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daycourtofficial · 2 days

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Falling in Love on the Fourth Floor - Part 12

Pairing: Azriel x reader | WC: 3.5k | Masterlist |Warnings: none

Summary: Out of an act of desperation, you move in with a guy you kind of know who happens to have a really hot brother who lives next door.

Author's note: we are SO BACK BABY.

Immediately after agreeing to go on this date, Mor whisked you into your room, sitting you down on your bed as she went through your closet. She muttered to herself about your wardrobe not being organized and the two of you argue through her muttering about how you organize your closets differently.

“Aren’t you supposed to be having sex with Cassian right now?”

She scoffs, moving your hangers about, searching with intent. “No, I want to help you look hot for your date, babe.”

It was your turn to scoff at her as you flopped on your bed, pulling out your phone.

“You’ve never cared before.” You unlock your phone, a bit surprised at her sudden interest in your date. You open your text messages, the last one from Azriel was a few hours ago when he accused you of snoring.

“He’s really cute.” She moved through a few of your dresses, pursing her lips in concentration.

You roll your eyes and your phone starts buzzing in your hands. You decline the call once you see the name ‘dad’ light up your screen.

“Maybe he’ll be so cute that I won’t hear anything he says and we’ll live happily ever after because I can just gaze into his eyes forever.”

Mor chuckles, pulling out a black dress and bringing it to you. “You never know.” You laugh at her antics as she helps you with your hair, her fingers scratching your scalp.

Mor offers to drive you to the restaurant, stating she wanted to be nice. You’re well aware she’s doing it so she can ensure you actually go on the date. The two of you gossip in the car, talking about how Feyre keeps asking you about Rhysand constantly.

“We’re here!”

You look outside of the car, not having paid much attention to your surroundings, to find yourself in front of a mini golf place. You look around, thinking the restaurant must be somewhere nearby, but the only other stores nearby are a discount tire store and a barbershop.

“Uh, Mor… I’m not exactly dressed for mini golf.” To further your point, you sweep your hand up and down at your heels and the blue mini dress you were wearing. She undoes her seatbelt, pushing herself across the seat to open your door. She undoes your buckle and starts pushing you out of the car.

“Go, go, go. Be free. Have fun.”

She winks overdramatically at you. “But Mor, I don’t - this wasn’t the plan. Who am I looking for?”

“You’ll know him when you see him - he’s wearing a blue shirt.”

You start to yell her name, but she pulls back on the door and blows you a kiss before driving off, her red car disappearing down the street as you watched, still confused as to how you ended up here.

You turned around, the bright lights of the arcade shining through the windows.

You sighed, ready to get this night over with. She told you she was setting you up with one of Cassian’s friends, but Cassian was friends with everybody. You could be meeting anyone - someone Cassian works with or the guy at the deli that makes Cassian’s turkey sub just right. Then again, the last time Cassian got a sub from there he went on and on about that guy’s arms, so at least he’d be nice to look at.

You quickly straighten your dress before walking inside. You don’t expect the date to go anywhere, but you still want to look good. Moving through the arcade games, you try to keep your face pleasant, despite the annoyance you feel at Mor. You see a few guys with blue shirts on, and you feel a tad bit ridiculous in your strappy dress and heels, the clicking drowned out by the high pitched whirring and buzzing of the games around you.

None of the guys wearing blue shirts seem to be waiting for anyone, all their focus is on their friends or the games in front of them. Eyes scanning the arcade, a non stop barrage of overstimulation.

Your eyes meet hazel ones as you smile, a look of slight confusion on your face as you look over to find Azriel playing skee ball, the ball slipping from his fingers as he sees you. You point to him, and he just points back, not paying attention to the tickets spouting from the machine.

You smile walking over to him, and he stands up straighter as you come over to him. Your heels don’t do much to help the height difference between the two of you. You’re peering up at him, not sure what to say.

You weren’t expecting this.

“Are you my date for tonight?” You tilt your head, and take a second to drink in what he’s wearing. He’s dressed in a midnight blue dress shirt, the buttons undone just enough to get a glimpse of the tattoos on his chest. The shadowy wisps of ink call to you, begging you to undo more of the buttons, begging to be seen. His dress pants hug his thighs deliciously, his belt highlighting his trim waist. You were not being subtle, but neither was Azriel as you finally looked back up and found his eyes roaming your body.

You blush under his scrutiny, and his eyes snap back to yours.

Caught, they scream.

His ears pink slightly, a smile stretching across his face, “well, maybe Mor can get her matchmaking right at least once.”

You laugh, and he smiles at the sound. “If she’s ever right, she’ll be insufferable.”

He hums in agreement, “but if she’s right about us, she’ll be insufferable with setting other people up, not us.”

“I think she’ll bring it up any chance she gets, thinking she set us up.”

The two of you stroll to the counter. Azriel pays the teenager behind the counter, who turns and grabs putters and balls for the both of you before sliding the blue and red clubs across the counter. He nods at you both before turning away. You grab little scorecards before heading outside, and you write your names on the small line, trying to balance the paper while walking.

“So it wasn’t Mor that set us up?”

Azriel’s voice shakes you from your concentration, causing the ‘L’ at the end of his name to grow long on the scorecard. You look at him, his arm brushing against your own. You shake your head, “no.”

He smiles, eyebrows lifting, “so our nosy friend didn’t set us up?”

You blush under his gaze, fiddling with your putter. You step up to the first hole, a fairly straight forward, easy shot. You drop the ball on the putting green watching it bounce to avoid looking at him. “Well, I mean she did, but we were- you know…”

“I actually don’t know, enlighten me.” Your shocked face and stammering make his grin widen.

“I mean we were-“ you clear your throat, using the putter to move your ball a bit, “definitely becoming something.”

A moment of silence passes between you two, making you grow more nervous at his scrutiny. “Right?” You add. You lined up your putter, hitting the ball just enough to overshoot the hole, the ball bouncing off the back wall and coming back only a few feet in front of you. Azriel’s laugh is loud at your poor putt and hopefully only about your poor putt.

He gives you that smile that makes you weak in your knees as he grabs your elbow, pulling you from the putting green, his gaze heavy on you as he says, “yeah, we’re definitely becoming something.”

The night moved more smoothly after that, a tension you didn’t know lifting. You still weren’t sure what it was between you two, but at least he didn’t know either. By the fourth hole, conversation was flowing easily between the two of you, your cheeks already hurting from smiling so much.

He spent a significant portion of the evening teasing your poor putting game, around the seventh hole he stopped you after your ninth attempt to get the ball in the hole.

“You are truly pitiful at this game.”

“Stooooop,” you drag out the word, a faux shocked expression on your face as you look at him.

“Here, let me show you.” You roll your eyes, looking up at the obvious pass he’s about to make on you. You expect him to come from behind you, wrapping his arms around you to show you how to putt.

You’re surprised when he grabs your hands instead, pulling you behind him as he wraps your arms around his waist, pulling you close to his back. You laugh into his back, the warmth radiating from him making you want to melt into him.

“I’ve never seen them do this in the movies.”

You feel his hum vibrate through his chest into your cheek.

“And how well did that work out for those people in the movies?”

You laugh, and you put your hands over his, rubbing the scarred skin with your thumb. “Now, just feel how I putt.” You follow his movements as he pulls the putter back, knocking the ball along the artificial mounds until it softly fell into the hole.

“If only I could use you to putt for every hole.”

You eventually untangle yourself from him and he stops to pick up his golf ball as you two walk to the next hole. The people in front of you aren’t finished, so you two stand off to the side, leaning against some rocks as they play.

“I’m a bit surprised you didn’t take a shot before coming here. Don’t you usually have a drink for first dates?”

You hum, “see I drink a bit on the dates that Mor sets me up on, otherwise I won’t make it through the evening. I didn’t know we’d be here without alcohol until we showed up.”

He laughs, putting his hand on one of the rocks. You quirk your mouth, debating what to do, when your hand moves on its own, resting on top of his. He’s quick to rotate his hand, so your palms are together and he rubs his thumb against the back of your hand.

“Those guys were only semi-interesting if I was two or three drinks in.”

He smiles down at your hands, his scarred one much larger than yours. It surprises him a bit how easily he forgot about the scars, his thoughts consumed with just wanting your touch, not dwelling on how you’d react to the texture.

“And where am I on the drink-to-interesting scale?”

“Hmmm,” you lean back, tapping your finger to your chin, pretending to think. “Welll, if I had known it was going to be you, I would be at least five drinks in before getting here.”

He fake gasps, placing a hand over his heart, “you wound me.”

The family in front of you finish putting, moving onto the next hole. You throw your ball down on the green, looking with annoyance at the tiny windmill on the green that is sure to thwart your game.

You giggle, “I- um, I do like being around you. Sober, that is. If I knew it was you I wouldn’t pregame this date. Just so you know.”

You hit the ball, watching it bounce off the windmill blade right back to you. You groan, but Azriel’s voice cuts through. “I gotta say, Mor might not be great at setting you up, but she’s only set me up once and she did a fantastic job.”

Your cheeks heat, smile too big for your face as you putt again, the ball going underneath the windmill and into the hole successfully. You quickly turn, sticking your tongue out at Azriel.

“See, I just had to get warmed up.”

You pick up your scorecard, excited to write something lower than a 5 for the first time, peering at Azriel over it. You find him looking at you the same way, moving your eyes back down to read the score.

“Stop looking at me, I’m trying to calculate who’s winning,” you mutter, sticking your tongue out trying to do mental math.

You barely hear him whisper out, “math or no, I think it’s me that’s winning.”

Your eyes meet his over the scorecard and you’re frozen by just how soft he looked in this moment - the ridiculous colors reflecting on his tan skin,

He looked so kind and full of love.

You quickly look back down at the scorecard, trying to keep the heat from spreading across your cheeks.

He was winning by a ridiculous amount. You could get a hole in one on every shot and still lose.

Several holes later, you watch as Azriel lines up to putt. His gaze is focused on the ball, and yours is focused on how nice those pants make his ass look.

“I really thought this was going to be disastrous for a first date. At least at dinner I can get food,” you mused, watching him hit the ball. “I don’t understand why people usually go to dinner for first dates. No one looks hot while eating. All of those first dates and they all looked so ugly while eating.”

“You’ve never seen Cassian eat chicken wings then. He could make an honest man out of me.”

You shoved him, laughing at the image. Cassian was a notoriously messy eater - a fact you learned very quickly after making spaghetti for the two of you one night. You move to the next hole, having to carefully plan out your steps in your heels.

“Did you know it would be me?”

He turns and smiles shyly at you, “no, I had no idea. Mor told me if I went on this date, she’d never force you to go on another first date.”

You smile back at him as you reach the last hole, making a godsawful putt. “That’s mighty kind of you to do that for me, seeing as I told you before all about Mor’s terrible matchmaking skills.”

He shrugs, his smile growing sheepish. “I figured I’d tell whoever it was that Mor set me up with that I’m a convicted felon.”

“They might be into that.” You move over to where you ball landed, trying to figure out the best angle to hit it. You’ve tried most everything by this point, so you opt for just hitting the thing as hard as possible until it goes in.

“I’d end the date by providing them the address for the penitentiary and tell them they can write to me anytime, but that the guards read it so they should be careful when sending dirty letters.”

Your new plan is disastrous, the ball leaving the green entirely and rolling away. You curse as Azriel runs after it and drops it in the hole for you, watching it disappear.

“I can’t believe you’d receive dirty letters.”

“Why not? I’d use them as currency in prison.”

“So if I wrote you dirty letters in prison you’d trade them away?” You waggle your eyebrows at him as he moves to putt.

“Absolutely not. I’d keep them hidden away, for my eyes only.”

He takes the last putt, sinking his ball into the last hole, where it disappears to be collected by some employee. You move to mark down his fourth hole in one, grumbling about how this game was rigged as you return your putters.

“Can I see the scorecard?”

“Ha ha, yes my score was terrible, do you want to laugh at it some more?” Your voice comes out deadpan.

“Mmmm, something like that.”

You hand it to him, and he quickly tucks it away into his pocket.

Your gaze is scorching as the two of you walk to the doors, and you forget to ask him about the card when you remember that Mor brought you here, and Azriel rides a motorcycle.

And you’re wearing a dress.

You’re about to ask him about what to do when a dark red truck beeps twice.

“I borrowed Cassian’s truck for the night.”

You raise your eyebrows, but Azriel cuts off your thinking. “Mor told me to.”

“Does Cassian know it’s for a date?”

Azriel laughs as he opens your door before quickly moving to his side and getting in. “No, if I did he would have sent me out with about a thousand condoms.”

You snort, but his face drains of color as he starts stammering, “I didn’t- I mean I don’t… expect that.. Cassian.. I just-”

His voice trails off, and he stares straight ahead as he turns on the truck. Your knee slides across the seat, bumping into his. He pulls out of the parking lot, his hands tight on the steering wheel.

“I’m not a first date kinda girl, even if the walk back to my apartment would be incredibly short.”

His grip on the wheel loosens slightly, and the red light changes to green.

“Third date, though…”

His cheeks heat at your cheekiness, and you watch the cars go by on the road. You turn on the radio, Cassian’s favorite country station blaring through the speakers. You roll your eyes as you turn down the volume, searching through the stations. You stop when you find something soft and slow that sounds vaguely familiar, and you sit back in your seat.

The ride is mostly quiet, save for the radio. You two eventually make it back to your apartment building, Cassian’s small truck idling before Azriel cuts it off. The nerves are back, eating through your stomach as you look at him. The streetlights made his hazel eyes look golden as he watched you.

The silence stretches as you two watch each other, an endless pool of fondness swimming in your shared gaze. His hands move, turning off the engine.

“So.”

He turns towards you, his arm slowly going behind your headrest, giving you every time opportunity to stop him. Your eyes just follow the movement before leaning back onto his arm.

“I had fun tonight.”

His voice is soft, his gaze unwavering.

“Me too.”

You watch his eyes flick down to your lips briefly before coming back up. “We could do it again, if you’d like.”

Your words fail you as you nod, and his smile widens. He fidgets with his fingers, biting his lip lightly.

A second date - his step forward. Now it was your turn to push.

“Can I kiss you?”

His heart is thrumming in his chest, his turn to nod without speaking. You shift in your seat, moving closer to his face. His hands tremble slightly as he places them on your neck.

“Gods, yes.” He whispers his words into your mouth, his touch leaving an imprint on your skin.

Your noses bump into each other. Your lips meet his and his touch is all consuming. It’s soft, slow, full of trepidation.

It’s clumsy at first, both of you so unsure and full of nerves. After a moment you get your bearings, your hands finding their way to his cheeks as the two of you keep kissing, unwilling to stop for air.

His lips are soft against your own, his fingers warm on your neck. The two of you eventually pull apart, panting, Cassian’s windows covered in a thick fog. You giggle as you draw a tiny heart in the condensation.

“Do you um wanna come upstairs? My roommate’s gone for the night.”

All thoughts leave his head, but before he can spiral, your voice stops him.

“I don’t want to, ya know. I mean I do- just not yet. Like I said I’m not really a first date kind of girl for that. It’s just not me, but um ya know I figured we could watch a movie or eat like actual dinner…”

He nods a bit too enthusiastically. “I could order us a pizza? I could stop by my apartment, change into some sweats?”

“I could put on some pajamas?”

You two just nod softly at each other. A moment passes before you realize you actually have to get out of the car to keep the date going. You laugh, a sound that makes Azriel’s heart swell. You get out of the truck, your body close to Azriel’s as you two walk into your building. The lights of the lobby are bright compared to the night sky outside.

The elevator hums softly as it takes the two of you up to your floor.

“Just give me like ten minutes before coming over? I’ll leave the door unlocked for you.”

You take a deep breath as you unlock your door, watching him go into his own apartment. You quickly shuffle inside, turn your phone off of do not disturb, and immediately Facetime Mor.

Your face is bright red on your screen as you move through your apartment, discarding your shoes and dress, pulling on sweats. Mor declines your call, and you opt to leave her a voicemail.

“Mor, why didn’t you tellmeIwasgoingonadatewithAzrielyouabsolutebuffoon.”

Your words come out hurried and hushed, checking he hasn’t come in yet. You put on a comfy shirt before saying, “but… Thank you. You’re a lovely buffoon, he’s coming over to watch a movie so keep Cassian away for as long as possible. Preferably three weeks. Love you, bye!”

You hang up, deciding to text her too.

I both love and hate you, I hope you know that.

Series taglist: @anotherbook-obsessedhoe @impossibelle @hayrunnwr @just-a-social-casualty-1@thisisew @brieflyclassymortal @glitterypirateduck @marshmummy @bookishbroadwaybish @azsteris @doriansgf @footyandformula @mybestfriendmademe @od-anon @judig92 @luvmoo @marina468 @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @acotarobsessed @maryssong23

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx

Azriel taglist: @brieflyclassymortal @thisiskaylin

Thanks for reading! 💕

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff #acotar writing #azriel x y/n

214 notes · View notes

oneforthemunny · 20 hours

Note

omg cowboy!eddie when one of those buckle bunnies come back for more and try to flirt with eddie right in front of sweet girl

ooh love this!!! so this is kinda set after the first encounter and fight they had (check the blurb masterlist if you're interested in reading!) and kinda like a follow up fluff blurb about later <3

"There you are." You grinned, greeting Eddie when he finally came out of the small tent. The winner's circle, he'd called it, where he collected his obnoxious belt buckle of a prize and his winning cash.

"Hi, baby." Eddie was shuffling a little slower that usual, stride a little slumped despite his win. He was doing competitions less and less now, getting older and bronco riding was taking more of a toll than usual.

He greeted you with a kiss, sweet but swift, your arm sliding around his waist. "Lemme see it." You grinned, looking over at the shining, studded belt buckle in Eddie's hands.

"Ooh," You giggled. "Nice and shiny. Winner, winner, chicken dinner, hm?"

Eddie snorted in laughter. "Where'd you hear that from?"

"Someone in the stands said it." You shrugged, giggling. "I thought it was funny. Thought you might like that."

Eddie pressed a kiss to your head, shrugging his saddle up further on his back. "I don't think I want chicken tonight." Eddie sighed heavily. "Think I want a steak. You feelin' like goin' out?"

"Are you?" You looked at him carefully, brow raised in suspect. "We can order room service if you're tired."

"Nah, I just need to shower and change. Get outta these boots." Eddie shook his head. "I'll get a second win. 'Sides, I promised you a night out."

You grinned, leaning into his side. "Where should we go? Oh, should we-"

"Congratulations, cowboy." A purring voice came from beside you.

You turned, seeing a girl stepping towards Eddie with a sultry sway of her hips. She was wearing a cowboy hat, one that looked cheap, fashioned with a pair of cutoffs that looked more like underwear, plaid shirt tied around her lacy, push up bra that you could see peeking out. A very stark contrast to the sundress you had one.

"You stayed on a pretty long time." She grinned wickedly, lashes batting at Eddie. "I can stay on a long time too. You wanna see?"

Your hand curled around Eddie's waist, pulling him closer to you, possessively. Your eyes narrowed into slits, jaw set, ready to go off on her.

Eddie didn't even turn towards her, not even blinking in her direction. "Where'd you wanna go?" He hummed, moving to look at you sweetly, continuing his stride towards the car, heavy boots on the dirt path kicking up a small puff with each step.

You watched as the girl's face fell, shock replacing her once proud smirk. It was your turn to grin, smug and triumphant as you leaned into Eddie's side, one last glare thrown at her before you turned back.

"What a fucking bitch." You muttered to Eddie, huffing in annoyance.

"Don't pay them any mind." Eddie shook his head. "They're a dime-a-dozen around these things. Another fuckin' reason I'm ready to call it quits." He grumbled.

"Let's not worry 'bout that." Eddie cut off your retort. "Tell me where you wanna go, baby. I'll take you wherever you want."

159 notes · View notes

greatstormcat · 1 day

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Club 141 AU - Part 4

Poly 141 x f!reader

Series Masterlist

This is a fictional depication of BDSM and proper vetting of new partners is essential for everyone. This is a work of fiction and liberties are being taken for the narrative. This (long awaited) part covers CNC/Consenual Not Consent. There is nothing wrong with this as long as it is in the real world context of a carefully negotiated dynamic with correct safeguards. Never let anyone push you to perform something you are not in wholehearted agreement with, and know your limits. Practice RACK: Risk Aware Consensual Kink.

TW: MDNI 18+, BDSM themes, CNC, degradation, forced blowjob, gunplay, bondage, mentions of blood, blindfold/hooding, p in v, rough sex, anal, double penetration, single safeword, no check-ins, aftercare and a hot tub

“You want to hunt me,” you repeat back to Price. It’s not a question, it’s a statement of fact. The man has just spent several minutes explaining to you how over the last few months you’ve settled into your role as the group’s sub perfectly. They were comfortable with you, and you quickly pointed out you were just as comfortable with each of them. You’d indulged in a variety of scenes with them, both individually and in groups, and it was easy to find a flow with the group.

“We want to hunt you,” Price echoes, leaning back in his throne-like armchair, the sounds of the club a distant murmur as you sit opposite him in the private room once again. His eyes watch you sharply, making you feel as though a microscope was pointed at you while you were pinned to a glass slide. Some days you felt he could read your very thoughts with his crytalline stare.

“Only if you’re ready,” Ghost rumbles, ever the one watching for everyone’s safety. He stood, arms crossed over his broad chest and leaning his hip against the back of Price’s leather chair. His gleaming skull mask fixed firmly in place as always, shining as though he took pains to polish the thing. Never once had you seen him without it.

Swallowing thickly, you pause to think, knowing full well that if you rush to agree one of them, if not both, will put the brakes on proceedings. They care that much about you, their precious and beloved submissive.

“How would this work?” you ask, receiving the instant reward of both men relaxing from their previous tense states.

“Good girl,” Ghost mumbles softly but it carries to you and a thrill skitters down your spine in response.

“If you agree,” Price begins, putting emphasis on the first word, “I have a friend who owns a few hundred acres of private land not far from here. There’s a cabinby a lake, with a hot tub.”

“Sounds romantic,” you say with a small smile.

“I suppose it does,” he agrees, leaning forward slightly. “Kyle explained we were in the military together, yes?”

“He did, that’s why they call you Captain,” you reply.

“That’s right,” Price smiles. “We still have some equipment, and a lot of experience in tracking people who don’t want to be caught.” A light enters his eyes as he speaks, an intensity you’ve come to know well, often when he has you by the throat and is promising you all manners of pleasure and pain.

“I understand,” you say, aware he has paused to check you are taking this in. Your breathing quickens as you hang on his every word.

“We would take you to a point in the woods near there and set you free, your goal being to get back to the cabin without being captured,” Price continues, his voice noticeably deepening. Ghost shifts slightly, making an obvious adjustment to make room for the stiffening of his cock as he listens and watches your reaction.

“What happens if I am captured?” you ask, feeding him the words you know he wants to hear. The leather of the armchair creaks as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees so he is closer to you. Your eyes watch his lips as he speaks, a memory of the taste of cigar smoke and scotch on them makes you salivate.

“What we always did. A captured enemy gets tortured,” he whispers softly, “until they break.”

A while later you sit at the club’s bar, perched on one of the elegant stools as Johnny and Kyle work the bar and you try to work through Price’s proposition in your head.

“Did they explain the whole thing to you?” Kyle asks as he places a cocktail on the marble top before you. You quickly take a sip to calm your jangling nerves.

“Oh yes, in lurid detail,” you answer, feigning shock and he laughs.

“Is the idea that bad?” he chuckles, his dark eyes warm with humour. “I thought you were a tough bird? Is the thought of us four stalking you through the dark so horrendous?”

You clench your thighs as he speaks, his honeyed voice dripping down your spine and pooling in your pelvis.

“No, not horrendous,” you reply, hoping he didn’t notice you shifting. One look up at him tells you he very clearly did see it, and your face warms with embarrassment.

“So it seems,” he drawls, leaning over the bar towards you. “So you gonna think it over? Give us a proper answer?”

You bite your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment, just as Johnny walks over and looks between the two of you.

“You’re nae influencing her, are ya?” he chuckles, draping his arm over Kyle’s shoulder.

“No, just making sure she understands what’s at stake here,” Kyle grins and stands up, leaning against the other man. The pair look at you, grinning wickedly like a pair of devils trying to seduce you into some sinful act, despite looking as beautiful as angels in the soft light of the club.

“You two are going to be the death of me,” you laugh, feeling your face warming.

“What a way to go, eh?” Johnny winks back at you.

On Price’s insistence you take a few days to make your decision, and take the chance to talk it through with him, making sure you understand exactly what this will entail. The more you learn, and the more you read up, the more you want to experience this with them. Once you agree, you book a few days off work and they make the arrangements to rent the cabin and drive you up there. Its a warm summer day as you pull up at the cabin beside the lake, a few small outbuildings nearby and the promised hot tub positioned beside the small building on the lake side. Dense woodland surrounds everything. It all looks wonderfully romantic and cozy, especially considering the men you are staying here with, which jars against the activity you have planned for the evening.

The sun is just beginning to set a few hours later, you wiggle your toes in your hiking boots and pull on the tops of the socks peeking over the tops of them, the cool air pricking your skin. Price had warned you not to wear anything you were fond of, explaining clothes were unlikely to survive this scene, so you’d opted for an old sports bra and second favourite knickers, plus a plain white tee-shirt and some loose gym shorts. You hoped that as plain and simple as the look was, it was still appealing.

“You’re sure you’re ready for this?” Price asks you, and you try not to look at him but he grasps your chin and turns your face towards him, forcing eye contact. The dark fatigues he is wearing make him look larger than normal, and the look in his eye tells you exactly how he is feeling about the idea of hunting you. Fear and arousal mix in your gut already, and you haven’t even seen the others or started yet.

“Yes, I’m sure,” you say firmly, knowing anything less will be questioned. You want to do this.

“Just like we went over at the club there will be no checking in during this scene once it starts. You have one safe word and that ends everything, understood?” His voice is firm, unwavering.

“I understand,” you confirm with what you hope is equal conviction. You glance around, the other three are nowhere to be seen, but they are watching you from somewhere close by.

“Okay, you get a ten minute head start and then we come after you,” he says, taking a step back. “The cabin is that way.”

You hesitate for a moment, uncertain on what to do, but he doesn’t seem inclined to speak further. Instead he turns his back on you and walks towards the car he had brought you out here in, not looking back.

With a quiet huff you take off at a trot in the direction Price had indicated, the fading light hampered by the dense coverage from the tree canopy above and adding to the gloom. Watching where you go, you try to count the seconds to the ten minute mark, trying to gauge when the hunt will begin. Your heart beats loudly, almost drowning out the idyllic sound of birds singing in the evening air.

Any more thoughts end abruptly when the sound of a gun firing behind you tears through the air. Small birds and animals startle around you, and you freeze much like a frightened deer. However, when the sound of sharp whistles and excited yelling begins behind you, your muscles burst back into life.

They have guns, why do they have guns, you repeat to yourself over and over as you scramble forward. Panic seeping icy fingers into you, slowing you when it should be spurring you on, to get away from them. The fear thaws when it reaches that small part of your brain that understands this is a game though, it pulses red hot and whispers to you to let them catch you, to see what will happen when you fall.

You start to run out of breath just as you make it to the edge of the lake through the trees. The lights from the cabin glow warmly in the distance, and you pick up the pace feeling more confident now you can see your goal. A smile begins to creep across your face, the big, bad soldiers were clearly rusty after all these years. They hadn’t even got close to you, in fact, the head start was probably too much.

The light has faded enough now that the trunks of the trees are nothing but dark shadows under the canopy of leaves. It’s almost peaceful, no others sounds over the rustling of leaves and your own footsteps. You slow down, considering waiting for the guys to catch up so the game isn’t wasted, when a tall figure detaches from the shadows ahead of you.

A red mask covers the top part of his face, a Mohawk standing up above, and despite the obvious signs of it being Johnny, you feel terror. He’s wearing combat gear, some kind of rifle held in his hands and pointing at your feet. This isn’t your friend, your Dominant, this is a man trained to kill and you can see it in the way he carries himself as he steps forward. You spin on the spot and go to run back the way you came, but stop dead in your tracks.

The Grim Reaper is waiting for you, tall and dressed in black with a hood up around his skull face. He strides towards, an arm raised to grab you, but your body takes over and you dart to the side into the trees once more.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” you whisper to yourself as you run through the low undergrowth, clumsy and undignified. Plunging madly through the woods now, a tiny part of your mind wondering how they caught up with you without you hearing them. This makes you realise exactly what you’re up against, these are trained soldiers. You truly are fucked.

As you run, a shadow separates from a tall shrub ahead of you and sprints towards you, low and deadly. You try to turn but arms wrap around your waist, swinging you around and throwing you off balance completely. You hit the ground face down, breath knocked from your lungs just as a heavy body lands on your back. Instinctively your wail in dismay, the man on your back grabbing your throat and squeezing at the same moment, his hips grinding viciously against your backside so you feel his hard length.

“You lose,” Kyle's voice growls into your ear as a canvas sack is pulled over your head, your arms wrenched roughly behind you back and held firmly in a gloved hand. “Up.”

He drags you to your feet, cold metal presses against your neck under the edge of the hood, and there’s a sharp click. A sound you’ve heard in movies enough times to recognise it, a gun. A bubbling whine of terror creeps up your throat, and escapes into the darkness of the hood. The answering growl twists the fear and turns it into something else, something hot and sharp that spikes into your gut. Arousal.

“Walk,” he sneers, and you rely on him to guide you through the undergrowth.

You stumble blindly, disorientation adding an extra level to your confusion, as you are half march, half drag you somewhere. The change in flooring and slam of a door lets you know you are inside a building, but it's impossible to know where you are. The sound of heavy boots on a rough floor echo around you, and you are dumped unceremoniously in a chair with thin arm-rests. You flinch at the loud noise of tape being pulled from a roll, and your wrists and ankles are secured to the chair.

The hood is pulled away, bright light blinding you from a lamp shining directly in your face, but this is a short lived issue as a blindfold swiftly covers your eyes. Fingers twist in your hair and yank your head back, pulling a cry from your lips, but this is quickly muffled by the cock that is shoved into your mouth. After a second of confusion, heat floods your chest and you lean into the intrusion, mouth watering around the salty skin.

“Fuck, look at her go!”

“Greedy bitch, she’s gagging for it. Have you not been fed, love?” one of them taunts you.

While insults and jibes are tossed at you, whoever has hold of you by the hair continues to forcefully fuck your face, their hips grinding his cock further and further into your throat until you feel the edge of you gag reflex tightening. You focus on breathing steadily through your nose, feeling drool seeping around the thick shaft and onto your chest. Before long your thin tee is sticking to you, no doubt showing your bra underneath.

“Fuck, lemme in on that.” The Scottish lilt identifies Johnny easily. It’s all the warning you get before your head is roughly grabbed and turned to the other side, a few seconds to breathe freely are given before another cock slams into your mouth as you gasp for air.

“Oh fuck, yeah that’s good,” the new comer grunts, twisting your hair to add sharp pain to the mix. You whimper, and his rhythm falters slightly at the sound buzzing your throat around the head of his dick. “Ughh…” he grunts, and he shifts his weight momentarily before the cold press of metal returns, this time against your temple. A tremble runs down your spine and ends with a clenching of your pussy, a half whimper, half moan leaves you and his hiss is audible at your reactions.

“Shit, you like that you nasty slut?” Johnny’s thrust become harsher, his grip on your head tight and almost painful as the gun presses into your skin. Drool runs around his shaft, leaking down your chin, and his huffs of breath shorten.

“Ya gonna swallow every drop,” he mutters. “Don’t waste any of what I give ya.” His breaths become moans, more and more desperate as he chases his high and before much longer he comes. You're forced to swallow or choke, and you suck down the thick strings of cum.

