#ugly crying n snotting everywhere | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

honeyatsu · 3 years

Text

Thru It All

Hinata Shoyo x f!Stripper Reader

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT PLEASE. LIKE, PRETTY PLEASE.

Summary: Life's a bitch. And then you die. That's how it goes. Anyone who can't adapt is a victim. And if it's one thing you're not, is a fucking victim. Not even when people are stupid enough to feel sorry for you. Not even when some idiot comes, playing knight and shinning armor, proposing to save you as if you ever asked to be. Because that's stupid. And thats exactly what Hinata Shoyo is...stupid.

WARNINGS FOR FIC IN GENERAL: this is kind of graphic, the most graphic kind of fic i've written. There's cheating, vulgar language. The reader is a sex worker (dancer). There's familial abuse, child abuse. Some may consider this dark content. Mentions of drugs, alcohol, depression. The Reader is kind of a scum bag. I'm pretty sure I got most of the warnings, but if I notice more I'll add them!

warnings for this part: Dark Content I guess (blackmailing.) cursing. NSFW implied. Cheating. Familial abuse. Child neglect. Sex work mentioned (stripping). Drug and alcohol use.

a/n: I'm not sure if I want to post this whole thing to tumblr b/c I don't know how dark I'm going to get. Here's the first part but the full fic will be crossposted here.

Masterlist

Everything up to this point has to be a joke — you’re convinced. Everything in this stupid little life proves nothing more than this whole thing being a stupid fucking game.

You realize this, as you’re sitting on a shiny swing set, in a neighborhood you could never imagine being in if it wasn’t for you chasing chaos the moment you wake up. When you’re chuckling to yourself, waving around the new iPhone some scumbag bought you — this scumbag. Showing a file of all the texts, videos, promises, made by the man standing before you, currently sitting his knees on the pile of dirt underneath, crying his eyes out. That ugly cry too, snot everywhere, hyperventilating when speaking, the ugly fucking facial expressions made to emphasize the mercy he begs you to have for him.

“Please, I…” He’s choking on his own spit, coughing up like he’s about to vomit all over himself, “I’m going to propose!”

“I’m going to propose.” You whine out, pouting your lips, batting your eye lashes, mimicking him as he’s comes closer to you, crawling to you. “Yeah, you weren’t crying like this when you were proposing to fuck me all these months. What, your baby was born two weeks ago and just tonight you thought you were gonna be inside me today! What was it you said, you wanted to fill me up this time?” You screech out, a sly grin forming on your face as he continues to choke out, babbling excuses to you. All you can do is laugh at him, that’s all your doing. Laughing so hard tears start falling from your face because he’s so fucking stupid, just like the rest of them.

You hop off the swing, crouching down to be leveled to him, grabbing his face, squishing his cheeks while propping his head up to look you in the eye. “I fucking told you, I want ten thousand. And it will all be gone — like it was never there. I don’t give a fuck about your ring, your girl, your stupid fucking family. If you want all this proof gone, pay up. I’m being generous.”

And he looks up at you, eyes glistening with tears, his cheeks rosy, bottom lip quivering looking into your eyes. You push him to down, causing him to fall on his back. You slowly crawl on top of him, humming as you lean down and lick on his neck. He lets out a breathy moan, still crying as you grind down on him — and then you feel what you were searching for, biting down on him hard as his dick grazes against you, smirking to yourself as you see the large purple mark form on his skin.

And then, you laugh. Hysterically, spitting on his face as you jump up. “Ha! You fucking perv! Cryin’ to me about proposing! You still wanna fuck me! Too bad, you’re bad in bed and your dick is fucking gross. I feel more bad that your bitch has to fuck you more than the fact that she’s gonna marry some scumbag boring investor, most interesting thing about you is you’re a cheater.”

He stares up into the sky, cursing at nothing, threatening to off himself if you don’t leave him alone, leave his family be, and move on with yourself.

He is screaming, you’re a narcissist, a psychopath, a stupid fucking slut.

All this does is cause you pain in your abdomen, not being able to contain your laughter and joy at how bad you’re breaking him, at how originally he thinks he’s being, as if you’re not a pro and know how this shit works.

They have fun with you, think they’re playing you. They think they can live a happy double life, their dotting wife at home, and then there’s you — young, sexy, passionate, telling them anything they want to hear to give them a fantasy. You build your case, they beg, they cry, they curse….and eventually, you’re paid.

And like clockwork, it works.

The same way it does every time.

Two days later, and you’re walking home from the bank. With more than you would have realized, holding a stack of twenty thousand in the envelope — he offered more in exchange for all the proof you had. He wanted the texts, he wanted the pictures, he wanted the at home porn that you wouldn’t even consider selling with how fucking ugly you thought they were, but if he was willing to add an extra ten grand on his trash dick, who were you to stop him. If he wanted to get off on the bitch who threatened to ruin his life like a masochist, it wasn’t your problem.

Just like his wife getting a mysterious email with the password of his private folder on his phone wasn’t your problem.

That was mean, even for you, but after learning how he got off to being a piece of shit, you figured you’d give him one last hurrah before you part ways, before you change numbers and delete the texting app you had on your phone.

Was a bummer for you though, you really wanted to experience his reaction.

I guess, it is kind of mean. But is it really? It’s not your fault that the men who shouldn’t want you do. You don’t ask for these married men with kids, with dull boring picture perfect lives to bother you. And it’s not your fault they always have money, if they want to throw everything they have away, who are you to stop him? You’re not some higher up entity that controls peoples morals, you’re not some cop or priest, you don’t owe anyone anything. It’s not your problem, it’s theirs. Once you learned some perks came with it, then well, it’s on them.

Not you.

You figure this money is so good you wouldn’t have to work for a month, two if you’re feeling ballsy. You got enough for rent, food, enough to fuck around and do whatever you want. You almost want to sing on the walk home, like a Disney princess who just discovered she can summon birds or some shit.

Your apartment building is a waste of space.

They could build something better here, prettier, something to help the community, something to help the economy of this piece of shit neighborhood they’ve been trying to gentrify for ages. If it was nicer, people would want to take care of it more, people would actually want to live here. The only set back? Just something small, the people who can already barley afford to live here has to go, with no help offered though — because we’re all adults. It’s not their problem.

Nothing is ever anyones problem.

Especially not for a community with people who need to work multiple jobs to make ends meet. Especially not for moms who had to bring their kid to work because they couldn’t afford a babysitter — let alone a daycare. Not for people who might do not-so traditional jobs and give the landlords something extra in order to keep their mouth shut. Or the families with absent parents where their oldest child miss out on their childhood to do a job they never asked for. Not for those who have no real contribute to society, not anything other than just taking up space.

Not for people like you.

It’s a harsh reality you face, one you have faced since it was possible for you to perceive consciousness. Didn’t bother you then, sure as hell didn’t bother you now. Not when you’ve done so much for yourself, it’s not a lot but it sure as hell is more than anyone else has done for you. You either adapt or become a victim, and if it’s one thing you aren’t, it’s a god damn victim.

Whenever you get home, the building always smells wet. It smells damp and you swear they don’t take out the garbage the days they’re supposed to, because the smells still lingers a few days after garbage day — sometime even weeks, either they don’t do that, or these cheap fucks that drain your money can’t even afford air fresheners.

When you step in, the clerk isn’t there, they never are. There’s a puddle on the left corner — close to the mailboxes, from the leak coming from the second floor. The dusty bucket that’s filled is placed on the side, out of the way to not over fill. (Which is fucking stupid in itself, because why move the bucket just to let it fall on the ground in the first place if you were worried about it over leaking anyways.) These sleazy bastards are lucky they at least have a rusty brown wet floor sign, being able to avoid a law suit from those who would even bother trying.

With these thin walls, you can hear everything. You can hear when someone brings someone over, you can hear the argument after because they weren’t supposed to. You can hear any business transaction occurring and praying they don’t catch you listening so you’re not caught up in any weird shit going on. You can hear the wives falling to the ground, claiming they fell as if you didn’t hear a slap to the fact at the same time — the city probably would benefit from getting rid of a shitty place like this.

When you walk up those steps, those creaky steps that screech so loud it makes your presence known, the kid from next door jumps without looking up, still sitting in the corner, his head ducked down, red cap covering his eyes. He’s clutching that same action figure (it’s Spiderman, by the way) you see every other day, it’s missing an arm and it’s all scratched up, but he holds it like it’s the shiniest thing in the world.

Your eyes shift when you hear a bang, the door vibrating along with it. The kid, Hikaru, doesn’t even flinch. And it doesn’t surprise you, because he’s use to this. It’s the same thing, every day, — in reality, he’s lucky if he gets a day off from whatever that was.

You crouch down, tilting his cap up. He looks up at you, his glossy eyes finally revealing themselves, his lips in a straight line. He mutters out a sheepish hi, and then looks back down to avoid your gaze.

You notice his ears, covered by his shaggy hair, how empty they were. “What happened to the AirPods I gave you?”

He shrugs his shoulders, still not looking towards you. “Dunno. One day I had it. Then I lost it.”

You roll your eyes, letting out a ’tch.’ Because this little shit is a smart ass — just like you were. “C’mon. Wanna play mortal combat?” You ask, getting up.

He follows along, slowly wrapping his hand around yours.

There’s this arcade, a train ride away. It’s not in the best neighborhood, nor is it the worst. Somewhere in-between, it’s comfortable compared to what you know he’s used to.

Hikaru is a great kid, when you get passed him being a sarcastic little shit. Yeah, it’s a vulgar thing to say about kid, but it’s true, he is. The first time you met him, you asked him about that same little figure he’s been clutching in his hand for the past two years. He called you old, said you wouldn’t recognize it (Spiderman has been around forever, and you weren’t even that old. Of course you know who fucking Spiderman is.) The first thing he calls you is old and it’s expected to not call him a little shit, because society says so? No, he knows who he is. And so did you, you spend almost every day with him. Any day you see him, sitting down in the corner of your floor, sometimes at the top of the steps, feet dangling at the time, because he was tiny.

You always said hi, told him to go inside, and the kid says to mind your business. Can you believe that? You go out your way to make conversation and the kid basically tells you to fuck off, in a little kid way. You don’t know why, but you don’t stop. There’s this one day, before you leave your apartment to go to work, you see him sitting in the same spot since the morning. For some reason, you still don’t know why, you bring him a bowl of instant ramen, sitting down and eating it with him. He tells you it’s his first meal, because his parents were busy.

Yeah, busy shouting about someone fucking someone, someone needing to bring more money, something about the kid, you hear it all. You figure (if it wasn’t already obvious) that’s why he’s always out, clutching that little toy he won’t get rid of. And it’s always that one specifically, never anything else.

Not even when you go out your way to buy him new ones. He tells you he likes them, he does. He plays with them and keeps them in his room neat, he brags how his room is the cleanest in the whole place — (you don’t know how clean that is, because you can smell the stench of his apartment outside of his door. It can be shut, and you can still smell it. Gross, right? Instead of worrying who’s fucking who, you wish you could knock on the door, loud and inconsiderate, like them, you wanna tell them to feed their kid and invest in some bleach. Do the whole floor a favor.) — and as much as he likes his new, shiny toys, that he keeps neatly tucked away, his figure is special. His Spiderman isn’t just any Spiderman, it’s the one his grandma gave him. He tells you that she promises to get him a new one next time she see’s him, after her trip.

That was two years ago. He hasn’t seen her since, not even a phone call. You don’t know if he knows where she’s gone, you don’t want to ask. It’s not your problem, and there’s no use for creating questions that probably don’t have answers, especially not one an eight year old can comprehend.

Somewhere between the one-sided hello’s, eating that shit instant ramen, and getting him toys, you find yourself making sure he actually goes to school, doing his homework, helping with what you could (did math change every year? This shit is stupid). Did Hikaru need money for the book fair? How much are they? You give him whatever you have in your wallet. The school lunch sucks? You stop by the corner store, giving him something you figure would be okay for a kid, putting it in a brown paper bag. Some kid bother him? You tell him, as long as he’s not bigger than you, all you say is “your mother” and walk away.

And now you’re here — playing pretend at the nice arcade, not the shiniest machine or newest prize toys, but it’s enough for you two. It’s fun, the games you play. His favorite is air hockey, because he keeps beating you (you let him). You buy him ice-cream before you buy an actual meal, because that rule is stupid. If the kid says he wants ice cream, why not just give it. It’s not like you’re his mom, even what you look like to others, the game of pretend you’re currently playing. You wouldn’t say you seem like a mom, maybe not even an older sister. A step sister at most.

When you’re walking up to the stand, the prize stand, Hikaru enthusiastically tightens his grip around your wrist — you ignore the feeling of the stickiness, if it was anyone else you’d shout, probably curse them out, but he’s a kid. You’ll tell him about hygiene later, to wash his gross little hands before touching anything, especially after eating ice cream.

When you get to where he finally wants to go, you’re at the corner. Y’know, that corner where all those big prizes are. The ones worth thousands of tickets, the ‘cheapest’ one probably being some weird specific number, like 850, y’know one of those numbers the owner pulls out of their ass. Hikaru points to a ball, 975 tickets, for a fucking ball. It’s a basket basket ball, but you can easily get one at any sports store, or even a department store for cheaper. You stare at the slip in your hand, the one you got from those machines that let you know how many tickets you’ve one in the card you use for the games. 115 tickets.

You see how he’s looking at it, like he has stars in his eyes, like that ball was the ball, like it was the only thing worth looking at here. “Since when were you into sports? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you pick up a ball.”

“At gym, we started doing sports. Now during recess, that’s all everyone does. I’m not good. If I practice at home, maybe they’ll ask me to play.”

Your pouting, because for some reason, ever since you met the kid, anything that comes out of his mouth sounds like the beginning of some sad movie, or book, whichever one makes people cry the most. You don’t think he does it on purpose, or even realizes it, it’s just who he is at this point.

Before you promise to play again, to get more tickets, to get this stupid basket ball, your phone dings.

It’s your manager, and you’re late to work.

Shit.

You take his hand, and start heading out. You promise you’ll be back. And you hope he trusts you. He’s the first person you’ve actually kept promises for. You would hope he at least trusts you by now.

This shift was a slow one. When you walk in, there’s hollering about everyones favorite girl there, along with some looks from fellow dancers that aren’t exactly on your team. The DJ shouts your stage name into the mic, announcing your arrival, thanking you for finally showing up after missing three sets. He promises a good shot to make up for your tardiness, if they tip nicely maybe you’ll take the top off early. It earns a glare from you before you step into the dressing room, flicking off your manager for cursing you, threatening your place at work.

News flash, he threatens you at least once a week, but you make too much money here. You have the most regulars, convince people to not only buy drinks, but the food too, and get the most VIP’s. You know they won’t fire you, they need you. (You need them too, but you won’t admit that.)

One, two, three shots in, you’ve missed two stages and have been scrolling on your phone, trying to find new cute dance outfits. The house mom is laughing with you, or at you, you can’t tell anymore, but she’s okay company regardless. The liquor isn’t hitting and you’re agitated, bored, you don’t want to be here. But you’re so bored. And there are barley any customers, but….you’re so damn bored. And sober. Maybe you can talk to those young guys sitting right in front of the stage. They look young, excited, probably their first time here. Younger men are easy when they’re drunk, and you can get them drunk, offer some mediocre lap dances, dance at their section of the stage. That’s rent right there. But you can’t be sober, or else your bored expression would be obvious, your fake laugh too plastic, probably sounding like screeching in their ears at their jokes that are led with their dicks.

You can’t be sober.

And the coke is right there, in the bottom of your bag. You’ve been cutting back, you told yourself you didn’t need it. But sometimes you do, you really do. You’re here at work. And bored. You need money, but you can’t make it if you’re bored and don’t want to be here. So you need it now. Yeah, now is a good time.

But then, here comes Satsuki — well here, she’s Sakura. The bubbly, cute, almost like a Disney princess, very popular with the clients who like that whole cute girl thing, you know those girls who remind you of like a deer or whatever. She’s cute, Sakura is cute. Well, when she’s not taking away your drugs. Now she’s not cute, she’s annoying. And you tell her, but she just laughs her melodic laugh and sits besides you, snatching the bag from your hand and putting it back in your bag.

“This is better than this.” She says, smiling while taking her phone from her money bag. You groan in response, because nothing is better than coke. Nothing. “My cousin’s friends are throwing a party. It’s a big one in a pent house, like with a view.” Yeah, especially not this.

You open your mouth, no words come about because you can’t find a nice way to tell her to fuck off and give you your drugs back. She just giggles again, shoving your shoulder with her own and shoves her phone in your face, showing you a group of boys. They look athletic, probably trainers, or coaches or whatever the fuck, why should you care about them?

“MSBY Black Jackals. They’re gonna be there, most of them anyways, I’m sure of it.”

You say, sitting back, slouching — impatient, “What does this have to do with me?”

“Girl, look at them. They’re all hot. And rich. When you meet them, you don’t wanna be coked out. Or gross. Me and some of the other girls are going, you should come with. Please!”

You sigh, focusing on the screen. Yeah, they’re cute, you guess. It’s not really looks you really look for in men, in fact you don’t really look for anything other than being stupid really. When she said rich that perked your ears up a bit, but you can’t say you were interested still.

There’s one in particular your eyes continue to scan over, Satsuki (Sakura) notices, chuckling to herself. “That’s Miya Atsumu. I don’t know what spot he plays, I don’t know about the sport. I met him a few times with my cousin. You’d like him.”

You smirk to yourself. You don’t care about sports, barley care about them. It’s been a while since you had any fun though. You step up, hearing your name being called, this time with a threat.

Before you leave you turn to her, snickering at her hopeful eyes at you.

“Yeah, count me in.”

next (?)

#haikyu #haikyuu!!#hinata shoyo x you #hinata shouyou #hinata x reader #haikyu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #hq x y/n #hq x reader #hinata shoyo scenarios #hinata shoyo x reader

25 notes · View notes

nakachuchu · 3 years

Text

Lavender Milk Tea | Okkotsu Yuuta

SYNOPSIS: Modern AU - You get your heart broken and he comforts you.

READER: gender neutral

WORDS: 1086

WRITTEN: 04/08/2021

NOTES: Sorry this turned into a bit of angst with a modern AU, but thank you for requesting from my event! "I think—No, I am—in love with you."

You just experienced your first breakup and it was devastating. You were the type of person who fell in love hard and fast, so it was no wonder you were so heartbroken.

Yuuta didn't know what to do to make you feel better. It was the first time he had seen you cry so much as a teenager.

The only time you cried this much was when you were a child and dropped your lavender milk tea, spilling it everywhere.

He tried many things to comfort and console you. He offered food, snacks, drinks, back rubs, but nothing seemed to work.

You continued to sob and sniffle into his pillow on his bed. He didn't mind since the two of you were childhood friends and he was used to you being in his room, but he didn't like seeing you sad.

He loved you, after all. He had never told you because he was afraid of getting rejected since you could be a bit oblivious at times.

"Just stay with me," you murmured weakly when he asked you what you needed from him for the seventh time that day.

He nodded and held your hand, squeezing it in reassurance. He sat on the floor next to his bed as you laid there.

After a few more minutes of crying and blowing your nose into the tissues that Yuuta held to your nose for you, you calmed down.

"I'm not ugly, am I?"

"You're beautiful," he reassured.

"Am I worthless?"

"You're worth everything and more," he reassured.

"Do you love me?"

There was silence for a moment and he didn't know how to respond, but he knew that you wouldn't understand what type of love he meant.

"I do," he said.

You lifted your head from his pillow and offered him a smile. He smiled back and squeezed your hand.

"I'll always be here for you," he said.

"I love you, Yuuta."

Your eyes were red and puffy. His pillow was stained with your tears and snot. It was kind of gross but if it came from you, he didn't care. Besides, he had seen and touched your snot enough times when the two of you were children.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

You sighed. "Horrible, but not about the break-up. I knew he wasn't the love of my life or anything. I just liked having a relationship, I guess. It just sucks that he cheated on me. I would have rather he just break up with me normally if he didn't like me anymore."

