#ya this is partially your own doing now

[beardedmrbean]

One Georgia Democrat is fed up with some members of her own party, accusing them of prioritizing illegal immigrants over Black children as kids struggle to stay afloat academically and economically. 

State Rep. Mesha Mainor, a Democrat, is a staunch supporter of school choice, and she torched Georgia Democrats on "Fox & Friends" Monday for aiding migrant families while poor residents struggle with necessities.

"I was speaking to someone that works with migrants the other day, and when I was talking about my constituents, she said, ‘well, what about this program?’ And then she had to… step back a second," Mainor told Ainsley Earhardt Monday morning.

"And she said, ‘Oh, but those are just for migrants.’ And so there are so many services that… from a humanitarian aspect, sure. Give them those humanitarian aspects. But if you walk down the street in Atlanta, Georgia, right now, you are going to see kids on the corner selling water because they are trying to make money for their households."

GEORGIA GOV. BRIAN KEMP ENDORSES $6,500 PRIVATE SCHOOL VOUCHER BILL

"They don't have lights on… to do homework, and this is just a much broader issue than people are realizing," she continued. 

Mainor garnered attention on the issue after she posted a video on Twitter over the weekend accusing her colleagues of trying to oust her over her stance on school choice. 

"It's ironic. I'll say every election year, I hear ‘Black Lives Matter.’ But do they? I see every other minority being prioritized except Black children living in poverty that can't read," Mainor said in the video. 

"We'll send $1,000,000 to the border for immigrant services, but Black communities, not even a shout-out. I'm sorry, I don't agree with this," she added. "I'm not backing down and I'm actually just getting started."

BLUE STATE COVID LEARNING LOSS WIDENED RACIAL ACHIEVEMENT GAPS RELATIVE TO RED STATES: STUDY

She even accused some fellow lawmakers of offering $1,000 checks "to anyone that will run against" her. 

Mainor's deep-blue 56th House District stretches from southwest Atlanta up into the Midtown area and includes schools in dire need of improvement. She said some schools in her area have low single-digit proficiency levels in math and/or reading. 

Additionally, politicians are not doing enough to counter the sliding academic achievement gap, she argued. 

"We are acting like we care about Black people, and in my opinion, we are doing very little for Black people, and when you're talking about something like school choice, it really helps Black people. It helps children that are disabled," Mainor said. 

"And so we put priorities on lots of other minorities, and I'm not saying that these other minorities are not important, but I feel like we are putting Black people at the very bottom of the totem pole," she continued. 

School choice advocates also support expansion of charter schools, which have grown greatly in Georgia in recent years and many of which count minority students as a majority of their enrollments. 

Charter schools are publicly funded schools that are independently run and include students who are not in the immediate area; teachers unions often oppose them as well since their teachers generally are not unionized.

Mainor said parents in her district are in favor of school choice, and the backlash from her colleagues on the issue is a "slap" in the face to anyone who supports their right to choose where their children attend class.

"My parents want school choice," Mainor said. "I have the most charter schools in my district than any other district in the state of Georgia, and so for my party, my colleagues, to say that all these parents that have chosen charter schools and are choosing school choice options are irrelevant and not important, it's not only a slap in my face, but they're slapping every single parent in my district that uses these services in the face as well."

According to the NAEP Report Card, average math and reading scores dropped 9.8 points and 6.3 points respectively, in Georgia, from 2017 to 2022. 

[screampied]

Needy reader x Sukuna? Where she's been being bratty cause he's been busy, and he needs to put her in her place? Orgasm denial until he felt the reader learned her lesson? I FEEL LIKE IT WOULD BE SO HOT

໒꒱ ₊˚ ‘ TEASE ME, PLEASE ME ! ’﹒⺡— SUKUNA RYŌMEN.

☰ warnings. fem! reader, modern au, brat taming, unprotected, ōrgasm denial/edging, doggy, dirty talk, praise, dumbification, mdni.

an. yes

you were annoyed, to say the least.

all you knew was that you wanted more, more of sukuna. yet you had to be a good girl and wait. it irritated you, the simple fact that he was on the phone. as he’s talking, holding the phone right up against his ear, you drag your feet towards him, propping yourself down right on his lap.

“tch,” he mutters, cutting off from his words before pulling you close towards him. you lean into his touch. falling back against his chest, a hand then grabs onto your thigh. “sit still,” he says, almost reading your mind. knowing you, you’d do the entire opposite, which you certainly end up doing. sukuna lowly grunts, feeling you jerk your hip right up against his sweats, specifically against his bulge.

he’s been on the phone for how many hours—you lost count. but you were aroused, just his smell was enough to get you off. to have your panties coated in nothing but your own pathetic wetness.

“yeah, ‘m listenin' yeah,” sukuna rasps, tilting his head towards the right, trying to focus back on the topic. due to you messing with him, his mind was anywhere but the current discussion at hand. knowing that made you smile, giggle aloud and all. albeit, sukuna overheard and he’s sending you straight daggers near the back of your skull. he breaks away, lowering his tone before retorting, “glad ya think this is funny. jus’ wait ‘till ‘m done with this call, little girl.”

his voice only makes you more excited between your legs, you were indeed a brat. never taking him serious…

one of the many things he found annoying about you. how you were always giving him sass and back talk, yet he also found that trait about you partially amusing.

mainly due to the fact in how he’d always be able to put you right back into your place. like today.

he clenches his jaw, feeling you grind up your ass against him. sukuna groans, getting hard from something as facile as this. he tells you one thing, and you just do the exact opposite.

“get off the phone, ‘kuna,” you’d moan, pitching your voice a tad bit - purposely making your voice loud for whoever on the other end of the line to hear. “i want you.”

“i told ya to wait,” he snarls, and you let off a gasp once he starts to bounce his thigh. propped up on his right thigh, your moans started to get a bit whiney, nails digging right into his pants leg. leaning back against his chest, you teasingly try to reach into his sweats before he smacks your hand. “don’t try me. be a good girl ‘n wait.”

“you t-take so longgg,” you’d babble, practically grinding on his leg by now. the sheer fabric ghosting against your panties felt good, but it wasn’t enough. you wanted more, you needed more. to be stretched out, stuffed entirely full, it was all you ever wanted. “fuck me, ‘kuna.”

sukuna clicks his tongue, you were already testing his patience.

speaking of patience, it was running thin. very.

“sorry, sorry. i’m here,” he grumbles, and the bouncing of his thigh only gets more intense. you moaned, feeling yourself throb before hiding your face into his neck. it felt good, but the stimulation wasn’t enough. you wanted more and he knew it too. the way your breathing patterns gradually changed. “yeah, my uh .. pet’s bothering me. keep talking.”

it seemed like his phone call lasted forever, yet that’s when you ended up cumming right on sukuna’s thigh. your legs shook violently as it was so unexpected.

it made you spasm, and you were quite loud too. it was apparent whoever was on the other line heard you. sukuna’s jaw clenched, and you throbbed once you slowly look up to see him glaring straight down at you.

“fuckin’ brat,” he grouses, and he hangs up the phone, mindlessly tossing it elsewhere. you have a near smug grin spreading on your face, but it all changes once sukuna shoves you off his lap to instead bend you flat over his desk. “spoiled little girl. told you to wait ‘n you can’t even do that?”

“s-sorry, ‘kun—”

“girl shut the fuck up ‘n bend over for me.”

you grow quiet, not even asking questions.

he found it pathetic how you were so quick to arch your back. so willing, you moaned — feeling a rough hand kiss against your ass, the sting…

it made you bite down on your lip before you hear a bit of shuffling from his sweats. right after giving your rear with a spank, he caresses it lovingly to make you feel each individual nerve.

“this what you really want, huh? for me to be mean ‘n bend you over like this, princess?” he rasps. you let off a soft moan, feeling sukuna’s sharp nails softly run against your skin.

“y-yesss.”

“dumb girl, ya weren’t supposed to answer.”

whilst you were bent over the desk, sukuna doesn’t waste any time to make his way inside of you. you wanted him so bad.

you wanted far more than just his boring thigh. just imagining his thick cock easing its way inside of you, it had your head spinning.

he had so much girth, you’re salivating at the pure image of feeling him stretch you out like he always does. holding your hips up so he could bounce you on his cock — all until you’re just stupid fit him. eyes rolled back, tongue lolled out, his ultimate favorite descriptors.

“such lazy posture, can’t even bend for me right, tch.” and he’s clearly mocking you.

mocking you with how you tried to sit up a bit but he makes you lean down further. your breathing hitched once sukuna brings his tip towards your slick, puckering entrance. he groans, watching the way how you’re trying to quickly swallow him.

it amuses him, you amuse him.

you swallow thickly, feeling him grab both of your wrists back. he holds onto them with one hand, another gripped around his length. “s-sukuuu,” you slurred out, feeling his plump tip brush up against your slit. the strings of your own mess voluntarily coating his dick just from a few love taps, it makes him insanely feral.

sukuna likes studying you like this, from behind more specifically. the way your muscles would retract. the perfect position to see your ass go back against him, the recoil.

he loved the recoil.

“want attention, i’ll give you attention, girl.”

you’re completely speechless the moment he gradually goes inside, showing somewhat of a decent courtesy at helping you adjust to him. yet once you’re all good. and …oh, he’s vigorous.

drilling his hips into you with such power, babbles run out of your mouth and your head’s nearly being shoved against the multiple scatted papers on his desk.

“mhm,” he grunts, gifting your ass with another rude spank. you were so warm from the inside, one of his favorite things to feel.

the way you gripped down on him, clamping and clamping. a cluster of nerves made your body feel like it was on cloud nine. his thrusts had you were making the most stupidest sounds, over and over. “shame. all it takes to shut ya up is to bend you over.”

“s-shut uppp, sukuna.” you whined, still having a bit of brat left within you.

he rolls his eyes, and with a sharp smack against his hips. it makes you eat your words. “never know when to quit, huh? bet me bein' this deep in you makes you soaked,” and he leans up close to you—your ass was pressed right up against him and he’s buried all the way in. a hand wraps around your neck softly, a thumb stroking the passageway of your throat before he whispers lowly into your ear. “soaked for me like some slut.”

“i’d be more wet if you knew how to f-fuck me right, suku—”

he doesn’t even let you finish your sentence, you definitely struck a nerve. although, all sukuna does is snicker. he admires your . . brattiness.

“can’t stand that nasty fuckin’ mouth of yours,” he grunts, and his pace quickens. his dick reaches everywhere to have you spasm.

you’re whimpering out his name repeatedly as if it’s some sort of mantra. until it’s the only word your brain could comprehend.

he’s ruthlessly driving his hips into you so good, it leaves your maw hanging, a bit of drool running past your lips.

it was a sight, you were a bit filthy. actually, a bit was probably nothing more than a pure understatement though.

you were practically being rammed against the wooden desk, the constant jerks and screeches the furniture sang in harmony rang throughout your ears.

“f-fuckkk, ‘kuna,” you’d whimper, feeling his cock tap right against that particular spot. it sent a bunch of nerves to coarse all throughout your veins. you were nearly limp, feeling yourself start to grow warm all over your body. “think ‘m close, ‘m gonna c-cum, sukuna.”

“i don’t let brats cum on me, little girl,” sukuna replies in a husky tone. it makes you pulse — it was pathetic, him muttering a few words in that deep voice was enough to have you soaked. “besides, ya don’t even deserve it anyway.”

the biggest pout goes against your lips, and you furrow your eyebrows as you feel his hips pivot deeper into you. the angle he’s got, it’s got you sent into a complete frenzy. his rounded tip kisses against your sweet spot numerous times before you let off a soft squeak. “y-yes, yes i do. please.”

“oh, you think you do? after the little shit you pulled?” and he sounds amused more than anything. the sudden rasp in his tone makes you wet, you’re casually bent over with the most cutest arch possible. “i beg to differ, baby. you interrupted my phone call just so i can fuck you.”

completely ignoring his comment, you whimper out a sweet, “s-sukuna, please. wanna c-cum, please.”

“awww,” he purrs, and he starts to jackhammer his cock into you. it leaves you dumbfounded, your mouth open and you’re struggling on what to register in your empty little brain. your pussy squelched as a response, squelch after squelch it started to sound more like a harmony. a lewd harmony. “you wanna c-cum?”

he mocks your stutter and you pout for probably the umpteenth time. sukuna purposely butches your voice, and with the way he rolls his hips into you—you’re captured in a trance.

his cock was so thick, dragging all throughout your walls to where you’re a babbling mess. “yes, wanna cum. please ‘kuna. ‘m c-cumming.”

“no, you’re not.” he huffs out, and you let off a whine once he prods again and against your most sensitive spots. his cock roamed everywhere, he knew just the right areas to reach, to torment, to toy with.

your mouth suddenly grew dry, being denied like that — it had your heart racing. “what you’re gonna do is, you’re gonna be a good girl ‘n wait some more.”

“but s-sukuna.”

“but- but, yeahhh,” he snickers, chuckling at the way he mimicked your whiney state. he was so mean, yet it never failed to make you drenched between your thighs nonetheless. you were hungry for more, panting and heaving all throughout. although, sukuna ends up pulling out abruptly.

you’re still catching your breath, laid flat over the desk, wriggling your ass in confusion as to why he suddenly pulled his shaft out of you. you frowned, now clenching over nothing.

“w-what happened?”

“i’ll tell ya what happened,” sukuna mutters, and he gets right up close towards you. he gets behind your ear, and you let off a moan once he brings a hand between your legs, softly stroking near your swollen pulsating entrance. “i’m finished.”

you furrow your eyebrows, yet moan once he starts to slip a finger inside of your folds — softly giving you a few sweet strokes. “h-huhh? but you didn’t-”

“i’m done,” he repeats, and the curse kisses the side of your forehead. “no brat’s gonna disrespect me. but hey, you can always be a big girl ‘n finish yourself off.”

you whined, definitely not wanting to do that at all when he was right here. you moan, uttering out a needy, “but sukuna…” only for him to turn your head towards him — leaving a sweet and sloppy kiss planted right on your lips. the second he pulls away, he smacks your ass before leaving.

“no buts, finish yourself off. come call me when you’re done being a brat, princess.”

[pedge-page]

What about Joel having to spend a night away for work last minute and reader sulking about it when he gets home and blanking him? 🤣 Cue grovelling from Joel lol

Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife: Late From Work

Notes: I must be too yeehaw American because I had to look up what "blanking" someone meant 😂. Anyway, I had so much fun writing this! Decided to make him late rather than spending a whole night away because lets be real, she'd be serving divorce papers for that.

Warnings: brief oral (f receiving) scene; jealous!Reader, Stubborn reader is BACK

18+ ONLY:

- - - -

He knows he fucked up too. Big time. 

When he said he’d be home at the latest by 7:00pm and it’s now 7:02 and he’s just getting in the truck leaving the site. And when his call goes to voicemail for the 3rd time, and then the fourth time tells him that the number is no longer valid (he’s been blocked), he knows he’s in Big-Fucking-Trouble.

Doesn’t want to call Tommy up for help to coax partially because he wants to fix this own his own, and partially to save Tommy from your wrath you most certainly will take out on him rather than your absent husband.

He grabbed a bouquet of flowers at the grocery store (he’s already in the doghouse so what’s another 5 minutes added to his sentence) and is currently speeding home, a solid 15mph over the limit. Tonight isn’t even anything special: you had both just come back from a lovely weekend trip on the coast and were just settling back in to your house. But when Joel doesn’t deliver on his word, isn’t home for pizza and Pepsi, and sitting behind you while rubbings your back and belly for a quiet movie night…

Well, he’s never been late since the start of your pregnancy. Doesn’t want to think what hellfire you’re going to spit at him the moment he walks in that door.

So here he is about to walk in that door. He takes a big breath, not feeling this anxious since the he proposed to you, and steps in.

He immediately makes contact with you: standing at the end of the hall, illuminated by the kitchen light with your extra extra large T shirt stretched over your belly and dangling loosely around your thighs, hands by your side, barefoot, despite how often he nags at you to wear socks around the house so your feet don’t get cold. He’s thankful to see you hadn’t packed a suitcase, trying to leave the house with a “my husband doesn’t love me” stunt again. 

You clearly had just been walking past when you heard the door, not even fully turning to him but just having your head directed to the entrance the second he walked in. You briefly note the flowers in his hands before your eyes quickly go back to his. He feints an apologetic smile, heart beating so hard. You’re soooo quiet. The calm before the storm.

He gulps hard. 

Instead, you turn forward once more and continue walking towards the living room without a word.

You have a hand on your back as you gently collapse onto the couch. 

“Baby,” he says meekly, voice all tiny yet determined.

You pull your legs up over a pillow and fold open your book.

He comes to kneel beside you, immediately kissing your shoulder.

You do nothing. 

“Baby,” he says more clearly. “I’m sorry, honey. I couldn’t beat the time.”

You flip a page, tilting your head to read the fascinating text on the page rather than listen to your poor husband on his knees for you.

His fights with the sleeve of your shirt. Would you at least look at him? He’s holding the flowers still in his hand, big puppy dog eyes trying their best to plea with you, and with his irresistible pouty lips that get him just about anything he wanted from you. But you only lend him a sigh, flipping yet another page.

So it’s gonna be like that.

"Please, angel. I was tryin' so hard to leave on time like I said. They got the concrete all mixed up and it needed to be set today, was tryin' to get out of there, just couldn't get it moving fast enough, I'm sorry baby I really sped over here fast I can to see ya, couldn't wait a second longer—"

“Oh!” You gasp suddenly.

He’s started, but nonetheless quick to be by you.

You check the clock on the wall and laugh. Time had gotten away from you too. You slam your book and hoist yourself up, on the other end of the couch to avoid his anxious hands fluttering to your aid. You brush past him and start your climb up the stairs.

Joel is right behind you, a bit of hope stirring in him. Its not until you’re walking through your bedroom door—and slamming it right in his face that he gets the message loud and clear.

Perhaps he earned a night on the couch to pray your forgiveness. After finding a suitable vase for the roses, he puffs up his pillow, his back killing him (though he’d never say it aloud while you’re waddling around with a whole 'nother being in your belly for the last few months) and crashes down on the sofa.

He just makes out the light go off under the door in the bedroom before he too is closing his eyes.

Tomorrow brings a new day, and he’s gonna spend every second satisfying his wife. He’s deserves his stay on the couch tonight.

-

He did NOT deserve this bullshit.

It’s been 3 fucking days since he came home late.

3 days of waking up early, trying to kiss his beautiful wife and baby momma with sweet affirmations and praises, which you dodge and continue about your stubborn ignoring-test. He spent all morning cooking every single food you’d craved since your pregnancy started—waffles, French toast, cinnamon pancakes, toast with special mixed fruit jam you can only get at a grocery store an hour away, scrambled, over easy, poached, hard boiled eggs. All arranged so beautifully on the table, even going as far to put the napkins on the left, after you screeched at him a few months ago for haphazardly having them on either the right or left, and never with the fork consistently on top.

He thought he’d learned his lesson, thought he made more than enough up to you, but no. You breeze right by, making a cup of tea, and go back upstairs to your closed door.

Your sadistic mind had given him false hope when you hadn’t locked the door on him on night number two. He slept in his bed, but you had made a clear parry by slotting between the two of you the infernal pregnancy pillow that Joel had kept in storage since you “Much preferred your husband’s plushy belly and soothing rubs.” 

Fat chance tonight.

Every minute he wasn’t telling you how beautiful you are, how amazing you are, how lucky he is, he spends groveling with please forgive me, I’m so sorry, I’m such a worm.

None of it sways you any differently. 

By day 4, he’s given up the sweet talk and grand gestures. Goes for a “think like her” kind of mental approach. 

He tries to bribe you—either making you a Pepsi float, or even bringing home the famous Hot Fudge Cookie Dough Chocolate Gooey Fantasy Milkshake with EXTRA Rainbow sprinkles. But even as he temptingly waves in front of your little wiggly nose, you don’t acknowledge him.

He makes a big show to sigh heavily in defeat, leaving it on the kitchen table alone and trotting helplessly upstairs for a shower.

Less than 7 minutes later he’s come back down to see if you’d given in yet, maybe even telling him what a fantastic husband he is while shoveling your face with ice cream and admitting you were being dramatic. 

Instead, you’re still sitting on the couch, exactly as he left you. Of course, the milkshake cup is completely empty, sucked clean of its gooeyness, and there’s a little splotch of chocolate sauce lingering on your chin you had failed to wipe clean. 

A start, he thinks.

Still though, you don’t pay him any mind, scrolling on your phone with tight lips.  

He wonders how long you could go on with this game.  

It’s honestly a fucking terrible miracle—not even since before you were pregnant had you gone this long shutting the fuck up. But now its horrifyingly eerie, like a curse has fallen upon him and he’s doing everything he can to break it, to bring back your nagging and bitching and whining and crying because it would be so much more relaxing than this new kind of psychotic hell you’ve subjected him to.

He starts getting a little more involved: playing with your body, touching you softly with gentle strokes along your thighs and belly. You hadn’t flinched away, or tried moving to another spot on the couch. 

Which confirmed one thing to him: your horniness and lack of physical attention from your husband due to your stubborn mind was losing your mental battle to hold out against him.

So Joel doesn’t say anything either as he moves his lips over your breasts, down your swollen belly and kissing his babygirl in your bump. He mumbles, “Mommy is awfully mad at Daddy, think I can cheer her up?” 

The baby kicks as if in agreement. His gaze glances up briefly to see if you’re listening.

Your eyes catch and yours quickly dart away, leaning back and pretending to yawn. He snickers before continuing his hot trail of open mouthed kisses until your legs “shift” and “accidentally” part on their own.

He makes sweet, insatiable yet slow love to your pussy, licking a fat strip from your little clenched hole to that hot delicious center that is beyond wet for him—yet another example of how much your body clearly can’t ignore him forever.

But, ever as he brings you to a long needed orgasm, you bite your tongue, absolutely refusing to give him even the slightest sound of satisfaction despite clenching tightly around his thick digits pumping into you. Only letting out a strangled breath through your nose while you stare up to the ceiling, fingers folded across your tummy as if bored. 

He wipes away the slick from his mustache. Hell, even he can admit you deserve an applaud for making it through that without uttering a peep to his skills.

Hurts like hell on the inside though that you’re just that mad still.

He had hoped that being forced to drive with him due to your size preventing you from sitting behind the wheel would corner you into talking him, but even then, as he opens the passenger door for you, you climb aboard and slam the door shut without his assistance.

Now the two of you are on your way to yours and Maria’s weekend brunch. Tommy was also coming to drop his girlfriend off, so it would be a good time to catch him up on this unqiuely-pregnant-you madness.

You snatch your purse and hop out of the car, mood going a full 180 and instantly greeting Maria with a warm hug and perky voice. The two of you sit down at a little table way aways from your idiot husband and brother in law.

Tommy nods him over to the bar and Joel grumbles over.

“She ignoring you?” His little brother asks while shelling peanuts.

“Is it that obvious?” Joel shakes his head. He can’t even leave off with Tommy because he knows you won’t answer his texts asking what time you’re done for pickup. So he’s stuck here to wait for you the entire time.

“You try going down on—“

“Yes! Yes I fucking tried.”

“She didn’t like it?”

“Oh no, she came hard. Wouldn’t even whimper for me when she was clenching her little cunt around my fingers—” he says with an aggressive whisper, his pointer and middle fingers shooting up in the air with wild eyes demonstrating the scene, “—and her little numb twitchin’ on my tongue. Didn’t even fucking moan. She’s a stubborn girl but I don’t deserve that.”

Tommy shakes his head with a chuckle. “Damn. That’s just determination right there. Gotta give it to her.”

Tommy excuses himself with a slap to the shoulder, muttering “gotta take a leak” and disappears to the bathroom.

Joel wouldn’t mind having a drink right now, but know’s he’s gotta stay sober to drive you home. A miserable, silent filled drive once again. He glanced at his watch, following each tick of the hand.

“Hi there.”

Joel almost didn’t address the voice of the woman who had gentle snuck up behind him, moving to take Tommy’s seat. She’s probably a little younger than you, a nice kind smile, inviting and warm towards a stranger. 

Joel politely smiles back with a little nod. 

She offers a sweet “thanks”, a blush creeping on her cheeks before she begins to speak: “Listen, I don’t mean to prude… but I saw you come in and ...I’m usually not so brash—but I was wondering…”

-

Meanwhile, your baby is beat boxing extra hard today in your stomach. You can’t even focus on eating your salad and keeping up with Maria’s chatter about Tommy’s nose hairs all over the vanity. 

Your baby is smart. She knows something is up. You narrow your eyes and look around, finding Joel and company at the bar— 

Except the company he is keeping is NOT Tommy but instead, a gorgeous woman tossing her hair and flashing her pearly white teeth off at your husband, who’s giving her his full attention. She’s giggling with him, taking animatedly with her hands, lingering heavy eye contact and touching his watch as if looking for an excuse to get closer.

You forget about the massive planet sized lump in your belly as you instantly stand up, nearly tipping the table and all its dishes and cutlery over. 

Maria is calling your name but you don’t have the mind to answer, striding over like a bull towards the bar.

-

“Hiiiiiiii!”

Joel and the woman both jump at the harsh shrill of an annoying, high pitched, slightly perturbed but faking a smile, voice screeching behind them—the most beautiful voice Joel’s ever heard…and had missed so dearly this week.  

The woman looks over to you, seemingly startled that you had interrupted the conversation so brazenly.

“Oh, um, hi,” she offers, blinking off your pregnant belly and abrupt appearance.

“This is Joel,” you boast, pointing the shlump of a man in front of her.

“Ah-Hello—“ she smiles again to him.

You add quickly. “He’s my husband.”

“Oh.”

“And I’m his wife.”

“Ah—I—“

“Annnnnnnnd this is our baby!” You boast, proudly rubbing over that enormous swell of your tumtum so she can see in case it wasn’t the biggest fucking thing in this room. “And… you are?” You ask sweetly.

“Um…” she takes one last glance at Joel, his apologetic shrug saying everything then at you, your hard gaze burning holes into her head. “…leaving,” she says towards you.

“Great answer. I like you :) Bye Bye now!” You wave enthusiastically with a chipper voice and a deadly smile. She nods fretfully and pops off the stool, walking away like a threatened animal.

He just chuckles, shaking his head and looking down at his hands with a grin. “Ya know, she just came over to ask where I got my watch.”

“And did you tell her your WIFE bought it?” You ask, poking your finger at his chest.

He has to hide his crooked smile. It’s the first time you’ve directly spoken to him since Monday. “Yeah, I did. She asked where ya got it, because she was looking for one just like it—for her husband.”

Your finger fidgets slightly, expression drawing a blank at the revelation turning over in your mind.

“……………………………………………....................................oh.”

He rotates his stool to face you. You’re steeping in your thoughts, the confidence faltering just slightly in your mind at the realization of how grossly you had interpreted the situation between that innocent woman and your hubby. He didn’t even care, though. All he could think about was how his heart feels 10x lighter seeing you back in your usual, bold, daring, audacious self. All of your attention on him once again.

“I’ll admit, still felt good havin’ ya come to my rescue.”

You scoff, near offended by his words. “Well duh, you’re mine.”

“That right? Even these last few days?”

Yet another bomb goes off in your head at the second realization—that you had forfeited your punishment to ignore him to the ends of the earth.

 You cross your arms defensively anyway. “Well... I…decided.”

“Mmm?”

“That…I needed a back rub. But you clearly you can’t pick up on that on your own so—now I have to verbally tell you.”

“Ah huh. Sure it wasn’t cuz you were jealous? Couldn’t stand me being interested in another woman since my own made it clear she didn’t want me no more? Because my wife decided she couldn’t be patient and wait the extra 13 minutes I was running late before punishin’ me all goddamn week?”

