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thyme-in-a-bubble · 9 months

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soup

a/n: this whole fic is 100% @chvoswxtch fault because one day when I was about to make dinner she planted this idea in my mind, after too long of winding each other up with thoughts about him, when I attempted to say goodbye so that I could cool down enough in order to not cut my fingers off or burn the food because I was too busy drooling, this menace just went, and I quote: "try not to think about him fucking you from behind while you cook." needless to say, I was a mess that night.... I was already a mess before, but then I just 401 error and I haven't recovered yet

warnings: frank castle x reader, smut, established relationship, cooking soup (good soup), kissing, clothed sex, kitchen sex, couch sex, dirty talk, size kink, oral, fingering, light anal, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, impact play, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, creampie, cumplay, overstimulation, just them being cute and nasty and domestic together

word count: 3577

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The soft sound of Nat King Cole crooning was barely audible from the speakers in the living room, mixing and mingling with the soothing rhythm of raindrops pattering against the window in front of you, yet your hips still gently swayed to the tune as you grabbed the stripped oven mitt still laying on the counter beside the stove from the last time you’d checked on the broth bubbling away in the large pot.

Lifting up the heavy lid, the heat from the metal slowly began to seep through to your touch as you checked on the progress, briefly watching the ivory beans dance around in the simmering liquid, wispy aromatics bubbling alongside them, before you covered it up once more.

Standing beside the sink, you transferred the lightly dripping head of dark green cabbage onto the cutting board. After temporarily getting distracted by a thunderous roar that was heard from somewhere outside far in the distance, you then sliced the knife in your hand straight down the middle of the cruciferae, the crunchy vegetal sound reverberating off the kitchen walls.

Hearing the floorboards suddenly creak, you whipped your head around to find Frank leisurely leaning against the doorframe, eyes glued to your form as an adoring smile warmed his stern features.

“Frank!” you exclaimed, chuckling lightly at the fright he had managed to stir in you, “when did you get home?”

“About three songs ago,” he stated, the gentle music still buzzing from the room behind him.

“And you’ve just been standing there this whole time?” you bit down on the smile that fact conjured.

“Yep,” he drawled, readjusting his crossed arms. It didn’t take long after you’d turned back to the task at hand that you felt his warm touch wrap around your waist and felt his deep voice tickle your ear, “what are you making?” he rested his chin on your shoulder.

“Soup,” you shared, cutting rhythmically through the hardy greens.

“Mmm,” he hummed, craning to plant a tender peck upon your clavicle, his beard gently scratching your skin, “that sounds great…” his tender hands nearly burned through the material of your dress, causing your moments to slow down ever so slightly, “so, what do you have to do now?”

“Well, the base and the bean are already cosy in the pot, doing its thing,” your breath briefly hitched, interrupting your determined explanation, as his wandering touch triggered goosebumps to erupt across your skin, your form instinctively curving into him as his fingers lightly caressed your midsection, your still swaying hips and just shy down your thighs, “but I thought I’d get a head start with this before it’s time for them to go in so that I don’t go and get distracted by something else and then end up having to rush cutting it up.”

His slow breath clear in your ear, he sneakily brought your hips back flush against his, your soft bottom a stark contrast to the excited tightness in his dark jeans. Feathery kisses roamed your neck as your chopping gradually came to a stop, your eyelid growing heavy as you felt your pulse spike, especially making its presence known between your legs.

Inhaling deeply, his hands slid up to capture your covered boobs in a teasing grasp, “Frank…” you warned softly, though your ass lazily melted back against his hardness.

“Yeah?” nose gracing the shell of your ear, his touch boldly drifted down your dress, effortlessly finding your centre through the fabric, your pulse thumping against his graze.

“I am holding a knife,” you pointed out, trying to compose yourself, even though the way that he caressed you over your clothes successfully swayed your brain to fit something else into your evening’s schedule.

Nipping gently at your flushed cheek, you heard the smirk on his lips as he acknowledged, “so?” burying his fingers in the fabric billowing around your legs and slowly hiking it up, “you really think that fact scares me?”

Bunching the skirt up around your waist, clenching it tight in one of his iron fists, the other one dipped down below it and only briefly tickled you over your panties before hooking a finger in them and pulling them to the side. Fluttering through your glistening folds for but a moment, as soon as your hips bucked in search of more, he took it away.

Turning your cheek to complain, his lips grazed your skin as his grasp enveloped yours still clutched around the kitchen knife and set it down for you. Fluttering eyes locking on his form, you watched as he sank down, kneeling behind you on the cool tile. Holding your gaze for a moment as he hungrily nipped at your arched backside, he then determinedly dove in, burying his face in between your thighs.

“Holy shit,” you gasped, gripping onto the edge of the countertop as his tongue lapped up your essence, “Frank!” desperately latching on like your pussy was his oxygen and he had just come up from a dive in the deepest of oceans. His muffled moan vibrated against your folds, making your legs quiver, “you’re-, you’re-…” sturdy nose bumping deliciously against you as he fluttered up to bury his tongue in your heat, “holy fuck!”

Growling ecstatically as he momentarily pulled back, each of his broad palms glued to your soft cheeks, fondling the flesh below your hips as he admired how your core dripped for him. After landing a swift tap across your ass, he began to slobber at your little rosebud, determinedly moving with you as the dizzying sensation made you rise up onto your tiptoes. Framing your bottom with his burly arms, he then shifted one of them, lowering it till found your cunt, promptly plugging up your clenching pussy as his mouth devoured your other hole.

Briefly retracting once again, you felt a dollop of his spit harshly impact your core, withdrawing his finger and spreading it around your glossy petals before shoving two of his digits right back inside, leaning back as he pumped them in and out, admiring your mess as his free hand lowered to palm his tightness through his pants. Curling them softly, he found that spot that drove you wild. One of your rowdy legs nearly kicked his ribs as he began to harshly rock his fingers within you, his hand nearly vibrating as your pussy squelched at the pressure. Though just as you felt yourself near the edge, his touch faltered.

That tease, he had to have known how close you were. Arms flailing to get him back, your whines were swiftly knocked out of you and traded in for a breathless moan as he suddenly straightened up behind you and filled you up in one fell swoop.

Clenching around his girth as he gave you a second to accommodate around him, you caught sight of his reflection in the raindrop-adorned window before you, his brow furrowed as he stared down at where you had taken him so beautifully.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” you saw his eyes roll in his skull at the pleasure of your warmth. Wrapping his strong arms around your form, one of them came up to seize your jaw, hungrily turning your head so that he could capture your lips in a heated kiss.

Grinding back on him as you were still so close, your collective moans mingled as your head tilted back, breaking off the needy kiss. With webs of saliva still connecting your mouths, you hazily blinked back into his eyes as he let go of your chin, grasping your hip and aiding you back against him, egging your desperate bucks on.

“I missed you today,” he shared his breath as you chased your high, “real bad,” his nose gently bumped against yours with every needy roll, “and then I came home and saw you just-…” he let out a low groan, grasp tightening around your moving hips, “you’re like a fucking angel…”

With frantic moans gushing out of you, your legs trembled as you creamed all over his throbbing cock. Arm feverishly twisting, you snatched up the edge of his dark t-shirt like a lifeline and whimpered, “I love you,” completely enamoured by his dark coffee eyes staring back at you, “I love you so much,” he crashed his lips against your own once more, silencing your entranced cry.

Slowly pressing your hips further back against his, burying himself that much deeper within your still trembling core, your grip on him tightened as he moved you, sliding you silkily upon his cock and gently fucking the sensitivity away.

“I love you too,” his deep timbre washed over you, like magic the sound aiding your trembling pussy to quickly bounce back, “so much,” he disappeared in your eyes, “god, you’re sexy…” before your head sluggishly lulled back and reunited your vision with the drizzly window.

Your entire body rocked against the counter as he bucked up into you, “Frank,” you uttered breathlessly as he stretched you out at a rhythm that was both so slow yet so hard at the same time, “oh my god, you feel so-, so-…” you crumbled down against the table, your head right beside the cutting board, “fuck!”

“I feel so what, huh?” he teased your blissed-out babble, “so hard? So big? So good?” his thrusts began to grow more selfish, the lewd clapping of hastily exposed slivers of skin echoing and overpowering all the other soothing noises that vibrated throughout the apartment, “you like how this cock fills you up to the fucking brim, do you?”

“Y-yes!” you struggled to get out, feeling his warm, broad palm spread over your spine as a tender anchor while he fucked your brains out.

“Yeah, you love this cock, don’t you?” his hips slammed into yours, “tell me,” he dared you with a sharp smack across your bottom, “tell me you love it.”

“I love it,” you blubbered, your face buried in the crook of your folded arms on the counter.

“You love what, sweetheart?” you didn’t have to peek back at him to know how hard he was smirking.

“I love your cock,” your toes curled as his broad thumb suddenly began to rub over your other hole, “I love it,” still slick from his kisses, he swiped over it, “I love you-, I love-,” tickling you gently before slowly sinking it in, plugging the opening up just to the first knuckle.

Like the rain pouring down outside, so did you as you came, your pussy gushing all over his girth. Swiftly yanking his dick out, he harshly rubbed it through your folds, “there you go,” flicking across your clit and urging more of your juices to squirt out, “there you fucking go,” showering down onto the cool tile floor.

Panting, he spun your jelly-like figure around and kissed your lips fiercely. Scrambling, he fervently plucked you up into his arms, wrapping your shaky legs around his hips as your tongue danced across his own. In a haze, you clung to him like a koala, fuzzily curling your arms around his neck, eternally thankful for his might as he held you secure against his boulder-like body.

Eyes shut, soft hums escaped your lips and vibrated against his own as you felt his legs begin to move, swiftly exiting out of the kitchen. Fat length still like a rock nudged against you’re your trembling centre, you gently began to rock against it, a decision that caused Frank to suddenly change the destination to where he was carrying you.

A sharp yelp erupted from your lunges as your back suddenly collided with the leather couch cushions. The shocked squeak swiftly melted into a warm giggle, one he fleetingly echoed as he dipped down to join you, knees resting below your dropped form, your legs folded up at your sides from both the fall, but also the delicious exhaustion that had kicked in.

Reaching down between your bodies, your form jaggedly jumped as you briefly circled your sore pearl before seizing Frank’s third leg, his clothes still clung to his figure, as did yours, only zippered were undone and fabric desperately pushed aside to free what needed to be freed. Fingers barely meeting as they wrapped around him, you gave him a few generous tugs before guiding the tip back down to your entrance. Mouth agape, you nudged him against your sobbing hole, his brows furrowed in pleasure as he stared down at you intently.

“There she is,” he smirked down at you, “there’s my fucking dirty girl,” noting the dreamy glint in your eye, “you want some more, huh?”

“Please,” you whined as he kept his hips locked, making your job impossible, “I do, I really, really do,” he then wafted away your grasp and held at the base of his heavy length, “I need it!” you squirmed beneath him as he tapped the weight against your overly sensitive core, your sodden panties still clinging on the sidelines.

“Yeah?” you expected him to tease you, to twist your arm until you said uncle, but no, that wasn’t what he did at all. “This what you need?” he mercilessly slammed back into you, a strangled moan rolling off your tongue to answer his taunting question, “then fucking take it like the good little slut I know you are.”

You were nearly crushed as he fucked you into the couch, though you didn’t care one bit about the odd position when he made you literally melt the way he did.

Folded in half, face smooched into the cushions, your collective moans echoed throughout the apartment. Hands engulfing your waist, you felt like a ragdoll as he fucked you, balls slapping against you with every primal thrust. Tits nearly spilling out of the delicate neckline of your crumbled dress, Frank fleetingly caught the jiggle, palming it roughly before focusing in on the pebbly nipple poking through the fabric, pinching it harshly and causing your eyes to grow glassy.

A low growl seeped out of him as he watched you squirm so deliciously. Swatting the soft skin lightly before refastening his hold around your form, he readjusted you and yanked your hips further up off the couch, curving your spine and hauling your hips against him like you were just a little fucktoy, a cocksleave for him to get off with.

“Where are you going, huh?” you heard him chuckle as you practically dug your face into the sofa, your entire form just uncontrollably curling up from the overwhelming ecstasy, “don’t hide that beautiful face from me,” he uttered adoringly while pounding your puffy pussy into next week, “look me in the eye when I’m fucking ruining you,” and painstakingly, you forced your blissed out features to turn in his direction, your cheek smooshing against the cushions as you hazily blinked up at him, “that’s it,” he towered above you, a smirk blossoming on his lip, “look at you,” he couldn’t help but pick up his speed, slamming into you so hard that you saw the stars themselves, “that’s my good girl.”

His grip dug into you so hard that it left no doubt in your mind about the colourful marks you’d have as a souvenir for the following days.

“You want me to cum inside you, huh?” he smiled at the way it made you whine, “send you back into the kitchen with it still running down your wobbly legs?” and even though you were positive you wouldn’t be able to stand after this, the vulgar image was still enough to push you over the edge once more, needily nodding for him to join you as you tumbled over.

Gushing around his fat cock, rumbling groans escaped him as he pumped your trembling and tender cunt full of his hot cum, your own intense waterfall still trickling when he eventually pulled his spent length out.

Flopping down on the couch beside your own exhausted figure, his head rotated, flashing you his hazy smile. Humming in contentment, your eyes too heavy to stay open too long, your fingers lazily grabbed for him to scoot closer.

Cupping your cheeks softly in his broad hands, one of them stayed as the other brushed down the length of your arm, caressing the goosebumps upon your tingly flesh. Nuzzling his nose against your own, he then pressed a soft kiss to your lips, thumb swiping across your cheekbone as your serene hum washed over him.

The fingers on your arm slowly wandered over your skin, boldly making their way down your form once more.

“F-fuck!” your eyes swiftly fluttered open, body jolting, your palm smacked his sturdy chest as his touch swept through the sore and sloppy disarray between your weary thighs.

“Christ,” he craned his neck to admire your downright swollen cunt, “look at that pretty mess, baby,” he caught some of his own creamy essence slowly leaking out of you and rubbed it into your petals as you squirmed at the overstimulation.

Dipping his lips down to latch onto the side of your neck, you panted, “Frank, please, it’s-”

But he interrupted before you could finish the hazy sentence, “what?” purring in between the sloppy hickeys his mouth left in its wake, “is it too much for you? Too good, huh?” you simply let out a whine of confirmation as you felt your body begin to side with him, “you can take it, I know you can,” pornographic soppy sounds found your ears as his long fingers slid inside your sore core, “just listen to that, fuck…” your sensitive walls clung around him like a velvet vice as he stubbornly caressed you.

If someone at that moment asked you what day of the week it was, then your best attempt at an answer would probably be blue, as you didn’t even know what was up and what was down at this point.

“You think you can squirt for me again, huh?” he kissed your cheek as the tell-tell soppy sound began to echo at his hithering motion, “give me some more sugar?” you suddenly felt his warmth disappear from your side, blinking your sluggish eyes open to see him slide down on the floorboards before you, his coiled fingers all the while rocking daringly within you as he granted himself a front row seat, “a little more dessert before dinner?”

Pushing your tired legs further apart, the warm smile that bloomed upon his lips tickled your glistening centre, “look at that…” he watched as he fucked the rest of his cum out of you, “fucking beautiful…”

Glancing up in your direction, he narrowly caught your eye and the intense look that he gave you made it impossible for you to simply let your own close once more. Piercing gaze glued on you, he too noticed your crumbled-up form begin to tremble even further just as he dipped down to kiss that swollen clit of yours.

“Atta girl,” he gently pressed his grin against your puffy pearl.

Fingers rocketing, he only managed to flick his tongue against you a moment before the floodgates flung open one last time.

First gripping onto your bucking hips with only one hand, he then departed the one buried deep within you to aid in the cause, holding you steady against his mouth as his tongue successfully slipped in to substitute for his digits.

Sharp sobs melting into whiny pants, you watched as he finally released the latching hold he had withheld, eyes growing wide as he revealed to you the substance he had caught.

“Holy shit,” you heard your guttural moan fill the room as he alluringly let your squirt trickle from his lips and back down upon your messy core, “that’s so much!”

“Yeah, it fucking is,” he beamed, pride dripping from his husky tone.

Beard damp and eyes the shape of hearts, you just barely through your overwhelming haze managed to see as he lowered his glossy hand down to enclose around himself.

“Are you-,” you giggled, incapable of finishing your query.

Cock, once again, hard and throbbing in his fist, he chuckled, “how could I not be?” kissing your tender inner thigh as you continued to laugh.

“You are not going anywhere near there again,” you lightheartedly warned as your palm shot down to shield yourself.

“Hm,” he raised himself up from his knees, “I can work with that,” blissed-out smile still plastered upon his gruff features, “what do you want, huh?” his strong legs then caused the couch to dip on either side of your form, “you want me to give you a show?” gazing at you longingly as he now hovered above you, “you sure gave me one.”

“Maybe you can repay the favour…” your nails dug into his meaty thighs, urging him to crawl up so far that his knees were fastened on either side of your shoulder, his girth blocking your eye line to his gorgeous face.

“Yeah?” he slowly jerked himself mere millimetres from your features, “you want me to make your face as messy as your pussy? Give you a mouthful of cum?” his other hand dipping down to lovingly comb your matted hair as his offer triggered a warm giggle to flow from your chest obscured beneath his perched hips.

“I love you,” your starry eyes gazing up at him crinkled from your bliss as you snuck your tongue out and swiped it across the prominent vein running along the underside of him.

#lea’s writing #frank castle smut #frank castle x reader #frank castle imagine #marvel smut #frank castle x you #frank castle x y/n #frank castle x female reader #frank castle x fem!reader #the punisher smut #frank castle x f!reader #frank castle fic #the punisher fic #frank castle fanfiction #the punisher x reader #marvel x reader smut #jon bernthal smut

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the-kr8tor · 3 months

Text

Go by the Board

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 5.7k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, CW food mentions, TW violence, CW injury, TW blood, TW death, CW needles.

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Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

CHAPTER 4 >>> CHAPTER 5

The bandages around your wrists itch, you try not to scratch the annoying feeling away knowing infection on a ship could be deadly for you. Frozen in a fetal position, your legs tucked under the dust covered blankets, you focus on the locked door, the silver pendant hanging on the doorknob sways as the boat rocks in the wild waves.

You've only slept for a few hours following what you've witnessed, the sailor's screams still echo in your mind, clawing and gnawing at your skull. You try not to think about it, pushing the image of him writhing on the blood soaked floorboards.

Maybe it's better if you don't think about it, ever. Scrubbing it from your mind, you exhale a shaky breath, fingers twitching to scratch that annoying itch.

Why is it so fucking itchy? Your nose itches. Why does everything in this damned room smell old? The small cabin seems to swallow you whole as you lay on the unusually soft mattress. You twist and turn, kicking the blankets away in frustration. Your head pounds from the oncoming headache.

Gritting your teeth, you hear gasps and pained yells from outside. There's something dragging under the sound of curses. You sit up, your eyes feel heavy, it seems like your brain is trying to escape from you. You don't blame it.

You do your best at trying to look normal, well normal for someone who hasn't slept for more than four hours for two days straight. Straightening your back, the noises stop right at your door.

There's shuffling then the clinking of keys, the door bursts open, a man stumbles inside, landing harshly on his face. You recognize the navy lieutenant, his hands and feet bound. His once pristine uniform slashed and dirtied with drying blood. His shiny medals are nowhere to be found.

You lift your feet up on the bed, shielding yourself, wide eyes staring at the captain who looks worse than you. Hobie's still wearing the exact same clothes he wore during the battle, cotton shirt marred by crimson and tattered at the seams, his eyes are bloodshot, the storm still raging inside. There's a large slash by his collar bone that's only been remedied by a hastily put bandage.

Gwen follows right behind him, equally tired and bloodied. Her face is flat, emotion unreadable. She holds a blunderbuss to the captive’s head.

“Now, do you know her?” Hobie speaks up above the silence. Your heart skips a beat after mentioning you. “Don't keep us waiting, George. We haven't got all day.”

The navy man props himself up slowly and painfully, his joints creak, wounds opening. He looks at you through one eye, blood and bruises obscuring his vision.

He inhales scratchily, you suspect his lungs have collapsed. He chuckles and you could only look back towards Gwen who secretly shakes her head at you.

The captive laughs louder and louder, like he's lost his damn mind. “I think I know who this room belonged to, you fuckin’ snake!” he sing songs.

Gwen pushes the barrel closer to his temple, he pauses for a moment before cackling again. Hobie's knuckles tighten but his face remains indecipherable.

“Did you think bringing me here will get me to talk about what happened that day?” He makes it his mission to rile Hobie up, he's given up.

“Or are you showing me her replacement?” His eyes slither over to you, cackling more and more as his eyes roam your body.

“Enough,” Gwen finally speaks, pushing the barrel painfully close to his skin. “He asked you a question”

“You've already gotten what you need from me you fuckin' barbarians!”

Hobie closes the distance, “And we need more from you.” he bends at the waist to forcefully move the man's face towards you. “Do you know her?”

The beaten man smirked evilly, bloodied smile tempting you to hit him. He tilts his head, “Aye,” alarm bells start ringing in your head.

“The captain sent her as a spy, just look at her,” he side eyes Hobie who stares at you with his stormy eyes. “Quite a siren, huh? Were you captivated, eh ‘captain’?”

You could only look at Hobie through tearfilled eyes, pleading silently. You want to live but your mouth has clamped shut, your entire body is frozen, preventing you from laying your case.

After a minute of listening to the man praise you for your supposed work, Hobie yanks him away when George gets too close to you.

“Good on you for confirming our suspicions.” Your heart drops to your stomach. “But the details you've given us don't quite match up with what she's told us.” Hobie clicks his tongue, “I think you need to sing more for us, Georgie.”

The man's smile drops, he swallows thickly.

“Take him below.” The captain says as he reels in his anger.

Finn appears from the doorway, immediately taking the prisoner by the collar, dragging him further down the hallway, while he kicks and squirms to no avail. Gwen follows, sparing you a quick nod. She shuts the door behind her, the clicking sounds like a death knell specifically for you.

The soft lapping of the waves doesn't ease your nerves, it acts as a countdown with every hit to the side of the ship. The seagulls squawk loudly just outside your window, they're annoying but at least they're free.

After a minute of quiet and Hobie's eyes roaming around the small cabin, you hear him thud against the door. This is it, you think, picturing him taking out his cutlass to sever your head from your shoulders. Or maybe he's a gentleman, preferring to off you quick and painless with his blunderbuss.

Instead of the loud booming sound of a gun going off, you hear his voice. “What happened to your fire?”

“I'm too tired to keep it lit.” you bravely look up, he leans on the door, his shoulders and face relaxed, back slouched, knuckles bloody and broken. “Are you going to bring me below too or are you gonna end me right here?”

He frowns, “Why would I do that?”

“Because he just told you—”

Hobie sighs, you fall silent. The lines of his face are prominent as the sun rises once again. The light from the window hits him just right, bathing him in soft yellow. He closes his eyes like he's savouring the warmth.

“Men like him will do anything to bring someone else down with him.” He opens his grey eyes, the storm has calmed down behind it. “He knows he's lost.”

“You tied me up. Locked me up.”

“I know, it was for the better until I truly know you're not one of them. You're alive aren't you? Do you want me to apologize?”

“No, fuck you. I want you to thank me for saving your first mate.”

He chuckles lowly, “There it is, keep that fire yeah?”

You scoff, shaking your head.

“Sleep, you can have this cabin in the meantime.”

You glare at him, not trusting his own words.

“Here,” Hobie tosses a key at you. “my olive branch. Rest, trust me once everyone wakes from their poppy filled haze you're gonna wish you've slept.”

You hold the key in between your fingers, familiarizing yourself with the indents. “What?”

“Mend their wounds, doc. Prove your worth.” He turns to leave. “Do keep the place clean, yeah?”

You shakily stand up, locking the door behind him. Barely making it back to bed, you collapse, sleep taking you in its embrace.

—

You wake up to loud frantic knocking on your door. With a groan and sleep laden eyes, you reluctantly open the door.

Miles greets you, his smile not reaching fully to his tired eyes. “Finally! You sleep like the dead you know?”

“What's happening? Are we getting attacked again?” Your eyes roam across the cramped hallway.

“I hope not, they need you at the infirmary.”

“The ship has an infirmary?”

Following Miles through the halls and numerous stairs, you make unusual small talk.

“So…did Hobie tell you that I'm not a traitor?”

Miles stops in front of you, eyes narrowed. “Don't say the ‘T word’ around here or” he steps closer to whisper. You listen with trepidation. “or saving Gwen won't be enough for you to stay.” he looks around for a sign that someone else is listening.

“Why can't I say the ‘T word’? Did something happen back then?”

“Can you not?” He grimaces. “You can literally ask me anything else other than that.”

“Right, sorry.” You two continue to walk. “Who's MJ?”

Miles groans in annoyance. “Seriously?”

“What?! You said anything but that.”

“Alright, smart ass, anything but those two. Learn to read the room, jeez!” he shakes his head.

“Fine! How'd a kid like you end up here then? Am I allowed to ask that? Hmm?” you rile him up. This is the most fun you've had in days, anything to get rid of the thoughts swimming in your mind.

