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lila-lou · 2 days ago

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✨Beyond his true fate - Part 1/14✨

Summary: Sequel to "His true fate".

(Jensen hasn't been happy for years. But it seems almost impossible for him to escape. After another nasty argument between him and his wife, he decides to visit his ´former´ best friend for his birthday. Back in Austin, an encounter awaits him that will turn his life completely upside down.)

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Language, age gap, tough topics

Word Count: 5779

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. DISCLAIMER: Everything is purely fiction. I do not intend to attack or hurt anyone. The story is, of course, entirely made up and meant for entertainment purposes. I love them all.

Day 1 Jensen stared at his phone, thumb hovering over your name in his call log. Five missed calls. Five times he let it ring until it went to voicemail. Five times he hoped, prayed, begged that you would answer.

You didn’t. Your last message had been clear: “Jensen, please. I need space”.

He hadn’t replied. What could he say? That he didn’t want to give you space? That he wanted to get in his car and drive straight to wherever you were, pull you into his arms, bury his face in your neck and apologize until his voice gave out?

Instead, he shoved his phone into his pocket and turned toward the living room, where Zeppelin was currently attempting to stack pillows taller than himself. Arrow was chasing JJ around the couch with a stuffed animal.

Jensen forced himself to smile. Forced himself to laugh when Zeppelin collapsed into the pillows. Forced himself to focus on them and not the aching hole in his chest where you used to be.

But that night, after he tucked them in and the house was quiet, he sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the spot where you should be. Where you belonged. And for the first time in a long time, he felt truly, completely alone.

Day 3 He found one of your sweaters in the laundry. He hadn’t noticed it before, tangled up in the mix of clothes from before you left. It still smelled like you.

He sat on the couch with it in his lap for hours, rubbing the soft fabric between his fingers, his chest aching so damn bad he could hardly breathe.

Jensen had never been the kind of man to hold onto things like that. He wasn’t sentimental about clothes or perfume or little trinkets. But right now? Right now, he would have given anything to hear your voice. To hear you hum under your breath while cooking, to feel your fingers thread through his hair when he sat on the couch beside you, to have your body pressed against his at night—warm, soft, real.

But all he had was this damn sweater. And a silence that was suffocating.

Day 5 Jensen took the kids out for ice cream, trying to distract himself with their laughter. It worked for a little while. Zeppelin got chocolate all over his shirt, Arrow declared she was officially “too old for baby flavors” and got something she hated, and JJ? She barely said anything.

She was watching him.

And later, when the other two had gone to bed, she sat beside him on the couch, arms crossed, her sharp eyes way too knowing. “You look like shit, Dad”, she finally said, her tone blunt.

Jensen scoffed, running a hand over his face. “Thanks, kid”.

“Are you gonna fix it?”.

Jensen looked at her then, feeling the weight of everything press down on his chest. “I don’t know”, he admitted.

Day 7 The kids went back to Danneel’s today. The house was too quiet after they left.

Jensen paced the kitchen, his phone in his hand, your number pulled up for what felt like the hundredth time.

Just one message. Just one call.

But every time, he stopped himself. Because if you wanted to hear from him, you would have called by now.

Instead, he grabbed a bottle of whiskey and poured himself a drink.

Then another. Then another.

By the time he stopped, his head was heavy, his limbs sluggish, and the only thing he could think about was the way your lips felt against his. The way your voice sounded when you whispered his name in the dark. The way you had looked at him the last time you spoke—broken, distant, done.

He didn’t deserve to call you. Didn’t deserve to beg.

Day 9 The whiskey burned going down, but he barely felt it anymore.

Jensen sat on the couch, staring at the dark TV screen, the bottle sitting half-empty on the table beside him.

He had ignored his emails. Ignored his agent’s calls. Ignored everyone except the bartender from the local place he had gone to earlier that night just to get out of the house.

But none of it mattered. Because no matter how much he tried to distract himself, the only thing he could think about was you. And the fact that he had no idea if you were coming back.

Day 12 Jensen hadn’t shaved. Had barely slept. He was a mess, and he knew it.

The couch had become his bed, the bottle of whiskey his closest companion. Every time his phone buzzed, he snapped his head toward it, hoping—praying—it was you.

But it never was.

Day 14 Jensen barely registered the sound of knocking at first. His head was pounding, a dull ache from too many sleepless nights and too much whiskey. He had half a mind to ignore it—until the knocking turned into full-blown pounding.

Groaning, he rubbed his hands over his face and pushed himself off the couch, stumbling slightly as he made his way toward the door. He swung it open without checking, expecting maybe the mailman, maybe a delivery—hell, maybe even you.

Instead, it was Jared.

Jensen blinked, his vision hazy. “What the hell are you doing here?”.

Jared gave him a once-over, his expression unimpressed. “Checking to see if you’re dead”.

Jensen scoffed, stepping back so Jared could walk in. “I’m fine”.

Jared shut the door behind him and immediately let out a low whistle, taking in the disaster that was Jensen’s living room. The coffee table was cluttered with empty glasses, the bottle of whiskey still sitting there, and a blanket was thrown haphazardly over the couch—the only place Jensen had been sleeping.

“Yeah”, Jared muttered. “You look great”.

Jensen rolled his eyes and dropped back onto the couch. “Why are you really here?”.

Jared exhaled through his nose, crossing his arms. “Because you’re a miserable fuck when you’re heartbroken, and I figured you’d be too stubborn to reach out for help”.

Jensen scoffed, shaking his head. “I’m not heartbroken”.

Jared raised an eyebrow. “Really? So, this”,—he gestured around the room—"this is just your new aesthetic?”.

Jensen shot him a glare, but Jared wasn’t fazed. Instead, he dropped onto the armchair across from him, leaning forward slightly. “Look, man”, Jared said, his voice softer now, more serious. “I know you. And I know you’re hurting. But you can’t just sit here drowning yourself in whiskey and self-pity, waiting for her to come back”.

Jensen’s jaw clenched. “She won’t even talk to me”.

“Yeah, because she’s hurting too”, Jared shot back. “And from what I can tell, she’s not the one who fucked this up”.

Jensen exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. He knew Jared was right. He didn’t need to hear it.

Jared leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Jensen, do you even want this kid?”.

Jensen’s stomach twisted, and for a moment, he couldn’t even answer.

Jared shook his head. “That’s the problem, man. You’re waiting for some grand epiphany, but that’s not how it works. You either step the fuck up, or you lose her. It’s that simple”.

Jensen let his head drop back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. His chest felt tight, his mind racing, his heart a mess. “I don’t know how”, he admitted finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jared exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Then figure it out. Before it’s too late”.

Jensen closed his eyes, his fingers gripping the blanket on the couch. Because deep down, he knew—he was already running out of time.

Jared leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms. “Alright, enough”.

Jensen barely cracked an eye open. “Enough of what?”.

“This”, Jared gestured around the disaster of a living room. “This whole pathetic, self-loathing, whiskey-drenched thing you’ve got going on. It’s over”.

Jensen scoffed, running a hand through his messy hair. “What, you gonna fix my life, Jare?”.

Jared didn’t flinch. “No, you are. Because I’m not letting you sit here wallowing while (Y/N) is out there figuring out if she can live without you”.

Jensen’s stomach twisted. He already knew the answer to that. You could.

Jared stood up, towering over him with that stubborn-as-hell look Jensen had seen too many times. “Get up”.

Jensen groaned. “Dude—”.

“No. Get the fuck up”.

Jensen blinked up at him, momentarily caught off guard by the edge in Jared’s tone.

Jared gestured at him. “You look like hell, man. When’s the last time you shaved?”.

Jensen rubbed a hand over his scruff, glaring. “I don’t know. Who gives a shit?”.

Jared let out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, see, that’s the problem. You don’t give a shit. And that’s why you’re losing her”.

That one landed deep.

Jared didn’t let up. “You say you don’t know how to do this? Fine. But sitting here doing nothing sure as hell isn’t helping”. He pointed toward the stairs. “So go shower. Shave. Clean this place up. And when you’re done, we’re gonna figure out how to make this right”.

Jensen exhaled heavily, rubbing his hands over his face.

Jared stepped closer. “You don’t get to be the victim here, Jensen. You did this. But you can still fix it”.

Jensen looked up at him, his jaw clenching. He wanted to snap back, to tell Jared to fuck off, to say he was too exhausted, too broken. But deep down, he knew his friend was right. So, without another word, he pushed himself off the couch and trudged toward the stairs.

“Atta boy”, Jared muttered, shaking his head as Jensen disappeared toward the bathroom.

As the water hit his face, Jensen let out a slow breath. He had to fix this. Before it really was too late.

Jensen ran a towel over his face, exhaling as he walked back into the living room. He felt a little more human—showered, shaved, wearing clean clothes—but inside, he was still wrecked.

Jared was sitting at the kitchen table now, arms crossed, watching him expectantly. He had cracked open a beer but hadn’t touched it yet.

Jensen sighed, dragging out a chair before dropping into it. “Alright”, he muttered. “Let’s hear it”.

Jared lifted a brow. “Hear what?”.

Jensen gestured vaguely. “Whatever lecture you’ve been dying to give me”.

Jared shook his head. “Nah, man. I’m past the lecture phase. Now, I just want the truth”.

Jensen looked down at his hands, jaw clenched. He wasn’t ready for this. But at the same time? He was fucking exhausted from running from it.

Jared leaned forward. “What are you so scared of?”.

Jensen swallowed hard, his throat tight. He ran a hand over his face before finally forcing the words out. “I swore I’d never do this again”.

Jared didn’t say anything, just let him talk.

“After the twins, after everything with Danneel…”, Jensen exhaled heavily, gripping the edge of the table. “I told myself I was done. No more kids. No more sleepless nights, no more stress, no more feeling like I’m failing at being a dad when my career is pulling me in a hundred different directions”.

Jared nodded slowly. “So when (Y/N) told you she was pregnant—”.

Jensen let out a humorless laugh. “I panicked. I shut down. Because I knew what was coming”. He shook his head, staring at the wood grain of the table. “The late nights. The exhaustion. The pressure to be everything all at once”.

Jared’s voice was quiet but firm. “And the difference this time?”.

Jensen hesitated, his chest tightening. “This time… I can’t fuck it up”.

Jared frowned. “What do you mean?”.

Jensen looked up at him, his green eyes stormy with emotions he hadn’t let himself feel until now. “I already screwed up one marriage, Jared. My kids already have to split their time between two homes. And now I’ve got this—this perfect, amazing woman who actually loves me for who I am, and I’m fucking ruining it”.

Jared exhaled. “Jensen—”.

Jensen shook his head. “I don’t get a redo if I mess this up. (Y/N) deserves more than that. This baby deserves more than that”. His voice cracked slightly. “And I’m so goddamn scared that I don’t know how to be enough for them”.

Silence settled between them.

Then, Jared leaned back, crossing his arms. “Okay”, he said simply.

Jensen blinked. “Okay?”.

Jared nodded. “Yeah. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, it’s time to do something about it”.

Jensen let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. “You make it sound so fucking easy”.

Jared smirked. “It’s not. But neither is sitting here feeling sorry for yourself”. He tilted his head. “You love her?”.

Jensen’s chest ached. “More than anything”.

Jared nodded. “Then prove it”.

Jensen exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He knew Jared was right—he had to do something. He had to prove to you that he wasn’t just going to keep running, keep shutting down when things got hard.

But how the hell was he supposed to fix something that felt this broken?

Jared studied him carefully, taking a slow sip of his beer before setting it down. His tone was different this time—slower, more deliberate. “Have you ever thought about proposing?”.

Jensen’s entire body tensed. His green eyes snapped to Jared’s, his breath hitching for just a second before he forced himself to scoff. “Jesus, Jared”, he muttered, shaking his head. “I’m trying to fix things, not push her away even more”.

Jared didn’t flinch. “I’m not saying you gotta do it tomorrow. I’m just asking… have you thought about it?”.

Jensen looked away, jaw tight. His hands clenched into fists on the table. “No”, he said automatically. Then, softer, almost to himself, “Not really”.

Jared hummed like he didn’t quite believe him. “Okay. And why not?”.

Jensen let out a humorless laugh. “Because marriage is right next to ‘another baby’ on my list of things I swore I’d never do again”. His voice was rough, bitter. “I barely survived it the first time. You really think I’d be dumb enough to sign up for that shit again?”.

Jared’s expression didn’t change. He just nodded like he had expected that answer. “And yet”, he said slowly, tilting his head, “you´re kinda willing to do the whole baby thing again for (Y/N)”.

Jensen opened his mouth, then shut it.

Jared leaned forward, his voice even. “So maybe this isn’t about marriage itself. Maybe this is about the fact that Danneel took that idea, chewed it up, and spit it out until all you see when you hear ‘marriage’ is something ugly”.

Jensen clenched his jaw, his chest tightening. Jared wasn’t wrong.

When he thought about marriage, he thought about fights behind closed doors. About feeling like a failure no matter what he did. About a relationship that had turned into nothing but resentment and obligations.

But when he thought about you?

He thought about quiet mornings with your legs tangled in his under the covers. The way you absentmindedly played with his fingers while you watched TV. The way you whispered his name in the dark, soft and certain, like you never doubted he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

Jensen swallowed hard, rubbing his hand over his face.

Jared was watching him carefully. “I’m not saying you gotta run out and buy a ring right now”, he said. “But if you want to show her that you’re all in? It’s gotta be something big, man. Because right now, she thinks you don’t want this—don’t want her. And if you don’t do something to prove otherwise, she’s gonna walk”.

Jensen’s chest ached. Because that was his biggest fear. Losing you. Losing everything.

He exhaled slowly, his hands still gripping the edge of the table. “I don’t know if I can do marriage again”, he admitted, his voice raw. “But I know I can’t lose her”.

Jared nodded, like that was enough for now. “Then figure out what the hell you’re gonna do about it”.

Another week had passed. Another week full of Jared pushing, prodding, and dragging Jensen through what he sarcastically called “therapy sessions”. Another week without a single word from you.

It was fucking killing him. But at least now, he was trying.

Two days ago, in the middle of another long conversation about what the hell are you doing, man? Jensen had suggested painting the nursery.

It had come out of nowhere. One second, Jared was rattling on about emotional vulnerability or some shit, and the next, Jensen had blurted it out. “I should probably paint the nursery, huh?”.

Jared had frozen mid-sip of his beer, staring at him like he’d just spoken a foreign language. “You what?”.

Jensen had shrugged, playing it off. “She’s not gonna get rid of the baby”. Saying it out loud made something heavy settle in his chest. He cleared his throat. “And even if I still don’t—I mean, I don’t—”. He groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Fuck, I don’t want this, man, but I know I have to get there somehow. And I sure as hell won’t let her leave me over it”.

Jared had watched him carefully for a long moment, then simply nodded. “Then we better get some paint”.

Which led them here. To a damn hardware store.

Jensen walked down the aisles with his hands in his pockets, eyes scanning rows of paint samples while Jared followed behind, arms crossed like some judgmental therapist. “So… you’re painting the nursery”, Jared mused, eyeing Jensen with an annoyingly smug look. “Big step”.

Jensen rolled his eyes, grabbing a handful of swatches. “It’s just paint”.

Jared scoffed. “Right. And I suppose you just accidentally wandered into the baby furniture section earlier, too?”.

Jensen shot him a glare.

Jared grinned. “That’s what I thought”.

Jensen sighed, glancing at the blues, greens, and neutral tones in his hand. “I have no fucking clue what I’m doing”.

Jared clapped a hand on his shoulder. "You got this".

Jensen huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah”. His eyes flickered over the soft pastel colors, and before he could second-guess himself, he grabbed a few cans of paint. “Let’s get this over with”.

Jared didn’t say anything, just smirked knowingly as he followed Jensen to the checkout.

Jensen dipped the roller into the tray, watching the soft, muted green coat the surface before pressing it against the nursery wall. The rhythmic motion—up, down, up, down—was the only thing grounding him, keeping him from spiraling into the thoughts he had been trying to avoid all day.

But the silence made it impossible to outrun them.

It was just him, the paint, and his own fucked-up mind.

He hadn’t told anyone, not even Jared, why he chose green. But he knew. Deep down, he knew.

It was the color of your sweater—the one you always wore around the house, the one he found in the laundry after you left, the one that still smelled like you.

And maybe, on some subconscious level, he thought if he filled this room with something that reminded him of you, maybe—just maybe—it wouldn’t feel so terrifying.

Jensen sighed, pressing the roller harder against the wall. The sound of it gliding over the drywall filled the empty house, the scent of fresh paint mixing with the whiskey lingering on his breath.

He still didn’t know how to want this. That was the worst part.

He had spent years swearing he’d never do this again. The sleepless nights, the crying, the constant feeling of never doing enough. He had already lived through it, and he had barely survived it then.

And now? Now, he was older. His patience was thinner. His life was different.

So why the hell was he here, rolling paint onto these damn walls like a man preparing for a future he still didn’t know if he wanted?

Because she’s leaving you. The thought came so fast it knocked the wind out of him.

Jensen froze mid-roll, his grip tightening around the handle. That’s what this was, wasn’t it?

That’s why he had spent the past two weeks drowning himself in whiskey and self-pity. Why Jared had to drag his ass off the couch just to function like a normal human being. Why he was standing in a half-empty nursery at one in the morning, painting walls for a baby he had spent months trying not to think about.

Because for the first time, he felt it.

The empty space beside him. The missing presence of the woman he loved. The gaping hole you had left behind when you walked out of that house.

And if he didn’t fix this—really fix this—he was going to lose you.

Jensen swallowed hard, his chest tightening as he stared at the half-painted wall. He needed to stop being a coward.

The next morning, Jensen woke up stiff as hell, his back aching from falling asleep on the floor of the half-painted nursery. His hands were speckled with dried paint, his shirt a mess, and his head still a little foggy from everything running through his mind the night before.

He had never planned on getting this far.

Never planned on standing in a room he was preparing for a baby. Never planned on thinking about cribs or carpets or curtains.

But here he was.

With a groan, he pushed himself up, rubbing the sleep from his face before reaching for his phone. He knew what he had to do, but fuck if he was going to do it alone.

Jensen: I need your fucking moral support today.

It didn’t take Jared long to respond.

Jared: Moral support for what?

Jensen exhaled through his nose, running a hand over his jaw before typing back.

Jensen: Baby store.

Jared: …holy shit.

Jensen: Shut up and get your ass over here.

Jensen locked his phone, rolling his shoulders before standing up and taking a good look around the room. The green walls were dry now, the color softer in the daylight. The room still felt empty as hell, but it was a start. And he was going to make damn sure it didn’t stay empty for long.

Jared was already waiting when Jensen pulled into the parking lot, leaning against his truck with his arms crossed and an absolutely shit-eating grin on his face.

Jensen groaned before even stepping out. “Don’t”, he warned the second his sneaker hit the pavement.

Jared just chuckled. “Oh, I am gonna”.

Jensen rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he walked past him, straight toward the entrance. Jared followed, his grin only widening. “I just need a crib”, Jensen muttered. “Maybe a carpet. Some curtains”.

Jared raised an eyebrow. “That’s a lot coming from the guy who, just a couple weeks ago, was acting like this baby was an alien invasion”.

Jensen shot him a glare. “Moral support, Jared. Not moral commentary”.

Jared held up his hands in surrender, still grinning as they stepped inside.

The second they entered, Jensen felt like he had been hit with baby shit everywhere. Cribs. Strollers. Little clothes that were way too tiny. Shelves filled with things—things that made his head spin, things he had completely forgotten about from when his own kids were babies.

This wasn’t just picking out a crib. This was preparing for something he had been trying to run from for months.

Jensen swallowed hard, but before he could backtrack, Jared clapped a hand on his shoulder, grinning like the bastard he was. “Alright, man. Show me where the cribs are”.

Jensen sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s just get this over with”.

Jensen had faced a lot of difficult things in his life. Grueling film schedules. Long flights. Even longer nights. Divorce. But nothing—nothing—could have prepared him for standing in the middle of a baby store, staring at rows of cribs while Jared fucking Padalecki grinned at him like he had just won the lottery.

Jensen let out a long breath, crossing his arms as his eyes scanned the options. Too many choices. Too many colors. Too many damn cribs that all looked exactly the same.

Jared, on the other hand, was having way too much fun. He leaned against a display, arms crossed, watching Jensen with pure amusement. “Never thought I’d see the day”, he mused, shaking his head. “Jensen Ackles, shopping for a crib. It’s like watching Bigfoot pick out furniture”.

Jensen shot him a glare. “Shut the hell up”.

Jared smirked. “Nah, man, this is too good. Should I call Gen? Maybe get Danneel on FaceTime? This is history right here”.

Jensen groaned, running a hand down his face. “I swear, if you don’t shut up—”.

Jared just laughed, clapping him on the back. “Relax. I’m proud of you, dude”.

Jensen rolled his eyes, pretending to be irritated, but the words did hit somewhere deeper. He didn’t respond to that, though. Instead, he turned back to the cribs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Which one of these things is… I don’t know. The best?”.

Jared raised an eyebrow. “Best at what?”.

Jensen exhaled sharply. “Best at keeping a baby alive, Jared. Isn’t that the whole point?”.

Jared snorted. “I mean, yeah, but it’s not that deep, man. Just pick one”.

Jensen frowned. “It’s not that simple”.

And apparently, it wasn’t—because before he knew it, he was running his hand along the wooden railing of one crib, testing the bars, then moving to another one, checking its sturdiness like he actually knew what the hell he was doing.

Jared watched in amusement as Jensen muttered to himself, comparing features, shaking cribs slightly to test their stability. “Wow”, Jared drawled. “You’re really putting your dad instincts into this, huh?”.

Jensen scoffed but didn’t stop inspecting. “It’s a crib. It’s gotta be solid. What if the kid starts climbing? What if the bars are too wide?”. He frowned at one and moved on to another. “What if it’s got some cheap-ass paint that chips?”.

Jared blinked. “Dude. Babies don’t just come out the womb climbing like monkeys”.

Jensen ignored him, still scanning the options. His eyes landed on white crib—solid wood, no flimsy parts, simple but sturdy. He ran his hand over the rail, nodding to himself.

“This one”.

Jared smirked. “Oh, so now you care about the details?”.

Jensen shot him a look but didn’t argue. Because, yeah, maybe he did care. Maybe picking this crib meant something. Maybe it meant he was trying.

Jared must have sensed the shift, because his smirk softened into something more genuine. “Alright”, he said, nodding. “Let’s get it”.

After the crib was loaded onto a cart, Jensen turned toward the next item on his list. “Curtains”, he muttered.

Jared raised an eyebrow. “You actually giving her a choice on those?”.

Jensen huffed. “She’ll pick everything else. I just wanna get something neutral”.

Jared smirked but didn’t argue, following as Jensen made his way toward the fabric section. And somehow, some-fucking-how, Jensen found himself holding up two different sets of curtains, actually considering shades like it was the most important decision of his damn life. “These?”. He held up a soft gray set. “Or these?”. A muted sage green.