Oh wait—was he really only late by 13 minutes? You could have sworn it was an hour plus!

“That wasn’t 13 minutes! Do you know how to tell time? It was over an hour—“

“Did you set your clock back like I told you to the night before when we got back from the coast, into our own time zone?”

😳

- - - -

Also this is how I see reader getting ate out but trying to be nonchalaunt about it:

conveniently also my favorite shot of Pedro during a photoshoot

Permanent taglist:

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrs-oharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee

[thatoneoverlyhornybitch]

Daddy's home🗣 | Gojo Satoru x Fem! Reader

Warnings: just shameless smut, porn no plot, submissive reader, dom gojo, fingering,creampie, oral(f&mrecieving), deepthroat, facefucking, throatfucking, some degradation kinda, praise, HEAVY BREEDING KINKK

(A/n): this does not have a daddy kink sorry if thats disappointing lol i'm not comfy with that but I'm sure yk why it's named that🖤

"Hnnn~ T-toru, have I ever mentioned how... how long your fingers are?" You questioned, whining loudly despite yourself. He just chuckled in response and placed a hot kiss on your lips, tongue immediately darting for yours in a few wet sloppy mess. You practically mewled into him, pressing your core flush with his palm as his long, thin pretty finger reached places you hadn't known were there and it had you seeing stars.

"Ya feel how wet you are just from my fingers, mmmm sweetheart?" He aaked mockingly, smirking into your eyes with his pure blue eye gazing into you. You felt the urge to sink into him and never leave, his cock buried in you pumping you full of his hot steamy cum, load after load after load, no doubt knocking you up. You didn't mind the thought of that however, a family, with this gorgeous man you desperately wanted to be bred by. "I can tell what you're thinking of you little slut, and I like it, but thats for later, don't worry I'll pump you full of my babies sweetheart."

You whimpered at his words but nodded, whining as he pumped his fingers harder into you, before suddenly taking them out, leaving you empty. You whine at the loss, wanting to feel full.

He, however, surprises you, by placing his mouth on your folds, tongue diving through, licking all-over. He applied suction to your clit, finally wrapping his tongue around the little nub and rubbing, hard. You squealed with pleasure, immediately feeling that knot in your stomach preparing to unravel, though the pleasure was so intense and overwhelming, a pressure began to form as you finally reached climax on the white-haired sorcerer's long skilled tongue, squirting all over his face.

He groaned in satisfaction at having made you squirt, he grins, a cocky look on his face. "You taste so sweet, so wet and slutty, but sweet. I'll need you for my desert from now on, eh?" You whine, nodding in agreement, loving the idea of him devouring you once more. "Now, get on your knees."

You oblige, no question, immediately opening your mouth wide and sticking your tongue out, knowing he wanted to shove his cock down your tight throat. "Good girl, take it just like you always do." His cock slips past your lips, he immediately forces his hands through your hair and shoves as much of his cock as he can in to your mouth, hitting the back of your throat you gag a bit , but still tilt your head to give him access to your throat. He moans, and quickly shoves his cock roughly down your throat, thrusting hard and fast, seeking his own orgasm.

As he approaches his climax he pulls his cock partially out of your mouth, whimpering a bit. "Please, use your tongue, i want to finish on your cute little tongue honey." You whine immediately putting your tongue to work, getting him to his orgasm in seconds as he facefucks you while you caress his cock with your tongue. You gulp his seed down, making sure to not waste a single bit as it hit your tongue.

"Finally time for the main course, get on all fours, I'm going to shove my cock in that wet cunt of yours." He states boldly, long, thick and hard cock already in his hands. You get into position, spreading your folds to give him clear entry, gaining a good girl for your deed. He presses his tip to your entrance, looking to you just to make sure you're ready, you nod, touched by the act. He then roughly shoves ALL of him into you, balls hitting your ass, you squealed, clenching hard around the incredibly large cock, he had to be around 9 inches.

His thrusts were hard and quick, filling you entirely, your next orgasm already approaching. He groaned as you clenched around him again, ehining and writhing as you came around his cock, still pounding away at you, overstimulating you intensely and your eyes rolled back. "Stay with me now baby, gotta let you watch as I pump you full of my kids. You're gonna look so cute all swolen and plump with my babies~mmm gonna stuff you full of them..." He trailed off as his own orgasm approached, his toes curling as he gave one final thrust deep into your pussy.

You could feel the hot spurts of his seed filling you, you giggled happy he was finally breeding you perfectly. "Again, mm Satoru?" You asked, hoping he understood what you meant. He smiled, beginning you thrust right back into you, fucking his cum deep into you. "I never said we were done anyway, gonna pump you until you're overflowing and I know you'll get knocked up."

You somehow don't mind that at all. 🖤

[killerpancakeburger]

Bluebeard's wife

SUMMARY: On a visit to your boyfriend, you end up having to deal with a creep on base, but Soap and Ghost's methods of resolving your problem are... far more drastic than yours.

PAIRING: Soap x f!Reader (and BFF!Ghost)

TAGS: Dark content, Badass!Reader, Established relationship, Dark! a bit yandere! Soap, Dark! a bit yandere! Ghost.

WARNINGS: Canon violence, blood mention, sexual harassment, insults. Soap and Ghost are acting creepy but not towards Reader.

WORDS COUNT: 1,1k words.

A/N: Was thinking about how high the risks of sexual assault are in the military for women + about how much the Task Force could get away with (Soap's mohawk is NOT standard issue lol), but it turned out kinda dark. Not my usual kind of content. This is my first time writting those characters, pls be indulgent.

Your elbow connects with the man’s nose with a satisfying crack.

Immediately he howls, pressing his broken nose with one hand, blood dripping between his fingers.

“FUCK! What the fuck! You broke my nose, you crazy bitch!”

This. This is why you didn’t want to meet the Task Force on base. There was always one brainless fucker who didn’t get the memo that, no, despite having breasts, you weren’t here as a comfort woman.

The private is glaring at you with a hatred as deep as it is sudden, one that screams murder.

The only good side of the situation is, with how loud he’s being, you won’t even need to call for help. Already most of the soldiers nearby are staring at you, muttering among themselves. Not that you can’t beat this guy up on your own, but the military tends to frown upon civilians roughing up their members, you learned it at your expense quite early. On the other hand, soldiers settling accounts between each other was… well, not exactly authorized, but it was way less trouble for you.

He grabs you by the collar, his rage only exacerbated by your composure. The action stains your clothing with his blood. You mentally grimace. You’re no stranger to blood, but the idea of this repulsive individual’s bodily fluids being anywhere on your person is disgusting. 

“Are you listening, you dumb bitch!? I’m gonna fucking kill-”

The venom-filled verbal onslaught stops dead as a hand takes hold of your assailant’s wrist.

“Now, now, at ease, soldier. Ya making a spectacle of yourself.”

The thickly accented voice of your boyfriend sends a wave of warmth in your chest. 

Your harasser hesitates a second too long, so Soap makes the decision for him, tightening his grasp until the soldier winces, and finally takes the hint, letting you go and taking a few steps backward. Johnny immediately positions himself between the two of you, shielding you.

He’s been smiling the whole time, but it’s the kind of dangerous smile you wear when you’re about to give an asshole a righteous beating.

The private looks partially sheepish, but not defeated, indignation burning in his eyes. He lets loose a torrent of justifications and excuses, actively painting you as the villain, not caring if he contradicts himself in the process. You don’t pay attention to the details of his speech. It’s always the same “she was asking for it” kind of diatribe. The fact that he sincerely believes that there’s a chance that Soap will take his side instead of yours is laughable, but not surprising. 

You wonder how long this will go on, until the private notices something next to you, and all blood seems to desert his face as his voice deserts his vocal cords. 

You turn your head and, to no surprise to you, Ghost is there. He stands so close to you that your arms are almost touching. Clothed entirely in black, which brings out the white skull on his mask, his presence is as menacing as ever; all he needs to do is scowl at lesser soldiers to make them cower in fear. He doesn’t look back at you, but his support for you is so obvious through the rest of his behavior that he doesn’t need to.

Soap takes advantage of the newfound silence to turn to you.

“Ya good, yeah?” He asks, cradling your cheek tenderly, and stroking your cheekbone with his thumb. 

The question is futile - if you were hurt, he would have noticed right away. But it’s still cute to see.

“Yeah. Not a scratch.” you smile.

“That’s my girl”, he smiles back. “So, what the bloody hell happened here?”

You glance at the private behind him. He’s shaking, and the look he sends you back is begging for mercy. Remembering the first words he addressed to you earlier, you realize you’re all out of mercy for today. Thus, with a sadistic little smile, you recount the events.

“This man came to me complaining that I was unfairly privileging Sergeant Mctavish and that he wanted his turn. Then when I explained that I wasn’t some kind of free-for-all buffet, he took it the wrong way and put his hands on me. That’s when I exploded his nose.”

By the time you finish your explanation, Soap’s expression has darkened considerably.

“I see.” is all that leaves his mouth. Anyone familiar with him would know that for him to start talking by monosyllables like Ghost, something must be very wrong.

Pivoting again, he faces the private and, as the latter opens his mouth to plead for forgiveness, punches him right in the face. Blood gushes, drops of it landing on his face. You mentally count until three, one for every blow, and when Soap still doesn’t stop punching, you frown, disturbed and worried by his conduct. He’s never been one to remain impassive in the face of injustice, easily riled-up even in critical situations and despite his superiors’ orders, but you’ve never seen him go this far. 

You’re about to intervene when Ghost beats you to it, putting a hand on his sergeant’s shoulder. That’s right. Ghost, the voice of reason, the paragon of self-control, their cold-hearted leader, will fix everything.

However when you hear the next words that leave his mouth, it’s like the world tilted on its axis.

“Not out in the open, Johnny.”

The words are whispered low enough that only Soap and you would have heard. They send a cold shiver down your spine. Rattled and unsettled in a way that they never made you feel before, you contemplate the situation in silent incredulity.

“Aye, L.T.”, replies Soap with an abnormally monotonous tone.

Before you can ask what the fuck is happening, he proceeds to punch the soldier so hard in the stomach that the latter collapses without a sound, except for the muffled noise of someone winded. The scene makes you increasingly uncomfortable. You feel like Bluebeard's newest wife, having stumbled upon the one room you were forbidden from entering, having witnessed something you weren't supposed to see, and now you can never go back to how things were before.

You counted on Soap and Ghost’s intervention, sure, but you expected them to put an end to the fight, maybe intimidate the guy a little, and ultimately end things here. You didn’t expect… whatever this is.

Staring in shock at the two Special Forces, you shake your head to get a grip and come closer.

“Alright guys, I think he’s had enough-”

Ghost interrupts you with a hand on your shoulder. The Ghost touching two people in less than five minutes? Yes, something’s seriously wrong. Looking at him, you try to convey urgency with your gaze…

“Simon, this isn’t-” 

…but his next words make you lose hope of winning this argument.

“Easy there, love. Johnny’s takin’ care of it, ya don’t need to worry ‘bout a thing.”

The next thing you know, he presses a hand against your lower back, making you leave the premises, completely ignoring the way you stare at him in utter disbelief… and growing apprehension. 

He had never called you “love” before.

[tiredmamaissy]

Ralak te Sepwan ieyk’itan: Chapter Three

An Illustrated Collaboration with @zestys-stuff

Masterlist ; Rut/Heat/Knotting Info

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Hyperlinks are attached to specific paragraphs that when clicked on will lead you to its illustration by Ralak's creator @zestys-stuff.

Characters: Metkayina!Ralak (24) x Sully!Omaticaya!Reader (19)

Warnings: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst, ptsd/ flashbacks, profanity, age gap, sexual tension, size difference/kink, praise kink, jealousy, scenting, fingering, recollection of non-con trauma (for the plot), alcohol consumption/drunk character, let me know if i forgot anything?

Word Count: 6.3k

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: Sorry this one took a while, been a hell of a week. It's got a lot of angst, so prep yourselves guysss. Ends with smut, ofc. I hope you guys enjoy 🤍

Synopsis: Your family seeks uturu with the Metkayina in the village of Awa’atlu. You have a difficult time adjusting, and are assigned your own special teacher, Ralak.

<- Previous Next ->

“Y/n. For the love of Christ, you better tell me that the storm held ya up last night.” Jakes voice rings in your ear, waking you up.

Oh shit.

You look to your left to see the first rays of sunlight shining on Ralak’s sleeping, naked body, chest heaving slowly from his unfaltering breaths. Perched on his side, his face sits in his palm, as if he’s fallen asleep partially sitting up. Two fingers still nestled inside you, his facial muscles are slightly tensed, like he’s ready wake up any minute and tend to your every need, just like he’s been doing all night long. 

“Get your ass home. Now.” Jakes irate voice brings you back to reality.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

What were you going to tell Jake? That the storm did keep you up? He’d never believe that. Not for a second. Either way, if you didn’t go now, this man would skin the love of your life. Unmated, in his bed, all before your second iknimaya? He’d try, at least.

“Sst-ah.” you let out a shaky breath, grimacing as you pull his fingers out of you. They’re covered in your cum, so much so that a thick string of slick connects you to his fingers when you pull your pelvis away. You scramble to your feet, wiping yourself up with the already damp cloth next to his bed.

I’ll be back, my love. You think, looking over at him one last time before rushing out of his marui.

On your way to the cave, you try to assess your state. It’s hard to tell, given the fact that your heart is pounding at a speed only an ikran could attain. Anxiety streams through your veins, but otherwise, you feel fairly normal. Maybe a little bit like you did after your first iknimaya, when you passed your dream hunt and had one too many glow worms. But nothing unmanageable.

Guess it’s over.

Finally arriving at the cave, frantic eyes search the body of water for your loincloth. It’s floating at the far end of the lake, so you dive in. As you’re swimming, you catch a whiff of your own scent, mixed with Ralak’s. You bring your arm to your nose and take a deep breath. “Fuck.” you curse under your breath, submerging your entire body in the water, trying to bathe his scent off you.

You knew you scented each other, but you didn’t know that it would linger this long. You scrub your body, paying extra attention to your chest and neck. Time is going faster than you can move. But it’s like the more you scrub, the more you rub it into your skin – into your essence.

“Forget this.” you huff, grabbing your loincloth and swimming back to sand. You wring it out, slip inside and tie the knot hastily. One last look back on his marui pod, and you’re gone like the wind – quick and silent.

The trek back home is nerve-wracking, you feel so uneasy that you could feel something in your throat. A lump. You swallow repeatedly, trying to get rid of it, but it grows a little bigger for every step you take. By the time you’re at your marui door, you feel like you can’t breathe.

Neteyam smells you first, wreaking of a male na’vi, nose scrunching at the odour. He huffs a harsh breath through his nostrils, attempting to rid the lingering scent from of his lungs. He examines your condition – clammy skin with little colour left in it. Eyes trailing up to your face, he could see the fear written all over it, along with something else. Something like –

“Jesus, what the hell were you thinking?!” Jake hisses through clenched teeth.

“D-dad. I-I can explain.” you stutter, throat so tight you can barely speak.

Jake pulls his head back, eyelids blinking furiously. It’s as if the scent quite literally hit him, square in the jaw. With his suspicions confirmed, his lips stretch into a thin line, his go to expression of disapproval. The type that makes your ears lay flat against your skull, and bottom lip jut out.

“I can smell him on you.” Jake brushes past you. “Stay with your brother.”

“Dad, please.” your voice is strained, fighting against the lump in your throat. “Where are you going?”

He stops dead in his tracks, back still turned to you, a hand flying up to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose. “To Tonowari, kid. Tsireya will teach you from now on.” He heaves a heavy sigh and walks away.

The anxiety quickly morphs into anger, bubbling in your veins and sizzling your skin. Your short fuse blows. How could he take this away from you? You weren’t a ‘kid’ anymore. You had passed your iknimaya back home, and you’re on the brink of passing it here, too. Despite that, he always treats you like this, like the late bloomer you are. He didn’t even care to know what really happened.

“Not a fucking kid!” you shout after him, only for him to shake his head and continue walking.

“Sis.” Neteyam mutters, gently guiding you into the marui pod by your arm.

You shrug him off, storming past him to dive into your bed, burying your face into your pillow – damp from last night’s tears. It only becomes wetter as your fresh tears stream down your face. You couldn’t help it, you cried whenever you felt overwhelmed with anything. Sadness. Happiness. Anger. Frustration.

The sound of your privacy curtain being drawn back snaps your head up from your pillow. It’s Neteyam, standing over you with a face of concern, a bowl of steamed fish in one hand and a cup of water in the other. He sighs quietly, crouching down to come eye to eye with you. “You were in heat, weren’t you?” He states, already knowing the answer. “You should eat and drink something.” He places the bowl and cup on the floor next to you.

You sit up, supporting your torso with your arms behind your back. Neteyam. The older, caring bother, always looking out for everyone but himself. Of course, he would be the one to care enough to find out what you’ve been through the past day. “Yup. Late bloomer finally got her heat.” you speak of yourself harshly, taking the cup of water and chugging it.

“You smell gross.” he chuckles breathily, nudging the bowl of fish closer to you.

“Thanks, big brother. Appreciate it.” you giggle between cries, nudging it back to him. “Not hungry.”

His arms rest on his knees, braids swaying in his face as he looks behind him before dropping his head. “Agh.” he lifts his head, staring at you for a few seconds, as if he were contemplating something. “You should not have done that. Not before your iknimaya.”

“I didn’t! Nothing... like that happened, Tey. Ralak isn’t like that.” your head hangs low as you utter the words. “He’s... a gentle giant.”

Neteyam scoffs, straightening his spine. “Gentle giant? He looks like he eats na’vi for breakfast.”

“Hey –” you sniffle, glaring up at him, “I like him, Tey. A lot. He’s good for me.”

Neteyam’s features soften. As if hearing your words plucked a string of sympathy in his heart. As much as he wants to help you, he can’t. Not with a direct order from his father. He shakes his head, eyes closed, and brows furrowed.

That’s his way of saying, ‘Sorry. Can’t’.

You sigh, bringing your knees to your chest to hide your face. You can smell Ralak’s scent now that your nose is near your thighs. It fills your lungs with every breath you take. His pheromones. His aphrodisiac. His arousal. He left it all on you, rubbed into your skin so deep it seems to have altered your own scent.

Is this what scenting does?  

Soon you’re breathing heavily, trying to savour what left you have of him – of last night. It makes you heavy in the head, like all the strength has left your body. You feel your face warm up, the heat spreading to the tips of your ears. You’re tired. Defeated.

“Neteyam! Neteyam!” Lo’ak’s faint voice sounds frantic.

You hear Neteyam shuffling to his feet to go and check what his brother is on about. “Stay here, got it?”

“Mhm.” you hum, too tired to even lift your head.

The sound of Lo’ak yanking back your privacy curtain makes you jump out of your skin, nearly knocking over the bowl of steamed fish. You stare up at him wide eyed, to see him motioning over to the door of your marui. Your brows kiss in confusion, unsure of what’s going on.

“Heard you were in... hea-a situation. Just gonna borrow big bro for a second, cool?” he raises his brows, nudging his head towards the door in an emphasized manner.

A smile pulls at your lips once you realize what he’s doing for you. You wipe your puffy eyes with the back of your hand and shuffle to your feet. “I owe you, Lo’.”

Ralak’s POV

Ralak rouses to an empty bed. He sits up quickly, scanning his marui for any sign of you. Nothing. The only thing that remains is your potent scent flooding the room. The only proof that you were ever here. “Oh, y/n.” he groans, head slumping into his hands.

You were gone. Gone like you were never here to begin with. Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, he tried not to assume the worst. But what if – what if it was the worst? To be used and discarded like an object. All over again. Surely, there’s no way that you would do this to him, not after opening-up to you like that. Not after last night. Not after the words you uttered to one another before going to sleep –

‘I love you’.

But why does it feel the same? The same as that day. The day he was in a marui pod like this one, young, bare skinned and short haired, kneeling before his own karyu. His chest tightens, the walls of his throat closing in on one another. He can feel it creeping up his spine. The flashbacks. The tremors. The nausea. Rushing to his feet, he makes his way over to the shelf well-stocked with bottles of ‘fermented fruit’ – pxir [beer; alcohol].

A poison to many, but an antidote to him.

Dust had settled on the bottles since the last day he reached for them. The day you became his tanhì. That’s why he had never brought you up here, he never wanted you to see the truth. The way he copes with his emotions – bottling them up and then chugging it down when they became just too much.

The bottle opens with a pop, strong, bitter scent wafting up his nose, replacing the scent of you in his lungs. He takes a quick swig, baring his teeth from the sting of it trickling down his throat. “Ahh.” He sighs a breath of relief, feeling the alcohol already taking effect, loosening his chest, and clearing his throat.  

Yet he can still feel the shiver of his spine, and the churn of his stomach.

“Shit.” he curses, taking another swig. Cursing himself for trusting another after he made the vow to never trust again. Another swig. For facing the part of him that he’s denied since he came into adulthood. Another swig. For letting someone in. Another swig. For allowing himself to love you.

Alas, a clear mind and body – rid of the memories of his past.

He readies himself for his bath, something he often did to relax. Just like he did last time you left him.

----

Time is of the essence. With no idea of when Jake will be back, you move quickly. You weave through the webbing of the mangrove roots, ducking and dodging those that jut out. You take a short cut, bouncing over the netting of a cluster of marui pods on the way to Ralak’s.

Eyes guardedly stuck to your feet, you bump into Ka’ani, the man who replaced Ralak’s role as fisherman – faceplanting into his bare chest. Arms instinctively wrapping around you, he holds you close until you regain your balance. Admittedly, he’s a little too close for comfort, his face nestled in the crown of your head. You hear quick, nasally breaths, muffled by your hair.

Is he... sniffing me right now?

You shove him off you, probably a little too rough to be considered friendly, and take a few steps back. “Sorry, Ka’ani.” you mutter, gingerly walking around him.

“No problem, at all.” he smirks, raising his hands and making space for you to leave.   

With a quick shake of your head, you continue making your way to Ralak. The closer you get, the more a giddy smile spreads across your face. Though you were the bearer of bad news, you can’t ignore the flutters in your stomach. The same flutters you had when you first laid eyes on him – the day Eywa herself told you he’s the one.

Your mate.

Your legs move faster, as fast as they can go, until the sand slackens your steps. Silky, fine sand – always the first thing to let you know that you’ve arrived. You can’t help the excitement bubbling from your tummy and up your throat. “Ralak!” you blurt out, eager to find your love.

A tall figure in the distance catches your eye, it looks as if he were going into the cave. You wave your hands above your head, shouting his name as you lope towards him. “Ralak!”

The figure stops, turning around to acknowledge your calls. He stands still for a minute, before walking towards you with a stagger in his step. Tail perking up instantaneously, your hand flies to your bare hip, searching for your medicine pouch. You’re running on the tips of your toes again, concern and worry replacing the flutters low in your belly.

“Wha-t is it?” you shout, voice wavering as you close the distance between your bodies.

You crash into him with a smack, making the typically sturdy giant wobble. Now your ears art alert, perturbed by his odd behaviour. Gently pushing you away, his large hands grip your upper arms, fingertips touching once another. Blue, hazed orbs peer down at you, extra glossy and lidded.

“Are you sick? Wounded?” you question, resisting his gentle pushes to search his body. 

Nostrils flickering above his pursed lips, he leans into your neck. He pulls back with a huff, blowing hot air through his nose, onto your face. Your eyelashes flutter, face of concern quickly morphing into one of confusion.

Everyone is sniffing me today.

Head snapping to the left, his eyes search the webs of the mangrove roots off in the distance. A guttural growl rumbles deep in Ralak’s chest, thinned lips curling over his canines, flashing them before your eyes. You watch in awe as his brows lower, knotting together to turn his eyes beady. Ears flat against his skull, the scent of another na’vi scrunches his nose.

That’s a new look.

“Ralak.” your voice is breathy and small – laced with fright.

His growl grows louder, coming from the pit of his stomach, deep and powerful. Lengthy fingers tightening around your arms, he spins you around and tucks you behind him in one swift move. His name slips off your tongue once more, quick, and unsure. He has one hand perched on the dip of your waist, holding you close behind this towering frame.

“Come out.” he growls gruffly, straightening his spine to present at his full height.

The two words double-knot your stomach, sending you wiggling into the sink of his back, face peeking through the crack of his arm and side. Your eyes flicker from side to side, looking for whatever – whoever he’s talking to. Meanwhile, your fingers grip the band on his loincloth, the only thing available on his body to hold.

Silence.

“Or I make you.” He rasps the warning through his four, pointed fangs.

Perhaps if Ralak wasn’t here the knots in your belly would have tightened by now, to the point where you would feel queasy. But the hiss fizzling from the back of his throat puts your nerves at ease – your body sensing its safety in his presence.

Out comes a brawny, wide na’vi, from behind the large, thick roots of the mangroves. His hands are splayed out, representing something of caution. No – surrender. He approaches Ralak slowly. Warily.

“Sorry, brother. I did not know she was yours.” Ka’ani says impishly.

Jaw snapping open, his hiss comes out full force. It’s loud and thick, almost grating. Much like a roar. Though you knew it wasn’t for you, it shook you up, tugging at the string in your grip as your body jolts forward into his.

“She belongs to no one.” His top lip twitches as he spits the vile words, stinging your heart in the process. Am I not his? What about last night? You think, tightening your grip on the band of his loincloth.

“It looks as if she belongs to you, Tak.” Ka’ani leans to the left, chin jutting out as he tries to catch a glimpse of you. “Look at her, holding on to your –”

“Lewng! [shame]. Tracking her scent.” Ralak hisses, turning his body to hide you from his predatory eyes. “Leave.”

“Ah. Come on now, brot-” He spreads his arms wide, walking around Ralak towards you.

Ralak takes a step forward on his last word, nearly coming chest to chest with the shorter na’vi. A moment of silence passes between the two, as Ralak stares him down with vengeance in his eyes. A hand flies up to his hip, gripping the knife sheathed in its casing. “Now.”

Ka’ani straightens his back, eyes flickering between Ralak and yours that peek from behind him. His hands retract, hovering either side of his head as he retreats. Ralak maintains his position, with a hand keeping you tucked away whilst the other rests on his hip. Once Ka’ani’s figure is no longer visible, Ralak sighs, and turns his heel to make his way back to his much-needed bath.

“Thanks...” you huff, walking close behind him.

“You women and your heats.” he mutters as he walks faster, ripping his loincloth out of your grip.

“Ex-cuse me?” your words bounce as you try to keep up with him. “You have no –”

“Do you understand what would have happened had I not been here? Do not be so reckless.” He tsks, as his feet come to a halt, balling his hands into fists.

“Reckless? All I did was walk here!” you shout, almost bumping into him again.

“Because you left to begin with.” he whispers through clenched teeth.

“What?” the question is breathy, hands perching on your knees to rest.

He turns around quickly, prompting you to stand at full height. Breathing heavily, he presses his warm body against yours, chin tucked into his chest to peer down at you. Instinctively, you perch on the tips of your toes, eyes lidded in anticipation of a kiss. Instead, he brings your wrists up to his nose, heated lips pressing against your supple skin.

“He scented you.” he mumbles quickly, lips pulling into a thin line before letting go and backing away.  

“Why? How? I only bumped into him.” you walk towards him, watching him turn his heel again. “Hey –” you reach out for his arm to pull him back around.

First you leave him this morning, then come back scented by another na’vi. He shrugs you off, hands now fiddling with the knot above the base of his tail as he nears the entrance of the cave. The knot of his loincloth comes undone, heavy, sheathed hunting knife silently making impact with the sand.