“Don’t call me kid, landlubber. If you hadn't saved Gwen back then I would throw you overboard so fast right now” Miles stomps further away from you while you chuckle.

“Yeah? And what's Gwen to you then? I see how you look at her.”

He stops with his hands on his hips, head falling in exasperation, he's too quiet.

“Miles?” oh shit. You might've gotten too far with your teasing. You weren't even sure what you said was true, it was just a wild guess.

“Is it that obvious?!” He suddenly yells, turning to look at you with his hands over his head like he's in physical pain. “You've been here for less than three days and you've noticed!”

“Please calm down.” You laugh nervously, the last thing you need right now is making Hobie's navigator cry. “I was teasing you is all.” You have no idea how to comfort the poor guy. “I won't tell anyone I promise!”

“Especially Gwen,” he points at you.

“I won't tell anyone.” you cross over your heart. “If you answer my questions” smiling mischievously, you can see Miles already regretting his choices.

“Blackmail? Really?” He huffs.

“Please it's the least you can do for me after saving the love of your life. Also blackmail is probably the lowest crime the bloodsail pirates have committed.”

Something passes by his eyes, a memory perhaps? You have no idea what it was but his eyes glissen over. He composes himself in a second, clearing his throat.

“Correction, you're not a bloodsail pirate.”

“I am for two weeks at least” you shrug.

“Finn is right, you are annoyingly talkative.”

“Hey! Talkative for his standards maybe. You try getting stuck in a small room with a silent giant and you will truly know how bored you can be.”

Miles nods, smirking like he knows something you don't. “You talk a lot to hide the fear inside you.”

Did he just psychoanalyze you?

“This crew will be the death of me, move, people are probably dying while we're talking” you walk past a grinning Miles.

Walking past a few more rooms, you spot an open door to your right. The dimly lit room catches your attention with its bookshelves full of gorgeously bound books.

“A library? You have a library here?!” You excitedly walk over to the doorframe, eyes quickly scanning the titles on the shelves. “I haven't seen a huge collection like this in my entire life.”

Miles steps over to the side, promptly shutting the door. “After you take care of my family then we can talk about library privileges.” He gives you a look that has you rolling your eyes.

“Fine, dork” you whisper the last word.

“What was that?” He clearly heard you.

“Nothing! Let's go and save some people.”

Turning the corner, leaning on the walls, there lies a line of disgruntled pirates. They hold on to their various injuries, groaning in pain. They cheer once they see you but they quickly shut up after their pain flares up from the cheering.

Walking towards the open double doors of the infirmary, they look at you with their unreadable faces. The common theme though is the ache in their bones and the blood coated shirts.

You assess each of their injuries, some are minor, only having gashes on their arms and legs. A few are bleeding through their bandages, head wrapped hastily in bandages that clearly needs to be changed immediately.

Trying to remember what she taught you, you sigh, hands clammy. You haven't handled this many people, only used to treating a couple of people at a time in your small village with her. Times like this, you can't help but miss her. Shaking your head, you can't let your mind wander again, right when the people who are helping you stay literally afloat need you.

But you can't handle this many people alone.

“Uh…who’s more injured?” you ask.

They all raise their injured hands.

“Okay, who's still bleeding?”

Half of them raise their hands.

As if sensing your panic, Pavitr comes up behind you, tapping you on the shoulder.

“Need my help? I'm not that good with blood but I'm sure I can help. and Miles can help too, right, bud?” Pav catches Miles who's sneaking away to leave. “Where are you going?”

“Uh… to look for Ned, yeah! He can help too.”

Ned yells from inside the infirmary, “I'm already in here! I was the one who told you to fetch Y/N, remember?”

You and Pavitr share a look.

“Yep yep! I'm coming to help, see?” He stops when he's inside the small clinic. “Oh man, that's a huge needle you have there Ned”

You clasp Miles on his trembling shoulder, “Don't worry I'll keep it away from you. For a price of course.”

Miles huffs, gritting his teeth. “You get three questions.”

“Good–”

“After you're done here”

“Fine.” you enter the room with a roll of your eyes. The smell of poppy, ointment and iron fills your senses. Suddenly you're back at home, the roaring fire from the stone fireplace warms you as the huge book in your lap has you enthralled by the illustration of human anatomy.

Groaning brings you back to the present. The first thing you see is Ned tending to ugly mug, his back exposed. Ned’s huge needle is sewing up a deep cut just below the man's shoulder.

“Give it to me straight, mate, I'm gonna look even uglier now aren't I?” He asks Ned.

You scrunch up your nose after seeing his face still good looking and injury free.

Turning around to face Pav and Miles, you try to remember her teachings, you can still feel her hands guiding your own as she rambles on how you should always wash your hands before treating someone. It's been years since then, her voice is nothing but a memory, slowly fading away as you grow older.

You haven't been practicing much, but you kept up with your knowledge by reading pamphlets as much as you can. It's a useful skill afterall, especially when you travel. With an exhale, you start instructing the two.

“Pav,” he straightens up. “get me some hot water from the galley and the purest alcohol Finn has.”

“Got it, I have to fight Finn though” he runs off with determination in his eyes.

“Miles, I need you to triage” you continue as you head off to the basin to clean in between your nails. The dried blood from your fingernails turns the water murky and brown.

“Put the people in front of the line who need to get treated first and with the most severe injuries while the people with the least severe injury to the back of the line.” You look over your shoulder. “Understood?”

“I'm doing it but not because you told me to.” he goes out of the room, already yelling at his impatient crew mates. You hear someone saying ‘what the fuck is a triage? use english!’

You look at Ned. “Please tell me you washed your hands.”

—

You're incredibly hungry, again. Your fingers ache from all the sewing and patching you've done. Your hands smell like herbs and ointments. The muscles in your hands still shake from all the bullets you had to carefully take out. But everyone seems to be stable now, thanks to you.

Washing your hands in the newly replenished basin, you hear footfalls against wood from above. For a second your mind flings back to the fight, you pinch your pinky to distract yourself from the image.

A plate clangs behind you. Looking over your shoulder, Miles is once again trying to sneak away.

“Thanks, Miles” You genuinely smile at him, just looking at the hot plate of mashed potatoes and beans has your stomach grumbling.

“Fine, ask away” he sits across from you, arms crossed on his chest.

“I actually forgot about that, thank you for mentioning it.” You smile mockingly, taking the plate to finally eat.

“What? Oh come on, man” he points suspiciously at you. “Why are you so curious?”

“Because human beings are naturally curious.” Miles makes a face. “Fine, I want to know the backstory of the legendary bloodsail pirates. I mean can you blame me? I have to live with the crew for two weeks.”

He sighs, convinced. “As long as the answers to your questions are already known by the navy,” you nod, “ask away.”

You chuckle. “First question, Where did Hobie get this huge ship?”

“Stole it, next question”

“Really? you're not gonna elaborate on that? I got the needles far away from you the entire time.”

He clicks his tongue. “Stole it from a rich merchant ship years ago with just his wits and a blunderbuss. He's been upgrading it since then, you can barely see the original facade.”

“I gotta admit it to him, that sounds like a good story to tell.”

“Maybe if you play nice he can tell it to you someday.”

You sigh, “Some mysteries just have to stay a mystery.”

He chuckles softly, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

“Second question,” you take another spoonful of beans, chewing while talking. “Where did he get his crew?”

Miles looks at you with disgust. “Swallow first, Christ. Some joined later on, some like Gwen, Pav, Finn and I have been with him from the start.”

“Elaborate? Or I'll chew with my mouth open”

“What is wrong with you? I'm not done yet, jeez.” He looks like he's about to jump away from you. “A few of us were running from getting drafted during the war, only having us as their only option or go to jail.” You listen intently.

“But most of us joined after hearing about us, wanting to be pirates but they want to give back to the people instead of just taking and plundering for gold.” he scratches the back of his neck. “I guess some of us are more into it rather than just pure survival.”

“Wait, you do that? Like some sort of pirate Robin Hood?”

Miles looks at you surprised. “Of course we do, I'm guessing that doesn't make it to the sunday news huh?” he sighs. “Well that's what we do, we only take from the rich and give it back to the people who need it most. Most of the time the nobles and merchants don't suffer much loss from it.”

“Well until I see it for myself I'll think otherwise. Next question—”

“Nope, you've already asked your three questions!” He cackles.

“Wait, the last one doesn't count! Come on, one last very important one that if I don't get the answer to, I will combust.”

Miles pouts his lips, thinking like it's the most difficult thing ever. “Hmmm, you blowing up into tiny pieces sounds great actually.”

“I won't tell Gwen you're utterly in love with her. Just one last thing.”

“You won't tell anyone”

“I promise! And when I promise I intend to keep it.”

He exhales the most tired exhale ever. “Ask”

You smile. “Why follow Hobie?”

Miles stares at you directly, none of the annoyed look he's given, no boyish charm you've seen the entire day you've spent with him and the crew. He looks like a proper pirate with his back straight and loyalty emanating just from his tone.

“Because it's Hobie,” he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. “You have no idea the things he's sacrificed for us. Before we were a crew he— I owe him my life. And it's not blind loyalty, we're all free to leave if we don't want to follow him to the end. Some have already left.” He says the last part forlornly. “I guess I follow him because he's family, not just my captain.”

You look at your half eaten meal, family, you haven't heard that in ages. You have family somewhere, you're sure of it. In your journeys you've had people, friends, but not enough to be called your family; they haven't come close to what you had with her in that little cabin of yours in the middle of nowhere.

If only greed wasn't a thing, you'd still be with her.

You feel a ghost of your necklace graze your chest, instinctively holding on to it for comfort, disappointing yourself when you can't grasp it.

“Y/N?”

You clear your throat, fighting the tears from flowing. “So if he's your family and the crew is also your family, does that mean you're in love with Gwen who's supposedly your family? Hmmm?”

“You know what I meant! What is truly wrong with you?!”

“What? I'm just asking!”

“Oh really? Well you use humour as a crutch!”

You gasp, “Rude!”

“Yep that's you! Miss ‘I make jokes during serious conversations’”

“Understood, now where did I put that needle?” you act like you're trying to find it, patting your pockets.

“Nope, I'm already gone!” He's sprinting away from you. “You're needed in the galley by the way!” His muffled yell makes you laugh.

Another day, another quiet day in the galley for you.

—

During dinner, you've noticed the empty chairs, the sound of the waves crashing and utensils scraping still echoing in your ears as you watch them bring out their dead from below.

The full moon witnesses the crew put their dead on the now pillaged navy ship. The bodies wrapped carefully in white sheets. There's no breeze blowing or waves lapping at the sides of the ship. Everything's at a standstill.

The eerie silence has you standing by the edge of the crowd. Not a part of it but not truly alone.

The gas lamps illuminate the crew's expressions. You're not used to seeing their faces look so devastated, especially after all the laughs you've shared with them while mending their wounds mere hours ago.

You know it's not your place to be here or to even stand with them while they're mourning their friends. But you stay because if it's the other way around you'd want the only outsider to mourn with you, to stand in solidarity with you even if she doesn't know how the people you're laying down on the cold wood used to comfort you through the storm and how they used to hate the summer heat.

You'd want the outsider to know that they once lived.

The floorboards creak as Hobie lays the last body on the navy boat's deck, kneeling by the side to say his final farewell. After a moment, he stands up, knuckles so tightly closed that you can see his hands shake from where you're standing.

He cuts the rope tied to the mast, the sails unfurl, the slight breeze making it move slowly. Hobie jumps back to the revenge before the navy ship sails too far.

With his crew right behind him, you all watch as the ship sails for the final time. Hobie takes a musket from Gwen, they share a comforting look briefly before he takes aim at the ship. The shot echoes out, hitting the barrel full of gunpowder directly. Fire immediately bellows, engulfing the wooden ship.

The fire cackles further away but it still warms your cheeks. Orange and yellow dancing on the water as the mast burns and falls into the depths with a splash.

A soft voice sings a mellow tune, the lyrics full of sorrow and longing for what they've lost.

You look over to the source of the song, Yuri has her eyes glued to the flaming ship, her cadence echoes out to the open sea, the rest join in, goosebumps flare up on your arms. They sing about how the sea has claimed them but they aren't truly lost for they still sail the endless depths with the stars as their guide.

The singing ends and as everyone goes their separate ways, Hobie stays behind, watching as the fire devours the ship. With one last look, you head to your cabin, head full of thoughts that you'd rather not let it fester or it might consume you like the fire outside razing the once mighty ship.

The tune still stays with you until your head hits the soft pillow, you wonder how many times they've sung it together.

That night you wake up to someone screaming from above, cursing Hobie's name. Frantic footsteps dance above, you can hear a gun clicking. Recognizing the former lieutenant's voice, you fall back under the covers, jumping in place as you hear the gun go off followed by a splash and then a sudden silence.

For the next two days, you get acclimated to your life on the people's revenge. Having some sort of routine. In the morning you go to the infirmary to help clean their wounds and change their bandages, single handedly stopping infection. The survival rate of the injured has increased tenfold with your help. They greet you with a smile every morning, sometimes calling you ‘doc’ and you correct them everytime.

You haven't seen Hobie the past two days, always getting glimpses of him in the halls as he turns a corner. None of the crew have seen him out either. You wonder if he's had anything to eat in the past few days.

You've encountered how grief could consume someone, you hope you don't witness it again.

At lunch, you cook with Finn in the galley, making conversation, telling him stories you've heard during your journeys as he grunts and huffs in reply. You've gotten used to the quiet in the kitchen with only the waves outside and the bubbling pot filling your ears.

The crew have gotten better after the loss, they've started laughing again, making jokes and even including you to the conversation. You keep finding yourself chuckling among them during dinner.

After the day ends, you bring Pavitr his tea as he gets ready for another long night shift of sailing. As you head down to the library, you check in on Miles as he toils on a map, studying every detail, making sure the ship's on track. You bring him his cup, he's stopped looking at the tea suspiciously after the third time you've given him one.

You hear arguing in Hobie's cabin again, the voices are different each time you pass through but you don't dare eavesdrop, you swear that man has eyes everywhere.

The library has become your sanctuary, not the cabin you're temporarily placed in. You get a weird feeling everytime you enter the small room, like you don't quite belong in the obviously lived in space. There's tiny trinkets hidden on shelves, some are quite peculiar, unlike anything you've ever seen. You keep finding drawings and journal pages tucked in the corners and the bed frame, the ink already too faded to read or to even make out the art. You surmise the old resident of the cabin pushed the papers in there to stop the draft.

As you sit down on the lumpy green armchair of the library, the oil lamp illuminating the pages with only the moon as your companion; you get sucked into the yellowed pages, burrowing into every word printed, making a home for yourself in between the letters written by authors you'll never meet in your lifetime.

A soft knock brings your soul back to the old library, your eyes adjust in the darkness, his silhouette leaning casually on the doorway.

“So this is where you vanish off to every night” you can barely make out his face but you know he's smirking by the way his lip piercing glints in the lamp.

“Am I not allowed, Captain?” he chuckles. The sound reverberated around the room. A ghost of a smile passes by your lips.

“Keep callin' me like that and you might find yourself having special treatment.”

“And what exactly is the special treatment?”

Hobie shrugs, raising a finger up as he lists them down. “Havin' your own cabin, getting fed twice in a day, access to the ship's library, did I mention staying dry and alive?”

“You've mentioned it once or twice.” You sigh, gathering courage for what you're about to ask. “I've got a question, Cap.”

Hobie scoffs, “Heard you've been asking those a lot. One of these days your curious arse will get you killed.” You shrug, ignoring his comment. “You know I'd hunt you down if any of this information gets to the navy right?”

“I know, and I'm not a fucking snitch especially after you've kept your word of letting me stay even though you did use me as bait when you were interrogating the navy man.”

“Come off it,” he clicks his tongue. “I did not use you as bait.”

“Sure, and you don't have trust issues, Hobie Brown”

“Likewise, Y/N asshole.” he enters the room and into the light. You don't miss his snarky nickname for you. “Can a person with trust issues do this?” Hobie tosses a bag right on your lap.

You recognize the satchel, blinking in surprise “My bag!” You scan the contents down to the small bag of coins finding everything is still in its place. “Did you happen to see a necklace? It has a circular pendant with a bird engraved on it.”

“No, it doesn't ring a bell. Trust me somethin’ like that would've left a mark.”

You frown, hope diminished. Hobie gestures towards the seat in front of you, asking permission. You nod, letting him in your personal bubble.

“What are you reading?” He sits across from you on the rickety rocking chair, groaning, knees cracking.

“Just a story about some Greek hero that my m– I used to read back then.”

He nods, not mentioning the blunder. “I don't think Theseus is just some bloke.” You chuckle softly. “Y’know there's a much better read than that over…” he twists around, taking a book right behind him. “Here” he hands it off to you, calloused fingers grazing yours.

Turning the small book around, you shake your head with a subtle smile. “‘How to conquer your fears volume five: Learn how to swim by Sir Riordan of Canterbury’ Very funny”

Hobie stifles a laugh, a genuine smile across his face. “Thought it was appropriate.” he crosses a leg over the other, shoulders relaxed.

“What was your question, scuttlebutt? Ask me before I change my mind, ‘m feeling generous today.”

Your hands play with the spine of the old book. “Why haven't you killed me yet? After what George said, why didn't you believe him that I'm a traitor?”

He visibly stiffened, “You can't be called a traitor if you were never part of the crew, eh?” your heart thumps louder as he observes your every move.

“Also that's two questions,” the moonlight hits his fatigued face, you stare into those eyes that threaten to bring you under, but you swim out just in time before it drags you down. “good thing they have the same answers.”

You blink slowly, fingers nervously pick at the dry skin on your thumb.

“Your rucksack,” he points with chin. “I didn't pay enough attention to it when you first arrived but when I had my suspicions I had to check. First the coins or the lack thereof. If you were a navy spy they'd give you enough to use it as a bargaining tool.”

“You calling me poor?”

“Yes” he doesn't miss a beat. “Second your shoes, the bloody thing is thinner than Finn's flat bread.” you suck in your teeth in annoyance. “And that–” he leans closer, his elbows resting on his thighs. “Your fuckin' attitude, you didn't even try to play nice. You just did what you were told so you could survive. The only time you're actually nice is when nobody else is lookin'” you scoff while he continues on.

“Don't think I didn't notice you during the funeral or whenever you give Pav and Miles their tea. You stay along the edges of the crew, lingering, not really looking for any approval. But you're there, acting like you don't care but based on the careful stitches and gentle hands, you care, a lot.”

You grit your teeth, letting him read you like an open book that you've kept hidden behind the shelves, under all the more interesting books.

“Spies ease their way into the crew with effort, you did it unintentionally. You didn't hesitate saving Gwen, you could've done anything else in an attempt to escape but you helped and you stayed. You're not a spy, I think you just want to belong somewhere—”

You cut him off, “What makes you think I want to join your rag tag group?”

Hobie looks like he's about to swallow you whole, ignoring your last snarky comment, he continues his rant. “You want to belong even if it’s on a damn pirate ship. You're a genuine stowaway.”

“Alright, you're quite perceptive then, but that doesn't answer my question on why you haven't killed me yet.” you bravely face him. “You said it yourself, you would kill me if any information about you and the crew comes out from me. And you told me I needed the coin so what's stopping me from going to the nearby governor and selling off the information the moment we land?”

“Because you're running too,” his eyes shine in the low light, looking at you mischievously. “I don't know from whom or if you're wanted like us but I do know you're not gonna risk your freedom for a few coins.”

Hobie beams at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “And lastly, I'm gonna need you before I let you go.”

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whalesforhands · 8 months

Text

lament your melancholy pt. 7.1 (satosugu x reader)

previous masterlist next

warnings: angst, fluff, talks and physical interactions with a corpse, implied obsession with said corpse, satosugu being fathers TOGETHER, please do not judge me too hard for this i already think i made pt.8 too dramatic

“You two.” Yaga’s voice is deep with a hidden emotion as he regards his students. Even he doesn’t want to break it to them.

“The higher-ups are demanding the body be handed over to them.”

It’s only been a few months since your passing.

A desk is abruptly thrown, a near miss that scratches Yaga’s cheek. He doesn’t even flinch, knowing that it was never intended to hurt him.

“Are you fucking with me?”

His Six Eyes alight with pain and desolation, fists clenched tight and fingernails digging themselves deep into the flesh of his palms, slicing through the skin and seeping red.

He slams his bloodied palms into the wall, fist going straight through the stone as it dents and falls under his strength.

“There is no fucking way we’re-!”

Shoko has had enough. She grits her teeth, picks herself up despite the heaviness of her body, the lumps of grief instilled deep within her form as she makes her way toward Gojo Satoru, the harsh scraping of her chair against the floorboards being a sign of warning.

She slaps him. His sunglasses flying off as they land in a heap on the ground. She grabs his collar, forcing him to look her in the eye.

“Can you give it up already?” Her voice is cracking, her tears welling up in her eyes as she holds his gaze.

She knows he needs to let go. He needs to, lest he curses you even in your death.

Her grip on his collar relents, slackens when she realises that she’s finally crying. The reality of it all hitting her.

She doesn’t want to let the remaining ‘you’ go either.

——

Gojo’s hand trails over your cold face, fingers tracing every curve, every groove of your features. He gently drags his nails against your soft skin, letting himself sink into the thoughts that plagued his mind every day, hour, minute and second.

Years could pass, and they would ensure that you’re never forgotten. Engrave your entire existence onto their souls, know you by heart, if only he could listen to every song you’ve heard, breathe everything you’ve breathed, feel everything you’ve felt.

So you won’t ever disappear.

“I miss you.”

You don’t reply. Of course you don’t.

“You should’ve at least said goodbye first, you know?” He’s still tracing his thumb above your colourless lips, eyes concentrated on your pale lips.

He remembers.

“Satoru…” You’re looking at him with misery in your eyes, hands placed together in a pleading manner. The vending machine prices increased yet again…

“Satoruuuu!” Hands reaching for his as you practically prance for joy, mirth in your eyes as you practically jump into his arms, pressing yourself against him as you excitedly hug him, test score much higher than you expected, his hold squeezing you tight, holding you close to him as you quietly celebrated your achievement in his arms.

“Satoru…?” He’s holding his face as he gets overwhelmed from his Six Eyes, pounding in his forehead as he starts to bury his face into his palms, fervently rubbing at his overwhelmed, oversensitive eyes. You gently grasp onto his wrists, moving them away as you place your own hands over his eyes. “Better…?” Very much so. He relaxes into your touch.

“Satoru.” You’re holding one of his hands in both of yours, clearly upset as you look him in the eye. He’s sunburnt, extremely weary and looked so, so weak. You had to convince him to release his technique, just to relax a little. “I’m okay…” He avoids your gaze, his head falling forward onto your shoulder, burying himself into the crook of your neck. “Cause Suguru’s here, isn’t he? You too…”

“Satoru!” The worry in your voice that haunted him, that plagued his very thoughts and every memory of you. “I’ll be fine! Just take care of that brat!” His last words to you. That he’ll deal with the the threat of Toji Fushiguro, that he’ll defeat him and join up with all of you later.

It’s his fault that you’re dead. His fault, that he didn’t understand using the Reverse Cursed Technique. His fault, that he didn’t master his Limitless Technique. His fault that he didn’t kill Toji Fushiguro soon enough.

Hisfaulthisfaulthisfaulthisfaulthisfault-

He blinks himself back into reality. The reality in which you don’t exist anymore. He’s done it before, he can do it again, can’t he? A life without you.

It hurts so much he could barely bring himself to fathom the pain, a lone tear making its way onto your cold cheek as the tears start to blur his vision.

…was it just him, or did he just see your cursed energy flicker?

——

“Daddy…! Mimiko’s too, please!” Tugging at Gojo’s dress pants, she shakes her little pink plastic cup decorated with little flowers and sparkles up at him, stuffed toy tucked into her elbow as she puts on the best puppy dog eyes she could.

She wants sugar in her milk after watching him add several spoonfuls to his hot chocolate.

Gojo Satoru’s resolve is falling.

(He can’t. He absolutely can’t give her any. Suguru already lectured him after Nanako was found with a cavity.)

“Oh darling…!” He feints despair, a dramatic hand against his forehead as he pitifully turns away from his cute daughter. “Daddy will get in trouble if he does!”

(Don’t look her in the eye. Don’t look her in the eye. Don’t look her in the eye.)

He’s gulping nervously as he keeps his chin pointed towards the ceiling, eyes still closed as he takes a sneaky sip from his far too sweet drink as he hears more whines and whimpers for sugar, the insistent tugging now moved to his sleeve, cup abandoned on the tall countertop as she now begs for one sip of his.

(It’s his fault that he taught her the wonders of sweetness.)

He starts to cave.

“How about Daddy just gives my sweet Mimi half a scoo-!”

“Mimi-chan, Papa will scold you if he finds out you’re begging Daddy for sugar.” Oh, Tsumiki! His golden voice of reason, his saving grace…!

“And Daddy,” She turns to face him, hands on her hips and cheeks puffed up to show her anger. “Mimiko has her dentist checkup later today, she can’t eat anymore sugar!”

“Ahhh… As usual, Tsumiki knows best…” He’s backing away and laughing as he shoots finger guns at her, before proceeding to rub viciously at her neatly done-up hair, her yelps at him that he’s gonna mess up Papa’s hard work thoroughly ignored.