Jared blinked. “Dude. They’re curtains”.

Jensen glared at him. “Yeah, but they gotta match the room”.

Jared snorted. “Alright, Martha Stewart. Go with the green. It matches the walls”.

Jensen grumbled but tossed them in the cart.

Next up: a rug.

Jensen wandered toward the aisle, scanning the options before stopping at one with a soft, plush texture. Simple, neutral, nothing fancy—but it looked comfortable.

While Jensen was focused on loading the cart with the essentials—crib, curtains, rug—Jared had somehow wandered off to another aisle. And that was never a good sign.

Jensen found him standing in front of a display of tiny baby clothes, holding up an impossibly small onesie with a goofy grin. “Man”, Jared muttered, half to himself, half to Jensen. “Maybe I should have another one”.

Jensen groaned. “Oh, hell no. Gen would kill you”.

Jared smirked but didn’t put the onesie back. “I mean… look at these”, he said, holding up a tiny pair of socks between his fingers. “They’re like… this big”. He pinched his fingers together dramatically.

Jensen exhaled, rubbing his forehead. “Jesus, Jared”.

Jared laughed, tossing the socks back into the bin before glancing at Jensen. “You know the gender yet?”.

Jensen shook his head, his fingers tightening on the cart handle. “No. Won’t know for another four weeks or something”.

Jared nodded, his expression turning more thoughtful. “You gonna find out?”.

Jensen hesitated, glancing down at the items in the cart. The crib. The rug. The curtains. The first things he’d actually bought for this baby.

For his baby.

“Yeah”, he admitted, voice quieter now. “I think I wanna know”.

Jared grinned, nudging him with his elbow. “Good. That way, I can get you something really obnoxious”.

Jensen rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Because, for the first time, he realized—he actually wanted to know. And maybe that meant something.

Eventually, Jensen stood in front of the rack, staring at the onesie like it had personally offended him. The design was so familiar, but just… off enough to avoid a lawsuit.

Jared stepped up beside him, taking one look before bursting into laughter. “No way this is legal”.

Jensen scoffed, shaking his head. “Someone at Warner Bros. is definitely gonna lose their shit if they see this”.

Jared picked up the tiny black onesie, reading the white lettering aloud. “‘Saving People, Hunting Things… My Family Business’”. He whistled. “Damn. They really just went for it, huh?”.

Jensen crossed his arms, smirking. “I mean, they changed like, one word. That’s gotta count for something, right?”.

Jared grinned. “Yeah, let’s see how well that argument holds up in court”.

Jensen let out a short laugh, shaking his head as he reached for the onesie. He turned it over in his hands, fingers brushing over the fabric. It was small. So damn small. His throat tightened a little. Before he could overthink it, he tossed it into the cart.

Jared’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait—seriously?”.

Jensen shot him a look, raising a warning brow. “Don’t”.

Jared bit back a grin, holding up his hands. “Just saying—you’re actually picking out baby clothes. On purpose. This is a big moment”.

Jensen rolled his eyes. “It’s just a onesie, Padalecki”.

“Yeah, yeah”, Jared said, clearly unconvinced. “And the crib was just a crib”. He nudged Jensen’s shoulder. “Admit it, man. You’re getting into this”.

Jensen sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know what I’m doing”, he muttered. “But if I let you pick shit, my kid’s gonna end up in a ‘Uncle Jared is my favorite’ onesie, and I refuse to let that happen”.

Jared grinned. “I mean… that can still be arranged”.

Jensen groaned. “We’re leaving”.

Jared laughed as he followed him toward checkout, watching as Jensen—Jensen Ackles—paid for a crib, a rug, and a damn Supernatural-adjacent onesie.

Maybe he wasn’t all the way there yet. But damn if he wasn’t trying.

That night, Jensen sat on the floor of the nursery, surrounded by unassembled crib parts, screws, and an instruction manual that looked like it had been translated into English by someone who had never seen a crib in their life.

He let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders before picking up the first piece of wood, aligning it with another.

Alright. Let’s do this.

The rhythmic process of assembling the crib—slotting parts together, tightening screws, rechecking everything—gave him something to focus on. Something to do. It kept his mind from spiraling into places he didn’t want to go.

But as the frame started to take shape, something inside him shifted.

Jensen sat back on his heels, looking at the half-assembled crib in front of him. It was real now. Tangible. A thing that was going to hold a baby—his baby—in just a few months.

His hands rested on his thighs, his fingers curling slightly as he exhaled.

For weeks, he had pushed this away, refused to let himself think about it too much. But now, sitting here, surrounded by baby furniture and walls he had painted himself, the truth settled in his chest like a weight.

This was happening. No matter how scared he was. No matter how much he hadn’t wanted this. It was real.

And maybe—just maybe—he was starting to want it, too.

He let out a slow breath, brushing his fingers over the wooden frame, imagining tiny fingers gripping the edge one day, little kicks against the mattress, quiet breaths in the middle of the night.

Jensen swallowed hard, his throat thick with emotion he wasn’t ready to name. He reached for another screw, tightening the last side panel into place.

And for the first time since you had left, he let himself think about the moment you’d see it. Would you be proud of him? Would you even care? Would this be enough?

He didn’t know. But for the first time in weeks, he knew one thing for sure. He wanted you to come home.

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A/N: Hello and welcome back, lol. I didn't want to keep you waiting for the first chapter any longer, even though I still don't know when I'll post the following chapters. I might post one or two chapters per week, but maybe just one. I don't have a fixed day for that. Just a heads-up in advance.

And of course, please let me know what you think.🥰

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373 @shanimallina87 @ascarriel @deanwinchesters67impala @thebiggerbear @quietgirll75 @barnes70stark @kellyls04 @spxideyver @ralilda @americanvenom13 @ozwriterchick @lmg14

#jensen ackles #jensen x reader #jensen ackles smut #jensen fucking ackles #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen ackles the boys #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles x reader #jensen x y/n #jensen x you #beyond his true fate

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itsstrange · 1 year ago

Text

The Promise

Relationship: Rip Wheeler x Reader

Fandom: Yellowstone

A/N: A small idea I had while daydreaming at work, hope y’all like it. 🥹

Summary: Saying Goodbye Is Always The Hardest. So Is Keeping A Promise.

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: (No) Angst, Mention of Military, Farewells, A Little Sad Moment, Angry Rip, Sad Rip, Arguments, Small Confessions.

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ENJOY 🐎

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“So… you’re really goin’ back?”

You look up, meeting his eyes before averting them back down to your duffel bag where you toss the stack of clothes inside. The clothes that have been folded, locked away underneath the bed for the past five years. The clothes you swore you wouldn’t wear again, wouldn’t dare to see until you had kids in the future to explain to them why you had a pile of clothes and photos locked away in some old worn trunk that dusted away underneath your bed.

Unfortunately it didn’t last to reach that day because here you are, packing away the clothes into your tactical duffel bag that was also locked away.

“How long?”

You inhale deeply through your nose before slowly exhaling, still not meeting their gaze you continue packing away, placing the frame photo of you and the boys in the center before zipping the duffel shut.

“Not sure.. too early to say,” You answer as you move the bag to the foot of the bed before sitting down,

“When do you leave?”

You swallow, feeling the way your chest tightens at the thought, “Tomorrow, before sunrise,”

Thick silence hovers the room. Everyone thinking and feeling the same thoughts, emotions.

“And why are you going back again?”

“Will you morons knock it off with the questions,” Lloyd’s husky voice bouncing off the wooden walls brings a small smile and a chuckle from you,

“A buddy of mine needs help,” You still answer Jimmy’s question, which he doesn’t respond with another mostly because he can see the way Lloyd gives him the look,

No other questions were sent your way, neither of them wanting a look from Lloyd as well, nor did they want you to dwell on the heavy mood that hovered. So instead, Ryan and Colby were the first to bring up a farewell party, change of topic. You kindly decline their idea, but of course neither men listens to you.

As Ryan and Colby begin listing items on what to bring for the farewell bonfire, and yelling at one another on who gets to keep your bunk (because it’s the closest one to the bathroom) you couldn’t help the small chuckle that falls from your lips. You were really going to miss every single person in this room. Despite them making you lose a few strands of hair from their idiotic actions, and constant bar brawls, you were surely going to miss them.

They made every other day interesting, every night annoying and fun at the same time with their childlike games that they come up with that sometimes leaves them with bruises or a chipped tooth. Everyday, every night, they made it special and you were definitely gonna miss it.

“Hey I’m not leaving just yet, I still got the whole day and the night before y’all start fighting over my bunk,” You say as you stand from the bed, punching both men on their shoulders,

They both share a laugh with you as they continue listing whatever alcohol they should buy, asking if you preferred hotdogs or burgers as you all walked out the house.

Saying goodbye to them was hard, but not as hard as it’s gonna be when you say it to him. Now that.. that will definitely break your heart. The look in his eyes when you tell him, you can already picture them and from the way your chest tightens, you know it’ll be difficult.

*******

You were currently feeding the rest of the horses inside the stables. Marking down the ones who needed a wash and a trim, which stables needed cleaning. Same old routine before having to check up on the rest of the animals, considering your main job at the ranch was analyzing and tracking the animals health. You weren’t exactly a veterinarian, but you learned a few things throughout the years which John persuaded you to take up on his offer of being in charge of the animals when it came to their monthly health checkups. So of course you took classes to advance your knowledge, to help around the ranch, make it easier for the old timer.

Yes he did have actual trained, experienced, veterinarians working on his animals before, but knowing how you easily picked up the job, how much love and care you gave to the livestock, he knew it was a good investment on both parts. Besides, he trusted you dearly in that department.

Hours had flown by, nearing six o’clock in the afternoon as you were finishing up in the stables before heading out to help Lloyd and the boys to check out some of the cows that were further up in the land. As well as putting up a new fence since the one hanging on was already rusting away due to the weather these past few days, as well as some idiotic trespassers cutting through the fence simply to test the Dutton family.

Just as you throw some fresh hay into one of the stables and patted the horse in its neck as he eats his dinner, the sound of loud rough boots marching against the ground ring in your ears.

“Were you ever gonna tell me?” His loud, rough voice settles behind you, words firm as you dumped hay into the last stable,

You sigh, taking off your gloves and placing them in your back pocket before looking up at him. Eyes wide, angry, betrayal, and fear were written in them. Just like you pictured.

“Yes.. I was,”

“When? Tomorrow? When you leave apparently?” Betrayal can be heard in his voice, blue eyes confirming his tone,

“There hasn’t been a good time to let you know,” You tell him, voice calm, tired, heartbroken,

It wasn’t a lie. When he had gotten back from running an errand with Kayce you were determined to lay it on him, but things got hectic that you weren’t even able to spare him a word. It remained that way for the rest of the day, work after work, problem after problem, when lunch came around he wasn’t at the table eating his supper with everyone else, he was out with Dutton, doing the man a favor, so wanting to talk to him during lunch didn’t happen like you were hoping for.

You told yourself you’d let him know when he came back, but apparently he was out and about with Dutton for the rest of the day. So by the time he had came back was at this very moment, catching you feeding the horses inside the stables. Dutton must’ve told him at some point during their errand runs, who else could have? You weren’t annoyed it was your boss who gave him the news, but you were hoping it’d be you who told him because it came from you, no one else.

“Do you not remember what that place did to you?!” He harshly whispers, taking a step closer to you, “Cause I sure as hell can!”

You lower your gaze to the floor with a faint sigh at his words. Of course you remember. How can one forget something like that? The constant nightmares, the flashbacks, mood swings, not knowing what was real or not, the cold sweats, all of it you remember. The first few weeks of being home after being honorably discharged were rather difficult, your body knew it was home, safe, but your mind was still at war. Constant nightmares played in your in head, bullets flying everywhere, blood stains surrounding you, staining your hands and vest. Screams echoing in your mind on a daily from those who were gunned down, who were injured and were slowly bleeding out in your hands.

It was an everyday thing. The boys, Rip, would beg you to get help, to talk to someone, but you’d just shrug them off telling them you were fine, that it’ll pass.

But you were in fact not okay and the nightmares never ceased.

It was after one particular night that everything had changed. The one night that had you finally reaching out for help, the night that had you admitting that you were not okay.

You had been home for two weeks when it had happened. All it took was a hectic, drunken brawl to trigger the episode. One minute you’re enjoying your beer, slightly laughing at a joke that one of the boys shared, letting lose to ease the noise in your head, then the next you’re being pulled off a blonde head who’s face was nearly disfigured beneath you. Blood covering her once fresh face and clean hair, along with your hands that shook from adrenaline, anger, fear, shell shock.

Once Rip got word of what happened he stormed his way to the bunkhouse which is where he had found you staring at your own reflection in the bathroom. The way a cold and lost look was written in your eyes will forever be embedded in his mind. It wasn’t you who stood standing in front of the mirror with tensed shoulders, hair a mess from sweat and dried blood, the real you was trapped in your mind.

It nearly took all night to bring you back, but not once did he give up.

“Rip,” You softly call his name with an exhausted sigh as you close the door to the stable,

“No. You’re not going!” Blue eyes widening more with fear and rage,

“Yes I am,” You respond in a whisper, “They need me,”

“And we need you here!” I need you here.

It was what he should’ve said, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. Wasn’t exactly how he wanted to let you know the truth, wanted to do it the right way, a more intimate, genuine way. But now, he’s out of time. And most likely lost his chance.

He lost you.

“Rip-,” You begin to say but was interrupted by Kacey walking in the stables,

“We’re loaded to fix the fence,” You turn to him before giving him a small nod,

The youngest Dutton switches his gaze from you to the brute man staring intensely at you, knowing then he had walked into something and immediately sensing the tension surrounding the air. He’s felt this mood before, felt tension between you two every so often, but for some reason this time it was stronger, as if one wrong word said would ignite the awaiting flame. So without another word and only a simple nod, he turns to walk away, giving you two privacy. However, you didn’t stick around. Both to just get the day over with and also to postpone the argument.

If you even get a chance to talk about it with him again.

You hear Rip call out to you as you walk out the stables, halting your steps. You glance over your shoulder, meeting his eyes, but no words were said, so instead you let out a sad sigh through your nose as you continue walking out the building. Leaving the brute man alone in the stables with angered thoughts.

*****

Hours had flown by. After fixing the fence, which took nearly the whole day since it was worse than anyone thought, doing daily health checks on the animals, running a quick errand with Beth, everyone was finally able to wash up and spend the remaining hours with you. Everyone sat around the bonfire sharing stories about anything and everything, chatter, laughter and music can be heard in the darkened night.

Empty beer and whiskey bottles, sticks with dried marshmallows and chocolate littered the ground around everyone’s feet. It was a night you’d deeply remember, a night you’d miss, a night you wished would happen every Friday, but you knew it wouldn’t be possible. At least not with you. Not anymore. You tried keeping a strong face, positive thoughts, positive energy, for the sake of everyone around you. They all had high hopes of you coming back home, claiming you’d be home in less than two months because you were tough as a bull, but you knew the truth. The reality of it all.

Obviously you didn’t remind them of the truth, didn’t want to take away the little happiness they held onto for you, the strong faith they had. So all you did was smile at them, raise your glass and down the last bit of your drink. Every so often you’d get lost in your thoughts, thinking of the mission, the serious consequences, the challenges that will come with it, the horror you’ll soon face, but before you can trap yourself in such thoughts they were there to bring you back. Invite you to their conversations, their stories they were sharing, their jokes, which you were thankful for.

What you didn’t notice was the way a pair of blue eyes have been secretly staring at you from across the fire pit. A dark corner where the fire barely illuminated his features. Light or not he didn’t care if he was caught staring at you, everyone was able to read his opinion of the whole situation but no one dared to ask him about it. He was already a fumed bull waiting to be provoked.

There were times where you’d glance up and catch him staring, but not once did you confront him. Making a scene in front of everyone was the last thing you wanted, so you ignored him and his glaring daggers.

Although, at one point during the night, Colby was the one to mention they had ran out of marshmallows, which you volunteered to grab the extra pack from the bunk house. Slightly buzzed you make your way through the Dutton ranch with sluggish steps till you push open the door to the bunks. Walking to the kitchen you grab the new pack of marshmallows sitting on the counter along with another couple chocolate bars. Just as you turn to head back out, your steps come to a stop when you see Rip standing by the couch.

Face emotionless, but eyes dark, red. Was he crying?

“Havin’ fun?” Rip questions, tone cold and firm, yet his blue eyes have another written emotion in them,

You shrug a shoulder, “Tryin’,”

He scoffs, “Yeah I see that.. but it ain’t workin’,”

You knew exactly what he was referring to. The constant lost in thought when the conversation was directed somewhere else. What you didn’t know until now was those same eyes that have been staring at you from the dark were analyzing you throughout the entire night. Watching the way your smile quickly faded as you once again lost yourself in your thoughts, watching the way your fingers peeled off the label from your beer bottle, the way your leg bounced uncontrollably from nerves, fear, and anxiousness. He knew you were afraid, he read you perfectly, but he knew nothing he’d say would change your mind. Not now, not ever.

You were stubborn like a goddamn mule.

“Yeah well, it’s a little hard to have fun when I got two sets of eyes throwing daggers at me all night,” You say, matching his tone as you stare into his eyes,

Heavy tension once again surrounds you two, the muffled music coming from outside was the only thing that can be heard in the room. Neither of you said anything for a good minute or so, just staring at one another with pain written in both your eyes with tears threatening to build. This wasn’t how you wanted to give your farewells to him. Having an argument with him before you left was something you did not want, but yet here you are.

“Can we just..,” You pause, letting out an exhausted sigh before continuing, “Enjoy the rest of the night before I have to catch a flight in a few hours?”

Rip stares deep in your eyes. Hurt, sadness, anger, and fear were written in his blue ones, they were easy to read, especially when he stared at you the way he was staring. He didn’t bother to hide it, yet he didn’t express it to you verbally. Not like he had to or wanted to, it was obvious on how he felt of the whole situation.

“They’re out there celebrating your death..,” He says pointing a long finger at the door then continues with, “.. and I ain’t being apart of it,”

His voice slightly breaks with each word. His blue eyes standing out more when tears begin building, but not one dares to slide down his cheeks, at least not in front of you. Not saying another word, he turns around and heads out the door with a harsh shove that has it banging against the wall.

Whatever string was left holding your heart in place had finally snapped as you watched the door shut behind him. The last memory you’d have of him. This wasn’t how you wanted to leave things with him, he was the only one who could have helped you through it, fought through the dark times, the constant noises in your head. He was the only one who you stayed alive for while you were out in the field, but now that he’s walked away, not wanting any part of it, you didn’t know if it was even worth staying alive once you landed on base. He was your anchor to it all.

And now you’d be stranded in the dark, drowning with nothing to hold you upright. Keep you up float when you felt like sinking, when you felt like the water was too strong for your fighting body. The one person who could’ve saved you from it all was now walking away, leaving you alone.

‘Maybe it was for the best.’

You tell to yourself. You convince yourself. Maybe him not being apart of it, apart of your life would one day guide him to a better life with the love of his life, guide him to someone who can make him happier, stronger, happier.

It was for the best that he left.

*****

4:30 am

Throwing your duffle and backpack in the backseat you shut the door before facing the small crowd. You give everyone a big hug, including the man himself, John Dutton who hugged you for a good long minute before being slightly shoved by Beth who took you in a stronghold as she secretly let the tears fall down her cheeks. You don’t know how, but you kept your own tears from spilling down. Once departing from the woman you go ahead and start hugging the cowboys, sharing a few laughs with them as they joke with you one last time. Which you appreciated their effort in trying to lighten things up, but you knew they knew nothing they can say now will help. But still, you appreciate it.

“So.. who won?” You say when Ryan and Colby stand in front of you,

They both share a look, small smile forming on their lips, “Neither,” Colby says,

You give them a confused look, but Ryan continues with, “We decided to leave it ready for you when you come back,”

Come back. Something you knew was a big word at the moment.

“Can’t have it ready forever,” You say with a sad chuckle,

“We can and we will,” Ryan firmly states, letting you know no one will come near the empty bed unless it’s you,

It was a faint demand from them. They wanted you to come back, no matter how hard it will be, they demanded that you come back to reclaim your bed at the bunkhouse, and that alone brought the ball back in your throat.

“Gonna miss you dorks,” You manage to say before quickly bringing them both for a group hug,

Both men wrap their arms around you, burying their faces in your hair as they cherish the moment. As you go to pull away both their hands on either side of your hip tighten, not wanting the hug to end, but eventually step away from you.

You give them a small smile and then a small wave to everyone huddle in front of you before turning around to climb into the truck where Roscoe patiently waited for you.

“Ready?” The soldier asks as you take one last glance out the window, watching everyone wave at you with saddened smiles, the ranch standing tall and beautifully behind them.

Letting out a small sigh you give him a nod.

In a matter of seconds the truck roars to life before beginning to move down the driveway and out of the Duttons ranch. Silence engulfs the car, only the sound of the radio softly playing in the speakers is heard. Leaning your head against the headrest behind you, you let your mind drift away, thinking about everyone at the ranch, playing their faces in your mind to not forget them, your fingers softly playing with a small deer origami that Tate had made for you last night for good luck. Then thinking about him once again.

Remembering how things were left between you two. Wishing you could’ve fixed things before you left, wished you could’ve said the truth, wished he could’ve have given you the chance to let you show him just how much he meant to you. But he didn’t. None of it happened.

So now, all you’ll think about is What If.

While driving halfway out the ranch and you still being lost in thought, you didn’t capture the moment a large black figure blending in the dark speeding in your direction until the truck comes to an abrupt stop. Causing your seatbelt to lock just in time to catch your body from going forward.

“The fuck?” Roscoe reacts, putting the gear in park as he eyes the figure that is currently blocking his way,

You clench your jaw as you make eye contact with him, even in the dark and with the only source of light from the headlights you both immediately lock eyes.

Of course it’s Rip on top of his horse. Black hat on his head with his black jacket wrapped on his frame.

“I’ll take care of this,” You say, never breaking eye contact with him as you unbuckle yourself and open the door,

“(Y/n) we don’t have time for this,” Roscoe tries arguing back, but you repeat yourself as you hop off the truck,

Shutting the door and standing by it you face him, where he still remained on top of his horse.

“Rip seriously what is your problem? I don’t have time to deal with you right now!” You yell as the brute man climbs off his horse,

A grim look was written on his face as he makes his way towards you. A look he only has when he’s angry about something, and right about now he’s angry at you, you knew that.

“I swear to god Rip if you don’t get out the way I’m gonna-,” Your words were cut off by a pair of rough lips latching onto yours,

Your eyes grow wide in anger, shock, and confusion. But once you feel the way his hand gently cups the side of your face you realize what exactly is happening and only react back. Your own hands finding their way to his face, fingers slowly tangling themselves in his soft, dark curly hair at the base of his neck. A deep, saddened relieved sigh escapes from you two as you both pour the hidden truth into the kiss. Deepening it and cherishing the moment at the same time, neither one wanting or planning to break it off, but you both knew it had to happen, you had to leave.