“Because he wants everything that’s mine.”

So, I am his. You think, one corner of your mouth curling upwards into a smirk.

“Oh, Ralak.” You stand at the cave’s opening, waiting in silence for a response.

He continues to keep his back turned to you, dips of his clenched glutes on full display. Despite last night, seeing him naked still makes you shy, cheeks turning red and hot from the blood that rushes to them. You watch him hastily put his hair in a sloppy bun as he submerges himself in the water.

“I need to speak with you about this morning” you mumble, eyes locked onto the ripple of his back muscles.

“No need. I understand.” he answers lowly, shimmying over to the bottle of fermented fruit propped on a rock in the cave.

“Understand what? It’s about –”

“You made a mistake. It was your heat. It is fine.” he mutters quickly, taking a swig at the last word.

A mistake? My heat?

The realization hits you, hard. You’d been so out of it, so delirious from your heat you hadn’t given a second thought about his confession. His trauma that he confided in you, in this very cave. It’s like stones in your heart – no, boulders. Weighing it down so heavily that it feels like there’s a pulse in your stomach.

How could you be so cruel? So thoughtless? So insensitive? To not even wake him and utter the words to his face. To allow him to wake up to an empty bed after letting down his walls and being so vulnerable to you. To be so caught up in your own head you couldn’t even bat an eye at the man who helped you through your first heat.

“Oh. Oh, Lak. No. No, it’s nothing like that.” you sputter out a trembling voice, sliding into the water to rush over to him. You rest your hand on his upper back, taking in the warmth of his skin. He feels feverish – hot to the touch.

What is he drinking?

You rub his back gently, bioluminescent freckles dancing from your caresses. Yet, he’s rigid. Cold. Distant. He’s not the Ralak you know, swaying side to side as he brings the lip of the bottle to his mouth.

“Stop, my love.” you coo, sliding your hand up his raised arm as you walk around him.  Pulling the bottle away from his lips, you cautiously place the pxir on a nearby ledge. “Ralak.” you whisper, staring up at him with worried eyes.

The sound of his name falling from your lips tilts his head back ever so slightly, like it pained him to even look at you. Curly, loose stands of hair frame his face, accentuating his angular features. He attempts to fix his mask of indifference to his face, but you can see through it. You see the anguish glossed over his lidded, inebriated eyes.

Ocean blue eyes.  

tw: flashback

His mind is elsewhere, dissociating back to the day of the incident. The night of his iknimaya celebration, where his own karyu cornered him in his family marui, engulfing him with her pheromones. Manipulating him with her heat to take care of her. To touch her.

He can hear the waves crashing into the shore, the pitter-patter of the rain on the roof of the marui, the roll of the thunder – her whispers in his ear, ‘I’ve been waiting too long for this. You are officially a man now. Make your karyu feel better, right here...’.

The smell of her pheromones is suffocating, more potent than any fermented fruit he’s ever had. It frightened him, feeling like he had no self-control. No way to stop his movements, no matter how much he screamed at his body to move, run – anything.

It is what made him vow to never lose control of himself. His composure.

He can feel the heaviness of his body. The lethargy. The way his lungs refused to fill, no matter how hard he tried to breathe. When he woke, he was alone, sitting in the corner in a pool of his own sweat, curled in on himself. His karyu left, to never return. Leaving nothing but the lingering smell of her heated scent behind. 

tw: end of flashback

“My karyu” you hum softly, placing his hand on your chest.

When you first called him that, he almost grimaced. But as time passed, you made the word bearable. You gave it a new meaning, a new feeling. Eventually filling him with eagerness to hear it fall from your flushed lips. In tones of excitement, frustration... pleasure.

You hold his thumb, and give it a squeeze, trying to bring him back from wherever he is. Your heart weighed even heavier, seeing him drift away and detach when he’s right in front of you. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here. Feel me. Feel my heartbeat. Focus on it and come back to me.”

The words echo in his skull, reverberating between the thick bone. He can hear you, feel you. With each thump of your heart, the heaviness of his body lifts, the scent of her fades, the pitter-patter of the storm subdues until nothing, but that thump can be heard. His eyes finally flicker down to yours, ears and brows twitching at the pulse of your heart.

Only a bottle could do that for him. Bring him back. Yet, you did it with the mere sound of your heart.

“I’m sorry, Lak. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I was so thoughtless. I’m sorry... that happened to you.” the words are shaky, flowing over your quivering bottom lip. “I would never. Ever. Ever. Ever –” you blubber, shaking your head, “Ever, do that to you. I-I had to leave because of my father. He’s punishing me. Forbidding me from seeing you. Having Tsireya teach me instead. I should have woken you.”

Another arm snakes around his waist, bringing him in closer to you. You slump your head into his chest, letting the tears flow and stain his skin. “I don’t regret a thing. I meant everything I said. I-I see you, Ralak” you sputter, breath hitching from the crying.

“Tanhì” he croaks, kissing the crown of your head as he wraps his arms around you to hold you closer.   

“I love you” The three words are said in unison as you cling onto one another.

Alcohol still coursing through his veins, Ralak’s heavy body slumps into you, slowly shifting you both against the cave wall. He presses your back against the rocky surface, unwrapping his arms from your waist to support his body weight with a hand on the wall. He leans in, brushing his cheek against yours.

“I will miss you.” he whispers huskily next to the shell of your ear.

“I’ll miss you, too.” you whisper back, head pulling back to meet his gaze.

Your eyes lock for a moment, an undeniable tension now budding in the air and making your breaths quicken. He inches even closer, lips brushing against yours as you exchange the same hot breath until you’re light in the head.

He kisses you roughly – sloppily.

Tongue slipping into your mouth, you get a taste of what he’s been drinking all day. It’s a little sweet, with undertones of various fruits native to the reef people. But once the sweetness wears off, the bitter aftertaste makes your brows gather. He pulls away, revealing heavy-lidded eyes with thin blue rings for irises, flickering side to side as they stare into yours.

Chests heaving in synchrony, you both struggle to catch your breath. Hands cupping each other’s face, your lips crash into one another again, body language hungry and desperate for each other’s touch. Ralak shoves his knee between your legs, providing you with the friction your body has been begging for. Your body moves on its own, humping at his thigh as best you can in the water.

“I-I want... you.” The desperate words part your bruised, flushed lips, hand sliding up his back to caress his kuru [queue].

He shakes his head, brows gathering tightly. “Not now. Not here. We do it the right way.”

“Then...” you pant, voice laced with desperation as your hands make their way to his hips, dainty fingers wrapping around his hardened girth, “...give me something else.”

Breath turning raggedy, he struggles to maintain his composure. The influence of the alcohol surging through his body proves it to be an even more difficult task. He takes a deep breath, withdrawing his knee from your legs to spin you around in one quick motion. Ralak tries his best to be gentle with you, shoving you into the wall to press his aching cock against you.

A soft moan parts your lips; thin, fuzzy tail wrapping around his thigh in attempts to bring you closer. Eywa, did that push him closer to the edge. Your tail had been one of his favourite things about you from the day you first locked eyes, so slender and delicate. Nothing like his. It not only fascinated him. It aroused him.

It makes him push into you even harder, tip of his cock throbbing against your lower back. He craves to be even closer to you – to be inside you. To rut into you until your voice becomes so hoarse from screaming his name. Over and over. Again, and again. Fingers hurriedly fiddling with the knot of your loincloth, he pants a few greedy, rough kisses along your upper back.

“Oh! Ralak, I-I think –” you moan lowly, his touches throwing you into a daze.

“What?” he huffs, fingers coming to a halt in fear that he’s being too rough with you.

“I think I’m still in heat.” you lie, or maybe it wasn’t a lie. You feel so woozy in the head that you’re not even sure what’s going on anymore. All that sits at the forefront of your mind is him claiming you as his.

“Is that so?” he lets out a breath of relief, a chuckle if you will.

“Yes. Can you help me?” you pant, trembling voice feigned with innocence.

“Ah. Let me check, little one.” He buries his face into the nape of your neck, pulling back with a loud sigh through his nose. A growl rumbles in his chest and up his throat. “I can still smell him.” The scent of another so deep into your skin makes him want to mark you. To sink his lengthy canines into your neck for the smell to seep out, only to be replaced by his.

“Then fix it.” you breathe, head dipping forward to open yourself up to him.

“Oh?” he smiles open mouthed, brushing his pointed fangs against your silken skin, making your back arch on instinct. Submitting to him and his touch. Open mouth lingering over your neck, his jaw closes to graze his teeth against you. He sucks lightly on your skin, puckered lips pulling off with a pop.

Of course, he’d make you wait for that too. He was only ‘helping’ you, right now.  

He kicks your feet apart, spreading your legs for him to settle in closer behind you. A string of your slick connects your thighs together, breaking apart when he rubs his cock against your bare cunt. He begins rubbing his face into the back of your neck, scenting you as his.

“Mine. Yes?” he growls, thrusting himself against your slippery slit.   

“Yes.” You spread your legs further apart, standing on the tips of your toes to provide him with better access. “Please.” You let out a pathetic mewl.

He grunts in frustration. He wants nothing more than to thrust himself inside you, stretching your pussy out with his huge cock. And with those little, sweet pleas, it’s almost too hard to resist. But he does. He pulls away, gaze snapping down to the rope of wetness connecting your most intimate parts together.

Cocking a brow, his hand comes between your sticky pelvises, fingers coiling around the string of slick before they glide over your pussy and spread your folds. Your wetness drips down his digits, pooling in the palm of his hand. “So wet. Maybe you are in heat.” he mumbles, pressing his lips against your back, peppering kisses down the curve of your shoulder.  

Ralak fondles with your puffy clit, rubbing tight circles into it with his slickened fingertips. Your hips squirm around from the white-hot pleasure tightening your core. It’s just not enough. Perhaps it’s just residual heat, but you feel so, so empty. A yearning deep in your womb, to be filled and stretched. Your hips buck forward, slipping his fingertips to prod at your entrance, before pushing back on him to try and sink them inside you.

Needy body language riling up the giant behind you, his harsh kisses move their way up to your ear. “Say it, tanhì.” he groans lowly, positioning his finger at your tight hole.

“I n-need you inside of me!” you cry desperately, shoving yourself back into him.

“You listen so well, paysyul.” he exhales a hot breath into the shell of your ear, sinking his thick finger inside you, twisting his wrist so that he can curl it right into your sweet spot.

“Oh, shit.” you moan breathily, cheek pressed firmly against the rocky wall.

“That is why you learn so quickly.” He fingers you roughly, expertly working out a squelch with each curl of his digit.

The feeling is like heat, shooting down your spine and pooling in your pelvis. It makes your hips spasm, chasing the fiery sensation in hopes to put it out. His finger brings relieve, satiating the itch as your sweet spot swells from pure bliss. He knows exactly where to touch, and how to touch.

Yet, it still isn’t enough.

“More! ‘ts not enough!” you cry, writhing underneath him.

He finds your little cries amusing, letting a chuckle evade his lips. How could something so small act so mighty? He slides another digit in, feeling your tight pussy walls stretch to accommodate him. He hears the little whimper bubbling up your throat, letting him know you need a moment to adjust.

“Taking my fingers so well, hm?” he praises you with a shaky voice, planting a gentle kiss behind your ear.

“Mmmn! Please!” Another plea falls from your lips, a plea for him to move – to make you cum. He sets a relentless pace, stimulating the sensitive spot in your gummy, hot walls, working lengthy moans and mewls from you.

With the way he’s fingerfucking you, it feels as if your nerves are on fire. The coil tightly wound in your core ready to snap any second now. Your brows pinch together in fervour, mouth falling open to allow heavy, hot breaths to escape.

“Close! So close! Gonna! Gonna –” Your words catch in your throat, leaving you breathless and tense around his fingers.

“Make yourself cum.” he orders gruffly, stopping all movement once he feels you tighten around his digits.

You gasp, hips moving on their own to chase the orgasm he just took away from you. “No, no. You know I can’t. Please.” you sputter, pushing against the wall to ride his fingers.

“You can. And you will.” he growls, bending his fingers as encouragement.

You quickly accept your fate, holding on tightly to whatever pleasurable feeling remains and running with it. You push back on him, squirming around as you try to make yourself cum. Closing your eyes, you tune into your body, feeling what feels good and where. But the position that you’re in makes it even harder to do it yourself.

“Just fuck me!” you cry desperately, frustration so pent up you couldn’t help the outburst.

“Language.” he hisses, shoving his fingers so deep inside you that your slick coats his knuckles.

“Fuck! Please.” you beg, reaching behind you to grab his wrist.

“No.” he smirks, looking down at how your cunt sucks in his digits, listening to your pleading and begging.

He just wants to hear a little more. To hear how badly you want him. He loves the way you squirm around, sputtering nonsense from being so fucked out by just his fingers. He loves the little noises your pussy makes for him and can’t wait to hear how they’ll sound once his cock is stuffed inside you.

“Ralak. Please. Please make me cum!” you cry, using his wrist as leverage to fuck back into him.

He slides his hand down your stomach, fingers playing with your swollen, neglected clit. He’s pumping his digits in and out of your dripping cunt, feeling your slick dribble down his hand. It doesn’t take long for you to near your climax, pussy walls clamping down around his fingers.

“Let go. Cum for me.” he groans, swollen tip of his cock oozing beads of precum onto your lower back.

“Oh, fuckfuckfuck!” you let out a hoarse cry, entire body shuddering underneath him “Cumming! Cumming!”

“That’s my girl.” he hums proudly, scissoring his fingers open to stretch you out.  

You let out a high-pitched whimper, hint of pain making your eyes water. Then a wave of ecstasy ripples through you, leaving your legs trembling beneath you. He snakes his arm around your waist, holding you up while you ride out of your high, sprinkling your shoulder with kisses.

Once you come down from your high, you lean back into him, resting your head against his chest. Huffing and puffing, you try to catch your breath as you turn around to cup his swollen balls. “My turn to make you feel good.”

To your surprise, he rests a hand on your arm, pulling it away from him. He looks down at you through blown pupils, arousal plastered all over his face. Beads of sweat trickle down his temples, wet strands of curled hair stuck to his cheeks, he sighs the words. “Not today, tanhi. I must get you back, now.”

[sthavoc]

౨ৎ🎞️ 𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇 | ENZO VOGRINCIC

𖥔 ࣪˖ pairing: enzo x actress!reader

𖥔 ࣪˖ summary: you and Enzo are in the same event, meeting each other for the first time, and of course the paparazzi wanted a few shots with you both. Which later led to conversations between the two of you.

𖥔 ࣪˖ warnings: none

𖥔 ࣪˖ note: he looks rlly good in that pic doesn’t he.. but apart from that I hope u guys enjoy this. this is in spanglish bc I just think the dialogue in spanish fits the guys better. also I’m not rlly good with writing imagines. this would be like my first time I publish one so I’m sorry if it’s ass lol. btw i’m sorry if I get anything wrong i’m not uruguayan or argentinian, but I do speak spanish.

Enzo couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. It’s not that he had staring problems it’s just that you looked amazing and he just couldn’t believe he was in the same place as you. It was an important event and you both were lucky to find yourselves in the same place.

“Ya dale ve a presentarte boludo.” Juani stood next to Enzo. He had partially slapped Enzo on the back of his head making him snap from his gaze. “¿O te le vas a quedar viendo como loco todo el evento?”

“Callate” Enzo laughs as he glances your way. The cameras flashed on you as you posed and smiled for the pictures. You looked gorgeous.

“No en serio. O te presentas vos o lo hacemos nosotros.” Fran’s voice made both of the boys heads turn his way.

“No me va a pelar.”

“Yo creo que ya lo hizo. Mira.” Juani chuckles racing his brows as he darted at Enzo.

Juani had seen you staring their way with a feeble smile painted on your tinted lips. They all payed attention to how you looked forward to the cameras, giving them all a smile with a wave as you walked the opposite direction.

“No, no. Que viene acá.” Enzo panics. “Que hago.”

“Presentate.” Matias gives him a dull push.

By the time you had reached them, the guys stepped away and began to make their own conversation, leaving Enzo and you alone. Enzo turned around to the guys. He just hoped he wouldn’t mess anything up. After all, it was his first time meeting you.

“Hola mucho gusto, Y/N L/N. Te vi desde lejos y quise venir a saludar y a decirte que vi la Sociedad de la Nieve, y debo decir que me encantó.” You gush with a small smile as you hold your eyes on the man. You extended out your hand for him to shake. Which he did, but he also gave you a small kiss on the cheek. You hoped your lipstick didn’t leave a kiss print.

“Enzo Vogrincic. Muchas gracias. Es un gusto conocer a gran estrella como vos. yo soy un gran fan tuyo y.. te ves muy hermosa.” He was trying so hard not to seem like an idiot right now.

“Ay que lindo. Gracias.” Your lips carved a smile at his praise. You yourself made an effort not to blush. “Tú también te ves guapo.”

“Guys! Look this way!” A paparazzi called for your attention.

“¿Te gustaría tomarte algunas fotos conmigo?” You request motioning towards the cameras.

“Sí , sí. Claro.” He gestures for you to follow first. He somewhat helps you fix your dress as you walk away. As you both find your pose his hand lands on your lower bare back. And of course as the gentleman he is he instantly withdrew his hand. “Perdona.”

you let out a small chuckle telling him it was okay. He partially thought twice but he placed it back in its place when he felt your own hand on his back. Enzo just wanted you to feel comfortable around him. As he didn’t want to weird you out on your first meeting.

“You guys look amazing together!” A paparazzi exclaimed trying to get as many pictures concurrently.

“Hm, creo que les encantamos a los paparazzi” Enzo jokes making you look up at him with a smile. There will absolutely be pictures of that pose.

“Al parecer sí.”

“Vamos, si queres te puedo presentar a los chicos.” Enzo’s hand rested inside the pocket of his dressing pants in a nervous manner.

You of course agreed with a hum, stepping away from the center and walking towards where the rest of the cast was. Enzo tried on guiding you while he motioned the guys with his hands to walk over.

“Chicos, Y/N. Y/N estos son Matias, Juani, Fran, y Agustín.”

“Mucho gusto.” You greet each of the boys. “Buen trabajo que hicieron en la película.”

“Muchas gracias.” They all reply in unison.

“Sos una actriz increíble me veo todas tus películas.” Juani comments making you give him a warm smile, and bringing your hand to your heart.

“Ayy re lindo.”

“Bueno pero y si entramos ya? Cómo que tanto flash me está mareando.” Matias’ eyes shoot a double blink. He also brought his hand to his right temple giving it a small massage.

“Concuerdo.” Enzo nods.

Everyone walked inside the event. First thing that met the group were the LED lights that colored the room and the huge amount of tables that had glasses and champagne on them. Not to forget the decorations. Every single one of you turned your heads to admire the whole room. Enzo who didn’t waist no time hurried himself to pull up a chair for you. That made you release a smile.

“Gracias.”

He himself sat next to you as the boys filled around some of the seats around the table. Juani grabbed the bottle of champagne making a foolish face towards Fran, creating a bit of laughter between the two. Matias and Agustin didn’t last in joining their conversation, and also in taking silly pictures of each other.

“Entonces, Enzo. Cuéntame de ti.” You tried to make a conversation to reduce the quietness between the two.

“Uff.” He raised his brows letting out a chuckle. “Que no se puede saber ya.” He comments making the two of you laugh, you yourself racing a brow tilting your head to the side for a split second. “Pero pues tengo 30 años. Me fascina el teatro. Me encanta tomar fotos, la música”

“Wow. Tenemos cositas en común eh.” He looks at you with a warm smile and a glint in his eyes from the small nudge you gave him. “me encanta la fotografía, también me gusta el teatro y amo la música. Tengo un record player y me encantaría poder ir a una disquera y comprar más discos. Y debo de mencionar que nunca me vas a cachar sin mis audífonos en mis días libres.” A small chuckle escapes from Enzo’s lips at your remark.

“Ese soy yo con la fotografía. Voy a todos lados con mi cámara.” He motions towards his camera, which you hadn’t even noticed. “Si queres podemos ir a una disquera que vi por ahí cuando me estaba paseando.”

“¿Me estás invitando a salir?” A playful smile crept upon your covered lips as you watched how a nervous look arose on his face.

“Bueno.. como amigos obviamente.” He quickly adds.

“Te estoy jodiendo. Claro que podemos ir.” He laughs in relief as he sets his arm on the table staring at the ground. “Sirve de que tomas algunas fotos” You add motioning towards his camera.

“¿Me darías tu número entonces?”

You watched how Enzo took out his phone from his pocket, unlocking it before setting it between the two of you. Your hand reaches for the phone, giving him a small glance with a slight smile. You start to look for the contacts app before you began on typing your number in his phone.

“toma. no me nombres nada malo por favor.” You joke as you watched him create your contact.

“para nada, linda. No quiero que me odies.”

Enzo was starting to come out of his shell, letting out a pet name was somehow a small way of him showing he was getting comfortable around you. He just hoped it didn’t mean too much for you to shut him out. On the contrary though.

You softly giggled and somewhat blushed at the pet name. “odiarte no creo.” His eyes turned their all divided attention to you as he finished his typing and locked his phone again before placing it back into his pocket.

“Pues espero que me podas responder el mensajito.” He murmured as he got closer to you for you to be able to hear him.

“Por supuesto que te contestaré.” You point towards him. “Me encantaría ir a esa disquera y si se puede me puedes tomar algunas fotitos.” He smiles as he receives the silly wink you gave him.

“Claro. Sí. Sería un gusto.” He rests his hand on his chest. “Si queres te enseño algunas que tengo en mi celular.” You nod liking the idea as he takes out his phone again looking for his gallery and the folder where he kept all of his pictures.

“Podes deslizar a la izquierda.” He gives you his phone which already had the first picture set.

“Oh wow.” You were amazed by the simple yet amazing quality pictures he has taken. Some were of cats, buildings, him in black and white. “Son hermosas Enzo. Si no la hubieras echo de actor la hubieras echo de fotógrafo.” You laughed along with him.

“Es algo simple. Es uno de mis hobbies.” He murmurs next to you as he also looked at the pictures.

“Pues eres muy talentoso, de verdad.” You place your hand on his shoulder, your eyes leaving the picture with a light smile as Enzo didn’t tear his eyes off you.

“Y/N! oh my God here you are!” you recognized the voice making you look behind you, and Enzo finally looking somewhere that wasn’t your face.

You found the person the voice belonged to. “Oh, Maddie. Hi.” You chuckled. “I’m sorry I got a little distracted.” You turn to look at Enzo and then the boys.

Maddie’s eyes scanned the whole table as her strawberry tinted lips were opened a jar with a smile. “Hi. Madelyn Cline.” She greeted as everyone waved at her. Her eyes went back to you as she gave you a smile with a knowing look. “It’s okay you can totally stay here. I don’t mind.”

You looked at Maddie then back at the boys and at Enzo. He was quick to speak. “Te podes ir si queres. No hay problema.” He shrugged and the guys filled in into his request.

“Bueno. Disculpen. Pero fue un gusto conocerlos a todos y ojalá podamos un día volvernos a ver.” Each one of the guys got up from their seat and kissed you goodbye as they agreed with you, including Enzo. “Enzo un gusto.” Your hand rested on his arm for support and his on your waist as you leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“Un gusto linda.” He decided to use the pet name again for a last time tonight.

You turned your back on their table leaving with Maddie as a small smile stayed on your lips. You did hope to see all of them again, especially Enzo. There was something about his vibe and talking to him that made you feel at peace. Like you enjoyed his company.

And you honestly couldn’t wait to get his message.

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Summary: Thanksgiving brings back memories of happier times, and all you want is to recreate the past. But when those plans go awry, Eddie--and Harris, of course--are there to help you look forward to the future.

Warnings: mentions of Eddie's parents, brief familial conflict, Reader's grandma has dementia, most of this chapter is fluffy tbh

WC: 6.8k

Chapter 8/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @vexed-n-hexed Divider credit to @saradika

Thanksgiving, 1975

The sound of the kitchen timer beeping draws nine-year-old Eddie Munson’s attention from the television set. The local news network had been replaying the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade on a loop. It was now the third time that Eddie had watched Santa Claus make his way into Herald Square in a comically oversized sleigh, but he couldn’t get enough of it. The colorful balloons that hovered over the crowd, the marching bands playing in perfect unison, the feeling of excitement in the air—it was palpable all the way from his new home in Hawkins, Indiana. 

“Dinner’s ready,” Wayne announces, grabbing the worn mitt off of the counter and pulling two TV dinners from the oven. “‘S not much, but at least we got turkey and mashed potatoes,” he bashfully adds. 

Eddie nods, trying to walk without taking his eyes off of the screen. 

Wayne’s bushy brows pinch together as he watches his nephew. “You always get this into the parade?” he asks. 

“Never seen it before,” Eddie says softly. His parents had had a TV for a couple of years until they’d pawned it, but he doesn’t recall ever watching a parade. “Pretty cool.”

“We can keep it on while we eat, if ya want,” Wayne tells him, smiling when he sees the boy’s face light up. He places the plastic trays on the snack table and heads back to grab forks. “Ya got a favorite balloon? I’m partial to Snoopy, if y’ask me.”

Eddie nods, still transfixed on the TV. “Yeah, Snoopy’s good. I like him.” He takes the utensil from Wayne’s outstretched hand, absentmindedly dipping it in the congealed mashed potatoes. He pauses for a beat before bringing it to his lips. “Do I have to go back?”

“Hm?” Wayne mumbles, too focused on his own food to fully hear him. 

“Do I have to go back with them when they get out?” Eddie repeats, keeping his voice low and training his gaze on the floor. “‘Cause I like it better here. With you. ‘S nice and quiet.”

There’s a lurch in Wayne’s chest at Eddie’s request. “Technically, I only have ya till your folks are sprung,” he admits, scratching a nail against the table, “but I can talk to a lawyer or somethin’ about keeping you here longer. Only if you want,” he adds. 

“I wanna stay here,” Eddie confirms, spearing a pale turkey slice and popping it in his mouth without any attempt to cut it. “If it’s okay with you. I can sleep on the cot an’ you can take your bed back.”

Wayne shakes his head. “Room’s yours, Ed.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t wanna promise you that the courts will agree to it, but I’m gonna try my damndest to keep you safe.” And it’s true. He’ll work double overtime at the plant if it’ll cover legal fees. When the social worker dropped Eddie off last week, Wayne had no idea how either of them would adjust. But aside from a few growing pains—like having to shave his nephew’s head when they’d discovered he’d had lice—things seemed to be alright. 

“I, um, I wrote something at school yesterday,” Eddie pipes up, traipsing to his backpack and pulling out a sheet of paper. In his sloppy, boyish handwriting is written:

I am thankful for my Uncle Wayne because he takes care of me. He’s really nice and he works hard and he doesn’t mind that I listen to loud music. He also lets me feed my dinner scraps to the stray dogs in his trailer park. My Uncle Wayne is the best. I hope he’s thankful for me, too. 

Wayne feels his throat constrict, and he clears it before Eddie can catch on. “‘Course I’m thankful for ya, Ed,” he manages. He reaches out to put his hand on his nephew’s back, flinching when the boy jerks away nervously. Eddie’s reflex to defend himself rather than embrace touch stirs up a reserved anger Wayne didn’t know he had, and he wills himself to simmer down before his nephew can sense it, lest he think he’s angry at him.  

He slowly brings his hand to the couch cushion, careful not to make too much noise. We’ll get there, he thinks as the parade starts up for a fourth time. We’ll get there. 

Thanksgiving, 1978

Ten years old is a strange age. 

