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clubkira · 6 months

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DEAR FUTURE HUSBAND .ᐟ

oh future husband, better love me right!

premise. the nhk is hosting another special broadcast featuring the popular fiancées of the jnt’s lineup! and this time, it’s truth or drink! ❤︎

content. haikyu!! jnt / f!reader. (koutarou bokuto, morisuke yaku, kiyoomi sakusa & tobio kageyama). fluff. downbad fiancés. suggestive jokes & allusions to sex. petnames. alcohol. overseas!kageyama & yaku (LDR). reader lives in japan (does not equal being japanese). a little angst.

notes. this part is… a little long! sit down for it ❤︎

soundtrack. dear future husband : meghan trainor.

part one can be read here.

dear future husband m.list // hq. masterlist.

KOUTAROU BOKUTO.

“Been awhile since I last drank,” Bokuto cracks his knuckles upon seeing the many selections of beer he gets to choose, fingers twitching eagerly as they hover over the bottles. “Wonder what I should get…”

You sigh beside him jokingly, nudging his shoulder with your elbow, “We don’t have all day, Kou.”

“I’m just looking!” He chuckles, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

He randomly picks up a bottle of Sapporo, rotating it in his hands before nodding to himself, “This seems good!”

You place your hand on the small of his back, guiding him towards the studio for a final run through before the broadcast, “Alright, Kou. Now let’s get this started!”

The NHK film crew do a final mic and sound check when you arrive as a staff member seats you both at the table in the centre of the studio, a pile of cards with questions written on them, two shot glasses and the Sapporo bottle your fiancé picked out lined on it’s top.

After fiddling with the microphones hidden inside your clothes, the crew give you two a thumbs up and rush back to their cameras to start the recording.

Bokuto’s entire body is turned towards the cameras, sitting on the edge of his seat as he eagerly greets the viewers, “Hey! I’m Koutarou Bokuto,” he catches your eyes with a bright smile, grabbing your hand from across the table, “And this is my fiancée!”

“And we’ve been together for three years now,” You finish for him, hands folded neatly on the table, the cameras pan to show off the engagment rings that sits prettily on both you and Bokuto’s fingers.

“Four months engaged.”

“And we’re playing truth or drink!” You and Bokuto announce happily together, smiling at each other before turning your bodies back to face the cameras. The film crew adjust their angles, moving their cameras off their stands to get better opening shots of you and your fiancé.

“You guys ready to play?” The head camera crew member asks, giving you the okay to start the game.

The studio lights illuminate the white backdropped room, enveloping your eyes in waves whenever you stare at the camera lenses for a little too long.

You and Bokuto nod as he shifts his gaze towards you, “Want me to go first, Baby?” He asks, already grabbing his shot glass and the bottle of Sapporo. You giggle, “So eager to get drunk, Kou?”

“I told you, it’s been awhile!” He beams, pouring out the alcohol carefully into his shot and grabbing the top card from the pile on the table.

“What do you like most about me?” he reads aloud, looking up at you curiously, “I’m pretty sure you’ve told me this exact answer before.”

“Have I?” you tilt your head in thought, thinking the question over, “I mean, probably. It has been three years, after all.”

Bokuto places the card face down on his side of the table, combing through his hair, “I think when we first started dating, you told me it was my hair.”

“It is nice,” you agree, causing Bokuto to start laughing and in turn making you giggle as well. The two of you are already giddy and snickering despite no alcohol being present in your systems yet, “But I think now that we’re engaged, I can give a more detailed answer.”

“Oh?”

He leans over the table excitedly, a wide grin plastered across his face, “Tell me, Baby! What do you like most about me?” His hand is still placed atop of yours, the perfectly cut gems in both of your rings twinkling in sync underneath the studio lights, perfectly complimenting you fiancé’s eyes.

You hum in faux thought for a moment before smirking, “Hmm, your muscles.”

Bokuto’s smile drops slightly to a pout, still keeping his bright composure while masking his lowered grin, “Awe, Baby I thought you were going to say something like, real deep and emotional!” He jests, “Like how you love that I make you smile, y’know?”

You throw your head back in laughter, nudging his shoulder with your free hand, “I’m kidding, Kou!” Your smile is genuine when you see how disappointed he was at first at your reply, looking straight into his eyes as a way reassure him.

“Yes, Kou. What I like most is that you make me the happiest every day I’m with you.”

His smile brightens significantly, a chuckle of his own escaping his lips as he leans back into his chair, “Damn, played by my own girl.”

He slides the pile of cards over to you with a mischievous smirk, “Not that I’m complaining.”

You take the top card off the pile and read it over, fingers twirling the empty shot glass in your hands. Your lips purse as you try to contain the giggles making their way up your throat while reading the question on the card, hands quivering in silent laughter.

“Have you ever wanted to fuck one of our friends while with me?” Bokuto’s eyes seem to pop out of his head at the vast difference and shift in questions, turning to the NHK staff while laughing, “Are you sure this is okay to broadcast?”

The film crew nod, to which Bokuto shrugs, “Alright, then,” before turning back to you. “Uhh, can I just like- take a shot right now?”

“You’d rather drink than not tell me?” You joke, pouring out the Sapporo for your fiancé, “Damn, Kou. Do I not satisfy you enough?”

“Of course you do!” He corrects himself hastily, “It’s just, uh..” he leans in closer to you whisper in your ear quietly, “I don’t want to say Atsumu on national T.V...”

Your hand flies to your mouth in shock, shoulders shaking as you try to contain your cackles, “Atsumu?” you repeat in a hushed tone, making sure you heard him correctly. “Him?”

“He’s got nice hair!”

You both start to laugh at how hair seems to be a common appealing trait you notice in people. Shaking your head in mock disappointment, you shove the stack of questions back over to your fiancé’s side for his turn.

“What is the most embarrassing thing you caught me doing when I thought I was alone?” Bokuto asks, reading from the card he picked off the top of the pile and glancing back up at you.

You hum in thought for a moment, pondering the question.

“Uhm, I think that time you were rehearsing your Valentines day speech to me before we went out to eat at that restaurant a few years ago,” you reveal cautiously, “but you were using a pillow with a photo of my face taped on it as a stand-in.”

Bokuto’s jaw drops at the revelation, nearly falling out of his chair from the shock of what you just divulged to him, “You were there? Watching me do that?”

You have to practically fight the cackle bubbling it’s way up your throat, a smile creeping onto your face when you answer, “Yes, Kou. But it was sweet, so I didn’t mention it to you.”

“You kept that a secret for two years?” He asks again, and you nod.

Your fiancé’s face remains stunned for a few more moments before breaking out into a smile of his own, hand running down his face while laughing to himself. “Damn, I must’ve looked so dumb.”

“I thought it was cute!” You attempt to salvage things, giggling as you pick up the next question card, this time it’s for Bokuto.

“What part of wedding planning is the most challenging part for you?”

“The money…” He pouts, taking the card from you to read it over again before turning to the cameras.

“Weddings are so damn expensive— Did you know wedding flowers can cost up to two million yen?” He exclaims in shock, “For flowers!”

You sigh, plucking the question card from his hand and setting aside on his pile with a smile, “This is why you should leave the financial decisions to me, Kou. Our floral arrangements will not be that expensive, I can assure you.”

“Of course, Baby,” he grins, “I trust you completely on that,” his hands move to pick up the next card, lifting the corner and taking a peek at the question before flipping it over and reading it.

“What is something you’ve wanted to try in the bedroom but haven’t told me about?”

“Impact play,” comes your answer a bit too hastily to be considered normal.

Bokuto has a silent stare off with you for a few seconds after before you both break out in hysterical laughter, your fiancé cackling at how fast and prepared you were when you answered while you exclaim that’s why you could never tell him.

“Baby, that was so fast!” Bokuto reels over the table, pounding his fist into the wood while howling with laughter, gripping his empty shot glass in hand.

“Were you— were you that prepared to answer?”

Wiping the tears from your eyes, you make an attempt to defend your response, “I know you’d absolutely wreck me if we tried, that’s why I never asked!”

“I mean…” He trails off, glancing at you and letting his eyes roam your ring finger as a smirk makes it’s way onto his face, leaning closer to you over the table. “We could always try it at home later—”

“Last question!” You interrupt him, pulling the cards over to your side and grabbing the last question from the stack, you see Bokuto’s smile drop when he sits back in his seat from how you changed topics until he sees you wink at him from the corner of his eye.

“What is something you wish to tell me before we get married?”

Bokuto’s eyes light up at his question, holding up his shot of Sapporo and beaming brightly. Despite not drinking much during your game, his cheeks are flushed like he’s been drunk on your love this entire time, eyes crinkling with glee when he smiles.

“I hope I can keep being this happy when i’m with you after marriage,” He declares, “I love you, Baby.”

“I love you too, Kou,” you smile with him, raising your own shot to clink your two glasses together and down them simultaneously, the cool smoothness of the beer running down your throats.

You can feel the mild bitterness on your tongue afterwards, it leaves it’s taste behind even several hours after your drinking game when you two return to your shared home.

But the sincerity in Bokuto’s eyes when they fell on you back in the studio, and the way he gazes at you like you’re the only thing in his world even with the several NHK staff and film members recording your every move washes that all away instantaneously, overpowering it with sheer sweetness.

It’s just not one you can taste as easily as the flavour of Sapporo.

You might not have gotten drunk that night, but Bokuto’s certain he’s been drunk on your love for the entirety of all three years you’ve been together and wouldn’t mind if things stayed like this forever.

MORISUKE YAKU.

“You’re going down, sweetheart,” Yaku warns you with a teasing wink, lifting the bottle of Vodka in his hands to inspect the label, “Playing in the Russian League gives me an alcohol tolerance advantage that you don’t have.”

“I didn’t know just playing in Russia meant you were an experienced drinker,” you hum, playing along with his jokes for the fun of it. “I don’t think athletes are supposed to consume a lot of vodka anyways.”

“Well, you might as well back out now,” Yaku advises, shrugging with a sly grin, one of the camera crew’s members rushes up to fix the loose microphone on his suit before scurrying back to their position.

“Don’t wanna get beaten by your own fiancé now, do you?”

You merely roll your eyes at his antics, a reluctant smile making it’s way onto your face as you realign the messy stack of cards on your table, sounds of the director doing a final run through of lights and cameras are heard around you.

“Yeah yeah, save it for after you get wasted, Mori.”

The cameras start up as the director nods in your direction, indicating for you two to introduce yourselves to the viewers tuning in, Yaku holds your hand as he recites his lines.

“Hi, I’m Morisuke Yaku,” your fiancé beams, giving your hand a comforting squeeze, “And this right here, is my wonderful fiancée, whom I adore very much.”

Even several years later, Yaku’s swoon worthy words have an effect on you after all this time, making you feel like you’re still in that young and eager love stage. Attempting to hide your giddy face from him, you turn to face the camera as well with a wide grin.

“We’ve been together for four and a half years,” You gush, the sparkling engagement band on your finger being shown outwardly when the cameras zoom in for a closer look. “Engaged for eight months, now.”

“And today, we’ll be playing truth or drink,” Yaku reveals to the excited viewers, the cameras change positions to new angles while the sound crew makes sure your microphones are picking up your words.

After signaling to the director that they are indeed working, he asks you two, “Are you ready to play?”

You and Yaku both agree as he opens the bottle of Vodka, pouring it into your shot glass first before he pours out his own, “Hm, what a gentleman you are, Mori.” You joke, noticing he gave you your alcohol first before serving himself any.

“Always, for you.” He sighs dreamily, setting the bottle down beside him and pushing the cards over to you with his familiar cheshire grin. “And because I’m such a gentleman, you should go first, love.”

You stifle a laugh into the palm of your hand at the sudden switch in personality but take the top card off anyway, flipping it over and reading the question for Yaku written on it, “What is one thing you wish I did more of in our relationship?”

He groans, slumping down in his seat with his Vodka in hand, “Fly over to come visit me overseas,” he jokingly groans, faux-booing you with a thumbs down and all as he turns to the film crew.

“Did you know she doesn’t get on the first plane to Russia whenever I ask, can you believe her?”

You merely snicker at his jeers and turn your card over, placing it down on the table beside your shot. “Well I’m sorry, but I’m unable to predict whenever you’ll miss me spontaneously.”

“It’s not spontaneous,” Yaku argues, “I tell you like, two minutes in advance.”

You raise an eyebrow at his claims, “Wanna bet, Mori? I have screenshots.”

“Maybe I’ll just drink to this instead.”

You both giggle as he shakes his head in defeat, taking the next card off the pile and reading out loud the first question for you.

“Have you ever—” Yaku begins to lose his composure as he reads, holding back his giggles before sputtering out, “faked an orgasm with me?”

You burst out into laughter as Yaku discards the card to his side, head thrown back in hysterics while using the table to stabilize himself.

“Well?” He asks, wiping the tears that have begun to form around his eyes, “Have you?”

You begin to reach for your Vodka shot, causing your fiancé to break out into another, more excessive fit of cackles, “Are you serious, honey?”

“Okay well, maybe!” You confess wholeheartedly, raising the Vodka to your lips, “Back when we were first dating!”

Yaku scoffs disapprovingly, but you can tell he’s not seriously mad when you down the vodka and he’s looking at you worriedly, asking if it was too strong for you afterwards.

You dismiss his concerns, saying it’s fine and that you can handle it before he relaxes and pushes the cards back over to you.

“Have you ever had a dream about me cheating on you?” You ask him, Yaku’s face immediately sours at his question, you look to him expectantly and wait for his reply.

“… Ugh, yes,” he begrudgingly admits after a few moments of silence, eyebrows furrowing as he recalls it unpleasantly, “I had a dream once where you cheated on me with Lev.”

“Lev?” You cackle, “The— the 6’5 russian guy from your highschool volleyball team??”

Yaku’s hand moves to his vodka-filled shot glass, “Yes,” he moans, “It was awful. Hope I never see Lev butt-naked in my dreams ever again.”

“You don’t have to drink to this one, Mori,” you giggle as Yaku downs his vodka quickly, not even flinching at the burn, maybe he was right about the tolerance advantage. “Since you answered it.”

“Ah, don’t care,” he groans, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his suit, “After having to reimagine that scene, I needed the alcohol.”

Yaku takes the next card off the pile of questions skeptically, flipping it over and reading it out loud.

“Do you have any insecurities when it comes to me playing overseas in Russia?”

The question causes you to stop and think as Yaku places the card face down next to him, pouring another shot and sliding it over to you. “You don’t have to say anything, sweetheart.”

His gentle tone reassures you but you shake your head, pushing the vodka away, “No it’s okay, I don’t mind saying it.” Yaku looks surprised but nods understandingly, taking the glass back and giving you the room to process your next words while he remains quiet.

“I think my only insecurity is not knowing if you’re safe while overseas,” you admit to your fiancé. Yaku doesn’t say anything in response, knowing you have more to say as he lets you say what you need while silently encouraging you to elaborate.

“I hate not having you beside me because I don’t know where you are, and I just miss you a lot you know?”

Yaku’s cheek rests against the palm of his hand, concern washing over his face again as he looks across the table to you, “Awe, honey. I didn��t know you felt that way,” he coos, “do you hate whenever I leave for volleyball season?”

You shrug dismissively, the weight of your words beginning to catch up to you as your voice becomes quieter, trailing off at the end. “I mean, I don’t hate it, but like- I wanna know you’re alright while in Russia…”

Yaku’s about to speak when you shake your head dismissively, “It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” before you’re reaching for the deck of cards, already pulling the top question up and flipping it over to read.

Your eyes drag over the words as a pit begins to form inside your stomach. The next question for Yaku causes you to cringe, still reeling from the uneasiness of the last one as you awkwardly ask him, “Have you… ever regretted or had doubts about our engagement?”

Yaku’s face of concern turns into one of astonishment, he looks almost appalled at how unsure you look and sound while asking him.

“Absolutely not,” he states firmly, holding your hand that holds engagement band on it, you can feel the distress radiating off him as he reassures you in a hushed tone.

“I’ve never once regretted proposing to you, and I fully intend on marrying you.”

Yaku’s words dislodge the lump in your throat as you begin to chuckle to yourself, eyes looking down at his hand where the engagement ring he wears that matched your own. “I’m sorry if you thought I was doubting you, Mori. It’s just—”

“You don’t need to justify your feelings,” Yaku reiterates sternly, “I know, okay? You don’t need to explain this on live T.V.”

Knowing he’s only trying to make sure nothing of what you say can be interpreted wrongly later by media, you nod as he sighs in relief with an uneasy smile.

“I think this next question is our last one,” he announces, his smile morphing back into that familiar cheshire grin, the one that always brightens your day. You think he’s doing it in an attempt to lighten the mood, or maybe he just naturally makes you happy.

Yaku picks up the final question card and flips it over, reading it over with a calm smile, “What have you enjoyed most about being engaged to me?” His voice is gentle as he looks up to you, placing the card down on his pile.

“Well, love?” He encourages you, knowing he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable he gives you the choice, “Do you want to answer, or take a drink?”

You’d be a fool to drink at this question, there isn’t anything to drink for here but there’s just so much about being engaged to Yaku that you love that you can’t quite find the words for it. And while the majority of your engagement has been spent with Yaku being away in Russia, it doesn’t mean you enjoy it any less than if he were with you in Japan.

“… I enjoy knowing you will always be with me,” you begin to speak slowly, making sure your words are clear and concise while twirling your empty shot glass in hand absentmindedly.

Trying to fit all you want to say to your fiancé in a few words is tough, but you manage to shorten it enouhh to say all you want to tell him. “Because even while you’re playing overseas, I know you will always come back home to me.”

Yaku’s face unexpectedly heats up at your words, the apples of his cheeks turning bright red as his lips form into a shy and nervous grin, one isn’t anything like the mischievous and playful personality you’re accustomed to seeing while with him.

“I… I love you, sweetheart.” He manages to speak after some time, loosening the collar of his dress shirt nervously, but the smile on his face never falters. “I always have and always will.”

He extends his hand out to you, motioning for you to give him your shot glass. You hand it to him and he pours out some Vodka, sliding it back over to you once full before filling his own.

“Yes, honey,” he whispers unconsciously while pouring his alcohol, and it’s the happiest you’ve seen him all day. From his flushed complexion, dopey smile and euphoric demeanour, he appears to be glowing. Or maybe it’s the blaring lights behind him that are playing tricks on you.