Which is why Rip got a little selfish for a second, he deepened the kiss, licking his way into your mouth as he held a tight grip on your hip to not let you out of his hold. Just a few more seconds of this, he had to. If this was the only time he would get this opportunity until you came back home, then he was sure as hell he would take every second that was available to have you in his arms, have your lips molding with his, have your fingers tugging on his hair, have your breath fanning his lips, have both your hot tears smear against his own cheeks. He was taking advantage of the moment because he knew it would be more than a month that he would be able to feel it again. Feel this moment again.

Eventually, you both do break the kiss, but not once did he let an inch form between you two. Leaning his forehead against yours, he lets you both catch a breather from the intense, beautiful moment.

“You come back to me you hear?” He whispers, beautiful blue eyes now searching for your own,

When he finally does find your (E/c) eyes that he has grown to love, he whispers once again, “You come home,”

New tears fall down your cheeks at his words, you knew you couldn’t make such a big promise, especially in your line of work. It was a rule, a rule everyone in the military who serves knew they should never make, because they knew reality was always behind that promise.

You stare into those blue eyes of his that have tears of their own, some finding their way down his rough skin, while the rest build at the brim of his eyes. You knew he knew you couldn’t make that promise, but he knew you’d fight for it no matter what, no matter how impossible it might seem, because he knew you always kept your promise. That’s who you were. Loyal, loving, protective, unafraid, and a true fighter.

You stare into his eyes a little longer, feeling the way another tear slides down your cheeks then feeling the rough pad of his thumb gently wiping it away. The words get caught in your throat, the words where you wanted to tell him to be realistic, to not make you promise anything because disappointment and pain is the only thing he’ll receive, but before you can even force them out you hear your name being called from inside the truck.

“We gotta go,” Roscoe softly says, hating to interrupt the moment, hating to part you from the man you clearly love,

You sniff, looking down at the ground then back up to Rip where he only gives you a small smile.

“C’mon,” Rip whispers as he leads you back into the truck,

Once sitting inside, shutting the door, Rip points at the man behind the wheel before saying, “You look after her you hear?”

Roscoe nods at him, “You’ve got my word man,”

Rip nods back before averting his eye to you. You sat there, tears still slowly sliding down your cheeks, you weren’t ready to say goodbye to him, not after you both finally confessed to each other. Which reminds you, you had to say it, in fear of not being able to ever again.

“Rip I-,” You try but he cuts you off with a shake of his head,

“No. Don’t say it. You say it when you come back,” He demands, small smile tugging on the corner of his lips, “Just know I do too,”

I do too.

You sniff once again, tears falling down as you glance behind him, seeing the ranch and the bunkhouse glow in the background. Memories flash in your mind. All those laughs, tears, injuries that you’ve accumulated over the years with everyone who lives and works at the ranch played in your head, reminding you that you had a family to come back to once again, you had friends who were also waiting for you to come back with open arms. You had a life to get back to.

Come back.

Averting your eyes back to his that had tears of their own falling down his cheeks, you stare at him as you remembered, you had him to come back to. He was your main reason to come back home, he was the reason why you weren’t going to die in the field, he was the reason why you weren’t going to give up when shot down, he was the reason why you weren’t going bleed out. He was your reason why you were coming home.

And if anyone tried stopping you from doing so, then it would be the last thing they ever did.

Because you are coming home.

Reaching a hand out the window, you let your small held cup his bearded cheek before letting your own thumb wipe away the tears that fall down. Looking into his eyes with a firm stare, a promise, you let him hear the words.

“I’m coming home,”

—————

-Ahhh It’s Finally Here!!! I’m Not Kidding I Have Been Going Back & Forth With This One. Mostly Because I Had Writers Block, But Also Because I Would Change A Lot Things & Finding New Ideas To Replace The Old Ones.

-But Again! Thank You To Those Who Have Been Patient & Have Been Waiting For This Wheeler Fic! More To Come!!

-Lastly, Make Sure To Turn On Post Notifications!! 🔔 🔔 For More Updates!

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Part 2 (05/04/2025)

#rip wheeler #rip wheeler x ofc #rip wheeler x reader #rip wheeler x female character #rip wheeler x you #rip wheeler smut #Yellowstone #yellowstone x reader #cole hauser #cole hauser x reader #Cole hauser x you #angst with a happy ending #pain and fluff #military fiction

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jscrawls · 3 months ago

Text

♡Grave holidays♡

Not part of the main series, just wanted to spread a little love (⁠✿⁠ ⁠♡⁠‿⁠♡⁠)

Warning: contains mentions of blood, physical harm, animal attacks, witchcraft, general spooky stuff, it's an Addams reader they're gonna be extra freaky,

Holiday chapter: valentine's day

🫀🖤🫀

It's a very special day today, the day of love! Passion! Price increases!

You practically fly out of bed in your excitement to start your day right, environment enrichment for the spirits!

You set up extra plates as you make breakfast, carefully stacking old rotting junk on each one before drizzling blood on each plate just so the poltergeists have more fun throwing them around, then you trot into your play room to set up a summoning circle, You make a heart instead of the usual pentagram with your five objects of importance.

You need to set the mood right obviously.

🫀🖤🫀

The first person you seek out is of course your very good neighbor Alfred, he's easy to find obviously as you climb over the security fences and make a run for the front entrance to the manor, barely dodging the snapping dog at your heels with gleeful shrieks.

You bang on the door and smack your hand on the doorbell quickly as the try to keep the box above biting level, by the time Alfred opens the door you're being drug backwards by the ankle by the Great Dane while you wildly wave the box in the older man's direction.

“My friend! Take this quickly!”

“Oh God!” He quickly tries to pull the dog off you, but you just shove the box into his hands before you're drug backwards into a bush.

“Happy Valentine's Day my good friend! Please enjoy the gift!”

Alfred watches in horror as you completely disappear from view, when he glance down at the box he sees a ouija board set with a stickynote on it that reads ‘we'll always keep in touch even after you die’ with a smiley face at the end.

🫀🖤🫀

Bruce is your next target, you park your hearse in the furthest and darkest corner of the parking lot and put on your disguise coat a lighter shade of gray Wayne enterprise has good security so you fully expect more bodily harm today, you try to keep the grin off your face as you trot into the lobby of the building.

“Excuse me my dear! Could I possibly find some way to get this to my friend? I'll pay handsomely to have it delivered of course.”

The receptionist looks up from her keyboard with a sweet smile that quickly becomes startled looking, if it weren't your appearance that was odd it'd be the dripping paper ball in your hands. Her long pink nails hover over the keyboard with uncertainty as she quickly glances between your hands and your face.

“Umm……what is that?” She mumbles as she tries not to shiver, what's that red stuff…

“it's a surprise for my neighbor! Oh please excuse the mess-” you try to cup your hand under it to catch the drip, and end up just smearing the red liquid all over yourself like bloody hand prints.

“many apologies! didn't think it was still this juicy.”

The woman recoils from you, you look like a serial killer covered in the gore of their victims. She starts repeatedly pressing the security button under her desk.

“…. Right, who's…your neighbor…?”

“Bruce Wade, he works here somewhere I believe? It's a special gift just for him so I'll happily pay to have it brought to him if he's busy!”

She slowly inches her chair back as she stares at the dripping red paper ball thingy, she looks like she's gonna freak out any second now.

“…Addams?” You hear the man of the hour speak as he steps out of an elevator, several guards quickly brushing past him.

“Ah Bruce! Just the fellow I'm looking for! I brought this Valentine for yo-oof!”

You grunt loudly as you're grabbed and physically picked up by the largest of the security guards. You gasp dramatically and nearly cry when your gift slips from your grasp and rolls across the marble floor with a red smear trail. An anatomically correct heart with a knife stabbed in it rolls out of the balled up Edgar Allen Poe poems right at Bruce's feet.

“nooo my gelatin!”

You're beyond disappointed that your gelatin heart wasn't able to be eaten as you're carried out of the building and thrown out.

🫀🖤🫀

Finding where Dick lived wasn't that hard actually, sure you had to summon a creature and invite it to possess you, where it just told you to look him up on Instagram, but hey you found it so it's all good.

He wasn't home when you arrived sadly, maybe he's busy today? It's no bother to you when you can just break in of course! Well the doors reinforced so you go outside and scale the fire escape, a lovely little brick does the trick on his window. You quickly realize after climbing in that the window was unlocked anyways, oh well.

You drop a stack on his table to make up for the broken glass and put your gift on the counter where it'll hopefully be noticed, hope he likes the voodoo doll.

You're unsure if it's stand out enough so you decide to leave a nice little message to go with it, you leave a bloody smear on his bathroom mirror that reads ‘you'll be seeing me soon :)’ with some hearts around it. Good enough!

🫀🖤🫀

You find Barbara in the back corner of the library with a cart full of books beside her chair, her glasses sitting low on her nose and hair curled and out of it's ponytail for once. She smiles as you happily approach her with your hands hidden behind your back, a large grin on your face as you stop right on front of her.

“hello my ghastly little beau! How are you on this most wondrous day?” she snorts in amusement and pointedly glances down at the few cards and boxes in her lap, some of them look like they were colored on by children while some are clearly expensive candy. “Fine, busy day today I'll tell you. The afternoon book club brought gifts for the staff…”

“well here's another! Can't let mi vida think she's not appreciated by absolutely everyone in this ghoulish land.” You press a loud kiss to her knuckles before presenting her with the box you'd hidden behind your back, dropping to one knee like the cake box was a sword being presented to her.

She tries really hard not to laugh at all the stares as she takes the box, it's closely some kind of pastry box so she wheels away from the books Incase it's messy. “You're ridiculous, thanks for the…..” her voice trails off as she gapes into the box, her face contorting into disgust. “…. Is this a rat in a box?”

She looks absolutely horrified as she looks up at you.

“Actually it's a photo-realistic cake, a real rat would've jumped out by now my sweet little poison apple. You like carrot cake yes?”

She stares at you intensely, brows furrowed as she slowly glances back down into the box, studying the admittedly impressively realistic cake. After a long moment she bursts out laughing, covering her mouth in vain to hide her snorting while someone shushes her from somewhere else in the room.

When she finally calms enough to speak she glances up at you with teary eyes and reddened cheeks. “Oh holy-you really got me with this one, I gotta say this is the funniest one I've gotten today…and here I just got you a card.”

Between her giggles she rummages under her little pile of stuff in her lap and hands you a Valentine's card, it's black with a little ghost on it saying you're my boo. You clutch it to your chest like she just handed you your diploma.

“I'll treasure this moment in my dying breath my sweet! Now I've got many more things to do today have a horrid time for the rest of your shift!”

🫀🖤🫀

You have no idea how to find Jason, so you go to crime Alley and climb up a building with your basket slung over a shoulder and basically just run around up there and shriek until he notices you.

It takes a bit, but he makes himself known by yelling at you.

“can you fucking stop that?!!” He puts his hands over his helmet like that'll block out the sound of your wails, of course you stop when you see your special guy there in all his emo glory.

“Ah there you are! I brought you something my undead friend! Come, come closer!” You excitedly gesture for him while slinging your pack off your shoulder, dropping it to the rooftop with a loud thump and squatting to unzip it.

He sighs really loudly as he slowly holsters his guns, he steps just slightly closer and crosses his arms over his armored chest as he looks down at you with what you can only guess is annoyance behind that red bucket.

“literally why are you here? And why the fuck were you screaming? I thought someone was getting skinned up here with how screechy you are.”

You look up at him with a grin. “You're as sweet as ever my cute little zombie, you know it's Valentine's Day yes? I brought you something!”

“obviously I know that, let me guess, dead flowers? I'm not taking gifts from you.” his head rolls in a way that you can assume is an eye roll, he makes no move towards you as you open up the bag and pull something out.

You lightly shake the Tupperware at him like a box of dog treats. “Actually it's a charcuterie board.”

There's an awkward silence before he sighs and drops his hands to his hips, gloved fingers hooking into his belt.

“….I didn't expect that from-okay nevermind. Why the fuck would you come to the worst part of this city and scream on a rooftop with a cheese board in your backpack?!” he finally moves close enough to stand over you as he speaks, the voice changer can't cover up the clear exasperation in his tone as he grumbles about getting shot at.

The lid pops off loudly as you hold the container up to him, once again shaking it at him like it's a treat.

“Because I don't know how else to contact you obviously! I put it together just for you!”

He sighs in aggravation while Glancing down at the stupid-

There's a long pause before he speaks, his arms loosening so his hands can dig into the fabric of his pants, fists clutching at the fabric like a lifeline.

“is that…. You cut cheese to look like my fucking grave?” his tone is something between angry and befuddled, why the hell would you do something so insane?

“what? No!….”

“Oh thank God-”

“It's actually supposed to look like some ideas I had for my grave stone! I wanted your opinion on it-hey where are you going? Mi alma come back!”

you stand up quickly as you watch him run and jump off the building, he didn't even eat the grave cheese with you!

🫀🖤🫀

You're sitting at the edge of a random building late at night, you've yet to find your violent little babe in the leather mask and you're quite disappointed honestly.

You were hoping for another grand show to end your night on! Or to at least give your beau their Valentine's before twelve o'clock.

Someone clears their throat behind you and you turn so fast you nearly tumble right off the edge of the building, unfortunately someone grabs you and yanks on your arm hard enough to prevent your untimely demise.

You don't have time to be disappointed though when you realize it's your vicious little freak in a cape and cowl.

“Finally I've found you! Or you've technically found me! Happy Valentine's Day My friend!” you lean into their embrace as they try to right you, as soon as your head drops on their shoulder they step back and you fall on your face against the rooftop, you hop right back up with a bloody smile on your lips.

The enigmatic figure tilts their head and looks you up and down, taking in your terribly disheveled form and dark red stained clothing that's full of tears and cuts. “…you were looking for me?”

Nodding enthusiastically, you gesture broadly in dramatic fashion while grinning widely. “of course I was! You've captivated me with your violent tendencies and antisocial aura, what's there not to worship? I brought you something.”

You quickly open your pack and pull out a somehow pristine looking little black cardboard box with a blood red ribbon on it and present it to the masked hero, after a moment they reach out and hesitantly grab it.

“go on and open it, have a look! Unfortunately it won't bite.”

They glance at you for another moment before wordlessly pulling on the ribbon and opening it up to peer inside.

“you brought me cookies.” bat shaped cookies covered in black frosting with yellow accents sit inside, a few of them are clearly patterned after her mask while some are the symbol on her chest.

“Mhmm, they're bat shaped! Remind you of anything?” You're practically bouncing on the balls of your feet as you watch her, at least they made it into her hands unlike some of your other attempts.

Her mask tilts and she stares at you silently for a few minutes. “…. My costume?”

“close enough! Enjoy them my beautiful little attacker, and have a horrid Valentine's Day!…or night technically, goodbye!” you turn and run off, it's been quite the eventful day and it's time you go relax at home maybe even crawl through the swamp for a few hours.

“Bye…. Thanks for the gift.”

She smiles behind her mask as she glances down at the little treats, you actually got her a gift…

🫀🖤🫀

A/n: sorry it's late! Been busy for a few days and I'm trying to catch up where I can, I hope y'all had a happy Valentine's Day if you celebrate and if not I hope it was just a stress free day 🙏😘💗😍

| M.list |

Taglist: @lunarapple @ladykamos @itsberrydreemurstuff

#dc x y/n #dc x reader #batfamily x reader #batman fanfiction #batfam x reader #bruce wayne x reader #barbara gordon x reader #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #cassandra cain x reader #addams reader

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whimsyraincoats · 6 months ago

Text

boy meets girl; jess mariano

cute imagine with jess meeting a certain other gilmore daughter! not sure if it’s a series yet, we’ll see!

words: approx 1.6k

Walking through the doorway, the dark haired boy couldn't think of anywhere he'd want to be less. Just that morning, the woman who introduced herself as Lorelai, had told him that she had two daughters about his age. He can't be completely sure as he wasn't exactly 'actively listening' but by the time his brain had caught up to what his ears were hearing, the idea of twins living in such a town like Stars Hollow had him thinking everyone was cartoon characters. Jess Mariano couldn't picture anything other than identical twins in matching outfits, with the same comedic, animated personalities as the whole town.

Following the source of the noise and clatter into the kitchen, against his will, Jess shared a small greeting to the first of the matching set, Rory. Seemingly, the calmest and least annoying of the group yet, he noted. After being subjected to talk of lemons and being quizzed to no end about his dietary requirements, Jess slipped away from the chaos to what he believed was the living room. Taking in its state, he noticed the odd arrangement of the table and decided that it must not be its permeant place. He glanced down at his watch from beneath his dark grey hoodie sleeve, and looks at the time. Simultaneously, the boy's ears pricked up at the sound of David Bowie that came from up the stairs.

Curiosity and boredom getting the better of him, he climbed the stairs one at a time, planks creaking under each step. All aspects of politeness gone from Jess since he stepped off the bus earlier apparent, as he waltzed though the open bedroom door at the opposite end of the landing. His eyes surveyed the room as some excitement sparked there as he took in the posters, stacked CDs and endless amount books overflowing the shelves. The dark haired boy's gaze landing on where the music is coming from as it changes intro Big Exit by PJ Harvey.

Meanwhile, the brunette girl dragged a comb through her bangs one last time before placing it back onto the bathroom counter with a curse as she noticed the time. Happy with her final decision pertaining to her outfit, she hopped on one foot into the hallway as she pulls her knee high sock up her shin to its full length. Just as the dark haired boy turns to leave the bedroom he was currently standing in.

"Oh my-! Jesus Christ, way to give a girl a fright!" The girl heaves, with a hand placed on her chest. She eyed the boy as he opened his mouth to say something, not before a persistent sing song interrupts them.

"Reyaaa, Jess! Party's moved to the living room!" Lorelai enthusiastically announces up the stairs.

"Coming!" The girl yells over the banister before walking back over to the now-named mystery boy.

"Jess huh? Guessing you're Luke's nephew, right?"

"Nothing gets past you ay" Monotonal, Jess replied as he quirked his eyebrow.

"I'm Freya." Pair complete. "You know you're acting very nonchalant for a boy I just caught snooping in my room."

The boy in question scratches the back of his head slowly. "Wasn't snooping, just looking, admiring even. 'S a difference." His mind refused to believe his heart just skipped a beat as they both lined up in her bedroom doorway, only inches apart as Jess leans on the side of it. Her sparkly, brown eyes invoked a certain feeling in him when they made eye contact.

Freya gently pads across her floor to her CD player and speaker as she presses pause. "You like Bowie?" She questions.

"Yea, it's what made me come upstairs." The brunette turns to share a grin with the boy now hovering by her bookshelves. "Aren't we hooked on phonics?" Jess murmurs.

Letting out a chuckle she replies, "Do you read?"

"Not much." As he picks up a book to examine the cover.

"I could lend you that it's great!" She exclaims as she finally takes in the dark haired boy standing in her room. His grey hoodie nearly fully zipped, paired with dark jeans that rest loosely on his hips. His eyebrows furrowing as his dark brown eyes bore into a page in the book. She felt a blush creeping into her cheeks as she finds herself aware of how handsome he really is.

With a shrug, he put the book back, "No thanks."

Trying to hide her disappointment at the rejection, Freya tried to change the subject.

“Okay erm well I think we-”

“Do these open?” Jess cut her off as he gestured to the window.

“Oh.. yeah, just unlatch then push.” She said as she awkwardly stood by her bed,

“So shall we…?” The girl looked at him with confusion before what he’s referring to clicked.

“Oh, I promise you even if you could climb down, there’s nowhere to bail to.” Slightly bored at the interaction, Freya walked over to her door. “I get you have the need to do or say the opposite of whatever people, in this case Luke, wants you to do, but I’m so hungry. And Sookie, while borderline insane, is a really good cook, so as much as I hate to say it, you’re on your own.”

“You don’t know anything about me.” The boy replied dryly.

“I know!” Freya replied softly with an amused glint in her eyes, knowing his response proves her point. “Come downstairs and eat and you can tell me all about you.” She flirted as she looked over her shoulder while holding the door handle.

Jess let out a smirk while he looked down at his shoes and shaking his head.

Taking that and his silence as a no, the girl stepped through the doorway. “Well, close the door behind you, or the…window? Which ever one you end up using.” She said with a smile on her lips.

Descending down the stairs, Freya couldn’t help but notice the warm curiosity growing inside her at the thought of the boy.

౨ৎ

Checking her watch, the brunette decreased the pace of her steps back to a walk as she headed for Stars Hollow Books. In a miscommunication with her, not so happy, Mom, she had been told the time rounded up, hence the original hurrying, but alas the girl will make it before the store shuts for the evening.

While walking, her mind wandered back to the mismatched stories of the last 24 hours. After having met Jess, although not massive on the manners or socialising, considering he had just moved was perfectly reasonable. However all Freya had heard for the last day from her Mom was the verbal abuse of his character. Even Luke’s too due to their recent fight that even trumps Sid and Nancy, just to add to the confusion even more.

She heard Jess come down the stairs a moment after her while she was passing plates along, but didn’t see him after that. Further developing the mystery that’s been stuck in her mind.

Fiddling with the plastic handle between her fingers, the girl walks out of the Market with a textbook and a folder she desperately needed.

Lost in thought, she crossed the road with her house as her destination, when a familiar voice snapped her out of it.

“Hey.” Freya snaps her head round to look at the boy who she seemed to have summoned by thinking about him.

“Hey, yourself.”

“What’re you doing out here this time of night?” Jess questions with raised eyebrows.

“Just getting somethings I needed for school, how about you?”

“Oh yeah same.” He dismisses.

“You know, it was quite the disappearing act you pulled yesterday.” The brown eyed girl brought up, after a moment of almost awkward silence between them.

“Huh- yeah, as tempting as your offer was, tupperware parties and potlucks really aren’t my thing.” He replied as he untucked his hands from his pockets.

“Just too cool for school huh.” She said, amused as she took him in, his puffer vest, his watch resting on his wrist and a coin he’s moving in his hands. “What’re you doing?” The girl questions.

“Oh this-” Showing her the coin, answered “Just another little disappearing act.” As he revealed his hand as empty of said coin.

Suppressing a giggle, Freya shines him a smile with creased eyes.

“Jess, if you ever want to speak to me again, please don’t pull that out my ear.”

After cracking a smile that unlocked a sense of accomplishment in the girl, replied. “Understood.”

“Hey, I like your shirt.” Jess complimented.

Looking down at it to check which one she happened to throw on earlier, she grinned once more. “Thanks! How much Beatles stuff do you know?” She asked excitedly, her eyes illuminated.

“Oh, only the stuff that everyone does, I wouldn’t have been lined up to be one of their groupies that’s for sure.” He joked.