She’s helping him prepare the dishes for breakfast, fried eggs already done and ready on the tables courtesy of Geto, warm toasted bread out of the toaster ready to be buttered for consumption.

(Tsumiki toasted the bread. Gojo isn’t trusted in the kitchen. He’s just there for supervision in case of any broken dishware.)

Mimiko’s eyes begin to tear up slightly, pouting as she looks at the familiar brand of chocolate milk, void of any additional sweeteners.

(His heart is squeezing.)

Gojo gets down to her level as he begins to pat both the girl’s heads now.

“…will extra strawberry jam on your toast today do?”

(It should be better than pure sugar right…? Suguru made him get the one with the ‘less sugar’ labels…)

He has to bribe the other one too.

“ Tsumiki… I’ll buy everyone cake today if you don’t tell on me to Papa.”

“Deal!”

“Thank you Daddy!”

(So much for that dentist appointment.)

In the other room, they weren’t faring as well.

“…Megumi, you don’t want the elephant shirt either?”

The said boy was shaking his head, soft body shirtless, dressed only in his navy blue shorts with his chubby little arms crossed across his chest as he stared into the closet.

Geto sighs. They’ve been at this for the past 16 minutes, it’s been shirt after shirt and Suguru still couldn’t find the one the stoic little boy wanted to wear to kindergarten.

Nanako voices out, words hindered and muffled from the action of brushing her teeth.

(Suguru’s been watching over her oral care lately… She’s terrified.)

“Pwapa!” The blonde girl peeks her head out from the bathroom, toothbrush in her mouth and her hair a tangled mess upon her head as she scratches her arm, tilting her head to the side to better view the duo. “Gyumi vants thwe dog one!”

The dog one?

Suguru turns his head towards the young boy from his sat cross-legged position on the floor, furrowing his eyebrows in thought as he does a mental do-over of the entirety of his kids’ closets.

“You want the one with the furry black and white dogs?”

Megumi nods quickly.

“Okay, but you need to wear a sweater over it because it’s cold today, promise?” The man sticks his pinky out for the kid to see.

Megumi silently winds his finger around it. Promise.

(He’s secretly happy about it. He loves that shirt.)

“Thank you, Nanako.”

“Nwo prowbs, Pap- ACK! AGH!” She’s accidentally swallowed a bit of toothpaste as Geto hurriedly jumps onto his feet, scooping a disgruntled Megumi up whilst he’s at it to pat her back.

“…no more talking while brushing your teeth.”

“Ye-“ A stern look.

She nods.

Suguru proceeds downstairs with a still half-naked Megumi, the boy having flopped himself onto the broad man’s shoulder and simply laid against him, cold and happy to indulge in the natural heat of his other caretaker’s body.

“Sato- Daddy, did you wash Megumi’s dog shirt? The one with the black and white dogs!”

Silence from the kitchen.

“I thought laundry day was tomorrow!” A clattering of pots and ceramic ware is heard as he sees a dash of white run by him and onto the balcony to check if said clothing was dried.

…

Suguru found the shirt in the dryer, unfolded and creased.

(“It’s clean! And that’s good enough, right?!”)

Megumi wore it proudly anyway.

(“I’m taking away any budget you have allocated for treats this week.”

“Suguruuuuuu, you can’t be so mean to me!” The white-haired shaman sniffles as he buried his face into his lover’s neck. “You’re supposed to love me!”)

——

“We’re home!”

Silence. Save for Megumi kicking off his velcro shoes next to her as he starts to take off the light blue sweater Suguru dressed him in.

Where are the twins?

Nanako bounds down the stairs, hurriedly signalling the two siblings to follow her.

“Gumi, Miki! Come, come! Mimi and I found something super cool!”

——

“Why’s there a girl’s uniform in the closet?” Mimiko regards the old clothing with confusion, staring down

Megumi grimaces in disgust at the thought of any of the broad men donning the clothing.

“Oh, hey! There’s more girl clothes in here!” Tsumiki is now deep within the closet, digging up more old clothing. Dresses, skirts, stockings, leg warmers…

Now Megumi really wonders how big of freaks those men were, letting Nanako drag him deep within the large, spacious walk-in closet.

“Gumi, stop being so grumpy!” She holds up a black tee with an old, faded print.

“Kids! I brought cake home! Papa said he’s working late today!”

The lanky man waltzes into the shared home, humming as he takes large strides, practically twirling around in excitement as he holds the sizable crepe cake boxed up neatly by the employee in hand.

(Lesser sugar! The nice lady at the counter said so.)

He gingerly places the box on the dining table.

“Kids?”

Muffled chattering is heard as he uses his Six Eyes to scan the home for his beloved children, locating them within the confines of large master bedroom. The lights have been left off, save for the spillage of luminosity from the walk-in closet’s ajar door.

“Now what do we have here?” A satisfied hum is let out as he regards the kids with pride,

Nanako’s donning an old red hoodie he used to wear, a familiar one that was constantly being loaned out whenever you got cold. It never saw the light of day ever since… Then.

Mimiko’s in a much more comical state. The old Jujutsu uniform jacket, much smaller than his or Suguru’s sizes, thrown over her head with only one arm through the wrong sleeve. Though, this one looked much more shrunken than what he remembers you wearing… The old uniform Shoko washed for you.

Tsumiki’s holding up a dress aged with time and lack of use, left alone within the large closet. It’s been slightly yellowed due to the conditions it was subjected to, yet remains beautiful all the while.

Megumi has an old shirt you used to wear all the time, so worn with holes throughout, the collar beginning to give as its threads begin to unwind. A tee so loved and worn, its graphic pattern has already began to fade… Yet, none could bear to throw it away.

“Don’t you all just look lovely?”

——

“Stop it!” He’s growling up at you, all bark and no bite with no attempts to stop your intruding hand on his fluffy head.

“You’re just like those old men.” He’s puffing his cheeks out, head immediately tilted down when he accidentally catches your gaze when looking at you. So soft and gentle towards him.

(He gets shy.)

“Hmm? Seems like someone isn’t so lonely anymore.” You’re combing your fingers through his hair now, bent down to his level for his comfort. Your voice, so tender and loving as you looked after him in this stupid, stupid dream of his. Chasing away his nightmares and replacing them with the sweet lull of your presence.

“…they’re just weird men. Their kids are nice, I guess.”

“Do you like being there?” Your question is sudden, catching him off-guard. Surprisingly, he doesn’t take long to give you a reply.

“…yea.” You boop his nose, smiling when he tries to swat your hand away.

“Then I think that’s all that matters.”

previous masterlist next

Notes:

Suguru didn’t come to class. He was on a mission.

Yes, your body has been stored for several months. Corpses start rotting in the morgue after a week.

No, reader does not know that Megumi’s parents are STSG. You genuinely think a pair of nice old men took in 4 kids all at once.

Right now, it’s been 3 years since your passing. Current Ages

Twins: 6

Megumi: 6

Tsumiki: 8

Only Suguru is allowed to pick Megumi up. Satoru tried once and he got bitten.

I like thinking Megumi likes physical affection. He’s just too shy to admit it. (Look how he just takes Gojo’s head rubbing in the season 2 episode!!!)

Geto was the first one to start calling Gojo ‘Daddy’ (in a non-sexual manner) and Gojo followed suit by calling him ‘Papa’ (again, non-sexual manner). They did this so that the kids would stop calling them ‘Geto/Gojo-sama’ or any rude names (courtesy of Megumi). And also to avoid the kids picking up the habit of calling them Satoru/Suguru.

Nvy’s aftertalk:

today i dreamt about an old lady on a plane using her bare toes to pinch my naked ankles after i took my crocs off

out of fear, as i have not been on a plane in 10 years, i started to finish this chapter

5 satorussss bcs Gojo has 5 in it haha

#geto x reader x gojo #jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #whalewrites #dyf au #gojo x reader #geto x reader #satosugu x reader #geto suguru x reader

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monzamash · 1 year

Text

the good, the bad and what could’ve been — lando norris (part two)

summary – nine years. an age gap that you didn’t know would cause so much heartache. you tell yourself that it’s fine, he tells you that he could give you the world but this was a cautionary tale of what could’ve been if you just let love win. pairing – lando norris x you (female reader) chapter rating – 18+ (smut, language, age gap/older woman) word count – over 10k inspired by charlie puth's song called boy. masterlist

part one | part two | part three

Previously... And there you were, lost in the crowd, searching. Lando wondered for a second whether you were looking for him or if your friend had just come over to tell you something and she was coming back. But when your eyes met, you smiled big. Grinning and relieved to see those bright blue eyes drawing you in from across the room, a familiar face to ease your nerves. You glided to him like a magnet magically pulling you both to the halfway point, hands immediately reaching, needy to feel the others touch again.

Winnie’s words rang in your ears, so sure of herself and what she knew about you. Your bad habits. You wanted to spite her and bid Lando farewell but when you watched his tongue swipe across his pouty bottom lip and that boyish smile tug at the corners of his mouth again, you were done for – hook, line and sinker.

“Do you wanna get out of here?”

The soft, distant patter of water coming from the bathroom was what stirred you awake from the slumber you’d fallen into after your unexpected late night rendezvous. You hadn’t planned on falling asleep but the combination of a hangover and finding yourself completely at the mercy of the comfiest bed known to mankind, you were out like a light. Spent. Aching in places never felt before, satisfied, blissfully unaware of the complications that your impulses had caused. But at least you’d gotten a couple of hours of sleep.

Lando, on the other hand had somehow been able to drag his weary body out of the king sized bed you were sprawled out in, nothing covering his skin besides the light scratches that you had left behind as a temporary reminder of your night together. The taut muscles on his strong back contracted as he slid the bathroom door open and closed it quietly behind him.

You took his absence as a chance to find your underwear and the hair tie that was flung across the room at some stage during what you coined ‘an opportunity to get to know each other’. The former was easier to find than the hair tie, which was always destined to be lost in the chaos, hidden somewhere in the darkness. The apartment was pin-drop quiet – the only sound was the shower running and your quiet footsteps tapping across the dark hickory floorboards, exiting the bedroom.

The descent down the staircase nearly did you in, back aching and knees like jelly but you made it into the lounge where his jeans had been thrown over the glass balustrade from above, clothing strewn over the couch where your night had begun, images of how it started flooding back and making your cheeks flush at the memory.

“Before we go any further, how old are you?” You fumbled the question against Lando’s lips, wanting nothing more than to take this to the bedroom, desperate to feel an ounce of rigour for the first time in months.

“I’m 23,” He mumbled back, mouth attached to your neck as your eyebrows furrowed, calculating and crunching the numbers, attempting to put some distance between you and the ravenous man clinging to your skin.

“What!? You’re twenty –” “Just… don’t think about it.”

He knew you were older from the way you commanded a room and from the way you kissed him. You weren’t like the other girls he’d been involved with during his time on the road, jet setting across the world. You were a woman – powerful, sexy, demanding of more than the mediocrity you were usually served and he’d convinced himself that he was up for the challenge. Now he needed to convince you.

“I’m an adult – you’re an adult. And this feels really good, yeah? Especially when I kiss you here… and here.”

He was selling it, and selling it well – his long, slender fingers traced your ticklish ribs, palms slowly travelling down your lower back, voice deep and smooth, lips ghosting your ear, whispering all the right things. If your quick maths was correct, nine years wasn’t too crazy. You could work with that as long as nobody else found out.

“Let me show you how good I can make you feel.”

You shook your head, sighing to yourself at how ridiculous the aftermath looked. The carnage spread across the room, corner to corner representing how primal the two of you felt in the moment, ripping clothes and grabbing every inch of skin possible. Tipsy but sober enough to know that it was exactly what you needed, craved, giggling like naughty teenagers while you tried not to slip off the couch and ruin the steamy kiss that was sending shivers down your spine, even now.

Enamoured really was the only way to describe how you felt about Lando under the guise of inebriated secrecy but now, in the cold light of day, you were filled with confusion – not regret but definitely not elation either. Mixed emotions that you needed to sift through in the comfort of your own home and away from the crime scene. That would help, you thought as you collected your skirt and bra from the coffee table, slipping it all on in a rush.

While you shuffled around trying to find your handbag, Lando stood at the top of the stairs, watching you scramble around his living room. He paused for a moment, contemplating whether he should stop you. He wanted to, of course but watching the person who he’d shared the night with so obviously needing to make a quick escape made him question what last night meant. He had a good idea of what it meant to him – possibly the beginnings of at the very least a budding friendship, one that may have other benefits attached but a friendship with his neighbour, none the less.

And deep down he wanted to ask you that question, and make sure what happened last night was okay. He hadn’t been left in the dust like this before, always having to gently hint at the person he’d invited into his home to leave without seeming like a dick. But now he was on the receiving end and it didn’t feel great. It felt fucking horrible. And he couldn’t let you leave like that, not if he wanted to know how you were feeling.

You heard footsteps padding down the stairs, the sound causing your head to whip around and catch Lando’s eyes on you. He was shirtless, hair dripping wet from the steaming shower, skin reddened and you could almost bet that he was warm to the touch. His soft, silken skin that melted like butter under your fingernails was shadowed by the darkness, the room barely visible if it wasn’t for the street lamp outside the open window. But you could still see his steely expression – crushed, maybe a little irritated but you’d really only seen him smiling or in a state of pure ecstasy, feeling untainted pleasure. You didn’t know him at all, yet had shared something so intimate. Every instinct was telling you to run but he was so cute.

God, you were beyond conflicted.

Lando had pulled on a pair of joggers that were riding low on his hips and a breathy "wow," was all he said as he jumped off the last step, shaking his head and causing the droplets of water to trickle down his neck. He cleared his throat and shuffled into the lounge room, eyes trained on you – seeking some kind of excuse that would stroke his ego, anything other than you never wanting to see him again.

His tone implied that maybe he thought you were going to scurry away into the night, which was a pretty reasonable assumption. And when you glanced up at him again, you were met with an incredulous stare as he itched the scratches you’d decorated his shoulder with, only now noticing the marks you’d left behind. You averted your eyes, stuffed your phone into the back pocket of your skirt, arms quickly sliding into your leather jacket that you noticed slung over the back of the couch for safekeeping.

It was still dark outside and you knew how bad it all looked, optics wise. Handbag hoisted on your shoulder, eyes darting towards the door. 10 past 5, the analogue clock hanging from the farthest wall read. You were exhausted, hungover and really not in the mood to justify your abrupt exit but you couldn’t ignore the effect you were having on the man standing in front of you, silently waiting for you to explain yourself. Pained. You owed him an explanation, at least.

Lando bent down and picked his jeans up from the creaky floorboards below your feet, folding them neatly over the back of the chair he was standing behind, peeking up towards the clock with you. It was way too early to be up, and there was a part of him that wanted to entice you back to his warm bed and pretend like this awkward interaction never even happened but he could tell from your bloodshot eyes that you were headed for an Irish exit – and he couldn’t stop you.

"I was going to say goodbye," You whispered with as much conviction as you could muster in your drowsy state, unable to truly comfort him with your words.

Lando scoffed under his breath, humoured by your blatant lie and gave you an unconvinced nod, "Whatever you say."

There was a growing silence between the two of you as he walked around and took a seat on the empty couch where your night together began, head in his hands and his fingers tugging hard on his damp curls. He was frustrated and a little confused by the mixed messages. You admitted post-sesh, that you’d enjoyed yourself more than you had in months after the third time he had your writhing under his touch, screaming out his name and the Lords in quick succession. Tangled in his bamboo sheets, paralysed until eventually finding your breath again.

"Is this your usual shtick or should I take it personally?" He asked out of the silence with a wondering look, searching your face for some kind of reassurance that he wasn’t imagining all of this.

You sighed and adjusted your jacket again – fidgeting bought you some time while you figured out how honest you wanted to be with him. Your guard always went back up after a random hook up with a guy you barely knew and you never, ever felt the need to explain yourself but when you scanned his darkening blue eyes, you felt the air being sucked out of your lungs. Breathless and wishing you could wipe away the anguish on his beautiful face. This was a ‘you’ problem and he didn’t deserve to be swept up in your mess, at least not yet.

"Typically I leave them to muddle over that question but I can’t even try and pretend like this..." You pointed between the two of you, "... wasn't obscenely hot."

For some reason, unknown, you needed him to know that – or at least know part of the truth. The other part was that you had severe commitment issues and sharing that with a guy who you’ve just met wasn’t the ideal way to introduce yourself. You’d scared them off in the past with that and you weren’t about to make that mistake again – not when there was a good chance of seeing this person every time you left your apartment.

Lando’s eyes shot up from the floor and the toothy grin on his face that had lured you back to his apartment in the first place indicated that he was pretty pleased with your answer. And no doubt happy with his work, which had been outstanding if you were being candid. That boyish bravado, the one that had you pinning him down and reminding him who was boss only a few hours ago, had returned and you couldn’t stop your own smile mirroring his.

"Well I did think if you were pretending to enjoy it that you deserved an Oscar," Lando joked back, finding his feet again, “That’s the acting award, right?”

You nodded and readjusted your bag again, still with the intent of getting the fuck out of there. You’d done your part and reassured him that what happened last night was great but anything extra would’ve looked like this was more than a hook up, and you couldn’t encourage that with a guy nine years your junior. Not in a million years.

"If I can't convince you to stay a little longer, at least let me make you a cup of tea before you go," He offered, gesturing towards the kitchen that was cloaked in darkness. Truth be told, you hadn’t even registered that there was a kitchen there, only really being shown the bedroom and nothing else. Your priorities were different in the heat of the moment, a house tour falling very quickly to wayside but you were tempted to see how the other half lived, curiosity getting the better of your judgement.

“Sure.”

You sat back as he made you both a brew from the expensive looking kettle tucked away on his kitchen counter and you discovered pretty quickly that you were sitting in what could only be described as a glorified bachelor pad. There were red flags everywhere – the large, extravagant gaming unit was the first thing that caught your eye, followed by the obscene amount of sneakers and motorsports paraphernalia on display in the walkway. You didn’t mind someone having hobbies or passions, but it was borderline obsessive – and excessively boujee. He was obviously doing well for himself financially, one would have to be to live in your neighbourhood, but that didn’t distract from the fact that he was clearly in a different phase in his life, and you didn’t hold that against him. It just wasn’t where you were anymore.

The only saving grace was that your hangover hadn't been too bad considering how much you ended up drinking last night and you thanked your lucky stars. It gave you the strength to be able to process your surroundings and maybe, somehow make a clean break without hurting anyone. Lando was cute and unbelievably good in bed but you needed to find someone safe, someone unwavering who could put your mind at ease about the expectations of an adult relationship – something you’d never really had and definitely not one that the young man standing in front of you had ever experienced, you presumed. Dangerously. And entertaining him would only delay the inevitable and that wasn’t fair on either of you.

"Milk and sugar?" Lando’s ambiguously accented voice startled you out of that deep, pessimistic train of thought – for the best. He was steeping the tea bag and making sure that everything was perfect so he didn’t scare you off. He could sense that you were as good as gone but he was trying.

"Um, just a dash of milk please," You replied softly and he turned around to retrieve the milk, attempting to keep his cool.

He didn’t do this very often, entertaining a woman’s company, especially in his own home. It was sacred to him, in a way. A place he could escape to; where he could be himself with no judgement. His other apartments around the world didn’t even begin to compare to being home in the motherland. Just around the corner was where he went to school, only for a few grades but they were his formative years. The ones where he experienced his first crush, first girlfriend, nearly his first kiss. A couple of streets over was where him, his brother and their parents used to live before his sisters came along, then they upsized to a house in the country, leaving the city behind with their four kids. All these memories meant that he really didn’t do this often and you could tell from the way he was nervously biting the inside of his cheek.

He was obviously trying to make a good impression after your awkward start to the morning but you should’ve been the only one in the room feeling like an idiot. He was sweet, awkward but welcoming and you wanted to make him feel at ease. But as he closed the heavy fridge door, his shoulder caught the handle and slammed it into his side, causing him to exclaim in pain. Echos of his voice filtering through the spacious kitchen.

“Fuck!” He shouted, mumbling incoherently as he composed himself, "I'm that fuckin' exhausted that I’ve lost all motor function," He complained, holding his shoulder and eventually, once the pain subsided, started to laugh lightly.

You had jumped up from the bar stool you were perched on, concern furrowed into your eyebrows until he turned back around. Then you couldn't help but chuckle at the puppy dog eyes and the exaggerated pout on his lips. In that moment, you had an epiphany – a gut feeling. You didn't want this to be the last time you were sat up at his breakfast bar, watching him make you a cup of tea after an ecstasy-filled night together. It was powerful, almost knocked you off your feet when you felt it. Winnie’s words rattled around in your head as you narrowed your eyes and smiled – trust your gut.

“I explicitly remember you saying last night that you’d been training hard recently and that nothing could stop you… Is there a small chance that you exaggerated your stamina?” Your tone was teasing, the question nothing more than a way to bait him into reliving the vision of him having his way with you, memorising every sensation he felt as he poured the milk into your cup.

"Hey, I was going great after the first couple of rounds but that third one..." Lando puffed, cheeks big and a mischievous smirk niggling at his lips, now taunting you with the memories and hoping you were feeling the same heat that he was.

He pushed the scalding teacup across the counter and into your hands and you welcomed it with a smile. You were exhausted and a brew really was the perfect way to wake up the senses. And a perfect way to mark the beginning of whatever the hell this was.

"Yeah you did most of the work on the last one so thank you for that and thank you for the cuppa," You replied and brought the cup to your smirking lips, Lando doing the same.

"My pleasure."

Much to your surprise, and Lando’s astonishment, that wasn’t the last time you found yourself perched on a bar stool, having breakfast with your handsome neighbour. It became a regular occurrence for the next week at least, exchanging numbers and texting any time either of you felt the desire to get reacquainted again. He had a week with you before he had to leave the county – a business trip, he vaguely explained but you were content with that. You didn’t need to know the in’s and out’s of his schedule – you really just wanted him, preferably naked in your bed.

“It’ll only be for a couple of weeks and then I’ll be back,” Lando yawned as you nuzzled into his neck, pressing soft kisses across his jaw, “Hopefully you don’t forget about me.”

That statement stopped you in your tracks, you had agreed on no feelings – no strings attached. You were having a bit of fun, harmless, no questions asked kind of fun and you thought you were on the same page with that as you pulled away and looked at the smirking devil laying beside you, bare naked and wrapped around your finger, “Very funny.”

“Got you.”

You blinked a couple of times, sighing at how soft he looked bathing in the sunrays sneaking through your curtains, “You are so pretty.”

Lando stifled a laugh and tucked away the stray strands of your hair that he’d accidentally pulled into your face when he shuffled under the sheets, snaking a strong around your waist, “I’ve got nothing on you.”

A hum melodically rumbled in your chest as you looked up at the ceiling, hand wrapped around his forearm, contentedly circling the skin that was warm to the touch. Lightly haired, freckled, tanned – perfectly complimenting the crisp linen sheets that you’d put on the bed before he pranced over the road and rang your apartment number, buzzing it one too many times and feeling like he was coming across a little too keen. But he was excited to see you, dying to touch you. Truth be told, he didn’t want to leave London for work. The last thing he wanted was to be flogged by his trainer, reviewing footage and analysing data from what felt like months ago in Monaco.

It really hadn’t been that long but you had waltzed into his life early December, like the perfect storm, disrupting all of his plans for a Dubai new years. Maybe he was getting ahead of himself but he couldn’t deny that staying in London with you for New Year's had crossed his mind because here you were; lazily loving on him, kissing every inch of skin that was in reach of your perfect lips, making him forget about the string that may or may not be attached. The cushy bubble you had created together was everything he could’ve asked for and he didn’t want to burst it.

“What are your plans for new years?”

His own words shocked him as the question hung in the air, his subconscious filter no longer functioning the way it was supposed to. For a second he thought maybe he’d said it in his head but he knew when you craned your neck and looked up at him, wide eyed that he’d said it aloud.

“I usually get sloshed somewhere in the city with friends but the last couple have been quiet with work and everyone else doing their own thing…”

“Maybe we could get sloshed together.” There was no point in being coy, he thought. He’d blurted it out now so he may as well shoot his shot. Carpe momentum.

“I love that idea.”

Love. The three letter word that had been on the tip of your tongue all week. You’d stopped yourself so many times in the throes of passion, when the overwhelming feeling to shout it from the rooftops almost compelled you to give in. But that would've been a superficial proclamation of love. You loved what he was doing to you, how he set your body alight and it would only complicate matters, you told yourself. And there are other words to use than the cursed one.

But here you were. Too stunned to speak. Lando quirked an eyebrow and chuckled, knowing you’d slipped up but he found himself sadistically enjoying the way you squirmed in the silence.

“I love it too.”

“Don’t push it.”

“I’m doing no such thing,” He defended, a cheeky grin plastered across his face as he placed a swift kiss to your pursed lips, “Flip over for a quickie because I’ve gotta go and pack for my flight this afternoon.”

Of course you did as you were told, leg hoisted up while he slipped on a condom, his free hand angling your head back so he could smother you in kisses as he filled you to the brim. Moaning names back and forth like a symphony and unintelligible sweet nothings, empty promises disappearing into the air as you both came, gripping sheets and skin, hands clasped together beside your dizzy head.