“Enough, get her out of the chair and strip her,” Ghost’s gravely voice orders, and quickly both gun and dick are gone, leaving you coughing and gasping.

The tape binding you to the chair snaps, a cold blade touching your skin as it is cut and a taste of freedom hits you. Despite the blindfold you try to bolt from the chair, determined to play your part in this fully and try to escape.

“Fucking bitch! Get her down,” Price barks in anger.

“No!” you scream as you feel a heavy body tackle you down. Under the oppressive weight you kick and struggle, gasping for breath through the pressure of whichever one of them holds you down.

“Stupid cunt, you’ll get what’s coming to ya now,” Johnny’s voice hisses. Hands pull you boots and socks off, your shorts quickly following despite your wild kicks. You feel one foot connect with one of them, a triumphant smile crossing your lips at the muffled grunt this causes, but strong hands catch your ankles, pulling them wide and pinning them to the floor. Your exposed pussy pulses, wet and hot in the cold air, and the sound of a zip cuts through the air.

“She fucking kicked me, I go first,” Kyle complains, and someone huffs a short laugh in answer. Again you try to fight, kick and struggle, but each limb is pinned to the rough floor and you only scrape yourself against the wood planks. Kyle kneels between your thighs, his body covering you and then his cock spears into you, stretching you wide.

“Stop!” you whine, the wrongness of the word on your tongue making your pussy clench tighter. He doesn’t hesitate, ignoring your plea and goes right to a pounding, punishing rhythm, curling over you so his grunts and groans play out beside your ear.

“Don’t fight, it’s too late for that now,” Kyle’s voice drips into your ear, and that part of your brain that grips to the reality that this isn’t real purrs back to life, quelling the panic slightly.

“Blind fold off, I want to see her face properly,” you hear Price bark, a note of authority in his voice you’ve not heard before and the rawness of the situation hits you. They are stripped back of all their civility, almost their humanity as they work you over, and you understand the itch that this is scratching for them. The blindfold is pulled away and you blink rapidly, trying to focus on the dark shapes around you. Ghost pins your hands above your head, while Price and Johnny restrain a leg each.

Kyle fucks you mercilessly, the rough fabric of his combat trousers rubbing at your skin and adding more friction, his public bone hitting your clit.

“Such a tight little cunt,” Kyle groans, his hands shifting and pushing up underneath your top and sports bra to squeeze your tits. The brutal swing of his hips doesn’t falter, your body tight as you pull against the hands holding you down and clenching around his thick dick.

The orgasm comes almost out of nowhere, quickly building and releasing within you and slicing through you. It makes you archly sharply off the ground, and Kyle barks hoarsely as he is dragged over the edge with you, burying his load deep inside you with unsteady thrusts.

“Thought you’d last longer than that mate,” Johnny teases as Kyle sits back, breathing heavily.

“Fuck you,” he bites back. “You shot your load quick enough.”

“Can’t blame me with a toy like this,” Johnny answers sinfully.

“Shut up you two,” Ghost interrupts, and you glance up as he releases your wrists and stands. Your legs are shaking, as much as you want to try moving again you don’t think you can. As he stands up and begins to unbuckle his belt, you groan softly. He peels off his vest and shirt, before getting down on the ground beside you, laying on his back. Price and Johnny grip your arms and pull your unresisting body over his, face down.

Sweat slicks your skin as you are pushed down onto Ghost’s chest, and with your legs held apart he sheathes his cock inside your pussy with a single, hard thrust that has you arching your back. The rasping of breath from behind his mask tells you how much the feel of your cunt affects him, hot and pulsing around his cock already.

“Get comfortable, you’ve got more to come yet,” he chuckles darkly, and you notice he is looking over your shoulder. Think fingers press at your exposed asshole, cold liquid smearing across the puckered hold.

"No! Don't, please," you plead weakly, unable to move as Ghost hold you against his chest.

“Shut up,” you hear Price snap close behind you, just before shoving a thick digit inside your arse and working it in and out a few times. Suddenly, the intrusion is removed and you relax slightly.

Before you recover, the head of a meaty, slicked up cock presses against your asshole and pushes inside. It’s like every single nerve fibre between your neck and knees has come to life, and you let out a desperate keen at the pleasure. The fullness of almost being stretched to breaking is intense, and the choppy, rough thrusts of Price working into your backside send your mind blank. You’re no stranger to anal but having them both inside you at once is a whole new sensation.

Without any pause they both begin to pump into you, deep grunts and curses the only sound you can hear. You can’t tell if you’re being ripped apart or fucked better than you’ve ever felt in your life. All you can do is try to remember to breathe as you grip onto Ghost biceps, fingernails cutting into his skin and drawing tiny trickles of blood. Your cries build and crescendo into frenzied noises, your sensitive nerves alive and running with liquid lightning as the two men push you further and further.

The orgasm that rips through you steals your hearing and vision, your brain turns to pure nothingness for a few seconds and you forget to breathe as hot ecstasy tears through every cell of your body. Your exhausted muscles spasm, gripping and milking Price and Ghost’s cocks, pushing them over the edge so they both come, filling you with thick, sticky ropes of spend inside you. Twitching and spasming you fall limp between them, unable to move or speak.

“Right, red,” Ghost announces softly, just audible over the ringing in your ears. Price carefully pulls out of you, a whimper slipping from your lips as he does and a shock of sensitivity shooting through you. Ghost does the same but lays still, cradling you against his chest, his wide palm smoothing up and down your skin slowly. “It’s over now, you did well.”

You burrow into him, pushing your sweat streaked face against his neck with I deep exhale, his arms pulling you tightly against him and his deep voice vibrates through his chest and into you as he talks you down. Your heart rate slows down and breathing evens out, floating in a fog inside your own head.

“That was insane,” Kyle says quietly as he crouches beside you, mask removed now, and touches your shoulder. You peer at him hazily through your lashes, a hint of smile on your lips. He puts a backpack down beside you and Ghost and opens it, pulling out bottles of sports drink, a small first aid kit and finally a tightly wrapped blanket which he opens and drops over you gently.

Slowly and carefully Ghost gets you up and gets you to drink, then gets you up. Blinking, you look around and take in your surroundings finally. It’s a small garage, the one you’d seen beside the cabin earlier in the day. Once they’re happy you are okay then clean you up and walk you out of the garage, wrapped in the soft blanket.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Price asks again, for maybe the fifth time, and you smile groggily and nod.

“I’m fine, just a bit shaky,” you tell him again, the pride and bliss burning inside of you is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. “I want to get into the hot tub, can we?”

“Right now you can have anything you want, hen,” Johnny answers without a thought and trots ahead to get the cover off the tub.

“Absolutely, anything,” Price grins, satisfied with your reply now.

It’s crowded in the hot tub with so many large bodies in it, and you get jostled around as each of them tries to be the one beside you. In the end, you find yourself sitting on someone’s lap, thick thighs and strong arms cradling you against a broad chest in the warm, bubbling water. Your head lolls against his shoulder peacefully but after a moment you blink open your eyes tiredly, the pleasant buzzing of the water massaging your aching limbs.

You look up into Ghost’s unmasked face, and you grin.

“Hi, Ghost,” you say, feeling a little foolish afterwards, but his smile settles your nerves.

“Call me Simon,” he grins back, a scar making it slightly crooked. “You’ve more than earned it now.”

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Text

zest {chapter 1}

Pairing: Chef! Joel Miller x Professor! Reader (formally known as Bartender! Reader)

Summary: Changes are sudden, lifestyles are altered, and important questions bubble up but through it all, you have Joel by your side.

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: canon typical language, c'mon reader and joel have potty mouths, age gap (joel is mid 40’s / reader is late 20’s -early 30’s, protective joel, reader is canonically midsize, pregnant reader, surprise pregnancy, reader goes through nicotine withdrawal, smoking, cigarettes, nicotine use, lots of feelings, lots of emotions, complicated family dynamic, reader has family issues, death of a loved one, mention of life-threatening cancer, reader has religious guilt, restaurant lingo, triggers associated with the food industry, reader canonically has an eating disorder, mentions of therapy, references to time apart from each other, adult content, smut, piv, unprotected piv be safe y'all!), talk of marriage, adult conversations, joel and reader are down bad for each other.

REMINDER: this is a sequel series, the previous series can be found here {garnish}

A/N: THEY'RE BACK, BABY! ♡♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || masterlist || ko-fi

It’s the perfect spring day: sun shining in a warm but not hot brightness, a gentle breeze rustling the trees as you zip past them, an iced coffee, and the singing figure of Ellie in the passenger seat all make the first half of the day melt away. The amber of your sunglasses allows for everything to be swathed in the honeyed hue and you smile to yourself as you recall a rather heated comment from Joel ‘that every goddamn show feels so creative ‘n artsy when they slap the same tones over Mexico’ and then a softer set of words as he had cuddled closer to you on the couch ‘it’s not really like that, I’ve been there, darlin’, trust me’.

“What’re you all gooey lookin’ for, Sabrosa?” Ellie pauses to catch her breath between songs from the newest pop punk album from a band you first enjoyed in your teenage years. Unable to resist the temptation of adding it to your already laden down basket at the bookstore last week when you and the young girl had ditched Joel to run errands. “Ew, gross, don’t think about my dad while I’m sitting right next to you.”

“Oh hush,” You stuck your tongue out at her. Getting a kick out of how casually she sounded. It hadn’t ever been awkward between you two, or her and Sarah despite the six or so years between your birthdays. But then again, Sarah had let you into the secret of the older guy she had started seeing in her graduate program the last time she had been in town visiting… “It’s nothing dirty, just one of his many rants about my choice in television.”

“Lemme guess….oh! The washed-out way they show Mexico, huh? Cause you were watching…oh fuck, what’s that show called…”

“Breaking Bad.” Was the supplied answer from your lips as you turned on the turn signal and began to slow down to turn into the parking lot for the restaurant. It wasn’t operating hours quite yet, too early yet for the dinner crowd Joel preferred to cater to. But Ellie had a shift, and you were dropping her off after classes. She wasn’t in either of the ones you teach, having completed the two semester course you had started off with. But you both had a class that ended around the same time, living so close to the university, she liked being able to walk but then catch a ride with you. Tradition, the word rang in your head. Routine, followed it and you smiled wider at the way your life had fleshed out.

“That’s the one!” She exclaimed as she unbuckled the seatbelt and leaned back in her chair. “Man, I really don’t have the energy for work today, but the old man said we have a full reservation list and then open seating at the bar.”

“Gonna be that way for a while, the article about him came out only two months ago. Everyone’s clamoring for a chance to try the ‘bursting flavors’ and ‘exciting combinations’ of the renowned Chef Joel Miller.”

“Yeah, yeah. He’s hot shit right now, at least the restaurant is.” Reaching for her coffee in an imitation of you, she sipped at the whip cream, caramel whatever it is she had gotten. Coffee wasn’t her favorite, so she always got the espresso taken out, a glorified milkshake Joel had teased her once. “Proud of him, though. The restaurant was in shambles when he bought it from the previous owners, some shitty Italian place that never cleaned anything.”

“He’s done good.” You quietly agree, sipping from your own overly complicated drink. That was another tradition of yours and hers, to make your way through the menu at the coffee shops on campus, always pausing to get the special of the month. Joel claimed he didn’t understand the need for so much stuff mixed in with coffee, but you caught him stealing sips of yours if he were to come across it unattended around the house or when you were out and about with him and treated yourself.

“There’s my girls.” Joel chimes as you input your code into the gate for the employee parking and round the side of the building. His voice filtering in through the open windows as you pull into a spot and cut the engine. He’s leaned against the back of the building, cigarette in hand. “Was wondering what took you so long.”

“Accident on the main road, had to detour.” You appease as he approaches to open the door for you and pressed a greeting kiss to your cheek as you roll up the windows. He does the same for Ellie as she sidles up beside him for a side hug before trotting off to the door and disappearing through it. He let’s you pluck the lit cigarette from his fingers as you shoulder your bag and close the door. His hand goes around your waist to walk alongside you toward the building.

“As long as you two are safe, that’s all that matters. Today’s special is spaghetti all nerano, wanna do some grading here and try a plate?” He takes the smoking roll back from your offered hand and takes the last drag before tossing it into the pale beside the door. Opening it and leading you through it with a hand hovering over your lower back.

“That sounds yummy, I’m starving.” You toss him a smile over your shoulder before greeting everyone with a wave.

It’s well into the third hour of service and you never got the chance to leave once the doors opened. The bar had been struggling, Millie having taken over as manager and Mary trying to appease the picky impatient customers who all want a taste of the raved over menu and a glimpse at the alluring Chef Miller.

Picking up a shaker and twisting a bottle of vodka in your grip, you glance at the ticket that just printed and adjust the amount you free pour into it. Mary had been looked so guilty as she approached you’re the table where you do your work on a regular basis, the question of if you were willing to help out getting drinks started for those waiting on tables barely out of her mouth before you were nodding and cleaning up your stuff. It was now safely tucked away in the office and you were moving at a fast pace behind the bar to keep up with everything. Millie stepped down to let you take the reigns, knowing she would only get in your way. Ellie could be seen picking up and dropping off glasses at the well as often as Millie as she acted as barback.

The restaurant was buzzing, excited conversation and pleasant atmosphere making you remember the tingling high of getting off from a busy shift with a wad of cash tucked into your pocket. Just as you place a strainer over the shaker and begin to pour the contents over six shot glasses the door to the kitchen swings open and Joel walks through. You’re too busy, so you shift the chilled shots to the mat over the well and place the corresponding tickets beside them. Moving onto the next drink, you rinse out the shaker with the star sink in place.

His eyes catch yours through the crowd of people when you look up as Ellie comes up to take the shots and then watching as she delivers them, the sound of the shaker loud in your ear as you hold it over your head. His steps don’t falter as he approaches the table, he was delivering the plate to, but you could see something flash over his face. He’s back behind the door as you move to lodge the shaker open.

The night goes by quickly, taking orders for those lucky enough to snag a spot at the bar but hadn’t been able to make a reservation. Shoving each cash tip into a pint glass for the girls and even taking a few business cards from people interested in hosting parties in the space. You’ll be sure to pass those along to Mary, even if some of them requested you as the bartender. You didn’t mind, missing the atmosphere and good moments you had experienced in the setting. Ellie is taking back the remaining dishes from the last few tables, Millie is out back smoking after helping to clean up the bar top when Joel ambles from the kitchen once again.

He's got his chef’s coat unbuttoned and loose around the shirt underneath, the glint of his belt buckle catching the fairy lights around the bar. His steel curls are slicked back, but you could see the frizz and fluffiness where they rested over the back of his neck. He had been saying he needed a haircut, but you had made a sound in the back of your throat that made him put it off.

His eyes are trained on you as you move the trash cans full of empty bottles to line up beside the drink pick up area. You’re about to return behind the bar with a wink thrown over your shoulder when he snakes his hands around your waist and pulls you to him. He smells amazing, the perfect mix of savory spices, smoke, and Joel.

“Playin’ restaurant, huh? Thought you went home and passed out.” He leans down to kiss your jawline.

“Nah, Mary asked for my help when Millie got swamped.” You breath out, hands coming up to rest on his chest and push should he get a little too enthusiastic in you still being here.

“Not your responsibility.” His eyes hold no real heat or command, you know it’s born from a place of worry, of not wanting you to stretch yourself too thin.

“It’s okay, baby. I don’t mind.” You cradle his cheek in one hand and play with the collar of his open coat with the other. His eyes glance down, the glitter from your lotion catching the light on your neck and chest.

“Hmm, you looked good. Dress looks good on you, shakin’ those drinks and-“

“Dad, holy crap, it was so busy tonight. Some dude tipped me like fifty percent because he was trying to impress his date!” Ellie plops down on a stool with her server’s book. She doesn’t even look up from where she begins to go over the receipts. “Wait until everyone leaves to start doing that or better yet, wait until you’re home to do that.”

“One day you’re gonna meet someone and it’s gonna be hard to keep your hands to yourself.” You only giggle at the typical parent response from Joel. Ellie wasn’t a touchy-feely person, but you were sure she would be with the right person, you’d seen her flirty interactions with girls while out with you and your friends, tagging along for the free drinks and to have safe company. She was pretty smooth if she didn’t get into her head too much, soft touches to shoulders and waists, though she steadfastly refused to dance. With anyone, no matter the setting.

“Gross,” She begins to fill out the printed shift report before organizing the receipts in order and then asks you for the stapler. Detangling yourself from the man, you do make it back behind the bar. That’s when she notices the pint glass. “Holy shit! You made all that?”

“Huh? Oh, no. The restaurant did. Here.” You hand the wad of bills over to Joel. With your own shift report and stapled receipts. He uses two nimble fingers to extract the shift report but leaves the cash in your hand. Frowning, you track the report as it’s tucked into his back pocket along with Ellie’s. Her own cash tips secure in her booklet.

“Also gonna see about getting some of the petty cash from the safe for the hours you worked.” He begins to take the full bags from the trash cans, tying the ends together tight.

“Joel.”

“You worked, you get paid.” He doesn’t look up as he reaches into the bottom for the rolls sitting inside and begins to place new ones over the lips of the plastic.

“I’m your girlfriend. Who used to work here. I was just helping out.”

“Nope, not gonna fly, darlin’. It’s yours.” He slides the empties cans back around the bar for you to put back in their designated places.

“If you don’t want it, I’ll take it.” Ellie reaches for it and you let her swipe it from your hand. Only for Joel to set her with a look. “Oooor not.” She says as she puts it down atop the clean bar top.

“Joel!”

“Can’t hear you, Sabrosa, gotta make sure the kitchen duties were done.”

“Seriously, I’ll take it if you don’t want it.” You quirk an eyebrow at the younger girl, but Millie bounces up and says everyone was going out for a bite at the taco truck parked a few blocks down. They have a spot in a lot that has picnic tables and offer late night service. Ellie takes off, ensuring you she’ll text either you or Joel when she’s back at the townhouse afterwards. She’d been staying the second bedroom there more and more, as you found yourself splitting your time pretty evenly between it and Joel’s. He would join you sometimes, but certain nights either you needed you own space or he did and that was okay.

Sighing, you lock the patron door behind her and turn the sign from open to closed.

As you’re double checking everything is shut down properly, you open the washer to let the last load of glasses air dry, the steam billowing out. Turning when you hear the swing of the kitchen door again, Joel has his chef’s coat tossed over his shoulder and his backpack over the other. His eyes zone in on the cash and then a smirk takes over his face. You turn your attention back to the washer and ensure it’s off before you round the bar top and makes sure it was swept underneath the stools. You’re about to ask him which car you were gonna take home when you spot a crumpled napkin you must’ve missed.

As you bend down to pick it up, you feel thick fingers sneak beneath the skirt of your dress. You don’t think anything of it until you feel Joel tuck a bill from the stack into the band of your panties. Knuckles grazing against your slit as he moves to the other hip and does the same. You shoot up, the napkin forgotten as you try to turn around.

“Nu-uh,” His palms come to rest on your lower back and shoulders, bending you over one of the stools as the heat of his body looms close. He whispers something about having to scrub the video cameras set up around the dining room before you hear the clink of his belt being undone and feel him move your panties to the side. You throb at the feel of the cooler air circulating around the room, a gasp leaving your lips as he gently runs the head of his cock over your folds, arousal from you both making it such a smooth motion.

As he reaches over your back for something, he fills you up, the stretch of his girth feeling like a reward for the hectic shift completed. But you know the night would’ve ended like this either way.

A moan rips from your chest as he grabs a hold of whatever he had been trying to get, hips flush with yours. He chuckles, pleased with himself before his hands sneak around to cup your breasts as they threaten to spill out from your dress at the prone position. His fingers tuck more bills into your underwear, beneath the straps over your shoulders, into the already full cups to peak out over the swell of your chest. He even tucks one into the mess of your hair thrown up into a clip at the back of your head before his hands secure around your waist and he begins to thrust.

That’s the last memory you have of both smoking and drinking, only a few days before you had anxiously waited for a piece of plastic to tell you your fate. It was now a month since finding out, Joel making sure to go with you to get confirming bloodwork and a full physical. The headaches from missing both finally having abated. Joel on the other hand, he was sneaking cigarettes, you could smell the lingering smoke on him when would come home and you were still up. It didn’t really bother you, knowing he indulged for far longer than you had in the bad habit. But you missed the social aspect of the act, of seeking out the designated spots around campus and chatting, of sitting out on the back patio with Tommy as he enjoyed one on the evenings he stopped by with his own little family for dinner.

But it was all worth it, you mused as you poured yourself a cup of steaming water into what was once your coffee mug. Tea was something you indulged in now, the cupboard filled with the different types you were trying to work your way through to see what would help with the onslaught of nausea and also appealed to your tastebuds. You preferred the fruity ones, just like you did with your cocktails, hence the nickname Ellie had graced you with that stuck.

Jingling keys and heavy footsteps signaled you to Joel’s return, the sun still shining on the calm afternoon. He had been gone when you showed up at his house, a cookout planned for the day. Tommy and Maria had been here an hour, the grill just about ready for the first of many things to be cooked and the pool was sparkling as it awaited the arrival of Sarah and Ellie. You had spent the morning cleaning it of debris and adding a few treatment drops. The whole family getting together. It was good, it was a good feeling being surrounded by them all. You and Maria hitting it off even more over the news of what was to come. Her own child now nearing two, she had given birth while you and Joel were split. But you had sent a care package and visited her in the hospital with her favorite takeout.

It was so domestic, so full a life…it made you wonder why you hadn’t been able to experience it as a child yourself.

“Missed ya, darlin’.” Joel steps up behind you and embraces you. Kissing your temple, you feel the frown mar his lips as you don’t respond. “Everythin’ alright?”

“Yeah,” You mumble, turning in his hold and wrapping your arms around his chest. He smells like cinnamon and the grill brick he used while closing up the restaurant after a brunch shift and you breathe him in as you press your face into his broad chest.

“Gotta shower, wanna join me?’

“The girls will be here soon.” You hold him tighter, missing your own family even if it had never been the same as his own. Dinner once a month with your own father, no visits offered or initiated, grandparents raising you since you were young. A mother who had passed early due to complications from cancer she hadn’t known she had until she was pregnant with you herself. “Wanna make sure everything is ready for them.”

He peppers kisses into your hair before pulling away and disappearing upstairs.

The afternoon continues, the smell of grilling meat and roasting vegetables lilting into the air alongside ruckus laughter and bad jokes. Everyone is comfortable around the patio and the in the pool, food served and consumed. Just a few bites left of everything, Joel ensuring you that he would heed your cravings and what you felt like you could stomach, not worried about leftovers lately.

“So when do we get to meet the rest of the Sabrosa clan?” Tommy askes around the lip of his beer bottle. He’s across from you at the table, Joel off by the grill as he messes with something he hadn’t let you sneak a peak at.

“Oh, um…you don’t?” Caught off guard, the bite of food falls from your plastic fork frozen halfway to your mouth.

“No siblings or nothin?”

“Um, well-“ Clearing your throat you take the bite and chew it contemplatively. Honesty or the thinly veiled truth? Your mind is working hard, something Maria must hear in her seat beside you at the patio table. She shoots Tommy a look you catch out of the corner of your eye, trying to keep calm so the child in dozing in her arms doesn’t stir. “I’ve got two half-siblings, but we don’t keep in contact much.”

“They gonna be at the wedding?”

“What wedding?” “Oh my god, dad! You proposed and didn’t tell us!” Ellie and Sarah holler from where they’re in the pool, one of them resting on a floating device and the other is practicing her laps to get more comfortable in the water. Joel turns from where he was ensuring the grill was off and brings over the s’mores dip he had just let melt to perfection. Your stomach rumbles at the sight of the gooey swirl of marshmallow and dark chocolate, of the rye biscuits he must’ve whipped up at work steaming beside it in a single use tin. Set up with a divider in the middle.

“Haven’t proposed to ‘er yet, quit it.” He sits it down atop a trivet, but no one makes a move to reach for it until he gives the go ahead. But he doesn’t until he’s got one of the dark biscuits covered in the dip and set in front of you. Then it was fair game as the girls begin to swim across the length of the pool, or well Sarah tries to glide her floaty across while Ellie does. Tommy readies one for Maria before making his own, quirking an eyebrow at you as he watches the pull of the dip.

“But your dad is gonna walk you down the aisle, right?” Tommy presses on, not catching onto the awkward way you were shifting in your seat or how you had placed your fork down to rest on the edge of your paper plate. The dessert untouched. But you don’t get to think of an answer before one is flying from your emotionless face.

“Can’t, he’s dead.”

Silence falls over the once happy and jovial backyard, the splash of Sarah slipping from her floating longue echoing.

“Tommy.” Joel’s voice is firm as he pins his brother with a mild glare. Maria is equally unpleased with her husband’s penchant for talking without thinking, not reading the room. He yelps as she kicks his shin underneath the table.

“It’s okay, wasn’t much of a father when he was alive anyway.” You reach for the mocktail you had made a pitcher of for you and the girls to enjoy. No one says anything as you pour yourself another and take a sip from it. Not liking the tension that had crept into the atmosphere, you gather up your nearly empty plate and stack it atop Maria’s to take inside, making more room for the messy dessert. Slinking away, you feel Maria reach out a hand to trail down your arm, comforting you before you’re gone back into the house.

“You dumbfuck.” Ellie mutters under her breath, earning a glare from Joel over his shoulder for her language. But he doesn’t disagree. You do, but it wasn’t his fault. How was Tommy supposed to know he had picked the one subject you had nothing good to say about?

“Shit, I- holy shit.” Tommy’s voice follows you before he yelps a second time as Joel brandishes the still warm tongs from serving biscuits.

“Way to shove your foot in your mouth, we were havin’ a good time.”

“I didn’t know! I thought she was just quiet about her family not that she didn’t have any.”

“Tommy, you’re the father of my child and my husband but you are seriously so stupid sometimes.”

“Dad, she-she doesn’t have any family?” Sarah is tearing up, affected by the sudden realization of why you never brought anyone around except for a friend every once in a while. She could understand not having a mother, as her own was so distant, only showing up when she needed something or felt lonely in the life she created for herself. But to not have a dad? That was all she knew and she couldn’t fathom how her life would have been without him in it;.

“She’s got us, baby girl.” Joel goes to run a hand over her shoulder and press a kiss to the fluff of her kinky curls as she stands beside the pool set into the ground outside the patio. He wraps the towel she brought out around her and rubs it across her shoulders before lifting his hands. “We’re her family, pretty good deal, huh?”

“Dad….”

“She’ll be okay, I promise.”

The laid back vibe from the afternoon returns once everyone piles into the living room to watch the season finale of an admittedly awful reality tv show. But everyone was hooked and harmless bets were made on who would cause the most drama and how things would end. You’re a little subdued, but you make comments along with everyone else and laugh at the absurdity of what happens on the screen.

Stepping out of the bath you had decided to soak in, you startle when you see Joel sat on the small bench in the master bathroom across from the vanity as you pull back the shower curtain. He’s already changed into his sleep pants, his freckled and bronzed chest on display through the steam.

“Darlin’, why didn’t you tell me your dad was passed?”

“Because it doesn’t matter.” You stand in front of him, taking in the way he watches you through the mirror as you press a bead of toothpaste onto your toothbrush and wet it before popping it into your mouth. A heavy silence fills the room, tangling with the rose scented steam from the bubble bar you had used. The pink water swirling down the sink a near silent hum.

“It-uh, kinda does. Makes me feel…like a whole wedding would be…”

“You don’t have to ask me. We don’t have to get married if it’s going to be a problem.” Shoving down the worries and residual guilt of being raised in a certain religious culture at the thought of having a child out of wedlock, having a child as a single woman you catch the man’s gaze through the mirror. The burn of embarrassment simmers beneath your skin, shame for feeling such embarrassment sparkling behind it, creating a swirl of emotions you hadn’t wanted to feel this close to bed with an early class. You want to marry him, to experience that with him, to live life together as husband and wife, but it feels perfunctory when you didn’t even believe in the reasoning behind why you felt that way. He’s frowning, his brows knit close together, something off in the depths of his brown eyes.

“It’s not a problem…right?” You see the worry flickering through him, in the way his eyes shift and the way he clenches his fists in his lap. “I just…you know you’re a part of the Millers. Have been since the moment you caught my attention, but baby…I don’t want you to feel lonely if it’s my family and your friends.”

“Are you insinuating because I don’t have a family of my own, I’m somehow missing something?” Anger flared hot and sticky in you, washing out the embarrassment. The heat from your bath making it so much worse and you cross the room to pull the door open. Back at the vanity, you ignore his gaze and rinse out your mouth before moving on to clean and moisturize your face. He’s quiet behind you, knowing he phrased his sentiment wrong and this…this communication was new for you both. Still hard sometimes as you both realize how deep some things run and how different you could be.

“You know I’m not.” The gaze he has trained on you reminds you of the way he would watch you through the kitchen, tensions high as you both couldn’t seem to get your heads out of the dirt and just be honest with each other. A time that had passed, allowing for the present to bloom.

“Then a wedding wouldn’t be a problem. But it’s kind of moot, you haven’t proposed.” You don’t anticipate the slight edge to the words as they leave your lips, but they slice through the air. You feel shame overtake the waning anger, making your face hot underneath your massaging hands. The burn of tears threaten to ruin the routine you just completed and you hiccup as your hands flatten atop the vanity, head hanging between your shoulders. You do not like this, but you have no idea where it’s coming from. It really doesn’t bother you that he hasn’t asked. You know he has the intention to, the agreement of a visit to town hall and then a small party to celebrate. Nothing fancy, nothing crazy, simple.

“Hey,” He whispers as he comes up behind you, hands resting over the quick beating of your heart, his naked chest pressed to your back, the damp towel the only thing separating you. But you can feel his own heart between your shoulder blades, strong and sturdy. Grounding you in the way you had explained you preferred when overwhelmed. “I promise I wasn’t trying to upset you, just want you to be comfortable, to have everything you deserve.”

You let him help you to dry off the rest of your body, lotion lovingly applied to your body by his hands before you slip into a nightgown and slip between the sheets beside him. You kiss an apology to his lips, needing him to know that it was just initial panic and not the real way you thought or felt. He accepts it and offers one of his own, lips pressed to your chest, right over your heart before sleep takes ahold of you both.

“I said don’t.” You warned, no humor in your voice. You had tried and failed to put on every one of your pairs of pants, jeans, leggings, and none of them were comfortable. None of them zipped, buttoned, or stretched enough underneath the slight bump that had seemingly blossomed overnight. Joel was sprawled on the bed, working his way to getting up at the late hour. He had been at the restaurant late, later than usual as they had a party stay well after service hours. He had let the staff go on time, ensuring they would get the tip out but not wanting them to have to stay once all the cleaning and side work was done. One of the many things you adored about the man, his willingness to heed situations like that in favor of his staff even if he was gruff and to the point most of the day.

“Didn’t say nothin’, darlin’.” He rumbled from beneath the sheets, tan skin looking deliciously golden paired with the pale pink set you had insisted changing from the white that had previously been curled around the mattress. You had woken up with bad cramps last month, terrified something had happened as you pulled back the covers to find blood spotting the pristine fabric. A quick trip the emergency room as he shared in your panic, albeit in a more controlled way, assured you that spotting was normal during the early months of pregnancy.

“Dress...” You muttered to yourself, hand cradling around the small bump. Joel only hummed, stretching out to alleviate his sore body, thick legs appeared from beneath the fabric. Your eyes traced the long lines of his body through the mirror atop the dresser, drinking in the sight of him and your body began to thrum with arousal. When your eyes roved up the expanse of his broad chest dusted with dark hair to his face, he was smirking at you with an eyebrow arched in a silent question of how long you would ignore his deliberate departure from the bed.

You had all but jumped him when he got home last night, papers you were grading scattered all around you on the couch and coffee table, a Josh Gates show on the television for moral encouragement. He had teased you once about your affinity for the man but you had clapped back with his borderline obsession with Anthony Bourdain, to which he simply said ‘can’t help it darlin’, the man knew his shit’.

