#popping pills to make the pain pain go away

[lilacmingi]

WHEN YOU’RE ON YOUR PERIOD

My works are 14+ ONLY. If you’re under 14 DO NOT interact with me or any of my works

Pairing: ATEEZ x fem reader

Total word count: 8,580

Note: I tried to be vague here in terms of sanitary products since I know everyone has different preferences, but pads are mentioned in Mingi’s segment

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𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐉𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐆 | 홍중 | w.c. 900

Your eyes snapped open as you were awoken by a wave of painful cramps in your abdomen, the intensity so bad it made you physically react and curl in on yourself, your eyes squeezing shut in response. When that didn't bring any relief, you rolled over on your stomach, then onto your back with your arms resting on either side of your head as you stared at the ceiling.

You tried not to move around too much so as not to disturb your boyfriend, Hongjoong, who was sleeping soundly beside you. No doubt was he up half the night working on music, so you knew he needed his rest.

Quietly, you slipped out of bed to the bathroom and sifted thought your box of sanitary items to get something to put on before sliding back under the covers, silently praying the cramps would ease up enough for you to doze off.

Your fingers curled around the sheets, hands balled into fists as you tried to ignore the pain and go back to sleep. Minutes passed, though it felt like hours, and the cramps were too much to bare, so much that an unconscious, quiet whimper slipped past your lips, your face twisted in agony as you pressed it into your pillow. You didn't realize you had woken up your sleeping boyfriend until he called your name drowsily.

"Y/n? You alright?"

There was no hiding it at this point.

"Just my period. You should go back to sleep."

He ignored your suggestion and propped himself on his elbow, eyes scanning you worriedly. "Are you hurting?"

You nodded.

"Is it bad?"

"Enough to keep me from going back to sleep." You winced as another intense wave of cramps hit your lower abdomen.

"Do you need some medicine?"

"I didn't want to take any unless I absolutely have to."

"I think you need some." He commented, pulling back the covers.

"No." You put your hand out, stopping him from getting up. "You were up late and I'm sure you've got to go to the company and work on music later today."

"I can work on it here just the same as I can at work. I've got all my equipment with me."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." He nodded. "I'd rather be here at home to help take care of you anyway."

With that, he got up out of bed and shuffled down the hallway to the kitchen where he grabbed a bottle of water and some pain medication to soothe your cramps.

"Here, love." He handed the bottle to you after returning to the bedroom, which you gratefully took, dropping a couple pills into your hand.

"Thanks." You popped the tablets into your mouth and washed them down with water before placing the bottle on the nightstand and slumping against the headboard with closed eyes.

A frown etched its way into Hongjoong's flawless features as he brought a hand up to brush your hair away from your face. Being a man, he was unsure of the amount of pain you were in or how intense it was. Despite that, he wanted to make sure you were as comfortable as possible during this time. He was fully aware that this was something you'd dealt with for a long time, yet he had a strong desire to care for you and help you through this time of the month. He cared for you too much to watch you suffer.

Your eyes opened to find Hongjoong still standing over you worriedly, his hand resting on top of your head.

"You can lay back down, you know." You chuckled softly.

He stayed in place for a couple seconds before giving in and crawling back into bed with you, his concerned gaze trained on you the entire time.

"Come here." You beckoned him over and he was by your side in an instant.

"Are you going to be okay?" He asked, his hand finding your lower abdomen and rubbing gentle circles over it.

"Of course I will. I just need to give this medicine time to kick in and do it's thing."

"How are your cramps?"

"They still hurt and I'm still uncomfortable, but the little massage feels nice."

"Good." He smiled, applying a little more pressure causing your eyelids to slide closed.

It's true, the massage was enough to lessen the pain, only the tiniest bit, but it was the gesture that counted.

"Are you feeling hot? Or cold? Are you getting chills? Do you need more blankets? If you're too hot I can turn the air conditioner up or bring a fan in here."

"You act like I'm sick or something." You tittered softly at his rambling. "This is just something I have to deal with every month. I'm used to it."

"That doesn't mean I can't take care of you."

"I guess you're right."

"I know I'm right." He grinned. "You still didn't answer my question."

A light chuckle left you. "I'm fine, Joong."

"Alright. I'll stop with the questions now. But if you need anything, and I mean anything, you let me know. If you're craving something specific or need another bottle of water, anything, just say something."

A fond smile graced your features as you brought your hand up to Hongjoong's hair, lovingly running your fingers through it. "What did I do to deserve you?"

"You're just lucky, I guess." He grinned.

𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐖𝐀 | 성화 | w.c. 850

A knock at your front door sounded through your mostly quiet apartment as you lied in bed curled into a ball.

Not fully awake, you didn't register the persistent knocking for quite some time. Only when it got louder did you sit upright, letting out a frustrated groan. You had started your period the day before and your symptoms were terrible. Your cramps were so bad you had to lie down with a hot pack across your abdomen, the heat making you sweat, though every time you took the pack off, you got goosebumps along your skin and felt freezing cold. To make matters worse, there were breakouts on your face, blotting your skin with ugly, discolored spots, all of these things making you feel gross overall. You hoped whoever was at the door wasn't someone important as you went to answer it.

Your heart dropped to your feet when you saw your boyfriend standing outside.

"Seonghwa!" You exclaimed out of surprise, hurrying to cover your face. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to surprise you. Is it a bad time?"

Yes. Is what you wanted to say.

"I..." You trailed off.

"Are you sick?"

"No. I just look terrible right now."

"That doesn't bother me." He chuckled.

You flinched away when you felt his fingers trying to wrap around your wrists.

"No." You groaned, keeping your hands planted firmly on your face. "It's that time of the month and I'm sweaty, my clothes are soaked, my face is covered in breakouts, I'm bloated, and I'm cramping so so badly that I want to cry."

"Hey." He called out softly, pulling your hands away.

You avoided eye contact with him, not wanting him to see you in such a disheveled state.

His gaze softened when he looked at you, a gentle smile gracing his lips.

"You still look beautiful to me."

You wanted to roll your eyes, but you knew Seonghwa was a genuine person and maybe, even though it was hard to believe, you did look beautiful in his eyes.

"Come on. I have an idea." He took your hand, stepping into your apartment and closing the door behind him before leading you to your bathroom.

You weren't sure what he had in mind, but whatever it was he seemed pleased with himself, so you weren't going to stop him.

Once in your bathroom, he let go of your hand and started rummaging through your cabinets.

"Alright, let's see." He muttered to himself, scanning the items in your bathroom closet.

"Hwa, what are you doing?" You finally asked, a light chuckle accompanying your question.

"I'm giving you a spa day."

"A spa day?" You echoed, your heart fluttering slightly.

"Yeah." He pulled a towel and washcloth from the bathroom closet. "You're feeling bad and what better way to help than to have a spa day? Plus, you deserve to be pampered."

You didn't know if it was your period or your overwhelming love and appreciation for Seonghwa, but you felt like crying.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, my love." He placed a kiss on your forehead. "Bath or shower?"

"Shower."

Though a bath would be nice, nothing beat the feeling of hot water hitting your lower abdomen, right where the cramps were.

Seonghwa was nice enough to get the shower running for you, sticking his hand in to check the water temperature and make sure it was hot enough.

You thanked him as he left the room, removing your clothes after the door clicked shut. The warm steam hitting your skin as you stepped into the shower was a welcomed feeling. You managed to get through your usual shower routine, the hot water helping to soothe your persistently painful cramps, at least long enough for you to finish bathing.

Once out of the shower, you changed into the fresh pair of clothes you brought with you and used the feminine product you had laid out.

Upon exiting the bathroom, you found Seonghwa laid out on your bed.

"How was your shower?"

"Wonderful. I even cleansed my face while I was in there. I feel so refreshed."

"Well, we're not done yet." He got up off the bed. "Come on."

Guiding you back into the bathroom, Seonghwa opened up a little cabinet beside your sink where all your skincare products were stored and pulled out a small box of acne patches.

He plucked one of the star-shaped pimple patches off the plastic sheet, gently instructing you to stay still while he placed the patch onto your face, covering one of the blemishes.

"One more." He murmured, pulling off a second one and sticking it to your chin.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." He placed a kiss to your forehead. "Are you hungry? Would you like something to eat?"

"I'm fine for now. Thank you, though. What I would really like is to cuddle up in bed with you, a heating pad, and something to watch."

"I can arrange that." He smiled happily. "But first, let's get you some pain medicine for those pesky cramps."

"That sounds like a good idea."

𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐇𝐎 | 윤호 | w.c. 1,500

Music echoed throughout the practice room as Yunho danced, hitting each move with sharp precision. His facial expressions were intense and full of emotion as if he were putting on an actual performance on stage in front of fans.

You sat in a chair by the wall, watching him with a mesmerized gaze, enraptured by not only him, but his talent and overflowing passion for dancing. Every so often he would glance at you through the mirror, giving you a little smirk before continuing with his routine, knowing the effect he had on you, especially with the sleeves of his t-shirt rolled up to show off his arms.

As you watched, you were suddenly hit with a wave of cramps so painful it caused you to lean forward a bit, almost curling in on yourself. Your face scrunched up in response to the sharp pain.

You had started your period the night before and was expecting to be hit with these terrible cramps sooner or later—it always happened. When you first start, things are light as your body prepares to run its natural cycle, then on the first official day it hits... and it hits hard. Normally, you're woken up in the early morning hours with the most awful cramps, one's that prevent you from sleeping for a while, but on days like this it hits when you're least expecting it.

Rummaging through your bag, you retrieved a small bottle of menstrual pain relief pills, grateful that you carried some with you at all times. Shaking one out into your palm, you grabbed the bottle of water by your chair and used it to take the medication, thankfully going unnoticed by Yunho. Though you wished it would work right away and rid you of this pain and discomfort, you knew that wouldn't happen.

Attempting to ignore the throbbing in your abdomen, you continued watching your boyfriend move across the wooden flooring of the practice room, hoping for a distraction.

Who were you kidding? Nothing could distract you from from the stabbing pain you were experiencing.

The song ended and Yunho moved over to mess with his phone, choosing another song to dance to, his chest heaving up and down as he huffed out short breaths.

"You're doing so good." You praised him, putting on a smile.

"Thanks." He panted. "I think I'm gonna do a couple more songs before I take a break."

"Don't overwork yourself, okay?"

"I know." He smiled softly, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead.

The next song started to play and he moved back to the center of the room to begin the routine. You crossed your legs and wrapped your arms around your midsection, curling in a bit in an attempt to get some relief. It seemed one of the best positions to be in during your monthly was curling up in a ball, of course, you couldn't exactly do that right now as you were sitting in a chair.

Your cramps eased up for a moment only to return a few seconds later, goosebumps rising on your skin as the air in the practice room suddenly felt cooler than it was moments before. At the same time, you felt yourself starting to sweat a bit.

Great. You groaned internally.

These were the worst kind of cramps; the ones where you're hot but you're cold at the same time, unable to find a comfortable temperature.

Halfway through the song, Yunho noticed your behavior. He caught you squeezing your eyes shut every so often, seeing an uncomfortable expression on your face and the stiffness in your posture. His dancing immediately ceased as he headed towards you, turning the music down.

"Are you okay, love? You look a little washed out." He commented, placing his hand on your forehead. "What's going on?"

"I got hit with the worst cramps ever." You groaned, giving up your act as you slumped forward in both defeat and agony.

"Oh, baby." Yunho cooed, crouching on the floor beside you, his hand rubbing your back. "Do you need some medicine?"

"I took some a few minutes ago. Just waiting for it to kick in."

"Why don't I take you home so you can rest."

"No. You need to practice."

"I've been practicing long enough. You need to be somewhere with a heating pad."

"That sounds nice." You sighed, imagining the soothing heat pressed against your aching lower abdomen.

"Let's go."

"I can't help but feel like I'm preventing you from practicing." You murmured after stepping into the elevator.

"You're not." He assured you, grabbing hold of your hand. "I wanted to get a little practice in and I did."

The last thing you wanted was to be a burden. Yunho was a famous K-pop idol whose group had a giant fanbase. He needed to practice hard and spend hours at the company to perfect and improve his dancing and performance skills. Somehow, you felt you were a distraction that would cause your boyfriend to get in trouble with the entertainment company for "slacking off".

Yunho, who could tell by the distant look in your eyes that you were lost in a whirl of troublesome and perhaps even negative thoughts, gave your hand a light squeeze, bringing you back to reality.

"Are you hungry?" He asked. "Dancing really worked up my appetite."

"Yeah." You nodded. "I had a light breakfast so I could definitely go for some food."

"Good. We can go back to the dorm and I'll order us something. You can pick whatever you want. Oh, I have a heating pad too. That should help with your cramps."

"But I don't have any... stuff there." You responded.

You had one or two menstrual items with you in your bag, but that wouldn't be enough to last you a visit at Yunho's.

"Oh. Don't worry about it. I can stop by a store on the way and buy whatever you need."

His offer was so sweet it had you falling for him all over again.

"You don't have to do all that."

"I don't mind." His round eyes sparkled with the genuine desire to help you out in any way he possibly could.

The elevator doors slid open and the both of you headed through the lobby and out onto the sidewalk where Yunho's car was parked on the curb.

At the dorm, Yunho handed you the plastic bag with the feminine products he had purchased for you on the way.

"What would you like to eat? I can go ahead and order it."

After going through a list of things you were craving, you decided on one and let Yunho know.

Just before he left the room to place the order, he stopped at the doorway. "If you want to change into something more comfortable, you have free range of my closet."

As soon as he left the room, you wasted no time scurrying over to his closet and rummaging through his shirts. What you currently had on was comfortable, but there was no way you'd pass up the opportunity to wear Yunho's clothes.

Pulling one of your favorite shirts of his from the closet, you brought it with you to the bathroom where you switched out feminine products and changed into the cozy shirt.

Yunho returned just a couple minutes later to inform you the order had been placed before rummaging through his closet, pulling out a heating pad.

"Come on." He beckoned, pulling back the covers of his bed and nodding towards the empty space.

You slid under the sheets, staring up at Yunho who worked to plug up the pad.

"You should lie down and use this while we wait on the food. Then maybe your cramps will be gone and you can fully enjoy your meal."

Your heart swelled with adoration at his words.

Yunho laid the heating pad across your stomach before resting his hand on top of it.

"How's that feel?" His gentle voice asked.

"So good." You sighed out, closing your eyes. "My cramps eased up a bit on the ride over here, but this heat is doing wonders."

"Good." The smile in Yunho's voice was evident as he leaned in, brushing your hair away from your forehead to place a gentle kiss there.

You peeled your eyes open to see Yunho grabbing his dog-shaped body pillow which he designed for his birthday merchandise.

"Here. You can hold Pudeongie."

You chuckled, taking the pillow from him and hugging it to your side. Though you preferred to cuddle with Yunho, you couldn't exactly do that with the heating pad laying over your lower abdomen.

"Thank you for taking care of me." You hummed.

"You're welcome, beautiful." He combed a hand through your hair. "I need to get a quick shower and wash all this sweat off. Then we can cuddle properly while we wait for our food."

A content smile settled onto your features. "That sounds perfect."

𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐆 | 여상 | w.c. 1,000

Twice. That's how many times you cried over a commercial that day. Why? Well, you were blaming it on your period, especially since grocery store commercials didn't normally tug at your heartstrings on a normal day. I mean, how can you possibly keep it together when there's a commercial about an animated man who's little granddaughter pulls out an old recipe book from his deceased wife that he hadn't opened in years?

You were wiping away tears that were threatening to spill when your phone chimed from its spot beside you on the couch. Flipping the device over, you were met with your boyfriend's contact photo taking up the entirety of your screen. It was a FaceTime call. Your thumb swiped to accept the call, holding the phone up so he could see you.

"Hi, angel." He flashed that heart-melting smile of his, waving to the camera.

Judging by the background, he was at his dorm in his bedroom.

"Hi, Sangie."

His large eyes suddenly became sad, worried even, while his lips stuck into a pout. "Were you crying? Are you okay?"

"Oh." You glanced at yourself in the camera, noticing the slightly glossy look your eyes were currently sporting.

It wasn't super obvious that you had been tearing up, but Yeosang was always so perceptive when it came to you.

"My emotions are all crazy. I got choked up watching a commercial." You chuckled, finding it a bit humorous.

"So you're not sad?" He wanted to be certain that you weren't upset.

"No." You laughed softly. "Just hormonal."

Yeosang's brows raised, his eyes becoming wider in sudden realization. Then came the flood of questions.

"Do you need anything? Are you hurting? Should I pick up some pads? Tampons? Do you have enough pain relievers? Are you drinking lots of water? I heard being active helps cramps. Have you been active? Are you taking vitamins? There are supplements that help ease period symptoms. Should I get you some of those?"

"I'm fine, Yeosang." You cut in before he could continue, chuckling endearingly at his concerned rambling. "I'm not hurting too bad. It's only the third day so my cramps aren't too bad. They come and go, but they're not as severe as they were on day one. Yes I'm drinking water, maybe not enough, but I'm drinking it. And I've been lounging on the couch since I got out of bed."

"Ah. Sorry. I guess I got carried away." That tiny, shy smile of his made its appearance as he rubbed the back of his neck in a sheepish manner. "Have you been eating fruits or something healthy?"

You nearly snorted. "Actually, I've been indulging in some of the cravings I've been having." You lifted a bag of your favorite chips to the camera. "So, what are you up to?"

"I called because I don't have a schedule today and I wanted to see if you'd like to hang out."

Just the thought of spending time with Yeosang made your heart soar with excitement.

"I would love to."

"Since you're on your period, I'll come to your place. If that's okay with you."

"Yeah." You nodded. "That's perfect, actually."

"Okay." He beamed. "I'll start making my way right now."

"I'll be waiting." You waved. "Love you."

"Love you too."

The FaceTime ended and you tossed your phone back to the couch cushion, briefly considering wether or not you should leave your comfortable spot on the sofa and put some makeup on. It didn't take long for you to to completely disregard the idea. After all, you had just FaceTimed him and he saw your makeup-free (and slightly blemished) face so there was no need covering it up.

A gentle knock on your front door sounded just fifteen minutes after your call with Yeosang. You leapt from your seat and scurried to answer the door. The man you had been longing to see stepped inside, wrapping his arms around you in a cozy embrace while he gently rocked the both of you side to side.

"I'm so happy to see you."

"I'm happy to see you too, precious." He pulled away, gazing at you with those sparkly, brown eyes of his. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm cramping, but it's nothing too bad. Not right now, anyway."

"You sure?"

"Mhm."

"What do you feel like doing?"

"Well, I was watching TV on the couch but I'd kind of like to lie down."

"Okay then we'll cuddle in bed and have a movie marathon."

You hummed in agreement and tugged Yeosang further into your home, guiding him to your bedroom where the both of you got comfortable under the covers.

Your boyfriend had barely gotten situated before you were resting your head on his chest and snuggling into his side.

It was a blessing that Yeosang wanted to come over because it's exactly what you needed at that moment. Being cuddled up next to him made your heart swell and provided you with a cozy feeling in your chest.

"What would you like to watch?" He reached for the remote.

"Actually, do you think you could sing to me?"

Yeosang stiffened just the slightest bit, clearly not expecting the request.

"Of course. Any song suggestions?"

"Whatever you want to sing." You murmured, snuggling further into his chest.

A gentle smile graced Yeosang's statuesque features as he began singing a current favorite song of his. His fingers ran through your hair in a gentle and soothing manner, your eyes fluttering closed in response as you listened to his silky voice, which was doing a great job at distracting you from your cramps that were thankfully going away on their own, albeit slowly.

Yeosang's voice was heavenly. From his low register to his faint lisp that could be heard in his singing. It all had your heart doing somersaults in your chest.

"So beautiful." You murmured sleepily, as Yeosang's gentle ministrations were making you drowsy. "Thank you, Yeo."

This was all you needed.

𝐒𝐀𝐍 | 산 | w.c. 1,400

4 AM. That's what time you were finally able to get to sleep the night before. It was that time of the month and your incessant cramps were so bad not even Midol could fix it. You were miserable. Normally, you could ignore any mild cramps that would inconveniently hit just as you were going to bed, but these were the kind that kept you awake, the pain just a little too intense for you to relax, leaving you tossing and turning for hours on end. Between the cramps and having to get up to pee every five minutes, there was no way you could rest.

It was after barely after 4 AM when your cramps eased up just enough for you to relax and finally doze off.

Presently, it was 12 PM, which meant you got a decent eight hours of sleep, even though your body felt like it needed just a smidge more.

You pushed yourself out of bed, giving a brief glance at the fitted sheet wrapped around the mattress to make sure you didn't have any overnight leaks. With no stains in sight, you shuffled to the bathroom where you went through your usual routine and freshened up, which woke you up a bit and made you feel a little less crappy.

You swapped your PJs for some loose-fitting sweats and one of your boyfriend's shirts that he left at your place before heading to the living room to turn on the television. After a few moments of mindless channel surfing, you found a show that grabbed your attention and decided to watch.

It didn't take long for your cramps to start up again. The ache, while annoying, wasn't anything too unbearable, not like last night, anyway. So you ignored it, sinking further into the couch cushions while keeping your eyes locked on the TV.

You made it through the remainder of the episode before the cramps really ramped up, the sudden increase in pain and discomfort causing you to lurch forward.

Your face contorted in agony, the sharp jabs in your abdomen leading you to jump to your feet and make a beeline for the kitchen where the medicine was kept. You tore open the cabinet and located the pain medicine you so desperately needed. Since your cramps were just as bad as they were in the early morning hours, you took two pills, assuring you'd get the minimum amount of pain relief.

With a hot pack laid across your lower abdominal area, you settled back into the couch cushions and proceeded to watch television, doing your best to focus on the show. Sometimes having a distraction helped to take your attention off the wrath Mother Nature was thrusting upon your uterus.

At some point, you unconsciously started rocking back and forth, partially hunched over. The heat paired with the movement seemed to be helping just a little, however now a very thin layer of sweat covered your forehead and on your shirt where the hot pack was pressed against your abdomen was a damp spot. You huffed, pulling off the hot pack to fan your shirt a bit and cool off. That only caused a wave of goosebumps to rise along your skin, the air in your home being a little too cold for your linking. So you laid the hot pack back across your abdomen. This went back and forth for the next ten minutes or so, only adding to your frustration and discomfort.

"Ha. Ha. I love being a woman." You commented dryly to no one at all, wrapping your arms around your midsection.

You probably looked pathetic all crumpled up and curled in on yourself but you were in the privacy of your own home and you were in extreme pain. You'd do whatever it took to get it to go away.

The stabbing cramps had gotten so bad in such a short amount of time. Your brain was in a haze and all you could think about was the pain. Just when you felt you had reached your limit, your phone rang.

Fumbling for the device, you lifted it to see who was calling. It was San, your loving boyfriend whom you were suddenly missing very much. You accepted the call and raised the phone to your ear.

"Hello, gorgeous." His silky voice came through the speaker.

"Hi, Sannie." You did your best to sound cheery, but the greeting came out as a sort of pained grunt.

"Are you okay?" The pout in his voice was evident.

"No. Not really." You answered honestly. "I'm on my period."

A tiny gasp was heard on his end followed by an, "Oh no."

"Yeah."

"You poor thing." He cooed. "Why don't I come take care of you."

"That would be great."

"I'll be over there as soon as I can, baby."

Less than 20 minutes later, there was a knock at your door which had your heart jumping for joy. As soon as you opened the door, San walked in and pulled you into a hug.

"Hi dear." He murmured as he stroked the top of your head. "Are you hurting?"

"Very much so."

"Ah." He nodded knowingly as you parted ways. "I know what I have to do."

He balled his hands into fists, crouching down at bit so he was level with your lower abdomen. Before you had the chance to question what he was doing, he began to punch the area where your uterus was, stopping right in front of it because, well, he would never actually hit you.

"Stop!" He demanded sharply, going in for another punch. "Stop it."

The phrase was uttered during each strike of his fist, his words being punctuated by his actions.

The chuckles that had begun to spill from your lips were now turning into full on laughter as your boyfriend continued punching at your lower abdomen, demanding that it "stop".

"Thank you, Sannie." You giggled.

The both of you made yourselves comfortable on the couch where San immediately wrapped his arms around you and held you close.

"If you need anything, let me know."

"Okay." You tittered softly.

Having San with you provided a good enough distraction to take your mind off the discomfort in your abdominal area. He would make comments about something on TV and ask questions to help keep you occupied with things besides period pains.

At some point, you stood up and excused yourself to go switch feminine products, doing so in just a couple minutes.

It was only when you were returning to the living room that you realized your abdominal cramps had gone away but a persistent, dull ache had become present in your lower back.

Your face twitched slightly as you shuffled towards the couch, catching your always observant boyfriend's attention.

"What is it?" He asked.

"I'm having cramps in my back."

"You have period cramps in your back?" San asked in disbelief.

"Sometimes." You sighed, unconsciously massaging your lower spine.

Your boyfriend was baffled. San knew periods could be a pain and there were lots of symptoms that varied in intensity, but this was crazy. Why would you get pain in other areas? He didn't think that was very fair.

"Come here." San took your hands, leading you to your bedroom where he insisted you lie down on your stomach.

You did as he asked, getting yourself comfortable on the mattress before feeling it dip under San's weight.

"Tell me where it hurts." His hands placed themselves on your spine.

"Lower."

His palms slid further down your back.

"Right there."

San's thumbs rubbed over the muscles a few times, making long upward strokes as he applied pressure on the sore spots. A sigh passed through your slightly parted lips as relief washed over you.

"Is that good?" He inquired tentatively.

"So good."

San hated that this was something you had to deal with every month. Even though that's just how things were and he couldn't do anything about it, it didn't seem fair.

"I'm sorry you're feeling so icky, pretty."

"I'm far from pretty right now." You chuckled.

"Not true."

His ministrations came to a halt as you lifted your head just enough to glance back at him.

"I'm serious." He insisted with a pout.

"You're too sweet." You dropped your head back onto the pillow as he continued massaging.

"Only for you, lovely."

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐈 | 민기 | w.c. 900

If there was one thing about your period, it was that it showed up at the most inconvenient time.

Mingi's body moved with such fluidity that it had you mesmerized—hypnotized, even. His body control was out of this world and never failed to hold your attention. His oversized sleeveless tee hung off his slim figure, the thin fabric swinging about as he danced with rigor and passion. His movements were so intense sometimes that the hem of his shirt would fly up and reveal his tiny waist and smooth stomach. The sight was a small blessing to your eyes and just another perk of watching him get in an extra practice session on his weekend off. His brows were pulled together in concentration, his sharp eyes fixed on his reflection, inspecting his own movements. He had no idea you were practically drooling over him in the corner of the room.

You were having a wonderful time when suddenly you felt it... the gush.

Right away, you sat upright and pushed yourself up from your seat, standing stiffly in place.

This abrupt and unusual reaction caught Mingi's attention almost immediately and had him scrambling to pause the music.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I just need to go to the bathroom." You excused yourself and headed straight for the practice room door, trying your best to walk normally instead of the usual stiff-legged hobble you would be doing if you were at home.

You had started your period the day prior and it was already in full swing, hitting you with all it had. This morning before you left, everything was light, so you assumed this time around you'd ease into it, but you were so very wrong.

In the bathroom, you closed the stall door behind you, making sure to lock it before taking a seat to assess the damage.

"Oh boy." You whispered under your breath, reaching for your bag and rummaging for an extra pad in the inner side zipper. Empty.

Oh no.

Normally, you had extra feminine hygiene products with you, however, it seemed this time you had forgotten to replace them.

Great.

After washing your hands, you returned to the practice room, shifting from one foot to the other. It appeared that Mingi hadn't moved since you left the room, his normally narrow eyes now round with worry.

"Is everything okay?"

"Uh." You rubbed the back of your neck.

Just say it. It's a normal thing, Y/n. You reminded yourself. There's nothing to be embarrassed about.

"I don't have any pads with me." You confessed embarrassedly.

Mingi blinked owlishly a few times, not quite understanding what you meant.

You gave a vague nod down towards your lower half, trying to communicate without saying it outright.

Mingi's eyes became wider in realization.

"Ohh!"

"Yeah." You sighed. "I forgot to put more in my bag and I need one... like right now."

You were about to apologize for needing to leave so abruptly so you could take care of the problem when Mingi spoke up.

"Stay here. I'll go find you one."

"What?" You questioned, your eyes following him as he hurriedly exited the practice room.

