pan before taking a deep breath.

"Azzi, are you alright?" Her mother's eyes met hers as she looked up from her feet.

"Yeah, I'm fine. its-just why the hell did he have to show up, right here, right now, on Christmas of all days- I just." Azzi sighed and threw her hands up in the air.

"I'm walking out there, I know it's not my place but I'm giving Jalen a piece of my mind."

Azzi says determined, walking out of the house before Katie can tell her not to.

"ooooh weeeh, man! Watch out! Here comes Azzi. That boy is gonna see some Fudd fury from her! That's my girl!" Tim says proudly as Katie shoots him another unamused look.

"One! You are not calling me baby, and two! Don't you dare bring my parent's divorce into this! I might have been only three but that does not make it irrelevant. " Paige says beyond angry.

Azzi stomped out onto the snowy driveway about to give Jalen a piece of her mind, but she stopped beside the two, seeing that she had come at a bad time.

"And don't bring Azzi into this either leave her out of this!" Paige says before realizing Azzi is standing right there.

"Oh I'm sorry did I hurt your "girlfriend's" feelings." Jalen shoots back.

"Don't talk to her like that don't you dare!" Azzi says stepping in front of Paige protectively.

"Oh does Paige need her best friend- or shall I say girlfriend to fight her battles for her? Is that why you broke up with me just so you could fuck your best friend instead?"

That was it Paige had officially snapped.

"I'm not the one who cheated, with my used-to-be friend Hayley Van Leith! And no that's not why I was going to break up with you! I broke up with you because you kept fucking continuously lying to me!" Paige says with venom in her voice.

"You need to leave now." Azzi says firmly as she once again steps between Paige.

"Yeah alright, whatever Paige, at least I tried apologizing. Yeah, you just have fun with your girlfriend here. She'll never be able to give you what I could." Jalen says mockingly.

Before leaving Azzi and Paige in the snowy driveway.

a/n: lmk what y’all think :)

[miyoii]

MOMENTS LIKE THIS 𖥔 bada lee x fem!reader (s.her)

genre: fluff | summary — moments with bada are the best ones ; word count: 460

a/n: bada lee has been driving me nuts istg 😤 requests are open ✉️

bada let out a sigh at the sight in front of her—yn laid passed on her desk, papers everywhere and her cup of coffee placed dangerously beside her. “i swear to god that i’m living with a fucking animal.” bada muttered as she glanced disappointedly at her girlfriend.

she walked towards yn and carefully shook her shoulder, placing the cup away from her. “baby wake up, you’ll hurt your back.” bada said softly, only to receive a groan as a response.

sighing, bada slipped her arms under yn’s knees and torso and carried her bridal style towards their shared bedroom. where she tuck her girlfriend under the covers. bada took in the sight of her—how her long hair perfectly frames her face, her plump lips is formed into a cute pout, her button nose, and how her long eyelashes completes her feature.

“so pretty..” bada muttered as she moved a piece of hair out of her face. yn stirred around, making bada pull away from her and looked at the lamp shade instead.

“what are you doing?” yn asked as she opened her eyes finding her girlfriend next to her. “i find the color interesting.” bada said, a failed attempt to keep it cool.

“mhmm..” yn hummed looking at her weirdly, “if you’re done being in love with the lamp shade could you sleep with me already.” she turned the other away. “okay baby..”

turning away from the light coming through the window, bada stretches her hand outwards to pull her partner close to her, only to reach thin air. furrowing her eyebrows, she opened her eyes to find an empty spot next to her.

groaning, she sat up looking around the space to find her girl, only to find herself in the room.

slipping on her slippers, she opened the bedroom door to be greeted by the smell of delicious food and the sizzling noises coming from the kitchen. walking towards the noise, bada found the person she was yearning for earlier.

going towards the figure, she hugged her from behind and nuzzled her face on the girl’s neck.

“good morning baby.” yn greeted as she mixes the fried rice around the pan, “good morning..” bada said in her morning voice. staying like that for a few minutes, the two basked in the comfort of each other, regenerating their love battery.

they love moments like this, not thinking or worrying of anything, just being close to each other made everything in life seems like a blur.