Your fiancé has never looked so sure of himself until this moment, Yaku’s eyes never straying from yours as he raises his shot glass, breaking into his biggest smile yet.

“I will always come back home to you. No matter how long we are apart for,” and to that, you both cheer, clinking your glasses as you toast to your engagement.

Downing the alcohol in unison, the bitter sting of the Vodka attacks your throats relentlessly, but neither you or Yaku care about that in this moment or the next.

The world’s most intense Vodka brewed directly in the heart of Moscow, Russia could never be so strong as to have an effect on either of you when you’re in the presence of each other. You’re certain that Yaku would drown himself in the harshest of Vodka’s if it meant it was all for you.

A little Vodka is nothing compared to what he’d go through for you.

The way Yaku’s entire demeanour changes when with you, the largest of smiles etched onto his face for a side he only shows while you’re with him here, in Japan.

Remaining wholely committed to you even while seperated by land and sea is all a true testament to your relationship, and it puts your heart at ease.

Yaku may not always be at home; but Yaku knows that home is with you, and he knows he’ll always be with you in due time.

KIYOOMI SAKUSA.

“Oh, he’s a lightweight,” you tell the film crew who are adjusting their camera stands nearby as Kiyoomi pulls out the chair at the table for you to sit at, giggling when you hear the faintest muffled groan come from underneath his face mask.

Sitting atop the table is a bottle of Scotch, the deck of question cards and two shot glasses on it’s sanitized surface as per request by your fiancé.

“This’ll be so easy for me.”

“As if,” Kiyoomi scoffs, taking his own seat across from you and scooching his chair forward, “I’ll beat you and then have to hear you drunkenly cry about it back home later for the next several hours.”

“Nope,” you declare mischievously, folding your arms over the table and laying your head in them while looking up at your fiancé, “Hey, did you know Atsumu told me you’re an emotional drunk?”

You can see Kiyoomi’s eyes twitch underneath his thick black locs, hand reaching to grip his hair in annoyance. “That fucking—”

The director interrupts him unexpectedly when he calls to the rest of the crew in the studio for everyone to take their places behind the cameras, Kiyoomi sighs deeply as his shoulders relax and he leans back in his chair waiting for the broadcast to begin.

“I’m Kiyoomi Sakusa,” he states to the viewers plainly, barely acknowledging the cameras pointed straight at his face when he motions to you, “And this is my fiancée of almost a year.”

You can hear the way his voice softens lightly when referring to you as his fiancée.

“We’ve been together for four years now,” You welcome the viewers much more warmly than your fiancé does, announcing eagerly, “Engaged for eleven months, and we’re playing truth or drink!”

Again, you’re a lot more excited than Kiyoomi is when the director asks, “You guys okay to start playing?” but he agrees to it nonetheless, the subtle nod of his head doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

Kiyoomi grabs the stack of cards full of questions and shuffles the deck around a bit, when asked by the director why he did so he answers, “So if anyone planted any weird questions at the top of the pile for her they’re pushed to the bottom.”

After reorganizing the cards, Kiyoomi hands the stack to you, letting you have first pick of the game. You try to argue, but he doesn’t listen.

“Ladies go first,” he says, expectantly waiting for you to start.

You take the first card of the newly shuffled deck and begin to read it for your fiancé, “Favourite memory of us, pre-engagement or post-engagement?”

Kiyoomi taps his empty glass against the mahogany of the table repeatedly for a brief moment, thinking it over before letting out a deep sigh-turned groan, reaching over and pouring out some Scotch for himself as you sit back in stunned shock at his actions.

“Wait, what—”

“Don’t question me,” he rasps, lowering his face mask and downing his shot with ease, there’s hints of floral notes in the Scotch he can taste.

He pulls his mask back up seconds later and looks up at you, you swear you can see a smirk forming under his mask from the way his eyes lift in amusement afterwards, causing your cheeks to heat up at what he could’ve been thinking about that he had to take a shot to get out of saying it.

Finishing off his Scotch, your fiancé takes both the top card off the deck and his empty shot glass before reading aloud his first question for you.

“What was your first impression of me when we met?” Kiyoomi reads monotonously, his stare hardens when he notices you jokingly reaching for your shot glass, tossing the card over to your side with a groan.

“Really?” He huffs, arms crossed over his chest and glaring halfheartedly at your tease. “Didn’t Motoya say you like… hated me at first or something?”

“I didn’t hate you,” you giggle, pouring the Scotch into your glass while avoiding your fiancé’s gaze, “I just.. am a little thirsty right now.”

“Haha,” Kiyoomi laughs dryly, watching as you down your shot quickly, the citrusy notes in the Scotch make it pleasant to drink. “You’re soo funny, dear. Must be really thirsty today.”

“I am,” you wink, placing your glass back down on the table before taking the next card off the pile.

“What is the most embarrassing nickname for me you have in mind?” Kiyoomi asks, and you snort.

“It’s only embarrassing because Atsumu came up with it…” you turn to the cameras to whisper to the viewers, facing your fiancé who’s giving you a skeptic look that soon turns into existential dread when you begin to snicker.

He groans, “I swear to god if it’s Omi-Omi—”

“It’s Omi-Omi.”

You can practically feel the annoyance radiating off of Kiyoomi while you bat your eyelashes innocently at him, playful shrug of your shoulders as you pull the cards back over to your side, taking the next card off the deck while your fiancé whispers something about killing Atsumu at the next practice from across the table.

“What colour or colours are your favorite on me?” You look up at the director almost immediately before Kiyoomi can even open his mouth, “Can I just say it— Because I know.”

The director nods, “He told me once it was black and gold,” Kiyoomi mumbles something incoherent under his breath, whatever he’s saying being muffled by his nask as he hides his face away from the cameras, the camera crew exchange a look amongst themselves.

“Aren’t those the colours of the MSBY Black Jackals?” One of the crew members mentions offhandedly and you smirk, looking over to your flustered fiancé with the most shit-eating grin you can muster, “Yes, yes they are.”

“Should’ve just let me answer instead,” he mutters while pulling out the next card from the deck to move the game along, coughing as his face slowly returns to it’s natural colour.

He chuckles when he reads it over, “How would you spend an entire week without me?” he turns to the cameras with his own smug face, placing the card down on the table. “She doesn’t.”

“I can,” you interject and he gives you a deadpan stare, “Yeah, can. Doesn’t mean you do, though.”

“Anyways,” you swerve back to your answer, taking the card from his side and reading it over yourself.

“I would have a very relaxing week without you, consisting mostly of singing and dancing in our empty kitchen without you to judge me.”

“I don’t judge you.”

“Yes you do.”

“Nope.”

You two could probably have this back and fourth for hours on end but you stop when you catch the director’s eye, one of his assistants motions to you hurriedly that it’s nearly time to end the broadcast.

With that in mind, you pick up the last question card, flipping it over and reading it for Kiyoomi.

“What’s one thing you’d like to tell me at the alter if you couldn’t say anything else.”

“That I love you,” Kiyoomi says almost immediately, tracing the rim of his shot glass with his ring finger delicately, you can hear the gentleness in his voice when he speaks. “And that I hope you’ll always be my lover, whatever that means for us in the future.”

“That’s more than one thing, Kiyo.”

“I don’t care.”

You scoff playfully, tossing the card aside and pouring out two shots of Scotch for you and your fiancé. Whilst handing him his glass your rings bump together momentarily, the clinking of the diamonds makes the two of you smile, though Kiyoomi’s is hidden underneath his mask.

“Cheers, my dear,” he mutters softly, lowering his mask again to drink and allowing you to finally see the beautiful smile he hides underneath, usually reserved only for you.

“Cheers, Kiyo,” and you two drink, the Scotch tastes lovely and refined on both of your tongues when it runs down your throats with ease.

It’s light and sophisticated, and the flavour profile fits Kiyoomi so well. You consider telling him that, but refrain because you think he won’t understand what you mean; not knowing he’s thinking the exact same about you.

Kiyoomi thinks you two may be a match made in heaven, if such a thing exists then it perfectly encapsulates the two of you.

As the cameras cut and several crew members rush around the studio, Kiyoomi doesn’t notice any of that in this moment— his gaze continues to be locked onto you wholly; lovingly enraptured by the beautiful image of you across from him that he hopes will be burned into the back of his head like the taste of this Scotch, but for many years to come and not just a mere few hours.

Kiyoomi can drink Scotch at any time he pleases, but being married to you is something he is excited for and craves everyday of his life as the days on the calender tick down to your wedding, it keeps him motivated to continue each day if he knows it’s just one day closer to a life with you, one where he knows you will be with him every day going forward.

The day you two will finally be united as one. Kiyoomi can’t wait for that morning to come, when night falls and after the ceremony is done he can finally refer to you as his wife and not just his fiancée.

TOBIO KAGEYAMA.

Tobio gulps upon seeing the Sake being poured into his shot glass by the NHK staff member, being handed the alcohol before they pour out another shot for you, to which you graciously accept with a smile and nod of your head.

“Uhh…” His piercing gaze reaches across to you across the table, nervously fiddling with the glass in hand as he twirls it inbetween his fingers, “I don’t, really hold alcohol well, love..”

“Really?” You stare at him blankly, squinting down at the alcohol in your own shot, “what do you drink in Italy then, Tobio?”

“Limoncello,” he sighs, “but it’s supposed to be sipped slowly, not downed like shots usually are.” He makes a face as the thought of attempting to drink Limoncello like shots ripples through his mind, it would most definitely not end well for him.

You chuckle and give him a reassuring smile, placing your hand over his gently. The diamond on his ring is cool to the touch when you run your thumb over it, with sharp and well defined cut corners. “You’ll be fine, Tobio.”

He nods unsurely but allows the NHK camera crew to do their final run through, making sure everything is in order before the cameras begin to roll and the director is motioning for you both to recite your lines.

Your fiancé’s voice is a little strained, a faint stutter can be heard as he speaks slowly, “I’m… Tobio Kageyama,” he manages to say before craning his head to his left, across the table.

“And I’m her fiancé,” his eyes shift towards you as you give the cameras a polite wave, “We’re playing… truth or drink.”

“We’ve been together for five years,” You excitedly tell the viewers, holding up your ring finger to show off the dazzling diamond atop it, “And engaged for two.”

The director asks from out of frame, “Why have you two been engaged for so long?” A question that most viewers are probably wanting to know, Tobio answers it for you.

“I wanted to marry her sooner,” he timidly admits, looking down at his lap to avoid the harsh glares of the camera lenses, “But with me playing in Ali Roma, it’s hard to plan things out, I guess.”

You nod, “Besides,” you chime in giddily, taking over for him, “It’s fun to be in this little engaged stage for a long time, makes everyday that bit more exciting.”

You ramble on about how fun it is to call Tobio during his off days; calling him at three in the morning in Japan while in Italy it’s 7PM to tell him about a cute floral arrangement you saw earlier that day while shopping that you’d love to have at your wedding.

Facetiming him in the dark of the night, wrapped in blankets and wearing his highschool volleyball jersey to ask him what kind of food from Italy he wants to incorporate into the wedding menu, and texting him photos of different style of wedding dresses you’re considering wearing on your big day while getting out of the shower.

You unintentionally forget about your jittery mess of a fiancé while you speak, beaming as bright as the glowering studio lights as Tobio looks at you amazed.

Tobio’s nervousness slowly fades when he sees the ring on your finger and just how happy you are to be engaged to him. It’s always been a worry of his that you hate the long wait to get married to him, that playing overseas would hurt your relationship because of long he is away from home at times.

But your gleeful joy in telling thousands of viewers in real time that you love just being engaged to him for two years; that you don’t mind it at all, brings some peace of mind to his fragile heart.

“Are you two ready to play?”

Knuckles slowly unclenching as he takes a deep breath, he nods his head to the director, indicating the start of the game. He starts first, picking up the first card from the pile.

“What is the most awkward date we’ve ever been on?” Tobio’s face drops immediately upon reading, turning the card face down on the table and turning to the director, “Can I start over? Or make her drink?”

“It’s her choice if she wants to answer or drink.” The director answers.

Tobio turns to you hastily, eyes practically pleading with you not to say what you have on your mind, he’s already inside your mind and fears for what you could potentially reveal on national television, causing you to erupt in a fit of giggles as you reach for the Sake.

“Fine, fine. I won’t say, Tobio.” You’ve never seen your fiancé so relieved, almost seeing the metaphorical weight lifting off his shoulders with your own eyes when you take the shot.

The Sake is sweet, like sticky rice. It’s feels cool when it hits the back of your tongue and nice to drink, reminding you of the Italian sweets Tobio would send you from Italy. Noting that they’d pair nicely with Sake, you consider getting Tobio to send you more of them in the mail soon.

“You owe me for that one, Tobio,” you chuckle after finishing your shot, “Whatever the next question is you have to answer it.” He groans in protest but agrees after some convincing as you reach for the question pile and grab your first question for him.

“Have you kept a secret hobby or interest hidden from me?”

Shockingly, Tobio nods his head and unexpectedly calm about the question he was supposedly ‘forced’ to answer, “I got into gardening when I first came to Italy.”

“You what?” You utter, delightfully surprised at this revelation, “What plants do you take care of in Italy?”

“I have a few hanging Boston Fern and Ivy in some pots around my apartment…” Tobio tells you, adverting his gaze from your eyes the more your smile grows towards him. “I didn’t mean to keep them from you, I just… forgot to mention it everytime we call.”

“Tobio…” You laugh at how empty headed your fiancé can be at times, sometimes you think he’d forget his head if it weren’t secured to his body. “We call almost every day!”

“Yeah, but you usually call me late at night!” He defends himself, “I don’t normally leave my room that late at night, so you never see them!”

You shake your head in disbelief at this, faux disappointment at your fiancé for keeping this interest of his hidden for so long, “When I visit you in Rome, you have to show me these plants, deal?”

He nods in approval at that arrangement, a small smile creeping onto his face as he takes the next card off the deck, “Have you pretended to like a gift I gave you when you actually didn’t?”

You consider reaching for the Sake but reel your hand back at the last second, deciding to tell him straight up.

“Yeah, the lingerie you sent me a few months ago.”

“You didn’t like it?”

Tobio’s mouth hangs open, visibly swallowing his shame away as he sets the question card down on the table, a hand running through his hair in deep thought.

“Okay well, didn’t like isn’t the right word per se—”

“Was it the style?” Tobio begins interrogating you sternly, brows furrowed and that determined look in his eyes you’re so familiar with while watching his volleyball matches.

“Was it the colour, or was it too flimsy? I tried going to a new store that time, I knew I should’ve just stuck to the other one—”

“Tobio!”

He’s immediately brought out of his thoughts by your cackles, blinking as he’s focused on your laughing figure in front of him. His cheeks are tinted a dark shade of red, thinking he’s said something embarrassing when he whispers a low, “Yes, love?”

Through fits of giggles and laughter, you barely manage to sputter out, “It was just the wrong size, babe!”

Tobio’s eyes widen significantly at the reveal, looking down at his hands where his engagement ring sits comfortably in his ring finger, feeling his body shrink in on itself further into his seat while you’re howling across from him.

If you were seated beside each other he’s sure you’d be slapping his arm too for good measure.

“C-can we move onto the next question…” He mumbles just above the microphone strapped to his dress shirt’s minimum level to pick up sounds. If his old highschool teammates were here— if Hinata were here, god, he’d never hear the end of it. “Please?”

Finally settling down from your giggly high, you vaguely nod, still catching your breath when you reach for the next question card on the pile and flip it over as Tobio tries his best to calm down his reddened face.

“What is the most romantic thing your partner has ever done for you?”

After Tobio’s managed to relax himself, he thinks the question over, chin in hand as his gaze lands directly on the Sake bottle on the table beside him where he gets lost in thought while mulling over the question.

“I think…” he mutters to himself, “When you told me it was okay to go play in Ali Roma, instead of discouraging me to stay in Japan.”

His answer legitimately surprises you, “Is that, really your response, Tobio?”

He nods, hands reaching up to the nape of his neck. “Yeah… I don’t know if romantic is the right word, I guess.“

“But knowing you were there to support me; even if I could tell you were scared for me going overseas, it felt like the most romantic gesture someone could ever do to me.”

Tobio blinks, suddenly remembering his words are being broadcasted on national T.V and coughing awkwardly, “Uh, yeah, that’s my answer.”

He begins to notice the gazes of the rest of the film crew and director that are burning right through him, feeling the colour returning to his cheeks.

Tobio looks over to you anxiously, finding you with the brighest eyes he’s ever seen, he could get lost in them if he stared into them long enough. You purse your lips for a moment, before a smile blossoms across your face.

“Wow, Tobio,” you breathe out dreamily, “That was… so sweet of you to say,” Tobio has a hard time meeting your gaze, you can tell he’s still feeling anxious so you grab his hand and force him to look you in the eye.

“I will always support you, okay?” You tell him firmly, he’s a bit startled at how forward you’re being but nods before you quickly add, “Even if I don’t like being so far away from you, you don’t need to worry about me. Don’t be so nervous about this, alright?”

Tobio’s lips quiver into a strained frown before he sighs, “It’s not that simple,” you feel his hand give yours a light squeeze for comfort, interlocking his fingers with your own. “I wish I could just… not be so worried for you. But I love you too much for that.”

“Loving me means you understand that no matter what, I am right behind you,” you voice to him directly. “Maybe not physically, but no matter where you go, I will follow eventually.”

Tobio goes silent for a few seconds, even when he knows dozens of people in this studio— hundreds of thousands are watching him live, he’s only looking at you; having eyes only for you. With a shaky nod of his head, he finally manages to crack a smile.

“I understand.”

Releasing your hand from his grip, he pulls his next question for you from the pile, looking far more relaxed than he did at the beginning of your game. He’s comfortable in this stage of your relationship, even if he knows that others think it’s strange— the distance between you two, the long engagement period.

He knows the only opinion that should matter to him—that does matter to him is yours alone.

“When you hear my name in public, what comes to your mind?”

“That you have done another amazing set,” You answer with ease, allowing yourself to feed his ego for once. “Or won another game, who knows at this point? You can do it all.”

Tobio seems satisfied with that answer, even uncharacteristically relishing in your praise. “Ah, I am pretty good at volleyball, aren’t I?”

