#REMEMBER TO TAKE CARE OF YOURSELVES PLS! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

peachypinkygloss · 6 months

Text

places i know — jjk

i know places - lykke li, les matins - angèle

ᥫ᭡ summary: in which jungkook's heart beats for you, but he prefers to dismiss his feelings and to blame himself for getting hurt.

ᥫ᭡ genre: friends with benefits, university au, angst, smut.

ᥫ᭡ word count: 3.7k

ᥫ᭡ warnings: alcohol consumption, long and messy hair jk 🫶🏻, he's introverted & she's extroverted, opposites attract type of shit, unreciprocated love, unprotected sex, unprotected oral sex, praising, blowjob, clit stimulation.

a.n.: yeah so... i came up with this last minute. begging for feedback again 🙏🏻 because your girl is paranoid and thinks everything she writes is shit 🥹 (to be confirmed or denied, idk) i won't update for a while, pls take care of yourselves, guys. kisses x

The way between his last course of the day — his class situated in block E, literally the farthest part of the university, still not renovated since the creation of the school — and his car is familiar, repetitive.

It doesn't bother Jungkook, though. Not all that much, at least. It's part of his daily life and he prefers things to be consistent, always predictable. He likes having a routine, something he can rely on — something secured, a feeling of certainty.

And the way to his car is all that. Expect for one detail in his life that is almost too unpredictable, even more than the rain. He simply can't tell when it's about to happen because if he were to predict it, he'd have to let down all his little habits.

He'd have to set the notifications of his phone on, remove 'night time' mode in case he ever receives an unexpected text from an unpredictable person. Have to ask questions more often, questions that are direct and that the answers don't leave him overthinking all night, turning sides back and forth in his bed.

Have to stop putting on his headphones while exiting the university building to hear your steps on the wet cement, rushing to him from behind, already grinning to yourself, knowing he doesn't suspect your presence.

A few repeated taps on his back makes him tense his shoulders, and makes him turn his head back to see who's after him. You may be sudden, but he always knows it's you. You're the only person in his life that would message him at 3 a.m., proposing to meet up and then canceling at the last minute to only interpellate him on his way back home.

He's a bit sour about this, but he won't tell you.

It's your silly escapades that fill most of his days and nights, though. It's that little giggle that leaves your lips before saying 'let's go to the movie theatre' without knowing what films are playing, just because it's funnier like that, because it's unexpected. It creates unforgettable memories, develops stronger feelings.

He reaches for his phone in the pocket of his hoodie, pressing pause, slipping his headphones off and letting them hang around his neck. There's a smile on your lips, one he remembers kissing more than once, both drunk and sober. Most of the time drunk.

"You're ready?" A toothy smile, one of the best, the only one he always wants to see, always misses.

Again, nothing has been prepared, but being unplanned is your habit. Maybe a fear of being chained to a routine, something Jungkook is attached too, though it doesn't matter.

There's something about you, about your wild nature that has him obsessed over you. Opposites attract, but he doesn't feel like your opposite, he feels like he's complementary to you. Like a puzzle piece. Like partners.

He continues his way to his car as you follow him to it, stepping backwards to keep facing him, sometimes turning around, feeling the wind passing through your hair.

Jungkook looks ahead, only glancing at you when he feels your insistent gaze on him. He can't ignore you. Not because you take a lot of space, but because he wants to answer you, wants to hear what you have to say and he knows he's going to regret later for not questioning you.

"I didn't know when you were coming," he opts for, choosing something lighter than what he has on his heart, a feeling he's not sure he wants to acknowledge himself; when are you going to stop playing with me?

"Tuh-tuh-tuh." You stop in front of him, forcing him to halt his walk as well. "Don't ask me when," you say, raising your eyebrows and tilting your head to the side. "Ask me why, ask me where."

Jungkook chuckles, the proud lopsided smile on your face amusing him. How easy it is for you to deviate from the conversation, avoid something you don't want to give an answer to. Something you don't want to touch on. Almost too easy-peasy.

He doesn't catch onto it yet again, leaving the lead to you, letting you use your impeccable charm on him.

"Where?" He sighs.

"That's the best part!" You cheer, "Okay, you know that place I talked to you about?"

"Yeah," he confirms, a bit unsure, but memories and words of yours are fast at coming back into his mind. "Your secret spot?"

He cuts his question there because what you said isn't something he really wants to say out loud — wanna show you that place, feels majestic, you'll like it. Wanna kiss you under that big, big tree, sit on your lap, cuddle you, ride your cock.

It was cheeky when you said it, but he was giggling along with you, sparkling eyes looking into each other, vodka rolling on your tongues.

You were beautiful that night in your blue dress, fitting well with the colour of your hair and skin, making your eyes pop out more. And so are you now, wearing a cute top with that long skirt, Doc Martens at your feet.

That night, you were sexy. A wet dream, an erotic fantasy. Today, you're cute and casual, looking like the girlfriend he wished he had.

"Yup," you nod your head, "My secret spot," you repeat, smiling softly.

He doesn't respond with anything so it's silent for a short moment, the breeze making your hair twirl around your head. He tells himself, right now, that the world is yours. It's as if you were controlling everything; the wind, the weather, his heart.

"Come on, Kook," you insist, "I'm gonna tell you where to go."

The moon is shining brightly from where he is. Away from the city, from all the flashing lights and the roaring of cars. It's peacefully quiet. He likes it.

You're also on your back, looking at the night sky and the clouds. Pointing at one star, saying it's someone's puppy. You hope it's resting in peace, he tells you of course, don't worry. You smile, again. He loves it.

You pick out a flower; it's purple, maybe rather violet. A really soft violet.

You turn on your side, leaning on your elbow, staring at Jungkook — a smirk tugging at your lips. You extend your arm to wipe some of his hair away from his face, tucking the stem of the flower behind his ear. He doesn't stop you and closes his eyes as your fingers brush over his skin.

You replace his bangs, Jungkook's eyelids fluttering as you do so and for the first time, very first time, he's the one who destabilizes you.

"You're beautiful," he whispers, looking at you, noticing how your eyes instantly glance up at him when the compliment slips past his lips. Maybe it's the way you slightly raise your eyebrows, no sight of a smile on your face, rather a look of surprise, a look of 'nobody's words make my stomach twist as much as yours do'.

For you, it's the way that you know he means it, really thought about it before, told himself hundreds of times in his head. Fuck, this girl's beauty is unbelievable.

The grass underneath you is starting to feel cold. The sun is gone and you cruelly miss its light on your skin, heating you up as well as Jungkook's arms around you do, too.

"You, too," you say back. No 'thank you', but he'll go with that. He guesses it felt too intimate and he understands that. Well, he tries to, at least.

He brings a hand up to the back of your neck, the tip of his fingers feel cold against your skin, a shiver running up your spine and making the hair on your arms stand up. He pulls you down and presses his lips down on yours.

It's not hot, it's not messy or sloppy. It's warm, passionate and coordinated. God, he's so cheesy.

He's fucking in love.

You break the kiss, grinning when he looks at you with wide, sparkling eyes. You lift up the right sleeve of his hoodie over his forearm, revealing the couple of tattoos decorating his skin, a bit dispersed and distanced from each other. Jungkook's told you about his desire of filling up his sleeve and colouring some of his tattoos as well.

You point to an empty spot, raising your gaze up to him while saying, "I see a lily there. A tiger lily."

He looks down to his arm, then up to you. "Do you?" He questions.

"Yes," you bob your head, whispering softly. "Bright and orange," you add on, tracing the form of the flower on his arm. He watches your finger brush his skin delicately with a lot of care. "With the petals open."

"It'd be really pretty," he approves, his words making you smile.

You then take his hand in yours and bring his arm up, passing it around your shoulders. He says nothing when you lay your face down on his chest. He only tilts his head downward, smiling back at you.

Your breathing is calm and regular, sometimes letting out a heavier exhale. You trust him, he realizes, and it makes his heart swell, hurts him a little because this isn't enough of a reason.

Enough of a reason to acknowledge his feelings — acknowledge how fucking boring his life is without you and how he wants to spend each moment with you.

But he can't ask that from you, can't demand you to reciprocate his feelings. So he only hopes and wishes, hurting when he's not around you. Goes back to his routine that he so wants to give up on just to be with you, a wild soul who dreams of liberty.

"You didn't tell me why."

You giggle, not because you find it funny, but because you're happy he remembered and cares enough to ask you. Of course he cares, it's you.

"Why I brought you here?" You say while rising up from his chest, connecting your eyes to his.

"Yeah," he confirms with a short nod of his head.

"You're the only one I told about," you answer, "And I don't think there's anybody else I want to share this moment with," you tell him in a soft tone, one that you solely use to say the truth. "I just knew you'd like this place as much as I do, and I want you to come here whenever you feel like it. It's our spot."

'What's mine is yours'.

It can be platonic, it can be friendly, but fuck, there's nothing platonic in the way that you look at him with stars in your eyes, wanting to give him to the world just because it'd feel like the right thing.

You seem so serene while telling him this, and Jungkook can't ignore the 'what if's' that are forming in his head. What if we come here daily until the snow comes and covers the grass? What if we carve our initials on that tree?

What if this secret means more to him than it means to you?

And then it hurts again.

He loves you.

Loves you in a way nobody else ever will because what he has, what he feels, is unique. Everybody's feelings are different, that's why you'll never find someone like Jungkook, that's why if you want him, you need to claim him.

But you probably never will. It's not your kind, not something you're willing to do. 'Don't want to sacrifice what we have', you once said. 'Girlfriend, boyfriend — what does it mean?' you responded when Jungkook jokingly called you "the perfect girlfriend" with too much alcohol in his blood.

Fucking ruined the mood. Why so fucking mean... when he knows you, knows the best parts of you that are down to earth, lovely and sweet, so many qualities in one single person.

But you're entitled to your stupid values.

And he continues to love you as he asks where to go now and you answer all too pouty that you want to go home, his home.

You insist on having vodka, knowing where he hides it, the top cabinet where you can't reach. Have to beg him with puppy eyes to let you have a glass. A tiny glass.

He tells you that you sure as hell gonna have a tiny one. You smile, thanking him. He drinks with you because there's no way he's letting you break his heart absolutely sober.

He loves you maybe more — well aware that he's going to regret it — when your sloppy tongues meet in a heated kiss, impatient hands slipping under each other's clothes.

He grabs a tit, earning a moan, you take a fist full of hair, eliciting a groan. The way to his bedroom feels far, far away, but he knows you're going to reach it, you have to.

Your body is one of the few things Jungkook's familiar with. He knows the way to your pussy, knows where to hit and touch. Knows also the way to your heart, just there in your rib cage, under your sternum.

He fucking knows, but you won't let him and so he keeps his hands away from that part of your body.

The sheets are just an excuse for being his for the night.

Just for the night, leaving before the sun rises.

Whatever.

He moans as he lets you engulf his cock in your mouth, flat on your stomach between his thighs, one leg bent at the knee. He knows to be patient, not push you to do something you don't want to, but it's hard, really hard when your mouth feels like literal heaven.

