#Prison sweatshirt | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

skzdarlings · 1 year

Text

04. sharing a bed series ; skz ; hyunjin

masterlist.

sharing a bed series part 4/8. because it’s the cheesiest most classic trope and it’s FUN. -

pairing: hwang hyunjin/reader content info: sexual content. friends2lovers, sharing a bed trope. penetrative sex n the pull out method lol. also hyunjin n reader were drugged the night before, premise is based around them getting married in vegas under the influence and not remembering how it happened in the morning. drama llama antics ensue.

Hyunjin has the heart of a sentimental corvid; he loves his people, but he’s weird and sneaky about it. His propensity for dramatics is only in certain situations and the rest of the time he is quiet and tends to balk at grand displays. He definitely does not like cuddling or hugging. He will only begrudgingly suffer through it when his more physically affectionate friends get the bright idea to attack him with their loving arms.

So you are wildly confused when you wake up in your hotel room with Hyunjin plastered to you, hugging you so tightly that you are halfway convinced he glued himself there. His chin is nestled on your shoulder, his breath coming softly against your neck. The hood of his grey sweatshirt is pulled over his head but some of his long blonde hair still falls on your face. You blow at it unsuccessfully, getting some in your eye. He holds you tighter.

What the hell?

You arrived in Las Vegas yesterday and while most of last night is a foggy blur, you do remember the room had two twin beds. Sure enough, there is a second bed just a few feet from yours, the covers completely untouched. The neatly made bed is a stark contrast to the mess of your bed: the duvet sliding off the foot, the pillows on the floor, the bedding partially untucked. All the sheets are wrapped around your body like a cocoon while a shivering Hyunjin clings to you, presumably for warmth.

You try to roll over but your bedsheet-burrito has you trapped, never mind Hyunjin’s death grip of a spoon.

“Hyunjin,” you whisper. “I can’t breathe.”

He grumbles and squeezes you, making you squeak.

“Hyunjin,” you say, a bit louder. “Wake up.”

He groans in his sleep and buries his face further in your neck. His nuzzling sends shivers shooting down your spine.

“Hyunjin.” It comes out like a croak. You try wriggling your shoulders. “Hyunjin, wake up!”

He makes a disgruntled sound but doesn’t move.

“Oh my god,” you say. “How are you such a bitch even when sleeping? Wake up!”

When he stays sleeping, you are forced to take drastic action. You turn your face and blow, hard. His face scrunches up and he finally stirs.

“Ew,” he says, slowly blinking his eyes open. His mouth draws into a sour pout, his brow tight. “Stop. Your breath is so disgusting.”

“Ahem.”

He makes a fist and rubs his eyes. His dark brows are still furrowed but there is modicum of clarity when he looks at you. It takes a minute to fully register your proximity, his eyes flicking here and there. Finally, they open wide.

With remarkable speed, Sleepy Hyunjin concedes leeway to Drama Queen Hyunjin. He mewls like a frightened cat, ripping away so quickly that it knocks the air out of you with an oof.

“What—” he starts.

He is interrupted when his thrashing makes him slide. You are still bundled in your bedsheet-prison and can only watch as the clumsy oaf slides backwards right off the bed. All those long limbs make a frantic windmill as he shrieks on his way down, hitting the floor with a heavy crash and groan.

“You okay?” you ask.

“Ugh,” he replies. “My head.”

“Are you dying?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Well, when you’re done, come help me.”

His hand appears first, thumping onto the messy bed. His head follows with an exhausted peek over the mattress. His hood has fallen back and his long hair is infuriatingly neat considering everything. Hyunjin is so beautiful that it is ridiculous. All he does is run his long fingers through his hair, shake his head a little, and he looks picture perfect.

“You’re staring,” he says with a scowl.

“It’s because you’re so ugly,” you say.

“Liar,” he says. He makes a V with his fingers and licks between them. “I’m sexy and you love me.”

He is correct, so it is only natural that you try biting him.

You chomp at him when he approaches, threatening to bite his fingers when they get too close to your face. He pinches your nose between two knuckles and squeezes.

“Hyunjiiiiin, staaawp,” you say in a nasally whine.

He does, but only after playfully snapping his own jaws in your direction.

“I should just leave you here and have a peaceful day,” he says.

“I’ll kill you and bury you in the desert.”

“Gross. Can’t you bury me on the strip?”

“I’m gonna feed your carcass to some desert scorpions.”

“Ew.”

It takes some effort, but Hyunjin manages to find where your blanket-burrito starts. He grabs it and tugs like the annoying bimbo he is. Your protest comes too late and he whips the blanket open, sending you flying off the bed. You land with a heavy thud of your own.

“Oops,” he says. He rustles through the sheets to peer over the edge of the bed. “Are you okaaaa—whaaaat are you wearing?”

You were already dizzy before Hyunjin decided to throw you around like a human tennis ball, but now it’s even worse.

You have no idea what happened last night but it clearly involved a hit of something way, way, way stronger than usual. It takes you a minute to come back to reality. After shaking your head a few times, you are able to push yourself into a sitting position. You finally look down.

You freeze.

“Hyunjin,” you say. “What the fuck am I wearing?”

“That’s what I just—”

“Hyunjin. What the fuck am I wearing?!”

It is an utterly useless question because it is abundantly obvious that you are wearing a wedding dress. A big, poofy, princess wedding dress with giant puffed up 1980s sleeves and enough cleavage on display that Hyunjin almost falls off the bed because he is tilting his head so much.

You yank up the skirt as if that will offer any answers. You find a pair of white stockings, one still neatly clipped to a thigh garter and the other halfway down your calf. You stare at that stocking for a long moment, the vaguest recollection of something fighting its way through the fog of your druggy, drunk memory.

“Uh,” Hyunjin says.

You look up at him but his eyes are downturned to his own wrist. You look there, your own eyes widening when you see what he sees.

Your missing garter is looped around his wrist like a silky white bracelet.

An image comes flooding back. The periphery is still in smog, but you distinctly remember Hyunjin kneeling in front of you, gathering his long hair into a ponytail as he smirked up at you. You remember him lifting your skirt, his head disappearing under the pile of white lace.

You look at each other at the same time. Did he just have the same memory? Does he remember more? You have no idea and you can’t bring yourself to ask. Your voice is shot to hell, swallowed up by the heart that seems to have jumped into your throat.

The silence is tense. It is hotter than the desert in here.

“We didn’t…?” he finally says, pointing between the two of you.

“No way,” you say. It sounds very uncertain.

He lifts his other hand to tuck some hair behind his ears. That’s when you see it. Hyunjin wears so many rings so often that you completely missed it at first. But right now his hands are bare save for one unfamiliar ring in a very particular spot.

Hyunjin follows the trajectory of your horrified gaze and freezes when he spots the wedding ring. He slaps a hand over his mouth, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead.

“Oh my god,” you say. You are afraid to check your own hand but it is imperative. Hyunjin looks at you, his shocked hand still covering his mouth. Together, you watch as your hand shakily rises out of the pile of white princess lace.

There is a wedding ring on your finger too.

You and Hyunjin scream at the same time, him clapping both hands over his ears as he hollers and you shaking your head and kicking your feet. After your mini-freak out, you wave your hands to silence him.

“Stop, stop!” you say. “It’s okay. Be calm. Be quiet. This is okay.”

“We got married,” he wails, dragging his fingers down his face. “My mom is gonna kill me.”

“Your mom? YOUR MOM? Hyunjin, I’m gonna kill you before you even leave this city, so don’t fucking worry about your mom.” You mime throttling him because he is too far to reach.

Hyunjin flops down on the bed. He lays on his back with his arms folded like he is ready to be mummified.

“Oh my gawd,” he says. “Oh my gawwwd…”

“Look, we might not have even done it,” you say. It takes a lot of effort and you fall on your ass twice, but you manage to stagger ungracefully to your feet. “Some rings and a dress don’t mean anything. We were probably just goofing around. What do you remember?”

He is still in a mummification pose, his eyes closed.

“Nothing,” he says. He frowns. “No, wait. You were hitting on some ugly bitch of a man and didn’t listen to me, as usual, and the loser put something in your drink so I drank it to prove a point. But then you still drank it because you’re the worst, and I dragged you out of there.” He covers his face with both hands. “Then we got married and ruined our lives.”

“Okay, the last part you don’t know for sure,” you say. You stumble around the bed. “I’m gonna go wash up and clear my head and sort this out, because there’s no way we—” You stop when you spy something sitting on the television stand. It takes a few clumsy steps to reach, but you get there.

“Uh oh,” you say.

“Is that a marriage certificate?” Hyunjin asks.

“No.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“Yes.”

“Cool.” He rolls over so he is facedown on the bed, his voice muffled by the messy blankets. “I love this.”

“I’m gonna… go… wash up still,” you stay. You sigh and gather up your dress to stomp over to the bathroom door.

“Brush your teeth,” Hyunjin says. “Your breath is gross.”

“I hope you suffocate over there and make me a widow.” You close the door with a pointed shove.

You want to disobey him on principle, but there is a truly nasty taste in your mouth so you brush your teeth before anything else. You avoid your reflection for as long as possible because the crazed madwoman in the mirror is a terrifying sight to behold.

You reckon with her monstrous appearance eventually, tidying up as best you can. You remove the stockings and garter, gulping when the memory returns. You splash a lot of cold water on your face and it helps ground you.

Just as you begin to feel cleansed, you feel an itch on your throat. You crane your neck and tentatively touch the sensitive indentation, the raised bruising of a hickey. Touching it awakens another memory, one that strikes hot at your core.

Hyunjin. You. This hotel room. He pressed you against the door and caged you in, forearms on either of your head. Despite his presence looming over you, you did not feel nervous. You touched him as if that intimacy was something you always shared. You remember him cupping your face in one hand and turning your head, him kissing you softly on your temple and cheek, him breathing lightly over your throat before sucking a hard kiss under your jaw. He was all teeth and tongue, drawing moans out of you while you bucked against him. You remember him grinding against you, remember him pinning you to the door. You remember stringing your arms around his neck and him picking you up, then it all goes black again.

You turn away from the mirror, still holding your neck.

Did you… no.

Did you?

No.

You didn’t fuck Hyunjin. No way. You would have remembered that much. If nothing else, there would be evidence now. A used condom or a mess somewhere, a twinge between your legs. You are both fully dressed. You even have underwear on. It’s not the underwear you were wearing when you first left the hotel room, but it is underwear nonetheless.

One thing is certain; you did not go that far. He took a bite out of you and carried you to the bed where you probably passed out. How you got into a blanket-burrito, you are not sure, but at least it protected your dignity. Whatever was left of it, at least.

You step out of the bathroom only to walk straight into a pacing Hyunjin. You bonk heads and cuss each other out, swatting the other person out of your way.

He walks over to the bathroom and is about to step inside when you release a sigh.

“I have a hickey,” you say.

He pauses in the bathroom doorway.

“You gave it to me,” you add.

You cross your arms when he turns around, his gaze suddenly too hard to meet. You tap your foot and stare at the wall.

“I know,” he says. “I remember it.”

That draws your attention. You look right at him and plant your hands on your hips.

“Well, what else do you remember?” you ask.

“I—I—ugh! This is so annoying! Ugh!” He grabs his head and shakes it like a snow globe.

His stupid beautiful hair is barely ruffled and he still looks amazing when he surfaces. He runs his teeth over his plump bottom lip and you suddenly remember him grabbing your face with both hands, him smiling at you as a hot breeze fluttered around you, him holding you steady as he planted a big, wet kiss on you. It makes your whole body lock with tension, barely paying attention to the Hyunjin in front of you now, the Hyunjin on the verge of a meltdown as he intentionally smacks his head against the doorway.

“We came back here,” he says. His whole face is scrunched up with disgust like he just ate something bad. “Then I gave you that.” He slaps a hand over his face. “Then you… tried…” He puts the other hand on his face too.

“I tried what?” you ask, heat creeping your neck.

“You put your hand down my pants,” he croaks, hands over his eyes. “I said we should wait until morning and you started crying. I think you tried to give me a lap dance while crying, actually.” That does sound like you, drugged or not. “Then I…” He points to the messy bed. “I wrapped you in the sheet to protect your honour.”

“My honour? Ewwww. Don’t call it that.”

“I’m gonna go drown myself in the shower.”

“Hyunjin, wait.”

Once more, you stop him before he crosses the door. He sighs and his shoulders deflate. Pushing a hand through his hair, he turns around.

“What?” he says.

“I’ll take care of this, okay,” you say gently. “We weren’t ourselves. Thank you… for taking care of me. Seriously.”

He sniffs and looks aside, the tips of his ears turning red. You try to ignore the pitter-patter of your heart.

“It’s Vegas,” you say. “I bet they have drive-through divorces. I’m just… I’m just sorry this happened.”

“You are?” he says, staring at the ground.

“Of course,” you say with as much sincerity as you can muster. “Hyunjin, I know you. You’re a goofy old romantic. I’m sure you’re not happy about your first technical marriage happening while you were drugged up, and to someone you don’t even love. Right?”

He looks a little panicked when he meets your gaze. It flashes in his eyes for a second, then he looks away. He crosses his arms protectively over his chest.

“Hyunjin,” you say. It feels like someone just lit fireworks in your chest. “You… don’t… love me, right?”

There is a long moment of silence then he throws both hands in the air.

“Why do you say it like that?” he demands. “Would it be that bad if I did?”

“What.” Your jaw falls open. “You love me?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Sorry for inconveniencing you with my goofy romantic feelings.” He snarls at you. “It just happened. If I could have stopped it, I would have, but I can’t. So live with it.”

“What kind of love confession is this? You’ve watched like a million romance dramas and that’s what you come up with?”

“I’m a painter, not a poet. Good-bye.” He is quick this time, jumping into the bathroom and slamming the door closed.

It leaves you standing there, jaw still hanging open.

Hyunjin loves you.

Of course Hyunjin loves you. How could you be so stupid? All this time, you had yourself convinced your best friend was unattainable because he’s the most gorgeous creature on earth, but all this time he loved you and you didn’t even notice. He drank a drugged drink just to protect you. He got a bit nutty in the head and married you, but even at his most fucked up, some intrinsic part of him sprung to your defense. No matter how out of his mind, he couldn’t bring himself to do anything that could potentially hurt you.

Oh my god.

Hyunjin loves you. You love Hyunjin.

You are pacing when Hyunjin exits the bathroom and smacks into you. You bonk heads and curse, again, then he brushes past without saying anything more. You watch him go to the clean bed, watch him fold back the covers. He takes off his hoodie and his pants. Despite how many times you have casually dressed down around each other, this time you find yourself looking away, hot in the face. When you look back, he is in a t-shirt and his boxers, sliding under the covers.

“What are you doing?” you ask, fiddling with your thumbs.

“Going back to sleep,” he says. “I’m tired.”

He doesn’t look at you once. He rolls onto his side and faces the wall, laying stiff as a board.

You touch a finger to the mark on your neck and shiver.

“Hyunjin,” you say, to which he just grunts in reply. “I want to sleep too. I’m sorry, but can you help me with the dress?”

He exhales and closes his eyes, shoulders dropping, but then he flips the covers down and gets out of bed. He still doesn’t meet your gaze. His strides are long and quick and, before you can blink, he is in front of you.

You open your mouth to speak but he grabs you and spins you around. It feels like an electric zap from your heart to your pussy, hands instinctively clutching your chest in surprise.

You can feel him fiddling with a few buttons, muttering expletives to himself.

He is still wearing the ring. So are you.

“Hyunjin,” you say softly. “I love you too.”

He has his fingers on the zipper. He stops.

“What?” he asks. He stops touching you entirely so you look back at him. He is tucking hair behind both ears, shaking his head. “Don’t just… say it,” he says, still staring sideways. “That’s worse than not hearing it.”

“Hyunjin,” you say. At least he looks at you this time, even if it is with uncharacteristic uncertainty. You smile at him. “Unzip me please.”

You turn back around, chewing on your bottom lip.

It takes a second, but Hyunjin does what you asked. You feel one hand on your back, the other circling the zipper. He tugs it down slowly and you shiver as the cool air conditioned air kisses your back. His fingers brush your bare skin when releasing the zipper.

“Thank you,” you say, glancing back at him.

He nods curtly and spins around. You smile, watching him march back to the bed. You turn your back to him when you let the dress drop, then you remove your bra. His open luggage is nearby so you slip a t-shirt out of the suitcase. It smells like him, his favourite cologne, and that alone gets you hot.

With a final tug on the hem of the t-shirt, you turn and walk up to the bed he is in. He is sitting upright but under the covers, his hands folded neatly in his lap while he stares at you.

“Can I sleep here too?” you ask. “The other bed is a mess.”

He nods. A second ago, he refused to look at you and now he can’t stop staring. It makes you grin, beaming at him as you slide under the covers.

“You’re staring,” you say.

“I’m not,” he lies, still staring at you. He slumps against the headboard and slides down until he is laying flat. His hair pools around him on the pillow. Ridiculously gorgeous man.

You lean over him, staring back. You rest a hand on his chest and can feel his heart palpitating as quickly as your own.

“You are staring,” you say, then giggle a little because his expression is still wide-eyed. “You look like you’ve never seen a woman in bed before, and I know that’s not true.”

You say it jokingly but he doesn’t laugh. He tilts his head, his expression softening. His tongue touches his upper lip then he smiles at you.

“Not like this,” he says with heart-stopping sincerity. “Not you. Not… my wife.”

Oh god. People always act like there is something supremely unsexy about wife or husband, some stagnant nothingness that kills sex appeal. But the second he says that word, it feels like an electric storm ignites between the two of you. His gaze is dark, his breathing hard, his heart still pounding under your palm. You suck in a deep breath, a shuddering release. You are already aching.

“Hyunjin,” you whisper.

His hand comes up and cups your face, his thumb stroking your cheek. It passes over your bottom lip and tugs at it. It feels like you have a heartbeat between your legs.

“Fuck,” you say, and swing yourself over him.

He makes a noise the second you are straddling him, both his hands dropping to hold your hips. You lean down, your hands on either side of his head. His eyes are already closed when you start kissing him. You rock against him, feel him getting harder in his boxers as his hands run up and down your thighs.

The kiss breaks for a second, just to breathe, and he sighs.

“Good,” he says. “You brushed your teeth.”

“You are soooo…” You try to sound annoyed but it’s impossible. He laughs, his eyes crinkling with mirth. “Ughhh, the worst!”

You roll off him as if you have any intention of denying him, but he doesn’t give you a chance to tease him. He just follows, rolling on top of you so it’s you pinned under him, the weight of him between your open legs. He goes right back to kissing you, taking his time, almost torturously slow while pressed so intimately against you. He licks into your mouth, nips at your bottom lip, steals your breath and comes back for more.