You lean over the table to punch his shoulder lightly, a teasing grin dances on your lips which matches his own, “Yeah yeah, you’re welcome for being so supportive of my fiancé.”

“Well thank you then, love.”

One of the camera crew’s members motions to the director, indicating it’s almost time to wrap up the broadcast. Feeling at peace, you grab the final card of the question deck, eyes flickering to Tobio as you read.

“Anything else you’d like to say to me about our engagement?”

Tobio takes a deep breath, steadying himself before he speaks. He wants to make sure he tells you everything on his mind, but maybe that will have to wait for another time— a more private time.

One that isn’t being broadcasted on national television. So he’ll settle for the next best course.

“I just wanted to say…” He hesitates for a moment, his mouth opening and closing at times until he can find his bearings. “That being engaged to you has taught me a lot of things.”

You’re about to say something in response until he holds his hand up, indicating he isn’t done yet.

“And… I wouldn’t mind if we stayed like this forever.”

Tobio notices the slight look of confusion in your eyes as he continues, “Wh-what I mean is, uh… even though we aren’t married yet, you make me so happy that I feel like I could be okay with what we have.”

“I still want to marry you!” He blurts out worriedly in an attempt to explain himself, “But knowing you’re not bothered by how long we’re engaged for is enough to reassure me that no matter how long we wait for, I’ll still be as happy as the day we marry.”

Tobio shuts his eyes, burying his head in his hands from sheer embarrassment, “Fuck, that was so stupid sounding-”

“Hey now..” You pry his hands away from his face with a pout, leaning across the table’s surface to cup his cheek, “That wasn’t stupid, that was sweet!”

“Really?” He asks, unsure if he believes you, “I’m not really good with my words, y’know.”

“Well I understood what you meant,” you smile, pressing a kiss to your ring finger and placing it on your fiancé’s lips, “And I feel the same way.”

Tobio’s face erupts into a bright scarlet red as you pour the two of you a shot of Sake each, downing them together with your rings on prominent display for all of Japan to see.

Your fiancé is still quite popular in Japan despite now playing overseas, overhearing the NHK film crew and the thousands of viewers who tuned in were watching his broadcast with you while dying in laughter.

It’s not laughter to mock him however— as he soon finds out when after the cameras cut and he can still hear the staff talking about how adorable he looked during the live special.

And his old highschool friends blowing up his phone, sending him clips of his broadcast with hearts and kissy face emojis, but you swear to him that it’s all well intentioned. Maybe not Tsukishima’s to some extent, but nontheless.

All Tobio knows he can do is sigh, turn his phone off and settle into your arms after everything’s been said and done. His time in Japan is limited after all, he has to fly back to Italy in a few days time.

He knows it hurts to leave you again, and you hate sending him off at the airport. He wishes he could marry you immediately— but there’s still so much to be done until that day can arrive.

Tobio doesn’t know when the lucky day will come when you can instead wear a wedding ring on your finger rather than an engagement ring, but as Tobio has discovered today; the two of you will be okay until then despite it all.

It takes a lot to make Tobio anxious about your engagement, but it also takes a lot to shake the strong foundation the two of you have built with each other over the years.

The two of you have planned your future with each other as the main component of it all in the centre of it for as long as you can remember, and he’s prepared to withstand any obstacles that threaten his happiness with you.

Tobio is at ease knowing you have his back, and he has yours even while separated by thousands of miles of stretching oceans and ground.

reblogs are appreciated .ᐟ ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

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writella · 3 months

Text

Screwed Up and Brilliant

Synopsis: Negan is ready for you. Daryl isn’t; and maybe he’ll never be. Negan makes that clear to you tonight.

Details: Negan Smith x fem!reader, Daryl Dixon x fem!reader (mentioned), Negan is a bad guy but there is nuance— at least I hope I accomplished doing so, angst, guilt, forbidden love, probably super stereotypical, reader at the Sanctuary, moral dilemma reader (but you got to understand, they’re both so fine!!), I feel like I need more cws but I can’t think of them and of course, smut, 18+: consensual, unprotected, vague dacryphilia, soft? dom!Negan, lite daddy kink, fingerings, riding, and basically just Negan blowing your brains out… but not in the walker way— the good way, the way we like. Amen.

A/N: Could you believe I started writing this in October or something? This is my first time writing Negan and I’m scared I may not have gotten it right so definitely feel free to give notes! This is set during season 7/8, I’m picturing Negan at the end of 8 and later seasons but there’s something about him older that gives me heart eyes everywhere, but whatever you prefer makes me happy. Anyway, from my heart, and maybe somewhere a little lower, to yours; with love from writella. ♡

You’re screwed up and brilliant, look like a million-dollar man; so why is my heart broke?

—— LDR, Million Dollar Man

The space was clean; minimal. The kind that let out no secrets of the owner that inhabited its insides. And of course there were the little things that let out some slight details: the ashtray on the nightstand— a smoking habit; a ring, a metal chain, another of black rope— an unsuspected, albeit small, interest in jewelry; the bottom nightstand closed by a lock—mysterious and cautious, though that was to be expected. It was only reasonable he’d have something he wanted hide. But other than that, Negan’s bedroom was quite unreadable; almost purposefully mundane.

There was a fireplace, a window at the corner, and a bed at the center. It had a dark, brass, rusted headboard that leaned against the wall. Two pillows at either side. The sheets were white, and the large blanket was of fur, a tan or medium brown, it was thick and heavy. Probably unnecessary for the approaching spring heat, but it adored the bed end well; matching the other bronze, or brown, wooden and darker aspects of the room. Even the light from the small fire, though you could see clearly, made everything mildly dim— the Sanctuary wasn’t known for its brightness after all.

And truly, nothing in this bedroom, or in this fortress of a place could be described as anything close to bright. Unless you counted the sun outside in the courtyard, or the largest fireplace that blazed in the main hall, or Negan’s piercing, priceless smile— so pristinely white, so wide it almost looked painful to perform. There was an eeriness to it as well. That was at the forefront, and everyone saw it. With the way he maintained their cleanliness, it was something that could look so pure, so put-together on any other; but on him, its power could scare you into worthlessness. It’s the one he used when he told someone what to do even if they hated it; it’s the one he used when killing someone’s best friend.

It’s also the one he used on the first day he ever spoke to you. The first time that truly mattered, really.

It was during Negan’s first supply gathering at Alexandria.

You still remember it well.

Your faces filled with desolation, but chins held high; you were strong— good at hiding the pain, the fear— only straight, pokered eyes and mouths allowed as everyone silently agreed with you. You had told Negan that Maggie was dead.

The Widow, he had coined her. The wife of your good friend that he killed— so generous a man was Glenn, even when he wasn’t trying to be. And she’s your friend too, brave Maggie. That’s the one he wanted, but as far as he knew, she was gone.

Thank God, you thought, Thank God, yes, indeed, until—

Negan’s eyes glazed over your frame for just a moment too long.

You weren’t speaking anymore. You kept it short enough. He should have turned his attention back to Rick but he didn’t.

Where there was sly roguery in Negan’s eyes, anxiety weld in the looks of all others: Rick’s throat tensed and tightened uneasily, sweat trailing down his curls and onto his forehead; Rosita’s jaw clenched with bitterness, brows furrowing under her green khaki cap with anger; and then there was Gabriel: his eyes turned from solemnity and pretend peacefulness to wide bewilderment. The plan you two exchanged had worked: you would tell Negan of Maggie’s passing, as per your idea, and Gabriel would swiftly solidified your lie by saying he was the one who officiated the short funeral. But then, another problem arose; one where he could be nothing else but helpless in aiding you. What was he, or anyone to do? It was easy to help Maggie, she was more than twenty miles away. But you, you were here. Right in front of him.

“Wait a minute…” Negan’s pointer shakes lightly by his temple, his mind turning curiously. “You.” He said, shooting his finger in the direction of your chest.

His smile, mischievous as ever, only grew wider as a moment passed and he made his realization: “You’re the one with that- tight- grip!” He balled his raised hand into a fist as he said it. A slight snicker came after, proud of his entendre. “My men were tryna put Daryl in the trunk and you latched onto his foot like it was your dying- act- which—” you attempt to lessen the startle in your eyes at his upward hitch in tone, “—it most certainly could have been.”

Negan comes closer now, his face nearing your own, “But you know better now, right?”

Obviously, you did not.

Or you would have stayed home, not given him the chance to remember you as he said he would after your nails could no longer claw into Daryl’s ankle. He was thrashing too much and Negan’s men pushed you away; they were too strong together against the two of you. They kicked dirt in your face for it, held a gun to your head until Negan told them to stop. His point was made with your two friends he had killed, no need for another— especially not one who amused him like you had just done.

‘DAYUM. She is surprisingly strong!’ He had yelled, ignoring the weeping faces of you and the group kneeling in a line on the ground; sweat, blood, and tears dripping everywhere. ‘And I do like ‘em loyal…’ He had given you a once over while telling his men, ‘Hands off, gentlemen,’ and before returning his attention back to Rick, he added, ‘I’ll keep my eye on you.’

And he did.

You made an impression.

Now you’ll pay.

Rick should have told you why he wanted you to stay with Judith. He remembered what Negan said too. He remembered what Negan said to everyone. He couldn’t forget. But maybe it didn’t matter. It was only the start of Negan’s day here. Maybe he would have found you anyway.

Rick would feel it was all his fault nonetheless, but all you could think about is how truly, it was your own, and no one’s at all.

The sun allows glints of wickedness to sparkle in the whites of Negan’s teeth as he continues imparts his demand, “From now on, don’t stop me when I’m giving an order, okay?” It’s like you can hear him underlining his words just with his darkened voice. Turning his waist, he extends his hand to everyone as he finishes, “And that goes for all of you.”

You force your face to remain leveled as he meets your eyes again, that cheshire look returning directly toward you. He curls his head to the side, whispering near your profile, “So… you’re his girl, huh?”

Your mouth becomes slightly agape. You don’t even realize it before you can try to close it. He asked the question of aversion, or at least that’s what you assumed it was to Daryl.

You knew it was just his way, that speaking about things like this might have not been his strong suit. Besides, there were more things to worry about almost all the time, but it still hurt to know that when asked, the only complete and honest answer there could be was no.

Your eyes trail down slowly, desperate to avoid his, and Daryl’s face— a few feet away from you— turning to the side, looking at nothing. He could not hear what was being asked, but maybe Rick did, Rosita and Gabriel too. It was unclear, but their eyes prodded with more tension, more worry, Daryl could register that, and even more so, he could not stand Negan’s face that close to yours; he was probably trying to make an advance on you, scare you, or both. He pretends not to care, but ultimately it’s useless. Negan detects your expression and turns to look at Daryl’s; he notices both failing attempts at impassivity.

“Oh,” he muses, voice returning to its normal volume, “or not, my bad…. I guess that does make more sense though.” He speaks louder now, casually, like he’s a close friend consoling you about your boy troubles, “I personally haven’t been able to hold a conversation with the guy either, and I’m just tryna be friends.”

Daryl was right. Negan was weaseling his way in. He snarls because of it.

Only Dwight hears this and sends him a warning glare.

You feel the sweat beading from your hairline to the nape of your neck. The danger felt from Negan’s presence was as thick as the sun’s heat that shone directly on the cemetery grove. It’s hard to look up and especially to look at him directly for that long as if he truly was the fire in the sky, so you look down again.

Negan pats your shoulder sympathetically, his hand then going to hold up your chin, his thumb tracing your jaw softly.

It makes Daryl’s arms twitch and his stance jerks forward, but he’s pushed back, Dwight beating him on the chest. It’s only once but you can hear it, everyone heard it.

It only makes Negan’s grin become more sly because— there it is— a reaction; an answer. It makes what he’s about to do that much more sweet: “Fuck, darlin’. I’m sorry. Idiot,” he tisks. Then more quietly he adds, “I’m not one though.”

This time it’s for sure: Rick caught that, and Rosita too. They give each other an alarming look as Negan continues to trail over your dispirited form, like a wilted flower. His hand lowers back down to your shoulder, then trails to your arm, to the elbow, and then off of you entirely.

Despite the feeling of Lucille under his grasp telling him he shouldn’t, Rick urges himself to speak before Negan says what they all know is coming. “Negan,” he starts, swallowing the slight shake in his voice, “would you like to see the pantry—”

“Did I ask you to speak, Rick?” Negan states, his frame still positioned in front of you. “I’m thinkin’ here… I’m thinkin’… particularly, that you should come with me.”

Daryl makes a sound that you couldn’t hear, for Dwight was already barking a “Shut up,” at him. Only the swat he gives to Daryl’s shoulder is what is once again heard by all.

You almost choke on your gasp, but you hold it in. Only letting out the faintest sound as you ask, “What?”

“You heard me,” he plainly says. “I mean, what do you even do here anyway?”

You almost felt embarrassed to answer.

“No, I’m askin’. Seriously. Does Rick actually utilize you?”

As you begin, your voice is still quiet, “I… I work in the garden, with the produce… I help tutor the kids… I go on runs, gather supplies. I cook. Help with weapons maintenance, I—” you stop, realizing your grocery list of jobs probably sounds pathetic to him, you’re like a chore boy, “— I do a lot. But everyone does.”

“Hm,” Negan responds, playing with his nails nonchalantly. Your thoughts come to fruition with his next words, “So you’re just everyone’s helper?”

He noticed the sad offense emanating from your eyes, so he raised his hands, “And those are important things to do, I mean it. It must mean you know quite a bit from everyone, that’s smart, and there’s no trouble in it. But… I saw you. I think you can do more.”

“How?” You can still only gasp out your words. “I’m not Maggie. And she’s not here.”

“No.” He brings up one finger, “But you’re clever,” you look at him confused as he brings up his middle finger to join the first, “and quick on your feet, that I now know.” A third and fourth finger comes up, “You’re strong, you’re loyal— things I’ve stated before.” Then the fifth he says with a smug smile, “And you’re a looker, I must admit.” He moves his hand to one side of his mouth, pretending to secretly tell you, “But that’s just a plus,” he winks. “And more importantly, it seems to me that just like most people in Prick’s community, you are undervalued and not paid attention to whereas I see potential.” He says it all so simply, he truly believes he’s offering you so much better that he finally ends by saying: “Hm. Yeah. I think you’ll be much better off with me.”

And so, with no true goodbyes said, in a van you went after Negan’s visit was done. A different one from Daryl’s, of course. Taken away from the first home you had in ages.

Before the trunk door closed, Negan gave you parting words: “You see?” He had said, “I told you I’d remember you, didn’t I?”

The words rang in your ears for the entire ride as they still do now, even more or less than two months later as you sit in his room.

Your heartbeat started to rise little by little as time went on and he hadn’t arrived. With the window allowing you to escape into thought, you were left to think about the last couple of days, and specifically, the last time you were in here:

You were sitting with him on his bed. You had asked if you could talk about anything other than the world you two lived in now, and surprisingly, he obliged. It was nice. Sometime later, he had finally opened that locked drawer.

You heard him suck his teeth, what he was getting seemed lost, which allowed you to take a closer peek inside.

There was a picture of a woman. The first wife? The only real one? You couldn’t tell and you wouldn’t ask, it would have been too much. You didn’t even get a good look at the woman anyway— part of her face was covered and he was fast. But he saw your eyes, so you decided to take note of the books you caught a glimpse of, pretending it was the only thing you saw. You try to think of something to say… It did make sense he was a reader, at least even mildly if that was all it was. The way he describes his ideals, his persuasiveness, his diction— it impressed you, even if you disagreed with a lot of it. It was almost ironic that the only cover you saw was of a dictionary, the more valuable ones probably hidden under. “Is that where you get all your big boy words from?” You asked.

“Some of them,” he joked back, composing himself.

It was strange to almost catch him off guard. It was so unlike him to allow it, but what happened next felt even more surprising.

Whatever he got from the drawer was enclosed in his hand. He put the free one on top of the other as he started, “Now… I don’t want you thinking I’m growing soft on you. I just thought you deserve it because—” and then his voice fades. Even Negan, the ever curse-filled wordsmith, was finding it hard to describe in any other way that he was pleased with something as absurd as you not trying to escape anymore. He knew you would probably think that was the only reason for a gift, but then he opted for something that even you couldn’t help but know was equally true, “You don’t seem to proactively hate me anymore. You’re here. I appreciate it, so I wanted to,” he says sincerely. “That’s all.”

Negan opened his hand, resting the piece in your palm— it was a locket; lovely and rusted floral engravings all over it.

You felt sad that you thought it was beautiful, and even worse for knowing the reasons why he was giving it to you. No wonder his voice had faltered.

You remember the soft shock and awe on your face, how you said thank you and how your face felt so hot when you said it, how he asked you to turn, and how you looked at him from behind you after he put the piece on. He was so close and it felt like he was coming closer. You don’t remember if that part was real, but you can see it so clearly that it must have been. Unfortunately, the only thing you remember for certain is that knock at the door that sent Negan away to handle whatever was going on downstairs.

Had you almost let him kiss you? Would you have liked it? Are you the most deplorable person for even thinking that while Daryl was somewhere else locked up at the time?

“I see they delivered my message.”

You return from your daze, your startle leaving as soon as it comes.

It was just him. There Negan finally was.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to just come in. The door was unlocked.”

“I knew the meeting was gonna go longer than expected; thought you might as well make yourself comfortable.” He gestures to you, “which I see you did, and no—“ you were getting up from his bed, “it’s fine.” Negan sets Lucille near the door. He walks over to you, sitting down on the edge of his bed as well. There is a bit of distance between you two.

“You know, I came back the other day,” he informs, “I was actually going to talk to you last night, but then I heard you tried to leave. Again.” His eyebrows furrow, “We still on that?” He asks. “Thought we had a breakthrough the other night.”

“But after Carl—“

“—Carl,” he interjects, “came here all by his badass self, and for that, I did not lay even my pinky fuckin’ finger on him.” His hand goes to his chest, “I even took him home like a gentleman. And after I got here and found out they put you in a cell without supper, I had you back in your bed before midnight yesterday, so I’d say I’m doing pretty well.”

“Seriously?” Your incredulity is hidden under the softness of your voice as you say it, but it’s cracking.

“As a heart attack. It’s your ex-people who don’t listen. At least I was nice this time.”