"If it was me, I would never do that to you."

You smiled. "I know, Yuuta. You'd be, like, the best boyfriend ever. I wish you were my boyfriend instead."

His smile faltered. He knew you were in a fragile state right now so he didn't want to get his hopes up and get his heart broken in the long run, but he knew that with graduation approaching, the two of you would soon go your separate ways.

"I think—No, I am—in love with you," he said.

"What?"

"I'm in love with you, Y/N. I don't just love you as a—as a best friend or a sister. I love you more than that."

"Yuuta—"

"I know, Y/N. I'm not trying to take advantage of you. I just wanted you to know," he said with a soft smile.

You felt conflicted at this news. How long had he been hiding this from you? You had been in so much pain over a breakup, yet Yuuta had been listening to you smile and talk about another boy for months.

"Why didn't you—"

He didn't want to talk about it anymore. He was embarrassed and sad, but he still loved you. He was sure nothing could change the way he felt about you.

"I'm going to America after graduation."

"What?"

You sat up on the bed and stared at him, but he refused to meet your gaze. He let go of your hand and stood up to grab a letter from his desk, then handed it to you.

You grabbed it and read the contents of the letter. It was a congratulatory letter of admission to a university in America.

"When did you... Why didn't you tell me?" you questioned.

Your hands trembled and the letter rustled. He stuck his hands into his pocket and shrugged.

"I didn't want to ruin your last year of high school. I wanted you to smile until the end," he said.

Tears fell from your eyes again and you weren't sure how you were still capable of crying.

"I hate you," you whispered as you wiped your tears with the back of your hand. "You should have—have told me."

"I know. I'm sorry."

You slipped out of his bed and grabbed your bag before walking out of his room, sniffling and hiccuping.

He stood in his room for a while before collapsing onto his bed that still smelled like you.

FOUR YEARS LATER

You waited at the airport, leaning your body left and right as you looked for Yuuta. He had just graduated from his university in America and was coming back to Japan.

You were waiting for him to greet him. The two of you kept in contact throughout the years with an awkward pause around the time the two of you graduated from high school.

You had to take a break from him to sort out your thoughts and feelings, and he did the same. The two of you respected each other's spaces.

Then, once it was Christmas break during your first year of university, Yuuta came back and visited your family.

He went up to your room and the two of you revisited memories from your childhood through the various photo albums your mother kept.

The next thing you knew, the two of you were kissing.

"Yuuta!" you called out.

He smiled as he caught sight of you, then walked forward quickly with his suitcase rolling behind him.

"I missed you!" you exclaimed as you lunged forward and hugged him.

"Whoa! Careful, sweetheart."

You grinned. "Are you hungry? Let's go visit the tea shop that the old lady owns. Remember her?"

"How could I not? You cried when you dropped the lavender milk tea she made."

"Of course I did. It was really good," you muttered.

He smiled and leaned down to kiss your forehead. "Let's go then."

He held out his hand for you and you took it, intertwining your fingers together.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #okkotsu yuuta x reader

122 notes · View notes

latte-fairytaekwoon · 4 years

Text

𝑀𝑎𝑓𝑖𝑎! 𝐴𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑧: 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑊𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝐷𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑃𝑟𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝐶ℎ𝑖𝑙𝑑

Warning: This was a really angsty reaction that contains mentions of violence, death, terrifying scenes and overall ugly crying with runny noses and snot bubbles.

Disclaimer: In no way am I condoning, supporting, justifying or encouraging mafia activities or lifestyle. This is all fictional and not meant to represent real life scenarios.

ྉ𝓚𝓲𝓶 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰ྉ

When Hongjoong received the pictures of you and your son held captive, he immediately got all of his men and went to go look for you both. He expected his rivals to set up a trap for him, why else would they make their location so obvious? So he prepared and in the end, it was them who ended up falling into his trap.

Hongjoong searched everywhere for you two like a mad man, he broke down every door and tore almost every room apart to find you. Finally, he reached a room and in the corner, he saw your body holding onto your son, your coat draped over his tiny body. He ran over to you guys and desperately tried to wake you up. His finger grazed your neck and that's when he realized there was no pulse.

"No..."

He began crying, thinking it was all over for him. Seonghwa, who was right next to him, checked the boy's body and spoke up:

"He's still alive. He's still breathing. Only unconscious."

Hongjoong now realized that you knew that the temperature of the room was too cold to survive in for too long, especially for someone so young. That's why your coat was over your son, that's why you held onto him, your body's warmth would end up helping him. His tears intensified but he kept his composure.

He picked up his son's sleeping body and gave it to Seonghwa, before picking up your own and walking out of the damned place. Once he was outside, he gave orders for the boy to be taken somewhere to receive medical attention. He looked back at the immense house in front of him before ordering:

"Burn this place to the ground. Find the rest of the people responsible for this.....and burn them as well..."

ྉ𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓢𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝔀𝓪ྉ

In Seonghwa's mind, none of this was supposed to happen. His family was supposed to be a secret, he went to great lengths to make sure none of his enemies knew about you two. But they ended up finding out, and now you were all cornered and put in danger in none other than your son's birthday party.

It all happened too fast. Shots were being relentlessly fired by both sides, while you were trying to get your son and yourself out of there unharmed. You ended up stumbling and losing your balance, thus releasing your hold on your son, making him a prime target for the enemy. Seonghwa noticed right away how one of the men took aim at the little boy. He tried to make his way towards him, but there were too many obstacles to him.

You immediately got up and pulled your son to your body, 3 gunshots hitting you in the back right in that moment. Seonghwa watched in horror as your lifeless body fell to the floor, still holding onto your son, protecting him from the fatal bullets.

Something snapped inside of Seonghwa at that moment. Before he was just shooting to distract, now he was set on killing all of the men in there. His men and him ended up overpowering the others, his rage making him go ballistic and finishing them off as if they were no competition.

Once it was all done, he raced to where you were. His son was crying hysterically, some of your blood dripping down his face. Seonghwa picked him up and held him close, trying to calm him down through the tears he himself was spilling.

"It's ok buddy. Daddy's here. Daddy will protect you. I'll make sure nothing will ever happen to you..."

ྉ𝓙𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓾𝓷𝓱𝓸ྉ

Yunho raced over to the house. When he heard your frantic screams through the phone and the glass shattering, he was already running to his car to help you out. He even called back up to have them help him if there was too many men.

All through the drive, his grip on the steering wheel was harsh, he prayed to anything and everything that you and your baby daughter were safe....that you were alive.

He kicked the door open, searching for any sign of you both. He called your name frantically, but there was no answer. He went to the master bedroom and stopped in the doorway when he saw you lying on the floor, already out cold. He fell at his knees and held you close, crying erratically. He couldn't believe that he lost you, and your baby was nowhere to be seen. He felt like he was going insane.

He then heard what seemed to be shuffling and crying coming from the closet. He stopped to listen and the crying suddenly sounded familiar to him. Opening the closet, he saw that there was nightstand that wasn't there before, and when he moved it, there was a huge hole in the wall, large enough to fit your baby in there, hidden from anyone.

"Oh my God!"

Yunho immediately snatched her up, trying to make her stop crying. His crying slowed down, he was happy to know his daughter was alive and it broke his heart to know that even in your last moments, your concern was to make sure she was safe.

"I'm so sorry....."

Yunho felt that this was all his fault. He wasn't there to save you and by a miracle your daughter was saved. He vowed that day that he'd leave the mafia world and retire far away, somewhere where he could take care of your baby, away from any danger and harm. He owed that to you.

ྉ𝓚𝓪𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓮𝓸𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓰ྉ

Yeosang and you were out in a drive with your son in the backseat, enjoying some family time. None of you expected to have someone shoot one of your tires, making Yeosang loose control of the vehicle. He tried to regain control and for a while it worked, until they blew off another tire and you guys crashed into a tree.

Yeosang felt blood pouring down his head, but he didn't care. He looked back towards you and tried to take off your seatbelt.

"No..." You weakly pushed his hand away and pointed to your son.

"Our son....get him out first."

Yeosang nodded and dashed to the backseat. It was hard to get your son out one because he was crying hysterically and two his seatbelt was stuck. Knowing you were running out of time, you used whatever strength you had left and took out a pocket knife you kept in your purse. You reached over and cut the seatbelt off before yanking the boy and giving him to Yeosang.

"Go! Get out!"

Yeosang clutched the boy tightly and fell out of the vehicle. He ran a safe distance away, hoping to get the boy away before going back to get you. But a loud explosion from behind made him fall to the ground, luckily he maneuvered himself so your son fell on top of him.

Yeosang sat up and watched as the car burst into flames. He went into shock as he realized there was nothing he could do to save you now. He didn't know how to react. He stood there frozen for a while, as his son cried into his shoulder, calling out for you.

Yeosang wanted to cry, but he found it impossible. His emotions were locked into place. One thing was for sure...

He was going to find out who ever was responsible for this and make them pay, even if it costed him his own life.

ྉ𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓢𝓪𝓷ྉ

San looked down at the beaten man in front of him. His face was badly bruised and he was close to death.

"Now.... wanna answer me why you're here?" San asked for what seemed to be the 20th time.

The man groaned. "I'm telling you... I don't fucking know! I don't even know you!"

San scoffed. "You say you don't know me....well you're about to."

He took out a photo of a very beautiful woman and held it in front of him.

"See her? Her name was Y/N."

The man looked at San with a face that asked 'so'?. San stood up before continuing his story.

"May 16th, 2019 was the day she died, exactly 1 year ago......she died in a fire that was set to her house. Like the brave woman she was, she rescued her son and she was the one who woke up her husband. Her husband tried to save her to, but it was too late....."

San stopped briefly and took a deep breath, the memories coming back to him, threatening to make him go mad once again.

"He had to watch as the house collapse with her inside....the love of his life ripped away from him. His son left with no mother to take care of him..."

San looked back at the man, who now looked like he knew where this was going.

"At first they thought it was an accident, an electric short or gas leak......but no. It was sabotage. Someone deliberately went out of their way to kill a mafia boss and his innocent family..."

San grabbed the man's hair and yanked it harshly.

"That boss was me you dirty little bastard. And you may not know me personally, maybe you were just doing your job someone hired you to do. But I made it my personal mission to find you and make you pay for what you did to me."

San smiled a psychotically as he took out a knife and a whip from a toolbox.

"After I'm done with you, you're going to wish you crossed paths with the devil instead."

ྉ𝓢𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓲ྉ

Mingi held his daughter's hand as they strolled through the zoo, looking at all the animals in there.

"Daddy!"

The little girl pointed towards the immense giraffes up ahead of them. Mingi chuckled, knowing what his daughter was referring to.

"Wanna go see them up close?"

The little girl nodded and sped over to see the giraffes. Her little feet were jumping up and down, trying to get a better look. Mingi smiled and picked his daughter up, setting her on top of his shoulders.

"There. Now you're as tall as them." He told her, causing her to giggle.

The little girl started exclaiming and squealing over the animals. Mingi just kept a smile at her reactions.

"Look! It's daddy with mommy!" She suddenly blurted out.

Mingi's smile left his face at that comment. On one part, he was glad she still remembered you and thought of you. On the other, it pained him to remember you. It's been years and he was still mourning over you. The images were still fresh in his mind, images of you hurt, beaten and bloodied. You were tortured for hours, but still refused to tell them the location of your daughter. Mingi came in time only to say goodbye, promising you to protect your daughter at all costs. That's why he ended up moving away. To start a new life. To get away from the pain and try to keep his daughter safe from anyone.

"Daddy! Look! Pandas like Uncle Jongho!" His daughter's voice snapped him back to reality.

Mingi smiled again and took his daughter off his shoulders and into his arms.

"Wanna go see them? And then we'll see the dolphins. You'll see how much they'll remind you of Uncle Wooyoung."

ྉ𝓙𝓾𝓷𝓰 𝓦𝓸𝓸𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰ྉ

Wooyoung paced back and forth in the waiting room. He rushed you over to the hospital once he came home and found you pinned down on the floor, a hired assassin on top of you, trying to finish you off. But even in your pregnant state you gave him a good fight, using all your strength to make sure the baby you were carrying was safe. Wooyoung got him off you, killed him and took you to the hospital.

He was extremely nervous. The other members came to help and comfort him. But nothing could comfort him when the doctor told him they had to do an emergency c-section to be able to save your baby.

"However......I suggest you prepare yourself. There's very slim chances your wife would survive....I'm sorry..."

Wooyoung's heart stopped. He couldn't talk for a while. He refused to believe it, he began praying that you would make it, he just wasn't prepared to let you go.

San was the one who came in to tell him the news. Wooyoung just took one look at his friend to know that you were gone. He fell to the floor and began crying. San teared up and held his friend close, muttering a bunch of apologies, heartbroken for him.

"I can't do this San..... I need her... I can't live without her.." Wooyoung sobbed.

"Wooyoung, you have to. You have a beautiful baby girl now that needs you. Don't you want to meet her?"

Wooyoung wiped his tears and nodded. He knew you'd want him to be strong for your daughter. He walked into the room and saw his baby already in an incubator. Even though she was asleep, he could tell she looked just like you. He smiled softly and started crying again, a mixture of sadness and happiness.

"Hi babygirl. Looks like it's just you and me now...."

ྉ𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓙𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝓸ྉ

Jongho and his men swarmed into the boat that held you and your daughter hostage. They immobilized all the rivals they came across as he searched every cabin and room, trying to find you and get you out of there.

He arrived just in time to stop one of the masked men from doing anything to the little girl. Making sure his daughter wasn't looking, he put a bullet to the man's head before checking to make sure she was all right.

"Honey. Are you ok? Where's mommy?" He asked.

The little girl began crying as she pointed towards the joint bathroom in the room. Jongho stood up and slowly opened the door, trying to prepare himself for the worst. His heart dropped when he took in the sight of your body in the enormous bathtub, just floating lifelessly there. He rushed over and took you out, holding you for the last time, silently crying and cursing himself for not getting there sooner.

One of his men came in and informed him that all the enemies were captured and they were awaiting orders from him. Jongho picked you up and ordered his helicopter to make coordinates to the nearest hospital. He looked back at his daughter and took her trembling hand, smiling softly at her and trying to comfort her even though he was broken inside himself. He began leading her out to the deck, when the person behind him stopped him.

"Sir, what about the survivors?" His subordinate asked, referring to the enemies that were now held in one of the rooms.

Jongho's grip on your body tightened and he looked back at the man before replying with a cold stare:

"There are no survivors...."

Gifs not mine, credit goes to their respective owners.

#ateez #ateez reactions #ateez mafia au #mafia!au #mafia!ateez #ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #ateez yunho #ateez yeosang #ateez san #ateez mingi #ateez wooyoung #ateez jongho #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines

708 notes · View notes

lauraashley93 · 4 years

Text

I Don’t Love You Anymore

Part 3

Here is is, friends! The last part! I hope you guys enjoy!

Reader and Angel finally see each other. Will they make it work or go their separate ways?

Warnings: angst, fluff and swearing.

It had been a week and You still didn’t know what to do. His voice.. his amazing, beautiful, soothing voice. You didn’t realize how much you actually missed him. So much better than what your dreams had given you. You felt bad for hanging up but you didn’t know what else to do. You did get brave enough to text Ez back two days later and apologize but you couldn’t handle it. He replied sweet as ever that he understood and he was sorry he just wanted you to know about everything. And now that you did you didn’t know how to feel. You laid in your bed as silent tears fell down your cheek. You missed Angel. You loved him, and you always would. But could you go back? Could you take the risk and run to him? You weren’t sure. So for now you were staying put.

———-at the clubhouse——

Angel was acting like everything was fine. Trying to put up some front. Even though Ez told him how hard you took everything and what you went through he was trying to ward off the hurt he felt when you hung up on Him. Even though he knew he 100% deserved that he was using the anger to block the sadness he was feeling, the Loneliness.

Coco was worried. Easily seeing through his friends act.

“Aye yo Boy Scout. Is he okay?”

Ez shrugged “I don’t know man. I think this is calm before the storm. I keep trying to convince y/n to at least come visit but I mean, I can’t blame her for not doing it either. I just wish I could do something.

“We all do Boy Scout, we all do. We hate seeing him like that. Hell, we all mis y/n. Ain’t been the same wit out her ya know?”

Gilly walked up then. “Yeah, man, I miss her laugh. It was fucking contagious. “

Bishop came around the corner just then cutting off your conversation.

“Alright guys, Galindo has a run for us. We’re out in ten. “ he looks around “Where is Angel?”

Just then, like he’d heard Bishop ask, Angel walked through. Everyone staring at him like he’s a ticking time bomb.

“What the fuck are you guys looking at? You should take a picture. Wack to it or something. “ he went to go walk off and Bishop stopped him.

“We have a run for Galindo, let’s go.”

The guys headed for their bikes and Bishop stops Angel.

“You good Hermano? Or do you need to sit this out? Cause I need you there. ALL of you.”

“Angel bit the inside of his cheek trying to hold back any smart ass comments. He knew Bishop meant well but he didn’t need anyone questioning his ability.

“I’m good presidente, I’m all here. “ And with that he was out the door.

———————————————————————

It was 3:40 Am. You were sound asleep when your phone started ringing. You swore if it was the new girl at work asking for guy advice again you were gonna lose your shit. You did not care and you were losing all patience with the situation. You grabbed it not even bothering to look at who it was and answered it.

“Hello?” You said through a yawn.

“Y/n, look, I know I said I wouldn’t call you but..”

“Ez, it is almost 4 o’clock in the fucking morning. You better be dying or I’m going to kill you myself.”

It was quiet. You could have swore you heard ez sob out. You sat up straight all trace of sleepiness gone.

“Ez, what is it? Please..” your voice cracked

“It’s, it’s Angel. We were on a run and he. “

“Ez.” You were crying now. “Please, please don’t tell me he’s dead. He has to be okay. Right?”

Ez sniffed and swallowed hard.

“He’s alive, but it’s bad y/n. Someone knocked him, Coco and Riz off their bikes. We were hot on their trail but they fired at us and two shots hit Angel.”

You are sobbing at this point. You didn’t think it was possible for you to feel anymore heart break than you did the day Angel broke up with you but here you were wishing you could relive that moment over 10 times if you never had to experience this. “Is everyone else okay?? Is he going to live?”

“Everyone else is fine. A little scratched up but they are okay. “ Ez sighed “I don’t know. That’s why I’m calling you. I know, I know you two don’t really have good standing but I know how you feel and I knew you’d want to know.. maybe you’d, even want to come see him? Look, it’s up to you I just wanted you to know. I have to go. Love you hermana.

And with that the line clicked off and you dropped to the ground. Screaming, crying, sobbing uncontrollably. You could feel yourself hyperventilating. You can’t believe the world was doing this to you. What did you do to deserve this kind of pain? Why would the world try to take the most precious human from all of humanity? Sure, he had his faults but he meant well.. you screamed again and you aunt came rushing in.

“Y/n! Y/n! What’s wrong?? What happened?? What’s going on baby? Talk to me!!!”

You are trying to calm down and you finally manage to talk between sobs.

“It’s.. *sob* Angel *sob* he’s been in an accident and *sob* they don’t know if he’ll make it.”

By this time you’re a hysterical mess with snot everywhere and tear stained cheeks. You aunt is holding you tightly and rubbing your back trying to calm you down.

“Hush baby, I know it’s scary but I need you to calm down, pack a bag and tell me where I’m booking our flight to.

You blinked fast not sure you heard her.

“Wha..what?”

“You heard me baby. You need to go see him.”

You cried again and nodded.

“But, what if, what if he..”

“No.” She cut you off. “There are no what if’s here. Now, go, hurry.”

You smiled and got up and started throwing things in a bag. You don’t take much. A couple change of clothes and the essentials as you were getting your stuff together you told your aunt where you needed to go and she went online and ordered the plane tickets. You’re waiting to board the plane and somehow you still haven’t ran out of tears you’ve tried to call and text Ez but he hasn’t responded. You’re hoping at this point that no news is good news. You start to get anxious and start pacing back and forth.

“Y/n baby you need to relax. Sit down and just breathe. You will be there in five hours tops. “ your aunt tried to sooth you.