His head keeps rolling back on his shoulders, hitting the headboard behind him, raising it back up to watch your lips slide smoothly over his length. His fists clench on either side of his body, mouth ajar to let out heavy breaths that you can hear from where you are.

There are times he doesn't really hold himself back, times where the bed isn't just an excuse anymore, but tonight, he feels a bit restricted. He doesn't quite know why, even though the answer's right in front of him. But Jungkook prefers hiding his head in the sand.

"Ah, fuck," he says breathlessly already, frowning as he concentrates on the feeling of your tongue on his cock, sucking him like you fucking mean it. "Baby..."

Another moan, elongated and whiney, a clear indication that you have an impact on him. You affect him — oh, you do so much.

Hesitantly, he grips your hair, not too tight, not pulling, just clenching his fist around it. It's enough to show you that he isn't indifferent to your touch. You know that, but you tend to forget it, tend to go see someone different, searching for something you'll never find in anyone else than Jungkook.

He whimpers as your nose touches his pubic hair, the tip of his cock reaching the back of your throat. He fucking shakes, fucking whines while you swallow around him, sucking the soul out of him.

You're greedy; you take everything, you don't share. Ask for more, come back over and over again. But you take, you don't give. Don't even pay back.

Do you realize it? Would be debatable. Jungkook's heart isn't strong enough to have that conversation, though.

You moan around his cock, a response to his little whines, happy you can procure him this kind of pleasure. You bob your head over his length, making a mess, saliva spilling at the corners of your mouth.

You cup his balls and Jungkook reacts instantly. "Oh, yeah- yeah, like that," he approves, hooded eyes staring at the way his member appears and disappears between your lips as you bounce your head up and down.

If he doesn't stop you, he'll cum very soon, and that's not something that he wants. Not in your mouth, not anywhere. He knows the moment he cums is the moment you also leave.

So there's some tenderness in his voice when he instructs you to come lay beside him, your back to his chest. He thinks this is his favourite position, at least with you. Fucking you is the only way he can get that close to you. He can forget about cuddles, but you'll let him fuck you in spoon because sure, it's a great position. Warm and sensual.

"You feel so good- oh, god," he shakily says under his breath, his lips beside your ear. He's completely nestled inside you, his soft breath caressing your neck — a kiss is given to your shoulder, another to your jaw.

When he starts to move, it's slow and steady, but his moans tells you how it takes a lot out of him to not move faster, not ruin your pussy, not fuck you totally dumb on his bed the way he always does so good when he has way too much alcohol in his system.

He lifts up your thigh, making a bit more space for him, his other hand sneaking between your legs to reach your throbbing clit. His dark bangs fall into his eyes, some strands sticking to his sweaty forehead.

You whine when his middle finger finds your bud of nerves, drawing atrociously slow circles on it, adding just the right pressure to make you want more, beg for more.

"Do you feel me, baby? Feel my cock in your tight little pussy?" He hums in your ear, turning you crazy from the husky tone of his voice. You flutter your eyes as you turn your head, glancing at Jungkook's face, his own eyes not knowing where to look — your lonely lips, your perky nipples, his hard dick stretching out your hole.

"Yeah, feel you so deep in me, Kook," you reply back, and fuck do you really feel him.

It's like your first time, still feeling him days after your encounter. He's big, that's a fact, but he knows how to use it, and you got to experience it. You're lucky you're the only girl he wants to be inside of.

He groans when you clench and unclench around him, his cock completely covered in your wetness, sliding in you so smoothly, nothing restraining him at all — apart from his own intrusive thoughts.

He shifts his hand higher on your thigh, parting your legs wider from each other, now beginning to rock his hips against your ass. His head taps over your sweet spot repeatedly and you let him know by moaning out loud, babbling littles 'right here, Kook. Fuck, right here'.

You reach behind you to pass your fingers through Jungkook's soft black hair, his pink lips smooching the side of your throat, cherishing your skin in warm kisses. You place your other hand on top of his that is operating between your legs, doing quick circle motions over your puffy clit.

He drives his engorged cock in your wet pussy back and forth, totally out of breath, but refusing to stop, at least not until he has you spasming around his girth. You arch your back, frowning your brows as you feel the knot at the pit of your stomach tighten.

"Shit, you close, baby? I feel you sucking me in like crazy," he chuckles, a bit too lost in his own lust, loving how he feels so connected to you right now. You seriously can't be closer to each other than that.

You nod, and he says that he is, too. You whimper, almost feeling him in your guts, cock entering and exiting your quivering hole at a rapid pace that rips your breath out of your lungs.

"Gonna make you feel good," he promises. "Cum around me, sweetheart. Fucking cream my cock," Jungkook encourages and it doesn't take you much more to reach your high, thigh shaking in his hold.

And when it hits you, it hits you hard. You cry out his name, a sound he never wants to forget, limbs shaking from the intensity of your orgasm. Your velvety walls close around him tightly just the way he loves it, just the way it makes him come closer to the edge as well.

His hips jerk up, his skin slapping against your ass. "Ah, fuck, yeah," he rasps out, wetting his dried lips, "Good job, shit... Gonna cum," he praises and warns you at the same time, your orgasm being the cause of his own.

Jungkook steadies his hips and he fills you up, emptying himself inside your cunt. He shoots his hot cum in you in long, thick ropes, cock twitching. You moan with him, liking the familiar sensation of his release painting your walls white.

"Christ," he chokes out, laying his damp forehead on your shoulders, his chest heaving up and down rapidly.

When he pulls out, you immediately turn around to face him. You don't say much, just the usual to not make it awkward. He appreciates it, won't admit he wants to chat till 3 a.m., though.

The next morning is somewhat gentle, but it has a bitter taste. Your side of the bed is empty, the only remaining trace of your body being your perfume. And the soiled sheets underneath him.

He would have liked that all of this was only a dream, but no, it was yesterday. His eyes are puffy from the night of sleep he had, or maybe from tears.

He wonders where you are, when exactly you left. He misses the touch of your hands on his back, your fingers passing through his hair.

Those are the kind of mornings he hates. The awful and aching truth eventually coming back to him because he forgot the night before when he was with you.

And then the cycle repeats.

He goes back to class, puts his headphones back on, and turns on night mode. Clears his mind off of you — well, he tries to. He goes back to the places he knows, avoiding you religiously until he can't say no anymore.

#bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts smut #bts x reader #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts fic #jungkook fic #jungkook imagines #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut

2K notes · View notes

radicallxser · 2 months

Text

pt 2 to this post, can be read as a standalone but makes more sense if you've read the first part. reader isn't wearing a suit but remains pretty androgynous (i think). also yes i included steph's baby fight me idc

not beta read pls don't make fun of me

Why had you agreed to this?

A coworker had invited you to a gala, something about representing the company. You weren't sure why you of all people were asked, or why the coworker, what's his name, was so insistint you attend with him. Especially after he ditched you the moment you both arrived.

You stand awkwardly, swirling the drink you had accepted earlier. A few straggling groups chatted nearby, gossiping about things you didn't care enough to pay attention to. You had better things to think about, like how were you getting home and when you could leave.

Even more important; how was the baby? Was she alright? The sitter you hired wasn't your usual one, but she had vanished without a trace and it was such short notice-

Something, someone, collided with yourself.

"I'm so sorry-" That's what you get for standing near the stairs!

You look up quickly, meeting the gaze of one of the boys you had met the other day. His lips twitch downwards, his eyes focused on the spot where your drink had collided with your clothing. Before you can react, he sets his suit jacket over your shoulders.

"I'm so sorry", he states quickly, opening his mouth to add something else before being cut off by you.

"It's alright, Jason."

His looks shocked for a moment, before his lips turn up into a grin.

"You remembered my name!" He speaks in a town that seems uncharacteristic for him. Pure delight coats his face and he opens his mouth again just to be cut off.

"Jay-Jay! Look what you did!" Another familiar face approaches, a grin adorning the young man's features. He slaps Jason on the back, then turns to you.

"Sorry about my brother." Your brows furrow at this.

"Brothers..?"

"Not by choice", Jason adds quickly, "Atleast, not our choice."

The urge to ask is immediately wiped away as another familiar face approaches, tailed by someone you hadn't met and who's attention was trained on their phone.

The shorter of the two, the one who you had encountered before, spoke up in a clear tone that didn't quite suit his age.

"Father says to quit harassing the guests, Richard, and he'd like to speak with you, Jason."

Jason rolled his eyes. The boy on his phone timidly glanced up, flashing a quick smile.

"Hello", he spoke, then looked back toward his phone.

The shortest of them stared at you, his expression indifferent.

"My name is Damian Wayne. I'd like to thank you for the other day." You smile softly at him, then the realization dons on you.

'Damian Wayne, as in Bruce Wayne's son...?' Your thoughts are yet again interrupted by a voice.

"Boys!"

His voice is clearer in real life, but unmistakably him. You turn, watching one Bruce Wayne approach your small group. His smile seems to light up the room.

He's more handsome in real life, slight crow's feets crinkling near his eyes when he laughs and a shock of gray through his hair.

His arm is looped with a young blonde woman, a baby only a bit older than your own settled in the crook of her other arm. They both smile, stopping in front of you and the boys. Jason's hand suddenly disappears from your shoulder and everyone seems to take a step back.

You smile politely, extending your hand to him.

He takes it, unlooping his arm with the gorgeous woman and bending to press a kiss to it. He feels a pang of anger when he feels the callouses and scars on your hands. Standing straight once again, he grins.

"It's a pleasure, Mx...", your eyes widen when he speaks your last name. How did...?

His eyes trail over your form, then scan the faces of the boys surrounding you. He shakes his head.

"I apologize for their lack of manners. Please, boys, introduce yourselves."

The blonde woman steps forward, smiling at you.

"I'm Stephanie", she adjusts the infant in her arms, taking your hand and giving it a tender squeeze.

You notice Jason taking up a spot directly behind you, standing over you, or atleast attempting to.

"We've been introduced", he speaks gruffly, more to his father than to you. This atmosphere suddenly becomes thick with tension, it makes you shift in unease.

Dick puts himself between Stephanie and Bruce, smiling sheepishly.

"It's Richard Grayson, everyone calls me Dick."

The boy that was previously on his phone snickers, Bruce shoots him a pointed look.

"It's Tim", the boy mutters, immediately piping back down.

Damian takes up the other other side of Bruce and you note thier similar features.

"Well, it's been wonderful meeting you all, but I should be leaving", You smile awkwardly, pulling Jason's jacket tighter around your shoulders.

"Let me treat you to dinner", Bruce speaks almost desperately, then clears his throat, "to make up for my sons' rudeness."

Suddenly you're sat in a limo, stuck between Jason and Bruce.

696 notes · View notes

netherfeildren · 5 months

Text

At the Restaurant

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: It’s three days til Christmas, and you’ve never known want like this, and his eyes are glossy with emotion and everything he won’t ever let himself tell you or anyone else, and you so badly want to tell him that it’s only that it’s hard to be casual when your favorite bra lives in his dresser, and also that you’re in love with him.