You sigh heavily, docility officially fading. You shake your head with a slight chuckle, “That’s hard to believe. Especially if you were gone for most of the day. I know what that means. You had whatever the fuck your version of fun is.”

He grits his teeth, holding his words back. You’ve gotten a little too comfortable with the back talk, and you especially shouldn’t be saying anything after the night you had yesterday, but he allows it.

This time.

Of course, he didn’t like you leaving, but he rather that it was Daryl who escaped than you. And based on the bruises: one on the side of your head, one high on your shoulder— he imagines you might have gotten pushed against a wall— and the light ones that littered in a couple of spots on both your arms— he could tell his men must have been rough with you as they brought you back. He didn’t like that; therefore, he lets you quip. Someone would be getting their own bruises for it some time later anyway. He would take your smartass mouth out on them to cover for it.

“Maybe,” he finally says. “Nothing was undeserved though.”

You breathe in, the back and forth was no use. “What happened yesterday?” You asked, losing the sarcasm. Your eyes peered into his for honesty, hoping to skip the sly replies and get to the truth. “Just tell me what happened at home.”

Home. You knew better than to use that word. In fact, you have just stopped using that word. He let out an exasperated laugh, but skipped the lecture. “You want the truth? Or just the SparkNotes?”

You roll your eyes lightly. You probably don’t even notice you did it. Despite the situation being discussed, it makes Negan’s head turn endearingly— your tone of voice, the things you say, the way you react to him… you still don’t realize how fresh you’ve gotten with him, how comfortable. But he sees it.

“Alright. Well, Spencer’s gone.” He reveals offhandedly, replying to your silence.

Your eyes do not widen, you know what gone means. You simply nod and try to not think about how the now-cleaned bat most likely looked before.

“And don’t tell me that you care,” he says, pretending to interject to your continuing silence. “You gotta know he was a small dick nepo-prick, right?”

You bite the inside of your lip, shaking your head slightly. You won’t give in to a cheap joke even if it was pretty accurate, so he beckons you by name, “C’mon, that was funny.”

Still, you give him nothing.

He sighs; taking off his leather; and sits near you on the bed, his hands cupping the ledge. “Thought we were finally over this quiet thing.”

“A lot has happened this week.”

“Like…” he prodes. He would only talk about it if you brought it up.

Your eyes shut tightly before opening again. You didn’t want to say it, but you had to. “You know what. Daryl.”

He states the fact plainly, “Daryl left you.”

“Are you kidding me?” Your voice is fierce now. You can’t believe it. You won’t. “He’s not that kind of person and this isn’t an easy place to get out of— I obviously know that— he wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I know,” he jeers, “but he did and he didn’t bring you with him. Even though you were found trying to find his cell. That’s some real idiotic bullshit right there, isn’t it? From both of you.”

You glared at him hotly, you wouldn’t give it up, but unfortunately you had no rebuttal. Both of you would just continue on with the same argument, the conversation going nowhere. And not because either side knew they were completely right; in truth, neither of you actually knew what happened the other day. But in this regard, you felt there was no other choice: you believed in Daryl fully.

Because he wouldn’t.

He couldn’t.

Right?

You continue shaking your head, trying to find something to say in retaliation as you feel your sureness withering. Separating you two was the smartest tactic. You now have nothing to hold onto. “He wouldn’t,” you repeat pathetically, “I don’t believe you.” Unfortunately it’s not quite enough, so he continues with a rant you know all too well.

“You don’t believe me?” He cups the ends of the bed more tightly, positioning himself closer to you. “When I’m the one who gave you the safest roof? Secure food, clean water, access to all these pretty dresses, which, I know you’ve become accustomed to—” and here it comes— “I saved you!”

Saviors and their “saving,” you sneered at it. What bullshit. “You didn’t save me.”

“But I gave you someone to talk to… Huh?” He taunts, waiting for your response but nothing comes. He uses it to his advantage, “You’re quiet cause you know it’s true.”

But you know something too. He says it before you can.

“Or fuck, maybe I just gave myself someone to talk to.”

You pretend you can’t hear the earnesty in it. “Stop,” you scoff. “Don’t treat me like I’m special. I was the second choice.”

“I think with my dick sometimes. You’re the only choice.”

You start to shake your head, your face is flushed; scared, hot, and a little bit of something else that you refuse to let out. Then the tears come— the room feels so big and you two are so close and there are so many feelings you’re trying to push down. “It doesn’t matter,” you say wearily, “You took me. And you took him. You hurt him, I saw his face.” Your voice begins to tremble, almost in unison with the tears that peak out on your eyelids. “And that outfit you put him in. He didn’t even look me in the eye.”

“Stop,” he warns.

“You didn’t even let me see him.”

“He doesn’t notice you.”

“You don’t know us.”

“I know you.”

“You don’t know him.”

“I know you’re not happy… What about the other night?”

You ignore him, shaking your head: “You hurt my friends.”

“What about the other night?” He persists, his voice slowly growing louder. “What about every time I let you sit in on my meetings? What about how you have your own room? What about how I actually talk to you?”

“You let him get hurt—” the tears start to fall, there is a quiver in your voice but you still match his near shout, “And you almost killed Carl—”

“Shut up.”

“And you killed Abraham—”

He warns you by name.

“And Glenn! Maggie’s husband—”

“SHUT. UP.”

“The baby won’t have a father, Negan!”

His voice is low and grim as he demands you to “Stop. Now.” Negan grabs the sides of your neck as he says his next line, it comes out brisk and harsh and heavy like his touch as his hand wraps around your neck. “I knew you lied to me.”

Your voice is hushed, feeling his lightly pressed thumbs on the front of your throat as you speak shakily, “I’ve never lied to you.”

“Maybe not since you’ve been here, but did you hear yourself right now?” He pauses, allowing you a second to let it sink in. “You just fucking proved it.”

Your eyes widen at the realization. The baby, you had said. Fuck.

“See? Told you, you were smart.”

And he did. Brave Maggie. Clever you. That was his reason number one.

“You have to get why.”

His voice remains eerily calm. “I do.”

Another tear falls and his thumb presses its pad under your eye, spreading a tear on your face as the next one comes down.

“Negan…” you say. It’s a mix of a warning and a plea but you can’t tell for what, both fear and fire mix together because of his proximity. His touch and stare was dangerous, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was pleased he caught your slip up, thrilled to see you cry, but there was also something about it— his touch, his eyes— that was equally intoxicating. There was something more tender there as well, something you didn’t want to turn away from, he wasn’t as rough as you thought. Nonetheless, your answer to these conflicting feelings are ones of neglect, you stay your course. “You’re a bad person,” you tell him.

“Please,” he whispers back, “just stop.”

His eyes glaze over your features with an intent look you’ve only seen once before, it was that other night in fact. It’s almost gentle, but maybe it’s just pity, so you don’t let it stop you. “But you are.”

“Stop,” he pleads, then it’s hushed, “just stop…” he says, “just stop.” Then he starts coming closer. “Tell me to stop.”

And you know you should get up.

You should, you should, you should, you know it but— you don’t.

You breathe into it.

His lips latch onto yours; your heads tilt; you lock perfectly.

Everything after happens fast, the instantaneous mess of it all: he waited and waited, and of course he would. He was waiting for you to see it, to feel it. He thought the other night was the breakthrough, but no, it was tonight, it was how you didn’t back away just now.

His hand goes lower on your leg, nearing your knees so he can get under your dress, trailing up your thigh, reaching the inner side that’s pressed up to the other one.

His hand on your neck brings you in closer, traveling up to under your chin and jaw, holding you so tight, but so sweetly. All you felt was surprise. He slips his tongue in, it's deep and intense. He brings a velvet warmth that you’d never expect from him. It was paradoxical; a fiery heaven of a feeling.

He starts rubbing your clit over your panties, kissing his way up to your ear as he does so to ask, “When’s the last time someone’s fucked you?”

Your lips are parted, but you cannot speak, so he continues.

“Daryl never did, did he?” He asks in a muffle, continuing to kiss and kiss. “Who was before him?”

Again, no verbal response, but your breath does hitch at his touches. He continues to draw circles, your wetness now slowly dampening the material, making it easier for his finger to place itself between your folds, so he dips his hand under the band. That and his whispering makes you feel a kind of spark that shoots all the way down to where his fingers are touching. The first press of his thumb without any material in between forces a sudden heat to rise that instantly causes a flush of liquid to slip down your hole, it feels messier than it actually is until his fingers go lower spreading it everywhere. You were much wetter than you thought, and you can’t help how good it feels, how easily you’re responding to it.

Negan calls your name, holding in every cocky reply he wanted to give about how wet you are— he needed an answer to his question first. So he looks you in the face, making sure he has your full attention, “You’re fuckin’ with me, right?” His words are meant more genuinely than his tone implies. “Not at all during any of this?”

You shake your head small and slowly. No.

He laughs pitifully, he doesn’t mean it rudely, but he just can’t help it. A touch-starved baby at the mercy of his fingertips? “Well, god-damn.”

He felt like a rich man.

He begins to kiss your lips again, now pumping his fingers into you. Your walls tighten. It’s only two, but they’re his. It’s new and exciting. His kiss makes you lean into the bed, the force of his head and tongue going deeper into your mouth guiding you to lay flat as his fingers still play.

“I hope you know how fucking soaked you are,” he finally says. “You need it so bad that it feels this damn good with me only touching you like this?” You can’t help the way your body jerks up and he can’t help but be smug about it. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

Your eyes grow vicious at his grin, you almost want to hit him, but you can’t. All you can do is suppress your moan into a quiet whine. He’s so magnetic— his touch feels forbidden but so right; his voice so alluring; and his midas touch pulls you deeper and deeper into a trance, you might as well be turning into gold. Other than the involuntary reactions your body makes as his fingers continue going into your hole, now slowly going in and out as his eye gloss over your body in your favorite dress that you wore the most, you’re left paralyzed; subjected to following his lead. Wherever he wanted to go next, you’d let him.

He takes his fingers from inside of you and you look up quickly. You made sure not to whine at the loss of contact but your eyes couldn’t hide your dismay. All he did was smile and quickly lick away the wetness.

“Just takin’ this off,” he tells you as his hands cross over to the ends of his white t-shirt, slipping it off and onto the ground, one of those small rope chains hitting his chin as he does so.

It was only his shirt but you’re struck by him: to see more of his ever present sun-kissed skin felt almost godly. He was pretty lean, not too lanky like his stature, but not too broad either. Light curves of muscles adorned his chest and shoulders and arms. His chest and abdomen were slightly hairy, a tattoo placed on the upper right side and you finally saw the other tattoos placed on his upper arms more clearly. They looked nice on him. He was so handsome. You felt more wetness peeking out from down below. He looked so big above you.

“Like what you see, beautiful?” That typical snark still laced his voice, but there was a genuinity to it as well. He wanted you to like what you saw; to like him.

His words make your face hot, eyes casting off to the side. It was easier to talk to him when you were mad at him, when it was about home, even just small talk about the Sanctuary; this felt… different. Just like the other night.

You had almost already forgotten that his charm worked this way too; in a kinder way— when his eyes are wide, when his smile is soft, when he calls you sweet names without the irreverent, quip-filled pretenses.

It made you have all the words on the tip your tongue: how handsome and sexy you could say he is, how much you liked his tattoos, even all the greys that littered his hair and beard l, or how, if you had to admit it, you liked that dumb shit-eating grin of his, but all you can do is lightly smile, a quiet laugh escaping your lips at your bashfulness. You finally nod. “Yes,” you say, rolling your eyes, “maybe.”

He starts undoing his belt with a laugh of his own, “Oh I know you’re a fuckin liar if you think I’m a maybe.”

As his pants drop to the floor he takes each hand and places them over your shoulders on the bed to ask, “May I take off the lady’s dress?”

Your eyes widened, your open mouth only letting out a sweet, surprised, and whispered, “Huh?”

“What? Didn’t expect me to be a gentleman?”

You try to compose yourself, calm the fire you feel all throughout your body, and pretend you haven’t already given in completely right when he kissed you. “I just didn’t expect it would be all this slow.”

He laughs inwardly, glad to see the personality he came to know come back after all that happened these past two days. “Just give me a moment,” he jokes back. “You think I’m gonna waste seeing the reaction of you watching my cock spring out just so I can shove it in fast? ” He comes closer, his voice lowers now, “Believe it or not, I don’t think you’re just some doll or a fuck-piece.” The groundedness of his voice is something you’ve never heard before. “I’m pretty sure I’ve already stated that I see you. And truly, I think you’re damn gorgeous.”

Your eyes are stars. How can you even react? He thinks you’re gorgeous and you’re taken aback. “Thank you,” is all you can quietly say.

“You’re welcome.” He responds with eyes that have never looked so honest, so soft. You get lost in them and he has to pull you back, returning to his question, “May I?”

You nod, quick and excitedly, “You can take it off, Negan.”

He grabs your hands and stands you up. You look up at his face and his fingers move to the ends of your dress, pulling it over your head.

The tips of his fingers trace your chest and stomach lightly, delicately touching your skin as if it’s porcelain. He grabs your waist and travels up to take off your bra, then pushes down your wet underwear.

Negan’s cock stirs at the sight, you’re so pretty and so ready for him. “And I didn’t even need to see it to know I was right.” Just like he said, you’re gorgeous.

Negan pushes down his boxers. Cock springing up. Big and veiny with a red tip. He was itching to get inside of you.

And there you were, eyes and mouth open wide, scared and excited all at once. You were intimidated but surprisingly not scared if it would fit or not. You would let him do anything to get himself inside of you, even if it hurt.

“There it is,” he says, pleased with your reaction. He comes closer to your ear now, pushing you down by the hips against the bed once more. “And trust me, if you like that, you won’t fucking believe how I’ll feel inside of you. Just wait.”

“I…” He wanted to make you feel good, you’re almost speechless. “I’m ready.”

“Good.” He says, and then he places himself above you, admiring your glistening folds as he spreads your legs. He already lines himself up, he could look at you forever but he is in no desire to wait any longer. He pushes in. It’s a bit fast, a tight fit, it must have hurt you, but he’s too excited, he can’t help it. He lets out a hum and then a groan at the feeling of your walls enclosing him, and he hears you gasp at his size. He starts to pump into you immediately.

His face hovers over yours. His eyes study your features and he realizes he’s never been this close. Of course he hasn’t, he’s never fucked you, made love to you. He’s just now noticing the way your eyelashes curl, what birthmarks adorn your upper body or not, and how many earrings you may have, but most importantly, he’s noticing the way you react to him: the way your eyebrows might scrunch, or what elicits more pants and squirmings, the way your lips tug tightly against each other or open into ovals and circles depending on what he does, how he thrusts, where he touches, how he moves.

It all makes him slowly speed up. He can’t take it anymore. He kisses your neck and jaw— some kisses sweet, then others that are rough and he begins to pump and pump. Faster and faster.

“Oh,” you choke out before moaning, “ah.”

He continues, loving every facial expression you make until he finally speaks. “Alright. I gave you a break— now tell me how it feels?”

All you can do is whine incoherently.

“Excuse me?” He says more sternly. You know what he wants.

“Negan,” you whine again.

He stops. “Yes?” He asks all too knowingly. “Gonna use your words and tell me how it feels?”

You sigh, taking the hand placed on your hip and moving up toward the ends of your stomach, all the way up to your left breast. You let his hand rest there, feeling the heat and your quickened heartbeat radiating from the area. “You… you feel so good.” Your eyes are watery, “Amazing.”

You got him there, and he almost can’t help but start hammering it in, but then he remembers… he doesn’t have to help it. He could do whatever he wanted, so he does. He squeezes your breast, grinning wildly as he gives you one hard thrust. “Damn right,” he tells you, hearing your yelp before pounding fast.

You had always been quiet but he never quite saw you at a loss for words as you are now. Your mouth is completely open, your eyes threatening to roll back further, making sounds he’s sure you’ve never heard from yourself before. Have you even had it this fast? This big? This great? He knows it couldn’t be. And he’s the one who gets to show you. His eyes gloss over you with pride at the thought.

He grabs your chin to get you to look at him, “Who’s fucking you this good?”

You moan. You weren’t used to this. Your eyes roll back completely as he pounds into you with eye contact.

It makes him groan loudly, his jerks into you, letting out his own moan from the sight. “Oh fuck, baby. Don’t play with me.”

You give in, force yourself to speak, you can’t let this end. “You, Negan!”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes!” It’s so hard to speak, it comes out so pathetically.

“Who's making you feel like no one else?”

“You, Negan, it’s you!” Your moan turns into a pant, “It’s you, only you.”

He comes closer, his nose touches yours. His movements slow, but they don’t stop. He’s rocking into you now. “Only me?”

You don’t even think, “Who else? It's only you.”

His teeth sparkle, “Only me.”

“Only you, daddy.”

He laughs cockily, “So Daddy’s making you feel this good?”

“Yes, daddy. So good.”

You feel the groan he makes travel right to your clit, making it throb.

He kisses you, the corners of your lips to your cheek and neck and collarbones and back up again.

He restarts his pumping into you but his head remains close to yours. You decide to wrap one of your arms around his neck, pulling his hair, and the other hand travels down his back, holding him close.

Negan breathes you in, his head near the crux of your neck, hearing every little sweet sound you make that he’s never heard before. It all drives him wild, but then his eyes open. A question comes out that surprises you both: “Am I ruining your life right now?” He quietly asks.

“That doesn’t matter,” you say, breathing heavily from his touches, your eyes are still closed.

“I think it does.”

“You make me feel like no one ever has…” The bliss you feel from his current soft strokes and touches making it hard to speak, your voice is so light. “At least I got to experience it.” You open your eyes now, fingers tracing the cross drawn into his arm, “At least I got to see the real you.”

Your eyes say more than your words do. There’s a yearning and a sadness, an answer to what feels right in this moment, but an insight that there are doubts that could creep up later the more that you think about it.

“Just keep going,” you tell him, “I want to see you.”

You want to see him, you do see him. His head connects with yours again, and you moan into each other's mouths as he keeps pumping. Your legs come up to his hips and you’re not afraid to be loud anymore, to tell him how good it feels, how much you like him.

He takes your hands and places them over your head, crossing his fingers with your. It’s so pure, so lovely even when he’s going so hard down below. You hear your breaths heavy and your bodies slapping and the bed shaking.