“I know, I know I just.. what am I gonna say? What do I do? What am I even doing? Am I saying goodbye? Am I trying to fix things? Am I just there to make sure he’s okay? What do I do when I get there??”

You aunt sighs as she grabs your hand and pulls you next to her.

“Baby, all that will come later. You need to focus on just being there for him. He needs to get better and pull through. You can worry about the complicated stuff later. If you ask me, you being this upset and traveling to get to him, you already have your answer. “

——————————————————————-

Time seems to go by slow when you’re in a rush.. sludge. It’s like you’re just stuck. You’re at the hospital and you feel so small. You’re trying to run but it’s like you’re going in slow motion but finally, you get there. Everyone is there. Your family. Bishop and Ez are who you spot first you run up to them, seeing the saddened look on their face.

“Ez, Bishop. Where is he? Is he okay?”

They are just staring at you. Why aren’t they saying anything? Your heart begins to race and you can feel the tears building up behind your eyes.

“Princesa, why don’t you sit down” Bishop gestured to a seat with his hand.

“No. Stop beating around the fucking bush. Where is Angel? I need to see him”

You start crying and Ez grabs you in a hug.

“I’m sorry, y/n. There’s nothing they could do. “

“NO! THATS NOT TRUE. “ You are all but screaming at them. Beating against Ez’s Chest. “He can’t, he can’t be gone!!! I didn’t get to tell him that I love him. I didn’t get to tell him I need him. Please, PLEASE.”

You fall to the ground as Ez guides you gently to the floor. All the Mayan men surrounding you as you are screaming.

“Y/n! Y/n!!” You feel someone shaking you saying your name and it feels muffled. You slowly open your eyes and as the adjust you see your aunt beside you worry creasing her forehead. The ugly colored seats of the plane in front of you. You look around confused but then, a sigh of relief washes over you. A dream, it was a terrible dream, no nightmare.

“Baby girl? You were tossing and turning. You started crying “no no” I was trying so hard to get you up. Are you okay??”

You nodded slowly. “I, I had a nightmare that I was too late. He didn’t make it and I didn’t get to tell him that I love him. I need to make sure he knows that. “

Your aunt smiles a comforting smile at you and holds your hand.

“You will, we’re here baby. Now we just need to get an Uber to the hospital and you can tell him everything. “

The Uber drive didn’t take as long as you expected. Your nerves were twisting and turning as you approached the hospital. You had a sense of deja vu as you pulled into the front of the hospital.

“I’ll catch up with you, go ahead. Go see your love. “ your aunt patted your hand and you tried to give her a smile. You got out and started walking to the doors. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding and you walk up to the desk about to ask to see Angel a voice stops you.

“Y/n? Is that you?”

You smile slightly as you turn around.

“Bishop!” Tears start streaming down your face as you run to him. You practically jump into his arms and he holds you tight. “It’s been way too long.” You breathe in the familiar scent of cigarette smoke and leather as you reluctantly pull back you sniffle back a few tears.

“How is he? Is he, is he okay?”

“He’s in critical condition. But he’s holding on. Boy still has some fight in him. He’s fucking stubborn, kid. Don’t worry he will be fine.

You knew he was trying to make you feel better. You could see the uncertainty written all over his face. But you nodded and agreed anyway.

“Am I aloud to go see him?”

“I think he’d like that”

You turned around so quick you might have gotten whiplash. Ez was standing there. Eyes blood shot. Tiredness and worry creasing his forehead. You’re sobbing now as Ez is pulling you into his arms. He just held you until you calmed down.

“I got here as fast as I could. Is he awake?”

Ez shook his head. “No, but I’m glad you came. I could tell he wasn’t trying to fight for his life. Like he was giving up. So I told him, I kinda told him I called you and you said you were on your way”

Ez rubbed the back of his head as you wiped away the tears.

“But, you didn’t even know if i would.

“No, but I had a feeling. And hey, it worked. I don’t know what it was but he started making progress so wether you showed or not, at least he was trying.”

You just hugged him again and new wave of tears sliding down your cheek. Ez grabbed your hand and lead you back to Angel’s room. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes before walking through the door. There he was. Your love. Your heart. Your whole world in a bed with tubes and wires everywhere. His color looked grey, and even though he was sleeping he didn’t look peaceful. You walked slowly toward the bed as a new wave of tears trickled down your cheek. You tried to control your sobs but you just couldn’t as you sat down in the chair next to the bed.

You held his hand and laid your head on top of his hand. “Oh Angel.” Your voice broke. “Please, Angel. Please keep fighting. Please. I love you, I need you and we can’t fix things if you go. Please, don’t leave me. I’m sorry I didn’t stay. I’m sorry I hung up on you.. I just. I didn’t know what to say. I still don’t but I just need you to wake up so I can tell you I love you. I never stopped. I always will love you. “

He didn’t wake up, it wasn’t like in the movies where they magically get better but what did happen melted your heart. He squeezed your hand. You swear he did. You popped your head up. “Angel! That’s right baby. Keep fighting. I’m here. I swear I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

It didn’t happen again but it gave your heart hope. And so you swore you wouldn’t move from this spot until he woke up.

——————

*Angels POV*

All he could hear was the reoccurring beeping. His mind was fuzzy. What happened? He felt sore. “Why can’t I open my eyes? And what is that annoying ass beeping noise??” His mind was racing. Then, over the Beeping he heard it. Your voice. The most angelic sound he has ever heard. “y/n! I’m here baby. I’m here. Please don’t cry. Why are you crying?” He squeezed your hand and that was all he remembered before he felt more exhaustion taking over and fell back into a dreamless sleep.

————5 days later———

*Angles POV*

His head hurt, his chest hurt, hell his whole body hurt. He could hear voices but they were muffled. His eyes slowly blinking open. Everything was foggy at first. But as everything became clear he thought he might die of his heart stopping. It wasn’t a dream. He DID hear you. You were there. You looked tired. Eyes blood shot and puffy. Your hair was a mess but he had never seen anything more beautiful in his life. He felt a tear slide down his face and he went to go to her but were stopped. You looked down at all the cords and IVs. “You’re awake! Oh precious Angel, you’re awake. “ you looked up as you hear hear speak. You reached for her and she hurried quickly to you.

————————————

*your POV*

You were sitting in the same small room that you have been since you arrived. Wishing, praying, hoping whatever you could do for Angel to wake up. You were just about to doze off when something caught your eye. You turned to see Angel trying to move. Tears pouring from your eyes. “You’re awake! Oh precious Angel. You’re awake.” You got up and hurried to him and cupped his face gently sobbing. “Are you okay? Are you hurting? Do you need anything? Do you remember what happened?”

He smiled. Same ole y/n. Always making sure everyone is okay and taken care of and going a mile a minute.

Ez appeared at his other side and placed a gentle hand on angel’s shoulder.

“Hey brother. Glad to have you back.”

Angel was still looking at you. He couldn’t believe you were standing there. He thought he would never see you again. He finally tore his eyes away from you and looked at his brother.

“Ez, what happened?”

“I’m gonna go get everyone while you explain.” You smiled and went to leave but Angel grabbed your hand. He didn’t care. He was afraid you were gonna disappear and he didn’t want you to leave. You could see the worry in his glossy eyes so you leaned down and put your forehead to his.

“I’m not going far. I will be right back, I swear.” You kissed his forehead and it sent his heart into a frenzy as you walked away to get everyone.

It was a busy couple hours. Everyone in and out. Doctors coming to check on him. Finally at the end of the night everyone has gone home. Except you. You never leave. You sat next to him. He looked at you. He had so much to say.

“Angel, i.”

“No.” He cut you off. “I was an ass. I fucked up and I’m sorry. I was trying to keep you from getting hurt and I.. “ he started to cry “I made it worse. I hurt you more than the club shit would have and I’m sorry. I love you y/n. I always have. I can’t tell you how sorry I am and i will spend the rest of my life making it up to you if I have to. I missed you. I missed you so fucking much. I understand if you don’t want to give me another chance, but I just needed you to know. Fuck, I hate myself.”

You stared at him. Tears streaming down your face. You knew he was truly sorry. You knew any other person would have ran and told him you weren’t coming back but you just wanted to hold him and heal every broken piece of him. And that’s what you would do. You didn’t care if he was wrong. You loved him and you were tired Of waiting for that to go away. So you answered him the only way you knew how. You kissed him. You kissed him hard and fast his lips urgently moving against yours. He was holding you as close as he could never wanting to let you go. But all too soon you pulled away. You kept your eyes closed and placed your hand on his cheek.

“Please, don’t hate yourself. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I need you, too, Angel. I love you and I never stopped. I’m sorry I ran, I just couldn’t stay. It was too hard and now, I wish I had of. And I’m sorry”

“Querida, please don’t apologize to me. You have nothing to be sorry for. I deserved everything I went through. You, however, didn’t deserve any of that and I will hate myself forever for being the reason you felt any amount of pain. But if you let me, I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I swear.”

You wiped the tears from your eyes and nodded your head.

“Angel, I would love nothing more than that.”

He pulled you close and he kissed you, softer this time but still just as needy he swore he’d never let you go again.

—————————————————————-

*two months later*

Everything had went back to normal. Angel got to come home 3 days after you guys talked, your aunt wished you both the best as she went back home and everything seemed okay again.

It was a Friday and it was another wild night at the clubhouse. Party was in full swing as you sat at the bar nursing your beer a smile on your face. This was home. This is where you were meant to be and this is where you would stay. You were watching coco and Bishop play a round of pull when all of the sudden Angel stood on the bar behind you, startling you.

“AYE CAN I PLEASE HAVE EVERYONES ATTENTION?” all eyes on Angel as he jumps off the bar and drapes his arm around you. “I know everyone knows that I am in love with y/n. Everyone also knows I fucked it up. “ you looked at him about to object but he put his finger up. “I don’t understand how such an amazing, beautiful, and caring woman would ever love me back and I can’t understand even more how she could forgive me for being such an idiot. But she did. I know we just assumed we picked up where we left off but I can’t do that.” You furrowed your brows. Confused on what he was saying. He turned to you holding your hand. “I promised you I would spend forever making things up to you. I intend to do just that but a start to forever needs something. Something that is and has always been yours.”

Angel got down on one knee and pulled out the ring you had given back the day you left. You had tears in your eyes and a smile on your face as he held your hand and looked at you with those beautiful big brown eyes.

“Y/n, will you please do me the honor of making me the happiest man in the world? Let me love and cherish you all the days of our lives and remind you everyday that you are queen of my heart. Y/n, will you marry me?”

You were crying as you nodded your head eagerly. “Yes, Angel Reyes! I will!

He smiled as he slid the ring on your finger and took you up in a hug and kissed you. Everyone clapping and cheering for you two.

“I hope you’re ready to spend forever with me, cause I’m never letting you go again.”

Angel kissed you again and you smiled cupping his cheek gently with your hand.

“I’ve never been more ready or more sure about anything in my life. I can’t wait to be Mrs Angel Reyes.”

———The end——-

@angelreyesgirl @auroraariza @spookys-girl @trulysuccubus @stunning-shitz @rosieposie0624 @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @skyofficialxx @strawberrywritings @bucky-iss-bae @miss-nori85 @cind-in-real-life @deeandbobbymcgee @starrynite7114 @louisianalady @itsjaybeast @-im-fantastic-

104 notes · View notes

herohotline · 5 years

Text

It’s Gonna Be Okay (It Has To)

Izuku Midoriya x Reader

A/N: because apparently I can only write dark shit if Deku is involved

Request from Ao3: Can I get an Izuku x Reader? Reader is another student with a weaker quirk(they can heal others, but in order to do so they must take on the wound themself, maybe?) Maybe kinda the “Are you crazy? You almost lost your life!” prompt.

Warnings: Descriptions of gore, trauma, angst. Also some dadzawa because I’m weak

Like many quirks, yours had an upside and a downside to it. Your parents called you blessed to have such a quirk; as if you were some sort of angel. You didn’t really agree with that phrasing- and you soon had to run away from your parent's eager hands so they stopped abusing your quirk. You took refuge in U.A- once you barely passed the exam you explained your situation to the teachers, they were quick to take you in. Aizawa had interestingly enough decided to house you- but he made it quite clear that even though you were in his class he wouldn’t be playing favorites and you would be graded fairly.

Your quirk is simple enough. You have the ability to heal others completely, but it might cost you your own life. You take their pain and transfer it to yourself- sometimes it’s not a big deal, and sometimes it is. For instance, you are not allergic to peanuts, but if someone else is and starts to choke from the effects, you can easily snatch that away and save their life while having no real consequences yourself because your body is not allergic to peanuts.

Your parents thought of you as a lifesaver; anytime they were presented with discomfort, they demanded their angel take it from them. Not only was this abusing your quirk, but it was abusing you in the process. You had since learned from Aizawa housing you that you are not required to heal anything and anyone- you have a choice in the matter.

Today, you made a rather… drastic choice.

It was a completely normal day. You, Midoriya, and Uraraka had been traveling Musutafu for fun when you had heard about a villain attack nearby. Of course, your blood boiled at the thought of another villainous attack, but you knew that you were still in training and going in to help was the last thing anyone needed right now. Convincing Midoriya was difficult- in the end, you weren’t even able to win- but you made a compromise.

You’d go look at the damage, and once the villains were dealt with, you’d help with damage control and any civilians that needed a hand after the attack. That sounded fair enough.

When you arrived at the scene, everything was pretty much taken care of, to your relief. There was some rubble and people needed help getting out from under them, so Izuku and Uraraka used their abilities to help while you observed from the background. Your quirk wasn’t exactly useful in this area, but you could help with any minor injuries people may have.

As you look around the area, you notice something moving from underneath all the rubble. At first, you think it’s a civilian, but claws snatch out from the rocks and the nails make angry marks as the thing pushes itself up from the boulders.

You freeze in shock. It’s a Nomu- of course it is, when is it not?

“Deku!!”

You scream, your vocal cords shredding as you do. It’s not enough time- you were too late with your warning as you watch Midoriya get pummeled into the ground by the Nomu. You can hear everything-

Midoriya and Uraraka’s screams, the heroes nearby telling everyone to evacuate, the vibrations in the ground as people run and scatter.

You don’t even get a choice to run in and help- a hero scoops you up in his arms and runs away with you. He can't get very far until the Nomu has clawed his back- the whole thing looks like an insane, mutated bird. It has fierce wings, but the most threatening thing about it is its strong legs with talons that are sharp as knives and several inches long. He picks the hero up with the talons, flying him up into the air before swinging and dropping him onto the ground below. It all happens right in front of you-

The blood. The limbs, the guts… flying everywhere- what used to be a man is scattered in several disgusting pieces- all over you, all over the concrete, all over all over all over-

Your scream is bloodcurdling.

Uraraka scoops you up as you scream, and you’re vaguely aware that she’s taking you somewhere, but you don’t know where. You don’t stop screaming, you don’t stop crying- you don’t stop because you can’t. All you can see is blood, blood, blood, and it makes you want to vomit.

Uraraka keeps running.

Eventually, the chaos ends, but you’re unsure exactly when. You don’t know how long it’s been, you don’t know if you’re even alive, really, but police cars and their sirens fill your senses as well as the ambulances. Your friend places you in one before quickly running off again, and you don’t even get to say anything.

Can you say anything?

There’s doctors, nurses- people, they’re all just people in uniform- checking your vitals and asking you questions you can’t answer. You feel partially numb, partially scared and partially frozen. You sit there and let them do what they need to do, but they don’t do a good job. Nothing will help the white noise in your ears and the pictures in your head and how your body just won’t stop shaking.

As you stare at all the damage the Nomu caused, there’s a stretcher being carried into another ambulance. You can barely see who it is from your spot, but there’s a glimpse of green hair. Your stomach flips when you think about who it could be.

You don’t ask the doctors for permission. You know that nothing is wrong with you, nothing but your head, so you tear out all the wires they put in you and jump out of the vehicle. You don’t listen to them calling out for you as you rush toward the stretcher, breaking your way through the several men in white that surround him- Midoriya.

He’s covered in bruises, scrapes, and gashes. There are three gnarly, ugly tears on his side that look like the very definition of worrying. The voice you couldn’t find before suddenly comes back. “Will he make it?” You look at the doctors.

“Please get out of the way!”

“No!” You scream, holding onto Midoriya’s stretcher with all your strength. “Is he going to live?!”

“We don’t know-”

Not good enough.

“Okay, okay,” you breathe shakily, looking down at Midoriya. He’s barely lucid, you can tell- his eyes are open and unfocused, looking in several different directions in a haze. Tears run down your cheeks and snot down your nose as you grab his face with shaky hands. “Okay, Midoriya. Listen to me- okay? Listen. You’re gonna be okay, I swear- I swear you’re gonna be okay. Everything is going to be okay.”

Your hand drifts down to the torn-up flesh on his side. You can do this- you know you can do this. It’s just as easy as taking a paper cut.

Another shaky breath leaves you as you sob, preparing yourself for the pain- and then you activate your quirk.

---

You hate the color white.

It’s not even a color- it’s meaningless and void of anything real. It’s the beginning of color but isn’t a color itself. It is ugly and dark in your opinion.

When you wake up, you’re surrounded by that non-color. It’s all white- the walls, the ceiling, the bedsheets, and your gown. You know where you are immediately. Only a hospital can bring you such dread.

No one is in the room at the moment and you’re glad. It gives you a moment to think about what happened. There’s a burning sensation on your waist, something that hurts more than you think you’re processing at the moment- you’re probably drugged. Sloppy and heavy hands lift up your bedsheets and your gown, revealing the fresh, dark scar. It hugs your entire waist, curling around you as if it were a curse.

But you think it’s a blessing. You saved Midoriya, right? God, please- he’s still alive, right?

Alone in the hospital, you cry again. It’s silent, the tears leaving in streams but you don’t have the energy to sob. You lean back into the uncomfortable, stiff pillows on your bed and let yourself sink into the mattress. Tears fall into your ears and your hair, but that’s okay.

You’re alive- Midoriya is alive. He has to be.

---

The next time you wake up, you’re not alone.

There’s a doctor on one side of your bed, her hands on you and doing something you don’t really know. On the other side, there’s a familiar shade of green sitting on a plastic chair. They’re both talking but it’s all muffled in your ears- you’re too drowsy to fully grasp what you’re seeing and what they’re saying.

But the green- it makes your heart feel warm.

“Deku,” you whisper.

And then you fall unconscious again.

---

You’re a lot more lucid when you wake up next. You’re once again alone in your little hospital room, but it doesn’t stay that way for long. Soon, the door straight in front of you opens, several people walking in at once. They’re doing their best to be quiet as they walk around your bed and you can’t help but smile.

“Hey, guys,” you croak- your throat more dry and hoarse than you realized.

Midoriya, Uraraka, Iida, Todoroki… and surprisingly, but maybe not so much, Aizawa.

“___!” Uraraka speaks first, a hand slapping over her mouth as she gasps. “You’re-” her eyes are already watering, “you’re awake!”

You give her a sad, broken smile- but before anyone else can say anything you watch as Aizawa makes his way over to the front of the bed. He stands right next to you, his eyes boring holes as he reaches forward and grabs at your forehead with his hand.

Something that’s meant to be threatening, but he’s much too gentle for the message to really stick.

“What were you thinking?” He asks.

“I wasn’t,” you tell him honestly, looking your teacher- your parental figure- in the eye as you speak. “I was scared. I was really, really scared, and I made a choice. But I’m not sorry.” Maybe you haven’t had a lot of time to fully process what happened- what consequences your choices might have- but this you are sure about. Your lip quivers slightly as you try to take a deep breath, holding Aizawa’s wrist gently and taking his hand off your head. “But I am sorry for worrying you.”

It’s silent for a long moment- the tension was tight enough to wrap around your throat and it’s hard to breathe, but eventually, it loosens as Aizawa’s tense shoulders sag and he huffs. He turns on his heel, heading right for the door. “Come on. Let’s give them some privacy,” he says, a hand reaching out toward Uraraka’s back and gently pushing her toward the door. Iida silently waves as he leaves alongside Todoroki, and then the door shuts- silence once again coming in waves as you sit alone with Midoriya for the first time.