Goodbyes were hard. But they were even harder when you couldn’t say what you wanted to or when you didn’t have clarity on whom you were saying goodbye to. A farewell to a friend was different to a lover, different to a stranger – but Lando had it covered as you stood silently in your doorway, about to burst the bubble.

“So I’ll see ya,” He whispered before capturing your bottom lip in a sweet, meaningful kiss. It was slow, sensual. Intentional. The kind you give to a person that you know you want to see again, share this moment with again. A small reminder of what you’ll be missing and yearning for while he’s away. Longing, lasting. A teasing pinch to the ribs brought you back to reality and a breathy yelp from you broke the kiss.

“Maybe I will forget about you.” You jeered, lightly punching his tensed stomach as he laughed, instantly noticing your flushed cheeks. Lando slipped his hand down your forearm and grasped your fingers that were dangling by your side, lonely, giving them a soft, reassuring squeeze.

“You won’t.”

And in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

Nervous didn’t even begin to explain the feeling coursing through your body. On the brink of a panic attack maybe described your current state of being a little better. You were pacing up and down your kitchen, hands on hips, looking around at all of the people who you loved the most in the world. All of them smiling, having a great time, seemingly oblivious to the fact you were losing your mind.

It was New Years Eve – you should’ve been thrilled to be giving 2022 the middle finger. It hadn’t been a great year for you but the future was looking brighter each and every day now that you weren’t chained to a job that gave you nothing but a headache.

You were also, for the first time in years, in a situationship that made you happy and that person had given you more to look forward to in a few weeks than some people had given you in a lifetime. But there was one glaringly obvious gap that you were worried about. Sure, in the cloak of darkness, you could be free with Lando, be who you wanted to be but you knew there would be side glances, maybe even some snickers when they met him and now, here you were, regretting this whole party and getting yourself into such predicament.

“You might need to go and get some more booze because your friends are absolutely going for it out there,” Your co-worker and friend, Rae enthused as she walked into your kitchen, stopping when she caught you pacing neurotically and chewing on your nails, “Are you okay, babe?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Um–” Your train of thought was interrupted by the buzzing of your intercom, “I’ll get that and then go get some more drinks.”

Rae nodded and returned to the gathering out in your small but adequate courtyard, quietly worried about her friend. You had been through it these last couple of months and she only wanted the best for you – hence encouraging you to throw the party in the first place. A great excuse to get everyone you love in a room, she said – It’ll be so much fun, she said. And she was probably right, except for the fact your mind was racing a million miles an hour, contemplating whether you should message Lando and call the whole thing off.

You swung the front door open and there he was, arms filled with boxes of Strongbow cider and his roommate, Max in tow, also carrying a couple of bottles himself, “Happy New Years Eve,” Lando greeted, smiling big and giving you a quick wink as you stepped to the side and let both boys in.

“I was just about to go out and get more drinks but wow,” You sighed, watching Lando put the last of the cases in your fridge, “Absolute lifesavers.”

“Couldn’t show up empty handed,” He returned, still grinning from ear to ear, “We are great party guests.” That much was true.

You hummed and glanced over at Max who shrugged and made his way over to you for a hug, looking out at the already buzzing party, “Sorry we’re late by the way. This idiot had to change his shirt, like, 50 times…” He explained and by doing that, earned himself a swift punch in the arm.

“Not true,” Lando grumbled, garnering the attention of Rae who was waving the three of you out into the courtyard where everyone was talking amongst themselves, dancing to the loud music.

You sighed, knowing you couldn’t stay inside forever and would eventually have to do introductions, “Come out and meet everyone.”

Lando felt his heart start to race as he followed behind you, lost like a puppy but putting on a brave face for your friends. Neither of you had really been in this position yet, introducing each other as, what? Friends? Neighbours? Lovers? It was still so unclear but he was quietly pleased that it wasn’t him in the hot seat – you were probably better at this shit than him anyways, he thought.

The first time you met Max was at breakfast the morning after one of your many back to back rendezvous’, sans pants and pinned against the counter top, Lando’s hands exploring the expanse of your naked back under his hoodie. In his defence, he didn’t think anyone was home but he was wrong, so very wrong. But you carefully untangled yourself from him, tugged down the hoodie and introduced yourself to Max, amply apologising for being half-naked in his kitchen but doing so gracefully. He was in awe of how cool, calm and collected you were – you were a dream.

But this was very different. You had dozens of eyes on you, keen to meet the two men who quite frankly looked like they could’ve been university students, decked out in hoodies, jeans and sneakers. Compared to the button up shirts and dress shoes worn by your other guests, they were the odd ones out but you didn’t care and nobody else should’ve either – especially if they were truly your friends.

“Everyone – this is Lando and Max, who are my neighbours; guys, this is everyone. They brought more booze so thank them profusely please,” You laughed awkwardly and the group cheered, easing yours’ and Lando’s nerves.

A few of the husbands and boyfriends were quick to make their way over to meet Lando one-on-one. You weren’t exactly across the details but your best friend Winnie, had stalked instagram to find out everything she could about your mystery man. She was the one who had sent you his profile and you realised why he was so elusive about his career and why he had rows and rows of helmets displayed in his study. You hadn’t told him that you knew who he was, purely because it hadn’t come up but he assumed you knew. But to you, he was just Lando – your friendly neighbour who happened to be railing you every night. Not a famous, professional driver who was seemingly adored by millions, including your friends' husbands.

Rae, who was always a beacon of light, was the first to come over and introduce herself and her husband to Lando. Max had already struck up a conversation with your younger brother who had come along with his girlfriend, and little by little you could see the two newcomers blending in – crisis averted.

“It’s about time we had more people my age coming to these things,” Your brother teased, not knowing how much of a gut-punch his observation was to you. Lando noticed the way your face dropped and recovered in a split second as you collected your thoughts. Your brother was right; the median age of your friends was over 30 but pointing that out, for some reason, hurt. Crisis not averted.

“Yeah, well I’m glad you’ve made a friend.” You forced a smile. They were closer to your brothers’ age, only two years difference and it made you feel uneasy, like you were cradle snatching or doing something wrong when the reality was that you both consenting, hot blooded adults.

Just as Lando was trying to find an excuse to pull you away from the conversation, he heard your name being called from across the courtyard. A blonde woman with blindingly white teeth was waving you over, feverishly and he knew you couldn’t ignore her. And almost as if you were sharing a telepathic line, you glanced his way and sent him a sympathetic look before shuffling over to the small group huddled in the corner amongst the lush vines crawling your tall fence.

“What are you lot doing over here?” You asked with a soft chuckle punctuating your question, “You guys look like you’re having a mothers club meeting in the bushes.”

“Winnie just told us that you’re sleeping with one of them!” Monique, an old friend from university whisper-yelled, flabbergasted by the rumour, “Which one is it!?”

You flashed your eyes towards your best friend who was holding her hands up in defence, mouthing sorry but you simply sighed and looked back at the group of women who were waiting for your answer. The last thing you wanted to do was indulge them but you were stuck between a rock and hard place now, no thanks to Winnie who you thought had your back and your secret under lock and key.

“The one in the black hoodie but it’s new and don’t all look at once!”

That was wishful thinking because on cue, they all swivelled around to cop a peek, none of them being subtle in the slightest. “I cannot believe you have a boy toy,” Another one of your friends whispered, unable to read whether she was jealous or being judgemental until she punched your arm, “Lucky bitch.”

You chuckled and looked back at Monique who was tutting, “I really thought you were trying to find someone long term, hun. Don’t you want that?”

“Well, yeah I do but I didn’t expect to meet him or for any of this to happen, but it has and he’s great. I’m more open to seeing where it goes than I was a couple of weeks ago…” You confessed naively to a group of women who all had perfectly orchestrated lives. None of them could imagine striking up a relationship with a younger man.

“Sweetie, he looks like a private schoolboy who just graduated last year AND he’s famous… You can’t seriously think there’s more to it than just sex, right?” Monique asked, almost rhetorically like the answer was obviously no.

You looked over at Winne who was taking a sip of her wine and avoiding your eye line, realising as you scanned the group that all the girls were dodging you, busying themselves with a drink or the hem of their dress. All of them silently siding with Monique and you had no choice but to agree with her, holding back the tears that were pricking the corners of your eye.

You scoffed and awkwardly shuffled in place, humiliated, “No obviously not. It won’t go on much longer I wouldn’t think…” You felt nauseous.

“Thank god for that,” Monique exhaled and grasped your shoulder, “You’ll get your life back on track and find the right guy eventually, hun. You’re just going through that self-destructive phase right now where you make stupid decisions but you’ll come out of it.”

Now you really needed to go throw up.

“Sure,” You smiled through gritted teeth, “I better go check on Rae in the kitchen… I’ll be back in a minute.” The girls nodded and went back to their original conversation until you were gone, no doubt returning to that sad excuse of an intervention once you were out of earshot.

You wouldn’t be back. How could you face them after that? The niggling feeling that they would judge you if they found out about Lando had eaten away at you all day but hearing them confirm your suspicions hurt more than you could’ve ever imagined. They were supposed to be your friends and if it wasn’t for the backyard of people you were entertaining and the fact it was New Years Eve, you would’ve packed up shop and told them all to fuck off.

Instead, you had to grin and bear it, pretend like the people you thought cared about you the most hadn’t been so disappointing. You’d run upstairs, holding back tears as you stood in front of your en suite mirror, trying to find the answers. They didn’t know Lando from a stranger on the street so why did it upset you this much? Maybe it was because they were just validating the feelings you’d been suppressing since you struck up this back and forth with Lando. Maybe it was the wake up call that you needed. Maybe–

“Hey you."

You felt a gentle hand brush down your back, saving you from the spiral you were tumbling down, “I haven’t had the chance to tell you how pretty you look tonight.”

Lando’s words caused a small smile to tug on the corners of your lips as you wiped your eyes and slowly turned around in his arms, “That’s cute.”

He could tell you’d been crying, or at the very least you were visibly upset about something. And he’d noticed how quickly you retreated inside after your little pow-wow with your friends, knowing the only reason you’d run inside like that was if your puppy, Chomp had been causing trouble. But she had been attached to his feet all night; picking him as her favourite human the very first night he stayed over.

“Ah, shit,” Lando huffed, “Of course you look beautiful when you cry – I’m in big trouble,” He joked, softly, pulling you in for a cuddle and hoping he didn’t upset you any further. You stifled a laugh into his chest and he breathed a sigh of relief – soothingly brushing his hands down your back, over the denim jacket.

“I’m an ugly crier usually,” You sniffled, feeling way too vulnerable and broken to be venting to your fuck buddy of all people – you needed to shut this whole conversation down, “But I’m fine.”

“You’re obviously not,” Lando swiftly served back, standing his ground as you tried to side step him out of the bathroom, “Do you want to talk about it?”

A soft exhale slipped past your lips and you didn’t put up much of a fight because he wasn’t pushing you. And truth be told, you didn’t have the energy. Between the stress of organising the party and the uncomfortable conversations, there wasn’t a whole lot left in the tank. And Lando was here, comforting you in your moment of need. He was your knight in shining armour again – just like the night you stumbled home drunk and lost your keys. He had your back when no one else did lately and that meant something to you. More than you could articulate or really even confess to.

“I would much rather talk about how your week was. Tell me all about it while I re-do my mascara.”

Lando indulged you in the mundane of his week and revealed small details about his life that you hadn’t heard before. You’d known him for a month now and didn’t realise he had siblings – three of them, no less. And you didn’t really know the extent of his work or where he’d even gone last week but what seemed like a chore to him, sounded exciting to you. A fly-in, fly-out trip to his apartment in Monaco!? What the actual fuck, you scoffed when he told you what he'd been up to. It just showed how little you knew about the man sleeping beside you, comforting you.

“We better get back down there before people start to gossip,” You winked and pulled your bathroom door open, strutting towards the stairs. There was no way you were going to let a little drama ruin your night, not when they were the ones speaking out of turn.

“There she is,” Lando clapped, thrilled to see your confidence had returned. He was pleased that his little pep talk and distraction could bring you back to being the chill, fun-loving woman he’d started to fall for. Hiding those feelings was getting harder and harder the longer he spent time hanging out with you, ambiguously labelled.

Lando watched you gracefully float around the courtyard, chatting to friends, flashing that smile he’d loved from the second he laid eyes on you in that convenience store, pensively deciding on what sweets to buy. Max noticed his best friend longing for you and opted not to rib him for it, knowing how quickly Lando fell for a girl, especially one as brilliant as you. He was monogamous for the most part, only really dabbling in his slut era for a brief time in Monaco.

With you, he felt different. And the way you’d waltzed into his life confirmed that maybe this was fate. That you and him were meant to meet and fall in love, make a go of it. He knew he was getting ahead of himself but you were otherworldly, too good to be true. He didn’t like thinking about the latter – that thought alone making his brows furrow with concern. You were real - he’d touched you, felt nearly every part of you and right now, you were looking at him from across the cobbled courtyard, staring into his soul as you counted down to midnight.

“3, 2, 1… Happy New Year!”

Lando pointed his beer bottle your way, a silent cheers and nod following. You mirrored his action, wishing you could shuffle over and kiss his soft, smiling lips. And he wished you could too but he knew he had to bide his time, maybe stick around and use the excuse that you needed help cleaning up, hoping to god your friends were selfish enough to leave you with the mess.

And most of them were besides Rae and her husband who insisted on staying to help, like an angel sent from above. But you knew they had a long drive back to her parents’ house in Watford, choosing to spend New Years Eve with you and the next day with her family. You loved her for that and definitely couldn’t put her to work after changing her plans to keep you company. Little did she know that you had everything you really needed in your new man.

“I will see you next week, my love. Drive safe,” You kissed her cheek and gave her husband’s hand a squeeze before closing the front door and returning to the kitchen where most of the carnage was.

The only difference now was that it was just Lando standing there, hunched over the sink, sans Max who had been standing there before you walked Rae to the door. “Where did Max go?”

Lando twisted his hips and attempted to blow a curl that had fallen in his face away, hands dripping wet from the soapy water. “Uh, he had to go…” He unconvincingly replied, causing your confused expression to soften. Two could play this game.

“Rude that he didn’t say goodbye to his favourite neighbour. I’ll have to call him out next time I see him…” You trailed off, coaxing the truth out of the gorgeous man who was reaching for the tea towel you were offering, the smallest smirk creeping onto his lips.

“I may have told him to fuck off…” Lando’s voice lowered an octave as you took a step closer to him, “So we could, you know – be alone. But he was honestly fine with it and said thanks for having him…”

“Wow,” You whispered, flirtatiously. “That’s kinda devious, Norris. Didn’t think you had it in you to be so forward but I like it.”

“Yeah?”

Lando was hanging onto your every word, watching your eyes wander down his chest to his belt buckle, almost like you were sizing him up and he was twitching at the idea of you taking what you wanted. It ignited a fuse deep within and he decided to close the small gap between you – there wasn’t much room left but having you flirting with him, leaning on your bench top sparked an unexpected urge that he didn’t have before he met you. Desperation. He smoothed his hands over the soft material of your shirt, clutching your hips and tugged you into his body, pinning your backside between him and the bench before leaning in to whisper in your ear.

“I’ve been learning from the best.”

His voice was low, husky and definitely adding to the tingling sensation between your legs. The sight of him washing dishes had you soaked and now you were pathetically drenched, hoping to the heavens above that he’d fuck you senseless and stay the night. Lando leaned in and brushed his nose against yours, hovering for a second before ghosting his lips over your eager ones. He always did this – tested the waters even still now, letting you seal the first layer of consent with a kiss. You liked how respectful he was, and revelled in the feeling of being appreciated. Until you got down to business; then there were no rules – just sex.

“Show me what you’ve learned so far…”

A small chuckle slipped from Lando’s mouth as he nipped down your neck, hands making quick work of undressing you. Yours were the same – feverishly tinkering with buttons and zippers, thick cotton hoodies being thrown across the kitchen and into a pile. The short, sharp panting was the only sound in the house besides the party pumping next door, the vibration from the speaker system making the walls shake, which took you back to the night you and Lando first slept together. Those images were burned into your memory, as was this one you were about to make right here, right now.

“You are dripping wet, gorgeous.” Lando hummed into your ear as he slipped his thick fingers into your panties, stretching them out so he could feel your entire heat on his palm.

“So are you,” You whimpered, spreading his excitement over his blushing tip with your thumb and stroking him up towards your tummy, lips locked and tongues battling for dominance.

Lando had a pretty cock – a lot prettier than most of the men you’d been with, something you noted when you had him in your mouth for the first time, blowing him in the hallway of his apartment building. Clean and manicured, but not completely bare which you appreciated but would never verbalise. He had the perfect amount of everything, not too big and not too small, not too hairy, not too bald – just right.

“Wanna go upstairs?” Lando mumbled against your lips, feeling himself teetering a little too close to the edge. But you broke the kiss and shook your head as you reached down and tugged on the jeans that were sitting on his thighs.

“I wanna get a little bit spicy,” You whispered and waited for Lando to kick off his sneakers, jeans and belt following quickly after, adding to that ever-growing pile of clothes on your kitchen floor. You stood back, admiring the man who was wearing nothing but a white undershirt, standing in your kitchen. “You are ridiculously sexy.”

Lando chuckled and sauntered back over to where you were leaning against the counter, teasingly stroking himself and causing your front teeth to clamp down on your bottom lip. “You’ve done this to me,” He growled, glancing down at his achingly hard cock, cheeks flushed, eyebrow raised, “And how could you not? Look at you...”

The pit in your stomach started to twist as Lando reached out and grabbed you again; firmer than last time and wrangled you into a strong, passionate kiss. It was on – no more flirting, no more foreplay. You could tell his intentions had shifted and you were more than up for the change in pace, fingers entangled in his messy curls, harshly tugging and swallowing the moans rippling from his throat. His fingertips were brushing down your naked sides, teasing the wire on your bra before you pulled back from the kiss and turned around, arse pressed against his manhood, bent over at the waist.

“I am dreaming,” Lando breathed, hands planted firmly on your plump, ripe for the grabbing cheeks, kneading them slowly in his warm palms. You moaned at the sensation of his dick pressed against your thigh, craving more than just his touch.

So you reached behind, grasped his wrist and widened you stance a little more, hoping to give him a not so subtle hint of what you wanted, “I need you baby, I want you to take me like this.” You encouraged by moving his hand to your heat and he quickly cottoned on to what you were doing, fingertips immediately going back to work on your clit.

“Oh yeah?” Lando mocked and pressed perfectly precise kisses down your spine as he continued to pleasure himself and you with his hands. Without warning he slid his stiff cock between your folds, rubbing in slow, rhythmic strokes and grabbing your hips, the skin like putty under his fingertips, “Like this?”

Uh-huh, you moaned and gripped the cold marbled countertop – the sound of your slickness making you even wetter than you already were. Lando dragged his hands down your back as he teased you, smiling to himself knowing you couldn’t see how fucking stoked he was to have you like this, moaning his name.

“That feels amazing,” He confessed, his desire had taken over and he couldn’t even try and pretend like this wasn’t something he’d daydreamed about last week, laying in bed, hundreds of kilometres away from you. You were his fantasy and simultaneously, somehow, his reality.

Lando suddenly had the realisation that he wasn’t prepared for a spontaneous kitchen fuck and cursed himself for not thinking ahead. The last thing he wanted to do was interrupt you rocking back on him raw, arousal covering his cock so perfectly that he could slide in, as you were, way too easily but he knew better than to pull a stunt like that. He wasn’t a monster.

“Um, so I don’t have a condom on me but I can run upstairs and –

“No, it’s fine,” You quickly interrupted before craning your neck to face him, sheepishly biting your lip, “I mean, you don’t have to wear one unless you want to… I’m on birth control, have been for centuries.” Your joke garnered a stifled laugh from Lando as he nodded and gave your hip a reassuring squeeze.

“Cool.” His smirk was small as he tried to hide how stirred he was by the idea of fucking you like this, uninhibited. It was the stuff of his wildest dreams and here you were, laying it out for him on a silver platter. He was feasting like a king.

“But if you’re gonna keep teasing me like that I’ll have to take over.”

Your words snapped Lando out of his lust-filled trance, startling him a little bit and you couldn’t help but giggle at how wide-eyed he was. He looked adorable as he glanced your way and gripped the base of his cock, rolling his eyes sarcastically before teasing your hole, “Oh, I’m savouring this, sweetheart. I don’t think you understand how fucking sexy you look bent over like this and I wanna make sure I remember every little detail.”

Hmmm, you replied licking your lips and bucking your arse back for dramatic effect, “Who said this would be the last time you get to have me like this, huh? Because I can definitely see it happening again if you fuck me good.”

Lando smiled wickedly as he put you out of your misery and pushed forward into your tight, warm pussy but his expression quickly fell into concentration the deeper he went, feeling you clenching around his swollen dick. That first thrust was the toughest to overcome after such an arousing build up, every bit of will power being summoned but you took him by surprise and pushed back slowly, teasing yourself and Lando in one smooth stroke.

“You take me so good, baby.” He growled, watching as he disappeared into you. The sweet slap of skin colliding.

A small chuckle slipped from your parted lips at the compliment, confidence always skyrocketing through the roof when you had him like this. In the short amount of time knowing Lando, you’d learned that he liked to praise and be praised, which was right up your street. You loved it too and it’d become a big part of your sex life with him, egging each other on, heating things up.

“Keep fucking me with that perfect dick, just like that…” You groaned at the deep, languid strokes Lando was doing you with, the pace fastening and making your knees buckle and hands shake.

Whispered words of encouragement filled the air, mixed with the sound of skin slapping and loud moans echoing through the dark, empty apartment. You were perspiring even though it was cold outside, both panting through batted breath, trying to hold onto your highs as the surge of pleasure ripped down your spine. It was nearly impossible with the practically pornographic sounds slipping from Lando’s throat and the pace he was setting. Your head was spinning.

Lando’s hips were snapping hard against your arse, fingertips almost definitely leaving bruises on your doughy hips, making sure you felt every single inch of his dick slamming into your cunt. You had reached back and gripped his wrist, white knuckling his tanned skin; you needed something to hold onto as you fought back, feeling his soft tip hitting that sweet spot he always seemed to find for you, causing a loud, animalistic groan to slip from your parted lips.

“Jesus Christ, Lando. Just like that, just like that, just like that! Don’t fucking stop!”

“I won’t,” He breathed, albeit knowing that he wasn’t going to be able to keep up the speed much longer but unrelenting in his movements, praying that he was doing you the way you deserved. Giving it his all and more until you let go of his wrist and placed your fingertips on his abdomen, slowing him down.

“I’m really fucking close,” You warned, whimpering through the tangled hair that had fallen in your face, circling your hips and trying to unlock the primal instinct you knew Lando had, “You feel so good inside me, baby.”

With those words whispered, you pushed yourself up from the counter and craned your neck around so you could press a sloppy kiss to Lando’s lips. His hands came around and settled on your stomach, cock buried deep inside you, warming and stilled as he explored your mouth with his tongue. You pulled away and brushed your nose with his, trying to find the right words as your fingernails scratched the back of his neck, twirling his damp curls.

“I want to feel you deeper,” You whispered and Lando’s eyebrows crinkled with confusion, “I’ve only got what I’m working with, baby…” He joked back, making you chuckle into his jaw.

“That’s not what I mean…”

Lando shrugged as you bent back over and hoisted your knee up onto the countertop, “Just go slow and see how deep you can go.”

“Oh my fuuucking god,” Lando whined as he caught sight of you spread out for him, hustling him to fuck you as deep as he possibly could. A simple request but it was nearly enough to trigger his high as he closed his eyes and dove back into your tightness, inch by inch disappearing until you screamed out his name in pleasure. The angle was so sweet that you could already feel the knot twisting in the pit of your stomach, testing your ability to chase it.

“That’s it,” You barely choked out, “Holy shit that feels good.”

Lando found his toe-curling rhythm again, knowing that this was it. He wasn’t going to be able to keep this up, not when you rutted back on his dick, chasing your high and grappling around his throbbing cock like your life depended on it. And you were right there with him, restlessly moaning underneath him, thrashing through your orgasm and barely even feeling the mighty crescendo in the end because of the unintentional overstimulation you’d caused. But fuck it felt extraordinary.

“Oh god – oh, fuck!” Lando shouted loudly, his high also catching him by surprise as he came, fucking out every last drop he had before he even registered what had happened. He stilled inside you, not moving before he looked down and realised what he’d done, immediately jumping back and pulling out; warm, sticky liquid dripping down your thigh, leaving you feeling empty.

“Shit! Oh my god, I’m so fucking sorry…” Lando panicked as you stood up straight and reached behind him for a tissue, watching you with his hands on his head, unable to comprehend how stupid he was.

“Hey, it’s okay…” You whispered and reached out for his hand as you swiftly cleaned yourself up. He needed reassurance and that he had nothing to be sorry for but you couldn’t help but crack a small, harmless joke to settle his nerves. “Happens to the best of us.”

Lando exhaled deeply as you threw the tissue in the bin and tugged him closer into your trembling body, lowering your voice with a smirk and squeezing his shaky hand, “Can I tell you a little secret?”