-OR-

the Christmas situationship AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Modern AU; Christmas fic; Angst; Fluff; Miscommunication; Emotionally unavailable idiots; But also idiots in love; Toxic relaationships; Situationship; There is nothing well adjusted about any of this pls don’t come into this house if that’s what you’re looking for; Trigger warning for man with an avoidant attachment style; Condolences to all my fellow victims of The Situationship; Size Difference; Unprotected Sex; Creampie; Oral Sex (F!Receiving); Frankly some pretty pathetic behavior; Girl stand UP; Fuckboy Din; Plan B and Delusion as a form of birth control; Pull and pray baby pull and pray; Possessive Behavior; Jealousy; Insecurity; Trigger warning for Right Where You Left Me by Taylor Swift references

A/N: Hello and welcome to my contribution to the holiday fic pool! This is not at all what I was planning as my holiday piece, but I woke up a few mornings ago and was just completely taken hold by this. Much love and thanks and gratitude and all the kisses in the world to my friend @f0rlornmyths for all the help on the idea and brainstorming and for the gorgeous edits she made for this little story. Mai baby, this is all for you, and I know it's not the Christmas gift I promised you, but I swear, one day that too will get written.

I’m wishing you all the happiest and most relaxing of holiday seasons. I think of you all constantly and wish you all the best always, and I hope you’re taking care of yourselves during this time ❣️🎄✨

Word Count: 8.2K

Read on AO3

He gets this sparkle in his eyes when the bar’s extra busy, cheeks flushed and curls damp with sweat and this shine that speaks; that tells of all the things he does that make a woman belong to him whenever he’s giving her his singular attention. Eyes that laugh and crinkle at the edges with happiness. Eyes that tell you how much he does or does not want you at that specific moment. And he’ll laugh and blind the room into seduction under the Christmas lights, and then he’ll turn, suddenly remembering you’re here for him, and look at you all serious-like, while you sip on your tequila soda, with two limes always because he knows that’s how you like it, and it’ll be a serious, cool look for just a second before it blooms into the best smile anyone’s surely ever had in all history, and you love him.

It’s three days til Christmas, and you’ve never known want like this. You’ve never practiced restraint of this kind either. A restraint that suffocates and kills and could probably be taken as a form of self harm were you in a righter, more clear mind, but it’s the only thing you have left against him. Din. A control over yourself that falsely feeds you the illusion of power. You never call him. Never. Any interaction, any late night fuck, any time he comes over and comes inside you, it’s always, always because he calls you, he looks for you. You never beg, not with words at least, and you never text first and you never ask him if you can see him, and it’s the only way you tell yourself you maintain even a semblance of control. And at night, when you’re alone and it’s dark and you’ve only got the cat for some sad company, or you’re crying in bed because he hasn’t called, and you know he’s not at work and he’s obviously not at home, so he’s somewhere you don’t want him to be, that false sense of control that says you’re never the one reaching out, it’s always him coming around so surely that must mean something… it’s all you have at the end of it.

He’s not your boyfriend. He never has been. And there’s always been that excuse you use to soothe yourself with of, well, we’ve never really talked about it, and he’s not really my boyfriend, so it doesn’t really matter. Does it? Doesn’t it? You’re sure you don’t know anymore. And you tell yourself, lie to yourself, comfort yourself, whatever it is your tired heart needs in that moment, because it truly is so tired, the push and pull is the most exhausting game in the world, that if he’s coming to you it’s because Din’s choosing you. Even if just for a night, even if just for now, even if tomorrow he’ll be with someone else, he chose you for tonight, and so surely that must mean something. It’s the worst thing you do to yourself, but it feels so good in the moment. You just can’t help yourself.

“Another one?” He calls over his shoulder with a smile.

You’d had a little bit of a… well, you don’t really know what to call it. A falling out, perhaps, because the two of you never have fights. You never fight, you never discuss the things the two of you should discuss, like feelings or anger or resentment or boundaries and wants and needs. Nothing. Nothing that indicates anything that might define what it is the two of you’ve been doing for two years with each other now. Fights are something couples do, and you two are not a couple. But up until three days ago, you’d not heard from him for two weeks. Two weeks of nothing, of hearing from your friends that they’d seen him out with his friends and other girls who you know probably mean nothing, even less than you do, but still. It’d made you insane. A little bit irrational, and so when you and your friends had gone out over the weekend, picked up a group of guys at the new bar you’d chosen for the night, since Din’s bar was off limits at the moment, and brought them back to your apartment at your roommate, Bo’s, insistence, well, you’d thought you’d give him a taste of his own medicine. After a slightly tipsy, teary eyed rant, explaining to your new friend for the night, a one Toro Calican, who had a very nice smile and very pretty eyes and not at all bad arms, all about your terrible situation with this man who you were not really in a relationship with, but who you have sex with, and only with him, regularly, unprotected, enthusiastically, but who is still not your boyfriend and not even anything close, he’d arranged himself very nice and cozy-looking in your bed with your twinkly lights sparkling in the background and your pink pig stuffy which Din loved to make fun of you for, and you’d taken a very tasteful, in your opinion, picture of him for your Instagram story. Again, a taste of his own medicine.

Din had been at your front door forty five minutes later, angry. Angrier than you’d ever seen him before, and not at all trying to hide it. Pushing past you and into your apartment all tall and broad and wearing your favorite dark blue hoodie he knows you love, curls mused as if he’d been pulling his fingers through them in agitation. There’d been a sneaky, smarmy little devil inside of you doing a happy dance at that moment, and his eyes when he’d turned to glare at you after giving poor, Toro – casual, entirely unbothered, Toro with his big smile stretched across his handsome face as he’d looped an arm over Bo’s shoulders where he’d been sitting beside her on the couch – a look that said Din had half a mind to take him outside and wipe the floor with him. But your new friend had laughed him off, taking Din’s terribly cocky onceover, the sort he liked to set people down with, in stride. All arrogance and the sort of self assuredness only a man who knew what he was made of and how to take care of himself could possess. He was too hot for his, or your, own good.

And when he’d turned and pushed you into your bedroom, a little tipsy, a lot desperate and pleased and wet, because yes, finally you were getting exactly what you wanted, exactly as you’d asked for it, and he’d flipped your skirt up and ripped your panties down and buried his face in your cunt from behind, all: this pussy’s mine, what the fuck was another dude doing in your bedroom? You’d been nothing but pleased giggles and hiccupy little moans as you’d come on his tongue just as he’d demanded of you.

It was wrong. The two of you were wrong and maybe even bad for each other, but also, and this was only your own personal, fanciful discernment, addicted. A mutual addiction. The way he fucked you, hard and deep and possessive, like you belonged to him. Tugging you up by the hips and pulling you back onto his hard cock, the wet slap of your pussy dripping for him so that it surely echoed through the thin door of your shitty little apartment for the man who’d threatened what Din saw as rightfully his could hear exactly what was happening in here. You should have cared more about this ridiculous display of a pissing contest. You should have been bothered by it. You absolutely were not. And when he’d gone harder than stone, shoved deeper than you could comfortably take him so that you were coming around his cock one last time from the stretch and sting of it, and he’d filled you to leaking without even asking, you’d not even blinked at it, had been nothing but contented sighs.

It was all wrong, wrong, wrong.

Even worse, you’d never been on birth control. It made you sick, tired, moody, and the two of you worked around it… sometimes… kind of. Condoms when you remembered, usually ripped off mid fuck, pulling out… also sometimes. Never very responsible or dedicated to the practice of safe sex and level headedness, more focused on how fucking good it always felt when he was inside of you like this all bare and wet and hot and his. And if he fucked other girls, well, you tried not to think about that. Got tested, told yourself you were the only one he didn’t use protection with because you were special when they were not. And if there was, that last horribly misguided whisper that said, well, if he’s taking this risk with you, then obviously that means something too, right? Then so be it.

Again, like you’d said, bad for each other.

But he always gave you so many reasons to be stupid, delusional, like the way he’d kissed you before he’d gone the morning after, while you were still sleepy and warm and a little sweaty from where you’d been pressed together so close through the night, wet and sticky between your legs from his come. He’d wrapped his arms around you and pressed you so, so close to his chest, nipples bare and tight against hard muscle and wispy hair. The musky sleep smell of him as he’d started at your shoulder, mouth slow and damp, kissed and nibbled his way up your collarbone, your throat, your jaw, settled at your ear to taste that soft place behind, pressed his tongue there to feel the echo of your pulse moving through your whole body, the flutter of his long lashes against your skin because he’s just that close. Your toes had curled and spasmed, little and cold, bracing against his hairy shins and big feet, hard cock nestled between the warmth of your thighs. And he always makes the best sounds, you know, deep and rumbly and all man. Familiar sounds that you’re able to replay again and again in your mind afterwards when he’s gone, sounds that make it easy for you to pretend he’s yours because you know them so well, and you want to keep him so bad it makes your stomach hurt. Gotta go get the kid, he’d said, by way of explanation for why he wasn’t pushing up into your come soaked cunt and having you one more time again, but he’d stayed and kissed you. And when he’d finally found his way to your mouth, sipping on you, tasting behind your teeth, along the wet of your tongue, that was all that really mattered anyway.

Sometimes, he kisses you like he loves you, and it makes you hate him.

He hadn’t called in the three days since then, but he’d been kind enough to DoorDash you a Plan B and a bag of your favorite Dove dark chocolate bites, and you want to hate him and maybe even run him over with you car, you really do, but then tonight, out of nowhere while you’d been at home telling yourself you weren’t going to cry, tired and sweaty from lying under your duvet for too long, fingers slippery between cunt and cotton, too many unsatisfying orgasms and a tear worthy film already chosen as your excuse for later, he’d sent a: come to the bar tonight, baby, I want to see you. And well, he’d come looking for you, right? He’d texted first. So really, this was all him wanting you and choosing you.

You need help, electroshock therapy, a lobotomy, anything. But you’d gotten your butt up and dressed, begged Bo to come out with you, and now here the two of you sit, good friend that she is, waiting for him to finally come over and say more than three stringed together words to you. Shaved, lotioned, perfumed, pathetic little ass sitting at the end of his bar in a too sticky, too uncomfortable stool waiting for him. Always waiting for him.

You shake your head no at him and his proffered next round. No you don’t want another fucking drink. What you want is his attention.

And the worst part is, probably the worst, for there are so many bad parts to this, is that you don’t truly think he’s a terrible person, Din. He’s just so… he’s just– you don’t know. Sad, busy, exhausted, selfish, overwhelmed, so many things. But not bad, not actually a bad person. You’re sure of it. And it might look so differently from the outside, like you’re nothing, like he uses you, and sure, in ways, he does. You’re not so stupid or naive to not see this for what it is, because if there is one thing that is crystal clear here, it’s that you’ve always known what this is and what it is not. But you also see him. You also know him, as hard as he’s tried to keep you at arms length, to not let you see, to not let you in, you’ve weaseled your way inside anyways, or, better said, and something you don’t let yourself dwell on too much for the things it makes your stupid brain and heart feel, he has never been very good at not letting you see him. Because despite all the truths of how this thing between the two of you is, or is not, there is also something, as small as it may be, that is real here.