Without receiving a response, you dropped down into the chair you occupied before your hasty exit moments earlier, waiting patiently for your boyfriend to return.

Mingi moved down the halls of KQ, searching for any staff that may be nearby. He popped his head into empty offices and meeting rooms, turning corners and scouring the place for any employees wandering about. The entertainment company had many staff members, so it shouldn't be that hard.

He came upon one of the lounges, poking his head into the room to find two female staff members having a quick snack together.

"Excuse me." He spoke timidly, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed to ask for feminine products. "Do either of you happen to have any... pads?"

He was quick to put himself back in place, reminding himself that he was helping you out.

You were his girlfriend and if you needed a pad then gosh darn it he was going to get one for you, embarrassed or not.

"Oh. I'm sorry I don't." One of the women apologized.

"I do, but I left my bag in my office on the next floor." The other responded.

"Ah."

Mingi didn't want to inconvenience the woman, especially since she probably had a busy schedule so he thanked them both and left, continuing his search.

He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth while his eyes darted around, reading the labels on each door that lined the hall in search of his next place to check.

After three tries, Mingi was able to get you a pad, which he hoped was enough to sustain you for the duration of his solo practice.

Your boyfriend reentered the practice room, holding up the plastic-wrapped square like it was a trophy.

"I got it."

You plucked the item from his hand, pulling him into a hug.

"You didn't have to do that. I was just gonna go to a nearby store and buy some."

"I knew I could find one quicker by asking around."

You smiled softly. "Thank you."

"Of course." He brushed your hair out of your face. "You feeling alright?"

"For now."

"If you need to go home, just let me know."

"I will. Thanks, Mingi."

𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆 | 우영 | w.c. 980

You stepped down the aisle that housed all the feminine products you could ever need, Wooyoung coming to a stop beside you as you eyed the pad and tampon section.

"So what size pu—"

"Don't even finish that sentence." You cut him off, raising your hand to stop him. "I don't want to hear that phrase or that word come out of your mouth."

"Yes ma'am." He saluted.

Huffing, you proceeded further down the aisle until you found what you were looking for.

While scanning the different sizes of products available on the shelves, your ever curious boyfriend wandered up and down the aisle to keep himself busy.

Once you acquired what you were looking for, you turned to see Wooyoung holding a box of tampons, examining the packaging.

"You put these inside you?" He asked in disbelief.

"Woo, put those back."

He did as he was told, his face twisted in either disgust or discomfort, you couldn't tell, as he did so.

"Alright. I've got everything I need." You announced, preparing to head to the register until you realized Wooyoung stayed put, staring with furrowed brows at the plethora of feminine products lining the shelves.

"What is it?"

"Why are there so many?" He asked. "How do you even know what to get?"

"It all depends on what you're comfortable with. Some people prefer tampons, others prefer pads."

"Okay but the pictures on these are different." He pointed to a section of pads.

"Right. Some have wings so the pad stays in place and doesn't squish up and some don't. Again, that's all depending on personal preference. Some pads are thin while others are thick so they can absorb more. They vary in size as well. Some people like longer pads so they don't have a leak while they're sleeping or lying down."

Wooyoung's eyes remained wide, his brows pulled together as he soaked in all this new information, scanning over each plastic package.

"How do you know if you need thin pads or thick ones?"

"That depends on your flow."

"Flow?" He echoed.

You did not expect to be having an in-depth conversation about periods with your boyfriend in the middle of the feminine hygiene aisle but there you were.

Then again, he grew up with brothers. Of course he wouldn't know everything about a woman's menstrual cycle. Also you didn't think that was something that a mother would talk to her son about, especially in detail.

"You know how you can barely turn a faucet on and the water runs just a little, but when you turn it more, a lot of water comes out?"

He nodded.

"That's how it is with periods."

"So you can turn it off?"

"Unfortunately not. That's why we need these things." You gestured to the array of feminine products. "What I mean is, with some people their flow is heavy while others are lighter, so you buy products according to that."

"It's not the same for everyone?"

"Not at all. Some people have very heavy flows. I've even heard of people buying bladder leak pads because they're more absorbent."

"It gets that bad?" Wooyoung gaped.

"Mhm." You nodded.

"And it's the same for the other things too?"

"Tampons."

"Right. That."

"Yes. They've got different sizes according to your flow as well."

"Wow. That's so complicated."

"Not when you've lived with it most of your life." You chuckled. "Let's go."

"Girls get cravings for chocolate when they're on their period, right?" Wooyoung asked as the both of you made your way towards the front of the store.

"It's not always chocolate, but yes. Cravings tend to happen." You responded.

"What do you usually crave?" He asked.

"Usually sweet stuff, but it differs."

"Should I get you some?"

Your expression softened as you looked at him, seeing the genuine care in his eyes.

"Sure."

"Come on then. Let's go see what they have." Wooyoung took hold of your free hand, pulling you towards the snack aisle which was packed with junk food and sweets.

You perused the shelves, trying to figure out what sounded good at the moment.

"Pick whatever you want." Wooyoung told you. "My treat."

That made you stop. "What?"

"Your period stuff, snacks, I'll pay for all of it."

For someone who was making period jokes earlier, he sure was being sweet.

You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek, thanking him for his thoughtful offer.

On the way home, you decided to tease Wooyoung since he barely knew anything about periods, curious to see his reaction to a particular prank you'd seen circulating the internet.

"Did you know pads and tampons come in different flavors?"

Wooyoung's eyes widened. "Flavors?"

"Yeah. Didn't you notice the colors and pictures on the packaging?"

"Yes."

"The color is whatever flavor they are. Green is green apple, purple is grape, pink is strawberry and so on."

"Wait really?"

"Yeah."

"Why? What's the point?"

You shrugged, holding back a grin.

"Are you being serious right now? Do they really have flavors?"

"No." You laughed, throwing your head back as you let loose a string of cackles.

"Y/n, that's so mean." Wooyoung pouted. "I almost believed you."

"Sorry." You laughed. "I just wanted to see if I could get by with it."

"I bought you snacks." His full lips were stuck out as he spoke, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I was just teasing, love." You nudged him.

Unable to keep up his act any longer, Wooyoung cracked a small smile.

"That was pretty good, actually."

"I know." You grinned.

"I think you should make it up to me though"

"How?" Your eyes narrowed, wondering what sort of deal he was preparing to strike up.

"Play video games with me when we get home."

A smiled made its way onto your face at his proposal. "I think that can be arranged."

𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎 | 종호 | w.c. 1,050

The sunlight that seeped in through the window hit your closed eyelids, the intrusion pulling you from your sleep just enough to make you aware of it. You rolled over in bed keeping your eyes shut, snuggling further into your plush pillow. As you slowly began to wake, you stretched your arm across the bed, reaching for Jongho only to be met with an empty space, the palm of your hand hitting the sheets that were crumpled from being haphazardly tossed back into place. The lack of his presence made you frown, sitting up on your elbow while searching the room.

All thoughts of your temporarily missing boyfriend flew right out the bedroom window as a sticky and somewhat uncomfortable feeling below caught your attention. The all too familiar heart-stopping feeling was something you knew well. Without wasting another second, you shot up out of bed, jerking back the covers to find an ugly, red stain on the fitted sheet.

"No, no, no, no, no." You murmured the same word over and over again in a panic.

This was Jongho's bed and it was his sheets you'd just ruined.

"Crap." You hissed, rushing to your bag to grab an extra pair of underwear and fresh pants, taking your toiletry bag with you as you slipped into the bathroom to clean yourself up. While in the bathroom, you managed to get most of the bloodstain off your panties thanks to some cold water and hand soap, which seemed to do the trick. The process was repeated for your pajama bottoms.

Once you were finished, you went back to Jongho's room and promptly stripped his bed, wadding your stained underwear and pajama pants up with them.

You weren't sure where Jongho was, but you hoped you could make it to the laundry room without being noticed.

The universe must've been against you because as soon as you stepped out of the bedroom, Jongho was standing there in the hallway.

"Jongho." You uttered his name dumbly.

"Y/n, you're awake." He smiled softly, his eyes dropping down to the crumpled wad of fabric in your arms. "Why do you have the sheets?"

"I sweat pretty bad last night." You lied. "I didn't want to leave your sheets stinky so I'm going to wash them."

"Oh. You don't have to do that. I can wash them."

You pulled the heap away from him just as he reached out to take them from you. "It's okay. I got it. Really."

He held his hands up in surrender. "Alright."

You hurried past him and into the laundry room, lying the sheet across the top of the washer and dryer along with your underwear and pajama bottoms as you rummaged through Jongho's detergent to see if he had a stain stick or something to pretreat the splotch before tossing it into the wash.

You pushed past bleach, fabric softener, and laundry scent crystals, but you couldn't seem to find any stain remover.

Jongho heard your noisy rummaging from the other room, going to check on you and see if you needed any help. When he stepped into the laundry room he saw his sheets laid out, a dark red stain standing out against the gray fabric. Along with it was your panties and the pair of pajama bottoms you had worn to bed the night before, an equally as noticeable stain on them as well.

Your eyes were blown wide like a deer in the headlights as embarrassment and mortification hit you like a massive wave, your entire face set on fire due to the situation.

Not only had Jongho seen the ugly stain you left on his (probably expensive) sheets, but your underwear and pajama bottoms as well.

You should have moved. You should have scrambled to grab your panties and hidden them behind your back, but you were completely frozen in place, unable to move. As if that wasn't bad enough, you could feel what was sure to be a painful series of cramps coming on in your lower abdomen.

Jongho's eyes met yours and you let loose, sputtering what could only be classified as word vomit.

"I'm so sorry I ruined your sheets. I promise I'll get the stain out. I know it's gross and it's embarrassing."

"It's not gross." He responded, his expression showing no disgust whatsoever. "You can't control it."

"What?"

Jongho shrugged. "It's only natural."

You couldn't ignore the way your heart thumped. Of course Jongho wouldn't think something like this was a big deal. You should've known better. Nothing ever phased him.

Jongho's eyes drifted back over to the sheets on the washer where your undergarment was still laid out for him to see.

"Don't look at those." You stepped in front of your unmentionables to block his view.

"Why?" He chuckled amusedly. "It's just underwear. You've seen mine before."

"That's because you don't know how to keep your room clean and they're tossed on the floor."

"Touché. But it's still just underwear. No big deal." He stepped forward, rubbing the top of your head. "You're worrying too much, pretty."

You huffed softly, sticking out your bottom lip in reluctant defeat.

"Now let's take care of these sheets. What were you looking for in here?"

"Something to pretreat the stain."

"Ah." Jongho moved over to his laundry products, pulling out a spray bottle. "I believe this is what you were searching for. This should do the trick. I've used it to get coffee stains out of my clothes plenty of times. Works like a charm."

"Thanks." You took the bottle from him and sprayed the stains on everything before tossing them into the washing machine.

"I'll start the wash." Jongho volunteered, messing with the settings and starting the laundry cycle.

He came up and rubbed your back soothingly.

"You feeling alright?"

"For now. The cramps haven't started up yet, but I'm sure they will."

"If they do, I've got a heating pad you can use."

Your gaze softened while a gentle smile graced your features. "Thank you."

"Of course." He stroked your hair in a caring manner. "Are you hungry? You want anything to eat?"

"Some breakfast sounds nice."

"Alright. I'll make you your favorite." He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "You just sit and I'll make it."

★ ────────────────── ★

Masterlist ᝰ — enjoyed this imagine? reblogs & comments are very much appreciated!

DO NOT steal, plagiarize, copy, repost, alter, or translate my works in any way

★ ────────────────── ★

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#ateez x reader #ateez x you #ateez x y/n #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez reactions #ateez oneshot #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #san x reader #mingi x reader #wooyoung x reader #jongho x reader #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop reactions #kpop oneshots

[oval3000]

Chapter 2

Yandere Psych Patient König x Nurse Reader

Warning: Possesive, Obsession, Death, Gore, Blood, Smut, Toxic behavior, age gap.

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

(This story might suck idk)

-------------------------------------------------------

Jacob slammed one of the medicine drawers close after getting the bottle of pills from a specific patient. "I don't know what miracle came down here, but we haven't had an accident in a month." He said to a fellow nurse standing next to him.

"Don't jinx it," she said grabbing the pill bottle from his hands.

"You know," he stared at your section, watching as you typed what you needed into the computer," ever since she started working here, König hasn't bashed anyone's heads."

"Well it's only been a month since she started working here, I wouldn't be relieved yet." She said, popping two pills into a Dixie cup.

"Yeah well I'm very optimistic about this." He got up and walked away. "Oh if the drawer gets stuck again, just bang on it a few times."

"It would be better if they just get new ones," she sighed, walking away towards her row of patients.

He rolled his eyes, "please they're too stingy to buy new bed sheets."

You have been working here for a month and so far everything was okay. You do what you need to do and things go smoothly.

As for König, he hasn't said or do anything towards you. You honestly felt like they were fooling you by telling you all those stories about his past nurses and guards.

You learned more about the staff names on all floors. König's two guards are named Eli and Gabriel. They both make sure that nothing happens to you aswell as any other staff.

You met Dr. Smith. You first impression of her was a little stiff. Mainly because she was direct and serious. She doesn't really make small talk to any of the nurses only the administrator. She also doesn't really fond of you. Well it's not like she hates you, is more of she critics anything you do. From the way you gather the medical supplies to the way you check patients vitals. During her visit with König, you stay outside the room so you don't know what goes on in there.

You saw when she exited the room alongside Eli and Gabriel, taking König back to his room. You didn't need to look up to know that Dr. Smith was walking towards, her heels made it obvious. "He will no longer take his usual calming medication, he'll take this one." She gave you the doctors order.

"benzodiazepines?" He was fine with his usual one.

She looked at you with her eyebrows forward "Yes. Is there a problem."

"Wouldn't the short term use cause him more problems compared to how he is now. I mean, he's been doing good lately and his oth-'

"Are you a doctor (Y/n)?" She tilted her head as she gives you a serious stern look.

"No."

"Right, I call shots for what is good for my patients. So if I tell you to order his new medicine then you order his new medicine! Is there a problem!?" Her high pitch tone caused the other nurses to look at you.

You look around mentally slapping yourself in the face. Of course she knows more than you, you are just a nurse. "No, Dr. Smith. I'll order them asap."

"Good. Make sure that his primary physician knows about it too and next time you question me, go back to school to get a lab coat. You are a nurse, you do what I say."

She left leaving the echo of her heels scraping the white tile floors. You cursed under your breath while picking up the phone. Calling in orders for prescription is a pain in the ass. Well the hospital it is, you're not familiar with a psychiatric hospital. The last thing you need is to be at hold for three hours trying to get it through.

"We need medical attention at room #526!" You heard Eli. You quickly ran to König's room and saw Gabriel on the floor, holding his mouth as blood was coming out. You turned your head to take a look at König. He was standing there with blood on his nuckles. He's tall, you never got a good look on how tall he was. This man is a mountain an actual mountain.

"What happened?" Jacob entered in seeing the mess.

"I need gauze pads and bandages.' You said holding onto Gabriel. König saw as you attended him. You're his nurse not Gabriel's. You should be attending König not him. The other guards came in to help Gabriel getting up while the others trying to hold König down. Jacob came in with the medical tray. He flicked a needle, trying to get any air bubbles out. You got up as they took Gabriel out, "what are you doing?"

"Everytime he does this, we have to put him down" He made his way towards König while two other guards were trying to hold him down. Compared to the guards themselves they looked like little children against König.

You went in front of Jacob, "You don't have to do that. It will make him think more irrationally. Please he is my patient."

He lowered the needle down giving you a sigh, "Fine. I'll go make a report. But you still can't be here unless two guards are present."

"Okay." The two guards let König's arms go.

Eli and Jacob left to talk to the administrator. You picked up the gauze pads and bandage from the trey.

You haven't made eye contact with König. You've always been too nervous about that, but you had to see him to examine him. You saw him, you saw his face. He had stuble. His features are strong and sharp, his jawline looks like it can cut anybody. He had scars on his face one through his mouth and the other one through his eye. His eyes are blue a nice clear blue, which stood out against his dark under circles. He was probably the most handsome patient you have ever seen. No, not patient, the most handsome men you have ever seen.

You walk towards him, slowly. You looked up to him, your face aligned to his torso . His white t-shirt was snuged and hugged all his curves on his abdomen. You can see the outline of his perfect abs and chest area. His biceps make it look the arm holes of his shirt are going to pop open. His hair was a perfect shade of brown, almost golden. Like before, it wasn't long or short, it was a good length, enough to make a little lazy ponytail.

You stuck out your hand as he placed his on top of yours. Your hand looks barley visible compared to his. You took a peace of gauze and dabbed it on his bloody nuckle. He didn't have any wounds from the punch he gave grabriel. If anything, the blood you are wiping away is Gabriel's.

König stared at you. He saw how concentrated you are with him, how gentle you are with him and how carring you are to him. The fact that you stood up for him from getting sedated, it was a like a call for him that you are his officially.

I mean he did it for you. No one knows the other half the story, they always accuse of the one that looks guilty. When Eli and Gabriel went to take him back to his room, König heard the comments they made about you. All the comments made by Gabriel.

Sure, Gabriel is nice to you, but he looks like a jerk and he is one. He's nice to you, but behind your back he thinks you are an object. Talking about how he wants to take you, not for a date, but for a nice dinner so that he can fuck you later in his car and most likely never talk to you again afterwards...unless he's desperate for sex again

König couldn't let that slide. Talking about you like a sex toy. Talking about you like you don't have emotions. Yes, König has killed men and women that don't really deserve it, but you. Someone that stood up for him. That attends when he needs or wants something. He wanted Jell-O during lunch, but no one was giving him one. Then you came inside the dining room and saw that he didn't have Jell-O like the rest so you gave him one. It's like you read his mind. You don't deserve to be treated this way. It reminds him of himself when he was a kid.

Being bullied for just being nice, for being who he is. He wants to protect you that's all he wanted to do. So he punch Gabriel after hearing his plan to seduce and fuck you then leaving you alone for yourself without a care in the world. He was easy, just one punch and he was down on floor holding his bloody mouth.

You cleaned him up and sat him down on his bed. He wanted to grab your waist and pull you closer to him. To kiss you as a thank you.

He was never lucky with the women, who would be with someone who's a looser. He remembers the time in high-school when girls will ask him out only to laugh at his face when he thought they were serious. Before he left to go to the military he met a girl. The girl just wanted some free drinks so she talked into him for some free stuff. He lost his virginity to her and felt as if he found the one. But to her he was her wallet, a way to get free things and rides for her and her friends. He bought her flowers, teddy bears, chocolates. Took her out to romantic dates that he tried so hard to assemble. Only to walk in on her having sex with another men, in his bedroom on his bed in his place that he pays for. He hoped that she was just drunk or scared..maybe, but no.

"Seriously König, you thought that I cared about you? I mean you are not even good at sex. I was just using you for the free stuff. I just wanted free drinks jeez! It's not my fault you couldn't take a hint."

He saw how they both laughed at his face. How they both just sat there naked, laughing at him as if he was the punchline to a joke.

"Believe me I never wanted this to happen! Especially after getting that dam abortion. But it doesn't matter cause you paid for it."

She wanted money to buy a new dress. She used it to have an abortion. He felt tears running down his face. They didn't feel bad, no, they laughed harder at him at how pathetic he was.

"Why would I even be with a looser."

He remembered how those kids would push him down the slide. How they would rip away his comic books. How they broke everyone one of his toys.

"Looser!"

"Looser!Looser!"

his fist turned white, he felt his fingernails, cutting deep into his palm. The girl he thought was the one was taunting him along his boy toy. He walked up to them. They expected him to bawl like a baby and beg for an apology. Instead, he choked her. His hands gripped tight around her neck. He felt some punches coming from her boy toy, telling König to stop, to let her go.

He saw as the life of her eyes went away. He heard as her neck cracked and dropped her back on the bed. He turned the guy, choking him to death aswell.

He hid the bodies, ran away, joined the military and found a new way to live.

You heard other male voices coming from the elevator and the administrator coming in. "What happened!?"

"He attacked Gabriel." You said to him, you saw what was behind him, other doctors.

"Put him in a straitjacket." He pointed to König

"What no!" You said getting in between him and König.

"Excuse me!?"

"Putting him in a straitjacket isn't going to solve anything."

He crossed his arms while looking down at you "Doing nothing will solve nothing, (Y/n)!"

You turned to König who had a stoic expression "I know, but I'm sure there are oth-"

"What are you again, (Y/n)?" he blurted out.

You knew where this is going. Twice in one day, you wanted to crawl into a hole and die. "A nurse."

He gave you a small smirk, the same one Dr. Smith gave you. "Exactly. A nurse. I'm your superior, you don't get to tell me what to do. Your job is to take his vitals, and give him medication not to throw orders around! Do I make myself clear!" He stepped closer to you. You wanted to back away, but you felt frozen. He was directly infront of your face. "Now, move aside so we can our jobs!"

You looked down on the floor. You never felt so light headed as you did now. The other voices coming from them were echoes. You felt nausea and sweating. Your heart felt like it was pounding from your chest, but it sounded like a blur. "S-sorry.. sir." You always feel week when people yell at you.

"Next time you do something like that, you're out of here, (Y/n). " He said as you all watched König being put in a straitjacket.

The administrator, Ben, saw König. He was taken back a bit. The look he gave him. As if he was killing him right on the spot. König no longer had the stoic expression, he gave him a death stare.

Who does he think he is to yell at you for being nice to him. To threatened her. They are all the same. Everyone here is all same. The same kids that shoved him around the boys bathroom when he was 10. The same as those girls that laughed at him that laughed at his face.

But instead of him being the victim, is you. You're so weak and innocent, how can someone treat you like that.

But it's okay because you'll have König by his side. He'll make sure to save you.

To care for you.

To love you.

To make you his.

#cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod x reader #fanfic #yandere konig #könig #konig #konig x reader #könig x y/n #yandere könig #könig x reader #könig cod #könig mw2 #könig call of duty #könig x you

[ourmadmusings]

a/n: Miguel O’Hara does not get a spidey-sense in the comics. His senses are super-human, yes, but his hearing, sense of smell, and even his eyes are hyper-sensitive, to the point that he wears tinted glasses to keep his eyes from too much light exposure - He suffers from debilitating migraines from his eyes.

It starts with a single sharp throb in his left temple, every single time. 

he’s at his desk, staring at screens all day lately, he lets out the most pathetic groan. 

quickly, the space behind his eyes starts to throb, too, and eventually he gets spots in his vision before his whole head is in a tight vice, the muscle band around his skull cinching. 

he leaves his desk and his watch. He tells his AI not to disturb him.

you, of course, are out on a task to collect an anomaly. 

his eyes are swimming by the time he falls face-first into his bed, wrapping a pillow around his face to keep any light out. He falls asleep pretty quickly after that. 

“Miguel?” It’s a whisper, hardly heard by a normal ear, but he picks you up immediately. He’d heard you walking up to his front door, actually. “Hey, honey, how’re’ya feelin?” He feels the bed dip as you sit and groans in response. You tut a little, reaching out to rub small circles in the muscles on his back. Your usual sweet scent makes him nauseated. You’d even gone home to shower, forgoing any perfume of any kind, just a bar soap, but it wasn’t enough.  Your hands move to massage his neck, trying to relieve some of the tension. If he could, he’d be purring like a cat at the touch. “Headache.” He finally says, voice so small it makes your chest ache. Super-human eyesight means super-human migraines.  You stand, and he protests the lack of touch, going to gather his pain killers, some water, and a tube of icy-hot. You all but pull him up, keeping his pillow on his eyes the whole time. “Open.” he simply pops his mouth open and you place three small, green pills in. You hand him the water and shift to straddle his back. Your legs are stretched almost too much as he settles into your chest. You pop the cap of the muscle relaxer and make quick work of spreading it over his neck, shoulders, and around his forehead. Trying your best to massage away some of the pain, the man could cry at how gentle you’re being. He’s sure you’re beat up and bruised from your mission, and yet here you sit, your touch so gentle he thinks he could have died in this moment and died happy, despite the constant shocks of pain in his head. “Thanks,” is all you get as he moves down to lay in your lap, trying to fall back to sleep as you run your hands through his hair. You don’t reply, but his breath evens out quickly - he’ll feel better in the morning. 

#across the spiderverse #spider-man: across the spider-verse #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara hc

[psychedelic-ink]

hi:D I don’t know if you take request but I like ur writing style and wanted to request a fic where the reader is having period cramps and Mike helps comfort her

yess my requests are open nonnie! tho when I write them can be questionable fgbgfbfg and thank you so much for requesting this my period is close so this was lovely to write 💜

ㅤㅤㅤ𝐈��𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐘

ㅤㅤmike schmidt x f!reader

Your breasts ache, your stomach hurts—your body the most uncomfortable place to be. You turn to the side as you bring you knees up to your chest and hug yourself. Another cramp. You squeeze your eyes shut, hissing through gritted teeth. You breathe heavily as you wait for it to pass. Your nostrils flutter. Your face warming up while the pain escalates. It escalates, escalates, and escalates—then it suddenly comes to a halt. 

Suddenly you can breathe again. 

Taking the opportunity, you fill your lungs with air. You want to cry. Everything fucking sucks. You want to call out to Mike who’s watching TV with Abby in the living room but you feel too weak to form the words. You suppose that’s alright. He’s already exhausted and overwhelmed with everything, it’s better that he doesn’t worry about you too—

“Fuck—” 

Your entire body clenches, your arms tightening around you as your nails bite your forearms. Fuck. You need painkillers, the whole bottle of them. The faintest of whimpers fall from your lips. The back of your head is throbbing from how taut your body is. You try to breathe, try to get out of bed, but even the smallest of movements add to the pressure of the cramps. 

You’re so lost in the pain you don’t even hear the door opening. You only notice someone’s here when you feel the faint dip of the bed. 

Your eyes snap open, your back is still turned. A hand curls around your shoulder and squeezes. 

“Are you okay?” you hear Mike ask. “You’ve been here for a while. Abby is making her version of spaghetti.” 

“That’s. . .” you exhale from your nose. “That’s great Mike. But I think I’m gonna skip it.” 

His hand doesn’t leave your shoulder, “You didn’t answer me. Are you okay?” 

You know he won’t leave without some thorough convincing. Knowing this, you turn to your other side to face him. He smiles when your eyes lock and despite the pain, your heart flutters. 

Just as you part your lips, about to tell him that you’re fine and he should just help Abby with cooking, another cramp strikes again. A choked-out sound rips from your throat and you immediately pull your knees to your chest again. You know it doesn’t exactly help. But something about the position makes you believe the cramp will subside. 

“Hey hey hey,” Mike cups your cheeks, thumbs tracing circles on your skin. “Tell me what’s going on. Let me help, baby.” 

“I’m—I’m on my period. I’m cramping.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” You relax a bit as the cramp finally softens. “We should have some advil. Do you need anything else?” 

God, you want to cry. He’s such a caregiver. You look away, embarrassment warming your stomach. “Maybe. . . maybe some of that leftover cheesecake too?” 

“Yeah, of course. I’ll be right back.” 

Before you know it he’s back with a fresh red stain on his sweatshirt—courtesy of Abby and her cooking skills you bet. You shuffle back a bit so he can take a proper seat this time, he does and gives you the advil. “You sure you don’t need anything else?” he places the plate of cheesecake on top of the bedside table. 

“I’m good,” you answer, popping the pill and taking two huge gulps of water. “Thank you. Can we. . .cuddle a bit?” 

Mike smiles and you swear it’s the brightest sight ever, “If I ever say no to that feel free to smack the shit out of me.” 

You manage a small laugh despite the discomfort, and Mike scoots closer, wrapping his arms around you. His warmth feels like a soothing balm against the persistent ache in your body. You rest your head on his chest, finding solace in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

He starts tracing gentle circles on your back, his fingers moving in a comforting pattern. The pain begins to ebb away as you focus on the warmth and love radiating from him. It's amazing how a simple touch can make everything feel a bit more bearable.

“Better?” he asks, his voice a soft murmur.

You nod against his chest, unwilling to let go of the safety his embrace provides. "Much better. Thank you for being here."

"Always," he replies, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head. “You just need to say the words and I’ll be there.” 

You think you answer him but you can’t tell as sleep slowly begins to take over. 

All you feel is him.