The dinner he had brought home had been tossed to the entry way table, as you knelt down to help remove him from his shoes and pants. Mouthing at the line of him through his boxer briefs before he could even get his keys hooked on the mirror over the table. He had been prepared to find you fast asleep, a different kind of tired taking hold of you more and more, almost demanding naps during the day when you got home from campus and right before dinner if you hadn’t worked. But you had sprung up from your spot and welcomed him home, the food forgotten in favor of getting your fill of the man that had been consuming your thoughts. The thought makes his cock fill, twitching underneath the sheets as he recalls your enthusiasm.

He sees the way your eyes dilate at the movement, the hush of his hand skimming down to grip himself.

Suddenly, you’re no longer debating over the clothing flowing from the draws inside the closet or those of the dresser. You peeled the pants you had been fruitlessly trying to zip up and nearly threw yourself at him. He greedily accepts your frantic kisses, starting from his shins and all the way up neck to finally connect with his own. He groans at the taste of coffee you had allowed yourself this morning, his own cup still steaming on the bedside table. His glasses beside it, his cellphone lighting up only to be ignored.

“Does mama need some attention?” He breathes into your open mouth, large palms caressing the exposed skin of your hips. His hands graze your middle, and you shy away from him, self-conscious of the extra jiggle, the stretchmarks from rapid weight fluctuation of your years now accommodating the swell of the beginning signs of the life you two had created together. “Hey, no, c’mere.”

You’re sure he sees the flicker of emotions across your face before you school it into a cool arch of your brow, the playful smirk of your lips. Falling back on bravado that wanes far too quickly these days as your hormones ping pong all over the place. You were just as apt to burst into silent tears as you were to jump him, confusing for you and devasting for him as he tries to read your moods as well as he can. He was hoping to dislodge the habit of you seeking refuge in the townhouse you had gifted Ellie, her own budding relationship prompting her to ask for her own space just as the new stage of your life became known to them. Equal parts of respect for the more tender and tense moments sure to happen and yearning for her own space again.

“Mama needs some new clothes, wanna spoil me?” Your voice is a confident hush, hands reaching forward to urge him to shift closer, both of you on your sides and facing each other.

“Do anythin’ for you, darlin’, you know that.” His teeth sunk into the curve of your neck, tugging you back to him. That seemed to get you to forget your insecurities as he felt you pull him closer, your smaller hands so soft on his chest as they caressed his skin.

“I think I wanna go to that fancy mall, maybe get some pretty underwear that won’t make me feel like a total loser.”

“I’ll take ya anywhere you want, maybe even that big shopping center in Dallas? It’ll be just like the trip we took to Arizona. Could get a hotel, see the sights and just relax. Hear they have a mac and cheese restaurant in the arts district.” He rolls to pin you down, and you move to allow him space between your legs instinctually. Body hovering over yours as he kisses down your neck, your chest, he lets his words sink in. The bralette you had put on doing nothing to hide the perk of your nipples. He laps at them through the thin fabric, delighting in the way it makes you arch up into him. You were so sensitive to his touch lately, your body on high alert as your hormones fluctuate erratically.

“That’s a lot, Joel. Shouldn’t we-“ Your hesitant words are cut off by a searing kiss, the press of his skin against yours making it hard to keep your train of thought.

“We should do what we want, darlin’. Wanna get everything sorted to go this weekend?”

Tears are suddenly pitter pattering over the sheets, darkening the fabric where they land after rolling down the sides of your face. He pushes his weight from where it pressed you to the bed, back on your sides and you let him, unable to stem the tears.

“Oh hey, hey it’s okay,” Joel crowds close, the thin fabric separating your bodies as you bury your face in his neck and curl your legs up, knees pressing into his stomach. Hiccups startle you both as you find it suddenly hard to breath through the onslaught of emotions spiking. “Hey now, darlin’, it’s alright.”

“I’m sorry,” You mumble into his skin, embarrassment flaring up hot in your cheeks and chest. You feel so silly, pulled in too many directions in so quick a succession. “I just…you’re so hot and I’m all bloated and my skin feels all tight and I really want some ice cream.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re happily spooning a sundae into your mouth with a red plastic spoon in the passenger seat of his truck. All the tears and frustration gone from you as you held tight to the treat in your hands with far too many flimsy napkins. He’s got a cigarette dangling from the hand he rests on the inside of the door, trying to keep as much smoke from wafting back into the cab as possible. Errands, today was an errand day and you smiled over at him. Pairs of sunglasses meeting, eyes hidden beneath them. He just leans over to press a kiss to your temple, not wanting to disrupt your enjoyment of the ice cream you literally cried over.

next chapter

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halfmoth-halfman · 2 days

Text

Déjà Vécu (ii.)

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x F!Reader Word Count: 2.9k Warnings: fluff, angst, implied smut, nudity, lots of touching, gojo being disgustingly in love (i.) || series masterlist

A morning with Satoru is your favorite way to start the day.

You distinctly remember falling asleep on your side of your almost too spacious bed, as you always do, but he shifts in the night, as he always does, seeking you out even in his dreams. It’s not unusual for him to cling, he’s always kept himself attached to your hip whenever you two have a moment together. You tease him about it until he pouts, turning away from you to hide the soft pink on his cheeks, but you don’t mind, truly. If he clings to you, it means he’s happy. If he’s happy, it means he’s safe.

You wake nearly suffocating, Satoru’s long limbs holding you in a vice against his chest. You already know there’s no escaping his hold on you — not that you’d want to — so you wiggle just enough to turn your head. He whines something incoherent into your hair, pulling you ever closer until you can feel his heartbeat thrum against your cheek. It’s enough to ease you back into a light sleep until you’re awoken again by the sun shining on your face, and two beautiful blue eyes gazing at you.

“Morning,” Satoru grins, a light kiss pressed to your forehead. Another kiss follows on your nose, your cheek, your lips over and over and over. You let yourself fall into easy laughter, pushing at his chest until he pulls away from you. Satoru yawns, stretching his limbs and relaxing back into the bed much like a lazy cat. You wait until his eyes slide shut, lingering on the edge of sleep before you make your move.

You walk your fingers over his chest, body following until you’re sitting in his lap. Satoru doesn’t open his eyes, not bothering to hide his smile as his hands settle over your hips. Hands on each side of his face, thumbs softly caressing his cheeks as you follow their path with light kisses.

“Morning,” you whisper, one, two, three quick kisses against his lips.

You sit up, and Satoru chases your lips, arm winding around your waist as he sits up. You lean away at the last second, but your love is nothing if not determined. His kisses fall along your neck, carving a slow, delicious path down to your chest as one hand creeps along to lower the collar of your shirt.

“We have to get up,” you laugh, lightly tugging on those soft, white locks. The sentence earns you a bite on the shoulder, followed by the swift soothing of a tongue. Satoru rests his cheek over your bitten skin, pouting up at you with sleepy contentment.

You steel yourself, preparing to deny him when he inevitably pleads for ten more minutes, but he tucks his head into your neck and lets out a long-suffering whine.

“Fine,” he sighs into your skin. The sigh melts into a yawn, his muscles tensing to squeeze your body against his. You soak up his warmth for ten precious seconds before Satoru unwinds himself and throws his legs over the edge of the bed. He yawns again, standing with a stretch that pops his bones in a way that echoes an ache in your own.

Turning back to you, he extends a hand, patiently waiting with a sideways grin. Never missing the chance to touch him, you slide your hand into his and he helps you out of bed. He doesn’t let go when you’re on your feet, gently leading you to the bathroom.

You let go first, crossing the large room to start the shower. The water’s barely started when you feel Satoru’s bare body pressed against your back, his hands perched on your hips. He turns you to face him, and you let him, caressing his cheek when he leans in for a kiss.

His hands wander, tugging at the edges of your pajamas. He undresses you slowly, piece by piece, mapping out every inch of your body with his light touch. Steam fills the bathroom, the water growing scalding as Satoru lowers to his knees, hands replaced with his mouth.

You let him have his moment, covering every inch of your skin he can reach in kisses while you soak up the affection.

Rare do you get time with him like this. You want him to enjoy himself as much as you do, to know he can take whatever he needs from you instead of giving everything of himself. You want him to be content, happy, safe in all the ways he so often can’t be. You want him to know you’ll always be here for him even if—

Even if he isn’t—

He isn’t—

When he isn’t—

Impossibly perceptive, he notices you tense before you have a chance to push it down. Hands settling around your thighs, he looks up from where he’s pressing heated kisses to your stomach, eyes laced with worry.

“What’s wrong?”

How do you ask him to stay? How do you tell him that you’re so horribly selfish? How do you ask him to damn the world for a chance at happiness with you?

You know his answer, you’ve known his answer.

How do you tell him no matter how much, how hard, how completely you love him, it breaks your heart that it’ll never be enough to change his mind?

You—

You don’t.

You smile instead, combing a hand through his soft, white locks. He hums at the touch, carefully leaning his chin against your stomach.

“I’m just wondering if I’m going to have to wash my hair all by myself since someone’s determined to waste all the hot water,” you laugh, pinching playfully at his cheek.

He knows you’re lying, you know it in the way he easily lets his hands fall from your thighs and stares after you as you step out of his hold.

You smile down at him, trailing your nails along the top of your breasts, watching all six of his eyes snap up to follow the movement.

“Unless you can think of another way to keep me warm?”

You try to ignore it, the flash of hurt in his eyes, the way that content smile briefly dips at the edges before Satoru forces it back up.

“How could I say no to you?” he purrs, hurriedly standing, hands already roaming before he attaches to you once more.

You already have, a voice whispers in the back of your mind. You always will.

You shriek with laughter as Satoru whirls you around, leading you into the steaming shower as he peppers kisses down your throat.

And, fool that you are, you'll love him anyway.

You refuse to stay inside for the entire day, putting on your best puppy dog eyes to convince Satoru to go out for lunch.

He doesn’t need much convincing, not with you, but he does enjoy the way you plead when you want something. When he’s had his fill of teasing and tempting promises of how you’ll pay him back, he grabs you by the hand and leads you out of your home.

The park he brings you to is small but colorful, picture-perfect with the lush pink and green of the trees, the grass softly swaying with the breeze, and its breathtaking view of the horizon.

He’d almost missed it, too tired from another day of dealing with curses, when he all but collapsed on one of the park benches for a momentary rest. He watched the sun go down in vibrant hues of oranges and golds and purples when he caught sight of a young couple walking hand in hand with the most delectable-looking taiyaki in hand.

He was surrounded by nothing but you: the doting couple, the sunset that stopped him in his tracks, the warm, sweet pastries, soft and sweet and calling for him to sink his teeth in. He tucked the place away in his mind, eager to return home, a mental reminder to bring you here one day.

Now you’re here, looking far more dazzling than any sunset as you sit beside him on that same bench. He’s content to watch you, one long arm resting across your shoulders as he occasionally turns to watch the horizon and pretend he doesn’t feel you steal small bites of his food.

“I thought we’d go to a café or something,” you laugh, unsurprised that Satoru’s idea of lunch is a handful of sweet snacks.

He tilts his head at that, the corners of his mouth tugging up into a sly grin.

“Maybe I’m saving that for a really special date?” he teases, lifting the arm around your shoulders to poke your cheek. “Can’t use up all of my charms in one day, can I?”

You roll your eyes, swiftly turning to playfully bite the finger poking at your face. He lets it happen, if only so he can pout at you until you apologize with a kiss on his finger then on his cheek.

Greedy for your touch — as he always is — Satoru pouts again until you roll your eyes, reaching up to weave your fingers through the hand resting over your shoulder.

You lean your head on his arm, gazing out at the scene before you. It’s too early for sunset, but the park glows in the bright afternoon sun. Other couples take sweet pictures among the trees and flowers, groups of friends are spread out on colorful picnic blankets, children chase after each other lost in their make-believe games.

Two of them sprint past you shrieking with laughter so infectious it has you grinning into Satoru’s arm. He hums back a small chuckle, turning slightly to leave a kiss on the crown of your head. You squeeze his hand in turn, thumb gently running across his knuckles.

The sun shines down on you, bright and blinding. You blink away its light as the two children run by. For a moment, you see them clear as day: a boy and a girl with hair matching yours and Satoru’s nose chasing each other with wide, mischievous smiles that look all too familiar.

You blink again, and, just like that, they’re gone, taking something from deep inside you with them. You swallow down the knot in your throat, pushing yourself to sit up straight.

“Everything alright?” Satoru asks, head tilted toward you. You may not be able to see his eyes behind that thick blindfold, but you know he’s watching you in that always attentive way he does.

Of course, you almost say.

I’m only daydreaming about a future we’ll never have because you always let the world demand too much of you.

I’m only wishing of a future where I won’t have to worry about you never coming back to me.

I’m only longing for a future where you realize the world doesn’t care about you the way I do.

A future we both know you will never choose.

What do I have to do to make you choose me? Just this once.

“Maybe I’m just captivated by your charm,” you laugh, a reassuring squeeze to his hand as you lean back onto his shoulder.

“Who wouldn’t be?” he scoffs, closing the distance between you to rest his chin atop your head.

“I love you,” he says quietly, only for the two of you to hear. “You know that, right?”

“Of course,” you answer instantly, immediately pulling away from him to turn so you can face him. You cup his jaw with your free hand, fingertips lifting the bottom of his blindfold until you can look into the hypnotic blue of his eyes. “I love you, too.”

Satoru pulls away with a smile, pulling his blindfold back down over his eyes, and subtly over the reddening slopes of his cheekbones.

“Good,” he hums. “Now tell me more about how charming I am.”

Dinner is simple, made and enjoyed between kisses and Satoru’s constant pestering to taste test every ingredient.

You insist on cleaning, but so does Satoru, and a small argument brews until an idea sparks in that troublesome head of his. He gives up with a heat in his eyes that has you equal parts worried and excited before he takes the dishes from your hands.

He leaves them in the sink, snatching up your hands with a wide grin. You’re twirled in a clumsy circle, stumbling as he pulls you against him. His arm slides around your waist, his other hand coming up to rest your hand on his chest. His heart beats against your palm, a steady rhythm accompanied by the warmth of his hand covering yours.

“If I didn’t know any better,” you say playfully as Satoru softly sways you side to side, “I’d say you were trying to seduce me.”

Satoru hums, pressing his forehead to yours with his eyes shut. He nudges his nose against yours, a feather-light kiss ghosting over your lips. He peers at you through his white lashes, that adoring gaze only broken by his slow, content blinks.

“That depends,” he breathes over your lips. “Is it working?”

“Probably too well,” you laugh softly, turning into a full laugh when his hold on your waist tightens and he suddenly dips you.

You swat at him, ignoring the heat that sparks from the kiss he presses to your heart before he pulls you back up. Ever the gentleman, and not at all so he can touch you as much as he wants, Satoru leads you into an easy dance. Hand kept over his heart, you rest your head in the crook of his neck. He hums quietly, a nonsensical song that fills the silence and vibrates gently on your cheek. You’d thought he was being sly when he first mentioned wanting to slow dance late at night in the comfort of your home — especially given that he’d said it on your first date — but now you find yourself thankful for his never-ending cravings of tenderness.

He pulls you closer, as close as he can physically get you, laying his cheek on your head with a satisfied sigh. The quiet is delicate — intimate — as you lightly trace shapes over his heart to the offbeat tune of his humming.

“Today was nice,” he murmurs into your hair, half-asleep and content. You hum in agreement, nuzzling into his neck to press a kiss to his throat.

It was the nicest day you’ve had in a while. It’s been ages since you’ve had a day all to yourselves. You suppose it’s better that way; the rarity makes you savor days like these all the more, the idea of another day spent with only each other keeping you going—

You stumble slightly, stepping on his foot for a half-second.

What will you have to look forward to after this? Why doesn’t he want more days like this?

Why is this not enough for him? Why aren’t you?

Satoru picks his head up, leaning back so he can look at your face, nothing but adoration in his eyes.

You don’t want to ruin this, shatter this carefully built peace you so rarely get to have.

But you have to talk about it, that voice in your head urges. You know you do. You can’t keep pushing it down or—

Satoru presses a lingering kiss on your lips as if he’s trying to commit your taste to memory. He does it again and again and again, slowly trailing over your cheek and down your jaw.

You know what he’s choosing. Ask him why. Ask him now—

He stops the swaying, walking you backward until your back hits the counter. He slowly fits himself between your legs, resting his weight on you as his mouth travels to your neck. The edge of the counter digs into your skin in a way that will surely leave a bruise, but perhaps you can convince Satoru to join you for a relaxing bubble bath tomorrow. Tongue tracing along your pulse, the pain is forgotten as the arm around your waist slowly pushes up the edge of your shirt.

You have to talk about—

He pulls himself away from your neck, already looking completely debauched and kiss-drunk when he meets your eyes. He clutches at your hand, keeping it firmly pressed against his chest so you can feel the stuttering of his heart.

Have to talk—

The kiss he gives you is pleading, reverent, a silent prayer that you’re able to feel how much he wants, needs, loves you with this one kiss. A promise that if you can’t, he’ll spend the rest of his days worshipping every part of you until you have no doubts that you are everything to him.

What did you need to talk about?

He’s always come back to you; you shouldn’t doubt him now.

Nothing is more important than this.

Later, when you’re lying on his chest listening to the even beats of his heart and steadiness of his breath, you stare at the wall unable to sleep. Your mind makes shapes out of shadows, waiting for your eyes to grow used to the darkness.

Something keeps you from sleeping. It has you jittery and anxious, yearning to claw at your skin and tear screams from your throat. What’s wrong with you?

You don’t remember. You can’t remember.

Head aching, your eyes grow heavy under the calming rhythm of Satoru’s heartbeat.

Maybe you should—

It’s best if you—

You need to—

Go to sleep.

#satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #gojo #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk fics #moth writes

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harmonysanreads · 20 hours

Note

WILL SETHOS JOIN THE LOVE HEXAGON??? (heptagon???)

IM SO EXCITED FOR A NEW SUMERU BOYYY, honestly missed Sumeru sm, so glad to see my babies again (+ new friend!!! or foe? idk can't wait for Cyno's SQ :ppp)

Ohh, I have been thinking, thinking and thinking about this matter ever since he was introduced. But I waited till Cyno's story quest to reach a conclusion.

[ au masterlist ]

Based on my observation, Sethos is well-spoken, quite charismatic and even though he may appear to be suspicious at first, he's actually a good person. A very promising leader who's determined to not be bound by the past, but, he's still on the path of understanding himself. There are many things he isn't certain of and I'm sure there are insecurities that plague him because of the divergence between him and Cyno. He does have the potential to be part of this chaos as a love interest, but I'm more interested in introducing himself as a red-herring.

[ Spoilers for Cyno's Story Quest Under the Cut ]

We do know that Sethos visited the tavern within Sumeru city and stayed for a while. In this case, him meeting you and having a casual conversation isn't that difficult. Perhaps you noticed that beneath the easy-going veneer, he's inherently troubled. Sethos will not share everything about his life on the first chat, yes, but he does seem like the perceptive kind. So, just you asking him would linger in his mind.

Now the problem starts with Wanderer noticing this transaction and if he was still thinking from the perspective of the past, he would've just ignored this. But seeing as how things with Kaveh turned out, he was determined to not have a repeat. So, he threw his fists the moment Sethos ventured out from watchful eyes.

Not the most elegant solution but it appealed to him the most at that moment. Unfortunately, as Sethos is in possession of one of the Ba Fragments, he managed to put up quite the fight and also discovered that the sweet-child behavior Wanderer dons in front of you is a facade. Wanderer wasn't panicked though, you don't even believe Cyno's accusations against him, Sethos convincing you is a far away dream.

Speaking of Cyno, Cyrus's case had to be the talk of the Akademiya by then, which our dear Wanderer caught on to. Luck does shine upon everyone and it didn't take long for Wanderer to devise a new plan. While Alhaitham and Kaveh were figuring the case out by themselves, Wanderer snuck in a picture of Sethos within the act, you, the unfortunate student and Sethos himself caught in one frame. How he got the picture is unimportant. As per Wanderer's expectations, Cyno assumed that the perpetrator of the scheme (Sethos) was planning on harming you as well and he immediately set off towards the desert. Seeds of further conflict successfully sown.

And the rest happened in the same sequence, except Sethos and Cyno's fight might've been more intense. While Wanderer may have made a good move this time, he still left himself bare to another eye. Sethos's arc is far from completion, so the chances of him cooperating with Cyno to expose Wanderer have been raised.

In conclusion, Sethos will not be an immediate love interest but he definitely will work in your interest in the future. The reason why his status is still uncertain is because of his unfinished arc. Hm. Maybe he might just manage to overthrow everyone else and win you in the end? Anything is possible :>

#i think everyone needs to worry about cyno the most now lol #he's arguably the most powerful person in sumeru currently #sumeru love hexagon #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #sethos #sethos brainrot #yandere wanderer x reader #yandere wanderer #yandere cyno x reader #yandere cyno #yandere alhaitham x reader #yandere kaveh x reader

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bensonoliviasstuff · 1 day

Text

“Turning Page”

Chapter four! “We're gonna be Timeless”

Masterlist for Turning Page

Bucky Barnes x fem! reader

Summary: Once Bucky regained consciousness and was no longer the Winter Soldier, all he missed from the 40s was his wife. But maybe she's closer than he thought.

Warnings: English is NOT my first language, so I'm sorry if there are too many errors. A little bit of angst, Rape, memory loss, betrayal, trauma, Insecurities. And the best part: Thanos doesn't exist here

Taglist: @capswife @mostlymarvelgirl @scott-loki-barnes @bxckybxrnes24

“Even if we'd met on a crowded street

in 1944

And you were headed off to fight in

the war

You still would've been mine, we would

have been timeless

I would've read your love letters every

single night

And prayed to God you'd be coming home

all right

And you would've been fine, we would

have been timeless.

‘Cause I believe that we were supposed

to find this”

~ Timeless (Taylor's Version)

You and Natasha arrived at the medical wing, the last time you had been here was when you woke up to the doctors and Tony doing tests.

You hadn't been able to pay that much attention to your surroundings, but now you were hiding behind Natasha as she walked towards the room.

She went in first, talking to Bucky and asking details about the mission and how they got hurt, you continued behind her until she took two steps to the side, finally allowing Bucky to see you.

He seemed very surprised to see you there, opening his mouth to say something but not being able to produce a sound.

“Hi” you said shyly, thinking it would be up to you to break the silence.

“Hi” He said with a smile “What are you doing here?”

“She wanted to see you” Natasha said, hiding her smirk from you.

“Well I..." you stuttered nervously, Bucky smiled at how cute you looked nervous "I... It's not... I just... I was worried" you pointed to his human arm, which was where, you noticed, he got hurt.

“Were you worried about me?” he said pretentious “No need to stutter, thank you, doll”

You froze at the nickname, realizing no one had ever called you that before but with Bucky it felt so right.

He noticed how disconcerted you were and only then did he understand what he said.

He panicked, it was so natural to call you like that, he didn't realize that it wasn't anymore.

“I meant... I...” He stuttered, having no idea what to do to fix the situation, and what if you got scared and moved away from him.

“Who’s stuttering now, huh?” You joked, looking away and biting your bottom lip to hide your rosy cheeks.

He looked at you confused, weren't you surprised? You wouldn't be scared by the nickname and move away?

It seemed not.

Then he smiled at you, still a little embarrassed, but hope seemed to shine in his heart in a way it hadn't in a long time.

Natasha had a hand over her mouth almost in shock at the way Bucky seemed to have suddenly become a teenager, stuttering and flirting, that was definitely not the Bucky she knew.

That made her smile, it wasn't the Bucky she met at the compound, but it was the Bucky you met back in the 40s.

A week passed after Bucky was injured on the mission, and Steve and Natasha were currently sitting at the breakfast table, watching Bucky eating with a smile on his face, wishing good morning to anyone who passed him.

“I think he’s sick” Steve whispered to the redhead

“Lovesick” Natasha whispered back, which made them both contain a laugh.

“Oh my God” Steve put a hand over his mouth in shock. “In 90 years I have never seen Bucky Barnes wake up in a good mood.”

“90?” Natasha said with doubt “He looks like he just turned 15 and is having his first girlfriend”

Tony arrived in the kitchen passing Bucky who happily looked at him and said “Good morning, Tony!”

Tony looked at Bucky with an expression of true fear, quickly moving away and heading towards Steve and Natasha.

"He is sick?" Tony said with a terrified expression.

Steve and Natasha looked at each other before turning to Tony and saying together:

“Love Sick”

It's been like this for the last week, Bucky started spending more time with you, and consequently Bucky seemed to be constantly in his own pink world, no one had seen him this happy in a while.

Despite that, what was still killing him inside was the fact that even after a week here you still didn't remember anything.

He was losing hope that you would remember, but he didn't care about winning you over again, he didn't care about marrying you again, he would do all this dozens of times if it meant he would have you.

He was spending the rest of his hopes on the plans he had set up for today.

“Good morning” you said as you arrived in the kitchen and sat down next to Steve, extending your hand to take a toast that was on the plate when Tony patted your hand.

“This is mine, Little Princess” He said, taking the toast and putting it in his mouth.

You smiled with furrowed eyebrows. “What’s the difference between this one and all the others?”

“I wanted this one, so I got this one” Natasha and Steve laughed. “Earn your seat before choosing the toast”

You laughed, crossing your arms.

“Since you are the voice of wisdom in the kitchen, reveal to me what toast I can get with my insignificance”

He looked at you surprised by your answer, you knew how to suck up, he was starting to like you.

“Y/n don’t do this, If there's anyone sucking up to Tony he's going to get even more arrogant” Natasha said taking your hand.

“I’m just earning my place”

Bucky joined everyone who was laughing at the situation, sitting next to you.

“Good morning” he said, looking at you with affection.

It was still weird to you the way it felt like you had known each other your whole life even after just 8 days together.

But what could you do? You've never felt so comfortable with someone before.

“Good morning, Buck” You felt it was unnatural the way the compound made you feel at home.

“I have a surprise for you” He said, finishing eating and guiding you to your room. “There’s a dress in the wardrobe, I’m going to take you somewhere”

Here begin their last attempts to make you remember.

You went to the wardrobe finding a very beautiful dress, simple and beautiful, you seemed to have seen it somewhere before, but you didn't really know where.

You dressed feeling weird, in the week you were here you only wore hoodies similar to the ones you wore on the first day.

You put it on and decided that you would look better with your hair up, after taking a look in the bathroom mirror, you spent a moment trying to memorize how you looked, it was such a weird sensation that it felt like you were a spectator looking at you in the third person.

Weird, Weird, Weird, it was all Weird, you were tired of using that word for everything this last week.

It was weird having lunch with Bucky, it was weird watching movies with Steve, it was weird going to sleep with music.

You needed to find another word, "weird" was already losing its meaning in your mind.

It was like... It was like...

You sighed, giving up for now, but you would find a word.

You left the room going to the living room that faced the kitchen, Steve, Natasha and Bruce were sitting there.

As soon as Steve laid eyes on you he choked on his own saliva, Natasha patting him as she looked at you with a surprised look.

“Look at her so pretty, where are you going?”

You opened your mouth to respond and then you realized: you didn't know, Bucky hadn't told you anything.

“It’s a surprise, I’m going to take her somewhere” Bucky appeared in the room, placing a hand on your shoulder.“Have a nice ride” Bruce said friendly.

"Yeah, enjoy” Natasha said, patting Steve more.

“Thank you” Bucky said leading you out of the compound, only when you left Steve took a breath.

“What was that, captain?” Natasha said “I thought your hundred years were beginning to take you to the higher plane.

“That dress” Steve said, still a little breathless “It was the dress she wore when Bucky proposed to her”

Natasha opened her mouth in shock. “How did he get a similar dress?”

“Persistence” Bruce said, getting both of their attention “He’s determined to make her remember”

You smiled as the air hit your face and messed up your ponytail, it was the first time you had seen the city in a long time, And it was the first time you had ever been to a city without any mission to kill someone.

Bucky looked at you smiling, You were so beautiful that he fought every instinct to put a hand on your cheek.

"Where are we going?" you turned to him “I think we’ve been in the car for more than twenty minutes”

“I told you it’s a surprise” He said, after a few minutes you noticed a sign approaching.

‘Welcome to Brooklyn’

“Brooklyn?” You said with a smile “It’s my first time in Brooklyn”

Weird, that sentence didn't seem right.

“Weird” again???? What was the other word you were going to use anyway?

Bucky's smile faltered for a moment after you said that, it was quick, if you had blinked you wouldn't have seen it, but you did.

“Yeah, well... I like it here” He said looking into your eyes “It reminds me of home”

Weird, it felt like home to you too.

Agh, someone remove weird from your vocabulary.

When you noticed you were in front of a hospital. Wait, a hospital? Was this Bucky’s idea of “Surprise”?

"A... hospital?" You said, watching the nurses for too long.

It felt right, but you refused to say the word “Weird” again.

“The best place to park is out front” Bucky lied, he wanted to start where you started. "Let's walk"

The two of you walked for a short time, but everything seemed to be hitting you in the gut, the buildings, the streets, even the stores.

Bucky stopped when you arrived at a square, it wasn't that busy but there were still a lot of children and their parents.

Bucky looked at you, searching for any trace of memory on your face, you guys used to come here sometimes on Fridays before lunch, where you would look at the children playing after they got out of school and planned the future, planned children, you would have three children, two boys and a girl because you always dreamed of brothers Michael and Steve protecting the little Olivia.

You looked at the children, smiling with the desperate parents with the naughty children.

“Ah, I always wanted to have children” You said looking around. “Thanks to Hydra this is no longer biologically possible” You saddened, Bucky broke down.

“They… They…” Bucky couldn’t finish the sentence.

“I was kind of a toy, they took out my uterus for safety” You said, looking at Bucky with a smile to prevent him from falling to the ground right then and there “But I'm fine, thanks to you, You are my “Avengers” heroes, thank you for getting me out of there”

He still looked inconsolable, looking at you as if his puppy had died. You didn't want to ruin your day.

“Come on, what do you have planned?” You shook him, trying to make him forget.

He shook his head, seeming to remember his intentions from earlier in the day.

“That one there is the best ice cream ever” He said, pointing to an ice cream cart in the square.

“I can’t wait to try it”

Bucky smiled weakly, you used to prefer desserts before lunch, he always thought that was strange, but according to you it was the fun of being able to be a happy adult.

You went to the old man who was taking care of the ice cream cart.

You stared at the yellow car trying to remember where you recognized it from, but you were unsuccessful despite it sticking in your head.

“A cone of chocolate ice cream, please” Bucky asked, handing the money to the man.

The little old man handed you the cone, looking into your eyes as if he were an old friend, you smiled back, feeling something in your stomach twist.

Bucky guided you to another place, but you continued to stare at the old man, the weirdest thing was that he also kept looking at you and smiling as if he knew exactly what was happening.

You and Bucky sat on a bench near the toys and the noise of the children made you pay attention to the present again.

You tasted the ice cream, feeling astonished when the taste seemed so familiar to you.

You stopped, looking at the ice cream as if trying to figure out if there was some kind of pixie dust in it.

You looked at Bucky

“In fact, it’s the best ice cream I’ve ever had”

He smiled at you, waiting for something more, something like “Oh my God, I remembered all the times we ate ice cream before lunch because I looked like a spoiled child!”

But nothing like that came out of your mouth.

“What do you say we have lunch now?” He asked, the idea seemed quite pleasant to you, so he took you to a nearby restaurant.

As soon as you entered, you felt the atmosphere change, the restaurant smelled like home on Sundays with the family, homemade food, barbecue, children running around the house.

You never had any of this, no family on Sunday, so why did it all feel so strangely right?