“...You’re not sorry?” He asks, a hand grabbing the foot of the bed. You can see how it shakes.

You know it might not be what he wants to hear, but it’s the truth. Your eyes fall to your lap as you tug on the scratchy blankets with your fingers. “I’m not.” You tell him. “...You were dying.”

“So were you!” He suddenly yells and his expression flashes to an angry one as he frowns. “You… you were dying! And it was my fault!”

“It wasn’t!” You yell back at him. “It was my choice!”

“Well, you shouldn’t have made it! You- you weren’t in the right mind to make a choice like that!”

“But I did!” Your voice raises again- there’s a frantic pounding in your chest and you’re sure Midoriya can hear it through the heart monitor.

You don’t want him to be angry at you- you don’t want to fight. You just wanted to make it better.

“I made my choice, and I- I’m sorry it hurt you, Midoriya,” you keep fighting back your tears as you stutter along with your words. It’s hard- your eyes are stinging like crazy- but you don’t want to cry in front of him. You don’t want to make it worse. “I’m sorry I made you sad… I just… At that moment- I couldn't bear it. I couldn’t do it again- I couldn’t watch another person die. I didn’t want you to die!”

Quickly you use your hands to cover your face as you start hyperventilating. The tears come in bursts, and you can’t help it, so you try to wipe them away and cover them up. The beeping from the monitor is driving you crazy.

You feel something touch your wrist, and then fully grab it, pulling your hand away. Midoriya is by your side now, his eyes wet and his lips wobbly as he grabs your other wrist. He pulls them up to his lips, closing his eyes and placing your hands against his mouth as he stands there. You watch him with wide eyes, your breathing still coming out in funny waves, but it slowly starts to even out as Midoriya continues to calmly stand next to you.

“___,” He finally speaks. It’s squeaky and quiet- he clears his throat to try again as he finally opens his eyes and looks at you. “___, thank you… Thank you for helping me… But you have to be more careful, alright?” Midoriya’s hand reaches out, cupping your cheek and wiping away the tears that lie there. “Cause… cause I don’t want you to die either, okay? So please- please be more careful.”

“You too, okay?” You bite your lip. “No more going into fights. We… We don't do anything until we’re called in. If there’s an attack somewhere… you don’t do anything until we graduate. Okay?”

Midoriya clicks his tongue, giving you a watery smile as he shakes his head. “I guess that’s fair, huh?” You smile back and nod, and as Midoriya lets go of your wrists you place a hand on top of the one on your cheek.

You’re alive- Midoriya is alive. Things are okay.

Things will be okay.

697 notes · View notes

1zashreena1 · 4 years

Text

Emotional Spanking -8

18+, m/f, technically OCxDiego Jimenez [Power]

Summary: Princess has an emotional epiphany, a panic attack, a visitor, and a pleasant disciplinary action. In that order.

WARNINGS: Ridiculous descriptions and ‘the code is more like guidelines’ outlook on grammar. Is it OOC if the character was given essentially zero development in canon???

SMUT. SPANKING. FEELS. the L word, previously completed kink negotiations, plus size woman+fit man, soft!Diego, immediately followed by hard!Diego, overwhelmed Princess, He Licks Everything, is a relationship happening??, literally no one knows, not even them

A/N: Princess took on a life of her own and has essentially become an OC. There are infrequent mentions of her description (specifically as plus size) and her actual name in later pieces (its Bicki). She started as self-insert so she looks like me (plus size, white, short, blue eyes, curly hair). If that is not your thing, I totally understand. And do not feel obligated to read this, I will not be offended!

I’m not a fan of “plot” so be aware that most of this series is just meandering through their relationship, angst-fluff-smut whiplash style. But with dick jokes.

This piece is my baby. My heart is in this one. You have been warned.

TAGLIST: @chelsfic @symbiont13 @nicke0115 @bunnykjm @rosee-sensuelle @girlpornparadise @mandoplease @heresathreebee @xxsteph-enrixx @jetiikad @joalsglasses @mutantcookiesecrets @demoncatstone @squidlywiddly87 @lockedoutofmyotherblog @poeedamerons

Whoever is banging on your door at 6:45 on a Monday morning is relentless. You know it's not your downstairs neighbors; the second floor apartment is still empty because your landlord is actually very sweet and doesn't just screen future tenants for ability to pay the rent, he tries to make sure they'll fit in with the current tenants too. And the little family on the first floor has that loud-ass two year old. There's no blabbery baby talk and the sound of the impact is damn near at the top of the door. So it's definitely Stranger Danger.

You're just going to wait it out. They have to give up at some point. And you've just spent three days ignoring literally everything in the universe, so really, the odds are in your favor here.

Except… you live in a tiny little town. The population on the sign says 570, but they were being generous in counting all the farms within a 10 mile radius. No one comes to your door accidentally. People don't wander up three flights of exterior stairs on an old farmhouse in the middle of Pennsylvania Dutch Country while it's barely above freezing and still dark out. So there are two options:

Serial Killer.

Or, ugh, someone who knows you.

They're not stopping and it's starting to piss you off.

"This better be a fucking murderer!" You mutter as you stomp to the door. Impressive really, considering your pajama pants are over a foot too long and the apartment is carpeted. You reach the door and turn the deadbolt (banging still going on), unlock the doorknob (really, this is just excessive), and yank the door open with a war cry.

"WHAT THE FUCK!"

Its Diego.

Its Diego looking... odd? You take a split second to catalogue his appearance, it's like a reflex at this point because you can't not ogle him every time his existence is within your range of sight. He's not wearing a belt?? His shirt is half untucked and his jacket extremely wrinkled. One side of his hair is completely flat, as if he slept on it, and his squinted eyes are very, very red. Like he just came off a three day bender. Or he's been crying, your traitorous brain oh so helpfully supplies.

Diego, frozen mid-bang, also takes this time to look you up and down. His eyebrows raise and his brow furrows, clearly not impressed. You're wearing the same pair of pajamas as the last three days. Mismatched socks (one is orange, the other neon green), the overly long drawstring punjammy pants with one cuff rolled up from your stomping, a shelf bra camisole that lost its ability to function as a bra sometime in the last decade, no make up, and your somehow greasy yet simultaneously frizzy floop of curls.

Softly, but with great feeling, he rasps, "What the fuck, Princess?"

Oh no, this is Not Good. This is so, very, incredibly, horrendously bad. Your right arm tenses in preparation to slam the door in his face. His left hand shoots out to land on the door, his arm taut to hold it motionless. He's keeping the door pinned to the wall so he can continue taking up all of the open space of the doorway with his massive body. You snarl silently at him but let go of the door because you know this is the one man who actually can physically overpower you. And you don't need a shattered door to match your shattered pride.

You aim for unbothered dismissive bitch when you ask, "What are you doing here?"

You fail spectacularly when it comes out in a tremulous whisper.

Instead of waiting for an answer you spin around and go left into the living/dining/kitchen largest-space-in-the-apartment all-purpose room. You collapse on your tiny sectional and tuck your feet up under you to sit cross legged. You can hear Diego slam the door and follow after you. As he comes around the chaise of the sectional you reach behind yourself and grab the crocheted blanket your mom made off the back of the couch and desperately try to hide in it. All you want is to become invisible. Diego, of course, is not going to allow that. Asshole.

"What am I doing here? You have not answered anyone for three days! Not your normal phone, not the phone I gave you, not even a Facebook message from your mother! Your sister told Lisa that no one can reach you. Lisa called Julio! What have you been doing?? Clearly you have... gone nowhere…?" His speech started off barking but had shrunk to down to a horrified whisper as he took in the state of your apartment. Everything is everywhere. There are dirty dishes on the breakfast bar. Hair bands scattered across every horizontal surface. A lone lip balm is abandoned on the floor among a sea of used tissues.

--------

This is so not the woman he knows. There's no sarcastic snark of an answer. That woman would never leave something as important as a lip balm on the floor. Shit, she uses packing cubes for fuck's sake. As he kneels down to retrieve the tube of mint goop he hears it. The one sound that always makes him freeze up and opens a sinkhole in his belly: She's crying.

This unflappable woman who makes eye contact with all of his men, who never hesitates to lecture him on 'feminist theory', who gleefully stuffs an entire slice of pizza into her face while sitting in the VIP booth at the club with skinny models looking on in horror, and once called his bluff about putting on a show in the back of a limo by winking and telling Julio to watch them as she pushed him to his knees in front of her while simultaneously yanking up her miniskirt… is crying.

And it's probably my fault. He's almost certain this is his fault. Who else could make her emotional like this? Is someone else important enough to be worth her tears? It had better be my fault. If it's someone else I will kill them.

He looks up to see she has wrapped herself entirely in that weird fuzzy blanket her mother somehow made. The whole blanket creation process had been a mystery to him despite listening to her mother explain it step by step. She even has it over her head like a hood. Which would be adorably hilarious if she weren't ugly crying. Ew, please stop.

It only takes two shuffling steps on his knees to reach her, the living room is so small. He wraps his hands entirely around her forearms and pulls her own hands from her face. How is she beautiful with snot running from her nose? Only for her to flinch backwards. Okay, ouch.

"Look at me." He demands. She just scrunches her face harder. He tries a softer tone, "Please?" That does it. Those bottomless eyes come up and they are so, so lagoon green rather than the normal deepest blue of the open sea. How does she do that?

"Tell me. Talk to me, Princess. Let me in."

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

How does he do that? This large, intimidating, powerful, volatile man should not be able to make you feel safe of all things. Blurting out your feelings to Lisa had been terrifying. Realizing what had just come out of your mouth had brought on a sense of fear so acute it was nauseating. But here you are, staring into that pleading chocolate gaze and wanting nothing more than to answer him.

You can vividly remember the conversation that triggered this entire mess:

You came home from another insane weekend in New York and desperately needed to ruin your best friend's day with extremely detailed descriptions of your depravity. Lisa being Lisa, acted exaggeratedly horrified to hear that you demanded he fuck Franchesca in the bathroom so you could go down on her after to lick out his come while he then fingered you. Okay, maybe she wasn't exaggerating… much. But she knows you. She was not surprised that you wanted to watch him rail Franchesca over a bathroom sink but he insisted on trying to choke you with his tongue while he did it. And she is not shocked that you licked Franchesca off in under two minutes-- or came for him just after. Lisa is still laughing about the finality of Diego's abrupt dismissal of Franchesca the second you come all over his hand when she tells you, "That asshole is a full on freak, girl. Perfect for you!"

And the moment of your damnation, a soft sigh of an admission, "Yeah. I love him."

And you had removed yourself from all human contact for 3 days immediately following that. No social media, no phones, no internet. Nothing.

...so here you are.

His gigantic hands are wrapped around your forearms, fingers so long they overlap his thumbs. You're not afraid of those hands or their assumed capacity for violence. You should be; you know that, you're not stupid. Or maybe you are. After all, you trust this man who runs the most powerful fucking drug cartel in the western hemisphere and you've never even gotten a speeding ticket. While you've been lost in your musings, he released your forearms only to cup your face in those ridiculous hands. Those hands you love, you fucking dumbass.

No other man has ever touched you like this. Never touched your face with reverence, handled your body with an almost jealous possession, or ripped your heart open ever so gently with an earnest expression. He listens, enthralled, when you go off on a rant. He watches where you look while you're out and about. Like a hawk, he notices every shiny little thing you linger on, only for you to find it hidden in your luggage on the way home, wrapped neatly in a tiny box. You once told him that you don't like your elbows touched, it produces some weird overload sensation in your nervous system. And he never took your elbow in hand again, shifted to a hand on your lower back (or your ass, of course. Always a classic). He never seems to care what size is on the tag of the clothes he gets you, only that you like them and you like the way you look in them. He throws his head back with booming laughter when you scream obscenities at traffic. He always thanks you when you make food. Even if he does have to peel the cheese off… he just gives it back to you.

You may have gotten used to the private jet, the SUVs that cost more than your parent's house, the way every restaurant where he takes you has no prices, hell sometimes there isn't even a menu. You've even grown accustomed to the jarring dichotomy of coming home to an apartment the size of his penthouse bedroom while still dripping in precious stones and stuffing your new Louboutins in your purse for the three story climb.

But you're almost certain you will never be over the way your cardiovascular system seizes up when he captures you with a single look, or the functional failure of your lungs when his eyes crinkle with laugh lines, the complete implosion of your stomach when those damn dimples appear, or how your entire reproductive tract clenches with need when he licks his lips, and when your brain stutters to a halt because he lays those hands on your shoulders and swipes his thumbs up your jawline to stroke the pulse point under your ears while leaning his forehead on yours.

You realize you've just been staring at him like a moron for what must be for-fucking-ever. You can tell it's been a while because his eyebrows have lowered and he's starting to look a little defeated. You can feel the weight of his hands easing from your cheeks as he begins to pull back from you. Oh no you don't, you gorgeous fucking asshole.

You slap your hands down on his shoulders with entirely too much force and fling yourself off the couch directly into his lap with a level of violence usually reserved for people who won't put their phones away in a movie theater. He grunts with the sudden addition of your weight and teeters backwards for a second before smashing you into his body via the vise of his arms. You bury your face in his neck, where his stubbly beard catches on your stupid frizz, card your fingers through his amazingly soft hair, and start a whole new round of bawling.

He's kissing the side of your neck, nuzzling into you like he wants to be inside your skin with you. His fingers are spread wide across your back, he's trying to touch as much of you as possible all at once. You can hear a soft, keening whine but you have no idea which one of you is making it. Does it even matter?

The noise stops when you feel his teeth gently sink into the join of your neck and right shoulder. Oh. Guess it was him. His right hand dips low to palm your ass cheek and flatten you further against him. You automatically squeeze your legs around his hips in response.

You realize he's not hard. The shock of this revelation further delays you in understanding that someone is talking. And that someone is you.

"Please please, I'm sorry, please." Hiccup. "Its never- I've never been. I'm scared. It's too much and I'm scared." Another sob. "You keep leaving and it's just. What i-i-i-if you don't come back?" A stuttering inhaled gasp. "Who am I w-w-w-without you? What do I do?" A coughing sob. "You m-m-m-make me weak like this and I fucking h-h-hate it!" And you dissolve into another round of wailing sobs. You know you're practically screaming but you can't seem to stop. Your left hand is clawed into his hair and your right is fisted in the collar of his jacket, ruining the Armani. You're fairly certain the mess of snot and drool leaking out of your face isn't doing any favors for his shirt either.

He's just… letting you. Just letting you ruin his stupid expensive clothes and have a meltdown all over him. Like this is okay. Like it's no big deal. His left hand is rubbing circles over your ribcage while you howl. He releases your neck to raise his chin and tuck you up underneath it. Rubbing his goatee over your hair, then kissing the top of your head so incredibly gently. That can't smell good, you think hysterically.

Your sobs are finally starting to ease but he hasn't made a move to let go yet. You start to wonder how long he's going to kneel here holding you. Can it be forever?

It finally registers that his breathing is rough, labored. His shoulders are shaking under you. Now you're legitimately frightened.

"Diego?" You finally work up the nerve to speak. You hate the way your voice sounds like a small child. "...baby?" He is slowly stiffening under you and not in the fun way. You start to pull your face back from his neck only for his left hand to shoot up into your hair and hold you in place. It's not painful but it's definitely not soft either. Your breathing is starting to speed up. You instinctively know something important is about to happen. And it terrifies you.

He is holding you so tight its bordering on painful when he finally speaks into your hair.

"Why. Tell me why you fear that I never return. You are not weak. And this is not hate." He uses the hand in your hair to pull your head back. You fight it at first, it's just your nature. Then you squeeze your eyes shut and let him move you like a ragdoll. With no vision you don't know what he's doing until you feel the press of his forehead against your own. He bumps his nose against yours then rubs his bristled cheek against your soft one. You realize he's rubbing you like a cat and it makes you smile ruefully. My Murder Panther.

With his lips pressed right to your ear, he rumbles ever so softly, "Tell Diego, Princess."

Your whole body seizes up with the sensation. Oh, you fucking bastard. You would say it aloud except the undercurrent of fear in his voice gives you pause. He's afraid. He's afraid of you. Of the possibility of your rejection. Just like in the kitchen when he blurted out that he wanted to keep you. The way he froze, paralyzed in fear, after he whispered that he loved you. It's the same soft, lost little boy voice, the slight tremble in tone, the uncertainty.

And this time...this time, you can't take it. Tears slowly slip down your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut even tighter. You remember the night you met. His breathtaking smile when you turned the tables on him. Those damn dimples. When you felt the gun in the back of his pants. The moment you decided to do what you wanted and not what you should. Fuck it.

You press your own lips to his ear, his grip in your hair pliant enough to allow it. He's shaking under you. The fingers of his right hand are digging into your hip like claws, you find the pain grounding. Knowing that you're in control of this entire moment is both thrilling and terrifying. You could break him, right here and now. Fuck it.

And he would let you. This rich, powerful, enigmatic man who has already confessed his love to you. Fuck it.

"Diego.." You breathe into his cheek. He shudders under you and sighs out in a broken whimper.

Fuck it.

"Diego… I love you."

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

There's a long moment that nothing happens. Everything is frozen in place. He doesn't even breathe for fear that he'll wake up from this, just like the dream from a few weeks ago. When he does remember to inhale it's a raspy choke of a gasp. It hurts, he realizes. Is it supposed to hurt?

His eyes are burning. Taking an immediate red eye flight from LA and then driving three hours to her place was probably not his best plan, but he had been terrified. He had needed to have her exactly where she is right now.

He loosens the grip in her hair and turns his face into hers to rub his wet lashes on her cheek. Her hands are coming forward to frame his jaw, hands so tiny and soft. He has refrained from saying it himself for fear of scaring her off. He knows its selfish and he doesn't care, he wants to hear it again. Over and over. Until it stops hurting.

"Diego?" Her voice is so soft, harsh from crying yet still so high. He opens his eyes to see that she still has hers closed. He slides his goatee over her skin until his lips hover over hers.

"Again." He murmurs, "Please, my princess. Tell me you will let me keep you."

‐-------------------------

This couldn't hurt more if he'd reached into your chest and snatched your heart with his bare hands. He sounds so small and hopeful, so vulnerable. Am I his first? The first person to love him?

You can't stand this man begging for your affection. You find yourself wanting to give him everything. Your secret is already out; in for a penny in for a pound, right?

You take a deep breath and dive in head first because you're a fucking Scorpio, damnit.

"Diego, baby." You stroke his cheeks, petting down his stubble with the direction of the growth. Just like you would pet any other cat, you find yourself grinning. You open your eyes to see him so close its dizzying. His are shut but his expression is pure yearning, eyebrows drawn down and brow furrowed, jaw tensely solid, wet lashes stuck together in spiky pieces. "I love you."

He chokes and his eyes snap open to meet yours. Now it's your turn to muck up the basic process of breathing. There's so much everything in his eyes you feel like you're drowning. Every fucking romance novel cliche was right.

"Again." He demands. In typical Diego fashion, he wants it and he wants it now. You can't help your smile growing wide. There's my Murder Panther.

"I love you." You maintain eye contact while leaning your forehead against his. "I love you." Its like you can't stop yourself. You brush your lips over his goatee, he chases you back to ghost a kiss on your lips. "I love you." Its just pouring out of you now.

"I-" Kiss.

"Love-" Kiss.

"You." Kiss.

You expect him to keep kissing you. To slide that perfectly wicked tongue between your lips and drive you even further insane. But he doesn't. He pulls back to pant in your face, then closes his eyes and whimpers. You watch the play of emotions across his features, so quick you can't identify a single one. He finally gathers himself into some cohesive comprehensible thought and speaks:

"I dont. I have never. You have to, to do the...uhh… help?"

Or not.

You can hear so much in that soft rumble. Fear, relief, uncertainty, pleasure, hunger, but most of all, trust. He's trusting you. Trusting that you know what to do. Trusting that you can lead him on this new path. Trusting that you'll take care of him. This man who leads the largest criminal outfit on the continent and is intimidated by nothing, entrusts his being to you. It's like being stabbed in the heart, a searing pain that brings tears to your eyes and a painfully wide smile to your lips.

