#which is a feeling that has been here for a long time and

[hon3y-y]

Roomie!sukuna; part 4

read the other parts here! : part 1 part 2 part 3

cw : smutttt & fluff<3, oblivious!reader, pervy!sukuna, sex toys, oral (m&f), p in v, dubcon(?), breeding kink, overstim, s*x tapes, somno(¿not really but maybe?), dumbification, big d*ck!sukuna, sub!reader, dom!sukuna, etc etc

*not edited*

wc ~ 6.5k

enjoy<3

Sukuna has been on lockdown since the incident with Gojo. He hasn’t spoken to you longer than five minutes in passing, always having “something” to do. It’s driving you crazy, and as much as you want to barge in and get him to speak, you noticed that trying to force proximity only made things worse and attempted to give him the space he wanted.

But you miss your best friend, the best roommate you could possibly ask for, and the silence between you started to make you feel physically ill. The guilt was eating you up inside, and you were scared that by breaking this boundary, you might have ruined everything. It felt different this time; the house felt extremely cold, unlike its usual warm and welcoming atmosphere. So, after Friday rolled around, you decided enough was enough.

You let out a breath before raising your fist to knock on his door, patiently waiting for an answer. “ryo..? it’s me.." You wanted to roll your eyes at your own words. I mean, who else could it be? You two would have bigger problems if random people were knocking on your bedroom door.

Before you could beat yourself up about it, Sukuna’s door flew open, revealing himself shirtless with a pair of grey sweats hanging loosely off his waist. He looked beyond good; that extra time spent in the gym was showing and made you want to drool. “what?”

You look up at him, feeling frustrated, confused, and a little horny by how his nonchalant attitude worked so well on him. “Ryo, I’m sorry.” Sukuna tilted his head in mock confusion.

“for?”

You let out a grunt; even when you try to be the bigger person, he always has to make it extra difficult, huh? You crossed your arms over your chest, the movement making his eyes zero in on your cleavage on perfect display through your tank top. Maybe if he does this long enough, you’ll flash him to make him feel better. Sukuna fought a smirk as he adjusted his eyesight back at your head, his face remaining stoic.

“I’m apologizing for how everything went with Gojo. I didn’t realize how much you two didn’t get along, and... Ryo, it wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable.”

“And yet, you brought him home?” he quirks his brow, hand reaching to grab one of his shirts and slip it on.

You let out another noise of frustration: “I thought it was a joke between you two! I mean, Gojo is really not that bad. He's sweet when you—“ Sukuna rolled his eyes, the hardening of his body language made you stop short. “That’s not important—I'm sorry, Kuna’. You should always feel comfortable in your own home, and I don't want you to think I don't value that.” You looked at him with sincerity, your hands dropping from their defensive positioning.

He stayed silent, his tongue pressing against his cheek while he thought. Sukuna scoffs, looking forward and away from you. “You’re a dumbass.”

His words made you smile, jumping up to hug him. Ryo wrapped his arms around you, a small grin on his lips when you let out a squeal. You look and sound so cute, it’d be impossible for him to stay mad. (Plus, he got to feel your soft, plushy boobs touching him which made his mouth water)

“I got our favorite snacks and have a whole list of scary movies for us to binge. no gojo included too?” You spoke, pulling away to look at him. “oh really?” He hums, his hand moving to push back some hair that covered your face. You nod, "I’ll go and get everything in the cute candy bowls we have!”

As you walk away, Sukuna leans on his door frame to watch the way your plump behind poked out of your shorts, eyes zeroing in to the exposed flesh. What a pretty little thing you are...

He pushes himself off the door and into the kitchen, standing behind you before leaning down to whisper in your ear, “You look great in those shorts, by the way.”

Before you can speak, he’s backing away and into the living room while you stand wide-eyed. it doesn’t take much for you to brush it off, sukuna is a flirt and does it to everyone, simply chalking up the comment as Ryo being a tease, nothing more. When you get inside, you notice Sukuna is man-spreading, nearly taking up most of the couch with his long legs.

You let out a huff. “Ryo, move your leg so I can sit.“

Ryomen hums, leaning further back. “What’s the magic word, princess?”

His words make you glare: “I’m not five sukuna.”

He scoffs, poking your side. “hey! I thought you wanted my forgiveness. This is just going to make me more mad.”

You bow your head, sucking your teeth in plain annoyance. “Please,” you mumble, your small voice barely being heard.

Sukuna smirks, enjoying this way more than he’s supposed to. “I’m sorry, I can’t hear you. y’need to say it louder, princess.”

You sneer, looking at him silently as if to ask if he was being serious or fucking with you, and after his face not changing once, it's safe to say he wasn’t. you clear your throat, “Please move.”

He grins, moving his leg to let you sit, which you do, but not without mumbling under your breath, setting the candy down so that you didn’t have to worry about it falling when you playfully shoved him. “You’re an ass.” Both of you laughed, with Sukuna pushing you back.

Sukuna sighs, and you notice the reluctance in his eyes before he speaks anyway, “I missed you.”

At his confession, you coo’d teasingly. “Aww, Sukuna has a soft spot!” poking his face, making him roll his eyes, and nip at your finger. although, if he’s being honest, he is anything but soft.

but you don’t need to know that. yet.

Sukuna picks a movie that has the best rating, hoping it’s enough to scare you into his arms (and it always is). You’re cuddled up to him, eating a nerd gummy cluster when you let out a high-pitched scream and cover your eyes. “What the fuck was that!?”

He lets out a chuckle, rubbing his hand down your arm to relax you. “Calm down—it wasn’t even that gory.“

“His head was just chopped off.”

“I’ve seen worse.” You glance at him with irritation before looking back at the movie. “Oh, sorry, I forgot I was watching a scary movie with Captain ‘I watched Gore at Five.’”

Sukuna didn’t need to respond, feeling you tighten around him as the movie got progressively scarier. To be completely honest, these movies were the least interesting part of the night. The way you clung to him was far more entertaining. you spent most of the time making observations about how ‘stupid’ the characters were, even joking to ease the tension, only to either jump or make some weird guttural sound that you attempted to hide with a cough or clearing on your throat. Thankfully, the movie started to play its end credits before you were scared into a premature heart attack, literally letting out a sigh of relief as the names rolled in.

Ryo stood up to bring everything inside, a bit disappointed that it was over because he was enjoying the way you relied on him for comfort. Just as he turned to exit, he was halted by you gently tugging on his arm. “Maybe we can play a game or something?”

“Are you... scared?” he chuckled.

“what!? No, I’m not—“ You let out a scream when the ending credits had a jump scare that was loud; your defense so high that you nearly punched him when he grabbed you. Sukuna stared at you with a blank expression. “Okay, it was a little scary.”

After what felt like hours of sukuna laughing, teasing, and poking fun at your fears, the two of you sat on the couch as a comedy show played in the background—anything to distract you from the thought of guts, blood, and murder. Sukuna suggested a few drinks would help you relax, so now the both of you sat on the couch, slightly tipsy, while playing a game.

you both originally tried to play monopoly, but realized how long it would take and gave up. Then you tried to play Trouble but realized half the game pieces were missing (courtesy of Sukuna’s baby brother Yuji, who decided to hide the pieces instead of play with them). and after remembering that you left both of your favorite card games at your friend's house, you opted for a more verbal one.

“Truth or dare?” he asked, eating one of his candies.

“truth”

Sukuna nodded, thinking for a second, ��Have you had a recent wet dream, and if so, tell me who it was with and what happened?” He smirked, popping in a jolly rancher. “Good one, right?”

You rolled your eyes at him and retracted your words, "I pick dare.”

“Give me a lap dance.”

You let out a deep sigh. “You’re such a perv, you know that?” Sukuna nods, chewing his candy. “So, what’s it gonna be? Should I be playing some music?“

You shook your head. you debated what to do for a moment, measuring out what would cause you more embarrassment and made a decision. “I had a wet dream like..two months ago.” You refuse to look at him, instead taking a sip from the drinks he prepared for you two.

He nods, motioning for you to keep going. “I asked for a lot more than that.”

“i..don’t remember.”

He groans, “Cmon, just say it. We gotta play the game right.”

“It was about... Satoru—” Sukuna wants to stop the game, suddenly very uninterested in everything coming out of your mouth. In fact, he felt extremely tired and definitely needed to get some rest for whatever he had planned for tomorrow (nothing). “and…you.” That makes him perk up, feeling all the alcohol disappear from his body, like your words sobered him up.

“What about me?” a cocky smirk on his lips.

You take a big gulp from your glass, setting down the now-empty cup. “It was weird.” You started to explain the dream in the fastest way possible, talking about how Satoru had given you a remote vibrator and instructed you to wear it around the house. Well, Sukuna happened to be there, and after finding out, “you know...”

“I don’t know,” he replied quickly, invested in the story.

“It just got a little...rated R. and you were on the phone with toru and…yeah.. i mean, it’s not like those dreams even mean anything.” you tried to brush it off unsuccessfully.

Sukuna was rock hard, staring at you in awe. When you finished telling the story, you put your hands over your face, feeling uneasy. “Do you have one?”

“one what?” You peaked between your fingers.

“a remote vibrator?”

“That’s not part of the question.” Sukuna nods, letting it go (even though he’s never wanted an answer more in his life). “Your turn, truth or dare?”

“dare.”

The moment the words slipped from his tongue, you began to smirk, causing Sukuna to narrow his eyes, wondering what you could possibly be planning—

“Give me a lap dance.”

Ryo scoffed, shaking his head in a firm ‘no’ motion. “absolutely not, truth.”

“Tell me why you hate Satoru." Wow, well played. a double-edged sword. Why did he hate Satoru? If he were honest with himself, he didn’t have a completely good reason other than that he fucks you. Calling him annoying wasn’t completely true, and he knew you wouldn’t buy it.

What can he say anyway? ‘I hate him because while he fucks you, I'm forced to hump my fist like an out-of-control hormonal teenager and he’s living my dream. not to mention he gets all your attention while i’m left to feel like an intruder in my own home even though I had you before him’??? He’d sound like a fucking loser, and there’s no way in hell that you wouldn’t hold that shit over his head. With a sigh, he stands up, “you gonna choose the song or what?”

He can see the giddiness on your face as you immediately pull your phone out, “turn on the speaker, Kuna'” you scroll through your music, “What about this one?” You turn your phone for him to see. the song of choice? wine pon you by Doja.

Sukuna groans, “Can't you do the song that was in that movie with the male stripper?”

“pony? no. It’s been overdone.” you deadpan. He lets out a sigh, shaking his head while you grab a folding chair and place it down. “You better do it right.”

Sukuna would laugh at your comment if it wasn’t for the fact it was directed at him. While you start the music, he begins to sensually try and remove his shirt making you giggle. His body immediately goes rigid, tips of his ears turning red. “Alright, i’m not doing this if you’re gonna laugh at me the whole time—“

“i’ll stop! keep going!” You immediately cover your mouth. He lowers his sweats a bit, showing off more of his happy trail and glances up at you with an arrogant smirk. “Like it, hm?” You roll your eyes but stay quiet.

He starts off by bringing your hands up to caress him while he grinds against you, the whole thing is both attractive and funny because it’s him of all people. You can’t deny that he actually makes it look really good, especially as he kneels in front of you, leaning back on one arm while his hand drags down his torso teasingly.

He doesn’t make it through the whole song, sadly chickening out after the first chorus is over while you cheer him on, clapping. “Wait, do it again so I can record!” He laughs sarcastically before shutting off the stereo. “Fun's over.”

Once the two of you are back on the couch, he speaks up, “Truth or dare?” Just as you go to say truth, he scowls, “Don’t pick truth again, you chose it all game. What are you, 12?”

You let out a puff of air. “It’s truth or dare! not dare or dare.”

"Okay, and you picked truth all game so it’s been revoked.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“Yeah, it does.” Before you can protest, he’s already talking, “I dare you to let me go through your phone for five minutes. zero limits.”

“And what if I don't let you?” You narrow your eyes, crossing your arms.

He shrugs, “Then you lose. I mean, you lose most of the games we play anyway, so i guess it’s not new to you, hm?”

You want to argue and yell that it’s not true, but it kind of is… See, in the years you and Sukuna have lived together, you were forcibly changed from a sore loser to a quietly sulky one as to not embarrass yourself by the amount of times you and him have gone head to head and you come out the loser. You swear he cheats at most of them (he does), but there’s no evidence, and having a full-blown breakdown over board games is a little under your age range. But you technically can win this; it’s just five minutes?

You grab your phone, unlocking it to set a timer, and throw it on his lap, “Anything you find does not leave this room, you understand?” He ignores you, immediately picking it up and clicking the photos app (like a perv🙄)There’s a bunch of random photos, some screenshots of your home screen that you constantly forget to delete, and some weird selfies that make you grimace, “ew, ryo! Stop looking at it..”

He’s not really listening, though, admiring how even when you’re doing weird and stupid shit you’re just so adorable. If you weren’t intently looking over his shoulder, he would have sent them to himself (he’s so obsessed, he’d probably print them out and make a scrapbook like a little freak). It’s a side of you not shown publicly, and it makes his stomach feel warm and tingly. After about a minute of you non-stop complaining about his fascination with your stupid photos, he exits the app to open your messages.

You watch over his shoulder, cringing as he clicks on your recent chat with your newest fling, Hiromi. the whole chat full of flirty messages and light sexting, along with some photos of you in the purple lingerie set he bought you. “Should I send these to myself too?” Sukuna teases, glancing at the endearing pout you wore at his comment. He scrolled down, clicking on random chats, some more filthy than others but nothing too extreme.

He was about to click off the app when he noticed ‘toru💙’ and scoffed, “what is he? your little boyfriend?” tapping the chat to read through his messages. He wants to groan at how cute Gojo attempts to text you, using the 🥺 emoji after almost every message and using nicknames like ‘baby’ and ‘cutie’, it makes sukuna wanna barf.

While Ryo makes a remark about every “stupid” (his words) comment Satoru makes, you refuse to look, knowing the disappointment that will be very apparent in his face. You decide the ceiling is much more entertaining, resting your head on the back of the couch. see, if you were paying attention, maybe you would’ve seen him click on the shared photos icon, scrolling through until a certain thumbnail caught his eye.

It looked like him sleeping on the couch, but was too blurry to actually tell, so he decided it would be better to watch it, pressing play.

It’s very quiet as you pan the camera to where he softly snores on the couch, turning the camera back to yourself while motioning ‘shh’ as you sit on the couch across from him. You sit up, your legs spread as the camera catches a peek into your tiny shorts to show off your pretty white panties, moving the clothing to the side to show your glistening folds and what looks to be a pink tail peeking from your pussy..?

You bring the camera back up, having it far enough to capture his sleeping frame and your face, giggling quietly before your eyes flutter and a tiny whimper leaves your puffy lips, “oh—fuck!”

You were spaced out until you heard the noise, head immediately snapping up to look at what he was watching. Your stomach drops as you look at yourself literally being caught red-fucking-handed, and before you can snatch the phone away, Sukuna is standing up and turning away so you can’t. “Sukuna! Give it back, now!”

He ignores you, again, laughing at the video the longer it plays. “Oh wow, my roomie is a little porn star~” His eyes zero in to how your eyes cross, guessing that the vibrator went a little too fast and made you see stars. how cute. “And right in front of me? while i’m helpless and sleeping?” He shakes his head, glancing behind himself and at you in mock disbelief.

You’re beyond frustrated, tears of shame gathering in your eyes, “Sukuna! it’s not like that—“

“Then explain,” He turns back around to watch the video, looking at how you roll up your baggy t-shirt to expose your pretty tits. You nervously glanced behind you at his sleeping form before facing the camera again, “i hope he doesn’t wake up~” you pant, tilting the camera to focus on how you play with your swollen clit. “cause’ it looks like my pervy roommate was getting off on the fact i was unaware. hey, didn’t you say that this was just a dream? because this looks very real to me, princess.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, cursing. “i just—i told Gojo about the dream first and he wanted me to act it out but I knew I couldn’t actually get you to do it and so it was the second-best option! I’m sorry, sukuna!” your words jumble together as a lump forms in your throat, You didn’t even recognize how hard you were crying until it was physically becoming hard to breathe. “i’m—sorry!” You hiccup, arms covering your face in humiliation.

At the sound of your sobs, Sukuna turns around and realizes he might have let his amusement get out of hand, quickly shutting your phone and letting it drop on the couch. “w-why are you crying?” You don’t answer, if anything, it makes you sob harder and turn away from his strong gaze. Without hesitation, Ryo begins to rub your back, cooing in your ear, “it’s okay, just breathe”

You don’t believe it; this man just found out you’re a perverted freak, and he’s the one comforting you? You turn to look at him, tears still pooling in your eyes, “What? Why—aren’t you mad?”

Sukuna shrugs, “Should I be?”

“I—I mean, yeah? it’s justifiable…” You feel your stomach sink with every second of silence that passes.

“Why would I be mad?” You feel stumped. Is he trying to make you feel more humiliated? Is this a game? trying to get you to confess more and more to make you feel worse than you already do? “I mean, I guess I am a little. Why didn’t you wake me up anyway?”

His words make you freeze, confusion must be clear on your face because Sukuna continues, “not only did you not let me see it in person, but to not send the video either? That’s just cruel.” He’s smirking again, his signature, ‘up to no good’ look that makes you feel small back on his face. “I guess you’ll have to repay me, huh?”

You gulp, looking up at him. “repay you? how?" His smirk grows into a grin, so evil and menacing but so fucking attractive. “By giving me a live show, my little porn star~”

He instructed you to get dressed into the lingerie set previously shown in the photos you sent Hiromi. You’re not incredibly self-conscious, but as his eyes follow you when you walk into the living room, telling you to turn around and bend over to “give him a proper look," you feel a slight increase of nerves, hoping he enjoys your act of submission.

and he does. the way you nervously play with your fingers, breath hitching when you feel him creep behind you to look at how the lace of your panties cups your pussy. He’s been hard since he saw the video, but his need for you grows with every instruction you follow. so cute and compliant, wanting to do anything to make up for being so naughty. It makes him feel something he’s never felt before.

You’re gripping the back of the loveseat when you feel his fingers trace the slit of your pussy through the lace, pressing a little harder at where your hole is, chuckling when you push back against him. “Does that feel good?” You nod, trying not to speak to not embarrass yourself. He didn’t like that, making you yelp when he suddenly smacked your left ass cheek with a good amount of force, turning to look at him in shock. “Use your voice.”

“yes ryo…”

He hummed, peeling your panties to the side. You were so wet, Sukuna’s eyes were glued to the little strings of arousal that stuck to his fingers whenever he pulled them away, “What a nasty little pussy you have—oh look! She winked at me” You want to shove your head into a wall, feeling your body heat up at the way he talked. so shameless.

“Why don’t you go get me that vibrator, princess.” He gives you a kiss on your ass cheek, the same one he spanked, before pulling away. You obey, returning to the living room again, this time with the egg shaped toy. He makes you sit down, spreading your thighs as he teases you with it, dragging it up and down your slit to get it wet. Your hips gently rock against the sensation, getting choked up as he suddenly pushes it in and pulls your panties back into place.

He makes you kneel on the floor in front of him, already having downloaded and connected the device to his phone. Your eyes are still puffy, and you look up at him with such guilt. He can’t help but lean down to capture your lips, making out with you until you’re panting with your lips all swollen. When he pulls away, he decides to turn the vibration onto a low setting, enjoying the way your eyes become droopy and soft puffs of air leave your mouth. “You wanna suck my cock, pretty girl?”

You rub your thighs together, eyes finally looking down at the thick print he left in his sweats. You look up at him, nodding. "Yes, please” he leans back, getting comfortable, “then go ahead.”

You feel nervous as your hands begin to pull at the strings of his pants, tugging to pull them down. His boxers are tight, giving you an even better glance at just how big he truly was. Before your regular hookups started, you always fantasized about how big Sukuna was. Hearing girl after girl scream his name until their throats went sore and watching them limp out of the apartment the next day was kind of telling, but you were starting to think that you underestimated just how big he was.

With every ounce of courage you could muster, you began to peel his underwear off, your eyes widening when his long cock came out in all its glory. It was huge. not just in length, but in girth, and it was pretty. He kept himself clean, hair trimmed but not shaved, and his pretty tip oozed milky pre-cum, lightly dripping down his dick. “gon’ keep starin’ or what?”

Sukuna indulged in the look on your face as you stared at him, it gave him an ego boost when you tried to wrap your hand around his cock just to realize you couldn’t fully cover it. “t’s big right?” You didn’t answer, knowing he already knew what your response would be, and instead leaned forward to spit on it, your thumb moving to spread the liquid on his tip. He let out a breathy moan, cock twitching when you licked his vein hesitantly, “that’s it, good girl”

You attempted to take as much of him in your mouth as you could, ignoring the way your throat protested. Sukuna’s hands tangled in your hair, jaw loosening, while he watched the way you bobbed your head, looking up at him with teary eyes. spit seeped from your mouth, making it messy and noisy as the sound of your little gags filled the living room, “Oh, fuck yeah—take it all”

He began to fuck your mouth, pace picking up until he was roughly thrusting, eyes rolling back. You focused on ignoring your gag reflex until you suddenly felt a strong vibration in your cunt, immediately pulling away as you let out a cry. You had drool dripping down your chin, and your moans came out hoarse from his brutal thrusts, “Kuna'—too much!”

scoffing, he grabbed your head again, “keep going.”

you huffed, putting him back in your mouth when the vibrations increased again. you moaned around his cock, your head feeling empty as all you could do it suck on his tip haphazardly, pulling away to pant helplessly. you rested your head on his thigh, hand squeezing his length. “can’t do it, Ryo”

Your hips rut onto nothing, pathetically looking up at him as the toy brutally massaged your g-spot. You looked so angelic, messy with tears, spit, and precum all over you. Sukuna coo’d, hand reaching down to caress your cheek, “s’ too much?” You nodded, tongue lolling out as you began to feel the buildup of an orgasm, whining as your other hand gripped his. Your mind was going numb, sight getting splotchy.

Your hold on his hand tightened when your body began to squirm uncontrollably, a cry leaving your lips before your vision blacked out momentarily. You woke up feeling like you were in a puddle, Sukuna laughing as you looked down in confusion, “guess you weren’t lying, princess.”

You choked when you realized you had squirted on the floor, feeling embarrassed by just how easy he made overwhelming you. Before you could let the shame consume you, Ryomen was pulling you up and onto the couch. “Wanna try again?”

He tugged on the toy, playing with the different settings, until you became a babbling mess. He jerked his cock off lazily, getting off to the pleas of his name on repeat. his thumb reached down to play with your clit, your plush thighs immediately closing as your head shook back and forth, “n-no, hurts!” he pried your thighs open, spanking your cunt making you whine.

“Nuh uh, hold your legs open,” You struggle to follow his orders, shaky hands gripping your thighs to present yourself to him. He let a glob of spit fall out of his mouth and onto your already drenched pussy, spreading it with his fingers. He made you cum two times before he finally allowed himself to take out the tiny egg, throwing it carelessly across the room because now it was the least of his worries.

Leaning down, he kissed your swollen bud, a mewl escaping your lips when he brought it into his mouth and sucked. You swear he was making you see stars, Sukuna growled when he tasted your sweet nectar meet his awaiting tongue, hand reaching up to move your bra and pinch your nipple. The pleasure he gave you was immense, overstimulating not only your poor body but your mind. “s’kuna! wait—“

He shoved his fingers in your mouth, quieting your sobs as his cruel tongue played with your cunt. Everything he did was so vulgar, treating you like some whore, even letting little whispers of “my pretty slut” slip from his lips whenever you would buck into his mouth. “You wanna ride my face, pretty? that what you want?”

You shook your head, pulling away from his fingers, “Later—close l-like this!” Your words made him feel giddy, putting more emphasis into every movement of his tongue. later implied this would happen again and Sukuna was more than ecstatic to make this a tradition.

You let go of your thighs, your hands gripping his hair to push him closer. You were so close, practically tasting it. Two fingers slowly pushed into you, followed by another, scissoring you open and rubbing against that sensitive part of you that made your body heat up. You let out a wail, tugging on his hair harder when you felt yourself cum, basically riding his face until you went limp. The orgasm so strong you felt light-headed, ears ringing, barely noticing Sukuna pulling away to show off his wet grin.

He loved how fucked out you looked, barely conscious and twitching. Without thinking twice, he reached down and ripped the fabric that was semi-covering your chest. It took you a second to register what happened, looking down at how the lilac fabric was now in multiple pieces and frowned. “h-hiromi got me that..”

Sukuna nodded, rolling his eyes, “So?”

You couldn’t even argue with him, brain fuzzy and most of your short sentences came out slurred anyway. Sukuna took your silence as a win, leaning down to lick and suck at your tits, leaving hickies all over the surface. You hummed, mouth opening as you felt the tip of his cock tease your entrance, slowly pushing into you. Your shaky hand pushed against his stomach, “Ryo! t’s too big!”

but he just shook his head, moving to kiss you softly while his hand moved yours away to let him push in, lacing your fingers together by your head. It burned, the pain almost too much. However, Sukuna slowed his movement, letting his free hand go down to rub your clit. “It's okay, baby, jus’ lemme in..” He went back to kissing you, continuing to thrust into you until he bottomed out.