Bucky seemed to notice that you felt the atmosphere of the place intensely. “It’s a good place, right?”

You looked around, your eyes seemed to shine and you felt like crying, stupid, why would you cry?

You placed a hand on your chest, walking through the restaurant and watching the customers sitting there with their families, children laughing, the sound of forks meeting plates, and a little melody in the background, God it made you want to cry like a child, And you couldn't find any plausible reason to be so emotional about a normal everyday scene.

Bucky walked behind you hopefully, his eyes almost begging you to remember all the moments you built here.

“How does it feel knowing this is your last day as a single woman?” Bucky held his hand, with a huge smile on his face.

You smiled, looking around the restaurant. “tomorrow I’ll be a married woman” You sighed at the title “Who knew, when I saw you the first time I was sure you weren’t a man who would marry one day”

“And I wasn’t” He laughed “I never was, until I met you” He observed every detail of your face. “I still don't know if I'm going to do this right, but it's not about being a man to marry, it's about knowing that I'll never be able to spend a moment of my life away from you"

He meant every one of those words, It hurt like hell every second he spent away from you after he had redoubled old Bucky's consciousness.

As soon as he left Wakanda, he and Steve went in search of any trace of you, Hydra had taken everything, even photos of your funeral, he spent a long time believing that you had died of cancer many years ago, never having married after him.

This left him inconsolable many times a day, you never having married again, never having had children, never having sought happiness after him.

And now he was here, willing to wait for your love regardless of how long it took for you to love him again.

“Lets sit?" He asked, and you seemed to snap out of your trance, looking at him and nodding.

You sat at a beautiful table that overlooked the entire square you were in before.

Bucky asked if you wanted to choose, but you didn't know exactly what to order so you left it up to him to choose.

You smiled in surprise when a combo with a burger and fries arrived at your table.

You grabbed a fry, putting it in your mouth and letting out a sigh at how good it was.

“This is really good, I don’t think I’ve ever had something this delicious before.” So you picked up the burger to take a bite and as soon as the flavor hit your mouth, your brain felt like a building on fire.

You let go of the burger, pressing your temple as it hurt more, the more it hurt, the more laughter you heard.

That's when you realized the laughter wasn't coming from the people in the restaurant, it was coming from your head.

“I’m always head over heels for you, Doll.”

“Are you okay, Y/n?”

You no longer knew what was really happening and what were voices in your head.

Then, just as it started, it suddenly dissipated.

“Y/n what is wrong?” Bucky asked once again, you looked at him and saw concern in his eyes.

“My head... It started to hurt like my brain was being roasted.” You placed your hand over your forehead “I started hearing things”

"What kind of things?" He asked, still worried, what if it was some side effect of something Hydra did to you?

You looked at him, how would you explain that you suddenly remembered hearing his voice somewhere?

“Things” you said bluntly, removing your hand from your forehead, Suddenly Bucky was laughing. “What's the fun?" You asked confused.

“You just got sauce on your forehead” he took a napkin and wiped your face, you laughed weakly, going back to eating your burger. “When you're done eating, let's go back to the compound, okay? I’m worried about your headache.”

You nodded and took another bite of the burger, this time the taste didn't hurt your brain, The taste was comforting, the way it seemed so familiar was weird.

Not weird, but... Ah, you haven't decided on a word yet.

You finished eating and Bucky left to pay the bill, so you were left wondering what could explain why you heard Bucky's voice in the middle of that chaos, what if Natasha was right? Did you know each other?

"Let's go?" Bucky's voice broke you out of your thoughts.

You walked calmly to the car, Bucky made a funny comment every now and then, and then you fell into a comfortable silence.

When you were near the hospital, Bucky took his keys out of his pocket and with them his wallet fell out.

He didn’t seem to notice so you bent down to pick it up “Buc...” the name died in your mouth when you took a look.

Your knees weakened and everything inside you felt like it was burning now.

There was a photo, a beautiful couple, it didn't seem so shocking until you realized it was Bucky

And you.

The breath left you when you took a look at the image, you were wearing a wedding dress and holding a bouquet of lilies, Bucky was in his suit and kept his eyes on you the whole time.

You stood up, feeling dizzy from the impact that photo had on you, were you married? No, it's impossible, you met 7 days ago, how could you be married?

Bucky turned back only to see your indignant face holding his wallet, he panicked very quickly.

“Y/n... Listen...” He tried to get closer but you took two steps back, dropping your wallet as everything in your body burned just like in the restaurant

"Who are you?" You almost screamed, but your voice didn't come out, tears falling from your face as you felt more headache.

“Come on, doll...” He said, and you remembered his voice that you heard from the restaurant, calling you doll.

“I’m always head over heels for you, doll.”

“Stop!" You placed your hand over your temples in an attempt to calm it all.

“What’s going on, Y/n? What’s wrong? let me help you please!” He begged, but his mind felt like it was starting to go blank, as if several light bulbs were flickering on and off.

“I promise to be true to you, in joy and in sadness, in sickness and in health; I will love you and honour you all the days of my life"

You smiled with tears in your eyes.

"You can kiss the bride"

You looked at Bucky as the memories made you more confused, God! it was driving you crazy, you had two people in conflict inside your head fighting for position.

That's when Bucky approached, holding you by the elbows, As soon as he touched you a key seemed to turn in your head.

It felt like someone had taken glass from your eyes.

Everything seemed to make sense.

Your heart seemed to make sense.

“Bucky” you whispered, tears streaming down your eyes, you raised your hands to touch his face, gently running your fingertips over the marks on his face.

He smiled “Yes, doll, Bucky” then he spent more time watching your face, he started to get rigid as soon as he noticed your gaze changed.

It wasn't Y/n from Hydra

It was his y/n.

His wife.

As soon as he realized this, he desperately placed a hand on your cheek, feeling you, feeling the heat of your skin, feeling your labored breathing.

“You’re alive” You said weakly, but before you could hear his response the headache overcame you, your vision became blurred.

Strong arms held you and you knew you were home.

It wasn't weird, it was... it was...

It was Timeless

#bucky barnes x reader #imagine #bucky barnes #steve rogers #winter soldier #writing #captain america #fanfic #natasha romanoff #tony stark #bruce banner

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avocadorablepirate · 2 days

Text

What Do We Call This? - 09

prev || mini masterlist || next

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x fem!reader

Summary: On a quest to find what you've been looking for, you acquire the help of the Straw Hat pirates, who've agreed to let you temporarily join them. There are however many challenges that come along with your temporary recruitment - an alliance with a certain Trafalgar Law being one of them.

Word Count: 4.06K

Warnings: fluff, angst, kinda slow burn, swearing, the occasional OP spoiler (this chapter kinda references events that happen after the Wano arc), mentions of torture and death

A/N: It's backstory time! This chapter doesn't have much of Law in it except towards the end. Also, I kinda added my own bits to Corazon and Sengoku's characters (just how I think they would be with kids in general). But anyway, I hope you like it!

—⁠☆✿☆—⁠

(Y/N), age 5

Your parents had brought you to the little secluded cove on the island - a favourite spot of yours. You could bask in the sun, dip your toes in the water, and hunt for rare shells and artifacts that would come to shore. Although you were surprised; they rarely brought you here - deeming it fit only for special occasions, and today was no special occasion. Your parents were also not their usual selves - sitting on the beach, wrapped in each other's arms as they watched over you with small smiles.

A few hours passed - you shared a meal with your parents and then went back to looking around for rare objects. As you waddled around in the clear ocean water, your gaze focused on the sand underneath you, a faint green light that the water reflected caught your eye. You looked above you, and noticed the sky shine with an almost similar shade of green.

"(Y/N) come here," your mother calling out to you, tore your attention away from the sky and you ran to where your parents stood by a little rowboat. They pulled you into a gently hug before your father held you by the shoulder. He gave you a stern look, although you failed to notice the sad smile behind it. All of this was rather strange.

"(Y/N), we know this is a lot to ask, but we need you to sail to the next island by yourself," your father spoke with a sense of urgency, and you looked at him the same way any five year old would look at their parent after hearing what they had said.

"Some thing is coming to our island, and it can't see you here."

"But what about you?" you asked, as they gently nudged you into the boat. Your parents hesitated at your words, exchanging pained looks before they looked back at you.

"We'll meet you there," your mother assured, although you were not convinced.

"You promise?"

"Promises falter when circumstances shift," your father repeated the phrase you had heard far too many times, and you frown at him, further unconvinced.

"We'll always be with you (Y/N)," he says in one final attempt to ease your concerns, "Now go."

They each press their lips against your forehead in a light kiss, and push the boat away before you can further protest.

"Quickly (Y/N)."

Your mother's words settle in you, giving you a faint boost to do as you're told. The memory of your father taking you fishing for the first time replays in your mind. You had sat on his lap, as he gently pushed the oars, your mother who sat opposite you watching with a blissful smile. Recalling his instructions on how to move the oars, you mimic his actions, giving all your attention to the task of rowing to the next island. You only look away from what you're doing when you notice a flashing red light from the corner of your eye.

The sky is dark now, a sound similar to the clapping of thunder the only thing you can here. The waves around you are violent, your boat ready to capsize at any moment. But all you see is the explosion in front of you - your home destroyed in the blink of an eye.

A month later, on an neighbouring island

With your back pressed against the stone wall of an alleyway, you eyed the scraps of food lying on a piece of paper that served as a makeshift plate - never to be touched.

Almost a month ago a couple of kids playing along the beach had found you lying on the shore. They immediately called the adults of the village, who carried you to one of their homes and tended to your wounds. When you awoke they explained to you where you were and you broke down in tears as you recalled the events that had transpired.

Being a village almost on the brink of poverty, no one could afford to take you in. But they took pity on the child who had mysteriously appeared on the shores of their town, and would offer you whatever scraps of food they had left. Although, most of the time you refused to eat anything, hence why these scraps of food were left to rot.

"Hey kid, mind if I have a bite?"

Startled, you look up from your hunched position against the alley wall. The dim light filtering through the alley, accentuated the hollows beneath your eyes and the dirt smeared on your cheek. You blinked, trying to get a clearer image of the tall figure that loomed over you.

He resonated a sense of authority, yet there was an air of gentleness when he looked at you with concern. He offered you a warm smile and you wordlessly pushed the paper towards him.

"What's a child doing all alone in a dark alley at this time?" he asked, as he seated himself beside you, and you glared in response. The expression startled him and he choked on the stale piece of bread, but then let out a loud laugh after managing to swallow. You stared in shock at the absurd antics of the grown man as he calmed himself down and eyed you expectantly, still waiting for a response.

"My parents...," you tried to say, but couldn't get any other words out as a lump formed in your throat. Seconds later you burst into tears. The man's expression softened, as if just those words were enough for him to understand. He gently stroked your head, and you found comfort in the gesture.

"What's your name?"

"(Y/N)," you squeaked out.

"Well (Y/N), I'm Corazon. I'm going to take you to Marine headquarters. We can look after you there," he said, and you shook your head vigorously in protest.

"No! My parents said they would come for me!" you yelled in response, despite knowing there was no truth to those words.

With your elbow you shoved him in the groin, and he groaned at the sudden impact. You stood up and attempted to run away from him, but your lack of strength weighed you down and you slipped into unconsciousness as your body hit the ground.

_______________________________________________

When you awoke, you found yourself tucked into a comfy bed. The feeling of clean sheets and a soft mattress made you let out a pleased sigh as you further curled up in bed. But someone let out a soft chuckle and you sat up startled by the noise.

On the opposite end of the room sat the man from earlier, Corazon, sipping at a piping hot cup of tea which led him to nearly spill all over himself. But he quickly set down his cup and offered you a warm smile.

"Easy there, little one," he said softly, his voice carrying a soothing tone. "You gave me quite the scare when you collapsed in the alley."

You blinked, trying to gather your thoughts as you took in your surroundings. The room was simple and comforting, with sunlight streaming in through a small circular window, casting a warm glow over everything.

"Where...Where am I?" you asked, your voice still shaky from your recent outburst and subsequent collapse.

"We're on a Marine ship that will soon set sail for Marineford." Corazon replied, his voice gentle.

"No! I don't want to go! My parents are coming for me!" You jumped out of bed immediately. But once again your frail body failed you, and you collapsed to the floor, tears once more brimming your eyes.

Corazon frowned as he got up to help you, unsure of what to say. He had asked around about you, and the villagers had explained your story to him. They had even told him what you had said about your parents and the island you came from. And although some parts of it seemed out of place, it wasn't hard for him to come to the conclusion that your parents were not coming for you.

He picked you up in his arms, and for a moment you let your guard down, allowing him to whisper soft words of comfort as you leant into his embrace. "Everything will be alright (Y/N). I'll take care of you, I promise." His words snapped you out of your moment of vulnerability and you fidgeted in his grasp. With another swift kick to his stomach, he dropped you and buckled over, but was quick to recover and step in front of the door, blocking your way.

"Let me go! My parents are coming for me!" you cried again through tears, snot trickling down your nose as you sucked in a breath.

"I know you're upset, but please understand that I'm only here to help."

"Let me go or.....or...or I'll eat your treasure!" you challenged, grabbing at the small treasure chest that laid on the table he was previously sat at.

"You can't eat treasure," he said with a chuckle, having seemed to have forgotten what was hidden inside this particular treasure chest.

"I can eat this treasure!" you stated without hesitation as you pulled out the contents of the box, and he visibly gulped at the sight of the red and green fruit.

"You wouldn't...it's just some disgusting fruit." He looked from the fruit to you, unsure of your next move. "it's not even worth that much." He tried to feign uninterest in the object.

You shoved the whole thing into your mouth, your cheeks bulging out because of the fruit that now sat within. If it hadn't been for the dread that settled in him, Corazon would have found the sight cute. Instead, his mouth fell ajar and his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.

As the disgusting taste of the unique fruit settled in your mouth, your gag reflexes kicked in, but you forced yourself to swallow. Despite the need to throw up, you stood proud, happy with the reaction you had got out of the man.

"Now you have to let me go!"

Corazon's eyes further widened in shock, realizing the gravity of the situation. He took a step back, his mind racing with the implications of what had just happened. "That fruit...it's a devil fruit."

Your triumphant expression faltered as his words sank in, and a sense of unease crept over you. "What do you mean? What's a devil fruit?"

"It's...complicated," Corazon began, struggling to find the right words to explain. "But now that you've eaten it, you won't be able to swim, and you'll gain a certain ability."

Your heart sank as you processed his explanation, the weight of your impulsive decision settling upon you. "I didn't...I didn't know."

Corazon sighed, his expression softening with empathy. "I know, but you don't have to worry about it. I'll do everything I can to help you. If you'll let me."

His heart ached as he watched the fear and desperation in your eyes. Despite your attempts to push him away, he couldn't ignore your vulnerable state, it reminded him too much of his younger self. As you stood there, trembling and on the verge of tears, he felt a deep sense of responsibility wash over him.

"I won't let anything happen to you," he stated firmly, his voice filled with determination. "I promise, I'll keep you safe."

Your gaze flickered with uncertainty. It was clear that you were scared and unsure, but beneath it all, there was a longing for someone to trust, someone to protect you. Corazon knelt down in front of you, his expression gentle yet resolute. "I may not be able to undo what's been done, but I can make sure you're taken care of. You're not alone anymore, (Y/N)."

Tears welled up in your eyes once more, but this time they were tears of relief. With a shaky breath, you nodded, silently accepting his offer of protection.

As he gathered you into his arms, you finally allowed yourself to let go of the fear and uncertainty that had gripped you since your world had been turned upside down. In Corazon's embrace, you found solace, knowing that you had found someone who would give you the love and protection that had been taken away from you.

(Y/N), age 8

"Cora-san~," you sang as you bounded down the staircase, Sengoku walking steadily behind you. On hearing his name, Corazon's smile widened, kneeling down with arms wide open as you ran into his embrace.

"Hey there, little one," Corazon chuckled, lifting you up in a tight hug before setting you down gently, Sengoku watching the exchange with a soft smile.

"How was your mission?" you asked excitedly, although your question was more of a way to get him to show the objects that he usually brought back for you from his countless missions.

"Y/N, he just got back. You should let him rest. Besides, it's also past your bedtime," Sengoku said in a stern but gently way, and you frowned blatantly.

"No, no, I'm fine. Let's go back upstairs and I'll tell you about it while you get ready for bed, okay? I have lots to tell you," Corazon said, giving you a toothy grin that immediately changed your mood. However, you missed the serious look he gave Sengoku.

For the past three years you had been staying in Marineford, in a small house that Corazon had got for the two of you. Though it was mainly a place to keep you away from the watchful eyes of the rest of the Marines and anyone else who would try to harm you, it also served as a place to help you learn how to use your powers. Except for Sengoku who had figured out that you had eaten the devil fruit Corazon found, everyone else was still under the impression that the fruit had been lost at sea, and you were just some little girl who Corazon had found. And just like how Sengoku had taken him in, he was doing the same for you.

Sengoku nodded silently, understanding the unspoken message from Corazon. As you skipped ahead towards the bedroom, Corazon followed, ruffling your hair affectionately as you got into bed and he settled into the seat reserved just for him.

From the door frame, Sengoku watched as Corazon sat by your bedside, recounting his mission. As he told you about his adventures, Sengoku couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth, seeing the bond between you and Corazon. Despite the dangers of the world, and the dangers he himself faced, Corazon had managed to create a safe haven for you.

"So there I was, minding my own business, and he attacked me!"

You and Sengoku looked at Corazon dumbfounded, mouths agape as you struggled to comprehend why he was laughing over the situation.

"That little troublemaker!" Corazon exclaimed, wiping a tear from his eye.

Sengoku shook his head in disbelief, while you were still shocked by the sheer audacity of the boy named Law.

"Cora-san why are you laughing? He attacked you! I don't like this Law one bit. In fact when I meet him, I'm going to give him a piece of my mind," you said with a pout. You missed the way Corazon's smile faltered for a second, before he gently patted your head as a way to comfort you.

"It's all in the past now. Besides, if I recall correctly, you hit me a couple of times as well when we first met," Corazon said, his eyes twinkling with amusement, and you blushed with embarrassment.

"But...but this is different."

"It is. But we can never fully understand why people do certain things unless we know their full story. He may have had his motives," he tried to reason, though you were still slightly unconvinced, and Corazon could tell, but he said nothing else regarding the matter.

"Anyway (Y/N), it's time you went to bed," he said as he tucked you in snuggly, and planted a kiss on your forehead. That was enough to make you sleepy, and your eyes slowly fell shut as you mumbled a 'goodnight'. There was a soft chatter between the two men as they left your room and stood outside, their voices a lot more serious now. You could faintly hear mentions of the boy Law and a few other people, but that was all. Shortly after, you drifted off into a deep slumber, and when you woke up, Corazon had already left for his next mission.

(Y/N), age 19

You rushed down the stairs as soon as you heard the front door open.

"Is it true?"

"(Y/N), I heard you snuck into the restricted library again," Sengoku said, his voice a mix of sternness and concern, as he entered the house. "How many times do I have to tell you that you could get kicked out of the Marines for something like that?"

Ignoring his scolding, you pressed on, your eyes not hiding the anger that simmered beneath the surface, "Forget about that. Is it true?"

Sengoku let out a heavy sigh, his eyes straying away from yours as he made his way further into the house, "Is what true?"

"You made Doflamingo a warlord?" you demanded, your words filled with disbelief and outrage.

Sengoku froze in his spot, gritting his teeth at the reminder of what had transpired during yesterday's meeting. He let out another sigh and looked at you with a calm expression, "It's true. The government made the decision yesterday."

You struggled to process the implications of his revelation, and were left with a mixture of anger and betrayal.

"And you didn't stop them?"

Sengoku's gaze instantly softened, understanding the turmoil that plagued you, he felt it too. "I can't go against the decisions of the World Government, (Y/N)," he explained. He sounded tired, and you knew the events of the past day had been bothering him as well. "As much as I may disagree with some of their choices, my duty as Fleet Admiral requires me to uphold their authority."

You clenched your fists, your frustration evident. "Even if it means empowering someone like Doflamingo?"

"The Government does what they believe will protect the world, and I'm not going to be the one to question them," he stated firmly, hoping you would finally drop the subject.

"If they believe giving a pirate who killed a Marine agent the freedom to do whatever he wants will protect the world, then I'd gladly be kicked out of the Navy."

With that final declaration, you turned on your heel and stormed off to your room, slamming the door shut. Sengoku had initially come knocking at your door, trying to get you to talk to him, but finally decided to give you your space.

Alone in your room, the feeling of betrayal settled over you once more. The revelation that Doflamingo, the man responsible for Corazon's death, had been given the power to do as he pleased, felt like a dagger to your heart. Memories of Corazon flooded your mind, his laughter echoing in your ears when he told you a stupid joke, his warm embrace as he comforted you. Tears threatened to fall as you recalled the days you had spent with him right to the day when you had lost him. It had taken you months to cope with the reality of his absence, but some how you had managed to pull through. Now, however, those same feelings were coming back, and you found yourself in a dark place. How could the world be so cruel to take away someone like him? Anger continued to boil within you, directed not only at Doflamingo but at the entire system that had taken away the one person you truly cared for.

In the darkness of your room, you made a decision. Unable to bear the grief any longer, you decided to leave it all behind. Marineford, with its rigid rules and compromised values, did not provide you with the comfort it once did.

A few days later, in the darkness of the night, you slipped away, your footsteps silently padding against the stone path as you made your way to the harbour. The moonlight guided you to the ship, and with one final glance at the place you once called home, you set sail on your new adventure.

_______________________________________________

"I made my way to Sabaody after that, but I couldn't stay for long because of the number of Marines there. So I ventured towards Fishman Island, and that's when it happened," you took a deep breath, as you took a break from recounting all those distant memories and remembered one that was still fresh in your mind, and Law listened intently, concern etched on his features, "I was attacked by the New Fish-Man Pirates. I tried to resist, but there were too many of them, and I couldn't use my powers on all of them at once. At some point I must have fainted because when I woke up, I was locked up in a room," your breath hitched in your throat as you recalled what had transpired after.

"It was a nightmare," you confessed, your voice heavy with the weight of the memories. "They discovered how my powers worked and forced me to torture the humans who wouldn't comply. It was either that or face death."

Law's eyes darkened at your words, his jaw clenching as anger swelled within him. But he tried to not show it for your sake, instead showing sympathy as he hesitantly took your hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"And you never tried to escape?" he asked, his voice soft as if he was unsure of whether to ask.

"I did," you admitted, bitterness evident in your tone. "But they caught me. They tortured me after that until I couldn't bear it any longer. I caved and promised to help them in hunting down more humans. I did some horrible things after that."

"You did what you had to to survive," Law stated, his voice laced with sympathy.

"But it was at the price of others suffering far worse," you replied remorsefully, still haunted by your past actions.

"They even sent me after Luffy and the rest of them when they arrived in Fishman Island," you confessed, your voice tinged with shame.

"What made you change your mind to help them instead?" Law pressed gently.

"Well, for starters, they were too strong," you admitted with a light chuckle at the memory of how the Straw Hats had noticed your presence almost immediately and had fought back. You had wondered at that moment whether you had purposefully made yourself known.

"They managed to knock me out, and when I woke up, I was beyond scared. Then Luffy asked me why I attacked them," you paused as you recalled being tied to the tree on the Thousand Sunny as your eyes welled up at the brink of a confession, "I explained everything to them. After that, he promised he would help me. They all did."

"That's why I'll always feel indebted to them," you concluded with a small smile as your heart swelled with gratitude for the Straw Hats. "When I was on the verge of regret, ready to give up, they helped me escape."

As you finished speaking, Law gave your hand another gentle squeeze. "I can't imagine what you've been through," he said softly, his voice a soothing presence in the dimly lit room. "But you're safe now. And...and if it's any consolation, I won't let something like that happen to you again."

Without another word, he shifted closer, and you leant into his touch, finding comfort in the warmth of his side. Much like Corazon, he offered a sense of solace amidst the memories of your past. "Thank you, Law," you whispered, grateful for his presence as you relished in the peacefulness of the moment.

You both stayed like that for a while, your backs pressed against the cold wall of the submarine. A comfortable silence fell between the two of you, the only sound your steady breaths and the soft hum of the ship's engines. Eventually, the exhaustion from the events of the night caught up with both of you, and your head fell to rest on Law's shoulder. Then, guided by the steady rhythm of his breathing, you let yourself be pulled further into unconsciousness, as unbeknownst to either of you, Law's arm instinctively wrapped around you, drawing you closer as you both drifted off to sleep.

_______________________________________________

A/N: Feel free to leave feedback! And if you have any questions or things you want to see happen (cause I probably left out something or contradicted something I wrote earlier :⁠-⁠P) do let me know, I wouldn't mind writing a couple of drabbles.

taglist: @trafalgardaria @deathsmajestysworld @cottoncandyloverrrr @magnificenttaledreamland

#law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law fanfic #one piece x reader #law x you #trafalgar law fanfiction #trafalgar law x y/n

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jimraisedmeup · 3 days

Text

TOCK // 3.2 - walkin' after midnight

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

SEQUEL TO TICK

Masterlist: for this Eddie Munson series

Rating: mature (angst, language, sexual content)

Word Count: 1700

A/N: a bit of a flashback - we will be back to 1985 memorial day weekend soon ;-) again thank u all for the patience

☼

I go out walkin' after midnight Out in the moonlight Just like we used to do, I'm always walkin' After midnight, searchin' for you

I walk for miles along the highway Well, that's just my way Of sayin' I love you, I'm always walkin' After midnight, searchin' for you

☼

December 31, 1984 - new year's eve

Your footsteps padded softly down the halls, slip-resistant cotton socks protecting your sore feet from the frigid December air that ran through the drafty building.

The old windows were single-paned, cheap things that let all of the winter air in. Surprising, considering they "hoped" none of you would be bold enough to jump through them.

It was New Year's Eve. Exactly one year since the night you spent on Lovers' Lake with Eddie.

You glanced at the clock on the wall as you passed - almost midnight. You wondered where Eddie was now.

The long stretches of hallways were dark, empty. You were surprised that no one else had snuck out of bed for the holiday - but then again, you weren't very surprised at all. Things were run very strictly around here; the other paranoid girls in your wing were a lot more afraid of staff than the eldest Buckley daughter was.

After so many months, everyone had grown used to you escaping the wing. Of course, not escaping the entire facility, because you simply couldn't manage that. But you did roam the hallways at night on a regular basis. Sometimes you got caught, most of the time you didn't.

But whenever you did get caught - boy, did that fucking suck. A wooden ruler to the bottoms of your feet.

Hence your current situation of limping down the deserted halls with sore arches.

Your painful feet weren't going to stop you from doing your laps, though. As usual, you couldn't sleep.

Especially not tonight, not with so many memories playing before you like a sadistic reminder of what could have been.

As you neared the end of the eastern wing by the library, you caught sight of a figure near the windows, moonlight shining behind them. The figure was dressed in a white cotton gown, just like you were.

You immediately eyed the plastic wristband on his skinny arm.

"Um… Adam?" you whispered quietly, hoping you remembered the guy's name correctly.

No answer from him. He just stood there, staring out of the third story window, expressionless. For a second, you had an irrational, childish fear that the figure was a ghost. Chills ran down your spine.

You inched closer and placed a gentle palm on his shoulder.

Adam jumped, but offered you a tiny, pretty smile nonetheless. You didn't really know him - you didn't really know any of the other... students.

Staying isolated felt natural and comfortable to you.

"It's almost midnight," you mumbled, turning your eyes to the dirty window that Adam was looking out of. In the distance, you could just barely see the lights of Chicago.

"Is it?" the poor thing said wearily. You could see, even in the dim surroundings, that Adam's eyes were sad, but no tears fell.

Adam was maybe a year younger than you, possibly around Robin's age. Your heart thumped in pain at the thought of your little sister.

You sighed. "You picked a good view of the city tonight. I'm sure you'll see fireworks."

Finally breaking away from his trance of staring out the window, Adam gestured behind you, at the darkened library doors.

"I came here to sneak a phone call, not to see fireworks."

"What? How? The library is always locked."

Rubbing his face like he had just woken from a deep sleep, Adam still seemed empty of emotions. Like a hollow, beautiful porcelain doll. He shrugged at you and began to walk away.

How many meds was this kid on?

"I stuffed one of the paper med cups in the hinges of the door earlier today," Adam said over his shoulder. Then he vanished around a corner.

You stared at the library doors. Were they still unlocked?

A quick tug of the heavy doors proved Adam was telling the truth. The library opened, and you slipped through like a snake in the grass.

The library was one of the most frequented places in the whole building for you. It didn't have a ton of books, mainly an endless supply of religious shit. After a while, you would read anything you could get your hands on just to pass the time. When you weren't sleeping or doing homework, anyways.

You made a beeline for the main office desk of the large room, and there it was.

The first unsupervised telephone you had seen in months.

Like second nature, you dialed Eddie's phone number. You weren't sure if he would be home. Or if he still lived with his uncle.

The line rang three times before a woman's voice picked up.

"Hello? Munson residence."

You were slightly taken aback by the greeting, but immediately reminded yourself that Uncle Wayne could have gotten a girlfriend since you left. You hesitated for a moment, then found the words to speak.

"Uh-hi. Hello. May I please speak to Eddie?"

The words felt foreign on your tongue. You couldn't remember the last time you said his name out loud. The therapists kept trying to pry it out of you, but you refused to cave.

Now it was the strange woman's turn to hesitate on the other end of the line. When you were about to ask again, the woman spoke, her voice laced with suspicion.

"My boyfriend isn’t here right now. Can I ask who's calling? It's really late, you know."

You hung up without responding to the woman.

☼

I stop to see a weepin' willow Cryin' on his pillow Maybe he's cryin' for me And as the skies turn gloomy Night winds whisper to me I'm lonesome as I can be

I go out walkin' after midnight Out in the moonlight Just hopin' you may be somewhere a-walkin' After midnight, searchin' for me

☼

His footsteps sounded roughly on the paved road, heavy black boots scraping up gravel and crunching on the thin layer of ice coating the ground.

It was New Year's Eve, and probably getting close to midnight by now. Eddie had falsely promised Katrina that he would be back from his walk before the clock struck twelve.

Why are you going out for a walk? It's freezing out there.

I just want some time alone, Katrina.

It was a sad, empty promise, a lie, because deep down he didn't really care at all if he came back on time. Eddie just told her whatever she wanted to hear so she would shut up and let him go. He didn't even take his watch with him to keep track of the time.

Katrina was an excellent distraction, sure. But he didn't think anything could distract him tonight.

Not booze, not sex, not pills.

New Year's Eve would be forever tainted by one of his favorite memories of you.

Billy had even tried to get him out of the house that night. Some random party at some random girl's house. But Eddie politely declined, fibbing to Billy something about wanting to stay in with Katrina instead.

Going out for a walk was the only thing he could think of to keep him sane. His leather jacket kept him warm, a black stocking cap pulled over his head to protect his ears. A flask of vodka was tucked away in his back pocket and it was already half empty.

Lighting up a smoke, Eddie watched with unfocused eyes as the tendrils rose into the air, disappearing into the pitch black sky. No stars, no fireworks.

"Where are you tonight, Buckley?" he whispered to himself, pulling out the metal flask.

The vodka warmed him from the inside out. Like lighting a fireplace in a cold room.

A few minutes later, Eddie heard the distant booming of fireworks, signaling the arrival of good ol' 1985.

Cursing to himself, he took off in a fast walk towards the trailer park. He had to make it look a little bit like he didn’t mean to be late.

Katrina was sitting on his bed when he returned, legs tucked under her as she held a match to a freshly rolled joint. Her deep, dark eyes barely glanced his way when he opened the door.

"Sorry I'm late. I didn't bring my watch."

"S'fine," she said flatly, smoke rolling from her smudged red lips.

He hoped she wouldn't try to kiss him.