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x f!reader #mike schmidt x fem!reader #mike schmidt fluff #period fic #mike schmidt period fic #fnaf fanfic #josh hutcherson character fanfic #josh hutcherson characters fanfic #ww:drabble

[reallyromealone]

Title: Bonten omegaverse

Fandom: Tokyo revengers

Chapter: 5

Characters: Bonten

Fic type: story

Pairings: Bonten x reader

Warnings: male reader, reader insert, omegaverse, nsfw themes, Omega reader

Notes: woops

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

When (name) woke, he was surrounded by his alphas and decided this was a good time to scent claim the room, warding off any omegas that may try shit again.

Dragging his wrist, be began claiming this area with an almost empty expression as his eyes watched around in case anything popped up and attacked.

"Omega, come back to the nest" the alphas had been using their command tones on the other after realizing their regular voices weren't gonna work, hearing (name) grumble and walk back to the nest "good Omega, listening to his alphas so well" Koko commented as he pulled (name) gently back into the nest and into their laps " always behaving so good and making sure the area is safe but leave that to alphas ok?"

(Name) was quiet as he let the alphas scent and kiss him, a soft chirp escaping (name)s lips as he succumbed to the alphas soft touches and kisses.

"God I wish we could put a pup in ya..." Ran mumbled forlorn and (name) didn't really understand what he was saying as he tilted his head, a low growl coming from his stomach "guess we gotta get something else in ya..."

Only four Bonten men were here, Koko, ran, Sanzu and Mochi as the other four went to work albeit begrudgingly.

Sanzu got up and went to go get food only halting when (name) let out a heartbreaking cry that made them all halt "he's only getting food" Mochi tried soothing but due to the nature of this heat and now it was triggered (name) couldnt risk it...then he realized he was missing his other alphas.

"Shit..." Mochi mumbled as (name) began shaking and panicking "calm down Omega, they will be back soon!" The words did nothing as (name) went into full panic mode as his hands went into fists, the tiny claws he had digging into his skin "no no, none of that!" Koko tried prying his hands open only to get swiped at as (name) began scratching at his neck in a pitiful way to use his mating marks to try and get the other alphas to return.

"Sanzu"

"Already on it"

All (name) could hear was a soft shoooting sound and a light sting on his thigh before everything went to black.

Bonten kept (name) in their little hospital ward, sleeping his heat away as the doctors monitored him.

The doctors prescribed (name) anti anxiety and Omegan relaxent pills and hardcore scenting.

"He's going to be incredibly anxious and needy, he shouldn't be alone under any circumstances" the doctor said with urgency "it's bad enough his first heat with you all was traumatic, he can't handle thinking you all abandoned him"

The alphas took this seriously and already made plans to basically carry (name) everywhere and anywhere.

(Name) awoke to a shooting pain and a splitting headache, world hazy and slow as he tried to get himself together as the bright light of the medical ward blinded him slightly.

"Call them, hes up" a voice rang out making (name) tense up as he focused around him.

Bonten was there in less than ten minutes, practically rushing to see their mate who looked one step away from a breakdown "what a beautiful boy, hello darling" sweet words, gotta make him feel good. "What happened?" (Name) mumbled clinging to Mochi, feeling a weird panic not being near his alphas, his Omega not feeling safe by any means.

His brain couldn't shake off the feeling of a threat.

"Here's his care sheet and suppliments he will need to take daily to make up for what he lost during his heat" the doctor said as Mochi lifted (name) up "remember, he can't be alone, he's fragile right now"

(Name) let himself be carried, disoriented and unsure of what to do... All he knew is he felt betrayal and he couldn't figure out why.

"Did we...?" (Name) couldn't get the rest of the words out as he gripped Mochis jacket, awkward about the subject because if they had... He was for sure pregnant and he wasn't sure if he was ready for pups yet.

And he knew how demanding his Omega could be.

"We didn't sadly, there were... complications" Koko said moving to kiss (name) as to not have any more questions leave his lips, thankfully (name) was dealing with a post heat hangover to ask to many questions.

When they got into the penthouse, (name) was set on the plush couch, large and soft causing (name) to instinctively lay on it. His head was spinning, finding comfort in the soft material as ran crouched before him and gently pet his head "don't worry baby we will take care of you"

Sanzu put together the rotation, the criminals realising it would be unnecessary danger to let the Omega leave the house under any circumstances.

He was Bontens Omega after all, no risk was worth it if these hyper obsessed alphas bad to do anything about it.

(Name) just snuggled more into the couch, too exhausted to reply and Bonten was honestly fine with that.

Less questions the better.

(Name) looked at his wrist, realizing he had been claimed and his Omega was preening at the fact his alphas claimed him.

(Name) himself didn't know how to feel about it, he always read that when you get claimed it's the most romantic thing ever but... He doesn't really remember much of anything.

Suddenly a wave of loneliness washed over him and he shakily sat up and glanced around, seeing Mikey on a chair and (name)s inner Omega practically cried at how far the pack alpha was "alpha.." the words slipped from his lips as Mikey glanced over to him with a slight head tilt and his usual dead expression and (name) just stared at him, unsure what he wanted to say.

"Omega" Mikey's voice smooth in (name)s ears as (name) watched Mikey get into a different position and pat his thigh and (name) wasn't sure if it was him or his Omega but the speed of which he went to the other would have embarrassed the shit out of him if he wasn't so stressed and needy at the moment.

Mikey looked up at the omega in his lap who was unsure what to do "what do you want Omega?" Mikey asked softly, a blunt edge to his voice and (name) looked contemplative "can... can we perhaps go on a date?"

"A date?"

"Well you guys know so much about me and I want to get to know you guys, things are moving really fast..." Mikey stared at him almost thoughtfully as his hands rubbed the others outer thighs gently, it wasn't a crazy demand... It was actually quite reasonable.

"That's all you want?" Mikey asked and (name) nodded, the blond glancing over to takeomi "arrange dates for each member" he instructed before turning back to (name) "my compensation" he mumbled before pulling (name) into a kiss, gently gripping his throat gently as (name) made a soft sound and let the other pull him close.

"Dibs on date one!" They could hear Koko tell as Sanzu swore him out.

#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers x male reader #tokyo revengers fluff #male reader #bonten x reader #omegaverse #omega male reader #x male reader #mikey tokyo revengers

[mysicklove]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆

DAY 22: A/B/O

With: Isagi Yoichi

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Omega/bottom Isagi, Top/Alpha/Gn reader, omegaverse stuff (slick, claiming, scenting, etc.), isagi is in heat, readers pp could be read as strap or dick, marking/biting, slight blood, possesive behavior, instincts and stuff, isagi lowkey being feral

A/N: i like this one. and dont ask me why i know so much about a/b/o dynamics.'

Isagi was completely fine with being an omega. Sure, in the beginning he thought it may affect his soccer career, but as he grew and matured, he realized that it wasn't a problem anymore. Scent blockers and suppressants were a gift from the gods, and key factor of how he went pro. Without them he didn't know where he would be.

But, it led to an addiction. Constantly hiding his scent, hoping people may mistake him for being a beta so he doesn't have to deal with the slander omegas get on the field. And without heats he doesn't have to miss practice. Hence, every morning he puts a scent blocker sticker on his neck and wrist, and the second he feels a little amiss, he pops a heat suppressant. And he lived fine.

Except then you came into his life. An alpha. 

Heats are supposed to be spent with you. His body was begging him to spend it with someone, but he shuts it down immediately. Its unhealthy, and he knows it. A doctor has reminded him for years now, but he brushed it aside. 

The two of you had fought about it for about a year now. It was damaging his body, but he was too deep in his soccer career to sacrifice those multiple weeks of the year. You couldn't force him to do it, but every time you saw him pop that pill, and instinctual dread flooded your veins.

He hasn't had a real heat in five years. More than twice longer than what is considered “unhealthy” for an omega. It means when he finally does fall into it, its bound to be painful, and long lasting. Not only that, but his instincts are supposed to be heightened more than usual, so he doesn't know what he will say or do once he goes into it again.

But you finally convinced him spend it with you. He has been hinting for months now that he wanted you to mark him, but when he finally bluntly asked you to claim him, you said you would only do it during his heat. He agreed with much hesitancy.

It's a dread to think about, and honestly he is a little scared. But he promised you he would do it. He (very reluctantly) called off two weeks from soccer practice during off season, when he felt his pre-heat begin to creep up on him. 

So, here he is. Going to have his first heat in five years. 

The two of you stayed at his place. It was probably better to be at a spot he is comfortable with after all. The days before it weren't too bad, you forced him to put away the scent blockers for a couple of days, so the house smelled strongly of him. He went out of his way to scent as many things as possible, growing anxious as the days went by. He also built a nest on the space next to his bed, covered in blankets, pillows, and too many items from your dirty hamper. He was antsy during this time, finding himself clinging to you, and following you around the house. It was cute honestly, watching him have a slight pout while he grips onto your hand.

His body temperature started to pick up by the third day of his preheat. He started wearing less clothing, and you hand fed frozen fruit to him, hoping to cool him off just a little. He tosses and turns in the night, whining out for you to hold him, comfort him, make the strange feeling stop. It was so confusing and he hated it.

And finally after four days, he experienced his first heat since he was a teenager. It was in the middle of the night, the two of you in his nest, and you were fast asleep when he awoke. Every inch of his body ached, and he was panting. Sweat dripped down his temple, and he could feel slick stain his boxers. It made him groan in frustration, but he couldn't do anything about it because he was so horny.

Everything in him screamed for him to get filled, and as quickly as possible. He doesn't even think about it, tearing off his shirt and boxers. His now naked body trembles and he pants into the back of his hand, before turning to your sleeping form. He quickly finds himself scampering over to you, shaking you awake.

You turn to him with a groan, eyes blinking in the darkness to try to adjust themselves. “Yoichi?” You question, voice hoarse from sleep.

He basically tackles you, collapsing his entire body onto yours, and burying his face into your neck, scenting it quickly and desperately. “It’s h-here–dont know what to do. H-Help. Hurts. It hurts. Make it stop!”

You snap awake in an instant, resting your hand on the back of his head. He straddles your leg, beginning to hump at it. You croon at him, the sound low and comforting, hoping to calm him down just slightly. “What do you need me to do, Yoichi?”

He shakes his head back and forth in your neck. “I don't know! J-Just touch me. Please, alpha!” 

You cup the back of his head, letting him rest in your neck, while you reach to grab his toy bag the two of you packed just a couple days earlier. You flick on the lamp on your nightstand and he glances at the bag in your hand, letting out a small growl and nipping at your skin.

You flinch, and he continues to growl, low, not threatening, but annoyed. “Don't want the toys. Touch me,” Isagi hisses, grinding his cock onto your leg.

“Feisty omega,” You murmur, setting the bag on the other side of the nest, and moving to reach behind him.

He gulps at the words, feeling bad already. His hormones are all out of wack, and he can't seem to think straight. He nuzzles into your neck and purrs, lifting his hips up to meet your fingers. 

You use a finger to prod at his entrance, eyes slightly widening at the feeling. “Wow love, you are so wet. You're dripping all over your legs and the pillows,” You murmur in astonishment, dragging your finger around the hole.

He whines in embarrassment, cheeks flushed from his heat, and now from humilation. “D-Dont know why. I woke up and it hasn't stopped,” he complains, voice low and gruff. You continue to pet his hair, trying to comfort him.

You hum in response, pressing your other finger into his hole. He shivers at the feeling, clinging onto you in the darkness. When it slips in easier than usual, you prod another one, finding it just as easy to slip in. “Fuck Yoichi, you’re just begging to be fucked aren’t you. Taking it so easy.”

His back is arched by now, pressing into the fingers that are now scissoring him. “More. ‘ts not enough. Please, please. I need more, alpha!” He cries, both sides of him now leaking. His face is flushed, and his whole body feels like its on fire.

You shush his mewls, letting out a soothing scent and he moans into your neck. “Alright, alright. I’m going to make you feel good, relax,” you whisper, trying to pull yourself a way for minute to prepare yourself. He doesn't let you go far, arms wrapping around your entire body, breathing into your skin. The scent seems to make him feel grounded, and it's what he desperately needs right now.

“Here, lay down for me,” You encourage, trying to pull him off just for a second so that you can line yourself up with him. He doesnt seem to listen, shaking his head and panting. Sweat beads at his temples, and he's already beginning to beg again, but you push him to the bed, pinning his hands up for a moment while you press the tip into him.

He groans at the feeling, already borderline oversensitive. “Hold me. Please. Hold me, ‘s hot. I can't–”

You kiss his neck, pressing further inside of him, and his eyes widen, gasping at the feeling. His nails dig into your back and you try not to hiss out, continuing forward till you bottom out in him. Slick continues to leak out and onto the nest, but you don't say anything, afraid of embarrassing him.

But you couldnt help but notice the way his back arches, and the wet feeling now on the both of your stomachs. His breaths are shaky and his hold on you is weak. It gives you a chance to pull away for a second, glancing at the cum spread between the two of you. 

He covers his face with his hand, blushing profusely. “I'm sorry. Don't know what happened. J-Just felt…really good,” He warbles, not daring to look at you, but feeling himself begin to grow hard again. 

You giggle at him, planting a soft kiss to his lips. “S’alright. So cute, Yoichi. Wanna take a break then?”

His eyes are back onto you in an instant, wide and panicking. “N-No! You can't stop, please keep going!” He begs, lifting his hips to grind his cock on your stomach in a plea.

You know it's the heat talking, so you don't dare to tease him, afraid of pissing him off. So you abide by your omegas command.

“Fuckkkk,” He breathes, eyes rolling back when you start to pick up the pace. You grip at the back of his head, pulling him into a kiss, and thrusting forward. His legs wrap around your waist, and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you impossibly closer. Your thrusts are hard, short, and make a lewd slapping noise from the skin to skin contact. 

Isagi pulls away from the kiss, eyes cloudy, and mouth slightly swollen from the attention. “Alpha. Alpha. Alpha. Alpha,” He chants, mewling at every thrust, while slick drips down his thigh.. 

You kiss his cheek, humming to him in question. “Right here. I'm here. Doing so well. Such a pretty omega,” You coo in response, and the effects are immediate. He purrs at your voice, nuzzling into your neck and scenting you with a small fucked out grin.

“Mark me.”

You pause your movements, eyes flashing to his blue ones. He whines at the interruption, grabbing at your hips to pull you in closer. “Right now? It's so early,” You reason, growing dizzy off his warm scent.

It turns sour in an instant. “Y-You dont want me?”

He was being unreasonable, but that was the heat talking. His brain wasn't in the right place, and the second you didn't agree, it hurt. Way more than it should have. Tears prick at his eyes, and he begins to push you away, feeling gross with himself.

You don't let him go far, releasing a calming scent, and crooning to him. “Not what I meant. Relax, omega. It's okay, you're okay. I'll mark you, will that make you feel better?”

He clings onto you immediately, scent light again. “Please please please. Wanna be yours. Your omega. Please bite me!” 

You groan, grabbing his hips and forcing him back down onto the length. He gasps, trembling, but now baring his neck to you. 

“You're going to be the death of me, Yoichi,” You sigh, not liking how much control he has over you. Between the scent and his lewd words, which would never come out of his mouth if he wasn't in heat, it was hard to stay present in the moment.

“Please please please,” he cries, grabbing your hair  and forcing you toward his very own neck. You glance at him one last time, looking at his glassy eyes, and flushed cheeks. He nods at you, a whine slipping past his lips. 

You take one last deep breath, inhaling your lovers intoxicating scent and bury your teeth into his neck. He yelps, gripping onto your hair as tears drip down his cheeks. But his back arches, and hes cumming again from the action. His head spins as he feels your tongue lick at the wound, crooning out apologies for the pain.

Your thrusts have slowed down slightly, but they are deeper, harder. After cumming two times Isagi feels himself grow tired, weaker, but every cell in his body is screaming at him to go again and again. Till he passes out, if he must. 

“You alright? My omega…All mine,” You whisper, brushing away his sweaty bangs. He feels light headed, absolutely amazed at the feeling of being claimed after all this time and your words, but frustrated from your bare neck. It's not fair.

A possessive nature takes over him, and he lets out a small growl. You raise your eyebrows at him, confused by the sudden aggression. He was always pretty temperamental, but you granted his wish, and were fucking him, what more could he need?

A pair of canines dig into your neck before you could even process his movements. It makes you wince, hissing out and shivering as you feel his tongue lick over the wound. “N-No warning?” You half complain, not minding the feeling of being marked by him.

He doesnt seem to be listening, heat clouding all coherent thoughts. “My alpha. Mhmmm. Mine, mine, mine.”

“Possessive little thing. S-Supposed to be my line,” You laugh at him lightly, and he pulls away for the first time tonight, maneuvering you until he is sitting on your lap, and beginning to raise himself up and down. Two hands fall on your stomach to help steady himself as he begins to grind on the length, head falling backward as he pants at the ceiling.

His movements are frantic, desperate even, as if he was afraid he would never get a chance to cum again. His own cum on his stomach is beginning to dry up, but he doesn't seem to mind. His cock flops back and forth at his movements, and sweat drips down his neck. His whole body seems to be a pinkish shade, covered in sweat. It makes you slightly worried, but knowing him, if you force him to stop so that you can check on him, he may try to kill you.

He cums again without much warning, his fingers curling up and eyes rolling backward. The stream is weaker, dripping pathetically down his cock. His whole body trembles and he collapses forward onto you, pawing at you to hold him again.

You grab water from the nightstand and basically force it down his throat, the excess dripping down his chin and onto your chest. He gulps it down without much complaint, staring at you with lidded eyes the entirety of it. “Lets take a break,” You mumble, caressing his cheek and wiping away the water.

He purrs into your touch, and realigns himself up again, a drunken smile on his face. “Not a chance, alpha,” Isagi says, sinking onto the length to try to chase his fourth orgasm that night. 

The two of you get little sleep, and you awoke to him grinding on your leg, and biting at your ear, begging you to make him feel good again, full again. But even in your exhausted state, you didn't mind too much, because how could you say no to your precious omega? 

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#mello.writes #Barkforme! #Kinktober 2023 #dom! reader #dom reader #sub isagi #a/b/o #sub isagi yoichi #isagi smut #isagi x reader #reader insert #x reader #isagi yoichi smut #bllk smut #bllk x reader smut #blk x reader #yoichi x reader #isagi yoichi #isagi x you

[swordsandholly]

Across the Way

Chapter One: New Places, New Faces

Ao3 | Next

MDNI

Pairing: Ghoap x fem!plus size!Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: You go to Scotland with high hopes for your future. After all, you have the bakery you always dreamed of and a whole new life to live. Plus, the men who own the butcher’s shop across the street seem nice.

Johnny stirs awake with a grunt as Riley’s wet nose bumps against his hand. There’s a very slight ache behind his eyes - the kind that marks an oncoming migraine. He groans, not wanting to open them to the invasive sunlight that will inevitably make it worse. Then again, that’s the only way he can get any preemptive pain medication in his system. He still makes a noise of complaint when he finally peels back his lids.

“Feelin’ alright?” Simon rumbles, setting a glass on the nightstand along with two little pain pills. How he’s able to tell what kind of morning Johnny’s having before even he can is a true mystery.

Johnny just grunts back, rolling onto his side to grab his hearing aid out of the nightstand drawer. Normally he wouldn’t bother with putting it on with a possibly impending migraine, but he figures he can chance it. They’ve been lessening in the past few months. Somewhat.

“Plans for the day?” Simon asks as he pulls on one of his work shirts. “Up for coming to the shop?”

The little clock beside him blinks out five in the morning. Even after being retired for nearly three years, neither of them can manage to sleep in late whether they have to be up or not. “Gonnae take Riley out tae the park. Might drop by.”

“Don’t push yourself too hard.”

“Me? Never.” Johnny flashes his husband a grin.

Simon just rolls his eyes in response. The rest of their morning is quiet, as most are when Johnny isn’t up for talking. It’s a comfortable silence, one they both came to appreciate long before this current chapter in their lives. One that developed on cots and in tents and the wreckage of war zones.

It’s just how they are.

Being essentially a stay at home husband was not how Johnny pictures his thirties. Being disabled was not how he pictured… any of it. He thought he’d be up for Lieutenant by now. Thought Simon would have taken over as Captain of the 141. He’s learned not to be bitter about it (with Simon’s and some professional help).

He can’t complain too much. He’s alive. He gets to be with his family. With Simon. With Riley in this run down dog park throwing around a ball that she dutifully chases and brings back with the pride of a great hunter bringing home a prized beast. He gets to go home to a place that is truly his, with a big comfortable bed and a man he fought tooth and nail to fill it with.

It’s a small life but he’s learned that small doesn’t mean unimportant.

Christ who knew turning thirty would make him a damn philosopher.

“Alright, lassie, time tae go.” Johnny crouches to shuffle Riley’s harness and leash back on. He knees pop and his back protests the movement. It’s a mercy that they were able to get such a lovely service dog. She’s such a good pup, always at the ready and happy to obey.

Except now, as she begins to tug insistently at her leash with her full weight - or at least as much as she can use without hurting him. It isn’t like her. He clicks and commands her to heel. She tugs harder and whines. It isn’t an alert that he knows - maybe it’s one that they don’t need often? He lets go of the leash, following as she quickly jogs away.

He circles a few bushes in pursuit, coming to face one of the large trees on the outer edge of the park. There’s a girl leaned on it, breath coming in and out heavy. She starts to slip forward a bit before Riley props her up, stabalizing the girl in much the same way she does Johnny when he gets faint. He speeds up his steps, holding out his hands on either side of the girl in case she falls.

“Aren’t you a good girl?” She coos at Riley quietly. American. Huh. He watches the girl dig in her pocket for something, eventually pulling out what looks like a to-go salt packet. She tears it open, throwing it back like a shot.

“Ye a’right?” Johnny asks, tilting his head.

She nods and takes a long, deep breath. “Sorry, I have a…thing.” She waves her hand around her head, straightening up and turning to face him. She’s cute. Insanely cute - with big eyes and soft body. Lovely curves from head to toe. Johnny may be a married man but that doesn’t mean he can’t apprecaite a little, right?

“Donnae apologize. I’ve got a thing, tae.” Johnny grins and points to the scar on his head where his hair never quite grew back.

She gives him a soft smile. “Well, you’ve got a good dog. I’ve never had one alert like that.”

“Aye, she was tuggin’ hard. Must’ve been a pretty bad spell. Ye sure yer okay?”

“Yeah.” Her braided hair falls about her shoulders. “Just didn’t eat enough before I went for a walk and then I stood up too quickly…”

“Och, standin’, my age old enemy.”

She giggles quietly, pressing her fingers over her lips to cover them. It’s pretty, the way her round face gets even rounder with her smile.

“Johnny.” He holds out a hand, flashing his most charming smile he can muster. It’s a little more tired these days - the corners of his eyes crinkle more than they used to. The girl takes his hand, so soft and warm and small in his, and breathes out her name quietly. Almost bashfully. So cute.

Unfortunately his phone chimes, interrupting the moment before he can ask her more.

“I should be off, ye sure yer okay?” Johnny lets his eyes take over her, not just her body but also checking that she is, in fact, okay. Her eyes seem clear, stance steady, not too pale or too flushed. He’s no medic but he’d say she’s going to be fine.

“Yeah, yeah. Thank you.” She crouches slightly, slowly moving to look at Riley. “And thank *you* ma’am.”

Johnny watches her walk away, pausing to make sure she doesn’t stumble. He’s not sure what compels him - maybe it’s the solider in him still wanting to watch for the safety of those around him. It definitely doesn’t have anything to do with the way her wide hips sway as she makes her way down the path.

Johnny can’t stop smiling as he makes his way to the shop for some reason. It wasn’t even all that impressive of an interaction, but something about it really warmed his heart. Maybe it was just meeting someone else with a *thing*, as she put it. There really isn’t anyone else in his life who needs as much support as him - certainly not many adults in this small town who need assistance on the whole. It’s rare to meet someone who gets it, however briefly.

“Wot’s got you so chipper?” Simon quirks an eyebrow as he enters.

The door bell chimes above his head. Riley trots off from Johnny’s side to her designated bed in the corner of the shop. Away from the food but close enough that she could easily get wherever Johnny might be. One of the regulars even made a plaque for her that his Da screwed on the wall.

“Met a nice lass today in the park.” He shrugs. “Pretty little thing.”

“Ah, your great-aunt’s prayin’ finally do you in?” Simon chuckles as Johnny ducks behind the counter to rest a hand on the small of his back.

“Aye, finally realized I should turn tae a life of lassies an’ biarns. Yer great arse has no power over me now, foul demon.”

Simon chuckles. There’s something about it that always does Johnny in. A low rumble he can feel in his very bones. “Glad to see you’re feelin’ better.”

Johnny hums. “The warm weather helps, fer whatever reason.”

“Good. You see the shop across the street?”

Johnny turns, looking out their front window. The construction has been going on for a few months - various workers milling in and out. Neither he nor Simon could figure out what they were putting in until small signs were put across the windows announcing the new location to be The Honey Bun Bakery with an opening date at the bottom. A bit cutesy for their taste, but a new bakery in town is exciting. The last one closed because the owners got too old and had no one to take over. His mother has been buzzing about it since the signs were first put up.

The biggest mystery is the owner. No one has seen hide nor hair of whoever owns the place. There were movers taking things into the attached apartment on the floor above about a week ago, but no one has actually seen the resident. He or she is a ghost. Gossip has filled the town, of course. Especially among the older folks. That’s another thing his mother has been fluttering about.

“Already opening day, eh?”

“Yep.”

“We should check it out, then.”

Simon hums. “We’ll go after the morning rush if you’re up for it, hm?”

“Aye.”

“Johnny?” The shorter man jumps as Simon’s hands rest on his waist. He’ll never get over the intensity of Simon’s eyes. For a man who keeps his emotions locked in the deepest parts of him, he sure carries a lot of it in those pretty dark pools.

“Aye?” The word comes out breathier than he means it to.

“You look sunburnt.”

Johnny barks out a laugh, half-heartedly shoving his husband off. “An’ here I thought ye were gonnae say somethin’ romantic.”

“You know me better than that.” Simon’s eyes crinkle in the corners with a smile as he pulls the mask to the side, pressing a kiss to Johnny’s lips.

You may or may not have slept exactly 3.46 hours last night. It’s not your fault, really. Today’s your first day. Your first real day of your new life and your new career. Years of prayers and months upon months of planning, waiting, crying, and straining have finally come to a head. You’re in Scotland, your bakery is constructed, all that’s left is to actually bake.

And sell, of course, but you try your hardest not to think about that part or you might throw up. Again.

You curse the time it takes you to shower, carefully acclimating to the heat of the shower and sitting in your little plastic seat. You want to run, to act like the a whirlwind you feel in your head. You can’t, though, it’s not worth possibly ruining the most important day in your life just because you were impatient and passed out. At least you finally got your medication situation figured out before coming over here - the perfect little cocktail sitting on the corner of your dresser.

Your hands tremble a bit as you open up one of the cardboard boxes still sitting in your living room. You’d picked out a special outfit for your first real day of owning your own business months ago - one you made sure would be here with you on opening day. Really, it isn’t anything special - just a pair of black gingham trousers and a black cotton t-shirt along with your well-loved non-slip shoes. It’s yours though, and it perfectly matches your specially embroidered apron with your little logo on the front, center pocket. It’s yours. All yours. It’s a reminder that you’re here. You made it out.

You had already done a good bit of the work the day before - putting together your doughs and shaping up pastries to proof overnight in the fridge. Now all that’s left is to actually bake them and put them out. The smell wafts through the building, covering any left over scents of paint or construction work. It feels real. Grounding. You’re here and you can feel, smell, even taste it.

You expected a few customers. Not much. High hopes and low expectations. Just a couple people here and there that noticed the new shop coming to town and were curious about it. You’d advertised as well as you could from across the pond. Maybe a little rush around the late morning when people are usually out for brunch and shopping at most.

You did not expect a constant stream from the moment you propped the door open until the late afternoon. These Scots run you fucking ragged. A constant flux of in and out, all day. All them wanting to chat, as well.

“Oh, American! Whit part are ye from?”

“Yer sae young! Just a wee bairn!”

“So nice havin’ a bakery again, aye?”

“Urr ye merrit? Ah hae a son-“

You regret not buying that coffee machine for the back room.

Just as you’re stacking display baskets to take to the back to wash up the door chimes behind you. Here you thought you were finally done for the day. You sigh. “Sorry, hun, I’m pretty much out of everyth-”

“Ye!” You whirl, only to meet those same bright blue eyes from the day before.