So no, Din is not bad, or not all bad. And it’s easy to call them excuses, but you’re not so sure that’s the only thing they are, the ways in which you justify his behavior or yours. Because there is also context to him, and his life, and the things that drag his attention away from you when you so desperately need and want it, why you know he won’t commit to one single thing because he knows how easily lost a good thing can be.

You take a pull from your straw, paper, and it’s already coming apart in wet flakes on your tongue because this dumb bar he works at pretends to be swanky, and paper straws are obviously a signifier that it’s not the cheap, shitty dump it actually is. Mean, but you’re in a bad mood tonight. Peli, the owner, had him string up multicolored lights and decorations everywhere for the holiday season, and it sort of looks like Santa threw up in here, but it’s also nice. Cozy or comfortable or welcoming, something happy and cheerful about the crowd surrounded by the sparkle of the holiday and loose from the heavily poured liquor. Or maybe it’s just that you know he put up the decorations. That he’d been good and patient and helpful as the older woman, eccentric and curly haired and a little stern and potty mouthed as she is, but always kind to him, had directed him as she pleased. Giving orders so that the bar could look as lovely and warm and cheerful as it does now. He always looks at her with such care and warmth, and you alway see it, as much as he tries to hide it.

He’d added a splash of sweet grenadine and a maraschino cherry into your drink tonight, and called it your slutty Shirley Temple, said you looked like you needed something sweet followed by one of those cocky little winks he thinks make him look hot, they do, but you tell him only make him look like an asshole. All of which you know is only his way of telling you, without actually telling you, that he’s going to be shoving his cock down your throat later tonight. Something sweet… yeah, sure. There’s nothing sweet about him.

He always tells you so many things neither of you want the other to know with his eyes. The stupid things, the silly things, the real things, it doesn’t really matter. He can’t ever help it.

The first time he’d told you about his parents, you’d thought: this is it, this is something real. The come down had been a singular type of devastating you don't think you’d recovered from to this day. They’d died in a home invasion, a robbery gone terribly, terribly wrong, when he’d been two months shy of eighteen; left him with too much responsibility and too much grief for a boy of seventeen to bear, to ever be able to grow into without growing a little bit skewed in the process. When he’d introduced you to his little brother, the first time, you’d been better prepared, better in control of yourself and your expectations. But still, still you’d let a small, small part of you let it mean something. Grogu, Greg, but they used to watch this cartoon together about this man, a warrior, a space cowboy of sorts, who finds a little green baby, more frog looking than baby looking, called Grogu and takes him in as his own, bringing him along on all his adventures through the big, wide galaxy. They’d always joked that Greg looked like the frog baby, and so, Grogu.

The first time he’d asked you to come over, you’d forced yourself to not throw up as you’d seen the text come in, had to force away thoughts of this has to mean something, please, please, let this mean something more. And the kid had been asleep already anyways when he’d smuggled you inside, quick and quiet, locking the door to his bedroom behind you, messy and lived in and Din, Din, Din everywhere, pressed you into his rumpled mattress, and fucked you til you’d cried and bit your tongue until you’d tasted blood to keep in all the things you had inside to tell him. And in the morning, when he’d made you a cup of coffee and oh, isn’t he nice for that? The kid had stumbled out of his bedroom, dinosaur pj’s and sleep rumpled curls the same warm mahogany shade as his older brother’s turned pseudo father, and he’d had his waffles while you’d sat there between the two of them as Din’d clucked around making lunches, sipping from your mug trying as best you could to be a good girl and not whip around and scream at the man that this has to mean something more, please.

The kid had eyed you skeptically, as if you’d had two heads, little fuzzy brow cocked high up towards his curl covered hairline while he chomped loudly on his waffles. More syrup than bread, but who were you to judge?

“Are you Din’s girlfriend?”

And rather than drop dead on the spot or bear the devastation of hearing the refusal come out of his older brother’s mouth, the second you’d seen Din’s own eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline, mouth falling open to probably tell him no, absolutely not, she’s nothing even close to being my girlfriend, you’d said as easy as you could manage, “No, we’re just friends.” Even added in a fake, tepid smile as you’d said the words. And now, as time’s passed since then, when you think back on the memory, you tell yourself that you’d imagined the frown and scowl that’d pulled Din’s face down into something that looked a little like annoyance or anger or confusion. He’d never done anything to make you think you were anything otherwise, and so what good did it do to dwell on the maybe false memory of his look of disappointment at your words? None at all, surely.

But you’re pretty sure you’re the only girl that’s ever been let into their space like that.

He’s at the other end of the bar now, engrossed in a conversation with someone who’s too sparkly and too pretty and too blonde to be anything but trouble for you. His tall, deceptively lanky form that you know beneath the dark baggy, long sleeved tee he’s wearing is strong and muscled and warm as a furnace, curved over the lip of the bar to lean further towards her. They’ve been talking for about five minutes now, yes, you’ve been counting, and your heart is doing that horrible thing it does where it hurts so bad it feels like it’s ripping in half all on its own. You want to look away, especially as you watch the long, gorgeous form of his hand, big, strong hands that you know exactly what they feel like wrapped around your throat, clutching your breasts, lift slowly towards the glowing Christmas lights necklace the girl’s got hanging around her neck, the cheery red and green lights nestled deep in her cleavage. He plucks at the necklace, giving it a little tug and says something to her that has her throwing her head back, and she sparkles, she really does, with those sort of laughs that tinkle like bells or something equally fucking ridiculous.

“We should just go, babe,” Bo says from beside you, glaring down at him so intensely you’re shocked he hasn’t keeled over dead at this point.

“Just a little bit longer, Bo, please.”

“God, I can’t watch this shit anymore.” She pushes up and out of her stool with a roll of her eyes, but passes a loving hand down the back of your hair as she goes. “I’m gonna go try and pick up that red head sitting in the back. She’s been eyeing me all night,” she smirks at you.

“You cannot date another ginger. That is too much ginger for one household.”

“Oh, shut up. You’re in love with the devil, I can do whatever I want. And I can’t watch him anymore, I don’t have the stomach for it.”

You try and protest as she walks away from you, tell her that you’re not in love with him, that he’s not the devil, that you don’t have the stomach for it either, but she’s gone before you can muster your lies. When you turn back towards the bar he’s abandoned his Christmas lights blonde and is pouring drinks for a group of frat guys, checking I.D.s and making easy, charming conversation. He’s strange in that way, quiet and reserved by nature, which you know now because you know him, but he puts on a face in here, in Peli’s bar in front of the customers and the pretty girls and the people expecting him to perform for them, making nice and pleasant. It’s just one more thing that feeds your delusion, the fact that you see his smile for what it is, the too handsome, too shiny version you know isn’t the real one.

You know that despite the fact that Bo loves you, she also thinks you’re a little sad, a lot weak, when it comes to him. Maybe even, and you know she’d never say this because she’s a good and loving friend, but maybe even a little pathetic or desperate. And maybe you are, or definitely, you don’t really care about the details of it at this point, but maybe there’s also something about him that’s slightly desperate too. Desperate for love or attention or companionship. Maybe that’s why he always feels the need to search for it in so many different places. Maybe he wants it so bad he’s scared of it. Or maybe he’s just easy. Maybe he’s just a whore.

You don’t know if the why’s of it all really matter anymore.

He serves the group their shots and beers, all of them clinking their glasses together loudly, hooting and wishing each other a Merry Christmas, and you want to snap that it’s not Christmas yet, it’s still the twenty third, it’s a special day that should be remembered, but you turn away. Try to swallow the heat in your face and throat, take deep breaths. Bo’s right, the two of you should go, but when you turn to search for her, she’s deep in conversation with the red head, gorgeous, strong and tall and just her type. Their two heads huddled closely together beneath the red lights that turn their hair both brighter shades of auburn. And you know you can’t interrupt. At least one of you should have a good night tonight. But when you turn back around, ready to join the frat bros in on their shots, he’s there.

You swivel in your stool, catching yourself on the lip of the bar, digging your nails into the wood grain until it hurts, staring at him in silence.

“What?” he asks with that slightly provoking smile he forces on you when he knows you’re bothered and refuse to open your stubborn mouth and just speak up.

“Nothing.” Stubborn, sullen. Terrible.

He hums, laughter dancing in his eyes that pisses you off. He knows you’re bothered, knows you won’t say anything about it either. “Want another?”

“Sure.” You might as well get drunk if you’re going to have to watch him be a jackass all night long.

He starts to move about, gathering the things for your cocktail. “You like the grenadine I added?”

“Yeah, it’s good.”

He looks at you with a half smile and a cocked brow as he measures the shot. He never makes your drinks as heavy handed as the others, says you’re a bad drunk. Whatever. “Yeah? You like the Christmas decorations?”

“They’re nice.” He hums again at your sullen tone. And you want to be nicer, happier, peppier, whatever it is that would be enough to make this all right and better between the two of you, inside of you, but you just can’t. You can’t force yourself into a shape that’s okay with being without him, and it’s getting harder and harder to pretend it’s something you’re capable of.

He adds your two limes and tops the drink off with a Santa printed mini umbrella Peli had gotten an order of in bulk, pushing the glass into your hand. He braces his hands against the bar edge, watching you as you bring the drink up to taste, peering over the edge to keep your eyes on him. The lights twinkle over head, washing him in a glow of greens and reds and warmth, and his eyes do that terrible sparkle you hate in return.

Sometimes you think he likes it when you’re pissy. Turns him on or something which sickly, stupidly, in turn, riles you up, knowing he’s turned on by your anger.

You take a long pull of the fizzy, mildly sweet drink, licking your lips of the tang and bubbles when you pull it away, and watch as his eyes go a little hazy, glassed over as he watches the wet of your tongue peek out to lick up the drops of sweet liquor. You watch a swallow pass through the strong column of his throat, and his gaze is still on your mouth when he cocks his head at you. “C’mere,” he murmurs, eyes shifting to take in the crowd, the customers and the status of their drinks before he’s tugging at your hand over the bar, drawing you out of your seat and along the length of it from the other side.

“To where?” You whisper at him, nerves of excitement, of want, fluttering in your belly and throat all fizzy and sweet. He tips his chin at the cracked open door of the stock room, the warm glow from within peering out, and then back again once over at the crowd before you’re at the end of the bar, and he’s tugging you inside after him. You tip your chin over your shoulder just before he kicks the door shut behind you, taking in Peli’s knowing look and the laughing shake of her head, and then it’s just the two of you. Hungry and hurried as he’s pulling you into himself, big hands immediately cupping your ass to tug you up into him with a cracked groan. “Want to fucking kiss you so bad,” he licks into your mouth, tasting like the coffee he drinks too much of and the cinnamon gum you know he’s always chewing.