Eddie made for the closet, hanging up his jacket and tossing his hat up on the shelf. Katrina would say it was fine, but her temper would detonate within minutes if he didn't keep apologizing. And he really didn't feel like dealing with her attitude tonight.

He honestly just wanted to drink and sleep.

Reaching through the drawer of his t-shirts, Eddie spoke to her with his back turned. "No, it's not fine. I'm really sorry."

"Yeah, whatever."

He rolled his eyes and held back a heavy sigh. Stripping off his sweater, he replaced it with a loose shirt and crawled onto the bed towards her.

"Forgive me?" Eddie asked tiredly, looking up at the girl.

Katrina didn't make eye contact with him. "You got a phone call like five minutes ago."

This puzzled him. He raised an eyebrow. "From who? Billy? I told him we were staying in tonight."

The raven-haired girl hopped out of the bed and grabbed a towel before heading for the bathroom. "No, it was a girl. Asking for you."

Eddie sat up in bed. "Who was it?"

Katrina frowned, pausing in the doorway. "I don't know. She hung up on me."

"Well, did she say what she wanted?"

"Why does it matter?" Katrina hissed, slamming the bedroom door behind her. Eddie heard the shower start immediately.

It couldn't have been you, right? Not after all this time, not an ounce of contact. But it was New Years. It had been exactly one year since the night on the lake.

His gut was telling him that no one else would be calling him tonight.

Cursing himself for not staying home to take the phone call, Eddie spiraled.

He chugged the rest of the flask of vodka and took a few long hits from the glowing joint in the ashtray. Stripping off his clothes, he climbed into the shower with Katrina to take out his frustrations.

☼

I go out walkin' after midnight Out in the moonlight Just hopin' you may be somewhere a-walkin' After midnight, searchin' for me

☼

(song lyrics credit: "Walking After Midnight" by Patsy Cline)

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#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddiemunson #eddie munson x female reader #stranger things #eddie munson slow burn #eddie x you #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x buckley!reader

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nocturnesmoon · 17 hours

Text

Chapter 3: Ghosts Of The Past

(Series Masterlist: Divine Violence) (Read on Ao3) (Inspired Playlist)

Series:The Divine Violence - Chapter 3: Ghosts Of The Past

Wordcount: 5.5K

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Gn!Reader

TW: (View masterlist for series tw and tags) - Religious Trauma, PTSD, Flashbacks, Hallucinations, Anxiety, Paranoia, Disturbing themes, Implied eating disorders, Jealousy, Past abuse, Underage drinking, vomiting

Description: Soap approaches you to eat lunch with him, you begrudgingly accept.

A/N: Wooo another chapter done! Finally getting into some of the angsty bits that's gonna be a gateway to things we're going to expand upon later in the story. Everybody stay hydrated and I hope you enjoy it!

[Prev chapter / Next Chapter]

The night is young and beautiful. Stars would cover the sky above you if it wasn't from the pollution of the city lights. You can still count a few, one, two, three, even four. They're bright here, one even seems to be blinking at you before you realize it's a plane.

It feels almost too ceremonial with the full moon in the sky, and Simon standing by the little makeshift fire in the pile of trash. It reminds you a little of your confirmation, years past by now. Though the church was a lot cleaner, the people like minded. Clothing of white making you shine in the sun, your proud mother with her uptight smile, and your father who had never before seemed proud of anything you did, now smiled warm toned at you.

You can still remember each word the priest spoke to you. Etched so deep in your brain it might as well have been carved into the back of your palm.

Thinking back to it, you realize it's different to this, so much different. The grittiness has a charm to it, but the real reason your nerves have skyrocketed is because of him. You take a step closer to the fire, watch him pop open the bottle of vodka. The one he had stolen from his father’s cabinet. Easier now that he wasn't home as much.

"Nervous?"

He grins at you, grabbing your fidgeting hand in his own. "We can still leave it be?" he offers kindly, but you quickly shake your head no. You had asked for this, you wanted to try it, because you knew the closest way you'd ever come to alcohol otherwise was the wine (Which wasn't even wine, it was grape juice) at the communion in church.

Simon had so graciously offered when you mentioned your want in passing. The curious nature in your soul wanting to try it at least once, even if you turned out to dislike it. You squeeze his hand, as if to jitter out your nerves. Being this far from home never felt good to you, a festering anxiety in your mind that your parents would find out and punish you.

There was a lot of things Simon could help you with, even take the fall for you should the situation call for it, but not this. No, this would be on you, and it would not feel good.

The fire crackles in front of you, something sharp snaps and brings your focus away from the bottle. You had no clue what was burning in there, but it provided a warm place for you to be so you didn't have much to complain about.

"Whenever you're ready Little Spider," he teases and brings the bottle to your hand.

You scoff and roll your eyes. "Does it really burn that bad?" you take the bottle with a small grimace. Your eyes nervously flicking from the liquid to him and back again.

"You seem very determined that this is what you want to do, so why don't you take a sip and find out?"

Another moments hesitance, and you bring the bottle to your lips. In the first second it doesn't burn, just so that the little thought of relief can enter your brain, before being squashed by the lit fire in your throat.

He quickly grabs the bottle away from you, when you start coughing and spurting. The sounds of your distress drowned out by his roaring laughter. His hand comes to pat you on the back, his eyes almost filled with tears from his laughter.

"Oh my oh my oh my, why why why did I do this."

"Oh c'mon, it wasn't that bad, was it?" he looks down at the bottle experimentally. Acting as if he hadn't tasted it countless times before. He brings it to his lips when your outburst calms down, taking a sip seamlessly, taking the burn proud and easy.

"How in the world," you sound astonished by his display. He tries to keep a straight face, but fails very quickly when he sees how you look at him like he's crazy. "Hey don't laugh!" you swat his arm, but soon fall into the laughter along with him.

The fire illuminates his face, casting shadows of you both behind on the wall. The soft orange glow makes some of his features stand out more than normal. His little scars close to his mouth that's normally almost invisible, now almost makes him look scary if it wasn't for how his face was lit up with joy.

"Oh wow," you grab the bottle back to read the inscription as if that would give you more clarity. "I don't understand how people drink stuff like this daily...I mean it's not that good."

His smile falls a little, his breathing catching up from the fit of laughter. "Well, drink enough of it and you'll start to feel funny," he explains simply instead of doing in-depth.

"Huh..." you look at the little alcohol percentage on the bottle, "have you been drunk before?"

He doesn't respond immediately, almost as if he seems ashamed of it. "A few times," he admits and trails closer to the wall, "with a few other guys from school." He leans on it, crossing his arms over his chest. It makes him look edgy, his dark attire and the illumination of a dumpster fire. He looks older than he is like that.

You come closer, tilting your head to the side slightly. He looks at you tentatively, taking in all that is you, the way you look, the way you move, the way you position yourself in front of him, so very close.

"What else have you done?" you ask in a knowing tone that didn't know much at all, "that you haven't had the heart to tell me about yet?" His eyes widen slightly panicked for a moment. You already know how he's compiling an excuse in his brain, or some way to explain himself away from anger, but you aren't angry.

"I just didn't think it was your thing...didn't want to bother you with it...make you feel like you had to," he explains quickly. You shake your head, making sure to give him a small smile as reassurance. His shoulders sag more.

"It wasn't..." you tell him, “But now I’m curious."

"Are you now?" his voice turns back to teasing. How you'd love to smear that smug smile off him, one way or another.

You bring the bottle to your lips, drinking way more than you probably should.

"Yeah, so let's find out."

Your throat burns whenever you throw up. It's become a much more frequent occurrence. The stress of your problems taking wear on your mind. You're no more surprised to find a singular grey hair protrude from your scalp, than you are from the blood mixed with bile in the sink.

That had been your breakfast most likely. The only meal you had found yourself able to sneak away to eat in peace of your assigned room. It left your stomach empty again, the pained hollow feeling you despised despite how much of your life was spent in it.

You'd take anything over this. Oh, how you wished you could be like anyone else, the majority of the reasons to throw up being a hangover, or being sick. Though alcohol hasn't touched your lips in years.

The fluorescent lights blink above you, the little buzzing drowned out by your heavy breathing. The space is better than what you've had the past while, but you did miss the privacy of the motel. People had a tendency to stare here.

You turn on the water, guiding it along with your hands to wash away the bile. Blood trickles down from your knuckles, the split ends of flesh flaking off the bone. You can see the white underneath. The sound of the door opening brings your attention away from it. You avoid the mirror despite its desperate pleas.

No what you can't just leave me here! Please you can't be serious! You're just going to let him keep me in here?! Please just look at me, don't go.

You look towards the mohawk showing itself first.

When you first met Soap, you had been taken aback. He had a very intense personality, a fire within that outshined in his actions. You have yet to determine your own disposition on him. He's friendly enough towards you, all things considered.

"Ah there ye are." He's been standing outside that door for who knows how long. He likely heard the wretched sound as your stomach gave in on itself. Why he chose now to step in, eludes you.

You clear your throat, the hunch in your back stretching out after you turn off the running water. Your fingers run over your knuckles; the wounds gone. "Do you need something?" keeping your voice steady and polite proves a more difficult task than you'd like it to.

"Have ye had lunch yet...?" he's being careful with you. It's a revelation you didn't expect to have for him, did he figure something out he shouldn't have? Does he know?

"Ah was gonna invite ye to join us this mornin' for breakfast, but ah couldn't find ye." Good that had been the intention. A part of you did recognize you couldn't hole yourself away forever though. You were already the odd one out in the group of four.

"Oh.."

Your voice is too weak

The mirror echoes.

"Right...I..."

You clear your throat again, it feels too constricted, the air in here is not enough for you.

You catch yourself in his vibrant blue eyes. You could see an ocean in them, the beautiful waves at sea, the smell of salt in the air. You can feel the surgent winds ghosting over your skin, the sting and burn as water enters your lungs, a warm hand on the back of your neck holding you down. A faraway chanting of prayer echoes muffled in your ears.

"No...I haven't" you try to muster a smile.

"Good," he says pleased "ye're with me then."

The sea is faraway.

The mess hall is the exact kind of hell you expected it to be. Loud, obnoxious, filled with potential social threats and unnecessary questions on the verge from the man sitting in front of you. The only bit of luck you seem to have kept, shows itself in the lack of soldiers here at all. Most of them had likely already eaten.

The meal Infront of you looked anything but appetizing. Yet Soap seemed all the more happy to devour it with no complaints. He's been talking your head off ever since you sat down, clueing you in on things at base. Most of it is useful information you manage to retain, but after awhile your ears goes deaf despite how much you want to listen.

Though you have to admit that it sounds like they're a tight knit group. The 141 formed quite awhile ago, managing to take out several high-level threats. It made sense to put them up against the divine principle, but you couldn't help the doubt in your mind that anything would come of it. Even if you managed to take the group down once more, they would just resurface years later until you took out the root of the problem.

You had failed to do it once.

"...are ye listening?"

Your eyes flicker up from your murky food, locking eyes with Soap. What the hell kind of name was that anyway. Was he good at cleaning dishes? A lot of code names tend to be teasing or insults, so maybe he got teased for it?

"Yeah," you reassure him by briefly giving him your undivided attention. You'd quickly trail out again.

"Ye can tell me to shut up, ah know ah talk a lot" he doesn't sound ashamed of it, but you can hear the hint of self deprecation. Someone's definitely shamed him in the past. You had no intention to do so, you quite preferred people who talk a lot. They talk fast, easy, and typically give way more information than they should which paints you a better picture. A bonus point that it fills out the silence you bring.

"No... it’s nice," you mutter and pick up your fork. You might as well try to fight some of it down, you hadn't even touched any of it yet, and Soap was practically done even with his rambling.

You didn't know whether the lack of people in a typically populated space made you more or less anxious.

"So, ye used to hunt these people a few years ago?"

You meet his eyes for the first time in what feels like forever. You're not sure what you were supposed to find in them, but definitely not the curiosity that shines. This entire taskforce is playing with a hellfire they do not understand. It's practically impossible to take it down, even from within, lord knows you've tried.

"Yeah."

You could bite your lip bloody trying to think of ways to continue the conversation from here. He goes wildly quiet for you. Is he expecting for you to elaborate? What does he even want you to say? What were you allowed to say? What did they know? How much information is appropriate over a lunch in a very public area?

You were starting to regret your decision of agreeing to all of this. You hadn't even started and the stress was pulling you down under.

"They're hard to find, even with a full team" he shakes his head amused, "ah can't even imagine what it must've been like hunting them practically all alone."

"I wasn't alone."

He seems surprised. Good.

Kate hadn't told them every detail.

"They were tenacious then; I don't doubt the group wont behave much different this time around. They always end up with the same values, the same goal." You ramble on, catching yourself by biting your tongue.

"What's the goal?" he asks.

"Doomsday preppers in a nutshell, just add a slimy layer of misguided religion on top of it." You finally take a big bite of your food. It slides down your throat slowly, the dryness, or size catching you off-guard.

Soap slides your glass closer to you. "Not new, but also not every day ye see it to this large of an extent."

"It's been organized for years now, they're not likely to stop from a threat from the authorities. Only way is to take out the roots." You mumble on after getting your throat cleared. There were quite a few ways to go about doing that, all of them left an acidic taste in your mouth.

You could see the way he wanted to ask more. He should refrain, wait for it all to be revealed in proper time instead of probing you for information in an informal interrogation. A quite nice one at that.

You had yet to decide on how close you wanted to get to him.

John MacTavish, Soap.

He was a sergeant, chatty nature, one for jokes, witty, smart. A person worthy to note, despite rebellious appearances.

The captain had yet to earn your respect, and likewise yours his. He was impressive on all accounts. He would also be the first person to throw you off this mission at a sign of weakness. Valuable in its own right.

Kyle was indifferent towards you, a bit cold perhaps, though he seemed a gentleman when it came down to it.

Ghost was......Simon.

You didn't know what you expected when you met Simon again. He's a lot more different than you thought he would be. Taking on the persona of Ghost, you suppose you can't blame him for needing an escape, but the motif still stirs something awful in your chest. Neither of you really got over it.

Maybe you'd have preferred it if he wasn't so aloof with you, a bit more direct in your long-awaited reunion. Perhaps it would have been better if it had mimicked TV, the rain and yelling and screaming in a scenic location to make it more meaningful to you. Unfortunately, reality tends to be far more boring.

"So did he always wear that mask?"

"Ghost? Aye, as long as I've known the bastard," he chuckles "can ask Price about before that, he's known 'im the longest."

There's a pang in your heart, something that feels an awful lot like a drop jealousy, but you can't allow that. It wouldn't be one bit fair. If you were the one to walk away from him then, were you really allowed to feel anything at all for him? Certainly not jealousy over the new relationships he'd build. You should be happy, you really should.

But how dare he abandon you so fast.

You shake your head free of the feeling. Wrongful, wishful, thinking wouldn't change the truth nor the fact he was supposedly better off here.

"Known him long?"

"Ever since we got assigned on this taskforce, give or take a few years now. And Ye?"

"Old acquaintances."

There's another sting in your heart that burns something fierce. All the nights you had spent wishing you were still in contact with him coming back to you. Times when it felt like a single word from him would make life worth living again. A single glance from him could make it worth anything.

You tried to ignore that bit.

But the mask had a symbolism you didn't like any better. You'd only be arrogant to think or claim that you still knew him and his thoughts, but it was still distasteful. Had he forgotten? You had both ran from it, difference was he now wore it on his face and you watched it creep in the shadows.

You had always hated the cold streaks in first signs of winter. When the temperature went freezing, the trees losing their colour, the sun hiding more often now behind threatening clouds. However still no snow. All the unfortunate parts with none of the benefits.

And standing on Simon's freezing front porch didn't help. He was taking too long. It had been half a minute since you rung the doorbell. Where the hell was he? His parents were supposed to be out, and despite his little brother still being home, the two of you would take any opportunity you could take.

You wrap your jacket closer around you. The biting frost nipping at your cheeks and nose. For a moment you debate whether you should ring the bell again, but you remember his words clear, he had told you to just go in, even if it felt wrong to do that without a formal invitation straight from the door.

You hadn't been here too many times. Some part of yourself too scared that the smell of smoke would sting your clothes, and that your parents would know exactly where you had been. You needed to be careful, one wrong decision and they'd forbid you from seeing him again.

You aren't sure if you could handle that.

The door creeks when you open it, too loud for your taste. It makes you grimace. You try calling out for him, to no response. There's a smell of freshly baked bread, likely at the hands of his mum.

A smile tugs on your lips, your stomach twisting hungrily in your body. Hurriedly you kick off your shoes, and hang up your jacket, emerging in the home's living room. For a moment you wonder if anyone is even home, it feels cold from the lack of interaction.

"Simon?" it's not like him to leave you alone like that. Was he even home?

You tiptoe towards the hallway peeking down the dark way. When you stare too long, the shadows move occasionally, takes shape like moving smoke. Another time you softly call his name, slowly coming up to Simon's and his brother’s bedroom.

It's cracked open very slightly, the shine of light coming from the slit. It illuminates the dying flowers placed neatly on a bookshelf. You move to open the door, but before you can get there, you feel a tap on your shoulder.

The hairs on the back of your neck rise, the subtle warm breath from someone else hitting your skin. It felt wrong, and in the back of your mind you knew who it was, what he was doing. You whipped around, the fear having already seeped into your eyes. You were ready to shield yourself, stare into the tall figure that looked like the personification of death.

The scream that erupted from your lungs, weren't only of fear but also from genuine shock. The figure wasn't tall like you had expected, instead you had to glance downwards to meet the eyes behind a white skull mask. You stumble backwards, crashing your body against the door and falling all the way down to the floor.

The boy stands above you, a fit of psychotic little giggles come from him which make your stomach churn with disgust. He holds a butterknife in his hand. It's the only reason you haven't gotten up yet as you stare at his display, trying to mimic his father.

"Tommy what are you doing!" you shout out offended. You hope it covers the tinge of fear you carry. In no universe should Simon's little brother look like this, in no world should he be able to scare you this badly.

The antsy sensation isn't just from the initial surprise, it swirls in your blood at the sight of a raised knife. It doesn't matter that it isn't sharp, it doesn't even matter that it's not directly pointed at you.

It makes you remember. The late nights, the early mornings, the fights that took place within your own home. The list of threats you'd heard, you could recite them as clear as your favourite quote from your favourite book.

"Tommy...put down the knife." You don't hear the tremble in your voice but he does. He tilts his head; a line of light falls over the skull mask. His eyes are illuminated beneath it, they carry nothing but distaste for you.

He's never liked you. You were fine with that, but this is just too far. Where was Simon anyway!? If Tommy was home then he should be as well, maybe even his mother if anything at all.

Like a saving grace, an angel sent from the heavens, you hear his uncertain voice call out shakily.

"Tommy what are you doing, give that to me."

Simon pulls you even closer to his form, your legs shift from how you're sitting halfway into his lap. He had practically forced you this close when you started to complain about the cold. Not that you minded the proximity itself.

"Are you sure we can't just lock a room, so he won't disturb us?" You nuzzle closer into his side. A big breath exits your lungs, it rises upwards like a little cloud. His arm pulls your jacket closer around, his hand settling on your waist to give you a little squeeze.

"We're fine here," he mumbles into your hair "got you all to myself."

"I know," you say exasperated "it's just why would he do that...it's not...its..."

You don't know how to formulate your words right. It's hard to explain exactly what you saw from your perspective on the floor. A terrifying display you never want to see on Tommy's innocent face again. That look was reserved for his father, not that you were any happier seeing it on him either.

"He's been acting up...mood swings and all that" Simon sighs and shakes his head. "He's done it to me too a few times when mom and dad are fighting...I... don’t understand it. Even when dad brought that snake in, he was all giddy...I don't think he really understands," Simon confesses.

"Wait, what snake?!" you manage to pull yourself away from his arms. You stay close in his hold to keep sharing body heat, but you raise yourself on your knees so you're looking down at his face. "Your dad brought a snake into your home, to you, and he just laughed?" you sounded pissed off, and rightfully so you were. He'd never told you this before now.

"Yeah, were years ago now but..." he raises a hand, his thumb brushing over to dull marks above his lips "it bit me."

Your eyebrows furrow and you have to hold yourself back from not yelling out in frustration. You bite down on your own lip hard, and reach a hand up to gently run your fingers over the two scars in the form of dots. He closes his eyes as he feels your skin on his, let's out a shuddering breath. He always gets like this now at your touch, he always seems so affected, always positively.

In the beginning you thought it was just hormones, puberty for him now that you're both well into your teenage years. A round of "Boys will be boys," as your mother would keep saying whenever you told her how you saw the boys at school pick on the girls in the most horrendous ways.

Simon's a boy but you've never seen him be that cruel. And then you started to think it might just be you he's like this with, that to anyone else, any other girl or boy that gets close never gets to see him have this kind of reaction.

He opens his eyes and your breath catches in your throat with an ugly little sound. It makes you snort, giggling into your hand as you listen to his rumble of a chuckle. His arms snake around your waist, bring you in closer, pressing your bodies up against each other as much as can be.

He looks up at you like you're the only person in the world.

Like you're everything to him, as if you were to go his world would collapse around him. And you know it's true because you feel the same way. If he were to ever leave, you wouldn't know how to function, you wouldn't have an escape from the abuse, a person to keep you afloat when you're drowning.

You lean down a little to place a soft peck just above his lips, on the dotted scars.

You're not sure what true love is, but if you'll ever have a chance at it, it has to be this. There can be no other explanation for that glint in his eye reserved only for you.

He looks at you with pure love.

Soap looks at you expectantly. The dull sounds of the mess hall fill your ears again, you didn't even realize you zoned out. You only pray it wasn't for an unusually long time.

"We knew each other way back, before he joined the military I think." You try your best to play it off as not a big deal. As if you hadn't been in deep with him once upon an easier time. You doubted Simon would want to bring more attention to it than necessary when it came to his teammates.

"Before? Woah, can finally say ah know someone who knew the legendary ghost before he became ghost." He sounds pleased with himself. You don't understand the difference.

Like speaking of the devil himself, the tall dark figure with a mask you wanted to rip off him, emerged into the hall. It didn't turn many heads, but the way you whipped your head dramatically brought Soap's attention to him as well.

"Well...speak of the devil..." he mumbled. You could hear the smile on his lips without looking.

It's a bit late to come in for lunch, but when you think about it you didn't see him go eat with the others, while you were actively avoiding them. He would always retreat into his own room or office, like you would do.

Both you and Soap watches as he goes up to select what his lunch will be. Occasionally you glance towards Soap, observing his interest in Simon, you try to gouge at their relationship. They'd likely be good friends, having a soldier camaraderie for years now. It made you wonder if Soap would now qualify as one to know more about the boy you used to be so close with, than you do yourself.

You look back to Simon, trying to get a proper glimpse of his mask again. You have to bite back an annoyed groan when they flood your vision again.

The shadows encompass his mask all around. They block out the once dirty white with a coal black. It moves around like a mass, obscuring his face, his head taking on spiky ends, then blocky, then smooth. It makes him look like the creatures in the mirrors, the only thing left being the uncanny clear view of his eyes.

They're so visible to you that they freak you out more than the moving shadows, looking straight out of an uncomfortable picture you'd find on the internet. When he finally picks up his food and turns to your direction, your breath catches in your throat with an ugly little sound.

Soap looks at you concerned, but you wave him off quickly taking a big gulp of your water.

You look back to see exactly what you thought it was. You'd recognize that look on him anywhere from just his eyes. People say eyes are the windows to someone's soul, you don't know if you believe it for everyone else or even yourself, your eyes look so dull in the mirror, but for Simon it's the truest statement you've heard.

Despite the time apart, that look is burned into your retinas. It's been an image you clung to over the years, you last remnant of him, something to remind you of what you once had.

And he's looking towards you, like he used to do.

He's looking towards you with an expression you haven't seen in person in years.

He's looking towards you with a look of love you'd never think you'd see on his face again.

He's looking towards you with such devotion that someone like you doesn't deserve from someone like him.

You realize it too late. You glance away from Simon and look to the man sitting in front of you

He looks at you with pure love.

He's not looking at you.

Are you seriously jealous over a man you haven't seen in years?

You know it's pathetic. You know it's nonsensical. You know you shouldn't.

Yet you pace back and forth in your room, the shadows louder than they've ever been in months. They corner you in on every side, lunge out at you when you get too close to the walls. Their thousand little voices overlap in a chorus of insults.

Vile, pathetic, weak, useless, killer.

Your hands raise up to cover your ears but it does nothing to dampen the intensity. Your clothes feel too tight on your body, the air too humid, a certain place in the room burning hot with agony and shame. The little space under your bed. The bag with the letters that once brought you comfort.

They burn hot even from a distance. A rush of hot and cold going through your bloodstream. Ice beneath your skin one moment and boiling blood the next.

Did he ever even look at you like that? Wasn't it different back then? He had the dumb puppy love for you none of that was real.

"Shut up," your voices breaks in your throat and comes out a meek whisper.

Just take a look at those pathetic letters.

"No..."

Each one of them so much later than the next. Spaced out perfectly to leave you in the dark, first a week then two then a month then two months then...

"Shut it!" you shout out with the animalistic ferocity you've been taught. The shadows retract slightly, giving you more room to breathe. Normally you try to ignore the voices that go through your head, you've found answering them only encourage their absurd bait. They could taunt you all they wanted. Voices instilled by vile men in your life, repeated over and over and over and over and over.

Until they manifested themselves within your skull and refused to leave.

In a way you know the things you are seeing aren't real, but it feels so solid. All of it just your fragmented mind trying to make sense of what you were forced to see. None of it could be real.

Sometimes you think that you could actually reach out and touch them, but anytime you've tried they just retract further away from you. You've always hated how it swims in your vision, distracts you from what's actually important.

You look towards the bed, under it, the bag, the letters that almost flood out of it from where you've thrown it. They call to you, scream at you so silently. Your legs are sluggish like walking through water as they carry you there. Your fingers touching what feels like knives as you pull out the nearest letter.

The little piece of paper he left on your bed before he left for the military.

You read quietly, the whisper barely even audible on your lips.

To my love, my dear little spider

I'm sorry that I have to go. Don't fall apart without me, okay?

See you soon, your Simon

Likes, Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, love ya! <3

Taglist: @chickennn-soupp @unlikelyaperson @ghostlythots @lilynotdilly @islnd-vybz @spicyspicyliving @kaoyamamegami

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temis-de-leon · 2 days

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Day 14 - Kiss on a dare

Characters: Belphegor x male!MC

25 kisses challenge Masterlist

Main Masterlist

CW: none, they're just teasing each other a little bit. Pre-established relationship

A/N: thanks to those who said they liked Day 13, it made me feel better :)

MC didn’t understand why no one would wake up Belphie during classes. Finals were right around the corner and the teachers demanded more effort than ever, not caring about their baggy eyes or their stressed behaviour. It reached a point were some of the students were crying in the hallways, one of them even using his shoulder as a tissue. The poor thing was so distraught that MC couldn’t find himself to be upset about his ruined shirt.

Good thing he had Satan as a tutor. He’d have to make sure to treat him for a coffee as a 'thank you' gift.

Looking at his side during those dreadful classes and seeing the demon peacefully sleeping the hours away made him feel extremely guilty, even if it wasn’t his responsibility. He tried waking him up once and Belphie only looked at him with blurry eyes for a second before going back to slumber.

“Don’t worry about me, MC” he had said that night with a pleased smile, delighted at his concern “I’ll pass the exams with no problems. You should worry about yourself instead”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t be mad, I’m just joking”

Belphie laughed at his defensiveness, nuzzling the crook of his neck. The close contact made MC’s limbs tingle in excitement and he wasted no time in hugging him back, even when his words offended him.

“Well, you should know I’m studying as hard as I can and even more”

“Okay”

“I will pass”

“Sure”

He was teasing him, which was the norm coming from Belphie, and maybe it was MC’s lack of sleep compared to the demon’s nonchalance, but it still riled him up.

“Wanna bet?”

Belphie scoffed, sinking further into the mattress.

“Who do you think I am? Mammon?”

“Just say you’re scared of losing, Belphie. It’s okay, I won’t judge you”

He pulled away, equally insulted, leaving a cold spot beside his body.

“I’m not scared”

His frown twisted his face, but MC couldn’t help but laugh, which only aggravated him further.

“Fine, then! Let’s bet! If you pass, I’ll take you out for dinner”

The proposition surprised him, but not as much as the blush across his face did. Even in the dark of the attic, Belphie was so pale it made the red of his cheeks extremely noticeable. A few seconds passed in silence before MC finally opened his mouth, but he was interrupted.

“And if I pass… You’ll give me a kiss”

His voice was low, but firm. He clearly knew what he wanted, but MC wasn’t sure how to feel. Belphie looked so serious, but how could he get the necessary grade when he didn’t even pay attention in classes? On the other hand, he offered a dinner in case he passed. And what if they both did? Would that end up being a date?

Not trusting his voice, MC ended up nodding and Belphie finally laid down again against him before quickly falling asleep.

He had been too distracted to study the next day, thinking about the bet and Belphie’s flustered expression the whole time, and Satan was quick to notice his behaviour.

“May I remind you, MC, we don’t have time to spare. If you have something in mind, say it; otherwise, focus and listen to me”

He could notice his entire body buzzing in expectation, vision blurring the paragraphs in the textbooks and reorganizing them to form Belphie’s offers. His face was engraved in his mind, the shade of red and the purple of his eyes shining in the darkness.

MC would rather spill his guts and die of mortification than make Satan angry for wasting his time.

To his surprise, however, when he explained the whole situation, the first thing the blond did was laugh at him. It was a mixture of pity and amusement that confused MC.

“Don’t you know Belphie is a top student?” he asked, obviously enjoying himself “He’s able to listen and memorize while sleeping. Obviously he’s going to pass!”

He laughed again, delighted at his embarrassment.

MC felt like a fool. An excited, smitten, blindsided fool, but a fool nonetheless.

“And he knows you’re also going to pass thanks to my help” Satan continued speaking as if it was an obvious fact “Seems to me you’re both going to win the bet”

Studying for the rest of the evening after that was proved to be impossible, not with his heart beating so fast it was making him feel sick.

In the end, it did look like he was going on a date with Belphie after all.

Nice.

Taglist: @ourfinalisation @owlisbuffering @chizukimp4 @ravenredwine @darkflowerav @beatlebeesstuff @mehkers

#obey me #obey me! shall we date?#om! shall we date #om! swd #obey me x reader #obey me x male reader #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #obey me belphagor x reader #obey me belphie x reader #belphegor x reader #belphie x reader #obey me fluff #obey me writing #obey me drabble #25 kisses challenge

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thelonelyarchon · 3 days

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📮RETURN TO SENDER ᯓᡣ𐭩

007 - first love pt. 2

tw/s: grammatical errors, spelling errors, blocks of text, cursing

note: huge block of text after [name]'s tweet

EXCUSING yourself from the seats lined up in the front, you ducked as much as you can so you can leave the place quiet without disturbing any further the ones focusing beside you. Yanfei looks at you with a slightly raised eyebrow and you mouth, “Restroom.”

It took a lot of effort to get through the sea of people watching and once you finally got through it, you rushed to the women’s room. Thankfully there was no line as everyone was too preoccupied with the show to go relieve themselves. Chiori’s outfits was captivating, so much so that no one can take their eyes off them.

The theme of “First Love” being tied with spring is a genius marketing strategy, you think. As you make a curved turn right at the corner of the women’s comfort room, you thought loudly, “Who’s going to be the last model?”

You thoughts were interrupted when you collide with a soft, but firm chest of a guest. You let out a soft gasp as you lost your footing. He grabs your arm and steadies you with ease. You were thankful for his help or else you’d be on the floor.

“A-ah! Thank you for-”

“[Name?]” The man said. You looked up only to be met with soft eyes that shined like rubies in the night. Your lips parted ever so slightly. Though you were shocked, nothing compared to the surprise on the gentlemen’s face.