“Johnny!” You squeak, eyes wide.

“Why dinnae ye mention the shop?” The man grins wide - the same as the day before. Sparkling and bright and far, far more pretty than you’re prepared to deal with. His hair is neater today - not ragged from exercise with his service dog who currently sits politely by his feet.

“Ah, was little light headed. Wasn’t thinking straight.” You shrug.

“Speaking of, how’s yer thing?” He waves a hand about his head the same way you did the day prior. It’s cute how invested he seems to be, genuinely asking if you’re alright. The man looming behind him watches silently.

“Oh, I’m alright. Finer than the hair on a toad split four ways.” You grin.

The man behind him furrows his brow slightly at the expression, but doesn’t offer a word. He’s tall. Wide too and dressed in all black with long sleeves despite the warm, spring weather. His hair is buzzed neatly. There’s a severity to him only emphasized by the scar splitting his brow and the small chip missing from his ear.

“Och, this is my husband Simon.” Jihnny steps to the side and gestures toward the brooding figure behind him. “We own the butcher shop across the street.”

“No shit!” You can’t help but smile ear to ear, holding out your hand. They seem so sweet. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you. Glad to have such nice neighbors.”

Simon shakes your hand a single time curtly before stepping back behind Johnny. The severity in his dark eyes softens whenever he glances toward the other man. Cute.

“We wanted tae come see whit ye’ve got.”

“I haven’t got much left…” You tap your chin and rest a hand on your hip, wanting to rectify the dip of disappointment in the pretty man’s brow. “Oh! I’ve got a sourdough in the back. One sec!”

You skitter off, paying little mind to how silly you must look practically prancing toward the back room. Originally, you’d planned to save this for yourself tonight as a job-well-done treat but it feels more gratifying to give it to your new neighbors. Hopefully they like it - maybe you can finally make some friends for the first time in… ever really.

“How much fer it?”

“On the house. We’re neighbors now, yeah? First ones free.” You grin, wrapping it extra nicely in some brown paper packaging.

“Thank ye, bonnie.” Johnny cradles the loaf so carefully you almost laugh - as if he’s afraid too much pressure will completely ruin it. Like he’s holding a precious treasure. “We’ll leave ye alone tae close but we’ll see ye around, aye?”

“Course.” You nod, waving after them and they exit. You can see the big blonde, Simon, turn to Johnny to say something but it’s impossible to hear them or tell from their lips as they cross the street back to their butcher shop. They link hands, fingers intertwining with long practiced grace, and something in your throat constricts.

What’s it like, you wonder, to have a love like that?

#simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #call of duty #ghost cod #cod x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #ghost x reader #cod #ghoap x reader #ghoap #soapghost x reader #plus size reader #fat reader #simon riley x reader #john mactavish x reader #slice of life #holly writes #john soap mctavish x reader

[intheorangebedroom]

Tonight you belong to me, chapter 3

Summary: He comes to you every Friday, in a shady motel on the outskirts of town.  What happens if you can't make it to the motel on Friday evening?

Pairing: Frankie Morales x fem!Reader (OFC)

Rating: Explicit 🔞 see series masterlist for extensive tw.

A/N: Happy Frankie Friday, Orange besties 🧡 @frannyzooey thank you for your help and beta reading, I fucking adore you so much it's downright obscene 🧡

Word count: 12.2k

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Chapter 3: The Man At The Frontier

Make us come, baby. Make us come together. 

These words are yours. 

Even if you never see him again. Even if you lose him before having had the time to map the freckles on his skin. To sleep in his arms. To hear him repeat them. They’re yours to keep. 

He mouthed them against your skin, sunk them into your bloodstream in bright mahogany before coming undone, wrapped around your body. 

They’re yours, right? 

Even if you don’t get to see him ever again. 

—

It starts with the cramps. That’s how it usually goes. A myriad of microscopic pliers nipping at your intercostal muscles. 

Your eyes shoot open at the familiar ache. The early morning hues redefine the room in blue shadows. You blink your sleep-heavy eyelids a few times, confused, before your vision adjusts and you recognize the room around you. It’s your bedroom. Your nightstand, your lamp, your books. Your pills. Your tube of scented hand cream. The chair in the corner, that ugly, Louis XV style, transparent polycarbonate monstrosity by that French designer. The large windows. Those damn floor-to-ceiling windows that let in too much light, too much heat, too much open view. Nowhere to hide, in here. 

It has to be sometime between 4 and 5 am, you assume, before another cramp seizes you. You curl up into a tight ball on the edge of the bed, pulling the comforter to your chin.

Not today. Please. Not today.

Friday. 

Inside your abdomen, nausea streams densely, like liquid lead, from your ribs to your stomach, as cold shivers run up your spine. Sweat breaks on your forehead. You know only too well what’s happening, but it can’t be, there’s been no warning signs. No headache, no stabbing sensation in your lower belly, no spinning head. 

Today is Friday. 

You reject the obvious.

Were you so engrossed in the memory of him to pay attention? His hand wrapped around your nape, his forearm molded along your spine, pressing you into his chest, making you two as one. Closer.

Nausea is already lapping at your esophagus. The pliers bite harder at your ribcage and you know you have to move now if you want to make it to the bathroom before it happens. Shuddering, you push away the comforter, then get up and run.

Kneeled on all fours on the cool bathroom tiles, you dive headfirst into the toilet’s porcelain bowl as everything inside you collapses on itself, emptying the content of your stomach, mostly liquid. You should have eaten something last night. 

You know you’re not pregnant. For an infinity of reasons. 

Because you haven’t let Adrian fuck you in weeks. Because, when he does, he always wears protection. That’s your mutual, very tacit agreement. A silent understanding that you’re never the only woman, at any given moment. An unspoken confession on his behalf, implicit permission on yours. 

Because your contraceptive pill is the only one you’ll never stop popping. 

Because you’ve suffered through more stomach bugs than you care to count.

And of course, because Frankie won’t come inside you. 

You stand up on fawn-like legs and flush the toilet. 

You splash water on your face and grab your toothbrush with a trembling hand, shaking from head to toe. You know this is only the beginning, but it’s coming in strong. This one is most likely going to be a bad one. At least for now the pain is gone.

Above the sink, the woman in the mirror stares at you with unsettling, disproportionate glassy eyes. Her skin looks waxy, she scares you, and you have to lower your eyes. You brush your teeth as quickly as you can. 

You haven’t made it back to the bedroom when the second wave of cramps squeezes your abdomen. The pain folds you in half, and you let out a low whine. 

It echoes like distant thunder along the glass walls of the empty corridor. 

—

On Fridays, you count. You break down hours and minutes and steps and heartbeats into small, bearable quantities, so that you can live through them without going crazy. Today, however, you’re counting trips to the bathroom, and the time between two attacks from the cramps, like you’re readying yourself to give birth to a terrible monster, feeding off you from the inside of your quivering body. 

You’ve managed to spend most of the day hiding in your office, with the window cracked open, and the AC cranked up to the max. The clothes you wear are the same as yesterday. Your expensive formal blouse sticks to your sweaty skin in clammy patches. You’re cold, cold and hot all at once. In fact, you’re burning up, and a chill sweat has you shivering in the non-existent breeze. 

You haven’t gotten any work done, to state the obvious. You’re just dozing in and out of consciousness between two crises, head like a rock sinking onto your arms on top of your shiny glass desk. Its surface fogs with every one of your short breaths. You’re running out of toothpaste. 

Being the boss’ daughter has never granted you any particular privilege over your coworkers, except on days like this. At the first signs of sickness, you go home, or call in sick. Stay in bed for a couple of days, sleep it off, sip water tentatively every time you throw up until you can finally keep it down. No one has ever thought to comment on the frequency or duration of your sick leaves. Not even your father.

Kaytee has probably noticed something’s wrong with you. Her office is right by the bathroom, and you've run there seven times since you’ve arrived this morning, an hour late, which is uncommon, to boot. You look like a walking corpse, your eyes eating up half of your face and your lips pinched in a tight line. And surely, she will find a way to use this against you in the near or distant future. She’s been dying to take your place ever since she was recruited nearly two years ago, champing at the bit, waiting for you to slip so she can bury you. 

If she only knew. How you are dying to let her have it all. That you are convinced she’d be so much better at the job than you’ll ever try to be. 

With your last shred of energy, you push down the thought, like you push down the nausea and the shivers. On Fridays, everything that’s not him is irrelevant. At 6pm sharp, you’ll count your steps down to the parking garage and hop in your car. You’ll sit in traffic until you reach the 589 and you can finally cruise towards the motel in the protective semi-darkness of the Tampa suburbia. 

You haven’t yet considered what will happen beyond this point. When he steps into the room and finds you sitting there, looking like an undead version of yourself, reeking of stale bile, rancid sweat and toothpaste. 

All you have to do is make it there. You won’t give up, simple as that. You’ll suck it down. 

Demonstrating resolve you never knew you possessed, you make it to sundown. You hold out through the pain, through the cramps, through the soreness on your knees and the abrasion in your throat and the stabbing sensation behind your eyes and the pulling of your gums. 

At 6pm, you turn off the alarm of your phone and put it away in your purse. The room swirls around you the first time you try to get up. You wince, falling heavy on the simile leather chair you sweated on all day. You wipe your damp forehead and neck with a tissue, and you stand up again. 

All the blood in your body rushes to your feet. There’s not a drop of it left in your brain. You swallow hard against the bitter taste clinging to your tongue and palate and start counting your steps toward the elevator, only to lose track somewhere after 18.

Dark, green circles flash in rapid succession across your pupils, narrowing your vision. You grip the strap of your purse harder, and register you can’t feel your fingers. Something is wrong with your balance, your whole body slants to the left. You try to correct its trajectory but you can’t feel anything below your calves either. What you can feel is your forehead and your nape, defined by pain, burning hot and somehow also freezing where beads of sweat run down your skin.

You’ve made it to the lobby when everything fades to black. 

—

In your early 20s, you had genuinely tried to shake off the melancholia. An honest, hopeful attempt. You were away at college, and even though you didn’t get to choose your major, different and various paths seemed possible, within reach. A couple of years after graduation, when you had met Adrian, you had tried again, with renewed vigor and motivation. 

You did want to get better. 

You cut back considerably on hard liquor. You smiled broadly, at everyone. You said “please,” and “sorry.” Applied lipstick daily, polished your nails weekly. You went out to dinners and parties, wore high heels and interacted with strangers, drank wine in stem glasses and in reasonable quantities. 

On your mother’s advice, you went to “see someone.” As your father prescribed, you read the news and followed sports results. 

But the sadness kept settling down inside you, like the white particles inside a snowball. The vomiting spells became more frequent. Despite your willingness and earnest efforts, you kept falling short, and each fall hit you with increased brutality. 

For your mother, you were too much. For your father, never enough. For Adrian, you would soon come to realize, you were a commodity.

Trying to please them in turn, learning your cues, anticipating their needs and wills and whims, torn up between their contradicting desires and expectations, smiling pretty and meek, you completely lost track of what you liked and who you were. 

Anxious, confused, perpetually dissatisfied and unsatisfying, you withdrew within yourself. Hid away between the folds, detached and ready to flee, wishing for nothing more than to disappear. 

As Ava grew up, her loud and unapologetic personality compelling everyone’s attention, she provided you with a reprieve and, most importantly, a purpose. But a diffuse sense of guilt soon arose, as your little sister’s struggles could hardly be instrumental to your self-fulfillment.

Inside of you, isolation and loneliness grew solid, like a second skeleton, keeping you upright.  

Apathy soon took over. You resorted to medication to control it all. 

And when it was no longer enough, you found your way to the Hole in the Wall.

—

The smell of rubbing alcohol floats around you in the chilled darkness, its rough acetone accents abrading your nostrils. There’s an undertone to it. Rotting perfume and decaying bodies. A faint beeping sound tugs at your consciousness, and as you begin to come to, pain strikes you in multiple places. 

Something sharp stings the thin skin on the back of your right hand. Each one of your intercostal muscles is sore. Your throat is parched, rougher than sandpaper; your tongue too big for your mouth, stuck to your palate. Every single joint in your body is sensitive, but the worst, by far, is the piercing ache in your forehead. It glues your eyes closed. 

Panic floods your brain with static when you stir, wincing against the shooting pain, and you don’t recognize the motel’s mattress. The one you’re lying on is too hard, the linen covering you too starchy, the darkness is closing in on you, you need to open your eyes, fence off the pain, find Frankie…

Frankie. 

You never made it to the motel. Where the hell are you? When the hell are you?

“Ah. At long last, she wakes. How are you feeling, babe?”

Adrian’s honeyed voice hauls you through the darkness. Your eyelids flutter against the light until you open your eyes to a square room with a single, large window, blazing sun darting through. 

Adrian is sitting in the corner by the foot of the bed. A hospital bed, apparently. A narrow, dark blue mattress, unusually high, encased with rails on each side and at your feet. You’ve never been hospitalized before. 

He’s looking at you with a Cheshire cat grin stretching his thin lips, like he was just let in on a juicy secret. He’s dressed in his golf apparel. 

The violent luminosity intensifies the splitting sensation in your forehead, it vibrates to the back of your skull, from within, from the sides.  

Squinting, you turn your head to the side to take in your surroundings. On top of a beige, melamine nightstand are a black phone with a long twisted cord, an oval device with a red and a white buttons and another cord, and a metal kidney dish. 

There’s a tray table over your legs, with a jug standing next to a hard glass already filled with water, and some paper napkins. There’s a needle in your hand. A drip. With a cord. You flinch a little at the sight. A white rectangle eats up the tip of your index, a red light flashing from inside it. Another cord. It’s linked to the source of the beeping sound, a square monitor to your right, displaying wobbly lines of green. Another two cords are plugged in, you follow their sinuous lines to your bed, where they disappear under the sheet, and you take in the two round patches taped to your chest.

So many cords. Too many sensors. 

“Where’s my phone?” you mumble. 

Your tongue feels like a piece of carpet. You’re not sure whether it’s even your voice anymore. 

“You scared us this time,” Adrian says. His tone is cold, practiced, policed. 

You reach for the plastic glass and bring it to your chapped lips. The liquid flows down your throat like a waterfall; you wince again.

“Can you pull down the blinds, please? The light hurts.”

He lets a moment pass before he gets up, then circles the bed, unhurried, pacing toward the window, but instead of shutting the Venetian blinds, he sits by your side. The mattress dips under his weight. You hold your breath, anticipating a new jolt of pain. Behind him, the daylight forms a halo, blurring the outline of his silhouette. Your eyes water against the brightness. 

“What day is it?” you try again. 

“One thing we don’t understand is why you didn’t go home. You got us all worried, you know?”

The beeping picks up pace, imperceptibly. You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. The one with no cords linked to it. You know this dance, he won’t cooperate until you ask the right questions, the ones he wants you to listen to him answer. Better to give him what he wants, for now.

“What happened?” 

“We don’t know exactly, that’s the thing. Well, you were sick, this you know,” he punctuates his words with a knowing grin and a wink, “but instead of coming home, you stayed at work, for some reason. We think you lost consciousness on your way out, and you hit your head on the elevator’s frame in your fall. We couldn’t help you right away because most employees had already left the floor. Jerry found you. He called your dad.”

You close your eyes, blocking the image of Jerry, of all people, finding you sprawled out and unconscious on the floor. And why would he call your father? Why not 911? You resent that collective we. Who the hell is we? Right about now, you could swear it’s the entire world versus you. 

Besides, you’re fairly certain Kaytee was still in her office at the time. She never leaves before 8pm at the earliest and makes sure everyone knows about it. 

“You split your forehead open. Apparently, you were running a pretty high fever, too. Oh, and you were critically dehydrated, according to the doctor I saw this morning,” he frames the words critically dehydrated in air quotes. “He also said something about a light concussion, I think.” 

You lift a heavy hand to your forehead, the tip of your fingers gingerly testing what they find there, a gauze dressing, held in place by medical tape. 

Having the clinical explanation behind the multiple aches throbbing inside your body somehow eases some of the pain.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” you say, unable to look him in the eyes with the harsh light behind him. “I need my phone. Can you give me my phone, please?”

“What do you need your phone for?” he asks casually, seemingly absorbed by something on his pants.

It’s a dare. You know that tone all too well. Today, however, you find that you don’t feel like playing. You want your goddamn phone.

Frankie cannot possibly have tried to reach you as you never exchanged numbers, but you want to call the motel. Find out if he came. What happened then. You want to know what time it is, what day, how much of him you’ve missed. You’re craving his touch, his skin between your parted lips, your heart pumping on empty, racing madly from the need for him, and of all the sensations making your body known to you, this one by far hurts the most. 

The beeping sound accelerates, drawing Adrian’s attention to the monitor, then to you. His cold blue gaze narrows on your face. You try to slow down your breathing, hoping it translates to your heart rate. 

“I need to call Ava. She must be worried.”

“Ah yes, your sister, of course,” he exclaims, feigning a bright mood, as if you’d just reminded him you’re traveling to Hawaii together next week. 

Getting up, he walks nonchalantly to the foot of the bed, leaning against the wall underneath the TV set, hands in his pockets. The black screen dwarfs his lean proportions. His red polo enhances his pallid complexion. You avert your gaze, lest the monitor picks up your disgust like it does your nervousness.  

“Yes, it’s true, she probably got very distressed, when you didn’t show up at all last night,” he agrees with affected concern.

There’s a foul taste in your mouth. Acid, rubbing alcohol, and something else. The glass is empty, but you don’t think you can lift that jug. Each one of your muscles is vibrating, waiting for the axe to fall. If only that fucking monitor could stop beeping. 

“Remember back in October, when Kenneth went to New York over the weekend for the symposium at NYU? Well you’ll never guess. He saw your sister there, in some uptown restaurant, making out with her…” his upper lip curls, “with this older woman, her girlfriend.”

So this is it. He knows. All this time, he’s known. Since October, practically since the beginning. And he let you believe you had him fooled, that you had the upper hand on the situation, that this part of your life was yours. He lured you into a false sense of safety, a deluded feeling of freedom. And all the while, he’s known. 

It’s really your fault, for forgetting that’s how things are with him. That nothing truly is what it seems. That he likes you scared, anxious. Perpetually waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

There’s no point in trying to control the beeping, now. In fact, given its cadence, you expect a nurse to barge in any minute. 

“Polly’s not old,” is your answer. 

“Yeah, whatever, they’re degenerates, both of them.”

“Where’s my goddamn phone, Adrian?”

“What do you want your phone for?” he barks.

The words are spat in your direction, and the sheer volume of his nasal voice startles you. Red blotches erupt on his cheeks and neck, his eyes are blazing with contempt. 

“You need to call your fucking dealer? Is that it? You think I haven’t noticed that you’re high half of the time?”

You remain perfectly still, holding your breath.You can feel your skin pulling at the medical tape in your hairline. 

He doesn’t know shit. In fact, he’s scared. He’s so, so small. 

“Listen, I don’t care what the fuck you do every Friday night, ok? But can you at least be fucking discreet about it?”

The poison in his tone and his words corrodes your confidence. 

“They will announce the senior partners in January, I cannot fucking lose your father’s business until it’s done, do you understand me? So whatever you do,” he points his index finger at you and stabs it through the air to accentuate each of his following words, “you be fucking discreet. More fucking discreet than that shitshow you pulled, do you get it? Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Should you nod? Is he waiting for you to manifest your understanding of the situation? 

You hate yourself for thinking, ever so briefly, that he might have been jealous, that he might have cared. Held down on this bed with all these cords, you feel like a butterfly pinned in a glass case, on display in a cabinet of curiosities, a mere object amidst a multitude of other trophies covered in dust and mold. You’ve always hated butterflies. They gross you out. 

You allow yourself to breathe again when his posture relaxes. Looking down at his feet, with his hands on his waist, he shakes his head and huffs. The stance reminds you of Frankie, the difference in their proportions almost comical, like a circus monkey aping the brawny horseman, the one who gets top billing in the show. 

Frankie had you pinned on a bed repeatedly, without ever making you feel like a study in entomology. 

“Your dad is waiting for me, I’m already late,” Adrian says, coming toward you, “I’d love to stay a little longer, but you know how he is about golfing. Don’t want to keep him waiting!” 

He pecks a kiss on the crown of your head. The pain darts through your skull in all directions, all the way down to your spine. 

“Where’s my phone, Adrian?” you call one last time as he strides toward the door.

“You don’t need your phone, babe. What you need is to rest. Get those magical hospital electrolytes. Doctor’s orders,” he adds with a wink. 

And he’s gone.

Furious tears hang from your lashes. You focus on the plastic box on the tip of your index, and you begin to inhale and exhale, as deeply and slowly as you can. It’s shaky at first, but you’re encouraged by the decreasing cadence of the beeping. 

Adrian and your father go golfing at 2pm on Saturday afternoons. Meaning you’ve been out for over fifteen hours. Without your phone, you have no means to assert the time. Your watch is nowhere in sight, neither are your clothes, shoes, jewelry, purse. 

The room has a phone, but you have no idea if it’s connected. You don’t know the number to the motel. Hell, you don’t even know its name, only its location. 

Frankie’s silhouette invades your thoughts, the size of him, the shape of him. His broad back, his strong shoulders, the line of his neck. The sensation of his hands grasping your waist. Their precision, their roughness. Their intent.

Is this how it ends?

Fresh tears swell under your eyelids. You quickly clench them close. 

You did everything wrong. What an appalling idiot. You should have acknowledged you’d never make it there, not in the state you were in. You should have called the motel to leave a message, explain your absence, and promise you’d be there again the following Friday. 

Now you have no means to reach him. You probably have lost him forever. The warm touch of his skin. His unique scent. His taste.

The beeping grows frantic. Heavy wet sobs heap up inside your chest. Your hand flies to cover your eyes. You anchor yourself to the throbbing pain in your skull and the prickling needle in your hand. To the faint clasp of the pulse oximeter on your index finger. Pursing your lips, you exhale.

Whether the phone is connected or not is just a detail. You can always signal someone with that little remote on the nightstand and have the option charged to the room. Ava’s phone number is the one you have memorized, she can come and get you, and when you manage to get out of here and get your phone back, you’ll replace Adrian’s contact info with hers as your ICE. 

The point is: you’re not trapped. You’re not a dead butterfly in a glass case. 

Your heart rate slows down. 

Between the cords and the hospital sheets, you look up at the white ceiling, and do what you do best: you check out, slip back between the cracks, disconnect.

—

The pain from your head injury is overwhelming. You’d ask for painkillers, but that collective we still haunts you. 

You expect Adrian to come back on Sunday. He doesn’t. Throughout the day, you fall in and out of sleep, a restless, feverish slumber crowded with violent dreams of flesh-eating monsters licking your bones clean.

On Monday morning, the doctor comes in to see you. A man in his early 60s with a thick mane of gray hair and a carefully trimmed beard, he calls you “sweetheart,” and when he raises his eyes from his tablet, he flashes you a perfunctory smile with blinding white veneers. He introduces himself as the head of the gastroenterology department. And a friend of Richard. He makes sure that you understand that his name on your chart is a favor to your father. His demeanor commands your respect, preferably by way of intimidation. 

Whatever he tells you, you’ve already learned from the nurses who waltzed in and out of your room in a brisk and constant ballet throughout the weekend, to check with skilled, professional movements the multiple cords and tubes pinning you to your bed. 

You suffered bacterial gastroenteritis, with severe dehydration, necessitating an antibiotic treatment, and, from your fainting spell, a minor concussion and a head injury. A thin split, on the right side of your forehead, perpendicular to your hairline.

You got sick. You fainted. You hurt your head.

After the doctor’s gone, you’re finally allowed to get up. Under the fluorescent ceiling light of the adjacent bathroom, you spend several minutes observing the seven stitches adorning your forehead. The thick black thread tied in neat little knots that look like dollhouse barbed wire. The visible indentation in your flesh underneath them. The kaleidoscopic and psychedelic coloration of your skin, spreading from your brow to your scalp.  

One of the nurses assures you the scar will quickly fade and disappear. Just like you. 

You find your belongings inside the narrow closet by the bathroom door. The slit of your pencil skirt is torn nearly up to the waist, and the blouse is bloodied. Your jewels are tucked inside your purse. You stand in front of the shelves, staring blankly at the black leather rectangle with the two gold C’s entwined on the front. One of the very first gifts you received from Adrian. You can’t remember if it was for Christmas, or your 30th birthday. Every Friday evening for the past three months, you’ve shoved it unceremoniously under your car seat. You hate that thing. It’s soulless, tacky, it begs for attention, it screams money.    

Later in the afternoon, your mother comes to visit. She brings you magazines, In Style, Elle, Southern Homes, Vogue … At first, she doesn’t look at your face, and when she does, she crumbles into tears. You comfort her. You watch her pad the corner of her fake lashes with a tissue she pulls out of her Birkin purse, and reapply lipstick.

Adrian comes back on Tuesday, with a large bouquet of roses, a box of imported Belgian chocolates you’re not allowed to eat, and your phone. He doesn’t stay long. Before he leaves, he presses an open-mouth kiss to your lips. You wait until he’s passed the door to spit into the kidney dish.

Your father calls within minutes of his departure, with an apology for not visiting. Work, he says, the magic word that justifies everything, from the clothes on your back to his shitty behavior. You tell him the doctor has advised to rest for the remainder of the week. 

In the evening, you finally text Ava. She calls you back immediately, which, beyond her audible concern, puts a lump in your throat. When she asks you how you’re feeling, it’s a minute before you can even speak. 

You’re discharged on Wednesday, with a tube of antibiotics, a short list of food to favor and a much longer one to avoid. 

Ava comes to pick you up. She brings you a change of clothes, a pair of baggy, distressed jeans and a white t-shirt that spells PRIDE in rainbow letters. You smile at your reflection in the bathroom mirror, and when you come out, she laughs like a child at her own joke. You laugh with her. It hurts a little, but the pain is worth it.

You’re still smiling when you ask her if you can keep the t-shirt, and her face drops. She hugs you, a bone-crushing hug with closed fists compressing your back, her face slotted into the crook of your neck. Her voice quivers when she answers that everything that is hers, is also yours. 

You stuff the pockets of your jeans full of your things and leave your purse in the closet. With a little bit of luck, the person who will find it can get a good price for it. 

On Friday morning, you drive back to the hospital to honor a 10:30 am appointment to remove your stitches. You’re led through a sprawling maze of corridors into a windowless room with baby blue walls, and instructed to undress to your underwear, which you don’t. Sitting on the examination couch, legs dangling in the air, palms rubbing on your jeans, you wait for the nurse to come in. 

She doesn’t remark on your defiance. In fact, she makes a point of soothing your nervousness, introducing herself as Diane, complimenting the color of your sneakers. She promises that you won’t feel a thing, and you believe her. When she smiles, her irises nearly entirely disappear, and a wide-spanning arch of wrinkles appears at the corner of her eyes, like sunbeams drawn by a happy child. 

While she prepares her utensils, she engages you in small talk, skillfully stirring the conversation toward the matter of your mental health and physical well-being. You’re well-trained too. You divert without shame or remorse. 

True to her word, she makes quick work of it, and when she’s done, she hands you a mirror framed in a blue, rubbery material. 

At first, you refuse to look, but she kindly insists. Her voice is gentle, angelical, her hands are warm when she lays them on your shoulders. She never once pronounces the word “scar.” She calls you “a beautiful and brave young woman.”

So you let her guide your hand upward until you’re faced with your image. 

“See? Barely visible. Once the ecchymosis has faded, you won’t even be able to notice it. Just something that happened.”

As she stands behind you, her warmth radiates through your cold bones, and she smiles broadly at your reflection. You blink back your tears. You want to commit her words to memory, uncorrupted by emotions. Just something that happened.

Out in the street, a strong wind blows in gusts from the east, in an overcast sky. The damp smell scrunches up your nose. Even without the sun, the air is too warm for the season. When you get into your car, the first thing you do is crank up the AC. 

That rotten hospital smell is still clinging to your skin and hair, you keep having these drops in blood sugar that leave you trembling like a willow tree and drenched in cold sweat. The whiplash from this morning’s anxiety does nothing to level your mood. 

You glance at your watch. 11:30. You let your head roll back on the headrest. You can’t remember a time in your life when you were not exhausted. 