Too old to play with the little kids, but too young to hang around the teenagers or adults. You’re just kind of…there, like a piece of furniture that everyone absently walks around. This hiss of beer cans opening is barely audible over the men shouting at the football game on TV. You don’t know who’s playing, and you don’t really care, but it’s the only place you feel like you’ll be out of the way. Taking a seat on the floor, you remain there generally unnoticed until one of your uncles calls out your name.

“Couldja get me a refill?” Uncle Tim slurs, shaking his empty can of Bud Light to emphasize his request. Before you can respond, he throws a, “thanks, kid” and goes back to yelling at the football players.

It’s not like they can hear you through the screen, you snidely think, but you keep your comment to yourself as you pad into the kitchen. A collection of spices tickles your nose, the mixture of cloves and garlic and thyme and rosemary warming the room. You rummage through the refrigerator until you feel someone bump up against you.

“What are you doing in there?” Your aunt asks, disapproval carving her already sharp features. Her gaze drops to the can in your hand. “Seriously? Trying to sneak beer right in front of us?” she scoffs. 

Grandma quickly becomes aware of the commotion, and she wipes her hand on her sunny yellow apron as she assesses the situation. “Everything okay?” Her soft eyes are concerned, not accusing, and you feel your anxiety slowly dissipating.

“I caught her trying to steal some beer,” your aunt reports proudly, as though she’s caught some serial offender, and you have to fight the urge to roll your eyes. “Not even a teenager yet and already getting into this kind of trouble.” She shakes her head with a tsk. 

“No, I wasn’t,” you insist, setting your jaw in defiance. “Uncle Tim asked me to get some more for him. That’s all.”

“Tim!” Grandma calls out, tone thick with irritation. “Get over here!”

 Uncle Tim trudges out to the kitchen, head already hung low in anticipation of the tongue-lashing he’s about to receive. He may be a grown man, but his mother can easily put him in his place.

Grandma folds her arms across her chest. “Why are you having your niece fetch your drinks like a barmaid? Your legs broken or something?”

“No,” he mumbles, taking the beer from your hand and haphazardly tossing a “sorry” in your direction before returning to the game.

“C’mere,” Grandma beckons you, crooking her finger to join her at the counter. She’s got a bowl of Granny Smith apples, half of them peeled, their green skins piling on the cutting board in front of her. She hands you the peeler, picking up a sharp knife and cutting a peeled apple lengthwise and cubing each slice. “Help me out. It goes a lot faster when there’s two of us. And it’ll keep you out of trouble,” she adds with a wink.

You grab an unpeeled apple from the pile and drag the tool down its curve, repeating the motion until the inner fruit is exposed before starting on the next one. You and Grandma work in tandem; you peel and she chops in a comfortable silence. As you’re finishing up the last of the bunch, she leans over and whispers in your ear, “Don’t tell anyone, but you’re the best helper I’ve ever had.” She starts placing the cubed pieces into a pot, shaking the cinnamon container over it until she takes a satisfied step back, no measuring spoon required. “Mix it together for me?” 

You nod eagerly and pluck the wooden spoon from the canister behind the sink, dunking it into the pot and stirring until the apples are fully coated in cinnamon. “That good?” you ask, giving another stir for good measure.

“Perfect.” Grandma smiles, covering the mixture with water and setting it on an empty burner, twisting the knob until the coil turns red. “Once it softens up, you can mash it. Give these old arms a break,” she teases gently.

“You’re not old!” you protest, and she smacks a kiss to the top of your head.

“I love you, kiddo,” she murmurs, voice muffled against your scalp. “To the moon and back.”

You wrap your arms around her waist and squeeze her tight. “I love you, too. To the moon and back.”

Thanksgiving, 1996

“Daddy, look! It’s Santa!” Harris points at the TV excitedly, bouncing up and down on the couch. He kicks his feet and squeals. “He’s gonna come to our house, right? An’ bring me presents?”

Eddie chuckles as he spreads mayonnaise on white bread, layering thin turkey slices on top. Three sandwiches for three Munsons. “I dunno, Har-Bear; have you been good this year?” 

Harris scrunches up his face in contemplation. “Um, I think so,” he answers honestly. “I can’t remember.”

“Hey, Wayne?” Eddie calls out as his uncle walks out of the bathroom. “Has Harris been good this year? I feel like he’s been a bit…mischievous.”

Wayne shakes his head. “My angel of a grandson? He’s never caused mischief a day in his little life!” He sits down next to Harris, letting out a small grunt as his bottom hits the sofa cushion. 

“Yeah! I never cause mischief a day in my little life!” Harris echoes confidently. He turns to his grandfather. “Grampa, what is Santa gonna bring you for Christmas?”

“A toupée,” Eddie says from the tiny kitchen, piling their plates with potato chips. Normally, he’d make sure there was a fruit or vegetable on there, but it’s a holiday. 

Wayne has to hold his tongue in front of the impressionable young boy, though he shoots Eddie an inconspicuous middle finger when he’s setting the plates on the coffee table. 

The three Munsons tuck into their sandwiches and crunch on the chips. This is how Thanksgiving has been since Eddie moved back with Harris: watching the parade followed by an early lunch so Wayne could pick up a shift at the plant. He always insisted on it, saying that the holiday pay helps offset the cost of Christmas presents. It was quiet, but nice, and Eddie couldn’t ask for anything else.

“Y’know,” Wayne says to Harris with a mouthful of sandwich, “the first time your Daddy watched the parade was with me. And now, we got to watch it with you.” He bumps his arm against Harris’s, making the boy giggle. 

“Oh, yeah,” Eddie muses, chomping on a potato chip thoughtfully as the memories flood back in. “Forgot about that. Is Snoopy still your favorite, Old Man?” 

Wayne considers this. “Hmm. Who’s our favorite balloon this year, Har?”

“Clifford!” Harris answers without missing a beat, kicking his little legs in excitement. Eddie should’ve known; the boy was damn near obsessed with dogs.

Once we can afford a house with a yard, I’m getting you that puppy, Har-Bear, he thinks, though he doesn’t dare make the promise aloud.

“Then that’s mine, too.” Wayne brushes the crumbs off of his lap, calloused hands scratching the worn denim of his jeans. There’s a twinkle in his eye as he adds, “I wonder what Ms. Sweetheart’s favorite balloon is.” He acts like he’s speaking to Harris, but Eddie knows it was aimed at him.

Harris claps his hands together gleefully. “I know! Let’s call her!” He turns to Eddie with the sweetest puppy-dog eyes the man has ever seen, lower lip jutted out exaggeratedly in the most precious pout. “Please, Daddy? Pleasepleasepleaseplease–”

“Okay, okay,” Eddie says with a laugh, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. “Once you finish up lunch, we can call her.” Harris opens his mouth to protest that he wants to call right now, but Eddie cuts him off before he can start. “Ah ah; no whining, or we won’t call.”

Harris harrumphs but ultimately complies, taking another bite of his food. Wayne gives Eddie a small thumbs-up, and he preens slightly at the acknowledgment of his parenting win. They didn’t happen very often, and they rarely happened when someone was around to witness them. He takes a long gulp of water; as soon as he does, his son lifts his own cup to his lips and takes a sip. Another reminder that he’s watching, even subconsciously, wanting to be just like his dad.

For a split second, Eddie allows himself to believe that that might not be a bad thing.

“‘M done!” Harris chirps; sure enough, his plate is clean, save for the bread crusts. He squirms a bit in his seat, a gesture that Eddie has come to learn means only one thing.

“Go pee while I find her number,” Eddie tells him, purposely omitting the fact that he’s already committed those seven digits to memory. In case of an emergency, he thinks, and I don’t have the slip of paper on me.

Wayne can sense that his nephew isn’t being completely truthful; as soon as Harris closes the bathroom door behind him, he starts in with a shit-eating grin.

“Y’don’t need to find her number, do ya?”

Eddie flicks off an imaginary speck of dust on his shirts. “Knock it off, Wayne.” But he doesn’t move from his spot on the couch, further affirming his uncle’s point.

“Look, Ed,” Wayne exhales, adopting a more serious tone. “You clearly like this girl. I mean, all Harris did was say her name and you smiled–don’t give me that look,” he chastises lightly when Eddie rolls his eyes. “I know you two didn’t exactly get off on the right foot, but all that seems to be in the past now, right?”

“Guess so,” Eddie mumbles. “But not hating me doesn’t mean she’s into me. Maybe she’s only being nice to me because of Harris.”

The older Munson pauses, scratching at the stubble on his cheeks; his reflex when he’s deep in thought. “One date,” he challenges, holding up his forefinger to emphasize his point. “Ask her on one date, and see where it goes.”

“Fine,” Eddie relents, the nerves already churning in his stomach. You’d just found this good rhythm together, and he was going to risk messing it up. Again. “I’ll ask her. But on one condition.”

“Whas’ that?”

“Don’t say anything to Harris.” He crosses his arms over his chest when Wayne chuckles. “‘M serious, Wayne. I don’t want him getting his hopes up. For Chrissakes, I gave her a tape and the kid had us getting married.”

“Fair enough,” Wayne agrees, clamping his mouth shut when he sees the little boy enter the room. “You wash your hands?”

“Yep!”

“With soap?” he presses, narrowing his eyes.

Harris heaves an impatient sigh. “Yes! Can we call now?”

Both Wayne and Harris keep their eyes glued to Eddie as he punches in the numbers. When it starts ringing, he holds out the receiver to his son. “Say hi and your name when she picks up,” he reminds him, grateful for the opportunity to collect himself before asking you on a date. He takes a deep breath, shoving his hands in his pockets and gnawing on his lower lip so forcefully that he swears it might bleed.

You got this, Munson. The worst she can say is no.

But that’s not quite true, is it? The worst you can do is laugh in his face, leaving him a rejected mess. Scratch that–the worst you could do is accept the date, have him fall head over heels in love with you, then leave him in the dust to pick up the pieces while you move on with someone better. 

Maybe you won’t pick up the phone. Maybe he’ll have more time to–

“Hi, Ms. Sweetheart! It’s me, Harris!”

It was a small thing. Miniscule, even. Just your meager attempt at reclaiming part of the past that had been lost to time and disease. A simple family recipe, apples boiled and mashed into a sauce that you’d hoped even vaguely resembled the way Grandma made it. A tiny cut on your fingertip serves as a battle wound from peeling, the sweet aroma of cinnamon still lingering in the kitchen.

You try to convince yourself that it isn’t a big deal. It’s just applesauce. But the thought falls flat as you stare into the trash can. You can still see all of your work literally tossed away through the tears that blur your vision.

You’d left the room for two minutes, two goddamn minutes, and when you came back, the plastic pink bowl that held the applesauce was nowhere to be found. You could’ve sworn you left it on the counter, but maybe you’d already put it away? A quick scan of the refrigerator gave you nothing but a chill. Where the hell did it go? Were you losing your mind?

A rogue apple peel had fallen to the floor, and you scooped it up, flustered at how you could have misplaced an entire bowl of applesauce. Sure, it wasn’t as much as when you and Grandma made it for the whole family, but it was still a decent amount. Your foot presses the pedal that lifts the bin’s lid, and that’s when you see it.

“Grandma?” you choke out, looking over to where she’s sitting on the couch. She doesn’t respond, and you raise your voice a bit to grab her attention. “Grandma, why did you throw out the applesauce?”

Her empty gaze briefly flits over to where you’re standing, not even registering the burgeoning frustration and sadness coursing through your veins. “Wasn’t me,” she says flatly, scratching at the side of her nose with a jagged nail. Before dementia, her nails were always painted bright hues of red or blue; now, it was difficult enough to get her to leave the house for essential doctor’s appointments. You weren’t going to put up a fight trying to get her to the salon.

You know you should just close the lid and walk away instead of torturing yourself by continuing to look, but your feet are glued to the linoleum floor. A cold drop of something lands on your toes, and that’s when you realize that you’re crying. Crying over goddamn applesauce.

All you wanted was some semblance of normalcy, something reminiscent of life before Grandma got sick and your family still felt whole. But what you got was a thickening realization that you can’t relive the past, no matter how hard you try.

The ringing phone startles you from your wallowing. You have half a mind to ignore it, but you know that Grandma will just grumble about how she hates the sound of it, so you pick up the receiver and answer with a shaky, “H-Hello?”

“Hi, Ms. Sweetheart! It’s me, Harris!” A little voice chirps through the other end. You can hear Eddie mumbling something, though you can’t quite make out what he’s saying. “Happy Thanksgiving! What’s your favorite balloon?” There’s more hushed speaking from Eddie, and Harris huffs out, “Daddy, stop! I know what to say!” 

“My favorite balloon from the parade?” you ask, biting back a giggle. 

“Mhm! I like Clifford,” he tells you.

You’d kept the parade on in the background, catching glimpses of it every now and again. Shit, what balloons did you see? “Clifford’s a good one,” you agree, “but I think the Rocky and Bullwinkle one was my favorite.”

Harris laughs so loudly that you have to pull the phone from your ear. “The squirrel and the moose?” he guffaws. “Ms. Sweetheart, that’s so silly!” You’re about to ask him how his holiday is going when he says, “Hold on, my daddy wants to talk to you.”

Your heart skips a beat at the prospect of talking to Eddie, and you wipe the tears from your wet cheeks as though he’ll be able to see them through the phone.

“Hey, Happy Thanksgiving!” he says. Something resembling trepidation tinges his tone, though you’re not sure why. Could he still be anxious to approach you after he confided in you at the parent-teacher conference? After he’d watched you panic when Grandma locked herself in her room?

You swallow, trying to choke down the sadness rising within you. “Yeah, y-you, too.” Despite your best efforts, your voice breaks on the last word, and you hope Eddie doesn’t catch it.

But of course he does.

“You okay?” he asks with a nervous chuckle. “‘Cause it kinda sounds like you’re crying.”

“‘M fine. Just, um, chopping onions,” you lie, hoping you’ve done a convincing job.

“For the…applesauce you’re making?” Eddie sees right through you; you’d forgotten that you’d told him and Harris about your plan during your weekly post-tutoring dinner last night. “Not gonna lie, that sounds even nastier than olives on pizza.”

You manage a laugh, but it’s disfigured by the catch in your throat. “The applesauce was a bust, unfortunately,” you admit. “I left the kitchen for a second and Grandma chucked it in the trash.”

“All of it?” he asks incredulously, letting out a deep exhale when you confirm that she did, in fact, throw out the entire bowl. “Jesus H. I’m so sorry. Is that what’s got you upset?”

“Mhm. I know it’s stupid, ‘s just applesauce, but–”

“‘S not stupid,” Eddie interrupts softly, and you twist the phone cord around your pointer finger with the sudden drop of his tone. “I know you were really looking forward to it.” He pauses, and you wonder for a moment if the line’s gone dead before he says, “We’re coming over. Me and Harris. Be there in twenty; fifteen, if I don’t have to argue with him about wearing a jacket.”

Before you can protest, he really does hang up. You look down at the baggy sweats and college t-shirt you’re wearing; you weren’t expecting any guests today, let alone the Munson boys. You should probably throw on some actual pants, and a bit of mascara couldn’t hurt, either.

You find a pair of jeans that aren’t buried under a mountain of laundry and tug them over your thighs before quickly swiping some makeup on your face. It’s enough to mask your exhaustion while still looking natural.

It dawns on you that you’re not quite sure why you suddenly care so much about your appearance. Harris couldn’t care less, and Eddie…well, even if Eddie did care, why would that matter to you? He’s your tutee’s parent; a new friend at most. On more than one occasion, you’ve answered the door to Jess with a wicked case of bedhead. Why does Eddie Munson of all people make you feel the need to look halfway decent?

When the buzzer sounds, you nearly jump out of your own skin. “It’s us,” Eddie says into the speaker; the smoothness of his voice has your stomach in knots. “And we come bearing gifts. Well, one gift, I guess.”

“Fuck off,” Grandma mumbles from the couch, cranking up the TV volume to an ungodly loud level. One of the Law & Order detectives says–no, screams–something about a murder, and you quickly reach for the remote and click the power button.

“We have company,” you tell her, and she just grunts in response. Hopefully her mood will change in the minute it will take Eddie and Harris to get to your apartment. You can hear them down the hallway, so you open the door just as they’re about to knock.

Eddie takes a step back in surprise. “You psychic or somethin’?” he laughs, looking down at his son and giving him a small nudge. “Go ahead, you can give it to her.”

Your gaze drops to the curly-haired boy standing by his father’s side. He’s holding a brightly colored package of off-brand Oreos, which he brings closer to his chest, pressing it tightly against his zippered sweatshirt. “It’s s’posed to be a surprise,” he reminds Eddie, wide-eyed with genuine concern.

“Only until we got here,” Eddie says gently, soft brown eyes encouraging Harris to hand you the cookies. He brings his attention back to you. “I know it’s not the same as making applesauce with your grandma, but I’ve never been sad eating an Oreo. An oatmeal raisin cookie, maybe. But not an Oreo.”

Now it’s your turn to smile. “You may be onto something here, Munson.” You take the package from Harris and guide the two of them to the kitchen, calling out to Grandma as you pass by. “Grandma, Eddie and Harris are here, and they brought cookies, if you wanna join us.” Her non-response is familiar at this point; the sting is much easier to brush off than it was a few short months ago. But you still feel it.

Even though Grandma isn’t at the table, Harris still climbs onto his dad’s lap. “Daddy, can I have one?” he asks, resting his dimpled chin on his palms as he glances upwards.

“Gotta ask Ms. Sweetheart,” Eddie shrugs, tickling Harris’s ribs and loudly whispering, “and ask her if your poor, hungry dad can have one, too. She can’t say no to you.”

You open the package and shake your head at his antics, sliding out the flimsy tray and offering it to them. “Of course you can have one, Harris,” you say, tone saccharine sweet. His chubby fingers darting out and snatching up a cookie before you even finish your sentence. “But I don’t know about your dad. Do you think he should get one?”

“C’mon, Har,” Eddie urges him, “us men gotta stick together. All for one and one for all, right?” He flexes his bicep; it’s an attempt to emphasize the manliness that supposedly bonds him and Harris, but the gesture has your breath catching in your throat. You sputter and cough embarrassingly, excusing yourself to pour a glass of water. 

“Anyone else want?” you manage once you can speak again, holding up the ceramic pitcher. 

Eddie nods, lifting Harris from his lap and placing him on the nearest empty chair. “Here, let me help you.” He stands up and calls out over his shoulder, “Grandma, how about some water?”

You’re about to tell him not to worry about it, but to your surprise, she nods. “Ya.”

“So, four waters,” Eddie reports, taking the pitcher and refilling your glass. 

You grab another just like it from the cabinet before taking two blue disposable ones, plopping a bendy straw in each. “Grandma, um, she needs stuff that isn’t breakable,” you explain lamely. “And the other plastic one is for Harris.”

Eddie grins. “Thought it was for me. Y’know, always making a mess.”

“Ah, but only of your life,” you tease. “You’re pretty good with basic human functions.” Your face burns at what you’ve potentially implied, but Eddie isn’t fazed. 

“Y’know what? I’m gonna take my cookies back!” he pouts, crossing his arms over his chest in mock-indignance. A piece of curly hair sticks to his lower lip with his sudden movement, and you brush it away with your thumb before you can stop yourself. 

The crinkling of the fake-Oreo package draws both of your gazes, with Eddie poised to tell Harris that he’s only allowed one more. But to your surprise—and perhaps Eddie’s, too—Harris isn’t the one rifling through the tray. Grandma’s taken a seat next to the boy, handing him a cookie before taking her own. She just nibbles on it in silence, but it’s the most present she’s been in days. 

“Y’like Oreos, Grandma?” Eddie asks, pouring water into the two plastic glasses and carrying one in each ringed hand. He places them on the table, and Grandma brings the straw to her lips as she nods again. He pauses for a moment, lips tucked into his mouth as he ponders something. “What kind of music does she listen to?” he asks you. 

“She has a record collection over in the living room,” you tell him, pointing to the low bookshelf near the door, “but we haven’t played any in awhile. She’s kinda…weird with noises.”

He considers this, walking over to the records and thumbing through them until he finds one that he recognizes. “Could I put this one on?” He holds up the battered copy of Frank Sinatra’s It Might As Well Be Swing. “I’ll take it off if she gets upset. I just wanna try something.” He carefully slides the record from its sleeve, lifting the player’s needle and placing it on the space for the first track. 

There’s a soft static as the record starts to spin, and Ol’ Blue Eyes croons: 

Fly me to the moon

Let me play among the stars

Let me see what spring is like

On a-Jupiter and Mars

Eddie joins in with the next part. His voice still carries its signature rasp, but it’s noticeably smoother, warmer than the night he’d dedicated the Def Leppard song to you. 

In other words, hold my hand

In other words, baby, kiss me

His eyes remain trained on the record player, but you swear you can feel the lyrics drifting towards you. The melody wraps around you like a hug, and you momentarily lose yourself in a musical embrace. 

Another voice, low and timid, chimes in. You have to stifle a gasp when you realize that it’s Grandma, her lips curling into the smallest of smiles–the most joy she’s shown in a long while–as she half-sings the words. 

Fill my heart with song

And let me sing for ever more

You are all I long for

All I worship and adore

“Holy shit,” you breathe out, and before you can exhale the third syllable, the world shifts back to normal. Grandma goes back to mindlessly munching on her cookie as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. You turn to Eddie. “What was that?”

He shrugs, suddenly feeling shy. “I read somewhere that music can, like, bring back some memories. Not permanently or anything, but I figured it was worth a shot.”

You can’t stop yourself from flinging your arms around Eddie’s neck, nearly knocking him over in the process. He pauses before he returns the gesture, pulling you tightly into him. One hand is on the small of your back; the other gently rests on the back of your head, allowing you to rest your forehead on his chest. Your tears flow freely, leaving tiny wet spots on his shirt. He doesn’t let go until you start to pull back. 

“Thank you,” you whisper; when he pinches his brows in confusion, you elaborate. “You gave me back a little piece of who she was before…” you trail off, swiping at your cheeks messily. “Just…thank you.”

Eddie nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. His eyes are practically glued to your lips; this time, when his fingers brush against your palm, he hooks his pinky with yours. “‘Course,” he murmurs.

You’re not sure how long the two of you remain linked like this, joined hands swaying ever-so-slightly as Fly Me to the Moon fades out to I Wish You Love. It’s somewhere between ten seconds and ten years, because time seemingly slows to a halt. 

You might stay with pinkies hooked forever if Harris doesn’t bolt from his chair, hugging your waist and looking up at you with concern. 

“Ms. Sweetheart?” he asks. His wide, misty eyes indicate that he’s absorbed some of the emotion in the room, though he may not even be aware of this. “Why are you sad?” His chubby fingers grab onto the fabric of your pants.

You choke out a tearful laugh as you crouch down to meet him at his level. “I’m not sad…well, I’m sad and happy at the same time,” you try to explain, shaking your head when you realize you’re only adding to his puzzlement. “Grown-up feelings are weird sometimes, Har. But your hugs definitely help.”

With that, he squeezes you tighter, and you glance at Eddie with a full heart. He takes a step forward, scooping up Harris. You worry that you’ve crossed a line, that you’ve shown too much of your vulnerability to a four-year-old, but your fears are subdued when Eddie extends one arm and brings you back to both him and his son. Something brushes against your scalp, and you realize that he’s pressing a light kiss to the top of your head. 

Harris squirms, and when Eddie puts him down, he runs over to the TV set. “Can I watch something?” It’s clear that the moment has passed, and Eddie throws you an apologetic shrug as he waits for your response.

“Sure,” you say, trying to pepper cheerfulness into your voice. It’s easier now that the wave of loneliness has passed, taking with it some of the mourning you’d clung to earlier today. You click on the TV and flip through channels until a familiar cartoon appears on the screen. “I think we’re just in time to watch A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving!” you exclaim, and Harris mirrors your enthusiasm by flinging himself onto the couch, making his dad cringe.

“Careful, little dude,” Eddie says, clicking off the record player and gently placing the vinyl back in its sleeve. “You just got that cast off a few days ago. Don’t need you to break another bone.” Certainly don’t need another hospital bill, he thinks bitterly. He takes the spot next to Harris, silently begging you to join them. 

You turn to the kitchen table and put a hand on Grandma’s shoulder. “You wanna watch Charlie Brown with us?” But she rejects your invitation with a simple shake of her head, mumbling something about being tired and padding into her room. 

You take the empty space to Harris’s left so that the boy is sandwiched between you and his father. He’s a small kid, but it seems like there’s an entire ocean separating you and Eddie. 

“Why’s Lucy so mean?” Harris asks no one in particular. “She’s always yelling. Like Ms. Marion.” You have to stifle a giggle at that observation, and when you allow yourself a glance, you see that Eddie’s doing the same. 

The first half of the movie is filled with Harris’s constant commentary; he speaks more than all of the cartoon characters combined. But he tires out eventually, though in typical four-year-old fashion, he denies his sleepiness even as he’s yawning. He fights it pretty well, you’ve got to give him credit where it’s due, but eventually, the exhaustion takes over and he lays his head on your arm. His curls tickle your elbow, and you gingerly reposition him so he’s tucked up against your side. 

“You can move him over, if you get uncomfortable or somethin’. Kid sleeps like a rock. Except, y’know, when I need him to sleep.” Eddie snickers as Harris lets out the softest, tiniest snore. 

You return the laughter and shake your head. “Nah, I’m good,” you reassure him, smiling at the ruddy cheek pressed against you. “Don’t tell my other students, but Harris is the cutest kid ever.”

Eddie shrugs, but you can tell that the compliment tickles him. “Well, it makes sense, since his dad is a total stud.” He waggles his eyebrows before turning his attention back to Charlie and Lucy. You’re not quite sure how to respond to that; if you play it off as a joke, you risk hurting his feelings. If you tell him the truth–

“D’you like coffee?”

His sudden, seemingly arbitrary question snaps you from your indecision. “I teach four-year-olds,” you reply lightheartedly, hoping he can’t sense your mind continuing to linger on his stud comment. “I practically have coffee running through my veins. What about you?”

“I have a four-year-old, so, same.” He clears his throat, seemingly double-checking that his son is still sound asleep. His leg is bouncing up and down, and he nearly has to press on his knee to get it to stop. “Um, Harris is going to a birthday party next Saturday morning if you wanted to get some with me? Get some coffee, I mean.” He silently chastises himself, wondering if he’d ever been suave around women or if it had just been the unearned confidence of a young man in his early twenties convincing him that he had. 

“Like...like a date?” Fuck, do you sound too eager? “Because if you feel like you owe me a date after…after our night at the bar, you don’t have to. I forgave you after you gave me those M&Ms, remember?”

“Yeah…wait, no. Hold on.” Eddie holds up his pointer finger as he collects his thoughts. He could deny that it’s a date altogether and throw out some bullshit lie about it just being something between friends. But he promised Wayne, promised himself that he’d give this a shot.  “Yes, I’m asking you on a date. No, it’s not because I feel like I owe you one–although I definitely do,” he adds with a goofy grin that sends flutters to your stomach. “It’s because, fuck, I can’t stop thinking about you, and how happy you make me–and Harris, too–and how I get kinda nervous around you, which makes no sense because you’re, like, the nicest fuckin’ person ever. Oh my God, why can’t I stop talking?”

“Eddie.” The way you say his name is like a song he could replay forever. “I’d really like to get coffee with you. I just need to see if someone can watch Grandma…maybe Jess,” you surmise, biting back the fact that you’ll have to withhold your date’s name, lest she subject you to a lecture about sleeping with the enemy.

Eddie nods, swiping the tip of his tongue over his lower lip and smiling. “I can pick you up at noon? If Jess can watch Grandma, of course.”