“Din–” and you’re about to protest, say that everyone’ll have seen the two of you come in here, Peli, the blonde Christmas light girl, that the whole bar is going to think he brought you in here for a quick fuck, but you and he both know you don’t really care if anyone thinks that. That probably, if you’re really honest, you’d be glad for everyone to think you’re his that way. So you kiss him back. Arms looping around his neck to hang off of him, fingers twining in the thick curls at the nape of his neck, the hair there so silky smooth, cool at the ends but warm and damp at the roots. And this is what you were talking about, when he kisses you like he loves you which makes you hate him. All tongue and teeth and desperation. His mouth sliding against yours, spit slick and heat heavy. Big hands kneading at your ass, clutching at the short skirt of your dress, pulling it up so he can shove his palm between the nylon of your tights and your warm skin and cup you over the wet mound of your cunt.

“Fucking warm and soft for me, baby.” He kisses his way down your neck, licking at your cleavage, tugging at your ear. “You smell so good,” and he squeezes you against himself, dragging his palm back and forth over your pussy as best as the constricting tights let him. “I can’t wait to fuck you later.”

“Me either, Din,” you say because there’s nothing else to say besides, I love you. Please, love me back. He groans into your mouth, pressing you back into a little arc hooked over his arm, something frenzied and a little sloppy about the way he kisses you like he wants you so much he can’t control himself. And when the two of you stumble out a few minutes later, hair tousled and flushed with heat, the shine of your lipgloss transferred onto his own lips and those sparkly eyes of his cranked up to blinding so that the whole bar can see what it is the two of you have been up to in the stock room, there’s nothing but sweet, fizzy pleasure suffusing your belly. Even if it isn’t real, everyone else thinks it is, maybe for tonight that can be enough.

“The tree’s really cute,” you say as he helps you out of your coat, unwrapping the scarf from around your neck, round and round until he lets it slither from his hand onto the messy floor of his bedroom.

“Yeah, well, G wanted a real one so… my ass went out and got him a real one.”

You reach up to card your fingers through the floppy curls falling over his forehead, pushing them back to twist in your fingers and pull his head down towards yours. “Good brother,” you murmur against his mouth. You want to ask him if he remembers what tonight is; wanted to ask him all night but kept your mouth shut for fear of that utterly vacant look in his eyes when he’d have no idea what you were talking about.

He settles into your kiss, knees bent to come down to your level, sighing deep and long as he licks at you slowly, sucks on your bottom lips, a gentle nip. “Looked so pretty for me tonight,” he says, and he’s such a good kisser, and all you can say is a breathless thank you, trying to swallow the immediate lump in your throat back down because the only other thing to say would be you’re right, it’s all for you, or I hate it when you say these things to me, I hate it when you’re nice to me and then turn around and act like I’m a stranger, like I’ve never meant anything to you at all. You press up higher, insistent, on your tiptoes, trying to get closer, more of him. He runs his hands up the length of your spine, one arm banding around your waist, the other coming up to twist in your hair, tugging your head back sharply and pulling your mouth from his.

“What do you want, sweet girl?”

And what a cruel, terrible question. You, is what you should say. Ruin the moment or the false magic, glass shattered on the white cloth. And so, “Fuck me,” is all you say instead because that’s all this is anyway. He peers down at you, fathomless look on his face, no more bright sparkle in his eyes, something more like an ember. You think you like this look better, it’s more for you, and there's something satisfying about that.

“Okay, baby. Whatever you want.”

He pulls your clothes from you slowly, and he can be so tender sometimes, slow and precise in the things he does, the way he moves. Sometimes he fucks you hard and fast and sloppy. But not always. Other times he does it in a way that is much, much worse. Slow and deep and intentional. He lays you out across his messy bed and spreads you open for himself. Starts at your feet, kissing the soles and the creases and marks over the arches and around your ankles from your tights and boots. Up the slope of your calf, teeth dragging sharply, a little too hard over the muscle. He kisses the backs of your knees, a place only he has ever thought to kiss, and you won’t cry, but you’d like to. His tongue along the soft of your thighs, stubble chafing and tickling, and when he finally gets to your cunt, soaking wet, glossy with your slick for him, his tongue drags up your slit slow and teasing one second, deep, fucking inside of you the next. He makes you come on his face twice before he even thinks of being nice and letting up. Sucking on your clit, taking each soft lip gentle, gentle between the edge of his teeth and tugging so soft you almost don’t feel it. He licks and licks and slurps up your wet, and you know he enjoys this because of his own sounds. When he rips his t-shirt over his head because he’s steaming with sweat and want, the zip of his jeans ringing so that he can get his fist around his cock and jack himself while he licks up the splash of your second orgasm.

He kisses you everywhere when he’s had his fill, twists and turns you this way and that, groping and kneading and taking every inch of you in so that no spot of skin is left uninspected or untasted. Pulls you up and under his arm so he can peer down at you from behind, lemme look at that little asshole now, he says all nasty the way he gets sometimes, and spreads your cheeks apart. You brace yourself against the column of his throat and hold on to the bulge of his bicep and try and breathe through your mouth and pray for control and temperance and the will to not spill all your truths to him. Difficult, when he manhandles you like this, when he pets and licks and kisses you all over and tells you how pretty all your holes are for him.

His cock is so hard when he finally settles on his knees between your spread thighs, on your back again so that you can see his pulse in the tiny, subtle beat of his erection as it stands up, curving towards his flat belly. No condom, and you want to say thank you for letting you feel him like this.

He pushes your knees wide and grips his cock, twisting his fist around the sticky glossed head, flushed red almost purple. You love it when he’s this hard, when you know it’s all for you, when you know you’re the only one in this moment that can fix it for him.

“Get it wet for me,” he nods his head at your slick cunt, parted and bared to him just like he likes. You dip your fingers into the well of wetness, play in it, watch the shiny string of slick stretch between your pussy and fingers, and no one makes you as wet or as desperate as he does, and like he can read your mind he tells you, no one makes me as hard as you do, and you do not tell him that that isn’t something you want to hear, that that isn’t something that makes you feel good. The reminder that there are others.

You wrap your slippery fingers around his cock, coating him in yourself and when you pull him towards you, notching him at the mouth of your cunt, and finally – finally, I’ve been waiting for this all night, and you can’t even tell who says it – it’s so fucking good that all the rest of it is worth it for this singular feeling right here.

He pushes in, in, in, heavy balls pressed against the wet curve of your bottom, and you’re so soaked it’s slid down between your ass, marked his sheets with you, swings his hips back all smooth and wet and shoves back inside. His mouth is at your tits, folded over you, caging you in, biting and sucking on bare, tight nipples he tells you belong to him, cunt he fucks hard and deep he tells you also belongs to him.

He pulls an ankle up over his shoulder, changes the angle and drills into you hard and fast, other knee hooked over his elbow so you’re pressed and folded and presented to him just how he likes and needs, and he makes you say his name over and over, tells you exactly how he wants you to come on his cock just for him. His pelvis bumps your clit on every push forward, too thick cock wedged inside your cunt so that you’re stretched around him and no matter how many times you do this, it always hurts just a little. Like everything else the two of you do together.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groans. “You take it so fucking good. Don’t come yet– don’t come. With me– wait for me. I want it together.” And you do cry at that, when he changes the angle once more and shoves in hard against your g-spot, the fat tip of his cock punching against it over and over so that there’s heat pooling at the base of your spine, stars flashing behind your closed lids, your breasts going hot and heavy and tight, stomach clenching with the effort to stave off your orgasm and do as he asks. He breathes into your mouth, and it’s all hot and damp skin and your sweaty limbs sliding against each other, open mouth to open mouth.

“Now,” he says, pulls you onto him deeper with a tight grip on your ass, long fingers wrapped over the curve so that he can feel the wet, stretched place where he takes you, makes you his. “Take the whole fucking thing,” he whispers against your lips, and as your cunt goes tight as a knot, painful in that way that only he can make it, that’s so good, that way that always keeps you coming back for more, you finally start to cry real tears. Not just from his cock but from the whole of him, from everything he does to you. Your heart beats fast, fast, fast, and you count the days in the month til your period, the little game you like to play with yourself when the two of you are bad like this, and then decide you don’t really give a fuck as he starts to fill you with the heat of his come.

He stays inside of you for too long after the last throb of his cock. Rubbing his lips all over your neck and shoulders and tits, tasting you and giving you too much time to memorize the pattern and cadence of his breathing. And when he pulls out and pulls back to look at the slick, puffy sight of your cunt full of his come, he bends to lick you clean like he always does. Gives you one more orgasm, the last nail in the coffin or your heart.

Sated and spent, you glance at the clock, and it’s officially Christmas Eve. You know he goes all out for Grogu, milk and cookies for Santa, stockings and gifts, the works. He is an exceptionally good brother, all a child could need in a father figure, and there had never really been any chance of you doing anything else besides loving him.

When you pull the gift from your bag, heart in your throat and halfway to regret but more resolve than you’ve ever had in his presence, you tell yourself that if this brings on the end of everything, that you’ll find a way to be okay with it. If you’ve gone too far, done too much, you’ll accept it, count your losses, and what great losses they’ll surely be, but you’ll move on as best you can.

You’d picked some pretty, baby blue paper with little red robins on it, a soft gold ribbon tied around the package. The sight of it makes you want to cry. You’d tried so hard, you really had.

He’s quiet when you put it into his hands, staring down at it like it’ll reach out and bite his head off if he blinks even once. Swallowing several times before he says, “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know. It’s– it’s for the both of you, kind of.” Him and his little brother.

“I didn’t get you anything.”

“No– that’s okay. I know. You didn’t have to.” Your voice comes out all breathless and full of nerves. You should’ve put your clothes on before you did this, made for a quicker, easier get away if necessary.

He pulls the wrapping apart slowly, gently untying your ribbon, long fingers carefully picking at the little pieces of tape at each end so that he doesn’t tear the paper and disturb the robins.

“Where did you get this?” He says when he’s finally unwrapped it, his voice telling you instantly that you’ve made a terrible mistake.

“It– it was in your drawer. I–”

“You went through my stuff?” He says, eyes snapping up to yours, finally looking away from the photograph you’d copied and framed for him. A picture of him and Grogu and his parents. Grogu, a baby, Din, a boy of maybe eight, gap toothed, cheesy grin and messy curls between his smiling parents. They looked, very much, like a deliriously happy family, and you’d thought it such a shame it was stuffed in his sock drawer when you’d found it, left to be forgotten. You’d only wanted to do something nice for him.

“N–no. I mean… not intentionally. I was looking for my extra clothes – the ones you told me to leave here – and I–” your lashes flutter, overwhelmed. He suddenly looks so angry. “I saw it in your drawer. I didn’t mean– I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry, I–” You don’t know what to say. All of your falsely held control in tatters at your feet and tears in your eyes as you take in the horrible look on his face. Shocked, angry, hurt, but his gaze leaves the photograph again, shifts back to your face at the crack in your voice.

He presses forward, as if to reach for you, realizing you’re about to cry. “It’s fine.” I’m sorry, Din, you murmur again. “It’s just–” He shakes his head, a frustrated noise in his throat, his voice all graveled and cracked like yours. He seems so much like a boy in this moment. A child confronted by a past he was too young to lose when he did, forced into the shape of a man too soon. “You know that this–we–” He motions between the two of you.