“Hyunjin.” You are out of breath. You grab his face with both hands, gasping against his open mouth.

“Mm?” he replies, pecking your lips.

A part of you thinks you could lie in bed all day doing nothing but kiss Hyunjin. Just a small part. The rest of you is burning up with the need for much, much more.

“Make love to me,” you whisper. His breath stutters. “Please,” you say.

He nods frantically. If you weren’t so hazy with want, it might have made you laugh. As it is, you string your arms around his neck and pull him down for another kiss. This one gets heated quickly, wet and sloppy and pressed messily to the corner of your mouths, your hands moving over each other, trying to find the hems of your shirts without breaking apart.

It happens in a frenzy, but you somehow get down to just your underwear. His boxers land on the lamp and the shirts could have flown out the window for all that you care. He is laving kisses all over your body and you are so wound up that you get a little teary, arching under him and tugging on his hair.

“Hyunjin, please,” you say, dragging your nails up his back. “I need you.”

He looks up at you. You smile and bite your lower lip.

“I need my husband,” you say.

You are pretty sure you can visibly see his brain short-circuiting. The next second, he is fully above you, pulling your panties down your hips. It stays hooked around one ankle but the thought of it leaves your mind quickly. He slides his hands under your thighs and spreads you open, leaning down to kiss you as he finally eases inside you.

You both look down at where he inside you. It feels like your clit is jumping for attention, your whole body shaking when he gently rubs you there while sinking fully in.

“Okay, okay, okay,” he says, mostly to himself once he fully inside you. He closes his eyes and breathes a little harder. “Don’t move,” he says. He leans down so his chest is against yours, your faces close. “If you do, this is gonna be over really quickly.”

“Really?” you say with a giggle, pleased he is as unravelled as you.

He just nods, his eyes still closed. You kiss his cheek and hold the back of his neck, stroking there lightly and giving him a minute.

“Feels good,” you say, because it does, even just like this, pressed so tightly together, him so full and hard inside you.

He just groans, dropping his face to the crook of your neck and shoulder. You rake your fingers through the hair at his nape when he rocks a testing thrust into you. You have only just adjusted when those hips starting rocking with fluid determination, rolling steady and deep. He feels almost impossibly good inside you, driving you into the mattress again and again.

“Oh my god,” you squeak, putting both arms around his neck and clinging tight. “Hyunjin.”

He just makes noise, unintelligible sounds that make him sound crazy despite how deftly he is moving. You feel a bit crazy yourself, blinking at him with your mouth open when he lifts his head. He kisses you, swallowing up your gasping moans, and presses his forehead to yours. For someone who claimed to be close, he lasts a long time at a steady pace, the subtle, corded muscles of his slender frame holding taut as he moves.

“Touch yourself,” he says, and kisses you without waiting for an answer.

You kiss him back, very messily at that, but you do what he said. You lick your fingertips and slide that shaking hand between your bodies, getting yourself off just seconds before his hips get erratic and he has to pull out. He strokes himself to completion just over you, coming on your thighs. He manages to reserve his strength long enough to gather you in his arms and roll over. He guides you to rest on top of him, your face in his sweaty neck and your rising-and-falling chest against his own.

“Why haven’t we been doing that for years?” you mumble.

He laughs, his hand flying to his face to cover his mouth while he giggles. The ring catches your eye and you reach for that hand. He gets quiet, watching you.

You lace your fingers with his, looking at the ring then looking up at him.

“We’re a little crazy if we stay like this,” you say.

He leans in and kisses you for so long that you almost forget what you were saying. You remember when he smiles down at you, when he squeezes your hand, when he leans in and says, “That’s okay. I like a little crazy.”

In agreement, you smile back.

#skz smut #stray kids smut #hwang hyunjin smut #hyunjin x reader #skz x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin smut

4K notes · View notes

wkemeup · 2 years

Text

In Every Lifetime

summary: When Bucky’s first love from the 1940′s is found alive in cyro, he begins to question whether you’d turn from him in fear or disgust.

pairing: bucky x reader

word count: 5k

warnings: angsty angst (with a happy ending), bucky’s sad internal dialogue,

Bucky had half a mind to wonder whether his heart might truly escape his chest. It pounded infernally against his rib cage; violently shaking against the bones until they splintered and cracked, he was certain he might look down at the SHIELD emblem on his sweatshirt to find blood soaking through the fabric. Or perhaps the bones of his sternum piercing through his skin. Hell, he might have left his heart on the tile a few paces behind him – throbbing on the ground, exposed to the elements.

He hadn’t so much as taken a breath since he caught word of what Stark uncovered in the Atlantic. It was only meant to be an exploratory mission; a simple means of honoring his father’s legacy by scanning the ocean depths in search of a history Howard had idolized in his time. Simple, apparently, to a billionaire with nothing but time on his well-manicured hands.

But Stark had uncovered a sunken Hydra warship instead; filled with stolen paintings, priceless jewels, and artifacts of a lost era. To the surprise of the men piloting the underwater craft, the ship had also housed dozens of cryochambers; ones occupied by German and Russian soldiers still dressed in their formal military garb and ice crystalized on their skin. Human bodies still preserved, still alive after decades on the ice.

There was only one chamber housed by a civilian – no, a prisoner.

Bucky had heard the whispered rumors through the hallway; seen the sharp eyes glancing curiously in his direction. He’d gotten used to it over the years, but there was something in the cautious hesitation of the agents around him that made the hair on his right arm stand on edge. They were waiting for him to snap. It was personal, he realized quickly – whatever Stark found.

Your name was only said once, but it was enough.

He ran until his legs felt weak; weaving through the seemingly endless hallways within the compound. On a decent day, agents cleared a direct path when they caught sight of Bucky. He’d walk with his head down, hands shoved tight into his pockets. He’d make himself as small and unthreatening as possible; baseball cap over his head and a long sleeve jacket to hide the blinding silver on his arm. Still – they carefully moved from his path as if he were little more than untrained animal.

This time – they spared no pretense of eggshells as they threw themselves towards the walls. Classified documents fluttered into the air when he nearly collided with a terrified intern though he managed to swerve just in time to put a dent into the wall instead. Tight gasps followed with hands flinching to weapons on hips in the sudden panic.

Bucky kept on – channeling his attention only on his next step. Only on the next tile under his foot.

He couldn’t allow himself to process what he might find at the end of the hallway. He couldn’t. Because then he’d think of the letters you'd once sent him when he was curled at the base of muddied trenches, how he’d clung to the fragile papers in his sleep and folded them tightly to the breast pocket of his shirt. He’d remember how he used to tap a hand against that same pocket each time he crossed the line into battle, how it had garnered him strength he hadn’t known he’d had. He’d let himself ache for the letters that kept him alive until the steel pipe fractured under his weight and he dropped into the ravine – the handwritten words he’d read over and over again until tear marks blurred the ink; letters of the future you’d planned when he returned home to you.

Bucky couldn’t allow himself to think of that, because then he’d wonder whether you cried when his letters stopped coming, if you’d grieved for him. He’d wonder whether something broke inside your chest when you realized he was never going to be yours again; if you sobbed and cursed at the world for taking away the one thing you ever dared to want for yourself. If you shattered like he had the day your image returned to his memory.

If he let himself think of you, he might question whether you’d found the future you had once promised him with someone else.

Bucky never had the courage to find out what happened to you after all these years. It was an act of masochism, he reasoned, to read about the love of his life in pages on a computer screen; moments he was supposed to share with you as you met him at the end of the aisle, as he held your hand as you gave him a child, as he kept you warm and safe and loved all your years. A life stolen from him by the war – by Hydra. A love he should have been able to give and earn in return.

He couldn’t put himself through the pain of knowing – to be an outside observer to a life he would have traded everything to have.

Bucky had loved you so fiercely, he couldn’t stomach the thought of someone else standing in his place. He wished for your happiness – always, above all else, at his own expensive if he must. But he would not torture himself with it.

So, he never dared to search for you after he escaped Hydra and found his memories again. He didn’t want to know whether your last name had changed, if you’d gone on to have a wonderfully happy life as if you’d never known him at all, if you had children you adored, if you now laid in a grave beside a man who wasn’t him.

The shame of it – the selfishness – ate him alive.

He wondered if you knew all that time as he held your letters in his shaking hands amongst the echo of gunfire that he would have sent his blistering soul across ocean currents in search of you, if only to grant you the love you deserved.

***

Bucky was only a few paces outside Stark’s main lab room when he hit a brunt wall of muscle.

“Buck, stop,” Steve warned, his hands digging sharply into Bucky’s shoulders as he tried to shove his way around his friend. His left arm gave no leeway to Steve’s strength, while his right began to ache under the pressure. Steve gritted his teeth, pushing Bucky to the edge of the hallway. “You gotta let me talk to you first.”

Through the windows, artifacts from the Hydra warship were laid out upon countertops, surrounded by dozens of techs as they methodically de-iced the valuables and cataloged classified information for Fury before it would be turned over to the proper channels. Further into the room were pieces of the ship itself as if Stark meant to reconstruct the damn thing on solid ground. Bucky winced at the massive emblem of the skull and tentacles painted on a large steel slab of the recovered ship – faded in its time and weathered by the water, but it still managed to meet his eye and mock him.

“Steve,” Bucky choked out, not sure what else he planned to say after that as he caught sight of the series of cryochambers lined up against the back wall. His heart clenched, as did his hands. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me... Tell me I’m being crazy. Tell me it’s not her.”

It was a curse to know his best friend as well as he did, Bucky realized. Because he could read every slip in the carefully constructed mask upon Steve’s face, every line on his ageless skin, every twitch of a muscle in his jawline. Steve released Bucky’s shoulders and his features warped into an awful expression of remorse. Corners of his lips tilting down, a slight clench of his teeth. A line crossing his forehead just above his brow.

Steve’s gaze slipped down to his feet and with it, Bucky's stomach.

“No,” Bucky all but whimpered, stumbling a single pace until his back met the glass. “No, she—she was supposed to be happy, Steve. She was supposed to move on with her life. How—How did she—”

“Stark’s got people working on it,” Steve answered quickly before Bucky could spiral further. Bucky’s focus shifted back the windows of the lab and as if Steve could read the next question on his friend’s mind, he said, “It’s really her, Buck. I don’t know how or why, but it’s her. And she’s alive.”

Bucky would have lost his balance if not for the wall propping his body up. He could still feel his heart beating somewhere in his chest – suffocating him, smothering him. Or maybe it was still laying on the ground by the doors to the east wing evading the careless steps of rookie agents rushing through their drills. Maybe his chest was empty. Maybe that was why he felt so numb.

“Is she awake?” His voice was barely a whisper.

Steve shook his head. “Sam is going to be there when she does.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, a scoff that burned like jealously in his throat. “Sam?”

He earned a glare in return.

“We have to assume she still believes both of us to be dead, Buck,” Steve explained, resting a hand against his hip. “You can’t throw her into shock by just walking in the room. A lot had changed since she last saw you. She doesn’t know where she is or when she is. Her last memories will have been on that Hydra ship. She’ll likely be on defense from the moment she wakes.”

A sticky residue slid along Bucky’s palm and he looked down to find blood trickling from the ends of his fingers where he’d dug his nails into his skin. It was only then that he remembered the sleeve of metal on his left and the history it carried.

There was relief, he realized, in the stories he’d tortured himself over of the life you might have had without him. If any of it were true, you never would have known what became of him. You’d never have to meet the Winter Soldier or witness the hand that doled out such violence over the decades. You’d never know the monster he’d become.

You’d have lived a peaceful, happy life free of his demons and the blood he spilt. He’d never have to confront the possibility you might take one look at him and cower in fear of what he’d done, of the man he turned into – that you might not want him anymore.

“We don’t know the timeline of when she was captured,” Steve continued, his voice wary now, tentative, “but we know she was found wearing a field nurse uniform.”

Bucky blinked; the air pulled from his lungs.

No, that couldn’t be right. Bucky had committed all of your letters to memory. You would have told him if you were studying to be a field nurse, if you’d intended on shipping yourself out to the front. It would have ruined him – the thought of you amongst the violence of the trenches like he was. He could suffer his own burdens tenfold, but he could not tolerate the thought of you in such danger. It would have drowned him. He would have remembered that agony.

“I’m as surprised as you,” Steve said in what sounded like a sliver of an apology on his tone, “but Stark’s certain. It’s authentic.”

Bucky swallowed. It tasted bitter. Blood, maybe. Or bile.

“Sam will call for us when she’s ready to talk,” Steve said upon noticing the slight discoloration in Bucky’s skin.

Bucky didn’t say anything else but he managed a short nod. Then, he was left on his own; he and the hoard of demons digging their vicious claws into his spine, dragging him back to the darkest corners of his mind.

***

It was three days before Sam called for him.

It wasn’t fast enough. It was too soon.

Bucky almost looked over his shoulder for the shreds of his heart on the tile floor as he made his way to the med bay. His right hand was sore and bruised from the long nights in the gym – breaking and reopening old wounds on his knuckles against the leathered bag. The thinly healed skin nearly fractured as he drew his hand to a fist to stop the shaking.

He did his best to keep himself centered on the facts – that you’d enlisted yourself as a field nurse mere hours after learning of Bucky’s presumed death in the alps, that Hydra had taken you and your squadron captive one month before the end of the war, that you’d been declared MIA shortly after and, like him, history believed you dead.

You took the news of waking to the future in stride – better than Steve had apparently. It didn’t surprise Bucky one bit given your affinity for technology and Howard Stark’s Expos you had eagerly joined him to every year. You were always stronger than anyone gave you credit for. Stronger than him, certainly.

Sam told him you were as helpful to the SHIELD analysts as you could be; giving full reports on everything you could recall before you were put under the ice, from the shift of the Hydra guards to the small talk you’d once overhead from your cell. It was information that would have decimated Hydra’s forces had an Allied warship rescued you before the ship met its home at the bottom of the Atlantic. It did little use to them now than to help to locate old bunkers and destroy the remnants left behind, but it was one less Hydra base on the map and Bucky’s chest was a little lighter knowing only rubble remained in its place.

Steve was the first of them to visit you.

You’d been prepared for it, told by Sam a full two days after you regained consciousness. He waited until your vitals were strong, until you’d grown as accustomed as you could to the news of the twenty-first century before he’d told you of Steve’s survival. It was meant to be a test; to see how you reacted to Steve before they dared to bring up Bucky.

It wasn’t the same, Bucky had tried to argue. Not for the nature of your relationships, but because of the separate lives they led in the years since you last saw them.

Steve had gone down as a hero in the forties and that hadn’t changed when he woke from the ice. He was an idolized symbol of selfless courage. He was Captain-fucking-America.

But Bucky? Bucky had spent those years mutilated into a weapon. Tortured. Beaten into submission. His mind warped from his body and weapons placed in his hands. He’d been made into a killer, a monster. He wasn’t whole – not mentally, not physically. He bared little resemblance to the version of the man you’d once written letters to until tears spilled to the fragile paper – letters that had kept him from crumbling under the pressure of war and the weight of responsibility on his young shoulders. He wasn’t the man you once knew.

Steve had grown more cynical over the years and now bore a wall around his chest after the loss of Agent Carter, but he was still the same man who crossed enemy lines in search of his best friend and brought an entire squadron back with him. He was still the hero who sacrificed himself to the ocean to save New York. He still looked like that man you remembered.

Bucky flexed his left hand, examining the sharp reflection of impervious metal. This hand held no memory of you the way his right once had. It had not held your weeping frame the night his number was called on the radio and his life was committed to an army he’d never volunteered for. It had not sweetly brushed the hair from your eyes or warmed your frozen fingers on cold winter nights. It had not touched you with adoration and awe until you came apart under bated breath.

No, this hand was violence incarnate. It was born of vengeance and blood. It had no place near the woman he loved. He’d sever it from his body if he could, if only it would ease the fear you might hold in your eyes when you finally saw him again.

He cut his hair, foolishly hoping it would be less jarring for you to see him this way. He’d done away with the shoulder length locks shortly after moving into the compound, following Sam’s ridiculous advice that a physical separation from the Winter Soldier might do him some good. He never told Sam that he flinched a little less, hated his reflection a little less, each time he looked in the mirror after the scissors had done their work. Perhaps he should have.

He'd trimmed the edges himself in a dimly lit bathroom the evening he learned of your survival. It was a little shorter than he kept it in recent months, but it reminded him of the cut he had the day he was shipped overseas. He hoped it might be familiar to you, that you might look at him and see the man who had once held the tips of your fingers through the open window of an Allied war ship until it pulled from the dock and you disappeared from view.

Sam had told you the basics of what happened to him all these years. Bucky had insisted upon it, though he did not offer an explanation why. He did not tell Sam that he thought you might change your mind upon learning the truth of his past, that you might fear the monster he’d become. He didn’t know if he’d survive the rejection if he saw it on your face.

Sam had only furrowed his brow at Bucky’s request, as if he’d read straight through his sharp inflections and taunt expression, but he’d agreed to share Bucky’s past with you.

You’d still requested to see him.

Bucky wasn’t sure what to make of that. Perhaps you wanted to confirm what you’d been told with your own eyes or you wished to grant him the closure to your relationship neither of you had gotten before you walked out of his life completely. Either way, Bucky caught himself looking for pieces of his shattered heart down the long hall to the med bay.

By the time he reached the door to your room, he was certain he was going to be sick. He’d prepared himself the best he could for the rejection he was certain to find upon your features; fear or disgust or pity – he wasn’t sure which would hurt the most. He steeled himself against the wall, trying to find his courage when he heard your voice for the first time in seventy years.

He thought he’d remembered the gentle inflections in your tone, the smile and the levity in your voice. He thought he’d held a clear enough picture to not be brought to his knees by little more than the soft laughter you shared with Sam Wilson as he told you stories of his early days as Captain America’s wingman. He thought he’d be strong enough for this.

He was wrong.

“Buck?” Steve’s voice nearly startled him out of his skin. Steve glanced into the room where you were sitting cross legged on the bed with Sam sitting in the folding chair to your left, before he turned back to his friend. “You ready, pal?”

Bucky swallowed, though it did little to coat his dried throat. He shook his head.

Steve gave a short nod of understanding and took one step into the room. Your laughter hushed behind muffled hands as Sam shushed you playfully as if the teacher had just strolled into the detention room.

“Sam, a word?” Steve requested, gesturing to the hallway. Even from his position behind the wall, Bucky could still glimpse the tight expression on Steve’s face through the doorway. Sam must have picked up on who was waiting on the other side of the door and quickly excused himself.

Sam didn’t scowl at Bucky like he’d anticipated as he stepped into the hall. Instead, all he offered in his expression was a soft encouragement. Lips curved subtle into a smile, a short tap of his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. Sam and Steve disappeared down the end of the hall without another word.