You slide the thumb of your right hand forward to swipe over his cheekbone. Your left hand goes back to stroke his hair. He nuzzles into your right hand, beard both soft and scratchy. Just like him, all contradictions. You can see his lashes flutter and you open your mouth to speak but…

Wait a minute.

Seriously???

"Diego… Are you staring at my tits?"

He's not even remotely repentant. "They are just. Right There! And no bra!"

You throw your head back and laugh. You laugh so loud it hurts your throat and brings tears to your eyes. You laugh until you're gasping for air. When you finally open your eyes and look at him your heart tries to crawl up and out of you just to get to him.

He's staring up at you, eyes wide with adoration and jaw hanging open in wonder. You bend forward to rest your forehead on his again. "You soft little Murder Panther." You don't even bother trying to hide your ridiculously pleased smirk.

His right hand slides up your hip to your lower back while the left lowers slowly from your hair to the back of your neck. His lips curl up at the corners. His gaze is still soft as he murmurs, "Only for you, my princess."

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

She's so soft in his arms. Relaxed and loose, trusting that he'll take her weight without buckling and keep her safe from falling. It makes his chest ache and his eyes burn. He raises his chin, bringing his lips to her, only she dives down for him at the same moment, colliding together just this side of too much, too fast. Always so eager, the thought makes him groan deeply. She shivers in response and whines, so high pitched it makes his ears ring.

She's curling her fingers in his hair, using the leverage to tilt his head to the angle she wants while he kisses her. He's rubbing his lips over hers, making sure to apply enough pressure that her fair skin will show the beard burn later. When he feels her left arm begin to tense he goes to draw back to look at her… only for her to yank on his hair. He yelps, and she seizes the opportunity to delve her tongue into his mouth. Holy fuck, she is perfect.

And then she's abruptly pulling back. No no no no no no!

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

Like a slap upside the head, you suddenly remember that you haven't showered...for three days. Fuuuuuuuck.

"Wait, wait Diego, hold on-" In the time it takes you to whine those five words he's already moved on to your neck. His left hand is threaded back into your hair and holds tight close to your scalp to gently but steadily pull. Just how you like it.

"Uhhhhhhhhh wuhhh…" Oh yes, so eloquent. He's rubbing that fucking goatee everywhere and you're about fourteen seconds away from passing out. You put your hands on his shoulders and start to push him backwards. He growls in displeasure and you whimper. Okay, maybe a little more, your traitorous brain isn't even helping here. You try again, "Baby, baby. I haven't. Oh god, yes. Uhh huh. Wait, just, can you pause? Mmmmmm… Oh my god, Diego stop!" Apparently barking works.

He growls again but manages to disengage from tormenting your neck with one last long lick. Do not think about that tongue!

"Fucking what?" He mutters, breathing hard. "I cannot have you? Now?" How very Diego. He's blinking at you in agitated confusion, pupils blown wide and flushed lips parted. His hand in your hair is shaking, the other has sunk back down to grip your ass very, very securely.

You can feel your face flushing with embarrassment. Your gaze darts off to the left, this is mortifying. "I haven't showered in three days. I smell." When you finally manage to make eye contact again he's grinning. Oh no.

"Oh si, Princess. I can smell you." His tone is arrogant, but the thickening of his accent betrays just how aroused he really is. His left hand slides down to your butt, too. That grin is all teeth, Pure apex predator.

"Yeah, that's what I me-yeeeeen!" He doesn't let you finish. Instead he slides both hands under you, where ass meets thigh, and picks you up to deposit you back onto the couch. You always squeal in delight when he picks you up, That is never gonna get old. The moment your weight is on the cushion he brings his hands forward and then around your inner thighs to spread your legs wide. Before you can even register what is happening he dives down into your lap, burying his face in your crotch and inhaling deeply.

While your brain has stalled in shock (because Are you fucking serious?) your hips have decided this is a great idea and lurched forward to practically hump his face. His exhale is the longest, loudest, sexiest groan you have ever heard. Your hands fly to his hair, but instead of pushing away they are definitely holding him in place. He's rubbing his face against you, turning his head from side to side, moaning endlessly like he can't get enough.

Your brain finally catches up and you abruptly cut off the whine that's been pouring out of you. You just have to open your mouth, "Are you fucking serious right now? You like that?!?"

With one last hard rub of his face against you, (FUCK YES, rub that bearded chin on my clit) he pulls back to look up at you. And if you thought he looked aroused before, he is positively wrecked now. His eyes are slitted in pleasure, brows drawn together with need, jaw slack, mouth open and panting. He doesn't keep you waiting for an answer. "Well, not your normal sexy bakery scent. You smell like you but just, more. Damn delicious." He growls.

Okay, two things:

You file 'sexy bakery' away for later discussion because wtf, lol.

And. And he really means that. He's dead serious. He has a death grip on your inner thighs, his hands are like steel. As if he's afraid you'll try to push him away, to stop him. Fat fucking chance, babe.

You cup his face with both hands and smile softly down at him. In wondrous amazement you whisper, "Holy fuck, I love you." The transformation of his expression from blissfully needy to Horny Murder Panther is damn near instantaneous.

"Good. Now gimme this pussy!" He orders.

You laugh, but your hands fly to the drawstring of your pants in obedience. He erupts into a flurry of actions, pulling his jacket off to dump it on the floor behind him. He only gets as far as unbuttoning the cuffs on his sleeves before giving up and just ripping the shirt up and over his head to join his jacket. The sight of solidly muscled chest rippling like that short circuits your brain. What were you even doing? Was it drooling? Its definitely drooling now.

His hands come back to your thighs, fingers digging deep into your soft flesh. He yanks you forward until your ass is hanging off the couch. You snap back to awareness and start frantically pushing your pants down. He grabs the waistbands of both your pants and underwear and hauls the whole mess down your legs at what has to be record speed. Before you have a chance to do anything else he's burying his face into your pussy like a starving man.

He uses his flattened tongue to give you a long, slow, torturous lick from the bottom of your entrance to your clit. Your back arches to mirror his movements while you sob in pleasure. Then he does it again. And again. Over and over in an endless loop of wet decadent friction. He grips the backs of your thighs, the heels of his palms brushing your ass while his thumbs are buried in the creases where leg becomes hip. He pushes your legs back more yet, widening you further and practically folding you in half. You can't even bring yourself to be worried about how your squishy stomach compresses into rolls. Diego certainly doesn't care.

He changes tactics to latch onto your clit. Sealing his lips around you, he alternates between hard suction and softly sliding his tongue up under your hood to drive you mad. The direct pressure is almost too much, you whimper and squirm after only a few rounds of this. He leaves off and you think you're catching a break to breathe. You are so, so wrong.

He goes lower to literally lick you from bottom to top.

With a shriek, both of your hands fly to his head. "Holy fuck. Oh my god, oh my god. Baby. You. Oh god. Baby, fuck yessss… " What started out as some kind of blasphemous incantation ends in you hissing with unadulterated sin. He moans against you in response but doesn't stop. The incessant long strokes of his tongue have you closer to orgasm faster than you can ever remember it happening before. Your legs are shaking and tears are pouring from your eyes. You reach your right hand down to touch his left where he's holding your thigh, needing something, anything, to ground you. And he laces his fingers with yours.

Your heart clenches. "Diego…" you whisper for him, sobbing from the intensity of everything. With a choppy groan he refocuses on your clit, ferociously determined. Your entire abdomen is tense, you're wound too tight. He presses his flattened tongue against you even harder, shortening his strokes just to cover your clit. It feels infinite, you can't tell where one lick ends and the next begins. Just constant, unyielding pleasure. It's too much, holy fuck it's too much, never stop.

Everything clicks into clear focus. Your pussy compresses tight on nothing, and then you snap. Your whole body seizes up with your orgasm. For one long, terrifying moment your heart pauses and your breathing stops. It all comes crashing back together and you suck in a lungful of air with a choking sob. Waves of agonizing pleasure wash over you, your body shuddering with each one. He's still pressing that incredible, miraculous, entirely evil tongue to your clit. Holding fast and drawing your climax out as long as possible. Growling against you with heavenly vibration. As the rounds of your clenching cunt ease in both intensity and frequency he slowly slides up and off of you.

He rests his sweaty forehead against the inside of your right thigh, panting so hard his breath is hitting you with almost physical force. You pry your right hand off your own thigh, keep your fingers laced together, and bring his hand up to your chest where you lay it over your heart.

You keep your eyes closed while you brokenly cry. "I love you, Diego."

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

His right hand snakes up your body to slide around the back of your neck. He's pulling you forward, sitting you upright. His left hand slides back down to your hip where he grips you tightly and pulls toward him simultaneously. Your eyes pop open when you feel like you're going to fall off the couch.

Diego scoops you back into his lap with your momentum and proceeds to just stand up. You yelp in surprise as your arms shoot around his neck to hold on. It takes a second to realize that you're essentially just sitting on his left forearm, his right hand is still gripping the back of your neck tightly. You moan in pure arousal, hiding your face against his shoulder. The fact that he just tosses you around like a ragdoll is so mind-meltingly hot. The sheer bulk and breadth of him never ceases to render you speechless. There's just so much Diego that he blocks out everything else. Its overwhelming in every sense. Let me just drown in Diego.

By the time you've contemplated your fate, bodice-ripper romance novel style, he's made it halfway down the hall to your bedroom. You tuck your legs tighter around his torso, the hallways in an old farmhouse aren't exactly spacious, and he purrs against you in response. Your body's physical reaction is so strong that you choke. Is there anything about this man that does not turn me on?

He makes it to your bedroom without incident (a miracle, really, considering it looks like a bomb went off in your apartment) and deposits you on the bed. He's been so incredibly gentle with those huge hands that it takes you by surprise when he firmly grasps your jaw and growls at you. "Look at me."

You swallow, hard, and open your eyes. He's staring at you so intensely, his gaze unreadable. He uses his grip on you to slowly push you down onto your back. You don't even try to fight it. You're not sure what he's doing but it's very clear that he needs to do it. He squeezes your jaw with purpose and you blink up at him in confusion. He cocks his head and regards you like… well, like prey.

It's been a long time since he has made you nervous like this.

He finally releases your jaw to slide his hand down your throat and rest it over your pounding heart. He pulls the neckline of your camisole away from your body then allows it to softly snap back against you. "Take this off." His growl is quiet, but it still sets off alarm bells in some primal part of your brain. He sees the hesitation in your eyes and barks out, "Now!"

You whip the top off over your head before he loses any more patience and rips it off of you in shreds. His hand is back on your jaw, ensuring you look nowhere but at him. His breathing is harsh, you can see a muscle tic in his left cheek, and his eyes are wild. Feral, you shiver with the thought. "Stay, Princess." He orders softly and releases his hold on you.

You don't dare move.

He straightens back upright and his hands go to his pants. You have a brief moment of hysteria, Have fun getting those impeccably tailored pants over that massive cock, but you manage to stifle the thought and keep your expression steady. He's toeing off his shoes while undoing the button, then pulling the zipper down. You watch his hands in fascination. It's an obsession you have no plans of shaking. He manages to get the pants over his hips with no problems, a complete lack of underwear always expedites the process.

He moves to climb on the bed and you spread your legs for him like a reflex. This man has had a profound effect on you. Before you get too far he throws his left leg over both of yours, straddling you and effectively immobilizing you. You reach up for him as he plants his elbows just outside of yours and cups your face in those hands you so adore. Your own hands land on his shoulders and he allows it, for now. You try to urge him down on top of you, but he's not budging. You want to touch more, feel all of him, but he's just looming over you to block out the rest of existence.

His hands are like iron, caging you in to bend you to his will. His eyes search your face, you have no idea what he's seeking. Finally, he rumbles down at you, "Do you know what you did?"

The question is soft, dangerously so. You can feel yourself starting to shake. You have a sneaking suspicion that there is no right answer so you just shake your head in a 'no'. He cocks his head again and you find yourself blinking rapidly. His eye twitches when he finally answers, "You scared me."

You're shocked. Never in a million years would you have expected this man to straightforwardly admit fear. He leans in close to your face and your breathing hitches. "I'm sorry." You whimper. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I never meant to scare you." You don't even recognize your own voice. Its small, plaintive and timid.

He moves back upright and kneels over you. His expression is only becoming more fierce. You start to draw your legs out from under him, curling up some, instinctively seeking to protect yourself. "You didn't mean to?" He rumbles incredulously. His eyebrows are rising and you can feel actual anger radiating off of him.

He snaps, "You didn't mean for me to drop everything I was doing?" And faster than you can comprehend his right hand comes down on the outside of your left thigh. The sharp sound of the slap echoes in your tiny room. Your jaw drops in shock, then the pain blooms out from the point of impact. You look from his face to his hand, then back again. "Diego, I--"

"You didn't mean for me to cancel two drop receivements and a business meeting?" His hand comes down again, but you're already moving. You try to turn away, rolling your legs to the right. His hand lands on your left hip, fingers long enough to catch the outside of your cheek. You shriek and start trying to escape in earnest. His left hand shoots down and grabs both of your wrists, stopping you from pulling yourself away from him. "Diego! Wait, I don't--"

He clamps his legs around yours and uses your momentum against you to turn your hips entirely to the side. He has both your wrists pinned down in a bruising grip. Your shoulders are flat on the bed, there's nowhere you can hide your face. "No! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause--"

"You didn't mean for me to take an immediate flight across the entire country?" This time the slap lands fully on your ass. And it hurts. You yelp as tears spill over your cheeks. "No! I'm sorry! Please--"

"You didn't mean for me to drive two hours from the airport after I've been awake for almost two days?" His volume has risen, he's practically yelling. His hand comes down again, lower this time to catch the bottom of your cheek, where it becomes the tender skin of thigh. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! No I didn't--"

"You didn't mean for me to find you here like this? Having some sort of tantrum like a child?" He roars. This time there are three slaps, one right after the next, all landing in the same spot. Your shrieks are coming out in stutters, interspersed with gasping inhalations. "No! No no no! I'm sorry! I'm sorry Diego! I'm sorry!" You're sobbing with it, choking on humiliation. You can't hide your face, there's nowhere to run from this.

"Or you didn't mean for me to find out that you cared? Huh? That you love me!" His voice cracks over the sound of his near constant strikes. You're wailing in tears, "Yes! Yes! Okay! Damnit Diego, I'm sorry! I was afraid! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry…" you dissolve into incoherence.

He releases your wrists and grabs your face again. You try to push him away, but you're too weak. "Look at me! Look at me, Bicki!" he hisses. You shake your head no. "Mirame, Princesa! Please, please." His voice is hoarse, dripping with fear and desperation. You open your eyes to find him right in your face. His expression is twisted up with pain and desire. "You cannot do this! I have to know you are safe! Protected! Let me keep you!"

It suddenly dawns on you what he means with 'keep'. He wants to protect you yes, but what he really means is 'have' you. Present in his life. At his side. Your heart in his keeping.

His hands are stroking you, over your hair, down your arms. He grips your hands tightly, bringing them up to his face. You hold onto him, your only constant in this. "Diego.." you hiccup. Then, with no warning and no conscious command on your part, you slap him. Hard.

You're both frozen in place, equally shocked. Staring at each other in escalating tension. You sniffle and it launches him into action.

He grabs your left hip in a bruising grip, pushing your leg to your chest, pulling it out from under him so he can get between your thighs. You frantically claw at his shoulders, his biceps, anything to pull him closer. You need him. Right now. You need him so deep inside you that you don't know where he ends and you begin.

He slides home in one powerful thrust. Your whole back arches and you grimace in excruciating ecstasy. The stretch of it burns, it hurts so perfectly. His left hand is wrapped around your left thigh, holding you open for him, his right on your left shoulder, keeping you steady and still for him to bottom out. He stays there, grinding his cock into you as far as possible. Still trying to push the last few inches into you. Your vision blacks out and you scream yourself hoarse with your orgasm.

When you come back to awareness he's kissing all over your face, murmuring your name. You turn your face to his, seeking. He fits his lips over yours and you both moan. You pet over his shoulders, reach back up to tug on his hair.

He starts a steady rhythm of long, slow strokes. You can feel every damn inch of him and it's so incredibly, deliriously good. You open your mouth to him and he deepens the kiss, tongue moving to match his hips. He tastes like you. All you can smell is his cologne, underscored by pure lustful male. This is indescribable. Each and every one of your senses is nothing but Diego.

His right hand glides down to cup your breast, hefting the weight of it and rubbing his thumb over your nipple. You break off the kiss to throw your head back, whining in pleasure. His lips trail down your neck, beard leaving fire in his wake. He laves his tongue over your nipple before latching on and suckling. You can feel another orgasm approaching, and so can he.

"That's it, Princess. Come for me. Show Diego what a good girl you are." His hoarse voice and soft commands push you right over the edge. You're rippling down around him, sobbing and nodding. Yes, yes, your perfect little princess.

He picks up the pace, the force of his thrusts rocking the bed into the wall with a steady banging. You can't seem to care. You're whining and pleading, "I'm sorry, please please. Yes baby, yesyesyesyesss…"

"I know," he coos softly to you. "You are so very sorry, aren't you?" You're nodding desperately in agreement. "Will you do this again? Huh?" You shake your head 'no' so fast it makes you dizzy. His words would be condescending if his tone wasn't so very emotional. It's okay. You need him to vocalize what you can't. And he knows it. He knows you.

He pushes your left leg out to the side, sliding his right hand up your thigh to grip your hip. His left hand travels down your back between you and the bed. Through nothing but raw power he lifts your wide hips and rotates you so you're flat on your back and fully open to him. You keen at the show of strength, just like he knew you would.

"Are you going to be a good little Princess for Diego?" When you don't answer he pulls back and stops. Your eyes snap open and you whimper in desperation. He's watching you, waiting. His brows are drawn together in concentration and his jaw is set tight. Those beautiful brown eyes are nearly black with hunger. He digs his nails into your hips while he waits.

You struggle with gathering enough oxygen before you can answer, "Yes, yes I'll be good. Be good for you, I promise!" You aren't sure who is in control of your mouth right now. You don't feel like you have any control. He rewards you by filling you up completely. Your eyes roll back into your head, taking all of him at once always steals your breath.

He stays fully sheathed and leans over you. Bringing your knees up to your shoulders and his face to yours, he takes your lips under his. You sob into his mouth, you can feel the head of him pressing against your cervix. He nips your bottom lip then swipes his tongue over the sting. "Does my princess want this? Does she want Diego to keep her?"

You cling to his shoulders. Closing your eyes in chagrin, you nod. He keeps his face pressed to yours. "Tell Diego. I need to hear it!" He hisses.

"Yes. Want you to keep me. Please." you whisper, broken and needing. He rears back and starts a frantic pace. His thrusts are short and brutal, stabbing directly into the core of you. You can do nothing but howl in pleasure and take it. Your spasms around him are nearly constant, one after another you come in rolling waves. You're begging, or cursing, hell, you have no idea what's coming out of your mouth at this point.

He brings the weight of his torso down on you, crushing you into the bed. "Come! Come now! Come, my princess, come for your Diego!" His words are a command, but his voice is begging.

You're bawling again. "Yes, yesyesyes. Diego, Diego pleeeeease!" You have no idea if he can understand you. You're pretty sure only dogs could hear that. "Please Please please please please, baby. Please. Need you. I love you!"

He buries his face in your hair and drops your legs in favor of engulfing your shoulders in his embrace. You wrap your legs around his hips, you have to keep him as close to you as possible. Your arms snake around his torso, squeezing tight to bring your chest up against his. He's grunting, his thrusts becoming erratic.

Then you hear him. His voice is quiet, words pleading, "Come. Let me keep you. Please, please. C-come. Princess, need you. Come home with me!" You nod tightly, sobbing silently as he freezes up in orgasm. He chokes out a groan, then collapses on top of you. You welcome the weight of him. He nuzzles into your neck, tickling you with beard and a big sigh. "Love you."