When he pulled away, he watched how your face contorted and your eyebrows furrowed together when you felt the double stimulation. When you began to babble, hips pushing into his, he started to thrust, picking up speed with every second. His hand still held yours, the moment feeling incredibly intimate.

He was losing his mind. Your tightness felt unlike the pocket pussy he used to fuck. No, this was completely different. He liked holding your hand, feeling you grip onto his with such need or maybe it was the way you gazed into his eyes like he was the only man on earth… Either way, there was a warm feeling in his stomach and a need to prove himself. His movements were smooth as he thrusted into your sore cunt, enjoying the squeals you let out when it got too much, ignoring how you begged him to slow down or you’d cum. He felt like he was on fire, sweat dripping from his brow. He wanted this all the time, seven days a week.

He wanted you.

“Oh, fuck—I'm gonna put a baby in you—you like that? want to make a little family?” He sounded arrogant, like he had already made the decision for you. and maybe it was because of how fucked out you were, but his words didn’t seem to bad..if anything, they made you squeeze him tighter and nod. “Yes! Please, Kuna! want it—so bad”

“oh yeah? gonna cream in this pretty pussy—fill you up nicely,” you agreed, legs locking around him. “Make you the prettiest mommy—oh fuck!” Skin on skin along with the soft ‘plap’ from your dripping cunt echoed in the room, so loud you would probably get noise complaints, but that didn’t matter.

All Sukuna could think about was breeding you, knowing that you would have to get rid of your little fuck buddies if he put a little spawn inside you. He could picture everything: the proposal, marriage, little children running around the house he’ll buy you two. And the best part: it’ll be free from Satoru.

He knew you were close when he felt your walls flutter, pleads getting higher before they got stuck in your throat as your eyes rolled back. He kept thrusting, working you through your orgasm before he finally released, pushing himself as deep as he could. He kissed you again, savoring the taste of your mouth and how, with every breath you let out, he sucked in.

He let you rest as he got up to clean. You would have offered to help if it wasn’t for your brain fog and limbs that felt like jelly. You can’t even remember how you got into your room—only the way he curled against you, placing delicate kisses all over your collarbone and neck, the sound of your giggles making his heart swell. He couldn’t help but watch you as you drifted off to sleep, hoping that in the morning you wouldn’t make an excuse for why this couldn’t go farther.

The thought made him anxious, preventing him from closing his eyes because, in truth, if this was the end, he wanted to prolong it. He took in every detail of your face, listening to the sound of your patterned breathing and the feeling of your soft skin in his hands. His eyes grew heavy eventually, closing before he had the chance to fight it.

You woke up sore the next morning, feeling a muscular arm wrapped tightly around you. You didn’t move, trying to plan out how to approach this situation. On one hand, the sex was amazing and you’ve wanted him for years. and on the other, this could easily be nothing and confessing that would be useless. You were beyond frustrated and had a slight migraine, but refused to disturb him by getting up and having to face the conversation prematurely.

So you waited.

Minutes passed like hours; the longer time went by, the more anxious you grew. This felt so different than your regular hookups—at least if things got complicated with one of them, you could just leave. but this was different. he’s different.

Sukuna slept quietly next to you, arm wrapped around you protectively. He shuffled slightly, signaling he was waking up. The realization made your heart beat faster, second guessing everything you'd prepared in your head until the sound of his raspy morning voice broke the silence, “Good morning…”

“Morning,” your reply was quick, your back still facing him. He hums in acknowledgment, body shifting closer to you to firmly mold against your back. he moves into the crock of your neck to inhale how sweet you smell before pressing soft kisses onto the skin, the feeling ticklish and would have been enjoyable if it wasn’t for your racing head. “sukuna?”

“mmhm?” He hums against your skin, sucking small markings onto the surface. You pull away to look at him, making sure to hold the blanket over your exposed chest, like it mattered. You had so much to say and yet didn’t know where to start.

at the feeling of you pushing away, his eyes open, curious as to why you created the distance (and mild irritation because he liked how you felt against him). The arm he had around you moved to hold up his head, eyebrows raising. he studies the look on your face, noticing the tenseness in your movements. “What’s on your mind, princess?”

You debated how to approach this, but you were truly stumped. You’ve had plenty of hookups, but this isn’t the same; you didn’t really care for them. “What did last night mean?”

He was silent for a moment before a smirk graced his lips, hand reaching out to brush a stand of hair away before making its way to delicately cup your chin. “So straightforward, huh?” He pulls you against him, arm wrapping around you to keep you flush against his chest. He watches you intently, looking for any reaction, “What do you want it to mean?”

You can’t deny it catches you off guard, your breath hitching in your throat before you shrug, “I don’t know... I guess if you just want it to be friendly—“

His jaw tightens for a moment before a scoff leaves his mouth. His hand travels to your hips, fingers gently tracing it before gripping the soft flesh, “You only see me as a friend?”

“no…”

Your response puts a sly grin on Ryo’s face. “Then why don’t we cut the bullshit,” He gets impossibly closer, lips brushing yours teasingly. “Because we both know we’re not friends…”

You can’t stop the stupid smile that takes over your face, “Does that mean that you’re my—“

He doesn’t let you finish that sentence, a possessive glint flickering in his eyes as he cuts you off. “I’m gonna stop you there, love…” pushing you to lay on your back while he leans down over you. he moves closer, his mouth hovering next to your ear, his warm breath fanning across your skin “…because I’m going to make it very clear who you belong to.”

a/n: and it’s done🙏 although this is the last in the series, i still have some drafts/asks that i may get to at some point but i wanted to give you guys some type of ending :) was gonna post this yesterday but didn’t like the original ending i had so i had to redo it. also, did y’all notice the jungkook easter egg👀

tags (ignore)

@smolbeanzzz @mwtsxri @call-memissbrightside @iluvjjkmennn @evieluka @celestep004 @ermatfhh @lenalondon985 @peregrine-nation @1dk-anym0r3 @noblogname-exe @theobsidianempress @silverserpentsofhogwarts @mr-mafias-wife @idkccdfnfz @thejujvtsupost @bbnbhm

[milla-frenchy]

A summer with the Millers

4k2 | Joel Miller x fem reader x Tommy Miller | ao3 | Masterlist Summary: you come back to your father's house for summer vacation and want to get closer to your crush (your dad's best friend) and his brother Warnings: 18+ mdni. dubcon (alcohol), mfm, age gap (reader is 21, Tommy and Joel are in their late 30s, early 40s), virgin reader, eager reader, dirty talk, degradation, masturbation, oral (m/f), ball sucking

a/n: dividers @saradika-graphics 🙏❤️ @aurorawritestoescape thank you for beta-ing, love you 💕🫶

It was the beginning of summer, and you were coming back to Austin for vacation. Now you lived in the north of the country for your studies, not too far from your mother, since your parents had divorced several years ago. You hadn't been back in Texas since last summer, and you were delighted to see your father. You couldn't wait to enjoy the heat and the pool. You were about to spend several weeks here, and you had been looking forward to the holidays so much that you almost twirled around as you headed towards the airport parking lot to meet your father.

Your phone buzzed, and you saw the text message.

“Sorry, sweetie, I had a setback at work, I'm really sorry. Tommy is coming to pick you up from the airport. I'll see you home very soon. See you tonight, I can’t wait!"

You were a little disappointed not to see your father right away, but Tommy? He was your dad’s best friend, and you had known him for a long time. You’d had a big crush on him for a couple years, and your disappointment quickly gave way to a slight tightening in your heart.

You reached the parking lot where Tommy was already waiting for you, leaning against his car, smoking a cigarette. He threw it away as soon as he saw you and gave you a big smile before taking you in his arms.

“Hey, darlin’! It’s been so long since I’ve seen you!”

You pulled away from each other, and you weren't sure if your brain was playing tricks, but you felt like you caught his gaze quickly checking out your body.

“Damn, look at you all grown up!”

You smiled at his warm welcome, and your grin reached your ears when he opened the passenger door as a perfect gentleman to let you settle in. When he got behind the wheel and started off, that time you were sure, his eyes lingered for a second or two on your bare legs, which your short skirt barely covered. You smiled. It was going to be a good summer, you were sure of it.

The radio was playing a cool 70s rock song, and you leaned your head against the headrest.

“How old are you now, darlin’? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

"I'm 21. And it hasn’t been that long, I was here last summer,” you replied, laughing.

“Wow, really? Well… you seem like a whole different person now. How are your studies going?”

"Alright! I love studying classic literature. I feel good at my uni but I’m happy to be back in Texas.”

“I bet you do! How’s your mother?”

“She’s fine too. She has a new boyfriend. Well, it's been almost a year now.”

“Alright. I hope he’s not a pain in the ass to ya?”

“No, he’s ok”, you replied.

The trip continued with a really smooth conversation between the two of you. A few times, your eyes dared to linger on his hands placed on the steering wheel. His veins were prominent and his forearms muscular, and you couldn't help but wonder what his hands would feel like on you. “They’d make a perfect collar around my neck…” you giggled softly at the thought. Apparently your crush was stronger than ever. And you were hornier than ever.

You realized Tommy was talking to you and you hadn’t paid attention.

“Mmm, excuse me?” you asked.

“What was your pretty head thinking about?” he asked, looking at you a little longer than usual.

“Oh, nothing special…I’m just glad to be back.”

“I’m glad too, darlin’.” He checked out your legs when you were looking out of the window and couldn't catch him staring, before pulling into your father's driveway and wishing you a good afternoon.

You watched his car back out of the driveway, then he parked in front of his house. The house next to your dad’s. You waved Tommy goodbye when he looked at you before entering his house. You definitely didn't regret that he came to get you instead of your father.

The sun was flooding the dining room. Photos of you and your father adorned the walls. You missed him terribly every year. You called each other often, but of course it wasn't the same as seeing him every day. Like before.

Your bedroom was as you had left it. Everything in its place, every book, every photo, every memory. You lay down on your bed and stroked the soft blanket with your fingertips. For a few moments, your childhood memories came back to you. A bittersweet melancholy of a bygone time.

Quickly you thought about Tommy, and how he had checked you out in the car. It hadn’t been that long since you’d seen each other, but he seemed to like you. Differently. At least you hoped so, and you would soon check if that was indeed the case. As usual, he would often come over to your dad’s house to watch a football game, have a beer, or enjoy the pool. On Sunday, there would be the usual early summer barbecue. You couldn't wait to go through your closet and pick a dress that would make him salivate.

But first you needed to get off. Your fingers slid down your body. Running them from your neck, where you imagined Tommy’s fingers lightly gripping your skin. The warmth of his hand on you. You went down to the hollow between your breasts, brushing them very lightly, before grabbing one of them and twitching the nipple between your fingers until you felt it harden. Your other hand traveled from your navel to your skirt. You brushed against the elastic, then the fabric, until you reached the hem. Pulling your skirt up to your waist, then brushing against your sensitive folds under your panties. For a few minutes, you played with your pleasure. Brushing against your swollen clit with feather light touches. Until impatience gripped you, and you finally slip your hand into your panties. Imagining Tommy’s feverish fingers working their way to reach your soaking pussy. You ran your digits along your soaked folds to wet them, and moved up to your twitching clit, already sensitive. You moaned, softly whispering “Tommy.” Your index finger gently swirled over your little bud of nerves, applying the perfect pressure to make your orgasm build. Your other hand squeezed your breast, and you arched your back as your gasps filled the room. But you needed more. Needed to feel something in your core. Your hand left your breast and slipped into your panties, pushing your middle finger between your folds. Just in time for your pussy to clench on it, a wave hit your trembling body. Imagining Tommy inside you, his face above yours, balls deep in your cunt. His name escaped your lips one last time, with final twitches of your walls against your finger. All you could think about was Tommy, and the sensations he would give you. Sensations you could only imagine, because you were still a virgin.

Your father came back home early in the evening, and you had dinner together, chatted and laughed. You two always had a great relationship. When your parents had divorced, you all had agreed that you would live with your mother, since your father had often been away for work. But you missed him a lot, and summers with him were definitely your favorite time of the year.

Tommy came by your house a few times in the days that followed. But not once did you see his gaze on you like it had happened in his car on the way back from the airport. You were disappointed, but since your father was home every time he visited, you figured that maybe Tommy didn't want to risk something in his presence.

The barbecue day arrived, finally. You had chosen a short summer dress with white and yellow pattern, thin straps, no bra underneath. Black lace panties completed the ensemble.

You were impatiently waiting for Tommy to arrive, and you knew he would be among the first guests. You were busy setting the table when you heard your name. Tommy was approaching you and he wasn't alone. Joel, his brother, was with him. He was slightly older than Tommy, and you hadn't seen him in several years. You didn't remember him being so hot and you lost your breath when you saw him. They hugged you, and If Tommy kept a friendly attitude, Joel looked at you from head to toe and smirked, while your dad was busy with the other guests. Arousal instantly burned you from the inside out.

So you decided to go a little further. You seeped your beer while staring and smiling at Tommy or Joel, played with a lollipop redder than your lips while looking at them, or talking to them. You saw Joel readjust himself twice, and Tommy looked away a few times. But his bulge left no doubt about the effect your little game had on him.

The last guests were leaving, and you wished everyone a good evening. Saving your warmest, playful smile for the Millers. Your father had drunk a little too much, and told you he was going to bed. You walked him to his bedroom, helped him take off his shoes, and covered him with his blanket. Then you went into the garden and sat in one of the deckchairs, a beer in hand. You had drunk more than usual but you felt good, a little dizzy but not too much, and you wanted to end the evening like that, looking at the stars.

“You haven’t gone to bed, darlin’?”, you heard from the aisle. Tommy and Joel were heading back towards you.

“No, not yet, I’m still enjoying the evening,” you added, raising your beer bottle at them. “Did you forget something?”

“Yeah, my phone. There it is,” Tommy added.

“Wanna join me for another beer?”

“Yeah, sure”, said Joel. They took beers from the cooler, then brought two deck chairs closer to yours. Conversation was easy with them. Both were quite talkative.

As for you, you laughed even more than usual, thanks to the beers you had drunk. The effect of the alcohol seemed much less stronger on Tommy and Joel.

“It’s getting late, I'm gonna put away the leftovers”, you said, getting up.

“Let us help you, sweetheart,” offered Joel.

You took the salad bowls and went down to the basement to put them in the fridge. You found yourself really close to Joel as you walked through the door, and he clung to you wholeheartedly. 

“So, baby... what was that little game all evening?”

“You liked it?” you asked, shamelessly.

“Oh, sweetheart, are you sure you know what you’re gettin’ into?”

“What are you doin’, Joel?” asked Tommy.

“Just what she wants. Come on, she’s been hitting on us all day.”

“Her father’s here, Joel. He’s… He’s my best friend.”

“Drank way too much. We heard him snoring from the dining room. And she can fuck whoever she wants, it’s not her father’s problem. She’s 21.”

“I… I don’t know man.. I’ve known her since… forever.”

"Jesus. She's an adult. You wanna have fun, baby?”

“Yes! Yes, please. Come on, Tommy, I wanna play with you too”, you added, flirting openly.

Tommy's remorse quickly dissipated, you weren’t sure if you had to thank the beers for that or not. The two brothers' bodies pressed against yours two seconds later. Tommy's lips sought yours, while Joel's covered your neck with kisses. The four hands caressed your waist and breasts, and you felt their hard cocks pushing against you. Virility and masculinity emanated from them. Strength, too. They were men, not boys or young men, and had a totally different energy than the guys you had dated so far. And even though your desire for the two brothers was soaking your panties, you started to fear that maybe you wouldn’t be able to manage what was going to happen next.

“Wait, wait”, you breathed out suddenly, while your hands were lost in Tommy’s wavy hair. They pulled away from you slightly at the same time, respecting your uncertainty.

“What is it, darlin’?” Tommy asked you gently.

“I… uh. Fuck.” You looked at him with a mixture of different emotions in the eyes. Joel stood in front of you, side by side with his brother.

“I…damn. I’m a virgin”, you finally confessed, looking down at the ground.

“What the…” Joel said with raised eyebrows, pulling away from you and taking a few steps into the basement, hands on hips.

“Well… I played with dildos but… not real dicks.”

“Christ, darlin’ we can't… We can’t do that” said Tommy, shaking his head.

“You’re a virgin? How is it even possible? I mean… You’re screaming for our cocks and you never took one?” added Joel.

“I just… I dated guys but they were jerks. I never wanted to fuck one of them. Plus…”

“Plus what?” asked Joel.

Alcohol gave you some courage, or unconsciousness, and you murmured “I couldn’t get Tommy out of my head.”

“No shit”, chuckled Joel, “my little bro is a crush of his best friend's daughter…”

“Shut up, Joel. Darlin’, what are you talking-”

“Oh come on, Tommy. You saw how I looked at you. And I saw how you looked at me. I’m an adult. And… you’re hot. Both of you. We can have fun, right? I guess you don't fuck virgins every day. I just need you to go slow."

“No. No way. We can’t do that. Not here, not now… we can’t do that Joel. It was one thing to fuck her. But having her first time with us here? With her father upstairs? No way.”

“Alright, alright. What if… We’d do other things?”

“What things?”

“Using our hands and mouths. We could play with her mouth too.”

“I don’t fuckin’ know, man. And she drank too much to think clearly”, said Tommy.

“She wasn’t drunk when she was teasing us as soon as we arrived. You want this, baby?” Joel asked, looking at you.

“Yes”, you answered firmly.

“Both of us?”

“Yes.”

Joel moved closer to you, took off your dress, and whistled before looking at his brother.

“We have fun. But we don’t fuck her. Not with our cocks, at least.”

“That’s twisted, Joel”, Tommy murmured, but without being able to take his eyes off your body.

“That’s hot as fuck.”

“Fuck… Ok. Ok...”

A few seconds later, you found yourself on the couch in that basement with Tommy’s shoulders between your thighs.

“Your panties’re soaked, baby, jesus…” he said.

“Told you I wanted it…” you flirted.

“Fuck”, he said, caressing your folds through the fabric, before removing them and spreading your thighs slightly to reveal your pussy. “Damn, look at that, Joel…”

Joel moved closer and Tommy spread you further, so his brother had a perfect view of your bare, dripping pussy.

“What a juicy cunt… Already all swollen up. Can’t wait to taste it. But you go first, man.”

“Yeah”, Tommy breathed out just before he licked a long stripe from your folds to your clit. 

You were already moaning at this new sensation. So different from the one you felt when you were making yourself come with your fingers, or even a sex toy. Tommy's tongue ran through your folds, his mustache and beard tickled your fine skin. Then danced at your core, and swirled over your clit, and you didn't know whether to hold on to his hair or his shoulders. Sometimes you would open your eyes and watch Joel, staring where his brother was eating you out, his hand squeezing his crotch to relieve the tension. Tommy pushed one finger in your cunt, and you stared at Joel as you came on Tommy’s finger, his tongue resting on your clit.

“Fuck, that’s hot baby, seeing you all spread like that for my brother…”

Tommy was so pussy drunk from being the first one to lick you that he almost came in his boxers when you clenched on his finger and moaned. He pulled away and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and you felt slightly embarrassed seeing how his mustache and beard glistened from your wetness. Then he got up and slowly pulled his cock out of his pants, and you saw the red, dripping tip of his thick length.

“You wanna suck my cock, darlin’?”

You nodded enthusiastically, but Joel firmly told you “words, baby.”

“Yes. Yes, I wanna suck your cock, Tommy.”

“You’ve never sucked a cock before either?” Joel asked as he in turn knelt between your thighs.

“No… uh Joel? Are you gonna…?”

“Eat ya? Yeah. Fuck yeah. Ya want it?”

“Yeah…Yeah, I want it.”

“You got it, then.”

He spat on your cunt and you gasped, then he spread it with his thumb, careful not to overstimulate you. 

“How many times did you get off thinking about my brother, baby?” he asked before licking your soaking pussy.

“A… a lot”, you whimpered, your hands tightening his curls, as you spread your legs as wide as possible to give him full access.

“Yeah, you got off, thinking of my brother’s tongue in your cunt? His fingers? His cock?”

“Yeah”, you breathed out.

“Damn, little brother. What a good little toy we got here...”

The way he was talking about you made you moan, and he buried his tongue between your folds. 

Thinking that his brother was eating your pussy a few minutes before was turning you on like never before. 

Thinking that the first time someone went down on you, he did it in front of his brother, before he took his place. And you were already wondering if you could convince Tommy to make them take your virginity, and if Joel would lie down between your thighs after his brother. Filling you both with their cum. The thought, coupled with Joel's tongue, made you cum a second time so quickly that you didn’t feel it coming.

“She’s so sensitive…I wonder how many times we’re gonna make her cum, Tommy.”

Tommy was lazily jerking off while watching his brother eat you out. When your shaking stopped, his eyes darkened and he said “sit down, sweetheart. Will be easier to blow me.”

You obeyed, blushing slightly under their gaze on your bare body, but eager to taste his thick cock. 

You had watched tons of porn and knew how to do it. But you wanted to hear Tommy tell you what to do, to be in charge. You let him grab your chin between his fingers, and lift it towards him. Applying a light pressure to it.

“Open up for me, darlin’.”

You parted your lips, and he bent over, dropping his saliva in your mouth, which you swallowed right away.

“Gonna be sloppy for me?”

You nodded, eyes fixed on him.

“Stick out your tongue and lick my slit, baby. Wanna see your pretty throat swallow what I’m givin’ you.”

You darted your tongue out and twirled it around his tip, then swallowed his precum. Tasting it for the first time. He held his cock tightly in his hand while the other was holding the back of your head as he pushed his tip between your lips.

Joel had just finished another beer and was watching you suck his brother while palming his crotch.

“How is she?”, he asked.

“Good. Fuckin’ good. A little shy and unsure. It's fuckin’ hot.”

“Can you imagine, her first time playing naughty for real, she wants not one, but two cocks? What kinda slut does that?”

If Joel thought he was embarrassing you by talking about you like that, he was wrong. You pulled back and your eyes fixed on his brother, as you asked feigning shy tone “you like being sucked by your best friend’s daughter, Tommy?” Batting your long eyelashes at him, making Joel chuckle “well, damn…”

“Fuck… You’re a naughty thing, darlin’, aren’t ya? Naughty things like you don’t keep their mouths empty. Keep suckin’.”

You smiled and took him back in your mouth, applying yourself, attentive to his moans and sucking him according to his sensitivity.

Joel opened two beers and offered one to his brother who took sips regularly, his other hand resting on the back of your head while fucking your mouth and throat. Joel sat on the couch next to you, and took out his cock, wanking slowly while drinking his beer too.

“I think my brother needs some relief, baby. Be a good girl and lie down.”

Once laid down, Joel spread your thighs indecently, exposing your soaking wet pussy.

“Gonna let me play with that little cunt, sweetheart?”

You nodded, just before Tommy slipped his cock back in your mouth. Drinking his beer at the same time. Being used like this was turning you on more and more. Both of them still had their clothes on, and you found it so hot. Making you feel even more used. 

“Imagine how tight she must be. How she’d squeeze our cocks, if we fucked her like she begs to be. One day, don’t freak out little brother.”

“I know, fuck, stop talking about that or I’m gonna nut.”

Joel smirked and spread your glistening folds with his thumbs and you felt your wetness flowing down to your asshole. He spat on your cunt and you moaned.

“She just loves that,” Tommy smirked, thrusting deeper in your throat.

Joel hummed, and brushed his beer bottle between your folds, and you tensed noticeably.

“Come on, Joel, don’t be a jerk.”

Joel chuckled again, and said “you know I won’t do that. I’m not gonna split her open with a bottle. At least not for her first time. Just wanted to spice up my beer.” 

He took a sip of his beer, covered with your wetness.

“Way better, now.”

“Fuck”, said Tommy, watching him.

Joel rubbed his shaft along your folds, making you moan, mouth full of Tommy’s cock. Feeling his cock against your pussy was an overwhelming sensation. So different from feeling a cold dildo. Your hips rolled against Joel’s shaft and he growled.

“Don’t fuck her, Joel”, Tommy warned. 

“Yeah. I know. Fuck, I know, I know. Her cunt is trying to swallow me, man, you see that?”

“Yeah… Our little whore. When did you become such a cockslut, baby? Your father raised you as a good, proper girl, and look at you playing with our fat cocks…not that I'm complaining, takin’ such good care of us, damn.”

Joel’s precum was mixing with your wetness and he rubbed his tip against your clit.

“ ‘m gonna come soon… gonna shoot my load on that pretty pussy, cover her in white, fuck…”

“Suck my balls, baby… gonna come soon too.”

Tommy grabbed his big balls and let them cover your mouth and chin as he started to jerk off. You licked, sucked his balls eagerly, like you've seen dozens of times in porns.

“Look at that Joel, holy shit. Better than your lollipop, uh darlin’?”

“See brother, who gives a shit she’s your best friend's daughter? We could rail her all summer, ruin her pretty holes every fucking day. Teach her how to be a perfect fuck.”

Their dirty talk, the way they were talking about you as if you weren’t even here, made you melt and despite your sore jaw, you couldn’t stop licking Tommy’s balls, still jerking off.