Bucky exhaled a tense breath and did not allow himself the time to reconsider before he stepped into the doorway. He did not dare to look up when he heard the sharp intake of your breath or the rustling of the sheets as you scrambled quickly to your feet. He only caught a glimpse of the navy-blue sweatpants provided by SHIELD and your bare feet on the cold tile as he stepped closer. It was enough to bottom his stomach.

You shifted your weight. Nervously, he realized.

“I—” Bucky started, though his voice came out broken and raspy. He swallowed, trying to find his voice again. “I know this is a shock and I—I don’t want to make this harder for you. I’ll answer any questions you have. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know and then I’ll— I'll leave you be. You won’t have to see me again.”

He flexed his left hand in the pocket of his hoodie, hiding the metal fist from your view. He was certain you might be able to see through the fabric completely and uncover the monster underneath. But you did not cower in fear of him. You did not speak at all. Bucky couldn’t will his gaze away from the floor.

“I know Sam told you what happened to me,” Bucky continued, if only to break the agonizing silence. “You know about Hydra and... and the Winter Soldier. You know what I did for them. What I was. What they... turned me into.”

It was a question, he realized as the words left his lips. He couldn’t be certain whether Sam had held up to his promise because you had yet to move from your position – holding firm, steady, in his presence. He expected you to flinch when he spoke, to wince as he took a step in your direction. But you did not move. You barely took in a breath.

“So much has changed,” Bucky whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m not... I’m not the man you remember. The things Hydra did to me... The things I’ve done...”

“It's really true?” your voice fluttered through Bucky’s senses enough to steal the words from his tongue. Light and beautiful and still, etched in an agonizing weight he couldn’t understand. “Sam had said but... I couldn’t believe it. I was afraid to.”

Bucky winced; his gaze still centered on the floor. Of course, you'd be afraid of him. Of course, you’d be frightened of the thing he’d become. He tried to swallow the tang of copper in his mouth and found he could hardly even will himself to breathe. He took a hesitant step back.

But your breath hitched as he put space between you, as if you’d been burned, and you reached a hand to him. It landed so gently against his left forearm that he almost hadn’t noticed it. His gaze sharply snapped to your hand as your finger squeezed against solid metal shielded only by the fabric of his sweatshirt. Your thumb brushed over the ridges on the cloth.

“I was afraid to believe you’d really survived,” you explained gently, the thick ache of tears in your tone. “I was afraid to hope. To allow that for myself.”

You drew back a shaken breath and Bucky dared to let himself peer at the very edges of his vision, only enough to see the relief of a smile on your lips. You were as beautiful as he remembered; your eyes always too impossibly kind for what he deserved. You looked at him with such grace, such love, he didn’t know what to make of it. How to process it. He wondered how you could even stomach looking at him.

“Sweetheart,” you eased and his knees nearly buckled. Your hand slid up his arm, tender touches against the machine he despised until your chilled palm rested on the side of his face. Always cold, he remembered. He'd spent so many evenings trying to warm your frozen hands between his own, taking any excuse you’d give him to hold you a little while longer.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” you asked again.

Bucky could never find it in him to deny you, not even when he knew it would crush him.

Slowly, he lifted his eyes, allowing himself to take in the details of the freshly laundered SHIELD sweatshirt and the slight discoloration in patches of your skin he recognized as burns from the ice in cyro. He let himself really look at you for the first time since he left you behind on that dock and a sob crept up to smother him before he could shove it down.

Your arms were around him in an instant, pulling him tight to your chest as you eased him to sit with you on the edge of the bed. He felt the gentle trace of your palm over his spine, in his hair, along his cheek, and it shattered every piece of him. Broke him and remade his soul again under your touch as his body trembled in your arms.

Only once he was able to catch his breath again, did you say, “I’m so proud of you.”

Bucky looked at you, stunned, and it earned him a soft smile in return.

“You survived more than anyone has ever endured – awful, terrible things,” you continued, brushing your knuckles gingerly along the side of his jaw. “You survived and you kept your promise. Seventy years later. You came home to me.”

His lips parted, features softening in disbelief. He licked at his lips, heart racing. He shook his head. “But I— The things I’ve done—”

“I know. I know and I’m still here.” You took his left hand into yours, pushing up the sleeve of his sweatshirt and revealing the metal beneath. You did not wince at you touched the cold vibranium, did not contort your features in disgust or fear. Instead, what crossed your face was an expression of gratitude.

“I slept through those decades while Hydra controlled you and hurt you,” you said, your voice thick with regret, “but you’re safe now. You’re here, among friends. Among family, from what Sam tells me.” You smiled at him then, something bright and wonderful enough to loosen the chains in his chest. “And I... I know time had passed differently for us. I know that you have lived decades while I slept. For me, the news of your death came mere months ago and I—I still love you, Bucky. I will always love you. In whatever form you come to me in. With whatever past. I will take you. I will always take you. But I would understand if you—”

Bucky hadn’t realized his own courage until his lips were on yours. Too sudden, perhaps. Maybe too soon. But after an agonizing second of shock, he felt your smile press into his cheeks as you relaxed against him, as you kissed him back for the first time since he was called to the front lines.

He wasn’t good with words. Not these days. So he hoped he might be able to convey everything he could not say with this kiss.

That he could not fathom a world where he could willingly say goodbye to you again. That he loved you even on the days he did not remember your face or your name. That he would learn to forgive himself with the kindness and compassion you so easily granted him. That he would give his soul to whatever god was responsible for bringing you back into his life again, even if it was Tony Stark.

You were breathless when you pulled away, though Bucky could have happily drowned to kiss you just a moment longer. Your lips were swollen, your eyes glossy. He could have stayed in that moment forever if time would let him, would preserve that memory under glass and steel if he could. You laughed then, as you always had after he’d left you flustered, and for a moment, Bucky remembered what it felt like to be the man you loved. Full. Whole. Happy.

“I never stopped loving you,” he exhaled, his voice stronger than it had been in days.

“But it’s been so long,” you asked, whether it was in challenge or awe of his confession, he didn’t know.

But Bucky merely shrugged and traced the edges of your swollen lips with his thumb. “I promised you a lifetime once. I’ll give you this one too if you’ll let me.”

It seemed as though he’d been the one to render you without words this time as your only response was to kiss him again – softer, gentler than before, tender and chaste. Your fingertips lingered on his cheek as you pulled away, looking at him no different than you had all these years ago – like you saw every ounce of good in his bones and loved him desperate enough to forgive the rest, even when it could not grant it to himself.

He was different now. He knew he was. And he supposed you were, too.

But the love still remained. Unconditional. Unwavering.

In this lifetime, the one before, and whatever came next.

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x female reader

7K notes · View notes

luvyeni · 7 months

Text

❛HOT N’ COLD❜ ( o. shotaro )

p. ghostface!shotaro x fem!reader w. 2k+

warnings? stalking, minor character death, fingering, unprotected sex, breeding link

— 𖦹 ( after years of running from him he finally caught up to you ) !

freaktober masterlist

‘this couldn’t be happening’ was all you thought as you listened to the radio on the way back from your job. “convicted serial killer , osaki shotaro broke out of prison earlier this evening.” you couldn’t believe your ears , how the fuck did he manage to get away. ‘i thought i got away’ you sped on the gas all the way home.

“(name) , calm down.” your friend tried to calm you down. “if he was smart enough he would stay here. he’s probably on his way to canada or something.” she didn’t know him like you did , when he wanted something, he got it.

“it’s been 4 years (name) , no more running.” she said , you sighed , she was right. you had moved a total of 3 times in the past few years , every time he’d find your new address, sending you a letter , declaring his love for you , and you were tired , you wanted to settle down. “he’s gone.”

she suggested you take a hot shower to relax yourself. “relax and eat all the junk you want.” she said before hanging up , you decided to listen – what’s the worst that could happen.

After finishing your shower – which was actually pretty relaxing , you wrapped the warm towel around your body , stepping out of the shower , grabbing your phone to turn off the music you were playing from the speaker. “huh?”

you were confused , your friend knew you were in the shower and your phone would be on do not disturb , so why would they try and call , 6 times at that. you pressed her number , waiting for her to pick up , it finally answered after a few rings. “i told you i'd be in the shower , why’d you call so much?”

first there was heavy breathing. “(friends name)?” there was a small gasp , then a giggle. “(friends name) , this is not funny.” you sat your phone down , putting on your underwear and a random sweatshirt you found. “what a shame baby.” That voice stopped you dead in your tracks. “i thought you would’ve remembered my laugh , i remembered everything about you.” your body froze up.

“sh-shotaro?” you stuttered. “eh? What happened to taro baby , you know i used to love when you called me that." he giggled once again. “shotaro , where is (friends name? what did you do to her.” He kissed his teeth. “see that’s why I should’ve killed her four years ago , she was always trying to get in between our love.” He said. “don’t worry , she won’t be bothering us anymore.”

his laughter sent shivers down your spine. “where is she!” you yelled. “i killed her baby , duh.” He said so casually. “she is such a screamer.” you gasped as he explained. “i got admit , it was fun , stabbing her , finally watching the life leave her eyes.” tears flowed down your cheeks. “don’t cry baby , the good news is , right before she died , she was so kind as to give me your address.”

fear set in your stomach , running to your room , closing and locking the door. “baby you know locking the door isn’t gonna stop me.” you were confused , how did he know unless. “you’re in my house.”

“such a smart baby.” he said. “it was so easy to , out anniversary date , as usual.” you should’ve changed it , but you it was the only set of numbers you could remember besides your birthday. You were pleading with him sobbing. “pl-please just go , i wont tell anybody , if you just go.”

“i can’t do that baby , not after I dreamt of this day for 4 years.” he said. “we broke up shotaro , please it’s over.” you cried , grabbing the small knife from your nightstand. “where are you , huh?” you said. “how long will you keep this up!”

“baby if you want me so bad , come find me.” he said. “im not stupid.” his giggles pissing you off. “shut the fuck up!” he stopped laughing. “talk to me like that again , and i kill your family.” His attitude switching from normal to dark , back to normal. “now come out like a good girl and play , if not i go to your parents house.”

“no please.” you opened the door. “look I did it , please just go now.” He tsked. “now come find me.” he said. “where are you?” you gritted your teeth. “that’s not how this works love , you have to play right to get your reward.” he said. “if you try to leave i'll know baby.”

you made your way into the kitchen. “you’re so cold baby , but i can see you now , and you look just as beautiful as ever , that sweatshirt isn’t really hiding much.” You wished you would’ve never gotten those cameras now , but in the moment they seemed to be a good idea.

“ooh baby.” he taunted , “you’re getting warmer.” he said as you turned back to make your way into your room , you turned to the closet. “bingo.” he said. “you’re so hot.” you slowly walking up to the closet. “are you gonna open it?” he questioned , as you reached for the door , opening it ready to swing the knife. “w-what.”

he was giggling again. “jesus baby.” he said through laughter. “maybe you are dumb , you really think i'd tell you where i am that easy.” you could barely see through it tears. “don’t cry baby , you’ll see me soon enough.”

“i can’t wait to hold you in my arms again.” he said. “it’s been so long , but i haven’t forgotten the way you smelled , i see you still use that soap i bought you.” you turned to the bathroom , the door was closed – you never closed the door after a shower. “you’re in the bathroom.”

“am i?” he questioned. “how about you check.” you were done with his teasing , running back to your room , closing and locking the door. “oh , are you being a brat baby?” he said. “i'm done.” your voice was shaky. “im done with your games.” The phone hung up. “hello?”

“really baby?” your heart sank. “cause it seems like you fell right into my trap.” There he stood behind you , after four years you’ve finally came face to face with the guy in the mask who struck so much fear in your heart for the past 4 years. “sh-shotaro.”

you look to the door , trying to make a run for it , but he was quicker , grabbing your wrist , forcing the knife out your hand. “please.” you begged. “please don’t kill me.” he let your arm go , holding the knife to your throat , keeping you in place.

he took the mask off , blood splattered still on it. “you know i will never harm you baby.” he said , his face still had that soft inviting look that he had before he became this monster that stands before you. “but you have to be a good girl.”

“w-what do you want?” his eyes went down your body , then back to your eyes , smirking , dropping the knife , letting you breath a bit. “you baby , that’s all i ever wanted was you.” he said. “you’re a murder!” You shouted. “you’ve killed many people.”

“that doesn’t change anything does it?” he said. “w-what?” you stuttered. “in all of the four years you’ve never moved too far away from me.” he started. “look around baby , you’ve kept things from our relationship , you still use things I bought for you.” you remembered him pointing out the soap , he always bought you that.

“that doesn’t even mean anything , i did love you along time ago.” you said. “a long time ago eh?” he said backing you against the wall. “then tell me you don’t love me anymore.” he said. “tell me you don’t miss me anymore.”

you were speechless , he was so close. “you can’t can you?” he grabbed your cheeks , forcing you to look at him. “because you still love me.” his hands travelled down from your waist down to your ass. “sh-shotaro.” he shut you up with a kiss.

this was wrong , you should’ve pushed him off , he was dangerous – he killed your bestfriend for gods sake , he could still kill you. “you know you want this.” he kissed against your neck. “you even dressed up so pretty for me.” he played with ends of the sweatshirt. “you even kept my sweatshirt.”

he picked you up , throwing you on the bed , hovering over you. “never forgotten the way how wet you got for me.” he pressed down on your clothed clit. “sh-shit.” you moaned and he smirked. “there you go , moan for me.” he rubbed your clit harder. “you want my fingers?”

he pulled your underwear to the side , pushing his fingers inside you. “fuck taro.” he roughly fucked your hole , pulling moan after moan out of you. “so fucking wet , can’t wait to feel you wrapped around my cock.” his cock was straining against his bloodstained pants , begging to be freed.

“t-taro.” your back arched off the bed. “i-i'm gonna cum.” he curled his fingers , you screamed in pleasure. “im cumming!”

He fingered you through your orgasm , pulling his fingers out , tapping your face. “open.” he forced his fingers in your mouth , groaning as you tasted yourself. “good girl.” he put his fingers that were covered in your spit and juices , wrapping his plump lips around them. “so sweet.”

he stood off the bed , undoing his pants , letting them hit the floor , along with his underwear , before getting back on your bed , slotting himself in between your legs. he pulled your panties down. “such a pretty pussy.” you moaned , as his tip kissed your clenching hole. “t-taro , please fuck me.”

he didn’t easing himself inside you , slamming himself inside you , making you scream. “fuck baby.” he groaned. “so fucking tight , when was the last time anyone has fucked you?” truth is , he was the last time you had sex , you were too busy running to settle down , or even a one night stand. “f-four y-years.”

“four years.” he chuckled. “baby the last time you had sex was with me.” he sped up. “you basically saved yourself for me.” he grunted. “you knew only i could fuck this sweet cunt good enough to make you scream.” he abused your poor cunt.

“that’s it scream for me.” he wrapped his hand around your throat. “such a whore for me , i killed your bestfriend , her blood is still on me , and here you moaning for me like a slut.” he growled. “you’re just a sick as i am.”

you weren’t gonna last long with the way he handled your body , fucking you at a inhumane pace , your brain a little foggy due to lack of oxygen. “look at you , so dumb for me.”

“g-gonna cum.” you managed to get out. “yeah? gonna cum for me , cum all over my cock.” you nodded. “well go ahead , so i can breed your cunt , give you a kid to remind you of who you belong to.” he thrusted up , hitting that spot that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head , clenching around him , cumming.

“fuck , shit in gonna cum -fuck- gonna fill you up.” he moaned out before you felt the warmth of his seed spilling into your pussy. “fuck , take my cum.” he pressed his hips against yours , emptying himself inside you.

he stayed inside you , kissing your neck. “gonna run away.” he said. “somewhere really far where they’ll never find me.” he finally pulled out. “gonna take you with me.” He watched the cum leak out of you , scooping it up , pushing it back in. “start a family with you.” He kissed your forehead.

“and i'll kill anyone who tries to get in my way.”

©LUVYENI

#kpop x reader #kpop smut #riize scenarios #riize x reader #riize imagines #riize smut #riize x imagine #shotaro fic #shotaro x reader #shotaro smut

855 notes · View notes

joelmillerisapunk · 3 months

Text

Brothers in Arms | i. don't talk to strangers

Cartel!Joel and Tommy Miller x Reader

masterlist | series masterlist

↳ Wordcount: 6,281

↳ Warnings: 18+, you're being watched, but it's different (it's the pick me quirky kinda being watched), you meet the boys, tags will added to each chapter

↳ Authors Note: Welcome, I hope you enjoy the first chapter. This is the first series I've ever written (please be gentle) also I couldn't find an accurate representation of cartel Tommy because Gabriel Luna is too cute and smiley, so I had to go suitless Tommy 🥰

Ten missed calls from your dad…

You didn't want to talk to him. You knew that as soon as you answered the phone, you'd forgive him for telling you that you didn’t have the guts to be a criminal psychologist. He told you that you were too sweet to survive. That those criminal types would eat you.

You suppose his feelings shouldn’t surprise you considering his “war on crime” campaign. He said the only place for criminals was prison. Do the crime, do the time. Completely ignoring the statistics that people that go through the system will end up back in again because the prison system tries to profit off prisoners instead of, you know, help them, like they were supposed to.

Like talking to a brick wall.

It didn’t matter that you were well on your way to a bachelor’s degree and then a master’s degree afterward. He had his own stubborn ideologies that no one, not even an expert in that field could dispute.

Fucking politicians.

Your phone buzzed again. This time a text.

Dad: Call me

You: No. I have plans. Stop calling me.

You threw your phone on the little twin bed in your dorm, watching it bounce on the thin mattress. Your roommate, Natalie, invited you to go out tonight. Most of the time, she ignored you, and who could blame her? You weren't the chatty type.

Two years into your degree, you were still buried in a book, absorbing every little bit of information you could because you found it so interesting. Natalie was a marketing major, so there wasn’t any crossover.

In your defence, your major was a bit more demanding so you didn’t have a lot of free time. But, you really chalk it up to being your dad’s only child. You were practically wrapped in bubble wrap since the moment you were born. But after getting into the thousandth fight with your father, you wanted to live a little. There was this club downtown you were being taken out to, your first experience at a club. You were terrified.

The dorm door opened. “Hey, girly. You ready?” You turned to see Natalie standing there, perfect brunette eyebrows raised. She was built like a supermodel. You swear a potato sack would look like high fashion on her. Meanwhile, you stood there in your most club-worthy dress, and it still had a collar. Natalie’s eyes flickered across your dress.

“Do you have a meeting after this or something?” she teased, not in a playful way. Her voice had a mean tilt, but you were so starved for a female friend that you were willing to let it slide.