“Yes? I’m [name]. Have we met before?”

“Ah, no. I just know you from somewhere. You’re a student from Sumeru Akademiya, right?”

“Oh! How’d you know? Are you also a student?”

“Yeah. I’m Cyno. Spantamad student. ” he laughs a little. There was a slight tinge of awkwardness there but you brushed it off as nerves rather than something else. His warm laughter fills your ear like honey. You can’t help but smile; glad to hear that someone from the same school as you was invited to the show.

“Nice to meet you, Cyno! Say, are you here with someone?” You asked. He grows silent.

“A-ah you could say that. I’m here to support a friend.” He said meekly.

“Oh! So your friend’s a model?” You smile widely. Maybe that friend of his already walked the runway. He nods.

“How about you?” Cyno asks.

“Oh, I’m with friends. Maybe you’ve met them? They go to the Akademiya, too. Yanfei from Vahumana, Hu Tao from Haravatat, and Dunyarzad from [darshan name] like me.” You smile.

Cyno does a double take at what you said. Your gaze flitted side to side with the peculiar reaction he gave. Have you said something wrong?

“D-dunyarzad? Dunyarzad Homayani?” He stutters.

“Yeah… do you know her?” She asks.

“N-nothing! I just think I’ve heard her name somewhere.” By now, the obvious sign of anxiety was plastered all over Cyno’s face and body language. The way his hand trembles and the way the small beads of sweat began to form on his forehead gave it away for you.

“I see. Well, I shouldn’t keep you waiting,” you notice how his eyes were wandering around. “If you’ll excuse me. I have to use the bathroom. I don’t want to miss any more from the show.”

Cyno looks behind him to see the women’s bathroom sign and he lets out a small sound and laughs. He gestures for you to go in. “Go ahead. It was nice meeting you.”

You hadn’t even replied yet and he’s off sprinting back to the venue. You tilt your head in confusion.

What was that?

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TAGLIST: @makimakimi @yura-4life @matchablossomsss

#lily's corner | soc med au 🧸☁️₊˚⊹⋆#genshin impact #genshin men #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x reader fic #alhaitham x fem reader #al haitham x femreader #al haitham #alhaitham #alhaitham x reader socmed au #socmed au #social media au #genshin #alhaitham x y/n #alhaitham x female reader #alhaitham x reader angst

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loobiino · 2 months

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LOOBII is a fictional boy group debuted under DASK RECORDS, they are famous for their fresh sound and their amazing visual. They consist in: JUNO, HIDEYOSHI, SAEM, ZYON and JE… —- find more in this page!

blog ran by MON ( she / her ) !

ATTACHED LINKS: MAIN BLOG. DISCLAIMER. BLOGROLL. AESTHETIC PAGE.

𓂂 𝆬 ✶. ⸻ INFORMATION… the basics of loobii!

INTRO. ━ PROFILES. ━ THE VOICES OF LOOBII.

𓂂 𝆬 ✶. ⸻ THE VISUALS… take a look at the faces of the group!

JUNO. ━ HIDEYOSHI. ━ SAEM. ━ ZYON. ━ JE.

𓂂 𝆬 ✶. ⸻ CAREER… everything you need to know about their discography, artistry and more!

GROUP DISCOGRAPHY:

to be added!

SOLO DISCOGRAPHY:

to be added!

SCHEDULES / COUTURE:

to be added!

𓂂 𝆬 ✶. ⸻ DEVELOPMENT… the prose and scenarios of loobii!

to be added!

𓂂 𝆬 ✶. ⸻ CONNECTIONS… a whole panoramic into their personal relationships!

to be added!

𓂂 𝆬 ✶. ⸻ BREAKING NEWS… when they happens to be on the news!

THEIR SCANDALS (1/?). ━ JUNO SOLO.

𓂂 𝆬 ✶. ⸻ SNS… take a look into their social media and their interactions with fans!

𓂂 𝆬 ✶. ⸻ BEHIND THE CURRAINS… get to know them behind the curtains of their idol life!

𓂂 𝆬 ✶. ⸻ AESTHETIC… this tag take you into their aesthetic!

𓂂 𝆬 ✶. ⸻ ASKS… the tag will answer your questions!

𓂂 𝆬 ✶. ⸻ MISCELLANOUS… extras staff about loobii!

POSTED: 02.03.24 _ LAST UPDATED: 02.03.24

ib: @venusvity

#✶.˚ we shine as one ‎⸃ masterlist.#tried to make it look cute…#ficnetfairy #fake kpop boy group #fictional kpop boy group

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kiwisbell · 7 months

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Honey-Do [joel miller]

It’s Sunday, chore day, and Joel has a honey-do list item of his own: get his girl pregnant.

my masterlist!

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings: pre-outbreak joel, married!joel, pure fluff and smut, slight au, body worship, some cock worship, handyman!joel, malewife!joel, joel “my wife doesn’t lift a finger in this home” miller, vague daddy undertones, overstimulation, joel miller is a munch, oral sex (m and f receiving), unprotected PIV (wrap it up unless you’re joel), creampie, breeding kink, actual breeding, talks of pregnancy, pregnancy kink, domestic bliss, joel’s love language being acts of service and by that i mean putting a baby in his wife, competence kink

word count: ~ 10k (someone stop me)

read on ao3!

a/n: hello, lovelies!! i received this ask ages ago and the idea inevitably snowballed because who is self-control?? does she go to a different school? anyway, this fic is pure plotless domestic fluff and domestic smut (is that a thing? yes!), so i really hope you all enjoy! pre-outbreak joel is very special to me xoxo

HONEY-DO

Your shared bedroom looks out over the eastern sunrise. A mutually-assured vigil, keeping one another safe—and timely.

In the mornings, the golden light spills through the break in the curtains. It will peek slowly inside and gently warm your body awake, testing the limits of its power. When you roll over and make a soft groan of protest in your sleep, seeking more warmth, the little strip of sunlight will widen, directing you. You will find the body next to yours, nuzzling close, your nose bumping his bare chest, and settle happily against it. In return, his body will seek yours, symbiotic exchange, a greedy arm pulling you closer.

In frustration, the sun grumbles it way higher in the sky, shining brighter and spreading wider.

It takes a couple tries to get it right: to shine in just the right way to make you blink rapidly awake, squinting in the glow. You gradually come to life, your lungs sucking in the first deep breath of morning air, your naked body stretching like a cat in the sunspot. Dust hovers lazily in the air, heralding a Sunday occupied by chores. The room is still, silent, and kissed by morning rays. Peaceful.

You examine him in the light: tanned skin sparkling gold, plush lips slightly parted, broad chest rising and falling. His hair is pleasantly tousled from sleep. There are patches of silver beginning to thread through his dark brown beard, and in your self-sustaining state of affection, you gently put your lips to one of the patches of skin where hair does not grow.

Your persistence grows with every second he refuses to wake. It may be a bit petulant, your lips smattering soft kisses across his jaw, beneath his ear, down to his neck and all its veins, but it begins to work. He stirs, groaning softly, turning onto his side and wrapping both arms around your waist. He does all of this without opening his eyes, resting his head on your belly and nuzzling against you as if he could get any closer—sated, for now, his body knowing nothing but the pull toward you.

You comb your fingers through his messy hair and listen to him breathe while he listens to your heartbeat.

“It’s ten,” you whisper.

“Hmph,” he says against your belly. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet; if you didn’t know his breathing patterns like they were mapped out in the lines of your palms, you would think he’s still sleeping.

“We slept in,” you point out.

Joel gently bumps his forehead into your stomach as if he were banging his head against a wall. “Shit,” he grumbles.

You laugh as his moustache tickles your skin. “Do you want to get up now?”

Another grunt, accompanied by a shake of his head. Big, strong arms pull you closer.

“I’ll make you breakfast,” you coo, stroking his hair away from his face. “Eggs… bacon… coffee…”

Joel presses his lips to your belly. “Don’t go takin’ my job, now,” he says, his voice groggy with disuse. “No girl of mine’s gonna run around gettin’ her own damn coffee.”

“Hmm. Means you have to move, Romeo.”

This earns a playful smack to the side of your thigh, his big, callused hand kneading your flesh while he wakes himself up with mouthfuls of your scent—linen and vanilla—and gulps down the sunlight glowing on your skin.

“Never mind,” you sigh, dreamy and complacent under his attention.

His eyes finally crack open, peering up at you, honey-brown pools touched by the golden light. He rests his chin on your belly and keeps his arms wrapped around your hips. His fingers trace shapes up and down your lower back. “You got a honey-do list?” he asks with a crooked grin.

Your tongue wets your bottom lip. “That depends. Can I get you to mow the lawn without a shirt on?”

“What do I get if I do?” he teases, his hand moving to your hip, contouring his hand to the shape of you.

You lift a brow, easing your legs apart underneath his body, letting him feel the warmth between your thighs. Like a moth to the goddamn flame, his eyes wide and eager, Joel crawls down your body with his mouth on your belly. Pausing just above your naked cunt, he blows cool air onto your clit and watches you squirm.

“After,” you gasp. “After chores, honey. We’ll never get up if we start now.”

“Don’t think I can make my woman come in good time?” he challenges, his palms keeping your thighs spread. Your pretty pussy glistens before his eyes, better than any fuckin’ breakfast. He begins to salivate.

Your head falls back into the pillows. “I never said that.”

Joel isn’t listening anymore. He kneads your thighs as he peers at you above your belly, your tits, to the curve of your jaw as you lie comfortably. Good. His baby ain’t about to get herself worked up on a Sunday morning.

He lowers his face just enough to let you feel his lashes tickling your lower belly, and you giggle his name, the sound pure adrenaline to his blood. You're so soft and supple under his fingers, moulding to his touch, letting him take care of you. You may be in charge of him, but this is where he takes control.

He presses a soft kiss to your clit and you sigh, your head turning toward the direction of the sun. It warms your face while your husband slides his tongue through your wet slit, lazily and sleepily, as though he's operating on instinct alone. Gathering up your wetness on his tongue, he groans, his fingers dimpling your thighs.

“Taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he murmurs. “Fuckin’ made for me.”

“Oh, God,” you whisper, your eyes fluttering. “Baby…”

That sweet little whine is poison. He cannot do anything but continue to drink you down, flicking his tongue against your clit. He's a sucker and he's always been. Your pretty fuckin’ smile from across the bar that first night; your tight black dress and the too-sweet cocktail you smooth-talked him into ordering that had his adenoids prickling; your instinct for sensing others’ troubles and your uncanny ability to make them feel like they have none at all. He never stood a chance.

He knows for a goddamn fact every man in the bar that night wanted to do to you what Joel is doing now: lapping up your juices with his tongue, spit mingling with arousal, warming his body between your thighs under the watch of the mid-morning sun. But he got you. Joel. He bought you a drink and he took you on a date. He got to taste your pretty pussy and he got to sit you on his dick—after the second date, that is.

He's the one who gets to wake up with you, share matching gold bands around your fingers, kiss you freely. As far as he's concerned, he's the luckiest guy on the fuckin’ planet.

He feels particularly green when your back arches, your lips parting around his name, relishing in the feeling of his mouth on your clit. You're unashamed to take pleasure, never shy about telling him Oh, fuck, yes! Right there, honey! Joel, yes, that feels so good, baby.

Joel preens with pride. His hot tongue glides over your clit, smooth and wet, easily coaxing you to a languid high. The golden spotlight through the curtains shines on you. You're the starlet and he's the adoring fan. From the first day, he knew he'd do anything to make you notice him.

“This wasn’t your first bar fight, was it?”

Plucking pieces of glass out of his bloodied knuckles, you looked up through your lashes at Joel, who had been staring at you since you sat him down in the bathroom. Okay—a little longer than that.

He shook his head.

You just smiled at him and gently shook your head. About as much reproach as he would get. “This might sting. Just hold on tight if you need to.”

“Like the sound of that,” he said quietly, and if you heard, you didn't comment. You guided his hand under the warm water and washed the rest of the blood from his knuckles, gently smoothing the pads of your fingers over his rough worker’s hands. Capable, you thought, idly watching the blood swirl into the drain. He barely winced when you put his hand under.

“Wanna tell me why you did it?” you asked him, your tone soothing and sweet.

Joel shrugged. Big, broad shoulders. Humbly strong, until someone made him show it. “Ain't manly to touch a woman like that.”

You lifted your brows. “But it's manly to beat the shit out of the guy who touched her?”

Joel studied your face. Cherry-red lip gloss. Gently flushed cheeks from a healthy couple drinks. The instinctual rise and fall of your chest as you breathed, the lighting shifting gently over your collarbones. It was fascinating just to watch you breathe. Even cleaning his bloody knuckles, you slowly circled the pad of your thumb over the back of his hand, like an innate urge to comfort. Your eyes had an old wisdom to them; a particular gleam a person gained when they were familiar with the hardships life had to offer.

He wanted to ask you. He wanted to know everything. He wanted to do more than beat up some asshole who thought he could get away with pinching your ass.

But he would earn it. A real man earned what he got.

“Didn’t beat the shit out of him. Just roughed him up,” he says.

He watched you bite down on a smile. “You're a little twisted, Joel.”

“Yeah?” He smirked, eyes flicking to your dewy lips, coated with that gloss. “Think so?”

“Yeah.” You licked your bottom lip and he wondered if you tasted like cherries. “But I'm going to ask you on a date anyway.”

Your fingers curl in Joel’s messy hair, making him groan into your pussy. “Oh, baby,” you gasp, cracking your heavy eyes open to watch him lap at you, practically petting his hair away from his face as his big brown eyes remain fixed to yours.

He purrs, suckling your clit between his lips, his eyes eagerly drinking in the sight of your flushed, tightening body. Making you come is one thing. Watching it is another. Your back arches and your fingers pull on his hair. Scalp prickling, Joel grips your thighs tighter. He’d let you peel away pounds of his flesh if it made you happy. He’d go eagerly to the grave knowing he had put some good into the world, put some light in your eyes.

“Joel, I’m… I’m coming—ah!” you cry, your thighs squeezing his head, your sensitive clit pulsing under his tongue as your pussy contracts around itself, seeking something nice and big to grasp onto. His cock is aching, his hips grinding idly against the mattress for relief, his head fuzzy from the pleasure of making you feel good. Your body slowly melts into the bed, your limbs twitching as the tension in your muscles loosens, your lips parted permanently around his name.

Eyes drooping and teary, you try to find him between your thighs, gently stroking his hair away from his face as it begins to fall into his big brown eyes. “Need a haircut,” you croak.

Joel hums, his head listing to the side, using your soft thigh as a pillow. He nips you playfully, your skin a golden path he intends to follow to the end. His hands caress your hips, helping you come down to Earth. You admire the delectable convex slope of his nose, the way it curves deliciously against your skin when he kisses, bites, inhales. He’s freckled and indented with the signifiers of a lived-in life; a good life. His is a likeness you could trace with your eyes closed.

It’s eleven o’clock, and your stomach begins to grumble.

Joel chuckles, pressing a long kiss to your belly. “Gettin’ up now,” he says. “Promise.”

He pulls on a pair of sweatpants, tucking his hard cock away to be dealt with later. Padding down the stairs, Joel is quick to tend to your needs, putting on a fresh pot of coffee. After so long together, his mind operates on autopilot, steering him from the cupboard to the refrigerator and back to the steaming pot, occupied with the menial task of making a good cup. The gentle clinking scrape of the spoon as he stirs your milk into the cup wakes him up until he feels practically revitalised. He keeps his coffee black.

He hears the soft tread of your feet behind him, feels the warmth of your body as you crowd his space, smiles at the way you smooth your palms over the planes of his muscled back in unadulterated admiration. His shoulders are wide, tapering down to the soft belly you’ve nurtured through years of cooking. He’s sturdy and strong and all yours. The sight of him always makes you a bit giddy.

“So handsome,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his middle and pressing your face between his shoulder blades. The buffed claws of his woodsy pine scent hook into the spaces between your ribs.

Joel lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses the wedding band on your finger, the engagement ring above it. “Sit down, baby. Coffee’s ready.”

You grin against his back, nudging your nose into his tanned skin. “Mmm. That sounds good. But I wanna stay here. ‘s nice and warm.”

“Girl of my dreams,” Joel murmurs, reaching around his back and patting your ass. “C’mon, I’ll keep you warm.”

You grumble your way to the little circular table in the kitchen, tucked into the alcove at the front window. It’s a souvenir from your parents' garage sale when they decided to sell their home and move to Austin. As a girl, you’d draw, scratch, and paint on that table, endlessly entertaining yourself by marking things up. Even now, there are remnants of your childhood in the worn grooves and chipped varnish. It fits nicely into your home, perfectly suited to two. It could even fit one more.

You ruminate as you watch Joel carry two mugs to the table. He knows which cup is your favourite: green ceramic decorated with tiny flowers, perfectly contoured to the shape and size of your hands, warming your palms just nicely between sips. Joel’s mug shows its age: white but slightly yellowed from years of use, bigger than yours. The steam of the coffee gently curls into the air, a dance of silvery ribbons in lock-step. They twist together as you purse your lips and blow. The rich, smooth caramel hue of your coffee contrasts the tar-black of Joel’s.

Since you dragged yourself out of bed on shaky legs, you shrugged on the navy T-shirt he tossed aside last night to give his greedy wife access to his chest. You'd carved some decent marks into his skin, now that you're properly looking: tiny bruises sharpening to purple, faint pinkish scratch marks that you don't remember making.

“Baby, I don’t mind,” he says, watching you scan his chest with a frown creasing your brow.

“But it looks painful, honey. You should let me—”

“You don’t gotta do anything,” says Joel, “‘cept come over here.”

Your brows lift coyly, your body sliding out of the chair and into his lap, legs bracketing his strong thighs. His hand finds a home on your lower back, bunching the hem of his shirt up to find your ass bare, your wet cunt sitting nice and pretty on his hard cock. You gasp when the generous length meets your puffy clit with heavy pressure. “Joel…”

Your voice is a mere whimper, a soft little plea for more, or for mercy. Joel’s always had better restraint than you.

“Warmer now?” he asks, like a real arrogant asshole, slipping his hand under the shirt on your body and splaying his fingers over your ribcage, thumb grazing the underside of your breast.

You do feel warmer, crushed up against him like this. You reach behind you and grab your coffee mug, taking a small sip. Your other hand winds around his neck and scratches the tousled hair at the nape of his neck. Joel hums, leaning close, nuzzling his face between your tits.

“Gimme the list,” he says, voice muffled.

You keep on stroking his hair and drinking your coffee between list items. “Mow the lawn. Clean out the eavestrough. Fix the sink.”

“Hmm, easy work,” he says, his other hand sliding up and down your back. It makes you melt into him even more, giving him the chance to tease a nipple between his teeth through the fabric of your shirt. You huff, wiggling your hips, but he's a brick wall. He does not budge. “Gimme yours, baby.”

You recall the items on your own list. “Vacuum the house. Go for groceries. Touch up the paint on the front door. Do the laundry. Cook dinner. Cut your hair,” you add with a playful smile.

Joel frowns against your chest, pulling back to look up into your eyes like a grumpy, needy dog. “You put all that down for yourself?”

You try to placate him with a kiss on his nose. “You work so hard, sweetie. I could use some hard labour once in a while.”

Joel shakes his head. “You aren’t doin’ all that by yourself.”

“No?” You lift your brows. “Wanna buy it off me, Mr. Miller?”

“I’ll win ‘em from you,” he says, tilting his head back to kiss your jaw. “Name the price.”

You bite your lip and chase his mouth, plush and soft under that dark moustache. “I’ll think on that. Meantime, you can get to work on that lawn while I watch from the comfort of the front porch. That sound fair?”

Joel’s old Southern values rear up every now and then, imparted by his mother and his father’s mother before. Putting in an honest day’s work will make his wife comfortable and happy. He doesn't want you lifting a finger around this home if he's perfectly capable of doing the job himself. He works with his hands all day, gets dirty and sweaty. You shouldn't have to—not when you work so damn hard every other day of the week.

Joel nips your chin. “Fine. But I ain’t gonna forget that I owe you.”

“Wouldn't dream of it, baby.”

Joel finishes his coffee, but you take your time with yours, changing into a short blue sundress while Joel, regrettably, puts a pair of jeans and a shirt on. Curling your legs up on the porch swing, you watch your man start the lawnmower, enthralled by the rippling of his back muscles with every pull. You know that some of it’s for show—knowing you're watching makes him want to impress you. Sometimes, he's still the man with the teenaged crush on the girl, doing everything he can and going out of his way to make you smile. It works.

He’s methodical: making lines up and down the lawn, shearing away the too-long blades of grass under the motor. As sweat begins to bloom under his collar and his brow, he wipes his forehead with his forearm and you lick your lips, saliva pooling in your mouth at the thought of running your tongue all over his strong, naked body. Jesus. You finish off your coffee and force your eyes away from your husband for a moment. It isn't too hot from where you sit on the wraparound porch, but your chest feels sticky.

You rush inside to fill up a glass of water for him, hastily scrubbing your mug clean and putting it back in the cupboard. Maybe you should be occupying yourself with your chores today; you worry nothing will get done if you continue to watch him work in the Texas sun.

He’s just finishing when you shoulder your way back outside, his neck glistening with sweat and golden noon-hour light, warm and tempting. You set the glass on the railing and wait for him to come your way, squeezing your thighs together as your eyes trail up and down his body.

He's always been a capable man, broad and tall—so good at his job that he was offered a promotion after a few months. But it isn't just his strength or his doggedness when it comes to getting his work done. It's the way he’s so eager to finish things, to check off the items on your list, to please you. He frowns at the idea of you doing too much work. He parades you around town with a puffed-up chest, as if to announce, This is my wife. I’m her husband and I’m fucking proud. He takes your pleasure so seriously that it feels like a competitive sport—always outdoing himself, always striving for more. He loves selflessly, and yet he loves just selfishly enough to make sure the world knows you're his.

He’ll be a good daddy.

You glance down at your belly and let yourself picture it: swollen and round, ballooning big enough to fit a new life inside. You imagine smoothing your hand over a growing bump, Joel’s warm palms feeling the undulating kicks of a little baby inside, half of him and half of you. You picture back aches and swelling feet and insatiable cravings and expended energy. And not a part of it deters you. Not a speck of your willpower wavers, the way it would have mere months ago.

Something has changed. It may have been gradual and it may have been sudden. But it's new, all the same. It’s been this way since a week ago, when you looked in your nightstand at your little pink pill organiser labelled by weekday, and decided: No more.

Watching Joel make his way back to you, shielding his eyes from the light, you idly place your hand on your belly. Something new. A welcome change, you think, to have someone new sitting at our little table.

Joel climbs up the steps to the porch and gulps down the glass of water. “Thank you, baby,” he says, wiping his mouth. Your lips part as if to taste the air around him, to chew, to savour, relishing the richness.

Your pupils expand, taking in more of him, and Joel notices, placing a rough hand over yours where it rests on your belly. “You’re lost in thought, honey. Wanna tell me what's in that pretty head?”

“Just…” Your tongue wets your bottom lip. “Thank you for doing that. I know it's a big job.”

“Ain’t nothin’,” says Joel, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Got any idea how I can win those chores off you?”

Hands grasping your hips, sliding over your sweat-slick spine, saccharine noises slipping from your throat onto your tongue and out into the open air. Fingers imprinting permanent fixtures into your ribs. The heady weight of his big, fat cock wrenching you open, as it always does, slow until it isn't anymore. Desperation kicking in, a switch flipped, pummeling and brutal and unforgiving. Uncompromising. Hips pressed flush to your ass, nothing spilling out. Not a drop.

Everything sealed in tight as promises are exchanged as whispers in the dark.

“I want you to put a baby in me.”

All right. You could have been more delicate about it. Not precisely how you wanted to approach the topic, but it seems to get the job done.

Looking down at you, Joel slowly lowers the empty glass, mouth opening as he searches for words. “What?”

There’s no point in shyness or hesitation. You know your body, your mind, your heart. You thread your fingers through Joel’s and let them stay connected over your stomach. “I want you to give me a baby, Joel Miller,” you say softly, your gaze locked to his. “That's my price.”

Joel swallows thickly, his mouth still gaping. “I heard you,” he rasps. “Just… you… you mean it?”

You try not to melt over the tone of his voice: low, bordering on desperate, wanting. There’s hunger in the sound of it. “We’ve talked about it,” you offer, conciliatory. “Lots of times.”

“Yeah, we have.” Joel steps closer, his eyes dipping from your eyes to your mouth, your throat and collarbones, to your belly. His hand flexes. “You gotta be sure. You gotta know it's what you want.”

You cup his face and give him your best smile. It's the sort of smile he remembers from the very first night you met. The sort of person who is unashamed to show their joy on their face. “Honey, I want it all with you.” Your fingers squeeze his. “We’ve waited so long and I don’t want to wait anymore.”

His ears are ringing. All Joel can do is sweep you into his arms and grin into your throat, his hand firm on the back of your head, curling around a fistful of hair. “Girl of my fuckin’ dreams,” he mumbles against your skin. “I’ll make you a momma. Give you just what you want. Everything you want.”

As you close your eyes and open your ears to his ramblings, your erratic heartbeat settles. Serenity finds the pair of you, locked together on your front porch, and the next part of your life begins.

“Don’t think this gets us out of doing chores,” you tease.

“You aren’t gonna lift a goddamn finger,” says Joel fiercely, his lips still littering kisses all over your neck. “You’re havin’ a baby.”

“Honey, I’m not pregnant yet,” you laugh. “I don't need to get all lazy right away.”

“Yeah, you do, and you will. I’m gonna make you the laziest momma in Texas,” says Joel, smiling into your throat, the scratch of his moustache making you dizzy with laughter. “Gonna look so fuckin’ beautiful with a baby in you. Gonna glow like a goddamn firefly. Shit, we need to paint the spare room. I need to build a crib, get time off work—”

“Joel,” you coo, scratching your nails up and down the back of his neck. “We’ll have time to do all of that.��

He pulls back to look down at you, eyes so buttery-soft in the shade of the porch that you impulsively reach for his cheek and run your fingers through his patchy beard. “What’s next on my list?” he asks, holding you around the waist.

You tap your fingers gently against his cheek as you recite each item over again. Joel’s arms tighten, pulling you closer, pupils widening.

“And then what?” he says gruffly.

You beam, and he's so fucking in love that he may keel over, doubled by the intensity of his affection. “And then, you're going to take me to bed and put a baby in me.”

This phenomenon should be studied: how quickly Joel Miller speeds through his chores when he has enough incentive. The anticipation of bending you over on the mattress and wringing every drop of cum from his balls until your stomach swells drives each flick of his hand as he touches up the forest-green paint on the front door, weathered slightly by morning sunlight over the years. The image of his hips pressed flushed to you as he grinds deep, spilling his cum into your womb and forcing it to take, motivates every turn of the steering wheel as he drives you to the grocery store in his clunky Chevy.

He’ll need to drive to Benny’s, get the suspension fixed up; no way in hell he's going to let his pregnant wife sit on the old bench of a bumpy pickup truck, not with the speed bumps dotting the neighbourhood. At least there's a good preschool nearby. He pictures taking his baby to school and he preemptively feels the inevitable first swoop of dread into his gut knowing he'll have to watch his little girl disappear behind those doors. He knows, somehow, that it’ll be a girl. There's not a doubt in his mind.

“What are you thinkin’ about?” you ask him, playing with his fingers as he holds your thigh. Joel is a great driver; he steers so easily, one palm sliding smoothly over the wheel, his eyes alert and his speed under control. It’s a little sexy, and it makes you antsy from where you sit on the bench. Sure, there are chores to do and there’s dinner to make, but it’s getting harder to push your innate needs to the back of your mind. You don't know if you can wait all day to get him inside you.

“Names,” he says. “Got lots of ideas.”

“Yeah? Fire away.”

“Well, I like Eleanor. Good, strong, classic name, y’know? Little wordy, maybe. Then there's Mary, Marie, Hannah, and I can tell you don't like any of ‘em,” he finishes with a laugh, squeezing your thigh. Your silence has always been a tell.

“They're very sweet names,” you concede, “but they don't feel like my baby.”

Joel’s hand slides up to your belly and warms you beneath your dress. “Maybe we’ll feel it,” he says, “when we make her.”

“Think it’ll happen on the first try?” you wonder aloud, watching the scenery whiz by outside. It's a sunny, temperate day for Austin. You think about taking your baby for a walk, lounging lazily in a stroller while you say words that fall on deaf ears, but will resonate in due time nonetheless. You think about a little girl that will cling hard to her daddy’s leg when she gets scared of the storms outside, the way you did when you were little. You think about long nights shushing your sweet baby girl to sleep, about those same nights spent nestled into Joel’s body, the three of you dozing idly on the sofa. A unit.

“If it doesn’t, I’ll just have to try again.” You watch his fingers creep back down between your legs and snap the waistband of your panties.

You smack his hand. “If you keep playin’, Mr. Miller, you're gonna have to take me right here, in this truck. You want to give your wife a bad back?”

Joel grunts, patting your thigh. “Dirty play.”

“That's what I thought.”

Back at home, Joel vacuums the house while you manage, some-fuckin’-how, to convince him to let you do the laundry. He fishes debris and runoff out of the eavestrough, then gets down on his bad knees to tighten the plumbing underneath the sink.

“Let me help, sweetie. At least hand you a wrench or something. You'll hurt your back again.”

“I got it,” he grunts from under the sink. “Just a loose pipe. I’m peachy.”

You just sigh and let him carry on, the stubborn bastard. When he stands, the job done, he lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead, and you get a generous glimpse of his belly, the trail of dark hair directing your gaze down, down—

“Joel?” you squeak, wringing your hands together.

He drops the shirt back over his abdomen and steps closer. “Yeah, baby?”

“Are you, um… Are you hungry?”

He understands the particular glint in your eye, the telltale widening of your pupils, the hollow of your throat dipping as you swallow, your lashes fluttering gently. Blood surges down to his cock and it begins to fill out his jeans at the thought of taking what he's waited for all day. “No,” he says, licking his bottom lip. You eye every minute movement with meticulous precision. “Think dinner can wait.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” you say, crowding him and tugging at the hem of his shirt. He watches you prowl slowly toward him, gaze locked to the heady pull of your eyes. His cock twitches with a vested interest in the body now pressed up against him. Joel cannot look away from the siren now calling him to sea.

“That so?” he rasps, bunching the fabric of your dress so it rides up your hip and gives him a good look at your panties. “You dressed up all pretty today. For me?”

You're as coy as a flirtatious schoolgirl, trailing your fingers up and down his muscled bicep. “Always for you.”

“That’s right, baby. You like me lots, don't you?”

“Mmm, I do,” you purr, your hand sliding up his abdomen to his chest, admiring the hard planes of his strong body. “So handsome, strong, generous…” You get lost in your exploration, eyes dipping to his throat, your lips instinctively seeking the delectable vein that pulses with every beat of his heart. “Such a good man. Gonna be such a good daddy.”

Joel’s breath shudders out of him when he feels your soft, warm mouth on his neck, indulging in the taste of him. “Jesus,” he croaks, gripping your hips hard. “Jesus, honey, you gotta go easy on me. Lemme take it slow—”

—or I swear to God, I’ll blow a load in my jeans.

“You wanna undress me?” you say, like a real fucking tease, pulling away and tugging playfully at the straps of your dress. Joel’s nostrils flare, and he’s walking you back into the wall, cupping the back of your head to protect it, and slanting his mouth over yours.

He’s salty with the sweat that drips from his temples and he still smells of fresh-cut grass. He’s all Joel, all yours, the first gulp of air you breathe in when you wake and the last sigh you exhale before you sleep.