“Fuck, darlin’, yeah just like that. Keep suckin’ my balls. Oh god. Fuck!”

His cum spurted out, white pearls falling onto your hair and face as his hand held your mouth pressed against his balls.

You heard Joel growl and he grabbed your hand, holding it against his shaft sliding along your folds, until he came too, his cum covering your pussy and fingers. His jerks against your clit made you cum one last time, your pussy desperately empty, and you only wished to squeeze their shafts soon enough.

“Jesus… you dried our balls so good, baby.”

They tucked their cocks into their jeans, looking at you still lying on the couch covered in their cum, breathing heavily. Tommy brought you a towel and they helped you up.

“You liked it baby? You liked being a good slut for us?

“Never felt better, actually”, you smiled.

The next morning when you came down for breakfast, your father had already made you coffee and toasts.

“Did you have a good evening, sweetie? I think I passed out… Did you help me in to my bedroom? I can’t remember a thing, I'm sorry sweetie.”

“I did, don’t worry ‘bout that, dad, it’s totally ok!”

“I wasn't a very good host or proper father last night. Wasn't it too much work to put everything back together?”

“No, don’t worry. Tommy and Joel helped me.”

“Oh great. I’m glad they helped you, can’t say I’m surprised they did. They’re good Texans, with proper manners.”

“They really are”, you smiled warmly.

That evening, you knocked on Tommy's door. Joel's figure appeared behind him when he opened it.

“I want more,” you murmured.

***********

Thank you for reading 🙏

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️

Follow @millafics and turn notifications on for fics updates

@littlemisspascal @pascalsanctuary @survivingandenduring

[stevieschrodinger]

Part one

Steve’s alone with fish guy, and it’s the perfect time to make his second attempt. For the first time Steve figures the guy must finally be relaxing, if only a tiny bit. The frozen peas were a massive hit, and maybe that’s helping. Being hungry like that must be really shitty, especially if it’s for a long time, like Steve suspects from the look of fish guy.

Maybe fish guy is starting to realize that this isn’t the labs under Starcourt any more. That Steve and his friends aren’t here to hurt fish guy.

Steve flicks another pea off into the water as he drinks his coffee; fish guy retrieves it in a flash, his eel like black tail easy to spot in the water, quickly coming back for more.

The kids keep calling him a merman - but he doesn't look like any cartoon or kids picture Steve's ever seen. His tail is too flat, for one, definitely more like an eel, plus there's no fins that Steve can see.

Steve offers him a handful of peas, carefully cupping them until fish guy has his hands cupped underneath, ready for them to be tipped in. They don’t touch, and Steve vaguely wonders if the guy will feel cold from the water. The skin of his fingers isn’t pruned like a regular persons would be, which makes sense since he’s a fish guy. Maybe he’ll feel clammy, or rubbery. Or scaly. Steve van very vaguely remember petting a stingray in a low tank at the aquarium once, surrounded by other kids. Might have been a field trip or something, but he can remember how surprised he was by the feeling of the mottled brown skin. Super rough, like sandpaper. Fish guy doesn’t look like he’ll feel like that either, though.

Fish guy eats his handful of peas and then looks back to Steve expectantly; or at least, that’s what he’d call it on a human person. It must be the same sort of thing though, right? The top half, at least, is built the same, right?

Steve’s down to his last handful of frozen peas; he’s already called Robin, she’s going to pick up a bunch of groceries of the green variety on her way over after her shift later. Also a few other bits, like carrots and bell peppers, to see if fish guy will try them.

Steve holds up a single pea between his thumb and pointer finger. Fish guy’s eyes track it from where he floats, a foot away from the ledge. Steve taps his chest, “Steve,” and then he points to fish guy.

Like last night, he comes a little closer, lifting out of the waster a little and then, cautiously points at Steve, he makes a noise that...kind of...sounds like ‘Steve’. His voice is raspy, and the word is kind of mangled, more of a sad ‘Steee,’ but near enough. It looks like he’s really trying, brow furrowed with concentration.

It’s not what Steve wanted, but Steve gives him the pea.

It’s overcast today, same as yesterday, and the day before. Blowy and cold. Steve doesn’t want to stay out here much longer, so he dumps the remaining peas into the water and then gets up and heads inside to wait for Robin.

Steve’s nearly at the door when he hears a splash and then a mournful, “Steeeeeeeeee.” and immediately regrets all of his life choices.

He sighs, and goes back to the pool, “yeah?”

Fish guy tilts his head, frowning, and then lifts his had out of the water, pointer finger and thumb a smidge apart...just like he’s holding an imaginary pea.

Well. Communication is definitely something they will be able to work on then. But Steve flaps the bag, showing the picture of the peas on the front, and the face that it’s very clearly empty, “all gone. Finished,” Steve makes a cutting motion in the air with the side of his hand, to indicate they’re done.

“Inied,” the fish guy manages cautiously.

“Yeah, finished.”

The fish guy watches him for a second, and then dips back down under the water, off too huddle in the bottom corner of the pool.

Steve wonders vaguely if he’s still hungry, but hopefully it won’t be that much longer before Robin gets here.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who really, genuinely likes celery.”

“Me neither, it’s like peppery water.”

“With hair in.”

Fish guy though, very clearly, likes the celery. He didn’t quibble over the cucumber either, that disappeared very quickly. He was cautious about the carrots, but with a little encouragement, and a lot of sniffing, he ate the bottom half of one, not seeming to like it so much at the thicker end.

Steve hands him an entire bell pepper, watches as fish guy takes a bite. He seems to like it, but then pulls a face, scraping desperately at the seeds on his tongue and spitting the whole mess out into the water. Steve can’t help laughing. Fish guy looks affronted. The look of genuine distaste and irritation on his face is very human and also hilariously funny.

“Oh Steve, I think you offended him,” Steve wipes the tears away to see that Robin is right, and fish guy has gone to huddle in the far corner of the pool, only his eyes peeking out. That’s got to suck, having no where to go. No where to hide; no privacy at all.

“This has got to suck for him; he’s stuck in an empty box,” Steve tries to imagine living his entire existence in a completely empty room; he can’t, not really.

“Well what can we even do with him? He seems to be freshwater, so the oceans are out. Even if we let him go in a lake, we don’t know what he understands about people, if he got caught…” she trails off. Steve doesn’t need any help imagining what could happen.

“I don’t know but...we need a plan...and he needs something to do.”

“What like, enrichment for his enclosure?”

It’s the first sunny day for a while. Steve had been getting resentful about it but a bit of warm sunshine is starting to make up for it already.

Steve looks uncertainly down at the bucket of dollar store toys he’s paid for. Doesn’t matter that the kids picked them all out, apparently Steve is still the money in this operation.

Plus gas; they had to travel further since the mall is now a fenced off ruin.

All the kids are on their knees at one end of the pool; all of them holding something. There’s a slinky (he can play with it along the edge), a Rubik’s cube (water proof, and we might be able to figure out if he can see color), a bucket, a plastic dog bowl (it’ll float, you can fill it with peas), a rubber duck, and a ball.

Fish guy, on the other hand, had retreated to the furthest corner he could, curled up into a ball, and stayed there.

Steve’s starting to suspect that the noise of the kids constant chatter and bickering is actually a bit too much for fish guy to handle, from the way he either hides or watches them wearily from the other end of the pool. If they move, he moves.

“Maybe if we spread out, then one of use will be close enough because he won’t have anywhere to go-”

“Absolutely not,” Steve tells Dustin, “that’s cruel, if he’s hiding it’s for a reason. Just let the stuff be and he will deal with it when he’s ready.”

He gets a little bit of whining from them, mostly Will and Dustin, if he’s honest, all the other kids seem to be really understanding.

The ball and the bucket they let go to float around in the water, and the kids soon loose interest and head off to cause trouble elsewhere.

Steve desperately wants to dip his feet in the pool, same as he would on any other day, but since there’s someone living in it, it feels kind of rude. Like he’d be knowingly walking mud into someone's house, or something.

Steve kneels at the same end of the pool the kids were at, he doesn’t want to startle fish guy by appearing right above him. If he comes to Steve or not should be his choice, but Steve has two bunches of celery and a dog food bowl filled to the brim with frozen peas, so he thinks his chances are pretty good right now.

He’s right, fish guy does come over, but his whole face is scrunched up and he misses the celery on the first try; it takes Steve an embarrassingly long amount of time to figure it out, even with the guy eating with his eyes pretty much closed.

It’s the first fully sunny day they’ve had, and the guy had been in a shitty artificially lit lab, and before that, presumably the Upside Down for his whole life.

It’s fucking bright out here.

And even as he takes his sunglasses off, Steve has no idea how to communicate this with fish guy.

Steve has the bowl of peas for leverage, but still. He shows them to fish guy, who, squinting, does come closer. And then Steve hands over the glasses. Fish guy, face all scrunched up, tilts his head, looking at them.

Steve takes them back, put them on, takes the off, and offers them again. Ever so carefully and slowly, fish guy takes the glasses. Steve knows fish guy is at least kind of smart; he’s confident he will figure this out. He’s proved correct pretty fast when fish guy holds them up so he can blink up through the lenses.

And then he...very carefully, almost comically carefully, slides them on.

He grins up at Steve, and Steve floats the dog bowl in the water, giving it a nudge.

Fish guy looks delighted.

[astraystayyh]

Starry night.

in which you and hyune fall in love through paintings.

idol!hyunjin x museum guide!reader. love at first sight, kinda. both mc and hyune are romantics.. lots of art analysis and conversations. very fluffy and soft. like so soft i hurt myself with this you guys.

all the info about Vincent Van Gogh’s life and works are from the Van Gogh Museum. the interpretations are my own but im not an art critic, obvi, just a yearner 💔 please enjoy, feedback is highly appreciated 💞

thank you to the lovely reader who commissioned me!!!! the money went to our stayblr fundraiser for palestine. please consider donating if you are able too as well <3333

“You’ll be able to do it, right?” Your manager Martin looks at you expectantly, and you blink slowly in response. It, referring to leading a private tour of the Van Gogh exhibition.

You’ve been a museum guide in New York for four months now. When you’re not painting, you’re here, amidst the array of artworks nestled in a quaint street near East River. You’ve led group tours before, always under the watchful eye of Martin, a middle-aged man who never forgets to bring you a vanilla bourbon macaron every morning.

However, you’ve never handled a private tour before. You see the desperation in Martin’s eyes as he awaits your answer—he’s the one who usually handles these tours, but he has urgent family matters to suddenly attend to.

You blink again, your tongue unknotting in a split second. “I’d be happy to,” you beam. The exhibition feels like a second home to you; you’ve visited it countless times long before you started working here.

Martin heaves a sigh of relief, smiling back at you. “I believe in you,” he reassures, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Remember why I chose you.”

You grin at his words, nodding vigorously. Your love for art brought you here; your very being seems molded to breathe in paintings and live among them. It’s as sweet a life as it can get.

“You’ll find all the details about our guest in our log. He’s famous, so he’ll be a bit discreet. He’ll expect you to be too,” he explains, hurriedly packing his things. You nod, taking the keys to the art gallery from his hand.

“Don’t worry, the gallery is safe in my hands.”

“I know,” he says with a comforting smile, before finally waving goodbye. You take a deep breath and check the booking for tonight’s exhibition—Hwang Hyunjin.

The name is unfamiliar to you, and so is the face that greets you at 8 p.m. sharp—at least, what you can see of it. He’s wearing a navy cap and a face mask, with a varsity jacket sitting perfectly atop his broad shoulders. He looks young, roughly your age.

“Hi, welcome to our Van Gogh exhibition,” you greet him with a grin. He bows slightly in response.

“No one’s here, so you can remove your mask if you wish. I can take your bag as well,” you offer with a smile. He nods and hands you his black duffel bag, which you quickly pass to the security guard, who places it inside a safe cabinet.

Hyunjin removes his Versace cap, running a hand through his silky black hair. There is an aura of assurance around him, as if he’s poised before a camera in a professional photoshoot. But then, a shy smile appears on his face as he finally removes his face mask, his eyes glinting beneath the golden lighting.

You feel your breath catch in your throat; for a split second, the world around you seems to still, the paintings dimming before the beautiful face in front of you.

“Right,” you clear your throat, “shall we?”

Hyunjin nods, falling easily into step with you. You pause before the first painting, ‘Woman with a Child on her Lap’, 1883.

“This is rumored to be about Sien Hoornik, who became both Vincent’s lover and model. She was a former prostitute, pregnant at the time, and had a five-year-old daughter. Vincent was determined to help her through her hardships, and they dated for a year and a half. But then, he broke it off because he said she was too far gone to be saved.”

Hyunjin nods, his eyes fixated on the painting, his head tilted slightly to the side. “The eyes are telling,” he speaks for the first time, and his voice floods your being like dewdrops reviving flowers at dawn. It is smooth and soft, the end of his words getting lost in the air and caught by your heart.

“The way the mother and daughter look at each other, I mean.” He clarifies, stealing a fleeting glance at you. “There is disdain on the mother’s face, but more toward herself, I think. Maybe because she sees her reflection in her daughter.”

Groups usually scurry past this painting, eager to see Vincent’s more renowned works. You feel your heart soften at how much he seems to be thinking about it, lost in his own world. You’re not even sure he remembers you’re there.

“Vincent was really determined to help her, although his brother Theo disapproved. His parents did too.”

“Isn’t that what love is? To hold someone’s hand even if everyone tells you to let go,” he mutters quietly, his eyes still lost in the painting. A hue of vulnerability colors his words before he clears his throat, as if unwittingly revealing his inner thoughts.

“That’s a beautiful way to view it,” you smile, and he nods, shyly biting his lower lip. For some odd reason, his timidity stirs something unfamiliarly tender within your heart.

You walk over to the next set of paintings. “When Vincent moved to Paris, you can see how his style developed. He let go of the darker tones he used in his infamous ‘The Potato Eaters’ and began using lighter colors, like here,” you explain, pointing to ‘The Hill of Montmartre with Stone Quarry’.

“Do you think it’s because he was happier?” he suddenly asks, and you frown slightly. “Pardon?”

“The shift to lighter colors. ‘The Potato Eaters’ is so sorrowful and shrouded in darkness. ‘The Hill’ is much more colorful, lighter, you know?” His eyes glide to yours, a twinkle of curiosity glimmering in them.

“Vincent did flourish in Paris. For once, he was in the same city as his brother Theo, whom he loved dearly. But he was mainly influenced by modern art, which uses much lighter colors than his previous works. Art critics usually attribute this change in the influence of his contemporaries, such as—”

“But what do you think?” he interrupts softly, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes are penetrating, and you find yourself lost in the seas of emotion they contain.

You quiet down, licking your lips tentatively. No one has ever asked for your opinion on these tours before.

“Well,” you begin slowly, “I think it’s possible. Being around his brother and other artists who embraced brighter palettes could have uplifted his spirit. But also, maybe the light colors were his way of reaching for happiness, even if he didn’t always feel it. Art often mirrors our hopes as much as our realities.”

Hyunjin listens intently, a thoughtful look on his face. “I agree,” he finally says, smiling sincerely. You don’t know why the sight of his grin renders your brain putty, like melted ice cream under the kind sunrays.

“His use of lighter colors continued when he moved to the south of France. He was delighted with the bright colors in Arles, painting orchards in blossom and workers gathering the harvest,” you explain, pointing to the respective paintings.

“That’s when he told his brother that he wanted to open a studio for fellow painters. He wrote in a letter the following: 'you always lose when you’re isolated.' He sent out many invitations, but only one painter agreed to come.”

“Paul Gauguin,” Hyunjin swiftly replies.

“Exactly. He was the first and last painter to move in with Vincent.”

“It seemed like the more he tried to escape loneliness, the more it found him,” Hyunjin muses, his eyes fixed on ‘Portrait of Gauguin’ by Vincent. The bright colors he asked you about earlier make you wonder if, beneath the spotlight, Hyunjin too feels lonely.

“Sometimes loneliness becomes a friend. You have to make room for it to allow other things to come in,” you say softly.

“It’s sad how nothing good came out of that roommate situation, though” he frowns, and you nod in agreement.

“Paul and Vincent were very different. They had a lot of eclectic views that often led to disagreements. I assume you know their most prominent one.”

“Yes, when Vincent cut off his ear.”

“Correct, he then wrapped it in newspaper and presented it to a prostitute in the nearby red-light district.”

“A prostitute…” Hyunjin muses, his thumb swiping slightly across his lower lip. “It seems like phantoms of his first love found him again. Even in his most disoriented state, he somehow remembered her.”

“You speak of love beautifully,” you suddenly say, before biting your tongue harshly, instantly regretting your words. But Hyunjin’s eyes seem to soften as he gazes at you, the warm light dancing across his pupils.

“It is a beautiful feeling.”

“Only to those who have beautiful souls,” you speak earnestly, and your words seem to morph into brushstrokes, painting the gallery in hues of red. Intimate, soft, too intimate all of the sudden.

“Vincent’s mental health rapidly declined, and he put himself back into the mental asylum,” you quickly clear your throat, though you can still feel Hyunjin’s eyes on you, not the painting. “Still, that’s when he created some of his most famous artworks, like ‘The Starry Night’. He was inspired by the view from the asylum’s window. It’s dominated by vivid yellow and blue, and the colors and paint seem to describe a world outside the artwork itself.”

“It’s breathtaking,” Hyunjin marvels, lost in the painting, leaning in until his nose almost brushes the canvas.

You suppress a giggle, but your laughter fades as you take in the mole right by his jaw, then the one by his neck. The delicateness of his face, the plumpness of his lips, and the curve of his lashes.

He’s beautiful. The painting could seep him in and he’d fit right in with the silver stars. Outshining them too, surely.

“I really liked the tour,” he smiles, nearly two hours of lazy strolls later. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” you grin back, grabbing his outstretched hand. His fingers wrap around yours slowly, deliberately, as if on a mission to ignite your nerve endings. To set your soul ablaze with his palm alone.

His hand holds yours for a few seconds longer than necessary. Your blush mirrors his when he finally lets go.

He quickly bows again, grabbing his bag from his manager, who was waiting by the door. He almost bumps into the handle on his way out, and you let out an endeared chuckle, your eyes lingering on his figure until he disappears into his black van.

You think you'll never see him again, two lines crossing serendipitously at one point, never to cross paths once more. The thought sends a pang of sorrow latching onto your heart, before you quickly brush it away.

But then you do see him again, the very following night, at that.

It is near nine p.m. when Martin exclaims suddenly, “Mr. Hwang!” and you freeze in your place, book guide in hand.

It has been exactly twenty-four hours since you last saw Hyunjin, but when his voice softly echoes through the art gallery, it feels like a lifelong ache finally soothed.

“Please, call me Hyunjin,” he says, shaking Martin’s hand, though his eyes quickly find yours. They stay on you, unmoving yet tender, like a cotton blanket draped over your being.

“How was the tour with Miss Yn?”

“Ah—“ his gaze finally drifts away from yours. “Yes, it was really nice. That's why I came again,” he explains, a touch sheepishly, and your quizzical eyes meet Martin’s.

“Hyunjin booked another private tour. He specifically requested you to be his guide,” Martin explains, and your eyes widen in shock. You don’t have time to reply because your manager quickly scurries away. “I’ll leave you two then. Have fun!”

You wait until Martin disappears into his office before turning to Hyunjin, who avoids your gaze, one hand deep in his pocket, moving side to side. You remain silent for a few moments, simply admiring the side of his face. You’ve always had a deep appreciation for art running through your veins, after all.

“Hi,” he finally says, his eyes quickly meeting yours. You can’t stop the smile that floods your face, coating every nook and cranny of your features.

“You came back,” you say with a breathy giggle.

“Mm,” he instantly grins. “I don’t know when I’ll be back in New York, so I wanted to truly memorize the art here.”

“When are you going home?” you ask as you take his bag again, your eyes taking in his outfit—a green cap this time, a knit vest over a white shirt, and a silver teddy bear necklace nestled perfectly against it. Pretty.

“Tomorrow. We had a tour stop here, and we’ll go back to Seoul now.”

“And you’ll be spending your final night in the city here?” you chuckle slightly, and he shrugs as if it’s the most obvious decision he ever had to make.

“Why not? I think it’s beautiful here.” though his eyes never move to look onto the paintings, gliding across your face instead.

“And I forgot to take pictures yesterday,” he quickly adds, pointing to the camera in his hands.

“I’ll help you then,” you offer, and he smiles so brightly that it renders you speechless, suddenly wondering if the first person who ever drew a portrait had a similar thought—that they saw a smile so beautiful they just needed to immortalize it.

Hyunjin is at ease before the camera. You can tell by the way he almost pretends the device isn’t there, his eyes fixed on the paintings, mere centimeters away from the canvas. He’s whisked away into another world. You see your love for art mirrored in his soul as well.

“Do you paint, by any chance?” you ask between pictures, and he nods.

“Whenever I have free time. And you?”

“I do. I can show you later, if you’d like.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” he says, pointing his finger at you, before looking directly into the camera this time. “I’ve been painting magnolias lately.”

“Really? Why magnolias specifically?”

“I read a poem about them. It said that when magnolias wither, they aren’t considered beautiful anymore. But that doesn’t mean they weren’t at one point. It really moved me.”

“You have to be very optimistic to view it that way,” you say as you finally hand him the camera, satisfied with your pictures. You are both standing in front of ‘Almond Blossom,’ the pastel colors drawing you in.

“Withering flowers mean that at one point they were in full bloom. Grief means that at one point you did love,” you muse. “It takes a lot of gentleness to find beauty in endings, to celebrate them as proof of what once was. Don’t you think so?”

You turn to look at him when the flash of a camera catches you off guard.

Hyunjin looks at your picture, a soft smile on his face. “You fit right in with the flowers,” he compliments, though it does not feel superfluous or bearing a hidden intent. It’s a simple observation he wished to share.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, a blush sprouting from your very veins. You quickly fix your posture, pointing to the painting. “I told you yesterday that Vincent painted this for his brother Theo, to celebrate his newborn, whom he named after Vincent.”

“Yes, I remember,” he nods, slinging the camera over his neck and taking a picture of the painting up close. “It seemed to bring Vincent a lot of solace in his final days.”

“I’ve been thinking about your question, whether Vincent was happy. I think he was hopeful more than anything. He had hoped his works would be recognized, he had hoped he wouldn’t be as lonely anymore. Sometimes hope keeps you going much more than happiness.”

“Because happiness will eventually wear off?”

“Right, it’s only natural. But hope… it’s like a flame that never goes out. It might flicker and dim, but it will still be there on your darkest nights.” You bite your lip slightly, your thumb digging into your palm.

“I hope you’ll always have hope in your life, Hyunjin. You’ve been my favorite person to talk about Vincent with,” you say sincerely, your eyes unwavering from his.

You imprint the way his gaze softens into your mind, the slight blush that powders his cheeks, the way his teeth peek behind his smile. You memorize his velvety voice in your mind, the way he accentuates certain letters and how it pulls at the strings of your heart when he says—“I’m very happy I met you, Yn.”

May is gone, and with it Hyunjin, and you think you are a fool for thinking of him as often as you do after only five hours in his presence. You don’t know why your mind is permeated with his essence. But why wouldn’t it be? is the better question. When he’s beautiful, truly, body and soul.

You feel slightly less foolish when a postcard is delivered to your exhibition on a sunny Saturday, one month later. It depicts the front entrance of the Museum of Modern Art in Seoul.

June 13.

“yn,

i saw Vincent’s works once again in this month’s exhibition. somehow they seem less beautiful without our conversations.

i hope you’re surrounded by art, too.

hyunjin.”

June 23.

“hyunjin,

i visited claude monet’s immersive exhibition, you have to visit it as well, once you’re back in new york.

i am still surrounded by art, as always. i don’t think i could ever part from it.

did you finish your magnolias? i hope you’re seeing beauty in them even after they wither.

yn.”

July 5.

“yn,

claude’s works are so different from vincent’s... don’t you think it's beautiful that they lived at the same time yet depicted their world so differently?

my magnolias are finished. i’ve been drawing scenes from your exhibition lately, the picture i took of you is particularly inspiring. i hope you don’t mind.

hyunjin.”

september 26.

“hyunjin,

leaves are falling all over new york. new beginnings are upon us. i hope this view of my window inspires you too.

i wish you happiness no matter the season.

yn.”

october 7.

“yn,

i just saw the first snow at dawn, it was such a pretty view! i’m happy i’m alive today.

i hope snow reaches you fast enough, too.

stay warm.

with love,

hyunjin.”

october 23.

“hyunjin,

i’ve always preferred spring, but snow brought me such a happy opportunity. i’m invited to an exhibition in seoul, next month!

i’ll enjoy it well and think of our conversations.

with love,

yn.”

october 5.

“yn,

the weather is beautiful in seoul lately. i’m happy you’ll be here to see it.

it is late at night, and the moon is shining brightly. i hope it’ll shine as brightly for you too, in new york.

with love,

yours.”

The click of your black heels against the marble floors echoes through the museum, a comforting sound as you stroll through the immersive Vincent exhibition; now gracing Seoul. The colors wash over you, reflecting off your skin, swirling around you until you feel as though you’re being drawn into the very heart of the paintings.