[imustbenuts]

nuts reading trigun in japanese 5 - vash is. super good with kids

disclaimer: more triangulation purposes etc etc

so i mentioned before in my part 3 that the japanese language has an inbuilt hierarchy quirk to it. and i kind of noticed this nuance getting somewhat lost in the english translation, either because again i have skill issues with english, or that EN inherently doesnt come with the same quirk.

elaborating a bit more: this hierarchy of position/standing can be determined by age, profession, occupation, and experience. in terms of hard priority, age and profession tends to take precedence over everything else.

this means effectively, vash being over 150 should be top dog and given respect in JP/Asian context (respect your elders! or else!!), but because he 1) looks 24, 2) uses very immature speech with strangers, 3) uses boku, hes effectively keeping his head down and posing as a dumbass schmuck.

ヴァッシュの兄貴　行っちまうのか！？ Big bro Vash, you're leaving?! (兄貴 = aniki = big bro but informal and can be used for no blood relations)

so schmucky that he has no problems handling children. in fact, in the JP version during his departure on the sand steamer, the kids call him Big Bro Vash. twice! so he's earned their adoration in no time flat.

ヴァッシュの兄貴—ッ Big Bro Vash!!

leaving the translation like that ^ wouldnt flow well in english, so rip. also. cute scene.

and yet his meeting with Kaite is chaotically bad to say the least. i mean, he even gets drugged and knocked out. Kaite does not respect the guy who gave him food at all and plans to seemingly feed him 3 meals a day for the entire trip. so how? well.

once Brilliant Dynamites Neon comes in and turns things serious, Vash's starts doing a few interesting things.

skipping forward this and that. after getting almost blown off the sand steamer, vash holds onto kaite and they both cling on for dear life:

もうちょっと登れば通風口があるよ mou chotto noboreba tsuufucou ga aru yo If we can climb a little higher there's a ventilation duct そーか　そーか　今行こうすぐ行こう souka souka ima ikou sugu ikou Okay, okay, let's get going right now!

added romanji and color to highlight how vash is repeating phrases in his line. the そーか　そーか souka souka and 行こう 行こう ikou ikou repeats are there as if to 1) make himself sound immature, and 2) to reassure kaite that things are under control.

only touching on the bottom right panel. another possible reading of that line:

助けて頂いてありがとうございましただろう Situations like these are where you should say "thank you very much for saving my life" instead!

はいそーでした!!!

Now say it!!!

he's chiding kaite and doing the very asian adult thing of teaching the youngin manners in terms of tone. but in a stern funny way no offense taken way bc, as you might have noticed...

vash is deliberately putting himself on the same level as a kid. in tone in standing in speech. hes not being condescending. hes not lording his status as an adult over a child. (something something christ like but in the context of jp... hehe.)

this is ultimately what gets tough nut kaite to trust vash to get down to business to defeat The Neon. even without the words hes visually getting himself to be on the same (eye) level with kaite. i think its so good alsdjfdsa

kaite starts crying after thinking of his dad and regretting what he's done, gets caught in a regret reflection loop, but vash brings him back to reality. like this:

な に を 感 傷に ひ た って る か な こい つ は

another reading of this "What the hell are getting all sentimental for now ya brat?!" line might be "What. Good. Is. It. To. Lose. Your. Grip. On. Yourself. Now. You. Dummy?!"

with this he puts kaite's head back into reality and readjusts both their priority.

so again. vash just. is good with kids. his emotional intelligence is through the fucking roof as proven by all the other moments throughout tristamp and trimax*

idk its warms me bc. the asian confucius hierarchy is so... yuck. im technically of chinese descent so i know how fucked it is. so. vash is really cool with this slightly extra japanese asian hierarchy context.

i think this aspect of vash is something i dont see in english fanworks a lot, and not in the same tone. on the other hand, i do see this a lot in the jp fanworks. so idk exactly what factors or if im looking in the wrong places, but yeah. vash is good with kids. just like wolfwood.

again, studio orange understood the assignment and gave some of that dynamic here to Tonnis.

are they called studio orange bc im meant to squeeze stampede for all its worth or what. stampede is actually incredible to me im in awe.

bonus:

the jp version of the left text says roughly:

"I'm cursed!! I must be! By either the reaper or a god of misfortune and or more!!"

yeah he specifically says Shinigami and Binbougami. i dont think that would translate well in en bc this kinda throws the catholicsm theme into a bit of a tailspin LMAO. (also. the Ore here. note the context.)