“Hey, speak for yourself, I adore them, I would’ve been pushing other girls out the way. I adore any British band to be completely honest.” Freya spoke with excitement.

“I know, your room isn’t exactly keeping that a secret you’know.” He referenced the multitude of Britpop, The Smiths and The Beatles posters spaced on her walls. Jess couldn’t help but marvel at the way her face flushed at the prolonged eye contact and his comment.

Snapping out of her trance, the girl glanced down at his arm and gently held his sleeve to check the time. The boy’s body grew alert at the touch. “Shit! I’ve got to go in a sec, I hadn’t realised the time.”

“Oh, well in that case, I’ll leave you with one last magic trick. He dramatically stated as he pulls a familiar book out of his pocket.

“You bought a copy? I told you I’d lend you mine!”

“It is yours.”

“You stole my book!” She accused, dumbfounded.

“Well, I just wanted to put some notes in the margins for you.” He handed the book over, as he tried not to let his mind linger on the way their hands touched.

The girls eyes furrowed in confusing as she flicked through the pages.

Looking up innocently, “I thought you said you didn’t read much?”

“Well what is much?” The boy replied with a drawn out shrug and smirk. “Goodbye, Reya.”

Desperate to hide her slight astonishment, smirked as she began to walk away.

“Goodbye, Dodger.”

After a few paces, she looks back to be met with a smug grin. “Oliver Twist.”

The brown haired girl couldn’t help but share the grin while she nodded. Despite all the things she had heard about him in the last day, she couldn’t help but feel giddy at their interactions. The twin secretly hoped there would be more in the future.

an; i’ve read this so many times i think i hate it. hahaha jk and hope the dialogue is okay i was doing it from memory!!! OH and yes i used my own name for the character hahahaha it’s better than y/n atleast!!!<3

#jess mariano #gilmore girls #rory gilmore #lorelai gilmore #fluff #imagine #first post #jess mariano imagine #for you #britpop #stars hollow #gilmore girls fanfiction #jess mariano x oc

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hyruling · 8 days ago

Note

For the domestic prompt - buddie, 'a spare room'?

combined with 9. books stacked on a nightstand

---

The house is fine.

Definitely better than the glimpses Buck would get on FaceTime in those first few weeks. The wallpaper is gone, replaced with a nice shade of blue paint. The grout in the kitchen is sparkling, the sink faucets replaced with something from this century, and the floors are — well, a work in progress. But they’re covered with nice rugs, and Eddie’s scattered some fake plants around, added some pictures to the walls and mantle. It’s nice. Cozy, but strangely devoid of Eddie. It doesn’t have the same lived-in feel as the house in LA, doesn’t have the knickknacks picked up at various zoo trips or baseball games or homemade projects from Chris’ school. He hasn’t asked, but he can assume Eddie has them stored away somewhere, waiting to be unpacked when the rest of the house is done.

He can acknowledge his bias though. Eddie could own a thousand houses, and none of them would make him feel like the way the one on South Bedford does. Still, he compliments Eddie’s hard work, following Eddie around as he’s given the grand tour.

And Eddie — well, Buck doesn’t quite know what to think about Eddie, who’s been fluttering around him like a skittish animal since they pulled into the driveway.

“How’s the setup?” Eddie asks.

Buck turns. Eddie’s hovering in the doorway of the spare room, wringing his hands together. It’s small, just a bed with an end table and a lamp. In the corner is a small chest of drawers it looks like Eddie picked up at Goodwill — in good shape but definitely used. There’s a fake cactus on the dresser beneath a nice mirror. Eddie is chewing his lip, staring at him like he’s a judge on Rock the Block and is about to send Eddie home.

“Great,” Buck answers.

He drops his duffel on the bed and notices the sunflower painting above the bed. It used to hang in the bathroom in LA, between the shower and the toilet. It was his favorite of Eddie’s odd collection of artwork, and he used to tease him about purposefully keeping it in the bathroom just to spite him.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah, it looks great Eddie. You really didn’t have to get a whole bed just for me,” Buck adds, scratching the back of his neck.

Eddie shrugs like it’s nothing, but there’s a faint flush on his cheeks. “It’s not—it’s a guest room. I would have gotten one anyway. For other guests too, so.”

Continue reading on AO3

#my fic #buddie fic #911 abc #i was going to tag this as drabbles but she is almost 4k. hence why i put it on ao3 lmaooo #anywayyyy one more 'buck visits eddie' fic before daddy long dick lands back in la xoxo

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stirthewaters · 9 days ago

Text

Too Sharp to Touch pt. 13

Word Count: 1.5k Summary: You and Wednesday break into the hunting store to uncover more clues. A horrifying discovery is uncovered. Warnings: Gun mentions, idk tbh Pairings: Wednesday x Reader A/N: I am soooo sorry for the long ass break 😭 Too Sharp to Touch Masterlist

The key slid into the lock with a click so soft it was almost tender.

Wednesday presses the door open and slips into the hunting store first, her steps silent against the worn wooden floor. You followed close behind, pulling the door shut with trembling fingers. The hunting store was hollowed out at night—rifles gleaming cold on the walls, animal heads staring blankly from dusty plaques. The air smelled of oil, leather, and something acrid underneath.

Wednesday didn’t look back. She didn’t need to.

Your presence, a tangible weight behind her — jittery, electric.

It crawls up Wednesday’s spine, demanding attention she did not want to give.

She moves through the store, slicing through the dark like a knife. She knew where the records would be kept: behind cheap locked doors and cheaper locks in the back offices.

Kneeling before the office door, the Addams produced her lockpicks, keeping her movements silent, precise, and practiced. She felt you hovering behind her — too close, too warm.

“Stay close,” Wednesday muttered, softer than she wanted it to sound.

An unnecessary precaution.

You were already so close Wednesday could smell the faint scent of your shampoo — something clean, something that didn’t belong in a place like this.

The lock gave way with a reluctant snick, and the two of you slipped inside.

It was a cramped, miserable little office: metal cabinets, a battered desk, a computer buzzing to itself in the corner. Paperwork strewn like dead leaves across every surface.

Wednesday closed the door and clicked on her penlight, keeping the beam narrow.

“Start with the desk,” she said. Her voice came out clipped. Cold.

Good. She needed the distance.

You moved to the desk without argument. Your hands shook slightly.

Wednesday ignored the strange ache in her chest at the sight.

She turned to the filing cabinets, yanking them open one by one. It should have been simple. Catalog. Analyze. Extract. But you kept catching in her periphery — a soft outline, small and quick and breathing too fast.

Distracting. Dangerous.

Wednesday forced herself to focus. Her fingers combed through receipts, invoices, supply orders. Most of it was mundane. Tedious.

Until your soft gasp cut through the silence.

“Got something,” You whispered.

Wednesday was at your side in a heartbeat, penlight tilting down to observe like pinning a butterfly.

A stack of orders.

Darts.

Syringes.

Crates labeled SPECIMEN HANDLING. Shoved behind cases of arrows and mounts. Hidden.

Your brow furrowed. Confused. Vulnerable.

Wednesday swallowed the sharp taste rising in her mouth.

“This could just be for animals,” You offered— you sounded like you were trying to convince yourself.

Wednesday said nothing.

They dug deeper.

The smell of rot grew worse.

More papers: lists of modified equipment. Cages. Restraints. Reinforced to withstand superhuman strength. The raven knew for a fact those bars were thicker than the average cage.

Wednesday felt a knot tightening low in her stomach.

No — not her stomach.

Something deeper. Something old.

Another file — slim, hidden between invoices.

You tugged it free, flipping it open with trembling fingers.

Inside, a typed document: SERUM 11-X: Handling and Application Notes.

You skim it; Wednesday could see the rise and fall of your chest.

Dosages listed for subjects weighing 80-120 pounds.

Instructions for “immediate restraint following injection.”

Warning: “Instability in high-powered specimens.”

Specimens.

Subjects.

“It’s just some kind of tranquilizer,” you remark so softly the Addams almost doesn’t catch it.

Wednesday forced herself to move slowly. Deliberately.

She peels the document from your hands, turning toward the ancient computer.

Jiggles the mouse experimentally.

A flicker. Login screen bypassed. Shipping logs opened. Lines of inventory fill the screen.

Rows and rows of shipments appeared.

Some were normal — bulk ammo, standard rifles.

Others were more… unusual.

You leaned in, shoulder brushing Wednesday’s. Neither of you move away.

“Subjects delivered to site on…” You read aloud, voice growing softer. “Return condition: unstable. Failed integration.”

Failed integration?

“What the hell does that mean?” you whisper.

Wednesday stays silent, her face expressionless. Thinking.

You move to another set of papers on the desk, searching for sense.

A page falls free from a file. Handwritten notes — messy, frantic:

Trial 6: Resulted in partial power absorption. Subject unstable. Extensive tissue degradation.

Trial 7: Temporary suppression successful. Symptoms include identity fragmentation, and loss of special abilities.

Wednesday stares at the words until they blur.

Suppression.

Absorption.

Not just capturing outcasts.

Changing them.

Stealing from them.

Wednesday feels something cold crawl up her spine — colder than the storm waiting outside. You lean in close, so close the Addams can feel the heat of your body against her side.

She doesn’t move away. She can’t.

The tension twists inside her, unfamiliar and sharp.

Not fear. Not anger. Something worse.

Something weaker.

You flip through another file. Handwritten notes. Trial results. Partial power absorption. Identity fragmentation.

You back away, the papers slipping from your fingers.

“No,” you whisper. “No, this can’t—”

Wednesday watches you, heart thudding too hard in her chest. She wanted to reach out. Pull you in. Protect.

It was stupid. It was dangerous. It was softer than anything Wednesday allowed herself to be. She stayed rooted where she was.

Barely.

“They’re trying to erase Outcasts,” You murmur, voice barely above a breath.

Wednesday’s chest tightened painfully.

“They’re trying to make us human,” You finish, voice hushed as if even you didn’t want to admit it.

A noise outside. Footsteps.

Wednesday didn’t hesitate. She grabs your wrist without thought, yanking you toward the stockroom; you stumbled after her, too shocked to protest. The Addams drags you through the maze of crates and shelves, heart hammering against her ribs. The back door.

Freedom.

She kicks it open, shoves you into the chilled night air, and follows. Dead leaves crunch beneath your boots, the cold nipping at exposed skin. Wednesday doesn’t stop until you’re buried deep between two alley walls, hidden in the shadows.

She backs you against the bricks, shielding you with a sense deep within her that even she couldn’t name, your breathing ragged in her ears. You waited.

The danger passed.

Finally — finally — she eased back, enough to look at your face. Moonlight silvers your hair, catching the terror still lingering in your wide eyes.

Wednesday’s hand lingers at your side, somehow wanting to reach out, to tether you back to herself.

But she doesn’t.

She can’t.

Instead, she says flatly, softly.

“We’re not dealing with hunters.”

_______________________________________________________

The cold clings to both of you as you creep through the woods.

Your breath puffs in frantic bursts beside her, too loud in the suffocating quiet. Wednesday’s steps are soundless. Deliberate. Above you, the clouds drag themselves over the moon, covering the world in near-total darkness.

It suits Wednesday fine.

It keeps her focus sharp.

It keeps her from looking at you too long — at the shivers racking your body, at the way you kept brushing her hand against her sleeve like you don’t know what else to hold onto.

Wednesday’s jaw clenches.

Weakness. Distraction.

But the thought tasted bitter now.

She slowed her pace by a fraction, just enough that you can match her without tripping over roots or fallen branches. She’d thought your werewolf senses would be better than this.

The iron gates of Nevermore loom ahead, black against black. A familiar thrill prickles down Wednesday’s spine — the dangerous, delicious pulse of doing something she shouldn’t.

Normally, she relished it.

Tonight, it was tempered by the steady ache of your presence beside her.

You approached the side wall — the section she knew was never patrolled after curfew. You hesitate, glancing up at the slick stone.

Wednesday crouches low, weaving her fingers together to form a step.

You blinked at her.

“Boost,” Wednesday said simply, voice sharper than she intended.

You hesitated again, chewing your lip — and then places her boot in Wednesday’s hands.

You’re even lighter than you look.

Wednesday hoists you upward with a grunt that she immediately regretted — inelegant, too human. You scrambled up, struggling for a grip on the icy stone. Your foot slipped, just once, scraping hard against the wall.

Wednesday moved before thinking. Her hands found your waist, steadying you.

Warm.

Fragile.

Alive.

“Hold still,” Wednesday ordered, voice low and fierce.

You obeyed without question.

Wednesday guided you higher, shoving down the treacherous instinct to keep holding on. You managed to hook yourself over the wall and tumble onto the other side with a soft oof. Wednesday scaled it herself in three swift movements, landing in a crouch beside you. The two of you duck low, moving quickly across the shadowed grounds toward the dormitories. The school looms above you, windows dark, stone heavy.

Safe.

For now.

Neither of you speak as you slip through an unlocked maintenance door. Your footsteps are damp echoes against the old tiled floors. Wednesday leads you back toward her dorm, each step winding tighter and tighter in her chest.

You stumbled once, and Wednesday reached out — caught her — fingers tightening on her jacket sleeve without meaning to. You stiffened. Wednesday let go immediately, forcing her hands to curl into fists at her sides.

And deep inside her chest, where Wednesday believed she had only bone and blackened blood - something alive flinched.

Taglist:

@idkjustliving2 @alexkolax @tekanparadiae

#wednesday addams #wednesday series #wednesday #wednesday x reader #wednesday 2022 #too sharp to touch #wednesday x werewolf #wednesday x werewolf reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader

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seeingivy · 11 months ago

Text

middle name

ryomen sukuna x f!reader

**part of my best friends older brother fic

previous part linked here

all you can do is stare.

there’s the smallest hint of gray hairs mixed in with his natural color. his hair is longer, but it’s still the same color. he has the faintest smile lines near his eyes and that small wisp of a beard that he used to always sport is long gone.

he looks younger. what you assume is his youngest daughter is wearing a sparkly green bracelet. green was always sammy’s favorite color. they both seem to have his nose – though that’s really the only resemblance they bear, since they almost entirely take after the lady at their side.

she had to be younger than him, a willowing black dress clinging lovingly to her figure. she had the same smile lines and that short haircut that you find young moms always sported, with three stacked silver chains and a glittering diamond on her finger.

you wonder if she smells like vanilla like your mom does.

“don’t react.”

you turn to your left to find sammy at your side, sukuna and yuuji hovering in the background with matching hazel eyes filled with concern. you shake your head – throwing away the image of their picture perfect smiles – as you focus on sammy, mostly on the fact that her upper lip is trembling.

sammy was always the favorite.

“what did you say?” you ask.

“don’t react.” sammy repeats.

you pause, mulling over the thought.

“okay.” you respond.

“yeah? because we can’t give that asshole the satisfaction. he has no right barging in here the way he just did.” sammy seethes.

you give her a nod, before she takes her side next to you on the wall, the four of you leaning against the wallpaper. sukuna slithers his hand into yours, offering you a smile that you don’t return, before focusing back on the four of them in the living room.

it annoyed you – that you didn’t have enough time to really consider what the best course of action would be. not reacting, you suppose you could understand the appeal. of showing him that you were above him, that he didn’t even warrant a response.

but deep down, you wondered if that would bother you the day after next. if you would be standing in the shower, rinsing the soap out of your hair, and somehow come up with the right thing to say, that would perfectly encapsulate whatever it was that you were feeling.

though you suppose that’s easier said than done. you can barely put words to whatever it is that’s forming in your chest.

you watch as he talks to sukuna’s old basketball coach. so loudly animated as he chats – about how the property values are better two towns over and how the school district is better for the girls. you wonder if the coach thinks it’s offensive. you wonder if he ever considered that you and sammy needed to switch to a better school too.

and it happens in a split second – your dad catching the sight of the four of you – before lifting off the couch and closing the distance between you. yuuji shoots you a weary glance as he gives the four of you a bright smile, before clearing his throat.

you catch a slight whiff of the lemon smell as he walks up, though the lingering scent of smoke you remember gone all together.

“sukuna. is that you?”

you look over at sukuna, watching as he swallows hard, before clenching his jaw.

“yes.”

you watch as he frowns, before pressing one of his hands to his chest.

“i’m so sorry for your loss, kid.” he states.

“sure. thanks.” sukuna responds, rather stiffly.

you can tell that your dad finds the situation uncomfortable – being treated so blandly by the kid he watched grow up, a kid that he knows could surely be more expressive than that – as his eyes flicker over to you and then back to sukuna.

“your dad told me you studied abroad in europe. is this a pretty girlfriend you brought back?”

you bite down so hard on your cheek that all you taste is metallic blood pouring out of the side of your mouth. the implication makes all of you seethe.

that he still talked to people in town. that sukuna’s dad had known his whereabouts, probably for years. and worst of all, that he didn’t recognize you.

“what?” sukuna hisses.

your dad turns over to you, eyes bright, as he holds his hand out. you can feel a sensational burning in the back of your eyes.

“he always used to brag about how his son was studying with the greats. i’m mr. l/n. i’ve known sukuna since he was little.” he states, holding his hand out.

you swallow down the lump of bile, before extending your hand out to him, unsettled by the freezing cold feeling.

that was in no way what mr. itadori said. and he didn't know sukuna, only briefly, when he was little, before he ran away. and you know exactly who he is – far too well.

“nice to meet you.” you mumble.

“take care of this one, okay? he’s a tough one, but we all need a little love sometimes.” he jokes, lightly tapping sukuna on the shoulder.

you watch as he gives sukuna a lingering smile, before shuffling over two steps to where sammy is. sukuna places his hands on your shoulders, his eyes boring into yours – like he’s trying to beckon for your attention – as you watch the two of them.

“hi sammy girl.” he whispers.

you watch as sammy’s eyes water. sukuna watches as you clench your jaw.

“hi dad.” she whispers.

so much for not reacting.

you wonder if you would have broken just as fast if he recognized you. though you suppose you’ll never know, because he didn’t.

it’s a long list of things you’ll never know. the questions that bother you at night – the ones that expose that deep rooted rot that festered in your brain – seem to come to the surface for the first time, in broad daylight.

when did he fall out of love with your mom? when was sukuna going to fall out of love with you? why does he have such a distaste for you? if you were more polite like sammy, would he have stayed? if you screamed a little louder, would the begging have worked?

“i wanted to tell you something.”

you watch as he slings his hand around sammy’s shoulder, squeezing hard, before pointing to the two little girls that are seated on the couch, the two of which were making a mess of mrs. itadori’s coaster set. you wonder what she’d think fo all of this, if she wasn’t so preoccupied.

“those are my girls. claire and molly.”

you watch as sammy scrunches up her nose, her fists clenched into little balls at her side.

“molly was born a year ago. she’s a little shy, but she loves music. but claire, claire’s the exact opposite. headstrong, strong-willed. exactly how a big sister should be.”

“so?” sammy asks, her voice dripping with attitude.

he shakes his head.

“what i mean is that my girl claire reminds me of you. my first girl. so much so, that…well. claire and molly are real special to me. but you, my sammy girl, are always going to be the person who made me a father. that’s why i made claire’s name claire samantha.”

you watch the tears spill from sammy’s eyes, the most bitter contempt in her eyes, as she turns to him, wiping away the stray.

the questions return. what festers in someone to breed such cruelty? what horrors could you and sammy had exacted in your past life to deserve it? how much pressure does it take before something cracks?

would sammy ever get over the fact that she had basically, for all intents and purposes, been replaced? which one is worse – not warranting recognition or just enough to be traded out for the shinier new model?

“thanks dad. that’s real kind of you.” she mutters, crossing her hands over her chest before leaning back against the wall.

you watch as his face falls, albeit halfheartedly – the clear inclination that he didn’t really mind that the statement didn’t land as he intended – before he turns back to the three of you and gives you an awkward smile.

“family stuff.” he mutters.

he disgusts you.

“well, i’ll take my leave. molly’s about to start fussing. i’m very sorry for your loss again, boys.”

you watch as he walks off, retreating back to the couch and picking up claire – claire samantha – before you feel sukuna’s lips on your temple, his hands rubbing circles into your side. yuuji’s at sammy’s side, offering her his pocket square which she takes.

“oh shit.” sammy mutters.

“what?” you ask.

“he’s going to the patio, where mom is.”

you clear your throat, turning on your heel to move, before sammy reaches for your elbow.

“it’s better if you stay here. you don’t want to make things worse when he realizes it’s actually you.” sammy responds, before walking off towards the direction of the room.

sukuna watches as you step back, cursing the fact that sammy, for the most part, always seemed to have a horrible way with words, as he reaches for your hand.

he knows what she meant. that whatever reaction your mom was going to warrant would get infinitely worse when she realized that your own father wasn’t able to recognize you at first glance.

but she didn’t need to say it like that, sinking words placing the blame on you.

“she didn’t mean it like that.” yuuji states.

sukuna watches as you look over at yuuji, face blank, as you nod. he can see that you’re picking at the scab from the shot glass a few days prior on your hand, but you sidestep too fast before he stick his hand in between yours and make you stop.

“i know.” you respond.

it stings.

“i’m just going to take a minute. i’ll be back.” you respond.

you drag your feet as fast as they can take you to sukuna’s room, before shutting the door behind you, quick and fast breaths heaving out of your chest as your vision blurs. sukuna’s voice is quiet, muffled by the wood.

“hey. i’m on the other side when you’re ready for me, okay pretty girl?”

you sit in sukuna’s room for two hours, watching the sun sink down into the horizon from his window, watching as people trail in and out of the front door from below. it’s a pretty sunset – a vibrant mix of purple, blue, and pink – with the clouds swirling beneath.

if sukuna’s dad was a different type of guy, you’d almost think it was a sign from him. that sweet solace that people felt – seeing their loved ones in the beauty of nature.

though, you’d figure he’d be more of a hurricane or a tornado, wrecking havoc to everything he touched, as opposed to a pretty sunet that shed light.

sitting at the windowsill is the first time you realize that from sukuna’s vantage point, he’s always had a perfect view of your bedroom window. it’s not exactly level, so you assume that he was probably never able to see much, except for if your light was on or off and if your curtains were pulled.

you wonder how often he stared at it.

you find one of his sukuna’s old hoodies and pull it over your dress, before climbing into his sheets and pressing your face into his pillow. it smells faintly of his shampoo, the smell so sweetly comforting, as you feel your eyes swell up, the choking feeling in your throat unbearable.

the sounds that leave you are embarrassing, but luckily, you’re the only one who can hear them.

[sammy]: mai came to get me. let’s talk tomorrow okay?

the typing bubble appears, before disappearing. and after a few minutes, a second text followers.

[sammy]: i love you.

you wonder if that complicated, infected part of your brain that seemed to always cultivate some type of disgust for sammy, even when nothing really happened, was a part that you got from your dad.

you’re almost positive that it is. and it bothers you that it somehow feels like it’s something so fundamental, almost biological, that she’ll always rub salt into a wound that you can’t even heal.

you turn your phone off instead.