You consider heading straight to the motel. Originally, you intended to go home first, change your clothes and apply some makeup. Cover up the giant bruise on your forehead, and do your best to look alive. It would be smart to put some food in you, too, and of course, to hydrate.

“Fuck it.”

You start the ignition, and merge into the midday traffic. 

The drive is excruciatingly long. A week from Christmas, the traffic is terrible. Getting out of Tampa takes over an hour. 

It’s the afternoon when you pull into the motel’s parking lot. Your eyesight’s unfocused, your nerves are raw, your shoulders pulled taut. 

Of the three other cars parked in the lot, none look like the one you’ve always assumed to be Raul’s, an ancient white Jeep Wagoneer with a rusty back bumper. 

As you try to ponder what to do next, the prickling of your healing tissues riles you up, convoking intrusive thoughts of your scarred reflection. The antibiotics drill a hole into your stomach, the discomfort creases your brow into a constant frown. Your right leg bounces continuously on the car floor. 

You’re running on empty. Pure, solid stress is what’s holding you up.

Once again trapped, this time inside the carbon fiber box of your car, while the outside world is defined in movements. The course of the overcast sun across the pearly gray sky, and the ever-changing shades of the clouds chased by the eastern winds. The occasional vehicle driving past the motel on the secondary road. The trembling of tree leaves, birds flying over, lonesome or in flocks. 

That decaying smell is everywhere in you, around you, but it might be your festering thoughts.

You’re too much, not enough, a disposable commodity. 

Is this how it ends?

Sometimes before 7pm, the white Wagoneer pulls into the parking lot, followed a few minutes later by a red sedan. Raul’s short, bespectacled figure is recognizable through the windshield of his Jeep. Then, it’s the familiar sight of his blue overall as he climbs the flight of stairs to the reception. You slide down on your seat, you don’t need him to see you already stationed here. 

Shortly after, a curvy young woman with a straight, blonde ponytail that goes down to her waist comes out and jogs to the red sedan. She gets in on the passenger side, and you wait until the car disappears on the horizon to exit yours. 

The short walk from your car to the office should be muscle memory. Only today, the gravel feels steady under the flat soles of your Van’s, and your jeans allow you to take actual, proper strides. Carried by the momentum, you march into the room, opening the door so wide it bangs on the door stopper with an ominous sound of shaking glass panes. 

Behind the desk, Raul lifts his head. It’s easy to tell by his puzzled expression that he doesn’t place you. And why would he? You look nothing like you usually do on every other Friday evening. Your clothes are casual, your face is bare, your features pulled taut by mental and physical exhaustion and an array of soreness and pains, your forehead shines in Technicolor, set off by a fresh, inch-long scar. 

“Good evening,” you start with a tight smile. “I—“

A whole week. Seven days, and you haven’t thought this through. The liability that is your impractical brain appalls you, exasperation heating your temples. In the silence that ensues, the droning of the AC unit seems to grow louder. You smile again. 

“I come in every week?” 

Jesus. 

“Oh yes,” he nods, his boot-button eyes boring into yours, “Friday nights, room number 2.”

“Yes,” you answer with a strained, cringy little chuckle, “room number 2. Is it–”

You wipe your sweaty palms on the sides of your jeans.  

“I was wondering if the room was booked last week?”

“Yes, last week room 2 was booked. But you didn’t come, last week.”

“Yes, no, I was held back,” you hear yourself say. You wince before you add, “And, the— the tall man— the tall man who joins me, did he come, last week?”

“Yes. He came. He waited, two, maybe three hours. You didn’t come, so he left. No refund.  Reservations paid in advance are not refundable unless canceled at least 48h—“

“Oh no, that’s fine,” you cut in, relieved he might have thought this embarrassing interaction was about money. “And is the room booked for tonight?”

Raul’s boot-button eyes linger on you for a beat before he lowers them to the computer screen on his left. The mouse clicks a few times, loud and suspenseful, as he operates the thing. You try to catch the reflection of something, anything in his round glasses. There are seven rooms, two cars beside his and yours in that parking, what can possibly take him so long? 

If the bacteria hasn't killed you, the wait surely will. 

“No,” he eventually declares, looking up at you, “it’s not booked for tonight.”

The answer falls on you like a guillotine. It rings out in your ears and you sway on your feet from the violence of the blow. You don’t know how to breathe. 

“Do you want to book it?”

You shake your head slowly.

“No. Thank you.”

Back outside, in the muggy semi-darkness, your wobbling legs find the way to your car on autopilot. 

He made no plans to come back. This time, he didn’t leave any note. This is how it ends. Between your lungs, the wild creature is bleeding. 

You should turn around, ask if they have his full name, bribe Raul into giving you his contact info. You never thought of memorizing his plates, but you could always drive back to the Hole in the Wall, see if he’s been there, if he came looking for you. 

You don’t. You won’t. You’re not entitled to any of it. He was never yours. Never yours to want, to long for, to miss, to hold.

All that’s left now is the abyss and the fear. You’re terrified. Of what lies ahead, the choices you’ll have to make, the answers you’ll have to give. The hollowness in your chest. The gap in your existence. The fracture in your years. 

The before and the after him. 

He has changed you. You changed yourself. You’ll never know if you changed him. 

Stunned, you stand still by your car, cloaked in the velvety night, frozen in space and time. Your hand petrified on the door handle. Unable and unwilling to leave. Eyes riveted to the brass number on the door, glinting with a blurry glow in the soft yellow hues of the porch lights. Moths flutter fuzzy and silent into the light beam, oblivious to the drama of your story. 

The rectangular window stands guard over your secret life. Behind the yellow curtains, your lonely silhouette awaits to come to life, poised and silent, seated on the edge of the bed. 

That woman, young and brave . Want has made her bold and determined. In just a few moments, her trained ears will pick up the sound of an old truck engine drawing near on the empty road. Her existence will come into focus with thrilled anticipation. She will bloom out of her restraints at the sound of tires on the gravel. 

“Oh god,” you whisper, whipping your head around, your grip on the handle white-knuckled as the red truck parks behind your sedan. 

His massive silhouette comes out, and you clasp your hand to your mouth to muffle a dry sob. 

It’s a trick of your overwrought brain. He’s wearing a pair of worn-out jeans and a suede jacket over a dark t-shirt. The brim of his hat casts a long shadow over his face, but he’s moving fast, and in a couple of strides, he’s standing before you, hands on his hips. He’s smiling, a broad and bright smile. You catch a glimpse of a dimple you’ve never seen. A trick of the mind. 

Oh but he’s here, in the flesh, your body knows before your brain comprehends his presence. The instant pull, the humming purr of the creature inside you, the blood level instinct.  

“Hey!” he calls. He sounds out of breath. Like he’s been running. Running to you. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out through your clenched fingers. 

“What?”

His smile drops when you take a step back. 

“I’m so sorry, I couldn’t make it, I thought I could, but I couldn’t make it, and then I couldn’t—“ 

Your throat closes around the memory and you swallow hard, eyelids weighed by stubborn tears that refuse to fall. 

He takes a step forward, tilting down his head. That scowl. That scowl, you know. You’re only too familiar with it.

“Then it was too late and I couldn’t reach you,” you finish.

“What happened to you?”

The low timbre of his voice reverberates inside your chest. His eyes flicker up to your forehead. Before you can think of anything to say, he cups your face with both hands and turns it to the side, towards the light. The whole sequence happens so fast that you trip on your feet and catch yourself on his forearms. 

“Who the fuck did that to you?” he grits, leaning so close his breath fans your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat in a whisper. 

“Did he do that to you?”

“What?”

“Your husband. Did he do that to you?” he asks again, louder, this time. Separating each syllable.

“Oh no! No, I fell.” You bring the tip of your fingers to the sensitive mark. “The nurse said it will fade.”

“How did you fall?” he presses. 

He doesn’t believe you. Like you could lie to him if you wanted to. 

The tension from his frame resonates through yours, where a week’s worth of suppressed emotions and tears are piled up, waiting for a detonator that will bring down the dam. You push away his hands, your frown mirroring his own. 

“I fell, ok? I’m here now, so let’s go inside.”

“I’m not– no,” he huffs, hands back on his hips, shaking his head. His boots scuff over the gravel, the grating sound loud in the empty lot, in the stifling night, and despite the dimness you can make out that scowl, ever present, splitting his gaze. 

“You can barely stand.”

However relevant, his rejection burns your cheeks. You raise your chin, leaning against the hood of the car for countenance. For balance.

“I’m fine. The room is free. Let’s go.” 

“I said no. I’m not fucking you. Look, I don’t know what happened to you, but you’re clearly not well enough–”

“You don’t fucking tell me what I’m well enough to do,” you snarl with your heartbeat in your throat, pushing away from the car, sustained by your last shred of strength. “Don’t assume you know what I’m capable of.”

He stands in front of you, seemingly unmoved, impossibly tall, infuriatingly silent. Stoic, and you’re thrumming with frustration, standing stubborn and brittle in front of him. He gives you none of the myriad of micro-expressions that usually play across his face, that you read instinctually. You feel ugly, exposed, but you withhold his gaze, jaw clenched, breathing heavy through your nose. You might faint again.

The silence drags on. It’s a minute before he moves again, crossing his arms over his chest. His voice is calm, when he speaks next, low and quiet, almost soothing. You don’t want it to be soothing. You don’t want to be soothed, you’re not done with your anger. He didn’t book the room, and now he doesn’t want to go in. You are a swappable vessel, after all. 

“I don’t. I don’t assume anything,” he says, “I don’t want to hurt you, that’s all.”

“I told you already, you cannot hurt me,” you snap, impatient.

“Wanna bet?”

You don’t need to. You know he could. Just not in the way he thinks he would. He’s already marked you permanently, deeper than any injury, any wound ever could. 

“Listen,” he begins with a sigh. 

“No, I get it, I look like shit and you don’t want to fuck me—“

“Alright, that’s enough!” he silences you with his index finger pointed at you. His voice booms in the dim parking lot, and you avert your eyes. Weariness washes over you, you fall back against the hood of your car.

His shoulders sink just a bit, the slightest drop in the tension pulling them taut. He steps closer to you, leans down, seeking your gaze, searching your face in the semi-darkness. 

“Hey, why don’t we go for a drive?” he offers. “We can talk. Or not. We can listen to the radio. Or just drive in silence, if you want. Clear our minds. What do you think?”

Our minds. 

He’s so close you can smell the clean scent of his t-shirt and the musk of him underneath it; you can feel your skin reaching out for him in feverish little tendrils you cannot control. 

“Ok.”

“Ok?”

“Yes, ok.”

He smiles, a cautious, appraising smile. The light catches at the mahogany depth of his eyes. He reaches for you, placing a large hand in the small of your back, and whispers, “Alright, let’s go.”

— 

The cab of the truck feels almost sacred. For months, it’s been your favorite daydream. Picturing him alone in the only private space of his you’ve ever seen, driving to you. 

What are his thoughts, then? Are they of you? Are they happy? Are they hopeful?

On any other occasion, you’d relish the opportunity to be in here with him. You’d catalog and store up every tiny detail for future use in your fantasies of him. Instead, you’re sitting tight and rigid on the wide bench seat, pressed against the door, face turned toward the window, seeing absolutely nothing. 

You hate yourself for that, too. 

After a while, you risk a glance at the dashboard. 

Judging by the analog dials, the truck has some mileage, but it’s visibly been well maintained. There’s no visible spots, no dust, no dents, only the patina of time. The vinyl bench seat is upholstered with a soft fabric whose colors have fainted after too many years under the Florida sun. There’s a cassette player and a cigarette lighter. The windows are manual. 

The one on Frankie’s side is cracked open. The night air carries his scent over to your side of the cab. Leather, laundry, musk. You can’t escape it. 

“Hey. You ok there?”

In the moonless night, you can only make out the sharp lines of his profile against the outside darkness of the country road. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. 

He looks at you, brow pinched, but his expression is soft. Compassionate. 

“C’mere.”

The truck slows down to a snail pace, and he unbuckles your seatbelt. You scoot over near him. Without taking his eyes off the road, he reaches to your right and rolls out the middle seat belt across your lap, fastening it between your hip and his. 

The truck accelerates to a cruising speed, and he wraps his arm over your shoulders, drawing you closer. 

You let him, allow your body to slump against his, embrace his warmth, your cheek pressed against his chest. It’s solid and strong, a match for your skeleton of loneliness. The suede fabric of his jacket is smooth, worn in. You inhale him there. You rest a hand on his thigh, and slide the other under his jacket, to rest on his chest. It rises and falls with his breathing. If you lie real still, you can feel the steady thumping of his heart. 

“I’m not married.”

“Ok.”

The word is felt through your cheek as much as you hear it. 

“The man I live with. He’s not my husband.”

“Ok.”

The nodding motion of his head nudges you a bit. 

“And I really fell.”

He remains silent, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. The leather lining creaks inside his fist. 

“I got sick, last Friday. I get these stomach bugs all the time, but this was a mean one. I tried to make it through the workday, but eventually I passed out. Like a corporate rendition of a Victorian damsel, or something.”

You chuckle, diverting the humiliating memory. Just something that happened. 

He tightens his embrace. 

“That when you hurt your head?”

“Yes. On the edge of the elevator’s frame. At work”

“Fuck. Did it hurt a lot?”

“Actually it didn’t? I was out. It hurt when I woke up later, in the hospital, though. I had this terrible headache. I didn’t know where I was, or when I was.”

You feel him shake his head as he asks, “Were you scared?”

How to put into words, that the only fear you’ve ever had, is to never see him again? 

“I survived,” you answer with a shrug and a little, empty laugh.

If you were brave enough, if you had some strength left, you’d ask. How did he feel, when he got to the motel and found the door to the room closed. Why he didn’t book the room again. Why he still came tonight. 

“Does it still hurt?” he asks. 

“No,” you lie. 

“Mmh. And for real?”

You rub your cheek against the smooth suede, imprinting your soft smile into it. And maybe some of your scent for him to keep. In case, just in case he does care.

“A little. I’ll be fine.”

The truck cruises over the black asphalt, between the straight, stretching yellow lines. 

Your next words come in quiet, but not hesitant.

“He wouldn’t hit me.”

“Ok.”

“That’s not what he does.”

He exhales slowly through his nose. 

“What does he do?”

You bite your cheeks, already regretting this moment of weakness. The treason. 

“He makes me doubt.”

“Him?”

“Myself. And him too.”

Your eyes clench shut. His chest flexes under your cheek as he hardens his grip on the wheel. 

The truck drives past a gas station, through a small town. Neatly delimited square lawns, white houses with flags hanging on their porches, Christmas lights blinking through square windows, and you tilt up your head to look at him in the streetlights. 

His outlined profile, his steady expression, everything about him feels safe and grounding. The beauty that radiates from him, from within him, sinks to your heart. It races madly, awakening the soreness in your bruised ribcage, and perhaps he can feel it, with the way you’re curled up into his side. Leaning down, he brushes a kiss to your forehead. You bunch up his T-shirt in your fist. 

Soon, the yellow lines unwinding endlessly in the truck’s headlights weigh down your eyelids. In the safety of Frankie’s hold, your mind and body slowly drift into a peaceful slumber. 

“You ok? Want me to close the window?”

His voice is a distant whisper skirting the edges of your consciousness. 

“No, ’m good,” you mumble. “Wanna stay like this forever.”

Under your palm, Frankie's heart thumps loud and heavy. 

—

When you wake up, the truck is still and silent. Engine cooled off, windows rolled up. The night is pitch dark. Frankie’s scent, heady, familiar, everywhere around you. Your cheek is resting on his lap, and his hand lies heavy on your waist. His breathing comes in even and slow. Both your seatbelts are unbuckled. Your feet are bare. 

Aside from your legs, sore from being crammed into the length of the seat bench, you feel better than you have in a week, with your headache finally gone. 

You sit up, take in your surroundings and his sleeping form, seated behind the wheel. He stirs, lifting an eyelid and glancing in your direction, the corner of his mouth tugged up into something that resembles a drowsy grin. 

At some point while you were asleep, he drove back to the motel. Parked the truck so that the cabin faces away from the only source of light. 

You stretch side by side, sleep-heavy limbs, comfortable silence. You watch him lift his hat and comb his fingers through his hair, a tender smile lifting the corner of your lips. You know the curls he hides there. 

Of course, it cannot last forever. Nothing ever does. In a couple of hours, it’ll be daybreak. He’s always gone, by then. 

You won’t make this uncomfortable or difficult for him. You slip your socks and shoes back on. You’re reaching for the handle when he stops you with a hand on your thigh. 

“Wait. I need to talk to you.”

His voice is low and husky from sleep. You realize you have never woken up next to him. Never slept with him through the night. Probably never will. 

You hum quietly, pivoting on the seat bench to face him. 

“I can’t come, next week,” he says, searching your eyes. 

Emotionless. That’s how you have to be. You know how to do this. Not when it comes to him, but you can try. You try your best, your very hardest. 

“I understand.”

“I imagine you can’t be here either.”

No, you can’t. Thanksgiving at your parents’, Christmas with Adrian’s family. Always. 

“No, I can’t.”

The following week, either. But you don’t share that.

This is when the two of you should discuss a practical means of communication. The awareness hangs between you, loud and unspoken. The consequences it would have on whatever it is that the two of you share. The shockwave, the shift in nature and intention. The names that exist to describe your situation, crass, overused, sordid. Tainted with lies and deception, secret texting, hushed phone calls, disgusting, undeniable guilt.

Frankie moves first, getting out of the truck and going round the hood to open the door for you. You slide out of the high cab into his arms, and when your feet touch the gravel, you wonder if this could be the last time he will ever hold you.

In the feeble porch lights, his face is a landscape of diffuse shadows. The dip in his collarbone draws you in, a beacon in a dark ocean. You nuzzle into it, inhaling his scent, taking in his fragrant warmth. You tuck your face in the crook of his neck, graze your cheek along his pebbled skin. What if you stayed there? Tucked away forever. Disappeared to the rest of the world. Would it matter? Would he let you? 

Your fists bunch the sides of his jacket. 

“Kiss me, Frankie, please.” 

“Yes.”

His first kiss is tentative, the plush cushion of his lips a soft press over yours, but they return immediately, hungry for a taste, for more, the tip of his tongue brushing against your parted lips. 

All that you crave, all that you need is here, in his embrace, between his arms and his hands tugging at your waist, beckoning your body closer to his. 

Your arms circle his neck, the tips of your fingers seeking his curls. His hand spans your back, finds your nape. He molds you into his chest, and with the way he’s pressing you against him, firm and commanding, you know this will be one of these moments that feed into your hopes. The delusion you’ve been nurturing since the first time you’ve faced him. The dream that he wants you to be his above anyone else. 

His third kiss opens you up, tongue swirling around yours, and you keen, rising to your tiptoes, angling your head to take more, more, more and he gives. Hands gripping, tongue licking, crushed lips and guttural moans, he gives you all that you need like he needs it too. 

You’re floating above the gravel, there’s no time, there’s no space, his body has no end and there’s no beginning to yours as he kisses away your fears, your doubts, your darkness. 

Together, you stand entwined between night and morning, linked by chance, need and hurt, bonded by will and desire. 

There’s no urgent hunger in the spanning of his splayed hands across your body, no rage in his kneading of the soft of your hips, or the swell of your breast. His grip is strong, but studious and thorough. He takes you in, your curves, your dips, the slopes and slants of your figure. Like he’s storing up the feelings and memories of you for when there will be no more, when you’re far and gone, away with your husband who is not your husband. There’s despair in his touch, but most of all, there’s foresight, and intent. 

He’s untucked your t-shirt, calloused hand skimming up to cup your breast, thumbing the hardening peak of your nipple.

Once again, you find yourself pressed against the hard, cool metal of the truck, and like the first time, you’re frantic in his hold, but he’s in control. His thick thigh parts your legs, offering friction to the coiling need between your hips, that fire pooling liquid down your core. You squirm against the firm muscles. 

“Want me to make you come, baby?”

He’s breathing into your mouth, and you whine in frustration. 

“No, I want you inside me.” 

“Shit, you sure?”

“I’m not made of glass, you’re not going to break me.” 

You push away to look at him, a demonstration of strength. All talk, but you’re that desperate. He pulls you back into him for another kiss, chuckling into your mouth. 

“You think I don’t know that?”

So many simple things you had never done with him before tonight, after months of lying bare and naked, to his gaze and his touch, inside and out. Driving, falling asleep, walking, his steadying hand nestled in the small of your back. 

Behind the reception desk, Raul seems unfazed by this new development. The drawing pad blackened in charcoal is back.

“Room number 2,” Frankie asks, “for the night.” 

It’s so wild to consider that the two men have never interacted, when Raul plays such an important part of your Friday ritual. You’d try to get Frankie’s full name, real name, perhaps, but Raul doesn’t ask. This is not that kind of place. 

“I can pay,” you whisper into Frankie’s shoulder, tucking your t-shirt back into your jeans. 

“I know you can.”

When he flips open his wallet, a small color picture pops out, next to his driver's license. The photo booth format is easily identifiable. In the snapshot, a bare-headed Frankie is holding a very young child. The picture is that of a moment, seized through movement, the kid holding the Standard Heating Oil hat in her chubby hands, likely mere seconds after having snatched it from Frankie’s head, who’s looking down at her, with a bemused grin, tousled hair. 

It’s him, his distinctive, sharp features unmistakable, only he hardly looks like the man you know. There’s no trace of the grief he carries like a cloak when he meets with you. No crease splitting his brow like when he looks at you. Instead, his eyes glint with pride, creasing with a smile that dimples his cheeks, large and genuine. And the child’s round, plump face is brightened by the same irresistible dimpled grin, the same head full of wild curls, the same mahogany eyes.   

You quickly avert your gaze, but you’ve seen enough. The guilt is physical, visceral, it squeezes your ribcage harder than the pliers. The pain has you wincing and you grip the reception desk for balance, but Frankie’s arm is already wrapped around your waist and he’s leading you outside. 

In a trance, you walk beside him to room number 2. Your room. That picture-perfect image of fatherly love dancing before your eyes. 

He’ll never be yours. The wild creature shivers between your lungs. The certitude shatters your heart. 

Stepping inside, you’re rooted to the floor. Limbs too heavy to lift. Your blood has turned into lead. The fire in your core is a pile of ashes. You can taste it on the back of your tongue. 

Frankie flicks up the toggle switch, and the room lights up in amber hues. It feels too big, the satin quilt, the brown carpet, the yellow curtains, everything is foreign and distant.

Behind you, he sets his hat on the desk, drapes his jacket on the back of the chair.

“You ok?”

His voice jolts you up. You turn around to face him, unshed tears hanging round and heavy from your lashes. After a beat, he takes a step towards you, and you feel that absolute pull tugging from behind your midriff. 

His gaze drifts up to your fresh scar, where your flesh is tender, swollen and bruised. Yours travel down along the pebbled skin of neck, to the dip between his collarbone. A firework of freckles springs from the V-shaped collar of his faded blue t-shirt.  

Carefully, he slides your t-shirt out of your jeans again. You lift your arms like a docile child, let him undress you. He places a hand, warm and calloused, beneath your sternum. His palm heats your skin, warmth seeping into you. It untangles something, there. Something you didn’t know was still bruised. You lean into it. 

He stays like that for a while. 

Then his hand skates up to the base of your throat. His cold hard stare finds your soft sad eyes. 

“Do you get wet, thinking I could hurt you?”  

“I trust you,” you answer, a nod contradicting your words. His gaze hardens.

“Why did you think I wouldn’t come tonight, then?”

You shake your head, blinking fast. You never mentioned that. How would he know your thoughts? 

“Don’t you know I would fuck you on my deathbed?” he grits.

But you don’t know. Of course you don’t know, and how could you? Nothing in your life has ever prepared you for him, for this, for the strength of that pull, inescapable, for this obsession that has uprooted your life, your body, your instincts. Nothing has prepared you for the magnetism of his skin, the things you’d do to be in his presence, to breathe the same air, what you’d risk for his touch, what you’d give up for his attention, what you’d destroy for his affection . Your comfort, your safety, your future, your health. Your family and his, nothing fucking matters compared to the insatiable hunger of this wild thing inside your chest and its incessant chant of him, him, him. 

Your chest heaves, but his grip is firm. He leans down, lowering his lips to your ear, where he whispers, “What’s your name?”

You close your eyes, the wild creature is gnawing at your chest, eating you raw from within. 

“I want you.”

His hand lingers, travelling higher, fingers splayed across the width of your throat in a loose grip. You hope he tightens it. Like he does sometimes when he’s inside you. Tune out your mind, toss you into white-hot pleasure. Into oblivion. 

He doesn’t. 

He’s never truly been gentle with you before. Tonight, his kisses are languid, his touch soft and slow along your ribs. Delicate, when he reaches the swell of your breasts and slides down the cup of your bra, replacing the fabric with the palms of his hands. When he leans down into you, wrapping his plush lips around your nipple, sucking in the peaked bud ever so lightly, flicking the flat of his hot wet tongue around it, lips pursed, suckling. 

Against your belly, you feel him harden. You shiver with arousal and anticipation, with exhaustion. With the weight of this week and the burden of your life. With pain, ache and soreness. With your empty body, and your empty cunt. With that creature in your chest that can’t be tamed or satisfied. Can’t even be named. 

You shiver in his hold, for fear that this’ll be the last time. For fear that he’ll never be yours, that he’ll never want you the way you want him, with determination, with madness, without a choice. 

“I want you inside me, Frankie please," you breathe out, and he backs you into the bed to lay you down on the quilt. 

The fabric is cold under your burning skin, you shudder at the contact. He takes off your shoes, rolls off your socks. He slides your jeans down and off your legs, then your panties. 

You sit up to watch him undress, his eyes of mahogany brown never once leaving your face. 

He stands before you, naked, erect, filling your vision with this breadth, and you want to rip your beating heart out of your aching chest. 

The bed dips and he’s crawling over you. Leaning down, he drags the crown of his head up along your belly, along the valley of your breasts, his hair a soft caress on your quivering skin. Your fingers twine in his curls, you get lost in the sensation. For weeks he has barely let you touch it, kept it out of your reach. Now the abundance feels decadent, your head sinks back into the mattress with a faint exhale. 

Cautiously, he parts your folds with two knuckles. You bite down a gasp, tensing up. You can’t shake off that chilling dread, the one that trickles inside you, cold and piercing, when you think you’re losing him. But your body knows better, that sticky wet slick pooled between your hips, the coiling heat at the center of you. 

“Stop me,” he breathes into the crook of your neck, “don’t let me hurt you.”

He inches the tip of his length inside you with a strained groan, hooking your legs around his waist. He tries to work you open with a few shallow thrusts, panting against your temple.

“Fuck you’re tight.”

“Please, Frankie–”

His frame tenses up under your palms.

“I’m trying, you’re too— fuck, you’re too tight. Let me eat you open.”

“No!”

That’s not what you want, not tonight when you have no strength to spare, no time to lose, no patience left out. 

“I can—“ You trip over your words. 

“What?”

“I can sit on it.”

Heat creeps up your neck, setting your cheeks ablaze. He gives you a quiet chuckles. 

“Yea. Yea you can.”

He grabs your wrists and lifts you with easy strength. A few swift movements and he’s lying on the bed underneath you, your folded knees a straddle across his lap. You feel dizzy, like your blood can’t course along your veins fast enough, like it’s no match for his strength, for your arousal. 

“Spit on it,” he says. 

You circle his cock, smooth, heavy. It throbs into your hand. You take it all in, with a trance-like gaze, the coarse curls at his base brushing your skin, the round head, an angry shade of red, the ridges and pumped up veins along the length, the tip of your fingers that don’t meet around it.  

“Come on, don’t be shy, spit on it.”

Bending down, you lick a broad stripe along the thick ridge of his underside, from his balls to the fat round tip, where the skin is smooth and his taste heady, and he hisses something you can’t make out. It shoots through you, his sound, his burning skin, his taste. The curled tip of your tongue slides inside the small leaking slit, collecting the pearly drops he gives you. Your eyes flutter shut. His hands grip your thighs above the knees as you take him into your mouth, his fingers digging, a bruising furrow, something desperate. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Your lips slide along him, up and down, tongue wrapped around his girth. With hollowed cheeks, you take him deeper with each stroke until your head is spinning and you slip him out, rueful, glassy-eyed. 

His breathing comes in almost as heavy as yours. 

“Sit on it, now.”

His voice sounds wrecked, like you must look. 

“Yes,” you pant. 