“Noon works.” You want to kiss him right then and there; if Harris wasn’t nestled in the middle of you both, you might not hold back. “I can let you know on Wednesday when we have dinner together.”

Eddie’s not sure he can wait that long for an answer. What if you’re just buying time to get out of it? What if you’re only being nice to him because you’re afraid that he’ll get angry again and reignite the bitter feud you’d been locked in just a month ago? He swallows the insecurities, gaze flickering to your eyes.

And maybe it’s because you can sense his unease and self-doubt, or maybe it’s because you genuinely want to–Eddie doesn’t know for sure–but he feels you lace your fingers with his, resting your joined hands on his thigh. He shifts his grasp to weave them tighter together, learning back into the couch and allowing his body to relax. His shoulders let go of tension he hadn’t realized he was holding on to, and a contented sigh slips from his lips.

It’s you, him, and Harris. Sitting on the sofa and watching a holiday movie. An unconventional little family, but a family all the same. Eddie swears that he could stay like this forever, a thought that almost has him bursting out in laughter. The same man who had concocted an elaborate method to keep women around without actually committing to them was now reveling in domestic bliss. 

When the movie ends and Harris begins to rouse, Eddie begrudgingly stands with an exaggerated groan. “These old bones, y’know,” he laments with a mischievous click of his tongue. “Everything starts fallin’ apart when you turn thirty.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, lifting Harris onto his hip and rubbing his back to help him fall back to sleep. “I know.” He grabs his keys from the shelf near the door as you walk them out. And before he can wimp out, he leans in and presses his lips to your forehead in a gentle kiss, stubble scratching against your skin. His hands are trembling when he pulls away.

“You’re the best,” he repeats the same statement he’d made on parent-teacher conference night. It’s even more true now than it was then. “We’ll see you on Wednesday for pizza?” And an answer, hopefully a ‘yes.’ “Wednesday,” you echo, still processing the fact that, for the second time today, Eddie Munson’s lips have been on you.

--

@kelsiegrin @lma1986 @munsonology @stuckontheceiling @avobabe87 @eddapwinchester @peachysink @browneyes8288 @jeremyspoke-inclasstoday

@breezybeesposts @wednesdaymunson @feltonswifesworld87 @take-everything-you-can @bebe07011 @81rain @dylanmunson @oscarisaacwhore @eddiesguitarskills @everheart12 @etherealglimmer @hollster88 @wh0re4life @siriuslysmoking

@bibieddiesgf @winchester-angel @starlitlakes @avalon-wolf @hazydespair @josephquinncore @daydreaminglisa @sidthedollface2 @eddiebaemunson @mandyjo8719 @daydreaming-mood @aol19 @corkadymu @starcourtnights

@rockstarmunsons @metalhead-succubus @boinkybarness @oohworldofpisces @costellation-hunter @toobsessedsstuff @meadow20 @theweasleyskettle @lost-in-the-stars03 @elizabethmidnight2017 @aysheashea

@chamomileh0ney @dream-a-little-nightmare @emma77645 @kurdtbean @sheneedsrocknroll92 @tlclick73 @lolly-in-a-strange-land @dylanmunson @bakugouswh0r3

@strangerthingsstories5255 @adaydreamaway08 @itsalltaken @harmfulb1tch @mimischaos @averagemisfit03 @steddiegarbage @vigilanteshit @ellendemeyer152 @sierrahhh @hiscrimsonangel @mrsjellymunson @idkatee

@quentinswife @eddiesguitarskills @momowhoo @jasminelafleur @mmunson86 @mcueveryday

[celtic-crossbow]

For You, I'd Bleed Myself Dry

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: Early-ish Alexandria

Warnings: Suggestive (extremely mild); hangover

Summary: You're hung over and don't really remember how you got to Rosita's house the night before. Or what you had said on the way there.

A/N: Just a fun little drabble born of this incorrect quote. Suggested by @marvelcasey05

You didn’t expect to find Daryl still home when you wandered in the next morning. He was always an early riser, and though everyone else still slept, he would usually be long gone and outside the gates. So, when you tip-toed through the door and into the kitchen, your heels in your hand, he nearly scared the life out of you. You flipped the lightswitch and:

“Mornin’.”

“Jesus Christ, Daryl!”

The archer chuckled behind his coffee mug before tilting it the least bit more to take a sip. “Rollin’ in awful late.”

You shrugged “Or early, depending on how you look at it. Any left?” You nodded toward the cup. He gave a quiet mhm and got up to make you a mug. Your head was throbbing. You knew your makeup was a mess and your hair a disaster. You had slept in your dress at Rosita’s, so it was wrinkled and you were almost certain that it was only partially zipped in the back.The party hadn’t been that fun but the liquor had been flowing. That was why you went. Things in Alexandria had been stressful. Your group had been there a while. Long enough for so many problems to come along and be handled. The past week had been particularly eventful. Still, it had been handled and there had been some time to cut loose. 

So, you did.

You sat your heels on the counter and muttered a thank you when he slid the mug across the surface, narrowing your eyes across the rim as you readied for a drink. “Do you know how I take my coffee?”

“Guess you’ll need to take a drink an’ find out, won’tcha?” He was perching himself back on the island stool when you realized that Daryl Dixon was barefoot, wearing flannel pajama pants, and a faded Led Zepplin t-shirt. 

“You’re wearing people clothes.” You blinked, still holding the mug close to your mouth. 

Daryl smirked from behind his own cup. “M’a person, contrary to popular belief.” He took another sip, prompting you to take one of your own. He did know how you liked your coffee. Interesting. 

An ache in your left foot reminded you that you wanted nothing more than to go to your room and fall into a coma for a few hours. “I should probably take some—”

“S’behind ya. Got ‘em out earlier. Water too.”

There were two tablets on the countertop by the fridge, along with a glass of water. You warily picked them up, almost as if they would come alive and bite you. “Thank you?”

“Mhm.” 

Quickly swallowing them, you downed the water because coffee wasn’t the best tool for rehydrating, but you’d be damned if you’d give up that mug for anything. Collecting your heels and your coffee, you started walking backwards out of the kitchen. “Listen, I’m gonna head upstairs and get off my—”

“Perfectly good chair right here.” 

“What?” Now you were looking at him as if he’d grown a second head. There were no other chairs in the kitchen. Carol had the only other stool piled full of kitchen junk she had yet to put away. “Are you sure you’re awake?”

“M’wide awake. How’d ya get to Rosita’s last night?” 

Wait. Was Daryl blushing? “She helped—” No, that wasn’t right. Rosita and Tara came back long after you did. You distinctly remembered grumbling at them to turn off the lights. “How did I get there?” You said aloud, though softly.

“I took ya.”

Your shoes hitting the floor echoed through the quiet house, causing both you and Daryl to flinch. After a moment, no baby cried and no adults yelled. You walked forward and placed your mug back on the counter. “What do you mean you took me? You weren’t at the party.”

Cause Daryl’s home. He doesn’t like parties.

He shrugged but the pink tint to his cheeks was now traveling a route up to his ears. “Was workin’ on the bike. Saw ya stumblin’ ‘round in the dark. Didn’t wantcha to get hurt.”

“Did I—did I say anything stupid?”

And if I see him right now, I'm gonna ask to use his face as a chair.

“Nope.” The archer was staring at his coffee cup, rolling the smooth sides between his hands. He absolutely knew what you had said but he was giving you an out. Goddamn that man. He had to be beautiful, rough edged, and chivalrous at the same time? 

“Good.” You nodded. “Good. Thanks for the coffee.” You turned to walk out, leaving the coffee mug behind. “And for—you know, getting me there safely last night.” 

He nodded with a small, tight smile but didn’t say anything else. Maybe he was just teasing you. No, Daryl wasn’t the type. Well, he was but not with things that were at his expense. He was definitely going out of his comfort zone if the red tint on his face was any indication. Did he want to do that with you? You certainly wouldn’t mind. You’d wanted Daryl for as long as you could remember. Even before he started treating the group more like friends than survival buddies. There was always just something about him that called to you, pulled you in like a magnet, but there was this invisible line that didn’t feel safe to cross. Was he toeing that line with you now?

You might never get the chance again if you were to shut him down.

“Hey, Daryl.” You called from the stairs, barely looking over your shoulder. Your heart was racing.

“Yeah?”

“There’s—there’s no chair in my—what’re you—hey!” You were over his shoulder and being hauled down toward his room in the basement before you could do much more than laugh.

“Weren’t no way ya could make any line ‘bout a chair work.”

“Got a bed, right?”

“Got a mattress.”

“That’ll do, Dixon. That’ll do.”

[desolationtimstoker]

gerry keay (classic flavor):

skinny. not in a way most people notice off the bat, because he's quite tall and very good at looking big, but leitner hunting burns a lot of calories and he's been chronically underfed for most of his life

eye tattoos on each of his joints, placed there by supernatural means as a protective ward against other powers

his hair always looks like shit for several reasons, including but not limited to:

- he doesn't like to dye it when his mother is around, both because of the vulnerability of the position and because he doesn't like to be Perceived by her while doing anything he actually. ya know. enjoys. this means that it has a lot of time to fade and his roots grow out.

- if she's around too often for a stretch of time, he has to find a local business he hasn't already been banned from and rinse it out in one of their sinks. this leaves it looking understandably patchy and rushed.

- the dye he uses is cheap as hell -- having his own money is an occasional luxury which cannot be taken for granted.

- he just. generally doesn't take care of himself and his hair suffers overall as a result. he doesn't shower often enough and when he does he uses precisely one (1) type of soap. and it's like. if they have irish springs bar soaps in england then it's that and if they don't then it's the closest equivalent.

he isn't actually like. goth. as we would think of it.

black clothes don't show bloodstains and they made him feel safe edgy and dangerous as a teenager.

we're talking thrift store jeans purchased when he was 16 an never replaced. maybe some band tees. boots for marching into a den of hunt avatars.

the leather jacket is also secondhand and while yes he does feel very badass and cool in it it's also a practical piece. good for fighting. especially when the people you're fighting might have claws or want to set you on fire.

sewing needle piercings with visible scarring around them.

he just generally looks. kinda sick all the time? again, not something that usually registers because he's also good at being intimidating but if you're looking for it there's all kinds of evidence of chronic sleep deprivation and malnutrition. he looks unhealthy, concerning.

gerry keay (tmagp):

goth. like, real goth. like buying from thrift stores still but more often and having fun with it now.

we're talking fishnets. we're talking eyeliner. we're talking black lipstick. we're talking absurd and impractical jewelry. we're talking dabbles in lacy skirts and definitely owns a corset. and yes he still wears a leather jacket but exclusively because it feels cool and badass. he's goth babey!

no longer skinny. precise body type is whatever your heart tells you is true but three square meals agree with him and he's gained a very noticeable amount of weight.

the hair dye is still not professional, his roots grow in occasionally and it's still a bit patchy, because he's still doing it at home, but also. he's doing it at home. it's fun, and he has fun with it. the dye is better quality. gertrude helps him with touchups. black is still a favorite but he's dabbled in other colors, dark purples and greens and blues.

loves to be covered in stuff. when he's baking, he will intentionally smear flour on his black pants and make it look accidental, and when he paints he doesn't wash his hands. this is partially so he can see the evidence himself, and partially because he wants people to notice it and ask. he wants to say, "oops, i was baking earlier, i must've wiped my hands on my pants."

he still has shitty irresponsible piercings from when he was a teenager. the more recent ones are more professional.

his tattoos are pretty and useless. he designed most of them himself.

there's color in his face. sleeping gets a little easier every night.

[taintandviolent]

bend without breaking ; Jimmy Darling x reader

summary and word count: 4.4K! requested by @sugarr-and-spicee. you get jealous of Maggie Esmeralda, and decide to give Jimmy a taste of his own medicine. Angst, smut and a little fluff ensues.

w a r n i n g s: contortionist!reader, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, angst, jealousy themes, rough sex, alcohol mention, clunky writing, uhhhhhhhh Jimmy being real handsy and kinda' manhandling reader a bit. maggie esmeralda hate.

a/n: written partially at work, so if it's clunky or disjointed I apologize!! divder by cafekitsune!

full fic & taglist under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here!

It's not like you owned him or anything. It's not even like he really even cared about you outside of the scope of the general, amiable 'member of the troupe' kind of relationship. Now, of age, he flirted with you casually, like he did all the girls, but you, as delusional as it may have been, thought you had something special – because boy, oh boy, did you care about him. You were obsessed with Jimmy Darling, in all ways possible. 

You'd grown up alongside him, from the age of sixteen when you got kicked out for a plethora of reasons, and ran away to the traveling freak show that was opportunely in town. It had taken the owner, Elsa Mars, almost all day to be convinced, but when you bent over backwards, putting your head through your legs and pleaded with her upside down, a sly smile spread across her thin, aging lips.

You thought that Jimmy might’ve fancied you – that was until Maggie came along. The liar. The fraud. The insolent little brat that she was. She’d taken a liking to Jimmy, and seemed to snatch up every second he was alone – something that you used to do. He had fallen for her fortune teller act, but you certainly hadn’t. Your aunt had been a fortune teller and had possessed a true and genuine gift. This broad did nothing but spin silly little tales about misfortune and good luck, generic things that any person could identify with. 

You’d decided to test the waters one hot summer afternoon. It was before the show, and Jimmy was preoccupied setting up the cash box. With your skirt in your hand, swishing it back and forth, you strolled up to him feeling as giddy as ever. It was rare that you didn’t feel bubbly when you were around him – he had that effect on you. Before you spoke, you took in his appearance; a sheen of glistening sweat covered his bare, tanned shoulders, his caramel-coloured locks hung in a cluster on his forehead, and his dark, brown eyes swept over the cash as he counted it, arranging the tickets neatly next to the box. 

“Hey Jimmy,” you cooed. “Need any help?”

Without looking up, he replied: “Nah, doll. I’m just about finished.” 

“Well, maybe I could help you with whatever you’re doing next…” 

“If I need ya’, I’ll find ya, sweetheart.” 

“Or you could find Maggie.” 

“She’s in her trailer.” 

Your heart quivered and sunk, cracking like a delicate porcelain vase. He already knew; he’d already found her. 

“Of course she is, and of course you’d know that.” 

He grinned crookedly, exhaled out of his nose and shut the cash box, turning the key. He looked at you then, with a pointed gaze. “Now, what’s that supposed to mean? Huh?” 

Your brows rose high on your head, feigning innocence. He, of course, with all his charm and wit, saw right through it. You didn’t care. “Oh, nothing , Jimmy. Nothing at all.” 

“Sure, dollface, sure. You wouldn’t be jealous, now would ya?” 

“Of her? I’d be more jealous of a drowned rat in a sewer than I would be of Maggie.”

With that, you stomped off, your steps crunching the tall grasses that covered the field you called home for this month. Your heart was pounding, your cheeks had flushed. Feeling like a fool, you marched right to your trailer, taking great care to slam the door as hard as you could. 

You spun around, facing the door as thought he was behind it. “How dare he think I’m jealous of her ! That horrible woman, and he thinks – oooooh! ” You clenched your fists, shaking them at the door. 

It had taken you two hours to calm down. Two hours of pacing your small bedroom, fussing with your appearance and reading a magazine you’d picked up in town last week. It also took you two hours to come up with what you thought was the revenge plan of the century. 

An hour later, you found yourself at the local diner, schmoozing with a cute young man in his early twenties. You’d batted your fluffy lashes and pouted your lips and with hardly a few words, you had him wrapped around your manicured finger. He’d bought you a milkshake, which you were nursing, taking small sips in between answers.

“You’re sure you won’t run out of this diner screaming?” 

“No - no. I promise I won’t.” 

“I’m a travelling performer… I’m only here for a few more weeks. I work at the Freak Show in the field down the road.”

“What do you do?” He asked, cautiously, looking you over your body with a suddenly very critical eye. To most, you looked normal . Sure, you were a little longer and lithe than some girls your age, but you didn’t fit the bill of a freak. That was until you bent and contorted your body into the most mystifying, inappropriate positions that they had ever seen a woman in. 

“I’m a…” you leaned in, dipping your chin to your chest, keeping your gaze sternly locked on his. “A… contortionist.” 

“A what?” 

Oh, what a dumb bunny . He was cute, you’d give him that; his pretty, sea-blue eyes, pink lips and dirty blonde hair that had been perfectly styled. The clincher was that he had two very nice hands – strong, and veiny. The truth of the matter was that you preferred Jimmy Darling’s hands – but he didn’t need to know that. To him, this would be a threat, and if everything went according to plan, Jimmy would be red with anger, furiously jealous and looking as though he must bust a vein. 

“I’m flexible. Very flexible.” 

His eyes lit up. It was a predictable response, and one you’d seen before. Men were grotesque, they liked the idea of bending a woman into unique positions like a jointed doll, just to see her body in a fresh, new way. They liked the thought of fucking you while you were bent over backwards, folded up neatly. 

The waitress brought your food; you’d only ordered a side of fries, which you dipped into the remainder of your shake. A habit that you’d learned from Amazon Eve – it was easily the most delicious combo you’d ever tasted. As you two ate, the conversation drifted naturally. You laid on the charm heavy. Every other response contained a compliment, telling him how handsome he was, how you’d never seen a boy as cute, so on and so forth. He fell for it hook, line and sinker. And you. 

Afterwards, he paid and held the door open for you. As any gentleman should, he wasn’t earning any points with you. Only one man could… 

“Can I come see your show?” He asked, playing idly with your fingers.

You reached over and yanked one of the flyers from the nearby telephone pole, folded it in fours, and pressed your lips to the paper, leaving a crimson mark. You tucked it in the man’s shirt pocket. 

“See you tonight. Tell ‘em that I sent you. Front row seats.” 

He stammered out an agreement, looking flustered. With a wink, you were sauntering back down the sidewalk. The great big sun, orange and warm, was making its heavy, tired descent back into the horizon, and you quickened your pace. The last thing you needed was Elsa being upset at your disappearance.

As you made your way back to the field, you hummed the song that was playing in the diner and skipped. There was something to be said about the butterflies in your stomach, though you couldn’t discern whether or not they were for the fact that you were going to see that man in the audience. You suspected not. Jimmy Darling would be jealous and that was the thought that sent you. 

Later that night, as the calliope played, your hands glided up over the curves of your thighs, and over your sides, gracefully, like a burlesque performer teasing a reveal. With one movement, you brought your leg up to your head, pulling it tight. A few oooh’s and chortling chuckles from men in the audience dotted the room. With floaty, delicate movements, you slid down into the splits, never losing your bright smile in the process. More pleased reactions and some applause. You crossed the stage in backbends, working the crowd as they cheered for you. 

At the final backbend, you sunk to your stomach, laying on the floor. You were just nearly at the edge of the stage, and directly in front of you was your diner boy. His eyes were locked on you, enchanted, enrapt and obsessed like a dog staring at a fresh cut of sirloin. With a come-hither smile, you reached out and swept your hand along his jawline before tapping his chin with a single finger. You sucked in a deep breath and brought your legs forward, curving your spine around until your feet were planted on either side of your face. 

The crowd gasped in horror, and little girls shielded their eyes, expecting to hear the dull crack of your spine as it snapped in two. But Diner Boy was fascinated, and still staring at you. He was looking at your body, the unnatural curve of it, and the way that you’d brought your cunt somehow closer to his face. As the seconds passed, he looked more and more like a dog to you, hungry and slobbering. 

You smiled, scanning the crowd again. Your eyes drifted to the corner of the stage, where Jimmy stood against one of the support poles, arms crossed. At least, despite Maggie, he’d retained his habit of watching every performance you did – though this one, he didn’t look as delighted with. You could tell by the way the corners of his mouth were pointed down in an angry frown, his eyes narrowing at the little things you did to entice Diner Boy. You grinned at Jimmy, acknowledging him and tapped the toes of your shoes childishly against the stage before unfolding your body again. 

The rest of your show finished without a hitch, and Diner Boy played his part very well. He took in every moment, and at one point, when you reached your hand out to him, he interlaced his fingers with yours. A nice touch. When you looked back to where Jimmy was, he was gone. You smiled inwardly, prideful and gratified by the way your devious little plan had gone.

As soon as you went off-stage, Jimmy grabbed you by your arm, gripping your bicep hard. Almost too hard. You winced. “What was that about?” 

“What? I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.” Casually, you yanked your arm from his grip and began to polish your nails on the fabric of your shirt. 

“Cut it out! You know what. Who was the guy in the audience? You sure were payin’ him a lot of attention.” 

His words, though loud, were a little slurred, his breath smelled of alcohol; you could tell that he'd taken a few gulps of liquid confidence before approaching you. You didn't mind; your father used to say that the truth came out with booze. You hoped that would remain true with Jimmy and he'd spill his guts to you.

“Just someone I met at the diner, Jimmy. Why are you getting so heated over him? You flirt with girls in the audience all the time.” 

“It’s part of the act, doll! You know I have to act a certain way, I can’t –” 

“Can’t what? Stand to love me?” 

Jimmy stopped abruptly, his mouth hanging slack. His chest rose and fell with hot, angry breaths.

"Just because I can bend without breaking doesn't mean my heart can, Jimmy."

“Dollface, wait.” 

“No.” 

You pushed yourself through the flaps of the tent, storming off towards your trailer. Jimmy followed close behind, calling your name.

“Doll, c’mon, hang on a minute!” 

“No, Jimmy. Maybe Maggie can hang on a minute .” 

“Hey!” He bellowed, catching your arm again. You pressed your back against your trailer’s door, again, yanking it away from him and crossing them tightly across your chest. Your heart thudded against your ribs, deeply delighted at the fact that he was chasing you, pursuing you with an overbearing jealousy. 

“What.” 

“Can we just…” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “...talk about this a second?” 

“Sure.” You snapped. 

Jimmy’s black coffee eyes scanned over you, searching your face for some semblance of softness. He found nothing but a tightly pressed line of lips and a cold gaze.  

“What’s your problem, huh? I can’t flirt with other guys?” you finally asked, your stern voice shattering the awkward silence. 

He shook his head, almost sheepishly. “I don’t like seein’ it. I know they don’t care about you.”

“And you do?” 

Jimmy swallowed again, forcing the lump in his throat down. For the past several years, you’d been a constant in his life, by his side, and taking all his showman flirtations in stride. You’d never once fired back at him, and he thought that it was because you could care less about what he did or who he flirted with. Against the voices in his head, Jimmy pacified the anger in his gut by leaning forward to crush his lips against your red ones, tasting the sweetness of whatever gum you’d been chewing before the show. 

He lingered there a moment before his conjoined digits made their way up your waist, gripping it softly. He waited for you to soften, to ease into his kiss, but you didn’t. You stood your ground, arms still pressed against your breasts. You intentionally filled your mind with thoughts of Maggie Esmeralda and how close he’d gotten with her. You thought of all the times that he flirted with girls in the audience, damn near kissing them with how far he’d lean off stage during his song. 

“Baby, please…” You blinked. His low, smooth voice pulled you out of your hateful thoughts.

With a heavy sigh, you murmured, “I want to hear you say it, Jimmy.” 

“Say what?” 

“You know what.” 

The muscles in his jaw fluttered as he clenched them, grinding his teeth hard. Jimmy spent his whole life being put on the spot, but it never got any easier. Especially not in front of you – the girl he’d fallen hardest for. He inhaled, puffing his chest out and mustering up all the confidence he had. 

“I don’t like seein’ you flirt with other guys… ‘cause… I wish it was me.” 

“Who’s jealous now, huh?”

“I am.” He looked at your lips, then back up to your eyes. A cricket started off somewhere in the field, and your attention flitted off towards it, only to have Jimmy’s large, warm hand bring you back. “Hey.” 

He kissed you again, his strong tongue darting out to taste you again, his plush lips closing around your bottom lip to suck it gently. This time, an undulating warmth erupted deep in your core. You couldn’t help but melt into him and your arms relinquished their position, dropping heavily to your sides. Your fingers reach forward to claw at his shirt, just above the waistline of his jeans and instead latch onto his belt loops, pulling him closer at the hips.

You tilted your head to deepen the kiss, swirling your tongue with his. Mingled with his personal taste, he tasted like warm honey and the liquor you smelled on his breath earlier. Not always admirable, it was something that you knew him to dabble in when his mother wasn’t looking. More often than not, he’d sneak some booze, saying it calmed his nerves before and after shows. You didn’t mind; in fact, you wondered what it would be like to have a drunk Jimmy, sloppy and unable to control himself around you. 

“I’ve waited a long time for this…” you broke the kiss, breathlessly whispering over his lips.

“Me too, honey. Me too.”  

Keeping your eyes on him, you blindly felt behind your back, where the handle of your trailer was digging into your soft flesh. You yanked it open, and took a fistful of Jimmy Darling’s shirt, tugging him inside. 

It was like someone had fired a gun and Jimmy was a racehorse. He charged at you, his big, conjoined fingers wrapping tightly around your hips on either side, kneading the flesh like dough. He kissed you again, hot and in a hurry, like you only had a few minutes to do whatever it was you were going to do. With your hands on his pectoral muscles, you pushed him off gently, just enough to get a look at his face. 

He, being mere centimeters from your breasts, wasn’t looking at your face. His attention was clearly elsewhere. A low, rumbling groan vibrated through his throat as he craned forward to kiss your skin. 

“Jimmy, baby, slow down…” 

Between feverish kisses to your neck and chest, he muttered: “I can’t, I’m sorry.” 

He had you where he wanted you, after so long, and he wasn’t going to let that slip through his fingers this time. Jimmy muscled you backwards, urging you towards the small hallway where your bedroom was. He was all hard-working muscle. Having done set-up for so many years  had lined his body in bulky strength, the kind of strength that you only get from hard labour. So, when he started guiding you backwards, you could do little to protest. 

“Jimmy, my god, what’s the rush?” 

“I want you bad, baby… bad.” As proof, he urged his hips against yours; the hot rigidness of his erection pressing into your hip bone. You let out a surprised mewl, and wrapped your arms around his warm neck, fingers slipping into his short-cut hair. His lips found yours again as the backs of your thighs hit the mattress. He kissed once and playfully, shoved you down. You bounced twice on the bed, looking up at him with a heavy, wanton gaze. 

“I’m all yours, Jimmy Darling. All yours.” 

Jimmy didn’t say anything, just sunk to his knees, his hands finding the stretchy hem of your sequined shorts. He pulled them down in a swift jerk, before moving right back up to your waist. Those striped tights were next. He rolled them down off your thighs and over your knees; which fell apart, exposing the already-damp satin of your underwear. You propped yourself up on your elbows, watching him as he worked.

He was in too much of a hurry to bother taking off your shirt, instead just gathering the fabric and pushing it up over your breasts, letting them bounce free. He may have been raised a gentleman, but he wasn't immune to the tantalizing sight of some tits -- especially when they belonged to a girl he'd been lusting over for months now. 

"God damn, baby. Look at those." 

You couldn't help but blush, feeling your cheeks grow hot at his compliments. You bowed your head, casting your eyes to the floor. You were so stern before -- what had happened? Silly question. You knew; he was undressing you in your trailer, all that confidence had melted away underneath his strong, fused fingers.

“Jimmy, promise you won’t flirt with Maggie anymore…” 

He scoffed. “She’s nothin’ to me, honey. Gals like her are a dime a dozen.” He pressed his lips to your kneecaps before kissing his way up your thighs.  You whimpered, your head lolling heavily back between your shoulders. You thought about revealing that she wasn’t a real fortune teller, but Jimmy’s mouth neared your cunt, and the thought disintegrated. 