He nodded and let your soft expression wash over him, finally feeling like he could breathe for the first time since he left your warmth, “I really liked it.”

“Really?” Lando asked, heart racing and dick twitching again at your words as you nodded, dancing your fingers over his cotton-clad chest, “A lot.”

“Fuck,” He mumbled under his breath, “I’m still sorry though. I just lost control and forgot where I was… So awkward.” He chuckled the last part and felt his cheeks burning up from embarrassment, cursing his body for the betrayal.

“Well, I’m going to take that as a compliment.” You smiled proudly and threw your arms around Lando’s shoulders, linking them behind his neck before trawling your fingers through his gorgeously tousled curls.

“I was just so bloody good you couldn’t wait to come. Absolute pro.”

“Exactly…” He laughed and pressed a strong kiss to your lips, “And you said you wanted me deeper so I was just following your orders.”

“Love that… love you,” You sighed and returned the kiss, oblivious to the words you just muttered out loud. Lando heard them clear as day.

“Did you just say you loved me?” He asked incredulously, hiding the smile threatening to show on his red, puffy lips.

You paused, unable to really explain away the words that had just slipped out without you even knowing, “Um… I…”

“Because I’m fallin’ in love with you.”

Lando was stoic in his admission and it took you back a little. The whole “no strings attached” rulebook had been thrown out the window and here you were, standing in your kitchen half-naked, declaring your love for one another in the middle of the night. It was unorthodox but everything so far in your situationship with Lando had been from the moment you met. Why should affirming your affections be any different?

“I’m falling in love with you too.”

Your voice was barely a whisper as Lando strengthened his hold around your waist, chests pinned against each other. He simply nodded and placed a gentle kiss to your forehead, “Awesome.” He whispered back, smile tugging on the corners of his lips, “So now that we have that sorted, do you wanna go upstairs and show me how much you love me?”

“Don’t push it,” You nudged, face scrunched and shyly buried into Lando’s chest.

For the first time in a long time, you felt safe. And maybe you didn’t need all the wisdom and baggage that came with someone older, someone who had already lived a life. In contrast, Lando was exciting and living life to the fullest, travelling the world, seeing it all and not burdened by responsibility.

But that’s what made him the dangerous choice. He wasn’t always going to be around when you needed him, longed for him. There was nothing chaining him to London and he’d expressed how much he loved his freedom but maybe you could change that. But then you would be changing him and you didn’t want to do that, you weren’t that kind of partner. You couldn’t make that decision for him nor did you want to. All these insecurities and fears swirled around in your head as you fell asleep in Lando's warm embrace, limbs tangled together like a web, tender between your thighs and an ache in your heart.

You were falling in love with him; that much was true but what would the cost be of handing your heart over to someone who had the world at his feet, everything still to experience?

Was the hope of being in love enough?

click here for part three

a/n – i finally got it done, ya'll! there will be a third and final part to this story but don't ask me when because i don't know. instead, give me your thoughts about this part and if you want more of lando in upcoming one-shots etc. lemme know!

#lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris smut #lando norris one shot #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 one #formula 1 one shot #formula 1 #lando norris x reader #f1 x reader #monzamashmasterlist #what could’ve been pt 2 fic #lando norris fanfic

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egcdeath · 2 years

Text

sunday kind of love

request: I'm still so so so in love with jake lockely, and wanted to request something with him and his girl being domestic af, like going to the night market together to get stuff for a late dinner, him not letting her get an uber because he's the best, dancing with her in the kitchen while it cooks 🥺 you're so good at writing intimacy it kills me honestly (in a good way)

pairing: jake lockley x reader

summary: a glimpse into the best and most domestic day of the week for jake and the reader.

word count: 5.1k

warnings: SO MUCH FLUFF!! you will need to see your dentist after this, domesticity, playful nagging, a lot of references to food idk why, dialogue heavy towards the end, really really soft, not beta read

author's note: i want to preface this by saying that jake is ooc. to be fair we’ve seen like 3 minutes of him in canon, but he is just a big old teddy bear softie in this fic who loves his gf more than anything. this fic involves the same couple from love in bloom. i wrote it with them being together for at least a few years in mind, but it’s really up to interpretation, and you definitely don’t have to read that before you read this fic! i hope you enjoy.

Saturdays used to be your favorite day of the week; that was, until you fell into your Sunday routine with Jake.

You woke up to the rhythmic snoring of the sleeping man beside you, the familiar vibrations from his chest rattling through your own body, fueling your reluctance as you slowly and quietly slipped out of bed, attempting to escape the heavy arm laid across your own chest. Despite the knowledge that he often slept like a rock, you made sure to avoid your one creaky floorboard as you escaped your bedroom.

Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you evaluated the ingredients you’d picked up from the farmer’s market just a day prior before turning on a playlist of some of yours and Jake’s favorite music.

It was almost alarming how easily you’d fallen into a familiar rhythm with the man—beginning with routine visits to the market on the weekend, to second, third, and countless other dates, then escalating into spending more time at each other’s places together, and collaborating on little things together when you couldn’t be together, like watching the most recent season of Acapulco Shore while sending texts with commentary to each other, or adding a song you thought he might like to your shared playlist. Falling for Jake, and loving him, was easy—something you frequently thought about, like now, as you evaluated your pantry and fridge for something nice for your partner to wake up to.

You eventually settled on dressing up some avocado toast on Jake’s favorite artisanal sourdough, and got right to work with washing and cutting produce, along with arranging the avocado in a manner that was simply unnecessary—although, as you’d learned, it was the little details that Jake appreciated. Singing under your breath along to a song that Jake had added to the playlist, you found yourself focused and lost in making a clean green spiral of avocado slices.

“Morning,” Jake said raspily, voice low and groggy from sleep. He casually snaked his arms around your hips as he approached you, setting his head on your shoulder, giving you the tiniest start. You couldn’t deny that one of your favorite parts of spending the weekend with Jake lied in how you kicked off the morning. The back hug and cheek kiss was now a classic move, one you always looked forward to while you stood alone in your kitchen, despite the tiny scare it always seemed to give you.

“‘m glad you finally decided to wake up,” you teased, setting down the butter knife in your hand that you’d been using to design your own toast, and reaching up to gently scratch the stubble on the cheek next to yours.

“It’s hard for me to get my beauty sleep without my girl,” he shot back, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. You fought (and lost) a smile as his stubble gently rubbed against your face, a familiar comfort that seemed to make your heart leap no matter how many times you felt it.

“I dunno, you still look pretty beautiful to me,” you shrugged, reaching back down to the cutting board to grab a washed strawberry by its stem before holding it up to Jake’s mouth for him to bite while you held your free hand under his chin in order to catch any mess. “Open.”

Jake gladly took your strawberry offering and practically purred. “Delicious. But not as sweet as you, cariño.”

“Shut up,” you laughed, watching Jake with nothing short of hearts in your eyes as he shuffled away from you and made somewhat of a beeline to your Keurig. You paid him no mind as you moved over to your stovetop to work on cooking eggs to go on top of your toast. “Did you sleep well?”

“I’d sleep better if you didn’t leave me,” he sighed dramatically, grabbing two mugs and coffee pods as the machine gurgled at him in a frankly uncouth manner.

“I was gone for like, ten minutes tops. You’re just clingy,” you teased right back, setting a lid on top of the popping skillet.

“Can you blame me for wanting to spend every second of the day con mi corazón?” Jake questioned, walking to your fridge and grabbing your respective creamers. “You’d be complaining too if one of your major organs got up and left you alone in the middle of the night.”

You scoffed playfully, “It was nine in the morning! I’m tired of this honeymoon phase. Will you ever stop being lovesick?” you whined, setting your hands on your hips as Jake took a detour to snatch yet another strawberry off the cutting board on his way back to your now fully functioning coffee machine.

“Unfortunately no. Doc says it’s chronic. I may never recover,” he sighed, adding the creamer and sugar to your piping hot drink in just the way he knew you liked it. “And Doc told me that the only temporary cure is for you to stay in bed with me all night.”

“That’s too bad,” you feigned disappointment, sliding the now over-easy egg onto Jake’s overdressed toast. “I guess I’ll sacrifice the possibility of ever bringing you breakfast in bed. Those are just the kinds of things you do when you love someone.”

You made quick work of putting finishing touches on the slice before grabbing your plates and heading over to the table.

“Eh, I’ll live,” he shrugged, setting your mug in front of you, then leaning down for a quick kiss that you gladly returned. “Everything looks amazing. You’re amazing.”

You shook your head fondly, “sit down and eat before I make you take me to the dentist for being so sweet.”

—

There was never a dull moment between the two of you, which was why something as simple as doing the dishes had somehow managed to become a ‘moment.’

It all began when Jake insisted that he do the dishes, as he often did, followed by you protesting (as you often did); something about you being a good host and him being a good guest. Either way, it ended with you at the sink, and Jake on drying duty standing in a comfortable silence as your joint playlist flipped through some of your favorite songs.

Eventually, one slow song in particular popped onto your speaker, eliciting a soft gasp from the both of you— one that said ‘This is our song!’ without really having to say anything at all.

All at once, the fork in your hand fell into the basin of the sink, and Jake set the partially dried mug onto your countertop. You gave each other a certain look, and Jake reached out an expecting hand, one that you gladly took.

He pulled you close to him and hummed softly along to the words as he wrapped his arms around your waist once more and softly swayed you along to the music.

You draped your arms around his neck and wordlessly grinned up at the man who seemed just as happy as you to be dancing along to the song that had grown to have so much meaning to the two of you.

Catching you off guard, Jake lifted an arm, encouraging you to do a little twirl in the tight space of your apartment dance floor, and twirl you did, returning to him with a giggle as his ever passionate eyes locked on yours, as if you were the only person in the entire world.

You held on tight to Jake once more, heart (and body) practically melting as he sang the last few lines of the song to you, maintaining that intense, yet adoring eye contact before he leaned down once more to give you a soft, tender kiss.

Jake stepped on your foot a few times, and you’d be lying if you said that you didn’t catch your own on his, but standing in your kitchen, swaying along to your song, there was no place on Earth that you’d rather be.

—

There were only so many times that you could playfully tell one another that you didn’t smell the best until you finally had to do something about it, so it was no surprise when you and Jake ended up in the shower together, somewhere between comfortably and uncomfortably cramped between the tile of the wall and the flimsy curtain.

Showering together had become yet another staple in your Sunday routine—something about saving energy and money on a water bill, or maximizing your time together. In reality, you knew there was nothing Jake looked forward to more than the intimacy of something as simple as a joint shower… and the promise of a thorough scalp massage just happened to be a bonus.

You lathered up your hands in your favorite lavender body wash and gently massaged the suds into Jake’s back, smiling to yourself when he unconsciously let out the sigh and tension that his body had been holding onto.

“When are you gonna let me take you out to get a real massage?” you asked, running your hands up to his slowly untenseing shoulders.

“Never. You do a good enough job,” you could practically hear the bliss in his voice as you both cleaned and kneaded his back.

“While I appreciate the flattery, I promise you that once a professional gives you one, you’ll never go back,” you lightly ran your nails down his back before passing off the body wash for him to take care of the rest of himself while you worked on shampooing his hair.

“You’re perfectly adequate enough for me,” he countered as you rubbed the product into his scalp. “And if you keep that up, I’m going to fall asleep.”

“Hey! You’re not allowed to fall asleep before you lather me up. Those are the shower rules,” you paused from your scalp massaging to peek around Jake’s torso, and didn’t miss the slightly too relaxed expression on his face. “I’m serious, Jake. I’ll make the water freezing cold right now if I must.”

“Fine, fine. Turn around,” he ordered, voice slightly more alert from the new threat of a cold shower. You gladly followed his direction, pleasantly humming to yourself as Jake rubbed soothing suds onto your body.

“Stop, you know I’m ticklish there!” you laughed, attempting to slap away your partner’s hand as he unnecessarily emphasized rubbing on your neck. Jake’s laughter joined with yours, the sound of your shared giggling filling up the room. “You have one more strike, Jake Lockley,” you threatened emptily.

“Yeah? Or what?”

“Or you’ll be showering alone for the rest of your life,” you snapped back, suddenly reaching for the sides of his torso, eliciting a mixture of Spanish curses and laughter as you tickled him back in his most vulnerable spot.

“Okay, okay, I get it, we’re even now,” he wheezed out, grabbing your hands to stop you. “I don’t even know if I want to shower with you anymore.”

“I don’t believe that coming from the biggest shower sap in the entire universe,” you looked up at him expectantly, using your joined hands to wipe out some of the water in your eyes. “You come here every weekend practically begging for a shower and massage.”

“Fine, you got me there.” Jake conceded. “It’s time for you to rinse, though. I’m starting to prune up.”

You nodded in agreement before awkwardly shuffling around so you could rinse yourself off at a somewhat better angle, and you cringed at the heat. “I’ll never understand why you need it so hot. Are you trying to boil us to death?”

“Hey, I just like my showers hot,” he defended. “But I guess dying with you is my ideal way to go.”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to lightly hit his chest. “You are something else.”

—

“One day we’re gonna move into a place with two sinks,” you mumbled against the toothbrush in your mouth. “I can’t go much longer like this,” you glanced up at Jake in the mirror, fighting laughter as you peered at his foamy mouth and ridiculous appearance with just his waist wrapped in a towel.

“Why? You don’t like being close like this?” Jake asked, gently bumping his hip against yours and smirking at you through the mirror.

“Something like that,” you muttered back, spitting out the remaining toothpaste and reaching across your countertop to grab a roll of floss.

“Are you asking me to move in with you?” Jake asked after a beat as he watched you quietly floss your teeth.

You shrugged cavalierly, but the heat practically radiating off of you betrayed your true feelings on the matter, and it certainly didn’t help that Jake was standing so close to you. The truth of the matter was that you would love to move with him, maybe go upstate and have a pet and a garden, and eventually even children—but for now you were just enjoying your Sunday with the man you loved in a bathroom that was far too cramped to comfortably brush, let alone floss your teeth—and that was plenty for you.

Besides, Jake knew what you really wanted regardless of what you did or didn’t say.

—

Rain lightly pelted against the living room windows, a soft soundtrack of serenity that contrasted awfully well with the overdramatic reality show playing out on the television while Jake laid against your chest, half-lidded eyes falling closed every now and then as you ran your fingers through his curls and occasionally scratched his scalp.

“This is just ridiculous,” you murmured, glancing down at Jake as you aimed your commentary toward him. “Can you believe they’re doing all of this for fucking Flavor Flav?”

Jake grunted out a sound of agreement, not really processing anything you’d just said as he was clearly much more interested in being spooned and having his hair played with than the trashy television playing in front of you.

“Having a good time?” you asked with a cheeky grin, obviously picking up on his distraction.

“With you? Always,” he hummed. “I’m not having a good time with Pumpkin, though. She needs to leave New York alone.”

“Right?!” you laughed. “You just get it. I’m glad I have you to indulge me in my shitty shows.”

“I feel like you’re indulging me. These have always been a guilty pleasure of mine,” he confessed.

“Really?” you asked with raised brows. “I never would have guessed. Really! I’m not being sarcastic or anything.”

“I guess our terrible television taste makes us the perfect pair,” he suggested.

“Yeah, just our television taste,” you retorted, amusement ever present in your voice.

—-

While your local grocery store was no farmers market, it was nice to grab a few pantry staples for the week at a much more understandable price. It also just so happened that you had an extra pair of hands and an Uber driver to assist you during your weekly trip.

You happily strolled through aisles, tossing whatever looked right into the basket that Jake was faithfully following you around with through the store.

“You’re doing a great job sticking to your list,” Jake teased as you checked off pasta from your list after tossing various other grains that were not exactly pasta into your basket.

“Thank you,” you gave him a tight smile. “Y’know, it didn’t always used to be like this.”

“Really? Tell me more,” you gave the back of the cart a little tug to let him know that you were on the move once more.

“Alright, once upon a time, long, long ago, only one person lived in my home for all seven days a week—me,” you continued to guide him to a checkout lane. “But then, one day, a man, a very handsome and lovable one, ended up essentially moving in for two of those seven days. And my pantry could no longer keep up with those two mouths. Especially when the handsome dork thinks that finding a bunch of ingredients and cooking together is the ideal date.”

“Is it not?” Jake asked, setting one of the fully checked out and packed bags into your cart. “I understand now. I’ll never question you ever again.”

“Stop,” you laughed, grabbing the next bag from the cashier. “You don’t have to stop questioning me, you just have to stop judging me.”

“I’m never judging you! Just making observations.”

“You’ve done enough damage today. There’s no coming back from the things you’ve said in the walls of this store.”

—

Sundays were a day of domestic chores, which meant laundry, and ever since Jake started staying with you more often— a lot of it.

You were fortunate enough to have your own washer and dryer in a practically microscopic closet next to your kitchen, meaning that you had a more than ideal view of Jake working on your next meal as you fidgeted with the settings on your washing machine.

You attempted not to pay him too much mind as you moved one load of clothes into the dryer, but the very obvious scent of burning herbs was too much to ignore.

“What’cha doin’ Jake?” you questioned, wandering over to him as he peered into the oven.

He looked back at you and gave you a guilty half-smile, eyes shifting back to the mystery item in the oven. “Just admiring the view.”

“The oven view?” you asked, already slipping on a mit and maneuvering yourself in front of the appliance.

“The you view, pretty girl,” he attempted, knowing that neither of you were buying his words.

“Mhm. You’re a cute liar,” you laughed, opening the oven and coughing as a mixture of steam and the stench of a burnt item hit your nose.

—

“Come run another errand with me,” you asked as you finished folding up the last of your laundry. Jake peeked out from the closet and raised a curious brow at you.

“What’re we doing?” he questioned, hooking one last piece of clothing onto the valet rod before flopping onto his back atop your bed.

“It’s a surprise,” you sat down on your knees next to him and leaned over his face.

“I’m scared,” he countered, the dopey, lovesick smile on his face not matching his comment at all.

“Trust me,” you reached down and grabbed his hand, giving it a little squeeze. “It’ll be fun. It’s just a surprise. You trust me, right?”

“I do, but when you keep bringing up trust it makes me not want to trust you,” he laughed.

“Fine. Don’t trust me. Just trust that you’re gonna have a good time.”

“Hey! I never said I don’t trust you! I would trust you with my life, and even more.”

“I’m convinced you really will never grow out of being a lovesick sap,” you teased, pushing down that warm and fuzzy feeling in your stomach in favor of nuzzling his nose.

—

“I love when you drive my car,” Jake commented as you parked in a spot of the mystery location.

You really didn’t drive too often, only when you had a secret date you’d planned that you didn’t want to have spoiled by Google Maps. Other than that, Jake practically insisted on being your chauffeur, even when it came to mundane tasks, like a trip to the hair salon on a Tuesday afternoon.

“Stop being sarcastic,” you scolded, your tone not matching the silly smile you shot Jake.

“I’m not! It’s very endearing,” he countered, grabbing his wallet from the center console. “So what is this mystery errand?”

“We’re at a night market! They have a bunch of vendors selling neat things they made, and a ton of street food, since lunch was kinda a flop.”

“So it’s like the farmer’s market?”

“Yeah, but at night. So it’s different.”

“Sounds different and fun,” he concurred. “What are the odds we’ll need an umbrella at this market?”

“Slim to none, since it stopped raining hours ago. But we will be outside.”

“It stopped raining hours ago, but the sky looks ominous as hell right now.”

“It’s only like that because it’s late. And because of pollution.”

“Mhm, sure.”

“I’ll bet you that it doesn’t rain.”

“And what do I get when I win this bet?”

“Prizes are to be determined. But don’t hold your breath. There will be no rain.”

“I’m sure,” Jake nodded as he reached into his backseat to grab an umbrella. “Just in case.”

“You won’t need it, but okay. Come on,” you popped out of the car, hurried around the front, and opened Jake’s door for him as well. “M’lady.”

“Keeping chivalry alive as always,” he mused as he slipped out of the car.

Jake slipped his hand into yours and you gladly wove your fingers together—a comforting and familiar motion that seemed to warm you up from the inside out— before you led him into the entrance of the market.

It started with one droplet hitting your cheek as you stood in line to pick up bao that was allegedly the best in town, then another, and suddenly it was as if all hell broke loose from the heavens above. You both glanced up at the sky in a synchronized act, then back down at each other.

In one quick moment, Jake had popped open the umbrella and held it over both of your heads before too much rain had the opportunity to drench the two of you.

“Start thinking of what I’ll get for winning our little bet,” he goaded, shifting the umbrella slightly further over to you to ensure that you wouldn’t get too wet.

“It seems like you’re already having enough fun with bragging rights that you really don’t need a reward,” you shot back, moving in closer to him to attempt to avoid getting too wet, as it turned out that the umbrella was not quite big enough for two people.

“I’ll gladly take your permission to bring this up at every opportunity I get,” Jake continued on, perking up when your names were called with food. “Why don’t you go find us seating and I’ll grab our food? You can take the umbrella.”

You nodded, taking the umbrella and briefly basking in only being a little wet before hurrying off to find a seating area with some kind of roof.

After searching a good amount, you stumbled upon a little tent with only a few people scattered about, sitting at various different tables. It wasn’t too long before Jake showed up in the tent, lifting up one of the little paper trays as if he were waving at you with it. You could’ve sworn that man had a sixth sense for where you were located, but you weren’t particularly mad about it.

Your partner walked up to you, pretty much drenched from the less than pleasant weather. He sighed out something that seemed like relief as he sat down next to you, passed you your similarly damp food and wasted no time getting straight to business.

“This is really good,” Jake commented between ravenous bites. “Here, try mine,” he held up his bao to you and you took a bite, humming pleasantly at its flavor.

“Okay, okay, try mine,” you held one of yours up to his face, and didn’t miss that his eyes lit up after taking a little bite. “Wanna swap?”

He gave you a smile that said a thousand words, and you gladly switched the paper trays in front of you. “You know me so well,” Jake hummed, extremely content as he finished off your order.

As you sat, the cold wind and a stray drizzle of rain continued to batter you, despite you being under the overhead safety of a tent. You couldn’t help but shiver as you and Jake played Words with Friends, attempting to wait out the rain.

“Are you cold?” he asked, wrapping an arm around your hip and pulling you closer to his side in an attempt to share some of his warmth.

Jake’s observance was both a blessing and a curse. Sure, you were shivering a little, but it really wasn’t that bad. And since you were showing any sign of discomfort, you had a feeling you knew the direction of this conversation.

“I’m okay,” you dismissed.

“No,” he countered stubbornly, already shrugging off the shoulders of his jacket in preparation of draping it around you.

“Jake,” you whined.

“No, really. I was overheating. You feel the heat radiating off of me, right? Why not share some of the heat with my girl?”

There was no other protest you could make, as Jake was already slipping his surprisingly warm jacket around you.

A few rounds of your game and facetious arguments later, the rain still hadn’t cleared up. You were usually quite patient, but the thought of getting out of your wet clothes and laying in your warm bed was far too exciting of a prospect to stay under the shelter for one minute longer than you needed to.

“Think we should just brave it?” Jake asked as if he could read your mind.

“Please. I was literally about to ask you the same thing,” you both were already getting out from your seats as you spoke.

“What’s our plan here? Duck and run?” Jake asked, already popping the umbrella back up.

“I think so. And my honest opinion is that the umbrella is only going to slow us down. We need to raw it.”

“Ew,” he cringed at your word choice, and began to fold the umbrella back down. “But you’re right about it slowing us down. Okay, let’s go.”

You two looked at each other and took a dramatic deep breath before grabbing one another’s hand and rushing out from under the tent.

You had an idea of just how ridiculous the two of you must’ve looked, holding hands and running in the rain as an umbrella dangled off of your wrist, but you would be lying if you didn’t admit just how fun it was.

It was surprisingly easy to find your vehicle, but before you could slip into the passenger side, Jake grabbed you by your waist and pulled you into a rather dramatic and surprisingly passionate kiss.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” he gasped breathlessly, winded from both running and kissing you so intensely.

“Rom-com kiss? I think we can both cross that off of our bucket lists,” you giggled, pecking his lips once more before getting into the car.

“That was fun. We should do it again sometime,” Jake chimed as he sat down next to you, immediately blasting the heat in the car.

“I think we have different definitions of fun,” you panted.

—-

It was a miracle that Jake had managed to stay over so long, usually opting to leave your apartment sometime in the evening with a gentle kiss and a promise to be back the following weekend. But not tonight. Following a second shower together—the result of getting so damp at the night market—Jake followed you to bed and laid on his side as he watched you get a book out and try to relax your mind enough to fall asleep.

You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t love when he decided to stay over an extra night, or that you didn’t love when he got into one of his ‘lost puppy dog’ moods where all he wanted to do was follow you around and be close to you. Hence, why you didn’t comment on him laying his head on your stomach while you attempted to read, despite the action distracting you every time you noticed the heap of wet curls sticking out from the top of your book.

“Would you marry me someday?” he asked out of the blue, looking up at you from where his head was resting on your stomach.

You would be taken aback, but it wasn’t the first time one of you pulled out a future card after a long day of domestic bliss.

“What do you think?” you asked, setting your book down on your bedside table.

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you,” the earnest look on his face telling you that he genuinely was curious—if not a little concerned—about what your answer would be.