“Yes. I do,” you cut him off quickly. Assuming what he’s going to cut down here between the two of you before he gets the words out. He doesn’t need to say it, not out loud. He doesn’t need to be that cruel. The strength it takes the both of you to bite your tongues in that moment, as you take each other in, swells to a near painful pressure, and there is something so sick here between the two of you. His eyes are glossy with emotion and everything he won’t ever let himself tell you or anyone else, and you so badly want to tell him that it’s only that it’s hard to be casual when your favorite bra lives in his dresser, and also that you’re in love with him.

“Thank you,” he finally says quietly, and you can’t answer, looking away out at the dark night through his murky paneled window. It looks like it’s about to snow, all the ingredients for a perfect Christmas at play. The room is so warm and his bed is so comfortable, and you feel so full of fragile and soft things inside. “You’re going to see your family tomorrow?” He still has the picture frame in his hands, fingers smoothing methodically over the edges, thumb swiping gently over the happy faces inside.

You clear your throat, “Yeah, tonight. I’m going to my parents house, spending the night there.” And it’s on the tip of your tongue to invite the both of them to come too. You know your parents would love to have them, you would love to have them there, him, but the words stick in your throat with the fear of his rejection, and the two of you fizzle awkwardly into a heavy silence.

You look out at the window again, too much of a coward to look into those bright eyes, but you can feel his gaze on you, singing the side of your face, and suddenly you feel him scoot over towards you. Deep sigh, dragging the duvet with him, wrapped around his bare shoulders all messy hair and flushed cheeks still steaming from your sex. No one should look like he does. No one. It’s the most unfair thing that’s ever happened to you in your whole life. He grips you around the bend of your bare knee, pulls you halfway into his lap, and your eyes are still fixated out on the night, the dark much safer than anything that lives inside this room.

“You remember when we met?” He says. The tears are back. “It was tonight.” Two years ago.

You tip your chin at the window. “At the restaurant…”

“...Down on eighty seventh street. Two years ago.”

“Yes.” You finally look at him. “I remember,” you whisper. Your mouth feels so dry, your heart so flinty.

“The place had all those string lights put up, and we sat at that table outside in the back behind that group having their Christmas work party. You remember?” Of course you do. You only can't believe he remembers. He’d been wearing an olive green half zip sweater, and he’d smelled of laundry detergent and whiskey and cinnamon gum when he’d kissed you for the first time.

“I had the best old fashioned I’ve ever had at that place. We should go back. And it was so cold, you remember? You never stopped shivering.”

“Yes, Din. I remember.”

“That was a good night.”

“Sure it was,” and it comes out with a bite you can’t help, for so many reasons you can and cannot explain.

He gives one of those non committal hums he loves to provoke you with, that little glint back in his eyes. “Sure it was? What?”

“Nothing.”

“Is there something you wanna talk about?” The white elephant in the room, come to ruin everything, shatter all the glass, disturb the dust in your hair and break your heart.

He tips your head back by your chin, two fingers holding you there, never letting you go. You shake your head at him caught up in his grasp like that. “No. I don’t want to talk about anything.”

And he gives you the strangest look, and for one second you wonder suddenly if that look you’ve always taken as provoking is not so much teasing, but more pleading, more knowing. “No…” he says, chews on his thoughts, strong, scruffy jaw with the heart shaped patch moving side to side. “I know you don’t,” and leans forward to press one single soft, chaste kiss to your open mouth. “You know what you are?” He says then, and the look is now entirely unknowable, confusing.

Your eyes flick back to the window. “What?” Back to him again, breathless.

“You’re my girl.” And out of the corner of your eye, you can see that there, finally, is the Christmas snow.

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog!

#vic fic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin AU #din djarin modern AU #the mandalorian AU #din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin smut #din djarin imagine #pedro pascal characters #din djarin angst

377 notes · View notes

ellieshaze · 1 year

Text

Thunderstruck

NSFW minors dni!

Ellie Williams X F! Reader

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Female bodied reader, drunk sex, hair pulling , thigh riding (only mentioned literally once) , oral sex (both receiving) , fingering (r! receiving) , scissoring , fluff

Notes:

I get that a lot of y’all are into top Ellie but i NEED more of Ellie receiving as well as giving <3

This is straight up filth but Ive also never written anything for Ellie before so pls be kind

And god i love her hands

It was late, you could see the moon shining through the glass ceiling of the building you and Ellie were currently holed up in. After Joel’s death, you knew Ellie was going to get revenge, and you couldn’t leave her to do it alone. You had been tracking the WLF for days, but as night fell you had to find shelter, it was dangerous in the dark. The building you and Ellie had found was some old church, she had blocked off the only entrance with shelves and the pews. Most of the windows were already blocked off with wood boards someone must’ve nailed there long ago.

Once the church was secured, you and Ellie had settled down in a corner together. She had started a small fire in some bin to keep warmth and even found a few blankets in one of the back rooms. The two of you sat close together, the thin blankets wrapped around yourselves. “Look what I found” Ellie spoke to you, you glanced over to see a half full bottle of whiskey in her hand. “In a church?” You asked, laughing, you could feel her body shaking with laughter beside you. She opened the bottle and took a drink of it, making a disgusted face as she passed you the bottle. You hesitated for a moment, looking at the probably 40 year old whiskey bottle, shrugging before taking a swig of the golden-brown liquid. The whiskey was strong, you weren’t going to lie, but you hid your disgusted face from Ellie.

The two of you polished off the half bottle of whiskey within an hour, and you were both definitely drunk. “Oh and!” Ellie said, before she bolted up and walked over to the back room of the church. You were going to get up and follow, until you saw her return, a guitar in hand. She smirked at you as she walked back over to you, this time she sat across from you instead of beside you. “Yanno, I usually don’t play for anyone, but i’m feeling pretty generous tonight” She said as she began to tune the guitar. She said nothing more as she began to play a tune you vaguely recognized. You watched her bruised and cut hands glide across the guitar strings. After almost a minute of the tune, you heard her soft voice begin to sing a song and you immediately recognized it.

“There’s a lady who’s sure

All that glitters is gold

And she’s buying a stairway to heaven

When she gets there she knows

If the stores are all closed

With a word she can get what she came for”

Ellie continued the tune for a few more seconds before she stopped, looking at you. For the first time, she seemed slightly nervous. “I never finished learning the rest of the song” was all she said, setting the guitar down on the ground beside her. Stairway To Heaven, you remembered the song from the times she had played it for you, along with other classic rock songs. “I could never get tired of hearing your voice” You said to her before you scooted over towards her on the floor. Ellie smiled back at you, fumbling around with her hands, you noticed she did this when she was embarrassed or flustered. When you got over to her, she pulled you close, her arm wrapping around your shoulder, hand landing in front of you.

You took a hold of the other woman’s hand, running your fingers down her cuts and bruises and scars that scattered her hand. Ellie said nothing as she watched you pull her hand to your lips and press soft kisses to it. “You need to be more careful.” You muttered, not meeting her gaze. You hated to see her hands all bloodied and bruised, she fought so much that it left her with scars. Ellie Hummed in response, leaning over to leave a kiss on your cheek. You giggled at the unexpected action, turning to face her. She was beautiful, no matter how cut and bruised she was, no matter how dirty she was, you loved her.

You had fallen for her in Jackson, it took you so long to admit you had a thing for her that she ended up telling you first. Ellie was always overly confident and sure in herself, but in that moment, on the streets of Jackson she was stuttering and looking at her feet as she confessed to you. That confession had been a year ago, you and Ellie rarely fought, maybe it was because it was the apocalypse or maybe the two of you were just compatible. The two of you spent most of your days in Jackson listening to music, watching old movies, listening to Ellie as she practiced songs on her guitar and sometimes fucking in the middle of the night on her bed, hoping the neighbors didn’t hear. As shocking as it may seem, you and Ellie didn’t have sex often. Always too busy on patrol, caught up with family and work in Jackson and often times too sore from patrol and fighting infected to have the energy.

“What’re you thinking about?” Ellie asked you, you had spent so long just staring at her, thinking of old memories in Jackson. It felt like a lifetime ago. “You.” Was all you said, your hand reaching her, tucking some of her hair behind her ear. “in what way?” She said, sounding somewhat suggestive. You shoved her playfully, “stop being gross” She laughed, before she leaned in, her lips meeting yours. The kiss was gentle, her lips were soft but somewhat chapped against yours. She smiled against your lips as she pulled your body into hers, your chest pressed against hers. Your arms wrapped around her neck, one made its way into her hair, tugging slightly. She gasped softly into your mouth as you pulled on her hair, you knew she loved that.

Ellie pulled away after a moment, panting, trying to catch her breath. “You’re drunk” You said to her, laughing. “So are you” She pointed out before pulling you closer and connecting your lips once again. This time the kiss got sloppy and heated, she bit your lip causing you to gasp lightly, her tongue immediately meeting yours. She gently pushed you to the ground, hovering above you, your legs immediately wrapping around her waist. Swiftly, her hands made their way up your shirt, feeling you up before she tugged it off you. The kiss broke as she pulled your shirt off, you were gasping for breath at this point. Ellie leaned back in, but before she could kiss you, you grabbed her shirt, shoving it off her shoulders, leaving her in the t shirt underneath it.

It had been months since you and Ellie last had sex, all of the patrolling and then Joel dying and Ellie recovering from her injuries. You were desperate to say the least. Ellie leaned down, her lips meeting your neck as she sucked and kissed, leaving a trail of hickeys that would definitely be visible for days. “Fuck” you gasped, gripping her hair as she left marks on you. She leaned back for a moment, admiring her work on your neck and chest. You took this moment as a chance to pull off her shirt, leaving her in a black sports bra. “I need you” You said to her, looking up and out of breath. Ellie groaned hearing you say that, leaning down to undo the clasp of your bra, pulling it off of you. You gasped as the cool air hit your breasts, but it wasn’t long until Ellie latched onto one of them. Her hand toyed with your other nipple while she sucked and bit softly at the other.

She pulled back from you, pulling her black sports bra over her head, revealing her chest to you. Your eyes lingered on her breasts for a moment, “take a picture, it’ll last longer” she had a big smile on her face as she looked down at you, “i’ll have to take you up on that offer” you replied. Ellie’s hands began fumbling with the button and zipper of your jeans, struggling for a moment. You laughed as she finally began pulling your jeans down your legs, you lifted up to try and help her. She tossed your pants over where all of your clothes piled up together on the dirty church floor. Immediately, Ellie leaned down and she began to kiss your stomach and then down to your thighs. She glanced up at you when she reached your panties, waiting for you to allow her to go further.

You nodded, and she pulled them down your legs, also tossing them onto the pile of clothing. But instead of doing more, she moved back up, kissing up your neck to your lips. As she kissed you, her hand wandered between your legs that were wrapped around her waist once more. Her fingers rubbing over your slit before dipping into your wet folds, “already so fucking wet for me” Ellie muttered as she pulled away from you, her eyes locking with yours. You let out a gasp as her fingers found your clit, and she began to rub slow circles. Your forehead was leaning against her shoulder as she hovered over you, her movements on your clit suddenly stopped and you groaned at the loss of feeling. “You’re so impatient..” She muttered into your ear, you leaned back again, your head hitting the old raggedy blanket beneath you.