“...my god…” you breathed, your lids drifting shut. Jimmy nuzzled his face and lips against your soft mound, the hard bridge of his nose teasing at your soaked slit.

“You like that, baby?” 

You nodded, again, whimpering. He pressed his fingers slowly against your soft mound, over the fabric. Feeling the puddle that had settled into your underwear made Jimmy clench his teeth, hissing loud through them. With one hand, Jimmy maneuvered your underwear down your thighs. Once they were off, he tossed them carelessly behind him – you’d find them a day later in your kitchen sink. Now exposed, you gazed at him sheepishly, for the first time since he'd started kissing you. His eyes fixated on the wetness that glistened in the low-light of the trailer.

"I had no idea..." he said, the pad of his thumb sweeping over your clit with just enough pressure to make you writhe in lustful agony, aching desperately. 

"No idea what?" You breathed.

"To be honest with you, that you liked me that much..." 

You leaned forward, taking his chin into the palm of your hand. You stroked it gently, falling deep into his eyes. "Jimmy... I've wanted you since before I could have you." 

You looked on at his face in admiration as the thoughts played out, the realization of what you meant dawning on him. He grinned his bright, lopsided grin and his large hands slid up your legs, caressing the outside of your thighs thoughtfully.

"Baaaby," he hummed before dipping his head down. You gasped, your lids drifting shut in ecstasy as you felt his breath rush over you -- you knew what was coming; one deep sweep of his tongue along the length of your cunt, between your folds to taste you, to savour your silken wetness. Burying his nose in your pussy, Jimmy alternated between using the strong tip of his tongue to flick at your sensitive spots and lapping at your clit with a flattened, thick tongue. Adventurous and hungry, he'd venture further down to get a mouthful of your sweet, heady wetness and would murmur how good you tasted into your cunt -- the vibrations of his voice made you shiver every time. 

After a few minutes of this, you felt the inner core of your legs begin to shake every time he made contact with your clit, your tummy tightening in a warning clench. You reached forward, gripping his head on either side, yanking him softly off your cunt.

To your relief, he straightened up, chin glistening with your fluids. He swallowed you down, growling in satisfaction; the intimacy of tasting your lover's ejaculate was unparalleled, and when your eyes finally opened, they met Jimmy's lust blown ones. He was ready, and so were you. 

"Fuck me," you said, nodding. 

Jimmy made quick work of undressing, pulling his briefs down over his ass cheeks before he lined his red-tipped cock up with your leaking slit, bumping into the sensitive bundle of nerves a few times before he stuck you. He didn't ease in, just bottomed out and you let out a pleasurable yowl, tossing your head back at the sensation of being so full as his thick cock violated you, slipping against your slick walls. He found a rhythm, thrusting his cock up into you as deep as he could. You clenched hard around him, pulling a groan from deep within his chest. He pulled out, looking down at your sopping wet and now reddened cunt.

"'Hoh' my god, baby... do that again." 

He gripped your hips hard, pulling you roughly onto his cock. You clenched again, swallowing him into you. The tip disappeared inside you, hot and leaking, and he held himself there, completely engrossed in the sensations. You clenched again, pulling him further in and Jimmy's head fell back, his hips bucking hard out of instinct. You both found a hurried rhythm, grinding and rolling against each other with voracious desire. 

As he thrust into you, Jimmy watched you intently, holding onto you tight, his thumbs working your hips, kneading them in small circles. He looked starved for your image, the way that his eyes climbed from your hips to your breasts to your face and back down again. You let out a particularly ecstasy-ridden moan, and Jimmy dug his fingers into your hips. 

Rocked back and forth with the strength of his thrusts, you look down, watching as his thick cock pumped in and out of you. Your breasts bounced with each thrust, and Jimmy's dark eyes followed them as they moved.   

"Huuuh... I'm gonna' lose it, baby... you feel so god damned good..."

"Give it to me," you coax, moaning deeply. His thrusts get faster, more feverish and uneven, and before you can say another word, his expression contorted, brows pulling together in pleasured agony. You felt the warmth of his cum as he filled you up with a few spurts, but kept pumping until it leaked out the sides, groaning deeply. Your orgasm raced towards you quickly after that, pulsing around him in a hungry grip. 

With a heavy sigh, Jimmy pulled his softening cock from your cunt and flopped heavily onto the bed onto his back. Your chest rose and fell with every laboured breath, sweat streaming from every pore. Both of you, collapsed in lust, saying nothing, just enjoying the warm scent of sex that lingered in the air. Soon, your sappy gaze drifted from the ceiling to Jimmy. His fawn coloured hair clung to his forehead in sweaty clumps, his cheeks flushed. You'd done that. Made him jealous until he fucked you silly. You smiled inwardly, and adjusted your head on the small mattress. 

"Turn the fan on, Jimmy, it's hot." 

Jimmy leaned over, flipping the small metal switch. The fan rattled to life, blades spinning and washing your sweaty skin with a soft breeze of cooler air. He leaned back, enjoying the change in temperature. 

"I meant what I said, dollface. Maggie's nothin' to me now that we're uh..." 

You pressed your lips against his softly, smiling into the kiss. "We're what?" 

"Y'know..." 

"Fucking each other like teenagers?" 

"More than that, baby. More than that."

You weren't sure what that meant yet, but you weren't about to question a bit of it. You paused, furrowing your brows. You realized that Diner Boy had probably expected to see you after the show, but you hadn't shown. You hadn't even thought about him, far too busy with Jimmy's lips to even remember he was there.

"What?" Jimmy asked, concerned.

"I wonder if he was waiting for me..."

"I hope he was, and I hope he figured out real quick that you weren't comin'."

You kissed him again, inhaling his scent. Jimmy hummed into your lips, pulling you atop of him, his face bright with adoration.

He stayed in your trailer that night, and you two fucked each other, explored each other's bodies repeatedly. When the morning sun peeked through your lacy curtains and your lids peeled apart, a yawn ripping through your mouth... you wondered if Maggie Esmeralda saw that coming.

[lazyjellyfish300]

The Woman He Didn't Choose Part 3 🥀

Bachelor!Miguel O'Hara x Fem contestant!Reader

Synopsis: back on the beaches of Paradise, Miguel prepares to face you for the first time since breaking your heart in front of millions during his time as the Eligible Suitor. Word count 3.1k 🖤 one of the scenes is inspired by the casino night episode of The office between Jim and Pam.

A/N: If you're unfamiliar with the show Bachelor in Paradise, here's a clip to give you an idea. Basically, it's another dating show usually in a tropical location where single people couple up, and new arrivals come in every so often and ask people on dates to shake things up, leading to drama and chaos, and couples can choose to stay together or break up in the end and there's typically an engagement. DISCLAIMER: I HAVE NO RIGHTS TO THE SHOWS THE BACHELOR OR BACHELOR IN PARADISE, ALL RIGHTS TO THE OWNERS. I CHANGED THE NAME OF THE SHOW IN THE STORY.

TW: MINORS DNI, ANGST, SMUT (DRY HUMPING, FINGERING, CUMMING IN PANTS, SPANKING, FANTASIZING) JEALOUSY, INSECURITY, PINING, DANGER, BULLYING, HEARTBREAK) sorry if I forgot anything...

Part 1 , Part 2, Part 4

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

Thud...thud...thud.... 

"I...okay come on now...Mig...jeez. Get a grip!" Jess weakly tries to yank Miguel away from the bar which he was starting to pathetically knock his head against, the feeling in his body becoming deadweight; the buzz from the tequila partially responsible as he slumped backwards towards Jess. 

"Aaaa! Noir-HELP!" 

Jess jumped out of the way, no match for Miguel's huge frame and Noir was too sluggish and he toppled backwards off his bar stool onto the ground with a small thump. 

Noir and Jess looked down at the dazed expression on his face. A man tortured by Cupid laying in the sand, shirt half unbuttoned.

"You know, she had to watch you makeout with a different woman every single Monday for twelve weeks?" Noir points out. "Sometimes even back to back-woof."

Miguel blinks at him in response. 

"Seriouslyy though, not to mention the fairytale suites when you literally hooked up with two other women." Jess adds. "Honestly, you deserved this one." 

Miguel starts to groan, mumbling incoherent word jumbo, the inflections in his voice raising higher in pitch, making him sound like a giant baby as he rubbed circles in his eyes with the heel of his palm. 

Noir and Jess look at each other. It was gonna be a long night with this one. 

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

You and Peter keep getting busy by the pool, everyone stayed clear of a 50 foot radius while your passionate escapade went on, the sounds you were making were painfully obvious. 

You were straddling Peter still, one of his hands in your swim suit bottoms as he curled two fingers inside your soft pussy. Peter looked up at you, your bouncing breasts, the soft texture of your skin, God everything about you was completely divine in this moment as you rode his lap. 

"Fuck...." He bit his lip as he thrust his hips, synchronizing them with yours. "You're close baby, aren't ya...? Talk to me, beautiful...." 

"Peter...." The pretty sounds you were making became more breathy. You brought your own hands to your tits, squeezing them, giving them a caress, putting on a show for him as you erotically lolled your head backwards. 

"Good God...." Peter's mouth slowly inched open, leaning back just a little so he could get a better view, the burning hickory color in his eyes completely overtaken by carnal desire, making him look so sexy in the dark.

"I could get used to watching you do that, baby...." He panted harder, adding his thumb to your clit. 

You whined sharply and he pulled you down closer, groaning as he felt your breasts squish against his chest, you nearly shoved your tongue down his throat but this only excited him further. He gave a low sensual growl into your mouth at the sensation. "So eager...mmm I'm loving this..." 

"Yeah baby?" You coo sweetly into his ear, letting him hear your impassioned moans.

"Fuck.... yeah..." Peter groaned, his hand landing another sharp spank on your ass, his fingers locking around your ass cheek right after it made contact. "Cum all over my hand, sweetheart..." he said through clenched teeth. 

"Peter..." You plead, the peak of your arousal nearly reached with the way his thumb gently kneaded your clit, delivering waves of wetness between your thighs. "I wanna cum on your cock..." 

"Oh my God...." Peter shut his eyes, that fiery coil building momentum in his body, he was close to his end as well. "I'll let you cum on my cock later, baby...I promise..." 

"Please, Peter?" 

"I know, beautiful...I know... it's okay, lovely girl..." He bites his lip again, curling his body deliciously below you. "Cum on my hand for me... just like this..."

You scream his name and give him just that, your warm arousal leaking all over him, and he cums in his swim trunks. He groans loudly, grabbing you by your neck with his free hand. You jerk towards him harshly at first, then the movement is more gentle as you meet him in a tender kiss. You melt as your tongues dance once more. You can't resist a cheeky smile in between kisses, a faint chuckle rolling off his lips into your mouth as he cutely brushes his nose against yours. 

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

The cameras focus on you and Peter making your way down the stone steps onto the beach where the rest of the couples were hanging out. You had a huge smile plastered on your face, your fingers tangled with Peter's as one of his arms rested comfortably around your shoulder, holding you close. Your unofficial first entrance as the newest couple in Paradise. 

"Here-sit up." Jess hits Miguel's stomach with the back of her hand when she sees you and Peter approach, and he corrects his slouch and sits up proudly in his seat, his large pecs pushed up in a slightly comical matter. 

"You're overdoing it..." Jess murmurs out of the corner of her mouth. Miguel gulps and relaxes his shoulders a little bit, his heart beating out of his chest as he sees you face to face for the first time in months. 

All eyes are on you and Peter as people stand up from around the beachside bonfire, cheering for you two. Felicia squeals and runs up to you. You giggle and give her a hug and tug her back towards the tiki bar where you two go to catch up on the spicy events with Peter that just transpired. 

Ben pats the seat next to him, gesturing for Peter to sit down with a smirk on his face. "Well?" 

Peter just nods silently, a huge smile breaking out on his lips and the tops of his cheeks turning a healthy red.

"My man...." Ben slaps Peter on the back and hands him a beer, a snap and fizz as the can cracks open. "I'm happy for you buddy...let's drink to that." They laugh loudly and clink their beer cans together.

From across the fire pit, MJ's face remains neutral, although an intangible aura of tension hangs around her. She starts to blink rapidly as she tries to not give away her obvious jealousy, turning her attention to George next to her instead who's yapping loudly with Web-Slinger, cringing internally when she hears the problematic quality of the drunken jibberish he's spouting off. 

Miguel's face and chest gets hot again as he watches Peter and Ben, his jaw tense. Then, he looks over at you, playfully gossiping with Felicia. He stands up, slowly walking towards you two at the bar, his fingers tightening around the now sandy and slightly wilted rose he dropped earlier. 

In your peripheral vision, you sense someone approaching. You turn your head just a little, locking eyes with the target, nod, then turn back to face Felicia. Your neck nearly breaks when you jerk your head to look back at the target again, realizing it's not just anyone. 

It's Miguel. 

Your biggest heartbreak, the one who sat at the back of your mind at all times. His voice and his words a record that your ears forced you to listen to over and over again. The man responsible for humiliating you in front of millions of people behind a TV screen. The man who promised you the world and planted visions of a fairytale ending in your head then did a 180 the next day. The man who quite literally ripped your heart in half, repeatedly, forced you to watch him develop feelings, get physical and whisper sweet nothings to other women week after week as the show aired.  

Your Roman Empire standing before you in the form of rich scarlet eyes, a chiseled jaw, and that damned shy smile that was tugging at your heart strings, even now despite the months of torment he brought you. 

"Hi...." He says softly, eyes not wavering from yours. He was looking at you like you were the only person on that beach. Felicia's jaw fell open, the cameras were painfully close to your face, capturing your deer in headlights expression as you reacted in real time to this unbelievable twist of fate.

You remain a statue as he gently lifts his hand, offering you the lightly soiled rose. "Can we go talk, please?" His voice reduces to a whisper, the pleading in his tone emphasized by the way his eyebrows crinkle in the middle, those crimson eyes in an expression mimicking a sad puppy. 

You feel your knees get a little weak as your neck slightly cranes to look at him, his countenance reducing you to a puddle, but you realize immediately that you need to stay strong, don't be so fast to lower the drawbridge to your heart just yet. This man didn't choose you, and here he conveniently was right when you thought you had a spark for someone else. 

"What are you doing here?" You ask, your eyes narrowing, tone crisp and sharp. Miguel takes a deep breath, prepared to meet your figurative blade you had pointed at him in self defense. 

"It's a long story. I'll explain everything if you let me?" The corners of Miguel's eyes soften even more, every bit of his body language is submissive, begging, pleading with you to hear him out. 

Felicia looks at him incredulously, her icy eyes flicker to you, trying to read your expression. 

"Don't do it..." she mutters to you quietly. 

Miguel clearly heard what she said, but that doesn't stop him from still staring at you, holding his breath.

Your eyes move to Felicia and you place your hand on her forearm, gently pushing your cocktail towards her. 

"Just trust me...I got this..." you mutter back.

Felicia nods slowly, taking your cocktail in her hand. She shoots one last suspicious glare in Miguel's direction and walks back towards the bonfire to sit next to Ben, who's laughing loudly with Peter, both of them not paying any attention to what's going on. 

Miguel offers his arm to you but you shake your head, crossing your arms as you both walk side by side along the beach, the waves gently crashing as the nighttime descends along the shore. One of the cameramen keeping a healthy distance behind you. 

"So?" You say, keeping your eyes straight ahead, concentrating on some of the rocky cliffs in the distance. "What happened with Xina?" 

Miguel sighs. "I ended it." 

"You ended it?" you ask, slightly surprised at the revelation. "Thought you were in love..." 

"I was..." Miguel said curtly. You feel your heart skip at the past tense of his words. 

"What happened?" 

Miguel blows out air slowly from his nostrils. "She wasn't who I thought she was. I realized we were incompatible." 

You raise your eyebrows. You know him well enough to know there's more to the story. You'd get it out of him later when the cameras were off. 

"Well, sorry to hear that." You say, feigning sympathy. 

Miguel tries not to smile, thankful the darkness is concealing his face. He also knows you well enough to know that you certainly aren't sorry for him in the least. "So, you and Peter, huh?"

You smile, looking down at the sand. You both come to a stop in the middle of the beach, now quite a ways away from the others, the moon keeping watch above you, a camera zoomed in on your face.

 "Yeah..." you say, trying not to go into too much detail. "He caught me by surprise. We have a lot in common, so... I think I'm going to give this a shot." you nod, looking up at Miguel. 

Miguel is completely disappointed by this, but he nods, doing his best to conjure up a smile.

"I'm happy for you." 

A lie. 

"I hope that things go well with you two."

Another lie. 

"You deserve to be happy." 

The truth, even if it cut him a million times to say it out loud. 

"Thanks, Miggy..." You whisper. 

God, he would kiss you right now if he could. Why'd you call him by his damn nickname? Miguel's hands bunch into fists in his swim trunk pockets. His eyes go a little half lidded as he looks down at you. Heartbreak aside, you looked absolutely magnificent under the beach moonlight. 

Under different circumstances if he wasn't so foolish, you two would be in a location like this on your honeymoon, where you two wouldn't have any responsibilities besides letting the sun bathe your skin, and he'd keep your wine glass full, weaving pretty tropical flowers into your hair as you sat across from him at some lively outdoor restaurant on the waterfront. 

Where every night he'd take you to the shared cozy bungalow you two were staying in, groaning and biting his lip at the sight of your strapless maxi dress being tugged down the curves of your body, your lips parting, calling for him, begging for him to be inside...

"Can we be friends?" You ask. 

Miguel huffs, his fantasy brought to an abrupt halt, bringing him back to his less than ideal reality. "Don't do that..." Miguel shakes his head, looking upwards in defeat. "I want more than that..." He whispers, a lump forming in his throat. 

God, how much you wanted to just pretend like the last several months didn't happen and wrap your arms around him in that moment, too. But you know you can't. You owed it to yourself to see this through with Peter. It was time to put yourself first. "Well...I can't..." 

Miguel shakes his head, cutting you off. "I don't wanna hear it...sorry." Miguel sighs. 

You nod, understanding that every word that came from your mouth would just be a dagger to him. You stand there with him in uncomfortable silence. 

Miguel thinks deeply for several more moments, then speaks, "Maybe one day, we could work towards that..." 

In his mind he knows damn well he's not referring to being just friends. He's smart enough to know that if he truly wants to win you back, he'll cut his loss and remain civil and friendly. Then, and maybe just then, this little "fling" you have going on with Parker will fizzle out and he'll be there, ready to catch you. 

You look at Miguel, a little surprised at his change in demeanor but you welcome it, happy that things don't need to remain bitter between you.

"Absolutely..." You hold your hand out to him, a friendly truce. "We're good?" 

Miguel nods. "Good..." He echos. 

You two shake hands and your lips part slightly at the warmth of his palm and how tightly he wraps his fingers around yours. The corner of Miguel's mouth twitches upwards ever so slightly as he pulls you closer to him, a little bait and switch behind this supposedly platonic handshake. 

You're helpless, drowning in the ruby waters of his eyes, the oceanic atmosphere making him all the more tempting. 

He's helpless too, a situation he was trying to avoid altogether but he put himself in it anyway. He'd put up with seeing you all over Peter if it meant you'd still be within arm's reach. He'd be the broom and dustpan for you at a moment's notice the moment Peter carelessly dropped your heart. There was a good chance it would happen since he knew Peter was as stuck on MJ as he was on you. 

Felicia calls for you, and your intimate moment is interrupted, Miguel stifling a sigh of defeat as you whip your head in her direction. You start walking back rapidly towards the bonfire, picking up the pace when you see Felicia is frantic, the cameraman struggling to keep up with you. 

"It's Jess..." Felicia huffs, out of breath. "She's sick, we gotta go make sure she's okay... there's an ambulance here and everything!" 

Your heart drops to your stomach and you look at Miguel, also worried at the sudden change of events, hoping all is well. 

You three scurry towards the resort entrance, but the ambulance is already pulling away. Ben is hanging his head grimly, walking towards you, Felicia, and Miguel. "She's gone to the hospital, Noir is with her..." 

You bring a hand over your mouth in shock. Felicia lets out a soft whimper in sadness for her friend. Ben wraps Felicia into a hug. Miguel looks at you with worried eyes, going to place his hand on your shoulder in consolation but he freezes when he sees Peter approaching. 

"Hey, you..." 

"Oh!" You're caught a little off guard when Peter sweeps you into an embrace, Miguel turning around in the opposite direction. You close your eyes and relax, wrapping your arms around Peter's waist. "Will she be okay?" 

Peter looks at you, carefully brushing hair out of your eyes. "I think so...don't worry, she's at the hospital getting the best care in the world." 

You nod and smile, looking up at him. The group stands around for a bit, murmuring in confusion, Miguel awkwardly on his own, trying not to make eye contact with you as he paces in place. 

The host, Jason Donner, speaks in a voiceover: 

"Next time, on Singles in Paradise..."

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

Felicia runs across the wooden bridge connecting the resort bungalows, nearly tripping into the shiny swimming pools on either side of the walkway. 

"New arrival! New arrival! Wake the fuck up! There's a new arrival!" 

You and Miguel are sipping smoothies in the common area, awkwardly sitting on opposite sides of the couch when Felicia runs in, huffing and puffing... "New girl...just arrived..." 

Before you can ask who or what, Felicia's already disappeared leaving both you and Miguel puzzled. 

A small brunette walks in. Her hair is in a bob cut with fiery blue eyes. She has a pearly white smile and a stringy pink bikini. You get a rotten feeling in your stomach. 

"Dana?" Miguel asks. His eyebrows raising in surprise. 

Why the fuck did it have to be Dana...she was one of the villains during Miguel's season. She was eliminated probably only on week 3 but she was AWFUL. Just plain rude. She would smile sweetly and ask the other women where they got their outfit only for her to say it was the ugliest fucking outfit she ever saw in her camera confessionals.

Boasting loudly how she'd gladly fuck Gabriel if she ever had the chance, making you and the rest of the women in the house totally uncomfortable. The complete opposite of a girl's girl. A real pick me. 

She waltzes up to Miguel, completely ignoring you, a date card in her hand. "Miguel! Wanna go chat?" 

No....

Miguel looks bewildered but he smiles politely, nodding as he stands up. She takes his arm, looking up at him with doe eyes as they walk away. Miguel glances at you then looks straight ahead. 

Jealousy sinks its fangs into your neck once more...

🌹🌹🌹🌹

@miguelhugger2099 @kodo1221,@mimiemie @laysmt @cheerrioeoz @spicydonut25 @thisistotesnotspam-heart , @famouscattail @thekidscallmebosss @librababe99 @ce3stvu @irishbl0ss0mz @nommingonfood @mauvecherie-writes @royale-skeleton-key @thesilenthill @dimitri-needs-therapy @a-lil-whore @aisyakirmann @sylveon-of-heart @hobiebrowns-wife @weirdothatwritess @reader-1290 @thesmutconnoisseur @koyukilove

@hardlystrictlystarwars @lareinamorgan @serpentineaerodynamics

@envyjmoney @clementines-valt @the-pan-liquid

@stellasloth @migueloharasoulmate , @cynwing

[janasrdhr]

Stay - Simon “Ghost” Riley

──────────────────────

Warning(s): Major Character Death, Explicit Language, Angst

──────────────────────

Ghost signals to proceed towards the fourth floor of the building, indicating it as the final hurdle to overcome.

An eerie silence envelops the surroundings.

Suddenly, Ghost forcefully pulls you downward with a shout, sending waves of pain coursing through your body.

In the midst of chaos, an explosion shatters the floor beneath you.

You find yourself wounded, partially trapped under concrete, as Ghost's voice reaches you amidst the wreckage.

“You stay with me. Don’t you die on me. That’s an order.”

You whimper, your body wracked with excruciating pain, swallowing hard as your eyes glaze over.

Ghost's arms wrap around your body tightly. His touch firm, reassuring. His eyes are locked into yours. He needs to see you holding onto him. To see your eyes and make sure that you're still there. That you're not gone.

He looks at your chest. His hand presses up against it. He needs to see your chest rise and fall beneath the rubble.

“Stay with me. Stay. Please.”

Your hand darts up, seizing his own in a desperate grasp, fingers trembling to match the tremors of his own chest. “I-it hurts,” you stammer, the pain coursing through you like molten lava, threatening to consume you whole.

You're losing strength. He can see your free hand struggling to grip his hand as tightly as it was.

He's silent for a moment, then a short, quick command to no one in particular.

“I need morphine now.”

The rubble starts moving slightly, and you know that Ghost can't move you just yet.

But he's not leaving your side.

“You stay with me dove, yeah?”

“It hurts so much. F-fuck...I can't-” you heave, drawing in air as though each labored breath were a lifeline.

“I need you to do somethin' for me, dove.”

Ghost's voice is firm. Almost an order. But his grip on you is gentle, as if he doesn't want to hurt you more than you are already hurting.

“You're goin' to take slow, deep breaths. And you're goin' to keep lookin' at me. Only me.”

You nod pitifully, your concussed head barely able to comply, your consciousness teetering on the brink.

“Good girl.”

The rubble continues to shift. As the debris slowly gets removed from your body. The morphine slowly enters your system. Pain alleviating, as the world starts to spin.

“I need you to stay awake for me, love?”

Ghost's voice is reassuring, comforting, warm. Even with the mask covering his mouth, his eyes are intent - waiting. Waiting to see if you're still there.

“Stay with me.”

Your eyes begin to roll back, struggling as if trying to stitch themselves shut.

“Dove.”

Ghost's tone is urgent now. As if he's going to shake you into staying awake. Into living.

“I need you to look at me. Look at me.”

His grip presses into your hand. Trying to find some semblance of life in you. It must kill him to see you like this. See you suffer.

“Look at me, pretty.”

Your eyes snap open, fueled by the dwindling remnants of your energy, slowly succumbing to the pull of slumber; despite the plea in his usual taut voice.

“That's it,” Ghost whispers, his voice filled with relief.

“Don't you dare close your eyes. Keep lookin' at me. Keep lookin'.”

There's still rubble pinning you to the ground. The EVAC team trying their hardest to free you - and keep you alive.

“Don't you close your eyes again. Ya hear me?”

“...s-so tired...” You stutter, your voice faltering, as weariness grips you like a heavy cloak.

His voice, normally resonant and commanding, now carries a plea, a desolate edge honed by urgency. Each word is measured, and delivered with a staggering resolve. A raw vulnerability that struggles to break free from its jagged, rusty confines, something only you seem to have the key to. It echoes the weight of unspoken fears and the fervent hope of finding salvation amid turmoil.

God, does he push on. For you.

Anything for you.

“Keep lookin'.”

You're slipping away. His grip on you grows tighter as he pleads.

“Don't you go on me. Ya hear that? Don't you go on me.”

It would tear his heart out to lose you. He knows that. He knows just as well as you do.

But you have to stay. You have to stay.

“Ghost,” you stammer, your words catching in your throat like a fish struggling against a hook, “I d-don't think I can...”

“You have to. You get me?”

He's so desperate. So desperate. He can't lose you. Not here. Not now where you lie in a pile of rubble. Where everything is chaos.

There's noise around you, the rubble being lifted, the sound of feet and voices.

Your hand, barely clinging to him, tightens ever so slightly, a silent plea for reassurance.

“I-If I don't make it...you'll miss me, r-right?”

“Don't you dare talk like that, dove.”

Ghost's voice cracks. His grip has tightened to the point that it's painful.

“You're makin' it out of here, and I'm not leavin' until you do.”

His eyes narrow.

“You're not goin' anywhere.”

A solitary tear escapes, tracing a silent path down the contours of your weary face. “I...I'll miss you,” you confess, your voice trembling with emotion, each word a delicate thread in the tapestry of your heartache. “So much...”

“You're not dyin', damn it.”