You moan into his mouth as he parts your lips and dips his tongue between them to taste yours. You taste like mint and coffee and he clutches you tighter, wrinkling the fabric of your pretty little dress in his fist. The sunlight filters through the windows, intrusive, bleeding into the moment as if taking a snapshot. Joel kisses you so deeply that your throat feels stained with the gasps of breath you exchange.

You're sweet enough that it makes him ache, bending your back to fit you to him, craving more. Closeness is not enough—he needs possession.

Joel’s kisses are bruising, unforgiving, merciless, but they are also slow, careful. He isn't sloppy; he does precisely what must be done to get you riled. And when he breaks away, his forehead resting against yours, you tug his hair with a pitiful whine.

“I wasn't done,” you tell him.

Joel pouts, mocking. Fingers pull at the straps of your dress until you're watching it pool at your feet. His big hands find your tits immediately, squeezing out all his frustrations, tweaking your nipples and lowering his mouth to your throat.

Your fingers curl into his hair, glueing him to you while he marks your throat, sucking blood to the surface, retribution for the hickeys all over his chest. His warm palms explore your tits the way he likes, and you curve into him, giving him all the access he wants. “Joel, honey—”

Your voice is nectar, warmth from a fire on the Fourth of July, the stomach-cramping laughter around the flame. Joel groans, blindly searching for your hand with his face still nuzzled in your throat, sucking a particularly aggressive bruise that you’ll scold him for later. But he threads his fingers through yours and feels the cool kiss of your twin wedding bands, and your sweet, wispy sighs have him grinding absently against your thigh. You don't have half the mind to get mad at him for a goddamn thing.

He pulls away with a great yank of his self-restraint, still holding your hand. “C’mon, baby.”

You follow dutifully, staring up at your husband with the same moony eyes you gave him on your wedding day. The third stair creaks a bit, the way it always does. The bedroom door is first on the left, and it's a good fucking thing, because Joel can't wait any longer.

He walks you to the edge of the bed, stalking, a predator on prey, focused solely on his task. “Goddamn beautiful,” he says to himself, scanning your mostly-naked body and feeling his eyes droop in arousal.

“Think so?” Your hand drops between your bodies and palms his erection over his jeans. “Yeah, you really think so.”

His nostrils flare. “Sit.”

You lower yourself onto the mattress, primly placing your hands on your thighs and straightening your spine. Joel hums appreciatively, approaching you and slotting himself between your legs. There's a dark wet spot pooling in your panties. “Sweet thing. So needy all fuckin’ day.”

“So were you” is your retort, packing little punch due to the way you push your tits toward him like a fucking whore.

Joel presses his big, warm hand to your sternum. “Remember what you said to me the first time I got you in bed?”

“‘Let’s go again’?”

“The other thing.”

“'Let me suck your dick’?”

“Try again, baby.”

“‘Wrong hole’?”

Joel snorts, shaking his head. “Goddamn smartass,” he mutters. “Told me you wanted me from that first night. Told me you woulda let me fuck you against that bathroom mirror.”

His hand begins to move, rolling your nipple between his fingers like a cigarette, playing with you the way he likes. “Said you’d let me do whatever I wanted,” Joel says quietly, not meeting your eyes, transfixed by the way your body seeks the touch he gives you. “That still true?”

“I meant it then, and I mean it now,” you tell him, pulling your lip between your teeth. “I’m yours, Joel Miller.”

He tilts his head slightly, satisfied. “You got somethin’ you wanna ask me?”

You hook a finger in his belt loop. “Can you get naked now?”

He laughs, guiding your hand to the buckle on his belt. “Go on. Do what you wanna do, baby.”

He belongs to you. He’s yours to mould the way you want.

Your fingers do away with his belt, whipping it out of the loops and hanging it around your neck. Joel’s hands flex at his sides as you toy with the hem of his shirt, bringing it slowly up his torso with your palms flat to his tanned skin.

You imagine you're sculpting him like clay, bringing your hands over the contours and admiring the work when all is done. It’s the artist’s pride of finishing the work and none of the self-reproach when something comes out wrong, because it’s Joel, and wrong becomes negligible.

You bring the shirt over his head with his assistance, lifting his arms for you, tossing the thing aside with little care. His eyes haven't once wavered from you. Next are his jeans, the scrape of his zipper and the delectable anticipation of hooking your fingers in the waistband and guiding them slowly down his hips.

His cock springs forward, thick and heavy and so hard it must ache, as you shuck his jeans down with his boxers. He grunts above you, his cock bobbing at the sight of your pretty lips parting. But you don’t take him into your mouth. You grasp the base of his cock and gently nuzzle your cheek against his length. Something like a strangled whimper leaves his throat.

“Baby,” he chokes.

“Yes, honey?” you say sweetly, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Jesus,” he says through his teeth. “You’re so fuckin' sexy. Fuck.”

You hum, slowly stroking your hand up and down as your tongue darts out to lick his balls. Joel’s hips stutter, his hand flying out to catch himself on the bedpost. “Goddamn. Jesus—”

Your coy smile knocks him askew, your lips pursing as you spit on the head of his cock, spreading your own saliva around the tip with your thumb. “I just wanna thank you”—a soft kiss to the tip has a rumbling groan crawling out of his throat—“for everything you do for me. I just want you to know how much I love you.”

Joel exhales hard, struggling to remember how breathing works when he's got his wife playing with his cock like it's your favourite toy. “How much do you love me?” he demands.

You wrap your fingers around the head of his cock and twist your hand up and down his shaft in a couple slow strokes. You're driving him fucking crazy. His vision is whiting out.

“I love you,” you purr, licking a broad stripe up the underside of his length. Joel’s chest is heaving with the effort of holding back. “Love you so much. Love you enough to make you a daddy.”

Joel caves, threading his fingers through your hair at the nape of your neck and stroking his thumb along your jaw. “Fuck, baby. Please…”

“Do you love me?” Batting your lashes, you scatter measured kisses from his tip to the base, teasingly licking his balls.

“Christ, I—” His hips jut forward instinctively. “I love you. Fuckin’ love you, baby.”

You flick your tongue against his slit and relish his groan, revelling in the sight of his flushed chest, his pink cheeks, the sweat on his brow. His jaw is tense, his nostrils flaring. He’s trying not to take control.

You slap his cock twice on your tongue and finally take it past your lips, sealing your mouth over the head. Joel moans, white-knuckling the bedpost, his other hand now stroking your hair. You fondle his balls in your free hand while the other grips him at the base, and he’s going to come embarrassingly soon if you keep looking up at him this way.

Your tongue swirls around the head of his cock while your lips seal tight, greedily suckling at his tip. Oversensitive, skin prickling with salty sweat, Joel practically breathes through his teeth. “Gonna kill me,” he manages. “You’re gonna kill me, honey.”

“Mmmm,” you reply, happily taking him deeper, his length sliding along the warm wetness of your tongue. Joel’s fingers tighten in your hair.

“Fuuuuck. You love this cock.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Love takin' me into your mouth like a little slut.”

“Mmmmph,” you agree, pushing your tits out.

His hand drifts down to the belt hanging around your neck and he wraps his fist around both ends, tugging so you’re forced to take him deeper. You splutter, breathing hard through your nose, your arousal dripping onto the mattress.

The sloppy sounds of your mouth working his cock send his head spinning. Drool dribbles from the corners of your lips, your eyes squeezing black tears from dewy lashes. And when you take him down your throat, the sound of your choked moan leaves Joel with little choice but to pull out before he comes.

You whine, squeezing your thighs together. He swipes his thumb underneath your eye and shows you the black smudge from your mascara. “Doesn't take much to get you cryin’. You like me that much?”

You bite your bottom lip and beam up at him. “Did I do okay?”

Your faux-innocence makes his dick twitch in your face, and you flick your tongue out to lick at the tip once more. Joel grunts, grasping his belt and tossing it away.

“‘Did I do okay,’” he murmurs, tweaking your nipple between his fingers. “Got no idea after all these years. No idea what you do to me.”

“I just wanna take care of my man. He works so hard, you know, keeping me safe and happy.” You run your hand over his soft belly, the trail of hair that leads down to his cock. “He’s always liked to give me things.”

Joel backs you farther up the bed and crawls over your body, lowering his head to bury his face in your throat. You smell fresh and sweet as vanilla, and when he playfully bites into your skin, your saplike laugh has him grinding helplessly against your thigh.

He loves to give—always has. It’s all he knows. It took a long while for you to get him to unlearn some of his blind selflessness, to let you take control sometimes and care for him instead. Your Joel provides; he does not take. And the prospect of getting to give his wife a baby is turning him to putty in your hands. By the time he gets to work, he’ll be dead-set on his task, hard-pressed to pull out of you. He’ll want to get the job done on his first try, refusing to see you upset if the test comes back negative, but the id will still scratch and claw for another chance to fill you up.

Joel sucks a hickey into your neck and soothes the mark with his tongue, the slow, soft pleasure compounded by the way his warm body covers you, your fingers carding through his locks.

Your voice oozes, honeyed, down his spine. “I love you, Joel.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and crushes his nose in your throat, his hand smoothing down your hair. “I love you.”

“You want to make a baby?”

He rears back slightly, his nose bumping against yours. “Yeah. I really fuckin’ do.”

You grin, lacing your fingers together at the back of his neck. “Will you fuck me? Please?”

Joel brushes his thumb across your chin. “Use your words.”

“I want to be a mom, Joel.” You give him a long, gooey stare, eyes warm and soft as running water. A look like that will make a man give you the goddamn galaxy.

He nods, pressing a soft kiss to your mouth. “I know, baby. I’ll help you. Hands and knees, now.”

The gentle direction moulds your body to the shape of the words. You go easily, your back arching as you rest your weight on your forearms and spread your thighs. The bed dips behind you as Joel settles in, his hands grasping your ass and making you jump.

Your body trembles with excitement. You’re going to be a mom. He's going to get you pregnant. You feel dizzy, bending deeper at the hips and shaking your ass at him, deluded with your own arousal.

But Joel doesn't fuck you right away. No, he bumps up against the backs of your thighs, warm hands branding your skin, and rubs two fingers over the wet spot darkening your panties.

“I do this to you?” he says smugly.

“You know damn well—”

“Wanna hear you say it.” The no-nonsense command triggers a submissive response. “Who did this to you?”

Your body melts against him, presenting your pussy to him like a needy whore. “You, Joel. It’s you, baby. Only you.”

Your babbling makes him squeeze handfuls of your ass, spreading your asscheeks apart to get a good glimpse of the way your pussy drools into your panties. Shuffling backward and lowering himself to his knees on the floor, Joel’s tongue darts out and licks you through your underwear.

“Ohh, fuck!” you gasp. “Joel…”

He hums, tasting your tang through the fabric and finding your puffy clit, sucking gently. You cry out, your fingers grasping the sheets, and Joel moves your panties aside to slather his spit all over your dripping pussy. The languorous movements of his tongue are indulgent, achingly slow; he loves the taste of you as much as you enjoy having his mouth on your cunt.

“Oh my God, Joel… fuck, honey, please—!”

Your thighs are trembling as you struggle to hold yourself up, the strokes of his tongue turning your muscles to soup. He stops to take your panties off, guiding them off your legs, and by now, you're so wet that your juices glisten halfway down your thighs. Joel dives back in and licks up the rivulets of arousal from your skin, all the way back up to your weeping hole.

“So goddamn sweet,” he grumbles, kneading your ass in his hands as he flicks his tongue over your clit a few more times.

“Joel, I’m…” You’re drooling, grinding pathetically into his face, already close to an orgasm, and he isn't fucking letting up.

He wants you as wet and needy as possible, his own cock leaking onto the bedsheets at the prospect of sliding into your creamy pussy.

Your cheeks burn and your muscles lock as Joel makes out with your pussy, his tongue laving over your pearl in slow, aching circles. He drowns in the pleasure of making you feel good. He soaks himself in kerosene and lights the match.

“Oh, fuck!” Your thighs shake around his head and your toes curl, ears ringing with the force of your high. Grasping feebly at the bedsheets, you try not to list, but Joel isn’t fucking stopping, cleaning you up with his tongue like you're a piece of goddamn pie.

His fingers dig into your ass, rapacious as his mouth, and you climb high to a space that transcends the sky, feeling nothing but the linen underneath and the man above, softly kissing your poor, used clit.

He doesn’t let up until you reach back and gently shove his head away, grasping his damp curls. “Baby, let me rest,” you gasp, “just for a second.”

Regretfully, he pulls away, pressing a kiss to each knob of your spine, dragging his nose up your back. “‘m so fuckin’ lucky,” he murmurs against your skin.

“Lucky you didn’t kill me.” You laugh breathlessly, your hips already sore from keeping your ass in the air.

“Makin’ sure you’re ready,” he says innocently, sliding his thick fingers through your slit. You gasp, trying to escape his grasp despite yourself. He just clicks his tongue in reproach. “Nuh-uh, baby. You're gonna stay right here, let me make it good for you. Hmm? Wanna feel good?”

You nod your head frantically. “Yeah, yeah, I do. Wanna be good.”

“Mmm, now, you know that ain't your job tonight,” he says in a mock scold. In the meantime, his fingers soak themselves in your wetness. “Don't think you're ready for me yet.”

“No! No, I’m ready,” you pant, grinding against his erection. Joel grunts, holding your hip in place. “Baby, please, I’m ready for you. Need you so badly.”

“Shhh, sweetheart. I'll give you what you need. Just be patient.” Hands smooth over your ass, between your thighs, and then two fingers are teasing your hole. Joel tilts his head to watch the way he spreads your folds wide. “Gonna fill this up.”

A strangled noise spills from your mouth, your cheeks burning hot at the way he exposes you so tenderly. “Please,” you croak, hiding your face in the crook of your elbow.

He grasps himself and teases the already-wet head of his cock over your pussy, spurting precum onto your hole. “You want a baby?” he asks, low and dark. You luxuriate in the velvet-soft tone. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want a baby,” you whisper, “please. Please give me a baby.”

He readies himself at your tight cunt and the excitement briefly overcomes him, forcing his hips forward and pushing past the wet, gummy seal of your pussy. You gasp, held in place by his hand on your hip.

“What. Do. You. Want?”

“I want to make you a daddy!” you sob. “I want to have your baby and make you a daddy.”

“You want to be a momma?” he says through his teeth, tunnel vision narrowing his focus to the way he slowly guides himself into you, wrenching you open. At this angle, with how wet you are, the glide is delicious, white-hot, his balls heavy with the need to empty inside you. “That it? Want everyone to know who put a fuckin’ baby in you?”

Your husband is so fucking big, so strong, and the way he pins your body down feels close to primal. “Yes! Yes, Daddy, yes! I want to be a momma. Please give me a baby.”

The words put a chisel to his self-restraint and crack down. He’s gone, baring his teeth, pulling your hips toward him and impaling you on his cock, relishing the give of your tight walls and the way he sits snug against your cervix. You mewl, reaching back to find a purchase on his hip. “Joel, fuck…”

He establishes a punishing pace, driving your body farther up the bed with every thrust. “That’s it,” he groans, sliding his palm up your spine. “Gonna look so goddamn beautiful with a baby in you. You were fuckin’ made to take this cock.”

Your moan is syrupy and pitched low, your cheek buried in the mattress, letting him fill you up again, again, again—

“I’ll get you fuckin’ pregnant,” continues Joel, panting through his words, sweat beading on his brow as he runs his hands over your skin. “Stuff you so goddamn full you'll always feel me.”

“Uhhh!” you moan, fisting the sheets, your body practically folded in half to accommodate your husband’s huge body, his thick cock.

Joel wants this, too—has for a long time. It’s hard not to notice the little details. He places his hand on your belly when he isn't even paying attention, his lips finding the soft skin there when he first wakes in the morning. You knew he would have dropped everything to give you a baby the second you demanded it, but you realise you may have underestimated his need.

Joel is growling like a dog, sweat dripping from his temples and back pinching with effort as he holds your body close, glueing you to him, his cock reaching deep, deliberate, mind going numb, intent the only tangible feeling he can grasp onto. Intent and the white-hot drag of his cock against your walls.

You’re going to grow swollen and round with his baby. He will watch your tits grow heavy, your belly bulge, your cheeks take on a ruddy, dewy glow, the telltale mark of his success, his devotion. He’ll wake up every morning wrapped in the scent of your body, your hormones, his palm finding sanctuary on your soft, warm belly. He’ll bury his face in your throat and you’ll smile and the sun will warm the golden spot where a new life grows.

Fuck, he’ll never let you do laundry again. You could hurt your back.

Your head spins at the wet slap of his balls against your clit, the obscene squelch of your pussy around his impressive length, the way he grabs at you. He’s greedy, hands mapping each rib, each vertebrae, every curve and contour that makes you.

Your pussy sucks him in, just as needy, breathless moans and squeals punching out of your throat as you croak out pleas: Joel, baby, please. I want a baby so badly. Wanna have your baby. Please, please, fill me up! And Joel listens, his palm sliding around your waist and down your belly, rubbing your sensitive clit with two fingers.

A real man gives his wife everything she wants.

He moans at the feeling of your cunt squeezing him, his fingers wet and insistent against your little clit, coaxing you toward your climax. “C’mon,” he grunts, “come for me, baby. Fuckin’ choke me. Wanna feel it. Come and I’ll give you the baby you want so goddamn bad. C’mon, baby.”

His words seep into your bloodstream, an uncontrollable tremor racking your body, your arms giving out as he bends over you and sinks his teeth into your shoulder. “Ohhhh, God! Oh my—!”

Joel’s hands squeeze your tits, his entire body covering yours, a warm, protective blanket, slick with sweat and heart thundering against your back. His lips are on your skin, feverishly kissing and nipping. You can’t breathe, can’t move, and it feels so fucking good. You soak his cock, muscles seizing, pinned down by his strong body.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he groans. “That’s it, baby. Goddamn, keep on squeezin’ me like that. Not gonna leave this tight pussy until you're fuckin’ pregnant.”

“Joelllll,” you whine, your orgasm prolonged by his words, his unrelenting thrusts, the jolt of his balls slapping your clit. “Want it so bad. Wanna give you a baby. Come inside me, please. Please give me your cum, oh, God—”

The broken sound of your voice, weak and raspy, goes straight to his dick, and his balls are pulling up, his head bombarded with the smell of sex, perfume, linen, you. He rests his forehead between your shoulder blades as you milk his cock, turning his thrusts sloppy and desperate. He needs to come. He needs to make it real.

Your orgasm leaves you pliant and loose in his arms, and he fondles your tits, squeezing them hard in his hands as he pictures them growing, swelling heavy with milk he’ll feed your baby. His baby. Idly, you moan, letting him use your body to get off, his teeth grazing your neck.

“Gonna come. Gonna fuckin’ fill you up, give you a baby. Gonna—Jesus, goddamn—”

Maybe it's the pent-up frustration of not having come all day. Maybe it's a renewed sense of purpose, knowing he's got a job to do, keeping every drop safe inside you. Maybe it's the sheer fucking excitement of getting to give his wife what he's wanted to put in you for so long. But when he comes, hips flush to your ass, he comes so much, for so long, that the rapid rush of blood from his cock back up to his head has him nearly keeling.

Kissing your cervix, the head of his cock spurts rope after rope of hot cum inside you, and you mewl, your back arching to deepen the angle, luxuriate in the liquid warmth. Joel isn’t so loud now, not so cocky. He’s reduced to strained groans and whimpers as your body depletes him, greedily taking every drop of cum he has to offer.

It feels like minutes before it finally stops, but with your ass up in the air, none of his cum spills out. Your hips are sore, your ass bruises from his hands, your tits still sitting warmly in his hands. The cool kiss of his wedding band soothes the too-hot press of his body on top of yours, your doubly-slick skin meeting indecently. His lips are on the back of your neck and he thrusts shallowly, wringing the last of his cum from the tip until he's wholly empty and bordering on oversensitive.

You're the first to speak, your throat clogged with drool and some of your own tears.

“Thank fuck I was at the bar that night.”

Joel’s laugh scrapes down your spine along with his beard as he drags himself upright, knowing he’s crushing you. “Never would've had to patch me up”

“Mmm, you're sexy when you're mad,” you point out, your thighs twitching as he carefully guides you onto your side, back to his chest, his cock still acting as a plug for his cum. You’re deliciously full, and you hum happily at the feeling of his warm belly against you, his big arms cradling you close.

“Shouldn't enable violence,” he grumbles. His lashes flutter against your shoulder.

You roll your eyes. “Oh, please.”

He chuckles. “You feel okay?”

“I feel good,” you muse, running your fingers along his forearm, the prominent veins under his skin. “I feel excited.”

His grin curves against your skin, the scratch of his moustache sending a shiver up your spine. Outside, the sun begins to dip, and your twin golden rings glimmer in the fiery light.

“Me, too,” he whispers, and you lace your fingers through his, squeezing, both of you practically giddy.

There’s a lull, and for a moment, you think he’s fallen asleep. The sun creeps behind a home across the street, and its watch ends for another day.

“Hey, Joel?”

His mouth meets your throat in a sleepy kiss. “Yeah, baby?”

“I like the name Sarah.”

THE END.

tags: @cavillscurls @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @cupofjoel @northernbluess @tieronecrush @joelmillers-whore @bastardmandennis - thank you all so so much for showing excitement for this fic!! kisses for you all 🫶

#kiwisbell's fics #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfiction #pre outbreak!joel #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader

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astraystayyh · 3 months

Text

pieces of you

single dad!chan. x fem!reader

genre : neighbors!au. fluff. angst. slow burn. mutual pining. 8.7k wc

summary : In which you and chan are each other's missing pieces. Alternatively, Chris and his daughter come knocking at your apartment asking for flour, and he's no longer embarrassed when you open the door.

a.n. : my chris best girl dad agenda is going strong!!!!!! my second fic for the winter falls collab with my writer xi hehe i hope you will all enjoy reading!! feedback is highly appreciated 🤍 the song chris will write for sowon is light by sleeping at last, highly recommend listening to it!!

winter falls masterlist.

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

“Shh, daddy smile.”

Soft murmurs linger just beyond your door, elusive words that could easily be dismissed as figments of your imagination. However, any doubt in your mind dissipates with three resounding knocks, jolting you from your momentary contemplation.

A reluctant groan escapes you as you glance down at your attire—a loosely hanging oversized hoodie, a testament to the numerous times it has been tugged down, and a pair of pajama pants whose matching top has mysteriously vanished. Clearly, you don't feel presentable enough to welcome anyone at this late hour. So, you remain motionless, futilely lowering the TV volume in hopes that whoever's behind the door will just continue with their night. But the knocks persist against your wish, so, with a resigned sigh, you rise from your seat, your blanket cascading to the ground in a soft descent.

“What–” the words dissolve in your mouth like a sweet nectar as you open the door, your eyes beholding no one in your periphery. A slight tug at your pants draws your attention downward, only to find the most adorable child your eyes have ever laid on. She's clad in Rapunzel-themed pajamas, wolf slippers bumping into your plain ones, and, to your surprise, a whisk cradled in her small hand.

“Hey there,” your voice softens as you crouch to meet her warm gaze. You find an innocent happiness gleaming in her eyes, a radiant spark shining even beneath the corridor's muted light. Two dimples adorn her cheeks as she smiles at you.

“Hi, my dad wants to tell you something,” she says, pointing with her whisk to the very end of the hallway. You crane your neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive figure.

“Your dad?”

“Mm. He’s a bit shy, that’s why he’s hiding,” she confides in a whisper. But, despite her earnest attempt, her words still resound loudly in the vacant space, causing giggles to spill out of your mouth.

“And you aren’t shy?” you inquire, tilting your head.

“Nu-uh,” she shakes her head with conviction as someone emerges behind her. She instinctively wraps an arm around their leg, nestling her cheek against their thigh.

She isn't shy because she feels protected.

You rise from your place, eyes locking with a familiar shade of brown. Only these hold a mesmerizing quality to them making your very breath catch in your throat. Kindness pours from his gaze as it travels down your face, a sentiment that further materializes as delicate smile lines stitch around the corner of his eyes.

He’s beautiful.

Your eyes trail down to two pairs of dimples, mirroring the ones of his daughter perfectly. She is his living portrait, sharing his eyes, lips, and smile. Yet, his cheeks blush in a hue she does not possess, while his left hand fiddles with his earlobe, in an unspoken, timid gesture. For some odd reason, it pierces straight through your heart.

“Sorry for bothering you,” a smooth Australian accent rolls off his tongue, similar to rich butter spread on warm bread- it infuses your being with tingles pulsating from the base of your toes. You suddenly no longer miss your blanket.

“I'm your next-door neighbor. We were just making cookies and we realized we actually don’t have flour,” he explains, a bashful smile imprinted onto his lips.

“You didn’t check beforehand?” you ask, laughter tinting your voice.

“I forgot,” he admits, but his tone sounds almost sad as if beating himself over it. A fleeting shadow veils his face briefly, dissipating like a passing cloud grazing the sun.

“Can we borrow some from you? I told Sowon that we could go to the store but she said it’s too cold out,” he asks, his hand resting on his daughter’s shoulder soothingly.

“It is too cold out,” you agree with a frown, looking down at Sowon to which she smiles brightly, happy to have your support.

“And of course, I'll bring you flour. Don’t worry about it. Do you want to come in meanwhile?”

“It's okay, we'll wait here. Don’t want to intrude.”

“Thank you!” Sowon beams, her missing tooth in full display.

“Yeah, thank you so much…” he trails out, tilting his head as if to silently inquire about your name.

“Yn. And you?”

“Chris.”

“Nice to meet you, Chris,” you smile, shaking his extended hand. His fingers wrap around your palm, and it feels as if you’re grasping thunder, crackling with an electricity that your eyes can’t behold, yet your soul does, suddenly illuminated from within.

Your smile grows as you detach yourself from his hold, before bending forward to bop Sowon’s nose. “And nice to meet you too Rapunzel.”

Your words make her hide behind her father’s leg, peeking out slightly to look at you.

“See I'm not the only one who gets shy,” Chan chuckles, and Sowon whines in complaint, further burying her face in her dad’s grey sweatpants.

Adorable, so much it stirs a long-forgotten melancholy within your being.

“She gets a pass, she's still young, right Sowon?”

“Are you calling me old then?” Chan fakes outrage, bringing one hand to his chest while the other cradles Sowon’s back.

“Old enough to forget about flour,” you wink and he laughs, looking down at your slippers.

“Touché.”

A few minutes go by before you come back, a recipient full of flour in your hands. The sight before you makes you pause in your tracks– Chris, leaning against the wall, Sowon propped on his hip, her arms loosely hanging around his neck, her eyes closed.

“Did she…” you whisper and he turns to you.

“Yeah, fell asleep,” he smiles fondly, tucking a few strands of her hair behind the curve of her ear. “She’ll be disappointed when she wakes up to no cookies. She wanted us to have a baking holiday tradition.”

“You don’t know how to make them?”

“No, I was counting on a six-year-old to assist me,” he chuckles quietly, prompting a snort from you.

“Well, keep the flour, in case you need it again.”

“Thank you, Yn,” he grins, the smile taking over his entire face, grabbing the recipient from you.

“You’re welcome Chris,” you say, as you both linger around the door still, not making any attempt to move.

Your eyes refuse to peel away from his, as if there were a magnetic force drawing you to him, telling you that your gaze belonged to rest on him.

“Uhm,” he clears his throat, leaning away from the wall. “I'll get going.”

“Yeah, sleep well, Chris.”

“Thank you,” he smiles before turning around.

An idea brews in your head, a germ sprouted by the clear adoration in which Sowon gazed at her dad, and the disappointment in his face as he said he would no longer be making cookies. Had you wished to dig a little deeper, you would’ve also found a long-buried feeling of a little girl who would have loved holiday traditions as well. You close the door before heading straight to your kitchen.

One hour later

You knock softly on Chris’ door, fidgeting from one foot to another. You almost retract back to your apartment after your fourth knock, when the door finally opens, Chris coming into your line of sight.

“Hi,” you greet, hands behind your back.

“Hey,” he smiles, leaning his arm on the doorway, right above your head. He tilts his head to the side, silently wondering what you want. The words dissolve in your mouth at the way his eyes fixate on you as if trying to peer behind your irises onto your mind.

“Cookies,” you bring the plate before him, as his eyes grow wide, an incredulous smile drawn on his lips.

“You made them?”

“Yeah, didn't want Sowon to be disappointed,” you shrug and his eyes grow wild, racking all over your face in disbelief.

“You didn't have to do this,” he finally says, tone softening, syllables ringing like a sweet sonnet in your ears.

“I know. I wanted to. and I'm a baker so making cookies comes easily to me, don't worry about it,” you shrug sheepishly, biting your lower lip slightly. You felt scrutinized by him in ways you haven't felt before.

“Thank you, Yn, I don’t even know what to say,” he says, his smile resembling a beam of light. A surge of pride courses through you at managing to bring it forth.

“No need to say anything. I hope I didn't wake you up,” you smile sheepishly and he shakes his head.

“No, I- I was working in my studio and Sowon is asleep. It's just us two. Always has been,” he adds, tone slightly changing, air growing heavier between you both. It's just them two.

“Studio?” you inquire, hoping to dispel the tension latching around you both.

“I'm a music producer,” he clarifies. “I made a studio here so I could stay the night with Sowon.”

“I'm sure she appreciates that,” you say as you hand the plate to him. His fingertips brush against your own, and a slight electricity courses through you at the touch, the hallway suddenly brighter from the fireworks ricocheting off of you both.

“I…. I'll get going.”

“Yeah, yeah, don't want to take more of your time.”

“I'll see you around.”

“Yeah, I'll see you,” he says, words not ringing carelessly into the air, sounding more like a promise. He'll see you, he'll make sure of it.

ii.

“Can you wait!” a voice echoes near the building entrance, and you prevent the elevator doors from closing as hurried steps near you.

You recognize the voice easily by the light tingles running down your spine, the Australian accent shooting straight through your heart. Its owner materializes, Chris— leather jacket hugging his muscles snuggly, black t-shirt tucked into a pair of blue jeans, cap nestled on his head, rebellious strands of ebony hair peeking behind it.

You find the breath knocked out of you once again at his sight. He's beautiful, even more so in broad daylight, where every feature of his comes to life, beckoning, demanding your sole attention.

“Hey, Yn,” he smiles in delight, uttering your name in a familiarity that infuses your being with warmth. Even though you've only talked once, two days ago.

“Hey, Chris,” you greet back, pressing the fourth elevator button again. you face the mirror to find Chris already looking at you, his eyes instantly locking with yours.

“The cookies were good,” he smiles softly and you grin. “I'm glad you think so.”

“Where is your bakery? I need to taste more of your baking.”

The butterflies in your stomach tone down at his words, your attraction momentarily forgotten as gratitude coats your heart instead.

“I can text you the address?” you propose.

“Yeah, here,” he takes out his phone, a picture of him and Sowon set as his lock screen— their cheeks are pressed tightly to one another, messily done eyeliner on both their eyes. you giggle to yourself as you grab the device.

“Cute picture,” you muse and he brings an arm to his neck, scratching the side of it timidly.

“She insists on trying her makeup on me.”

“She makes you look better,” you giggle and he rolls his eyes, tongue poking against his cheek.

“She wants to become a stylist,” he explains, as the elevator doors open. He lets you out first, arm stretched forward.

“I find her passion really cute so I buy her anything she asks for,” he shrugs and you chuckle, pointing to the bag of pink ribbons he is carrying.

“Let me guess, she wants to use these on you?”

“Yeah. She also said that I quote ‘need to learn new hairstyles because her friends always come to class with intricate braids, and she can't go to class with a simple one.’” He repeats, tone growing slightly high-pitched as he mimics his daughter's words. Yet, the fond smile on his face is louder, screaming of his love for her.

“She has you wrapped around your finger,” you muse, leaning against your door. The keys in your bag are long forgotten.

“She can be very scary for such a little girl.”

“What does she threaten you with?” you ask, feigning horror.