Ellie dipped her middle finger into your cunt, you gasped at the feeling, one of your hands reaching down to grasp her wrist. “So fucking tight” Ellie gasped, her head was now resting in the crook of your neck as her finger curled inside you. “More” You gasped, your head rolled back as she added a second finger. You were letting out whiny gasps and moans as she fingered you, her palm rubbing slightly against your clit, adding to the stimulation. “Fuck” Ellie gasped, at this point she was just slightly moving her hips on your thigh, trying to stimulate her own clit through her jeans. The wet sounds of Ellie’s fingers moving in you and both of your moans and gasps were echoing off the walls of the large empty church. Suddenly, she pulled her fingers from your pussy, bringing them to your mouth, shoving her fingers down your throat. You groaned as you sucked on her fingers, irritated she stopped before you could finish.

Ellie pulled her hand back, before moving down between your legs, pulling your legs onto her shoulders, you could feel her breath on your cunt. Without warning she licked a stripe up your pussy, stopping at your clit. You let out soft moans, reaching for anything to grasp onto. “Fuck Ellie..” you gasped as she sucked on your clit. She inserted a finger into you once more and immediately your hand reached down, grabbing a hold of her hair. She slowly ate you out and fingered you, trying to savor the moment with you. She added another finger, stretching you out, her mouth still warm on your pussy. You moaned softly, trying to keep quiet in case of anything outside. You felt the familiar feeling coiling inside you as Ellie began to use her free hand to push on your lower stomach, adding more pleasure. Your legs squeezed her head in, your orgasm closely approaching.

“Shit” You groaned, your head rolled back, hand still gripping Ellies hair. Your thighs shook ever so slightly as your orgasm hit, your legs locking around her head and the grip on her hair got tighter. Ellie moaned into your cunt as you pulled her hair, the vibrations adding more stimulation to your clit as you came. Your legs fell limp beside her head, you sighed, letting go of her hair. Ellie placed soft kisses on your pussy, you gasped softly. “Good girl” She said softly to you as she made her way back up to you, kissing your forehead gently. “Your turn” was all you said to Ellie who couldn’t even process anything as you flipped her over, you now on top.

You kissed her lips for a split second before making your way down her body, leaving kisses and hickeys all over her neck and chest. You landed at her jeans, and you began to unbutton them, pulling them down her legs. She shimmied her hips to help you pull them off. You noticed a wet spot on her underwear, and you chuckled quietly at the sight. Ellie always worried about getting you off, that was always her priority, and you loved to see her so wet for you now. You pulled the fabric down her legs and tossed it aside, your eyes landing on her cunt. Your eyes lingered for probably longer than they should’ve when you heard Ellie clear her throat, you glanced up. She was looking down at you expectantly, your clit throbbed at the sight of her looking down at you like that.

One of Ellie’s arms was under her head, propping her head up slightly so she could look down at you. You tore your eyes from hers, pulling her legs further apart and settled yourself close to her core. You hadn’t eaten Ellie out in a while, so you were slightly nervous. Your mouth met her dripping cunt, your tongue swirling around her clit. Ellie let out soft moans when your tongue met her pussy, her hand instinctively reached down to your head, gently threading her fingers through your hair. “Fuck” She gasped, you could never get tired of hearing her moans, it was even better than when she’d sing for you.

Ellie’s hand pushed your head into her pussy further, “Shit you feel so good” She muttered, her head rolling back as her hips bucked up, Your tongue was slowly moving in circles around her clit almost teasing her. One of your hands gripped her waist as the other held up one of her thighs that was on your shoulder. You could tell she was close by the way her gasps and moans got a little louder, even though they weren’t very loud to begin with. Her thigh shook just barely noticeable that made it obvious she was about to cum. “Shit i’m gonna cum” Ellie gasped, her grip on your head was more aggressive, her other hand still under her head. You ate her out more aggressively, helping to bring her closer to the edge. Her hips bucked up one last time as she let out a groan, finally coming undone.

“Get up here” Was all Ellie said as she sat up that had you pulling yourself from between her legs and back up to her face. She pulled you on top of her, you lips meeting hers. You straddled her thighs, yours on either side of hers as she kissed you deeply. Her hands roaming your body, one landing on your waist and the other landing on your breast. You laughed, interrupting the kiss, “Really?” She just smiled at you, her hand massaging your breast for a moment. One of your hands cupped her cheek as you pulled her lips to yours once more. Ellie finally pulled her hand away that was massaging your breast, using it to push you to the ground gently. “What are you doing, Els?” You asked, the both of you giggling like idiots as you kissed one another. “I wanna try something” Ellie whispered in your ear, positioning the two of you so that your cores were facing each other’s.

She was sat up, leaning back, holding herself up with one arm, the other holding your thigh as she began to grind her pussy onto yours, you immediately gripped her arm tightly. “Holy fuck” Ellie groaned, her head rolled back as her movements quickened. You sat up so you could be closer to her, so you could see her face when she fucked you. You pulled her face close to yours, holding her in your hands as you both rolled your hips together. She was letting out soft moans, and even a whimper you noticed, she wasn’t usually the most vocal typically. Ellie leaned her forehead against yours, her eyes were closed as she gripped your waist tightly. “Fuck..” You whimpered, the feeling of her slick clit rubbing against yours was overwhelming, you could feel your second orgasm approaching.

You weren’t even as focused on reaching your own orgasm when you heard Ellie, the soft moans leaving her lips as her hips shook, her grip on your waist was even tighter. You’d definitely have bruises in the morning. You admired ellie, her hair stuck to her forehead with sweat, her lips parted just slightly as she let out soft gasps and occasional moans. The feeling inside you finally snapped, your moans were breathy and loud when you finally came. Ellie finished shortly after you, still rolling her hips, overstimulating the two of you for only a moment. When her movements stopped, neither of you moved. You were both out of breath and sweaty by this point. “You’re so pretty when you cum.” Ellie said, and you laughed with embarrassment in response. Only a minutes later, Ellie untangled her legs from yours, the two of you lied together. You were both on your sides, a thin blanket pulled over the both of you, your arms and legs tangled.

Ellie was just looking at you, a small smile on her face as one of her hands rested on your cheek. “What?” you asked her, your eyes locked with yours, hand resting on her hip. “I love you.” She was all she said to you, you had said it to one another all the time but this felt different. More intimate and deeper than ever before, “I love you too, Ellie.” Was all you said to her before the two of you went silent. Shortly after, you fell asleep. Warm from the fire and the blanket but most of all, each other.

#elliewilliams #ellie williams #tlou2 #ellie williams x reader #tlou x reader #tlou #the last of us #the last of us x reader #ellie williams smut #tlou smut #smut

1K notes · View notes

uzuikyo · 1 year

Text

take me by the hand

inspired by this tiktok video that shattered my fucking heart </3 i couldn't stop crying after seeing that video send a therapist

pairing/s : akaza x fem!reader

genre : angst, fluff, smut maybe

warning/s : major character death, mentions of infertility, pregnancy, fingering, shower sex, pregnant sex, childbirth (normal & c-section), stillbirth (the baby suffocated from the umbilical cord wrapped around its neck), self-harm, suicide, everything’s just mostly sad and depressing, ): poor akaza, (pls forgive me if some of my medical knowledge or writing are inaccurate), also it was 2am when i wrote this so if there are some grammar or spelling mistakez, i apologize >.<

wc : 3.3k

ON REPEAT 🔂

🎧 understand x pluto projector (keshi, rex orange county)

“congratulations! we’re all sooo happy for the both of you!” your best friend, mitsuri, had tears forming in her eyes as she gently pulled you in a hug to not squeeze you and the life growing inside of you. you hugged her back, thanking her as you tried calming her down.

you accepted her gift after pulling away from each other, placing it on the table just for all the presents and gifts. you were feeling kind of overwhelmed as you did not expect this many of them.

your husband saw you and felt your anxiousness. “darling,” you hummed, looking at him. “you okay?” akaza had that soft look in his eyes like he always did ever since you two got together. you nod, “just a little overwhelmed is all. i didn’t know it was going to be such a big deal or something.” you chuckled and akaza let out a small smile, placing a hand on the small of your back and rubbed soothing circles on it.

“everything’s going to be fine. i’m going to be beside you. always. i know my soon to be princess needs her mommy and daddy.” he placed a hand on your round belly and kissed your forehead before both of you went on with the celebration.

all of your friends and family attended the baby shower and all of them were very happy for the both of you to be finally having a child of your own after years of babysitting and stealing your sister’s and mitsuri’s kids and after years of trying for one yourselves.

you and akaza always took it slow and patiently ever since your obgyn informed you about having a low percentage of conceiving a child. this, however, did not stop your lovely husband from adoring you and even told you that it doesn’t matter if you were able to give him one. kids or not, he still loved you no matter what and that was enough to make you feel better.

although you do admit that other women who were able to conceive in just a few tries made you feel insecure and jealous. it made you question yours and your husband’s relationship, but akaza always knew how to reassure you and make your mind be at ease. and you loved him even more for that.

you couldn’t ask for a better husband than akaza.

“akaza!” you giddily shouted from the bathroom and your husband was in your sight in a second. “well?” you showed him the result of all the the pregnancy tests. it all read ‘positive’.

“all three of them.” you said, tears forming in your eyes. “akaza…” a sob escaped from your mouth when he picked you up and spun you around. “we’re having a baby!” his blue eyes were filled with excitement and love as he looked at your tear-stained face. “i love you so much, darling.”

akaza put you down and kissed you like the world was ending. you pulled away, resting your forehead on his but you couldn’t stare at him for too long so you buried your face in his chest, uncontrollably sobbing. “thank you for being patient with me-“

“hey, i don’t wanna hear it. i told you, didn’t i? i don’t care as long as i have you with me.” akaza mumbled in your hair, caressing your back. “but right now we have received what we’ve been wanting for a long time. and i thank the gods for that.”

akaza was there with you for every check ups and ultrasound. you remember how smiley he was when he got the very first ultrasound pictures of your baby from the doctor. his smile got wider when the doctor added how healthy your baby was in that moment that you felt like his mouth would tore apart.

first trimester

“babe.”

akaza groaned from the light taps on his shoulder. slowly opening his eyes, he looked at the clock which read 2:48am. “you need anything, darling? is something hurting or bothering you?” his raspy voice indicates how he’s trying to stay awake.

akaza fully opened his eyes and immediately got up when he saw the tears im your eyes. “i’m craving some mangoes. and pickles.” your reply made him think about whether to laugh or curse at himself, but he eventually pulled you closer to him, trying to soothe you by caressing your hair.