Ghost hisses the words. The frustration is evident in his voice. The fear and dread, the knowledge of just how close you're to the end of the line.

Ghost can't even begin to describe the emotions he's feeling. The guilt over bringing you to this. The anger over someone else doing this to you.

A strained whimper manages to escape your parched throat. “I-...I had everything planned, y-y'know?” you confess, your voice strained, carrying the weight of stolen expectations. “E-Everything.”

“Shut it.”

It's quiet this time. As if Ghost is trying to deny the truth in those words. As if he can push it back and make it not real.

“Shut up... you're not thinkin' like that. Don't you dare.”

A pause as a tear falls from his eye. A low, grunted curse as his lips tighten under the balaclava.

Your words emerge in fragments, like fragile petals torn from a wilting flower, each syllable a struggle against unspoken desires.

“I...I wanted,” you begin, your breaths strained as if wrestling with unseen burdens. “I wanted to marry you.” you manage to confess amidst the tumult of your emotions, the words hanging in the air like delicate threads on the verge of snapping.

“And...and children...” you choke back tears, the image of a future slipping through your trembling grasp. “I imagined...a home,” you continue, your voice a whispered plea, “filled with love.” But even as you struggle to speak, the words falter, slipping away like sand through your fingers.

“I...I can't hold on,” you admit, weak gasps punctuating the realization of time slipping inexorably away. Tears stream down your cheeks, each drop a testament to the depth of your longing.

“I wanted...so much.” your voice trails off, fading into the silence battered breaths.

“Stop.”

Ghost tries. He tries to block it. The truth. The reality.

You're lying here, barely hanging on. The life within your body slipping away.

“Don't say that. It's...”

There's a pause as he swallows hard.

“It's not slippin' away.”

Another beat as his grasp on you loosens slightly. The fear, the anger, the panic, the pain, the guilt. It's all in his voice. His voice cracking. Breaking.

“A d-destination wedding,” you manage, a dry chuckle escaping your lips, as if dust had settled upon your laughter.

“Italy....Tuscany.” Your voice wavers, painting a picture of distant shores and moonlit sands. “On the beach, m-maybe? Barefoot, under the nighttime sky. Just us and the stars,” Your thoughts drift away by the current of your yearning.

“White roses...everywhere,” you continue, the image forming in your mind's eye like a fragile constellation.

“I love white roses...” you trail off, lost in the reverie of what could have been.

Ghost listens to your dreams. Your thoughts of a future together. A life together.

A faint smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. His eyes narrow more as it's barely noticeable, only if you really look at his face.

“Italy.” Ghost repeats, his voice stronger now. “White roses.”

A pause as he swallows hard. A deep sigh to collect himself.

“What else?”

“It s-should be intimate,” you falter, your voice wavering with sincerity, "just family and friends with us.” You pause, gathering your thoughts before continuing with a soft giggle, “I've always imagined Captain Price officiating, maybe even walking me down the aisle too...”

“Price?”

The corner of his mouth twitches. The faintest of smirks pull at the corner of his mouth for a moment.

“No chance in hell is Price going to be our priest.”

It doesn't last long. That faint flicker of joy. Because it's drowned out by everything else.

“Why not?” you pout, suppressing the pain coursing through you as you raise your gaze to meet his.

“Because, believe it or not, Price still has a level of professionalism to him. He's not going to be marrying off some of his best soldiers in the middle of a war.”

Ghost tries to smile. Tries to find some humor in this situation.

“Besides, he wouldn't know how to officiate a proper wedding ceremony. He'd just ramble on about how the relationship is a battle.”

You laugh softly, a melody to him. “I also w-wanted to retire from the military,” you confess, your words weaving a tapestry of aspirations. “Opening a bakery or a floral shop... or maybe both,” you muse, letting the possibilities dance.

“A bakery... a floral shop.”

Ghost's voice is soft, almost a whisper as he speaks.

“I'd buy an entire bakery from you just to try some of whatever you'd make.” he chuckles lightly. A breath as he swallows hard.

“And a floral shop,” His grip tightens ever so slightly on your hand.

“I'd buy that, too. I'd bring you flowers every day. All sorts. Roses. Sunflowers. Lilies. Hydrangeas...”

You shake your head, a wince flickering across your features like a shadow passing over the sun. Almost instantly, you feel the sting of ripped arteries creeping in. “Just white roses,” you murmur.

“...white roses,” Ghost repeats quietly, his grip on you softening.

“I'd bring you white roses, dove.”

Another pause. The silence is deafening.

“White roses. The brightest, most beautiful ones out there.”

Just for you.

You gaze upwards, absorbing the expanse of the skies above, as if embracing the vastness of the unknown that lies ahead. “I'll have to get used to this,” you whisper, the realization settling in like a gentle breeze on a summer day.

“Two kids,” you continue, your voice progressively dimming, “a boy and a girl. Spend everyday t-taking care of 'em, watching 'em grow” With a tremble in your voice, you add, “I'll send you off to work each day, stealing a kiss from you b-before you go.”

“Two kids, I can agree to that. A boy and a girl, definitely. You'll spoil them horribly though.” he teases gently, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

A long pause. The sounds of the world around them finally register. The sounds of the medics working to free you.

“W-wouldn't,” you muse, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips, “our daughter become a daddy's girl?”

“Our daughter...she'll definitely be a daddy's girl. But our son...” Ghost's voice softens. “...our son would be a mommy's boy. For sure.”

He'd be just as protective of his mother as she is of him."

“What would you name her?” you inquire.

Ghost hesitates for a moment. As if he's trying to pick the perfect name.

“Beth.”

He pauses again.

“She'd be a lovely little girl. She'll have her mother's smile. Her mother's laugh. Her mother's heart.”

“And what name would you give our son, my love?” Simon asked.

You ponder, feeble eyes fluttering.

“Tommy.”

“Tommy,” Ghost repeats. The ghost of a smile is just barely visible under the mask.

Another beat as he holds you tightly. As if by holding you, he can make things right again.

“...yeah. Tommy's a good name.”

You find yourself whimpering more frequently now, each sound a plaintive note in the symphony of your agony as the pain sets in again. “I...I don't wanna die,” you murmur, your words a fragile plea.

“You're not going to die. You're not going to die”

But Ghost doesn't seem entirely convinced with his own words.

The medics are still working furiously to free you.

But the fear and anxiety inside of him is clear. He's afraid that he's losing you. That the wounds you've suffered are irreversible.

He tries to block it. To be strong for you. But he can't deny that feeling inside of him. The dread.

“I don't wanna leave, Ghost,” you sob, the words choked with emotion, longing to remain by his side.

“I know...I know.” He whispers, his words soft.

“I don't want you to go, either.”

Oh, how he didn't.

The medic finally manages to remove a large piece of rubble that was weighing you down.

“Stay with me. Focus on me,” he tells you softly, gently squeezing your hands.

“Look into my eyes.”

You let out a piercing scream as the oppressive weight is finally lifted from you.

Ghost's grasp on you tightens. He holds you tighter, squeezing your hands even harder as if somehow, he can spare your pain.

“Keep lookin' at me, dove,” he whispers.

“Le' me see those pretty eyes.”

You sob uncontrollably, each breath a struggle as if your lungs were drowning in white-hot pain. “Don't leave me,” you plead, your voice a trembling whisper. “s-so scared..."

“I'm not leavin' you.”

His voice cracks. His grip tightens even further so as to try and relieve your own pain.

“I am not leavin' you.”

Another beat as Ghost forces himself to continue. To look at you. To stare into your eyes as if he could somehow spare you from this.

“Just keep holdin' me and everythin' will be okay.”

He tries to soothe your pain, rubbing your shoulders with one hand and squeezing you tightly with the other.

“Yeah? Everythin' will be okay.”

You nod, your grasp on him tightening every so often.

“He should have your eyes,” you murmur, a sentiment blooming between you once more.

“He'd be as strong as you, as brave as you, as protective as you...as s-safe as you are.”

“He would.”

Ghost tries to smile. To imagine the son that he'd have.

“He'd be as stubborn as me, too.”

You break into a soft smile, “You'd be a g-good father, Simon,” you murmur, your words carrying certainty.

The smile falters. The realization hitting him again.

Ghost's grip on you tightens further. This is the only thing he can do to prevent himself from breaking down.

“Yeah," he murmurs. “I-...I'd be a good father. Yeah.”

Two heartbeats.

One irregular, the other irregular too.

“....A-And our daughter?”

“Our daughter.”

Ghost's voice cracks.

“She'd be so beautiful. The light of my life.”

Another heartbeat as a tear rolls down his cheeks.

“Like her mother.”

Your hold on him slackens, as your exhausted eyelids surrender to an eternal slumber. Yet, even in your final moments, a serene smile graces your lips, an enduring emblem of peace. As you draw your last breath, you depart adorned with that same tranquil expression, leaving behind a poignant echo of your essence.

“Like you.”

A pained whimper escapes Ghost. Soon, a sob.

“She'll definitely be like you.”

Another beat before he whispers again.

“But you should live to see her. You should live to see our son...”

Your vision blurs, colours fading into shades of grey as the world around you dims. Sounds muffle and distance themselves, like echoes fading into the night. Surrendering to the engulfing pain, you muster the last of your strength to whisper a fragile declaration: “I love you.”

Another beat before a soft cry hitches in his throat.

Another whisper.

“Don't leave...”

Ghost's grip on you tightens. He whispers one more time.

“Stay...”

Your chest stagnates, trapped in a moment of suspended animation, as if time has folded in on itself. The vibrant hues drain from your once radiant skin, leaving it as pale and lifeless as cold wax. Your body begins to chill, a stark reminder of the journey ahead. Muscles slacken, limbs surrendering to a weighty lethargy. The rhythmic ebb and flow of your chest's rise and fall fades into a profound silence. Consciousness slips away like a whisper on the wind, leaving behind naught but a hollow, silent void.

Ghost squeezes you tighter. Trying to fight the inevitable.

But he can feel it.

He's losing you.

Slowly, your grip goes slack. The rise and fall of your chest stops. Your once warm body growing cold.

The medics are still working, trying to remove the rubble that remains.

All Ghost can do is hold you. Hold you in his arms.

All he can hear is the silence. The void.

“Stay...”

──────────────────────

masterlist - cod masterlist

© All content on this writing blog is subject to copyright protection; unauthorized reproduction or distribution of any material without permission is prohibited.

[7surugi]

daybreak ｜ haitani ran x f!reader

[content] sfw, literally just comfort :], mentions of character deaths, nudity (taking a bath together), soft! ran, mostly ran-centric

[word count] 5.4k

[note] this was originally meant to just be a soft midnight beach scene but then i went a little overboard. this is my first time writing a reader insert, and i am quite happy with how this piece turned out !! (ㅅ´ ˘ `) <33 (after editing, i realized that i mentioned rindō a lot,,, i just miss him, sorry.)

The summer heat comes like it always does, waking up with sweat sticking to your skin, the humidity cuts your throat dry. Summer in Japan is not kind to you this year. You don’t have air conditioning hooked up in your studio, your old fan isn’t enough to keep you cooled down and you ran out of your favourite popsicles two days ago. It’s nearly impossible to focus on your studies when suffering from such heat.

Luckily, there is a family-owned café that is only a seven-minute walk from your place. You almost find yourself here every day out of habit, just finding comfort in the place. And you find yourself there now, three hours before noon, sitting near the entrance with textbooks sprawled out, drinking an iced coffee to wake your body.

The door opens, the shimmering of the wind chime sings gently, you glance up from your textbook, a random curiosity to see what type of person has entered the café.

You’re rather surprised, you don’t think you have ever seen someone so attractive before. He’s tall, you take note as he passes by you, walking towards the counter. A faint scent of lavender and bergamot follows him. You stare a little too long, lingering on the stranger, it’s not often when you see young people here during the early mornings.

It is not long when he notices and turns around to return your gaze, sending you a lazy smirk which makes you flush in embarrassment from getting caught. You turn your focus back to your textbook, reminding yourself that you have to study, you have more important things to focus on instead of a pretty stranger.

When he asks if he can sit with you, despite the place being empty, and even now, you don’t know why you ended up saying yes to him.

You meet Ran Haitani and he never once leaves your mind, with long braided hair and deep lavender eyes that you find yourself getting lost in, you don’t think you’ve seen someone with such a pretty eye colour before.

—

Ran often finds himself here, at a small family-owned café, sitting in front of you. He can’t count how many times he has seen you on both hands (he can, it’s a little less than ten, he remembers). He convinces himself that he comes here because he likes the way they make mont blancs, and partially to come and see you. He thinks you know of this, too.

You say you come here to study, he doesn’t understand why you would study in a place like this instead of home. But the more he comes here, the more he finds himself to actually like it. It is a little small compared to other cafés he is used to, but the moment he leaves, the wind chime tinkling as the door closes, a part of him wants to return, missing the scent.

And so, he returns, and every time he enters the café, lies you.

(He assumes this must be the reason you return too, it’s almost magical — and he snorts at his own choice of words.)

“You don’t talk much, do ya? It was like that last time.”

“I’m trying to study, Haitani.”

“Haitani? It’s Ran to you.”

“It’s Haitani when you annoy me,” you retort, brows furrowed as you shift your focus back to your textbooks. “Told you I need to study for the entrance exam… I can’t afford to fail it.”

Ran knows you can’t, but he also knows there’s always next year, and you probably wouldn’t appreciate hearing it from someone like him, but he believes that school isn’t everything.

Perhaps you’re desperate, he learned that after barely finishing high school (that you barely attended due to practice and tournaments), you didn’t take the university entrance exam, too busy focusing on your figure skating career. You say that things weren’t going how you thought it would — nothing more than that — your eyes are dull, a familiar sadness that flashes by.

“Don’t you have things to do? I know you’re rather… busy,” you are cautious as you say this, sending him a knowing look.

Ran smiles, deciding to divert the topic. He knows you know what he does, how recklessly he lives his life, and he has never once hid it from you, but he doesn’t want you to know any details. “I am busy, but not right now. Aren’t you happy seeing me? ‘m a bit hurt…”

“I like spending time with you, Ran. I really do, but not when I’m studying,” his smile drops into a thin line, hearing that almost hurts. And he realizes that maybe he really is distracting you during an important time in your life (but you also have a few months until the entrance exam, so believes you could give him a little bit more of your time, being too diligent isn’t a good thing — he reminds himself that it’s desperation that you’re chasing). “Maybe we can meet somewhere else when I’m not busy…”

His ears perk up at the comment, lips forming into a smirk as he fiddles with his fork, playing with half eaten mont blanc. “Oh, yeah? When are you free, sweetheart?”

Ran usually just sits and hangs out with you here, showing up unannounced, and over time you seem to be expecting him. Your pretty eyes lighting up as you smile so sweetly at him when he enters the café. Eventually, you begin to let him walk you home, always mentioning he doesn’t have to, but he insists, even if your apartment is only around five minutes away. One time he took you out for ramen, another time when you brought him home to eat instant ramen and make homemade dango together with your leftover rice flour and silken tofu.

The aquarium would be nice, he thinks you would like it. Or maybe a nice restaurant because he would like to show you his favourite spots he goes to with Rindō. Anywhere, really.

“I’m free on Saturday,” you softly say, not meeting his gaze as you pretend to write something down in your notebook.

“Alright, I’ll pick you up.”

Eyes trained on you, you still don’t glance at him, only slightly nodding as a small smile graces your face. He smiles, too.

He wishes you would look up. He wants to fully see your face, shy with blushed cheeks. He wants to see you.

It’s a feeling of normalcy; a luxury that Ran has almost forgotten until now. He feels like someone normal and regular, Ran is anything but normal. Sitting here, drinking sickening sweet tea and eating his favourite mont blanc as he watches you do your own thing. Ran is anything but normal, he doesn’t want to be normal, but with you, he guesses it’s alright.

If anything, he has gotten used to it.

—

On their shared computer (one that is kept in Rindō’s room), Ran finds himself glued to the screen, watching low quality videos of you figure skating. Ran doesn’t know much about sports that aren’t martial arts — often finding any sport unrelated to fighting rather boring. But something about this, or rather you, has his full attention, invoking an unknown (unfamiliar) feeling. He doesn’t have the words to explain it.

He moves the mouse, clicking onto a new video. It starts like all the ones before, introducing you, and then the piano slowly begins. So divine, captivating, he holds his breath as you glide across the ice so naturally, twirling close to the edge. He watches in deep admiration, he remembers attending Rindō’s jiu-jitsu tournaments when they were children, always cheering his brother on from the crowds, he wishes he could have cheered for you too.

On the empty ice rink, the lights are shining for you and only you.

It’s enchanting.

Another video is a younger you with tears welled up in your eyes, relief and frustration at the silver medal that hangs around your neck. It all glistens as the light shines down on you, twinkling against the medal.

And like everything in the world, money rules over all. Ruling over with an iron fist. It shines so vividly, it’s almost blinding. From silver to bronze to nothing. He can sense your anger, the unfair bitterness that wells up inside of you, the tears you desperately hold back, yet you force yourself to smile. So prettily, he almost falls for it, it almost eases his own anger at your injustice.

Always smiling, the smile of an angel.

—

Saturday’s date never comes. Kakuchō calls him up saying there’s a sudden emergency meeting. Details are still a blur, pieces are missing, but South wants everyone at Rokuhara Tandai’s hideout before evening hits.

He called you two hours ago, telling you that something important came up and that he would like to take you out another time. You being you, always so sweet and understanding towards him says it’s okay. The disappointment you try to hide in your voice is evident, and his heart feels heavy. He tells you he is sorry and you tell him it’s okay because sometimes things happen unexpectedly.

Rindō barges into his room, his uniform is half on, asking him to do his hair. He feels his brother’s stare, rather intense, and Ran grows annoyed by the minute.

“What’s your problem? Don’t wanna go today? I think South and Kakuchō would get pissed if we bailed.”

“I know, I know. South would come for our asses.”

“Then what is it? You’ve been frowning all day and I know it wasn’t me. I was mostly in my room.”

“It’s just the shitty weather,” he replies with a heavy sigh.

Rindō makes a face, looking at him quite dumbly. “It’s sunny out?”

Ran just looks at him and sighs again. Louder. Rindō wouldn’t understand his woes.

(He can’t tell Rindō about you just yet. You’re his little secret, a safe place for him, his paradise — though, he is sure Rindō knows something is up. Rindō knows his heart well enough.)

“So are you gonna do my hair or not?”

“Obviously, I am. C’mere. Can’t have my baby brother looking like a mess.”

He breaks out into a grin the moment Rindō gets annoyed and hits him on the arm — not hard enough to leave a bruise, but hard enough for Ran to loudly groan at the impact and attempt to swing back at him (he swears he misses on purpose). His previous annoyance vanishes as he play fights with his brother.

There is a downpour that night, raining crimson red.

—

Grey skies, clusters of clouds forming together, and the humidity sticks to his pale skin. The storm has long passed, sweeping violence, lulling it back to the sea. Rindō is out today, meeting a few friends, probably causing trouble, or kissing pretty girls. Ran doesn’t know, barely registering his brother’s words earlier due to being half-asleep.

Technically they’re supposed to be laying low after the battle between Rokuhara Tandai versus Brahman verus Kantō Manji Gang; ‘the Battle of Three Deities’, is what people call it, and Ran likes the name very much. However, instead of laying around at home as he often finds himself doing, he finds himself on the other side of Roppongi, knocking on the door to your cheap studio.

He doesn’t understand why he drags himself here, he’s still exhausted from everything and he wants nothing more than to just sleep, to forget everything.

It’s less than a minute when you open the door, your eyes slightly widen at his unannounced arrival.

You look as if you had just woken up, a mess, and Ran finds you beautiful. There’s something so mesmerizing in raw beauty, something he finds so beautiful in you. His gaze softens once he sees your heavy eyes, brimmed-red, and he feels a sudden urge to hold you. To keep you close.

“What’s wrong?”

“Hey, you alright?”

The two of you smile, bursting out laughing for a few seconds at speaking the same words at the same time. You take a small breath, shaking your head, saying, “you go first, Ran. I asked first.”

“Hm? I believe I did. Ladies first.”

“Ran.”

He notices that you say his name a lot more these days, rolling off of your tongue so sweetly, so naturally, it almost doesn’t feel like his name.

Ran, Ran, Ran.

He loves the way you say it despite hearing his name being said a thousand times before.

Your hand wraps around his wrist, tugging him inside. He closes the door behind you both, eyes never leaving you; watching as he follows right behind you, trained on your messy hair and back.

“An acquaintance of mine died the other day,” he casually blurts out. Acquaintance is probably not the right word — friends is definitely the wrong one. South was an interestingly strong guy; beating the shit out of S-62 generation, resulting in them falling in line behind him, the only one capable of handling their brutality — or at least that’s what they said to him. He is someone Ran spent a lot of time with, someone he didn’t particularly like or dislike. He can’t put his finger around it.

You pause, turning around the moment the words spill from his lips. “Oh, Ran… I’m sorry. Are you alright?” You ask, genuine worry across your face, eyebrows furrowed as you attempt to search in his eyes. “No, sorry, that was such a stupid question…”

“No, no. It’s not stupid.” He is quick to hush, appreciating your concern, but he doesn’t want to worry you. He didn’t come here for that. “‘m alright. Trust me. I just felt the need to come and see you.”

“I’m here for you. I am so sorry about your friend… why don’t you go and sit down? I’ll make you that tea you like. I can’t make it like the café does, but…”

After Izana passed away, Ran felt something inside him shatter, despite not being super close to the boy — or rather, the boy not allowing any of them to get close. A wall of steel surrounding him and his lonely heart. He really admired him, he thinks he always will. Ran felt lost. Mutō who randomly disappeared the moment he was released from juvie, only for his remains to be found near the Tokyo bay area, and now South who had also been killed… Ran doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel. He feels nothing and maybe that’s what scares him.

And if something were to happen to him, especially Rindō—

No, no, no. He shouldn’t think that way.

He steps closer to you, lifting his other hand to brush a strand of hair from your face. You lean forward into his touch. “It’s alright. I already had somethin’ to drink before I got here,” he tells you. “Now how ‘bout you tell me what’s wrong with you? You look terrible, sweetheart.”

“Geez, thank you for pointing it out, Haitani. Not everyone can look nice everyday.” Your words make him smile, he knows he looks good everyday. Your gaze turns down, not wanting to meet his eyes as your expression drops. Your lips twitch, forcing yourself to slightly smile. “I… I just don’t know what I’m doing,” voice barely above a whisper, barely found, so Ran loosens his wrist from your grip to grab your hand, holding it tightly within his.

Your breathing is slow and jagged, almost as if you are holding back the oxygen you desperately need. Ran feels as if he can feel your heavy heart and how irregularly it beats.

He squeezes your hand a little tighter and you wince.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to squeeze you so hard…” he rubs circles against the back of your hand with his thumb over and over again. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Huh? Now? Where are we going?”

“Yes, right now.”

You protest, turning your head away from him, “I’m not even dressed and you didn’t—”

He softly sighs, raising both hands to cup your face. He gently squishes your cheeks together, your pretty lips forming a pout and you frown at the action. Ran smiles, saying, “you look pretty. You always do. Let’s go, okay?”

“… Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I said okay, Ran.”

The two of you board the evening train and go to a deserted beach hours away from the city. Just the two of you.

—

The road ahead is too dark, foggy and you cannot see anything, even yourself. It’s a scary thing to be alone. The waves are awfully calm, lulling you in with a terrifying silent noise. It’s the call of the void and you’re afraid to drown. You think it might rain, or so you thought it would earlier, yet it never came.

Maybe the rain will come once more tonight.

“I watched it, those videos of you.” Ran’s voice breaks you from your train of thoughts, you take in his words, his comforting presence, and swallow down your bleak thoughts.

You tilt your head in confusion at his vague words, “huh?”

“The videos posted of you skating. I think I saw most of ‘em.”

“Oh… well, what did you think of them?”

You feel rather embarrassed about it, you don’t know why though, millions of people have seen you ice skating before. You can’t bring yourself to watch them anymore. This bitterness only continues to bottle up inside of you. As fresh as these wounds may be, you wish they would hurry and fade, you don’t ever want to remember it. Not yet, at least.

Ran lowly hums, it mixes in with the gentle evening breeze. “Wish they were higher quality. You looked like a little snow fairy dancing around. The way you skate is so pretty.”

You huff a laugh, biting your lip, snow fairy, Ran always says such weird things. However, your chest feels warm at those words, heart fluttering, you wonder if Ran really does see you as something so pure. So divine.

“But I noticed at a point you stopped looking so happy, almost like you were just forcing yourself. You looked as if you were just waiting for the pain to pass.” Ran’s comment pierces your heart and aches. You don’t like how Ran always sees through you, his gaze is so intense, too observing, and you have to force yourself to not look away.

“I really loved it,” you confess. Figure skating was all you’ve ever known. “I really, really loved it,” you repeat, not to Ran, but to yourself.

“I know. I could tell.” He says it through sleepy hooded eyes, his signature lazy smile.

Ran’s words are so simple, yet you always feel so seen by him. It sort of scares you, being known completely by another. You think Ran is someone who would accept you no matter what. You wonder why.

(You do not understand your own question, because ever since you first met him and now, you accept Ran no matter what. You always will.)

The sun has long set, passing by with a blink of an eye during the train ride here, the sky grows darker and darker.

“Were you close to him?” You find yourself asking. “The person who passed away,” you add on for clarification.

“Not really,” immediately replies Ran.

“Oh… are you sad?”

“No, not really.”

“Oh, okay. That’s good.”

You don’t press more on the matter. Ran will only be vague when it comes to those things, despite your worries. There are sides of him he doesn’t want you to see, the ones that tie to him and his borderline cruelty. You can understand this about him and his silent wish to keep you away from his world.

There’s a constant buzzing, Ran takes out his phone, flipping it open as he squinting at the small screen. “Hm? Hold on, it’s Rin… gimme a second,” he says, fiddling with his keypad as he types a reply (or two from how long it seems to take him).

“He said he’s gettin’ lazy so he is gonna crash at a friend’s place tonight,” Ran says, always reporting what his brother does to you. Something you find so endearing, because you never met Rindō, but you feel like you have known him your entire life. You think Ran is so sweet, Rindō must be an angel from how Ran’s eyes soften when he mentions his name (even when the stories he tells are embarrassing ones that Rindō doesn’t know about, teasing his brother, yet his eyes speak so fondly. Light falls back into lavender when he laughs about an old memory that only they know, and now you).

You don’t know Rindō yet. You only know he loves bourbon, working out and partying with his friends, DJing, and that he has a huge collection of CDs that Ran thinks you would really like. Rindō is Ran’s precious little brother, he loves him very much, and you think you like him too. You hope you can meet him one day. You really do.

“You’ll be lonely tonight, Ran,” you tease.

“I won’t. I have you.”

You want to believe Ran is teasing you back, it sounds like it, but you know Ran isn’t teasing you despite the light tone. The look in his eye is so sincere and warm, a shiver runs over you when you realize you can read him so clearly, his usual unreadable self is nowhere in sight at this very moment.

“You so wish you did…”

Ran’s smile lets you know that he knows that’s not true. It makes your face heat up and you shyly avoid his gaze, immediately turning away. You know this only makes his smile turn into an amused smirk.

(He has you, he really does. You already placed the key to your fragile heart in the palm of his cold hands.)

—

As night falls, it is a quarter till midnight when Ran takes you to a ryokan after the two of you dined at a local restaurant (it’s quite fortunate that there are still rooms available, Ran pays for one room for the both of you to share). The two of you don’t go home tonight, Ran thinks you expected it because you show no sign of shock or resistance when entering the traditional inn. It’s been a while since he’s last been to an onsen; the first and only time being with Rindō and a few members of S-62, back when most of them were first released from juvenile detention. It’s been a long time since then, the air is rather nostalgic.