It hurts. It hurts deep in your chest. You hope it never stops hurting like this.

He retreats out of you, faster than you would like. You're pretty sure he forgets just how large he is. You feel wrung out, stretched out of shape and hollow. He pulls his right arm out from under you and rolls off to flop face-up on your right side. His left arm is still trapped under your back. Do you care that it's lumpy and uncomfortable? Nah. You unearth your right leg from under both of his and he makes a whiny huff about it.

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

He's struggling to catch his breath. He didn't mean for things to get so… out of hand. So to speak. She always does this to him. She withholds her more serious emotions and it drives him crazy. She never makes a fuss about his responses, never freaks out when he shows her affection, never gasps in shock when he gives her his ultimate deference. She acts like she has no deep feelings for him and it makes him want to beat it out of her. Apparently that is the correct method.

Her body is relaxed and casual on his arm. But he's greedy and doesn't want her to seal off all those delectably vulnerable emotions she just displayed. Soft, pliant, obedient, needy Princess is his new favorite.

He rolls her into his side with his trapped left hand while rumbling softly, "Come here." And she does. She snuggles into his side willingly and it makes him feel so soft that it's disgusting. Or maybe that's the guilt. She didn't agree to the spanking before hand. She didn't even know it was coming. Honestly, neither had he. His next thought feels like a stab to the lungs. What if she is afraid of me now? Did I hurt her? This is disgustingly emotional.

"Princess?" She sighs a soft 'Mmmm' in answer. She burrows into the coarse hair and soft skin of his underarm. Is, is she sniffing me?? He decides that ignoring her utterly adorable weirdness and addressing the ceiling is his safest option at this point. "Are… are you hurt? Did I hurt you?"

Her left hand freezes on his chest. Her face slowly creeps into his field of vision from the bottom left corner. Her expression is… mystifying. He keeps his head still but moves his eyes to his peripheral vision to squint at her in concerned concentration.

Slowly, ever so slowly, her lips curve up in an absolutely evil grin. That damn left eyebrow arches imperiously and he is completely certain that she will be the death of him.

"Did you hear me use the safeword?"

#Damnit Diego #murder panther #rough me up then dick me down #24 fucking 7 hours in this house #soft kitty #zash writes #all the feels #this is gross #love confessions

30 notes · View notes

btgalaxy · 5 years

Text

Redamancy

➳ pairing: jimin x reader

➳ genre: college!au, angst, smut, fluff (all, as per)

➳ word count: 5.2k

warnings: drinking, fingering, oral, unprotected sex

Masterlist / Next

“Y/N, I’m gay.”

Your heart falls to the pit of your stomach all of a sudden, and it churns there till you feel a bit sick. What?

“I wanted you to hear it from me first.” Your best friend takes a deep breath, “So I just thought I’d say it. I’d just do it. I’m gay. I’m one hundred and ten percent gay. Entirely.”

You feel the tears stinging at your eyes, but you couldn’t possibly cry in heartbreak after your best friend, and the man you’ve loved for nearly eight years now, has just confessed his deepest secret to you. Of course he would tell you first. He knows he can tell you anything. You just didn’t want it to be this.

“Joonie,” You choke, forcing a smile, “Joonie I- I mean- I mean, wow, just- wow.”

He rubs the back of his neck a little awkwardly, smiling down at his lap as he nods slowly, “Yeah, it’s something I’ve- I’ve known about for a while, and I didn’t want to come out in high school because you know people are so immature, and I wasn’t even so sure about it myself, so I thought I’d wait till college where people are more open and understanding and I felt more certain and-“ He takes in another breath, “And I met someone.”

You can’t help but allow your feigned grin to falter momentarily, before quickly regaining a faux supportive demeanour, “You met someone?”

“I did. And I want you to meet him. Y/N, he’s perfect. He’s kind, thoughtful- a great cook. You’d love him. You will love him; you’ve got to meet him. Soon- tomorrow?”

Everything’s moving so fast it’s like a universal remote has been pushed to fast forward just to mess with your head. You can barely process it now that everything’s being sprung on you like this, let alone make plans to meet the love of your life’s boyfriend.

“Err- I- I don’t know if I’m busy.”

“Oh..”

“But I want to meet him,” You quickly add on, disappointed in yourself for not being excited for him, “He- he sounds perfect.”

Joon smiles, taking your hand and bringing it up to his mouth to press a kiss to your knuckles, then holding your hand in his tightly against his lips, “Thank you, Y/N.” He grins wider, “There’s nothing more that I want than my best friend and boyfriend to get along. I’ll go call him now- he’ll be so excited!” Joon presses another kiss to your hand before clambering to his feet and jogging into the corridor of your dorm to retrieve his phone from his bag.

You remain on the floor, hands in your lap, completely frozen. Gay? Joonie is gay? Your Joonie?

It was never meant to turn out this way. You’ve known each other since you were kids; after you were paired up as the two donkeys in the school’s Nativity and bonded over your mutual competitiveness as to who was the most mule-like — which you definitely better at, no matter how adamant Namjoon was — and then you were suddenly best friends, attached at the hip and unyieldingly inseparable. It wasn’t until you reach your early teens you began to fall for him, admiring the way he curled his lips when he was focused, and how he always ensured that you were happy and untroubled before looking after himself. He was always so kind to you, always there, always supportive. You slowly but surely fell head over heels, irrevocably in love with him. By 17 you were absolutely smitten that you wouldn’t even bat an eyelash at another boy, completely satisfied with your Joonie, and the little romantic attention he paid you.

He never had girlfriends, and you were thankful. Even though you were too wuss to confess to him your long simmering feelings you didn’t want him to find anyone else. Perhaps it was selfish that you didn’t want him to find a partner in that way, but then again it would tear you apart. It is tearing you apart. Wrenching your heart from your chest and leaving you empty, hollow, devoid of emotion as your lips part slightly to exhale. It’s like the love that once kept you sane and warm has abandoned you, and now you’re suffocating from the cold reality that he doesn’t love you. He never will. Oh God the tears — you can’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

You hear his laughing in the corridor, on the phone with the man he loves. The pain in your chest twists uncomfortably, drowning you in all the emotions he’ll never reciprocate. You can never tell him. Is that the worst part? You’ll always have this secret from him, these secret feelings that will always — always — be there, that he’ll never know. He’ll never know your pain and your longing. And you don’t want to hurt him like that. You’re sure he’d suffer if he knew how you felt, so he must never know.

“I love you.” You hear him speak the words down the phone, then repeat them, then repeat them again. You feel nauseous the way he giggles infatuatedly before mumbling a ‘stop’ with the whiney tone he adopts when he gets flustered. They must be intimate in some way. Of course they are. Don’t be stupid, they’re together. They’re together.

“I’m so glad to get that off my chest,” Joon sighs, strolling in with an ample grin on his lips with relief strewn across his features. He looks so relaxed, and you’re the absolute antithesis. He slumps onto the fabric sofa you’re sat in front of, picking up the remote to turn on the TV, “So do you feel like a movie then? I feel like you might need some processing time.” He laughs again, not the same way he laughed on the phone, but the way he’s laughed with you all your life.

You look away from him, laboured breaths staggering from your lips, “I actually — I don’t feel too great. I think I might just need to go cool down for a bit, if that’s okay?”

The room becomes uncomfortably silent, with only the nearly silent volume of the TV humming in the background. Joon shifts in his seat, straightening his back as you finally turn to look at him, lower lip caught between your teeth as he goes to say something and then stops himself. You frown, watching him concernedly.

“It’s not,” He pauses, conflictedly, “You aren’t, like, uncomfortable? Are you? With me being… gay and all?”

You freeze, but not long enough for him to notice, “No, no, God, no, Joonie, I love you no matter what.” The reality of those words tugs achingly at your heartstrings, “I honestly feel unwell. I probably just ate something bad.”

“Oh, okay. Alright, that’s fine — do you need a lift home?” He nods, relieved of any stress again.

“I have my car.” You purse your lips awkwardly.

He shakes his head, squinting his eyes uncomfortably as he internally smacks himself, “Of course you do.”

“But I’ll be in class tomorrow.” Why is this so awkward?

He smiles, “I know, Y/N. You never play hooky.”

You exhale, forcibly swallowing back the pain for a moment and allowing a slight smile to poke at the corner of your lips, “I’ll see you tomorrow then, yeah?”

“Tomorrow.”

After hugging Namjoon goodbye and practically racing out to your battered car, you pull out of the drive, navigating through about two minutes worth of streets before pulling over to really let go. And there’s no holding back.

You bawl. Like ugly, snot everywhere, puffy eyes, spit on the steering wheel weeping. And it’s relentless, with make up running down your face and the sound of your sobs echoing throughout your messy little car you nearly think it’s the end of the world. And it feels like it is. Like everything’s crashing down and all those plans you’ve had in your head for years are now world’s away.

You recall all those times you’d spent laying awake at night, tracing the billowing patterns in the ceiling as you detailed the plans for your future. When you would finally muster up the courage to tell Namjoon everything you’ve been feeling for years, and of course he would confess back saying the exact same. Then you’d kiss him, and there’d be fireworks and explosions and you’d sizzle with chemistry because that’s how it was supposed to be. All those movies and romance novels couldn’t have been lying. And then he’d take you home, and those boys you slept with to make sure you knew how to pleasure a man you could finally utilise on the one you’ve wanted to since the beginning. The reason everything was for. He was everything you worked towards, worked to be perfect for. Now what’s left?

You choke back another sob, and a man jogging in high-vis seems to notice you, and he glances at you briefly before snapping away. You don’t care if he sees. He doesn’t know your heartbreak.

Joon has probably invited his boyfriend over since you’ve gone. He’s probably going to kiss him, and shower him in affection and then make love to him and tell him how perfect he is. And you’re going to be here, crying in your car with mascara run all the way down to your neck, miserably regretting everything you’ve ever done.

You close your eyes, and you take a deep breath.

You can’t do that, you can’t do this. Before you can think twice, your foot is on the accelerator again, pulling away from the curb towards that dingy bar by the bowling alley near your dorms where you’re sure you’ll find some sort of a distraction, whether that be in the form of alcohol or some creepy college boys looking for a no-strings fuck. You’re good at those.

About 20 minutes of making yourself look like you haven’t experienced an irreversible heartbreak and been crying in your car like a scared child, you enter the bar, buttons of your shirt now opened to reveal a copious portion of your cleavage and a red lip gloss left in your car by a friend smothered generously across your lips to make them shine.

You slump onto a stool next to a man with silvery-blonde hair, “Two tequila shots, please.”

The bartender nods, instantaneously whipping round to take two shot glasses off the shelf and retrieve a tequila bottle from the glass collections. You sigh, plonking your elbow on the sticky surface of the bar and inelegantly squashing you face into the palm as you feel the silver haired man’s eyes on you, piercing the slope of your lips when his gaze falls to the bulge of your chest. Pervert. Well, at least someone wants you.

The barman slides the two shots forwards, “6 quid, love.” You smack your lips together.

“Expensive,” You mumble, fumbling into the back pocket of your jeans to retrieve your card when the man beside you pipes up.

“I’ll get it,” He smiles, holding his card up to the machine as you watch him, near emotionlessly.

“Thanks,” You retort unenthusiastically, and rather than looking at him you instead hastily throw back the liquor to revel in the burn it brings, something other than the churning you feel in your stomach and your chest. You just want to forget. You just want to forget it all.

“Slow down,” He chuckles from beside you, “We have all night.”

At this point you take the chance to look at him, admire him. He’s handsome, but nothing compared to Namjoon. You aren’t sure anybody ever will surpass him. But this guy certainly looks at least fuckable, and you need something to numb the pain.

“What’s your name?” He grins, manoeuvring in the seat to open his thighs and lean towards you.

“Y/N,” You reveal, turning to look back at him.

“I’m Jimin.”

Park Jimin. You’ve heard the stories, but you’ve never seen him face to face, and certainly not this close. He’s the campus’ most notorious fuckboy, and he’s unquestionably slept with half the school. Ostensibly one girl became obsessed with him, and then she had to transfer when he kept turning her down and she got all depressed and suicidal. So, he’s a dickhead, and he doesn’t seem like the type of guy to do relationships. Perfect.

You take in a deep breath, trying to decide if your intoxicated enough yet to ask: “So, we gonna fuck then?”

Apparently, the question falls from your lips anyway, and he’s immediately taken aback, “I’m sorry, what?” He chuckles incredulously, even more engrossed by you.

“I really doubt you bought me those shots because you wanted to ‘get to know me’,” You raise your eyebrows, “And I’m not looking for anything serious either.”

He smiles with a glint of adoration in his eyes, “Wow, you are a keeper, aren’t you?” He shifts slightly closer, placing a hand on your leg, “What’s got you down then? An ex?”

Namjoon. With his boyfriend. Probably together right now with their hands on each other and Joonie’s loving kisses pressed all over his body with his marks on his skin and his continuous declarations of love that you’ve been pining for since you were 13 and-

“Let’s go.” You don’t want to think about it anymore, and instead you grab him by the wrist and head directly to the toilet doors.

“Wait, wait,” Jimin pulls you to a halt, “Let’s just go back to mine, do you really wanna screw in some dirty bathroom?”

You throw yourself towards him, uncaring of the small audience in the bar as you mould your lips to his and thrust your chest onto his own. You slide your tongue across his lips before delving into his mouth while he instantly reciprocates, dancing the wet muscle with yours and rocking his head back and forth to match your rhythm. Only seconds pass when you pull back to take his lower lip between your teeth to suck lightly, and he groans as he aggressively tugs on your waist.

“Fuck it, the bathroom will do.”

You stumble frantically into a cubicle, fumbling clumsily with the lock past Jimin’s lips to slide the bar across while he buries his face into your cleavage, leaving you littered with purple marks he sucks diligently into the skin. You mutter a curse under your breath as you still can’t get the latch shut, Jimin’s hands now at the buttons of your shirt to reveal more of your flesh.

“I can’t get,” You groan, “The fucking lock shut.” Jimin suddenly snaps back, breathing heavy to allow you to swiftly lock the door.

“Better?” He smirks, smugly.

“Shut up.” You tell him, launching back into him to devour his lips, working your tongue against his fervently. It takes only a moment for him to resume his endeavours to rid you of your shirt, and you promptly comply as you pull back to pull it over your head. He immediately grunts at the sight, kneading his hands over the flesh of your waist to grind you against his crotch. You can already feel the raging boner beneath his tight trousers, clearly painfully hard as he has to bury his face into your neck as you thrust your pelvis forwards, teasing him with a slow roll of your hips.

He doesn’t allow you to taunt him any longer, wrenching both your wrists from around his neck and walking you to the opposite cubicle wall, briefly stumbling over the toilet before holding both your hands above your head in one of his own.

“Don’t like submitting, eh?” You mock, a slight grin lingering on your lips. He’s swift to respond, however, shoving a hand shamelessly down the front of your jeans and straight to your core. You’re quickly silent again. He smirks, still holding your hands above your head as he skilfully unbuckles the top of your jeans and returns to the warmth of your centre.

“My God, you’re soaked,” He comments, sliding a finger through your folds as you fall speechless, incoherent underneath his thumb pulsing against your clit. Your head lulls back against the cubicle wall as your back arches to thrust your chest forwards, one of his digits slipping slowly inside of you and curling upwards to trace your g-spot.

“Fuck…” You curse, mouth wide open for him to catch you with another kiss, sloppy and wet as he begins gently slipping in and out of you, agonisingly slow. You can feel his satisfied smile through the kiss, and you can imagine the shit-eating look on his face if you just open your eyes for a second, but you don’t want to think about that. Instead, you concentrate on the slow building climax, churning in your lower belly as you feel yourself reaching the edge. And he pulls back.

“You- you-,” You stammer, watching him bring the finger up to his lips, “I was nearly fucking-“

“I want you to come when I’m inside you, gorgeous. I want you to know it’s me making you feel this way.” He sensually rolls his arousal-covered fingers over his tongue.

“It was your fucking hand anyway!” You retort, so sexually frustrated it’s beginning to hurt and making you want to squirm and whine.

He presses himself against you again, “Careful, gorgeous, or you won’t be coming at all.”

You choose to keep your mouth shut after that, rather pulling your wrists from his hold with a determined expression and pursed lips to unbuckle his jeans with urgent haste, yanking the material down with his boxers as well for his erection to spring up and bounce against his stomach, red and veiny and dripping with pre-cum.

You salaciously drop to your knees, wrapping a small fist around his girthy length to pump tightly, running your thumb gently over the slit to make his hips buck. You watch his expression closely as his neck rolls around, and then he looks down at you, and you make eye contact beneath your lashes.

“Oh fuck, if you look at me like that I’ll come before I can even fuck you,” He moans, shutting his eyes again and exhaling loudly. You snigger silently to yourself, grazing your velvet tongue across the tip of him, teasingly up and down his shaft.

“Y/N,” He growls, and you laugh again before taking as much of him into your mouth as you can handle, tears pricking at your eyes as he thrusts forwards slightly, hitting the back of your throat and making you gag. The hair falling beside your face is brought away into a make-shift ponytail by Jimin, gaining control again to steer the pace of your head bobbing back and forth.

A seemingly endless stream of profanities explode from his lips, gushing out so effortlessly as you push harder onto him, looking for some kind of way to gain dominance, but he holds onto your hair securely, unforgivingly. He intermittently stops you, holding your head as his cock seems to pulse even redder than before and he needs a second to stop himself from finishing, but then he brings you back down on him, mouth wide open and strings of saliva dripping down your chin.

“You can’t blow me like this, I can’t hold myself back,” He breathes, offering you a hand up from the grotty flooring and back up to his lips where he can taste himself on you. He then reaches for your own jeans, beginning to lower himself to your core when you stop him.

“Maybe another time,” You say, rather wetting your lips as you bring him back up to cackhandedly tug down your trousers, allowing them to fall and pool at your feet.

“There’ll be another time?”

The smugness in his expression makes you groan, “Just fuck me already.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He winks, tugging his jeans down further and lifting you up slightly by your thighs.

He pushes forwards ever so slightly, just the tip of him grazing over your cleft and your hips instinctively buck forwards, searching for greater contact. It’s miserly though, and you whine for him to push himself inside you, grappling down to his cock and attempting to hold it your sopping mound, but he’s near instant to stop you.

“Ah-ah-ah, angel, I said be careful.” He tuts, realigning himself without your aid.

You want to retort back to him some comment that you’re only in some dirty bathroom anyway, but the thoughts are quickly replaced by the feeling of him filling you up to the brim. And he just holds himself there for a moment, animalistic grunt reverberating lowly from his throat as your stomach clenches and hands fall onto his shoulders to steady yourself. He gently pulls back and pushes himself back into you, deliberately finding a rhythm that has you begging him to speed up just a tiny bit more, chasing your high so desperately.

He goes to lift up one of your feet, restricted by your jeans which you attempt to flap about frustratedly. You eventually manage to kick your foot out of one of the legs so Jimin can lift up your thigh and plunge deeper inside of you, making you moan out at the new angle and your other foot to slide and hit the base of the toilet. You can already feel the forgotten orgasm from his fingers bubbling again in your belly, re-stimulated by the feel of his girth inside of you, fucking you agonisingly slow.

“Jimin,” You whine, pathetically, “Jimin, please.”

He smirks, but you don’t care, too enveloped in your own anticipated climax to give a damn. He finally obliges, however, speeding up his pace for you to whine out loudly, loud enough you’re sure the people outside can hear which you don’t acknowledge. He also takes the hand from your waist and brings it down to your clit, tormenting the small bud as your body begins to convulse with a drawn-out orgasm, floundering into his chest like a fish out of water, losing control of all your limbs as he joins you in climax, riding out his high inside of you.

The two of you become lax against one another, Jimin’s head falling past your shoulder to rest on the wall with yours against his chest. You both pant, sweaty and smelling of sex with his shaft still buried inside of you.

He suddenly curses.

“Ah, shit, I didn’t wear a condom, I didn’t even think,” He says, breathlessly.

“It’s alright,” You respond, attempting to catch your breath also, “I’m on the pill.”