“shh, it’s okay. i got you, baby. you’re not bothering me. i told you i would be right beside you, right?”

every midnight and 3am cravings were fully satisfied with a sleepless and tired akaza in the morning. everytime he would get up to buy or prepare your pregnancy cravings, he would make sure you eat well and go back to sleep which leads to him not being able to go back to sleep. although sometimes he does try, cuddling in bed with you and just waiting until he falls back asleep— which sometimes works.

akaza also dealt with your crazy mood swings during the first trimester.

how you would cry over as simple as not being able to fit in your old jeans anymore, or because the whole tub of ice cream that only you ate ran out. or it may also because of a character that died in a movie or series you’re watching.

how you would snap at him over the littlest things. like not holding your hands, or not giving his attention to you immediately, or not being able to answer your calls within the first ring.

and how you would laugh at literally everything. from rengoku saying his famous “umai!” everytime he eats, to mitsuri’s kids running around and trying not to fall face flat on the ground. also, how you laugh at every serious conversations and scenarios you’re in.

lastly, akaza was the most careful as if he was the one pregnant. he did not let you do any straining activities— even exercising or walking around too much! because he knew that this part of the pregnancy stage was the most crucial one.

and you understood that. you didn’t mind his overprotective nature since this was your first child and both of you you did not want anything bad happening to you and the baby.

second trimester

your bump was more visible now and you can kind of feel the additional weight on your body. you started buying more maternity clothes because most of your bottoms won’t even fit your waist anymore.

the little human inside you also started to kick in your womb. you and akaza would always wait for the baby to kick in the morning right after you wake up and whenever you were doing something exciting as you noticed your baby always responds to happy emotions. like when you’re laughing too much or eating your favorite foods.

akaza was still tending to your every needs and cravings. although it wasn’t as bad as the first few weeks of your pregnancy, but the mood swings were still there.

however as the cravings faded, your hormones started to spike up.

“babe- fuck, are you sure you’re okay with this?” akaza tries his best to hold back, but you always pushes him to his limits. “yes, akaza, please. need you right now.” you ran your hands from his naked chest to his lower abdomen, teasing the waistband of his boxers.

his fingers dipped inside your panties, gently sliding over your now wet slit. “already so wet for me, baby?” you nodded, cheeks flushed as you moaned from the feeling. “please- need to feel you inside me already.”

akaza placed his lips on yours along with the slip of one finger inside you, making you gasp in his mouth. “keep making those noises for me, pretty girl.” he groaned, adding another finger.

“f-fuck, yes-h-haa…” the kiss turned sloppy as his fingers moved faster, his other hand playing with your swollen tits. “look how pretty these tits are. so soft and swollen, hmm-“ you sighed, neck falling back onto the pillow as he sucked on your nipple, his other fingers playing with the other.

“‘m cumming- fuck! a-ah.. akaza-“

akaza curled his fingers inside you, hitting the spot once again as you finally released. your white juices staining the bedsheets as you tried to catch your breath.

“you need help bathing?” you nodded at your husband, smiling sheepishly. “yes please, i can’t clean my legs cuz of my tummy.” you pouted and he chuckled, “alright, ma, i’ll help you. like i always do.” akaza winked at you, and you lightly smacked him on the chest.

with a hand on your elbow and another on your waist, akaza helped you step in the tub, carefully guiding you down to sit as you held your growing tummy.

akaza made sure you were relaxed and settled before letting you go and grabbing the loofah, pouring a good amount of your favorite body wash. you sighed, closing your eyes as he began scrubbing and washing your body— starting with your shoulders and chest area.

"thank you," you mumbled, leaning your head against his chest as he continued on gently scrubbing your tummy and down your legs. "this is the best that i can do since you're doing all the hard work for our baby." he pressed a kiss on the crown of your head.

after your body and hair were all washed up, akaza got you a towel and carefully helped you get out of the tub to dry you. "lotion?" you nodded at your husband's question and he happily grabbed the bottle of lotion and started applying some on your back, softly massaging every area.

it was such an intimate and peaceful feeling. you were looking at him through the mirror as he was doing it and you let out a moan when he started massaging your breasts. "that feels good?" you nodded, letting out a whine when he suddenly pinched your nipples. "akaza!"

"wanna make you feel good.." he hummed, enjoying how you looked so naked and pretty in front of the mirror. akaza sat you down on the vanity and softly kissed you. your hands wrapping around the back of his neck automatically as the feeling between your thighs made you clench them together.

akaza pulled away and started kissing down your neck. his hands making their way back to your tender breasts and kneading them. "akaza.." you moaned, grinding your hips on his as you felt him get harder under his sweatpants.

"i know darling," akaza felt your wetness the moment his fingers touched your aching center. "fuck, already so wet for me." he pushed one finger in, then another, making you gasp. "more, f-fuck- akaza, more!" you moaned, feeling frustrated from how his fingers wasn't enough to satisfy you.

"just need to make sure you'll be okay, baby. fuck-" he continued pushing his fingers in and out of you, making sure you were feeling good but also comfortable in the countertop you were sitting at. he kissed your cheeks when he saw that you were close. "cum f'me, pretty girl."

you let yourself release the knot inside of you as your mouth formed an 'o', holding tight onto akaza's arms as you came. "that's my good girl. i love you so much," he kissed you passionately, and you responded, hands travelling down the band of his sweatpants to pull it down.

akaza helped you take it off and you bit your lip at the sight of his hard cock. "need it inside me, please." akaza hummed, "anything for my pretty girl." you stroked him a few times before lining the tip up your entrance. "let me do all the work, mmkay? don't want you tiring yourself." he gave you a peck and slowly pushed inside your needy entrance.

"ha-aah, s-so good-" you grabbed onto the back of his neck, watching as his whole length entered you with the sound of akaza groaning loudly. "you feel so fucking good." akaza pulled you in for a kiss and started thrusting in and out of your cunt.

both of you were moaning in each others mouths, your fingers grabbing a fistful of his hair and tugging on it everytime akaza pushes deeper inside you, making the man groan. "yes, right there! ah!-" your forehead were on his as your mouth opened into a silent moan.

"are you close, my love?" akaza adjusted his pace, still being gentle as to not strain you too much nor the baby. "yes, mhmm- fuuck!" you cried out, looking at akaza with the most pretty yet lustful eyes. "let it all out darling, cum with me." both of you came, releasing the loudest moans and groans as akaza caught you in his arms before you went limp.

"i love you, my darling."

third trimester

you loathed your third trimester. you felt so heavy and tired. as well as uncomfortable, because of how round you felt. but you kept on telling yourself to stay strong for your baby. that you had a few weeks left before you can welcome her into the world.

akaza always tried his best to help you carry all the weight by holding your tummy whenever your standing up. like when your cooking, or getting ready. "i know this sounds easier said than done, but just two more weeks and we're going to see our baby."

for the last for weeks of your pregnancy, you've been going to the doctor once a week just to make sure everything is set once you give birth and that the baby is healthy.

you've also been staying inside more since you mostly felt like shit. all the weight on your tummy makes your body hurts, especially your back and waist. thankfully, your husband is there to give you a massage whenever you need one.

"i look like a ball," you pouted, talking to yourself as you were observing yourself in the mirror. akaza looked at you from his office chair at home, and smiled. "no you don't, you look like a strong, pregnant woman to me."

you frowned at him. "you're not the one carrying a whole human in him, are you?" he chuckled, raising both arms to accept defeat.

"you're ready to push, you're at 10cm already." the doctor alerted all the nurses as they began setting up the room for you and your baby once she comes out to the world. "is dad going to be with you during the whole birth?" the doctor asked, and you felt akaza hold your hand. "yes."

"okay momma, i need you to push in one, two, three!"

everything got so blurry after that. you could hear akaza telling you soothing phrases while the doctor was telling you to push and be strong. you were screaming, crying, and pushing for what felt like forever until you heard the doctor say, "i've got the head!"

you were so tired and exhausted that you didn't even realize that everyone was acting so frantically. the nurses were running everywhere, and the doctor was shouting things you couldn't comprehend although you heard the word "suffocating".

akaza was told to wait outside, and eventhough he was confused and nervous, he did what he was told to do for the sake of you and the baby.

you woke up in a different room from the one you were in earlier. the fatigue was still in your system, but you were eager to see your baby, so you tried sitting up only to feel a shooting pain in your lower abdomen.

akaza immediately stood up when he noticed you moving. your brows furrowed when you noticed his swollen, red eyes, and his overall dishveled state. "how's the baby?" you excitedly asked, only to receive a sad smile from your husband as a reply. "akaza?"

"where's our baby? is she healthy? did the nurse take her out to clean?" akaza's heart shattered when he saw the excitement and hope in your eyes slowly disappear. "darling.." you shook your head at him, terror coating your face as the tears just started pouring from your tired eyes.

"no, no, no, no!" you started thrashing around, not giving a fuck about the pain in your abdomen, eager to remove all the cords and needles attached to you just to see your baby. akaza immediately hugged you tightly, trying to stop you from hurting yourself further while whispering, "i'm sorry, my love. it's not your fault. i promise."

you kept on shouting "no!" and "my baby!" and it alarmed the nurses stationed near your room as they came in to check on you. your doctor soon came in and once you calmed down, she explained everything. about how the baby suddenly changed position and that the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck, causing her to suffocate. they also had to give you a c-section in order to get her out of you which explains the pain on your lower abdomen.

everyone was devastated when they heard the news. it was hard. no one could compare to a mother losing their child. mitsuri and your family tried visiting you, but you turned all of them away. you didn't want to feel ashamed and embarassed for failing to bring your baby safely in this world.

akaza knew you were more devastated than anything else, but deep inside he also felt defeated and broken. it was his first ever child. your first ever child. you both waited so patiently for one and she got taken away from you so quickly and suddenly.

he did not ever leave your side after that day, not caring if he missed work because you were more important to him than anything and anyone else.

akaza knew you needed him and he needed you.

however, you couldn't be there for akaza because you feel deep down the rabbit hole and you couldn't climb back up no matter how hard other people helped you do so. it was like the world and just life lost its meaning.

you never once thought about how akaza was feeling, because you were to focused on grieving and blaming yourself for being a bad and a failure mother. you never once saw how akaza would cry in his office or whenever he was alone in the bathroom or whenever you were already asleep at night.

but akaza never blamed you for anything. he couldn't imagine how hard it is to carry a life inside of you for nine months just for it not to live once it was out of your womb. he understood how you couldn't be there for him because he knew it how hard it was. he understood how you couldn't comfort him and make him feel better, because at least you were there with him. at least, you were still alive and breathing beside him.

you should've known. you should've listened to all of akaza's words about how "it wasn't your fault" and "i still love you no matter what". you should've felt it through his actions. how he would still kiss you every morning when you wake up and every night before sleeping. how he would still cook your favorite foods and try to cheer you up by playing your favorite shows on the tv.

because maybe. just maybe if you did, then akaza would not be kneeling on the floor with your lifeless body swimming in a pool of blood.

maybe he wouldn't have to bear the silence of the big house which was once a home for both you and him, and your baby. maybe the house would still be lively from your cheerful presence and maybe even filled with little akazas and you running around the house instead of two pink urns designed with cherry blossoms on a table.

447 notes · View notes