Hands braced on Frankie’s chest, you’re not that flimsy, empty shell. You’re that fierce creature inside your chest, the one that claws and purrs and spits and demands. You tap into the bottomless pit of its life force, tap into the rumbling of Frankie’s ragged breathing under your palms, and you take.  

Eyes strained on the solid breadth of his chest, on the expanse of his amber skin and the darker circles of his nipples, on the constellation of soft brown freckles that turn your insides into a sticky leaking mess, you slide up his lap, part your folds with his hard cock, rub your clit over it.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he murmurs, not for you, not really. To himself. Like the memory comes back crushing. 

The bobbing of his throat, the low rasp of his voice, the wet sound of your slick smearing over his cock, it all builds up hot and prickly right under your navel. 

Sweat breaks on your forehead, along your spine, down in the bow shape of your arched back. 

You push away from the cradle of his hips, knees sinking into the creaking mattress. Raise yourself from his heat just enough to line him up, with his hands curled around your thighs, a steadying help. 

You’re tight, but wanton-wet. He’s a gliding stretch along your walls as you sink down on him with all your weight, your cunt ready to collapse, fluttering frantically. 

His thrashes back into the mattress, corded neck, strained muscles. Thick fingers bruising the tender flesh of your legs. 

“Fuck wait, don’t move, don’t move. Stop moving, shit!”

You still, not like you can move anyway, the pleasure-pain has you numbed out, limp, blinded. Your head lolls back, your eyes roll shut. Your lower lip twitches with the tension and the stretch. He’s so big you forget how to breathe but this is what you wanted, for him to annihilate all the other pains.

A sound comes out of your parted lips. A grating against your vocal cords, a primitive vibration of the air that’s punched out of your lungs. It’s not you, it’s the creature mewling.  

You can feel his cock pulsating hard and angry inside your belly. It’s a tidal ripple that travels up your chest. Your heart skips several beats. 

His hands cup roughly around your breasts. You lean forward into his hold, hips swaying, slack mouthed. You keep him inside you, a deep roll, hipbones to hipbones. The coarse black hair at his base a harsh scrape against your swollen clit. 

And suddenly, he fucks up into you. A hard shove, filling, merciless, into your cervix. You cry, nearly toppling backward and he sits up with a cinch, arms wrapping around your waist, catching you before you can fall. 

“Too much?”

“Oh god yes.”

You’re crying, at last. Big, hot beady tears of salt rolling down your cheeks. Full, fucked out, filled to the brim. Everything that’s not him obliterated. Thoughts, emotions, sensations.

“That’s what you wanted, right? You want too much, baby?”

His voice is quiet and soft like silk, teeth raking along your throat. It’s almost a bite but not quite, tongue tasting your sweat, lips wrapping around your pulse point, barely sucking in. You can’t speak, your nails dig into his arms, forming little pink crescents you’re not allowed to leave behind. 

You nod, you breathe out, “Yes, I want too much.” 

He straightens up, your breasts are pressed to his chest, sweats mingling. His scent is overwhelming. That musk he exudes, a leathery spice, whenever you’re fucking. The scent of his desire. 

His hand tangles in your hair. He makes sure you’re looking at him.

“Take it. Take what you want. Fuck, you’re beautiful, so fucking beautiful, you believe it, right?” 

You try to tilt your face down, hide your tears, hide your scar. He doesn’t let you. So you give in. Because, what if you are? 

“Say it again, please.” 

“Look what you do to me, baby. Can you feel what you do to me?”

His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your ass, and he grinds you onto his cock, a slow, thorough grind, splitting you deeper onto him. It’s coiling fast, hot and heavy, right at the center of you. 

“I’m gonna come, Frankie.”

“Do it. Come. Use me, make yourself come on my cock. Make yourself feel good. Take everything you need.” 

He talks you through your orgasm as you tremble and crumble in his hold. It’s a high that feels like a free-fall, like you’re unraveling, like you’re never landing. Like your skin’s burning and your mind is the horizon. 

You’re sobbing quietly when he carefully eases out of you, still hard. He carries you in his arms and you think you’re floating. You’re drained, boneless, falling asleep already. 

He lies you down under the covers, tucks you in. Places a glass of water on the nightstand. Folds your clothes on the desk. 

You don’t hear him dress up. You don’t hear him leave. 

And in a few hours, when room service wakes you up, barging into the room, you won’t remember his forehead kiss. 

****

#one day I will understand why I am more obsessed with Frankie driving his truck than flying a fucking aircraft????? #it's like Kelli said: it's my safe space 🧡 #Kelli's a genius #anyway #HAPPY FRANKIE FRIDAY #tonight you belong to me #tybtm #Francisco Catfish Morales #frankie morales #the pilot™️ #frankie morales x fem!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x ofc #frankie morales / fem!reader #frankie morales / you #frankie morales / ofc #triple frontier fic #triple frontier #frankie friday #will miller #benny miller #santiago pope garcia #william ironhead miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fic

[sweetenerobert]

SOBER REALIZATIONS

dom!joel miller x dad!male reader

genre: neighbor joel, no outbreak au, explicit, minors dni

summary: after waking up in joel’s bed — naked, you try your best to ignore him, but joel’s persistence becomes apparent when he interrupts dinner with your daughter.

warnings: infidelity, strong language, fingering, porn with plot, joel is 40, reader is 38, unprotected P in A, dirty talk, outdoor sex, fingering, praise and degrading, cockwarming, choking

word count: 7.8k

a/n: dividers by @firefly-graphics

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YOU DIDN’T KNOW WHAT WOKE YOU UP FIRST. THE PAIN-SPLITTING HEADACHE OR THE ACHE AND SORENESS IN YOUR BUTT.

A string of sun rays hit you straight in the face, and you were agitated that it was the morning and that you had to be an adult.

You mumbled and grumbled as you brought your hands up toward your forehead. You knew it wouldn't help with the pain right away, but it would bring some of it down. The hangover you got was coming like a truck, and the sun wasn't doing any favors of slowing the pain down.

Getting up from your bed felt like it would be an impossible task. Your eyes were blurry from the headache in your head. Moving your hands away from your face and down by your side, you took a deep breath and contemplated getting out of —

Your hand hit something on your side, something hard.

You squint your eyes and look to your right, and that's when you see it — a tanned body next to you.

Your eyes open wide as you sit up, and you notice it’s Joel Miller. A married Joel Miller is naked, next to you, who is also naked — and in the same bed he and Adaline share.

You have trouble breathing for a second but then catch the staggering breaths. You slowed down to process the night before.

Going over to Joel’s to drink, getting drunk, the question, then you touching his bulge. Then the city boy, nickname/pet name. Your head yelled at you to stop what was happening, but you ignored it. The rough sex that resulted in you being in Joel’s bed.

You facepalmed before cursing yourself, slowing your head down; you knew you had to get out of his bed while he was sleeping out from the alcohol you both consumed.

You slowly slid toward the edge of the till your feet were near the end of the bed. Softly placing both feet on the wooden floor below you — standing up, you felt pain in your thighs, like an intense vibration.

That sensation made you fall on your knee; you held yourself up the best you could with the bed on your side. It felt like your legs were jelly under your weight, but you had to escape this predicament.

Walking out and down the stairs of Joel’s house was a mission on its own; you almost slipped down his stairs at least twice. Finally, making it on the floor, you see Joel and your clothes sprawled, the two glasses you drank from on the coffee table, and the bottle of rum you bought over — almost empty.

You shook your head and grabbed your clothes, and put them on, hoping that. Marigold, Sarah, or Joel wasn't seeing you naked. As you slipped your clothes on, you heard Joel upstairs, mumbling and grumbling.

Then you heard the floor creak above you, and your eyes widened. You slip your shoes on as fast as possible and slip out of the front door as quickly and quietly as possible. Once outside, you take deep breaths — like you were getting choked.

Hands on your knees and gasping for breath, you feel the bile coming up your throat. Holding in your cheeks, you release the contents in your stomach on the grass next to you. After throwing up, you shuffled your feet toward your front door.

Groaning in pain as you open your door, you notice Sarah and Marigold sleeping on the couch in the living room. You smile at the thought of the girls having a fun/eventful night.

You rushed to the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of ibuprofen, got a glass of water, opened the ibuprofen, and popped a pill in your mouth, taking a swig of water for the medicine to travel down your throat easier/faster.

Exhaling a breath and looking around your kitchen, you feel defeated that what you did with Joel might eat you alive for a long time.

“C’mon, city boy, let's be an adult.”

“Do you want to go out to eat?” Marigold asks.

You look up from the paperwork you are doing in your kitchen.

“What made you think of that?”

“Well, we barely go out to eat, anyway. I mean, when was the last time we enjoyed dinner, father, and daughter?”

You slowly nod and think about the last time you and Marigold actually went to dinner, she had to be ten the last time, and now she’s fifteen.

You did need a stress reliever from the paperwork; you could always do the paperwork another day; or procrastinate.

“Any suggestions?” You shrug.

Marigold puts her fingers to her chin as if concentrating hard on her answer. But then her eyes light up with astonishment.

“What's that one place where it's like a family-owned business, and they used to give the kids milkshake with Twisler straws?”

You had to think about what she said. Many family-oriented businesses resided in Austin at times, hell you own a bakery your dad wanted to build back when you were a kid. But the milkshake with the Twisler straws made you scratch your head.

“I’m drawing a blank, Mare. Do you remember the letter of the building? Or anything that stuck out to you?” You ask.

“They had light-up letters, with a pattern of blue and red, while the background was blue, and the red and blue lights flashed at times,” Marigold explained.

It was on the tip of your tongue, and you hated that you couldn't immediately remember the name. It had to be something familiar that it almost pissed you off that you couldn't —

You clap your hands with an answer. “Pete’s?”

“Oh my god, yes!” Marigold exclaimed.

“I can't believe I didn't remember that place.”

“Me either,” Marigold breathed.

“Hell yeah, let's go!” You smile. Marigold smiles from ear to ear as you get up from your seat.

“Do you think Sarah has ever been to Pete’s?” Marigold asks.

Your heart sank as you felt cold, grabbing your keys off the coffee table. Involving Sarah would’ve been friendly, but you wanted it to be a father-daughter night. And you knew your daughter; whenever she brings up Sarah, somehow Sarah has joined the party —which you didn't mind, just after last night, you wouldn’t want to see any Miller.

“Maybe, Joel might’ve,” You shrugged.

“Maybe the four of us can go one night,” Marigold smiled.

You nodded, hoping that the conversation would end there. “That sounds nice. You ready to go?” Marigold’s smile beams as she bounces her head.

Out the front door, Marigold races to the passenger seat of your black 1967 Chevrolet Impala and is almost bouncing with anticipation. As you unlock the doors, standing in between the open door and the leather seat, you see Joel and Sarah watching something on the TV and your heart aches. You were happy that Sarah could be with her dad and not worry about anything.

But it destroyed you that you could be what Sarah would have to worry about.

Marigold’s hand finds its way over to the horn and hits her palm smack in the middle. “You coming?”

You snap out of your head and sit in the driver's seat, closing the door and starting the car up, and hearing the engine roar to life.

“When are you going to get a new car? Don't get me wrong, I love this one, but don't you think you deserve something better?”

“What do you mean?” You ask, moving the stick shift to drive. “This car is something better,” You start driving.

You didn't tell Marigold or anyone this, not even your best friend — your ex-wife. It was a gift from your late dad, and you couldn’t simply part from it. So you fixed it, got it working, and now it's yours.

You start driving out of the cul-de-sac, and you notice Marigold already has her headphone in her ears and is texting away. You shake your head and smile as you drive to Pete’s and be hopeful that the night goes smoothly and quickly as you planned it — in your head.

But a part of you wished you had asked who Marigold was texting. A chill ran down your spine as you thought of Mare texting Sarah and Joel would arrive unannounced. But he wouldn't do that, right? Right?

At Pete’s, your worries are off as you pull up in the parking lot, noticing it fills up fast with many cars.

Being seated, you notice that Marigold is bouncing in anticipation; you can't tell if she’s more excited about a milkshake with a Twisler straw or the memories returning to her head. You can't help but smile at how adorable your daughter is acting.

She notices you and stops bouncing.

“What are you smiling about?”

“You, you're adorable,” You comment.

Marigold shakes her head and looks down at the table under her hands. “Your so corny, Dad.”

You chuckle as you hear her mumble; your daughter was always your pride and joy, the main thing you always looked forward to seeing after work was over. Seeing her smile always made your heart melt with happiness.

You notice how noisy Pete’s is, and well, it is summer vacation, and families love this place as much as you and your daughter remember it.

You notice a girl wearing a tight ponytail walking up to your table; here come your daughter’s ants in her pants. She bounces with joy when the girl introduces herself.

“Hello, Welcome to Pete’s; I am Quinn, and I am going to be your server tonight. Can I get you guys started with something to drink?”

As Quinn takes the notepad from her back pocket, you open your mouth, but Marigold beats you.

“I would like a vanilla milkshake with a Twisler straw, please.”

Quinn writes Marigold's drinks down on the notepad. “And you, sir?”

“Um, I’m driving home tonight, so just water is fine,” You smile.

Quinn finishes writing and nods and smiles her head, shoving her notepad in her pocket. “Okay, I will be right back with your drinks,” She smiles.

The teenage girl walked away with a bit of pep in her step; either she was eager to get our drinks or trying to accomplish her task.

Glancing at Marigold, her phone is on the table, scrolling at something; you can't determine what she’s staring at.

“Whatcha’ starin’ at?” You ask.

Marigold’s neck snaps up. Theirs a hint of blush rushing to her cheeks.

“Nothing important,” Marigold dismissed.

She looks back down at her phone.

“Uh huh, and the fact that your blushing has nothing to do with what you're looking at?” You point out.

Marigold snaps her neck up again and places her palms on her cheeks. She looks panicked as your looking at her but then looks defeated.

“Is this a boy?” You ask, crossing your arms.

When you mention a boy to your daughter, you can see her cheeks get redder and her smile wider. “So this is a boy,” You confirm.

She nods her head with a smile plastered on her face.

“Aww, my little flower is growing up.”

“Dad, stop,” Marigold blushed.

“Does Sarah know him?” You ask.

“Well, yeah! I mean, she knows a little about him, bits and pieces.”

“Well, you should bring him by the bakery one night, so I could finally meet this mystery guy,” You suggest.

“You're not going to be that one dad who interrogates the guy I like, right?”

“Possibly, If he checks all the boxes,” You smile.

Marigold and you are chuckling together, and you can't help but feel happy in the rare moments you can spend time with her; it always makes your day better.

Even though she was growing up, it tugged on your heartstrings that she would be going to college soon, and you wouldn't have these moments with her anymore —

“Okay, here are your drinks,” Quinn arrives with yours and Marigold’s drinks.

She places Marigold’s milkshake before her, and Mare claps like an eager kid; Quinn places your cup of Ice water in front of her, and you shoot her a smile.

“Do you guys know what you're ready to order? Or do you still need another minute?” Quinn asks.

You look at Marigold, who shakes her head no.

“Give us a minute,” You smile.

Quinn smiles and walks away. Marigold glances at the menu under her hands; you look at the menu under you while your hands are between your thighs.

“Have any idea of what you want to get?” Marigold questions.

“Um, no, I don’t, you?” You pick your head up.

“I’m conflicted between the pasta or the chicken tenders.”

“Well, since I’m a child; I suggest the chicken tenders.”

Looking up, you noticed Sarah and Joel standing next to Marigold. Marigold jumped out of her seat to hug Sarah while you awkwardly smiled at Joel.

“Oh my gosh, what are you guys doing here?” Marigold asks, breaking the hug from Sarah.

“Well, I showed Dad our texts, and he had the bright idea to come to surprise you guys,” Sarah smiled.

“Of course, he did,” You thought.

“Well, it's a nice surprise,” You smile.

“Yes, it is. Come on guys, sit, sit,” Marigold commands.

“Okay,” Sarah giggles.

Sarah wastes no time sitting next to her best friend. She’s smiling from ear to ear as she side-hugs your daughter. Joel comes and sits next to you; you shuffle to the side, and your shoulder connects with the wall next to you.

“I’m sorry if we interrupted father-daughter time,” Joel apologizes.

“It's okay; I’m pretty sure Marigold would rather hang out with her best friend than her old dad,” You comment.

“Nonsense, Dad, I love you both equally,” Marigold smiles.

You grab Marigold’s hand and smile.

Quinn arrives with a smile plastered on her face.

“Okay, guys, and — woah, I didn't know you were here.”

“Surprise,” You and Sarah shrug.

“Well then, it’s a nice surprise. Do you guys want anything to drink?” Quinn asks.

“I’ll have what she’s having,” Sarah points towards Marigold.

“A beer,” Joel answered.

“Coming right up,” Quinn smiles and walks away.

“But you're driving home,” You spoke.

“I know how to sober fast, city boy,” Joel comments.

“City boy? That’s a new one.” Marigold chuckles.

“I like it; it makes sense, considering you guys lived in a city before you moved here,” Sarah Acknowledges.

“Mare told you about that, Sarah?” You question.

“Mhm,” Sarah nods.

You nod. Thinking about what Marigold had told Sarah—hopefully only good things.

“I promise I haven't told Sarah anything embarrassing,” Marigold admits.

“Well, besides the fact that you sing in the shower as if you were doing a live concert,” Sarah smirks.

Your mouth drops in a playful grin.

“Marigold,” You exclaim.

“C’mom, Dad, you didn't expect me to bring that up.”

“No, I didn't. Sarah would’ve had to see it as everyone else does — also, thanks for signing me up bake one hundred cupcakes,” You roll your eyes.

“Hey, those cupcakes are amazing and neighbors need to know how good they are — besides me.”

“You are aware I own a bakery, right?”

“Not the type of man to have a sweet tooth, but for city boy. I’ll have any cake he makes; any cake of his,” Joel interrupts.

You couldn't tell if he was genuine or flirting with you, but he hid it well with that smirk. But you know you have butterflies in your stomach that you don't need now.

He brings his arm around your shoulder on top of the leather seat. You feel his arm on the back of your neck, and you sense his legs move as he spreads his legs apart.

It's like he’s teasing you in your mind. Making you remember what you did that last time he spread his legs apart.

Your spine shivers as your daughters are talking to one another. You could feel his gaze on you as you were looking for any means of escape, you didn’t want to cause a scene but you knew you had to leave but how —

“Do you mind if I go to the bathroom?” You ask Joel.

“No city boy, lemme get out of your way. Joel fixes his position and slides out of the leather seat. You slide out and try to hide your speed walk away from the table.

Pushing your hand to open the bathroom door, you noticed the bathroom was empty. Breathing heavily, you grab the porcelain sink.

You couldn't tell if Joel was making you confused or frustrated.

But breathing heavily in a bathroom was a reaction you didn't know would come out. A low scream: maybe. You want to pinch yourself: the low possibility of doing that was on the floor. But heavy breathing was off the table.

You had no idea how to feel, but you didn't want to let that interfere with the dinner with your daughter. But this feeling you couldn’t describe, and with Joel just next to you, it was going to explode one way or another, and you weren't ready for —

You hear the door open behind you; you snap your neck up from the sink to the mirror in front of you. You see Joel in the reflection behind you. You shake your head as you don't want to look at him, simply imagining that he walked in here, but once you stop shaking your head, he’s still there, looking at you.

“Everything alright, city boy?” Joel asks.

“Yeah, peachy,” You breathed.

“Are you sure? You got away from the table fast—”

“Why’d you come here?” You asked, turning around.

“It’s a good place for the girls to talk to each other and — I just needed to talk to you,” Joel admitted.

“You could’ve talked to me any other day, but the day after, we —” You stopped talking to look in the bathroom stalls.

After calming yourself down by confirming the empty bathroom, you continued your sentence.

“Had sex in your house.”

“I needed to figure somethin’ out.”

“What, Joel?” You ask.

Joel stepped closer to you, at least four feet from your position. “How did it feel afterward?”

One of the questions you were going to regret answering; How did it feel to have sex with a married man? Honest answer; fantastic. Lie; awful, you're the reason I threw up.

You obviously couldn't answer with either because Joel wanted to hear the correct answer, but you couldn't spit out the lie without it sounding fictitious.

“What are you trying to prove, Joel?”

“City boy, I’m attempting to figure something out,”

“What? What is so important that you interrupted my dinner with my daughter?”

Joel stepped closer to you, your chests were practically touching.

“How was the mind-blowing sex we had last night feel?” Joel growled.

He knew he didn't have to word it like that — at all, but he needed an answer; the truth.

“I. . hated. . it,” You gritted.

“Really? City boy?”

“Yes.”

Joel leans his head towards yours — lips barely touch each other; you can feel him ferociously exhale from his nostrils.

“City boy, if your lyin’ to me, I’m going to have to punish you, and you know how rough I can be,” Joel breathes.

You had to hold back on the temptations, and he wanted your reaction. Joel wanted you to fold, but you were prone to think with your head than your intrusive thoughts.

“Joel, what happened last night, it was great — fantastic even, but you’re married; you understand that, right?” You stated.

“We’re not even together enough. Adaline sees me as more of a business partner than an actual husband. What you and I have is so much more —”

“We’ve been together one night, Joel; how do you know that what happened last night wasn't just a mistake?”

“Because city boy, I’ve never felt more electricity ever in my life until that night. I’m pretty sure you haven't felt the same, too,” Joel commented.

He wasn't wrong; your body was on overdrive that night; you thought it was just adrenaline — it could’ve been both: electricity and adrenaline.

“Joel, think about our daughters — their best friends if they catch us; your daughter — Sarah, could hate me forever, and my daughter might hate me for ruining her friendship with Sarah. I can't do that, Joel.”

You try to walk away, but Joel grabs your hand. His rough hands contrast with your sweaty palms. Joel didn't grab your hand with force, but you didn't pull out, and you couldn’t figure out why.

“Your worth the risk; 'I’d divorce Adaline just to be with you.”

“Don’t make any empty promises. I’m so sick of hearing those—just false hope your feeding me,” You spoke.

“I’m not the type to do that, city boy. You’re too important.”

“Your family should be more important than some second-rate-world-class-hooker that could ruin everything you worked so hard for,” You confessed.

Trying to walk away, Joel pulled you closer to him, and you both bumped chests. Joel wasted no time kissing you with such force and determination. Your reasoning almost went out the window with that electrifying kiss.

Keyword: almost.

Your lips melted together like a puzzle piece. Your arms found their way around his tall shoulders. Joel’s hands slid from your lower back to your ass. He gripped your ass so hard a yelp escaped from your mouth and into Joel’s mouth.

Joel was mad at you for calling yourself a “hooker.” The fact that you could call yourself that made Joel filled with rage. He wanted to spank the shit out of you to learn your lesson, having to control himself in the porcelain walls of the bathroom the best he could.

Joel backed his lips away from you, heavy breaths escaping as he was fuming, trying to calm himself down. “Never call yourself that again, you understand me,” Joel snapped.

You want to nod, but trying to control yourself, you shake your head. “Why did you do that, Joel?”

“Would you have rathered the east route or the hard route?” Joel asked.

“Neither; you should've just let me walk away.”

“And lose the chance of explaining myself to you? I did the right thing,” Joel expressed.

“No, Joel, you didn't, god this is messed up.”

You try walking away again, but Joel’s hand is still in your grasp; this time, you try to leave his grip, but he’s holding on, not ready to let go.

“Joel—”

“Come by tonight,” Joel breathes.

“To do what?”

“I just need to see if what happened last night was a fluke. I want to see,” Joel admitted.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Come around the back. I’ll meet you there,” Joel nodded.

Joel, let go of your hand. You resume leaving the bathroom and walking toward the table, where you see Sarah and Marigold conversing. You slide into your seat, breaking the girl's conversation.

“Everything okay, Dad?” Marigold asked.

You nod.

“Well, we ordered for you, considering I know what you like,” Marigold smiled.

“Thanks, sweetie,” You exclaim.

Joel shuffles into his seat after coming back from the bathroom. You didn't know what he did after he left, and you didn't care now. You were just happy to be with your daughter and her best friend.

“Hey, Sarah, if you wouldn’t mind, Marigold would love it if you spent the night again,” You started.

“Wait, what?” Marigold asks.

“Are you sure, sir?”

You nod. “It's summer vacation; the two girls in our lives deserve some fun,” You smirk.

“Thanks, Dad,” Marigold laughs.

Marigold and Sarah start talking in their world. You look toward Joel, and he gives you a look of confusion. You lean towards his ear.

“When you beg, it's weird. Don't do that again, I prefer Joel from last night.”

You wink at him as you back your head up from his ear; Joel leans closer to you, and you can feel his exhale leave his nostrils against your ear.

“Let me give you a preview of what tonight is gonna ensue.”

Joel slides his hands onto your thigh. You hitch a breath as he slides down your inner thigh and rubs up closer to the outline of your cock. Your hands find their way to the table before you; you trail your finger on the condensation on the water cup before you.

“You like that, city boy?” Joel whispers. You wanted to kiss him, hell, even moan, but your girls were sitting in front of you.

Joel slid his hand off your thigh, and your cock strained on your zipper. Trying to calm yourself down, you grab your cup of water to try to calm down.

The girls had already made their way up to Marigold’s bedroom. While you sat in the living room, waiting for some indication from Joel to come over there. You felt like a schoolgirl carrying this huge secret. You sat with your phone in your hand — screen black having no confidence in your gut like before at Pete’s in the bathroom with Joel.

What if you were over your head and never wanted this huge secret creeping down your neck? You could just —

Your phone screen lit up with a text from Joel.

Joel: You comin?

You didn't even text him back; you left your phone on the counter and got up from the couch, and walked out — slowly closing the door behind you so the girls didn't come downstairs.

The crickets and cicadas chirp in the night air as the stars twinkle above your head. A slight breeze sends a shiver down your spine as you cross the street. You’ve seen the door to the house that Joel, Adaline, and Sarah shared many times, but you weren't going through that door.

You went to the side of the house and quietly stalked, as you didn't want any of Joel’s neighbors to notice you. You heard mumbling and grumbling in the back; peaking your head around the corner, you saw Joel’s face illuminated by his phone screen. He must have been annoyed that you haven't texted him back.

“Can't even answer a simple question. You don't know what you’re doin’ to me, city boy,” Joel grumbled.

You could’ve made some excuse to Joel when you see him the next day. You honestly didn't know if you wanted to be here or not. It was a puzzle in a video game — no matter how many times you go through each possibility, you always land with the same outcome.

Doing the mature thing was the best outcome of an alternative. You could find another person you could mess around with — though that always felt like a needle in a haystack, you always found something to work for you — until it didn't.

“Just turn around and leave,” You thought, turning around.

As you turn around, your arm hits the house next to you, and a loud thud vibrates against the house. Joel snaps his neck towards the sound and calls out for you.

“City boy? You there?”

You facepalm and huff a breath, doing another 180 turns and walking towards Joel. You cross your arms as your whole body now feels cold. “I was wonderin’ where you were. Didn't you get my texts?”

“No, I left my phone at home.”

“Ahh, understandable,” Joel nods.

“In what way?” You ask.

Joel steps up to you and crosses his arm in front of you. “C’mon, city boy, I gotta think of a good enough punishment for ignoring me this whole day.”

“I wasn't ignoring you,” You comeback.

You were trying to ignore him. You didn't want to see him for at least a week.

“City boy, are you lyin’ to me again?” Joel questions.

“No,” You huff.

“Tsk, Tsk, Tsk,” Joel breathed. He chuckled at the end of his Tsking. He was wiping the corners of his mouth.

“Let me ask again,” Joel started.

Before you can open your mouth again, Joel’s hand finds its way onto your bulge. You hitch a breath as you place your hands on Joel’s biceps. You tried to move Joel’s hand, but it was like his hand was welded onto your crotch — not moving.

“Are you lyin’ t’me again, city boy?” Joel questions.

“Yes, god, yes, now move your hand.”

“N-no, I’m not,” You breathe. You were getting hard under Joel’s strong hand; his touch was addictive — you wanted an out, but it was just too good.

“Seems like your cock, is betrayin’ you, city boy. I’m going to have to punish you,” Joel growled.

“How?” You ask.

“Like this,” Joel nods. Joel moves his hand and shoves you toward the pool next to you. Ears muffled with water, your vision blurry as you stand up; you see Joel standing with his arms crossed, looking down at you.

“You asshole!” You exclaimed.

“Shouldn’t have lied, city boy,” Joel shrugs.