“are you okay? your mom mentioned that you went upstairs pretty abruptly, said you needed a minute.”

sukuna looks up to find your mom standing there, two ice cold bottles of water in her hands, before she plops down on the carpet next to him, hiking her knees to her chest. the usual picture of perfect hair is astray, the front stands pulled out, and sukuna absentmindedly wonders if you get your hair pulling habit from her.

he doesn’t respond. only because what he said was a lie.

not entirely at least. it was true that he needed a minute, it was just an obstruction of truth that he really needed to take that minute for you.

sukuna notes that she doesn’t mind the silence that much – not only because it’s something that she was well versed in, the mere fact that sukuna didn’t really like to talk when it came to things like this – and instead changes the subject.

“has she come out yet?” she asks.

“no. did yuuji tell you what happened?” sukuna responds.

she smiles, leaning her head back against the rungs of the stairs.

“you missed quite a show downstairs.”

“what?”

she laughs, before reaching up to mess with the ends of the strand closest to her ear.

“he walked out onto the patio with his wife, cindy he said her name was, because he wanted to offer his condolences. your mom responded by slapping him across the face.”

sukuna wishes he was there to see it. or do it himself.

“he was about to start yelling but that’s when sammy came out. i got the gist of what happened before, because sammy basically dragged him out on his ear, giving him a choice set of words about how he can’t gives his new daughter the same names as his old ones, and that he wasn’t her father, no matter how much he deluded himself into thinking that he was.”

sukuna watches as she pauses, taking a shaky breath.

“he told sammy that he wouldn’t really want to be their father anyways, which is why he left, and yuuji punched him in the face.”

sukuna pinches the bridge of his nose.

“i really did miss a show, didn’t i?” he mutters.

“nothing we aren’t used to. i’d think hell froze over if there wasn’t some type of drama at this thing. though, i’d expect violent dramatics from you, not yuuji.”

sukuna shakes his head.

“he came up and talked to all of us before you. he didn’t even recognize y/n, he…he thought she was some girlfriend i brought home from studying abroad. and i’d almost understand it – she was really little when she left – but there’s no excuse. she looks the exact same.” sukuna offers.

sukuna looks over, seeing the same bridge of your nose mirrored in her face, before looking back at the faded paint chipping off the wood of his bedroom door. he wished that he had yuuji’s horrible habits of hoarding snacks in his room, just so that you weren’t sitting in there crying.

“do you have the key?”

“what?”

“the key to the door.” she states.

sukuna bites at his lip.

“i’m not going to open it. or give it to you. she’ll come out when she’s ready for me.” sukuna mutters.

he watches as she laughs, full bellied and warm, before reaching forward and tangling the matted mess of his hair off of his forehead.

“have i ever been one to force you to do anything?”

sukuna sighs, slumping against the wall, before shaking his head.

he had heard the sentiment before, the first time he carried his tired and bleeding knees to the porch, after being kicked out of his house for the first time.

he nearly beat his knuckles bloody from knocking on the door loud enough before she came down, tired and weary eyes that were instantly snapped awake at his crying. and he can’t exactly remember what it was that he said, though he assumes that it wasn’t short of rudeness.

when he begged to stay. and when she let him in without a second glance, he said it quietly.

“you can’t force me to tell you what happened.”

and the response was always the same – the seventh, eight, and ninth time – before he finally got a understood.

have i ever been one to force you to do anything?

“do me a favor, sukuna.” she states.

“okay.”

“let me take care of your mom.”

sukuna looks over at her, taken aback by the sentiment. he was half expecting the half hearted lecture that sammy gave him months prior, about being careful and gentle with her sister, and was expecting a tougher version of that to come from what he knew was a very opinionated and defensive woman.

“what?”

“the worst part is over. i appreciate you picking up slack with me where you could and i’m sorry i couldn’t help more.”

sukuna shakes his head.

“she was basically debilitated. you had to stay with her.” he offers.

“and you sicked my daughter on your brother. but his boyfriend has got him for the rest and i’ll be with your mom for the foreseeable future, like i always have been.”

“i don’t think –”

“you’re leaving here tonight. and you’re taking my daughter with you.” she states.

sukuna shrugs.

“i can’t just leave her. she’s my mom and…and she’s been so fucking fragile for the past few days. you saw how she acted when –”

“and you’re her son. that’s not your job.”

she pauses.

“you step back and take care of my daughter. and maybe more importantly, let my daughter take care of you.” she whispers, raking her fingers through his hair again.

sukuna feels a shiver down his spine, before shaking his head. he can’t just leave.

“no.”

“sukuna.”

he shakes his head again, this time more fervently.

he can’t just leave. he can’t just pawn his own mother off to her and his brother to megumi and walk away.

“you know that godawful, shitty dining table downstairs that your dad picked out? the one that we gave to goodwill when he left for his trip to new york?”

“yeah.”

he remembered the fight that followed after when he realized it was gone. and sometimes, he wondered why his mom would pick a fight over something so trivial as a table.

“it was really heavy. seeing it every day irritated her to no end – that this was her house and her space and that he had taken over it another time. it pissed your mom off so much that every night, after they fought, she’d try to push it out of that damn room on her own. ”

sukuna snorts.

“i remember that.”

she smiles.

“i remember it too. watching her try to push it out of that room on her own, barely making a dent in moving it the merest inch. i think sammy even took a picture of it with that shitty disposable camera i bought her.”

sukuna rubs his palms together.

“okay.”

“i ended up helping her. carried one side and we were able to move it a few more inches. it didn’t really do much, so i got that piece of shit down the street, to help us too. and the old guy who used to live next door, the handyman. your dad was on a three day trip and it took five of us to push that god forsaken table out of the house.”

sukuna feels her pull him closer, wrapping him in a hug. it makes his chest pang, eerily similar to the feeling of being sixteen and sitting on the fact that he was going to leave without saying goodbye.

“my point is that there’s just some things you can’t carry alone, son.”

sukuna feels his throat dry. his eyes water, as he understands – the embarrassing and pitiful question spilling out as a byproduct.

“what if it’s too heavy for her? what…what if i can’t hold her up?” he asks, shaking his head as his voice cracks.

what if sukuna breaks his lifeline? an even worse fate than you dying – being the one responsible for killing you.

she smiles, before gesturing to her left, where sukuna sees yuuji standing.

“you’re more than capable, sukuna. you always have been. and there’s always an extra set of hands to help you lift.”

the thought comes an hour later.

maybe his mom did get to meet the love of her life. and maybe it just wasn’t the person he was expecting it to be.

the second one that follows makes even more sense.

of course the love was always going to be there between you and him. it was destined before you even got here. genetic even.

you make it back home around two in the morning, to three plastic wrapped plates of dinner and megumi asleep on your couch.

it feels a little bit like intruding, but the two of you can’t help but stare as yuuji lightly nudges megumi to wake up, the latter of whom literally bolts up at the sight of him, arms quick on his face before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

you look over at sukuna, gesturing for him to turn around with you, as sukuna unboxes the closest package – the replacement of the broken mug from your birthday – as you hear the two of them retreat, a quiet goodnight whispered to the pair of you.

“which mug do you want?” he asks.

“we can just share.”

there’s a ghost of a smile on his face as he wraps his hands around your wrists, his touch warm as he pulls you forward, tucking you straight into his arms and resting his chin against the top of your head.

and you’re not sure when it starts, but it’s not long before he’s quietly weeping, his frame shaking under you as you bury yourself closer to him, his heart pounding under your ear as you run your hands up and down his arms, quietly whispering into his ears.

he doesn’t stop. he makes no inclination of stopping and it sends a shiver down your spine.

you pull back, cupping his flushed pink cheeks, and wiping away the wetness from his eyelashes before locking your fingers together behind his neck.

“you took my jacket.” he whispers, voice strained.

“it was cold in your room.” you respond.

he nods, before leaning his forehead against yours, quietly trying to steady his breaths in pace with yours, before he abruptly pulls away, and leans against the granite.

“what’s wrong?” you ask.

he gestures his head to the left, where yuuji is standing, before quickly wiping the wetness from his face and pouring the warm milk into the mug. you give him a nod before retreating over to where yuuji is standing, his eyes glued to sukuna.

“yuuji?”

yuuji looks over at you, shaking his head.

“sorry. i wanted to take a shower. do you –”

“i’ll get you a towel, yuu.”

yuuji watches as you retreat, socks sliding on the tile, as he runs his hand through his hair, a deeply sweltering hot regret in his chest.

he had you pegged all wrong. both of you, written off the second he found out about it.

yuuji had the tiniest glimpse of it the other day. the way you so freely ranted to sukuna, watching as he quietly attended to you by braiding your hair to stop you from pulling at it, really – exuding a quiet comfort he didn’t even know he possessed.

but this was worse. because while you were being exactly who he knew you to be – maybe just shocked that you were able to do it with someone else – what he just saw in the short amount of time – sukuna freely crying, or more importantly, openly humbling himself to let someone in to help him crawl out – it was foreign.

unheard of. yuuji was almost positive that sukuna hadn’t even done it before, being so vulnerable with someone.

and he had been giving him a hard time for it

“here’s your towel.”

yuuji grabs your hand as you hand it over to him, squeezing hard as he looks up at you, teary eyed.

“thank you.”

for loving my brother.

“of course. get some rest.” you respond, giving him a smile as you watch him retreat back to the room.

sukuna’s crying has ceased when you make your way back to the kitchen. there’s a steaming cup of hot chocolate with a godawful amount of marshmallows and whipped cream, that he passes over to you for the first sip.

“i’m back.” you respond.

he nods, as he place the cup in your hand hand. and it’s a searing warmth in your cheeks as sukuna lifts his hand, wiping the whipped cream residue from the top of your lip.

“real cute.” he responds, before licking the excess off his own fingers.

you shrug.

“i try.”

he smiles, taking the mug from you.

you’re confused by what happens next – because it looks like he’s going to say something, even going as far as opening his mouth to start talking, before he clamps it shut, with something steaming behind his eyes that you can’t really understand.

and he does it a few times.

“are you okay?”

“yeah. yeah, i just…was trying to figure out how to talk.”

“how to talk?” you ask.

“you know. about all the stuff.”

you hum in response, before looping your arm around his torso, watching the marshmallows slowly dampen under the warm liquid, the smallest amount of steam still leaving the glass.

“it’s probably a lot.” you murmur.

“you have no idea.”

“how about you pick one thing? and we’ll do one thing at a time.”

sukuna nods, heaving a deep sigh, before tangling his free hand into your hair.

“my dad was a piece of shit.”

one of the marshmallows sinks down into the cup, the curved waves of the whipped cream disintegrating with it.

“i mean…my dad was a piece of shit. he died a piece of shit and now he won’t ever be anything else.”

you nod.

“do you…do you know those lifetime shows? where people go on the news and talk about how…how different things changed their lives? like families getting out of horrible financial situations and being happy or people finally getting time to put the work in to better themselves?”

“yeah.”

“i had this really, really crappy thought that i held on to when i was a kid. that some day, that prick would just wake up, and realize what really mattered. that he’d put in the work, that i’d watch my mom get what she deserved, and…and he’d come to my wedding.” he murmurs.

sukuna shakes his head, before clenching his jaw.

“knowing him, the last thing he probably said about you was shitty. and not because he was some vile, sick asshole filled with hatred for you – but hatred for me. for yuuji. for the fact that you were fine with yuuji just as he was. liked me just as i am.”

the steam from the mug is gone.

“that stupid asshole died just as he was. a homophobic, misogynistic prick. he won’t ever change.”

you lean your head against his shoulder.

“still hurts, doesn’t it?” you ask.

sukuna nods.

and thanks his lucky stars that you had that in you, to parse out what he really meant. that his dad died just as he was and now sukuna knows that whatever it was he lost out on is something he won’t ever be able to get back.

grief for what was never going to be.

“more than you know.” he responds.

sukuna pauses.

“what do you think about it?” he asks.

you look down at the mug.

“that it’s his loss.”

“what?”

“by some turn of fate, your dad was very undeservingly blessed with two very loving children. it’s his loss that he’s died without even getting to feel even an inch of that. and i get it, that on paper, his legacy, his career – it’s seemed so worthwhile to people at your house. that even though he died young, he lived a very full life.”

you push the mug over to him.

“to me, it always seemed like he was chasing something. a better title at work, a bigger party he could throw to show off, anything that made him feel like he was larger than life. and i feel sorry for him. he’s had two boys that give the word love meaning under his roof for all these years and it’s embarrassing for him that he never got to feel it.”

you shrug.

“you won’t ever get to have the dad you wanted. but he won’t ever get to reap the benefits, the good love, of what he already had.”

sukuna leans forward, gentle hands on your cheeks, before locking his lips with yours, the kiss mixed in with his quiet tears.

the best kind of kiss he could give you – affectionate. devoted. and bare. you felt like the smallest parts of him were in the palm of your hand, to cherish and preserve.

“your turn.” he whispers.

you snort.

“do you have short term memory loss? i just told you what i thought.”

sukuna shakes his head, wiping the wetness on the back of his hand, before clearing his throat.

“i gave you three hours in that room. it’s your turn.”

you elbow him in the side, before lifting the mug with your hands.

“i gave you a week.”

“you’ve always been more patient than me. i nearly broke the door down.”

you roll your eyes.

“i know you have a key.”

“and i’d never use it.” sukuna affirms.

you smile, seeping in the warmth of the ceramic mug, as you look down at the flowery print, a mottled mess of liquid swimming from everything you had mixed in the cup.

“some part of me thinks that i’m rotten.”

sukuna watches as you set the mug down, reaching for the ends of your hair as you twirl them in your fingers.

“what?”

you sigh, warm tears in your eyes.

“i always thought that there was something wrong with me. there was always a rotten part of me, deep down, and everything i was doing was to keep it from getting out. like…like an infection or something.”

“okay.” sukuna whispers, his tone in his voice beckoning for you to continue.

“he’s vile. he’s vile for showing up to your dad’s funeral. for not even saying a word to yuuji when he was there the day he was born, for trying to sweet talk on your behalf like he knows you or something. having a new family, two new girls, not even sparing a second glance to what came before.”

you pause.

“and he’s my dad. he’s vile and sometimes i feel like he’s…he’s in my head. that some part of him is always going to be intertwined with me and deep down, running through my blood, and that’s why i won’t ever win.”

sukuna reaches forward, cupping your warm cheeks in the palm of his hands. and you look up at him, warm brown hazel eyes so washed in concern for you, and it makes your chest hurt.

“i look at you and all i can think about is that one day, it’ll be the last time you’ll look at me like that. because you’ll leave. you’ll realize that it’s just lipstick on a pig, or…or too much and you’ll take your leave for something better.”

sukuna wishes that he was the one who got to punch him instead of yuuji.

“what do you think?” you ask.

sukuna drops his hold, lifting your hands against his lips and pressing a kiss against your knuckles.

“that i wish i punched him instead.” he states.

“what? someone punched him?”

sukuna smiles.

“my mom slapped him. and yuuji punched him. everyone got to have their cake except for me.”

you snort.

“i wish it was me. because i think he’s sick in the head.”

typical. sukuna was never one to really mince his words.

“i think it’s absolutely disgusting that he left without a trace and that the one person he talked to when he left was my dad – though i suppose that’s fitting.”

sukuna pauses.

“it’s been criminal to watch your mom suffer when she’s one of the first people who gave me a lifeline…and when she brought my second lifeline into this world.”

you smile.

“i think any bit of harshness or judgment i’ve passed on sammy is unfair, because i think i’d be immeasurably cruel at times too if the one person who was required to love me felt that i was special enough to deserve a replacement, but not enough to be the one who was actually loved.”

you sigh..

“and i think it’s batshit insane that he was unable to recognize you when most of the time, you’re the only person in the room with me. it’s entirely unbelievable to me that the one person he gave no recognition to is probably the only person who would ever deserve it.”

sukuna looks down at you and frowns.

“you’re a considerate daughter, a compassionate sister – maybe even when you shouldn’t be – and the warmest friend that my brother has ever had.”

sukuna leans forward, pressing a wet kiss to your forehead.

“you’re a beautiful girlfriend, so painfully kind-hearted towards me that i’m half convinced you’re god with the way you’re able to fix everything with just your hands. you’re everything good and every part of you is worth acknowledging and appreciating. it’s humiliating for your dad that he’s part of the reason you’re here – and that he won’t ever be able to realize that his greatest accomplishment is you.”

you lean forward, tucking yourself into his neck, and it makes sukuna shiver – the cold tears running down his neck as you quietly sob, your voice muffled against the fabric of his jacket.

“you think i’m god?” you sniffle.

sukuna rolls his eyes, unable to contain his smile.

“of course that’s what you take away from it.”

you lean back, looking up at him and the smile on his face. and you commit it to memory – the laugh, the love in the silence, and how it persists in the pain.

“people worship gods.” you clarify.

“and i worship you.”

you curl your nose in disgust.

“ew, sukuna.”

“you’re not saying ew when i’m doing it. it sounds a lot more like –”

you wrap your hand over his mouth, before shushing him.

“your brother is in the next room over.”

“he’s always such a thorn in my side.” sukuna mutters, earning you a laugh from him.

the two of you retreat after the fact. you wash sukuna’s hair in the shower. he insists on doing your skincare for you. and the sun rises on the two of you the next day.

next part linked here

an: LOL. ok I write dream girl now I just wanted to get that out of me.

edit: someone left an ??? upset? or like...idk the word for it comment on ao3 about the fact that it's kind of toxic that sukuna calls her god at the end. pls know that it's JUST a metaphor and he's just trying to compare her to something that's really important and being hyperbolic 💌

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divinector · 3 months ago

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Stack Animation on hover

#stack animation on hover #css stack animation #pure css animation #css effects #css animation examples #html css #divinector #frontenddevelopment #css #html #css3 #webdesign

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cameforstuff · 2 months ago

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A Calm Night, for Mabel

Mabel was sleeping and Ford was freaking out.

Ford had been simply explaining his improvements to her grappling hook, when he noticed she had nodded off. Mabel's head is at an odd angle and she is hugging herself.

Is she cold? Could she breathe with her head like that? Should Ford move her?

Ford starts pacing, eyes darting back whenever Mabel shifts or snores. Occasionally, Ford would reach out, but stop only an inch away. Every time, Ford looks down at his hands with apprehension. Sure Mabel did not seem to mind his fingers when she is awake, but what if they scare her unconscious mind?

Ford had never been good with kids. He had a similar freak out when Dipper fell asleep during one of their DDMD games. Except Stan had been there, scooping the boy up wordlessly and carrying him to bed. Should Ford do that? Could he?

Moses, would Stan fish faster.

Ford had barely just started getting to know the kids, Dipper more so. Sure Mabel and him had a fun day, but is he close enough to simply snatch Mabel up? She shifts again, now practically laying face down into the couch. Ford feels his panic rise now unbearable.

Ford could not let one of the kids suffocate on his watch. Slowly, he scoops Mabel up. Ford's back aching from just how slowly he does so. Yet it seems to do the trick as she stays asleep. He rises with the same level of care. Ford freezes when she shifts in his arms. Her eyes open a crack, and she mumbles something as she nuzzles deeper into Ford's arms.

When Mabel drifts back into sleep, Ford sighs in relief. He takes several slow steps out of the living room and into the entry way. He looks at the stairs with hesitation. How would Ford get up without shaking her? He would also be risking falling with no arms to catch himself. Ford deems it too risky. He refuses to let any harm come to his niece.

So Ford turns and moves towards his room. Sure his couch is not as comfy as a bed, but it is safe. He lays her down, just as gently as he had picked her up. It is a bit hard to let go, as Mabel is holding tightly onto his sweater. He carefully pries each finger off, making sure to be as gentle as possible. Once free he stood and smiles. Safe; able to breathe; Perfect.

Ford took a breath to calm himself, but then he realizes he had forgotten a blanket for Mabel. He lightly drapes his blanket over her, but is dissatisfied. Mabel always wore sweaters despite the heat, so she must be cold. How dumb of Ford not to notice. He left the room and set about finding the warmest and softest blankets he could.

When Ford checks Mabel and Dipper's room, he notices not only is her pig there, but she also had many stuffed animals on her bed. Ford stacks as many as he could on one arm, and scoops up her pig as well. He crept back into the room and set his collection down. Her pig, Waddles, simply crawls over and lays near her side. Ford hovers, ready to snatch Waddles if he dares to step wrong.

Mabel rolls to accommodate the pig and pulls Waddles into a hug. Thankfully, not blocking her face. The pig did not seem to hinder her breathing, so Ford moves to his next task. He starts layering the blankets. It took several tries to make sure the blankets laid perfectly. No cold would attack Ford's niece.

For the final touch, Ford began tucking the stuffed animals wherever he could. Without putting to much weight on her vitals, of course. One, a stuffed unicorn, starts talking when he had grabs it. Startled, Ford rips out its voice box and crushes it in his hand. Ford looks down at the poor toy in shame. He would have to repair it tomorrow.

He took a few careful steps back. Carefully, he surveys his handy-work. She seems to be breathing fine; the pig did not move; the blankets allow no gaps; the stuffed animals did not dare to shift. Ford smiles, feeling satisfied. He had done it.

Ford moves to leave but became nervous. What if something woke her? What if she woke up and is confused? What if he had not done something right? Ford took a seat at the nearby desk. He uses the light of the moon to sketch out math equations from memory. More to keep himself up rather than for actual practice. Ford glances back at his niece constantly, just to make absolute sure all is well.

Stan came home about midnight, with a tired but happy Dipper. Mabel's idea of "Grunkle Bonding Day" seems to have gone just as she had thought. At least on their end. Stan follows Dipper up to check on Mabel, but found her bed empty. Both of Mabel and her bedding. Both Dipper and Stan share a confused look.

Stan moves around the house searching. Finally he pops his head into Ford's room and held back a laugh.

Ford lay face down in a book at his desk. Yet, both Stan and Dipper were drawn to the mass of blankets and stuffed animals on the couch. Under which, lay a sleeping Mabel, seemingly unbothered. It seems their day had gone well.

Stan takes a left over blanket, seemly unfit for Mabel's cocoon, and tosses it over to Dipper. He crawls onto the couch and forms his own smaller cocoon. Stan walked over and removed his brothers glasses and drapes Ford's trench coat over him. Stan looks down at a stuffed unicorn that had practically been ripped in half. He is curious, but decides to leave that for tomorrow. Stan took his own spot at one end of the couch, and leans back. Nothing and no one moves until morning.

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airandyeah · 2 months ago

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Animals (Alpha!Sukuna X Alpha!Toji X Omega!Reader) Pt.8

My Masterlist Series Masterlist Warnings: Obvious A/B/O dynamics, suggestive comments or actions, just generally Minors DNI-just in case. This will be similar to Pink Pony Club and Sins, where I just mark every chapter as 18+ This also has the general warning of Toji and Sukuna both honestly being menaces. This chapter is suggestive- slightly more than usual lol.