“Enjoying the art, Yn?” a voice like honey drips across your being. Your heart skips a beat, plummets to your knees and races back to its place once again. You feel an ache inside you unfold. memories of Hyunjin’s voice rewriting themselves, perfecting your recollection of his accent and the tender way in which he spoke your name.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur, though you refuse to turn around and meet his eyes. Not yet. The scent of his rose perfume is enough to have your heart rattling against your ribcage— a bird wishing to escape its cage and deliver your love letter to its rightful owner.

“Isn’t it an amazing coincidence we met here? In Seoul, no less,” he says, his voice airy as he inches closer.

“I know you’re the one who invited me,” you giggle, finally turning to meet his gaze. His eyes widen slightly before morphing into crescents, as if lifted from Vincent’s Starry Night.

“How did you know? I thought I kept it a secret in our postcards,” he grins sheepishly.

“I kept pestering Mr. Martin about why the museum invited me specifically until he finally told me you were behind it.”

“Well,” he licks his lips, his eyes roaming over your face. “I admit, I missed you. I wanted to see you again. And I happen to be a major contributor to the museum.”

“Fancy,” you beam, before your grin morphs to something much softer, as you realize that you are away from your work, and that the Hyunjin of your postcards is finally before you.

“I missed you too. Show me around?”

“Am I your guide now?”

“Mm. I expect you to be an expert.”

“Oh, I am.”

Hyunjin speaks of the paintings as if it’s his first time seeing them, finding new things to admire, new details to point out to you. You find it hard to keep up, only because your eyes seem more interested in observing him. You’ll tell him later that you were right in thinking he’d make every painting more mesmerizing.

But for now, you stroll together, his hand brushing against yours every now and then. Before long, you’re far from the museum, walking into the chilly Seoul night, his jacket draped over your shoulders.

And you talk, you talk about every painting you’ve seen since his departure, the flowers you’ve picked, and the strawberry field you visited at the end of June. He shares stories of his favorite painters and his beloved dog, Kkami, whom he misses dearly. He speaks of the moon and how your postcards lessened his loneliness. You tell him you’ve kept every card by your bedside, the first and last thing you see each day.

Suddenly your pinky is entwined with his, your cheeks ache from how much you’ve spoken and laughed, your heart lighter than it had ever been.

“Thank you for walking me to my hotel,” you smile softly.

He nods, his thumb swiping across your palm tenderly. It’s only after a while that he speaks again. “I know you said that happiness wears off eventually. But right now, the happiness i feel… I think it will last me for the next four months, at least.”

“Just four months?” you tease, and he giggles, tipping his head back. You wish you had your paintbrushes, your camera, a simple pen, anything to commit his laugh into something tangible.

“For a long time,” he finally says, quietly, resigned. Tomorrow’s flight ticket makes your heart ache, all of the sudden.

“I… I’ll get going. Thank you for inviting me,” you smile, dropping his hand. You know it’ll hurt the more you hold it, the easier it’d be for you to remember the softness of his hand.

So you walk back, you’re near the hotel door, a hand suddenly wraps around your wrist, the security guards both discreetly look away.

“Yn,” Hyunjin turns you around, his eyes are as wide as the full moon hanging close to earth, listening in to your conversation.

“You didn’t- you didn’t show me your paintings.” he says a bit too quickly, desperately.

“What?” you ask, confused.

“Back in New York, you promised to show me your paintings. You didn’t.”

“You remember?”

Hyunjin's chest heaves in response, his warm palms cradle your cheeks, his eyes speak of a yearning you haven’t thought existed. When his lips crash upon yours, fervently, passionately, like the collision of all stars in Starry Night, you have your answer.

He remembered. He remembered as much as you.

Epilogue— seven months later.

“Now… next question,” Hyunjin grins as he takes out a folded paper from a glass jar, five sets of camera’s all pointed at him in the shooting set of Elle Korea.

“If you could feel only one emotion for the rest of your life, what would you choose?”

Hyunjin puts the paper down, adjusts the sleeves of his Versace blue silk shirt. He doesn’t need to think too much to answer— he already has his reply.

“Someone told me, a long time ago, that hope keeps you going longer than happiness. Because happiness wears off eventually. But hope doesn’t. hope is like a flickering flame, it surges and it dims, but it doesn’t go out, so I choose hope.” he smiles suddenly, eyes looking into those of the staff behind the camera.

“That got deep all of the sudden, right? Done worry, Stay, I have hope, happiness and love, all at once.”

He chuckles quietly, picking up the last piece of paper.

“Finally… who’s your favorite painter? Ah, easy, it’s Vincent Van Gogh.”

“What's your favorite painting by him?” the shooting director asks behind the camera, his eyes fixate on the lens. He knows his love will be watching.

“A woman with a child on her lap. It’s not very known, but… if you look into it closely, beautiful things might come into your life and change it forever.”

from left to right, Woman with a Child on her Lap, 1883 — Portrait of Gauguin, 1888— The Potato Eaters, 1885—The Hill of Montmartre with Stone Quarry, 1886— Almond Blossom, 1890— The Starry Night, 1889.

[ceoofyearning]

I only pray, don’t fall away from me

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: The world feels like it’s falling apart around you, but Azriel finally comes home and helps you hold all the pieces together.

Tags/Warnings: Hurt and Comfort, depressive themes & thoughts, anxiety, nightmares, mentions of a minor character death (not the mc/reader) || please mind the tags.

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: this week was though so here’s a bit of a hurt & comfort fic; hope your days are kind to you guys xoxo

Links: Fic Masterlist | My Art

You’re so damn tired.

The last few weeks have been difficult, to say the least. The healing house has been filled to the brim with the wounded and sick. Altercations with Beron’s soldiers by the border have been increasing at an alarming rate, while countless spies from the continent have been winnowed in after being caught by Koschei’s contingent forces. You can’t even begin to imagine the state of the civilians that might’ve been caught in the crossfire. 

There is tension in the air with the threat of the inevitable war looming on the horizon. It doesn’t help that the winter chill, in all of its foreboding fury, has come to ravage the lands and its people. You love your work as a healer, you really do. Some days, the thought of the good you do, the people you help, is enough to keep you going. But too often, it feels like a thankless job that leaves you drained to the core. 

In your free time, you’ve been parsing through ancient texts in search of information on Death Gods and anything that could be used against Koschei. His looming threat is a cloud of dread that hangs over everyone, especially Rhys. The least you could do is to help carry the burden. It’s not like you could sleep, anyway. These days it is as though your mind adamantly refuses to let you rest. At the very least, the task keeps you distracted when you’re stuck alone in your apartment. 

Ever since Azriel had been sent to the continent for a reconnaissance mission nearly a month ago, the apartment you share has started to feel a little too big, too desolate. Before you knew it, the white walls had been transmuted from your home into what felt like the bars of a cage. 

The two of you haven't been apart for so long since the mating bond snapped. You didn’t think you'd feel his absence as acutely as you did, but it felt like the loss of a limb where the wound refused to heal and you were already bleeding out. His part of the bond is blacked out completely, a devouring void where Azriel’s comforting presence should have been. It’s for your own safety, he said. But you can’t help it. You’re plagued with worry, with imagined hurts and tragedies, amplifying the brewing conflict in your mind. 

It is easier to catch yourself when Azriel is near. When the thoughts begin to swirl like a hurricane around you - winds whipping, oceans rising - it feels like Azriel’s arms are the only safe harbor you can rely on. But Azriel isn’t here now. 

What frustrates you most is that you’ve been better recently. You’ve been good. You ate your meals, slept reasonably, even had a goddamned routine set up. You guzzled down your tonics in hopes of smoothing out the edges of your frayed mind, that perhaps it could lend you some semblance of normalcy. But no. Weeks of being haunted by nightmares, of overextending yourself, of loss and suffering seeping under your skin day by day have taken its toll. 

You are just too damn tired. 

A child died, barely over thirteen years old. She was bastard-born, which meant she had nothing to her name other than the rags on her back and her birthright to suffer generational oppression and cruelty. This is the worst winter the Night Court has had in centuries, and she didn’t even have a decent roof over her head. Needless to say, she hadn’t been in the best health. But despite that, the moment her cycle had come, the men forced her to go through the clipping. In her struggle, the imbeciles accidentally nicked a vital artery. Normally, her Illyrian healing would’ve granted her a strong chance for survival, but she had been so sick, her body weakened by hours spent in the frigid cold. 

By the time you had been summoned to heal her, she no longer had the strength to recover. Numbness washed over you at the image of her unseeing eyes, the same shade as Azriel’s in the right light, trained toward the vast empty sky. You have a feeling it isn’t a sight you’d forget any time soon. 

You don’t know how long it’s been. The room is shrouded with a thick blanket of darkness, the only respite coming from the dwindling candlelight by your bedside. Only silence exists within these four walls, interrupted by the occasional patter of water leaking from the kitchen sink. You burrow deeper into the sheets, inhaling the trace of Azriel’s scent that still lingered like it would somehow quell this ache inside you. 

Despite spending most of the day bedbound, you’ve barely had any sleep. There is no respite to be found in the dreaming, only nightmares lying in wait. It seems your mind has a knack of bringing your worst fears. Azriel bruised, bloodied and utterly alone, lost, somewhere in the vastness of the continent, hazel eyes - his, then hers, then his again - glazing over, crimson seeping into the arid ground below. 

For the last few weeks, you’ve gathered your grief and worry like rocks to wear around your neck. Your body is heavy, the phantom weight sinking and settling within the marrow of your bones, refusing to leave. It feels like you could stay in this bed forever until you dissipate into nothing but sand, smoke and thought.

You managed to send out a request for the texts Rhys needed translated, but not much else. You’re thankful he directly portalled them on your worktable because you don’t think you could brave the journey to the library today. You don’t think you could do much of anything today, in all honesty. 

So there you lay, bundled up in a collection of blankets, at least three inches of cotton and down that never seem enough to warm you. A book rests in your hands, yet your eyes remain unfocused, not truly seeing the words.

You run your thumb over the crisp paper, knowledge older than you, older than this city and yet you couldn't even bring yourself to focus long enough to dissect their true meaning. Your will is liquid in your hands, slipping through the cracks in between your fingers. Accidentally, you tug too hard on a page and it tears easily beneath your touch. If you had your wits about you, you would’ve been horrified by what you’ve just done. But as you are now, it is difficult to care. 

That’s what you feel like at this moment, you realize. These past few weeks have left you feeling spent, worn out, paper thin. Absently, you stretch out your hand towards the candlelight, close enough to feel the warmth lick against your cool skin. The flame casts a brilliant silhouette around your shadowed hand. It’s a wonder why golden light doesn’t seep right through. 

That’s how Azriel finds you.

The front door of your apartment creeks open, letting in a flood of muted morning light. Your first instinct is to retreat beneath the covers to shield yourself. Azriel calls your name in the silence, worry permeating each syllable. No doubt, he is cataloging the mess your shared space had become in your unintentional neglect. 

You say nothing, wondering if you could just close your eyes and pretend to be asleep, anything to escape his scrutiny. A breath of relief escapes him when he finds you in bed. The mattress dips beneath his weight as he sits beside you. 

The urge to curl tighter around yourself is strong. But he repeats your name and, as though he had cast a spell, you unspool before him, your muscles unwinding, one fiber at a time. 

“Can I touch you?” He asks, voice painfully soft.

“Okay,” you croak out from beneath the blankets. 

Azriel gradually draws the sheets away from your body, giving you ample time to protest if you’d like. Then, he rests his hand on your shoulder. Unbidden, a shiver runs down your spine, followed by a stuttered breath. You don’t realize how much you missed his touch until his textured hand begins its soothing path up and down your back, his heat sinking into your skin. 

Shame washes over you despite the bone-deep comfort you find upon his gentle ministrations. You don’t want him to see you this way. Azriel deserves better, the voices in your head insist. He deserves a mate whose mind does not devour itself at every given opportunity, a mate who does not quake beneath the weight of the world and the idea of their own immortal existence.

As though detecting your train of thought, his shadows leave their preferred perch on his shoulders to pool around you instead. Tendrils of darkness brush away the tears on your face, while some thread through your hair like a gentle breeze. 

On the other hand, Azriel urges you to rest your head on his lap. He begins to run his hand through your hair, uncaring of how greasy and tangled it has become. Eventually, his voice pierces the silence, injecting warmth into the distance between you. He hums a tune you do not recognize, but you can't help but cling to each winding note like a lifeline. Azriel has always had a beautiful voice - depthless, silken and soothing. It feels like a privilege to hear the song that he normally reserves for his shadows.

You must’ve been a pitiful sight to behold, and yet Azriel never looks at you like you are. He always treats you like something to cherish, something to love, like you’re someone he’s spent lifetimes desperately waiting for and you’ve been entirely worth the wait. A traitorous part of you feels like you’ll never deserve it, this love.

Azriel must sense the hurricane of emotions waging a one-sided war in your head, despite the mental shields you adamantly keep up. But he doesn’t tell you to stop, doesn’t brush off your worry with empty words and false promises. Instead, he simply says, “I love you.” 

He speaks it as though it is a fact like one would say that the sky is blue, and the grass is green, and the world would keep on turning in peteruity, orbiting the sun the same way you’ll continue to orbit around each other. His chapped lips ghost over your temple, murmuring your name like a plea, a prayer. 

“More than anything in this world,” he adds as he pulls you into his embrace. 

Your body is pliant for him, arms winding around his neck like that is where they’re meant to be. His arms wrap around your waist to hold you impossibly closer. Webbed wings stretch to curl around the two of you, creating a cocoon of darkness that keeps the rest of the world at bay. With your head resting on his chest, you could hear his heartbeat thudding in chorus with yours. 

“I love you too,” you reply after a long stretch of silence. “But sometimes I wish you could’ve had a better mate.” 

“There is no one better,” Azriel insists. “There is only you, my love; through light, through darkness, through whichever end. Only you.” And you feel the truth of his words as surely as the twinned beating of your hearts. Sometimes it’s hard to convince your traitorous mind that you could have this, that someone could love you so deeply despite having seen you at your worst. Azriel presses another kiss against your cheek, and despite yourself, you begin to believe his words.

You don’t know how long Azriel holds you like that, but it finally feels like a stretch of eternity you could bear.

“What can I do to help, love?” Azriel prompts, cupping your face in the cradle of his scarred palms - their texture, a familiar comfort. 

You turn over his question in your head for a few moments, savoring his scent, the sensation of his skin against your own. A part of you is tempted to ask him to lay beside you for the rest of the day, for a week, for an entire lifetime. You know Azriel would if you asked it of him. But beyond this room, the world continues its elliptical path around the sun and time still ticks on regardless of how disconnected you feel from your own reality. 

“A bath,” is all you manage to say.

Azriel nods, before reluctantly peeling himself from you. “Have you eaten?” 

“‘M not hungry,” you mumble as you sink back into the sheets, sighing as the comforter swallows you up. In truth, you can’t remember when your last meal had been. Hunger didn’t seem so pressing in the last few days.

“That’s not what I asked.” Azriel’s tone leaves no room for argument or negotiation. 

“No,” you finally answer, although with much trepidation. “Not yet.” 

He hums, clearly displeased, but says nothing else. You can already imagine the frown that must be stretching across his face. But it seems Azriel’s presence alone is enough to quieten your mind, at least for now. You must’ve been dead tired because it doesn’t take long for the rhythmic sound of Azriel's familiar footfalls to lull you into dreamless sleep.

"Love," Azriel whispers, his hand hovering over your shoulder, rousing you from your shallow slumber. You blink languidly until molten eyes come into focus. The candlelight flickers, and shadows dance across his face. Azriel’s normally sharp features are softened by the tenderness in his expression. You’ll never tire of waking to the sight of him. 

With a groan, you half-roll half-stumble out of bed. Azriel stays an arm’s length away in case you need him, but he’s careful not to crowd you. His shadows have no such reservations, however. The dark tendrils fretfully twine around your arms, making you smile. You thank them quietly, and for a moment, they seem to dance with delight. Regardless of your initial unsteadiness, you manage to pad all the way to the bathroom.

Upon crossing the threshold, the sweet scent of jasmine immediately overtakes your senses. The tub has already been filled up, steam rising from the sun-covered surface. You begin to unbutton your tunic, clumsy fingers tumbling through your first few attempts. Azriel steadies your hands with his firm grip, his shadows gently circling your wrists. 

“May I?” He asks, gesturing to your tunic, and you nod, not wanting to think anymore. His movements are precise, almost clinical, while he undoes the first five buttons, before bunching the garment in his hands and pulling it over your head entirely. Your skin breaks out in gooseflesh once exposed to the cold air. Azriel is careful to keep his gaze on your face, even as you step out of your undergarments. 

Azriel only betrays his composure when he traces your cheekbone, like he can’t quite help himself. From this distance, you have to crane your neck to look up at him. For a moment, the two of you only stare at each other. The bond glows bright between you, the golden thread gleaming as though it hadn't spent the last few weeks completely stretched thin. 

But then, Azriel withdraws, tilting his head to the steaming tub. Obediently, you step into the water’s warm embrace, the heat nearly stinging your skin. Logically, however, you know it’s only because you’ve allowed yourself to stay in the cold for too long. 

A relieved sigh escapes you as you sink further into the tub. One of his shadows rushes to pillow your heavy head as it rests on the tub’s rim. You thank the sweet little thing, and swirls of black sway back and forth like a dog wagging its tail. Meanwhile, Azriel takes his place by the head of the tub, sitting back on his heels. 

“I’d like to wash your hair,” he says and you're touched by the earnest quality his voice takes. 

“Okay,” you breathe. You’ve never been good at denying Azriel anything, nor did you want to. The more the ice beneath your skin thaws, the more you find that you want him near. 

Azriel begins by running his fingers through your hair, massaging your scalp as he pours warm water over your head. With a pop of a bottle, the floral scent of shampoo fills the air. He lathers the substance on your head, his touch tender even as his fingers work through the knots in the strands, untangling them with care. 

After a while, he rinses off the suds and coats his hands with oil. He begins combing his fingers through your hair, starting from the ends and working his way up. The rhythmic motion of his fingers is calming as he draws circles against your scalp. You find yourself melting into the moment, feeling utterly content for the first time in what feels like a very long time. 

Once done, Azriel grabs a small towel and asks, “Do you want help washing?”

You shake your head, wanting to do this for yourself, at least. Understanding flashes in his eyes, and he spares you a soft smile. With that, Azriel leaves the towel by the tub and politely excuses himself from the room. With the door left slightly ajar, you could still hear him move around the apartment followed by the lyrical clinking of silverware against ceramic.

It takes you a few minutes to gather the energy to lather yourself with soap, and a few more to finally rise from the bath. But once the grime is off your skin, you feel a bit of the weight wash off with it too. You feel a bit more like yourself.

After drying off, you tug on the silk robe Azriel has left for you, securing it loosely around your waist. Upon exiting, you spy him by the dining table, scooping a generous serving of soup into a bowl. The mouthwatering aroma of rich broth wafts through the room, and you realize just how hungry you are when your stomach growls in protest. You approach him from behind, making sure that each step is audible.

Azriel continues to set up the table, but you can tell he’s aware of your presence from the way his shoulders seem to relax. The sudden urge to have him close is palpable, an instinct so deeply ingrained into your being. So,  gradually, you wrap your arms around his waist, burying your face on his back. You take a deep inhale, breathing him in - a lungful of moontime mist and cedarwood smoke. 

“I’m glad you’re home,” you murmur against Azriel’s back, your voice muffled by his shirt. 

“I’m glad to be home,” he whispers. His hands abandon their task in favor of twining his fingers with your own.��

Azriel turns to face you and holds your face in his hands. Beneath the swathes of sunlight, his eyes are alight with golden flame, flecks of green scattered over his irises like an afterthought. There is nothing but love in his gaze, nothing but acceptance. 

“Thank you,” you say, tilting your head so the words could kiss his lips, not quite touching but close. “For being here, for loving me, for choosing me, everyday.” 

“I will always choose you,” he vows, before planting a kiss on your forehead.

“Today,” another peck on the tip of your nose; “Tomorrow,” one more on your cheek; “And all the days after,” he finishes with a chaste caress on your lips.

Then, he rests his forehead on yours, your bodies slotted against each other like a lock and its predestined key. In Azriel’s presence, you find it easier to breathe, easier to simply be. For the first time in a long time, your mind is clear and your heart beats in a calm, languid pace that matches his own.

“I’d like to kiss you,” you request, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. Azriel’s gaze is searching, scouring for any hint of anything short of absolute certainty. Perhaps you should tell him that in this world of constant change and chaos, he’s the only one you’re certain of.

Azriel must be satisfied with what he finds written across your features because he replies, “So kiss me then,” the ghost of a smirk playing across his lips.

You’re surprised to find that it’s easy to return the playful expression. Your rise to the tips of your toes while your fingers thread through his raven black hair. When your lips touch, it is as though the world breathes a sigh of relief. Reality realigns and everything outside the two of you and your shared breaths turns inconsequential. He moves against you with practiced ease, like the natural ebb and flow of the tide.

An eternity of this, you think, doesn’t seem so daunting after all. 

AN: i’m not sure if that was too much but thank you for reading 💙 As always, i’d love to hear everyone’s thoughts

English isn’t my first language, so if you see any mistakes, please lmk thru dm! 💙

Also, I just wanted to yap about the Az fics im in the process of writing:

1. Vampire!Azriel x Reader (Working tittle: Ashes in my wake)

I just love the idea of cannibalism (or yk, blood drinking) as a metaphor for love in literature so here we are. ( @/annikin-im-panicin this is ur influence) This one is a bit of a dark fic (nothing too crazy tho, I think), so i’m not sure how it’ll be received. But the idea has been haunting me for yonks so I just had to write it.

2. Tattoo Artist!Azriel x Lucien’s Best Friend!Reader (Working tittle: Drink dry the river Lethe)

This one is a multichapter fic (maybe 4-7 chapters, we’ll see) so it might take me a while before I start posting, but i’ve mostly finished writing the first (very smutty) and second (very angsty) chapter. I ‘m not entirely sure what direction to bring this yet but maybe you guys can help me decide?

Unrelated to Az, but i’ve been brainworming a poly dark-ish innocent!reader x Feysand fic, and a slightly less dark and more sappy(?) poly warrior!reader x royal!nessian fic. I’m so excited to start these but my pile of wips is giving me the stink eye 😂

[scribblesofagoonerr]

— Just know you're stronger than you think

⟫ Alphabet Challenge, J - Just know you're stronger than you think

Pairings: leah williamson x teen reader

There's a been a lot of tears writing this one, but it comes from the heart.

Shoutout to @alotofpockets for being one my biggest supports when writing and dealing with my rants and emotions, massively appreciate the virtual shoulder to lean on! 💗

"Why is it that the people we care about so much are also the ones' that hurt us the most?"

That particular question has been on your mind ever since it happened, two whole days ago.

"Did something happen?" The therapist, sitting opposite you questions, her voice full of concern.

Fumbling with the strings of your Leahs' hoodie that you are wearing, you slowly nod and look at the older woman, "My mum showed up, completely unannounced."

The memories of the past few days begin to replay in your head as you remember the conversation very clearly.

"Hi sweetheart," You're shocked to open the front door and come face to face with your mother, who you haven't even heard of in a few months, following the last conversation that you had with her.

Yet here she stood, smiling like there was nothing the matter. Had she forgotten what happened?

"Mom? Wha... What are you doing here?" You're confused to say the least and you couldn't understand why she was here, at your front door, after all of this time.

"I wanted to come and see you," The woman replied, still continuing to smile condescendingly at you.

Your eyes furrowed in confusion, "And you didn't think to let me know first?" You questioned her.

"I didn't think I would need to," Your mother was quick to respond, "And besides, I tried to call, but you've been avoiding me, haven't you?" She asked, knowingly.

"I've had stuff going on," You admitted to her quietly, shrugging your shoulders.

The older woman hummed in response, "I know, you were in the hospital, and guess where I had to find that out? The news, social media-- You didn't think to call your own mother?!" She barked at you, like it was her right to know about what's been going in your life.

She didn't deserve that right, not when shes' not bothered with you for as long as you can remember.

"I guess... I guess I forgot," You mumbled, feeling ten times smaller like your mother always has a way of making you feel like that.

It  was like a flip switched right there and then, your mother's smile changed to a scowl right in front of you.

"After everything I have done for you, and you just throw it back in my face, Y/N!" The women shouted angrily, her emotions completely changing in a blink.

The therapist sat opposite you, listening to you completely as you tell her about the conversation and relayed it back to her, "Okay, and how did that make you feel? How did you handle it?" She asks.

"The same way that I always did," You murmur, still fumbling with the hoodie strings, "I blew up."

"Mum, I haven't been well-- I tried to kill myself. I wanted to die, I... I tried to end my life because I didn't want to be here anymore!" You completely poured your emotional vulnerability out to the woman, hoping that she'd comfort you, something in which you deeply craved.

The woman literally scoffed and shook her head, "And you don't think that's incredibly selfish to do? What about me-- Wha... You can't leave me, Y/N!" She exclaimed in disbelief.