You think about his skin, and his scratchy beard against yours, and the way you hate how he can make you smile by making the most ridiculous and raunchy jokes, and the way you love his voice, the way you can’t help but to like the way he cares for you.

“Negan,” you say weakly.

“Yes,” he responds intently.

“I’m gonna come,” you tell him. “I think I can.”

“Come for me,” he encourages, moving one of his hands down to rub your clit. “C’mon.”

“I’m gonna come,” you repeat, edging yourself on. Bucking up at his thrusts and his fingers.

“You can do it. Be a good girl. Do it for me.”

You swear the fireplace blazes louder and bigger, lighting up the whole room as you yell out, moaning once more as you orgasm.

Negan finally breaths out after, holding in for so long, and comes after you. His hands place themselves flat on the bed and he pushes in fast, riding out the high.

He scoops you up immediately, holding you in his arms. He doesn’t want to let go.

You two stay there for a moment until you look up. His hand caresses your face, “What is it?”

“I…” you were embarrassed to admit that you weren’t ready for it to all be over yet. “Can I ride you?”

A wiley smile appears on his face. He has to admit, he’s a little shocked you’re ready to go again, but he’d never turn it down. “Well, of course you can, babygirl.”

He flips you over, completely ready, but instantly, you become hesitant, almost overwhelmed. He was the world, not you, yet you were now above him. All the allowance to touch him anywhere you want at your disposal.

He puts his hands under his head, arms flexing. An ever wide smile present as he waits for you to begin. “You asked for it. Don’t get shy on me now.”

Your eyes grow excited again, deciding not to hold back, and you start to rock against him. You place you hands on his chest, feeling him up, touching his biceps, hands going over his tattoos— you could stare at them, at him, for hours. You honestly think you’d lick his whole body if he’d let you. And of course he probably would. To feel big and proud and irresistible while you look like a little desperate freak? You wouldn’t even have to ask him twice. Thinking about it and about how full his cock is making you feel, stretching and reaching all the right places, makes you moan and whine. You bucked your hips wildly, humming and giving him “mmms” because of how yummy it feels. You could do this forever.

“Ah- uh- Negan,” you moan and your stomach caves as you whine again and you hurl forward, continuing to rock but your pace is faltering. It’s becoming too hard and Negan can tell so he takes you by the hips, helping you move. First continuing to let your grind and then pushing you up and down his shaft so you can bounce on him. You push yourself up again, hand on his chest, pushing against it and you bounce along with his help. This was fun. You try to go faster and faster. It felt like being a kid on a playground.

“Open your eyes,” he demands. “Look at who you’re fucking, sweetheart.”

So you do, and moan at the sight of him, “Ohmygod,” you say. “You’re so handsome, Negan.”

He's so proud of you. Enjoying your actions, enjoying your noises. He groans as he sees your breast bounce and it makes you squeeze against him.

“Good girl,” he coos, “finally listening when you’re spoken to, about to make yourself come on daddy’s cock again.”

He starts to rub your clit again and you continue to bounce. It almost hurts because of how overstimulated you’ve become but you don’t tell him to stop. Your hands come to reach the headboard, helping you bounce harder. He tells you again how much of a good girl you are, how he loves that you’re not stopping, then he tells you how dirty and desperate you are for wanting him again after he already made you come. But he’s obsessed. This is all he’s ever wanted since the day he brought you here. His hands trail up from your hips to your waist and breast and back down again. There is nothing more he wants than to fuck you or for you fuck him.

You look down. You both notice your necklace still wrapped around your neck, almost nearing between your breasts, bouncing along with all of you. It reminds you of why you're here, why he gave it to you. It makes you have the realization he had… Was he ruining your life? Were you ruining your own? But how could you be when it all feels this good? It was completely screwed up, but everything felt so magnificently brilliant. His touch is everything, his voice is everything, his body is everything. It makes your hips stutter, it makes you moan, and at last, it makes you come again. You ride your high, going and going and going until you fall into his chest. His hands come to hold you tight thereafter.

Unthinkable bliss is all that is felt for a long moment… then… your head turns to the window. You remember what is out there and what isn’t in here.

A tear falls down your cheek and he realizes what’s happening when it falls onto his shoulder.

It hurts him now. To see you cry. It’s not fun anymore. You feel it, yes. You see what he saw, it’s true. But you aren’t really his wife. You’re nothing that is his at all. You both know that as well.

It takes you a long time to speak, you have to force yourself, but you do. “You have to let me go now.” You say it sternly but there is a sadness to it; a small part of you wants to not mean it even though you completely do, even though you do wish to stay here, to be enveloped by his embrace— you simply cannot forget.

“Mm,” he shakes his head, remaining leveled, “you know too much.”

“I barely know anything,” you say. “And not that anything I do know matters. Knowing the way around the Sanctuary isn’t going to help anyone when I know there is no way we could actually get in…. And what’s more important anyway is that I’m not changing my mind and you’re not either.”

“I’m not.”

“And I can’t. I wouldn’t. And they’re not going to. Never…. And if some of them die…” A whimper almost leaves you but you manage to swallow it, “I have to be by their side, Negan. I can’t only hear about it. I… I can’t see it next to you.”

His lips are pressed firm, his jaw is fixed and tight, almost like he’s grinding down on his teeth. The breath he takes through his nose could be a heavy sigh if he opened his mouth, but he doesn’t. He keeps it all in.

You words and their weight hang in the air for a moment before he finally speaks: “One of my guys that watches the armory doors has a shift that ends at 6:00 am… but at 5:50 I’m going to come up to him and tell him he gets off 10 minutes early that day, that I’ll wait for the next person to come.” He lets his words hang in the air for a moment, your confusion spirals before he keeps going. “It’ll be fucking weird, but he’ll look dumb as shit if he questions me, so he won’t. Then when he’s out of sight, I’ll leave. The next person is coming right at 6. That’s all you get. 10 minutes. A little less really.”

Your eyes round slowly as the stun continues to sink in. He’s… letting you leave.

“You take one gun and one knife. Just one. Don’t make it noticeable. I’m going to check. Then you go out of the back door that’s inside.” He didn’t have to tell you the way. “It should be easy, I know you’ve tried it before.”

You look down, taking in all he says, but then he turns you face to meet his, “If anyone sees you, I’m gonna have to make a show of it when they bring you back. Not what I want. But if I get there before you get out, maybe 5:58, just cause I’m an asshole, just to see you one last time… And if I do, I’m gonna turn you around and you’re stayin’. Fair?”

You nod. It’s small and light. You don’t question any of it, you can’t. “8 minutes.” You respond.

“8 minutes.” His voice is neutral, but underneath there was a tinge of solemnity to it. “8 minutes,” he says under his breath.

“What about now?”

“Now?” He asks. He didn’t think about it. He assumed you would want to go after this, after you got what you wanted. “Well,” he turns to his nightstand, “right now it’s nearing midnight.” He stares at you for a moment, you can’t tell what he’s thinking. This whole moment has felt so quiet, both eerie and gentle. You still weren’t used to the latter from him, even after what just happened. “You can go if you want. Sleep in your bed for one more night, or…” he stops, “You can stay with me, if you’d like.” His sigh is short and whispered but you both hear it, you feel its weight. “It’s your choice.”

You stare at each other for a moment. Your eyes trail all of his face and the arm that is still holding your own, adorned with all the tattoos and skin you had just fallen for. You wanted to study them and hold onto him forever. And his eyes: they said so much— there were so many little inflections, ones that you had finally read, and so many others you’ve yet to decipher. You desired to know him, but you had to go, so all you decided to do was to hold him. For now, you chose to stay, and hoped that your embrace would transfer the fact that the only reason it would be hard to leave is because of him and only him. You would remember this forever.

“8 hours till 8.”

“8 hours till 8, kid.”

You close your eyes tight and nuzzle into his chest, A peace you had never known in the Sanctuary finally subsumed you. You feel free to finally tell him, “Thank you. I miss home.”

Home. There it is again. There was no malice in the way you said it, but there was still a pang from your melancholy words that made his heart throb. You missed home. And as peaceful as you looked, and as safely as you held onto him, your words reaffirmed that home was not here and it was not with him, no matter how you looked, and no matter the fact that you were allowing him to hold you for the night, to call you his. In the end, you were not.

He had to finally accept it.

“8 hours till 8,” are your last words until you finally drift to sleep. This would be your last and most tranquil night here. To you, it felt right, almost harmonious, albeit sad. This is how it was how it was meant to be. You needed it.

But to him, it’s shattering. He doesn’t repeat the phrase back this time. For once he has nothing to say. The fire glow of the night has now withered into darkness.

You won. He lost.

But both your hearts broke.

#negan smith smut #negan smith x reader #negan smith fanfiction #negan smith x you #negan smith x y/n #negan x reader #negan x you #negan x y/n #negan smut #negan fanfiction #the walking dead smut #the walking dead fanfiction #twd smut #twd fanfiction #twd fic #the walking dead #negan smith

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ahundredtimesover · 1 year

Text

Belong (Series Masterlist) | MYG

Pairing: Yoongi x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: exes-to-lovers-to-exes-to-lovers; actress!OC x basketball coach!Yoongi; summer romance; “long” distance relationship; parallel timelines; angst, fluff, smut

Series Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption & passing out, family drama, sport injury; dreams & moving away; implied depression; basketball and acting talk; 2014 and 2022 Yoongi; shy and nonchalant cocky whipped Yoongi; explicit sexual content (specific warnings stated per chapter) (18+)

Word count: 99.4k

Status: Complete

Series summary: Being an actor has always been your dream. Pursuing it meant many things - leaving the town where you grew up, distancing yourself from your family that had fallen apart, and saying goodbye to the man who made you feel what home was like. When you decide to finally return after being away for so long, you meet Min Yoongi again, and you’re reminded of the summer romance from 8 years ago with the college basketball superstar whose broken dream pushed you away. As you find yourself spending time with him, you’re left to wonder if love changes, if it gives second chances, or if it’s just another illusion that will hurt the both of you the second time around.

Maybe one day, in 10 years perhaps, or in another lifetime… Maybe then, we’ll finally choose us.

Playlist 🎶

A/N: Long-haired Yoongi in a basketball setting has not left my mind so here he is! This one’s a little emotional since I’m currently in an LDR to *pursue* my dreams so I hope you like it! 🫣🥹 No schedule of the posting this time (school/work is a little intense) so please just stay tuned. 😊

Part 01: Present day

1.5: Rewind

Part 02: Present day

2.5 Rewind

Part 03: Present day

3.5 Rewind

Part 04: Present day

4.5 Rewind

Post-credits

masterlist

#yoongi fic #yoongi x reader #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #yoongi smut #yoongi x you #bts yoongi #bts suga #yoongi series #suga series #min yoongi #belong

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wooahaes · 1 year

Text

svt - long distance relationships

pairing: svt x gn!reader

prompt: different scenarios/reactions dedicated to svt being in a ldr with u :)

warnings: fluff n some slight angst on account of being apart from one another. usage of terms of endearment (baby/baby/honey). food mentions. kind-of implied smut in vernon’s part if that’s how you choose to interpret it (if nothing else it’s just two idiots in love making out). intentional lowercase + no proofreading.

daisy’s notes: it took me 300 years to write again.......

choi seungcheol

seungcheol was... the whiniest person in the world when it came to the fact that you two were far apart. this wasn’t true all the time--he was still a mature adult who recognized that you couldn’t just up and leave your job and neither could he--as his friends had no idea just how pouty he could be (except for jeonghan, who lived with the guy and overheard plenty of mealtimes where he was talking about buying you a plane ticket himself). but on the nights when it was the worst for him? it was the absolute worst. he’d explained the feeling to you as being “skin hungry” for you to come visit him again and just hold him for a few minutes. maybe even a kiss would give him the strength to wait for when life started working out and one of you could move.

he’d been walking around his apartment when he called you that day, headphones in and listening to you talk about your day while making dinner before he let out the longest sigh.

“everything okay?”

“i want you.”

you looked back at your phone to see seungcheol was straight up pouting again. “well, you’re talking to me--”

“i want you here.” you could see him flop down onto his couch. “i want to hold you.”

“one of those days?”

he frowned at that. “don’t you get them?”

“all the time,” you admitted. you just didn’t go into theatrics over them as much as your pouty boyfriend did--partially because you knew he’d tease you a little over it before legitimately looking up ticket prices. “we’re working on it, honey. you know that.”

another sigh. “i do. i just want to kiss you again.” you looked over to see him just watching his screen, entranced by you while you cooked. he told you once he liked watching you cook: it made him feel a little closer to you in the domestic sense. “if you come visit me, i’m not letting you leave.”

ah. he was pulling out the fake threats again. the last time he said that, he cried on you the night before you had to leave and almost wouldn’t let you go at the airport before making you promise to call him as soon as you were home. “oh?”

“hurry up and come see me again,” he said. “or i’ll die. do you want me to die? i’ll die if you don’t come see me soon.”

you fought back the urge to laugh. “i’ll try, cheollie.“

(and maybe you’d start looking up tickets after you finished your call with him that night, texting jeonghan to ensure that your arrival would be a surprise when it came.)

yoon jeonghan

jeonghan texted you more than your own family and friends did. almost every morning you woke up to a text asking if you’d eaten yet, reminding you to drink water, saying that he hoped you slept well. of course, the time difference meant that he was sending these to you later in his day--but it was sweet to know that he was always watching the clock and trying to ensure that you were being taken care of. sometimes his texts would be accompanied by selfies he’d taken, whether they were when he was alone or out with his friends, just so you wouldn’t ‘forget his handsome face’ (you told him that there was no way you would, but jeonghan was one to tease).

these texts became more and more common whenever you had plans to visit one another--typically you visiting him purely because it was easier for you to travel than him. which is where you were now: listening to him talk about all the things he wanted to do with you and the places he wanted to go.

“there’s this new cafe that opened a few months ago,” he said, lying on his stomach as he talked to you over video call. “joshua and i went--you’ll like the cheesecake there.”

you continued folding your laundry, nodding along. you’d set your laptop up nearby so you could watch the cute, enamored look on his face. “really?”

“mhm.” he stifled a yawn. “i’m just ready for you to be here. joshua’s excited too. i think he’s tired of hearing me talk about you.”

“i’m sure he’ll be ready for me to leave once i get there,” you teased.

“my friends love you,” he said. “not as much as i do. but they love you.”

you set another shirt into your suitcase. you’d be leaving for your flight in a few hours. “hannie,” you said, looking up. “you can go to sleep.”

“i’m fine--”

“baby. you’re about to pass out.”

he stifled back another yawn, purposefully leaning out of frame. “i’ll sleep when you leave.”

you pouted at the sight of him giving you that stupidly charming smile, “hannie. i love you. please go sleep.”

he sighed before smiling at you. “okay,” he said, shifting and moving the camera so you could still see him. “i love you. i’ll rest extra well for you.”

joshua hong

“i’ve been working on a new song,” joshua said, tuning his guitar. “do you want to hear it?”

you knew that joshua knew the answer would always be a resounding ‘yes’ to that question. music was how the two of you bonded, and it was always fun to hear what he was working on between work and life. he already had takeout ready and waiting while you were waiting for your delivery to get there (apparently the traffic had been bad), so your boyfriend was keeping you entertained while you wait.

(you’d told him that he could go ahead, but he insisted on waiting for you--he liked your mealtime calls because sometimes it felt like you were a little closer to him than you were.)

he strummed the guitar, and you could already see his lips twitch into a smile. “sunday morning, rain is falling--”

he’d always start with that just to hear your laugh, so full of love, before you complained. “you aren’t funny, you know.”

“that’s why you laugh,” he said. he plucked at the strings before reaching out, flattening out the music he’d written. “it’s still a work in progress.”

“i know, joshy,” you smiled. “i wanna hear.”

he began to play, and you just smiled as you listened to him begin to sing. he’d written a love song, and you could only watch the way he lost himself in his music before fumbling with a chord before he stopped.

“i’m still working on it,” he reiterated. “i was thinking about showing it to some of the guys.”

you rested your head in your hands. “i like it. it’s pretty.”

“good,” he said. “it’s about you.”

you mocked surprise. “nooo--the love song my boyfriend wrote about distance meaning nothing is about me?”

he laughed softly, so warm and equally full of love as your own laugh. “i think jun will like it,” he said. “i showed him the last love song i wrote you and he liked it.”

you felt your face grow warmer, about to say something when there was a knock at your door. “food’s here!” you hopped up, calling back to give you a second.

you liked having at least one weekly mealtime between the two of you, if not more. it was another way of showing intimacy while you two were away from each other. not every mealtime call was the two of you (sometimes he had friends who would join in when you insisted to your slightly-possessive boyfriend that it was fine, that the two of you could continue to call by yourselves afterward), but it was always nice to have your boyfriend all to yourself.

wen junhui

every single time you went to visit jun, you swore that the two of you were falling in love all over again. you’d trudged off your flight, dragging your bag behind you through the airport as you internally cursed how long these flights always were. you’d gotten sleep, so thankfully you weren’t running off of nothing, but did it really matter when you always walked away feeling more tired than before?

but the one thing that would always reinvigorate you was the sight of jun standing in the airport, immediately opening his arms to you. every single time, you’d end up running to him to hug him tight as he squeezed the life out of you--something he always promised was coming. you loved jun’s hugs because of how secure they made you feel.

“get a room,” soonyoung whined from where he was standing nearby when jun started to pepper kisses across your face. “i’m sleepy.”

he looked sleepy. how early did jun wake him up? he’d mentioned that he was getting soonyoung to drive him since he’d be too giddy to drive once he had you back in his arms.

jun said nothing as he captured your lips in a quick kiss, chaste and sweet since the two of you were in public. “i missed you,” he said, completely ignoring soonyoung. “i love you. did you sleep well? you can sleep in the car--”

“i’m fine, honey,” you said, pecking him on the lips. “we should go before soonyoung passes out.”

soonyoung had thanked you in the moment just to tease jun a little further about how much he looked forward to having you there again. the entire time, jun held your hand in the car, quietly whispering to you how much he’d missed you. soonyoung dropped the two of you off at jun’s apartment, and soon enough you were curled up on the couch in jun’s arms with your bag left by the entryway.

“you look tired,” he murmured, pulling you in closer. “you can take a nap. i’ll make lunch for us when you wake up,” he said, already pulling you into his chest.