“And no STDs, right?” You feel him grimace.

You half-heartedly hit him on the arm, “I’m clean, and I never usually don’t use a condom.”

“Shit, same, good.” He rakes a hand through his hair, finally pulling away from you to bring up his jeans again and buckling them up, you doing the same on the other side, but you can already feel the cum oozing down the inside of your thigh, seeping into the fabric of your pants making you cringe slightly.

You retrieve your shirt off the ground as Jimin moves back to the other wall of the cubicle, opposite you, “Right, well, that was-“

“Fucking incredible,” he takes a hand through his hair, “I never thought I’d be desperate enough to fuck a girl in here of all places.”

You glance around, and you’re quickly disgusted by how you allowed it either. The place looks riddled with disease, and you’ve just been fucked raw in it. Disgusting. At least you’ve briefly had a moment where you can finally forget about the void in your chest, battered by thoughts of Namjoon and his lover. Namjoon.

Jimin goes to say something, but instead frowns as you silently pull open the latch then the toilet door, wrapping your arms around yourself with a huff as you go to leave the tavern. You’re aware he follows you, mutely trailing your steps as you slide pass the middle-aged men sneering at you, knowing what just happened in those toilets and looking for any signs of further confirmation on you. You ignore their perverted looks, sliding your phone from your pocket to see the time.

11:24pm. You thought it would be later. At least you can get a good night’s sleep. If you can actually fall asleep knowing that you’ll never have Namjoon beside you.

Considering you’ve drunk, you decide to leave you car in the lot overnight to pick up tomorrow morning, and your dorms are only close by so you should be alright to walk by yourself. As you reach the door, Jimin catches you by your waist.

“You’re leaving?” He asks, slightly taken aback.

You reciprocate the look just as confused, “Obviously. It’s late.”

He looks at the time on his phone, “It’s half eleven.”

“I need to sleep.”

He pauses for a moment, “Shall I call you a taxi?”

“I can walk.”

“I’ll walk with you.”

“It’s only like five minutes.”

“I said I’ll walk with you.”

“But-“

“Can you not just accept the chivalry and let me walk you home? Jesus, girls moan about me being disrespectful all the time then when I do act ‘gentlemanly’ you don’t accept it. Allow me this! Please!” For a second you’re shocked, but then a smile pokes at your lips at the small attention he’s gathered from the volume of his voice, and you nod meekly while he groans and escorts you out through the bar doors, sucking in a breath through his teeth.

It’s cold outside, and the air bites at your skin so you hold your thin shirt tighter to your body. The two of you walk sluggishly down the street — perhaps a little uncomfortably, too, given the circumstances. Honestly, you’re somewhat grateful he’s keeping you company at this time in this kind of area, but you also just want to curl up and cry, your brief escape smothered again by the loss of any possibility of Namjoon. You miss him already. You just want him to hold you in his arms and kiss you like he really means it.

“I would offer you my jacket, but I don’t have one.” Jimin pipes up, laughing awkwardly before bringing a hand to the back of his neck. What just happened to the guy in the bar?

“S’okay.” You raise your eyebrows, smiling dully at this completely new demeanour. Maybe this is how he plays his game. Maybe he acts like he’s not a douche and is all caring and whatever then once he’s bored with you he finds someone else to mess about with.

He shoves his hands into his pockets, arm grazing yours occasionally as you amble towards your dorms, “So why were you in that bar? I can’t imagine someone like you would be a regular there.”

You knew he was going to ask, but it hurts to have to tell him. You want to keep it to yourself, drown in your own self-pity and return to that bar every night for more drinks and sex without thinking about the love of your life.

You sigh, complacently, “Well, I found out someone I’ve been in love with for a long time will never love me back today.”

“Oh, shit. Friendzoned?”

“Something like that.”

Your answer brings about a brief pause, where Jimin kicks an empty beer bottle from the pavement onto the road, “So you came to the bar looking for a fuck?”

“Not exactly, just something to take my mind off of it.”

He stops on the pavement, and you can see the cogs turning in his head.

“Wait, so you used me?” He remarks, “You really did use me?” You almost laugh at his astonishment.

“Don’t act like you didn’t use me too,” You scoff. “You were clearly alone in that bar looking for a one-night stand. I know your reputation.”

“Oh?” He plays dumb.

You roll your eyes, beginning to walk again with him following behind you, “I know you sleep around.”

“I only sleep with girls that approach me first.” He counters, happily.

“You still sleep with them. I think that makes you a fuckboy.”

He scowls slightly at you, observing the way you dismiss him, “But I don’t play them — I tell them straight that I don’t want a relationship or anything similar right from the beginning.”

You find yourself at a loss for words. You suppose it’s kind of true, if he makes his intentions clear then the girls should know what they’re getting into, but you don’t want to comply with his argument. If a girl were to do what he does she’d be labelled a slut no matter the circumstances, so he can deal with it too.

“Whatever, that’s what people say about you anyway.” You push your lips to the side, hugging yourself tighter.

He shrugs, “Mm, I kinda guessed so.”

You drift back into an easy silence, without any desire to reignite small talk with him. The warm sheath of amber from the streetlights show his features better, however, and you briefly sketch a copy of his face in your mind, his handsome face. It’s clear why the girls throw themselves at him, he has this kind of angelic look about him, but simultaneously a hint of darkness underneath those hazel eyes. He’s everything that some young college girl dreams of, and he offers the opportunity to ‘make a bad boy good’. God, he’s tempting as a paradox. Of course he doesn’t need to work to get girls.

“So you wanna tell me more about this guy you’ve loved?”

“Not really, no.” You counter, truthfully, “I thought he was the love of my life, but I guess I was wrong. He’ll never want me.”

Jimin pauses in contemplation.

“Well that sucks cause you’re a really good lay.”

You let out a laugh in disbelief, “Jimin!”

He holds his hands up in surrender, “I’m just saying that he’s missing out.”

Your laughter gradually diminishes into a lazy smile, “Thanks, I guess.”

“And that really means something coming from me.”

“Okay, you can stop talking about it now,” You blush.

He grins, amusedly, “What? You’re embarrassed? After what we just did in the toilets of that manky bar you’re embarrassed now?”

“Shut up!” You whine.

“Wow, and here I was thinking you were tougher than that.” He remarks, “To think I nearly thought I liked you because you were more daring than the other girls I know. Wow.”

You almost choke at his words.

“Thanks for ruining that, Y/N.” He looks at you smugly, “This is you, right?”

You didn’t realise you’ve already reached your dorms.

“I’ll see you soon, angel.” He waves you off, strolling carelessly back down the street towards the lamplight, making his skin glow beneath the warm orange and the ache in your heart decline just a tiny bit.

#bts #bts jimin #bts imagines #bts angst #bts fluff #park jimin #bts reactions #admin lottie

12 notes · View notes

yasminsqueendom · 5 years

Text

Antique the Vamp Geek Pt1 Ep10

CW: Lots of cussing, anxiety, crying, stress

A/N: Like a lot of stress

W/C: 1856

Hey y’all! It’s story time.

Imma get right into it.

My bitch ass, stick up her ass having, roommate found out I’m a vamp…..and the bitch ratted me out to my school.

So, rewinding a little bit, I got an email from the nurse’s office “reminding” me that I had exactly one month to submit my status to the office. I thought it was just a routine reminder that was sent to everyone who hadn’t taken it yet. But, then a follow up email came through setting a specific time for me to come down for testing.

At this point, I’m getting nervous because I know that appointments aren’t required. We all just had a deadline to submit the results. We aren’t even required to get the test done here at the school. So it seems extremely odd to me that they would be harassing me like this. On top of that, I DON’T HAVE TO SUBMIT MY RESULTS SINCE I LIVE OFF CAMPUS. And even if I did, I had until the end of the month to do it.

So, when my afternoon class ends, I go down to the nurse’s office to request a time extension or something. Just anything to buy myself some time. I get down there and there is only one nurse in the office and public safety officer at the door. That set off alarm bells in my mind because there is always a secretary, an assistant, and some student volunteers. It looks way too creepy in here for me.

The lady looks scared for her life, and I'm already convinced they know what I am. My stomach is in knots and everything and I'm stressed tf out. Like what am I going to do? She damn near jumps out of her seat when I say who I am and why I'm there.

She pushes this little kit across the counter and says “Open it and follow the directions inside.” I feel myself starting to get pissed because now I can't go into a room for privacy? I can't get a alcohol swab before I stick this needle in my finger or whatever? What the fuck?

So I gently remind her that it is protocol for me to be called back to one of the rooms for privacy.

THIS BITCH GON SAY IT'S FOR EVERYONE'S SAFETY FOR ME TO DO IT HERE!

I kindly say that I wouldn't be taking any tests until I get my own room for it. If I have something contagious, it would be safer for everyone if I was somewhere private. Internally, I feel completely unsafe and honestly am convinced that if I come to a back room I might not make it back out again. The public safety monkey outside has me feeling like I'm turning myself in for committing the crime of existing. I start to doubt myself, and I feel my resolve weakening.

So, she shakily gets up and points down the hall talking about “You can use the last room on the right.”

Ignoring her rudeness, I go down the hall with the kit. I follow the instructions to remove the cap and press it to my finger. It would put you in the mind of blood sugar monitors for diabetic people. I place it in the little baggie that comes with the shit. I go back out to hand it to the nurse over the desk.

This bitch jumps like I threw a whole grenade at her. I mean all the way, damn near under the desk. Her damn chair hit the file cabinet behind her and everything. It would have been fucking hilarious if it wasn't for my severe terror building up inside me. I was almost numb.

She says I can go so I just turn around and walked out because fuck this place.

I barely remember what I did after that. I send some vague email to the professor of my next class about feeling too sick to come in. And then just go back to my place and curl up in a ball on my bedroom floor and sob like a fucking baby. Like snot and shit everywhere. I'm just beyond consolable.

Eventually, I hear someone moving around out in the main room and I'm immediately paranoid. I crawl over to my bathroom to splash water on my face. I look a hot ass mess in the mirror. I'm frustrated at myself for crying because if I didn't look ghoulish before, I do now.

Anyway, I ease my door open and see it's gotten dark since I came in. And that's strange to me since both my other roommates need light to see at night. So, if one of them is here, it would certainly be much brighter in the apartment.

I see my super religious roommate's door is open. I peak around her doorway and see her in there trying (and failing miserably) to stuff a backpack full of clothes. Some burly dude is in there with her using his cell phone's flashlight.

When I tell you I felt heat in my damn scalp. Like, literally I thought I was gonna set something on fire just by touching it. Because I immediately know that everything I have suffered through that day was because of this ugly, naked mole rat looking, “I only buss it open for Jesus” acting, “my shit smell better than yours” behaving, stick up her ass having ass bitch is trying to run away after she just potentially ended my time as a student. And may have just fucked up my whole world. AND SHE IS TRYING TO RUN??? RUN AWAY FROM THE SITUATION THAT SHE IS CAUSING RIGHT NOW.

I close my eyes for a brief moment, and switch the lights on. I know it will take them longer to adjust than me. She starts screaming and he grunts like the big ass gollum he is. But he recovers quicker. I know already that any physical motion I make will be interpreted as a threat to these assholes. I just slowly open my eyes and just stare at them. My eyes burn, but I am so numb that I can’t even manage a reaction. He is standing there looking like there isn’t much between his ears (as my grandma would say). But she…...oh this bitch right here…..has the audacity to look like I just pulled a gun on her. Like I was gonna shoot her right then. I guess that’s how I looked. I know that’s how I felt. I never wanted to bite someone so bad. As much as I hate the thought of consuming any part of a creature like her, I wanted to attack. I was feeling reckless.

“Just tell me the truth.” I asked her. And she looks like she is about to piss on herself. I’m hoping she does. I want her to feel humiliated. I want her to hurt. She won’t say anything though, so I repeat myself. “Just tell me that you did it. Tell me that you called in and snitched on me.”

She is still standing there looking absolutely foolish. But eventually she squeaks out, “I don’t know what you mean.”

Now, I feel cold. Like ice cold. We already run a little cooler, but now I feel a got damn iceberg. And then I feel nothing.

It is at this precise moment that I hear the key turning in the main room. The Uninfected in front of me can’t hear it. They both clearly want to bolt, but I’m blocking the only safe exit. The fire escape outside of the window is rickety and rusting in places, but they look like they might try it just to get away from the “monster.”

“Home sweet home.” My other roommate says from the hall. She walks up behind me, and freezes. She can only just see over my shoulder, and she is so close behind me I can feel her body heat. “What’s going on?”

It’s weird, but her body heat starts to thaw me out a little. I feel completely drained. I almost slump over, but I’m still angry enough to keep standing. I slowly back into my roommate, I know there are shadows behind me, swallowing me up as I step backwards. She’s complaining about me bumping into her, but she isn’t strong enough to push me forward, and she clearly doesn’t want to get in between me and the others.

I reach up and shut the lights off again, and feel the smallest bit of satisfaction from the look of horror on Gollum and Stiff’s faces as they can’t see me anymore. He’s fumbling for his phone for the flashlight, and she is looking like a lost child. I can’t bring myself to care. They look pathetic.

“Tell me what’s going on right now.” My saint of a roommate whispers in my ear. I pull her back across the hall into my bedroom and close the door loud enough for the others to hear. I leave the lights off since I don’t need them (she’s used to that by now), and I tell her everything that has happened to me. Even things that haven’t happened yet. All my fears, all my pain pours out of me, and I feel incredibly grateful that I have at least one good friend that I can talk to face to face about everything.

It made me think about all of my baby vamp listeners who send me emails about how alone they feel. I know it’s hard, but you aren’t alone. We aren’t alone. You are seen. You are heard. You are loved.

Back to the story, my phone starts buzzing. I look over at it, and hear my roommate gasp. I realize this is the first time that she has seen my face. The light of my phone is illuminating me. Apparently, I was crying while I was talking, so she reaches across and hugs me. Just a sweet, friendly hug of someone being supportive, and kind.

And then she does something I never thought anyone would do for me. She offers to be my source. I mean, wow. My world is fucking ending, and sometimes I don’t pay my portion of rent on time, and she offers to keep me alive. I am stunned. But, I politely refuse. I don’t want her life to be stained by mine any more than it already is by associating with me.

I was so distracted by her kindness that I almost forgot what I had just seen on my phone. My father called me...he never calls me. My panic levels instantly soar over 9,000. My eyes go blurry and I can’t figure out what I’m supposed to do. There’s a text message there, too, but I feel too distraught to read it.

I just put that shit down, rolled over and went to sleep.

At some point, I woke up and dealt with that shit later.

Anyway, stay safe y’all. Moisturize and hydrate.

Love Tique.

#black vamps #black women in fiction #black fiction #black fic #black women #vampire #vamps #vampires

1 note · View note

thegreatwhiteferret · 7 years

Text

I Just Wanna Be A Kid Again

Summary: Richie is most definitely the crybaby of the Losers Club.

Pairing: Reddie

A/N: This was a request from a lovely Anon who wanted to see a story with Richie being a huge crybaby. I’m sorry it took so long, I hope you love it! You also didn’t specify if you wanted smut...but it’s kind of my thing, so it’s NSFW, I hope that’s okay!!! 💖

Richie Tozier was to put it nicely….a crybaby. He would pout his lips and stomp his foot when he didn’t get his way. Thick tears would roll from behind his glasses when he felt like there was injustice. He was just a soft and sweet boy under all of his raunchy and sarcastic commentary.

The thing is, Richie isn’t allowed to cry at home. When he was seven years old, little Richie Tozier had come home from school in tears, some older boys Vic and Patrick had cornered him in the boys bathroom and shoved his face into the toilet, flushing repeatedly, while they called him names. He was covered in Derry Elementary’s toilet water, and he was rightfully sad about it. He had barely stepped through the door when his father saw the tears, a disgusted snarl coming across his face. Richie stopped dead in his tracks, but it was too late. His father slapped him so hard across his face that his glasses flew across the room.

“What do you have to cry about you little pussy?” He spat, landing another blow this time to Richie’s left eye. Richie knew better than to answer, if he sunk into himself, it would be over faster. “That’s all you are, you little faggot. A pussy. Real men don’t cry. Now stop your blubbering before I give you something to cry about, and go get me a beer.”

Richie ran to his room and steeled away his nerves. That would be the last time that he ever cried in front of his father. The last time that Richie would cry anywhere but in the shower when he was alone with his thoughts, until he was fifteen.

The years of forced repression of his emotions corroded Richie’s mental health. He copes as best as he can with self deprecating jokes and being over the top. He accepts the nickname of Trashmouth, even though deep down the name really hurts him. They’re sitting in the Hanscom basement when it happens. Richie stumbles in after a brutal lecture from the school guidance counselor about his wasted potential. He opens the freezer in the corner that stores the snacks that Ben’s mom keeps stocked for them and pulls out the empty Fudgsicle box.

“Where are the Fudgsicles?” Richie asks, eyebrows furrowing and mind going slightly fuzzy. Mike quickly shoves something in his mouth and then throws the evidence behind him. Eddie and Bill look incredibly guilty. Bev and Ben shrug slightly, and Stan Uris sits with his legs crossed as he shamelessly licks up and down the side of a glorious Fudgsicle.

“Sorry, Rich. We must be all out. I’ll let my mom know and she will get some more when she goes to the store.” Ben says, frowning. “There are some other popsicles in there. Bev and I just had rocket pops and those were good…” He stops when he sees Richie’s lip start to tremble.

They all freeze, and then it happens. Richie starts bawling his eyes out. He sinks to the ground and he’s shaking. Snot and tears running down his face as he chokes on sobs. Bill swoops in immediately, wrapping his arms around Richie and letting him cry on his shoulder. He rubs his back like he does for Georgie when he’s upset. When he calms down a bit the fear of their disgust and rejection hits him. He tries to push back from Bill’s embrace.

“I’m so...sorry. I don’t know what happened. I know that boys don’t cry, I’m sorry, I’ll go.” He mutters out, fixing his glasses and tries to stand. Bill pulls him right back down.

“Wh-what are y-you talking about, R-rich?” Bill asks, he looks confused, in fact all of them do. Richie doesn’t have an answer.

“Richie, it’s okay to cry. Everyone cries sometimes. Why would you think that it wasn’t okay?” Eddie asks gingerly.

“M-my dad.” That’s all he has to say, they understand. Suddenly he has six bodies cramming around him and pressing him into one giant group bear hug. The knot in Richie’s chest releases, and he lets the years of holding everything in melt away. He knows that he doesn’t have to hide his emotions in front of his friends anymore, they’re his real family.

From that day forward Richie becomes known as the crybaby of the group. They don’t tease him over it, they just accept that if something goes wrong, Richie will probably have a mini meltdown about it.

He literally cries over spilt milk. They’re in Bill’s kitchen, making plans for some Renaissance Faire trip that Bev is dying to go to and Mike accidentally swings his arm back and hits the cup that Richie had patiently been mixing for the past few minutes. The chocolate milk goes everywhere, and as Bill moves to get the mop and paper towels to clean it up, Richie starts.

“Oh my God, No! Why do bad things happen to good people?” He’s full on crying, staring at the chocolate milk puddle on the ground.

“Richie. Are you fucking serious? It was just a cup of milk, Mike didn’t mean to knock it over, it was an accident.” Stan says, mildly irritated with the level of dramatics coming from the other boy.

“IT WASN’T JUST A CUP OF MILK, STANLEY! IT WAS THE PERFECT RATIO OF NESQUIK TO MILK!!!” Richie punctuates every other word by stomping his feet, and Eddie just sighs and pulls Richie out of the room before the conflict escalates. He was not letting his boyfriend get in a fight with his best friend over a glass of spilt fucking milk.

Sometimes he cries over things that don’t even apply to his life. The Losers Club go to see The Lion King in the theater. Everything was going fine until Scar throws Mufasa off of the cliff and tells Simba to leave and never come back. Richie loses his shit. They all stare at him wide eyed as he stands up and screams at the animated characters on the screen, “THAT UGLY ASS BASTARD! NO SIMBA!” They all sink into their seats, praying that they aren’t permanently banned from the movie house. Richie leans into Eddie’s shoulder and cries until he calms down. They decide as a group to skip all Disney movies in theaters going forward.