Your initial confusion turned to anger very quickly, how could she make it all about herself, even now?

"Mum, I'm the one that's been suffering and in pain, this whole damn time!" You didn't mean to yell at her, but something inside you snapped.

"You don't think I have? Y/N, I've been in pain for a lot longer than you have-- You don't know the half of it!" Your mother shouted right back at you, completely forgetting the fact you were both outside in broad daylight where anyone could hear the shouting back and forth.

The very sentence made you realise how inconsiderably selfish she has always been, and she will still continue to be.

"Why has it always got to be about you? I can't even talk to you because you're so wrapped up in yourself-- See this, this is the reason I didn't tell you because yet again, you just once again go and make it about yourself!" You were seething with anger, you didn't care at this point which neighbour did hear you, "I needed you, mum, I really... I really needed you and you weren't there." Your voice was vulnerable and raw, showing the true hurt you felt right there.

"Because you didn't tell me that you needed me, Y/N," Your mother threw it back in your face, having the audacity to even tut at you, "How could I when you don't keep in touch anymore?" She asked.

You really did need your mum, but once again, she was nowhere to be seen when you did.

"She doesn't get it, she never has. Shes' always been this selfish and I've never realised..." You speak directly to your therapist, once again showing your vulnerability as the tears continue to spill down your cheeks.

Your therapist nods and continues to listen, shifting the paper in her hands completely aside, "Did you tell her how you felt?" She wonders.

"I did," You nod in response, "It was hard, but... I did it."

"I deserve to know if theres' something wrong with you, Y/N,'' Your mother stated, like it was her god-given right to know.

Was it really?

"I'm telling you now, aren't I, mum?" You responded, quietly.

Your mother exhaled a sigh and shook her head, "Were you alone in the hospital?" She questioned.

"No, I had Leah--" You were cut off before you could finish that sentence.

Your mother had the audacity to scoff, "Leah is not your mother, Y/N. I am!" She stated, firmly.

"Yeah, well shes' been there a lot more than you have in the last few years!" You confessed your inner thoughts, you were damn right about that statement.

Leahs' been there a lot more than your mum ever has been.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Your mother questioned in disbelief.

"It means... It means I'm done, mum. I'm done with always having to be second best-- I'm done with you and your selfishness! I'm just... I'm done now!" You told her, not having the energy to keep up this argument with her as you deflated your shoulders.

Your mother had the nerve to look at you hurt and it made you feel instant guilt about what you said, "All that I have done for you, and this is how I am treated? By my own daughter!" She said quietly, barely louder than a whisper.

"Mum, I'm sorry... But I can't, I can't do this anymore," Your telling her nothing but the truth, your tired of the bickering, your so tired of it and its' draining you both mentally and physically, "I love you because your my mum, but I'm done, I can't... I think its' best that you go."

"I'm the one whos' always been there, Y/N. I am the one... I am the one whos' been there when that deadbeat of a father walked out on us. He walked and I stayed, I didn't have too. I could have given you up but I stayed and this is what I get?" Your mothers' words hurt, they're gaslighting and manipulative, but you know this is exactly what she is like.

You have to try and remain strong in this decision.

"I think you should go now, mum. I... I don't want you here anymore," You told her, quietly as you avoided looking at her, "Please, just go."

"Y/N, you can't just push me away. I don't deserve to be treated like this," The women continued to gaslight you, showing the toxic traits of her personality.

Shaking your head, you remained firm on your decision, "It's always the same thing with you, mum. Just... Just fuckin' go!" You exclaimed, trying to keep your tears at bay until she left.

You watched as your mothers' face turned to look like complete thunder, "Don't you swear  at me, young lady!" She shouted, enraged.

This time, you couldn't help but scoff, "Please, you can't tell me what to do. Just leave and never come back!" You demanded.

"Y/N," Your mother pleaded, but you didn't want to hear it.

Your therapist leant forward to pass you the box of tissues and looked at you in great sympathy, "And then what happened?" She asks.

"Leah showed up," You tell her, giving her a brief smile while trying to harshly wipe the tears away.

"I think you should do what she says. She's asked you to leave and you're not welcome here," Leah appeared behind your mother, coming back from a quick trip to the shops to pick up some much needed essentials and was shocked to see the women on her doorstep after all this time.

"You!" Your Mother turned round to see the voice behind her as she glared, "You've poisined my own daughter against me!"

"Me?" Leah scoffed in response before she shook her head, "That wasn't me, I think you'll find that was all done by you. So you can see Y/N is upset, so please Y/M/N, just go because like I said before, you're not welcome here." Her words were firm and it made you smile slightly with the way that the blonde fought in your corner.

"So, she left?" Your therapist questions, curiously.

You nod in agreement and use your sleeves to wipe your face, "She left, I felt... I guess I felt relieved, free almost? I... I just wish that things could be different, you know?" You tell her, confused about the feelings you have.

Your therapist smiled at you sympathetically, "You don't deserve to be treated like this, Y/N. Even if its' your own mother and you did the right thing here-- Remember we talked about healthy boundaries? Those apply to family members as well." She tells you.

"I know, it just hurts," You murmur, feeling complete exhaustion after spilling everything out in the open.

"It will for a bit, but then it'll heal. This is about you, Y/N," Your therapist continues to speak open and honestly to you, "It will take time to heal, but you're strong enough to do it, and you're not alone either." She states, kindly.

"Rough session?" Leah questions in concern as she glances at you beside where she sits in the driver's seat.

You must be somewhat predictable, or she can tell from the red puffy eyes and tear stain cheeks.

It may just be the latter one.

"Yeah," You murmur in response, you barely have the effort to even want to vocually communicate right now.

Leah continues to look at you in further concern, "Do you want to talk about it?" She offers.

"No, I don't... I don't want to talk about it," Your quick enough to disagree with that.

That was a complete lie, you did want to talk about it. Even if you won't admit it though.

"Okay, that's fine. You know where I am though if you need me, bubs." Leah sends you a gentle smile and squeezes your knee to let you know she's here for you.

"Thanks," You lean your head on the window, watching the passing traffic as you head back home to the flat you shared with the blonde.

The rest of the ride home was quiet, you felt so in your head right now.

Therapy was meant to help, right? Why did it feel like the complete opposite, right now.

"I'm gonna make tea, what do you--" Leahs' words are cut short with the sound of your bedroom door slamming shut behind you, "I'll be out here if you need me at all." She calls out, hoping that you can hear her.

You do hear her, but you just don't have the energy to verbally respond right now.

You used it all in therapy, pouring your emotions out and showing your vulnerability, and that's something which rarely ever happens.

You keep yourself shut away in your bedroom for the rest of the day.

Leah of course has tried to prise you out of your room, but you are very much reluctant to leave your confined space.

You don't want to talk anymore today, you'd already done enough of that with the therapist.

So instead you bury yourself in a blanket, shamelessly clutching hold of the little stuffed green dinosaur that you won at a fair when you were eight, while you just sob endlessly into your pillow.

"Why is it that the people we care about so much are also the ones' that hurt us the most?" The question still plays on your head in a loop, because even now, you still don't understand the answer to it.

What shocks you the most is the fact that your mum hasn't bothered even once to contact you.

That shit hurts, to realise that shes' not bothered about any of it.

Not a single thing.

Somehow during the time you've spent in your room, you end up crying most of the time. Unfortunately, the habits' become more familiar over the last few months than you realise, all because of that woman.

There's a knock at your door, followed by the blondes' voice, "Bubs?"

"G' way," You mumble from underneath the covers, trying to block out the rest of the world.

Hearing the door creep open, you know that Leah isn't going to do that, "I heard you crying. I'm not going to leave you when you're this upset." She states, firmly.

"I don't want... I don't want to talk," You stutter your words, trying to control your sobs no matter how difficult that is.

"That's okay, we don't have to talk about things," Leah moves further into the room as her heart breaks at the sight of you curled up into a ball in the middle of your bed, clutching a hold of the pillow with tear stained cheeks, "Oh, bubs. C'mere, my girl."

That sight was enough for Leah to swiftly move to lie behind you in your bed, gently scoop you up and pull you closer to her, to be able to allow you the comfort even if you didn't want it.

The blonde knew different, she knew not to believe you when you said you didn't want to talk, she allows you the space but shes' not going to allow you to be completely torn up about this.

"Le," Your voice trembles, you don't have the words to say right now, but your grateful for the blonde being there.

Leah quietly shushes you and wraps her free arm around you, "I know, I know it hurts. You don't have to say anything, but know I'm here for you, regardless."

"Why... I don't get why, why does it hurt this much?" You're completely heartbroken, you thought pushing your mother away would help with things, but it makes it all that worse.

"I wish I could tell you the answer there, bubs," Leah murmurs and rocks you back and forth slightly in her arms, "Sometimes' it hurts to do it, but it's' for the best, you know?"

"S... She hasn't even phoned me. She doesn't care about me," You cry openly, showing the raw vulnerability you felt about this situation.

You feel like you've been abandoned, somewhat.

Parents aren't meant to do that, but yet its' easy for enough for it to happen.

And now you're the one in the wrong? It doesn't make sense.

"It hurts now, but things will get better," Leah tells you honestly, running her slender fingers through the strands of your own hair, "And I promise to never leave you alone, ever, okay? You've always got me!" She promises.

"You... You've always been more like a mum to me, more than my mother ever has," You admit to her through small sobs, shuffling around to be face to face with her as you move to rest your head on her chest, "Thank you for never giving up on me or leaving."

Leahs' heart cracks just that little bit more as she smiles sympathetically, "Your my kid, regardless of blood or not, and I love you so so much," She speaks from the heart, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head, "The day I met you, it felt like one of the best days of my life and I feel so grateful to be a part of your life, kid."

"I'm grateful you're a part of my life too, Le," You murmur quietly, your voice is hoarse from how much you've been crying but you really do mean what you say, "I wish you were my mum instead, you wouldn't abandon me like she did." You admit, your voice is still no louder than a whisper so you're not sure if shes' even heard it.

"I'd love to be your mum as well bubs, you deserve so much better," Leahs' response is nothing but the honest truth.

Your eyes start to flutter shut, "I really wish it could happen." 

Somehow you feel closer to falling asleep, you don't know what it is but you feel that with the presence of Leah there with you, it's a lot easier to fall asleep.

"I'll make it happen," Leah whispers, still running her slender fingers through your hair gently, "Get some sleep, yeah? It's been a long day."

There wasn't any response from you as you'd somehow managed to fall asleep in that short space of time.

"Bubs," Leah peers her head over slightly to see you fast asleep and she can't help but chuckle fondly, "I mean it when I say it and I'll keep that promise, kid. You're never going to be alone again." She states, firmly.

The blondes' heart aches so much for all the crap that you have had to put up with through the years and now she'll do anything to make it better.

"Sleep well, bubs. I love you," Leah whispers, pressing a gentle kiss on the top of your forehead as she pulls you closer towards her, allowing you to sleep practically on top of her, allowing her to lie there and think through things with the determination of a way for you to finally be happy.

© scribblesofagoonerr

[chilisworld55]

Your fics are sooooo good!!! The spanish is just the best part!! As a fic idea👀👀 spending summer with Carlos at mallorca!!

Sunburnt dinners, him loosing his mind over how cute you look a little sunburnt with your bikinis and summer dresses

hello anon! thank you so much, i really appreciate it 🫶🏻 I didn’t know if you wanted it to me a smut of just fluff but here you go!

🌶️ warnings: none. just Carlos simping over his fiancé, complimenting her so much

a/n: hihi! i hope you liked this and im sorry if there is any mistake, i’ll try to improve. Feel free to leave feedbacks, requests or anything else!

It was summer time. Your fiancé, Carlos, surprised you with tickets for both of you to spend a week at Mallorca, a beautiful island in Spain, perfect place to visit in summer.

Carlos is a morning person and wanted to make the most of the few vacation days he had with you. Some days he wakes up early and likes to take you to have breakfast near the beach, other days he likes to cook breakfast himself before taking you for a walk over touristic places, showing new things about his beautiful country.

Then, he made sure not to forget about taking his girl to the beach as well, spending your afternoons there, drinking a couple of cocktails, relaxing under the sun, watching the sunset which is a gorgeous view but for Carlos, you are always his best view.

You’ve noticed that by the way he always has his eyes on you and how he simply cannot keep his hands for himself, always grabbing you, touching you in any way. oh he loves your little outfits for the summer and the sunburns adds the perfect spark to it. You are driving him crazier as the days pass by.

…

It was the last day you were staying in Mallorca, tomorrow morning you were taking a flight back home with Carlos. The plan for today was having a romantic dinner at a restaurant but you wanted to have a little walk around the island to watch the sunset before that.

You were standing in front of the big mirror at the hotels room, getting ready, doing your makeup and wearing those summer dresses that you loved for how comfy and cute they were. Your fiancé was all dressed up already in some casual clothes, nothing too fancy.

You noticed Carlos stare on you all the time, as you got out from the shower, as you were choosing your clothes, putting them on and now.

“You’ve been staring at me the whole time. Tienes algo que decir?” Do you have something to say? You said, looking at the man sitting over the edge of the bed over the mirror, just right behind you.

“Solo una cosa… y es que te ves tan jodidamente hermosa” just one thing… that you look so freaking stunning. He said, eyes not looking away from your body, obviously checking you out.

“Oh really? thank you, amor, but if you keep staring at me for too long, i might melt” you giggled, turning around now that you’re done with your makeup. “ready now!”

“Wait, come over here. Date una vueltecita” do a little spin for me. He signaled with his fingers and you laughed, doing as he asked before walking over to him.

Once he had you close enough, his hands found their way to your bare waist, pulling you even closer to his body. Your dress had slits there and your back was completely exposed so you could feel his warmth against your skin.

“I think this is my favorite outfit on you so far… i mean you always look so pretty and beautiful but oh my god. i love it” he checked you out for the probably fifth time in the night, fingertips gently caressing your skin. “te ves tan mona, como una princesa, mi princesa” you look so cute, like a princess, my princess.

“yeah? then i should wear it more often so I can be your princess more often” you smiled, hands on his shoulders as he stood up. Carlos leaned down a little to place soft kisses on your lips and cheeks, his beard ticking you a little.

“Doesn’t the ring on your finger means that you’re my princess already? or even better, you’re my queen. Always.” he whispered, leaving a last kiss with a “muaw” sound. “Eres toda mía, cariño” you’re all mine, love.

“And you’re gonna steal all the cameras! The paparazzi are going to be taking photos of this beautiful woman instead of me” he faked a pout, being dramatic as always.

You playfully hit his shoulder. “Hey! you know that’s not true” you giggled at his pout and couldn’t help but kiss those puffy lips that always drive you crazy.

“Con ese vestido de seguro que si” with that dress, i’m pretty sure. He walked closer to the mirror, gently turned around so you’re looking at yourself in it. “Es que mírate” Look at you.

“Nunca me voy a cansar de decirte que me traes loco” im never gonna get tired of telling you that you drive me crazy.

…

And then you were late for dinner, but still got to have your romantic date. Carlos continued on complimenting every single thing about you, specially about how good you looked, but as much as he loved your outfit, as soon as you came back to the hotel room, the dress didn’t stayed on for much longer :)

[signanothername]

Why do you like Killer?

*Cracks knuckles* get ready

I don’t like Killer, I fucking LOVE HIM

He’s my number 1 fave au sans and has been for a very long time

Now to be clear, I’m talking about canon Killer here, i have mixed feelings about some fanon interpretations, some are good and i genuinely love them, others not so much

That being said, let’s actually talk about why i love my beautiful amazing wonderful son <3333

(All art used in this post is by Killer’s creator: Rahafwabas)

The very first hook for me is his very concept, the mere idea of a sans basically agreeing to go on a killing spree after so many genocide runs is just *chef’s kiss*

Killer knew it was wrong, he knew he shouldn’t, yet he did

Killer doomed himself by his choice, he could’ve stayed as “sans” but he chose to accept Chara’s offer, yet his choice came to be after he saw no point in refusing anymore (important addition and a correction here)

The canon comics had Killer saying that he’s the way he is cause he gave up, he said “you won, you’re the reason I’m like this”, he’s been on so many genocide runs that he felt a little part of him die each run, only to give up and go on said killing spree

It’s interesting how the player is a big part of Killer’s story, cause whether Chara was involved or not, the player is the root cause of his suffering

But what i love the most is that regardless of his backstory or reasons, Killer’s actions led to their inevitable consequences, and it forever changed him

The biggest change? His very soul, it went from a normal monster soul to his signature target soul, infused with Determination, something that supposedly hurts monsters, it’s almost like his soul was infected with it, and you can see how it physically affects him with the black liquid that constantly comes out his eyes, nose and mouth, and even at times, that sludge is too much that he chokes on it

And the amusing yet tragic parallel? Killer aimed to “feel something new” by his genocide runs, only to end up not feeling anything at all, at least at his default stage 2

Which brings me to the concept of his soul’s stages

I love Killer’s stages so so much, it’s such a beautiful unique and wonderful concept

Killer’s individual stages are sooooo intriguing to me, it shows Killer in a different light each time depending on which stage he’s in, stage 1 is the closest he is to being “sans”, the closest to he used to be, he can feel emotions and is generally back to his more lazy bones attitude, as well as his ability to actually show sympathy, and feel the pain he’s always in, but what’s interesting is that regardless of the fact he’s the closest to his old self in this stage, it’s still so clear that Killer isn’t really “sans” anymore, that no matter what, he truly had changed in a way that can never be reversed, a point of no return, even when Color saves him, cause his new habits? His fears? His pain? His trauma? They can never be taken away, Killer has to live with the scars of what he experienced

Stage 2 is who he’d become, he can’t feel anything at this stage, emotions nonexistent, and his nonchalant behavior towards himself and others is most apparent here, a parallel I like to think of is that Killer’s inability to feel anything at all is almost like prolonged sensory deprivation, when you’re deprived of sensory input/ simulation for long periods, your brain needs compensate, and so it does its job, Killer’s soul prevents him from feeling so he resorts to other methods (usually very self destructive) to compensate for his lack of emotional capacity

I also really really love how that especially during stage 2, Killer isn’t trustworthy, cause in stage 1 you can actually trust him to an extent, in stage 2 Killer’s actions, behaviors and mindset are completely unpredictable, but not because he’s random, cause he’s actually extremely calculated, yet regardless, his carelessness when it comes to his own life and other people’s lives is dialed to an 11 here, so he could either choose to kill/attack or simply stay and listen

we even get an actual in depth look at how Killer’s mind works in one of the canon comics, in which Killer contemplates whether to attack Dream or not as he listens to his own stages in his head, one of which tells him to Kill Dream, while the other tells Killer to talk to Dream first

How Killer comes to a final decision on whether he attacks or not is something I believe his calculated mind makes depending on the situation and the pros/cons of what act he chooses, Killer is pretty smart, he knows when to let his trigger happy self out and when to settle down

Stage 3 or the “crazy stage” is the stage in which he’d attack anyone in his way whether friend or foe, we unfortunately don’t have much canon info regarding this stage, but that ain’t gonna stop me from analyzing the shit outta it (and talk about how i perceive it)

I like to think of this stage as the combination between stage 1 and 2, yet it’s almost like his soul can’t truly decide on which stage to settle on and by extension founding stage 3 as a separate stage by itself, Killer becomes extremely unstable at this stage, his soul moves rapidly and it’s obvious he’s in pain cause of it, whether that pain is just emotional or both physical and emotional isn’t really clear, yet i’d like to believe it’s both, and i feel like Killer’s capacity to attack anyone at this stage is related to that pain, and something I really love to believe is that Killer can’t calm down enough to settle back to stage 1 or 2 unless he either wears himself out by fighting someone, or he’s left alone to his own demons long enough to pull himself together, if he were to be forcefully restrained during this stage, it would only serve to make it worse and prolong the time he stays that way (cough something i may or may not have made a quick comic about but never shared as always vjvjvjj)

Not to mention, one of the canonical responses Killer gives when asked if he’s ok at stage 3 seems to make Killer alternate between answers he wants to give between saying he’s “fine” and “i don’t know” which makes sense, Killer isn’t stable at all, it’s almost like his stage 1 self and stage 2 self are fighting over who gets to talk (stage 2 seems more dominant)

Yet the fact Killer is able to answer and comprehend his surroundings enough at this stage is very intriguing to me, cause it shows how much Killer is able to handle/endure (which is A LOT cause damn) and not only that, but it also gives us a very clear difference between this stage and stage 4

As for stage 4?? Woooh boi, it’s the stage I like to call “plunging into darkness”

We also don’t have much canon info about this stage, but one of the things i find interesting is the fact Killer deliberately keeps it a secret from everyone, when he tells Color about his stages, he only tells him up to stage 3, never bringing up stage 4, only for Chara to sneer at Killer that he shouldn’t keep it from his new BFF

It’s obvious Killer himself is very uncomfortable with the subject of stage 4, it’s apparent that it’s a stage that he rarely gets to, but it still bothers him enough to not want to even mention it, which makes sense, cause the comic we had of stage 4 shows that Killer gets to that stage when he’s reminded of all the murders he committed, and unsurprisingly, when he’s reminded of his brother, as what triggered this stage is actually a memory of Papyrus telling Sans to “see a puzzle”, only to be followed by memories of screams of anger, fear, and hatred of those he killed immediately afterwards, stage 4 is heavily related to his trauma

Not to mention it’s clear that when Killer gets to stage 4 he blacks out, he’s completely unaware of anything he does during this stage, and is only left to deal with the aftermath when he gets back to his senses, the fact it’s also a stage that seems to be “getting worse” is something that Killer definitely seems to hate

It sometimes makes me think whether Killer had gotten into trouble cause he killed someone Nightmare wanted alive while at this stage, cause with how he keeps it a secret, I’d assume Nightmare would be unaware of it for a while (comic idea perhaps >:) )

But y’know what’s better than talking about the stages?? Talking about Killer’s personality, behaviors and trauma

Killer can’t distinguish between what’s real or not, and it’s obvious he sometimes sees the world in the third person, as in he’s not completely there at times, not to mention the amount of voices he hears in his head, from his stages talking to him to hallucinations of Chara, Frisk and Papyrus, and oooh boi does he hate these hallucinations, the past obviously haunts Killer and it’s something he tries running away from constantly, yet he can never truly run from it when it follows him everywhere

Killer has a smile on his face most the time, but his attitude changes especially when Chara is mentioned, or when he’s reminded of his past in any way, he literally avoids food that reminds of his past life as “sans”, he freezes up at certain phrases such as “best friend” (something i also made a comic about that i never shared chchhchc)

He just absolutely hates to be reminded of the person he used to be, of all the things he used to have, cause in truth? They were all taken away from him by his own hands, only to be then forced to work under Nightmare, who only ensures that he never finds peace of mind

And the sad part? Killer let’s all those things hurt him, he lets Nightmare have his way with him, he lets Chara torment him, cause he thinks he deserves it, and most importantly, he deluded himself into believing that this is what he wants because it’s what everyone else wants, because it’s what the player wants

Killer even sometimes tries to force himself not to feel anything, cause come on, since when does he feel anything at all?

Killer, to put it bluntly, hates himself, and he thinks that his suffering is the Karma of what he’s done, and even at one point, he was going to erase himself out of existence cause he believed that’s what he deserved, as in Killer thought of himself as unworthy when it comes to Papyrus, that his brother doesn’t need him, that his brother is better off without him, hell he even tells Color that he needs to kill him if he ever reaches stage 3, it’s an obvious “ i want someone to put me outta my misery” attitude

Killer feels hopeless, and so he lets himself suffer thinking he can’t ever find peace or hope again

Yet the interesting part? You’d never know that Killer hates himself unless you’re a being of emotions (Nightmare and Dream) or someone who’s perceptive enough to notice Killer’s self-loathing like Color, that’s how good of an actor Killer can be, you’d think he’s a cold emotionaless killer but the truth only shines to those who actually can see through his act

Killer just has that amazing character depth and his story is genuinely so unique and beautiful, cause you in his story you can find details of other details within the details vhvhvjvj

All that? Mixed with really adorable little things like his love for cats, his silly attitude, his nonchalance with Nightmare, his capacity to be social with whoever, and his friendship with color? That is why I love Killer Anon <33333

[wondersinwaynemanor]

what if the batkids decided at the same time to bring their partners to the Manor and they argue about it?

[i can't stop writing long scenes]

scenario 1:

Duke has his arm wrapped around Izzy's waist as they make their way to the movie room.

Duke: Have you decided which movie you want to watch tonight?

Izzy, grins: The Notebook?

Duke, opening the door of the room, chuckles: But we've just watched that two weeks ago. Besides, Dick and Jason love that film, I've watched it a lot of times by now.

Izzy, turns the switch on to illuminate the room: What's the harm in rewatching-

they stop in their tracks as Steph and Cass enter the room from the other entrance of the movie room.

Steph giggles and leans towards Cass' face to kiss her. they don't even notice that the room is now bright with the lights on.

Duke, clears his throat loudly: Uh. Just to let you know, there are other people in the room.

Izzy: Sorry! We didn't mean to interrupt.