“i’m not tired,” you whined. “i wanna go out with you.”

“we’ll go out later,” he promised. “i love you. it’s okay if you need to sleep a little,” he traced hearts onto your back. “i can wait a little longer.”

you shut your eyes, face smushed against his chest as you listened to his heartbeat. “i love you, too,” you mumbled, wrapping your arms around him. “don’t let me sleep too long.”

(he would, just to watch your sleeping face a little longer and ensure you napped long enough to feel refreshed. even if it earned him some gentle scolding from you because you wanted to make the most of your time together, jun was simply glad to know that you felt better and that he could finally take care of you again.)

kwon soonyoung

“where is it? did you get rid of it? i can’t see it.” soonyoung kept leaning as if he could get a better look of your bed from where you’d set up your laptop at your desk.

you already knew what he was talking about as you leaned a little more out of the way, letting him get a clear view of the tiger plush he’d bought you a few weeks ago. you’d sent him a picture when it arrived, and another when you curled up with it one night. “he’s still there,” you said. “i would’t get rid of it.”

soonyoung smiled. “bring it over. i have to see it closer so i can charge it with love.”

you rolled your eyes with a smile as you stood up, grabbing the plush before sitting back down. “why do i have to get it?”

“i have to see it!” he pouted, “i have to see it’s eyes.” he gestured to his own, “i’m using my tiger’s gaze.”

soonyoung was hamming it up. you already knew that he knew you were stressed again, and that this was his way of making you smile. and... it was working. you hugged the plush to your chest, watching him as he opened up his meal.

“you don’t have to do that, soonie,” you said. you liked the cute way he’d always glance up with a smile.

he cupped his hand under his chopsticks as he pushed his food toward the camera--a gesture that was familiar to you. “for you.”

you always wanted to tease him with a “i can’t eat that yet,” but you just giggled. “it looks good.”

“wonwoo ordered too much for him and cheol,” he said. “so i stole it,” he beamed. “i’ll give you the first bite when you’re with me.”

you sighed wistfully at the thought. “soonyoung...”

“i know... i’ll do it next week,” he said, “when i come to see you.”

you looked up. “wait--”

he reached off to one side, grabbing a folded piece of paper and holding it up. “surprise?”

you gasped, “soonyoung!”

“i can cancel them! i just wanted to surprise you,” he said, “and your roommate and i worked it out--”

“you’re really coming to see me?” you hugged the plush tighter to your chest, smiling.

he nodded. “i’ll be there soon,” he promised. “and i’ll give you the first bite when we eat together.” he paused, looking up, and you could hear wonwoo’s voice. “oh? ah, yeah, i can come help--” he looked back to you, “i’ll be back in a minute. i love you!”

and you smiled even harder as he got up, hugging your tiger plush closer to your chest. soon it’d be soonyoung in your arms instead, and you couldn’t wait for the moment to arrive.

jeon wonwoo

“hold on, it’s sending...”

wonwoo had been on a video call with you one night--a common occurrence between the two of you. with the time difference between you, you could see the sunshine peeking in through his blinds while you were finally settling in for sleep. most of these calls were usually the result of wonwoo telling you about his morning so far: the morning jog he went on beforehand, the place he stopped in to get breakfast to bring back to his apartment... little things. he’d been telling you about a stray he saw on his way back home and the short video he took while feeding it a treat.

you pulled your blankets closer to you with it twisting around your legs a little more. “i’ll watch after we get off call,” you said.

“i know,” he said. “but you can see the cat on the thumbnail. you said you like orange cats, right?”

you smiled, pulling the plushie that wonwoo had sent you months ago closer to you. “yeah...”

he looked up from his breakfast and then smiled after a moment. you liked the shy smiles wonwoo would give you whenever he saw you cuddling with it, never commenting on it. “i bought you something, too, by the way.”

“wonwoo...” you pouted. “you keep buying things...”

“it reminded me of you,” he said. “you’ll see what it is next time you come here... or the next time i compile enough to send over.”

you had made him promise a while back that he would only send any gifts if there were multiple. gift giving wasn’t really wonwoo’s love language (he always swore he preferred spending time with you more than anything else), but he had told you that everything reminded him of you now. even if he didn’t send things to you, he liked having things around.

(”it makes me feel like you’re here,” he had said. “jihoon asked why i have a jacket that doesn’t fit me here. it’d fit you, though. i’ll send it soon.”)

he had reached into his pocket, pulling out a braided bracelet with a little charm attached to it of your favorite animal. he looked up, noticing the way that your eyelids were beginning to droop. “if you’re tired, i’ll let you go--”

“noooo,” you whined. “i wanna see your cute face.”

“i love you,” he said, “but your health is more important.”

“you never say that when it’s you losing sleep.” you pouted, pulling the plushie closer to you. “wonwoo...”

“i’ll talk to you after you sleep,” he said. “okay? sleep well. dream of me.”

you always would smile so cutely whenever he said it, all because he said it so casually. he’d tell you one day that that smile was the reason why he said it.

if he couldn’t see you in person yet, at least he would leave you smiling when he had to end the call.

lee jihoon

this was... new. new in a good way, but still new. today was the first time that you were coming to see him, and now he was holding your hand, and his heart was racing in his ears.

lee jihoon, for all that he was, was completely in love with you. most people would probably kiss their partners at some point after meeting them for the first time. jihoon wanted to (believe him, he’d been daydreaming about kissing you for weeks after you announced you’d be visiting him in a month), and yet all it took was holding your hand for him to grow even more flustered. he’d daydreamed about holding you in his arms for the first time.

the bad part was that it took him two days to actually initiate any kind of skinship with you. he was holding your hand now, yes, but the past two days were filled with your hand brushing against his and jihoon’s face going red (and seokmin pointing it out the other day when you stepped away to get your drink at the coffeeshop you’d gone to). you knew that this was coming, though. he’d talked to you about it about how he’d want skinship with you, but he’d be a little awkward.

“you’re the first person i’ve really liked,” he had said while on call with you. “i want to, i just need time.”

and you had agreed easily enough to it: you understood him, after all. but the first time you took his hand after asking, he felt his heart race in the absolute best way before slowing back down.

he was with you. that was all that mattered at the end of the day.

lee seokmin

every single day, you received at least a thousand texts from seokmin. probably. you stopped counting months after you two started dating since the number was well over twenty when it came to pictures alone. he’d send you pictures of the sky, or of a dog he saw when he was on a walk, or flowers that reminded him of you, or the cafe he was visiting with his friends...

pretty much every place he went, he sent you a picture of. sometimes he’d send you pictures of himself with his friends, too. the latest was one he took of himself and mingyu while the two were getting dinner, a ‘wish my date was cuter’ tagged onto it. you teased him for insinuating that mingyu wasn’t a cute date and that you wouldn’t mind a date with mingyu.

“but what about me?” he had whined when you picked up the call a minute later.

you hummed, as if you were considering it. “mingyu has money...”

“sunshine,” he dragged out the name. “i have money. i’ll buy you a ticket here right now to prove it--”

you had to stop him because you knew he would if he did have the money. “seokmin... you know i love you.”

“yes?”

“why do you always send me pictures? i love seeing them and knowing what you’re up to,” you said, “but you don’t post all of them to instagram or anything.”

he went quiet for a moment. “it feels like you’re here with me if i show you things,” he said. “so i like sending you pictures until we go on a walk for real. do you want me to stop?”

you had to hide your smile lest the people around you started to judge. “don’t. i like it. you’ll just have to show me all these places in person someday.”

(and he would, gladly, the moment that you were finally within arm’s reach.)

kim mingyu

“are you sure you don’t want me to buy a ticket? i could do it. i can afford it.”

due to your boyfriend having a roommate to pay for half the rent and a big-city chef job, this offer was always on the table. hell, he’d asked you if you wanted to move in with him before. you shot the offer down since you were only five months into dating (kim mingyu was, in the words of his friend minghao, madly in love with you to the point where it was kind of cringe to see if you were anyone but you or kim mingyu), but you knew it’d always be on the table, too. he kept up jokes that he could move you in any day, though, and all you had to do was say the word.

outside of all of that, you would listen to him as he walked you through whatever recipe he was making for himself (and his roommate) for dinner that night. it was nice to watch him cook. it felt domestic in a small way, and you were pretty sure that was why mingyu liked it, too.

“i went to the museum today,” he had said once. “i’ll have to take you when you come.”

yet the next time you visited him a few months later, you spent the entire time cuddling in his apartment. he just laid out on his couch with you on his chest, arms wrapped securely around you. you’d tease him about all the things he wanted to show you, but he just kept his eyes closed as he held you close.

“i’m recharging,” he said. “i have to cuddle with you while i can.”

“i still wanna go out.”

“five more minutes,” he promised. “and then we can go.”

(sometimes you swore you had the world’s clingiest boyfriend.)

xu minghao

minghao sent you selfies far more than you expected him to. he told you that it was so you could cycle through them for your phone background with a confidence you hadn’t exactly expected from him. he’d asked for more pictures of you so that he could do the same.

(you did just that, actually. you liked having plenty of pictures of his handsome face on your phone.)

so when the two of you visited one another, most of your time was spent going out and doing all the sappy couple-y things that you weren’t able to do. the rest was spent in your apartment with minghao practically clinging to you the entire time. his friends would never believe it (minghao was in the habit of denying being clingy while his love for you was never in doubt) unless they saw pictures.

they never would, unless minghao decided to share them. you kept yours in an album that would never be seen by anyone outside of your relationship. you liked knowing that minghao was yours and the way he acted when the two of you were alone.

that was what brought you to now. minghao had arrived at your apartment not even an hour ago, and he was lying with his face buried in your shoulder as he inhaled the scent of your fabric softener. to everyone else, he’d merely say that he enjoyed cuddling with you. not that he was enjoying the warmth of your body, or the way that the two of you seemed to fit together perfectly, or the fact that he missed kissing your lips because it felt like the two of you were made for each other.

(minghao’s friends always said he was a romantic. you never knew how far that went until the two of you grew serious.)

“i love you,” he murmured against your neck, eyelids shut as he basked in the feeling of your fingers running through his hair. “i don’t want to leave.”

you almost wanted to tell him a quiet ‘then don’t.’ but you chose against it, instead wrapping your arms around him. “i love you, too.” i don’t want you to leave, either.

boo seungkwan

you were pretty confident you knew the exact layout of almost everywhere seungkwan went.

seungkwan facetimed you almost constantly. he always told you that you didn’t have to show your own face every single time, but he liked having you as part of his day. whether he was at his apartment, or at his favorite grocery store, or going for a walk in the city: seungkwan tried to bring you into it as best as he could. as much as you always appreciated his mealtime calls, you liked watching him go about part of his day with his headphones in as the two of you talked.

“soy sauce is in the other cabinet,” you had called out while he was making ramen one night for the two of you. it wasn’t fancy, but he insisted on spending one night in with you while you were visiting. he looked back down, brows raised before opening the correct cabinet. he paused, before pulling down the bottle he was looking for.

“how did you--”

you looked back from the couch. “i told you,” you hopped up, making your way over to him, “i know your apartment really well. like i know the grocery store you always go to,” you wrapped your arms around him before pressing a kiss into his neck.

he grew sheepish. “do i really call you that much?”

you nodded, planting another innocent kiss against his shoulder. “mmhm. it’s okay,” you squeezed him gently, “i like knowing your daily routine.”

seungkwan smiled as you planted another quick kiss against his neck again, especially when he felt the way your lips curled upward. he whined a little, “you’re distracting me. i’m trying to be a good boyfriend and make us dinner.”

“okay,” you started to pull away, only to have seungkwan catch both of your wrists.

“i didn’t say leave,” he said. “just... stay here and stop kissing me when i can’t kiss you.”

(he’d laugh a few minutes later when you pecked him on the neck again, just basking in the sweet parts of being together.)

chwe vernon

despite claiming to paying full attention to the movie, vernon was constantly touching you in a way that said he’d stopped paying attention twenty minutes ago.

it wasn’t sexual in the slightest. he just kept finding little ways to touch you. to pull you closer to him in little ways so that he could bask in the feeling of your skin against his own. whether it was playing with your fingers idly, or slipping his hands underneath your shirt just so he could feel the warm skin at your hips (you had gasped the first time because his hands were like ice and he’d sheepishly apologized), to the arm that he kept draped around your shoulders.

“you’re touchier than usual,” you finally mused aloud.

he looked at you, blinking once, twice, before realizing how clingy he was starting to get. “sorry, i’ll stop--”

“it’s okay,” you said. “just... you’re never this touchy.”

“well,” he started, “it’s almost two in the morning... and your flight is in a couple hours...” he sighed, “so i think i’m just trying to enjoy holding you while i can.”

you leaned forward, kissing him as his hands fell to your hips. “it’s okay,” you said. “let’s just spend the next few hours together, okay?”

“i really don’t want you to go.” he squeezed your hip. “baby--” he paused, unsure of whether to continue speaking. you watched him lick his lips, look off to the side for a moment, and then make up his mind. “seungkwan’s gonna tell you i’m moping tomorrow.”

seungkwan always did. he’d sent you a picture, unbeknownst to your boyfriend, of him just standing in the kitchen and staring at the mug you’d bought him with this upset look.

“and then you’re both going to go out with chan tomorrow night,” you said, “and sing your hearts out at karaoke because both he and seungkwan know how to distract you. i’ll be back before you know it,” you kissed him one more time. “just a little longer, okay? and then we’ll have our little apartment together and we can get a cat.”

“i know. i just love you so much, you know?”

you did. every little thing that he did was proof of that, but you could always tell by the look on his face alone. “c’mon,” you said. “let’s make the most of our time, yeah?”

he kissed you that time, drawing you in closer as the movie continue on, forgotten by the two of you. “yeah,” he said, about to slant his mouth against your own again, “let’s.”

lee chan

waiting on your boyfriend to make it off his flight was one of the most nerve-wracking experiences for you when it was the first time you two were meeting one another in-person. you’d met chan on an online forum, kept talking, eventually started crushing on one another... and the rest was history (once someone named seungcheol finally pushed him to confess to you, that is). he’d sent you plenty of pictures of every step he took: arriving at the airport with said-person-seungcheol dropping him off because he said that his hyung was a gracious one sometimes (useless any other time, he’d jokingly tell you, but the drive to the airport was still a nice gesture), getting out of security, eating a small meal because he’d stupidly skipped breakfast while too giddy to see you. the moment his flight landed, he’d sent you a picture with a “i’m almost there!!!” and a thousand heart emojis after it to help illustrate just how excited he was.

the moment chan saw you, he nearly dropped his bag before booking it toward you. only to stop steps away from you, suddenly nervous.

“hi.” he said after a moment, and you could see the gears turning in his head.

anxiety took hold faster than you liked. did he... not actually like you now that he was meeting you in person? “hi, channie,” you said, forcing a smile to cover your nerves. “how was your flight--”

“i really want to kiss you right now,” he confessed, face growing more red as he gazed at you. “can... can i hug you?”

you cracked a genuine smile, opening your arms to him. “yes, you--”

before you could say ‘can,’ chan had already stepped forward and drawn you into his arms. he hugged you tight, and you could feel just how toned his arms were as you were squashed against him. you felt yourself getting choked up as it set in just how real all of this was.

chan was here. he was standing with you, he was holding you. you could feel the warmth of his body against your own. he was with you.

and you felt yourself tear up. “channie,” you snaked your arms around him, shutting your eyes. “i’m glad you’re here.” your arms feel like home. is that cheesy to say? is it too soon...?

“i... i had a plan,” he said, “for when i first saw you. i told cheol that i was going to walk up to you and--and say something charming,” you could hear the way his voice was wavering, emotions finally catching up to him before jet-lag ever would. “just to see you laugh. and--and then i was going to tell you i love you, because it’d be in person for the first time and--”

“i love you, too, chan,” you mumbled.

“no, you can’t--” he drew back, roughly rubbing at his eyes with one arm. “you can’t say it yet. i didn’t--i didn’t say it right.” he held you by the shoulders. “i love you,” he said slowly, before cracking into a teary smile as he pulled you back into his arms. “i love you so much,” he laughed lightly, “i wasn’t supposed to cry--”

“it’s okay,” you shut your eyes. you never knew how much another person could feel like home until now. “i love you, too. i’m glad you’re here, chan.”

you could feel him nod. “i’m glad you’re here, too.”

taglist: @twancingyunhao @synthetickitsune

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djeniryuu · 4 months

Text

BANG CHAN FIC RECS (2020)

Last Updated: —

P.S.: Please let me know if any of the links aren’t working

a - angst, f - fluff, s - smut, ✔- completed

♡ - personal favourite

* - newly added

Stories by Year:

2018-2019, 2020, 2021, 2022, 2023, 2024

Oneshots:

⇢ 7:09 PM (1k) - (f)

⇢ 11:37 PM (0.6k) - (f)

⇢ 12:16 AM (1.3) - (a)

⇢ Enemies-to-lovers!Bang Chan (21k) - (f) » enemies to lovers, office!au

⇢ Illicit & Priceless (26k) - (action, f) » action, mafia!au

⇢ Kinktober Day 5: Breeding Kink (1.2k) - (s)

⇢ LDR (12.5k) - (f, s) » friends to lovers, university!au

⇢ Love Me, Love Me Not (6.5k) - (a, f) » best friends to lovers, university!au

⇢ Midnight Somewhere (2.6k) - (f)

⇢ Never-ending, Evanescent (2.8k) - (f)

⇢ Non Ducor Duco (15.2k) - (f, s) » historical!au, gang!au

⇢ Parasitic (11.8k) - (f) » enemies to lovers, roommates!au

⇢ Phobia (4.4k) - (a, f) » idol!chan

⇢ Priceless (14.3k) - (a, f) ♡ » enemies to lovers, rich kid!chan

⇢ Vampire!Bang Chan (20k) - (f) » friends to lovers, vampire!chan

⇢ When We Were Young (1.3k) - (a)

Series:

⇢ A Love That Lasts (18.2k) - (f) ✔ ♡ » neighbours to lovers, dad!chan

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Epilogue (Final), Bonus: Honeymoon

⇢ Bedroom Ceiling (4.2k) - (a, f) ✔ » exes!au

Part 1, Part 2 (Final)

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starkskeep · 1 year

Text

But if you hold me without hurting me (r. stark)

But if you hold me without hurting me r. stark imagine

Pt. 5 of Oh, all I used to do was pray, Right when I felt the moment stop, And I might be ok, but I'm not fine at all, And the life I gave away

Pairings - Robb Stark x female!Reader

Summary - You have a long-awaited conversation with Robb. It changes things between the two of you.