Eddie thinks that it’s pretty much like dating a toddler at times. Sometimes it’s avoidable, Eddie really didn’t need to refuse to leave the house for their anniversary dinner until Richie changed out of his hideous rainbow tie dyed Grateful Dead bear button up….except his brain said he really freaking did. Some were not. Eddie couldn’t control the fact that his mother banned Richie from her house for a month and bolted his window shut.

The Richie Ban has just been lifted when one of the unavoidable times happens. Richie is beaming, he just got a ninety three percent on his statistics test and he’s running down the hallway to tell his friends, when a foot jets out to trip him. Richie flies through the air and crashes to the ground. Richie looks up and sees Belch standing over him laughing.

“Leave me alone. I didn’t do anything to you.” Richie says shaking and flinching from the way the bully is looking at him.

“You little queer, you think I need an excuse to pummel your stupid ass? You’re not going to do anything about it because you’re weak, and your friends are weak. Stupid fucking gay Losers.” Richie doesn’t respond, he’s too busy getting his ass kicked and his glasses are broken again.

He’s sitting at Eddie’s kitchen table after school when he’s handed an ice pack. He takes it and presses it to his cheek. Eddie sits down across from him and starts working on mending his glasses. He thinks that now would be a perfectly acceptable time for Richie to start crying, but he’s sitting there with his thinking face on.

“Why is the world so awful, Eds? I’m always getting picked on. My glasses. My fucking ADHD. The fact that I’m gay. How could the world hate me for loving you?” Eddie holds his hand, he knows that the world isn’t fair and that Richie has to deal with an unnecessary amount of bullshit. This warm feeling is a little overturned when Richie starts whining. Eddie feels like an awful boyfriend, but the sound of Richie whining really turns him off. “Ughhhhhhh. I just wanna be a kid again, so I can go back to not giving a shit again.”

Richie starts crying again, and then starts crying over the fact that he cries so much. Eddie needs for it to stop before it becomes a full on episode. So he decides to go with what seems to most effectively distract Richie.

“Baby.” He drawls out biting his lip, waiting for Richie to look at him, but his boyfriend is too busy wallowing in self pity. He tries again, “Mmmm, Rich?” Nothing. Eddie is being his best little slutty self and his boyfriend is totally ignoring him. “RICHARD!” He screams.

“Jesus, Eddie. What the fuck?” Richie responds, looking at Eddie like he’s grown three heads. “I’m having feelings and I’m trying to share them and you’re yelling at me.”

“Oh my God. Oh my actual fucking God.” Eddie drops his head to the table, before just putting his ultimatum on the table. “If you stop crying, I’ll blow you right here and now.”

“In your mother’s pastel yellow kitchen, you’re going to blow me?” Richie was still sniffling a little, residual tears falling.

“On my knees. In my mother’s pastel yellow kitchen. With the front door unlocked, and I’ll even let you cum on my face.” Richie’s jaw hit the floor, Eddie never let him do that, always so particular about the mess being made, and ‘seriously Richie, is it not bad enough that I’m letting you put your penis, which you piss out of, in my mouth, you want me to let you ejaculate on my face? What if it gets in my eye and I go blind?!?!” Richie was a crybaby, but Eddie was a hypochondriac. They made quite a pair. “Deal?” Eddie smirks, as Richie nods enthusiastically. “Drop your pants then, Baby Boy.”

Richie didn’t have to be told twice. Eddie made it clear what was going to happen, he was in control, not Richie. Richie pulled his pants and boxers down, letting them pool at his ankles. Eddie sized him up, looking down right predatory, before motioning for Richie to take his shirt off too. Richie did and stood there, awkwardly naked in his boyfriend’s kitchen.

“Mmmm, please, Eds.” Richie moans, he needs something other than Eddie’s stare on him. Eddie clears his throat, sucks his teeth, and lifts an eyebrow.

“Excuse me? Did I give you the impression that you’re in control here?” Richie’s eyes grew wide. “You’re not in control, Baby. You’ll take what I give you and be satisfied. Understand?” Richie nods. “Good boy.” Eddie sinks to his knees, still not touching Richie, just lets his breast ghost over Richie’s dick.

Richie stays still. He knows that if he doesn’t stay obedient, that Eddie will call the whole thing off. He’s rewarded for this when Eddie strokes his dick with his hand, pumping up and down slowing, making sure that Richie is fully hard. When he’s satisfied, he uses his tongue to swirl around the head. Richie has to bite his hand to control the moans.

“Take your hand out of your mouth. I want to hear you, hear all the little noises that you can’t keep in because you’re such a desperate slut. I want to hear you scream my name.” Richie takes his hand from his mouth and uses it to grip the table, knuckles going white.

Eddie takes the head in his mouth and sucks, his right hand gripping the base of Richie’s cock. Richie whines, throwing his head back. Eddie takes him down, all the way down. He let’s the head hit the back of his throat and swallows around it.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Eds. Ugh. That mouth. Ugh.” Eddie keeps working, pumping any of Richie’s length that’s not in his mouth at any given time. He reaches for Richie’s hand with his own free one, and places it in his hair, moaning when Richie grabs his hair. He nudges back into his hand, letting Richie know that he can fuck into his mouth. Richie stops leaning in the table and stands up. He holds Eddie’s jaw in one hand and the back of his head in the other and thrusts forward. Eddie moans around his cock and grabs his ass, encouraging him. Richie began thrusting at a brutal pace, pleasure taking over, when he got a little overzealous, Eddie tapped his hip and Richie knew to calm down, Eddie was still in control. Richie was making noises like crazy. Moans and groans slipping out. It fueled Eddie. He snuck his hand down and cupped Richie’s balls. “Ahhh, ugh, fuck yeah.” Richie felt the burn in his lower abdomen start to coil, growing and growing.

He pulled his cock from Eddie’s mouth, and began pumping it in his own fist, drawing closer and closer to the edge, but knowing that he had to wait for permission. Eddie tilted his head back, preparing to be coated in his boyfriend’s cum. He looked Richie dead in the eye.

“You can cum now.” The words were barely out of his mouth before Richie tumbled over the edge, his cum landing in streaks across Eddie’s face as he screams his name. He stroked until he was sure that he was empty. Richie’s knees feel weak. He looks down at Eddie.

Eddie is still kneeling. Eyes squeezed shut with Richie’s cum all over his face. He looks incredibly uncomfortable.

“Eddie, are you alright?” Eddie doesn’t answer right away, and it scares Richie a little bit.

“Can you wipe this off of my face? Right. Now.” Eddie asks,moving his lips as little as possible. Richie lets out a little laugh but races to get a wet towel before Eddie kills him. He wipes off all traces of Jizz off of Eddie’s face. Eddie opens his eyes slowly, trying to make sure that nothing got in them. Richie helps Eddie up off of his knees and for the first time Eddie notices the wet spot on the front of Eddie’s pants.

“Holy shit. Did you cum just from sucking me off?” Richie wondered out loud. He regrets the words as soon as they are out and Eddie sends a glare in his direction.

“I may have cum when your cum hit my face.” He says without emotion. Already preparing himself for how obnoxious Richie is going to be about this. “Do not say a word. I’m just happy that you feel better and have stopped crying.”

“Eddie, will you be honest with me?” Eddie nods at his boyfriend's question. Of course, he’s always honest with him. “Do you think that I cry too much? Am I a crybaby.” Eddie takes a deep breath and thinks about how to phrase his response.

“I love that you feel comfortable with sharing your emotions. It shows how strong you are.” He starts, dreading the next part. “But you do cry over some things that are a little excessive. You don’t have to work yourself into a fit every time something hurts a little. You have to find a happy medium.”

“Okay.” Richie nods, “I’ll try to be more rational and cut down on the crybaby fits. I can accept that I meltdown over some simple things...and that I should be more mature.” Eddie hugs Richie, he knows how difficult that was for Richie to admit that.

“I love you, Crybaby Trashmouth.” Eddie says from where his head is resting on Richie’s chest.

“Yeeesh. Okay one more complaint. I hate the nickname Trashmouth. It’s hurtful. Really hurtful. And adding crybaby to it? That’s a nope.” Eddie’s eyes widen at Richie’s confession.

“Jeeze. You’ve never said anything about that, it’s a legitimate complaint!” Eddie throws his hands up. “I love you, Richard ‘Sweetmouth’ Tozier.” Richie smiles down at him.

“I love you, Edward Spaghetti Kaspbrak.” Richie expects the shove and the annoyed look.

“BEEP BEEP RICHIE!”

#Reddie #Richie Tozier #Eddie Kaspbrak #IT Movie 2017 #Stephen King's IT #Bill Denbrough #Stan Uris #Beverly Marsh #Ben Hanscom #Mike Hanlon #Smut #Slash #Meg Writes Things

179 notes · View notes

masksandtruths · 7 years

Text

Never Normal-Part 3

A/N: This was done for @revwinchester‘s Y1K Challenge, and in typical “me” fashion, I got a bit long winded. So without further ado, here is the final part of my Never Normal mini-series. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, and as always, feedback is welcome and appreciated. Thank y’all!

If you want to catch up: Part 1 Part 2

Summary: When the Winchesters found Y/N the moment after her world fell apart, she never expected they’d be the ones to help her put it back together...but that’s exactly what they did. From friends, to brothers, to the possibility of something more--their lives together were far from normal, which was exactly how she liked it.

Characters: Dean Winchester x Reader (Romantic); Sam Winchester (mentioned)

Warnings: Swearing, Kissing, Fluffy, a tad Angsty (Maybe? If you look really closely?)

Word Count: 2100-ish

Gifs: Found on Google. All credit goes to original creator.

You couldn’t help but smile when you entered the garage and saw a pair of bowlegs sticking out from underneath the Impala and heard a slightly off-key version of Traveling Riverside Blues floating through the air. Zepplin and Baby. The two things guaranteed to calm him down when he was all twisted up over something or another.

Only, this particular time the thing doing the twisting up just so happened to be you, a realization which filled your gut with both a healthy dose of excitement and more than a little fear. Still, what Sam had said was true, so you told those worries to go to hell, mentally pulled up your big girl panties, and a took another step.

You reached Baby’s side in a few short strides, bent your legs, and quietly took a seat Indian-style next to Dean’s knees. “So, I’m kind of pissed at you.”

“Jesus Chr--!” Dean’s startled cry was cut short by a loud thud as he attempted to jerk himself upright, momentarily forgetting his surroundings, and slammed his head into the underside of his beloved car. “Ow! Son of a bitch!” he cussed before finally managing to roll out from underneath the Chevy with a pained look on his face, rubbing one hand back and forth over the sensitive spot on top of his head. “And now I’m kind of pissed at you too.”

You lost your composure then, falling to your side, laughter spilling out of you freely. “Oh my god!” you howled, as you wiped at the tears running down your face. “How was I supposed to know you were going to give yourself a concussion? Who does that?!” You heard his deep chuckle mix with your own as you finally pulled yourself together enough to sit up and face him. “What happened to those hunter senses you are always bragging about, huh, old man?” you joked, poking him in shoulder with a finger.

“Hey, give me a break, I’m in my safe zone,” he answered, looking around the garage. “Wasn’t expecting a monster to come strolling in here and try to take me out.”

“I am not a monster!”

“Ehhh— “, he teased, tilting his head as though he were trying to decide the accuracy of that statement. “Debatable.”

“You take that back right now, Dean Winchester.”

“Or what?”

“Or I won’t tell you why I’m pissed at you.”

He snorted and took a deep pull from the bottle of beer he picked up from floor beside him. “I’m not a hundred percent sure I want to know the answer to that, darlin’.”

“You are being difficult, my friend.” You saw a strange look pass across his face when those words left your mouth, and you knew instantly what he must have thought. Damn it, that’s not what you meant. Alright, you needed to get this out before you made things worse.

“Dean, I’m pissed at you because I will never be able to check the last item off this to do list of mine,” you explained hurriedly, reaching into your pocket to retrieve the pink post-it note you carried with you everywhere these days, and timidly holding it out for him to take.

He glanced down and the piece of paper and then back up at your eyes. “Y/N, you don’t have to show me this.”

“You don’t even know what it is.”

“Don’t have to. All I know is for the last 6 months that thing has been showing up in your hand every time things got tough, and you’ve never said a word about it—not even to Sam—which means it’s important, but also personal…and also that it more than likely has something to do with your sister.” After living with them for months, sometimes you forgot how good the boys were at their job—how much they noticed the little things.

You blinked away the tears pricking at the back of your eyes and leaned your back against the door of the Impala, letting your head dip downward as a deep sigh escaped from your lips and your fingers fidgeted with the note you held in your lap. You felt Dean’s body brush against yours as he leaned back against the car beside you, and then a calloused hand as it gently covered yours.

“But...if you want me to read it…if you’re positive you’re ready for that, then I will. I just had to make sure."

You only had to think about it for a second before you nodded and quietly answered, “I’m sure.”

Dean’s fingers brushed over yours as he pulled the note from them and slowly unfolded it. You watched as his green eyes traced the swirling lines of your little sister’s handwriting. You knew what he saw—a simple to do list comprised of only three tasks, two of which had already been checked off. To him, it probably seemed silly, but the words she wrote on that little post-it had given you the strength to fight in a moment when you had wanted nothing more than to give up. Just like the doctors she’d always wanted to be, she’d somehow found a way to slow the bleeding—to help you heal.

“I found that about a month after you and Sam saved me. The night you had to carry me out of the Lyon Saloon. Y’all had been trying so hard, but I just…I just couldn’t get my head above water.”

“I remember,” he whispered. “It was the first time you’d mentioned her since we’d brought you home with us.”

“Right. And it was also the first time I cried since the night I lost her.”

“Uh-huh—and it was a big ugly cry, too. Mascara down your face. Snot. The whole nine,” he joked, attempting to lighten the mood, pushing some of your hair away from your face as he did so. “Funny thing is, even then, I still thought you were beautiful.”

“Until I puked on you.”

“Until you puked on me,” he agreed with a laugh.

“And I think I asked you if it was normal to hurt that much—if everyone acted that way when they lost someone, and you said yes.”

“Yeah, I did, but you told me that was bullshit, and you didn’t want to be normal.”

“And you said, ‘Fine, you can be different, but that doesn’t mean you have to be alone’… and that you’d walk with me in the dark until I could remember how to turn on the light.” You looked up at him with a grateful smile and continued, “Which made me think of my Harry Potter books that she had loved so much.”

“Nerd.”

“Whatever,” you shrugged, not even trying to deny it. “Anyway, after you left, I stumbled around, digging through the boxes Sam had brought from my house, and I finally found the Prisoner of Azkaban. That’s where she had hidden the post-it—right on the page that contained the quote you’d put in my head,” you said, bumping his arm with your shoulder.

“Which was?”

“’Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.’” You pulled the note from his hand and traced its edges with your finger, remembering how something had changed in you the moment you found it. You’d never know why she decided to write it, much less hide it where she did, but you were certainly appreciative because after that things started to get better. You started to process everything. You opened up a little to him and Sam. You took your first step out of the dark.

And then the night you pitched the idea of Dean’s birthday dinner, you went back to your room and checked off the first two items on her list.

1. Remember that I love you. 2. Know that you can do anything.

“So why are the first two items checked off?” Dean asked quietly, interrupting your thoughts.

“Well, I never really questioned how much she loved me. Luckily for me, she made that obvious. But about a week ago, I finally came to the conclusion that if I could survive losing my parents and then losing her—which forced me to move in with and take care of you two over-sized man children, then I really could do anything.”

“I don't know what you are talking about. I’m a pleasure to live with. I cook—every now and then. I do my own laundry—eventually. I replace toilet paper rolls—sometimes. And I don’t suffocate everyone with my gasses after a couple burritos like Sam does.”

“You may have a point there,” you chuckled.

“So now, how about you telling me how I’m responsible for you not getting to check off number three on that list,” Dean said, his voice taking on a more serious tone again.

3. NEVER become NORMAL! :)

That was the big one. You opened your mouth and closed it a couple of times, unsure of how to start, but he waited patiently, a smirk on his face and warm, green eyes fixed on yours. You folded the note up and placed it back in your pocket before you let your answer begin to rattle off your tongue.

“Because, with you, I want normal, Dean. I want to kiss you whenever I want. I want to be the one you take to bed. I want to call you mine and hear you call me yours. Hell, I want a family, a home, a white picket fence…all of it…a normal apple pie life. You make me feel like every other silly girl you’ve ever winked at, or flirted with or brought back to the bunker…and that makes me normal. And that means, number three is—”

Dean cut off your rambling with soft press of his lips against yours. When your mouth quit running and your eyes fluttered closed, he pushed one hand through your hair and deepened the kiss. Okay, the way your heart was racing at the moment—that definitely wasn’t normal. No other man had ever kissed you the way he was kissing you right now. You melted into him with a soft sigh, and when his tongue brushed across your lips asking for permission to enter, you gave it to him without hesitation. The taste of him on your tongue and the feel of his hands on your body was more intoxicating than all the alcohol you’d consumed that evening, and you suddenly wondered why in the hell you’d waited so long to have this conversation.

When you ran your hands up his chest and neck and snaked your fingers through the short hair on the back of his head, you heard a growl in the back of his throat and felt his grip on you tighten. A second later, he was wrapping his other arm behind your back and hauling you into his lap.

Your eyes shot open with a gasp, and you giggled as you settled into your new position. Now that you were facing the door of the Impala, you could see your reflection in her shiny black paint—see the smile he put on your face, and you realized that normal might not be such a bad look for you after all. You gazed down at him, still smiling, enjoying the feel of his fingertips ghosting along your collarbone and down your sides. He grinned back up at you and pressed a single, soft kiss against the base of your neck.

“What?” he asked quietly.

“I think I just decided that I’m not pissed at you about my list anymore.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, if I get to kiss you like that every day, I’m totally okay with apple pie normal.”

“Well, I hate to disappoint you, sweetheart, but unless it’s on my plate, apple pie isn’t really my thing. You can kiss me or take me to bed any time you want. I’ll gladly call you mine if you’ll call me yours. I’ll tell you I love you every day because I do.”

When he saw the shocked look on your face and the question in your eyes, he reached up and gently rested one hand on the side of your face, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb, and confirmed his confession with a simple nod of his head. You leaned forward and kissed him again, whispering an “I love you too” against his lips before you let him continue.

“We’ll even talk about a family one day, if that’s what you want. But there’s one other thing I can guaran-damn-tee.”

“And what’s that?”

“That life with the Winchesters—life with me—it’ll never be normal.”

When Dean stood up, opened Baby’s door, and pulled you inside, you knew in your heart that what he said was true—ordinary wasn’t an option with him. And because of that, you didn’t think twice about grabbing for the pen Sam left on the dashboard, unfolding the note from your pocket and checking off the last item on the to do list your sister had left you.

She would have been proud. You’d picked yourself up off rock bottom and opened your arms to a new kind of family. You laughed again. You loved again. You turned on your light. You lived.

And not one minute of it had been--was--or ever would be...normal.

Tags: @wheresthekillswitch @dancingalone21 @atc74 @goldenolaf25 @pinknerdpanda @trexrambling @messy-buns-and-shotguns @hannahindie @deanssweetheart23 @arryn-nyxx @escabell @sofreddie @triciareh @nostalgic-uncertainty @-lovepeacenhope- @avc212 @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @winchesterprincessbride @winchestersnco @roxyspearing @shutupiminlooove @mogarukes @akshi8278 @emilywritesaboutdean @kathaswings @duherica @kbl1313 @emmazach @beffyblueeyes @eve05glee @horsegirly99 @michellethetvaddict @poukothenerd @growningupgeek @deevvoon @nightlyinsomnious @ginamsmith @becaamm @donnaintx

#never normal #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #Sam Winchester #deanxreader #rewritingrev #part 3 #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fanfic #reader insert #supernatural reader insert #spn fandom #supernatural fanfic

149 notes · View notes