One of the inns’ attendants leads the two of you to your room, a little far from the entrance. The room is simple, one you would expect to see in a traditional inn, it’s cozy, reminding him of the countryside he had visited once so long ago; a fleeting memory. Ran is rather exhausted, wanting nothing more than to lay down your futons together and sleep the night away.

It’s unfortunate that sea salt sticks to his skin, grains of sand he feels in his hair. He desperately needs to bathe, to relax, and so do you.

One of the private onsens is unbooked – a medium one outdoors – Ran suggests it, anticipating your answer, and despite his own hopes, he’s surprised when you agree to it, only if Ran promises not to look, and of course, he promises.

Entering has his heart racing, you two quietly wash yourself, making random small talk to avoid the awkward tension.

You remind him many times not to peek, he promises to you again and again that he won’t, but he did accidentally catch a glimpse of you wrapped in a white towel and that leaves very little to the imagination.

A million thoughts flood his mind, his self-consciousness trying to rack for anything to help him, to stop his mind from going down the gutter. Seeing you like this, so close within his vacancy, is driving him insane. Nobody can blame him for feeling this way, he’s a healthy young man, a simple man, and the prettiest girl he’s ever seen is naked beside him. It’d be more insane if he wasn’t going crazy.

Though, he has always been good at self-control. And he won’t do anything you aren’t ready for. He enters the water first, sighing in relief.

Embarrassing memories of Rindō flood his mind. A younger and cuter Rindō, all shit faced and wobbly from trying his first shot of alcohol. A memory of Tenjiku’s ramen eating competition that ended with Mocchi throwing up on Shion’s brand new shoes. A memory of him and Rindō arguing over everything and nothing on a staircase that led to both of them falling down, sustaining injuries and one with a sprained wrist — a moment of silent agreement between them in telling others it was from a batshit crazy fight from a group of random delinquents that stepped into Roppongi.

The memory of it all makes him scrunch up his face in sheer embarrassment at his younger self. How embarrassing… he wishes he didn’t recall it.

Water splashing, the sound of you entering the bath causes him to open his eyes, instantly frowning at the distance between the both of you.

“Why are you sitting so far away?”

“Why would I sit closer?” You sink deeper into the water, holding onto the towel around your body tighter, mumbling something about being naked underneath your breath.

Ran rolls his eyes. “I think you are too far away from me,” he replies before asking, “may I come closer then?”

His eyes stay on you, your cheeks are flushed due to the heated water and this situation. You shyly look at him through your lashes, nodding. He breaks out smiling once you agree, standing up to move closer to you, taking a keen note on how your eyes flicker up and down, trailing along the ink on his body before you turn your head towards the opposite direction. How cute, he thinks, amused by your actions, your expressions enticing something in him.

“There,” he hums in satisfaction before teasing, “now you can take a better look at my tattoos, hm?”

“Ran!”

“What? I saw you looking and I don’t blame you one bit. I am quite proud of my tattoos and my body.”

“I think you are imagining things…”

“And I think you are in denial, sweetheart.”

You scoff at him, rolling your eyes as you lean back against the rock to relax. Ran does the same, closing his eyes as peace slowly begins to wash over him, all of his worries disappearing, melting into the water.

“Thank you.”

He tilts his head, opening his eyes to look at you. “Hmm? For what?”

“For everything,” you simply say. “You have the heart of an angel, Ran.”

Ran slowly blinks, ignoring his racing heartbeats that clog his throat. “Are you stupid?” Slightly shocked by his own bluntness, not meaning for those words to escape his thoughts.

You giggle, turning your gaze down to the water, watching as it slightly ripples through small movements. “I probably am… considering I find Roppongi’s top delinquent such a sweet guy.”

You are definitely a strange one, he’s thought this since your second meeting. Ran knows he is not someone sweet — he is someone rather cruel and selfish, only caring about himself and a few selective people. He rules with blood stained hands and he knows you should know that too. He is a little worried that someone will take advantage of your pure heart if he isn’t around.

“Maybe it’s ‘cause ‘m only sweet to you.”

He expects you to look away from him, but you don’t. You smile at him, your eyes glimmering against the starry night sky; shimmering with something he has never once seen before. In his mind, there’s a click, wishing to capture you in this moment forever.

“Yeah, maybe…” He thinks you look so pretty right now (well, he always does). You look so lovely in this light. “I wish we could stay like this forever.”

Your words catch him off-guard once again, leaving his heart is racing and he hopes his cheeks aren’t as red as he knows his ears are. You have this strange effect on him, leaving him with many mixed emotions that he has never felt before.

There are many things Ran wishes to say, things he knows he won’t say, and things he can’t say.

You’re rather adorable, thinking of forever with him. Voicing your silly little thoughts and Ran finds it all incredibly sweet, this wishful thinking.

Another thing is that there is no such thing as forever; no matter how deeply you wish for it, your little hands aren’t enough to hold something so big — Ran learned this the hard way. Always striving for something more, barely holding onto the things that he already had. The only thing remaining is Rindō, always Rindō, and Roppongi that sits perfectly in both of their hands.

Maybe he could hold you too.

Forever sounds nice. Living in daydreams with you for all time.

“Me too,” he ends up saying, indulging you. (He hopes you mean it and in his heart, he knows you do.)

Ran doesn’t like to think so hard on things, especially life, since it will do nothing good. But he does believe humans can only live for something; they need something to keep moving forward, just like how he does. He doesn’t want you to become someone so empty — aimlessly wandering to feel something again. Ran is surrounded by life and death, dull and lifeless eyes, and broken dreams crushed beneath the sea of pessimism. He has seen this many times, in the eyes of everyone he has ever known. Ran doesn’t want you to end up the same way. He has too much on his back already, but if you can stand on your own he could stand beside you.

Overwhelmed by everything this world gives to you, you feel so small and alone, as if the sun may never rise again. You cry. So silently and the relief and heart ache Ran feels for you is so intense. Seeing you cry doesn’t feel good, neither does knowing you keep trying to hold back your tears.

He instantly moves a little closer, wrapping a heavy arm around your shoulders, taking in the scent of the inn’s shampoo, faintly sweet of lavender and vanilla, matching the one he had also used. Your scents mix into one. He leans his head on yours, eyes flickering from you to the distant waning moon.

Only the sound of your quiet sniffles, the gentle waves and the occasional owl calling out can be heard tonight.

“I’m scared, Ran,” you mumble, voice muffled by your arm as you hide your face.

Ran would never voice those concerns out loud, unlike you, you’re brave in a different way he has never seen before. Being so open and vulnerable in this moment, he is almost envious. Showing weakness has never done him any good, the moments he has, it’s always been used against him.

“I know,” replies Ran, his arm moving down to your waist as he pulls you closer and you are almost sitting on his lap. You’re settled a little awkwardly on his legs, the towel around your body shifts, falling down at the sudden moment, creating a ripple in the water. Your legs are fully pressed against his, he can fully see and make out your body, the droplets of water that drips down your shoulder and chest. You are completely bare in front of him and Ran can see everything. Strangely, it does not feel sexual, it feels more intimate and pure than anything he has ever known. Ran wishes to be closer. “And you’ll be okay. I know you will be. Have a little more faith in yourself, baby.”

With one hand, he cups your cheek, lifting your head to gently wipe away your tears. They attempt to fall against your cold cheeks, Ran catches them, the stars and himself are captured within them and your eyes.

Beneath the sea of stars, the world sleeps ever so quietly; Ran kisses you so softly and you kiss him back.

Dawn that you are so desperately wishing for is nowhere in sight, not yet, it will come around soon. He kisses you again and again and again.

(Ran shows you that you are not alone.)

Ran knows that he will introduce you to Rindō one day. Soon. And he knows Rindō will love you. His girl. His lovely angel.

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Instincts

Daryl Dixon x reader [pt.2]

Daryl finds a woman with her newborn pup, taking them into the group. Slowly their bond grows stronger.

The group traveled by foot after losing their vehicles. Tired and worn they walked on the road when Daryl decided to move into the woods to hunt while the others rested.

"Don't leave for too long, we gotta find shelter." Were the last words he caught before he walked off.

He got lucky finding two squirrels rather quick, but his nose caught a different scent he couldn't ignore.

With the squirrels strung over his shoulder he moved through the forest, not a sound as he stalked low to the ground and using all his heightened senses to seek out the source of the scent. He usually never went after anything other than food on these short hunts, but his instincts were screaming to go with his guts and follow his nose on this one.

The scent grew stronger and he could now tell apart all the separate ones. Human, low to the ground. And wolf, like him. He was either walking into something amazing, or he walked to his doom. He'd find out soon enough seeing his target wasn't moving.

"Hey, ouch! Come on, what did I tell you about those teeth.." a sigh left your lips as you softly rubbed the cheek of your son, who was nursing huddled against your torso as you sat against a large tree, partially hidden by low greenery. "God damn, what child has teeth this sharp at a couple days old.."

You were so focused on the feeding child that you didn't catch the man who appeared from behind the tree until a crossbow was aimed at you.

The second you saw you curled around your child, eyes closed and waiting for it tk be over.

Daryl heard the voice of a woman complain. Teeth, babies. Weird. But he now had her location pinpointed to behind a large tree, and made quick strides to round the tree, crossbow at the ready.

The woman came into view and so did her child. He watched her duck around it and waited, but Daryl dropped his crossbow instead and turned around before the blush creeping up on his face could be seen.

"M'sorry. Didn' mean ta watch ya feed." You watched the man's back, one hand lifted and the other holding his crossbow loosely. You shuffled your layers back over your chest with lots of vocal protests of the fuzzy newborn in your arms. His whines and grumbles were so strange to you, never had you heard a newborn sound like that. But then again, you never had seen a newborn like this.

"So, what's a human doin' with a werewolf pup on 'er own? Where's dad?" He still had his back to you and kept his distance, knowing full well he needed to keep his scent off the new mom and child if he wanted to survive. Male werewolves were insanely protective of their newborns.

"Human mom's traveling with her son, surviving like everyone else out here." You weren't going to respond to that last bit. Not now, not yet.

"Righ, if yer alone ya can tag along. Got a group tha' won't mind havin' ya an' the pup." He had turned his head and peeked if you were decent again, fully turning to catch your response when he saw you were covered up. "How do you know what he is? You're too okay with this."

Daryl let out a soft, breathy laugh and sat on his haunches to be at eye level with you. "They're common where I'm from." His voice was so calm as you stared at the smile on his face. You watched him stare at your son who was squirming in your arms. He was restless and you couldn't understand why.

"If yer comin' I gotta ask ya sum questions." Daryl was back on his feet again, ready to start heading back.

"I want to join you." Your answer was quickly given, much to Daryl's surprise. "I'm alone, and have no clue how to raise him so if I can stick around and get help from people who know his kind I'd be forever grateful."

Daryl let out a grunt of approval and nodded for you to follow him as you both exchanged names. He still made sure to keep a respectful distance from you in case dad was still around, but easily led you all back to the road where his group still rested.

"Hey! Daryl's back." "Wait, who's that?" "He found someone?"

"Did you ask her?" Rick's voice cut through the chatter and watched his friend shake his head no. He stepped over to you but was held back by a strong arm before he could get close, only letting out a simple warning. "Keep yer distance."

You watched the man give Daryl a look before turning back to you. "So, miss. How many walkers have you killed?"

You gave him a funny look, unsure who in their right mind kept track of something like that. "A bunch. Mostly avoided them lately, I assume you can guess why." You gave the pup in your arms a look, but averted your eyes back to the other man who continued his questionnaire. "How many people have you killed?"

Fuck. "Two."

"Why?" The question came so fast you had no time to even think.

"First one turned when we were asleep. Hid a bite and I'm a light sleeper." The man raised his brows, a clear sign he was waiting for number two.

"I killed his dad." You nodded to the pup again. "Tried to kill me and take him when my water broke. Guy was a psycho." You looked down at your arms, bundling your son even closer to you at the memory.

Suddenly Daryl stepped closer to you, holding out a hand and watching as the almost fully black furred pup stared at him with big eyes and made grabby hands at his fingers.

"Ya had him on yer own?" You nodded at Daryl's question and ran a hand through your son's fur. "I'm still sore.. having to move around immediately after is the absolute worst."

Seeing you were alone and with a child you weren't seen as a threat and allowed to travel with the group, much to your relief. You never expected your life to get even a little bit better, but now that you were traveling along with more folks you felt content. They watched your back when you fed your son and had a very handsome man help you feed him leftover meats from his hunts.

You were falling for him. Your son was absolutely in love with the man and you were starting to head in that direction too.

It wasn't helping your case that you r son wouldn't let anyone else but you and Daryl carry him, so when your arms were too sore to keep going he had to step in and stay close to you.

Your group shared dog meat and cheered in the rain, all the way to the point of the rain turning into a storm and having to run to seek shelter.

That’s how you ended up where you were now, all together huddled in a barn, desperately trying to catch up on some sleep while Rick kept first watch, but your don wasn’t helping the situation at all. He was whining his little lungs out with no signs of stopping. You had walked around with him, tried to breastfeed and give him some meat but he wanted none of it. Carol had offered to look him over but quickly retreated when a small clawed paw swiped at her when she reached out for his tummy. You were desperate, on the verge of tears as soft sniffles escaped your lips. Not being able to quiet down the whining pup was bad enough already, to have you crying on top of that would be the absolute worst. You pulled him close to your chest, his side against the soft flesh of your exposed chest, hoping the feel of your warmth would help but again it did nothing.

On the other side of the barn Daryl had settled, just around a corner and out of view. He had been trying to sleep for longer than most, but was having a much worse time than them. The pup’s whines weren’t directed at the others. They were for him.

With the distance between him and you there was no chance you’d hear his frustrated growls under his breath. Each peak in whines had him quietly snarl until eventually he couldn’t handle the child’s desperate cries anymore.

“Can ya tell yer kid I ain’t his goddamn dad?!” His voice rang through the barn, a deep growling tone to it that scared you so bad you lost the ability to hold back the tears you were trying to keep at bay, and had your pup go from whining to full on crying. Loud scraping howls and cries shook his tiny body, no attempts to shush him succeeding.

On the other end of the barn you could hear the soft groans of Judith waking up and quickly joining the chorus of cries. With her awake and crying now as well the mood in the whole barn dropped to a heavy negative. On one end you tried to shush the pup and on the other end the rest of the women huddled around the young girl to quiet her down.

From your angle you could see Abraham sit up from his spot next to Daryl who remained hidden behind a low wall. You watched the large man reach out his arm and whack it beside him, earning him an annoyed snarl from where Daryl laid. “Get yer ass up to the lady and her pup so we can all get some shut-eye.” Another rude snarling noise sounded and it was returned with another harsh smack. “Get movin’ or I’m gonna get the lady and plant her pretty little self and the noisemaker in your lap myself.”

Abraham’s words made you softly giggle, but you quieted down when a tired grunt came from beside him and Daryl came into view. He rubbed a hand over his face and stretched out his back as he moved over to you with his sleeping bag in hand. “Move over.” His voice was stern, and you complied immediately, scooting over to make space for him between you and the low wooden wall. With his appearance the pup’s cries had gone down to sniffles and hiccups, his paws outstretched in Daryl’s direction while he was laying out his sleeping bag.

On his way to lay down your pup managed to wiggle himself from your grasp and clamp himself around Daryl’s arm, who had to pry him off while you apologized on his behalf.

“Ain’t yer fault.” His voice was barely above a whisper as he laid down and pulled the pup against his chest. With his one free arm he grabbed you by the shoulder and pulled you closer too, laying you opposite him with the pup nestled in between you. Almost immediately he calmed down and curled up to sleep. “M’sorry fer yellin’. Jus’ tired.”

You forgave him immediately, thanking him for going out of his comfort zone and sleeping with the two of you.

The barn was finally quiet, safe for the rain still pouring outside, and sleep soon took over.

The next morning you woke up to a pain in your chest. Jerking up you almost smacked Daryl who was now grumbling as he was woken up by your sudden movement.

He watched you sit up with a hand covering your breast, inspecting it by peeking down the neckline of your shirt while an eager furball made grabby hands at your chest.

“I think I’m gonna head out the door and feed him. Need some fresh air after last night..” Daryl followed suit after your words, he had some confessions to make and properly apologize for making your son behave the way he did last night. You watched him follow you from the corner of your eye and held the door ajar for him. With a soft thanks he shut the barn door behind him, crossbow in hand. He still kept his back to you as you sat down against the outside of the barn and got ready to feed the pup. He's always turn away until you started talking again, signaling you were decent enough.

You watched Daryl pace in front of you, chewing the side of his thumb in thought. "Hey, what's wrong?" Truth being, his pacing was making you really nervous.

He let out a groan and stopped his pacing, now nervously shifting his weight from one foot to another. "We gotta talk. S'about the pup." He shook off his nerves and sat down with you.

"Was he really crying for you last night? You yelled at him about not being his dad." You knew that. He was a kind stranger who helped you with your child.

"He kept whinin' fer me ta hold 'em." He's unsure how to continue. He had to tell you the truth before the pup entirely imprinted on him, if it wasn't already too late.

"Back when I found ya it weren't by chance. Picked up yer scent an' sniffed ya out. Got excited when I caught 'nother wolf."

He watched your face go from focused to confused at his last sentence. Deciding words weren't going to help him right now he raised his hand into view, taking a deep breath and letting his claws come out. Fhe skin of his finger pads darkened as his nails thickened and extented into full claws. "Pup thinks 'm his dad. Didn' think it'd happen so quick, m'sorry."

As you watched Daryl's hand change, yous son squirmed out of your grasp with all his might and plopped into Daryl's lap and grabbed at his wrist.

"So, we co-parent now? You know I'm mkre than fine being with a werewolf." Oh god, those weren't the words you meant. Yiu weren't telling him you were into him like that. Wait. Could he have sensed it already when you thought about it earlier?

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks as you watched him try to keep your son from climbing on top of him even more.

"Ya still ne'er named him, didya?" Daryl felt the change in energy and decided to change the topic. He remembered one of the women asking for the pup's name and you admitting to never giving him one. It was still something you ran through your mind every day, nothing seemed to fit.

The scene went silent aftet that, both adults watching the little furball as he dug his paws into the sand, fished out a worm and stuffed it in his mouth, swallowing it whole.

You scrunced up your nose at the action, but Daryl only smiled proudly and watched as the little black fuzz hopped around and jumped up to chomp at a fly, missing the first two times but catching it the third try.

"S'gon be a good hunter, tha' one."

Hunter.

"Little Hunter, huh?" It rolled nicely off the tongue, it fit. You looked his way and called for him. "Hey, pup. Hunter, come here." He quickly came back to you and plopped himself on top of you.

Daryl wanted to grab and hold you both close in congratulations of naming the little guy, but he wasn't the father. He should keep his respectful distance up, Hunter was only yours.

A lot of happened between then and now, where you sat on the porch steps of a home in a safe community.

Hunter rolled around in the grass in front of you and Daryl sat on the railing with his crossbow and a cloth in hand.

"Hey Daryl," It was Carol who came from the house, all dressed up nicely. "Have you showered yet?"

Daryl only grumbled at the question. "Sweety, why don't you go take a shower with him?" She aaked as she walked past you and watched you smile and saw Daryl's face turn beet red.

Not long after you arrived in the community Carol had taken you aside and told you about Daryl's feelings he couldn't put into words, and in turn her learning about your love for him too. Ever since then she had been trying to set you up.

You and Daryl already shared a room, still sleeping apart from each other but still actively being parents to Hunter. Daryl hated to admit it, but caring for your son helped with the anxiety surrounding his new home.

"You know, Dee? Catol makes a great point. Come on." You got up and motioned to Rosita to watch Hunter for you while you went to try something.

Walking over to Daryl you took his hand in your and softly tugged for him to follow and to your surprize he let himself be dragged into the house and up the stairs.

This was easier than you expected it to be, hsving him upstairs and in the bathroom with you in a matter of minutes.

When you let go of his hand and turned away to run the water you half expected him to run off, but when you turned back he stood at the sink. He was staring at you through the mirror.

"How come you're so distant again today? Yesterday you were good stepping up to me and hugging Hunter." Daryl was difficult to read, and you often needed Carol to translate for you, not that you could call her over now that you were trying to get closer to Daryl in this way.

His gaze kept following your movements in the mirror as you went to grab towels and place them near the tub, making sure you had all the needed soaps and shampoos and a brush and sponge at hand.

"It ain't jus' me in ma head, ya know tha' righ? Me, I wanna make sure m'not invadin' yer family 'n respect tha' he aint mine ta care for." He spoke while he watched you undress. His head told him to look away and be respectful, but somewhere a voice kept telling him you wanted this too. He had smelled it on you that you were happy and content around him, he only smelled love and adoration on you but with you never saying it was okay out loud he never acted on it. But now you took him here and stripped down to just panties and a shirt. "And what says the other you? The one that's staring at me right now?" He watched a wide smile appear on your face as yiu pointed at your eyes and then at him. He hadn't even noticed his eyes had changed as he listened to his feral side talk inside his head.

"Tells me m'wastin' time not bein' withya. Found someone who ain't afraid of us, survived havin' a pup. Keeps yappin' about havin' a perfect mate walkin' around fer me an' bein' a bitch fer not goin' for ya." It was clear in his voice he was struggling with this day after day, and you weren't making it easier by not just speaking your feelings to him. You led him here to confess, to have the balls to outright tell him what you felt for him in the privacy of the room.

Even barely dressed and inviting him into the shower he still didn't take the hint you wanted him. He needed the words so you gave them now. Standing beside him and turning to look at him you grabbed his leather vest and pushed it off his shouders.

"Daryl Dixon, both human half and wolf, listen to me." Your words made him turn to you, and just as it was easy to drag him up the stairs, it was easy now to undress him ever so slowly. "If you truly believe I'd be a good mate to you then, please.." You were giving him time to stop your hands as you ever so slowly pushed his shirt off his shoukders and followed his arms down to his hips. "I want you to make me your mate. Hunter has already claimed you as a dad and now I want us to admit to our feelings." Your fingers worked at his pants and got them open, but quit when his hands moved.

You thought he was going to stop you, but instead he reached for your shirt and lifted it over your head. "I wanna try withya. But ya gotta be patient with me, please." You, the human, had to be patient with the werewolf. It was adorable in a way, but you'd keep that to yourself.

"I promise to be patient with you. Except for right now, come and get your ass into the shower before Rosita gets tired of Hunter." With a laugh you undressed entirely and went to feel the water temperature and swap to the showerhead before stepping in. "I'm still telling you to join me in the shower, just to make sure you got the hint."

He may have been slow, mentally preparing for something so intimate, but he ended up in the tub with you. He sat half under the stream as you gave his hair a spa treatment and scrubbed his skin. You were scrubbing harsh, but he didn't mind. It felt nice to be rid of the grime and dirt for once. He felt good once you were done, and returned the favor with the utmost care. His touch was so soft, if you weren't facing him you barely believed it was him who cleaned you.

That night, long after retrieving Hunter and having a quiet family dinner you shared a bed for the first time. Just to sleep, nothing more.

Well, a bit more. Soft kisses, brushes of skin and cuddles were shared. Enjoying each other's warmth and find your space on the bed was the priority tonight.

The others all quickly caught the changes in your behavior about each other. The three of you were a real family all of a sudden and Carol gave herself a pat on the shoulder for getting her friends to be real with each other now.

With weeks passing you turned Daryl's downstairs room into his workplace slash quick nap spot and moved all the bedroom stuff upstairs and made a real, adult couple bedroom with a nook for Hunter's crib.

More weeks passed after moving into your new room and everything was so real now and it felt good, but nothing felt as good as certain words leaving Daryl's mouth after you came to an agreement a couple weeks prior.

"Smells so good, hun. Whatcha got cookin?" Daryl had just rolled out of bed after coming home late last night from a hunt. He sauntered over and wrapped his arms around your middle, hands resting on your stomach as he took a long whiff to take in all the scents swarming the kitchen.

You told him shat you were cooking as he followed your words with his nose. The fresh baked bread you went to grab early. The stew simmering in the pan and the eggs baking in the pan. But there was something else cooking, something you probably hadn't realized yet.

"Yer forgettin'bout yer oven, hun." You had yo know what he meant, you were so excited about it before.

"Dee, this kitchen has no working oven." You giggled as his chin scruff rubbed against your cheek as he kissed you there. "No tha' oven.." His hands spread over your stomach and squeezed soffly. "Ya smell even better than I hoped ya would."

You smelled different? You still used the same shampoo and soaps. And you couldn't remember you using a seriously different laundry soap either.

"Hun." Daryl had to stop you srirring the stew for a moment, turning off the heat under the eggs and turn you around. The irony of her joking about having to be direct with him to make him understand, and then now not getting it when he wasn't saying things literal.

"Ya smell pregnant." It was as direct as it could be. Straight to the point and perhaps the only way to bring this.

To say you were shocked was an understatement. You had your whole day planned full of tasks around the community, but you knew you weren't going to get anything done now.

But Daryl let you get back to your stew, staying stuck to your back with his hands massaging your belly.

"Well, ya better start believin' cuz tha' pup's gon' be here soon." Daryl was excited, for the first time in his life he felt like he wasn't that little fuckup redneck boy he was always made out to be. He was ready to be a father, and this time not of an adopted child but one of his own.

"Can't believe it took so fast." You were thinking out loud now as you moved from stirring the stew to cutting the bread for the eggs.

A/N: A very human were!Daryl this time.

[literallyrave]

Tiring Night, Bright Light

I wrote this at 4AM two nights ago and FORGOT about it

just a little fluff drabble

pairing: Jason Todd + Reader

warnings: swearing, that’s it I think lmk if there’s something else‼️

Last night, for Jason at least, was a blur- not in the ‘so drunk tomorrow I won’t be able to walk more then 10 feet from the bathroom to my bedroom’ but the ‘Average night as Red Hood almost turns into a near death experience (again)’ type of night.

You on the other hand were overworked, losing your mind over every single word you heard or a car horn going off outside. Not to mention Jason only sending one word texts that were hours apart.

You ended up being on the literal edge of sleep when the soft squeak of the door opened and broad footsteps coming to the bed you laid in. Then the weight of the bed caving in, and the inventible arm that slithered around your waist and pulled your back up to his bare chest. You don't remember much after that, only the small kisses that were pressed to the back of your neck and shoulders.

You woke up to the sun pulsing in your eyelids, you let out a groan and used the blanket to cover your eyes. Not even noticing the snores coming from your exhausted boyfriend until you didn't feel him wrapped around you. That was when you turned over, putting your leg over his and your face in his back in your own little attempt to spoon him.

"Jayyyy" you dragged out as he stirred in his sleep. Seemingly hearing your 'cry' he woke up "hell y'doin up so early?" He slurred as he rubbed the tiredness out of his eyes. "God your hot.." he mumbled only to be met with your snarky little "i know!". He flipped himself over to see your face but the sun decided to partially blind him instead "Jesus- you leave the blinds open or something?" He sat up "No! You so did that, not me!" You defended yourself "uh huh, sure sweetie." Jason said as he got up, stretching in the process as he closed the blinds fully

"Now what am i gonna do with ya?" He said before climbing on top of you, pattering kisses along your face that made you giggle "You're such a sap today" you managed to giggle out before you pressed a light kiss upon his lips. "What can i can I say? You had a glow to ya this morning" He joked before laying next to you and wrapping you up in hopes of forgetting everything last night, which was already gone by the time you started rambling.