Word Count - 1,133 words

Warnings - Angst, Possibly unbearable cheesiness

A/N - I broke the Taylor Swift title streak. In my defense, I have been a LDR stan since middle school and Cinnamon Girl makes me sob every time I listen to it.

Songs I listened to while writing: Like Real People Do (Hozier), Cinnamon Girl, Carmen (Lana Del Rey), Me and My Husband (Mitski)

Robb feels his heart start to beat erratically as he watches you and Jon. It is obvious that you care deeply about Jon as he does you. Robb knows that he has walked in on something private, feeling jealous but also wishing that he could be the one to comfort you as such. Your moment with Jon is interrupted when Robb clears his throat in order to make you aware of his entrance into your chambers. The sound startles you and causes you to turn in Robb’s direction. Jon also turns to look at Robb, his expression wary that Robb would misinterpret the scene.

Robb begins to speak slowly but his voice cracks ever so slightly, his heart contracting in his chest due to an onslaught of emotions. “Am I interrupting anything?”

You quickly regain your composure. “No, my lord husband, you are not. I lost a letter earlier today. Jon has calmed me down and agreed to help look for it.” You dismiss Jon from your chambers, assuring him that you will be okay.

Jon locks eyes with Robb as he leaves. Tensions eased between him and Robb once he saw Robb trying to fix everything. However, Jon still continues to be an advocate for you. His brother looks back at him, eyes filled with questions he knows Jon cannot answer. Robb just needs to know that you are going to be okay, regardless of what happened.

Your husband takes a step closer to you. He looks into your eyes, searching for the pain that he knows must be there. You are a strong woman but no one should be subjected to the kind of abuse that the letter contained. As he moves closer, you notice the letter crumpled in Robb’s fist. “Ah. It seems as I I do not need to search for the letter.” You say with a sad smile, “I take it that you have seen what my father thinks of me?”

Looking down at the letter once again, Robb scowls. The fury that had been burning inside of him returns to the surface. His head shakes in disgust and he quickly closes his fist tighter around the letter, as if the action would make the item disappear from existence. Robb nods once in acknowledgment of her question. “I did. It is nothing less than disgraceful.” He draws his eyes up to meet yours. Robb’s voice shakes with thinly veiled anger. “Your father is a cruel, cruel man. To say such things to you, his own daughter…well, it is unforgivable.” He says the last word through gritted teeth.

You motion for Robb to sit next to you. In your almost year of marriage, this is the first time that you have actually asked him to be near you. It seems as if he has realized this fact as well if his hesitancy is anything to go off of. Robb’s nervous movements are in stark contrast to your controlled stillness. A couple moments pass between you two before you begin to talk. Long-awaited and much-needed words begin this conversation. “It’s cruel but what he says is true. I have failed in my duty as a wife. I should have given you an heir by now.”

Completely stunned is how the maesters would describe Robb if they were here to record this meeting. You are still calling him your husband, even after everything he has done, but you are voicing something that Robb would never want to believe. Yes, it is a wife’s and therefore your duty to give him an heir, but he would never, never force you to conceive if you were not yet ready. He turns to face the fireplace, staring into the flickering flames as he realizes how truly damaged you have been from a childhood in the Frey household and the months as his wife. Both of you have tried to do everything that has been expected of you, yet it is you who has suffered the most and continues to endure. Robb is angry at the world. Angry at the cruel words of your father. Angry at himself for the way he has treated you. Sighing deeply, he speaks after gathering his emotions. “Do not let them make you believe that this is your fault. It takes two to make a child. I am just as much to blame for the situation we find ourselves in…”

Robb’s words trail off when he feels you place your head on his shoulder. It seems to be a night of firsts. Much like you never asked him to be near you, you have never initiated any sort of physical comfort. You both enjoy the feeling until you bring Robb back to reality with your voice breaking the silence. “I don’t blame you for anything. I want you to know that. You were forced to marry me, forced to make me your queen, while you still loved Talisa. Why would you want to leave her side for a Frey, especially when Talisa was carrying your child? I ruined your life.”

Feeling a tear soak into the shoulder of his tunic, Robb tilts your head up so he can see you clearly. “You didn’t ruin my life. I made a deal with your father. I knew what I was agreeing to when I crossed the bridge.” He reaches his thumb to brush the tears off your face. “This is not your burden to bear. It is something we must share. Something we must work through so that we can grow together. Something I should have worked harder on at the beginning of our marriage.” Your husband sighs deeply and shakes his head, trying to accept how much he has just spoken. Robb comes to the startling realization that he has never voiced this sentiment to you before, much less even admitted it to himself.

“Thank you. I need to hear those words said to me.” You say and place a gentle kiss on Robb’s cheek. A blush spreads across your face as you do so.

He freezes when he feels your lips brush against his skin. A matching pink tint blotches his cheeks like yours did. This is the first time you have shown affection for him and it feels…good. Robb smiles and leans over to place a kiss on your forehead, wanting to continue this newfound physical affection that you have started. “I’m here for you. I know I haven’t been in the past, but from this moment forward, I will always be here for you my queen.” The increased presence of his Northern accent betrays the emotions that are overwhelming him. Staring into your eyes, his gaze reveals nothing but honesty and sincerity in his gaze. Robb meant every word he said to you tonight.

A/N - Once again, thank you so much for reading. My ask box is always open for requests, comments, or if just want to gush about our lovely Stark boys.

#robb stark x reader #robb stark x you #robb stark fanfic #robb stark imagine #robb stark

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madame-wilsonn · 2 years

Text

Hold me, love me, touch me

(Be the first who ever did)

MASTERLIST

Request: "it’s breaking my heart to see you like this" - maybe for Tommy? — @thesoldiersminute

Summary: If you hold me without hurting me / You’ll be the first who ever did

or: after running away from Grace’s funeral, Tommy finds some comfort in your arms

A/N: this is veryyyy different to what I usually post but i’ve had this idea for so long!! It’s inspired by a few scenes from the show as well as a few LDR songs. I would just like to add this quote from California because it fits the story well:

You don't ever have to be stronger than you really are When you're lying in my arms, baby You don't ever have to go faster than your fastest pace Or faster than my fastest cars

Also big big big thank you to my pal @hauntedheathcliff and my bg @huntingingoodwill for helping me out, i don’t think i would have finished and posted it if they weren’t here!! this is the first very long one shot i post, I hope you all enjoy because i’ve been working really hard on this and i think i got too attached to it oops…anyway have fun!! <3

Warnings: mentions of death, war and just angst overall; a bit of fluff (old habits die hard)

Word count: 6,464 words

Thunder rumbled. Its echo reverberating on the tall trees.

Tommy could almost hear it.

The grieving sky screaming. The leaves whispering. Murmuring the same haunting chant over and over.

She’s dead. He killed her. She’s dead. He killed her.

His vision blurred. For an instant, he thought he was finally crying until he noticed the rain. It was raining.

A drop. Then another. And another. And another.

The tears rolling down Tommy’s peaked cap turned into weeping. The sky wailed its pain, crying the tears the widowed man didn’t have.

He couldn’t bring himself to.

Was he so broken even the death of his wife wouldn’t affect him?

The man brought the half-empty bottle of whiskey to his lips. The golden liquid cast a gentle warmth on his entire being. Tommy welcomed it, only wincing as the taste burnt his lips.

At least he could still feel that.

The reason he couldn’t cry for his late wife, he knew it.

That very reason made him cower with shame. Run away from her mourning family. Hide from his own son who, only aged two, reminded him so much of her.

But how could he cry for a woman he had never been in love with?

He swallowed another sip.

No matter how many times he had foolishly tried to convince himself, he was never in love.

He cared for her. He was loyal. He was devoted.

But never in love.

No, his heart belonged to another.

He chugged at the bottle, drinking until he couldn’t breathe and his head felt dizzy.

He closed his eyes, the heavy rain making him shiver.

Her image, engraved on his eyelids, shook his heart. She had always been aware of it. There was a distance, a wall between them. He didn’t look at her the way she wanted him to— no spark, no tenderness in his gaze. They shared a house and a family but that’s all they would ever have.

If Tommy married Grace, despite her betrayal, it was only to do right by her.

And he never regretted it.

Thomas Shelby wasn’t a man of many regrets.

He was a man of guilt.

Marrying a woman he didn’t love to preserve her reputation— to protect her— just to get her killed instead.

That was all him.

He stared blankly at his hands, an empty chuckle leaving his lips.

Those hands. Dripping with innocent blood.

So much blood.

Blood on her porcelain skin. Blood on her powder pink dress. Blood on his pristine white shirt. Blood. Everywhere.

And it was all his fault.

Gulp.

If there was one thing worse than being responsible for Grace's death, it was the shame he felt.

Even dead, he couldn’t give her what she desired. He couldn’t mourn for her the way everyone expected him to. His heart couldn’t break for her the way it should because it never belonged to her in the first place.

Gulp.

His son was going to grow up without his mother. Tommy knew how that felt. It was the last thing he wished for Charlie. To grow up the way he did.

Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.

The last drop of ember liquid slid down his throat and Tommy stared at the clear glass. There was no consolation. No rest for him. Not here. And certainly not at the bottom of that bottle.

He got up suddenly, stumbling through the large field into his car. Glancing at his pallid face in the rearview mirror, he sighed.

There was only one place Tommy could hope to find comfort tonight.

A soft knock on the door tore you from your thoughts. A swift glance at the clock pointed to the late hour as you slipped your robe on. You crossed your apartment warily, wondering who could visit in the middle of the night. Who could be brave— or stupid enough to defy the pouring rain outside?

You opened the door slowly, your heart pounding in apprehension.

“Tommy?” You opened the door slowly, heart pounding in apprehension. “Gosh, Tom, you must be freezing! A-are you okay?” you quickly ushered him inside.

Grabbing his coat and cap, you handed him a dry towel.

You hadn’t seen him since the morning, at the funeral. He left after his speech, handing Charlie to Polly and taking his car.

His brothers spent hours searching for him but it was useless. If Thomas Shelby decided he didn’t want to be found, then nobody would.

You hesitated for a moment. Maybe you should warn Polly or Ada, tell them he was with you.

Instead, you brought a comforting hand to his soaked arm. “Would you like me to make you some tea?”

“No, it’s alright. I…I don’t even know why I came here,” he slurred, his eyes darting around— always avoiding you.

Guiding him towards the sofa, you managed to get a better look at him.

To say he seemed tired was a euphemism. His eyes lacked their usual spark and his skin had a sick, grayish tone. He had aged twenty years in about a week.

Your heart clenched in your chest as the memory of the young man he used to be appeared. His clear laugh rang out somewhere in your mind and you thought about the long nights spent with the other. Up there, on the roof of some abandoned factory, dreaming of a gilded future.

“Do you think you can get up? My brother left some clothes here, you could change into something dry.”

Tommy took a cigarette out from the pocket of his black jacket. You observed him, watching the same ritual you’ve witnessed countless times. The cigarette between his lips, he muttered “It’s fine,” before inhaling the smoke. “I should go anyway. Shouldn’t have bothered you so late at night. ‘M sorry.”

Your hand reached for his. “No. You’re not going anywhere, Tom.”

He observed you as he felt your thumb running against his skin. Such a simple gesture yet it took Tommy a moment to recognize the small display of affection.

Your touch sent shivers down his spine, different from the ones he felt because of the cold— enjoyable. He decided to focus on the warmth emanating from your hand, sitting back down.

He wondered when was the last time someone had been so tender with him. The last time touch didn’t rhyme with broken bones and bruises. The last time he seemed important enough to be handled with care and gentleness.

“Hey,” you announced softly, taking a seat next to Tommy. “How’s your arm doing?”

He took a swig straight out of the bottle of champagne. You instantly recognized the “gift” offered by Grace as he handed it to you. “Feels like it's been shot,” he shrugged, his gaze fixed on his passed-out brothers.

Sighing, you swallowed some of the bubbly liquid again. Even though a part of you was thrilled to see the blonde barmaid gone— you had been wishing for that ever since she stepped into town— seeing Tommy so heartbroken snatched the joy away.

To your dismay, her arrival in Small Heath brought back parts of him you thought were lost in some deserted french field. It shattered your heart to see his smile, the somehow sparkling eyes, the lightness in his demeanor every time—and only when she was around.

And yet, if it meant him being happy again, then you could deal with the disappointment and the jealousy and the yearning. You could handle watching his joy from afar. Even if you weren’t the reason behind his smile, even if you weren’t part of it. You just wanted him to be happy.

But it was all a lie.

Who would have thought it was merely a scheme?

Probably the oldest one in the book— to get close to the man in charge and trick him into handing the information on a silver platter. No one suspected her. Not even Polly.

She had managed to fool all of you, the same way you’d fool a child into drinking some nasty medicine.

“And you?” you finally ask, turning your head to observe Tommy. “How are you?”

You noticed the clench in his jaw, the pause—a fraction of a second too long before answering “Good.”

"Really good or ‘just leave me alone’ good?”

He grabbed the bottle from your hands, staying quiet and you took this as a sign to ask again. “Do you want me to leave you alone?”

One of the things Tommy cherished the most in your relationship was his ability to be honest with you. You seemed to understand, or at least accept what others qualified as flaws. He knew he could ask you to go away if he wanted to without upsetting you. It comforted him in some way.

But then, the thought of you leaving made his heart clench painfully in his chest. The swirl of emotions was too much. Too much for him to deal with alone.

His hand searched for yours, squeezing it gently. The words didn’t need to be uttered. You sat closer to him and for some reason Tommy couldn’t understand, his head rested on your shoulder.

It wasn’t calculated. He didn’t even think of it.

One minute he was carrying his heavy heart alone. The next, you stood by him and lifted some of the burden away.

Your fingers made their way to the shaved part of his head and Tommy closed his eyes. He could forget about everything. Forget about the throbbing pain in his arm. Forget about Danny Whizzbang. Forget about her.

He could just lean on you for a little bit. Focus on the feeling of your nails grazing his skin. Let the faint scent of aldehydes wrapped in roses suffocate the demons in his mind.

“I don’t want you to blame yourself, Tom,” you whispered after a moment of silence.

He scoffed and you brought your hands to his face, lifting his head from your shoulder. “I’m serious,” the fierce look in your eyes confirmed your words. “It could have happened to any of us. And you’ve been through so much. You wanted to believe you could finally allow yourself some peace,” your thumbs ran across his cheekbones. “It was with the wrong person but you still deserve it. You deserve good things.”

Tommy stared at you, almost bewildered. How could you say those words to him— and believe them when you knew what he was? He wondered if your friendship affected your judgment. Made you less able to separate the man he was from the memories you had with him.

As if you had been reading through his mind, you interrupted his ruminations. “I know you’ve convinced yourself you were all bad and evil but you’re wrong. The voices in your head are wrong. There is still good in you, Tom. I know there is, I can see it,” your hand slid from his cheek, dropping to his heart. “Right here.”

Tommy could only observe you. The determination in your voice, the earnestness in your eyes, you were convinced with your own speech. So much that a part of him began to trust you.

You smiled softly at him and he swore he felt his heart miss a beat. “You’re going to meet a nice girl. And she’ll be funny and sweet. And she’ll probably have the patience of a saint to deal with your stubborn arse.” He couldn’t help but chuckle at your remark. “But she’ll love you more than anything else and she’ll be lucky because you’ll love her just the same.”

And while Tommy listened intently, the only thing he could think about was you.

Everything you described. Everything you said.

You. You. You.

It was you.

Tommy pressed his palms against his eyes until light dots appeared in his vision. He was beyond exhausted. His head, his arms, his legs ached. His entire body was begging him to surrender. Wave the white flag and give up.

He didn’t know how many battles he could still fight. How many blows he could still stomach. How many times his heart could still be torn apart and keep going.

If all of this was extra, why did it hurt so much?

“I called Polly,” you cut Tommy’s train of thoughts, entering the living room. “Charlie’s alright, he’s asleep now. She is staying at Arrow House with Ada.”

Tommy sighed, his gaze fixed on his trembling fingers. You observed him quietly, noticing the habit he had when something bothered him. He kept clenching his jaw anxiously. To the point you worried he might dislocate it.

Trying to catch his attention, you cleared your throat. Once. Twice.

And realizing he was far too gone into his own mind, you lightly touched his shoulder.

“You should get some rest. You’re tired.”

“I’m alright,” the response was short. Cold.

Anyone else would have backed down. Apologized, even. But you sat next to him, your concern only growing and decided to ask, “When was the last time you slept, hm?”

The dead silence that followed said it all.

You shook your head, a desperate sigh filling the quiet room with your worry.

“I wish there was something I could do,” your fingers brushed against his damp hair. “It’s breaking my heart to see you like this, Tom”

He stared at you, feeling your breath tickling his cheeks— the soft summer breeze embracing him after a hot, straining day.

And something in the air shifted.

Maybe it was the comfort Tommy found in your eyes. Maybe it was the way his heartbeat seemed to chant your name. Maybe he just wanted to.

But he leaned in.

His lips caressed yours, almost timidly before he moved closer. He was kissing you. The dwindling ember ablaze at the sweet taste of your lips mixed with whiskey and tobacco. A precious nectar Tommy knew he could never live without now that he had tasted it.

It seemed to be the only way to bring air into his lungs. Yet somehow, he felt breathless at the same time.

The feeling of his lips— so strangely soft made you dizzy. Your brain didn’t seem to work properly as you kissed him back. Tommy. Kissing you.

You almost giggled, a warm rush spreading in your chest and your head and everywhere in your body.

The only thing keeping you from bursting in flames was the cold. From his hands. His shirt. His hair twirling around your fingers.

You relished it. Cherished his calloused skin against yours. The dazzled lightness in the air.

At that moment, you were no more than a simple woman. And he was a simple man. Kissing you so passionately in the faint twilight.

Your hand touched his, grazing the golden band on his finger and you felt the bubble around you explode.

You weren’t a simple woman. He was far from a simple man.

You pushed him away, regretfully. Your body was almost leaning in again, craving more of the electricity skipping through your veins.