Steph and Cass, still holding each other, look at Duke and Izzy at the other side of the room.

Cass waves to them.

Steph: What are you two doing in here?

Duke: To watch a movie? Clearly.

Steph: But we started an hour ago.

Duke: I don't see a sign in the door that says it's occupied though.

Duke has really been hanging too, too much with Damian and Jason.

Cass, covers Steph's mouth before she speaks more: Maybe we can watch together.

Izzy, smiles: What were you guys watching earlier?

Steph and Duke, say at the same time: But this was supposed to be a date!

then Steph and Duke glare at each other, suddenly arguing over random things.

Cass shakes her head and leads Izzy outside the room so they can get some food from the kitchen.

---

scenario 2:

Dick continues to lead Wally to the private pool that was just newly built.

they just came home from a mission and some dip in warm water under the bright stars sounds so good right now.

by the time they both strip down to their boxers, Dick is a giggling mess as Wally bridal carries him on the stairs down to the water.

Wally, still carrying Dick on his arms, backing both of them on the pool wall: Have I told you today how beautiful you are?

Dick, blushes, wrapping his arms on Wally's neck: You always remind me. But tell me again-

then out of nowhere, someone shouts, "KABOOOOOM!" and a large splash of water hit both of them.

Dick, rubs the water off his eyes: What the actual fu-

and it's Roy from across the side of the pool, leaning against the wall with a smug grin on his face. on his side is Jason with the same kind of smile.

Roy, brings Jason closer to him: Oh, isn't it my two best friends of all time?

Jason, laughs: Ocupado, Dickface. Sorry.

he wasn't sorry at all.

Dick, groans, coming down from Wally's arms: You lied, Jay! You said you were out of town.

Jason, shrugs: Plans change, Dick.

Wally, rubs Dick's arm soothingly: A little warning next time, guys?

Roy, grins: Not our forte.

Dick, grumbles: You guys are assholes. Go to another area or something, I don't care.

Jason: I'm sorry, what was that, Dick?

Dick: Asshole, I said go to another area. Period.

Jason: Why you-

then the two brothers are moving forward towards each other on the water, aiming for a fight of sorts. one minute, Jason has Dick under the water and the next, it's Dick chasing Jason in the water like ducklings. like birds.

Wally hides Dick's escrima sticks, while Roy hides Jason's guns. just in case the fight escalates.

---

scenario 3:

Roy, whines: Jaaaaaybird, can we sleep now?

Jason: I said give me a minute, Roy. I need to grab a book.

Roy leans his weight on Jason, closing his eyes.

Jason: And I'm not carrying you, idiot.

although, he wraps his arm on Roy's waist, supporting him as they walk to the Manor library.

Jason, opens the door: Give me a few, kay? Then we can- WHAT THE SHIT?

Roy feels more awake than awhile ago as they both stare at Kon, shirtless on the couch and his hair a mess.

Jason: Clone, what are you doing here????

Kon, flushes, embarrassed: I... I... Um.

then Tim appears from behind the couch too, his hair also a mess, but thankfully his clothes still on. or else Jason would have threw up on the floor.

Roy just has a grin on his face the entire time, amused.

Tim, grins: Hey, guys.

Jason, pinches the bridge of his nose: I swear, Timmy, I fucking swear, if you and clone boy don't fucking take your hormones upstairs to your own room, I will-

Tim: You will what, Jay? I mean... You don't own this place. Doesn't mean you spend most of your time here, it's yours.

Jason: I never said I owned this! I just fucking said, don't do funny business on the library couch.

Tim, scoffs: As if you don't do funny business here.

Roy, grins even widely: The boy's got a point, Jaybird.

Jason, now even more upset: Go, go upstairs!

Tim: But-

Jason: Now, Tim!

Tim: You're not my mom!

Jason: And you're not being responsible!

Tim: As if you're any better!

then the two boys continue to argue, leaving Roy and Kon to shrug and make their own conversation by the door.

Roy: Hey, kid. How's the Young Justice?

Kon, smiles: Pretty good. How's the Outlaws?

---

bonus:

Damian and Jon are in the game room, playing some Mario Kart when they hear voices outside the room.

Steph: We were here first!

Dick: I thought I told everyone in the groupchat that me and Wally will be having the Game Room.

Jason: I already called dibs in the room.

Duke: I arrived earlier than any of you, so technically, me and Izzy get to use it first.

Tim: Hey, I never had the Game Room this week!

Cass, suggests: Can we just all share it?

Damian, opens the door, annoyed: Will everyone just keep their mouths closed? I have settled in the room already.

as the batkids continue to make their points, Jon exits the room and flies to the main living room where the rest of the partners are talking.

Jon, settles beside Kon: I guess this is a regular occurance.

Roy, chuckles: You have no idea, kid.

Wally: As long as I can remember, yes.

Kon: You'll get used to it, little brother.

Izzy: With a house so big, they still argue on who gets a room first.

Izzy, sees the Monopoly game under the coffee table, smiling: Anyone up for Monopoly?

[cxrsed-angel]

Knuckle Deep in the Backseat (Joel Miller x Fem! reader smut)

rating: 18+

word count: 3k

summary: Joel convinced you to learn how to drive and offers to teach you, but ends up in the back seat with you.

warning: Smut, age gap (Joel is in his 50s, reader is in 20s). Fingering, dirty talk, Daddy kink, pet names, car sex, established relationship.

A/N: Title is inspired but causal by Chappell Roan but the fic has nothing to do with the song. This actually was in my draft since last year and was "finished" but it needed work lol.

The sun is barely up bit its still too bright, and the birds are chirping too loudly. You can feel the crisp fall air as you stand outside. You hated being up this early. You don’t even remember how Joel got you to wake up this early. Joel knew you weren't a morning person, but he had convinced you with shitty coffee to practice driving after finding a couple of gas cans. Said it might come in handy, and he doesn’t want you to be unprepared. The thought was sweet, but waking you up at 7:00 a.m. wasn’t. You figured it would be later in the day like 12pm not the ass crack of dawn. You followed him to the truck, your eyebrows frowning due to how early it was. 

“Good morning, baby. ‘You ready to drive? I woke you up ages ago. What took you so long?” 

Joel greets you with a big smile. He's leaning against the old truck, way more energetic than you are. Over the years, he’s gotten used to waking up early, which you didn’t understand. You hated how chipper he was in the morning; you couldn’t relate. You’d be lucky if you rolled out of bed before noon. 

You walk up to him, flipping him off before taking the coffee from his hand. He laughs and watches as you take a sip of coffee. You walk to the driver's side of the car, and he follows behind you. You watch as he opens the door and starts hot-wiring the car to start it. 

You see him standing next to an old four-door black truck, holding the coffee he had promised, smiling. “You know I used to have a truck like this; it was black—” You nod, staring at him, not really listening to him go on about his old pre end of the world truck he used to own. You're still trying to wake up, zoning out a bit. You stare at him briefly, and he realizes that you haven't been listening. 

He stops rambling about the mileage he had on his old truck and the deal he got on it. “You ever drove one of these before?” he asked, even though he already knew the answer. You give him a deadpanned stare, narrowing your eyes, 

“And when would I have driven one of these, Joel? Considering most cars stopped working about 20 years ago.” You knew you were being cranky, but you didn’t appreciate being up before noon if your life wasn’t depending on it.

He looks up from hot wiring, mumbling under his breath, “fucking smart ass” You roll you’re eyes and watch as he continues messing with wires until you hear the car turns on; you stare at him as he walks around.

 His ass looks particularly good in his jeans as he walks around the truck to get into the passenger seat. Normally, you would try to make your staring more subtly, but it was hard since you’re barely awake; he just looked so good. The greying hair, his pretty brown eyes, the wrinkles around his forehead from frowning for the last 20 years, the cuts around his face, his muscles peeking through his shirt sleeves. You’re broken out of your trance when you hear his deep Texas voice that had lured you out here in the first place. 

“Are you gonna stand there and check me out all day, or are you gonna get your ass in the car.” 

You stop daydreaming, his words snapping you out of your semi-dirty thoughts. You walk to the car and get into the driver’s seat. You’re sitting in the driver's seat as he asks, “Ok, so tell me what you remember.” 

“Well, not much, considering the last time I was in a car that worked, I was a toddler,” You answer again sarcastically, rolling your eyes, still cranky and grumpy. 

Joel turns his head to look at you, narrowing his eyes at your snark. He knows it usually takes a good 30 minutes or so for you to be yourself when he woke you up early, but today, you seemed extra grumpy. 

The first time Joel woke you up early in the morning, you gave him short responses or cursed him out every other sentence all morning. It was earlier on when he met you. Joel thought you were pissed at him or that he did something, so he responded back with short responses and attitude, which led to a lot of tension the rest of the day. But after a couple of weeks of early morning runs, he saw that that was just how you are, and he eventually got used to it. He also realized that if he gave you coffee and was patient, you’d eventually wake up faster. Still, it didn't work every time, and it seemed like this was one of those mornings where you were extra cranky and a pain in the ass. 

You take another sip of his coffee and sigh, realizing you were being too bitchy; you hand the coffee back to him. “I’m sorry. That was a bit much. I’ll tone it down. Promise.” 

He looks at you as he puts the coffee in the cup holder, unsure if he believes you. He replies dry and sarcastically. “I'm sure you will.” He starts talking about something, but honestly, you weren’t listening, too lost in those brown eyes of his to focus on what he was saying again.

 You see him motion to the thing with numbers above the steering. You know it's probably important, but you're far more interested in how good his hands look as he gestures to the different parts of the car. Fuck why did he have to be so hot? 

“So, um, 20 years ago, you would’ve had to take a test and worry about a lot of different rules of the road and deal with people riding your ass, tailgating, and a lot of other shit, but um, now I guess the important thing is just getting somewhere as fast as possible isn't it? You’d probably not gonna drive often, but it's good to know.”

You nod, paying attention to his words now instead of all the dirty things you want him to do to you, trying to focus on getting ready to drive. 

“Alright, you feel those two pedals down there. The one on the left is the brake, and the one on the right is the gas; you only want to use one foot while driving; you can really mess up the car if you press both at the same time. See these here are your shifts to D for drive, P for park, R for reverse.” He pauses, thinking about anything he might’ve missed, but he remembers you weren’t gonna be driving like he used to, “Thats all you really need to know.” 

You watch as he explains everything to you. He tells you to put it into drive, and the car starts moving forward slightly. You shakily put your hands on the wheel, gripping it tightly, and press down the gas pedal, nervously chewing on your lip. He guides you through an old road that wasn’t too overgrown or hard to navigate. After a few minutes, you feel like you're starting to get the hang of it. You feel Joel place his hand on your thigh, resting it there. You look over at him slightly, wondering if you have messed up or done something wrong. Still, he says nothing about letting you drive, resting his hand on your thigh, and occasionally squeezing it. 

“Am I doing okay?” you ask quietly as his hand continues to rest on your thigh, slowly rubbing further up your thighs.  You feel his hand creep up higher and the air in the truck getting hotter as his hand makes you feel warm. You lose focus on what you are doing and feel the car drifting off the road as his hand reaches further up your shorts. You feel the arousal building in your core. 

“Doin' great baby, just try to keep the wheel straight; you're drifting sideways a little.” He leans over you, grabbing the wheel to make it straight before letting you take over again, “Atta girl, see, you're doing perfectly.” 

His hand lightly squeezes your thigh reassuringly. You swallow hard, trying not to let his actions and deep voice affect you, trying to focus your attention back on the road. But that went out the window once you felt his hand rub the place you needed him most through your pants. 

“Joel,” you whisper his name. It comes out more of a moan than you intended; he leans over the gear shift, kissing your neck and sucking on your skin. You close your eyes, feeling your body getting hotter and your heart beating faster. You had forgotten you were supposed to control a vehicle until he moved his lips off your neck. 

“Focus on the road, baby; after all the shit I’ve been through, I don't wanna die because you drove us into a damn tree.” 

You open your eyes, listening to him, and focus back on driving. At least you try to, but you fail once his fingers start unbuttoning your jeans. His hands go down your pants and slowly caress against your pussy over your panties. You feel your face heat up, getting wetter, more turned on by his fingers teasing you. 

You don’t know how you’d manage to drive this much without crashing the truck, but you lose what little self-control you have left when Joel moves your panties to the side. Your foot moves off the gas pedal, the car stops, and you can't take it anymore. You close your eyes, feeling yourself get wetter. 

“Joel! I can't–ah– I need you please, please, please, I need you,” you beg and whine to him, wanting him to do more, but all you hear is his deep voice laugh at you as he removes his hand from your pants. 

“All of a sudden, you have manners, and bein’ polite.” he mocks you as he moves back into his seat, watching you get a bit mad.. “What happened to all that attitude and snark you gave me 10 minutes ago.” He continues as you look at him, your face flush and hot. No way you continue with this driving lesson after feeling his fingers against your core. 

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry I won't be a pain in the ass anymore.” You try to apologize, hoping he’ll accept it and put his hand back. You look at him with soft eyes, practically beginning him to fuck you. 

He looks at you for a few minutes before shaking his head and giving you a smirk, not being easily won over by your apologies or the 180 in your attitude.

“What?. You think a few sorrys gonna have me forget how much attitude you gave me for no reason?” You frown as he continues, “No, sweetheart, you’ve been an extra wiseass this morning, and I don't think you deserve it.” 

You shake your head to apologize again, hoping to convince. “Joel… Please, I said I was sorry. You know I’m not a morning person, and I never mean it.” He doesn't say anything as he looks at you. You can tell he’s debating whether to drive back to Jackson or go to the back of the truck. “Alright, fine baby, get in the back. But I ain't letting you get that easy,” he grunts in a deep Texas voice. You smile, glad he had given in. 

You unbuckle your seat belt and crawl into the truck's back seat. You're about to leave the car, but Joel places a hand on your shoulder, stopping you. 

 “You gotta put it into park, darling, or we’ll go rolling into a tree.” He gently reminds you as he opens the passenger door. 

You glance at the gear shift, remembering you were supposed to be a driving lesson that had taken a turn.

 “Oh, right.” You sit back in the driver's seat, putting the gearshift into P. You couldn't turn the car off since it was hot-wired, so you watch as Joel reaches over and pulls another small lever thing up, not exactly sure what it is for. 

“The emergency brake. Just to be safe.” 

 After parking the car and making sure the car wasn't going to roll backward, You hop over the console and crawl into the back seat, waiting for him to join you. You watch as Joel gets out of the passenger seat, closing the door behind him. Your eyebrow frowns slightly, confused as to why he was not hoping into the backseat with you. “Aren't you- where are you going?”  Your frown confused why he wasn't hopping over the seat like you. He smiles at you before closing the passenger door; he opens the back seat door, closing it behind him, and climbs in, sitting in the middle seat, getting into the backseat,

 “I ain't as young, and with my bad back and knees. There's no way I’m hopping over the console and crawling into the goddamn back seat like that. My knees are already bad enough.” 

You smile as he sits next to you, forgetting about your age difference, “Guess thats the con of dating an old man, huh.” You joke as he grabs your hips, gently pushes you down on the back seat, and unbuttons your jeans, hovering over you as you lay on your back. 

“Yea, but who's getting in the back seat with said old man and begging this old man to fuck you.” 

You laugh for a bit at his very valid reply. You feel him pull your jeans down and your underwear all at once. You sit with him as he tosses your clothes to the backseat floor. He moves a bit to sit on the seats, pulling you next to him, and his rough hands grab your hips. You feel him rub up your thigh with one and place his index and middle finger on the other hand against your lips. You open your mouth, sucking on them, gazing up at Joel. 

Joel lets out a groan under his breath as he looks at you, “Fuck sweetheart, look so pretty sucking on my fingers.” His praise gets you wetter as he takes his finger out of your mouth and slowly pushes them inside you. He starts off slow but gradually increases his speed as his fingers curl inside you, hitting that spot deep in you. You shudder under his touch, grinding against his fingers. 

“Fuck baby, you’re soaking my fingers.” he drawls out as he continues fucking you with his fingers. You whimper at his words, hearing the sounds of your wetness as his finger fuck deeper into you. You grab onto his bicep to steady yourself, clenching around his fingers as you get closer to your release. Your moans grow louder as you feel his fingers rub against your clit.

“Yes! Yes! Daddy, I’m so close!” You feel the pressure building, your breath gets shakier, and your moans get louder, filling the old truck, until you feel his hand cover your mouth, muffling you’re growing moans. He leans over, hovering over you more, his fingers stopping inside you.

“You need to shut the hell up before you attract a whole hoard of clickers.” His stern tone still turns you on more, his eyes staring into yours intensely. Making sure you understand him, you give him a nod with glossy eyes staring back at him. 

He slowly started moving his finger again, curling up as he reached the spot each time he slid his finger inside you. Your eyes roll back as you move your hips against his fingers. You felt his hand come out of your mouth, and you bit your lip, trying to surprise your moans. You feel you’re self getting closer, your brain getting fuzzy as his fingers move faster.  

“Is this what I have to do every morning, gotta make you cum on my fingers, then you’ll be nice?” He taunts you as you continue moaning. Your lips desperately clash with Joel’s messily making out with him. Joel’s other hand spreads your thighs further as he continues to finger fucking you. 

You nod absentmindedly, leaning your head against his neck as he continues fucking you with his fingers; his thumb rubs your clit and brings you over the edge. Joel knew, too. He knew your body like the back of your hand, even outside of sex. He always knew when you were scared when you were pissed. 

“You’re close, huh I can tell. You wanna cum, sweetheart? You’re gonna cum on daddy’s finger?” He asks softly as he sits beside you, fingers moving deeper inside your dripping cunt. 

You immediately nod, “Yes, daddy, please, please. I’m so close.” Your release slows as his fingers pull out of you. You feel your orgasm fading and your eyes open, looking at him disappointed, watching as he puts his two fingers in his mouth, tasting your wetness. He gives you a slight smirk as she shakes his head. 

“I don’t know. I’m not sure you deserve it, after how you were this morning, all those smart-ass remarks after you asked me to teach you to drive.” He slowly traces his finger over your clit, teasing you as you whine against him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll be nice!” you apologize frantically, hoping he’ll move his fingers again. Joel smiles before he slips his finger inside your aching pussy accepting your apology, and moves his finger again, the arousal building again. Your moan grows louder as his fingers bring you to your release. He brings his lips to your mouth, sloppily kissing you to quiet your moans. You moan against his lips. 

“As pretty as those moans are, you really gotta keep it down, sweetheart. Once we get back to Jackson, you can be as loud as you want. Okay?” 

You nod, knowing he’s right. You really don't wanna lure a group of infected or clickers with your moans. In this situation, you’d rather not die mid-sex from clickers. you close your eyes, feeling his fingers move faster. He brings his other hand onto your clit, rubbing it slowly.

“I know, I know but-fuck baby, I’m close, I'm so close.” The sounds of your moans and your wetness from your entrance fill the rundown truck as you get closer to your release. 

“Come on baby, atta girl, soak my finger, baby.” He coaxes, his voice guiding you through your orgasm. eye closing as you dissolve into pleasure. you gasp before moaning his name repeatedly. “Joel Joel Joel fuck daddy!” His hand comes over your mouth again to keep your moans quiet. You feel your stomach twist, your wet pussy clenches as you feel your climax. you move, laying your head on his shoulder as his fingers help you ride out your orgasm. 

You feel him remove his fingers from you. you breathe heavily, coming down from your high. Just you open your eyes; Joel puts his dripping fingers in his mouth. You watch desperately as he moans at your taste. He smiles, laughing slightly at how you look at him still recovering but, obviously still wanting him. He leans forward, planting a kiss on your forehead, and looks at you.  

“You better?” you nod silently. “You awake?” you nod again, feeling a bit weaker between your legs than before you had entered the truck. Joel laughs, gently giving you a soft kiss on your lips. “Good, now get back in the driver’s seat and take us home so I can fuck you. ” 

You nod, getting up and hopping back into the front seat. You look back at Joel, watching him get into the passenger seat. He starts the car again, and you start speeding back to Jackson. 

“You know, maybe you should give me an orgasm in the morning every day to wake me up.” you smile, making a joke but also being serious. 

Joel shakes his head at your words, laughing a bit. His hand comes back to your thigh, rubbing it. “Just focus on driving the damn truck first.” 

[yerimbrit]

on my mind (all the time) : k. haerin

synopsis: is it love? and if it is, was it platonic? or romantic? does haerin even like girls? ...you give her a headache.

# : pairing ! nonidol!kang haerin x fem!reader

# : tags ! requested, haerin pov, self-discovery, bbangsaz mention, hanni appearance, complicated feelings, pining, but in a haerin way yk, so sorry this is short(er than most of my stuff), they're watching mean girls (2004) , THIS TOOK SO LONG, IM SORRY

# : wordcount ! 1.7k

# : warnings ! none

there is no name to put to these feelings that haerin holds for you. probably.

well, at least no name that haerin knows. she knows that it's different from what she feels for, say, danielle. or minji. or hanni, or hyein. she doesn't have it in her to play tom and jerry with you, because you amuse her, in a different way.

you're an interesting individual. (sometimes) high-energy. proud member of the go-home club. procrastinator. (haerin wonders how you still manage to get top marks in exams despite only studying the night before.)

there's just something about you that draws her in, seizing her attention with whatever you do.

"hello? earth to kang haerin, are you there?" oops.

when haerin looks up, she's met with hanni, who's sitting in front of her waving her hand back and forth. they're currently sitting in the new boba shop which opened two weeks ago. hanni's been begging everyone to go with her, but the other girls came up with excuses on the spot except haerin, who was zoning out at the time. this is not where she was planning to be on her saturday afternoon, usually reserved for her regular napping session.

but, well, there's barely anyone here and hanni opted for an even quieter corner and paid for haerin's slice of red velvet cake, so who was haerin to complain? the cake does well to make up for the energy she could've restored with her very-necessary-not-to-be-disturbed-4-hour-nap, anyway.

"thinking about y/n?" the older girl wiggles her eyebrows, but her smile drops at the sight of haerin's brow twitching, a telltale sign of something about to come out of her mouth that would have hanni regretting she ever spoke up.

"why worry about what i'm thinking, when you should be thinking about if minji's even picking up on your signs?"

the receiver of the comment pouts and blows her bangs out of her face. "i hate when you're right."

haerin takes another bite of her cake. done and dusted. this is a frequent interaction between the two—hanni is the only one who knows about her infatuation with you (though only because haerin accidentally said your name out loud as she was zoning out one day), and haerin is the only one hanni has confided in for her feelings for her best friend.

the only thing haerin hates about this is that it's hanni, of all people. hanni, who keeps insisting that whatever she's feeling for you is romantic. that part, she hasn't really figured out but she doesn't think it's romantic. or if she's interested in girls. haerin isn't the type to have many crushes, that or it was so minor that she doesn't remember. she wonders if the random boys she used to pick to be her "crush" count, because it was mostly to satisfy the nosey girls in her class that wouldn't take "no one" as an answer.

"she came over yesterday," haerin muses, taking the last bite of her slice of cake and setting the silver fork neatly on the empty plate. she stares disappointedly at the lack of sweet delights. hanni should owe her another slice for the unsolicited therapy session she's about to go through.

at hearing her words, hanni slams her hands on the table as she leaned forward. the fork is slightly pushed from its perfect position on her plate, and haerin frowns. +1 slice added to hanni's tab.

"and? what happened?" the girl asks after settling back down into her seat. the few people that were also in the shop are staring at the pair. she mouths a 'sorry' as she looks around, bashfully scratching the back of her neck. this, too, is one of the frequent happenings in haerin's life.

haerin takes a sip of her unsweetened iced tea. "nothing in particular. nothing that would interest you, anyway."

she gets a push to the shoulder from across the booth table. it doesn't make her budge, no, hanni is too soft on her for that, but it does make her frown. in retaliation, she steals a bite of hanni's castella, earning her another push to the shoulder.

"well, tell me anyway. i need all the details."

"it's not my fault you're, like, in love with me or something!" you passionately exclaim, following along with the movie. you and haerin are sitting on your bed, watching mean girls on your beat up laptop that you got from your sister. the movie has been one of your favorites even before haerin met you.

'it's funny,' haerin thinks, resting her head on top of yours when you lean on her shoulder. she's been thinking a lot since the last time she has seen you. she's so, so close to figuring out why her heart speeds up automatically at the sight of you, or why your smile is so much more contagious than usual. but... she just can't put her finger on it. 'what if hanni was right?'

she just needs one more push in the right direction to pinpoint the answer she's looking for.

"oh," haerin grins, "we're almost at my favorite part."

incredulously, you smile up at her. "regina's about to get hit by a bus."

"exactly."

you burst out into a fit of laughter, shaking your head. haerin is so peculiar.

you're always so sure of herself. maybe that's why haerin's interested in you. she's never been unsure of herself until you showed up.

"you're so warm. and pretty," you look up at her through your eyelashes. "so pretty, kang haerin, did you know that?"

haerin is blushing. but she only nudges your shoulder.

you snuggle more into her neck. a warm feeling spreads through haerin's body, and it only furthers her confusion. you've always liked skinship with her, not that she minded. she's never admitted to it (declaration is unnecessary) but she does enjoy it. again, it's different from hugs from hyein, hanni and minji, or holding hands with danielle. your touch is electrifying. in a good way, of course.