“We’re practically a married couple already,” you slipped your hands down to cup his face. “Some of my friends think we’ve been engaged for months. I’ve received texts asking why they haven’t been invited to the ceremony.”

You both chuckle at that, Jake’s sounding slightly more nervous than your own. You rubbed at his forehead gently with your thumb, as if you could wipe away his worry lines.

“Please don’t look so anxious. I will marry you someday. Hell, if you proposed to me right now, I would find a minister online and marry you in this bed at this very moment. How else are we gonna have two and a half kids, a few cats and dogs, and a garden full of meaningful flowers in our suburban upstate home?”

“We could be lifelong partners…?”

“Shh,” you cooed before beckoning him closer to you. “C’mere.”

Jake readjusted himself so he could properly spoon you, giving you a second to hit your bedside lamp before wrapping his arms and body around you.

“That wasn’t you proposing to me, was it?” you asked, your hands finding his as you cuddled.

“No! No. I just wanted to gauge how you feel about me.”

“You really think I would say no to marrying you?”

“Possibly.”

“Jake!”

“I just come with a lot of baggage, you know? Seeing each other is one thing, but marriage?”

You rolled over a bit awkwardly so you could properly face the man. “I would spend the rest of my life with you if you had three eyes, a tail, and were the owner of the baggage factory. We all have our things. I don’t love you any less because of it.”

Jake sighed, and you weren’t quite sure whether it was a sigh of relief or surrender.

“It’s true. Really. You need to worry less about whether or not I’d say yes, and worry more about how you’re gonna propose. I love you, but asking to get married while I’m trying to read before bed isn’t gonna cut it. I might end up thinking it’s a dream.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Maybe even add it to my proposal notebook.”

“You have a notebook on how you’re gonna propose to me?”

“Maybe…” he drew the word out.

“You are so…” you broke out into laughter. “I don’t even know. I just adore you.”

“Would it be redundant to say that I adore you?”

“Maybe a little bit. But I wanna hear it anyway.”

“I adore you. I truly love you to the moon and back,” he hummed, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Mm, music to my ears,” you yawned sleepily. “I love you too. Sweet dreams.”

“With you? Always.”

#jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #jake lockely x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #moon knight x reader #moon knight

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promptsforyourwhumpfic · 11 months

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Whump Prompt #1137

I don’t think people quite understand how miserable misophonia is.

It’s the nausea that comes with sounds that you know people can’t help but make. It’s the coughing that puts your teeth on edge, the crinkling of paper that makes you furious. It’s the too-loud TV that makes you want to scream and the voices with hissing ‘s’ sounds that make you want to vomit. It’s the chewing and heavy breathing and scratching of cutlery that destroys your appetite. It’s the constantly creaking floorboards that awaken a panicked rage in you when you’re just trying to breathe.

It’s the overstimulation when your headphones are too loud but not loud enough as the usually predictable songs grate against your brain.

It’s the inability to get comfortable in your usual safe space.

It’s the tears of frustration and headaches that form because no one gets it. You can’t talk about it because it’s unreasonable. You can’t ask someone to stop because they get defensive/see no issue.

It’s miserable.

Maybe this is something your whumpee experiences from so much time spent alone/in isolation. Maybe they inadvertently isolate themselves further, as they can’t stand to be around the people they love through no fault of their own (taking their meals to their room etc).

#misophonia #whump #writing prompts #writing #prompts #angst #psychological Whump #breakdowns #tw: emetophobia #tw: vomiting #projecting once again #neurodivergence

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trick-r-treat421 · 2 months

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Chapter 1

Riley’s POV:

I was in a surprisingly peaceful sleep when I felt soft fur against my face then the gentle nudge and lick. It’s the morning ritual I’ve grown accustomed to. “Good morning, Hades.” I groggily say to my three-year-old black German Shepherd who has oh so rudely decided it’s time to get up.

I roll over rubbing the sleep from my eyes to see the soft glow of the morning light filtering in through my window. Picking my phone up from the nightstand it reads 7:26 am October 13th. Sighing, I swing my feet to the edge of my bed and proceed to start our normal morning routines.

A short time later I step out onto my back deck to let Hades do his business, my hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee. I’m immediately hit with a warm breeze and realize just how comfortable it feels. Pulling my phone from the pocket of my pajama pants, I check the weather app where it predicts it to be an exceptionally warm day. Luckily, it’s one of my days off from my boring, dead-end customer service job. It’s been a major stressor for me lately and I’m ecstatic to avoid that hell hole even if just for today.

I mindlessly scroll random apps as I sip my coffee, enjoying the sun’s rays on my pale skin as my boy gets all his overnight zoomies out. Just as I sip the last of the coffee from my mug, he comes running back up sitting beside me, tongue out, panting. “Hey, handsome boy of mine. I know we usually take walks around the neighborhood on my days off but how’d you like to go to the park instead?” I ask, scratching behind his ear, getting only a gruff woof and tail wag in agreement. “Perfect!” I exclaim before we walk back inside.

I spend a few hours working around the house tidying a bit and starting some laundry while singing (ok more like screaming) and dancing around the cozy bungalow I call my home, all while the songs boom through the Bluetooth speakers. Hades tilted his head or huffed at me occasionally from his oversized dog bed in the living room. “You know you love it!” I tease as I pass by, stopping to give him a few good belly scratches.

I quickly shower before stepping out into the steamy bathroom, grabbing one of my oversized towels from the rack and wrapping it around my small frame. I pull my paddle brush through the tangles that are my shoulder-length black hair, then twist another towel around it, pushing it onto the top of my head and retreating to my room. I fall back onto my queen bed, my arms spreading as I lean back, and stay that way for a while, closing my eyes and preparing myself to venture out.

Eventually, I push myself up and go over to my dresser. I pull out a black thong and lace bralette then a pair of black leggings and my go-to comfy, faded, grey Guns N’ Roses shirt I’ve cut into a crop top. After getting dressed, I return to the bathroom to pull my hair into a low loose ponytail, leaving a few strands out to frame my face. I stare at myself in the mirror above my sink, sighing at the sight but I don’t bother putting on makeup. I’m too tired to care and it’s not like I’m out to impress anyone. Dropping my gaze, I push myself away from the counter and head back towards the kitchen to prepare everything Hades and I will need for the park.

Half an hour later we’re pulling into my favorite park. I reach back to clip on Hades’ leash, grab my crossbody bag from the passenger floorboard, and then exit the SUV. We stop to grab the blanket from the back hatch of my grey 2010 Nissan Xterra before making our way down the sidewalk.

As expected, the park was alive with the sounds of nature and people out enjoying the weather. It took us a few minutes, but we managed to find a nice shady spot under a tall oak tree that’s adjacent to the large field where people lounge and play. I release Hades and tell him to stay as I work to spread out my black and white buffalo plaid blanket and begin unpacking for a relaxing afternoon.

It didn’t take long before we got comfortable. I lay on my stomach, my legs bent at the knee, casually swinging back and forth through the air. I’ve got my sticker-covered tumbler and a Tupperware full of fresh-cut fruit (ok mostly strawberries) on one side of me. A book was spread in front of me, my eyes skimming over the pages from behind my oversized sunglasses. Hades had posted up near the edge of the blanket on my other side as he went to town on his large red Kong toy, his travel bowl full of water next to him.

I’d lost track of time, completely caught up in my reading, most of my fruit picked over and eaten. Hades had long given up on his toy and was almost asleep when suddenly he perked up giving a slight huff. Figuring he saw a squirrel or something, I failed to see the large shadow pass over me as a sudden pain shoots into the left side of my ribs and something heavy fell over top of me, Hades darting away from his position. Whatever it is landed with a thud in front of Hades, water splashing everywhere in the process. I quickly began to shake the water from the pages of my book before any damage could be done.

“Ouch! What the fu…” I begin to exclaim, but my words come up short as my eyes fall onto this dazed, dark-haired man lying across me and my blanket.

He slowly pushes himself up onto his elbows, putting his shirtless and heavily tattooed chest on full display, droplets of water sliding down and glistening in the afternoon light. I thank God for these sunglasses hiding my eyes as I gawk at this stranger’s toned body. I shake my head and slowly take in the scene, realizing his long legs are still stretched across my back and one of his elbows rests halfway in Hades’ water bowl.

Eventually, my eyes make it back to his face where I’m greeted with a strong, sharp jawline peppered with the beginnings of some facial hair and mesmerizing deep chocolate-brown eyes. I’m brought back to reality when Hades is suddenly at the man’s side dropping a frisbee I hadn’t even noticed onto his lap. I can’t help but let out a laugh at the situation and the fact I was letting myself get lost in this stranger’s looks, no matter how handsome he may be. “I think Hades is returning your frisbee to you.” I state matter of factly. Despite his size and intimidating looks, he was quite a gentle giant. Thanks a lot bud, so much for protecting me.

Noah’s POV:

I have no idea what happened, but one second I was running full speed and the next I found myself lying flat on my back staring at the brightly colored tree canopy above me.

I let out a groan and begin to push myself up onto my elbows. Feeling something wet on one of my arms, I look over to see my elbow in a water bowl. I begin taking in the rest of my surroundings and find I’m on someone’s picnic blanket. Just then I see something dark in my peripheral vision and the frisbee I’d been running to catch drops in my lap.

I hear a feminine laugh as my eyes dart up, noticing my legs are laid across the back of a petite raven-haired woman who had been stretched out on said blanket. I hear her words as I look down to the frisbee in my lap, then to the big furry black mass standing to my right. That must be whose water bowl my elbow is resting in.

I hurriedly remove my legs and scramble to my knees, the frisbee falling from my lap while putting my hands up in case this dog decides to attack. Again, I hear the sound of her laughter drawing my eyes to her full, slightly red tinted lips. Slowly she sits up crisscrossing her legs in front of her, her crop top riding up a little to reveal a tattoo on her side as she rubs at her ribs. A few more are sprinkled on her arms.

“Don’t worry, he may look ferocious, but he’s really a big baby.” With the motion of her free hand I watch as the large dog returns to the girl’s side and lays against her, eyes closing, tongue out as he soaks up her head pats.

I breathe out a sigh of relief as I sit back on my heels and brush my hands down my star covered sweat shorts nervously and let out a slight chuckle. “Good to know, cause I was about to high tail it out of here and hope—Hades was it?—didn’t catch me!” I respond. “Hey, sorry about all of this, though.” I start as I wave my hand around us.

She lifts her sunglasses revealing stunning icy blue/grey almond-shaped eyes as she takes in the now wet and twisted blanket. Sucking in a breath I try to offer, “My buddies and I were just tossing the frisbee around and I guess I let my competitive nature get the best of me. I wasn’t paying attention, and you see where that got me.”

As if on cue my friends, Jolly and Nick, come jogging over taking in the scene and thankfully ending my nervous rant. “What you mean on the ground beside a pretty lady?” Nick waggles his eyebrows as he smirks before asking, “Are you two good?”

Jolly jumped in with, “That looked like quite a fall, man.”

I chuckle lightly before I answer, “Yeah I’m good, but I’ll probably feel it in the morning.” I clear my throat a little remembering the stunning girl and her dog sitting across from me. “Umm are you okay…?” I ask, pausing since I don’t know her name.

Picking up on the pause she answers, “Riley. Yeah, I think I’ll be okay. Might have a bruise in the next couple of days but I’ll deal.”

A pang of guilt washes over me for hurting her but I give a crooked smile. “I’m Noah, these are my friends Jolly and Folio,” I say pointing to each of the guys.

She nods her head slightly at each of the guys, giving a polite smile and wave. It suddenly becomes abundantly clear we are invading her space, as the awkward silence grows between us all. I move to stand tucking the frisbee under my arm and giving the guys a nod, each taking a few steps back in understanding, Jolly looking over his shoulder to find where our roommates dog, Harper, is playing. “We should probably leave you be, you seemed to have been enjoying your reading when I tripped over you.” I say as I glance down at the abandoned book laid out on the blanket.

Shrugging, she responds with, “I was but I’d lost track of time, and we actually need to be heading out.” With that she stands, Hades whining slightly, and begins picking up her belongings and packing them back into her bag.

I look down at the mess I’ve made of her space, everything scattered about, so I quickly lean down, picking up her book. I offer it to her as I ask “Are you sure you’re alright? Can I help you carry anything?”

She takes the book, my eyes drawn to where she chews on her lip, thinking it over. After some hesitation Riley nods. “You really don’t have to, but I might need a hand with the blanket. I can never get them folded up easily on my own, and I’ve got to be able to hold his leash as we walk.” She motions over to Hades who tilts his head sideways at the mention of leash.

With a small chuckle I call out a “heads up!” to Folio, who’s now walking away with Jolly before tossing him the frisbee and reaching to pick up the blanket. I shake it out then do my best to fold it before draping it over my arm as she picks up her remaining belongings.

After a moment and her commands to Hades, we walk back towards the parking lot in another slightly awkward silence. Coming to a stop at the back of an Xterra, she starts digging for her keys and unlocks the doors. She takes Hades to the back passenger door allowing him to jump inside before unhooking his leash and telling him to stay then returning to the back where I stand.

“Thank you for helping with that and walking me back.” She says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and staring down at the asphalt before taking the blanket and placing it in the back hatch.

“No problem. It was the least I could do after crashing into you like I did.” I shrug, earning a small, cute giggle from her.

After another moment of silence she shifts on her feet, bringing her eyes up to meet mine and extending her hand before saying with a playful tone, “Well, it was nice to meet you Noah, wish I could say it was under better circumstances though.”

I take her hand, noticing just how small it feels in mine before lightly shaking it and saying, “You too Riley.” With that I drop her hand and move to the sidewalk as she walks to her driver’s door. Turning back, I give a salute as she starts the SUV and I head back to the guys.

The moment I walk up, Folio raises his eyebrow asking, “What was that all about Casanova?”

I shrug running my hand through my shoulder-length hair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” They both let out a laugh.

It’s Jolly’s turn to pipe up now, his slight Swedish accent coming through. “Bullshit Noah, you’ve still got a goofy grin plastered on your face and the way you were looking at her… it’s obvious you thought she was attractive.”

Folio chimes in again, “Tell us you at least got her number…”

I don’t bother responding before grabbing the frisbee out of his hands and jogging away. I silently kick myself for not thinking about that. We stay for another hour or so before leaving, my mind wandering to Riley quite often through the night.

P.S. I don't own the rights to any of these photos, they were all found on Pinterest or a Google image search.

I hope you enjoyed this. It's been quite a while since I even tried writing something for others to read so sorry if it's not up to your standards. It may start out slow but I promise there's some good things to come.

Huge shout out to @crimson-calligraphyx for encouraging and helping me with this.

#fanfic #fan fiction #The Worst in Me #noah sebastian #bad omens #nick folio #jolly karlsson #strangers to lovers #slow burn

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angelbitezzz · 2 months

Text

For the love of god sans give her another shirt (writing under the cut)

Prev - Next - First

Sans was woken from his sleep by a faint tune straining it's way through the floorboards and the soft clatter of something metal. Having a room directly above the kitchen when he had such an enthusiastic brother was the absolute pits sometimes, he thought as he rolled over on his mattress. Blearily, his eyesockets flickered open to regard his room, pupils sliding along until they landed on the blue jacket he'd left on the floor.

"huh. that's not supposed to be there." He thought to himself, eyesockets shutting again for a long moment before he registered the brown-red stain on the fabric. He sat up as the memories snapped back into his skull, the movement disturbing the little white dog sleeping on the end of the mattress. "oh. sorry, pup. at least one of us should get some more sleep."

He scratched at his backside as he stood, pawing sleepily for the hoodie that he'd left on his chair and tugging it on while he walked, opening the door to his room.

Oh.

"Tell her to reap it with a sickle of leather...Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme...And gather it all in a bunch of heather...Then, she'll be a true love of mine..."

That wasn't Papyrus. The unfamiliar song wavered softly through the air as he padded to the landing at the top of the stairs, feet silent. The couch was empty...again. Hell, what was it going to take for that stubborn human to just rest? Did he need to tie her to a bed or something?

huh, actually, scratch that. bad idea.

A little flustered and more than a little frustrated, he descended the stairs. There was a good smell in the air, buttery and rich.

"Are you going to Scarborough Fair?" Angel was trying to be quiet, but seemed to be in something of a good mood. Her voice grew louder as he moved closer. "Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme..."

Sans peeked through the entrance to the kitchen, halting for just a moment to watch. She had one hand in her jean pocket, his borrowed shirt baggy on her torso as she did something at the stove. The blood was still visible, dried now and likely staining the shirt forever. Damn. On the counter next to the stove was a plate piled with what he recognized to be pancakes. They were a darker brown than what he usually saw, but not because they were burnt? He didn't know what she'd done to do that. He stepped forward.

"Remember me to one who lives there..." Angel swayed a little, unaware of the skeleton currently standing just behind her. "She once was a true love of mine."

A heavy hand fell onto her shoulder, making her shriek and nearly jump out of her skin.

"hey there pal. just wanted to remind ya that it's past your bread time."

"SANS!" The human would've been yelling if it weren't for the fact that he'd stolen all of the air from her body. Her hand was clutching her chest. "What the fuck??"

"if you're not vegged out on the couch in the next 2 seconds, i'm gonna go wake up papyrus and let him lecture you."

The human pouted at him and gestured to her current activity, distractedly flipping a pancake.

"Okay, okay...but I'm almost done! Can't I—"

"nope."

"But—"

"no butts in the kitchen. that's unsanitary. what kinda cook are you, anyways?"

Angel deflated a little in disappointment, only for a thought to spark a sudden smile. She turned and grabbed a plate from the counter, then shoved it into his hands. There was a stack of three pancakes, still warm.

"Alright. But here—I already made your portion. And Papyrus's too. I'll just, uh..."

She made a motion like she wasn't sure where to walk, then shut off the stove and flipped the last pancake into the platter on the counter. Sans watched silently as she trudged to the couch and threw herself down on the green fabric like it had personally offended her, but her gaze quickly returned to the kitchen. In her face he could see that she wanted his reaction to her cooking; the eagerness bringing an amused thought of humans being related to dogs and melting his frustration.

Well. Far be it from him to say no to free grub.

He grabbed one—not bothering with a fork—and took a bite. It was warm, thin and crispy with a strong cinnamon taste that wasn't... unpleasant. In fact, it was quite good. He hadn't had anything she'd made before.

"...what's in this?"

"Oh! Well, my mom used to make us cinnamon pancakes when I was a kid. Wanna know the secret?"

"oh yeah? what's that?"

"Cinnamon."

"huh. who'da thunk?"

A pause.

"Is it good enough for me to finish—"

"not a chance."

"Damn it. You can't keep me trapped here, bone boy! I gotta be free!"

"i guess you're right. i mean, it IS a free country, after all. go ahead."

Angel looked at him for a long moment, suspicious of his sudden change in attitude. Slowly, she stood and walked over to the front door, still a little convinced he was going to make her go back to the couch. He watched her go, still chewing his way through his food.

"Okay. I'm leaving. Waaalkin' through the door. Yup."

"see ya."

She opened the door and stepped through, shutting it behind her.

Angel stepped into the house.

"back so soon? i thought you were free."

Confusion bloomed in her face. She looked back at the door and then at Sans.

"Uh. Yeah. Lemme just—"

She tried again.

The door shut behind her as her feet landed on carpet.

"you must really like us if you're not even trying to leave."

She didn't even dignify that with a response. After about 15 tries where she just kept walking back in, she slammed the door shut and properly gave up, huffing her way over to the couch and pulling the blanket over her head.

"well, looks like ya made the right choice after all. hurrah."

His voice sounded right next to the couch, making her peek out from the blankets to find a plate of pancakes being offered by the skeleton. Fresh, judging by the steam rolling slowly off them. Her stomach growled.

"here ya go. shortstack for a shortstack."

"...Thanks."

His left eyelid slid shut in a wink.

"bone appetit, kid."

The pun was enough to make her smile, bringing a foreign warm satisfaction to his ribcage. He chalked it up to getting a proper breakfast after all that nonsense yesterday.

Yeah, definitely that.

#art #my art #digital art #doodle #undertale #sans undertale #sans #ts underswap #ts underswap sans #ts underswap au #Crossbones and Starstruck #something something food as a love language #angel is gonna be so annoying about trying to help out #sans abusing his breaking of the laws of spacetime to make her stay in bed is personally so damn funny to me.#also yeah the shirt is too big for her. they needed something for her to wear after her supersuit was ruined #it'll get fixed #this is an excuse for me to draw her wearing sans's clothes 😏

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diodellet · 1 year

Text

i think i've found a place for us (jamil viper x gn!reader)

lovingly strapping jamil into a rollercoaster ride along the full emotional spectrum😇😇 fic title is from this song content warnings: -reader is yuu/ramshackle prefect -mix of jp and en terms -post-Book 4 OB (references to master-servant relationships, assassinations) -self-deprecating thoughts (references to symptoms of depression) ++this fic is hurt/comfort, whatever issues kalim and jamil have, it's probably mentioned here word count: 3.4k words

This was now Jamil's... fourth day of staying at the Ramshackle dorm. And even though he spent most of the time drifting in and out of sleep, he could make a list of all the inconveniences that came with temporarily living in the once-abandoned dorm. Mold, dust, cobwebs—those were only the first of many entries on his list.

It was far from the quiet, secluded place he initially pegged it as. The building would creak and groan as its living residents moved from room to room. At the peak of midnight, bits and pieces of the ghosts' conversations would travel through the walls, up the floorboards, mix with the sound of the wind outside.

That didn't mean it was completely unbearable.

Whenever you thought that you were alone, you would fill the silence with song. More humming and mumbled syllables than audible lyrics, but still melodious and pleasant to listen to.

"I didn't know you sang." Jamil's voice is rough with sleep.

You spin around to see him, eyes widening in surprise. “You! Should be sleeping!”

"I… think I've had enough."

If anything, he’s spent too much time asleep for the past few days, dealing with more lingering headaches instead of feeling rested and energized. He sits up, turns his gaze to an interesting patch of clawed up wood on the bedframe left uncovered by your mattress. Grim's doing.

"...did I—do you want anything? I could run over to Sam's or the cafeteria?"

"No, no thank you." It wasn’t that he couldn’t stomach the thought of food, but it was along the lines of not really feeling up to it.

He’s been feeling an awful lot of nothing lately. It was as if everything—all the rage, the resentment, everything that had festered within his being—disappeared with the Blot.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” All that remained now was the shadow of his Overblot. The lingering discomfort, the hushed whispers from the students, the vision of ink coating his fingers.

“Just…” He shakes his head. “...Go back to what you were doing.” The words spill out. Clipped, taut. A demand—no, a plea for you to leave it at that.

He doesn’t miss the way you flinch. “Okay.” You nod, and slowly turn back to your textbook. Slip the other earphone back on and spin your pen in between your fingers.

(The reflexive ‘sorry’ catches in his throat, a few seconds too late for it to be used.)

Jamil lies back down, staring up at the ceiling. The hour ticks by, rays of the afternoon light slowly dimming. He shuts his eyes again, but doesn’t let himself doze off.

The scratch of your pen stops. “...hello?” Jamil turns to rest on his other side so that he’s not looking at you or your work desk. “He’s still here, yes… what about Kalim?”

Even if you lower your voice, it doesn’t stop his ears from picking up on the conversation. The same way that his sleep never tips too far into deep unconsciousness.

“I see… I’ll try asking him about that later.” You fall silent again, listening to the person on the other end. “...Are you guys holding up alright? On top of your…usual stuff?”

He suspects it might be someone from Octavinelle, maybe Jade or Azul.

The chair legs squeak against the floor. “...If it does get to be too much, please tell me. I’ll figure something out. Maybe I’ll visit Scarabia tomorrow or—” The sentence dies in your throat.

Another pause elapses before you give a resigned sigh. “Alright, sorry, I-I’ll leave it to you…thank you.” Something clatters on your desk, probably your phone.

“...Okay, dinner. What to make…” You mutter to yourself, clicking on the desk lamp. Your footsteps travel to the other side of the room to undo the curtains.

He continues to feign sleep, remaining still as you switch on the lamp at the bedside table. The mattress dips with your weight as you lean over to pull up the blanket so that it covers his shoulder.

The first day that he arrived at Ramshackle was in the middle of a snowy night. An otherwise normal interaction with Kalim escalated into a heated argument. And then the dorm leader insisted on doing something by himself, which steered the conversation into doing away with their opposing statuses and then…like his Overblot, Jamil couldn’t remember the exact specifics of what happened.

Only a persistent gnawing at his temples, red-hot flashes obscuring his vision, his hands haphazardly gathering his things. Not a single one of his dormmates stopped him, quickly moving out of his way or fearfully standing to the side. Kalim's voice calling out for him was the last thing Jamil heard before he stepped through the mirror.

Somehow, his feet brought him to the once-abandoned dormitory. His shoulder was protesting under the weight of his gym bag. The wind bit into the exposed parts of his face, his hoodie did little to protect him from the cold. The gate was locked, of course. But just before he turned on his heel to return to Scarabia, one of the Ramshackle ghosts appeared and unlocked the gate for him.