You wanted to be his. And him to be yours.

But not like this.

You knew Tommy like you knew your way back home. He couldn’t address his grief properly. He had never really learned, even after years of practice. The only thing he was used to was taking the pain away, no matter how. No matter the consequences he’d have to face.

And you were well aware of that.

Tommy wasn’t kissing you out of love or even out of desire. He was kissing you to feel better. You couldn’t let that happen. Not to him. Certainly not to you.

But the look he gave you as he realized what you had done made you want to throw it all away.

To hell with morals and honorable principles!

Who needed that when you could kiss him over and over again? When all you had to care about was his heart pounding against your palm, raindrops cooling down your flushed cheeks.

“Tom…” you resigned yourself.

No, you couldn’t just throw it all away. He was mourning his dead wife and he was in pain. You couldn’t take advantage of that.

His hand left your waist as if it had burnt him and guilt soon replaced the gentle warmth in your chest. But it was for the best.

At least, you tried to convince yourself it was.

The terrible humiliation was nothing compared to the regret he’d feel as the sunlight cleared his mind. He couldn’t realize it now. Too intoxicated, protected by the moon’s sheltering shimmer.

You had to keep your composure. Don’t let yourself be fooled by the comforting embrace. It was all an illusion. Giving in meant feeding the sliver of desire you tried so hard to contain.

You couldn’t live off some false hope.

You couldn’t risk your own sanity just so he could choose her.

Not again.

Running through the empty halls of the company, heart pounding in your chest with worry, you prayed.

Please let him be there. Please make sure he’s safe. Please. Please. Please.

Your heels hit the hardwood floor, each step resonating through the halls of the empty building. Out of breath, you almost fell to the ground when the engraved glass doors appeared in front of you— at last, liberation.

You pushed them open, not paying attention to the sound of the slamming doors. A relieved sigh left your lips, your gaze falling on him.

In his armchair, almost asleep, Tommy didn’t budge at the noise. He lazily opened one eye, observing your disheveled hair, how breathless you were. Sitting up, questions bubbling in his chest, he opened his mouth but you interrupted him before he could say a word.

“Where the fuck have you been, eh?” you yelled, walking into the office. Tommy left his chair, carefully joining you in the middle of the room. “I’ve been looking all over for you!”

He only stared at you, waiting for the anger to settle down. He realized how worried you must have been, how terrified it was to not find him after he left so suddenly. But he could only feel relief.

Two hours ago, he was kneeling in front of a grave, waiting to be shot. And now, he was with you, getting a well-deserved earful for disappearing.

Tommy had probably never been this happy to get yelled at.

“…And nobody knew where the fuck you were! And then there were shots and we were all running around, even got my new shoes ruined!” you rambled, your hands waving around. “Arthur told me it was over but I couldn’t find you! I searched everywhere, even asked that posh girl who looked after your horse! And I swear to God, someday I will put a leash on you! Disappearing like that! I-“ You stopped abruptly, your expression changing as you noticed the bright red staining Tommy’s temple “You’re bleeding. Why are you bleeding? What…”

“I’m okay,” he replied softly, feeling a change in the air. You closed the distance between you, your hands reaching for the injury.

“What happened to you?” You whispered, your voice higher than before.

Thomas’s hand wrapped yours and he smiled, trying to reassure you. “I survived, Y/N. I’m alive.”

Your lips wobbled, eyes watering and your anger wafted away, replaced by a gut-wrenching worry.

The words he uttered to you at the races before he left took on their full meaning. You couldn’t realize it at the time but the way he looked at you, the way he kissed your temple and promised to come back.

It had felt a little too familiar but you couldn’t remember why.

He was saying goodbye, that’s why. He promised something he wasn’t sure he would keep just to assure your peace of mind.

Suddenly, you were back on the train platform, watching him walk away to a most certain death, completely powerless.

You almost lost him today. Again.

He was gone but then he came back.

Maybe there was a reason. Maybe you were granted a second chance after letting the first one go. Who knew if you would get another?

You couldn’t waste it.

You couldn’t let your last chance slip through your fingers.

You couldn’t risk losing him.

Not without him knowing about your feelings.

“Tommy, I…”

His arms wrapped around your waist stopped the words on the tip of your tongue. He held you close, so close his heart beat right over your ear. One gentle kiss on your temple. His fingers threading through your hair, you closed your eyes.

“I’ll buy you new shoes. I’ll buy you all the shoes you wish for. Even hire a cobbler just for you,” he whispered, tightening his embrace.

“Forget about the shoes…” you started, trying to find the right words.

But what could you say?

Nothing seemed enough. All so insignificant compared to the love you carried like a cherished picture in a locket— always close to your heart.

“I have to tell you something,” he interrupted, a soft smile brightening his expression. “I’m going to be a father.”

“What?” you asked, leaning back.

“Grace’s pregnant with my baby. I’m going to marry her and we’ll raise him together.”

And the world seemed to crumble around you.

Who knew a sentence as simple as this could have the same effect as a thousand cuts?

You could only stare at him, your mind playing the words over and over again— a broken record you were doomed to endure for the rest of your days.

Your eyes burnt with bitter tears attempting to escape their prison. A million questions rushed through your brains, striking each other until nothing made sense.

Not her. Not her. Anyone but her.

You would find another way. Raise the child yourself if you had to. But not her.

He couldn’t fall for her again. You had to talk him out of it. Reason with him.

You couldn’t lose him like this.

“Y/N?”

You focused your attention back on Tommy, noticing the frown forming between his brows.

He expected your answer. Hell, his decision probably depended on your next words. But the idea of a baby…

He had given up on that.

The dreams of a happy, somewhat normal life had been buried in the tunnels. Covered in mud. Lying next to the decaying bodies of his comrades.

And now, it was so close to him. He could reach through the mud and get this life back. He could try to leave the war behind. Let a new life forgive all the lost ones.

Let the flowers grow over the old tunnels.

You bit the inside of your cheek. No, you couldn’t ruin that for him. He went through enough. He deserved some rest.

No matter how selfish you wanted to be, he would always be above all foolish sentiments.

A forced, poorly attempted smile made its way on your face— locking the tears away.

“I’m just…I’m so happy for you,” your voice broke as relief washed over his tired features. He hugged you again, chuckling. “You’re going to be a wonderful father,” there was no hesitation. Only the truth.

“And you’ll be an even more wonderful aunt,” he kissed your cheek, rubbing your back. “Don’t tell Ada I said this.”

You clutched his jacket in your hands, biting your lips hard enough a faint metallic taste covered the bile in your mouth.

The familiar feeling was here again. An impression of déjà-vu. Back on the train platform. Watching him leave.

But this time, he wasn’t coming back.

“I’m sorry, Tommy, we can’t…” but he wasn’t listening. He couldn’t listen to whatever excuse you had.

The only thing worse than being rejected by you would probably be hearing you say the words.

I don’t love you, Tommy.

No. It would be the fatal blow. He wasn’t ready for that.

He got up, the alcohol in his blood seemingly gone— deserting, leaving him powerless.

“Tommy, please”

You kept saying his name like it mattered. Like it would change anything.

Shaking his head, he pulled his arm away.

Nothing could mend the raw rip, tearing his heart in half.

It made no sense to him. He was convinced there had been something.

You.

You who stood by him through everything.

You were the only constant.

Your relationship, his only haven— the solid deck on vicious waters.

Never breaking. Never busting.

What would he do if the deck shattered?

Tommy didn’t have the answer to that question. He didn’t want to know.

The cold pit in his stomach as you leaned back was enough to make him leave. He couldn’t bear looking you in the eyes, terrified of what he’d find there.

He had to go.

You followed him through your apartment, calling his name. He wasn’t going anywhere, you wouldn’t allow it. Passing the door meant giving up on your friendship.

It couldn’t end this way.

“Tom, listen to me,” you pleaded. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” struggling to find your words, you felt the lump in your throat growing until you were suffocating. “Please, don’t go. You can’t go now, you can’t.”

He grabbed his jacket. The sound of your voice withering almost made him stay. Force a smile on. Tell you it was alright.

No matter how hardened he grew with the years, he never could stand you crying. Ever since the day he met you.

You had scratched your knee on the dingy pavement and he carried you on his back. He even stole a chocolate bar to console you— the little girl with braids and the sweetest laugh his ears were blessed to hear.

He swore he’d do anything to bring the smile back on your face. Engrave the lightness it carried in his heart.

You would know no woe. No grief.

Not as long as you had him.

You clenched your jaw, desperate tears starting to roll down your cheeks. Deep down, you knew your choice was the best but the sight of him leaving—even worse, hating you, made you sick.

“Tommy,” your voice broke, “Please, you can’t leave now. Please…,” one last wretched attempt to get him to stay.

Time began to flow so slowly you could swear it stopped.

The clock didn’t tick. The fire in the hearth didn’t crack. The wind didn’t blow.

The world around you held its breath. Waiting. Carefully listening to your beating heart. Pounding against your ribcage. Each thump edging you to the forlorn void of despair.

But if there was one promise Tommy wouldn’t break, it was the one he made to the little girl with her braids and her scratched knee.

His greatest weakness.

You.

Fingers freezing on the doorknob, Tommy listened to your quiet sniffles. He bit his tongue, feeling the guilty grip around his heart.

The moment of hesitation— only a few seconds but it was enough time to put your hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” your forehead rested against his as you whispered, your breath brushing against his lips. “But we can’t do this,” Tommy clenched his jaw, his shoulders slouching in apprehension. “You’re only doing this to feel better and I wish I could help you, I do. But I won’t let you wreck everything just to regret it tomorrow and probably the days after…because you love her.”

A trembling breath left your lips. “You're in love with Grace and you’re mourning and…”

“What?”

Tommy pushed you away, deep creases forming on his forehead. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Tom…”

“What are you talking about? Why would you say that, eh?” confusion in his voice turning into venom, the lack of sleep grinding his nerves.

“Y-You love her. You love Grace, she was your wife and I’m sorry if…”

“Is that what you think?” he spat out as your hands reached for him again.

The fatal blow.

Unexpected. Sharp. Lethal.

“What do you mean?” you stared at him, puzzled at his brusque reaction. “Grace was…”

“Stop saying her fucking name!” he snapped, eyes maddened by his own anguish.

The mere sound of her name was enough to stir the guilt overtaking his body— stabbing the same bleeding wound over and over.

You stood before him, not knowing how to act.

Tommy rarely lost his cool. He always had the upper hand over his own emotions. You were used to that. You had learnt to deal with his seemingly unshakable façade.

This was different.

“Is that what you think, hm?” he repeated, cutting the stunned silence reigning “You think I was in love with her?”

You had no idea what to reply. You couldn’t grasp the reason behind his outburst. His anger and his hurt were part of a puzzle missing its central piece.

Twisting his words in your mind, you tried to find a clue— anything to help you understand. The accumulation of distressing events was the most obvious answer but it still didn’t explain everything.

“Tom, I don’t understand, I…” you finally admitted, powerless faced with his own torment.

Your confession made him scoff. Tommy’s chest heaved and he clenched his jaw, biting back the words burning his tongue.

The turmoil of emotion began to overwhelm him and he knew that as soon as he opened his mouth, words would flow uncontrollably. The wise decision was to walk away.

Walk away and blame the concerning amount of whiskey in his blood the next day.

Just walk away.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Of course.

The heavy lump in Tommy’s throat seemed to explode, spreading its vehement poison across his body.

“I was never in love with Grace.” he spun around, facing your defeated expression “I was never in love with her because I’ve always loved you. You.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t say anything. But Tommy didn’t expect you to. “She was the mother of my son and I cared about her but the way I love you… You are the only woman that ever mattered and without you…” his voice broke, eyes watering.

The wave of emotion washed over him with such intensity, air barely reached his lungs.

Drowning.

He felt like he was drowning. Condemned in a tormented sea. Desperately gasping for air yet only allowing more water in.

Tommy considered the idea of forsaking— let the water burn his throat, churn at his insides as long as he could rest. As long as his soul didn’t ache.

But at the very last second, he felt hands pulling him out.

You embraced him, arms tightly knit around his neck, his head resting against your shoulder. Tommy closed his eyes, treasuring the small moment of peace granted to him.

Feeling the strength in his body failing, you guided your bodies to the carpeted floor. His arms tightened around you and you sighed.

His confession had been everything you ever wanted to hear and you desperately wanted to believe him. Craved to whisper those same words back.

But could you trust the words of a man so inebriated he would probably not remember by the morning?

“It was all an illusion”, you reminded yourself.

Tommy, your friend, may have been the man you loved but he was also a widower. Maybe it made no sense to act this way and maybe you should believe him because why else would he say this?

But it was unfair to expect him to “make sense” after what happened to him.

He needed comfort. He needed to stop being the man in charge, the “always standing” one. He needed you to be his friend.

Only that.

Your hands rubbed his back soothingly and you kissed the side of his head, chasing the voice in your head begging you to give in.

For now, you’d have to content yourself with that.

A gentle embrace, mending the scattered pieces of his heart in the dark hall. Tommy couldn’t let go. Your arms provided the solace he longed for—the lifebelt keeping him afloat.

And as you held him, he could only think about the time. The time he lost. The time he could have had.

If only he had said something…

The train platform turned into a sea of teary goodbyes, children escaping their mother’s grasp and boys, men— soldiers, leaving for France.

Clutching Tommy’s army jacket in your hand, you felt his fingers brushing the tears on your cheeks.

“Come on, sweetheart, you know I hate seeing you cry,” he attempted a soft smile.

“Then don’t leave us.”

And he knew he would. He would do anything if it dried your tears and erased the sad pout on your face.

“Please, just one smile. I want to see you smile.”

In case it was the last time.

Tommy searched through his pockets, waving a bright blue box in front of you. “Now you can’t cry anymore,” he muttered with a sly smirk.

You stared at the chocolate bar and couldn’t help the grin making its way through your tears. You swung your arms around his neck, cutting his breath short as you hugged him.

Tommy returned the embrace, closing his eyes.

He could never open them again and stay with you. He wouldn’t have to go anywhere. Just stay. Thread his fingers through your hair and kiss you and love you. He could just stay.

Neither of you wanted to let go. You were pretty sure neither of you could.

As long as you had him. As long as he had you. Nothing could reach you. Nothing could hurt you. If only you held onto each other tighter.

But a loud, piercing whistle resonated through the station, breaking the tender embrace. Tommy took a moment to admire you. Gentle features and radiant smile. That’s how he wanted to remember you. His thumbs reached under your eyes. No tears.

Not today. Not ever.

He wasn’t sure he could keep standing there as you cried and not cry himself. Blinking away, his jaw clenched, he let his fingers trail down your cheek.

His touch was so soft, so light—like feathers tickling your skin— it almost made you forget why he was leaving.

You tried to smile, even as a few rebellious tears tried to escape.

Oh, my darling Y/N...

And he thought he might finally admit it. Confess right here on the noisy train platform. Whisper the words into your ear and make you promise you’ll wait for him.

He was already walking towards death, he might as well free himself of the secret he kept for so long— the same way a condemned man would.

“Tommy?”

He focused his attention on you, the delicately embroidered handkerchief close to your nose. Your eyes reddened with tears, cheeks still damp.

Yes, he could say it.

But what if he didn’t come back?

What if he told you he loved you and died in some french field? What if the only thing you got back from him was a box of his belongings and nothing else?

“I…I just…” You wouldn't handle it. You were already terrified of what would happen, he couldn’t add to that some foolish confession just to feel better.

He couldn’t risk it.

“I’ll miss you. Take care, yeah?” he leaned in, kissing your temple.

“Come on, Tom! We’re gonna be late,” Arthur’s deep voice urged him.

“I’ll write to you all the time,” you promised, your hand reaching for his.

Tommy didn’t let go, holding your fingers until he was too far. He stepped onto the train, his eyes always set on yours.

One last glance. One last smile.

And he was gone.

Arthur and John found a compartment where they set their bags, greeting other soldiers. But Tommy wasn’t paying attention.

He had a chance. He could have said it.

No. No, it would have been too selfish to blurt it out and leave. He wanted to tell you he loved you but not under Death’s malignant threat.

He would admit he loved you only if he could live to fulfill that promise. When he could take you dancing. When he could be sure to fall asleep kissing you and wake up just the same.

What was the point of saying it if he never had the chance to show it?

But could he really risk dying without ever telling you?

If he died and you never knew he loved you, he would regret it.

One last whistle resonated through the train station. The train wobbled, slowly moving.

No. No. No.

Tommy left the compartment, running to the corridors.

“Tom, what the fuck are you doing?”

The last thing he wanted was to break your heart if he didn’t come back. But he couldn’t leave without you knowing just how much he loved you.

He just had to make his way back to you.

And he could. He could fight and floor his opponent if it meant coming home to you.

He just had to say it. He had to.

He would never forgive himself if he didn’t.

Pushing away soldiers, ignoring their exclamations and complaints, Tommy finally reached the last car.

It was full but it didn’t matter. He burst in, running towards the window. Quick. Before it’s too late.

I love you.

Soldiers were staring at him as if he was mad.

Maybe he was.

I love you.

He leaned out, almost tipping over and falling. He didn’t care.

I love you.

Tommy spotted you amongst the crowd.

I love you. I love you. I...

But the train had already left the platform.

It was too far. It was too late.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered, defeated.

No one noticed the tears in his eyes. The train rushed under the dim tunnel as regret filled his body with immense darkness.

Too late.

You woke up with a groan, shy rays of sunshine tiptoeing through your quiet apartment. But you couldn’t enjoy the warm weather. Not when every limb, every muscle, every fiber of your body ached.

On the floor. You had fallen asleep on the floor.

You groaned again, stretching your sore legs. As you tried to get up, the night before came back to your mind.

At least you had an explanation for your aching neck.

You called for Tommy, expecting to find him in the living room but the room was completely empty.

The exhaustion in your body was enough to not question it too much as you made your way to the kitchen. You needed a cup of tea. And maybe some sleep in your bed.

But as you moved towards the table to prepare your breakfast, you noticed a small piece of paper.

Recognizing Tommy’s clear writing, you felt a warm rush through your body and a smile creeping on your tired features.

#ma ptite bombasse 🥰#tommy <3 #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby angst #thomas shelby fluff #peaky blinders #anna's fics #500 followers celebration #anna's grand ball #peaky blinders

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