"I don’t have anything to wear,” you stated, gesturing to your half of the closet that was filled about an eighth of the way. You lived in your sweatshirt. 104 degrees Texas heat and you’d still wear that thing around because your classes were cold as fuck.

Natalie laughed quietly, “Of course, you don’t. Do you think you can even keep up with me and my friends tonight? There’s no shame in staying in and reading…again.” She said it like there was definitely shame in doing that.

As much as it pissed you off internally, you let yourself wither. You wouldn’t get what you wanted if you snapped at her. “I’ll be fine,” you murmured sheepishly.

She passed you, smelling like expensive shampoo, and opened your dresser. “I’ll find something for you. That dress will make you stick out like a sore thumb.” She tossed a few items on your mattress. “There, jeans and this cute little lacy thing.”

“That is a bra,” you pointed out. “I’m not wearing just a bra.”

“You’re no fun. I’ve got a mesh top to put over it. You’ve got the tits for it,” Natalie said. “Show a little skin.'' You were a little thrown at the compliment, but you'd take it. “And take your hair down, the messy tousle is really in right now,” Natalie mentioned as she waited for you to finish up. And as you got dressed, you think she might have been right. Showing a little skin but feeling covered up was a fantastic combination. You felt hot.

Natalie seemed happy with her handiwork. You grabbed your phone and wallet, and you were off. You called an Uber to take you to the club to meet up with her friends, Monica and Katherine. And for once, you felt like you blended in with them. You looked like you belonged in the same friend group, and that, in and of itself, was exhilarating.

The bouncer checked your IDs, and you were in. You'd have to say that the bumping bodies, the confined space, the loud music, and the flashing lights were really disorienting. But you were determined to have fun tonight. Your heart crashed against your ribs, and you could feel the bass in your bones, vibrating your entire body. You just needed a drink to settle yourself.

Following Natalie and her friends to the bar, she bought you your first drink and shouted, “Thanks for coming out tonight!” The bartender handed you all shot glasses full of a clear, potent-smelling liquid. Tequila. You may have never had it yourself, but you always smelled it on your mom’s breath when she was around. Your stomach rolled, but you raised the shot glass and replied, “Thanks for inviting me! Cheers!”

You threw it back before you could register how the other girls were licking salt off their hands and chasing it with a hard bite of lime. The strong liquor hit your stomach, causing a wave of nausea to hit you, but you gulped it down and pretended like you meant to do that.

“Cheap tequila straight,” Monica said before looking over at Natalie. “Where’d you find her? I like her.”

You shot her a pained smile, fighting the burn in your throat. Natalie laughed and said, “Come on, let’s dance! I see some guys on the dance floor that I wouldn’t mind going home with.” You arched a brow, and you finally got a genuine smile out of her. “Not our dorm, obvi. I’m trashy, but not that trashy,” Natalie promised.

That made you laugh a little, your belly started to feel warm from the first shot you had ever taken. Not that you’d ever tell them that.

You went out to the dance floor, wedging yourselves between bustling bodies. You felt a little nervous, your palms getting clammy, but you just followed everyone’s lead. You bounced along to the music, letting the bass dictate your hip rolls. Soon, you started to warm up. It was fun to dance around and move with the crowd.

Sweat beaded behind your neck, and you turned to the side, locking eyes with a dark-eyed man sitting at the bar. He wasn’t drinking, but there was no mistake that he was looking right at you. Your belly fluttered as you took him in, no longer interested in dancing. His broad frame slanted against the bar, his shirt was slightly unbuttoned and rolled up his forearms.

What is it about forearms? Your belly quivered a little bit.

You turned to see what Natalie and the others were doing, but she seemed to be choking on some random guy’s tongue in the corner. Part of you envied that. The ability to see what you want and act on it.

You were more methodical. Always a thinker. But this time, you wanted to act. There was a sinfully attractive man in the corner eyeing you. If you didn’t act on it, someone else would.

Oh, God, but what if he was looking at someone else?

As if sensing your hesitance, he waved at you, and you looked around, pointing at yourself like, “Who, me?” Even from several feet away, you could see a dimpled smile as the mystery man nodded, beckoning you over to the bar. You slid out from around the bodies to the slightly quieter bar. Up close, he was even more attractive. He was older than you but you weren't sure how much older. Certainly, the type of man well settled in his career. Made you wonder what he was doing at a club when statistically–

Hey, you told yourself, stop psychoanalysing strangers.

“Hi,” you greeted, unsure what else to say. You were very out of your comfort zone, but tonight was all about doing new things. Not that you were going to do him or–

“Hi,” he answered. “Do you want a drink?”

You tucked some hair behind your ear, heat in your cheeks from how you noticed his eyes follow your fingertip like he could see all of you. You'd never felt so naked before, but you made the mistake of looking down to see your tits proudly on display under the mesh shirt, in a lacy red bra. Your cheeks fired up even faster. “Yeah, I’d like that.” Maybe a drink would cool your nerves. Doubtful, but worth a shot. Ha. Shot. You could use one of those.

“Hmm, let me guess your drink,” the mystery man offered.

A smile curved the side of your mouth, and you were too intrigued to argue. “Okay, give me your best guess.”

“You don’t drink much, if at all,” he said, tapping his chin with a thick finger. “But if I had to guess that you were a wine cooler type of girl.”

You were shocked because he was absolutely right. How’d he get that off a look? “But, since wine coolers are shit, let me recommend a Tequila Sunset,” he said. “It packs a little more of a punch, but it’s fruity enough to take out the bite.”

You purse your lips, unsure if you'd like it, but you were in too deep not to humor him. “You know what? Sure.”

He turned to the bartender and ordered it. The bartender made a show of mixing it up for you before placing a lovely glass of orange fading into a berry red from the grenadine. He watched you intently with those intense eyes as you took a sip, marvelling that the juice took out that awful taste of tequila. You repressed a smile and said, “That’s quite delicious.”

He returned your grin with one of his own, showing off perfectly straight teeth. “I’m Joel. And you are…?”

And you answered, giving him your name.

“It suits you.”

Your face felt hot, not expecting that response. “Thanks.” You took another sip of your yummy cocktail that tasted more like juice than liquor. “So, Joel, tell me how you guessed my drink of choice.”

He shrugged his toned shoulders, drawing your gaze to the chords of muscle around his neck. Never once have you ever wanted to take a bite out of a human being, but here you were, wondering how his muscles would feel between your teeth. He wasn’t close enough to smell his cologne, but he just looked like he smelled good.

“You don’t look like you come to clubs often, so it was a lucky guess,” Joel said.

“Is it that obvious?” you asked meekly. Here you thought you were blending in nicely, but maybe you did stick out.

He smiled at me and said, “No. My brother owns a club so I’m in them pretty frequently. Checking out the competition.”

That made you feel better. You parted your lips to ask another question when Natalie came between Joel and you to order another drink. She took a step back at your side and gave Joel a once over. “And where have you been hiding?” Natalie said flirtatiously.

While Joel looked at you, he was smiling. Visibly interested in you, but with Natalie, he looked very bored. He ignored her completely, which you would have found rude if it wasn’t also incredibly hot. You liked the attention.

“Can I have your phone?” he asked, outstretching his hand to you.

You reached into your jeans pocket and pulled it out, placing it in his hand. Nervously, you sipped your drink. Was he really about to give you his number? He saved himself in your phone and handed it back. “Call me,” he said, standing up from the barstool. “Or don’t. But I really hope you do.”

He flashed you one more dimpled smile, shot Natalie one more dirty look, and left.

“What a dick,” Natalie grumbled, but you were too engrossed in the contact info. You had a hundred notifications from your dad in the notification bar, but your eyes were locked on Joel's name.

“Whatever, let’s go dance.” Natalie grabbed your arm, clearly irritated at the one man in the entire club who wasn’t showing her attention. You relented, tucking your phone into your pocket as you danced the night away with Natalie, the mysterious man from the bar on your mind.

Should I call him?

You looked at your phone, lingering on Joel's contact info. Your thumb hovered over the message button, but you turned off your screen instead. Study. You need to study. You divert your attention to your criminal psychology textbook, taking notes for various terms you need to know. You didn’t necessarily need the notes. You remembered everything you saw.

A gift and a curse. A gift for college. A curse because you can’t forget anything. Your dad’s bribe deals. All the sketchy shit he got himself involved in, you remembered. You could even remember the name on the check with crystal clear accuracy. Sierpente. A distinct last name. Of course, considering how fast your dad snapped that check away from you only solidified it in your memory. He played it off, but you knew how nervous he was. Whoever this Sierpente was, they were bad news.

So sure, you were avoiding your dad because you were angry with him, but you also didn’t want to get tangled in his web. What you didn’t know couldn’t hurt you. Because you were also a terrible liar.

You were practically a walking textbook.

You sighed, leaning back on your rolly chair to tie your hair up. It wasn’t a very good bun, but your hair was always so unruly anyway. Your leg shook, and you couldn’t stop tapping your pen on your desk, eyes darting back to your phone again.

Fuck it. I’ll text the mystery man from the other night.

Keep it short and simple. Don’t sound desperate. Joel was too attractive to find desperate and endearing. You typed a few letters only to backspace.

You: Hi, it’s the girl from the other…

Nope. Nope. Nope.

You: Salutations. I was pleased to meet…

Salutations? You started to backspace when you accidentally hit send. Sounding like a fucking weirdo by texting “Salutations—”

Giving up hope, you turned off your screen and placed it facedown on your desk. Way to fucking go. That’s the last time you ever try to make a move. You pressed your palm into your forehead. Never once had you ever used that greeting before, but you decided to send it to a drop-dead gorgeous man you met at a club.

Way to fuck that one up.

Why were you so hung up on it? Joel had this energy about him. You felt it when you were next to him. It intrigued you. You remembered what his hands looked like. Burned into your vision with perfect accuracy. You bet those hands would look great around your throat.

And where the fuck did that come from?

A spike of lust coiled in your belly at the image. Lust wasn’t completely foreign to you, but you never acted on it. Boys never interested you. Surrounded by boys in class and on campus. You'd always been attracted to older men, but you had no idea how to make a move. And your inexperience was apparently a massive turn-off.

Your phone buzzed, and you flipped it over to see that Joel texted back.

Joel: Salutations to you too. Who’s this?

Your face warmed as you tried to wait the appropriate amount of time before texting back. But in reality, you replied in about ten seconds.

You: From the other night at the bar.

Three dots appeared, keeping you on the edge of your seat.

Joel: Tequila Sunrise? How are you?

You: Just studying. You?

Joel: Another boring day at the office. You up for a phone call? I’d like to hear that sweet little voice without all that music.

Your stomach lurched up to your throat, and you started to feel incredibly warm despite your sleep shorts, oversized tee, and the AC blasting over your head. You looked over to Natalie’s unmade bed. She likely wouldn’t be back until tomorrow morning. A little phone call wouldn’t hurt.

You: Sure. One sec.

joel's pov

A small smirk pulled to the side of his mouth as he pulled back the curtain to look through his scope into your room. Joel was set up in an abandoned dorm across the courtyard. Temporary until the recon team set up cameras, and he could finally go back to his own bed.

You paced around your room, looking at your phone. Visibly nervous as you gave yourself a pep talk. Fuck, you were cute.

The past few weeks, he’d been assigned to you. Keeping an eye on you for Don Sierpente. A nice change of pace from breaking kneecaps and cutting off fingers. His usual mark was easy. Kill or send a message. Make it look like an accident. You, however, were a particular case. He wasn’t supposed to hurt you. In fact, he was supposed to make sure no harm came to you until Don was ready for his move. Keep his distance until his orders suddenly changed this past weekend.

“Get close to her,” Tommy ordered, playing liaison for Don. “We need her to trust you.”

Trust me? The girl was naive, not stupid. But I’d play. Could be fun.

As usual, he had eyes on you while you were at your desk that evening, nibbling on a pen and tapping your foot. You kept making little notes from your forensic psychology textbook. Wearing an oversized t-shirt and cute little pajama shorts, you looked good enough to eat.

“Call me, you sweet little thing,” he murmured, just loud enough for his brother, Tommy, to hear. He rolled his shoulders, raising his eyes to look at Joel, lips tilted downward in a displeased grimace.

Joel's phone rang and he lifted it to his ear, answering, “Joel.”

“H-Hey, um…this is, uh I was just texting you,” your cute voice whispered nervously over the phone.

He could feel his dimple puncture his cheek as his grin widened. “I know. Salutations.”

“Oh, dear God,” you muttered with audible embarrassment.

Your anxious little breaths were endearing. Joel was tempted to stay quiet and wait to see how long it took until you crumbled, babbling about something just to fill the silence.

“So, uh, about the salutations thing. That was an accident.” You twirled a loose tendril of hair around your finger, pacing back and forth in a circle. He liked that, even from a distance, he could watch you squirm.

“You mean you don’t send salutations as a greeting to everyone?” He already knew the answer to that when he got the text and saw you smash your palm into your forehead.

You laughed nervously. “Ha. Yeah…uh, I was supposed to delete that. But it sent so I gave up on getting a text back.”

“Gave up that quick, huh?” Joel teased. “Shame.”

“About five seconds from deleting your contact too.”

Joel gave a mock gasp. “Wow, darlin’, that’s just cruel.”

You made a cute-sounding giggle, finally warming up a little bit. He glanced over at his brother, clearly distracting himself with a text—probably from Eli—before he put his phone down and made a motion to cut the call. Joel rolled his eyes at him, turning away completely.

“Hey, baby girl, I actually have to go. Bossman is walking in.”

The pet name took you off guard, but he liked the way you paced when you were nervous and how you twirled your hair. “Okay. Nice talking to you?” you said more like a question like you weren't sure how to end the call.

“Definitely. I could fall asleep listening to that sweet little voice.” Or jerk off to it, but he wasn’t going to say that. “Talk to you later.”

He hung up, arching a brow at Tommy. “What?”

“Babygirl? Really?” he inquired, crossing his arms.

“You’d like her, Tommy. Just your type,” he smirked. “And if she’s your type, then you know she’s mine.”

“The last time you dated a woman you were attracted to, she turned out to be a raging psychopath,” Tommy commented.

“Exactly. You have better taste in women,” he winked. He raised the scope to get one last eyeful of you before Tommy told him whatever he had to say.

“She’s undressing right now,” Joel baited. You weren’t. It wouldn’t have bothered him, but he knew it bothered Tommy. And it was always fun to fuck with him. Tommy's eyebrows furrowed, frown deepening. Always fucking frowning. Always pissed off.

“You want a peek? She’s got the assets.”

Suddenly, Tommy stood up and ripped the scope out of his hands. “She’s a mark. Not your personal peep show,” he practically hissed.

“You’re telling me that the Don wants me to get close to her, but not fuck her?”

“For the love of God, don’t fuck her. She’s the congressman’s daughter. We’re only watching her as insurance that he’ll follow through with his promise to rule in our favor. Then we leave.”

Well, that was a fucking contradiction. Why would Joel have to get close to her if he had to watch her? “What if she fucks me?”

“For fuck’s sake, Joel.” Tommy pinched his nose in frustration. “Drop it.”

He leaned back, pleased by Tommy's reaction. “She’s been my mark for three weeks and you don’t even know what she looks like.” Joel took a pack of smokes out of his jeans pocket, lighting up right in the room. “Humor me. See for yourself how fucking cute she is.”

“No,” Tommy hissed.

“Why? Do you think you’ll get attached?” Joel pouted his lower lip. “I know you have a soft spot for soft spoken women. I thought you were supposed to be the big bad Tommy Miller and now you won’t even look in the direction of a mark? You’re not even the least bit curious why the Don has his eye on her?”

Joel was baiting him and he knew it. He didn’t even know why he did this, but he liked getting under Tommy's skin. It proved that he still had a heart after all the shit that happened to them. He wasn’t like Joel and he shouldn’t be. He carried all that weight for them so no one else had to feel it. All that stress could break a man down.

Tommy sighed, sitting back down at the table, and taking Joel's scope with him. “Why do you think you were assigned to this?”

Joel raised his eyebrows. “Enlighten me. Why wasn’t Eli assigned for babysitting duty?”

“Because he would start to feel bad about her. You, on the other hand, don’t feel much of anything,” he said.

He was right. The only attachments he had were Tommy and Eli, his brothers. Part of him wondered what it would be like to care. A small little part of him ached for those attachments. But most of him didn’t give a fuck unless it gave him something he wanted.

“Speaking of, he’s flying back from Mexico next week,” Tommy explained.

“About fucking time. I missed the empathetic asshole,” Joel commented. Eli was too nice for this line of work. He wasn’t a good fit for the cartel, but he was trapped in this arrangement. So was Joel. So was Tommy.

They were Don Sierpiente’s lapdogs and there wasn’t jack shit they could do about it. Til the day they died, the old fuck owned them. Tommy at least had enough sense to make himself indispensable. And if Tommy was indispensable, so were the rest of them. Package deal. The Miller brothers. They were a package deal in many parts of life.

Tommy nodded, deep in thought. He didn’t like it when Eli was sent over the border because he never knew if he’d come back. He was sure Eli could handle himself just fine, but Tommy practically raised them, so he still sees Eli as the thirteen-year-old jackass who moved the neighbor’s gnome every morning to make her think it was moving on its own. And Tommy, being eighteen and struggling to help mom make ends meet at the time, felt like he needed to protect Eli from every little thing. Of course, good ol’ Eli doesn’t help his case when he still plays tricks all these years later.

Tommy got up from his seat, still pissed off. This time, not at Joel, it was at whoever was messaging him. Not that he would ever tell Joel what was really going on. Tommy was still trying to protect his brothers. Joel would find it endearing if it didn’t annoy him so much.

“I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later,” Tommy said as he left before Joel could get a word in. But, he’d done his part. Now Joel just had to watch the pieces fall into place.

your pov

Time for coffee. Your caffeine fix. You were up all night studying for some bullshit math test that had nothing to do with your major, but it was a requirement. Sure, you can remember obscure terms or exactly what someone was wearing at brunch four years ago. But math? Your Achilles heel. So now you had to wake back up before you went to the class you actually liked. You just hoped you survived math long enough to get the credit for your transcript and never have to do an equation ever again.

Your phone buzzed.

Tucking your book under your arm, you reached into your pocket to see a missed message from Joel. You'd only met him a week ago, but you really enjoyed texting him. Your lips quirked into a smile when you saw it.

Joel: Hey, do you want to get a drink with me?

You: Tonight? I can’t. I have a morning class tomorrow.

Joel: That’s a shame.

Your stomach twisted because you did want to get a drink with him. He made you nervous in a good way and…he intrigued you.

You: Tomorrow?

Joel: Tomorrow is good.

Say something flirty.

You: Maybe I’ll let you buy me a drink.

Oh yeah. Hook, line, and sinker. You could pat yourself on the back for that one.

Joel: What else would you let me do?