"do you know what everyone says about you?" she mumbles, a smile overtaking her face as it is made clear that regina george's "death" is imminent. you smile as well at the sight of hers.

you bury your head further into her shoulder, the both of you reciting the lines, "they say you're a homeschooled jungle freak, who's a less hot version of me."

at one point, haerin's smile breaks and disperses into giggles, starting to uncontrollably laugh when the girl on the screen gets absolutely wrecked by the bus.

you stare dumbfoundedly at her, even though this has happened before. "there's seriously got to be something wrong with you."

despite your words, you let out a couple of giggles too, joining haerin in her fit of laughter. look at you two, bonding and laughing over the (not) death of regina george.

you watch the rest of the movie. you laugh as regina socks jock girls in the face with her lacrosse stick, boo when kevin gnapoor shows up with janis in tow, and bop your head along to the ending credits music. haerin observes you closely with a smile. 'so interesting.'

abruptly, you stand up and away from haerin's shoulder. she frowns at the loss of warmth, but watches you stretch out your arms and smile towards her. then, you offer out a hand.

"dance with me?"

you weren't expecting her to join you, but hum in content when she does. your hand is warm in hers as she allows herself to be pulled up by you. the credits song of mean girls isn't really a song to sway to, but you sway to it anyway.

"why are you looking at me like that?" haerin asks. your arms are wrapped around her neck, hers wrapped securely around your waist. you're so close that she can smell your lavender-scented shampoo.

"like what?"

"you're looking at me weird."

you bury your head into the crook of her neck. it's a bit awkward because you had to bend your knees to do it, but haerin lets herself bask in your warmth.

"...y/n."

your head is still buried in between her neck and shoulder as you smile. "hmm?"

haerin pauses, wondering if she should ask her question. "how did you know you liked girls?"

it's obvious you weren't expecting her to ask when you stiffen, and she's about to take back her words until you sigh.

"why?"

"i'm just curious."

there's another pause, and the silence is enhanced by the music on your laptop fading out. it switches to a more mellow song, and you start swaying again.

"i guess i've never really liked guys that way. and i realized that i've only ever had a crush on girls, but it never came to mind that i just wasn't attracted to guys. you know?"

you tap the back of haerin's neck with the tips of your fingers. haerin doesn't really get it, but she nods along.

letting out a lighthearted laugh, you slightly pull away to look the cat-eyed girl in the eyes.

"what i'm trying to say is that i've always known. but it's only recently that i've come to terms with it."

ah. there it is. an epiphany came to haerin, and her eyes light up. hanni was right. she's never been more sure of herself since meeting you. all the clues, connections, and reflection time has led up to this moment.

and without thinking, haerin blurts out, "i like you."

well! there's no going back now is there? "i wasn't sure if i liked you or if you were just a good friend. i didn't even know if i liked girls. but, i think i know now."

and now it's overwhelming, all five senses coming at her with full force. your lips are warm against hers, and they taste like lifesaver gummies. on your end, you can taste a hint of red velvet mixed with castella from earlier. haerin feels it all. your bangs falling over your face, the sound of your soft breathing in between kisses, the faint smell of your perfume.

the two of you go back to swaying to the beat. neither you nor haerin say anything, but all the words have been said through the kisses you shared.

...hanni's cake debt has reversed.

a/n : sorry if it is not what you were looking for; you can request again if you'd like!! i had a lot of fun writing this so thank you for suggestion :-) i'm also so very sorry this took me like three months and you had to wait that long 😭

[myfairstarlight]

Alright, let's talk about Colin's entrapment line and why Penelope offering an annulment was significant, shall we? Arguably the most controversial part of this season, isn't it?

I'm not going to delve too long on the entrapment line again actually, but to summarise, Colin has been traumatised by a similar situation before, and right now, he's hurt. And the thing about being angry with your best friend is that you know what to say to hurt them the most. We see it in Eloise's and Penelope's fight, as they threw each other's insecurities in the other's faces. Colin, two episodes ago, was defending Penelope against Portia, who was accusing her of entrapping him, so yes, his mind will jump to that first. But also note that the whole time he refuses to look at her, because he knows his words are cutting and will hurt and he knows his resolve would break if he looked at her, which is contrasted by Penelope directly looking at him to tell him she loves him and did not mean for this to happen like this. He does not look because he knows she loves him, this is not Marina's situation exactly who only wanted a way out and did not see him as much else than a means to an end, and that's why it's so much more difficult to deal with for him. Penelope loves him.

And he's already almost lost her once, as angry and hurt as he is, he cannot fathom the idea of letting her go, when he remembers how empty he felt without her letters, or at the idea of her with Debling. So he's still here, determined to marry her.

So now we get to e8. The marriage was not technically consummated, and the Lady Whistledown business is finally settled. So Penelope offers the annulment, to set him, and his family, free from her mess.

They never directly address Colin's entrapment comment again, but with Penelope offering the annulment, it is now implied she's been thinking about this the whole time. It is a very real possibility that by that point, Penelope already knew she was pregnant, and it's been speculated if she told Colin in that scene after Francesca's wedding or not (I personally don't think she did, to not add to his guilt at that moment, and perhaps to not influence his decision, knowing she would be offering the annulment soon) and it parallels Marina's situation again, except in this case, Penelope does not wish to trap Colin with a baby, even if it is his. She knows how much Marina impacted Colin, and does not wish to do the same thing she had prevented Marina to do. The best part about this though? Colin is stunned (Edit: I changed the adjective here as someone rightfully pointed out I was exaggerating by saying "flabbergasted" when his reaction is more on the subtle side the English language is the bane of my existence). Frankly, he probably forgot he even said that, the same way he forgot about his "I would never dream of courting Penelope Featherington" comment - those were words said in the heat of the moment he never actually believed. Not once has Colin thought of either breaking the engagement, or get an annulment even after the betrayal.

He could have still eloped with Marina even after learning the truth, but he didn't because she was not honest with him from the start. He learns Penelope has been living a double life this whole time, and yet he stays.

It is significant that Penelope listened and acknowledged Colin's point of view, the same way she asked him to simply stand by her side and support her. Also note that she never says "our family", she says "you or your family".

Despite already being married, this whole time, it did not feel like they were, and she knew that as long as there was still this barrier between them, she could never truly be part of that family, but it's alright, she could live with that, she has mended things with her own after all, and she can support herself. Whatever the outcome, she'll be alright, she believes.

Fortunately for her, she does not get to find out what that future would entail because Colin absolutely hates the idea of letting her go.

Because after all, she's a mess, but she's his mess.

[nothorses]

I came across this paper:

https://www.academia.edu/71372307/Trans_masculinities_embodiments_performances_and_the_materiality_of_gender_in_times_of_change

I'm not well-versed in academic language so I can't really understand all of it, but it seems kind of gross and condescending, especially when it's using testimonials of transmasc's desire to be seen as men to, idk, prove that masculinity isn't really queer or something? I'm curious how other (smarter) people would interpret it.

I mean, your understanding of it is just as important as mine! I'm happy to add my thoughts, though.

My understanding is that their thesis is essentially "masculinity is related to maleness and the male body specifically, and we know that because transmascs want to have male bodies". They allow for some nuance here in references to other literature, and I agree with that angle of their argument overall, but their premise is fundamentally flawed in the exclusion of trans theory and trans narratives.

Like, yes, masculinity is in some way related to appearance and the "male body", and there are a lot of reasons for that! But is the dysphoria of trans people really ironclad "proof" of what maleness and masculinity are? And why don't they spend any time talking about what dysphoria actually is, what trans people think it is, why trans people think they feel the way they do, or what trans academics have to say about any of this?

I have a lot of other issues with this paper as well, and I could probably write a paper just as long as theirs going into all of the reasons for that. But I think that answers your biggest question; what they're trying to prove, how they're trying to prove it, and why that comes across so weird.

To your other question ("is it condescending?"): I think this is kind of subjective overlay, but the way they go about analyzing their data is pretty condescending, in my opinion. They tend to frame their participants' responses as kind of misguided or ill-informed, particularly Diniz- who they definitely discuss as "trying to justify his choices" to identify as nonbinary while also seeking medical transition, like this is inherently contradictory and must therefore rely on some kind of delusion or desperation. It's weird!

I do also want to point out, briefly, that they also really cherrypick which claims they bother sourcing, and how they try to back them up.

They argue that trans men have male privilege based on the opinions of, like, three of their 30 total participants- and then carry this as "fact" through the entire paper, uncontested. That's extremely fucking weird and super suspect in a paper like this! I just wrote my own qualitative research paper based on interviews (which is what this is), and it's pretty standard to acknowledge the limitations of your research, and to position your results as non-definitive. Like, that's been a major part of every discussion with everyone I've talked to about my research. I would not have been greenlit to receive my degree if I hadn't been careful to avoid framing my research the way these people frame theirs.

The other weird thing they do is cherrypick statistics- or rather, one single statistic- to "prove" that transmascs do not suffer as much as other trans people, or possess some kind of privilege. They only cite murder statistics from one source; apparently that's the only relevant metric for quantifying all oppression? They also fail to acknowledge any possible shortcomings of this statistic, like the issues of under-reporting and misgendering of transmasc victims.

I could go on; I have a lot of gripes. But I think your criticism is totally valid, this was a weird and frustrating read.

Also curious if @genderkoolaid has thoughts- you tend to talk about gender studies from an academic position more, and you probably have a lot more field-specific expertise than I do. I'll boost other additions too, I love a good academic discussion!

[lee-laurent]

Playing Pretend - Jamie Drysdale

Summary: In which Jamie and his girlfriend end things after pretending everything was okay. Or in which Jamie's girlfriend moves in with Trevor while attempting to keep her pregnancy hidden from everyone.

content: pregnancy, mentions of abortion, long distance, keeping secrets from partner (if that's a warning idk), angst, fluff, mentions of sex, implications of cheating/being unfaithful, jamie's trade :(

notes: this one is a bit more angsty than my other fics. i wanted to experiment with trying something new. possible happy ending tho. guess you'll have to read to find out ;) sorry if it seems rushed, i didn't know how to format it :/

"Of course, you have options. You can read more about those here. This is a judgement free zone," the nurse continued to drone on about scheduling another appointment, but Violet had tuned her out. In fact, the only thing that Violet could hear was her heart pounding in her chest.

"Thank you," she mumbled, grabbing the paperwork and shoving it into her purse. All she wanted was Jamie and he was on the other side of the country.

Once she was safely in her car in the parking lot, she let the tears fall. A baby? How was she supposed to take care of a baby when her boyfriend lived five hours away by plane. They barely spoke more than twice a week at this point. Their relationship was falling apart and a baby wasn't going to save it.

"How was the doctor?" Trevor asked as she walked through the door, kicking off her shoes.

"Fine. Just food poisoning, like you thought."

"I told you! Never eat grocery store sushi, Vi. Should've listened to me."

"Ha. I guess you know best, Trev. I'm gonna go lie down. I'm still nauseous."

"Make sure you text Jamie! He was worried about you."

"I'm sure he was," she mumbled, making her way to her bedroom. She looked at the picture on her bedside table. It was of her and Jamie at his first game with the Ducks. She'd been so proud to see him move from the Gulls to the NHL. He had his arm wrapped around her waist and was looking down at her like she'd hung the moon and stars in the sky, while she smiled happily into the camera. Violet sighed, putting the photo face down. She couldn't bare to look at Jamie's face right now, photo or not.

Her phone buzzed.

Jamie <3: Trev texted. Said it's food poisoning like he thought. Feel better. I love you

Vi: Thanks, Jam. Love you too

Lying to Jamie made her stomach churn. In fact, everything was making her stomach churn at the moment. Trevor had made sausages with his breakfast that morning, leading to her projectile vomiting in the kitchen. Which is when Trevor finally convinced her to go to a walk-in clinic. A walk-in clinic that sent her to Planned Parenthood. And now at the thought of Jamie not knowing about his child mixed with the baby in her womb hating the smell of everything, she was leaned over the toilet once more.

"Vi? Do you want some ginger ale?" Trevor asked from the doorway.

"No. I'm okay, Trev. Just, I- I'd like to be alone right now."

"Oh, right. Call me if you need anything," he sighed, gently shutting the door behind him.

Violet sniffled, reaching for her phone on the counter next to her.

Jamie was worried sick about Violet, but he was also focused on the game of NHL 24 he was playing with Cam.

"Wait. Time out. Violet's texting."

"Oh, shit. What'd she say?"

"That... that we need to talk?" Jamie furrowed his eyebrows.

"Shit. We can finish this later. Call her."

"Thanks, Cam. I- I'll be back," Jamie stood up from the couch, albeit a bit wobbly from nerves, speeding off to his room.

"Hey," Violet's voice cracked as it broke through the speaker of his phone.

"Hey, um, what did you wanna talk about?"

"Long distance isn't working, Jamie. I- I think we should end things."

"What? Vi? Where is this coming from? Did- did you meet someone in Anaheim?"

"What? God, no. Jamie- I wouldn't cheat. You know that. I just- this is too much stress for me right now."

"Our relationship is too much stress for you? I- I told you that you could move here. We could get our own place. I-"

"Jamie, I have a life here. I have a job. My friends."

"I had all of that too. But, I- I'm making it work here. You could make it work here, Violet! Please don't do this. You- you're the love of my life."

"Jamie, don't make this harder than it needs to be. I can't do this anymore."

"Please, Violet. Please."

"We- if you need anything call Trevor. Goodbye, Jamie."

Jamie didn't return to his game with Cam; he spent the rest of the night crying himself to sleep on his bed.

"You broke up with Jamie?!" Trevor shouted the next morning, waking up an exhausted Violet.

"Trevor? It's 6 in the morning."

"Yeah? Well Jamie just called me in tears, saying that you dumped him OVER THE PHONE?!"

"We're long distance. How else was I supposed to do it?"

"You weren't supposed to do it at all, Violet! You guys are made for each other! What's with this sudden change of heart?"

"We were barely talking anymore. I need a present boyfriend."

"Vi-"

"Drop it, Trevor! It's frankly none of your business!"

"None of my bus-"

Violet gagged, leaning over and puking on the hardwood floor. She looked up at Trevor, wiping her mouth.

"Get me a paper towel, please."

"Right. Um, right... This conversation isn't over."

He returned with a roll of paper towels. Watching as she pulled herself out of bed, to clean up the mess next to her bed.

"Why'd you break up with him?"

"I just told you. It wasn't working."

"But, you didn't even try to make it work. He said you didn't communicate it wasn't going well until yesterday."

"Wow. Does Jamie tell you every intimate part of our relationship?" she snapped.

"No."

"It was rhetorical, Trevor."

"Oh. He loves you."

"I know."

"Do you not love him?"

"What? Of course I love him. He's the fa- the first man I loved. I'll always love him."

"Then why break up with him?! He- he said you could go live with him in Philly."

"I don't want to leave Anaheim. I want to r- never mind. But, my job is here."

"Get a new one."

"God! You're so immature! It's not that fucking easy, Trevor! I'm not going to start my entire life over for Jamie! So fucking drop it!"

"I-"

"Drop it!"

Trevor dropped it. At least with Violet he did. He spent every day trying to convince Jamie to call her. To fix things. To figure what he could do. Jamie wasn't easily convinced though. After the mental anguish that the phone call with his now ex-girlfriend had caused him, he wasn't sure he wanted to go through it again.

Violet's morning sickness hadn't ended. In fact, it was getting worse. Morning sickness? More like all day and all night sickness. She was in agony. And Trevor as oblivious as he was, was getting suspicious.

"Maybe you should go to the doctor again? I don't think food poisoning is supposed to last this long."

"It's probably just stress."

"Why're you stressed?"

"Work."

"But- okay? I still think you should go back."

"Trevor."

"Yes?"

"I'm fine."

"You're pretending."

"What?"

"You're pretending everything is okay. You're just afraid to admit that things are worse without Jamie. Not better. You're more stressed. Hence the vomiting."

"Trevor, I- I have work to do."

Two hours later Violet was in the kitchen doing dishes when her phone started ringing.

"Trev! Can you get that?"

"Sure."

"Hi! This is Alice from Anaheim OB/GYN, I was just calling to confirm your appointment on Friday with Dr. Rhodes," the voice came through the phone.

"Trev! Who is it?"

"Sure, just let me get the phone to Violet. Oh, perfect! Thank you!"

"Hi?" Violet asked, pressing the phone to her ear.

"Hi! Is this Violet?"

"Yes, this is she."

"Perfect! Just a few questions to go over before confirming your appointment."

"Oh, of course."

"Any abnormal bleeding?"

"No."

"Dizziness?"

"Nope."

"How's the nausea you mentioned last time you were in?"

"About the same."

"Okay, I'll let the nurse know. We can get you some tablets for that. See you Friday at 11:30."

"Perfect, thank you."

Violet sighed, hanging up the phone.

"You're pregnant?" Trevor whispered.

"What? No."

"She said she was calling from the OB/GYN's office. Isn't that a doctor for pregnant people?"

"Not always. They also give birth control and stuff."

"But why would you need birth control if you're not seeing Jamie anymore?"

"For my periods."

"You're lying."

"I'm not lying, Trevor. Why would I lie?"

"You're lying. You always itch your wrist when you lie. You're pregnant. Does Jamie know?"

"Maybe it isn't Jamie's?"

"Yeah? Who else have you slept with? Nobody. You and Jamie had sex the night before we left for Nashville."

"Who told you that?"

"Jamie."

"Ew. I-"

"So it is Jamie's?"

"I'm not pregnant."

"Violet... is this why you dumped him? Are you getting... you know?"

"Not pregnant, Trevor."

"Fine, I'll drop it for now. But, if you were pregnant, I, um, I'd be here to help. I promise."

"Good to know if I am to hypothetically get pregnant," she mumbled, itching her wrist. Trevor let out a heavy sigh.

"You- you can tell me anything, Violet. I'm not going to tell Jamie if you don't want me to."

"You said you were gonna drop it. Plus there's nothing to tell him. Everything is normal."

"Right, um, I'm going out. Call if you need anything for your... food poisoning."

"Will do."

When she finally heard the front door shut, she let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. The tension in the kitchen had been palpable. She knew deep down that Trevor didn't believe her, but until she was showing she'd be able to hide it... maybe.

A month had passed and Violet was shocked to find that it looked like she was bloated. Violet had always been on the thinner side, but not to the point that she thought she'd be showing this early into her pregnancy. The doctors had confirmed that she was just over a month when she found out, meaning she was nearing three months. Baggy clothes became her new best friends. Unfortunately, most of the baggy clothing she owned were items she'd stolen from Jamie. This led to lots of looks from Trevor as she moved around their apartment.

Trevor now knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Violet was pregnant. He'd gone into her bathroom to find some extra toilet paper and come across an array of prenatal vitamins. He didn't bring it up though. The apartment constantly had an air of awkwardness shrouding it. Violet and Trevor were tip-toeing around each other. And he knew that eventually he would have to be the bigger person and bring it up, which was uncommon for the Ducks player.

"I was talking to Jamie today," Trevor mentioned as he twirled some spaghetti onto his fork.

"Hm. How's Jamie?"

"Better. He, uh, he still asks about you."

"Good for him."

"I'm sure if you told him... about your situation, he'd be willing to help."

"What situation?" Violet smiled, taking a sip of her water.

"Can we stop pretending, Violet?"

She shook her head, pushing away from the small kitchen table.

"God! Grow up, Violet! You're going to be a mom! Start acting like a fucking adult!" Trevor shouted as she retreated to her room, that Trevor had not-so-lovingly nicknamed "the cave." Her door slammed in response, shaking the pictures hanging in the corridor.

"Hey, girl!" her best friend, Aly, smiled through the FaceTime call. "How're those vitamins? One of the moms I work with says they're the best ones!"

"Good, I think. I've got a little bump now."

"Damn! Baby Drysdale is growingggg!" she dragged out.

"Don't call them that. He- I still haven't told him."

"Girl! You told me you were going to like a week ago! What changed?"

"He- I saw him on Instagram and he looked so happy. I don't want to ruin that."

"So... you're just gonna wallow in self-pity until your baby is born? What about when he sees you with a baby? Isn't he gonna be suspicious?"

"He already accused me of cheating. So..."

"Violet! No! We are not claiming you cheated and got pregnant from another man."

"Jamie's not ready to be a dad."

"Who told you that? Jamie?"

"No."

"Exactly. You don't know that!"

"I'll think about it, Aly. Right now, the doctor said I need to avoid too much stress. It makes my nausea worse."

"Uh huh. Lemme tell you about this date I went on!"

"Do you think Violet would be okay if I came to visit?" Jamie asked Trevor.

"Um... I mean you're coming to see me. It has nothing to do with her."

"I guess, you're right. I'll get a hotel though. I don't want to intrude on her space."

"Her space is also my space, Jamie."

"Yeah, but she's my... ex. It'd feel weird. Is she, um, seeing anyone new?"

"Violet?" Trevor choked on his water, "No. No. She's been busy with... work."

"Makes sense."

"What about you? Any new women in your life?"

"No. I just compare them all to Vi."

"When you come, maybe you can get some closure. Talk to her."

"If she lets me."

"If she lets you," Trevor smiled, continuing to help his best friend plan his trip.

Six months pregnant. Violet couldn't believe it. Her baby was the size of corn, according to Aly. It was hard to hide her ever growing bump, but Trevor's hoodies and some of Jamie's old clothes did the trick. She had no idea that Jamie was coming to visit. It was all part of Trevor's plan to get her to talk to him... and admit her pregnancy.

Trevor was buzzing as he walked Jamie up the stairs to their apartment.

"Violet did some redecorating, but it looks similar to when you left! She's still asleep, I think. She sleeps in on weekends."

"Not surprising," Jamie bit back his smile.

"Welcome back, bud!" Trevor swung open the door, leading his ex-teammate into his home. Jamie looked around, it was similar to when he left. A few pictures had been taken down and replaced with new ones, but it looked pretty much the same.

"Trev? Why are you shouting?" Violet questioned sleepily, rubbing a hand on her stomach. The baby had recently discovered how to kick and it was their new favourite hobby.

"Look who I brought home with me!" Trevor beamed.

"Jamie?" the girl suddenly looked much more awake, dropping her hands to her side.

"You... you're pregnant," was all Jamie could manage, staring directly at her stomach.

"Surprise?"

The group sat in the living room. Well, Trevor and Violet were sitting. Jamie was pacing around the room, running his hands through his hair.

"You're gonna go bald, Jimmy. Stop."

"She- you're pregnant?!"

"Yes. We established that, Jamie," Violet rolled her eyes.

"Yeah. Is it... is it mine?"

"Um..."

"Yes, the baby is yours, Jamie! Are you dumb?" Trevor furrowed his brow.

"You didn't tell me?! Neither of you?!"

"She... It wasn't my place."

"Yeah? What about you, Violet? What's your excuse?!"

"I- I didn't want to ruin your career."

"Ruin my career? No! You were just being selfish. Don't pretend this had anything to do with protecting me!" Jamie exclaimed.

"Jamie, can you sit down? You're stressing me out," she sighed, rubbing over where the baby was kicking repeatedly, sensing its mother's turmoil.

"Violet! We... we're having a baby."

"I'm having a baby."

God, she was just as stubborn as before.

"Z, can we have a minute?"

"Oh, sure," Trevor left and Jamie didn't speak until he heard the door close.

"Violet, this is serious. Why would you keep this from me? Is this why you ended things?" he asked, kneeling in front of her.

"Sort of. I panicked. I just, I don't want you to feel forced to stay because of us," she motioned to her belly.

"I... I still love you. A lot. God, I never stopped loving you."

"Jamie..."

"You... you can come live in Philly! We can fix us. And raise our baby. Be a happy family."

"I want to stay here."

"You... you can't keep my baby from me, Violet. Please," his eyes started to water, "Not any longer than you already have."

"He-"

"He? It's a boy?"

"Shit. Yeah."

"I'm going to have a son?" he smiled, the tears finally falling. Violet could feel her hormones acting up, her eyes also welling with tears.

"Henry."

"Hm?"

"I- I've been planning on naming him Henry."

"Henry. It's perfect, Vi. Can I?" he gestured to the swell of her stomach. She nodded, letting out a sob as his hands met the cotton of her shirt.

"Hi, Henry. It's your dad. I'm sorry I haven't been here. I- I don't blame Mommy. She did what she thought was best."

Violet continued to sob. Why was he being so sweet to her? She'd kept his son from him!

"Violet, can you just think about it? Please. Us and Henry in Philly."

"I can think about it, Jams," she cried, pulling him into a tight hug.

"Are you sure you built that right?" Violet asked for the fourth time, "I don't want him falling on the ground in the middle of the night."

"I followed the instructions, Vi. It's secure. He'll be fine."

"Are you sure? I just-"

Jamie cut her off with a kiss to her lips.

"I'm positive, love. Now stop worrying. Poor Henry is going to pop out early if you keep that up."

"I'd appreciate it if he did. He's been sitting on my bladder all day."

Jamie kneeled down in front of her, placing a hand where he saw the imprint of a foot kick.