The next day, you woke up later than usual, the sun already spilling golden light through the window. The steady, rhythmic sound of wood being split echoed outside, each crack sharp against the otherwise quiet morning.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you pushed yourself out of bed and shuffled toward the window. The sight that greeted you had you stopping in your tracks.

Outside, Sukuna and Toji stood near a growing stack of firewood, both stripped down to nothing but their sweatpants, muscles flexing with every swing of the axe. Toji, ever efficient, made clean, powerful cuts, splitting logs with ease. Sukuna, on the other hand, looked like he was enjoying himself, a smirk playing on his lips as he worked, relishing the destruction of the wood beneath his blade.

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling far too warm. This was not what you expected to wake up to.

For a moment, you just watched—because really, how could you not? The way their bodies moved, the sheer strength behind every motion, the light sheen of sweat glistening on their skin. It was almost unfair.

Then, as if sensing your eyes on them, Sukuna suddenly glanced up, locking onto you with a knowing smirk. “Enjoying the show, sweetheart?” he called, voice dripping with amusement.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “I just woke up. I wasn’t expecting that to be the first thing I saw.”

Toji didn’t even pause in his chopping, but you could see the corner of his mouth twitch in amusement. “Could’ve slept through it if you weren’t so nosy,” he remarked.

You rolled your eyes, but the heat on your face betrayed you. “Right. Well, I’m going inside before I have to start paying admission.”

Sukuna barked out a laugh as you turned away, but you swore you heard him murmur, “Bet you’ll still be thinking about it, though.”

And annoyingly enough… he wasn’t wrong.

Settling onto the couch, you pulled your laptop onto your lap and opened a well-worn Google Doc—one you’d been working on for what felt like forever. The familiar screen filled with words you’d rewritten, edited, and obsessed over countless times.

The story had been a constant in your life, a quiet passion tucked away between responsibilities and distractions. And with everything that had been going on lately—from your car breaking down to being practically forced into staying with two insufferable (and dangerously attractive) alphas—you hadn’t had the time or the mental energy to write.

But now, with the rhythmic thunk of firewood being split outside and the distant hum of the forest, you found yourself staring at the blinking cursor, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

You reread the last paragraph. The words felt... distant, like they belonged to someone else. With a sigh, you stretched out your legs, trying to coax the creative energy back. Maybe if you just started typing, something would click.

So you did.

Slowly at first, then faster as the story pulled you in, your fingers moving in a steady rhythm. The real world faded, and for the first time in days, you felt grounded—like you were back in control.

The rhythm was interrupted about two hours later. You hadn’t noticed the door open or the shift in the air. Hadn’t noticed either of them come back inside, leave to change, or even make a sound as they approached.

It wasn’t until the presence of two looming figures cast a shadow over your screen that you stiffened, realizing too late that you weren’t alone.

“What’re you writing?” Toji’s voice was low and amused, dangerously close to your ear.

Sukuna leaned in from the other side, his eyes flicking over the words on the screen. “Tch. You’ve been holed up in this document for hours. Must be something good.”

Your fingers twitched over the keyboard as you quickly minimized the document, but the damage was already done. Sukuna’s smirk stretched wider, while Toji just looked far too entertained for your liking.

“Didn’t take you for the type to write,” Toji mused, dropping onto the couch beside you, legs spreading comfortably. “Lemme guess—some self-insert romance shit?”

Sukuna barked out a laugh. “Oh, I have to read this.”

Your heart lurched as his hand made a teasing reach toward the laptop, but you snapped it shut before he could get close.

“Mind your damn business,” you snapped, pressing the device against your chest protectively.

Toji chuckled, stretching an arm over the back of the couch, effectively caging you in. “Aw, c’mon, don’t be shy. We just wanna know what’s got you so damn focused. Didn’t even notice us coming in.”

Sukuna cocked his head, gaze sharp with curiosity. “You write about us, sweetheart?”

Your stomach flipped, and your immediate reaction must’ve been too strong, because their smirks only deepened.

“Ah, fuck,” Toji grinned, nudging Sukuna. “She totally does.”

Sukuna clicked his tongue. “How cute.”

You groaned, shoving at Toji’s shoulder, which did absolutely nothing to move him. “I don’t! Now shut up and leave me alone.”

“Prove it,” Sukuna challenged, that mischievous glint in his eyes sparking like fire.

Like hell you were about to do that.

With a sigh, you pressed the laptop tighter against your chest, glaring between the two of them. “It’s not about you,” you grumbled. “I’ve been writing a book since high school.”

That actually made them pause.

Toji raised a brow, a flicker of real curiosity crossing his face. “Since high school?”

Sukuna folded his arms, tilting his head. “Damn. Didn’t expect that. What’s it about?”

You hesitated, fingers drumming against the laptop. Talking about your writing was always… weird. It felt too personal, too vulnerable, but they were staring at you now, actually waiting for an answer instead of just teasing.

You sighed. “It’s… a fantasy story. Some action, some romance, a little horror.” You shrugged. “Nothing special.”

Sukuna scoffed. “Bullshit. You don’t spend years writing something if it’s ‘nothing special.’”

Toji leaned back against the couch, arms draped lazily over the back. “So what, you wanna publish it?”

You shifted uncomfortably. “I mean… yeah. Someday.”

Sukuna hummed, giving you an appraising look. “Huh. Guess you’ve got a brain under all that stubbornness.”

You rolled your eyes. “Wow, thanks.”

Toji smirked, tapping a lazy finger against his thigh. “Bet you’re good at it, if you’ve stuck with it this long.”

The unexpected compliment caught you off guard, heat creeping up your neck. You huffed, looking away. “I don’t need your approval.”

Sukuna snickered, nudging your arm. “Yeah, but you like it.”

You shoved him away with a glare, ignoring the way your heart stuttered a little.

Clearing your throat, you quickly shifted the conversation. “So… uh, about my cabin—was there anything that actually needed fixing with the water damage?”

Toji ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “Yeah. It’s not just a small leak. Looks like part of the roof’s been rotting for a while. Whole section of the ceiling in your bedroom needs to be ripped out and replaced.”

You groaned, leaning your head back against the couch. “Great. Just great.”

Sukuna clicked his tongue. “Could be worse. At least you didn’t wake up with the roof caving in on you.”

“Small comforts,” you muttered.

Toji shrugged. “We can go back in a few days, check if the damage spread. If it’s bad, might take a couple weeks to fix properly.”

You frowned. “Weeks?”

Sukuna smirked. “What, that eager to get away from us?”

You shot him a glare. “I don’t know if I can survive that long in a house that reeks of Alpha.”

Toji chuckled. “You’ll live.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “I guess I don’t have a choice.”

Sukuna leaned in with a teasing grin. “Nope. You’re stuck with us, sweetheart.” ~~~ Lying in bed that night, you couldn’t shake the restless energy creeping beneath your skin. It wasn’t just the unfamiliar bed, the lingering scent of Alpha in the air, or the quiet hum of the house—it was something deeper. Something stirring in your bones, your blood, your instincts.

You shifted under the covers, pressing your thighs together as an uncomfortable heat curled low in your stomach. It wasn’t your heat, not yet, but it was something close—something in between. The constant presence of two Alphas, their scents thick in the air, the way their voices rumbled through the house, the weight of their gazes when they looked at you—it was starting to affect you.

You hated it.

Or at least, you told yourself you did.

Pulling the blankets tighter around yourself, you exhaled slowly, trying to push the feeling down, but it clung to you, wrapping around your senses like a second skin.

You needed to get a grip.

You weren’t some weak Omega, ruled by instinct and the presence of Alphas. You had spent years keeping yourself in control, resisting the pull of biology, refusing to be another helpless, needy little thing.

And yet…

Your fingers curled into the sheets, heart pounding as your body betrayed you, warmth pooling beneath your skin, an ache settling deep in your core.

Damn them.

Damn them both. It was like your hands had a mind of their own as one traced down below the hem of your sleep shorts and thin panties— you couldn't help the gasp you release— you're overly sensitive. Your other hand comes up to cover your mouth to silence any further noises as you continue your ministrations. Shit. ~~~ In the morning, you dragged yourself out of bed, feeling groggy, restless, and frustrated beyond belief. You barely managed to pull on a hoodie before making your way to the kitchen, hoping coffee would drown out the lingering heat curling through your veins.

But the moment you stepped into the room, you froze.

Toji and Sukuna were already there, leaned casually against the counter, both nursing their own mugs of coffee. Their postures were relaxed, but the sharp, knowing gleam in their eyes told you everything you needed to know.

Wolfish grins stretched across their lips—teasing, smug, far too pleased with themselves.

Your stomach dropped.

They knew.

You didn’t know how, but they knew.

Toji took a slow sip of his coffee, eyes flickering over you lazily. "Sleep well, princess?"

Sukuna chuckled, deep and throaty, his tongue running over the edge of his teeth. "Or should I say… restlessly?"

Your entire body went stiff, heat creeping up your neck. "Shut up," you muttered, moving toward the coffee pot like you weren’t about to combust on the spot.

Sukuna let out an amused hum, watching you with far too much interest. "Nothing to be ashamed of," he mused. "It's only natural, y'know. Alphas and Omegas… spending time together, getting close… instincts start kicking in."

You slammed your mug onto the counter a little too hard, teeth gritted. "I said shut up."

Toji snickered, setting his coffee down and leaning forward slightly, voice dropping to something smoother, more dangerous. "Oh, sweetheart, we ain't judgin'." He reached out, tapping two fingers against your temple. "Just sayin'—maybe your body's tryin' to tell you somethin’."

You huffed, gripping your coffee like a lifeline, refusing to meet their eyes.

Damn them.

Damn them both.

You barely had time to take a sip of your coffee before Sukuna leaned in, voice dropping into something velvety and smug.

"Y'know," he drawled, tilting his head, "if it's getting too hard to handle, sweetheart, we could always help you out."

Your grip on the mug tightened, nearly scalding yourself as you swallowed hard. "Excuse me?"

Toji chuckled, deep and throaty, like he was thoroughly enjoying your growing discomfort. He stepped closer, towering just enough to make you feel caged in, eyes gleaming with something dangerous. "We’re just sayin’… you don’t gotta suffer through it alone."

Sukuna leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee with a lazy smirk. "Could make it real easy for you. Just gotta say the word."

Your whole body heated instantly, a deep, visceral reaction you tried to force down.

They were just messing with you. That’s what they did. They were assholes.

"You two are disgusting," you muttered, willing your pulse to slow down as you turned away, focusing hard on your coffee.

Toji snorted. "Disgusting? C’mon, princess, we’re just offering a little… relief."

Sukuna exhaled a sharp laugh, gaze practically burning into the side of your face. "And let’s be real, sweetheart," he murmured, "you’re thinking about it."

Your breath caught, stomach twisting.

You hated that they were right.

Your face burned as you scrambled for a response, but all that came out was a stuttered, “Wh-whatever,” before you turned on your heel and bolted toward the guest room.

The sound of their laughter followed you down the hall, deep and wolfish, like they were having the time of their lives at your expense.

“Aw, don’t run, sweetheart!” Sukuna called after you, amusement dripping from every word.

Toji’s chuckle rumbled through the cabin. “She’s cute when she’s flustered, huh?”

You slammed the door behind you, pressing your back against it as you willed your heartbeat to slow down. Your entire body was burning, and it wasn’t just from embarrassment.

Those bastards.

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. You had to find a way to get through this without losing your mind—or worse, giving in.

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johnwickb1tsch · 2 months ago

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lessons in anatomy XI

a yandere art professor John Wick x drawing model muse! reader AU... (also featuring Matt from River's Edge. If you haven't seen the movie that's ok, I will fill in the gaps as we go...) warnings: dark adult themes, violence, sex, drugs, yandere shit. plz don't read if u can't handle it ->chapter map

XI.

You drift in and out of consciousness.

You are being carried, and then you are being tossed onto a hard surface. Dull pain bites through you as you land. You look around, recognizing the interior of a van, various coiled cables hung up on the sides and trunks of something stacked around. Something sharp digs into your back, but you can't move.

It's easier to sleep.

You close your eyes. But then you open them again, because…loud noises.

Shouting.

Fighting.

What you see through heavy lidded eyes must be a dream. The violence is…unspeakable. A dark whirlwind topples the impossibly monolithic behemoth that is Samson. He falls like a redwood. The earth should shake when he lands. Then the shadow makes short work of Layne too, dodging a punch, twisting the young man up until you hear a wet pop.

The last thing you remember is an animal face hovering over you. You think of Anubis administering to the deceased in the afterlife.

Are you dead?

-You wake up on a relatively soft mattress with sheets pulled up to your chin. The first thing you see is a motionless black wolf staring at you with blank eyes. You start, trying to sit up, but your limbs weigh about a thousand pounds.

A moment later, you realize it's just a mask. Your lone wolf’s mask, in fact. How the fuck…

You don't remember going with him? You remember…oh god.

You remember Samson hitting Matt.

Everything that happened after that…is pretty fucking fuzzy. But somehow, you are back in your apartment, in your bed.

You whimper, settling back into the pillow, trying to remember.

It's all a blank.

You lay there and stare at the ceiling for a good ten minutes before you even think to look for your phone. Miraculously, it's right there in the night stand, right next to that ominous mask.

You reach out to snatch your phone, like the lupine headgear might come to life and bite you.

And yet…he wasn't the one who tried to hurt you, was he?

There are several texts from your friends demanding where you are. Somehow, you already answered them: Went home, I'm fine.

Did you send that text? Or…did someone else, so your friends wouldn't come looking for you?

The thought sends another wave of uneasiness through you.

And what happened to Matt?

As though the very thought summons him your phone rings. You’re holding the device in your hand, but it still makes you jump. As though you’ve forgotten how to answer the damn thing you stare at it stupidly almost long enough to miss the call. Finally you slide your finger across the screen, lifting it to your ear.

“Hello?” Even to you, you sound like hell.

“Y/n? Thank God!”

“Matt? Where are you?”

“I think I'm still at the warehouse,” he says, sounding bewildered. “I just woke up. Everyone's gone.”

“Oh.” You can tell just by looking at the window that it’s late afternoon.

“Y/n…what happened? Are you ok?”

“I…don't remember anything,” you admit. “I woke up at home. I think…I'm fine.” You're sore, but you don't feel like you need to go to the hospital for an examination.

You’re not sure why you decide to leave out the calling card of the wolf mask.

There is silence on the other end of the phone, as Matt tries to suss this out with a brain that is, you assume, as drug-fogged as yours. You also can't help but think he's flabbergasted that his friends didn’t do something terrible to you.

“Y/n…” He doesn't seem to know what else to say, and the silence drags on. Finally he settles on, “I'm glad you're ok.”

“Thanks. Are you ok?” It can't have felt good to get hit by his huge friend like that.

“I guess so.” Another long silence stretches, yet neither of you seem to want to hang up the phone. “Y/n…what are you going to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you…going to tell the police?”

“I don't know,” you answer quietly. You wait for him to ask you to have mercy on his friends, to forgive them, to say something stupid like they were just playing around.

“Well…it’s up to you. I've got your back either way.” He surprises you with this. It seems like he grew up a lot just in the past twelve hours.

“Thanks, Matt. Can you get home ok?”

“Yeah. I'll be fine.”

“Be careful. Your friends don't seem like they're too happy with you.”

“They’re not my friends anymore, y/n. Catch you later?”

Well, you'll be damned. He finally gets it.

“Yeah, sure.”

You hang up, clutching the phone to your chest like a teddy bear.

Should you tell the police? Drugging you and Matt was surely some sort of crime. What would you tell them though? That you were at a party and don’t remember anything? You're in a brain fog, unable to work out what you want to do. Mostly, right now? You want to sleep some more, so you do.

Hours later you finally manage to get out of bed, hobbling stiffly to the kitchen. All you have the energy to make is toast. You wrap yourself in a blanket and turn on the tv. You slept so late that it's already time for the evening news.

You freeze at the sight on the screen.

The affectedly sincere voice of the newscaster narrates, “Firefighters responded to a vehicle fire on the waterfront late last night. No one was found injured and authorities are still searching for the owner of the van.” The camera pans to show the charred remains of the vehicle with the muddy river rolling in the background.

There are remnants of paint on the side of the van. Or at least, different shades and sheens of charred black.

You're certain, to the marrow of your bones, that it's the van Matt and his band mates use to haul their gear around.

His band mates, Layne, and Samson.

TBC...

___

->chapter map pinterest board/ photo credits

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves #matt x reader #professor wick AU #yandere john wick #keanuverse #keanuverse fic #rivers edge

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zigrethsnotebook · 5 months ago

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Earworm

Ford x Reader

words: 1,946

tags: sfw, fluff, library time

a/n: todays story is brought to you by that stupid mothman song being stuck in my head again. also I refused to look up the lyrics to either song which makes this an accurate portayal of me being annoying when i have a song stuck in my head lmao. enjoy^^

The library was quiet when Ford visited it. He wanted to check whether or not the librarians had, in the 30 years he was gone, finally added some of the cryptozoology books he recommended. So far it wasn't looking very good.

At the very least, cryptozoology had not become its own category. With a sigh he walked over to the regular zoology section to take a closer look. Perhaps they'd only gotten a few and grouped them with other animals?

He looked through the shelves for a couple of minutes. Somehow he had the feeling that they simply hadn't added any of the books. Ford sighed again. He'd go ask one of the librarians, he decided.

There were only three or four other people, most likely students, at the library. Ford made sure to keep his step quiet as he looked around for the person in charge.

Ford turned around a corner and found himself in the science-fiction section. He couldn't see anyone but with it being so incredibly silent, he heard someone quietly hum and sing to themselves.

He followed the sound around another shelf of science-fiction books. With every step towards the sound the words became a little clearer.

"...The years start coming and they don't stop coming. Pack your shoes and then hit the ground running." A moment of silence as the person apparently tried to remember the lyrics, as if the ones they'd sung until now hadn't been wrong as well.

"uh... so much to do, so much to see. So much more than na na nana. You never know if you don't know. You never know if you don't try." By now Ford had turned around the final shelf to find the person he was looking for. He subconsciously rubbed the spot on his neck where the cartoon star sat.

It was the librarian. They were busy putting some returned books back onto the shelves. "Hey, now. You're an All Star. Get your game on. Get paid. Hey, now. You're a rock star. You're a-" "This is a library, you know?"

You jumped when you heard the unfamiliar voice break you out of your trance. "Oh! I'm so sorry, I didn’t notice you there." You said as you turned to face the man, one hand hovering over your chest to calm your heart rate again.

"But I noticed you. For a library you were singing surprisingly loud." The man had an amused smile on his face while you blushed a deep crimson in embarrassment. "Oh, god. I'm so sorry. Sometimes I forget that I'm singing out loud." A nervous chuckle escaped you.

The man's smile stayed on his face. "Don't worry. Nobody can hear you past the science-fiction section." He pointed behind himself and you knew that he was right. You had worked in the library long enough to know that this corner of the room was the most secluded.

"So, what can I help you with?" You put on a smile yourself, trying to shake off the embarrassment. "Right. I was just wondering. Do you have any books on cryptozoology?" You thought for a moment, the topic not sounding familiar to you.

You shook your head lightly. "I'm sorry, I don't think we do. But I can look in the system for you if you'd like." The man looked slightly defeated as he shook his head as well. "Don't worry about it. I believe you." What a strange man.

"Were you looking for something specific? Maybe I can get you the book you want." You smiled at him, kind of curious yourself what he wanted to read about. His expression lit up just a little.

"That would be great. But I made the same request about thirty years ago and there still aren't any books on the topic." Your lips curled into a soft smirk. "That may be, but I didn’t work here thirty years ago. Just leave it to me."

You led him to the computer at the info counter, leaving the stack of books in the science-fiction section for later. You stepped around, sat in front of the computer and looked up at him expectantly.

"So. What book were you hoping to read?" The man scratched at the back of his neck, an awkward chuckle leaving his lips. "I was more hoping for a few books on the subject generally. I'd like the townsfolk to be able to read up on all, or at least some, of the cryptids that they might encounter."

You furrowed your brows lightly but kept the smile as you suppressed a laugh. "And what should I look out for? Any specific cryptids you had in mind?" You tried so hard to stay professional but the man seemed so serious and his eyes lit up with so much excitement when you asked that, that you were starting to worry for him.

He pulled a red notebook out of his coat pocket and put it on the counter between you two, opening it to a seemingly random page. It showed something that resembled a platypus but was titled 'plaidypus'. You hummed in thought, unsure what to say.

"Well, some of the ones I've seen around here are the Plaidypus, Fairies, Gnomes and Manotaurs." He opened his book to a fitting page for each creature he spoke of. "But again, I'd be happy about anything on the subject. Chances are that most of the creatures live in Gravity Falls anyway."

Another, a little less awkward, chuckle left the man. You nodded, scribbling some of the names on a sticky note for later. "I'll see what I can find. I should be able to get something within about two weeks."

You looked back up at him with a smile. "But I could also just call you once we get some of them in." The man seemed a little embarrassed when he told you that he didn’t have a phone himself. "But you could call the Mystery Shack and ask for Stanford. You should be able to reach me there."

The Mystery Shack, huh? Was this some kind of marketing ploy? You tried to keep your annoyance at the thought out of your interaction. He seemed to be genuine in his request, maybe you were just overthinking this.

Also, somehow the topic had piqued your own interest. You could just get one or two books on the subject and sort them under fiction.

You wrote his instructions down on another sticky note and nodded at him. "Will do! Until then, Stanford." Your smile turned into a little smirk again. Maybe he was lying to you or whatever, but he was also super cute.

You watched the man blush a little as he said his goodbyes and turned to leave. After he had left you let out the laugh you had been holding in, careful not to be too loud about it. This was a library after all.

For the next two hours or so you searched online for books that fit into Stanford's description. Eventually, you went back to what you had originally been doing when the man had interrupted you.

Just under three weeks later you called the Mystery Shack and asked for Stanford. A very gruff voice told you that he was currently out. "Oh, well that's no problem! Just tell him that the library called, he'll know why."

"Sure thing, toots." And with that the man hung up. A little rude, but whatever. You had done your part. After the call you went back to the box of books the library had received. You didn’t need to unpack it to know that his books were in there as well.

So you went ahead and did that now. Putting all the books on the supernatural and cryptids on one pile and everything else on another, much smaller pile. The smaller pile was labeled and put away quickly.

However, you were still unsure what to do with the other ones. Somehow you had forgotten to think of a place for them before they got here. After a few minutes of just staring at the pile you remembered the tiny shelves you kept for new arrivals and such.

You quickly grabbed one of those and printed out some labels with the genre that would be on that shelf. Cryptozoology. Unbelievable that you actually went through with this.