“I could've drowned!”

“The water’s like five feet.”

“Whatever, damn. It’s cold as hell.”

“Hold on, I'm comin’,” Joel states.

Joel bends down in front of you with his hand extended. As you grab him, you pull hard towards you. “Oh sh—”

Joel’s coming in, making a big splash. You laugh as he goes under. You can't control your laugh as Joel stands up and looks at you. He looks angry. The dark grey shirt he’s wearing clings to his chest. His nipples hardened under the damp cloth.

“You think this is fuckin’ funny? What if my phone was in my pocket?” Joel asks.

“It would’ve made me laugh even harder,” You nodded.

“Oh yeah, city boy?”

“Yeah,” You keep laughing.

Joel’s scowl could kill you with how hard he’s staring at you. You can't contain your laughter; it's as if Joel said the world's funniest joke.

You tried your hardest to stop laughing, but the laughs escaped your lips. Joel looked furious at you as he was standing there, dripping, fuming at the predicament you put him through.

Joel trudged his feet towards you, looking like he was on a mission; as he walked towards you, your laughs finally died down — but you still had a smile on your face.

Joel wrapped his hand around your throat as he placed his lips on yours — hard. You moaned in shock; you weren't expecting this hard of a kiss from Joel and the pleasure that came along with it.

His grip on your throat was tight. You wrapped your hand around Joel’s, and you could feel his veins almost jump out of his hand.

“Joel — can't breathe,” You cracked.

Joel loosened his grip around your throat — but his hand was still around your throat. The water around you seemed like they were roaring to life with how much passion you and Joel were experiencing. Joel’s rough exterior was cracking piece by piece — slowly as his tongue kept exploring your mouth. You slid your hand around Joel’s neck, bringing yourself closer to him.

Your moans radiated off Joel’s mouth as they were being muffled by the water splashing around the two of you. With how much water was moving between the passionate kisses you and Joel shared, you could’ve had a tsunami in the backyard.

As Joel still had his hand wrapped around his throat, his other arm had wrapped around the curve of your back, exposing your skin towards the cold pool wall.

You hiss as your skin makes contact with the pool wall, stopping the kiss with Joel suddenly.

“You all good, city boy?”Joel asks.

“Yeah, my back hit the wall, just cold.”

Joel lifts you and makes you sit on the pool's edge —with your feet still in the pool. He pushes himself up and walks past you as you watch him escape towards the back door.

Your whole body starts to shiver as you wait for Joel. You rub your hands together like you were sitting by the fire on a cold day, but you weren't. You were sitting on the edge of Joel’s pool — feet still dipped in on a warm summer night.

You cross your arms, hugging yourself so you can feel warm. Your mouth chatters, and your body starts to shake. You look up and notice the stars are looking down at you as you're looking up at them.

You could get lost in the stars for hours at this time of night. But unfortunately, you didn't have hours. You knew the sun would rise soon and ruin this illusion.

You hear Joel’s backdoor close, but you don't turn around. Neck strained up and shivering, you didn't want to make sudden movements to make yourself colder.

Joel wraps a towel over your shoulder. You almost jump, feeling the material on your covered shoulders.

“There you go, city boy,” Joel states, sitting beside you, placing his covered feet in the pool — towel-wrapped around his shoulders.

“Thanks,” You shiver.

“No problem.”

Joel notices you looking up and not at him. He strained his neck to see what you were staring at.

“What are ya looking at?” Joel asks.

“Just the stars,” You answer.

“What’s special about ‘em?” Joel asks.

You scoff before answering. “I’ve always thought someone would never kiss me under the stars — I know, such a baby thing, but I’ve always yearned for it. So that pool kiss was a thought that fluttered in my mind.”

“I was going to fuck you back here. If you’d look down at my dick, you’d notice that my cock was hurtin’ against my jeans,” Joel starts.

You stop looking towards the stars and then towards Joel.

“Wanted to hear those pretty moans again, right in my ear. Hell, thinkin’ about it right now, my cock is throbbing so hard.”

You can't stop your eyes from glancing at his bulge. You can tell that it wasn't the fabric of his jeans. It was his actual bulge rubbing against his jeans. You could feel his pain as your cock was growing hard in your damp jeans.

You lick your lips out of comfort rather than pleasure.

Joel’s eyes are still glancing down at his aching cock. You didn't know if you wanted a repeat of the last twenty-four hours with Joel, but you were sober, so you had to think about your situation with a clear state of mind.

“Unbuckle your belt.”

“What?” Joel asks.

“Take off your belt, Joel. I‘m helpin’ you out again,” You smirk.

All mature thoughts must've left your head when Joel kissed you in the bathroom or when he threw you in the pool, choked you, and kissed you. But right here and now, you wanted Joel’s cock again. You knew you were going to regret it in the morning. But that would be you in the morning; this is you at midnight — running on adrenaline and satisfaction.

Joel had undone his belt as you take your feet out of the pool and waste no time leaning on your knees.

Joel’s pants were around his knees, but his boxers constricted his dick. You could see his cock throbbing and his precum through the material in his underwear.

“Remind you of anythin’, city boy?”

You scoff at Joel. You fixed his boxers for his cock to go through the hole. Lines of pre cum leaking through the slit of his huge cock.

Your mouth takes Joel’s length, and he throws his head back in pleasure. You taste Joel’s pre cum and the mix of pool water on your tastebuds. You could hear Joel’s breathing rushing through his teeth like he was ready to explode.

“Fuck, baby boy. I missed that mouth,” Joel groaned.

You started to go faster, and your throat kept getting tighter as you almost gagged on Joel’s cock. Joel’s hand found its way to the back of your head. His hand was making your pace go faster, and his balls tingled with more satisfaction than he could handle

“Oh fuck, baby. I could cum in that pretty mouth right now.”

You slow down as you want this experience to last for a long time.

Joel's hands slid down from your head to the curve of your back to under your pants and underwear. You could feel his rough and calloused hands on your ass. You moan on Joel’s cock as he slips one of his fingers into your ass.

His actions started slow and pleasurable for you.

“So fuckin’ tight, city boy. I’m gonna bury my cock so far into that boy pussy ‘f yours,” Joel growled.

You pick your head up and stroke Joel’s cock. You place your lips on him as his finger picks up the pace. He’s going faster, and you can barely keep stroking his cock. Your moans are bouncing off Joel’s lips.

His cock was throbbing in your hand. It felt like Joel was on overdrive. His kisses felt hungry, desperate, and all-around passionate.

“Turn around, baby. I miss eatin’ that ass out,” Joel grunted.

As you back away from Joel’s lips, you see the string of saliva coming from your lips and his. You unbuckle your pants before you turn around on your hands and knees — your ass is now facing Joel.

You hear a mumble and grunt from Joel as you hear the water dribbling off his shoes and pants. You feel Joel’s hands slap your ass hard — you yelp in retaliation.

Joel’s mouth makes contact with your hole, and you moan. You could tell Joel was hungry — starving. You could cum with how Joel’s tongue was in your ass. You clench your fists as Joel is working wonders for your ass.

“Damn, Joel. That feels so amazing,” You moan.

“I’ve been missin’ this sweet peach since last night.”

Joel smacks your ass again and again and again.

You could feel the sting on your ass cheeks as you feel Joel’s tongue again. You were getting greedy. You wanted Joel’s cock buried in your ass — you wanted to feel what his cock would feel like sober and not drunk.

“Joel,” You breathe.

“Yeah, city boy?” Joel breathes.

“Can you please fuck me?”

Joel gets his mouth away from your ass, and you look back at him — straining your neck.

“What happened to my city boy? Beggin’ for my cock, like that? Soundin’ kinda needy again,” Joel growled.

“Fuck you,” You shudder. You turn your head back and lay your head on your hands. You wanted the same feeling from last night. Joel’s cock couldn't compare to your old hookups.

You almost scream as you feel Joel’s cock slowly go inside you. You pick your head up and clench your teeth in pleasure.

“Ahh, fuck, city boy. How do you keep gettin’ so fuckin’ tight?” Joel growls.

You don't answer; you hold your head up as you look back at Joel. You have a flashback from last night as you see Joel’s shit-eating grin. His hips started going back and forth, and with each thrust, you could feel his cock stretch you out — slowly.

Joel’s hands were on your waist — rough. It felt like he could mark his territory with his hands there. You moaned, but you didn't want to give the whole neighborhood an unpaid show — you suppressed them the best you could, but with every thrust, your moans would slip from your mouth.

“Baby boy, your takin’ my cock so well,” Joel grunted.

“I missed it so much, Joel,” You breathed.

“My cock has missed your tight ass, city boy.”

Joel’s grip from your waist released, and he picked you up from the front of your neck so your back collided with his chest — wrapping his arm around your neck, not tight. You could feel Joel’s breath on your ear, and you felt like you could cum right then and there.

Joel’s hand made hard contact with your ass, you moaned in retaliation, and you could hear Joel’s grunts as he pumped his cock in and out of you.

“J-Joel?” You started.

“Yeah, city boy?”

“I think I’m gonna cum.”

“Yeah, city boy? Cum for me,” Joel command.

You haven't even touched your dick ever since Joel started fucking you, but you knew you were close to having an orgasm. It was a feeling that felt different sober than drunk.

You could feel your cum almost shoot out of your hardened cock, and you almost broke your neck, placing your head on Joel’s shoulder. Joel takes the opportunity to kiss you. Joel was still hungry, and he wasn't full yet. Joel’s hand wraps around your cock and starts to stroke you. You moan in his mouth — it was the hottest thing you ever experienced, and you didn't want it to stop.

You pick your head up, and Joel attacks your neck like a vampire; you are on the brink of cumming, and his neck kisses are helping you have more pleasure and satisfaction.

“I can feel your cock twitch in my hands, city boy. Y’gonna cum, baby?�� Joel growls.

“Yes, oh god, Joel, yes!” You whimpered.

A married man is the first person to make you whimper — to feel overstimulated. You knew you shouldn't like this, but your mind went blank the second Joel’s cock was inside you.

“That’s so fuckin’ hot, baby,” Joel grunted.

Hearing Joel’s voice in your ear again was enough for you.

“F-Fuck, Joel. I’m cumming.”

Your moans kept escaping from your lips; were they loud? Maybe. But you didn't care; you were feeling so much pleasure you wanted people in space to hear you.

Strings of white cum littered the concrete below — and Joel’s hand. Joel hearing your moans, thought he had cum under all the pleasure you were screaming. He was still hard as a rock — on the verge of cumming. But he wanted to treat you right and make you feel good.

Joel dislodged his cock from your ass as you pant on your hands and knees.

“Is something wrong?” You ask.

You turn your head — still panting and notice Joel’s pants and underwear aren't around his ankles anymore, but his boots are still on, laced up.

“Can you stand, city boy?” Joel questions, standing up.

You try to pick yourself up, but the same feeling from this morning comes back like a truck, and you are back on your knees.

“No,” You shake your head.

You didn't notice Joel’s smirk on his face; you were too busy feeling ashamed if you did something wrong. Joel’s cock was still hard and stiff. He huffed a breath as he picked you up bridal style. “Wanted to make sure that city boy knows that those moans you were screaming are for my ears and my ears only,” Joel hisses.

You are back inside Joel's house — in the same familiar setting as last night. Joel had removed your pants and underwear before you returned inside, and your casual shoes were still on your feet. Joel placed you on the same couch you both fucked on hours before.

Joel’s one-sided grin on his face made your cock twitch. Joel had lifted your pelvis and had his cock hovered over your hole.

He had one boot on the couch and one on the floor.

Joel didn't waste a second; he just shoved his cock inside you.

Your moans exploded, and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Joel’s hips were going up and down, and he was throwing his head back in pleasure.

“FFFF—Fuckin’ Christ, city boy. I missed this boy pussy so badly,” Joel gruffed. Joel’s hands on your thighs were under his palms, and he was grasping them like a stress ball.

“Is that why you brought me inside? To tell me you missed my boy pussy?”

Joel fixed his position so that he was inches away from your face. Both boots were on the couch, while your calves were on either side of Joel’s head.

Joel started to pump his cock in and out of you. Your moans radiated all over the house's walls — the sound barrier could break.

“I needed those pretty little noises you make inside — don’t want the neighbors to think I’m murderin’ you,” Joel grinned.

“As if — you could — mmph — ever murder me, — FFFF-ucking hell Joel.”

You roll your head to the side and shut your eyes as you feel every inch, every thrust, every grunt, and every time you can feel Joel’s cock throb inside you. It was electrifying — adrenaline-inducing, like last night.

You snap your eyes open as you feel Joel move your neck to look towards him. His hand still wrapped around your throat — you can see lust and pleasure in his eyes.

Joel had determination written on his face as he breathed through his teeth, pumping his cock Inside you. You could swear you could feel Joel’s cock hit your stomach — your moans became hitched as Joel nearly exploded. His grip around your throat got a little tight for you.

It was hard to get a good breath in your hand found it's way towards Joel’s wrapped around your throat.

“Jo-Joel, can barley breathe,” You breathed.

Joel realized his mistake — keeping the same pace before unwrapping his hand off your throat and placing it on the side of your face.

“I’m sorry, city boy. I’m just so close, I’m do fuckin’ close, city boy,” Joel clenched his teeth.

His forehead was on yours, and he quickly picked up his pace.

“Oh fuck baby, I’m going to get you pregnant with how much cum is gonna be inside you,” Joel growled.

“Please, Joel, give it to me! Get me pregnant!” You moan.

With a couple of thrusts, you could feel Joel’s warm cum inside you. He moaned, and your cock twitched at the sound of it. His whole body shook once, twice, and then he rested his body on top of yours. His cock was still inside you. He just wanted to rest for a second.

“City boy, your pussy is so fuckin’ amazing. I can never get tired of it,” Joel breathed.

“You’re funny,” You panted.

You and Joel couldn't help but feel safe and comfortable. Last night, you both fell asleep, but now this is a vulnerable setting you weren't used to.

“I didn't hurt you. I- I didn't mean to hurt you anyway, city boy.”

“You're okay, Joel. It was a little different, but I’m okay,” You admitted.

“Good, that's great.”

Joel's friendly personality went back into his dominant personality as he slipped his cock out of you and picked you up, and threw you over his shoulder.

“J-Joel, what are you doing?”

“Your punishment isn't over, city boy — far from it.” Joel spat. Joel started to walk with you over his shoulder, and you could only guess what punishment he planned.

taglist: @alt2606 @evans55 @traningdummy @odetodilfs @strang3lov3 @groggygrogu @psychoticzaddysimp

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#joel miller #joel miller x male reader #pedro pascal x male reader #joel the last of us #pedro pascal #forbidden romance #joel miller smut #pedro pascal smut #joel fucks! #joel miller x reader #x male reader

[foli-vora]

gilded lily

pre/during-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

a/n: gif by moi. just me over here clowning around and hurting my own feelings lmaoo. we start off soft af, and then it all goes downhill very fast so enjoy the angst-fest! x

word count: 2.6k

warnings: brief mentions of potential pregnancy, graphic violence, blood/gore, violent murder (does it count as murder if they're a zombie? lmao), infected characters, heartbreak, mourning, angst angst angst - don't like, don't read. this does not have a happy ending.

note: this follows the general direction of the outbreak and how it unfolds in the show, it's not identical, but i'll still put a spoiler warning so yeah - consider yourself warned.

It’s a low buzz, a barely there ringing in your ears, settling in the background and never wavering despite your efforts to clean your ears and pop them. It draws your attention for most of the early morning you spend awake before the others, and it’s not until a body suddenly steps in the way of you staring vacantly at your reflection in the bathroom mirror that you even notice other things are going on.

Your eyes come to focus on Joel who stares at you expectantly, his brows raised at your silence.

“Oh, hi—sorry, what did you say?”

“You’re a bit spacy today… you feelin’ okay?” He mumbles around his toothbrush, his body brushing against yours as he leans back on the sink to face you.

A frown starts to pull at your features.

No, you’re not.

Something is definitely not right with the way you’re feeling, but you’re unable to put a proper label as to what. The flu? Food poisoning? All options that don’t seem to fit your particular… oddness.

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

Your obvious struggle catches Joel’s attention and he’s quick to spit the frothy toothpaste from his mouth, washing it down the sink drain with a quick splash of water before turning his full attention on you.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t—” you pause, staring deep into his dark eyes before letting your frown disappear and forcing a little smile, “—it’s nothing. I’m fine. Really, baby, it’s nothing.”

You aren’t going to do anything that could potentially disturb his birthday—you’d been looking forward to it for weeks. An assortment of wrapped presents hide away in the bottom of the dresser, and you know Sarah’s been buzzing to give him his watch you both had taken to get fixed a week prior.

His mouth opens, no doubt to give you a sharp word about closing him out, but Sarah soon appears in the doorway with a warm good morning and the subject is left at that. You tread after her down the stairs, leaving Joel to scowl lightly at your back as he follows along behind.

Tommy appears just as you’re serving up breakfast, his full plate already waiting in your hand. His grin widens as he gives you a sweet kiss hello on your cheek before snatching the plate with an amused, “Am I that obvious?”

“You don’t want me to answer that,” you reply cheekily, your wide smile faltering when you struggle to open the bottle of pain relief.

“You okay?” He asks around a mouthful of eggs, eyeing the pills you pop into your mouth and swallow down with a mouthful of orange juice.

“Yeah, just not feeling the best today.”

“Are you pregnant?” He asks blankly, picking at the food on his plate as his eyes dart to your stomach.

His question immediately perks Joel’s interest, his hand holding the coffee pot hanging suspended over his mug as he shoots you a look from the corner of his eyes. His thoughts are plain as day—shit… are you?

Sarah perks at the table, the excitement already creeping into her features and you’re quick to cut in before she could get too ahead of herself.

“No,” you chuckle, poking Tommy’s side, “but thank you for the early morning freak out.”

Joel makes a little noise of thought, his rasp coming from around the mug he presses to his lips, “Would it be so bad if you were?”

“I don’t know,” you murmur softly, unable to keep a smile tugging at your cheeks, “would it?”

He shrugs, the barely there trace of a smirk playing along his lips as he nurses his coffee, “I wouldn’t have a problem with it.”

Tommy pipes up with a comment, his voice thick and far away, morphing in your ears until a shrill sound fills your mind, piercing your senses.

That goddamn ringing.

A wince pinches your features and you rub at your temples, willing the ache slowly building there to dissipate. A numb tingle grows over your fingertips, merely intensifying when you rub them together to will some feeling back into the pads.

“Honey?”

Snapping out of a sudden trance like state, you blink wildly as your eyes refocus on Joel and how he’s suddenly in front of you.

Heavy frown deepening, his hands come to cup your cheeks, tilting your head up and side to side. He studies your eyes, noting the strangely vacant look swirling in them and how you seem to struggle finding words.

Sarah shares his concern, stepping up next to him and curling a warm hand around yours.

“Dad, maybe you should take her to the hospital—”

“Yeah… yeah, I think I will. Baby, could you go get her jacket—”

“Don’t be silly,” you breathe, shaking your head and fighting the fog creeping along the corners of your mind. “I’m not sitting in the ER on your birthday, and besides you guys have a lot of work to do today. It’s probably a migraine, or something—I’ll just sleep it off.”

Tommy doesn’t seem all that convinced, his frown mirroring his brothers as he looks at you from over Joel’s shoulder.

“Are you sure? Coz you don’t look too good—work can always wait.”

“I’ll be fine,” you grin, delivering a firm smack to Joel’s ass, “you’re gonna be late—off you go, birthday boy. The sooner you go, the sooner you can come back and get your birthday presents.”

Joel’s jaw tightens, “You call me if anything changes, y’hear?”

Nothing changes, but nothing gets better.

You call into work after dropping Sarah off at school, explaining your sudden illness and confusion quickly forming when they say you’re not the first—a few of your co-workers had called in also. Something’s going around, they say.

There are reports everywhere.

The day passes quickly with you sleeping on the couch, hoping that whatever is plaguing you will pass by the time Joel gets home from his double. You wake to find Sarah hovering over you with a glass of water and a smile that barely hides her worry.

“How are you feeling?” She asks quietly, helping you sit up and tucking herself into the couch next to you.

“Better,” you lie, the smile on your lips forced.

If she doesn’t believe you, she doesn’t make it known. 

You spend the evening cuddled with her on the couch, barely focusing on the shows that come and go. Time blurs together, the hours melding and dragging.

Somewhere inside of you, you feel something’s wrong. Badly wrong. Something’s not right. You start to twitch, random muscles in your body jumping at the most random of times.

At one point, Sarah pulls away from where she cuddles into your side, her obvious worry deepening with your increasingly erratic movements.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just—I must’ve trapped a nerve, or something,” you murmur through numb lips, watching the way your fingers and hand twitch almost as if through a skewed, blurry lens before giving the limb a little shake and smiling. “I’m fine.”

You’re not fine. You can feel it everywhere. Something’s happening. Where the fuck is Joel?

—

Everything is fucked.

People are being attacked everywhere, people are dying everywhere. Just getting slaughtered, right in the middle of the fucking street.

It’s mayhem.

It’s terrifying and he doesn’t have a chance to truly process the emotion. It makes no sense, no damn sense, but he doesn’t bother to stop and think about it. He can’t. He needs to move, you all need to move and get the fuck out of town.

Joel bursts through the front door, echoes of jets and explosions and sirens sounding in the distance behind him, his face set in rigid determination. He should never have worked so fucking late. 

“Girls, come on—” he roars, hoping the boom of his voice startles you both from sleep, “—in the truck, now!”

Sarah’s asleep and sprawled over the couch when he passes by the lounge, and he immediately goes for her, curling his fingers tightly around her shoulder and giving her a firm shake.  

“Baby? Baby, wake up—” 

Sarah blinks languidly, her face pinched and disorientated, but the sleep hanging in her eyes evaporates when a sudden explosion rattles the house. Her hands fly to clutch his arms, eyes now wide and filled with terror, darting to the window.

“What’s going on?!”

“Come on, we gotta go, baby, get up.”

She follows immediately, her hand not leaving his as he drags her outside. Tommy stands guard by the running truck, desperately trying to pull his lips into some sort of encouraging smile, but it comes across more as a grimace.

“What’s happening?” Sarah asks again, pausing when a familiar sound catches her attention. “Mercy? Mercy, here boy!”

Joel’s jaw tenses, his hands becoming increasingly more urgent as they shove her towards the vehicle, ignoring the frightened dog that bounds over to answer her familiar call.

“Sarah, get in the fuckin’ truck—”

“What about Mercy? We can’t just leave him outside, and what about—”

Tommy holds a calming hand out, his grip tightening on his rifle, “Joel’ll get her, and I’ll take him back, just get in—”

“You keep her in the truck!” Joel yells at his brother, turning away from them and running back towards the house, slamming his way through the front door, roaring your name again and again. He takes the stairs two at a time, marching straight for the bedroom only to discover you aren’t there.

Where the hell are you?

“Come on, honey, we gotta move—!”

A thud.

He spins for the bathroom, noticing the slither of light from under the door and immediately advancing towards it, hand reaching for the handle.

Locked.

He rattles it, hoping the weak thing would cave like it’s done so many times before. He knocks harshly when it holds firm, calling out your name, but a weight hitting the door sends panic through his system.

A weakened groan sounds through the timber and he shakes the handle again, his face creasing with worry. He doesn’t have a lot of time, none of you have a lot of time. He forces his shoulder up against the door and it soon gives way, shoving something heavy out of the way and slamming against the tiles.

“Honey, come—”

He stops, eyes finally taking in the form in front of him.

It’s you, but it’s not.

Ice creeps along his shoulders, hardening around his heart and sinking to the pit of his stomach. There’s something wild about your expression, an almost animalistic curl to your features. Your eyes have lost their usual warmth, their sparkle, now they’re feral, and locked right onto him. 

God no, not you.

“Honey, baby,” he utters, stepping back and desperately willing, praying, for the unfolding situation to change in front of his eyes, “it’s me—I can’t… god, don’t make me do this. Please wake up. Show me you’re there, do somethin’—“

A guttural cry that barely sounds human tears its way out of your mouth and you lunge for him, hands poised ready to grab onto him. He evades your attack and dives into Sarah’s room, swiping one of her participation trophies from her drawers and barely able to turn before a weight hits his side and takes him down to the floor.

He curls a hand tightly around your throat, keeping your rabid, snarling face away from his and strikes. The marble base of the award meets your skull with a sickening crunch, but he doesn’t stop, his arm soon aching from the brutal force he puts behind each hit and causing blood to rain down over his face. He doesn’t stop until he feels the strength behind your hands vanish. 

The sticky red substance coats the trophy and he lets out a sob as your body falls to the floor in an unmoving heap beside him. He throws the makeshift weapon away from him as his chest heaves, the heavy thud of it hitting the floor suddenly so loud in the now still house, and rolls onto his side, taking in your still form before carefully crawling closer.

He reaches out, placing a trembling hand against the part of your bloodied face he could see through the destruction, sick at how cold you feel and the way your thick blood coats his skin. His thumb brushes over your cheek, tracing the swollen veins lying beneath and he chokes on a cry.

“I’m so—fuck, honey, I-I’m so sorry—”

Remorse rolls through him in waves until it fills every vein, runs along every nerve. He should’ve been here. He should’ve done something. Was there even anything he could have done? Could he have saved you from any pain? Were you alone and scared? What were your last thoughts? Did you know what was happening? Is that why you were locked away?

“Joel?!” Tommy shouts from somewhere in the house, and it’s enough to tear him away from your body and the grief overwhelming him.

“Don’t let her up here!” He yells back, listening to Tommy quickly stop Sarah from climbing the stairs.

She couldn’t see this. She couldn’t remember you like this, mangled and bleeding out on her bedroom floor where you both had spent so much time reading over magazines, painting each other's nails and giggling over shitty TV shows. He wouldn’t let those memories be stained with the blood of the mother she had found so much comfort in, tainted by the monster that had become of her.

He takes one final look at you, smoothing a hand along your hairline and avoiding the caved in shattered bone only a few centimetres from his touch. Nausea rolls through him, hot acid bile rising in the back of his throat as he backs away from your body and stands on unsteady legs.

His hand flies out to rest against the wall as he stumbles back, eyes not leaving your twisted features and broken body. Eventually you fade from view once he rounds the corner and he turns for the stairs, his heart thundering in his chest.

Sarah sees him first, Tommy busy eyeing the windows and keeping his weapon at the ready.

“Is she sick?” She asks, noticing the obvious emptiness behind him.

Joel feels his shoulders deflate, stepping down the final steps and giving a solemn nod, “Yeah. Yeah, she was.”

The use of past tense brings a thick wave of emotion over his daughter's face, and his broken heart shatters even more. He tries to wipe the blood, your blood, from his hands, dragging them down the legs of his jeans and it catches her attention, her face creasing with anguish.

“You killed her,” she mumbles, tears filling her lash line as her eyes dart across his face.

He swallows the thick pressure in his throat, ignoring the look of sympathy his brother gives him and steps up to his daughter, holding back his own tears as hers spill over her cheeks.

“I did,” he returns quietly, “I did. I’m so sorry, baby—”

She softens when he reaches for her, his arms tightening around her and squeezing. Her lower lips wobbles with the effort of keeping her emotions at bay, her fingers tightening around his shirt as he curls around her. She shakes in his hold.

“The Adler’s were sick, too,” she whimpers into his shoulder, “are we sick?”

“No baby. No, we’re not sick,” Joel pulls away, cupping her cheek with a sticky hand and keeping his gaze steady with hers, “but we’ve gotta be brave, okay? We’re gonna be fine, but we’ve got to go.”

“We shouldn’t leave her behind—” she whimpers quietly, another stream of tears falling down her cheeks.

“We have to, baby girl. We have to, I... I’m not gonna lose you, too.”