"Can you move off Mommy's bladder? It makes her pissy. And Daddy doesn't want to deal with it right now."

"He's not listening. I need to pee," she waddled out of the nursery and into the ensuite. Jamie laughed, following her into their bedroom.

"You look good pregnant," Jamie commented as she emerged from the bathroom.

"Shut up. We're not having sex until this monster is out of me."

"He's not a monster!"

"He's giant! I can't breathe."

"Here," Jamie walked behind her, lifting up her stomach. She let out a long sigh of relief, the pressure being alleviated from her back.

"Thanks, Jams. I love you."

"I love you too," he smiled. Although they weren't the most stable couple on the planet, Jamie was just glad to have his girl back. And now he had his little boy too. He felt complete. And so did Violet. Complete and happy with their soon-to-be family of three.

[dirtyvulture]

Knight Falls - Part 1

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Wolverine!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Summary: Your perfect life with Natasha isn't meant to stay that way with the Red Room still looking for her.

Word count: 4296

AN: The long-anticipated sequel to my "Darkest Knight" fic is here! Get ready for the ride!

“Come on, Pryde. I know you can hit harder than that,” you taunt, circling the teenager.

“These gloves are so heavy!” Kitty pants, barely able to lift her fists up to shoulder height. 

“So what if they add on a few pounds?” You jab your own red foam-wrapped fist at her shoulder and Kitty goes spinning away.

“Ow!” she whines dramatically.

“Give me two good shots and you’re done,” you say.

“Fine, fine.” She shakes her head as she bounces on her feet, mirroring your posture in the ring. The rest of the students, some of them sitting on the mats and others standing anxiously, close to crossing over the peeling line of white tape that separates the spectators from the participants. 

“Go Kitty!” one of her friends shouts encouragingly.

“Shut up, Jubilee,” Kitty hisses under her breath that only you can hear.

“I’m not waiting around all day,” you announce, taking a dramatic swing at half-speed. Kitty ducks and shoves at your chest, but she has nowhere near the amount of strength needed to budge your 200-plus-pound frame. “Not a good move,” you comment, bringing your fist around again. 

Kitty squeals and phases; your arm passes through her shoulder and you stumble through her as you lose your balance. 

“Hey! No powers,” you growl, turning to face her again and feeling the pointed tip of her elbow crack into your cheek instead.

“Ow, OW!” Kitty screams, jumping up and down as she holds her elbow with her other hand.

“Kitty, are you okay?” one of the other students calls out.

“Let me see,” you say, getting up and pulling the velcro straps of Kitty’s gloves to take them off her hands. “You’re okay. Don’t start crying on me now.”

“Why is your head so hard?” Kitty practically sobs.

You grumble while you examine her elbow, which looks perfectly normal besides a small red spot at the tip. This new generation of students were so soft sometimes. “Pull it together, kid. You’re fine. Jubilee, go with her to get some ice from the nurse’s office. Class dismissed.”

Jubilee comes forward to grab the dramatic Kitty and drag her out, while the rest of the students quickly funnel after them. You grab a mop to wipe up the mats and are just about halfway through the chore when someone knocks at the door.

“What?”

“Hey, Y/N!” It’s Ororo. 

“Hey, Storm.”

“I heard you sent Kitty to the nurse’s office,” she says, walking into the training room with a chuckle.

“She did that to herself,” you correct. “I told her no powers, but you know the kids around here listen to every other word I say.”

“They love you and you know it,” Ororo responds. 

“Well, they don’t act like it.” 

She chuckles. “I can finish up mopping in here. The professor wants to see you in his office.”

“Oh.” You feel like you’ve been summoned to the principal’s office.

“It doesn’t have to do with Kitty. Something else with Nat,” Ororo adds when she sees the shadow of unease cross your face.

“Right.” You pass her the mop. “Thanks, I guess. Don’t miss that spot in the corner.”

“I won’t.”

You leave the training room, stomping down the long hallways. A million thoughts race through your head. Lately, Natasha had been grossly obsessed with tracking down the Red Room, to a level that it irked you the moment you heard the words. While you had promised that you would help in whatever endeavor she pursued, you were still uncomfortable at the thought of her running headlong into that danger, when you two had barely escaped it. 

You had fallen back into a routine of teaching at the school and keeping some of these unruly students in check, but you were actually quite fond of it. It was nice not to be hunted like an animal or have to prepare for a fight any second. Plus, you got to spend as much time as you wanted with Natasha, and you couldn’t remember the last person you had met who had shown you such a fierce love and devotion. You loathed the idea that it could all be taken away from you in an instant, and wanted to enjoy it for as long as you could without interruption.

“Excuse me, Miss Y/N?”

“Huh?” You stop and look down to find a small child standing in front of you suddenly. “What’s up, kid?” 

The child holds out a stapled stack of papers. “Can you help me with my history homework?” he asks. “Mr. Scott said you’re really old, so you probably remember some of this stuff like it was yesterday–”

You curse Scott out under your breath. “Uh, sure, kid. Just give me five minutes, okay?”

“Okay!” 

The boy goes to sit down on the couch where his feet don’t even touch the floor and you hurry to get to Professor Xavier’s office. You rap hard on the door, pushing it open before he has a second to let you in. Natasha is there already, her laptop sitting on his desk with a map open. 

“Hello. You sent for me?” you ask, a strange feeling of anticipation creeping up the back of your neck. 

“Yes, Natasha did actually,” Professor Xavier says. “How is Kitty doing?”

“Oh, uh…she’s fine,” you say as Natasha glances at you suspiciously. “You know she has a thing for theatrics.”

Professor Xavier chuckles. 

You wait for one of them to explain why they’ve asked you here, annoyed that your time is being wasted when you have other things to do. You take a tiny breath to calm your impatience. It’s imperceptible to Natasha, but Professor Xavier notices right away. Nothing goes unmissed by him. 

“Natasha wanted to tell you–” he starts.

“He found it!” Natasha interrupts, her excitement uncontainable.

“Found what?” you ask.

She spins around her laptop, showing you a Google Maps view of a house set on a plot of land that reminded you of a farm. 

“It’s in Saint Petersburg, Russia,” Natasha rushes to explain, but you’ve been dropped into the middle of a conversation with no context. “I wanted to tell you sooner, but I didn’t know how, but the professor says if we leave in the next day or two, we can catch–”

“Hold on,” you stop her. “What are you talking about? What’s so special about this house?”

Natasha suddenly hesitates, anxiety radiating from her expression. You already know the answer.

“This is the key to the Red Room,” Professor Xavier says.

You grind your teeth together. You had talked to him privately about this and he had clearly gone against your wishes. 

I thought we had a deal, Chuck, your voice snarls in your head.

Let me explain, Y/N, Professor Xavier’s voice echoes back through his telepathy.

Good, because I’m not going anywhere until you do. You cross your arms over your chest to show him you’re standing your ground.

Natasha looks back and forth at the two of you in bewilderment, obviously engaged in some kind of mental argument she wasn’t privy to.

“Do you mind giving us a minute alone, Natasha?” Professor Xavier says out loud.

“Oh, uh, okay.” Natasha picks up her laptop and walks towards the door. She reaches out and brushes your arm, but you don’t even look at her, all of your focus now on the professor. Even though Natasha closed the door, you can hear her footsteps just behind the wall and worry that she’ll eavesdrop. But it doesn’t really matter if she does; if anything it’ll save you a conversation later.

“I told you not to indulge her with that Red Room shit,” you snap at the professor.

“She came to me,” he responds, with a frustrating amount of calmness.

“And I told you to give her the go-around.” As perfect as Natasha was, and as much as you loved her, this had been a growing point of contention in your relationship. You had voiced your displeasure with her obsession with the Red Room before, but now she had taken it too far. 

“Does she not deserve peace?” 

“She’s happy here with me,” you argue, before it dawns on you. “...Isn’t she?”

Professor Xavier looks away from you. 

“Shit,” you mumble, wondering how you could be so dense to miss the signs. Your anger melts into concern now. “What is she planning? To find this place and blow them up once and for all?”

The professor shrugs. “Close enough.”

“Well, you know why I don’t want her to do that. Right?” you ask him. You refuse to be the “bad guy” in all of this. You mean well for Natasha and want to keep her safe. Why did that make you the asshole here?

“You cannot hold her hostage here,” the professor says. He is so calm it actually makes you even more angry. 

“Do not say that,” you warn. “I’m not holding her hostage. She can leave at any time she wants.”

“No, she can’t. Not while the Red Room is still hunting for her.” 

“You don’t think I can protect her?” The blow to your ego is frighteningly painful. 

“It’s not about whether or not you can protect her. You know she’s not comfortable relying on you twenty-four-seven to be her guardian angel,” Professor Xavier says.

You want to sink through the floor, hating that you aren’t good enough to protect the person you love. It was an ugly insecurity that reminded you of one of the lowest moments in your extended lifespan, and you have to clench your jaw and stare at the floor to hold yourself back from a more visceral reaction.

He senses your sudden sadness and says, “It’s nothing you can help, Y/N. You know she won’t truly be happy until they’re gone.”

“I know,” you whisper, hating the weight of the truth. In some ways, Natasha was just as stubborn as you were. So you couldn’t fault her for it, but it upset you to know that you still hadn’t done enough for her. Even after leaving your home, taking her cross country back to the school you had avoided for over a year, Natasha still wasn’t happy with your sacrifices. 

“It’s not like that,” the professor says, hearing your thoughts. 

“Sure feels that way,” you grumble. 

“You need to talk to her.”

“She won’t listen to me.”

“Then why don’t you try listening to her?” 

Your mouth sets in a hard line. You hate the self-righteous way Professor Xavier talks to you sometimes. “Okay, okay,” you dismiss, although not sure how much you’ll actually end up following his advice. Life would be a lot easier for you if you could read minds the way he could.

“Y/N–”

“We’re done. Someone needs help with their history homework.” You march out of his office before he can protest further. Natasha is still hovering by the door, where she had probably been soaking in every word of the conversation.

“Y/N–” she tries, reaching out for your arm again. You shake her off.

“I know you heard all that,” you snap, internally cringing at how she shrinks away from you. “I’ll deal with you later.”

***********************************************************************

You’re in an awful mood the rest of the day and Natasha actively avoids you. It’s how you expected to react so you’re not very concerned, until you don’t see her (or Ororo) at dinner. When you come out of the shower and Natasha is still not back in your room, you finally decide to take initiative to find her. Predictably, you trace her scent down the hall to Ororo’s room. You hear their whispers quiet as you approach the door, suddenly embarrassed to announce your presence. 

You raise your fist to knock, when the door swings open. Ororo is standing there, glaring at you like a scorned mother. Natasha is sitting on her bed with crossed legs. You can sense her frustration with you, but she hides it well on her face.

“Uh…I was wondering where you were,” you start lamely. 

“Are you ready to talk now?” Natasha asks, surprising you with her boldness. 

“Sure.” You wonder if she’s going to move the conversation somewhere private or have it right in front of Ororo. But something tells you she expected you to come find her here. It made you happy that she viewed Storm as a safe space and someone she could confide in–even if it was about something you did to upset her. “Uh, what did you want to talk to me about earlier?”

“Are you going to listen this time? Because I’ve been trying to bring it up to you for weeks, and you always push me away,” Natasha accuses. It takes you back how upfront she is with you. What had Ororo said to give her the confidence to talk to you this way?

“Yes, I’m listening.” You feel strangely vulnerable with hers and Ororo’s judgmental eyes on you. “I…” You take a deep breath, not sure why this is so painful for you to say. “I’m sorry if I came across as not caring or being dismissive about you.”

“You know how important this is to me, don’t you?” Natasha asks, her voice quiet and quivering. 

“Yes, I do,” you say.

“I can’t be mad at you for being upset,” she admits. “You have everything you could ask for here. And I almost do, too. But you’re free, Y/N, through and through. I’m not. Even if I have your protection, or Storm’s, or the professor’s, or everyone else’s. It would never be enough.”

Your heart pangs painfully to hear this confession from her mouth. 

“It’s not a personal attack on you, Y/N,” Ororo says, reaching out and patting your shoulder.

“I know,” you lie. “But what’s so special about that house the professor showed you?”

“He said that’s how we find the Red Room,” Natasha says, making direct eye contact with you and you feel like you’re going to wither away under her gaze.

“Is the Red Room that house?” you ask, wondering why the answer had been so obviously sitting in front of you all this whole time.

“We’re not totally sure, but he said that’s where we–I–need to start if I want to find it.” You don’t miss the way she initially includes you in her statement. Whether or not she wants you with her, and whether or not you truly believe in this mission of hers like she does, you aren’t going to let her tackle this alone.

“And what are you going to do once you find the Red Room?” you ask. 

“Free the rest of the Widows and Wolf Spiders,” Natasha says. “And kill Dreykov.”

You assume this “Dreykov” person is the one in charge of the Red Room. You would have to look into his profile, but you already knew he was not someone to be toyed with. He had an army of extremely well-trained agents, and although you had managed to thwart his attempts at capture multiple times, he seemed to learn with each experience and there was the frightening possibility he could eventually find a way to overpower all of your defenses and kill Natasha and yourself.

“You’re going to kill Dreykov?” you ask. It’s a strange thought that Natasha, this shy and wholesome young woman whom you are completely taken with, has it in her to take a life. She probably has before–you’ve never exactly asked–but you know the innocence that is lost is something that will never come back. If Natasha’s crossed that bridge before, you have no right to stop her again, but if she hasn’t, you want to make sure this isn’t something she’ll regret.

“Yes.” Natasha doesn’t even blink as she stares you down. You admire her tenacity, her stubbornness, her commitment, even if you do think it’s a bit misguided. “I know you don’t want me to go after him,” she starts, “But I’m not going to hide and be scared of him forever.”

“You shouldn’t have to, darling–” you say, but she keeps going.

“You’re all still on his radar and if anything happened to you, or Storm, or the professor, or the kids here because of me…” She trails off and you stay silent.

“I’m not going to ask you to come with me. You’ve given enough sacrifices for me.” Natasha takes a deep breath and you hear her heartbeat quicken. “I have to do this, Y/N,” she says softly. “For me, for the ones he still has in his control, and the ones he’s trying to get to next.”

You know what that was like–vaguely. At some point during your lengthy lifespan, you had been held against your will by a shady government program who experimented on you like a guinea pig. You remember the fear and hatred you had for the staff, and the helplessness that prevented you from acting out for years. Although you eventually ended up escaping yourself and helping a few of the other unfortunate souls escape in the process, sometimes you wished it had been someone else who had been your savior. If Natasha was trying to be that for the people under Dreykov’s control, you wouldn’t stop her. 

“Okay,” you finally say, and you see the shadow of defeat in Natasha’s eyes. She thinks you’re going to let her walk away without a fight. But you won’t. You’ll be there alongside her the whole way. “When do we leave?”

Her face brightens in disbelief now. 

Ororo grins triumphantly.

***********************************************************************

You hitch the strap of your backpack higher up your shoulder. Natasha had been both shocked and awed at your ability to pack for an entire week in a single bag. She, on the other hand, was bringing two luggages and a backpack. 

“Hold on, Nat, your bag is open–” you say as she spins around, looking for which pocket you’ve pointed out. 

“Y/N? Miss Nat?” a voice startles you. “Where are you two going? Is it true you’re leaving again?” 

You turn slowly to see Marie glaring at you with her arms crossed over her chest. “Uh…yeah,” you respond. Natasha looks away, hiding her guilty expression. “We have some things we need to take care of. But we’ll be back as soon as we’re done,” you explain.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Marie pouts. 

“I know.” You wish there had been more time to properly warn the kids about your unexpected leave. But, it was usually better this way. “We’ll be back soon, though.”

“Will you?” she presses. You know your concept of time is much different from others’. A whole year could sometimes just feel like a long hour. 

“Yes,” you assure, thinking for a moment. You reach up to your neck and unclip the set of dog tags you have on. You lift Marie’s gloved hand and gently pool the chain in her palm. “Because I’ll be back for this,” you say. “So don’t lose them.”

“I won’t.” Marie looks at Natasha. “Please take care of her for us, Miss Nat.”

“Of course.” Natasha pats your shoulder affectionately while you roll your eyes. “I’ll bring her back before you can miss her.”

***********************************************************************

It’s hard to be away from the safety of the mansion for the first time in a long time. Ororo volunteered to fly the Blackbird (since the professor didn’t trust you to take it alone) and it was nice to have her company for the long flight to Russia. But she was only planning on dropping you two off to do your investigation–it might look too suspicious if a group of X-Men were waiting out for Dreykov and his Widows.

Natasha bounces in her seat excitedly as the Blackbird takes a dive through the clouds. You’re more anxious than excited, not really sure what to expect. The house had looked basic enough, but knowing of its connection to the feared Red Room widened the hole in your stomach. 

“Call me if you need anything,” Ororo says as she lowers the ramp for the two of you to run down. 

“Thanks, Ro!” you call, hurrying to keep up with Natasha, who is already on the ground, fighting to stay upright against the winds from the jet. You jump out, the soft grass sponging under your boots. Judging from the smells–or lack of them–this place has been abandoned for a long time. Still, you’re not racing to make entry, and you have to remind Natasha to slow down as she speeds towards the house. There could be some kind of trap set up and you aren’t blinded with excitement and curiosity like Natasha is.

“Nat! Slow down!” you yell, almost jogging to keep up with her as she reaches the front door.

“It’s unlocked!” she responds, pushing it open and disappearing inside.

“Well don’t go in–” But your words go unheeded. “Nat!” you grumble, your heart skipping a beat as you rush after her. Your footsteps are heavy on the front porch as you burst through the door, looking around wildly. 

The house is furnished as if someone had just stepped out with plans on returning, but never did. Paintings hang crookedly on the walls, a shelf full of used books collecting dust. A single window has been cracked open, the curtains around it filthy as they flutter with the wind. Despite the size of the house, you can sense that it was only ever occupied by a single person at a time, her scent well-faded, but there is a very faint note of familiarity that you swear you’ve smelled before. But before you can investigate further, you hear movement from another room and remember you need to find Natasha.

“Nat, where are–” You freeze when you see her standing alone in the kitchen, staring at a framed photo on the table. “Is this a trap?” you ask, holding your breath and clenching your fists.

“My mother lived here,” Natasha whispers, reaching out to brush her fingers on the frame before taking it in her hand. 

“Huh?” you ask, sensing the wave of emotion in her voice.

“This…is my family.” She picks up the picture frame with reverence, looking at it with shimmering eyes. You approach her slowly, looking over her shoulder at the picture. There’s four people: a large, bearded man, his arm wrapped around a beautiful dark-haired woman, and two children, the oldest probably not even in her teens, with blue streaks in her hair while the smaller one was blonde with chubby cheeks. You can tell immediately that Natasha is the child with blue hair, her eyes reflecting the same playful energy you still see in them today.

“Nat,” you say, reaching out to put your hand on her arm. 

“I think my mother lived here,” she says, looking around the kitchen fondly. “I don’t know about my father…and I don’t know about Yelena.”

“Yelena?”

“My sister.” She taps on the blonde girl in the photo. “We’re not…a real family, I guess you could say. The Red Room put us all together for an undercover assignment, but we all ended up loving each other like a real family. It was the most normal three years of my life.” She pauses, clearly lost in her thoughts. You’re not really sure what to say, having not expected this to turn into an emotional throwback for her. 

“I’m not sure what happened to any of them. The Red Room recalled us from the assignment and I never saw any of them again.” Natasha’s voice hardens, as if she’s trying not to get emotional.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, knowing somewhat what it was like to have your loved ones torn away from you, never to be heard from again.

“But maybe my mom–Melina–retired here,” Natasha says, trying to be optimistic. “She might have still been working for the Red Room. The professor did say that this was some kind of gateway there.”

You don’t have the heart to tell her that no one’s been here for months, if not years. Whatever intel the professor had was outdated. The frustration that had been simmering in your gut spikes to a boiling point: the whole purpose of coming here had been for nothing. You would bet a year’s supply of beer and cigarettes that the professor had known this, but because he wanted to indulge Natasha, let you come out here with her and waste your time anyway.

You turn away from Natasha so she can’t see how angry you are. You’ll let her have this moment.

***********************************************************************

Since there isn’t anywhere to go but this house for miles, the two of you decide to set up camp. Natasha finds an old generator outside and jumpstarts it to provide electricity and tasks you with pumping gallons of water from the well. As you drag the last bucket inside, still muttering to yourself about what an awful idea this was, you find Natasha heating up some cans of soup you brought on the stove.

“I didn’t know if the soup would be enough for you, so I pulled some jerky out for you, too,” Natasha says, pointing to the crumpled bag on the table. Immediately, you soften at her thoughtfulness. 

“Thanks, darling. I appreciate it.” You walk up to her from behind, wrapping your arms around her waist and kissing the sensitive spot below her ear. Natasha hums in content, pushing her butt back to rub against your front. “Maybe after dinner?” you propose. At least one benefit to being alone with Natasha in a secluded cabin was that you didn’t have to hide with her. In fact, you could take her right now on the counter if you wanted.

“After dinner,” she agrees, rubbing your forearm.

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

AN: Sorry to cut it there! 😏 Part 1 was running too long so I cut it in half. Part 2 will be out in a few days.

Hope you liked it! Please leave likes, comments, and reblog! Follow for more content. 🥰

[cherryobx]

congratulations on 2.4k followers!!🤍💐

turn the radio up! can i please get a rafe cameron fic based off of the song, work song by hozier, please and thank you!!☺️

Work song

a/n: thank you sm rach! hope you like it!

pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

summary: Rafe cuts his business trip short because he can't stand being away from you

warnings: like 1 bad word lmao

wc: 0.8k

“I’m not coming home just because you miss me.” 

“Why not?” you whine over the phone. Rafe is on a trip with his dad and has barely been away for a couple of days.

“Because I have shit to do here. I can’t just leave,” he scolds and you can picture him frowning and his eyebrows furrowed.

You pout. “Come on! Please, for me?”

He sighs before he gives you a negative answer. “It’s just two weeks. You can handle not seeing me for that long. Yeah?”

“I can’t, Rafe. I’m dying over here.”

“You poor thing,” he mocks. “You’ll be fine.”

“Okay, I get it. You don’t love me anymore.” You throw yourself on your bed, holding the phone to your ear and staring at the ceiling.

Another sigh, and probably an eyeroll. “Of course I still love you. I just have business I need to take care of here before I come back. Just two weeks.”

Just two weeks. Rafe has been telling himself that every time he’s thought of you during this trip. Which has been a lot. He can’t seem to focus on anything else really. Never before has a girl been on his mind like this.

He’s obviously been in relationships before. He’d rather categorise them as situationships but he’s not so sure about his ex-girlfriends.

Rafe feels like he’s going crazy. He can’t focus on the task before him, his mind drifting off to you. He’s wondering what you’re doing. If you’re at home or hanging out with your friends. He once caught himself thinking about what you had for dinner. Who cares about things like this? Him now apparently.

“Rafe!” His father says loudly. “Stop daydreaming for once and listen.”

“Yeah, sorry,” he mutters and physically shakes his head in an attempt to get the thoughts of you out of his head for a second. It’s almost impossible. 

He checks his phone every time it lights up in hopes that it’s you. He likes getting texts from you, updating him on how your day’s going. When it’s not you, he’s disappointed.

When it’s time to go to sleep, he just can’t. He tosses and turns all night. It drives Ward crazy and he regrets getting one room instead of two at the hotel they’re staying at. Rafe’s so used to another body being next to him. He’s accustomed to having you in his arms and it’s weird and unfamiliar when you’re not there for him to hold.

Rafe held out for five days before he packed his bags in the middle of the night and got on the next flight home. His father left 12 missed calls and even more messages when he woke up but it’s too late now. Rafe has already landed and is driving home.

It’s 6am when he furiously knocks on your front door. 

“What the fuck?” you groan and put on a bathrobe before dragging yourself to the front door. It’s way too early for any human interaction, you think.

You open the door and there he is in all his glory. He looks exhausted and his hair is a mess, probably has been running his fingers through it in stress.

“Well look who it is. Mr. I’m-not-coming-home-before-the-end-of-this-trip Cameron.” There’s a smirk on your lips. You never thought he’d be the one to cave in like this.

“Shut up.” He steps into your home and closes the front door after him, locking it too for good measure.

He wraps his arms around you and holds you close, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck and inhaling your sweet familiar scent. You smell like home. He feels better already, the stress immediately leaving his body.

“Come on.” You take his hand and pull him into your bedroom. 

You take off your bathrobe, revealing his own t-shirt underneath which you wore to sleep. 

“I was looking for that shirt.” He narrows his eyes at you.

“And now you’ve found it.” You plop onto your bed and hold open to cover for him so he could crawl under them with you.

He makes quick work of removing most of his clothing before joining you. His hands immediately find you and he pulls you flush against him. You place one of your palms against his chest and feel his heartbeat.

He places a soft kiss on the top of your head and then keeps his lips there. “I’m gonna marry you,” he mumbles into your hair.

“What?”

“Be quiet.”

Before you know it, soft snores are coming from the man next to you and you smile, your heart aching from the love for him. He’s so smitten. But so are you.