Instantly, your entire body was hot. You could hear that sentence in his voice. That deep, sexy voice that made your knees wobble when you talked to him on the phone. That sweet-talker. But you'd be lying if you said you didn’t like it. You like how your belly flushed with heat. What would you let him do to you?

You: Buy a girl dinner first, Joel.

You giggled to yourself at that one, shifting foot to foot, still walking toward that coffee shop without a care as to where you were going.

Joel: I’ll take you up on that, baby girl.

Why did you like that? Never once had you ever liked being called baby girl or doll or sweetheart or any pet name, but when Joel said it so nonchalantly on the phone, your thighs tingled. Wetness pooled in your panties, and you didn’t understand why you liked it so much. Joel was an anomaly to you. He drew you in. Sent little shivers down your spine. Whether it was danger or attraction, you weren't quite sure. You were still trying to pinpoint exactly what it was about him. Maybe it was his absolute certainty in himself. The arrogance you could hear in his voice. He knew who he was, and you were still trying to find that out about yourself. Maybe you envied it a little bit. You had this urge to absorb some of that certainty.

Really, it didn’t surprise you. You were a psychology major and therefore hyperaware of how your parents influenced your childhood. You dissect people based on their walk, the flicker in their eyes, and the fluctuations in their voices. You could read just about anyone. Except for Joel. His mannerisms contradicted themselves. He’d say one thing with complete conviction while his body language said something else entirely. You wanted to get into his head and figure out what he was thinking. That came from your mother. She was an alcoholic talk show host who knew what buttons to press to make the best TV. Your father knew how to manipulate people to get what he wanted. A match made in Hell. That’s why they’re divorced.

Some divorced kids would be excited to have two versions of holidays, but while your dad spoiled you rotten, your mother forgot you existed. She’d forget birthdays. Important events. Always absent. Always drunk. Months, you were trapped in her condo, wondering if you'd find her body, finally worn to nothing from years of substance abuse. You would wake up on Christmas day to find her intoxicated on the kitchen floor, knife in her hand, in a pool of her own sick. You never knew what she planned to do with that knife. Was it for you? Or for her?

She’d tell you she was fine. That she wouldn’t relapse again. You had to protect yourself from her. No child should ever have to protect themselves from their parents. She was always lying. Eventually, your dad got full custody of you. He wasn’t much better, but at least you knew he loved you in his own way.

Unfortunately, he overcorrected. And manipulated to “keep you safe”. Your dad was a master manipulator. Your childhood was in the confines of homeschooling and avoiding paparazzi. But the love child of a politician and a public TV personality made for a complicated childhood. It only got worse as you started to grow up. You became anti-social. Cautious. You're still trying to unlearn the survival mechanisms you taught yourself. The flinching and the shaking. The “shut up and smile,” mentality.

Now you were free from your father’s legal ownership of you, but there was only so much behavior you could correct. And that’s why you have an uncanny ability to know when people are lying to you. You swear you're too fucking observant for your own good.

And just as that thought crossed your mind, you ran face-first into an incredibly firm chest. The man’s coffee went flying, saturating a white dress shirt. Your phone propelled across the sidewalk. And your textbook skidded over and tripped a student who got caught up in your acute sense of observation.

“I’m so sorry!” you gasp, trying to salvage his coffee cup, but it’s toast. You didn’t even look up at him as you went for your textbook. Black slacks appeared in front of your vision as he helped you gather your stuff. The first thing you noticed was scarred knuckles. The second thing, his voice.

“It’s fine.”

Your face was boiling. You can’t believe you just did that. Why do you even go outside? His scarred hands outstretched your book and phone to you. You took them, sheepishly looking up into deep eyes. “Thank you,” you said, tucking some of your hair behind your ears. This man couldn’t have been a student. He wore a suit jacket, also stained with coffee. “Your jacket,” you gasped, now seeing the damage you caused. “Oh no. Can I do anything?”

His nose had clearly been broken a few times. His thick dark hair had a few streaks of gray through it, aging him slightly, but you only found yourself more attracted to him. He shrugged his jacket off and you got an eyeful of a soaked shirt clinging to his toned body.

Good Lord.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll just get another,” he commented offhandedly.

You felt like you had to do something. You did just completely destroy his shirt. “Please, at least let me get you another coffee. I feel awful.”

He rolled his shoulders and you swear your mouth watered a little bit. First you ran into Joel last week and now you run into another stunningly gorgeous man? “If you insist,” was all he said. But you felt like his lack of speech only made whatever he didn’t say much louder. His mouth was curved downward into a rather aggressive scowl which would typically send anyone else running away, but his shoulders were slack, relaxed. The unconscious language put you more at ease than his face did. You wondered if perhaps the grimace was a defence mechanism. Perhaps developed at a young age–

Stop psychoanalysing everyone. Get it together!

You greeted him abruptly stating your name, outstretching your hand to shake his in greeting. He looked at your hand but didn’t take it. You tried not to take that personally.

“Really?”

You babbled nervously, explaining why you were named what you were named. He watched you closely, still not smiling, but his tongue curved against the inside of his cheek, making it just out a little in an expression you translated as amusement. “I’m Tommy.”

“Well, let’s go get you that coffee, Tommy. I probably already made you late for your meeting.” You tucked your book under your arm, pocketing your phone to not distract yourself anymore. The student you tripped with your book gave you a death glare as you mouthed, “Sorry.”

“Meeting?” Tommy asked.

“Do you wear suits for fun?” you commented, your favorite coffee shop coming into view.

He shrugged. “Not particularly. I work in the area, but I don’t have an office job.”

“Oh, what do you do?”

“Finance,” he stated without missing a beat. A slight fall in his voice. An alteration in his speech pattern. An odd thing to lie about, but he also hadn’t talked long enough for you to determine his speech pattern.

“Oh?”

He diverted the conversation, another indication he was lying. You felt the urge to prod, but you didn’t know this man. Why he was lying was none of your business. Maybe he was sneaking around. Or cheating on his wife. You glanced down at his hands. No ring. Not married. Unless he took it off, but you didn’t see a tan line either.

“Are you a student here?” Tommy asked, keeping his tone neutral.

“Yeah, I’m in my second year. Studying psychology with a focus on criminal psychology.”

“Busy girl then,” he commented, but for some reason it made your insides twist. You felt hyperaware of his gaze. It felt curious even if his scowl said otherwise. People can rarely hide the truth in their eyes.

You chuckled, trying to sound at ease even though your body was twisting and tightening against your control. “That’s me. Busy. Busy.”

There wasn’t a long line at the coffee shop as you went up to the counter and ordered your usual. Iced coffee and a cream cheese danish. You went absolutely feral for their danishes. Homemade and always warm. Your favorite snack between classes. Tommy spoke his order. Medium coffee black. Nothing to dress it up.

“Have you tried their danishes?” you asked, gesturing to the glass case. “I’ll buy you one. They’ll change your life.”

The cashier laughed. “High praise from you.”

His eyebrow twitched and he said, “Fine. I’ll take a strawberry one.”

“Excellent choice,” the cashier stated as he started to get the order ready.

“Tap your chip when you’re ready.”

You nodded, pulling your wallet out of your pocket, but Tommy beat you to it, swiping a platinum credit card. “Hey!” you objected. “Let me get that for you.”

“I have more than enough money. I’m not letting a college kid buy me anything,” Tommy started with a complete monotone.

You brushed some of your unruly hair back. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” he shrugged. The cashier came back with your orders and Tommy handed you your coffee and danish. His fingertips brushed yours and small shocks erupted up your arm, leaving tingles prickling the hair on your arms. “Consider this a gift.”

You raised both your eyebrows, brushing off the addicting sensation tingling your arms. “For dumping hot coffee all over you?”

The corner of his full lips curled up for a fraction of a second before it was gone. “For the conversation.”

Your breath escaped your lungs and you stood there completely dumbfounded. “You’re welcome.”

“Now,” he held up his paper sack housing a delicious danish, “this danish better change my life.”

“It will,” you promised.

His eyes flickered. “Nice talking to you.”

“You too, Tommy,” you murmured, liking the way his name sounded. Coating your tongue like golden syrup. He nodded and turned away, exiting the coffee shop without another word. Your eyes were glued to him as he left, helplessly gliding down his back to his waist and thighs.

“Huh,” you muttered to yourself as you brought your danish to your lips and took a bite. Flavor exploded across your tongue. Tangy. Creamy. Buttery. Yum. You looked over at the cashier and shouted, “You’ve outdone yourself, Steve!”

The cashier shot you a smile and waved you goodbye as you left. Thankfully, you still had a little time before class to enjoy your coffee.

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #tlou fanfiction #tommy miller x reader #tommy miller fanfiction #tommy miller #tlou #pedro pascal fanfiction

186 notes · View notes

princessbrunette · 3 months

Note

unfortunately, i think previous anon is right 😭 i don’t think he’ll get killed but his ass is definitely gonna end up in jail </3 and with ward being dead… he’s on his own :( it’s not lookin good for our man, i fear… i’m actually surprised he didn’t end up in jail s3!

– 🪽 anon

im ok with him going to jail ngl cos atleast he’s alive n it kinda makes him sexier idk …… id be there at visiting hours with that phone pressed to my ear gazing at him through the glass like omgg how’s jail babie i miss ur dick :( <3

rafe getting buffer in jail w the buzz cut and wife beater and orange jail pants…. faded bruise over his eye from a jail fight…. arms crossed over his chest all moody til u show up to visit him all cute in ur lil sundress and he just wants to reach through the glass n touch u up…..

winter months come and his hair grows back out to the curtains…. maybe into a mullet…. he’s wearing the prison issued grey sweatshirt and sweatpants…. still just as pissed off but missing u more than anything …….. ::///

#🪽 anon #rafe cameron prompt #prisoner!rafe #that tag skdsj #this is…. a positive spin on things ok 🩷 coping 🩷

250 notes · View notes

oracle-of-dream · 2 months

Text

Can't Help It

Minors DNI

Summary: Your boyfriend, Eunchan, loves every ounce of you. So much that when he looks at you his entire world stops and he can't help but lose himself in looking at you. Then his mind starts to wander about all the things you could do to him...

Warnings: Male reader, Eunchan w/ huge cock, multiple orgasms, public sex, caught having sex, soft dom Eunchan, Eunchan is unbelievably horny

Wordcount: 1.2k

Eunchan has always been your number one support in everything you do. No matter what you did, what you wore, or how you looked; Eunchan would tell you that you were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. Sometimes to the point, it would cause problems… Eunchan is a tall man, very athletic, and very healthy. So, it's understandable he’s got more of a drive than some people. But Eunchan would get hot and bothered with almost anything involving you. It would make it impossible for him to focus on doing anything else other than satisfying himself. To the point that Eunchan wouldn’t care about the situation at hand, even in public, he’d whip it and beg for you to help him.

Recently you went to the mall with him to buy new clothes for the two of you. Eunchan wasn’t completely fashion blind, but he still couldn’t dress himself enough to satisfy you. He always trusts your judgment, so he’d wear anything you gave him.

You held up a few shirts to his body. “Hold these, please,” you said as you went to find more clothes. You brought over a few pairs of pants and shoes too, “Dressing room. Now.”

Eunchan followed you to the dressing room and changed into different outfits as you requested, never complaining. Your tall Ken doll was so cute in a white sweatshirt with blue denim overalls. You’d finally found something that worked, now to find something for yourself to match with him.

You stepped into your dressing room and started changing. You just took off your pants when you heard a knock on the door and saw a pair of shoes outside.

“Yes?” You called.

“Baby… I wanna see,” Eunchan responded.

“I’m not wearing the outfit yet.”

There was a small pause. “I know…” Eunchan’s feet were poking under the door as he lifted himself to look over it, peeking in at you. “I just want to see you. It’s a bit of an emergency.”

You groaned, “now, babe? You can’t be serious.” You opened the door a crack and Eunchan squeezed into the small space.

“I’m sorry, I know you said not to but I couldn’t help but think about you getting undressed in here, and one thing led to another,” Eunchan explained as he shifted awkwardly in his overalls with a massive bulge that fought against the fabric.

“Eunchan, this is really not a good time! Can’t you hold it?”

He shook his head, his eyes were distant. He wasn’t even really listening anymore. He chose to sit on the bench in the room and slip the overalls low enough to free himself, rubbing himself as he stared at you.

“Eunchan! Please!” You begged.

“Y/n, I need you. I can’t go walking around the mall like this– people will think I’m sort of a freak.”

You knew Eunchan was going to start getting more desperate the longer you forced him to wait. Rolling your eyes, you lock the dressing room and give your boyfriend the attention he needs. Touching his bulge earns a guttural moan from his pink lips.

“Quiet place. No one can know what we’re doing, so keep it in,” you commanded.

Eunchan whined and squirmed as you freed his cock from its fabric prison, already dripping with pre-cum. He was sensitive to your touch, flinching and breathing sharply every time you even grazed him.

You needed two hands to handle him. Eunchan’s cock was a disgusting ten inches, which according to him wasn’t very big in his hands. You know all his weak spots, and since time is of the essence you abuse every single one. Squeezing the shaft as you stroke him and licking his massive tip to make him crack.

He begged for release, “Please, I need to cum. I wanna cum so bad.”

He was getting more into it as you gave him the pleasure he wanted; bucking into your hand and started covering his mouth with his hand to try not to make more noise, but one particularly loud groan slipped out.

“Fuck, fuck, you’re so amazing. I love you. It’s good, so great! Please, I–” He suddenly started cumming and gave no warning to you as he shot ropes onto your face.

“Eunnie, you’re making a mess!” You cried as you wiped off any cum on your face.

“S-Sorry…” He moaned breathlessly, his head leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. The way his body moved and squirmed, you could tell that simple handjob you gave him wasn’t enough. Without directly saying it, he was begging for more from you.

You slid your underwear down, looking over at the door to make sure it was locked before climbing onto Eunchan’s lap. His hands automatically affixed themselves to your hips and lifted you. You lined his dick with your hole and Eunchan took care of moving you down slowly onto him.

Even though he was drinking in lust, he still made sure he wasn’t hurting you and giving you as much time as he could for you to accept him.

You were about halfway when you felt his legs start shaking, a sign that he was starting to lose the strength to hold it in. “Eunnie, please–” you placed your hands on his chest to stabilize yourself, “kiss me when you do it.”

His lips melted into yours as he happily pushed you further down, with more strength, trying to kiss you through the pain. As soon as you envelope him completely, you feel him shooting a load into you. His blissed-out expression and full-body convulsions confirmed the feeling. He was teary-eyed and his lips were more red than pink from kissing you.

“You’re so tight– I’m sorry– I wanted to hold it in…” He sobbed.

You lifted yourself but your legs gave out halfway, slamming you back down onto him. You felt the light behind your eyes light up as your body enjoyed the sensation of his cock pushing your guts. You could feel his cock was still hard, and twitching in you. Eunchan’s hands gripped your hips and lifted you again.

“You’ve already cum twice. How much more?” You asked.

He shook his head, “More, more, I need it more.” Eunchan slammed you down onto him again and started fucking you like a sex toy, lifting you to then slam you back down onto his cock. He was using you purely for his enjoyment and squeezed your curves wherever his hands found purchase.

The sound of skin slapping was rhythmic and loud, but you couldn’t hear it over the sound of your own moans. You’d tried to hold them in but lost control when Eunchan started moving you and fucked his cum back into you. Eunchan bit at your neck, giving you love bites, and sucked on your nipples.

By the end of it, you were a drooling and twitching mess. Eunchan seemed refreshed, full of smiles and nuzzles as he helped you off of him. He’d cum a total of 6 times, five of them being in you… It wasn’t long before you two were kicked not only from the store but from the mall entirely. Luckily no one called the police to arrest you for public indecency… And you didn’t get to buy Eunchan his outfit.

#oracle of dreams #kpop x male reader #kpop x male reader smut #tempest kpop #tempest #eunchan tempest #eunchan #tempest eunchan

131 notes · View notes

negrowhat · 6 months

Text

Getting All Matchy-Matchy

I saw everyone talking about the red/white/black matching looks Ai Di and Chen Yi wore in ep 13, but they've always been a matchy-matchy pair throughout the series. Quite a few times their entire color schemes have been couple-y. I can't make gifs so please enjoys these screenshots and promo pics as evidence.

In ep 5 when they confronted Wayne and Chunchih (idk what their characters' names were lmao) they wore yellow with black pattern, black, and orange. Tell me this doesn't scream, "We coordinated before we left the shop."

In ep 6 we have them wearing their lil blue, black, and white ensembles at the semi-hostile family dinners. These looks feel like Ai Di got dressed first and then Chen Yi decided he would wear blue too.

Then we skip a little ways ahead to ep 9. Why are Ai Di and Chen Yi matching when he gets out of prison? Black and red. What sort of foresight did Chen Yi even have to plan this?

In ep 10 Ai Di's sweater perfectly matches Chen Yi's t-shirt and of course they're both wearing black to bring everything together cohesively.

In Ep 12, they aren't perfectly matched but Ai Di's brown mustard-colored sweatshirt is def somewhere in the same family and the tan and chocolate brown Chen Yi is wearing. (It's a bit of a reach, I know)

In Ep 13 we got the infamous shared items included in the matching looks. First with Ai Di wearing one of Chen Yi's graphic tees while they're both wearing red, black, and white.

And then again when Ai Di points out that Chen Yi is wearing his zip-up. But we also have them both in black and white, feat mock turtlenecks.

#kiseki: dear to me #kiseki dear to me #kiseki #ai di x chen yi #chen yi x ai di #chen yi x eddie #eddie x chen yi

204 notes · View notes

fanfictionalraven · 7 days

Text

Dream Warriors Chapter 3

Title: Dream Warriors Chapter 3

Summary: The reader struggles with how to handle the recent news about her husband.

Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, other canon Supernatural characters, other original characters

Word Count: 5,438

Warnings: Mentions of infidelity, mentions of a miscarriage

Read Chapter 2 here.

You’re sitting at the dining room table. Jackson had left early again for “work” and you hadn’t had the courage to face him yet over what you’d found the night before. Ella’s in the high chair next to you, eating the cheerios you’d given her. Absentmindedly, you run your finger around the rim of the coffee mug in front of you, trying to figure out what to do. So much was running through your mind. The affair. The dream. So many questions. You jump when your phone buzzes on the table next to you and look over.

Mornin’ Gorgeous.

The usual good morning text you got from Dean. Same time, every morning. You halfheartedly smile as you reach for the phone and open the message. You’re typing out your reply before you even realize it.

You have lunch plans?

You almost regret the message the moment you’ve sent it. Telling Dean would most likely end up with him in prison and you a widow. But you needed your best friend.

Hot date with a cold sandwich. You got a better offer?

Buy you a burger at our favorite place?