You decided to put the tiny shelf by the bigger ones on regular zoology and then carried the stack of books over there as well. The repetitive work of labeling and sorting the books once again left you not noticing your own quiet singing. Or that the man himself entered the library.

"Believe, believe. Yes, you can! Believe in the power of the Moth-man." Ford could hear your voice before he saw you. A smile immediately formed on his lips.

"Moth-man, Moth-man, I believe in ya. Flying 'round the town of Point Pleasant, West Virginia. With your bright red eyes and gigantic wings you make me, make me, make me, make me, make me wanna sing."

You only noticed the man standing next to you when Ford laughed at your song. "Wherever did you hear that?" He managed to say between his laughter. You felt once again embarrassed that he caught you singing.

"I just stumbled across the song when I was looking up some of these books. It's really catchy." You smiled up at him. "I can tell." Ford looked over the shelf. You were sitting criss-cross in front of it with the books scattered around you.

"Sorry, I didn’t expect you here so soon." The words barely registered to Ford as the realization hit him, that you actually followed through and got the books. And you even made a special place for them without just saying that's all a lie!

"Thank you." He said as he took one of the books and flipped through it, skimming the pages. It looked like a real book that wasn't making fun of the subject.

Ford was surprised how much of an effect this simple act of taking him seriously had on him. His eyes snapped to you, wide and with wonder. "I didn’t think you'd actually get any of these."

You chuckled, waving him off lightly. "Of course, that's my job. Plus! The way you talked about these creatures got me interested in the subject." You shrugged. "I will probably be the first to read all these books. Next to you, of course."

Stanford was silent for a moment, just staring at you. Just before the silence turned awkward he blurted out a question. "Do you want to eat dinner with me?" Another beat of silence passed and Ford noticed himself how out of the blue the question was.

"I-I mean. I could tell you more about cryptids. And all the creatures that live in Gravity Falls." He stared into your eyes, a slight panic entering his voice as the words tumbled out even faster.

"Because you said you're interested in the subject and I think you're pretty and I found so many of those creatures and could tell you about them and it would be like a date, unless you don't want it to be a date, then we could still just have dinner together and-"

You laughed, interrupting his rambling. Ford's cheeks turned red as you calmed down enough to speak. "I'm sorry for laughing," you said, still chuckling, "I'd love to go on a date with you."

Ford's face lit up and he looked at you with a big smile. "Tonight at 8, then? We could meet at Greasy's Diner?" You nodded, matching his smile. "I'll be there, Stanford."

#the songs here are #all star by smash mouth #obviously haha - and #the mothman song by the paranormal song warrior #haha what i never looked at that name before #also is the word earworm common in english? is that a real thing?#Apparently it works the same way as the german Ohrwurm but i don't know haha #gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #zigreth writes #stanford pines #ford pines x reader #stanford pines x reader

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hellishjoel · 2 years ago

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playing hooky

9.2k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader

Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter l Next Chapter

summary: Frankie calls in sick for his shift. You simply must investigate.

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), mentions of reader previously being on her period, smoking w33d, getting h!gh, swearing, pet names (angel, princess, etc.), handjob if you squint, oral (f! receiving), unprotected p in v, h!gh sex, aftercare, tangled feelings/messy emotions, sitcom vibes

A/N: tune in next time for a special halloween episode of Table for Two!

follow hellishfics and turn on notifications to see the next time I update!

“We’re not at the diner right now, y’know? We can,” he pauses to find the right words, seeming to get lost in the beautiful hue of your eyes. “We can take things slow. Wanna take my time with you.”

You purse your lips as you scribble another drawing on your order pad. You’re sitting at one of the empty barstools at the counter, one leg lazily swinging back and forth while the other is brought up under you.

“You’re gonna get hip dysplasia.” Carla, your sarcastic manager, hums as she passes you. She playfully smacks you with her own order pad before she settles down beside you, a loud and tired sigh leaving her ruby-red lips. She rolls her swollen ankles, a side effect of being on her feet all day. A side effect of being alive.

Your eyes lightly screw together, eyebrows knitting in curiosity. “I thought only animals get hip dysplasia.” You trail off and watch her sit with slight confusion. She parts her lips and takes a breath before her face contorts in thought.

Finally, Carla reemerged with a new confidence. “No, baby, because my cousin- my second cousin,” she illustrates all of this with her hands. “They were born with it! I swear, look it up.”

You stifle a giggle before you both hover over your phone in search of the truth via Google. That’s when you clock the time.

Your head swivels to the wall clock and confirms it’s half an hour past five in the evening. “No Frankie tonight?” You ask, eyes still attentive to your phone as you attempt to try and hide any obvious interest or concern. Where the hell was he?

Carla eyed you up and down. Since when did you start caring if Frankie showed up for his shifts or not? She decides not to press it, clearing her throat as she moves off her barstool once she hears the doorbell chime, a new customer sauntering in.

“Just said he was under the weather. And we don’t need another sick line cook, that’s for damn sure. Everyone would be coughin’ and sneezin’ over their undercooked bacon and runny, nasty eggs.” She said with a little umph at the end for distaste.

You sigh and nibble on your thumbnail.

Frankie was a bit of an ass, but he made the shifts go by faster. Yes, even before you started fooling around, he was entertaining.

Let’s see, there was the night he tried to see how many coffee cups he could stack and if he could make a tower to the ceiling - he tried this multiple times, and each attempt left glazed ceramic shards everywhere, to which Carla made him sweep up.

There was another time the diner needed supplies, and Rudy, the owner’s son, sent you and Frankie on an errand run. He pushed you in the cart through nearly the entire store, in search of toilet paper and paper towels, dish soap, and other amenities. Frankie bought you a Redbull at the end of it.

Now, more recently, Frankie fucking pavloved you! Like a damn dog! Every time you worked a shift, you got ferociously horny. You had gotten so used to clocking in, working for a bit, then getting your needs met. And now that you had finished serving time being on your period, you were needy for what you missed while you were surfing the crimson wave.

Your foot, more anxiously now, taps against the metal stand of the barstool you were sitting on, huffing in annoyance hearing that Frankie was ill. The pit in your stomach was already coiling, searching for a release that just wouldn’t be satisfied tonight. Or would it?

You’re not in the back kitchen as much as everyone else, but as the end of your shift wound down and it was nearly ten o’clock, you decided to piece together a panini and a side of fries for Frankie. You thought about how he learned you weren’t feeling good just last week, and he knew how far a simple meal went to make you feel better. Maybe you could do the same for him. And that was it. You swear there were no ulterior motives. Just a nice coworker bringing a bite to eat.

You yank your phone from your uniform. Your fingerprints smear your phone screen with grease from the fries.

text me your address if you’re still up

frankie (work) Huh?

You have to will yourself not to roll your eyes.

read the first message again and ask me if you’re still confused

frankie (work) Okay sassy pants 194 Rivercrest Apartments #501

His stupid reply leaves a broken, twitchy smile on the right side of your mouth. Stupid asshole.

Once the restaurant closes, your clunky car takes you across town to Frankie’s apartment. Your gleamy, tired vision catches the streaks from passing cars and street lamps. You pull into a visitor parking spot and let out a disgruntled sigh as you sit in silence, waiting in your idling car.

A weird part of you is nervous. Overthinking. Was this taking it too far, helping him out while he’s sick?

You push aside any nerves and force yourself out of the car, a death grip on the doggy bag of food you had packed him. The evening Texas air tickles your bare legs, trying to adjust your uniform under your jacket after it got smushed around in the car. You buzz his number before you hear the entrance’s lock click, allowing you in.

Glancing around for an elevator is hopeless. The entrance leads you straight to a set of stairs, and you clench your jaw in annoyance. God dammit. You were not a woman who prayed to the cardio gods.

Your lungs feel strained, and your feet ache, desperate to sit down after your shift and the mild hike up to Frankie’s apartment. You rap your knuckles against his door in disdain, lips parted with a few light pants for breath as you wait. The door had a few random dents and marks, obvious trails of someone moving items in and out of the apartment over time. The numbers on his door were crooked, the paint chipped. Did he have to live in such a sketchy place? It looked like the birthplace of tetanus.

There were a few heavy footsteps on the other side before the door jangled open. And a very healthy, Frankie opened the door. Your face fell, and your eyebrows furrowed. A heavy whiff of weed smacked you in the face, and you swore it nearly gave you a contact high, even from the hallway.

Frankie was all too happy to see you here. You drove all the way to his apartment just to see him. His face was dripping in a smirky grin. He barely fit through the door frame, his large broad shoulders and tall stature filled the entire rectangular entrance. He crossed his arms and leaned one shoulder against his door. He was perfectly fucking fine.

“Hey, princess. Surprised to see you-”

Your lips purse and your eyes screw tight as you smack him with his bag of food. “What the hell-” smack, “is wrong with you! Fuckin-” smack, “asshole!”

He’s slow to defend himself at first, letting you exhaust your hits as you fist the brown paper bag in annoyance. Finally on the last hit, he swipes the bag from your hand and sighs. He’s trying to dial down his stupid smirk, but it ends up turning into this stomach-twisting, sweet smile.

You pinch the bridge of your nose and chew on the inside of your cheek. “Carla told me you were sick.”

“I am sick.” Frankie playfully defended, standing straight and shrugging his shoulders with a half-innocent smile. “Sick.. and tired of working.” He laughs at his own joke, and you bite back a smile. Such a fucking dork.

You’re at a weird standoff outside of his apartment. It’s like he’s holding your invitation to enter over your head, and out of your reach. He wants you to ask. You want him to ask. You’re both so goddamn stubborn. You cross your arms and stand straight, eyeing him down.

Frankie rolls his eyes, his smile breaking into a larger one as he grabs your wrist and pulls you inside. “So fuckin’ difficult.” You hide your smile as your face lightly glides against his chest, unintentionally inhaling his scent. By the looks of his hair, he was fresh from a shower.

Frankie closes the door behind you, and his front brushes against your back as you stand in the tiny entrance hallway to his apartment. Music was playing deeper inside.

His hands gently settle themselves on your arms, slowly coasting his warmth up and down your goosebump-covered skin. You inhale slowly, your back lightly resting back against his front. He was so easy to sink into. But then you remember how he bailed on work today, and you jut your elbow into his gut. He lets out a puff of air at the force you hit him with.

“You’re such an ass ditching work. Ditching Carla.” You say as you step away from him and invite yourself further in, exiting the dark hallway and working your way further into the apartment. “We had to make do-it-all Paul step into the kitchen. Do you know how terrifying that is? Such a dick, Frankie.”

“And you’re so sweet for bringin’ me food.” You hear him rifle through the paper bag, digging out his packaged food, and seeing him smile at the contents. “Thanks. You shouldn’t have.” He brushes past you and towards the kitchen while you stand in the living room.

You didn’t concern yourself much with Frankie up until recent events, it was odd to see his evil lair. Okay, he wasn’t evil, but you know what I mean. You take in as many important details as you can while you slowly peel off your jacket and toss it on his couch.

It’s quaint, really. He has no other furniture in the living room besides a couch, which you feel is by design. It sits perfectly opposite his mounted flatscreen. The walls are plain beige but are decorated with band and movie posters. You admire one that was purposely framed, unlike the others, with signatures. You didn’t recognize the band, but by their look, they seemed like an 80s rocker group.

Below his flatscreen was an impressive vinyl collection, a record spins, and you recognize it as the melody you initially heard upon entering. It was serene, jazzy almost.

“This is what you listen to when you’re alone?” You tease, kneeling down and flicking through a few album covers to see his taste. It was expansive, to say the least. There were only a fair few that you recognized. TOTO, ABBA, Billy Joel, Bruce Springsteen, Metallica, a little Van Halen, and a whole lot of The Beatles.

Frankie sucks the salt from the fries off his fingers, seeing he’s already munched on half his panini. “It’s something I listen to when I’m stoned.” He half-jokes, a slight smile on his face. So that’s what he’s been up to.

“You called in so you could lay around your apartment and get high all day?” Your tone is playfully judging, but he gives you a proud nod, not a care in the world behind those slightly glazed eyes.

“I didn’t really lay around all day.” His tone is softer since you’re both so close. He’s standing just to the right of where you’re kneeling down, your head could lay against his thigh if you wanted. “I was trying out some new recipes and shit.” He mutters as he points a thumb behind him and to the kitchen. You glance up and notice his pretty curls in the light. You don’t often see him without his hat or his bandana. Come to think of it, you don’t really see him outside of his yellow-stained apron.

Your eyes slowly took Frankie in, seeing him casually for the first time outside of work was startling. He was big. Tall and broad, with squishy thighs and a soft tummy, strong arms, and defined biceps. He was comfortably relaxing in a pair of black basketball shorts that landed just above his knees, eyeing a few tattoos by the hem. On his upper half was a tattered, well-loved Lakers shirt with a small tear at the shoulder, which has since been sewn closed. He had a little bracelet on, one of those leather brown ones that twisted around his wrist, accompanied by a spherical, multicolor beaded one.

Your eyes linger for a hair too long, and now he’s already smirking at you. “Like what you see, princess?” God, that stupid fucking nickname needed a break. Heat shoots up your spine nonetheless, and you have trouble staring daggers at him like you usually would.

You huff a breath through your nose and stand up on your feet, raising your eyebrow at him. “What do you mean you trying new recipes? You can actually cook?” It sounds rude and sarcastic, but you thought Frankie just goofed around at work and cooked for the cash, not as a hobby. You slowly make your way past him, eyeing his kitchen in the process.

There are recipe books, honest to god recipe books. Big ones, small ones. Different categories of food outlined on the covers and spines. And his kitchen was a chaotic mess, with multiple cutting boards of varying sizes across his already limited counter space. There were bright-colored vegetables cut up and diced, the scraps having been tossed in a spare plastic bag sitting on the sidelines. There was an open bottle of soy sauce and another for sesame oil, a little tin of cornstarch, and diced chicken sizzling in oil on a frying pan.

You take a few steps in further, your sneakers landing on linoleum as you really smell what’s simmering in a large skillet. Mushrooms, bell peppers, green onions, broccoli, and peas are cooking in a thick sauce, coating them amidst freshly minced garlic onion. Your lips part as you inhale, and you can’t believe it. You don’t even know what it is, but it smells heavenly.

You finally have to ask, because hunger is carving a hole in your stomach. “What are you making?”

Frankie parks his hands on his hips and looks at you with knitted eyebrows. “What? You’ve never had stir fry before?”

You purse your lips and reach for the spatula, looking to Frankie for reassurance, to which he nods his head. Go for it.

You smile as the vegetables sizzle once you push them around on the pan, relishing in the attention as you allow the other less glazed vegetables to catch some heat from the burner. Frankie hums, like he’s debating something, like he’s learned something from his little experimentation. He reaches past you, his front brushing against your shoulders as he reaches around you and adds a little brownish-amber liquid to the pan. It sizzles, splashes, and dances across the different vegetables, which makes you grin.

You were never big into cooking, especially since you started working at Tommy’s Diner. You’ve seen enough grease to last a lifetime. You were fine settling in on the couch with a bowl of cereal and a glass of cheap wine. You saved making extravagant dishes for when you had a date over, and even then, that was risky.

But there was something about Frankie actually knowing how to cook cuisine that you liked. “I didn’t know you knew how to make dishes besides burgers and fries.”

He sneers and rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling the entire time and lets you continue slowly shifting the vegetables around, watching as the glaze sizzles. “I didn’t know you cared enough about me to visit me at my apartment. We’re both a bit surprised tonight.” This was your worst nightmare.

“I only came here under the impression that you were sick-”

“So you came to my aid?”

“Psh,” You huff, “You wish. But no.” You insist more forcefully, setting the spatula down and turning to face Frankie, who is all too close to you. You lose a lot of your angry traction as his hand finds your hip, feeling his fingers flip to the stovetop’s burner switch to a lower setting.

His hands navigate you away from the oven, your back flushed against his counter now. His eyes trail you, grazing over your body as his hips now plant you in one spot. You swallowed a lump in your throat, your still resisting hands planting against his chest. You can feel his cock twitch against your thigh.

You can’t explain why your fingers twitch and start to clutch his shirt, pulling him a little closer. Stupid Frankie with his goading smirk, bringing his forehead down against yours. It was so hot in his kitchen, in the middle of summer. You feel a bead of sweat sprout behind your ear and lightly glide down your neck as you flutter your eyes closed. It wasn’t often you felt your power to resist him rendered useless, but tonight you felt like he had a quite literal home-field advantage.

“You want me to stop?” He asks, voice low and lust-drenched. His leg parts purposely between yours, jutting them open and spreading what was his.

Your throat is closed off, the lack of air draining from your busy head. “I..” Your words fall off, distracted by something scampering through the living room.

“Do you have a cat?” Your eyes light up as you slink past Frankie. He found your stray of attention a bit adorable, despite being given a slight case of blue balls.

You carefully padded out of the kitchen and into the living room, using the excuse to slip off your sneakers at the entrance. The small orange cat had curled up onto Frankie’s couch by your tossed jacket from earlier, forming a perfect circle amongst all of its tangerine fluff. Its eyes were closed serenely, absent of a new presence. It was fucking adorable, in short.

Frankie was still flummoxed in the kitchen, adding the cooked chicken into the stir fry before turning the burner off and putting his masterpiece aside. “That’s Leo.” He announces, Frankie’s voice carrying annoyance that he lost a sure thing in the kitchen. Now you were cooing over his cat.

He settles two bowls on the counter and adds the stir fry to each, a few splashes of the sauce splattering around the rim of the bowl. With two forks randomly stabbed into the piles of food, he walks one of them out to you. “Could have eaten this whole thing by myself.”

You smile, taking the offering and humming as you flop on the couch, the orange tabby finally peeking its eyes open. “I don’t doubt that, so thanks for sharing.” You recognize how he had eaten the panini and fries, and he was still excited over the stir fry. Poor guy probably had the munchies like crazy.

With the kitty taking up one of Frankie’s couch cushions, he’s forced on the end with you in the middle. He sets his food aside on a spare side table and reaches for a small pipe, your breath pausing at the sight. “You want a hit?” He asks.

His face glows orange as he flicks on the lighter, spreading the flame over the green, now black, substance in the tiny bowl. He inhales, and you watch in mystification as he takes in the smoke filtering through. Your heart thumps harder in your chest, the right side of your mouth twitching up in a sly smirk.

Let’s smoke weed with Frankie Morales tonight.

He lets out a labored breath, the smoke flying loosely in the air and creating hazy grey circles that flood the ceiling before disappearing altogether. The stench fills the small apartment rather quickly.

“I get really weird dreams after I smoke.” You whisper, biting down on your lower lip as you glance down at the pipe he’s holding, a small glow still coming from the weed.

“It’s still lit if you want some.” His voice is low from smoking, and you have to clench your thighs closer together. Damn this stupid uniform, you wished you would have brought a change of clothes so you’d at least be comfy eating stir fry, petting his cat, and getting stoned with him.

He raises the piece in an offering, and you look to him for one last look of reassurance. It’s polite to be offered free weed, especially since he’s the one who paid for it. He gives you a nod and looks at you with furrowed eyebrows. Are you crazy? If you want it, take it.

So you do. And you smoke it. And you pat yourself on the back to do so without coughing. It’s a small hit, but you don’t need much, your brain already feels like it’s as light as a cloud, dancing in slow motion. You giggle by accident.

Frankie lets out a sputter of laughter, watching you get high with him is a bit comical. “Princess knows how to smoke. Kudos.”

You let out a puff of laughter through your nose and grab your warm bowl of stir fry, stabbing into a green pepper. “Shut up, Frankie.”

He ends up putting on a show you both agree on, something comical that makes you both laugh your high asses off. You eat the stir fry and almost forget Frankie is the one who made it. It was delicious, you ate everything down the the finely chopped green onions.

You both shared another hit, and you felt like you were loosening up. Any need to hold onto control slipped through your fingers. Any issues you had been dealing with drifted away. And you realized how stupidly happy you were to be beside Frankie. Trying to do anything of actual initiative went out the window after your second hit. You both found yourselves on the floor of Frankie's room, sat side by side, heads resting on the edge of his bed as you both stared up at the ceiling and spoke gibberish.

“Aliens?” He asks, your thighs brushing.

“Of course.” You hum, slowly blinking in a gentle haze. “Ghosts?”

He sighs and takes a long time to answer, which apparently offends you because you snap your head up and look at him in disbelief.

“You can’t be serious. If you believe in aliens, you have to believe in ghosts.” You argue as you stare at his fan.

He lets out a throaty groan, closes his eyes, and runs his hands down his face. His curls are pretty. They haven’t been run through a million times yet or smothered by a bandana or hat.

“I think… I do believe in ghosts. I just don’t want them to bother me.” He says, a weak smile on his face.

“What? Like you’re afraid to be haunted?” Your head lays back on the bed but rolls over, watching his profile while he continues to look up absentmindedly at the ceiling.

He’s silent for far too long. Finally, he rolls his head over to face you, your noses lightly brushing. He’s so close that looking at him feels a bit cross-eyed.

“Wait- what? Sorry.” He finally says with a broken, short laugh.

“Can you focus?” You ask teasingly, pushing your hand up against his cheek and making him stop staring at you.

You take the soft silence as an opportunity to rest your hand lightly on his thigh. He does the same, except he feels the warmth of your skin and the material of your uniform. Goosebumps form shortly after, and you smile shyly up at the ceiling.

“Have you…” You start to say but trailed off, bashfulness overcoming you.

“Have I what?” He asks. You both blink slowly as a car’s lights flash through his window only for a few seconds, lighting up the dim room before it is filled with darkness again. The moon and an orange lava lamp was the only source of glow.

You distractedly look away from him, admiring a tapestry on his wall and his soft comforter. “Have you had sex with someone high?”

He shrugs and slowly smiles before gently nodding his head against the edge of his bed. “Yeah. Have you?” His head rolls over to look at you again. You feel his warm gaze, but you just keep your eyes locked on his ceiling fan.

Warmth and a subtle shyness flush across your chest, your thighs nearly trembling in excitement. “No.” You whisper.

He doesn’t say anything, but he watches you for a few moments.

“Want to, though.” You finish, feeling a knot slowly grow in your stomach.

Frankie’s eyes flick to your long lashes, then down to warmth creeping up your neck. “Yeah?” He asks.

You gently nod, too, eyes still too shy to meet his own. “Yeah-”

He doesn’t let you get out one more syllable. His large hand comes up and meets your cheek, guiding your head to meet his gaze.

Frankie kisses you deeply but at a slow pace. And you’re feeling a desperate hunger to have him. You eagerly cup his cheeks in return and swing a leg over his lap, intensifying the kiss as your hands glide down the landscape of his clothed chest, bunching up his shirt in the process. You feel like a horny jackrabbit, but it’s really all his fault. You can feel his half-hard cock as you grind the center of your pelvis over his own, whimpering into his mouth desperately.

“Take care of me,” you whisper, and it ends up sounding a little more like a desperate, whiney plea.