Everything else was a blur after that. He was just…numb. And tired. Pliant to letting you peel off his snow-covered outerwear and replacing it with a thick blanket. Another ghost pushed a warm mug of tea into his hands. He couldn’t fall asleep though, not with Grim sitting next to him by the fireplace and whining about being woken up.

“—just let me call back in the morning, he’s…no, he’s not hurt, he’s fine.” You were on the phone, cradling it against your shoulder as you laid his hoodie on the back of a chair. “Okay, bye.”

Jamil didn’t feel alright. If he didn’t upend his family’s carefully-built legacy with his betrayal and Overblot, then he single-handedly sent it to its downfall by running away from Scarabia, away from his charge.

“I…should go back…” he mumbled, moving to stand up. He set the tea aside, the drink was untouched. His fingers had warmed enough at this point. The blanket fell to the floor. “Kalim…”

“Will be fine,” you cut him off, gripping him by his shoulders. “He’s got the rest of Scarabia with him. You’re…not okay.”

Those words stung. He shrugged off your hold. “It doesn’t matter, I have to go.” He needed to stop acting like a child. Go back to what he was meant to do.

“Jamil, I’m not letting you walk in the snow. If you really want to go back, then at least…” Your expression, pained with concern, then softened with your voice. “...at least wait for the weather to calm down by next morning. Please.”

“...Next morning. I’m leaving,” he conceded.

He didn’t leave when morning arrived. When he awoke, it was already afternoon. He was covered in two new blankets and Grim was curled up against his legs.

At the foot of your bed, resting beside his gym bag, were two overstuffed suitcases. Kalim’s handiwork.

Save for the light emanating from the desk lamps, the rest of your room is shrouded in darkness. Shadows stretch across the walls, the floorboards, the edge of your bed, seemingly dripping with ink.

He scrubs a palm over his face. The room returns to normal—no, it's always been normal. He's the one with problems. To solve and to shoulder, those were the only courses of action he could take. And to say that he was merely shouldering all these burdens would discount the resourcefulness he honed from a young age.

But then to be denied both options with your interference—you, Kalim, and that Octavinelle trio—to have you all meddle a second time, it should have sent him into a rage again. Maybe it would have warranted a second Overblot, but he was. Just. So.

Tired.

He pulls himself out of your bed and goes down to the kitchen.

You were at the stove, finishing up a batch of pasta and serving it on a plate. One of the Ramshackle ghosts was carrying Grim in its arms. Maybe to keep him from jumping onto the countertop and sneaking a few bites. Atop the small dining table, an upbeat tune played from your phone, it sounded like something from a musical. The scene in front of him was nice, but dinner was tuna carbonara. And for the past four days, his meals consisted of fish. Not even shellfish, just some iteration of canned fish. Tuna, sardines, mackerel, salmon, maybe shrimp if Grim was up for the "variety."

Jamil can’t complain, he won’t complain. He’s not a picky eater by any means, but even he had his limits when it came to eating processed food. In his mind, he decided that he would have to take over kitchen duties. Tomorrow. He can only manage helping with cleanup.

(For now, even as an outsider, he can enjoy the shred of normalcy that the shared meal brings.)

You spend one more hour at your desk, going through your winter break homework. Steadily and methodically finishing one subject at a time. Your foot taps against the floor, in time with the music playing through your earphones.

“...Done!” You sigh in relief, stretching your arms above your head. “Will you still need the lights, Jamil?” You turn to look at him.

One of his own textbooks laid open on the bed, little lecture notes and annotations neatly written along the margins. His homework was already completed a day before the holidays started. But, he decided he could redo some of them, make an attempt to earn a higher grade.

“We can stop holding back on account of our social status.”

Jamil feels a twinge at his left temple. He closes the book, leaving a pencil in between the pages as a makeshift bookmark, then sets it at the foot of the bed. “No, I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm.” There’s an urge to make himself small, invisible to your concern. Which he knows is just basic courtesy as a host—as the head of the Ramshackle Dormitory.

“Alright. Good night, Jamil.” A click, then darkness.

That would make this the fourth night spent away from Scarabia. Another night of resting in two hour intervals. Of waiting for sleep to claim him before his racing thoughts consumed him. He calls your name.

It’s surprisingly easy to, now that the lights are off. “You should be sleeping in your own bed.”

“...But I can’t just let you sleep on the sofa. It’ll be a killer on your back.” The sound of your footsteps slows to a stop, floorboards creaking with the motion. “The both of us are fine sleeping downstairs.”

“Isn’t he a restless sleeper?”

“Nope, he sleeps like a baby.”

At that remark, somewhere from the first floor, the sound of rapid footfalls could faintly be heard. Coupled with the fire-monster’s trademark cackle.

“Well, that is, when he gets tired enough.”

The both of you lapse into silence, listening to Grim tear through the first floor hallways. The sound of the ghosts playfully taunting him.

You mutter quietly to yourself, “yeah, he’ll tire himself out in a bit. Hopefully.” The floorboards creak again, you’re probably leaning against the doorframe. “Does the noise bother you?’

“No, not really…” The Scarabia dorm was unnervingly quiet in the days after his Overblot. It was as if there were eyes on him, breaths held in anticipation. Watching and waiting for his next misstep. Nighttime wasn’t any easier. Whenever he'd jolt awake, he would stifle any screams or cries with his pillow, wait for the terror to run its course, count the hours until sunrise. “It’s just—”

There’s a faraway crash and the sound of Grim cursing, a chorus of ghostly laughter in response.

“Never mind, I misspoke. It’s…” Stupid. Jamil quickly dismisses your concern. “You should go check on him.” He turns his back to the doorway.

But you don’t leave. The sound of your footsteps approaches your bed. “Grim’ll be fine. I’m… more worried about you. Could you scoot over?”

“It’s your bed.” He tamps the embarrassment down, forces irritation into his words. Nonetheless letting you climb into the spot next to him. The mattress dips with your weight added to it.

Your own response was bashful. “I know, but…” you pause, thinking of your next words. “Grim and the ghosts… noticed that you were having… nightmares.”

“They’ll pass.” He’s dealt with worse.

“...You’re not wrong for feeling these things,” you say, voice low. As if speaking any louder would disturb the other residents of the dorm.

"How could you still say that…” A lump forms in his throat. “...after…"

"After everything?”

It doesn’t feel right to hear you cut to the heart of it. His words spill into the darkness of your bedroom. "After throwing you and Grim into the desert, keeping you against your will—"

"Hey, we were glad to get out of the cold for a little bit."

At his silence, you let out a quiet laugh.

"...I mean it though. It wasn't all bad." Your fingertips press against the side of his arm, apologetic.

He doesn’t… shy away from the contact, but he remains still. Staring up at the ceiling. “You could’ve died.”

Your touch withdraws. “I can say the same to you."

"Wouldn't that have been better? What use is there for an insubordinate servant?” Jamil thinks back to the attempts made on Kalim’s life. Investigations were made into the other staff. Into esteemed guests, renowned politicians, prospective and longtime business partners. Through it all, only the Viper household remained clean.

And it just had to be him, the person closest to Kalim, who tarnished that steadfast loyalty. He’s seen what happened to assassins who were caught.

(There’s a certain irony in having to spill blood for the protection of another.)

"Don't…don't say that. Kalim doesn’t think of you like that…"

But he still treats Jamil like one. “He thinks the world of everyone he meets. Even those who’ve wronged him.”

“...sure, maybe he’s a bit naive—” That was an understatement, Jamil thinks to himself. Dense, ignorant, stupid were more fitting. “—but he really does see you as one of his closest friends.”

“What do you know?” he counters. What could you say that he hasn't already heard?

“Kalim’s not stupid. He genuinely trusted—he still trusts you in spite of what happened.”

And wasn’t that the most irritating part? That he was still being showered in empty kindness and praise by Kalim? That in the end, he would have to be held accountable for something as careless as losing control of himself?

“It isn’t that simple.” Frustration laces the way he says your name. “Put yourself in my shoes for a second—”

“I am…I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s my duty, to Kalim’s family and my own.” God, he was sick of hearing the dorm leader’s drivel about friendship, but to hear himself repeating his parents’ own words to you was painful.

“That’s true, but you’re not…”

There’s a familiar heat building at the base of Jamil’s throat, an ugly mix of shame, embarrassment. “His title and status as the Asim heir takes priority, and I have to make sure that he doesn’t die before that happens—”

“But you were just a kid!” Your voice rises to a furious whisper before falling, quiet and trembling. “...you were just…a kid… and you shouldn’t have had to bear that on your own for so long…And then to be expected to carry on as if nothing happened…”

Jamil should be angry at hearing another shed tears for him. Expressing the emotions that should’ve been his. Only one other person has done that in front of him, and that misplaced kindness sent him further along the route to his eventual Overblot.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t but—” Despite your apology, the thickness in your voice doesn’t let up. "Still…! Who just tells their own child to ‘lose thrice’?"

The anger that he has carefully nursed doesn’t rear its head. Maybe it really did disappear with the dispelling of his Overblot. Or maybe it’s because you didn’t face him with the fear that his dormmates held.

“How do you know that?” His question is met with your silence. With the curtains drawn closed, only faint slivers of moonlight creep into your bedroom, scarcely enough to reveal the shape of your figure beside him. Jamil’s hand reaches out tentatively—the back of your hand is damp—before withdrawing altogether.

“...When I fell into the Blot ink, I could hear them…and I saw you. When you were younger.”

He could remember the ink pouring into every orifice. “Then you…” If it went on for any longer, it would have drowned him, then consumed his magic, then his body and then—

“Yeah, then I managed to pull you out.”

“But you weren’t in the infirmary.”

“...Fourth time’s the charm, I guess.”

“Did…that happen with the others?”

“Yeah. With Riddle. And Leona, and Azul. I don’t know why it happens." You shift, the sound of your clothes rustling against the bed covers as you move closer to him. Your shoulder lightly nudges his. “The first time it happened, no one else knew what I was talking about.”

“Tell that to the livestream of my conversation with Azul.”

“But they didn’t broadcast it… it was just a speaker call. For the rest of the dorm to hear.”

Jamil sits up. “What.” He was supposed to know about this? Those Octavinelle fuckers.

“I…I thought—oh, I guess they didn’t tell you, I’m sorry—”

His stunned silence is broken with a laugh, bubbling from his throat and building into sharp, hysterical laughter. He feels warm, burns with embarrassment, because of course it wasn’t a livestream. And why was he feeling a hint of relief at that revelation?

His palms press against his eye sockets. To his ears, the sound is foreign, but he can feel the exertion in his throat. Feel his breathing quicken, the start of a sob which he chokes down.

It takes him a few more moments to register the tears flowing down his cheeks. His outburst dies as quickly as it erupted. His chest hurts at the feeling of stifling his cries, to keep them from escaping.

God, he feels dumb.

You sit up, pull him into your arms. Let him cry against your shoulder, rub a soothing hand against his back. You don’t say anything, but the tender gesture speaks enough.

By the time his emotions have calmed down, his head aches with a dull pain. The all-too familiar sensation of exhaustion seeps into him.

“Will… you ever talk to Kalim?” you ask. Your own expression was stricken with tear tracks, from sharing in a fraction of his pain.

“Of course I have to eventually.” He sighs, lying back down and you follow. “...I have no choice.”

“You don’t have to…force yourself to though.” You reach forwards, gently wiping away his tears with your thumbs. And he lets you. “If you still need time, you can stay here… To rest and recuperate.”

Paradoxically, it’s in the words of a stranger—(did you count as an acquaintance though? Acquaintances didn’t just spoon each other though, they didn’t just tangle their legs together while sharing the same bed)—that he finds a pinprick of solace.

And sure, you could call it that. ‘Rest.’

But to Jamil, this was stagnation. He couldn’t just keep mooching off your hospitality, blindly trusting in Kalim’s resolve to change. He couldn’t let himself stay indebted for this long.

“I can’t just stay here for the holidays. But…thank you.”

Once winter break ends, what would he do? How should he go about repairing his social standing in the dorm? With the rest of the student body?

What’s the next move?

He doesn’t even realize that he’s fallen asleep. Rest comes to him, gentle and peaceful.

When early morning arrives, Jamil gives himself five minutes. Five minutes of sitting in the rare calmness of his mind, of listening to your slow even breathing, of being encased in between the warmth of the blankets and your body heat. Comfortable, protected, safe in your arms.

Then he extricates himself from your hold. At the motion, you make a weak sound of protest, blindly reaching after him. Your fingers brush against the hem of Jamil’s shirt. He catches your wrist, gently sets your arm down on the mattress. Then he pulls the edge of the blanket over you to keep you warm and goes to get ready for the day.

Since he was planning on making breakfast, he’d first have to check if the school store had anything available.

(A part of him is grateful that Kalim packed a scarf.)

A/N: originally this started as a scene of jamil being the lazy one for once and trying to keep u in bed with him. i just wanted to write cuddles (read: the intended kissies were somehow lost along the way. i am still sobbing crying weeping and calling for them to come back home) but aaa its finally done, one of my persistent brainworms is freed!! and more have taken its place help id like to credit @jessamine-rose for betaing this fic, thank u ms maam twst veteran💕💕 wcidfy ch3 will take a bit more time to be written. so im gonna chip away at other wips (shorter oneshots) as i try to get the main beats down. it would take a miracle for it to be posted soon, so id probably expect chapter 3 in (late) june. anyway, i hope u enjoyed reading this, don't be afraid to rb and holler in the tags!! i treasure each and every comment!! taglist (ig i have one of these now?): @merotwst

#dellet-writings #twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #jamil viper #jamil viper x reader #g/n reader

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sasster · 2 months

Text

What IS That Thing?

Can you guess what ICP song is on this guy’s playlist with what was provided?

[Doc] —

The lights are out when you return to your hive, not just turned off, but actually smashed out. Small piles of broken glass near where the lamps live, only partially lit by the light in the hall of the building as you enter, indicate that much. Maybe the lights in these hivestems have a tendency of just exploding with very little stress put upon them, it has only been a few perigees since you moved into the place after all. At the behest of everyone that heard about your campaign to dethrone the local regional ruler.

Not many trolls possess that sort of audacity, at least not the ones that aren’t also fleet aligned. Dethroning those guys is a little bit like pulling teeth, or, more appropriately, getting rid of a bedbug infestation in the hive of a hoarder. Short of burning it all to the ground and starting over from scratch, it is always an uphill battle. But doable. Certainly doable. Actual Empress-fighting would be punching a little bit above your weight class, but you think you can handle a little skirmish with some run of the mill general. It should be a no skin off your nose sort of situation. After that, you’ll be able to put in place the sort of guidelines that will see that the people who live in these areas won’t have to deal with the mistreatment. The fight is only in a few hours, you’re amped, and there is no time for second guesses.

With caution you step around the broken glass and make your way into the small kitchen space that shares an area with your living room. It is a far cry from the near palace you were raised in, but laying low is important. The local regional ruler will have your head if they find you, and you’ve done so good to shake off their muscle thus far. What a shame it would be for it to all come to pieces now.

You sit in a stool in the kitchen and sigh, relaxing into a slump against the wall as all of the stress of the day starts to roll off of you in a wave. No one told you how stressful it would be to run this sort of campaign, but that might be just because it goes without saying. There is so little time between now and the fight, but you can’t show up to it wound up all tight like this.

A creak in the floorboards draws your attention to your bedroom, and a cold dread pricks at the back of your neck. Did you shake off the muscle? Could have just been the building settling. Slowly you pull yourself to your feet and take deliberate steps back to the bedroom, stepping around piles of glass still while you do, and equip your trident in the process.

You call out toward the sound, “Hey, man. Whatever you’re getting paid, I’ll double it. Just get the hell out of here,” as you near the door, using your weapon to slowly poke it open all the way. “Or I can kill you, it really doesn’t matter to me.”

The intruder is sitting on your bed when you enter, with a face obscured by a mask that appears to be smooth with some simple designs, from what you can see lit up by the dim moonlight. They angle their head toward you.

“They sent a laughsassin after me? Really?” Your laugh is breathless.

The intruder laughs as well, it is a mirror to yours, but much higher in pitch, and absolutely sardonic in nature. “I always get that. Laughsassin,” he bemoans as he stands up and stretches, there is something incredibly uncanny about the looseness he handles his own limbs with. “It’s outdated. Implies that all I do is kill and laugh. Which, alright, I won’t lie. It does take up a big chunk of what I do.”

Dealing with a clown today was the last thing you thought would happen, it was your understanding that GHBs don’t typically put their noses into the mess of seadwellers trying to kill each other. Isn’t it a net-zero loss for them, at the end of the day? But now that you’re thinking about it, they might just be happy to stick the old ‘the devil you know’ addage.

“Sometimes, I’ll have you know, I’ve also been known to convince.”

“You want me to believe you aren’t here to kill me?”

“I am here to let you know you’ll be taking a dive later this evening.”

This time when you laugh, it comes from sheer shock. They sent a clown.

To tell you to give up in your pursuit of the regional title.

They must be scared.

With his hands on his hips, the clown takes confident strides around the bed and closes some, not all, of the distance that separated you. Your grip tightens around your weapon.

“How about I kill you now, and then your boss later?”

He bounces on his heels. Why is he so flimsy?

“Or you can leave here with your head attached to your body, and watch from the crowd. I’m not taking any bribes.”

He comes to a stop within striking distance of your trident, you can make out two faint lines that curve like tear tracks down the cheeks of his mask, but you hold firm, watching him carefully. He stretches again, bending his body at the waist until something pops audibly. “Oh, I’m not here to bribe. Did I confuse you? The dive you’ll be taking will be the swan type. Y’know? Into your grave.”

In the time that passes between the words leaving his lips and confusion contorting your features, something else hits you, literally — A small blade, tossed with such precision that it slices through a bit of your cheek and ear on its way to embed itself in the wall behind you. “Y’know?” He echoes.

You are already advancing on him with your trident when the gears start turning in your head, and the springy bastard ducks out of the way of the attack and dances behind you with another laugh that suspiciously sounds like it’s still mocking yours.

Clowns are the worst. You didn’t even see him move to throw the damn thing in the first place. A frustrated growl rips out of your chest as you turn to face him.

“That’s all? You’ll need to do better than that if you’re going to scare me out of it.”

It’s hard to tell what he’s going to do next, without being able to see his face, which you gather is the whole point, but he’s already rocking back on his heels, reaching back to get a grip on his knife. He practically cackles, “You’re right,” followed by pulling the thing out of the wall. It doesn’t matter that he has his hands on his weapon, you think, without the element of surprise, a throwing knife loses the fight to a trident every time.

Smugness settles in your breast as you pull yourself to stand a little straighter, having found the confidence to make it through both of the fights the stars have set out for you this evening.

Then, the smugness quickly dissipates when the nuisance does something completely unexpected, and tips his mask up to uhm.

Well, it looks like he is lapping the blood, and bits of drywall but whatever, off of the knife.

“Why do so many fish carry a trident, anyway?” He asks and though you’ve instructed your body to lunge with the subject of his criticism, you stay rooted in place. A sinister glow begins to spill out around the edges of his mask. “I always thought it was a bit on the nose. You know? There are other weapons. Bet you’d have fared better with a harpoon gun.”

His words fly over your head, you are more concerned with your suddenly immovable body.

The masked intruder stays where he is, stretching and bending his freakish form while in the meantime your own disobedient body once again closes the distance between the pair of you. Your mind is racing. You’ve come so far, your aspiration right within your grasp, just to be killed by a clown.

His knife comes up to your cheek, where he’d already cut it before, and from the angle his mask sits at now, you can see two rows of sharp teeth exposed in some form of twisted grin. It is almost worse that the rest of his face is entirely concealed. He presses into the flesh and more of your blood is drawn out onto the blade.

“It’d be really nice of me to kill you just like this, y’know, but the boss wants to make an example of you. No hard feelings, right?”

#hm i made a mistake in choosing his title #because there are several things tagged as the bogeyman #or just bogeyman #whatever #termia #i’ll cope #long post #coko writes sometimes #not my best but it’s what i wasted my free time on today lol

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elzdaizy · 2 years

Text

Come Back Home (Part 2 of Domesticated Freak)

Eddie Munson

Warning: 18+, smut and fluff

Masterlist

Recommended song to listen to whilst reading is Coming Home by Leon Bridges

While Eddie is out of town, you pick up several extra shifts at the hospital to keep busy. Doubles, graveyards, early mornings and late nights. Any way to draw your mind away from missing him and feeling empty in your own home. You long for him the most after midnight, walking along the halls of your house and dragging your fingertips across the white walls.

You’re becoming familiar with every creak the floorboards make and you’re careful to avoid them as you wander through the house, becoming accustomed with your new surroundings. The patterned curtains stay drawn in an effort to remind you of your safety when it’s so dark outside that the only view your windows provide is your own reflection. You haven’t spoken to him since he kissed you at the end of your driveway before climbing into a cab and disappearing down the street.

It’s been five days and you’re starting to think you don’t remember the way his voice sounds anymore. Normally you would have tried to contact him several times by now, but he forgot to leave his hotel information or itinerary because he set off in such a rush. You’re dying to hear his gravelly voice, his cheeky remarks, his laughs. His praises, his consoling, his declarations of love.

You have become so accustomed to Eddie cooking all of your meals that your pathetic attempts at healthy dinners make you pout and mope before giving in and deciding that it won’t kill you to eat nothing but pizza for a few days.

Red wine helps you fall asleep, but it doesn’t help keep you there. So when you’re buried deep into your balmy sheets in the middle of the night and Ozzy barks once, twice, then three times you’re groaning and whining before rubbing your eyes.

Your voice is husky, “Ozzy.” You’re crawling to the end of the bed and putting your hand on his fur. He’s sitting up and resting his bottom on his back haunches, he glances over his shoulder at you before looking back at your cracked bedroom door. “Baby, stop.” He’s growling in the back of his throat before he whines and lays down. “Good boy, c’mere. You miss Eddie?”

He whines again and you tug on his collar as a gesture for him to join you at the top of the bed. He follows you and spins in a circle a few times before plopping down on the blankets. He lays down beside you, his chin resting on your stomach and his eyes glancing between you and the dark room. “Me too, buddy. Me too. He’ll be home soon.” You softly pet the fur along his back in long strokes before scratching behind his ears. He yawns and closes his eyes and you’re following suit in a matter of minutes.

The following evening, you’re returning home late from a wickedly long double shift. Your feet ache inside of your shoes and you’re fairly certain you’ve worn holes in both of your socks from being on your feet all day. You know that if Eddie were here, he would offer to rub your feet with his consoling thumbs, his sturdy hands with their contrasting delicate palms and finger pads. The cool metal of his rings would roll against your ticklish skin, Eddie telling you not to giggle or squirm so that he can work your muscles deeply. His mouth kissing each one of your toes before sucking the middle one into his mouth teasingly.

You’re greeted by the sound of the phone ringing the moment you open your front door and you’re kicking your shoes off and running into the kitchen, tripping over Ozzy and nearly falling into your hands and knees on your journey. You slide to a halt in your socks and rip the handset off the holster attached to the wall, “Hello?” You’re out of breath and you’re wrapped up in the phone cord as you spin to try and untangle your arm.

“Baby!” His voice is like dark chocolate covered caramel, cracked on the surface yet smooth and creamy in the centre, but even sweeter and more of a treat than any sustenance could provide.

“Eddie... honey.” You slump against the wall and sigh, tears springing to your eyes inexplicably. “Your voice is heaven. Miss you, miss you like crazy.”

He’s exhaling softly in contentment at your sweet admissions. “Miss you so fucking much. Mm’sorry I’ve been busy- tried callin’ buncha times. You haven’t been home.”

You swallow a tickle in the back of your throat and bump the cutlery drawer closed with your hip. “Oh, um..” You feel guilty because in the midst of all your loneliness and frustration with not having a way to contact him, you’ve forgotten that you also have been unreachable. “Yeah, picked up extra shifts. I actually just got home. How is it?”

You can hear him hum before clearing his throat, “S’great. The band that’s our pre-act are phenomenal. Shreds guitar, wild synth stuff. Gonna explode soon. I’ll bring home a vinyl of theirs. Weird guys though...”

You laugh and bite your lip. “Yeah? How come?”

He clears his throat, “well, like, I asked the lead singer what his favourite food was and he said ‘mashed yeast’? But then changed his answer to ‘bubble gum’.” You’re giggling hard now and you can hear him join you softly on the other end. “M’comin’ home tomorrow. You happy? Ready to see your man?”

You rub your eyes, but can’t stop a tear that slides from the corner. You wipe it and take a deep breath so that Eddie won’t be able to pick up on the fact that you’re unsettled. “Can’t wait. I’m so happy. I’m gonna hold you and kiss you and never let go.”

He hums, “Yeah? Love me?”

“I love you more than anything in the whole universe.”

There’s a beat of silence and you imagine Eddie’s allowing his eyes to drift shut so that he can digest your words. “Me too, love you very much. Be round tomorrow in the late afternoon, yeah?” You murmur a positive response and bite your lip as he continues, “I know you’re crying... listen, it was bad timing to leave. I’m sorry. Hated leaving you.”

You’re nodding to yourself before you huff and peel yourself off of the wall. “Sorry-”

He’s interrupting you, “Don’t be.”

You sniffle.”Kay, um... see you tomorrow then.”

“Wait! What colour are your panties?”