Counteroffer. I buy you a burger at our favorite place.

Deal. I’ll ask Mom to keep Ella. Meet you there at 12:30?

No El? So this is serious. Better make it 11:30 then.

11:30. See you then.

You set the phone aside and run your hands over your face. You could already guess what Dean was going to say but you still wanted to talk it out with someone and he was your favorite option. A cheerio hits your cheek and you look at a giggling Ella.

“Mama!!” She says, reaching out for you. You can’t help but smile at her despite your miserable mood. You pull her from the chair and bring her into your lap, hugging her tight.

“We’re gonna get through this, Baby Girl. Me and you. Somehow,” you whisper before kissing her hair.

After spending a moment just holding your daughter, you pick your phone up again. You find your mother’s name in your contact list and put it to your ear. It rings twice before she picks up.

“Hello,” she says, her voice bright and chipper. You squeeze your eyes closed, trying to put up your best act.

“Hey, Mom. You busy today?” You ask before biting your lip. She laughs lightly.

“Not at all. What do you need?” She asks.

“Could you keep Ella for a few hours? I’m meeting Dean for lunch,” you tell her. There’s a moment’s silence on the line before she speaks again.

“Everything okay?” She asks. You let out a breath of a laugh, trying to keep from breaking down on the phone.

“Yes, Mom. Just needing some adult time,” you say, shaking your head. You hated lying to her and you were going to talk to her about it. You just wanted to talk to Dean first.

“Of course, I’ll keep her. You never have to ask, Sweetie,” she tells you. You thank her before hanging up and going up to the nursery. After throwing together a bag for Ella, you take her into your room while you get dressed for the day. You slip into a pair of jeans and a Stanford sweatshirt Dean had bought you on one of the occasions he’d visited his brother, Sam. There was still time to kill so you give Ella a bath before getting her dressed as well.

Around 10:45, you pull into your parents’ driveway and shut the car off. By the time you get Ella out of her car seat, your mother is waiting on the front porch.

“Gaga!!” Ella squeals, seeing her grandmother. Your mother kisses your cheek before taking Ella into her arms.

“Thanks, Mom,” you tell her. She smiles and nods before looking down at Ella.

“Of course,” she says, tickling her granddaughter. Ella giggles and pushes at her hands. “Your father called. Said Dean was taking a long lunch cause you needed to talk to him.” You sigh and look down at your feet for a moment before meeting her eyes again.

“Don’t worry. I’ll talk to you when I come pick her up after while,” you assure her. She watches you, trying to read your face, before nodding.

“Okay. Be careful,” she says. You give her your best smile and a kiss on the cheek. You run a hand over Ella’s hair and kiss her forehead before going back to the car.

You arrive at the small diner in the next town over around 11:15 and go in to your usual table. This was the place you and Dean had made every important decision you’d faced in your life; college, careers, relationships. It was a place both of your parents had brought you as children and when you were allowed to drive the two of you met up once a week in the same corner booth.

“Hey, Y/N. Long time, no see,” Ellen, the owner of the diner, says as she looks up from the register. You smile at her as she comes around the counter.

“Hey, Ellen. Yea, I’m sorry. Marriage and Ella…I haven’t really had a chance,” you tell her. She smiles and shrugs.

“I understand. Dean coming?” She asks. You manage a small laugh and nod.

“He is. Shouldn’t be far behind,” you tell her. She nods and goes back to the kitchen to turn in your usual order.

It’s only a moment later that the bell on the door rings and Dean steps into the diner. He glances around before quickly making his way over to you. A lump rises in your throat as you take in the evident concern on his face. He slides into the booth across from you and folds his hands together on top of the table. He stares at his hands for a moment then closes his eyes.

“Did he hit you?” He asks, his voice restrained. Of course, that was going to be his first thought. You reach across the table and place your hands over his.

“No, Dean,” you assure him. His hands relax under yours instantly before opening up and clasping yours. He meets your eyes finally.

“What did he do?” He asks. You swallow thickly as you look down at your hands, held tightly in his. “Y/N.”

“He’s having an affair,” you tell him in a hushed tone. Dean goes completely rigid. You look up to find him stone-faced.

“He’s cheating on you?” He asks, unbelieving. You nod your head once. “On you?” You shush him quickly.

“Yes, Dean,” you say, glancing around. You pull your hands away when you spot Ellen coming back over with your drinks.

“Hey there,” she says, setting the two glasses down between you. “How you been, Dean?” She asks, patting his shoulder. He tears his eyes away from you and gives her a forced smile.

“Been better. You?” He asks. She shrugs her shoulders, more customers at the door catching her attention.

“Not bad. Your order’s in. Shouldn’t be too long,” she says before moving to greet the new customers. You watch her go then look back at Dean.

“How do you know?” He asks. You sigh and pull your glass closer to you.

“He’s been acting weird. Going in early and staying late. Claimed it was for work. Left his phone yesterday and I had to know. Found their texts,” you explain. You can feel his eyes on you as you take a sip from your water.

“Who?” He asks plainly. You frown at the table, fighting back tears again.

“One of his students. A size two blonde with breasts most women have to pay for,” you mumble. Dean’s hands tighten into fists on the table.

“Is…” He pauses and you look up at him. His eyes are squeezed closed. “Is this something you can work through?” You can tell he’s mad as hell but trying to control himself. Looking back at your glass, you shrug.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how I can make it work again. I mean, I never managed to get all the baby weight off after Ella. And getting pregnant right before the wedding really killed the whole honeymoon phase,” you start.

“The hell are you talking about?!” He asks a bit too loudly. You jump and look up at him quickly to find his eyes wide with rage. “You think this is your fault?!”

“Dean,” you urge, glancing around. The two of you have managed to earn a few concerned looks from the other patrons. You can tell Ellen’s watching you from the corner of her eye. “Keep it down.” He runs a hand across his forehead before leaning over the table slightly.

“Is that what you’re saying? That this is your fault?” He asks, his voice softer now. You frown and look away.

“Kinda seems like karma,” you admit. Dean sits back in the booth slowly, shaking his head.

“No, no, no. That’s not…Y/N. This has nothing to do with us or what we did. You’d called the whole thing off before you came to my place,” he says. You wipe at your cheek furiously and look back at him.

“Fine. Say it isn’t karma. What is it then?” You ask. His shoulders bob up and down once.

“I don’t know. Maybe you married a douche who can’t keep it in his pants,” he says. You roll your eyes and look down at your hands. The rings on your left hand catch the light as you begin to spin them around your finger. Dean’s hand reaches over, catching your own. “He’s obviously insane.”

“Dean,” you chastise, trying to pull your hand away. He tightens his grip, pulling your hand closer to him across the table and forcing you to look up at him again.

“I’m serious. No man in their right mind would cheat on you. I don’t care how amazing you think this other woman looks, nobody holds a candle to you, Sweetheart,” he says, his voice soft. You feel a stray tear slide down your cheek and Dean reaches up, wiping it away. “I mean, if I had you…”

“Two burgers with everything, one with extra bacon,” a familiar voice says, quickly approaching the table. You pull your hands free from Dean’s grip and look down, trying to discreetly wipe at your eyes.

“Hey, Jo,” Dean says, smiling at her. She sets the two plates down and you manage a smile of your own.

“Thanks,” you tell her. She smiles and nods before looking at Dean.

“Heard about you and Lisa. That’s too bad,” she says. He laughs a little and shakes his head.

“Not really. It was never gonna work out,” he tells her. She bites her lip and nods before glancing at you.

“Well, I’ll let you two eat in peace,” she says before running off. You force a small smile as you pick up a fry.

“She still has that crush on you,” you say, glancing up at him. He’s watching you as he shrugs. “I had that dream again.”

“Again?” He asks. You nod slightly, biting into the fry.

“Sorta. It wasn’t the exact same. It was so strange. In the dream, I told you that this world, the real world, was a dream,” you explain. He nods slightly, still watching you. “Found out what was wrong between us…I’d lost Ella. Had a miscarriage.”

“Ella?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. “Thought you were with me in this dream and not him.”

“Right. I mean, it obviously wasn’t Ella. A baby that was ours. Anyways, a demon stabbed me in the stomach and I’d lost her – ugh, the baby,” you tell him. You pick up your burger and frown at him. “Are you going to eat?”

“Don’t go back to him,” he says suddenly. You sigh and set the burger back down without having taken a bite. “I don’t mean permanently. Just…for tonight. Take some time to think about what you really want to do. Stay with your parents or – or – or with me.”

“Mom and Dad know something’s wrong. I told Mom I’d tell her when I pick up Ella but…” You trail off with a sigh and run your hands over your face.

“Pick her up tomorrow. Stay with me tonight. Talk to Katherine tomorrow once you know what you want to do,” he says, reaching across the table for your hand again. You bite your lip and link your fingers with his.

“He won’t like me staying with you,” you tell him. Dean laughs and squeezes your hand.

“So?” He asks. “Even more reason to do it if you ask me.” That draws a small laugh from you and Dean smiles a little more. “What do you say? I’ll stay in the guestroom and you can have my bed.”

“Your bed is nice,” you say. Dean smiles widely and picks your hand up, kissing the back of it.

“Then it’s settled. You’re staying with me tonight,” he says before finally picking his burger up and taking a bite. You watch him and smile, shaking your head.

After Dean pays for the meal, the two of you go out into the parking lot. He gives you the key to his house and tells you to go over whenever you want. You hug him tight and thank him before getting into your car. A quick stop at your own house to pack a bag for yourself and Ella then you’re driving back to your parents’ house. You take a deep breath before starting for the door, Ella’s overnight bag slung over your shoulder. Forgoing a knock, you open the door.

“Mom?” You call out.

“Mama!!!” You can hear Ella squeal from the living room. You smile and step into the house as the sound of her wobbly footsteps starts towards you. She waddles into the front hall, your mother right behind her, and over to you where you lift her up into the air. You hug her tight and press a kiss to her hair.

“More bags?” Your mother asks, eyeing the one on your shoulder. You glance at her and bite your lip. “One house guest or two?”

“Just Ella. And just for tonight. I think,” you tell her. She eyes you curiously and nods slightly.

“Will you be at home?” She asks. You shake your head. “Dean’s?”

“Bean!!!” Ella giggles, looking over your shoulder for him. You smile a little and pat her back.

“Bean isn’t here,” you tell her before looking back at your mother. “Yes.”

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” She asks, reaching for Ella. You bite your lip and hand her back over.

“I am. I just need some time to think,” you say. She frowns and you can see the assumptions in her eyes. “Jackson hasn’t abused me or Ella. That’s not it, I swear. You know as well as I do that he’d already be dead if that’s what I had told Dean.” Your mother smiles a little, relief flooding her face, and nods.

“I know. But it’s a mother’s job to worry. You know that,” she says, running a hand over Ella’s hair. You smile and take the bag off your shoulder, handing it over to your mother.

“I do. If you need anything, just call. I’m only up the road a bit,” you tell her. She rolls her eyes as she takes the bag.

“If I can survive raising you and your brother, I can survive my granddaughter for one night,” she says. You laugh a little and kiss her cheek quickly before going back out to your waiting car. You make the short drive over to Dean’s house and let yourself in.

It had been a while since you’d actually been in his house. You knew exactly when the last time you had been here was. Almost two years ago, you’d shown up at his door with a bottle of whiskey after breaking off your engagement with Jackson a month before the wedding. It was a night you’d never forget. It seemed like there was suddenly a memory attached to every wall and piece of furniture.

You run a hand over the back of the couch. That’s where it had all started. You’d both thrown back a few shots and moved a little too close together before your lips managed to find his. Shirts were the first thing to go before you’d pulled away from Dean and started down the hall.

You throw your bag over your shoulder and start down that same hall now, noticing the still empty nail about halfway down. There had been a picture there earlier that night, one of Dean and Sam when they were younger you think. But when Dean had caught you, pushing you up against the wall, it jumped from its nail and landed on the floor, breaking.

You push the door to his bedroom open slowly and take in the sight of the bed. The same bed he’d gently laid you down on before removing the rest of your clothes. The same bed where he’d worshiped every inch of your body. The same bed where…

You shake your head abruptly, ridding yourself of the memories as quickly as you can. You toss your bag onto the bed, suddenly unsure if you’ll actually be able to sleep in it tonight, then go back into the living room and fall into the recliner in the corner.

You occupy yourself for as long as you can with mind-numbing TV shows before finally deciding to start cooking dinner. If you were staying here for nothing, you could at least cook him a decent meal. You’re staring into the barely stocked fridge trying to figure out what you can cook when the front door opens.

“Y/N?” A woman’s voice calls. You smile at the familiar voice and make your way into the front hall where you find Dean’s mother, Mary, standing just inside the door. She smiles widely when she sees you.

“Hi, Mary. Dean isn’t home yet,” you tell her. She laughs lightly and nods, moving to hug you. You return the embrace immediately.

“I know. He called and said you were having a hard time at home. You’re staying with him tonight?” She asks, letting you go to look at you. You bite your lip and nod. “Well he was certain you’d try to cook and wanted to save you the trouble.”

“What?? Mary, you didn’t have to do that,” you tell her quickly. She smiles and shrugs, turning back for the door.

“Come help me,” she says. You follow her out to her running car where she opens the back door. She hands you a pot that could only be filled with her famous chili before she picks up a fresh pie as well. The two of you go back into the house together quietly and take the food into the kitchen. You place the pot on the stove and turn it on low just to keep it warm until Dean gets home.

“Thank you, Mary,” you tell her as she places the pie in the oven, allowing it to finish cooking. She smiles over at you and nods slightly.

“Nothing to thank,” she says. “How’s Ella?”

“She’s great. Growing like crazy. Trying to run before she’s got a full grasp on walking,” you say, laughing lightly. Mary smiles and nods.

“Dean was the same way,” she says. You smile a little and nod, looking down. “Y/N. Dean didn’t tell me what was going on but I assume it’s marital.” Your smile falls as you look back up at her. “I’m not trying to pry. I’m not even asking you to tell me what’s going on. But if I could offer some general advice?” You bite your lip before nodding slightly. “John and I had our issues. I don’t know if you remember Dean ever talking about it but there were some pretty dark times for us.” You nod your head once more. You had been quite young but you could recall a time when things were rough at the Winchester house. “We managed to get through that. We fought like hell and he left God-only-knows how many times. But we came out on the other side.”

“Mary,” you start but she holds up a hand.

“That being said, the only reason John and I were able to make it through was because we loved each other. I knew there was no one else who could handle me on my worst days and he knew there was no one else who was going to put up with him on a daily basis,” she explains. You frown and look away from her now. “If you think or feel that there’s someone else that you can love or do love, then it isn’t worth the fight. And can I be brutally honest with you?” You continue to look away but don’t stop her. “As much as you may love Jackson, I’ve never seen him really love you in return. There is someone out there who will love you and Ella like you deserve.”

You wipe at your cheek as you choke back a sob. Mary rushes over and wraps you up in a tight hug. She rubs your back soothingly as you cry into her shoulder. The front door opens and you pull away from her quickly, attempting to wipe your eyes dry. Dean steps into the kitchen, smiling widely.

“Hey, Mom,” he says before looking at you. His face falls instantly. “I asked you to make dinner, not make her cry again.” You shake your head quickly, giving him your best smile.

“It’s not her fault. It’s just been one of those days,” you tell him as he wraps an arm around your waist. He nods slightly, then presses a kiss to your temple.

“Well, Y/N, has Dean told you about Saturday yet?” Mary asks. You look between them in confusion and shake your head. “Sam and Jessica are coming out and we’re gonna have an engagement party/cook-out for them at the house.” You can’t help the wide smile that spreads across your face.

“No. Dean didn’t mention that my favorite Winchester brother was coming home,” you say, looking up at him. He rolls his eyes but smiles despite himself.

“You and Ella have to be there. Sam hasn’t seen either of you since Christmas and it’s killing him,” she says. Dean nods in agreement.

“Jess too. She keeps asking about seeing her niece,” he adds. You laugh lightly and nod.

“We’ll be there,” you tell them both. Mary smiles widely.

“Good. They’ll be so excited,” she says. “Well, I’ll get out of your way.” Dean lets you go and Mary gives you another hug. “Think about what I said,” she whispers. You nod as you let her go. Dean wraps her up in a tight embrace and kisses her cheek.

“Thanks, Mom,” he tells her. She smiles and nods before leaving the kitchen. The front door opens then closes again and you’re left alone with Dean. You glance at him before moving to the stove.

Normally, being alone with Dean was as easy as breathing. But at this moment, you felt like you were trying to breathe underwater. Maybe it was Mary’s advice lingering in your ear or maybe it was the memories of the last time you were here alone together. Either way, something felt different.

“Cas is gonna be there too,” Dean says, trying to ease the palpable tension. You look over at him as you stir the pot of chili.

“Is he? I don’t think I’ve seen him since the wedding,” you say. Cas was Dean’s college roommate and he’d quickly assimilated into your group of friends.

“He’ll be glad to hear you’re coming. Get to meet Ella finally,” he says. You nod slightly as a frown slowly spreads across your face. “Y/N?”

“I’ve been a terrible friend since I got married, haven’t I?” You ask, looking over at him again. He shakes his head quickly, walking over to you.

“No. Of course not. You just had other things you had to focus on,” he says, running his hands over your forearms slowly.

“I have. You’re the only friend I’ve really kept up with. I only know what’s going on with anyone because of you,” you tell him, fresh tears beginning to form. He sighs and wraps you up in his arms quickly. You bury your face in his chest, allowing the sobs to take over once again. He runs a hand over your hair, pressing his lips against your temple.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he says, his voice soft and comforting. You shake your head slightly as you lean away from him.

“I think I’m gonna go take a bath,” you say, wiping at your eyes. He nods, watching you closely.

“Okay. Take your time,” he says. You nod before leaving the kitchen and going down to Dean’s room. You move into his attached bathroom and sit on the edge of the tub, turning the water on.

Once you’ve got the water set to a warmer temperature, you move back into the bedroom, beginning to undress. You slip out of your jeans and toss them onto the bed before pulling your shirt off. Something catches your eye in the mirror as you pass by. You drop the shirt at your feet as you stare at the scar on your stomach. With a trembling hand, you run your fingers across the unfamiliar patch of skin.

“D-Dean!!” You call out, panic rising up quickly. It was the same scar from your dream. A scar you shouldn’t have. The door swings open and Dean steps into the room quickly.

“What’s wrong??” He asks, worried. He stops short at the sight of you in only your bra and underwear, his eyes widening. You look back at him quickly.

“This scar!! It’s from my dream!! It shouldn’t be there, Dean!!” You tell him, pointing to the place on your stomach. Dean looks to where you’re pointing and frowns.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” He asks, looking back at your face. You stare at him.