“No goodnight kisses,” he whispers, as if scared she'd hear him beyond the wooden door.

“Torture,” you gasp, placing your hand on his shoulder reassuringly. Yet, the smiles slip out of your face instantly. Was it normal for clothes to dissolve under your touch, layers of cotton and leather doing nothing to stop the warmth of his skin from seeping through you? Was it normal to be so affected by such an innocent touch?

“Uhm,” you clear your throat, “I can help you. with her hair, I mean.”

“You don't have to. I already took too much from your time with the cookies,” he seems truly apologetic, his tone sobering as if despising others doing things for him. You see yourself in him, in the way he wants to carry the world’s burden on his shoulders. It is a reflection you wish to mend.

“I don't mind, I remember feeling jealous of the other girls in my school so I made myself learn all the braids.”

And then you see his gratefulness, the twinkle in his eyes that you can only grasp for a millisecond before they disappear into moon crescents. Happiness looks grand on him, overtaking his entire face, brightening his features with a glow too ethereal to be of mankind, as if they were carved to translate joy. You find yourself willing to give up more of your time to see it.

“Thank you,” he breathes out and you nod, a grin taking over your face as well.

“You’re welcome. Let me just change my clothes.”

☃︎⋆꙳•❅

“And then, you pull the right strand all over to the middle one. Then you repeat, this way the ribbon is braided into the hair,” you explain to a very concentrated Chris, his eyebrows furrowed as he follows your movements.

“It looks easy when you do it,” he frowns and you giggle, handing the mirror to Sowon so she'd be able to look at her hair.

“Do you like it,” you ask, a tad apprehensive and she beams, dimples that almost swallow her chubby cheeks surging forth.

“Pretty!” she exclaims and you giggle, bopping her nose. “You are pretty.”

“And you are pretty too. right, daddy?”

You turn back to find Chris watching you, a smile so fond on his face that it renders your insides putty, coats your cheek in the palest shade of pink.

“Very much so,” he says, tone quieter, his eyes never leaving yours.

Sowon suddenly climbs on her dad’s lap, star and moon stickers in hand. She places them all over his face, and he sits there diligently, arms wrapped around her midriff so she won't slip away. Every carefully placed sticker is punctuated by a soft gasp from him and a small giggle from her. You could feel the love radiating from both of them, a feeling so strong it made your heart twist in your chest.

Were there red neon exits you weren’t aware of in your being? Ones through which love trickled away all these years ago? Were the spaces between your fingers carved to hold someone’s hand, or to make everything you've ever wanted slip from your grasp?

“What do you think?” Sowon startles you and you force a smile on your face, willing the heaviness in your heart to dissipate. There were questions you'd never find the answers to, you had to make peace with that.

“I love it!” you grin and Sowon nods, satisfied. You look down at your lap as Chris fixates his eyes on you, a worried crease growing between his eyebrows.

“Fun is over, you need to do your homework, Miss Bang,” he scolds and you snort, as Sowon rolls her eyes slightly.

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” he fakes offense and you giggle as Sowon huffs slightly. “Dad, I told you I have no homework. I already did it with uncle Felix.”

“Oh, right,” he deflates slightly before brightening up once again, “then, you should put away all these hairbrushes and ribbons, okay?”

“Will you watch a movie later with me?”

“Of course, baby.”

“Okay then,” she grins, quickly standing up to start putting away her things. you smile, getting up your turn to leave. Chris understands and stands with you on cue.

“You can stay and watch the movie with us.”

“It's okay, I have some things to work on,” you turn around, but then you feel his fingers wrapping around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

“Are you okay?” he asks, hand still burning straight through your skin, igniting a million nerve ends with a simple touch. You avoid his eyes, looking down at the ground. It seems to be response enough for him.

“We’re conditioned to say yes even when we aren’t, right?” he speaks softly, his words travel through your veins in a rapid course against the current of your blood— which one will reach your heart first and flood it?

Your facade cracks. His voice wins.

“So, you don't have to reply now,” his thumb swipes once across your pulse. “But I'll be here if you ever wish to tell the truth.”

iii.

You’ve grown exceptionally fond of Chris in the span of mere months, more than you would like to admit to yourself. It was an easy task, as natural as the current of a waterfall. Yet, you did not plan for it, for a new emotion to settle on top of your lungs, to make you more aware of your heart and how it beats, slightly faster, around Chris. But it happened serendipitously, against all odds, when he knocked on your door at 10 p.m. asking for salt.

“Should I start buying groceries for you?” you joked, and it took Chris a millisecond longer to respond, his gaze wandering across your face, as if discovering the world’s eighth wonder, hidden in plain sight all these years.

“For my defense, I have a daughter that likes experimenting with cooking,” he smiled, and you raised an eyebrow at him.

“Just with salt?”

“She added four teaspoons of it in an omelet. Then forced me to eat it because I always tell her food shouldn't go to waste,” he shudders at the memory and you chuckle loudly.

Chris knocks on the doors of your heart, once.

It happened when you spotted a cockroach the size of your palm on your bedroom wall. You would’ve killed it, you were going to, except it started flying towards you and you let out a loud shriek you didn’t know your vocal chords were capable of conjuring. So, you called Chris.

“Can you please come over,” you murmured, crouching near the entrance door, a pair of slippers in your hand.

“Why are you whispering? are you okay?” he sounded worried, and you heard the turning of a lock as he opened the door to his apartment. He didn’t ask questions, instantly coming to your aid. A sudden urge to weep filled your being at his gesture.

“There is a cockroach. a flying one,” you precised, horror dripping from your tongue and his laugh flooded your ear, tiny squeaks that made your hold on the slipper grow limp.

“I'm from Australia,” he knocked on your door, and you stood up promptly. “I've seen worse,” he said once you finally opened it, his eyes softening incredibly when they met yours.

He did kill the cockroach, by spraying your insect repellent enough times to asphyxiate you too. “I don't think I can sleep in there tonight,” you sighed, gulping down ice cold water, “why does it feel like we went through war?”

“We? You were behind my back all the time.”

“I was cheering you on, from afar. Spiritually.”

“I can’t believe a cockroach scares you this much.”

“You literally screamed when it flied towards you too.”

“I didn't scream! I made a very manly, non-terrified sound.”

“Mm, sure,” you giggled, voice softening at the blushing of the tip of his ears. Chris didn't have to force the door down to your heart, you willingly opened it for him.

And after that, it was a race to find the silliest excuses to see one another. Chris suddenly taking up an inkling for baking, you manifesting a newfound interest in music, Sowon needing her makeup done for a dance, Chris visiting you in your bakery, Sowon craving your cookies and you teaching her the recipe, Chris knocking on your door and you knocking on his. The same giddy smiles on your faces as you usher each other in. And it always, always ending with a movie night.

“Let's watch Tangled,” Sowon exclaims, clapping her hands excitedly.

“Baby, we watched this movie for the past…” he looks at you for support. “Three,” you whisper, a bashful smile on your face. “Yeah, for the past three movie nights,” he whines slightly.

“But I love it,” she says, her pout morphing into a huge grin. “Again! Again! Again!”

“Fine,” he concedes, mouthing “save me,” from afar to you. You giggle softly while Sowon cozies up to your side, your arm naturally draping across her body while her legs stretch atop Chris’ lap, naturally, as if having you both by her side was the way things have always been. The only reality she’s ever known.

It is a fleeting fifty minutes as the three of you watch the movie, Sowon reciting excitedly the lines that she seems to remember. But then the quiet is replaced by her soft snores, her body growing light against you.

“She fell asleep,” you whisper, tapping Chris’ shoulder to catch his attention. He tilts his head to the side, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as his eyes land on his daughter.

“I'm sorry you have to watch the same movie every time,” he says apologetically and you shake your head.

“I don't mind. Tangled is a good movie.”

“Are you here just because of the movie?” he smiles, dimples peeking through. The juxtaposition between the weight of his words and the soft expression on his face makes a buzzing warmth spread through you. He’s cold and hot, in and out, yours but not.

“What do you want me to be here for?” you throw back, squeezing his shoulder slightly.

“The company.”

“I do find Sowon entertaining.”

“Just her?” he pouts and you giggle, tipping your head back.

“And you too, I suppose, by extension.”

“By extension, mm,” he hums, as he gathers Sowon in his arms, freeing her from your hold. “Then I guess I shouldn't come visit you in your bakery anymore. Since you only enjoy my presence by extension.”

“So sassy,” you shout-whisper as you both walk to Sowon's bedroom, “I like your company too, idiot.”

“Yeah?” he turns back to look at you, tone a tad bit too hopeful. He doesn’t care that he sounds eager for your approval, not when he feels as if he can only truly breathe when you're near.

“Yeah, Chris, I really do,” you speak earnestly, and Chris bites his lower lip slightly, suddenly overwhelmed by the gentleness of your tone. Your eyes follow his action instantly.

He lowers Sowon gently onto the bed and she stirs awake, blinking repeatedly at the both of you. “Yn,” she calls out quietly once her eyes land on yours and you kneel before her bed. Chris watches from the door entrance as Sowon cups her hand near your ear, before whispering something to you. He notices your body stiffening, your gaze fleeting to him before you relax, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

He wishes he could freeze time, stitch this moment into his eyelids until it is the only thing he sees when he goes to sleep. Loneliness is too big of an enemy for one person to fight off, but it seems more harmless when you are near.

Chris sees you right here, every night, not forcing your place into his family, but falling seamlessly into place. Perhaps you were the missing piece that’ll soothe the burn in his heart. Perhaps he’d let you in, even as fear paralyzes his being at the mere thought of asking you to stay.

One week later.

You've grown used to the knocks on your door at ungodly hours of the night, Chris seeking your company each time you both fail to fall asleep. Except this time, there is a chilling premonition in your heart as you walk to your home’s entrance, anxiety coiling like a steel ball in your throat.

“What’s wrong?” you ask upon opening the door, locking eyes with Chris's bloodshot gaze.

“Sowon,” he heaves, tone laden with fear, so different from how he usually pronounces her name. The syllables pierce through your heart like an arrowhead dipped in alarm.

“Sowon?” you question, peering behind him to his slightly ajar apartment door.

“Yes, she has a high fever, and it won’t come down. I tried everything, and I-I don’t know what to do anymore. She’s shaking, but I can’t—”He trembles, his quivers akin to delicate chinaware on the precipice of an earthquake, poised to shatter at your feet. You'd plunge to the ground first, anything to soften his impending collapse.

“It’s okay,” you soothe, your voice soft as you grasp his wrist. “Let’s go see her, okay?”

“It's her first time being this sick,” he whispers, clearly distraught, one hand running through his freshly dyed blonde hair.

“It's okay. Don’t panic, it happens. Did you give her medicine?”

“Yes, a few minutes ago,” he replies as you guide him towards her room.

“Good, it'll start working soon,” you reassure, opening the door and crouching before Sowon.

“Hey, Rapunzel,” you coo softly, and Sowon attempts to muster a smile. Her cheeks flush, eyes dim like withered petals.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, pressing your hand to her feverish forehead. You cast a wary glance at Chan, who's anxiously biting his thumb.

“Cold,” she whispers, and you nod, peeling off her blanket. “I know you are, but you have a high fever. We need to let it cool down, okay?”

“I-I’m shaking,” Sowon sighs, lower lip protruding and trembling, both from the iciness clawing at her frail being, and the tears welling in her waterline, like a cup on the brink of overflowing.

“Shh, don't cry. It will pass, it's okay,” you murmur soothingly, cradling her face on your lap, gently moving damp strands of her hair behind her ear.

“Chris, can you bring me a towel and a bowl with cold water?” you ask softly, and the man startles, painfully peeling his eyes away from his daughter, as if doing so would consign her to a dark fate.

“Sure. Sure,” he repeats, scurrying out of the room.

Sowon buries her cheek in your thigh, small hands clinging tightly to yours. You tie her hair up into a loose bun as Chan hurriedly comes back, a bassinet in his hand.

“Thank you,” you smile, as he kneels beside the bed, his hand resting on Sowon’s knee gently.

“Hey sweetheart,” he coos softly, and Sowon blinks at him, light spilling over her face.

“Hey daddy,” she replies as you dip the towel into the water, before squeezing the fabric to remove any liquid excess.

“You're being so strong. I love you so much my pretty girl,” he says, bringing her small hand to rest upon his cheek, bestowing a gentle kiss on her palm.

The moment feels so intimate, so tender, that you almost feel like an intruder. You imagine this is what thorns on roses must feel like, so out of place amid delicate petals and stems.

“I love you too,” she grins, and you remain silent, diligently wiping her face and neck with the dampened towel. You soon lose track of the number of times you've repeated this motion, but Sowon’s eyes are now closed and her body is no longer trembling.

You rest your palm upon her forehead, a sigh of relief escaping your body as you realize that her fever has gone down noticeably- the medicine finally taking effect.

“It's better now,” you smile reassuringly and Chris’s eyes widen, irises shaking as he looks back to his daughter.

“Will she be okay?”

“She will be. She just needs to sleep a bit.”

“Okay, thank you.”

“Can we prepare her something to eat meanwhile?”

“Mm,” he absentmindedly nods, his fingers trailing down Sowon’s features delicately, resting upon her round cheeks.

"She looks just like you," you softly smile.

"I know," he admits, not with pride but in surrender, as if his reflection was nothing but a cursed fate. His voice tastes like ocean water, salty, acid, suffocating.

“Chris…” you trail off and he shakes his head, abruptly standing up.

“Let's make her chicken noodle soup. She loves it,” he says and you nod. A ticking bomb resides in his veins, devoid of a countdown, leaving you unsure of when he'll finally explode.

You get your answer soon after—it takes two minutes and thirty-three seconds for the first tear to roll down Chris’s cheek. You spot it as you retrieve carrots from the fridge, averting your gaze as Chan angrily wipes it away.

A few seconds later, five tears follow the same agonizing trail, and now the knife is shaking in Chris’s hands. He squeezes his eyes shut as if frustrated by his pain, by the emotions escaping through the cracks in his heart.

You stay silent, bringing the water to a simmer.

The clank of metal against the counter snaps your attention, and you see Chris with his head lowered down, his hands tightly clutching the counter.

Your tongue moves before you can order it to speak.

"Chris," you call out, your hand finding its place on his back. An ugly sob escapes his lips, a raw cry unearthed from the depths of the soil where he buried his feelings, never allowing himself the grace of grieving, then moving on.

“I'm a horrible father,” he utters so brokenly as if this idea were cemented into his head, woven into every thought of himself—an adjective that lingers like a phantom each time Sowon calls him dad.

“You're not, what are you saying?” you gently turn him around so he'd face you. But his eyes remain downcast, as if ashamed to meet your gaze.

“I didn't know what to do. I panicked. I-I wasn't enough to help her.”

“It's okay, you can't know everything, you are trying your best-”

“No, no, no, it's not just about this!” he snaps, despair clinging to his eyes as he finally looks at you. “It’s hard. It’s so hard to be here alone, and I- I try but it's not enough, I can't do everything and I'm not a good enough parent for her, there will a-always be something missing.”

“You're wrong,” you say but he shakes his head in disagreement. “Chris, you're wrong,” you cradle his face, taking you both by surprise. Your thumb swipes gently underneath the skin of his eyes, wiping his cascading tears.

“You love Sowon. And she can feel it, she can see it, she can hear it. Everyone can. A parent can't be perfect, but they should love. And you love her.”

“What if I can't even love her enough for a father? How will I ever fill the role of two parents?” he's leaning onto your palm, hanging onto your every word. You'd sit for hours and untangle every thread of his mind if you have to, until you single out the infested one and burn it away.

“She loves you Chris. She looks at you as if you hang every star in the sky. As if you're responsible for every good thing that happens in our world. She loves you and you love her.”

You gaze up at the ceiling, tears welling in your eyes. Chan notices the subtle tremble in your hand against his cheek.

“If I had someone who loved me as much as you love Sowon when I was a child, I would've turned out so differently,” you smile bitterly, swallowing down the lump in your throat.

“You won't be a perfect dad. You can't be. But she won't grow up with a throbbing heart, pulsating because of a void that cannot be filled. Her veins won't be poisoned by hate and abandonment. Because she knows what it's like to be loved,” you pause, as your voice breaks, traitorous tears rolling down your cheeks. “To be cared for.”

Your eyes hold his in a silent conversation, secretly telling him what your tongue cannot speak of— Sowon, an untarnished blossom, won't unfurl into a solitary flower the way you did.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers after a while, eyes softening in understanding. His knuckles brush gently against your cheek.

“Why are you apologizing?”

“So you'd find a reason within you to forgive,” he says, as he leans forward to press a tender kiss on your forehead. And somehow it feels more intimate than any way you've been touched before.

Five days later.

chris [11:32 p.m.]: you up?

yn [11:32 p.m.]: i just got bad flashbacks to my college years

chris [11:33 p.m.]: ajaksjsbsbbs

chris [11:33 p.m.]: i didn’t mean it like that ㅠㅠ

chris [11:33 p.m.]: wanna come over? i'm in the studio but im not feeling inspired

yn [11:34 p.m.]: and how will i help?

chris [11:34 p.m.]: i find your presence inspiring

You don’t reply, instead putting on your slippers and walking over to his apartment. He opens the door before you even have the chance to knock.

“What are you working on?” you ask once you’re settled atop his chair, spinning around slightly. He looks down at the pillow on his lap, lightly plucking its pink fur. “A song for Sowon,” he admits softly and your eyes grow a little wide.

“That is so sweet,” you pout, inching closer to him. “How is it going?”

“I've finished the melody and now I'm working on the lyrics. There is just.. so much i want to tell her, i'm unsure if ill be able to express it well.”

“Can I read what you wrote?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” he searches through his papers. “Here.”

May these words be the first to find your ears

The world is brighter than the sun now that you're here

I'll give you everything I have

I'll teach you everything I know

I promise I'll do better

I will soften every edge

I'll hold the world to its best

And I'll do better

Tears spring to your eyes unexpectedly, you try to stop their flow but they fall upon the paper, splattering like a broken mosaic, mimicking the brokenness of your own heart.

“I'm sorry,” you spin around, your back to him as you attempt to dry your tears, and yet they show no desire to stop. Chris is in your heart and he’s kicking every other emotion out, forcing you to make amends with your sadness, the one you buried years, years ago.

Chris gently grabs the back of the chair, pulling you back to him before spinning your chair once again until you are facing him. You bury your face in your hands and his rests reassuringly on your knee, squeezing it slightly. “Is it so bad it made you sob?”

“Shut up, you know this isn’t the case.”

His hand delicately traces up your arm, gently lifting your fingers from your face. He kneels before you, his thumb tenderly wiping away the traces of tears on your cheeks.

“Talk to me?”

“It's so beautiful, so warm, so loving. Everything a parent should think of their child,” a traitorous hiccup escapes your lips. “Everything my parents never felt for me.”

Chris’ mouth morphs into a pout, eyebrows scrunching tightly. You shake your head, smoothing down the worried crease between his eyes.

“I don't feel sad over things I can't control and I love myself enough now to compensate for what I didn't have, but sometimes-'' your voice breaks, Chan’s hold on your hands tightens. “It stings to remember what could’ve been.”

Stings was an understatement, it is rather a pulsating void, throbbing in ache every day, calling out for its missing piece. How can I fill you with what was lost when it chose to walk away?

“Come here,” he whispers, coaxing you to your feet, his arms enveloping your body as he guides your head to the crook of his neck. His body runs warm, the material of his sweatshirt soft, and he smells nice too, the contours of his muscles tailor-made to complement the ridges of your own.

“You grew up well, Yn. You did well.”

You clutch his shirt, tightening your grip as you fist the fabric in your palm. He's patting your back, and time slows down to match the rhythm of his touch.

“Love can be hard, I know. Especially when the people who left are the ones supposed to be staying.”

He understands, more than anyone you know. He missed out on a different kind of love too, two facets of the same coin.

“You’re doing well too, Chris. You shouldn’t doubt yourself as much,” your arms trail up to encircle his neck, as his nose tickles your hair. You're the one hugging him now. “Sowon is really smart, she told me that she loves you a lot. She can feel it. She sees everything you do for her.”

“Is that what she told you that movie night?”

“Partly,” you whisper, and Chris leans away slightly, his warm palms still pressed to your waist, holding you close.

“What else did she tell you?” he asks, curiosity barely hidden in his tone.

You pause for a while, eyes going over the entire room before finally locking on him.

“She thanked me, said that I make you smile more.” You suck in a deep breath, gathering your courage. “Do I?”

“There are smile lines that don’t show on my face until you're near.”

“Oh.” That is the only coherent response you can formulate, and Chris giggles, a tiny squeak escaping his lips in a huff. “Cute,” he murmurs, planting a tender kiss on your temple. His lips linger, holding onto the moment a beat longer than necessary, causing your eyes to close in delight. Both of you find yourselves blushing as he leans away, a shared warmth coloring the space between you.

“Sorry, didn't mean to make the mood somber,” you say sheepishly as you sit back down, eyeing Chris’s laptop. “I wanna hear this,” you quickly point to a random track on his screen before he can reply, hoping to make the sadness flee away.

“This one? It’s not really good, let's listen to something else,” his rambling and eagerness to change the track pique your curiosity and you quickly click on the song before he can stop you.

connected.mp3 starts playing.

Sultry beats inundate your ears, weaving through your veins and whisking you away to the pulsating rhythm of a dance club. You knew Chris produced good music, yet you never fathomed that his voice could be so luxuriously rich, cascading over you like molten wax. You feel a blush rise to your cheeks at the suggestive lyrics, the innuendos peeking behind every word. And then, a sudden jealousy claws at your heart, at the thought of Chris hunched in his studio, fantasizing about connecting with someone who isn’t you.

You wished to be the only one Chris liked.

“It’s a- a demo for one of my clients,” he explains through a stutter once the song is done, and you nod meekly, willing your body’s temperature to go down, for the possessivity crinkling in you to fizzle out.

So, you put on your best taunting smirk.

“I know you want me don’t crumble.. No need to be desperate we’re just getting started,” you sing-song back. “You were feeling so cocky when you wrote this, right?” you grin, inching your chair closer to his. “Feeling yourself, Mr. Bang?”

He chuckles with a hint of annoyance, running his tongue along the expanse of his lower lip. Leaning back into his chair, he casually spreads his legs a bit wider, a gesture that suddenly leaves you feeling dizzy, on him.

“It’s cute how affected you seem by it,” he throws nonchalantly, crossing his arms before his chest.

“I'm not,” you smile, although your erratic heartbeat spoke of a different tale, you just didn't need to voice it to him. “I think you were the one getting all hot and bothered in your studio,” you stand between his legs, hovering over him as he leans back fully in his chair.

“I was thinking of a pretty girl.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm,” he suddenly grabs your waist, you feel like your entire body is ablaze. “The prettiest.”

"Who is she?" you exhale, teetering on the edge of crashing your lips onto his, like an incoherent love poem, hastily scrambled on a notebook in a fit of anger.

“y–” The door suddenly opens, Sowon’s small frame standing by the door, she’s rubbing her eyes tiredly, her chick plushie dangling from her hand (a gift from her uncle Felix as she explained to you). You quickly scramble away from Chris as he clears his throat loudly.

“Daddy, I can't sleep,” she says faintly, a tiny pout drawn on her lips, and you can see Chris physically melt at her words, at the way she paddles to his chair, and tries her best to climb up his legs. She fails to do so, so he quickly scopes her up his arms until she’s buried in his hold. Her small hands wound up around his neck, and he tenderly pats down her hair, his gaze never wavering from her frame.

“Want me to sing to you, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” she whispers, before making grabby hands at you, your heart softens like clay dough as you scoot closer, enclosing her fingers in your hold.

“Sleep well, Sowonnie,” you whisper.

“Can’t you stay with us?” she asks and you feel your blood freeze in your veins, your heart skipping three beats at once.

To stay. What a frightening concept. Even more scary when you realize that you aren’t opposed to it.

You yearn to stay, for the first time in years, you wish you could.

You swallow the growing lump in your throat, before smiling reassuringly. “I'll stay till you fall asleep.”

Conditions, it is the way it has always been for you. staying till you’re no longer useful, staying till you're no longer wanted. Staying, but always with a time limit, always with an expiration date.

iv.

You’re avoiding him.

Chris knows you are, since you no longer come over to his house, claiming that you’re tired, or that you have an important order to bake for the next day. He would have believed you had he not seen you only once in the past three weeks.

Those were excuses, and each one of them weighed heavily on Chris’ heart, on his home too, his studio particularly, the one that got used to the sound of your laugh.

He misses you. He never thought he’d miss someone again, craving you presence as if every breath leaving his body depended on you. He wasn’t a stranger to intimacy, fleeting hookups every now and then. Strangers invited him to their bed, knowing what they were signing up for– one night of pleasure, never to be seen again, their faces blurring into an indistinct mass in his mind, like an impressionist painting where no features stand out. Yet, with you, every detail is etched in his memory.

He could pick you out of a crowded room, recognize the delicate curve of your neck, the fullness of your lips, and the way your nose scrunches when you smile.

He could draw the moles scattered on your body from memory alone, recognize your scent from miles away– your cotton shampoo and the specific laundry detergent you love to use and a hint of vanilla that never truly leaves you.

He’d remember the curve of your lashes and the cascading of your hair, the airy giggles you leave across like a trail for him to follow everywhere, and your eyes– the way they gazed at him, softening slightly around the edges, shining brightly as if crafted from stardust, the way they softened even more when you looked at Sowon, voice growing slightly high pitched as you listened to his daughter’s rambles.

How did you manage to make his home yours without ever living in it?

“Dad?” Sowon calls out and he snaps his head up, locking eyes with his little girl. She’s sitting on a high stool, munching on her pizza, a pensive look on her face.

“Yes, sweetheart?” he asks, walking over to her side.

“Where is Ynnie?” she asks in a small voice and he freezes, mulling over his response. He settles for the truth.

“I don't know, baby.”

“Does she not want to play with me anymore?” Sowon whispers, and he doesn’t remember his daughter ever being this tentative about voicing a question.

“No!” he's quick to reassure, cradling Sowon’s face between his much larger hands. “Of course not baby she loves you a lot.”

“Okay…” she nods, a small pout drawn on her lips still. Chris senses his heart physically crack in his chest.

“Do you wanna work in the studio with me?” he says in a joyful tone, and she instantly cheers up, the twinkle in her eyes found again. “Yes!”

“Finish your food first, okay Wonnie?”

“Okay!”

In Chris's life, regrets have been scarce, and certainly not in the form of Sowon, his beacon of hope, as he named her. Having her was beholding a sun wherever he went. However, a fear lingers, a whisper in his heart, suggesting that letting you go might be his one true regret.

So when his daughter falls asleep, he knocks on your door once again. He's suddenly transported into that cold night, months ago, where he asked you for flour. Had he known you were behind it he would’ve knocked much sooner.

“Hi,” you greet softly once you open the door. He takes a step forward, his wolf slippers matching with Sowon’s bump into your plain ones. You avert your gaze, finding anything but him to fixate on.

“You're avoiding me,” he says matter-of-factly, voice soft, resigning to you.

“I'm not,” you contradict, even as your eyes remain on the ground. He finds himself missing the color of your irises.

“Look at me, hm?” he implores, and you stay rooted in place. A soft sigh escapes him as he cradles your right cheek with his warm hand, his thumb gently sweeping across your cheekbone. “Yn, please, I want to look at you.”

Maybe it is the pleading tone of his voice or the way his thumb tenderly grazes your skin, but something about Chris makes your resolve unravel, threads of fear unknotting before your eyes. So, you finally look at him. An exhale of relief escapes him.

And then you speak.

“You asked me if I was okay, and I didn't reply, back then,” you say, leaning your head further against his palm as tears well up in your waterline. “Do you still want to know my answer?”

“Of course, always.”

“I'm happy. With you, with sowon. I feel this warmth that I have never known before when I'm with you. It was almost easy to forget I've known you during winter,” you chuckle dryly, “but it is all an illusion, I lie to myself thinking I could stay, I… I can't, I-“

“What if I ask you to stay?” he brings your hand to his heart, where it beats erratically, pulse seeping through your skin.

He’s as scared as you are.

“Chris…”

“What if I told you, Yn, please stay with me,” he breathes out, guiding your hand to gently cup his cheek. “Would you? Would you stay?”

“I'm terrified,” you whisper, as he tilts his head, bestowing a tender kiss on your palm.

“I know, so am I. But, you make me believe that even my bruised parts are worthy of love.”

He wins, before years of skeletons and piled up doubts, he wins.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I'm staying.”

“You are?”

“I am,” you giggle lightly and he staggers back, the sun pouring into his smile.

“Um, wow, okay. Thank you for staying,” his voice sounds airy, happiness floating in his tone, and you find it contagious, imprinting into your own.

“Thank you for asking me to stay.”

“You made it less daunting,” he pats your head, smoothing your hair down. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

He giggles in response and you can't help but mirror the sound. “Why are you so nervous?”

“Whaaat? I'm not,” his tone grows high-pitched and you roll your eyes amusedly.

“What happened to connected Chris?”

“He is flustered by the girl he wrote about.”

Your cheeks tint red as he places a hand above your head, caging you in place.

“I think the girl should get paid for being the muse.”

“Oh yeah?” he smirks, “I'll think about it.” His grin softens, as a content expression washes over his face. You know you must look the same. “Let's talk more tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” you grin, before placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Good night, Chris.”

“Good night, yn.”

You quietly watch as he walks to his apartment door, his hand settling on the door knob. He pauses, for a few seconds where the air around you stills, before swiveling around and walking over to you again.

you win.

“I forgot something,” he breathes out, before crashing his lips onto yours, furiously, as if needing to imprint his essence onto you, tainting your soul the way you have tainted him, permanently altering the composition of his being. His lips move on yours as if they've done this before, a dance they have rehearsed countless times, perhaps in all the dreams Chris visited you in. Yet, nothing compares to how it feels to have him touch you, lick your lower lip and drag his hand up your hips, press you against your apartment door, and nibble at your neck.

Nothing could have prepared you for the passion he shows you, for how delicious it feels to be pressed against him, for the storm that your lips conjure, swirling in your heart in vibrant shades of red. Then, for the softness of his lips as they slow down their course, plump and rosy as they meet your own, tenderly, more gently, one kiss after the other. “My hope,” he whispers, as his lips find yours again, “my missing piece.”

He’s hot and cold, in yet seeking no out, finally yours.

bonus (one year later).

“So I brought the eggs, milk, sugar,” Chris enumerates as he takes out the groceries, and you turn to look at Sowon to find her already gazing at you, a mischievous look on her face.

“How much do you wanna bet he forgot flour?” you whisper and she giggles, burying her face in her hands to stifle her laugh.

“And… Wait, where is the flour?” he trails off and you burst out laughing, as you and Sowon high-five each other excitedly.

“Daddy, you are really bad at groceries.”

“Am I?” he smiles sheepishly, fiddling with his earlobe in a manner that still makes your heart melt, renders your insides butterflies speaking of Chris’ name.

“Yes, it’s good Mom bought it,” she says naturally, looking down at her iPad. You and Chris freeze in your tracks, eyes instantly locking with one another, yours and his, glossy with emotion, a loving tide enveloping you both.

It's her first time calling you mom.

You swallow down the lump in your throat, crafted not by thorns but by petals, not by ache but with love, before placing your chin on the small of her shoulder, murmuring softly. "Mm, will you help me bake, baby?"

“Yes! I wanna be a baker when I grow up, just like you.”

“What happened to being a stylist?”

“I can't be both?” she frowns innocently.

“You can be anything you want, princess.” you bop her nose and she giggles, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek.

In the grip of winter, Chris discovers a warmth that defies the season, casting off years of cold from the recesses of his bones. A soft smile graces his lips as he gazes at you, his hopes, his girls, the three of you clad in wolf slippers.

He’ll propose to you tomorrow.

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