You burst out laughing. “Really?”

“Really.”

You bite the inside of your cheek as you instinctively look down and try to remember. “They’re red.”

He groans and digs the heel of his hand into his centre. “Under your white uniform? You’re so naughty.” You’re giggling again and he shakes his head to rid himself of the image for the time being. You exchange a few more parting words before finally disconnecting and unwrapping yourself from the chord, hearts regenerated and minds content for the evening.

The wooden handle of the laundry basket is digging into the tender flesh of your knuckles .You’re headphones are nestles tightly onto your head, padded earpieces resting gently against the cartilage of your ears. Your hips and shoulders are moving enthusiastically to the music playing on your Walkman. You don’t dare listen to this in front of Eddie because of the onslaught of teasing you’d receive. You understand that Eddie doesn’t actually mind, but any opportunity he can seize to poke fun at you, he’ll take.

You’re collecting socks and pillowcases from your bedroom before making your way down the short, carpeted staircase to the laundry room off of the kitchen and piling everything into the washing machine. You’re humming the familiar tune and your head and your hips are swaying as you pull each article of clothing out of the basket. When two firm hands are pinching your waist, you’re screaming and jumping into the air before spinning quickly and ripping your headphones off with one hand over your mouth.

Eddie’s standing before you; black pants, KISS t-shirt, hair down and fluffy as if it has just been washed with cheap hotel shampoo. His smile starts of tight-lipped before stretching across his cheeks to illuminate his entire face; eyes sparking, dimple cutting across and highlighting his fondness in this moment. Your hand is on your chest in an effort to calm your pounding heart before you toss your arms around his neck and pull him close to you.

“Hi sweetheart, there was no way to greet you without startling you.” His arms wrap around your waist, “are you listening to disco in this household, Mrs Munson?”

The faint music can be heard pulsing through the tiny speakers draping around your neck as you pull back and kiss his mouth. “Mmm, caught. Hi baby, missed you so much. So glad you’re home.”

He’s picking your up by your thighs and setting you on the dryer, his fingertips drag up your legs and underneath your shirt, his eyes focused on your mouth. “Missed you like fucking crazy.” He leans forward until his lips linger against yours as he speaks, “my beautiful, sexy wife.” You’re whimpering at his words as he rubs your noses together before flicking his tongue across your lips. Your mouth opens and his tongue swipes against yours tenderly, “mmm”. He pulls back for a breath before diving in to do it again. You connect your lips and inhale him deeply; his tongue finds yours as your legs weave around his hips to pull his centre towards you.

He’s scooting you to the edge of the dryer and pushing against your chest with two fingers to lean you backwards. You wince when the cool metal of the control panel chills your shoulders and Eddie’s dropping to his knees, pulling your shorts down and tossing them across the room. “Thought about your sweet honey pot every single day that I was gone.”

He attaches his mouth to your covered centre and presses his wide, flat tongue against your sensitivity. His hot, damp breaths against your flimsy panties make you shiver as he pokes the very tip of his tongue against your swollen bud and taps it over and over. A wet patch is blooming in your underwear and he hums as he pokes a finger against it. Your back arches off of the metal surface and a whimper leaves your mouth at his delicate intrusion, so soft you’re tempted to push against it.

He pushes his fingers against the fabric further until it’s pressing past your tight walls. “Mm - fuck, Eds.”

He’s moving his fingers in languid circles. “Yeah? How does it feel? Tell me.” His tongue flattens out against your swell.

“Incredible,” you mewl. “Wish I could feel your tongue inside me.”

He groans as tingles spread down his arms at your words and peels your panties to the side to eye your silken core. “Completely soaked, (Y/N), Want me?” He’s watching you squirm but he still needs to hear you say it out loud.

The cool air is reaching your wetness and making you shiver. “Yes, I want you, yes.” Your stomach is coiling in anticipation and when he blows a puff of air onto your heat, you’re squealing and allowing your head to lull back between your shoulders.

Before you can speak again, his entire mouth is attaching to your centre and sucking before his tongue pushes fully inside of you for a taste. He hums against your opening as you tighten your legs around his shoulders to stop them from shaking. Your hips roll against his mouth and he swings an arm across your stomach, palm and fingers splayed wide over your belly button to keep you still.

He laps up your entirety in long, lazy strokes before flicking his tongue over your swollen bud then stroking you again. You weave your trembling hands into his hair and gather it into a bun to hold out of his face.

He winks at you and you cry out before swallowing, “Need you. I need you now.”

When he pulls back you can feel his quick breaths huffing against your centre. “Need what?”

He winces when you tighten your fingers in his hair and tug gently, then watches your hand snake up your shirt as your thumb brushes over your nipple. “Your cock. Missed you too much. Please?”

He moans and rests his forehead against your inner thigh for a breath as his cock pulses and surges in his pants. He pulls himself to his feet and rips off his shirt, then drops his jeans to his ankles before pulling your shirt off and adding it to the growing pile of clothing on the floor. You’re sitting up and he’s meeting you in the middle for a bruising kiss, hands tangling in each other’s hair and moans absorbed in the back of one another’s throats.

Eddie pulls himself out of his briefs and lines his length up with your slit, allowing it to glide up and down your folds as his forehead rests against yours. His tip bumps your clit on each upward thrust and finally you whimper, “can’t wait anymore. Please - I need you to fuck me.”

Eddie leans forward and reaches behind you to rest his palms against the cool surface. He aligns his head with your entrance and when he starts slowly pushing into you, he touches the ‘start’ button on the dryer and the low rumble and humming vibration can be felt in your thighs, your sensitivity, your core, your stomach.

Your mouth falls open and his face is pinched up in euphoria as his nose presses against your cheek. When he’s tucked completely inside of you, he pauses and exhales a deep breath against your lips, “Jesus, fuck.” You’re gripping his tightly from inside and he can feel the vibrations of the dryer quaking throughout your heat. “You are paradise.”

He slowly pulls out and then pushes back in with the same unhurried speed. “Looked like a seductress dancing in here with your headphones on.” He quickens his pace. “Had to have you, love you so much.”

One leg wraps around his waist and the other dangles off the edge of the machine. “So glad you’re home, my perfect man.”

Chills tingle up his spine and goosebumps burst down his arms, legs and scalp. “Mm, go on.”

You press your mouth to his and keep your lips close as you continue, “you’re so beautiful. The sexiest man i’ve ever met. Missed you, Eddie, my love.”

He pushes completely in and cries out loudly before fading into a desperate moan. His pace is fast and hard now, his thumb rubbing your swell in rhythmic sweeps. “You’re gonna make me come deep inside you. Want that? Want me?”

Your hips are moving to match his stride, his dick stroking the sweet spot on your front wall on each return. “There, Eddie. Right there-” Your words are cut off by a surprised gasp when he finds the tender area inside you and moved back and forth against it in deliberate rapid drives.

Your eyes roll back in your head and he’s watching your face, your jaw, your neck. He leans forward and sucks a crimson spot into your clavicle, his thumb pressing hard on your clit. “Come baby. Come on my cock. Show me how good I make you feel.”

Your orgasm boils up from deep inside your belly and shatters through the surface of your skin. Your blood feels hot as your back arches and your head falls back, mumbling incoherent praises and Eddie’s name. He’s pushing you through the best he can before he loses cadence and sinking himself to the brim to join you in your delirium. His forehead is pressed to the base of your throat and he’s sobbing into your chest as your core continues to flutter around him for several minutes.

Eddie’s lifting his head when he feels the dryer shut off to find you leaned back against the control panel with a satisfied smile on your face. He licks a trail up your neck before kissing your lips with a hum, “What’s that cheeky smile about?”

“The dryer was a nice touch.”

A proud grin spreads across his flushed cheeks, “yeah? Just thought of that in the moment. Good?” You nod and kiss him again, he licks his lips before speaking, “I know you lived on pizza and red wine while I was gone. Let me cook you a proper meal. Have some time together. Remind you how much I love you.”

“I never forget, Eds.”

He kisses you again and smiles against your mouth, “and I’ll make sure you never will.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #Eddie Munson x reader #joseph quinn smut #Joseph Quinn x reader #joseph quinn #st4 imagine #st4 #stranger things

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jungle-angel · 9 months

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Of Picture Books and Bedtime Antics (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: Bedtime in your house is never boring, so what happens when Rhett decides to read one of his favorites to your kids? Something that could only happen in the Abbott household

You were busy scraping off the last of the dinner leavings in the sink, completely entranced by what you were doing. You hadn’t even felt the cat curling around your ankles, nor did you hear the sound of your children upstairs, giggling up a storm until the muffled noises caught your attention from below the floorboards.

You finished off the last of the dishes and stuck it in the dishwasher before making your way upstairs to the room that your oldest twin boys, Tatum and Tanner both shared. You watched and listened through the slightly opened door as your rowdy little bunch all gathered around Rhett, Amy included and taking to the floor with their pillows, blankets and stuffies so they could get comfortable and listen.

“......... I remember him looking round the cover and whistling to himself as he did so, and then breaking out in that old sea-song that he sang so often afterwards.....” your husband read

“Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest— Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum! Drink and the devil had done for the rest....... Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum !” the kids repeated in their creepiest whisper voices.

You had to laugh when you heard it. Rhett absolutely loved reading to the kids at night and if it was Treasure Island? Forget it, he was sure to have the kids engrossed in it from beginning to end.

“.......And so it was, that old sea dog pulled me towards him and in my ear, he whispered those five chilling words.....”

“Dead man tell no tales......” you answered from the hallway, doing your best imitation of an old sea captain.

None of them could resist squealing and laughing all at once as you entered, your children practically jumping all over you as you crossed the threshold of the door. “They kept begging for it didn’t they?” you chuckled.

“Couldn’t resist,” Rhett answered with a big shit eating grin on his face. “They came out to the book barn and they picked it out themselves.”

You couldn’t fight the smile that was breaking out on your face at that very moment as you helped get the babies ready for bed. Tatum and Tanner crawled into their bunks and Amy went right off to her room with Hannah heading into hers. Rhett hoisted Kaya up into her bunk while Harvey and Franklin both scooted into their beds. Three month old Dallas was the last to be tucked into his little cot at the foot of your shared bed, sucking sleepily on his little blue pacifier and clutching his little lamb stuffie as Rhett pulled his crochet blanket over him.

“Goodnight my little lovebug,” Rhett whispered, gently scratching Dallas’s little tummy and placing a kiss on his forehead.

You and Rhett crawled into bed, turning down the light just ever so slightly, scooting close to each other so that you could feel the other’s warmth. “You wanna hear the rest?”

“Only if you’re offering,” you half laughed.

Rhett opened up the book and quietly read from the page he had last left off on. You listened to his deep voice regailing that incredible tale of a boy and the ultimate quest for a treasure unlike any other, until the both of you drifted into a deep and heavy sleep that lasted well into the morning.

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #amy abbott #outer range

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venusvity · 10 months

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정윤아 … … ( THE BURN OF THE SPOTLIGHT. )

❝ Love is the most powerful thing on earth compared to fame and wealth. Because where there is love, there is peace of mind. ❞ ― Ojingiri Hannah

CHARACTERS : JUNG YOONAH … SUZUKI AKIKO … KANG JUWON … ADRIAN REYES … LEE ISEUL

WORDS : 3K

WARNINGS / NOTES : Unfair working conditions. Panic Attacks. Paranoia. The whole piece essentially deals with Yoonah having a hard time readjusting to idol life. Cursing is also present. Please let me know if I missed something! This piece originally started as a "in a glance" blurb but I ended up breaking 3k on it so here we are! Not proofread btw! rbs, comments, and asks are always appreciated ♡

Yoonah is tired.

They've been filming all day for this music video that Yoonah doesn't even know if she likes anymore. She's heard this song two thousand times over and it's starting to scratch against her brain in a way that makes her want to curl in on herself.

She keeps looking at the door.

People have been coming in an out all day, that's how filming goes, she knows that, but she can't stop herself from staring at every face that appears when the door opens. The more time goes on, the more anxious she gets about that door and who will walk through it.

"Can you go again, Yoonah?" Iseul asks off set and behind the cameras but Yoonah knows she isn't asking. Yoonah has to go again. She has to film this scene again, and again, and again until she doesn't slip up on the footwork she created. She hates how off her game she is. It's the anxiety, she knows it is, but nothing she does seems to quell it.

Yoonah swallows with a nod, adjusting the top of her dress. She picked it out. She picked everything out now that she thinks about it. Her hair, her makeup, her outfit, her set, the song, it's all her's but even then she can't shake the dread that drips down from her brain and seeps deep into her bones.

"We're going to start from the pre-chorus, okay?" Iseul tells her, voice loud as it echoes off the walls of the set. The set resembles that of a house but with a large glass mosaic window that takes up the entire wall behind Yoonah. The mosaic is full of pink, purple, and yellow shards of glass and lit from behind so the colors bounce off Yoonah when she dances. Yoonah designed it herself. She thought it was cool to see come to life seven hours ago now it gives her a headache.

The backup dancers get into position around Yoonah as she tips her head from side to side, cracking the joints in her neck as she rolls her frail shoulders back. The door bursts open. Yoonah jumps with a gasp at the loudness of it bursting open, her heartbeat picking up for a moment before she sees that it's just Adrian with two bags in his hand.

That's right, she thinks, he went out to get us dinner. Her heart is still beating rapidly, her eyes jerking around the room before swallowing again with a deep breath.

"You got this, Yoonah!" Aki cheers from beside Iseul, smiling at her friend and giving her an encouraging thumbs up. Yoonah forces a smile at her, giving her a thumbs up in response before shaking her hands out. She gives Iseul a nod that she's ready, moving to the center of the room and putting her head down.

"And action!" With the director's call, her song begins to play. Yoonah doesn't think a lot when she dances––Well, she used to not think a lot when she danced. In recent times it's been hard for her to do anything without overthinking. She swears the voices in her head are so loud and the images so vivid, she can't see or hear what's around her.

She misses a turn, causing her to bump into a back up dancer. A sea of groans can be heard behind the camera as Yoonah stumbles away from the dancer, mumbling out an apology as her gaze stays on the wooden floorboards for a moment before looking up and seeing Iseul with her head in her hands, shaking her head slowly.

Yoonah looks away with a bite of her cheek, feeling her throat tighten but she shakes it off.

"Let's go again," Yoonah demands, quickly getting back in her spot and motioning the dancers to do the same with a twirl of her finger. There's a sudden wave of confidence and authority in her walk and in her voice, it makes the room perk up a bit.

"Take 5...Action!"

This time, Yoonah hits the first few beats without a problem. It takes everything in her to hear the music and not her own voice telling her she's in danger, to look over her shoulder, that he's right behind–

"Yoonah, you need to move your lips," Iseul barks, causing the music to cut off and for Yoonah to stop abruptly. "You're singing and dancing. You have to do both."

Yoonah nods, blinking quickly a few times when she feels her throat get tighter. She balls her fists up and releases them, long pink acrylic nails digging into her palms just enough for her to feel a slight twinge of pain.

"Yeah, yeah! Sorry," Yoonah trails off as she gets back in her spot, taking a deep breath again. "Sorry...Sorry. Let's run it again."

There's a small lull on the set that makes Yoonah feel uneasy, making her look at the door only to see that it's closed. She looks back on the ground, balling her fists up again when she feels her throat tighten up again this time making her bottom lip quiver. This is not the time, Yoonah tells herself as she breathes in and out deeply like her therapist told her to do in times like these.

Who would've thought the day would come where Yoonah listens to her therapist.

"Let's run it again!" Yoonah says more sternly, looking up at the crew like they're stupid for not listening to her the first time before looking down again, getting in starting position.

"Alright...Take five," She hears the familiar click of the clapperboard, "And action!"

Yoonah's head snaps up, putting on a new face as she begins singing the lyrics and executing her moves charismatically with a sharpness that was unique to her and her style.

"Kno-kno-kno-knock, knock," Yoonah sings, knowing the end of the take is coming and they can finally move on. They can get out of this set, move elsewhere, she can do new pieces of the choreography she worked so tirelessly on, it's one step closer to over.

Then she steps with her right foot instead of her left, making her turn the opposite direction than her dancers. To anyone else, it doesn't look like a mistake. She could play it off and it'd all be fine but she knows. Yoonah knows she messed up. She knows it's not right.

"Oh my god," Yoonah groans in frustration, covering her face with her hands as she aimlessly walks towards the back of the set. "Oh my fucking god." The tears come before she can stop them, making everything seem more dire than it already is.

Yoonah keeps her back towards everyone but hunches over, long black hair draping in front of her like a curtain. She can hear murmuring, voices that are familiar, but she doesn't turn around. She just needs a minute, is what she tells herself but she can feel the sobs beginning to blossom in her throat wanting to bloom out of her mouth but she won't let them.

She's holding her breath, eyes shut tightly, hands tightly holding onto her hair by the root as if that would ground her. It feels like nothing grounds her these days. These days feel like years. She can't stand it.

"Yoonah?" Aki whispers, appearing beside her. Aki can ground her somewhat but not enough to stop the inevitable breakdown that's coming. Yoonah takes a deep breath, looking at her friend with a sniffle, shaking her head quickly.

"Everyone is looking, aren't they?" Yoonah whispers, blindly reaching for Aki's arm to hold onto. Aki looks behind them then at her, shaking her head even if the reality is that everyone is looking at her.

"No. No one's looking. It's okay," Aki whispers, holding tightly onto Yoonah's arm. "Do you need a break? Why don't you take a break?"

Yoonah shakes her head.

"No, I don't want a break. I want to go home," Yoonah whimpers, shutting her eyes tightly as the mention of home brings out a sob from her. "I want to go home. I want to see my mom."

"Yoon–"

"I–I need to see my mom," Yoonah calls, turning towards the crew who all look at Iseul. Iseul sighs, standing from her chair and motioning towards Adrian to come along. He follows slowly, knowing how bad Yoonah's meltdowns can get. She's had a handful of them in the studio with him before this. He's helped her through them but it's not his favorite thing to do.

Yoonah sniffles.

"I want to see my mom," Yoonah tells Iseul again when she's close enough, "I need–I need to see my mom. I need to go home."

"Yoonah, you can't go home. You have to finish doing your job," Iseul says a bit too coldly for Adrian or Aki's liking, causing both of them to shoot her a warning glare. Yoonah looks distraught at the woman's words, shaking her head with a pathetic whimper. She wipes under her eyes with the back of her hand.

"I can finish tomorrow–"

"Yoonah, listen to me," Iseul says, using a calmer voice as she takes the girl's forearms into her hands, turning her to face her fully. "We can't do tomorrow. It's tonight and tonight only. I can't pay for another night of filming. Do you know how far that'll set us behind?"

"I'll pay for it," Yoonah whimpers with a shaky breath as she looks at the door again then at Iseul, holding onto her forearms to somewhat calm herself down. She can feel herself breathing heavier again like she's been running. "I'll–I'll pay for it, Iseul. I need my mom right now or I'm going to fucking freak out."

Iseul shakes her head as Yoonah talks, shutting her down before the words can even get out which only makes Yoonah panic more. She looks at Aki then Adrian then back at Iseul, shaking her head at all of them.

"I can't do this."

"Yes, you can."

"Come on, Yoonah."

"Just push through another hour and it'll be over."

All their voices mesh into one loud harmonization that makes Yoonah's ears hurt. She squeezes her eyes shut, ripping her arms away from Iseul with a loud whine, shaking her head quickly and moving into the corner of the set to be alone just for a minute.

Yoonah slides down the wall, knees to her chest, dropping her head onto her knees to consume herself in total darkness for just a minute. It brings her little comfort but at least some. A loud sob leaves her body, muffled by her legs but she hears someone walk over.

"Yoonah," It's Aki. "I know–"

"Can you get Juwon?" Yoonah asks, lifting her head and wiping her eyes quickly. Aki looks at her like she just spoke Latin, blinking a few times but Yoonah is unphased. "I need Juwon here. I–I can't do this without him here." That's half true she supposes. Aki gives her a look over before sighing through her nose, nodding at the request.

"I'll call him."

Juwon is always reliable. He's by Yoonah's side in 23 minutes flat. Yoonah doesn't know why he's the only one she can bring herself to talk to about the emotions inside of her.

"And every time I look at that door, I just–I swear he's going to walk through it and I'm so fucking scared and-and it's distracting me and I can't do the fucking moves right–"

"Shh, shh," Juwon coos, running his fingers through Yoonah's silky hair before bringing her head to his chest. "He's not walking through that door, Yoonah. I promise you he's not."

Deep down, Yoonah knows that. She knows of all the places Jinhwa could get to her, it's not here. Despite the fear being irrational, it doesn't stop it from consuming her.

"I know. I know but it's so scary. I can't focus," Yoonah whispers, wrapping her arms around Juwon with a deep shaky breath. Juwon's calloused hands rub up and down Yoonah's back, nodding slowly. "And I just want to go home and see my mom. I miss my mom." She's sobbing again, pressing her face into Juwon's chest, ensuring that her makeup gets messed up. She hopes maybe that is enough for Iseul to call it.

For a moment, Juwon lets Yoonah just sit there and cry into his chest. He's found that sometimes, that's all she needs. She just needs to scream or cry to get it out of her system.

After the three minute mark passes and she's still crying, he pushes her back softly. Yoonah keeps her eyes shut to avoid Juwon's intense gaze, balling her fists up again with a quiet wince when she feels the skin of her palms finally split beneath her nails.

"Let's call your mom, yeah?" Juwon whispers in a calming tone, causing Yoonah to slowly nod and open her eyes. She sniffles up at him as he wipes under her eyes with his thumb before pulling out his phone and handing it to her. Yoonah catches a glimpse of herself in the reflection of his screen before she's met with his lockscreen. It's a picture of her from a few months back when they went to dinner for the first time during her recovery.

Yoonah smiles softly at how happy she looks in that picture.

She types in his passcode before dialing her mom's number. She knows he has it saved but Yoonah has had her mom's phone number memorized since she was eight, it's just a force of habit to dial it at this point.

"Hello? Juwon? Is Yoonah okay?" Her mother answers the phone without so much as a second ring. Yoonah sniffles at her worries, whimpering quietly as she runs a hand through her hair.

"Mama," Yoonah whispers, putting her hand on her head with a thick swallow. "I miss you." Is all Yoonah can tell her before a sob leaves her lips, covering her eyes with one hand.

"Oh Yoonah, I miss you too," Her mom tells her in her usual comforting voice. She swears she can hear her smiling because of how her voice lilts. "Are you still working?"

"They won't let me go home," Yoonah tells her, "I've been here all day and I-I cant get this take right. It's driving me crazy, mama. I want to go home."

"Did you ask Iseul?"

"Yes. She said I can't go because–because she paid for a full day and it would set us back if we filmed tomorrow."

Yoonah's mom hums, unimpressed.

"Ah...I see," There's a lull that makes her mom sigh through her nose, "There are a lot eyes on you right now, flower. They want you to fail. You can't let them be right."

Yoonah presses her palm against her aching forehead with a loud whimper. She knows she's right. Yoonah has so much to prove right now. She's supposed to be the face of her group, the most adored idol in South Korea, her comeback is predicted to be one of the most successful of the year. She can't fumble this, there's no time for her to lie down and give up.

"I know. I know...I'm just tired and, um, anxious. I'm, like, freaking out, mom."

"You've been tired before. What did you do then?"

Yoonah takes a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling before her eyes look down at the ground, swallowing thickly.

"I kept going," Yoonah whispers.

"Yes, you did!" Her mom says, her voice getting higher with enthusiasm. Yoonah can't help but to smile softly, wiping under her eyes as she leans against the wall. "You just keep going. You always keep going because we raised you to be strong, right?"

Yoonah nods, "Yeah. You did."

Her mother hums.

"So, what are you going to do after we hang up?"

"I'm going to keep going," Yoonah mumbles, "then I'm going to go to your house and have dad's cabbage stew," Yoonah adds to make herself feel better, smiling genuinely for the first time in hours. Her mom laughs.

"Of course, you will!" She laughs that makes Yoonah laugh softly, wiping her cheeks again with the back of her hand. She pushes herself up to stand, Juwon helping her up by her arm and putting an arm around her waist to support her.

"I love you very much, Yoonah," Her mom tells her in a voice that immediately clams any remaining nerves in Yoonah, "I'll see you soon, okay? Make me proud."

Yoonah clears her throat with nod.

"I will, mama. 'Love you."

"Love you too."

Yoonah hangs up with a sniffle, handing the phone back to Juwon with a deep breath. She rolls her shoulders back as she walks out of Juwon's hold, wiping under her eyes again as she gets back to the center of the set.

Her eyes look around at the crew and her friends. She motions to her messed up eye makeup, raising her brows.

"Can I get makeup over here?" She calls. Instantly a gaggle of makeup artists rushes over to her, touching up her makeup with q-tips and sponges. Yoonah looks at Iseul, nodding her head at her.

"Can we run it again?"

#╰ * VENUS : scenarios ⧽ burn it to the ground .#fictional idol group #fictional idol community #kpop fanfic #idol oc #kpop oc #fake kpop oc #kpop au #idol au #kpop addition #idolverse #oc girl group #bts addition #fake kpop girl group #fake kpop idol #oc kpop group #stray kids addition

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