“Dean, I shouldn’t have a scar on my stomach like this!!” You nearly shout, your voice trembling. He takes a cautious step forward.

“There isn’t a scar, Y/N,” he says. You look back at the mirror quickly and freeze. He was right. There wasn’t anything there. A few stray stretch marks from your pregnancy but not the scar you’d just seen.

“That’s not…I saw it. I felt it,” you say, running your fingers over the now smooth skin. You catch sight of Dean in the mirror, his gaze averted.

“Maybe you should put some clothes on,” he says. You roll your eyes before examining the skin again.

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” you mumble. He sighs and runs a hand over his face before walking over and standing behind you in the mirror. “It was there, Dean,” you tell him. He reaches around you carefully and takes your hands in his, linking your fingers together, as he wraps both arms around your midsection.

“You don’t have a scar on your stomach, Y/N. You never have,” he says, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror. You give him a skeptical look and he just barely smiles in response. “I’ve seen everything. I memorized every inch of this body. I can tell you everything about it.”

“Dean –”

“There’s a half moon shaped scar on your left knee from when we were kids, racing our bikes in Bobby’s scrapyard. There’s a group of chicken pox scars on your inner right thigh that look like a smiley face. The stretch marks are newer but Ella gave you those so I love them.” His voice is soft against your ear as his fingers graze over the marks on your stomach, his eyes never leaving your face. “My favorite scar is probably this one,” he says as he lifts your right hand.

“Wasn’t your favorite when it happened,” you tell him with a slight smirk. He lets out a laugh before brushing his lips across the back of your hand.

“You shattered your knuckles punching a guy who got a little too handsy at a party in college. If Cas hadn’t been there, I would be in prison right now. At the time, I was mad as hell. Now…it’s kinda sexy,” he says. You laugh lightly and he presses a quick kiss to your cheek.

“Can’t forget your tattoo. The little butterfly on your right side at the top of your ribs. Usually hidden by your bra. I took you to get it on your 18th birthday and had to hold your hand the whole time,” he says. You smile a little more at the memory. “Then there’s your birthmark. Each freckle and mole. I know where every single one is. I know where every ticklish spot is,” he adds, his fingers brushing against your sides, earning a soft giggle from you. “I know where every sensitive spot is.” He lips graze your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. “I know every inch of this body and there has never been a scar on your stomach.”

His eyes meet yours once again. You pull your hands from his before turning in his arms to face him. Reaching up slowly, you run your fingers into his hair. His eyes close as he leans down, resting his forehead against yours. You take a shaky breath as your noses barely brush against each other. You’re just starting to raise up to meet his lips when a smell drifts into the room.

“Something’s burning,” you mumble before your eyes shoot wide open. “The pie!!” You exclaim before rushing from Dean’s arms and out of the room.

You run into the kitchen and pull the door to the oven open quickly. Without thinking, you reach in with your bare hands and grab the dish, pulling the slightly blackened pie out. Pain shoots through your hands and you let out a scream before dropping the pie onto the floor. Dean’s running into the room in the next second, pulling you to the sink. He runs your hands under cold water briefly before leading you back to the bathroom quietly. As carefully as he can, he applies some burn cream to the already forming blisters before wrapping them up.

“Sorry about the pie,” you tell him as he finishes up. He laughs lightly and shakes his head.

“I’m more worried about your hands,” he says. You bite your lip then smile a little.

“Just a few more scars,” you say. He smiles a little more and nods before moving across the bathroom. He turns off the bath water you’d forgotten was even running then walks over to you.

“Take your bath, Sweetheart. I’ll clean up the pie then we can eat,” he says before pressing a kiss to your forehead and leaving you alone.

The rest of the night passes uneventfully. You soak in your warm bath for about 30 minutes before getting out. After dressing in an old T-shirt and some pajama pants, you meet Dean in the kitchen for dinner. The two of you eat in silence then you help Dean put the leftovers away. A brief goodnight is exchanged and you kiss his cheek before going to bed. Sleep overwhelms you quickly as soon as you hit the pillow.

A bright light fills the room and you open your eyes slowly, blinking. Sitting up, you look around the room. Sam’s sitting at the table in the corner, his laptop open in front of him. The morning sunlight is streaming in through the pale yellow curtains of the motel window. You let out a groan and put your face in your hands before gasping in pain. Pulling your hands away immediately, you stare down at them.

The burns are still there.

“Sam, get over here!!” You call to your friend without taking your eyes off the blisters. Sam jumps up and rushes to your side. His eyes widen as he takes in the wounds.

“Oh my, God, Y/N. What did you do?” He asks. You shake your head slightly as you continue to stare down at your hands. “I think we’ve got some cream somewhere,” he says, turning to find his bag.

“Sam!!” You practically yell as your eyes widen. He looks back at you then down at your hands again. His stares in disbelief as the wounds heal right before both of your eyes.

***

Forever Tags: @roseblue373

Jensen Tags: @lostin-jensenseyes

Dream Warriors: @aylacavebear @winharry @djs8891 @suckitands33 @rickgrimeswifeu @deans-spinster-witch @jackles010378 @foxyjwls007 @cutiesarah @urinternetmom @justrealizedimmascifygurl l @kr804573 @thej2report @just-levyy

#fanfic #fanfiction #supernatural #spn #dean winchester #reader insert #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean x reader

91 notes · View notes

peterparkersnose · 2 years

Text

Secret

Din Djarin x reader

Din Djarin x fem!reader

Mandalorian x reader

word count: 1.1k

warnings: pregnancy, pregnant reader, mentions of periods, hiding a pregnancy, violence, din’s horrible baby name suggestions, reader and din are married, grogu is in the story

a/n I know many people don’t like pregnancy stories, but this is so cute. I love Din Djarin. look how cute pedro looks in that gif

summary Y/N tries her best to hide her pregnancy from Din.

masterlist

join the tag list

read time: 4 mins 2 seconds

Three months. You think. That was the last time you had gotten your period. You also had been gaining a bit of weight. Not enough to be noticeable, but you were so critical of everything about yourself. Your pants were not as flexible as they used to be, which pissed you off. You needed to be flexible to fight. But you knew in your gut that your fighting days were coming to an end.

The first thing that alarmed you was Grogu. About three months ago he started sticking to your side. Constantly. He would cry if you went into town without him. He would follow you to the bathroom. He insisted to be at your side always, no matter what. Showering, cooking, going out and helping Din bounty hunt. Grogu always had to be there or he would throw the worst temper tantrums Din said he’s ever seen. You had to even make a makeshift baby sling so he could be as close to you as possible. Ironically, it would make great use to you in a few months.

You accepted you were pregnant when you weren’t getting the usual symptoms you would usually get for your fourth period. You have denied it for the past three months, but when your tiny bump started to grow bigger, you had to face the truth.

Din of course had noticed a change in your behavior. You were more tired. He attributed that to the kid’s new obsession with you though. You were eating more. He didn’t mind it, but he would notice it when the food stock ran out earlier than usual. And when he was due to pick up sanitary items for you, you refused them.

“I have some left over, they were lighter these past few months.” you lied.

And the clothing. It was always cold on the ship, but wearing two sweatshirts was a bit obsessive. He wasn’t going to comment though, you were allowed to live. He wasn’t going to critique his wife over some small changes.

You heard rustling around the bedroom. Grogu was snoring at your hip. You then felt the coldness of your husbands spot next to you and went to investigate.

Taking Grogu with you, you checked the whole ship. The fresher, the pit, everywhere. The last place you were to check was where he kept the bounties. You were banned from entering when there was one un frozen. The guy you two picked up at the last planet seemed pretty docile though. He was only wanted for a taxing issue with an imperial general, and was pretty willing to go. You two made small talk on the way back. Seemed like a nice enough guy.

What bounty can really be that nice though?

You tapped in the code. When the doors whooshed open, you found your husband with the prisoner. Maskless, Din was trying to get the man off the top of him. He had stolen Din’s knife, and he was struggling to get him off.

You gasped and rolled Grogu on the floor, jumping into action to save him. As the man twisted his torso to face you, he got a good swipe on your hip. You swore in pain, but your distraction was enough for Din to hit him in the head with his helmet and knock the guy out cold.

He fell on top of Din, and you struggled to stand and help. “Dont!” he yelled, using all his force to push the heavy man off of himself and tend to you.

“Where did he get you- where are you hurt?” Din scrambled, searching your body with his hands. This sent you into a panic.

He can’t know yet. He can’t know yet. I’m not ready.

“I’m fine, please.” you protested, but hissed when Din found the spot on your hip. “Take your sweatshirt off, I’m going to go find some bacta” he demanded, leaving your side for only a moment.

You had to face the sad reality when you realized you had to tell him. Bacta wasn’t to be used on pregnant people.

“Din- wait.” you sighed, holding the cut through your shorts. “Y-you cant,”

“What? You need this,” he questioned, grabbing the container from the cabinet. “Don’t be difficult Y/N, I’m really not in the mood for one of your martyr moments.” “Din, no, it’s unsafe.” you whispered. “You gotta speak up Y/N,” he said, shaking the can to spray in your face. You panicked and slapped the can out of his hand across the room.

Din looked at you, pissed. “The hell was that for?”

“You can’t use that on me.” you finally said.

“Why?”

You took a deep sigh.

“I think I’m pregnant.”

His eyebrows rose as his face went soft. His mouth opened a bit, looking at you with a haze. A slight smile came to the corner of his lips as he knelt down beside you.

“Your joking,”

You pulled off your sweatshirt to reveal your cropped shirt under it. Din saw the small formation of a bump and gasped. “No,” he said in astonishment, reaching out for it. “C-can I touch it?” he asked. You smiled and nodded. His hand touched your stomach and he let out a tiny whimper. “I’m going to be a dad?” he asked, breaking his gaze from your stomach to your eyes. His eyes were glossy with a tear threatening to fall.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, remembering the unconscious man behind the two of you. He began to drag his body to the freezer. “I didn’t know you’d react like this,” you chuckled, rubbing the area around your wound.

“Grogu!” Din yelled, catching the attention of the small creature. He had found the can of bacta and was playing with the safety seel on it. “Heal your mother,” he asked. Grogu waddled over to you. He let out an excited giggle when he finally saw your stomach out in the open. You had finally revealed the secret he had known for months. He placed one hand on the cut and one on the stomach, healing your wound. You scooped him off the floor and followed Din into the freezer. You heard the satisfying whirr and your husband throwing his body into storage.

Din then ran up behind you, scooping you up bridal style. “I am over the moons happy Y/N.” he said, looking down at Grogu in your lap.

He placed you in your bed and tucked you in.

In the middle of the night silence, Din broke it.

“Should we name it Greef?”

“Over my dead body,”

“What about Grogu 2?”

“Go to bed Din.”

3K notes · View notes

bagopucks · 1 year

Text

C. Caufield - Misunderstand Us

✄————————————

Cole Caufield x Reader

Requested✨

Word Count: 3.8k

Warning(s); insults, cursing, arguments and fighting.

Not exactly enemies to lovers, but enemies to ‘on the way to lovers’

—————————————

The soundtrack of Grease played through my earbuds as I pulled a sweatshirt on and stepped out of my bedroom. The cool wood floor greeted my once warm feet as I walked down the hall and eventually down the steps. The Hughes lake house was too quiet. Especially for it being the middle of the day, with more than three boys inside. When Quinn invited me, I only agreed because I hadn’t planned my own vacation. I never imagined how difficult it would be to live in a house with guys everywhere. I knew though, that the silence was the consequences of horrible hangovers from a night of heavy drinking. They were all either still in bed, or slinking around somewhere like zombies.

My only lifeline was Ellen when she came to visit. My sweet relief was seeing her car in the driveway on some afternoons, to free me from the testosterone filled prison that was the lake house.

When I heard a thud, I was quick to pull one of my earbuds out. The noise came from the kitchen, and I assumed that’s where I would find the boys.

I rushed into the doorway, and drew in a deep breath to greet them- until I realized the room was empty. Aside from one blonde haired boy on his knees, on the counter.

“Damnit!” I heard him mutter. Cole. The one guy I simply couldn’t get along with.

“Keep reaching, sweets.” I immediately spoke, startling the blonde- who almost fell off the counter when I startled him.

He turned his body to look back at me, surprise melting into distaste.

“Shut up.” He glared before he looked back at the cabinet he was trying to reach the back of. The cereal cabinet. I smirked and shook my head.

I never meant to have an issue with Cole. My hatred simply developed when we first met. He was very forward.. flirtatious and cocky. I couldn’t stand it. Apparently he didn’t like my attitude much either. In my defense, I was used to guys being horribly up front and unnecessarily close to me. I expected Cole to have a little more class considering his friends were all decent humans. I had been incredibly wrong.

“Where’s everybody else?” I asked as he finally got ahold of the cereal and hopped down from the counter. Though I’d never say anything to him, I did hate whoever made the decision to put the cereal in an overhead cabinet. I especially hated Trevor for pushing all the cereals to the back the day prior, when I had been trying to grab a box.

“Still in bed.” Cole set the box down on the counter. “Why are you up?”

“I don’t know.. let me think about it.” I placed my finger on my chin, feigning cluelessness before I walked over to the blinds and reached for the string hanging by them. One tug, and that beautiful sunlight came shining in.

Cole groaned and reached up to rub his eyes.

“Oh yeah! That’s why I’m up.” I pointed outside.

“Fuck you.”

“Feeling’s mutual.” I walked past him toward the kitchen door, and swiped the box of cereal on the counter as well. “Have fun getting another box, Colton,” I teased, waving the cereal box in the air like a trophy as I left the kitchen.

“That’s not my name!”

It was not the first tense encounter we had, but I never assumed it to be Cole’s breaking point.

“You know what?” I flinched at the sound of his voice. He had never been a particularly deep speaker, but that didn’t change how intimidating it was to hear him so angry.

I clutched the cereal box in both hands and slowly turned just as I had stepped onto the first step of the staircase.

Cole stormed out of the kitchen and toward the steps.

“I’m so sick of your shit!”

I raised a brow at him.

“Relax, Cole.” Perhaps my tone didn’t have to be as nonchalant. I could understand how much worse my seeming carelessness made the situation the second I saw Cole clench his fists.

“No! I’m so sick of relaxing! I never did a single thing to you! I don’t even know how Quinn stands you!” I heard the sound of a door opening, and felt my cheeks flush from embarrassment. I dreaded seeing the face of whoever would come down the steps.

I wasn’t that unbearable, was I? I didn’t treat anybody else as harshly as I treated Cole. He simply rubbed me the wrong way. And it wasn’t like the insults and harsh words were one sided.

“I’d say I don’t know how Jack can tolerate you, but let’s be honest.. he’s about the nicest and most easygoing guy I know. You’re probably just somebody he keeps around out of pity.” I could see the flash of hurt in his features before anger quickly replaced it. Somehow, I felt powerful knowing I had struck a chord.

I wasn’t the type to enjoy the power of hurting people, but it did ease my mind to know I had one upped him in this battle of insults.

“What the hell is going on?” I finally heard the person at the top of the steps. Oddly enough, it was Trevor.

“Nothing, Trevor. Cole’s being a fucking asshole.” I threw my arms down to my sides and turned to storm up the steps. Trevor knew better than to stop me. He stepped out of my way when I made it to the top.

“Cole? Buddy?” Though Trevor spared me a nervous glance, I was not the one he spoke to. He swiftly disappeared down the stairs to greet his blonde friend.

I could hear movement in both Jack and Quinn’s rooms as I walked by, and I made quick work of getting into my room to change. I needed a day away from the boys and the noise. Cole and his stupid attitude. All the stress.

Quinn promised I’d have a fun vacation. It didn’t seem so fun now.

I shouldn’t have slammed the door, a fact made known to me the second I heard somebody knocking. I set the cereal box down on my nightstand. What was once a trophy was now a sign of shame. I pulled my earbuds out and unplugged them, throwing them on the bed. I walked over to my dresser to grab a new shirt and a pair of shorts.

I heard Jack yelling for Cole and Trevor. This had to be Luke or Quinn.

“Hey? Can I come in?” Quinn. His voice came just as I slipped my shirt on. I grabbed a pair of socks from my dresser and put those on as well before I grabbed the nearest pair of tennis shoes. I finished changing before I answered.

“That’s fine.” I mumbled. I walked over to my bed and sat down, slipping one shoe on as Quinn opened the door and stepped inside. He resealed my privacy by closing the door once again behind himself.

“Hey. What’s going on?”

“Nothing, Quinn.” I put my next shoe on.

“Look, I know you and Cole haven’t gotten along well, but-“

“Uh uh. No. Don’t say a word.” I shook my head as I swiftly walked over to Quinn. I stoped in front of him, only to reach behind him to grab my bag, hanging from the door handle. A tiny black book bag that held my wallet and keys, and other essentials I needed for a day out.

“Come on,” Quinn pleaded as I pulled my door open, giving him no choice but to jump out of the way.

“I’m going out, Quinn. You can tell your ass of a friend to fuck off. And if I’m really that intolerable, I’ll pack my bags and leave at the end of the week.” Quinn looked both perplexed and concerned.

“What did he say to you?”

I wasn’t going to answer. I was already halfway down the hall when he finished speaking. By the time Quinn tried to catch me, I was out the front door. And I had no shame in slamming it.

Me? Insufferable?

I may have had a few loud moments here and there. I certainly wasn’t perfect. But what made me insufferable?

Cole was whole loads of unbearable.

With the way he spoke to me. Told me I was beautiful the first time we met. Made a joke about how we were set up. Made me feel stupid and tricked me into thinking he was interested. Just to make jokes about me days later -though I had insulted him first, and I had been the first offender-. Who did he think he was?

I drove blindly into chaotic traffic, and well until I found a mall to shop my blues away in. I had turned my phone off to ignore the messages and calls from any of the boys. I didn’t want to hear from them. I needed space.

Something only Quinn truly knew how to give.

The mall though. The mall knew exactly how much space I needed. Me, myself, and an armload of bags. A new pair of sunglasses, a cute crop top, a few different pairs of pants. I shopped until I felt like I’d settled enough to think of Cole or that lake house and not physically seethe. And then I took myself to dinner.

Only when I got sat down, did I turn my phone on. The texts from Jack ended after twenty. Quinn only sent ten. Trevor sent enough that I wasn’t going to count them. I was even surprised to see a text from a number I never put in my phone. A simple,

Hey it’s Cole. I’m really sorry

I wanted to correct his punctuation, but instead, I ignored all three of the boys.

I deleted the missed calls, opened contact names so texts wouldn’t be considered unread, and then I set my phone face down on the table.

When the waiter came, I ordered my comfort food, and I sat quietly listening to the music in the background for around an hour while I ate. Not rushed, uninterrupted, and quietly.

I let Cole’s apology sink in, but I didn’t want to respond. If he was sorry, that was fine, but if still didn’t explain anything.