Frankie’s lips part against your own, feeling the neediness of your touches. His hazy vision peers open, breaking your kiss for a moment.

“Hold on, baby,” He sits up a little bit against the bed, his eyes scanning yours with a certain deepness.

You pause, your chest heaving lightly as you regain your breath. “Frankie, come on, don’t make me beg.” You say as you lean in once more, but he catches your face and pauses your movements. You feel like a deer in headlights, static tingling in your ears as you feel a sudden rush for embarrassment. Why wasn’t he just as excited? Or eager? Or desperate? Were you the problem?

Suddenly, your eyes were dashing around for an escape. Then he speaks your name. Soft, gentle, careful. Hear him out. You swallow your pride and stay seated over his lap.

You can’t help but let an awkward chuckle escape between you, eyes having a hard time meeting his. You playfully scoff and smack his shoulder lightly to regain a sense of control. “Shut up, Frankie.”

His head cocks, and he looks at you with that stupid fucking smirk. “You don’t know how to take it slow, do you?”

His words antagonize you, and your eyes light with fire. A defensive fire, because he was right.

Slow meant feelings, slow meant experiencing, slow meant bonding. You weren’t slow. Sex was supposed to be fast, hot, desperate, counting down the seconds until a sweet escape, racing to an orgasm, chasing it like a fever dream. You weren’t good at slow.

You hate that Frankie has learned this about you. Giving up the upper hand wasn’t in your caliber. And you find yourself frowning as you look down at him once his smirk washes away. He’s looking at you like he cares. Even with you both stoned, brain’s hazy and light, he sees through all that and looks at you like he gives a damn.

He lightly shrugs his shoulders and softens the hold he has on your face, his thumb gently stroking along your cheekbone. “Can show you.”

Hesitancy screams across your blank face, but he reads you better than anyone else. He speaks your name, more genuinely explaining his offer. “Let me teach you.”

You let out a gentle sigh, slowly giving in to temptation. Because having him at all was better than not. So you take it slow. Frankie teaches you zen. Teaches you how to melt.

One of his hands falls from your cheek and lands on your waist, gently stroking your hip in a soothing slow circle. It feels like heaven.

His brown orbs dip close, and you let him take the lead. He kisses you tenderly, soft. His tongue lines your lower lip once he’s ready to lightly increase the intensity, begging your mouth for permission to part. If it was any other night, your tongue would be down his throat, and you’d be a grinding, sloppy mess in his lap. Let him teach you.

You take a deep breath in as your tongues tangle.

It almost makes you giggle again, because it feels stupid, but you sort of like it.

His stubble brushes your face, and you fight to release a moan. Frankie’s hand on your hip shuffles to your lower back, and you feel him add pressure. Your chest meets his, and you let yourself melt into him. His strong torso easily keeps you both up. Your heavy breaths hit the room, and you force yourself to pull away for air, despite how much you enjoy making out with him. He grins at the sight of satisfying you.

Frankie pushes a stray hair that’s fallen out from your loose ponytail behind your ear, smiling as his hands move to the back of your uniform. This will be the first time he actually undresses you properly, not just shoving the material up past your ass so he has access to your pussy.

“You know how to work the zipper?” You playfully ask as you settle your head on his shoulder, taking the slower moments to breathe and relax.

He stuffs down a chuckle and nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I think so. Am I doing it right?” He asks as he guides the zipper down your back, feeling your flesh exposed to the rest of his room.

You purse your lips and slowly sit up in his lap, watching him take in a deep inhale as your centers brush lightly. You hide your coy smile as his eyes light with excitement, but he’s made a point to be slow with you. You guide the sleeves of your uniform down to your hips, exposing your breasts to him. Giggles leave your mouth as you wiggle out the last bit of your dress, Frankie is more than happy to help you.

“I’m feeling a little alone here.” Your voice is soft, tugging at his shirt before you push it up just past his pecs. Your high ass got a little distracted, staring at the hair sprinkled in dark trails across his torso, feeling him struggle in his shirt as he laughed.

“Focus, princess,” his arms tangle with his shirt before he tosses it off, especially since you started slacking. You shyly smile and flutter your eyes down to his warm body as your hands explore the landscape for the first time. You had yet to undress each other like this, you sort of liked it, especially with this whole slow and steady thing going for you both.

Frankie leans back against the bed, admiring the sight before him. You feel a little awkward, goosebumps rushing up your arms as you shyly smile and playfully push his face away. “Stop staring, perv. You’ve never seen a pair of tits before?”

He’s quick. “Not a pair that nice.”

You smile and crack out a laugh, knowing sex has never felt this casual before. No pressure. Good vibes. And it’s not just because of the weed. It’s because it’s Frankie. And he looks at you like you put the sun in the sky and you could do no wrong. But then he starts staring at your tits, and you realize he’s just another guy.

His hands caress your waist, thumbs dipping into the curves and appreciating the way they run up you like beautiful rivers. You decide to do the same. Your hands slip lower, letting his happy trail guide you to his black mesh basketball shorts. His rough and calloused hands cup your tits, taking them in his palms and giving you a tentative squeeze. He’s figuring you out, what you like, what makes you squirm and whine. As soon as he pinches your nipples between his thumbs and pointer fingers, a broken gasp is elicited from your mouth.

“Shit,” you curse breathily. Everything was a bit heightened right now, including your sensitivity. It felt like a million little strums were being played, making your spine shiver and your head grow foggy. And you were determined to make him feel the same way.

You bite down on your lower lip, fishing your hand into his shorts and fisting a hand around his already hardening cock. A smirk tangles on your lips as he lets out an earthy grunt, low to the ground and heaven to your ears.

You start a bit fast, eager to please, wanting to see him tremble for your touch.

His lips meet yours in a distracting manner, rocking your steady pace. “Slow.” He murmurs against your lips, and you gently nod, a shy smile spreading from embarrassment.

“Slow.” You whisper, your lips brushing his. Your ego trips on the power you have over him, fisting him, his heavy length weighing in your hand. You couldn’t even fully wrap your fingers around him, he was all just… girth. Your body ached for him, needy for the feeling only he could satisfy by being inside of you. His tip trickles with precum, and a low moan drips off his tongue like honey. It fuels you.

“Spit on my cock, princess.” He grunts out, his face leaning in to capture one of your nipples in your mouth. You squeak lightly in excitement before doing just as he asks of you.

You angle your head over your centers, letting a long line of saliva puddle down onto him. It meets the strokes of your hand, and Frankie’s jaw twitches as he squeezes your breasts involuntarily harder. You let out a long whine as your nipples form peaks between his fingers, feeling your heart thrum against your chest.

Frankie likes how you look on top. Back arched, chest pushed up, messy hair falling loose, eyes lit with an eagerness and curiosity for him to teach you the method of going slow. Admiration mixed with respect. He feels like he’s dreaming.

All he can imagine is you like this, bodies in sync, riding his cock. Tight walls milking his cock for everything he has. His skin becomes riddled with goosebumps, thinking about your nails digging into his chest, your tits rocking up and down, how he would tumble out moans of your name and squeeze your hips with adoration. Yeah, he’d like to see that one day.

He’s not sure how much longer he can last with merely your hand on him.

“C’mere, baby.”

A gasp of surprise jumps from your throat before you can stop it, Frankie managing to stand up off the ground, wrapping your legs around his waist for security. His strength, how easily he lifts you and shuffles you around like a ragdoll spurs white hot heat in your stomach. You were going to fuck him good if you ever got past the going slow part.

His smirky mouth meets yours in a hot kiss, one heavier than before. Like he’s needy for you. Your eyes melt closed as your fingers wind into the pretty curls that were formed at the nape of his neck. Your back meets his mattress and blankets, your fingers dance along the pattern, your high mind hypnotized seeing Frankie on top of you.

His body rests between your parted legs. You whimper into his mouth, feeling his hardened cock resting against your core.

“Take my fucking panties off,” you beg more than you mean to.

Frankie tries not to sneer. His teeth capture your lower lip, and you mewl out a moan before he lets you go.

“To hell with going slow.”

You hastily nod, feeling his fingers grip your panties at either side of your hips before he shuffles them down. You whine with how the sticky center stays latched to your core, he gently peels it loose with a hellish smirk.

Frankie’s heart thrums against his chest and echoes into his ears. Hearing you desperate for his touch was heaven, he felt undeserving to have such an angel vying for his attention. “So wet f’me, barely touched you, princess.”

He discards your panties to the side, off on the floor with the rest of the clothing you both have shed. You’re completely naked together, makes you a little nervous.

Frankie promised to speed up, but you’re finding harmony in the way his soft lips trail down your body, leaving wet prints between the valley of your breasts to the soft skin of your stomach. Your breaths come out heavier, thighs shaking as he drops back down to kneel at the edge of the bed. His hands grip your thighs and yank you impatiently closer to his eager mouth. You whimper as your body is shuffled closer, your fists that were clutching the sheets being torn away.

You giggle as your thighs shake around his head, feeling those perfect kisses move between the warmth of your legs.

“Fuck,” you finally let out, excitement seeping through your bones. Frankie’s stubble drags across the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, and again, you feel that heightened sensitivity that makes your stomach roll.

Frankie decides that dragging out the teasing is enough. He wanted to taste you, every mile, every inch, every centimeter.

Your core glistens in his eyeline, begging to be touched, kissed, fucked. He can’t help but dive in. His dopey brown eyes meet yours as his face disappears lower and lower before he’s past the valley of your tits, and all you can see when you crane your neck are those mocha brown eyes.

His tongue tastes you, and divides your folds, as he laps up your juices.

The feeling is exhilarating, like the rise and fall of a roller coaster.

A gasp riddles its way up through your throat, concaves your chest, and your pupils blow wide in excitement. Frankie enjoys your taste but aims to pleasure. His mouth latches onto your sensitive clit and suckles, his tongue intervening every few swipes to flick across your clit. Rise.

His large hands grip the outside of your thighs, pinning your lower half to his mattress, and lapping over you in a heated race to the finish line. Your face contorts in pleasure, fingers drifting down your stomach before you wind them in Frankie’s hair. He growls against your pussy, you’ve never felt your blood pump faster. Fall.

“Fucking- Christ,” you push out, gripping his hair strands tighter and making him grunt hot heat against your core. “Feels so fucking good- oh my god,”

He pulls away for a breath and sucks a love bite into the sensitive flesh of your thigh until it swells pink and purple. One of his hands on your outer thighs wraps around the shell of your body, playing with your clit. He slowly shakes his head as he looks at you. You wonder if he shares your hazy vision. The pleasure makes you feel like you’re seeing double.

“Christ isn’t making you feel good,” his words make you whimper, “I am.”

You quickly nod, but you realize your body can’t move quickly under the influence. You’re just hazily bobbing your head, your hand in his hair dropping to his strong bicep.

“Frankie, I need you,” you plead as you gently sit up on your elbows and cup his cheek, wiping your glistening slick off his pretty bottom lip. “Need you inside of me.” You whisper, a desperate look splashed across your face.

You hated how much power he had over you. He almost just made you cum from playing with your clit. You need him biblically, fully, flesh and blood, blood to bone. It was carnal, primal.

He doesn’t need much further convincing. Frankie preferred to pull an orgasm from going down on you, but he listened to your needs and what you wanted.

His lips meet yours in a hungry kiss, working you further up the bed and letting you collapse into his pillows. Your eyes catch the sight of a dream catcher while his tongue tangles with yours. You flush at the taste of your own arousal. That’s when you realize his hand is still between your thighs and working soothing circles into your clit.

You whimper as he adds a tad bit more pressure, and you feel the white-hot heat of adrenaline making your stomach pool even more excitement into your tummy.

“Frankie,” you whisper softly, and his forehead rests over yours while he guides his shaft to your center.

He lines his tip up and down between your folds, your jaw dropping as he sickeningly uses your slick to lube himself. He lets his entire shaft rest against your sex, and he does slow thrusts back and forth, lining his entire cock with you. Holy fuck. A shiver was sent up your spine, goosebumps parading across your body.

Your chest swelled for him.

“What do you say?” He asks in a taunt, knowing how weak you are.

You huff and move your hands up his arms and hang them loosely around his shoulders. He complies in moving in closer.

“Please.” You finally admit between gritted teeth, which makes him grin.

“Alright, princess,” his forehead now rests against your temple, cocking his chin down to get a better angle of your centers. He guides his tip to your entrance, slow and patient, before he notches himself inside of you.

Your eyelashes flutter, and you watch as his eyes clench closed. He likes to act all tough like he wouldn’t fold for you, but you know he would time and time again without having to say more than a simple please.

Both of you share unsteady breaths. It feels like a dam is giving way inside your chest.

Frankie thinks how he has never been inside a tighter pussy, squeezing the last bits of air from his lungs.

Your walls pulsate around the intrusion, but your dripping core and his wet tongue from earlier allowed him to slowly push in, inch by inch.

You swallow a lump in your throat. You don’t realize your eyes are closed, and you're gripping him around the neck to keep him close until he sponges a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Alright?” He forces out. It’s like you’re choking him, and it makes you twitch up a smile.

“Mhm,” you muster up, feeling his chest rumble lightly with laughter.

“Baby,” he whispers, and your chest surges at the pet name. “Can’t breathe.” Oh, shit. You damn near had him in a headlock.

You loosen your grip around his neck, shyly smiling as your desperate hands look for something to ground you.

Frankie stays flushed inside you but shifts to be more centered over your body, gently resting his forehead just above yours.

“C’mere,” he whispers before he takes your hands. You decide not to question why he interlocks your fingers. But it feels safe, and you’re still high, so you’ll blame any poor decision-making on that.

“Fuck me,” you finally grit out, desperate for him to just fucking, “Move.”

Your whine is met by him reeling back his hips, only for him to plow right back into you at an unforgiving rate. A gasp ripples through your throat, and you feel like screaming. Your entire goddamn body was on fire with the way his girth parted your walls, splitting you open. You let out a string of whimpery moans, and your eyes glared desperate daggers into him.

“S’what you wanted, right?” He grunts out, jaw tight, pretty curls falling limply in front of his eyes and crowding his forehead. “You wanna be fucked hard, is that it?” He can barely speak authoritatively, you’re squeezing him like your last lifeline.

But he’s right. Tears cloud your vision, and you weakly nod as desperate puffs of air leave your pretty parted lips. “Yes,” you squeak out, relaxing your hips so Frankie falls into you more.

“Feels so fucking good, can’t-” An eager cry leaves your lips as he pulls himself out, just to thrust right back in and rocking you further up his bed. Your chin tips to the ceiling as you curse every god, man, woman, whoever the hell created Frankie Morales.

“Can’t what, princess?” His tone is lower, sinister even as your walls twitch around him but only gush out more arousal for his cock to slide in and out of you.

You find it hard to string together syllables. So he squeezes your hands that you’re holding for dear life. He stills inside of you until you answer.

“Shit,” you whimper.

“Can’t what, angel?” He probes again, cocky asshole waiting for his answer.

You whimper and peek open your eyes. The right side of his face is highlighted silver from the moon, your hazy vision thinks he looks like an angel. His hand wanders between your centers and finds your throbbing clit, making you cry out the answer. Your face crumbles as you own up to what you need to say.

“Fuck! Fuck, Frankie! Can’t go without your dick,” you pant out as he subtly rocks into you at a good pace upon your confession. “Can’t even go- can’t even go a week without it,” you admit in defeat.

That stupid, cocky smirk of his graces his parted lips. It’s crooked and perfect, and he’s fucking you like your life depends on it. Because it does, you think.

His thighs clap against your ass, pounding you into the bed, drilling you into place, suffocating the air from your lungs.

Your vision goes hazy, seeing white, then rainbow, then stars. They cloud your vision, and you’re not sure if you’re still high off the weed anymore. Or just high off Frankie.

You whimper strings of his name tangled with profanity, he’s still filling you to the brim. It once seethed hot with pain, but now your stomach is contorting in pleasure. It’s like he knows exactly how to crack your vault, penetrating your walls, unlocking something deep inside of you that no one else manages to know the code.

His messy fingers continue to circle your clit, and you know your end is coming.

Frankie’s grunting with every thrust, moaning a symphony of your name every chance he gets. He likes holding your hand, resting his sweaty forehead against your own, listening to you beg for his cock, for your finish. It’s the only thing he wants to give you. He’d be at your every beck and call if you let him. He wouldn’t mind if the only thing he ever got was a fraction of your praise.

Frankie’s thighs clap against your ass, the sound echoes around his bedroom. If his neighbors didn’t know his name, they did now.

“Fuck! Frankie!” You cry out, feeling every inch of his cock massage your insides. His tip kisses your cervix, and your jaw drops. Nothing more comes out of your mouth, so your blown-out eyes do all the talking.

I’m so fucking close.

“I know, baby, feels good, doesn’t it?” He grunts as his balls slap against you. “Feels good having my fat fucking cock inside you, huh?”

You shake under him, your thighs clench around his hips, and you pray to the gods for making Frankie. You take back what you thought before, you need him.

You don’t care that he’s a little older, that he’s an asshole, that he eggs you on.

Because in the shelter of his bedroom, locked in your embrace, he swallows your name and persuades you into pleasure, time and time again.

Your clit tingles, and your walls furiously clench around him. Finally, your mouth finds words to try and elaborate on what you’ve been holding inside.

“Fucking- shit! Fuck me harder, right there- fuck me, Frankie! God- I’m coming!” You cry out as his pants fill your space, fanning across your face. He fucks you harder and faster as you near your orgasm, wanting to help you reach it. And he gets you there.

Your back arches, and he groans lowly as he stills inside of you. It’s almost beautiful the way you cum in unison.

Your hands hold his tighter, and he reciprocates by squeezing gently. I’m right here, I’m here, baby.

You’re not sure how long you lay there, still. Your hips get a little achy. He feels you twitch and knows it's time to let you go.

A gentle whimper leaves you as he pulls out. You feel a bit empty, a little cold.

His sweet laughter makes you peek open your eyes. He’s trying to move out from around you, but you haven’t let go of his hands.

You shyly let go, and both of you squeeze your hands to flex the knotted muscles and stiff knuckles. You close your legs and lightly curl up. He doesn’t come to rest, he gently pats your outer thigh once or twice before he disappears to his bathroom.

You think he couldn’t have been gone for more than thirty seconds, but he comes back in a fresh pair of boxers and his basketball shorts, his tanned torso still exposed for your viewing.

“Frankie,” he pauses like a deer in headlights as he stands up from grabbing your panties. “I’m gonna… spill.” You finally pitch out, a bit embarrassed.

“Oh,” he says, feeling like an idiot. He circles back to the bathroom and grabs a towel and a wet washcloth.

“Sorry, my brain is all-” he starts to say, but you quickly shake your head.

“I know me too. S’okay.” You whisper with a smile as you weakly sit up on your elbows. The record playing in the living room had stopped. He shimmies the towel under your hips before he aids you with a clean washcloth.

Feels too domestic, so you take over, much to his annoyance. You wrap yourself in the towel once you’re done, and sit up to retrieve your uniform. You dread putting it on.

“Can I take the towel for the way home? My underwear is still too..” you trail off. Soaking wet was the words you would have used.

Frankie’s face screws up in confusion, his eyebrows knitting together.

“You’re going home?”

Now your expressions match. “Yeah?” It sounds more like a guess than a statement. “What else would I do?”

Frankie shifts back and forth on his feet before he sits down beside you on the bed. “Dunno. Stay here.”

You take in a hesitant breath, and he feels it. “You shouldn’t drive home, you know. You’re stoned. And tired. Don’t need you falling asleep at the wheel or some shit.”

You frown. Staying here does sound nice. Thinking about going down those five flights of stairs with your jelly legs sounds like a walk to hell.

But there’s a certain rule about sleeping over. One you don’t want to cross. You and Frankie are just fooling around. Nothing more.

“I don’t know, Frankie.” You say with a small frown, tightening the towel around you even more. His sullen look deepens at your words. He doesn’t want to overly convince you. If you want to go, he doesn’t want to stand in your way.

You chew on your bottom lip and weigh your options. You don’t want to go down the stairs. You’re tired as fuck, and you don’t want to get pulled over or something else. And you really don’t want to put your uniform back on. And you want to stop trying to put issues in your own way when you really just want to stick around. But the decision is made for you.

“Stay.”

Your eyes meet his. He’s more certain now, going after what he wants.

“Stay the night, it won’t kill you. I’ll get you something more comfortable to wear, and you can just…” he trails off and shrugs.

“Stay?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. He nods.

You sigh loudly but inevitably smile as you point to his closet. “I need a shirt. Please.”

A big smile glides across his face, and you can’t believe you’re the one who put it there.

“Alright, princess, whatever you say.” He squeezes your thigh and stands up, his back to you as he fishes through his closet and smells a few shirts to see how clean they are.

You roll your eyes and sigh as you fall back into his pillows.

You change into something clean, you hope it’s clean, and end up curling into a protective ball under his covers.

His cat, Leo, circles up by your feet, and you coo, gently stroking the pretty fur along his back. Frankie retrieves two glasses filled with water and hands you one. You instantly take a few gulps before your hand gently strokes down the shirt he’s put you in. It swims a bit on you, but you like it. The hem hangs at your thighs.

“Can you get in here?” You ask impatiently. “M’getting chilly.” You whisper with a coy smile.

Frankie blows out a few candles in his living room and finishes putting away any leftover stir fry.

Your high has worn off, and now you’re just a sleepy little thing. A long shift plus getting railed would be your new nighttime sleep aid.

Now that the apartment is drenched in darkness, he pulls back the covers and moves in beside you. Cuddling was not an option. He spoons you, yanking you halfway across the bed and out of your little ball. His warm flesh meets your back, and you hum at the feeling. He was a furnace. His head settles above yours, you feel the stubble gently poke at your hair. Your eyes are already closed as his arm wraps around your waist, an affirming hand settling on your tummy. He must need skin-to-skin contact because his hand slips under the shirt he’s put on you and settles on the warm skin by your belly button.

You let out a short little laugh. “You do this with all the girls you sleep with?”

“No.” He quickly says, and your eyes peek open.

“No?” You ask curiously.

“No. Just all my coworkers I sleep with.” You roll your eyes and reach around to slap the back of your hand against his hip, forcing out a chuckle from him.

“M’kidding.” He somehow pulls you closer. Your head rests comfortably on his bicep, the cold tip of your nose warmed by his flesh.

Questions pour out of your stupid brain. Were you the only one he was sleeping with? If you weren’t, who else was there? Was this normal to him, cuddling after a friends-with-benefits situation? Did Frankie want something more?

You sigh and close your eyes, attempting to shut off your brain as your finger lazily draws shape on his forearm.

He murmurs a goodnight against the shell of your ear. You blame how happy and comfortable you are right now on his cat. And it somewhat makes you feel better. You never pictured falling asleep beside your coworker, let alone Frankie Morales.

Sleep eventually overcomes you. You dream of Frankie sitting in a bowl of stir fry like a hot tub.

---

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