It wasn’t until I payed and walked back out to my car, that I opened my phone and looked at the message again. I absentmindedly slipped my key into the ignition, then I noticed a bright red light from the corner of my eye. I looked toward my speedometer, and my heart sank.

If how much I spent shopping wasn’t a tell of my angry decision making, then electing to ignore the fact that I was low on gas, was a good enough example.

I wouldn’t make it home. I wouldn’t even make it to a close enough gas station.

I swallowed my pride, dialed my emergency contact, and waited.

“Hey! Are you okay? I couldn’t see your location, I got a little nervous.”

I sighed and glanced down at my steering wheel.

“I’m fine. I just- I went shopping and had an early dinner.”

“You could have told us.”

“I’m sorry, Q. Really.. I just- I needed some space.”

It was his turn to sigh.

“Are you okay?”

“Not really.. no.”

“What’s up?”

“My gas tank is almost empty. I don’t know how I’m getting home.” I was greeted by silence on the other line, other than the muffled voices I could hear.

“You’ll have to- well… My brothers and Trev- we all went golfing. We’re like- two hours away..”

“Shit, Quinn. I don’t wanna sit in the dark parking lot that long.” I complained, though I knew it was not his fault.

“We can definitely come get you.. or you could call Cole.” I clenched my teeth. “He’s closer than we are.”

“Why didn’t he go with you guys?” I had to ask.

“He needed some space too. You guys both said some pretty mean shit to each other. Jack and Trev aren’t happy with either of you.”

Right.. because we had mutual friends. They were mad at me for being rude and mad at Cole for being rude. At least they weren’t picking sides.

“Can’t you guys just come get me?”

“Come on. If it’s really that bad I’ll pick you up, but we’re just finishing this match and we had our own plans.”

It was selfish of me to make the boys quit what they were doing because I couldn’t be mature. I gave in quickly.

“I’ll give Cole a call.”

“Good. Just try to keep things civil, eh?”

“I’ll try.”

I hopped from one call to the next. I hung up on Quinn, and pulled up my texts to find the number I didn’t have in my phone. I pressed call.

Cole didn’t pick up near as quickly as Quinn did, but he picked up nonetheless.

“Who’s this?”

“You’ll never guess,” I quipped. The words slipped before I could stop myself.

“Oh.”

I closed my eyes and took in a breath.

“If I share my location with you, will you come pick me up?” I opened my eyes and looked out into the parking lot. I made sure my doors were locked.

“Why?”

“My car’s almost out of gas. I can’t get home.”

I hated the silence I was once again greeted with. These boys were horrible at saying, ‘hold on,’ or ‘one moment.’

“I’ll be there.” I heard a jingle of keys and I felt my hopes lift.

“Oh thank you so much C-“ I paused. Now the silence was awkward. Not contemplating. Awkward.

“No problem.”

I would be the first to admit, I hung up after he spoke, with the speed of a cheetah. I set my phone down and turned my car off to save what little fuel it did have. Within the silence and the darkness, I eyed my surroundings.

My eyes skimmed over a man standing in the lot by the mall entrance. I thought nothing of him, until my mind wandered. I checked to make sure my windows were all the way up, and that my doors were locked once again.

He could be innocently waiting for someone. A wife or child, lover or sibling. Or he could be up to something else. One could never be too sure.

I waited anxiously, almost two hours for Cole. My car got cold quickly, and I found myself rubbing my arms to warm up just as his headlights flashed in my rear view mirror. I had to stop myself from thanking God for Cole Caufield.

He quickly got out of his car, dressed in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt like it wasn’t chilly outside. I unlocked the car doors and swiftly stepped out. He met me as we approached each other around the hood of my car.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” I nodded.

“Do you need anything out of your car?”

“All of my bags are in the trunk. I can get them.” I shivered and waved a hand at him. I turned and made my way around to my trunk, only to realize Cole followed me when I opened it and saw his hands reaching for my bags. I glanced at him, but he didn’t seem to notice. Too focused on the task at hand.

“Can you pop my trunk?” He asked, and I swiftly nodded. I walked over to his car, next to my own, and opened his trunk. He set my bags down with ease, raising a brow only when he heard the clinking of bottles.

We made eye contact.

“I like wine.. I’m not drinking piss all the time.” I spoke as if it were obvious. I didn’t mind beer, but I had things I liked better.

Cole cracked a smile, and I grew conflicted with my own emotions.

I helped him move the last of my bags into his car before he closed my trunk.

“Anything else?” I shook my head, a shiver wracked my body. Cole slipped past me, walking between our cars and opening his back seat door. He pulled a sweatshirt out and handed it over to me. It was one of mine.

“I grabbed it. I figured you might be cold.” He held the sweatshirt out, and I hate to say that I took note of the way our fingers brushed when I took it from him.

“Thanks, Cole.” I whispered as I looked down at the shirt. I slowly pulled it on.

“Why don’t you get in? I bet you wanna be back at the house.”

That I did.

Cole and I didn’t exchange much more after that. The drive wasn’t as tense as I expected it to be, but it also wasn’t calm. In the end, I curled up in his passenger seat and dozed off well until we were back at the lake house.

I eventually woke up to a nudge on my shoulder and the feeling of cold air kissing my lips. I licked them out of impulse, my eyes fluttering open slowly.

I was met by the sight of an Angel, his halo illuminated by the street light above.

I had to remind myself it was Cole I was looking at. Not a Saint.

“You coming inside?” He teased with a smirk. A pinch of my resentment for him returned seeing that snarky smile.

I swiftly climbed out of the car, and stretched as I approached the lake house entrance. Cole shut my door for me, seeing as I didn’t give him much of an option.

“Did you want your stuff?” He called to me. I shook my head.

“Just leave it in the car. I’m exhausted. I’ll get it in the morning.”

Cole joined me by the front door in record time. He unlocked it, and I stepped inside only to slink off into the kitchen. I was starving. I heard the door shut and lock. I assumed that was the end of our interaction. Until I heard the distinct sound of Cole’s feather light steps enter the kitchen. I glanced back at him, having just pulled a pizza pan out of one of the cupboards.

We eyed each other in silence. He held an unreadable expression.

“Did you want pizza too?” I asked. Confused.

“No.”

“Then, what?” I asked, seeing as he was staring at me for longer than I appreciated.

Cole’s face scrunched up into a look of uncertainty and discomfort.

He looked away, then back at me. Then away again. “I didn’t mean to ever make you uncomfortable. Or mad.. or whatever I did to make you so upset with me.”

I was shocked. I looked down at the pizza pan as I set it on the counter. My fingers grazed over the lip of the pan.

“What’s done is done.” I shrugged.

“Yeah, but I shouldn’t have said all those mean things. You’re not intolerable.”

“Cole-“

“Quinn just..”

I immediately looked back up at him. What did Quinn have to do with this? We made eye contact and I tilted my head as a signal for him to go on.

“He told me you were really pretty, and that we had a lot in common. And then when I saw you- I got nervous. The cocky thing always seems to work for Jack.” I watched him smile sadly before he shook his head. I didn’t understand why somebody as handsome as Cole felt he needed to use someone else’s method to get girls.

“Well there’s a reason I’m not with Jack.” I leaned forward. I never assumed it was a misunderstanding between us. I assumed Cole was an ass and that was that.

“I know.” The way his voice softened worried me. Cole shrugged and shoved his hands into the pockets of his shorts. I didn’t peg him as the emotional type.

“I guess I’m sorry too. I didn’t know Quinn said anything to you. He’s mentikned you, but not like.. in a suggestion that we might like each other.”

Cole nodded.

“He did mention to me.. the sweet, and funny, and weird version of you though. That’s not got his head up his own ass every day.” I watched the blonde shift his weight before he walked further into the kitchen to sit on one of the stools at the island.

“I don’t much care for the Cole who’s rude and cranky every day. But the Cole who picked me up tonight was really sweet.” I pursed my lips, “and thoughtful.”

I didn’t like him before, but all of our issues had been over nothing. A simple miss-understanding. When one stripped away all of the insults and fights we threw at one another, they could assume there was a chance for us.

“Could we just.. maybe forget about all that stuff?” Cole asked. I could tell he was embarrassed. I should have been too, but for some reason, it was much easier to feel bad when we were both in the wrong.

“As long as we can agree not to have these shitty explosive fights any more.” I reasoned.

“I think we can manage that.”

“I think that’s a good idea.” I leaned forward against the counter and flashed Cole a smile.

“And maybe we could go out and get to know each other tomorrow night?”

I was caught off guard by his suggestion, but I nodded nonetheless.

“I don’t mind the sound of that.”

After taking away every hateful interaction we had, I decided that all I knew of Cole was his name, his profession, and how handsome he was. I knew nothing of him, and if Quinn believed we’d make a good pair, then I’d just have to give it a try.

Cautiously, of course.

I made a small pizza, and the two of us ended up on the couch by the end of the night, in a conversation about animal videos with two empty plates stacked on the coffee table. We eventually moved to the middle of the couch, pressed into one another’s sides, holding our phones out.

We must have gone through a million videos before I set my phone aside to only look at Cole’s.

I felt the weight of Cole’s arm find its way around my shoulder. It was comforting in a way I never expected Cole’s touch to be.

I fell asleep not long after, dozing off as our conversations ceased and silence filled the air. Cole’s occasional giggle would startle me awake, until I reached the point of no return, breathing softly into his shoulder and falling unconscious.

——————

“Five bucks says they’ve killed each other.” Trevor piped up from behind Jack and Quinn, laughing softly.

“I’d hope they haven’t. I’d feel horrible. It’s my fault this happened anyway.” Quinn muttered as he unlocked the door and pushed it open.

“They’re probably in their rooms. Stop freaking out.” Jack complained softly to his older brother as the three walked inside. The soft glow from the living room lamp seeped into the hall. All three kicked their shoes off and snuck into the living room doorway to see who was inside.

“Aw shit.” Trevor mumbled. “There goes my five bucks.”

“This is all it took?” Quinn muttered, incredulous.

“They look comfortable.” Jack folded his arms across his chest.

They eyed Cole, sleeping soundly on the couch with an arm around the girl he’d been feuding with for weeks. Both sound asleep. Both content with one another. At long last.

✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾

#nhl imagine #nhl x reader #cole caufield x reader #cole caufield #cole caufield imagine #montreal canadiens #jack hughes #trevor zegras #quinn hughes #luke hughes

379 notes · View notes

sister-lucifer · 1 month

Text

A Friend in the Alleyway

Jeff The Killer solo fic

Summary: After narrowly escaping an altercation with police, Jeff finds an unexpected critter companion

Genre: Fluff

Content/Warnings: None unless you count a little profanity on Jeff’s part and a singular, brief mention of blood. it’s a jeff the killer fic don’t be surprised when he. yk. jeff the kills

Jeff’s ratty old sneakers skidded on the pavement as he stumbled into the alleyway, brain running at a million miles per hour as his body moved faster than he could ever make it go voluntarily. The ground was still wet from that morning’s rain, and the puddles soaked his shoes and socks and splashed up onto his jeans. The sudden sensation of cold water would have been shocking if he could feel anything but panic. He can hardly see anything with only the moon and a few broken street lamps to light the pavement, but he knows every crevice of this city.

He narrowly escaped the police after hastily climbing down the fire escape of an apartment building. His hoodie is splattered with blood and he dropped the knife somewhere on his way here, it doesn’t matter now. He’s a rat scrambling back into its hole in the wall, barely having escaped the clutches of the predator that stalks around the house he’s made a home. He hates this feeling.

He grasps at his chest as he falls to his knees, collapsing against the wall of one of the buildings making up either side of the alley. His heavy breaths are pushed through yellowed, gritted teeth behind chapped lips that extend into telling scars. They ache when he opens his mouth too far, he’ll have to catch his breath as best he can without panting.

He can feel his heart thumping behind his ribs through his sweatshirt, threatening to break free from its prison and throw itself to the ground of this filthy ally with a sickening splat and the iron smell of blood. His chest burns with agonizing exhaustion.

He’s tired. He’s dirty. He’s a mess. He’s terrified.

But he’s alive.

And he’s free.

“Holy fuck,” Jeff chokes out, almost laughing to himself. He’s not sure what’s funny. He doesn’t know what else to do.

Maybe it’s just the absurdity of all of this. Maybe the flood of relief he’s finally able to feel is making him a bit loopy. It doesn’t matter. He’s alive, and he’s free. That’s all he needs to go on another day.

He allows himself to relax a bit, his legs stretching out only for him to wince as a stinging pain suddenly manifests in his ankle. Shit, did he bust it scaling down that fire escape?

He silently prays as he rolls up the leg of his jeans, then sighs in relief. No, it’s not broken. Bruised, yes, but nothing that won’t heal on its own.

Good. He doesn’t have it in him to coerce an urgent care employee tonight.

He groans to himself in frustration. Frustration at what exactly he doesn’t know, but that’s the only name he can put to his feeling. Maybe it’s a bit of everything.

He’s frustrated with himself for running like a frightened animal.

He’s frustrated with those asshole cops for catching him off guard.

He’s frustrated with all the people in that apartment who get to sleep in a warm bed that belongs to them tonight.

Dammit, dammit, dammit.

“Fucking stupid,” He mutters to himself, reaching up to grasp his arm where it hurts. He’s not sure why it hurts or when he injured it. It’s hard to think about what just happened with the adrenaline still clouding his mind. He’ll worry about that when he calms down.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Is all he can say, repeating it to himself for no real reason. It’s the only word rattling around his addled brain.

He has to pull himself up eventually. He has to leave this alley at some point, he can’t stay here forever, and he’d rather turn himself in than go back to sleeping on the streets. Yet, the idea of even standing at this moment takes far too much energy.

He groans again, rubbing his eyes. When he pulls his hands away again he blinks a few times, and he flinches back when he sees two glowing eyes watching him from the shadows dancing across the wall opposite to him.

A surprised noise leaves his mouth before he can stop it, his back pressing hard against the wall of the alley. He squints in the dark, trying to make out what he’s seeing.

Then the glowing orbs blink, and start to move. His eyes widen as the stalking creature comes forward, padded paws silent against the concrete. It lazily meanders out of the shadows, and he can see now the milky white fur that reflects the soft moonlight and the slit pupils bisecting those bright green irises.

…A cat.

It’s a fucking cat.

He’s on such high alert he was almost scared shitless by a fucking cat.

He scoffs, crossing his arms and scowling at the animal.

“You little— The hell do you want?” He asks with a roll of his eyes, though he’s not sure why. Not like the cat’s going to give him a response.

The animal stops a few feet away from him. It sits down on its hind legs, curling its tail over its paws. It stares at him without a sound, as if it were staring right through him. Jeff raises a brow.

“…What? You think I got something for you? Because I don’t,” He hisses, “Fuck off.”

He reaches down and grabs the first pebble he touches. He hurls it at the opposite wall, losing sight of it in the shadows but hearing it as it hits the bricks then clatters against the roof of a dumpster. It doesn’t even come close to hitting the cat. It wasn’t supposed to. He only wanted to scare it off.

The cat doesn’t move.

Its keen eyes follow the stone until it hits the ground, but then it turns back to Jeff. It blinks slowly, its tail now swaying side to side behind it. It meows softly and tilts its head as if asking a question. Too bad Jeff doesn’t understand.

His expression softens just slightly as he looks the animal over. There’s no collar, no sign of any ownership at all. This cat just wandered out of the shadows of an alleyway. Is anyone taking care of it?

He sits up a bit, tapping the ground between his legs with his nails.

“Pssst, c’mere,” He says softly, attempting to coax the animal over. It doesn’t move.

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. Yeah, he wouldn’t be super eager to approach him in this state either.

“Look, I’m sorry for throwing things, will you just come here?”

The cat considers the offer for a beat before ultimately deciding to accept. It closes the distance between itself and Jeff, sitting between his legs and gazing up at him with those big, green eyes. The reflections in them seem to go on forever, Jeff thinks. He just stares back down at the animal for a few moments, studying its face.

The cat blinks slowly.

Jeff blinks back.

The slightest hint of a smile crosses his tired face before melting away again.

He reaches out towards the creature slowly, trying not to startle it now that it’s close, though the cat doesn’t seem to mind him all that much. He runs a hand down its spine, giving a little scratch to the base of its tail. The cat meows softly before a steady purr starts to rumble in its chest. Jeff chuckles under his breath.

“Oh, you like that, huh?” He says with a lopsided grin. He moves to scratch under the cat’s chin, prompting it to flop over onto its back, paws in the air and fluffy belly on display.

“I guess you like that more,” Jeff laughs, putting a hand on the cat’s stomach and playfully jostling it back and forth. His smile widens at the shaky meow it elicits from the creature. For once he doesn’t even think about the ache in his cheeks as his scars contort to accommodate his grin.

“You’re just a baby, aren’t you?” He wonders aloud, “My hand’s nearly as big as your tummy…”

He moves to gently scoop the animal up, holding it under its front legs and letting gravity pull down its body. He moves it back and forth just to watch its legs swing, and the cat certainly doesn’t seem to mind.

His suspicions are confirmed:

“Oh yeah, yous a little one.”

The cat meows back at him, its eyes crinkling as its mouth opens to release the sound. Jeff mimics the sound clumsily, his voice gruff but sincere.

He sets the cat back on the ground, his hand returning to scratch at the base of its tail. The purring only gets louder. It’s like an engine in the little creature’s throat, running on steam and affection. Jeff loves that sound.

“No collar, no identifying features, no sign of where you came from,” He whispers to himself, though he can tell from the way the cat’s ears perk up it’s certainly listening. It was only a matter of time before Jeff came to the only logical conclusion.

“…How’d you like to sleep in a warm motel room with me tonight?”

The cat chirps happily in reply, nuzzling into Jeff’s chest. He gladly accepts the gesture.

“Good answer.”

The cat sniffs at his hoodie, its nose almost seeming to search for something. It finds it when it notices his hoodie pocket, curiously poking its head inside. Jeff stifles a laugh as the creature pushes itself into the pocket, its face poking out on one side and its tail on the other. It fits, though, and it doesn’t seem to have any intention of moving. Jeff is more than alright with that.

He cradles the cat in his hoodie pocket as he stands up, looking down at it with one of the first sincere smiles he’s had in a long time. He sighs as he peeks out of the alleyway, making sure the coast is clear and pulling his hood over his head before taking the first steps towards the cheapest motel in the city.

“You know what, cat?” He says, and the animal looks up at him expectantly.

“…I think we’re gonna get along just fine.”

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated:)

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

#jeff the killer #creepypasta #creepypasta fluff #creepypasta jtk #jtk fluff #jeffrey woods #creepypasta fanfic #fluff #jeff the killer headcanons #jeff the killer fluff #cat

61 notes · View notes