-

everything pp: @maievdenoir, @javier-pena, @lv7867, @dihra-vesa, @katronautt, @radiowallet, @januarystears, @missminkylove, @beskarprincessjenny, @mswarriorbabe80​, @danidrabbles, @sergeantbannerbarnes, @amneris21​, @eri16​, @absurdthirst, @hnt-escape, @acourtofsnakes​, @ezrasbirdie​, @mstgsmy​, @lovesbiggerthanpride​, @coaaster​, @sherala007​, @kelseyxyeslek, @greeneyedblondie44​, @wyn-n-tonic​, @you-got-me-starry-eyed​, @shirks-all-responsibilities​, @withasideofmeg​, @harriedandharassed​, @andruxx​, @buckybarneshairpullingkink​, @spideysimpossiblegirl​, @prostitute-robot-from-the-future​, @tanzthompson​, @mad-girl-without-a-box​, @hope-for-the-best-98​, @fangirl-316​, @christina-loves​, @jediknight122​, @hallway5​, @xoxabs88xox​, @nicolethered​, @churchill356​, @massivecolorspygiant​, @just-here-for-the-moment​, @gracie7209​, @pinkie289​, @lavenderluna10​, @goodgriefitsawildworld​, @juletheghoul​, @punkerthanpascal​, @itswanktime​, @karolydulin​, @pedrostories​, @fabilei, @ghostwiththemostbitch, @omlwhatamidoinghere​, @cannedsoupsucks​, @chaoticemz, @hows-my-hair​, @alexxavicry​, @cran-berry-vodka, @deadhumourist​, @outercrasis​, @thisshipwillsail316​, @toxicfrankenstein​, @hotchlover​, @ew-erin​, @mishasminion360​, @jitterbugs927​, @penelopeimp​, @woodland-mist​, @pedro-pastel​, @spaceserialkiller, @adriiibell​, @1andthesame​, @elegantduckturtle​, @captain-jebi​, @magpie-to-the-morning​, @sharkbait77​, @sleep-tight1​, @musings-of-a-rose​, @Karlawithacapitalk, @woomen23​, @frasmotic​, @songsformonkeys​, @loonymagizoologist​, @aynsleywalker​, @ruhro7​, @bluestuesday​, @what-iwish-you-knew​, @princess-djarinn​, @totallynotastanacc​, @girlofchaos​, @pjkimrn​, @bangaveragewhitewine​, @trickstersp8​, @rominaszh, @gooddaykate​, @ms-loverman-066​, @bunniwarrior, @detectivecarisi-1​, @tintinn16​, @iceclaw101​, @bport76​, @thatpinkshirt​, @tusk89​, @withakindheartx​, @curiouskeyboard​, @pedropascalsx​, @sirpascal, @racetrackheart, @patisseriel, @timpletance​, @titabel, @xdaddysprincessxx​, @dnxgma​, @astronomeoww​, @dindjarinswhore, @alwaysdjarin​, @mando-amando​, @mx-ferelden​, @trinkets01​, @jxvipike​, @thesmutslut​, @thereisaplaceintheheart​, @scentedthingtidalwave​, @mwltwo​, @loveslide​, @artsymaddie​, @untitledarea​, @sukunababe​, @emiemiemiii​, @your-slutty-gf​, @wisecolornight​, @emilianamason​

joel miller: @jujuliaispunk

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader

[brigidfromthecelts]

Healing Hands (Law X FemReader)

Summary: You were somewhat of a slave on your previous crew - if you could call them that - and now that you are with the Heart Pirates, you don't really want to bother anyone.

Until you ask your captain to remove that awful Jolly Roger tattoo that covers very intimate places that he now has to touch.

Notes: For MATURE readers only! Implied/referenced abuse - Mild Sexual Content

This is very likely a one time thing. I was just trying to do a character study on Law and it escalated! Also, this is quite raw, compared to my usual works. I did not want to waste too much time on this since it was mostly writen on a whim!

Ps: English is not my first language so I apologise in advance for any spelling/grammar mistakes.

Word count: 3650

Link for A03 if you rather read there.

The first time it happened it was very light. Just a deep pressure behind your eyes, a throbbing of sorts that came and went. It was bearable, for a while, then it became bothersome so you thought that some medicine might help and stopped by the sick bay. 

Luckily, the captain was nowhere in sight, and you could go by your business unannounced. You did not want to upset your captain! You had barely exchanged two full sentences with him since you joined the Heart Pirates, and to say that he intimidated you was not enough. 

So you took some headache pills from the shelf and went on your way. 

Only two days had passed when it happened the second time and this time the pain was sharper and it came with nausea and a sensitivity to bright light and loud noises. Grunting you made your way to the sick bay again and popped an extra pill, just to be sure it would pass. Thank God the captain was away again. 

The third time happened the morning after and it felt like dying, surely. Your skull was being split into two by an invisible axe and you could barely get out of bed. You went into the bathroom to empty your stomach on the toilet but it was already empty so you were dry heaving for about ten minutes, large tears staining your puffed up red cheeks. 

And the pain did not relent. 

You knew why this was happening, really. You had been deprived of using your devil fruit powers for such a long time by those cursed sea prism cuffs that, now that you were free to use them, your body was resenting the newfound freedom. 

Maybe this time you should go to your captain. This could be beyond your expertise. 

You got up on wobbly steps and exited your room. The Polar Tang was bustling with activity, with everyone already on their posts and working hard. Everyone but you. As you were approaching Law’s quarters, you heard him yell and berate someone over - it seemed, since there was no response - the Den Den Mushi. He seemed pretty mad. 

So you backed away. 

You could do this on your own. All these angry words were making your skin crawl and you could feel your jaw clenching which, in turn, just made your head hurt more and more. You could not help this natural reaction that your body had when presented with stressful situations. 

The captain of your former crew -... Wait, could you even call them crew if all they did was kidnap you, place cuffs on you, force you to being with them and abuse you every day? You shouldn't, really. But it was ingrained deep into you that he was your owner and captain . And you should obey him. Anyway, he always yelled. So much yelling. 

So your natural reaction to it was to escape. Which you did, even if your head was throbbing and you could barely see where you were going. 

You bumped into something - someone - soft and almost fell down on your butt. Hastily apologising to Bepo, who helped steady you, since you could barely stand on your own legs, you looked into his eyes and implored.

“Don't tell the captain, Bepo, please!"

And then you ran away again, seeking refuge in the med bay and thinking about downing the entire bottle of headache pills, wondering how many could the human body sustain before shutting down. 

Taking deep calming breaths, you sat on the infirmary bed. Just to get it together since the world was spinning around you and you did not know what to do to stop it. 

There was your friend, nausea, making an appearance as well. 

So you groaned and laid back. Just a minute. Just until everything stopped hurting. 

Then it hit you. You could just use a bit of your powers. Maybe it would help. Oh, for sure it would help. Why didn't you think of it earlier? 

Raising your right hand in the air and lowering your index finger made all the sounds stop. You sighed. The outer world had stopped existing and it was bliss for a second. 

Then you lowered your ring finger because everything was still so very bright, even without your eyes open, so taking away your sight would make that stop hurting. Surely. 

And it did. For a moment.

Next was the smell because the nausea was attacking you again and the smell of alcohol in this room was overwhelming. So you lowered your middle finger and the nausea subsided a bit. 

You thanked whatever deity had helped you find the right fruit, because being able to just shut down your senses was definitely a bliss. 

But the incessant throbbing was still there. Maybe you should turn off your sense of touch as well. Would it help? 

You were about to lower your pinky when you felt a very strong hand enveloping your own and you gasped, though no sound reached your ears. Opening your eyes, you were momentarily confused because you couldn't see anything, until your pained and tired brain clicked and you let go of the hold you had in your senses by relaxing your hand. 

And all at once, sound, smell and vision came to you and you were overwhelmed by your captain. His staring was cool and hard and he was berating you with angry words. He smelled of soap and antiseptic and it was all too much. You just wanted to retreat again. 

Sitting up and raising your hand again, getting ready to use your powers, once more, you made yourself appear smaller, your legs against your chest, your free arm enveloping your knees, but Law’s grip was firm on your hand and he was not letting you use your powers. 

“What do you think you're doing? How long has this been going on? Why didn't you come talk to me? I'm the doctor of this ship! Not just your captain.”

You felt tears sting in the back of your eyes but tears just made your last captain angrier so you bit them back, swallowing a sob. Your hand twitched. You wanted to retreat into yourself so badly. 

“Stop trying to use your powers. If you're in pain, I'll help. You don't have to do everything alone.” 

Now this time a sob really escaped your lips. No one had cared about you or about helping you for so long. You didn't know what it felt like to get someone's help. 

“What hurts? You need to talk to me.”

He wasn't yelling anymore since your hand stopped twitching, but his gaze was so cold and intense . 

“Head.” Your voice was weak and fragile. And so, so broken.

He took out a flashlight from the desk’s drawer and examined your irises. Then  he told you to open your mouth and you groaned at the effort. 

“Dizziness?” You nodded softly. “Nausea?” You nodded once more and your hand grasped the sheets because the world was spinning again. “When was the last time you ate?” You shrug. Honestly you have no idea. “Drink?”

“I can't keep anything in my stomach.” It hurt just to talk. 

“Lay back. I'll start an IV. You're dehydrated."

You obeyed and closed your eyes. He wasn't looking at your face when a fat tear rolled down your cheek. It felt nice to be taken care of, for once. 

You felt a sting when the needle punctured your skin but barely flinched. “Next time, come to me. I don't bite.”

You nodded stiffly but realised that he needed an explanation. “My last captain didn't like to be disturbed.”

You barely whispered. 

“Well, your last captain was a dick and I thought that we had already established that.”

He knew some of the story. You didn't share everything with your new crew. They found you in chains, on one of your former captains punishments and put two and two together with the little information you had provided. They knew you were some sort of slave. You just didn't share much more than that. 

The medication he had put in the IV was helping because the pain was subsiding and you sighed. 

“If there's a next time, I'll be sure to find you.” You said and he nodded. 

There was a beat of silence and he shifted on his chair. He was probably going to leave because he had other businesses to attend to other than keep you company, but, suddenly, you needed him there with you, so you opened your mouth and immediately regretted bringing up the subject. 

“Can you erase tattoos?”

His dark eyes bore into yours and you gulped while looking elsewhere.

“Yes, but I thought that they hadn't marked you.” He looked at your bare arms and legs - since you still had your pyjamas on. 

“They did. You just can't usually see it…” You felt your cheeks turn beet red. You should not have mentioned this. “Forget it, it's fine. It doesn't bother me that much.” You could feel your eyes stinging again. 

“Clearly it does.” He leaned back on the chair and crossed his arms. “Do you want to show me?”

Not really. You didn't even know why you brought it up. Other than the fact that everytime you undressed or took a shower you wanted to use a knife and cut that damn tattoo off of you. 

“It's big.”

That was an understatement. It was huge. 

“Show me.” Well that was an order. And you were used to those. So you sighed deeply, trying to gather some courage. 

He was a doctor, he was a handsome man. He had definitely seen boobs before. There was nothing to fear. 

Slowly you lifted your pyjama's shirt, making sure you kept your nipples covered with your hands - trying to maintain some dignity, at least - while your eyes looked at anything other than his face. 

Law got up and you heard a low grunt erupting from deep in his throat. “That dick did this to you?”

You nodded and suddenly your throat felt very tight. “He did.” You could feel Law’s eyes roaming around your body. The tattoo of the previous crew Jolly Roger was carved in the middle of your sternum but, since the Jolly Roger was of an octopus, it's tentacles were everywhere. Two of them enveloped your breasts in a very sexualized manner, there were two that escaped to the back, two just roamed around your stomach and the other two disappeared beneath the hem of your shorts. 

And those were the ones Law was staring at, his eyes dark and his lips a thin line. You gulped, self conscious of your body and covered up. 

“It's no big deal. It's been there for the last five years anyway…” And you could still feel the way your last captain touched you to mark your skin. Your turned your face away from Law, stifling a very small sob. You hated feeling this weak and pathetic. But there was nothing that you could do about it. 

After five years of constant abuse, it was instinctive. 

“I can do it whenever you want.” His voice betrayed nothing. But his eyes were as cold as death. 

“Would right now be okay?” Had that sounded desperate? Because you were pretty sure you could not take another bath scrubbing yourself raw until everything turned red. 

He nodded. “Just going to let Bepo know that I'll be busy. We should let the IV finish as well, so you have strength.”

And he left you without another word, but you could see him clenching his fists and could feel his aura and he was beyond angry. 

You closed your eyes and tried to rest a bit. The pain in your head had finally subsided. 

-*-

You woke up to a burning sensation in your stomach and hissed through your teeth while lifting up your head. 

“I'm sorry, does it hurt? I anaesthetised you, so it shouldn't be too bad.” You shook your head. You'd known worse pain than this. “You were sound asleep so I started on your back then proceed to the stomach area. It's done.”

You looked down and he was right. A big part of it was gone. Most of the tentacles and the Jolly Roger were gone. You were really out of it for not having felt anything. 

“For the rest of the tentacles you need to… Remove your clothes.” Was that a hint of a blush on his face? Because yours was burning up. 

You nodded slowly. “Now?” He also nodded so you took a deep breath and took off your shirt. It was just boobs. And nipples. The last crew had seen them on a daily basis anyway and you were pretty sure that Law was just going to look at them in a medical way, not oggle at them and try to touch them like the other pirates did. 

Somehow, very secretly, you were glad that the last captain only wanted you to himself. You would not have survived long by being abused by everyone in the crew. 

Yep, that was definitely a blush on his cheeks. You gulped and tried to look anywhere but his face, but it was hard. He was so… intriguing… 

Law hissed trough his teeth and flexed his fingers. “I have to touch you. It's the way this works. Can I?” You nodded but he closed his eyes firmly. “I know what you've been trough - at least what you do share, clearly not enough - so I need verbal consent this time, okay? Can I touch your breasts?”

Your stomach summersaulted at this affirmation and you were pretty sure that your heart had skipped a beat. Thankfully you weren't on any monitor or that would've been flagrant. “Yes, you can touch me.”

And as soon as his long fingers started to trace the tattoo on your skin, you felt like molten lava. He was just using his fingertips and his touch was so light, yet it was igniting a fire in your belly that you didn't know was there. 

You were pretty sure that your mouth hung open since the minute he started to touch you but you couldn't care less. This feeling was overwhelming . You gulped and glanced at his face. His brows were scrunched together and his jaw was clenched tight. You could see little prespiration beads forming in his forehead. Was he using that much of his power? Or was it just the concentration? 

His fingertips grazed your erect nipple and you bit your lower lip to stifle a moan. What was wrong with you? He was a doctor! He was doing a procedure! And you were getting turned on like crazy! 

You closed your eyes tight and took a deep shaky breath. Vaguely a lone thought passed through your mind. You had never been touched like this. In such a gentle way. No touch had ever ignited this… desire within you. 

You could feel your heart beating somewhere between your legs and you knew that that was no place for it to be beating so you tried to think of something else. 

But you couldn't think of anything else. 

Because this man was fire and desire and he was literally burning himself into your skin. Your hands clasped the sheets tight and you fought very hard not to arch your back and lean into his touch. 

“Does it hurt?” His voice was somewhat affected as well. He seemed… drunk. But certainly not on booze. 

“No!” You should've just kept your mouth shut tight because your no came out accompanied with an earth shattering moan that you were trying to contain since he started to touch you. He gasped and removed his hands. You turned tomato red and covered your mouth with your own hand. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean…” 

Didn't mean what, genius? To be so turned on by your touch? To give in to pleasure? To want to have your lips on my nipples and your cock inside me? Shit. You should get a grip. 

His hands were on the bed and he hung his head down, taking a deep breath. Was this affecting him too? 

“Maybe you should use your powers.” His voice was so low that you weren't sure he had spoke at all. “Remove your sense of touch so I can do this.” The silence was stifling. “And remove mine, as well…”

When you didn't answer he lifted his head and you could see his eyes. He seemed lost, like he had never felt quite like this before. So you felt bold. 

“I want to feel you.” You forced yourself to stare at him while you said those words and you couldn't care less if your head was fuming with embarassment. “Do you want to feel me…?”

He opened his mouth to answer but closed it immediately, taking a deep breath instead. “I'm your captain.”

“So?"

“Your experience with previous captains was terrible. I don't want to make you uncomfortable.”

Your hand traveled all the way up to his and your touch was feather light. “You're not making me feel uncomfortable. You're helping me heal.”

And that was the truth, because his touch was healing emotional scars as much as the physical ones and he should know that. 

His eyes burned through yours and he seemed to be waging war inside of himself. 

A small nod. 

You could count that as a win. So you settled back again. Inhaling deeply and trying to control your emotions. You could use your powers as he had suggested. But you wanted to feel him . 

“I need you to… Lower your shorts… Please.”

Your head snapped up and you stared at your boobs. He was done already with the tentacles of the breasts? Okay, so this was fast. You could get trough this. 

Gulping, your hands found the hem of your shorts and you pulled them down, along with your panties. You heard Law’s shaky exhale while he looked at you. You knew the two tentacles trailed over the mound of your pussy and wrapped themselves around your thighs. So you lifted your knees and  opened your legs slightly before he had to ask you to. 

It took a while before he touched you and you were starting to feel self conscious. “Is… Is everything alright?”

He grunted and held his index finger up, like asking you to wait, while his eyes remained closed. For an instant you thought that he was reviewing the process in his head, but then your eyes traveled down his pants - unintentionally - and you could see the outline of his hardened cock tight against his pants. 

So he was as aroused as you were. 

Blushing, you were just about to give some mercy to this man and to use your powers when he opened his eyes and, with a very determined look, started to touch you. 

And by everything that was sacred, there were so many nerves down there, and it was like they were all tingling, right now. 

You instantly clenched your jaw and grasped the sheets. His touch was harsher now, needier it seemed. He was using both hands - maybe trying to finish this faster? - and the sensations were intensifying by the second. 

A burning sensation all around, a tightness in your belly and an ache - like something was missing - in your core. His fingers were so deft and long and hot and you needed them inside you so desperately .

You bit your lip and couldn't help but arch your back a little when his finger almost touched your clit. He grunted and hissed through his teeth but he did not stop. 

Aparently, two hands truly worked faster because he moved his position and was now staring at your tighs - and probably at your dripping wet self. 

“You're going to kill me.” He muttered between his teeth but before you could reply, he had one hand on each of your tighs and his touch was now rough but not at all unkind and you moaned so hard your throat hurt. 

“Fuck, Law. Maybe take a break. I-... I'm…” Everything was overwhelming and his touch was igniting you and you just knew that you were going to fold and come even without his fingers inside of you, if he didn't remove his fucking hot hands from you. 

“I'm almost done.” His grunt was almost animal like and this time - maybe on purpose or maybe because he was being a bit sloppy with his work - his thumb did brush your clit. 

“Law!” You screamed and squirmed and your legs clenched while you rode out your waves of pleasure. 

God, nothing ever had felt quite like this. And this was the result of this man's blessed hands. You noticed that he was panting as well. A very deep blush was covering his cheeks, as were yours. 

“I'm sorry…” You started, a bit ashamed now. 

He inhaled and regained a bit of composure. “Don't ever say you're sorry about your pleasure. You and I both know you've suffered enough.”

You nodded while a lone tear traveled across your cheek. 

“Your tattoo is gone now. Hopefully I was able to replace the awful memories associated with it.” 

Your mirthful laugh made him lift his eyes to meet yours and he looked surprised. You realised that it was because this was the first time that you had actually laughed since boarding the Polar Tang. “Yes, you were.”

“Are you alright?” He asked, his cool demeanour almost back in place. You nodded softly and he hooked another fluid bag to your IV and told you to rest for a while. 

His hand lingered on your arm, you noted. 

And as you closed your eyes you couldn't help but think that you were alright indeed. 

Albeit, perhaps a bit in love with Trafalgar Law.

#law x reader #trafalgar d law #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar d law x reader #one piece #one piece x reader #heart pirates

[persevereforahappyending]

Luck Runs Out |Part 3|

Pairing: Mabel x Reader

Summary: When your luck runs out you unknowingly drag Mabel back into the life, she's so desperate to escape.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.7k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Epilogue

The first thing you felt was warmth, your first thought being maybe you weren’t dead. It was dark, you couldn’t feel the sunlight on your face, or any light shining in your eyes, maybe you were dead. Your fingers twitched, grazing against the soft fabric below you, you furrowed your brow, maybe you weren’t dead. You slowly opened your eyes, blinking to adjust to the darkness of a room you didn’t recognize. You started to push yourself up, quickly hissing at the pain in your shoulder making your drop back down, maybe you weren’t dead, there was no pain after death, unless you were in Tartarus, man that would suck.

“Hey,” a soft voice whispered. “Easy.” Then the most gorgeous face you had ever seen came into view, your breath hitched at seeing her beauty, the way the surrounding darkness seemed to bend to her will. Maybe you were dead, maybe this was Elysium, the only place that would be worthy of such beauty.

“Easy,” she whispered again. “My names Mabel.” You tried to smile at such a beautiful name, but the pain was becoming more prominent. “Take this.” She held up little blue pills to your mouth, usually you had better judgement than to take drugs from a random stranger, but you did as asked, opening your mouth just enough for her to pop in. You swallowed them, your body shaking as you quickly began to cough.

“I was going to get you water,” she said, a glass of water in hand. You tried to lean up, your mouth reaching for the water. “Easy,” she said again. She gently rested a hand on your chest, pushing you back down. She put one hand around the back of your head to help prop it up as she gently brought the glass to your lips.

“Thank you,” you finally rasped out after a few drinks. “Y/N.”

“I’m sorry?”

“My name.” You coughed some more needing another drink which Mabel happily provided. “My name is Y/N.”

She hummed and leaned back in a chair where you had to look down to be able to still see her. “What happened?” You asked, your voice still gravelly. You looked around, not recognizing anything in the room you were in. Scratching the soft material underneath you, you determined you were lying on a bed. With your limited vision you would guess that the room you were in was some sort of apartment.

“You don’t remember?” She questioned.

You scrunched your brow, thinking back to what happened, what could have happened to lead you to being in a stranger's bed. “It’s fuzzy.” Closing your eyes all you saw was darkness, feeling cold water hit you, a loud noise, distorted voices yelling but no faces coming into view, then pain. You winced, reaching your hand up to your shoulder, pausing when you saw the bandage wrapping around your entire arm.

“You were shot,” Mabel’s voice sounded far away.

Your eyes stayed on the bandage, flashes of the night coming back to you, you had been at work, you were on the boat. Your face contorted as you strained yourself trying to force the memories to return. You were on the boat, there was a storm, you were arguing with someone, the drugs went into the ocean, then it was just darkness.

“I-I-I was at work,” you said slowly. “We were on the boat,” you pressed a palm to your head as you pinched your eyes shut, “there was a storm, it was nighttime.”

“Sounds like a typical night for a drug smuggler,” Mabel scoffed.

Your eyes snapped open; you dropped your hand as you glared at Mabel. “I’m not a drug smuggler.”

“Yeah, cause the three packs of drugs my friends found with you was a coincidence.”

“I’m not a drug smuggler. I’m just-”

“Someone who smuggles drugs?”

You clenched your jaw, staring down Mabel, seeing that she wasn’t backing down you conceded, slowly letting out a breath. “You do what you got to with the hand you’re dealt.” You held Mabel’s gaze, your eyes suddenly wet, you were going to write it off as the pain meds not kicking in yet. “All I’ve done is try and survive.”

Mabel leaned back in her chair, her eyes never leaving you as she took in your response. You didn’t know Mabel, she might decide to call the cops, if she hadn’t already. Now that you were awake, she could push you out the door, tossing you out in the cold to fend against the wolves yourself. You wouldn’t blame Mabel for any choice she made, you deserved it, you worked for terrible people, and it would be in Mabel’s best interest to avoid you all together. Hell, she could return you to your boss, if they learned you survived you were sure they’d be happy to pay for your return, pay Mabel a pretty penny just to kill you again, not without making sure they were compensated for their missing drugs though.

Mabel suddenly got up from her chair, kneeling down on the floor next to your bedside as she looked for something. She popped back up with more of the same bandages and wrap that were around your wound. She started to reach for you when you instinctively moved away.

“What are you doing?” You asked, eyeing her, trying to decipher her intentions.

“It’s time to change your bandages,” she mumbled, sounding annoyed that you’d ask such a stupid question. “Doc said twice a day.”

“A doctor?” You jolted forward, ignoring the pain shooting through you and Mabel’s warm hand gently easing you back down. Your eyes darted around the place, just waiting for it to be swarmed with cops.

“Relax, he’s not going to say anything.”

“How do you know?” You stared into her eyes, she didn’t seem as annoyed anymore, she almost looked like she felt bad for you.

Her eyes darted to the side; her mouth partially hung open as she decided how much to tell you. “He’s in a similar line of business.” Her eyes dropped down to the clean bandages in her hands, her fingers fiddling with the edge.

“Oh,” you could only mumble.

Mabel cleared her throat, shaking her head as she looked back at you, but you didn’t miss how she was gripping the bandages. “Can you lift up your shirt?” She asked, her cheeks tinting red as the question left her mouth.

You gave a small nod, lifting off the shirt so it hung around your right arm and covered most of your front but left your injured arm exposed so she could change the bandages easily. Mabel got to work, shifting on the bedside as she leaned closer, slowly beginning to peel the old bandaging away. You sucked in a breath when her fingers grazed your skin, the simple touch seemed to warm you, or maybe you were still freezing from being in the ocean for so long and any human contact would feel like the most amazing thing ever.

“How long was I out?” You finally asked. You stared at Mabel, watching as she focused on cleaning the wound, being mindful not to try and cause you to much discomfort. A ghost of a smile found its way to your lips as you saw her eyebrows scrunched together and the way her freckles popped out when she crinkled her nose.

She tossed the dirty bandages into a trash bin, throwing the now dirty rag she used to clean your wound into the laundry hamper. She scrubbed her hands in the kitchen sink before quickly finding her way back to your side, starting to unravel the new bandages. “About a day,” she finally answered. “The boys found you yesterday morning, considering you’re still alive I assume you were shot the night before.” She gently began applying the new bandage and wrapping. “It’s actually late afternoon now,” she tapped her phone checking the time. “You were barely conscious when they got your aboard their boat, so you’ve been out for over twenty-four hours.”

“The boys?” You didn’t like the idea of more people knowing about you, Mabel was already at risk for helping you. You didn’t want more people to be at risk because they decided to save your life, the more people who knew you survived also meant more people who could turn you in.

“My ex, his brother, and their crew,” she finished the last of the wrapping up then slipped back into the chair at your bedside. You got your head back through the hole of the shirt but struggled with your injured arm. Mabel got up and helped gently guide it into the arm hole while you pulled the shirt down.

“They’re fisherman?” You focused on the word crew. You really shouldn’t have been so surprised; besides the coastguard it wasn’t like anyone else would have been out on the water that early after such a big storm.

“The Finestkind,” she smiled. You quickly frowned, your eyes widening at the boat’s name. “You know them?”

You sighed, reluctantly nodding. “They aren’t my biggest fan.” Mabel raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing a story there. “We’re competitors, me and my crew have the nicer boat, bring in larger catches, and they don’t like it.”

“Because I’m sure you never instigate it,” she deadpanned.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the way she already clocked you. “I mean,” you rolled your head to the side. “Maybe a little.”

“So, what did you do to get yourself shot?” Mabel asked, narrowing her eyes as she watched you.

You sucked in a breath, your fingers began to play with the blanket over you, it was a really soft blanket. “I dropped the shipment.”

Her eyes widened. “You mean…”

You nodded. “The storm was raging, and the load was too heavy, it was going to tip us.” You refused to meet her gaze as flashes from that night came back to you, you could almost feel the cold water coming down again. “I hit the button to release the product and the next thing I know I was in the ocean, sinking to the bottom.”

“You did the right thing.” You scoffed; you almost never did the right thing. “Trying to save your life and your crews isn’t a bad thing.”

“Well look where that got me.” You saw flashes of yourself on the deck, the rain pouring down on you, the waves rocking the boat violently, and in front of you stood your captain, pointing a gun at your head. “My own captain shot me,” you let out a humorless chuckle.

You still refused to look at Mabel, too deep into question every decision you’ve ever made that led you to where you were right now. You tried to do the right thing for once, you tried to save lives, the drugs weren’t worth dying for, you still believed that. The one time you tried to do something good though it ended with you almost dying. You got lucky, you always got lucky, your entire life could be summed up by being lucky. Some would say you were lucky to survive the gunshot, lucky to survive going overboard and being in the ocean for so long, lucky to be found, lucky to be found by the people who did. If that was all due to you being lucky, how much time before your luck ran out? It was only a matter of time and what would be the consequences, who would pay the price?

“What’s with the necklace?” Mabel’s voice snapped you back to reality. You furrowed your brow looking up at her finally before you realized she was talking about your trident necklace. “You worship Neptune or some shit?” She joked.

You laughed along with her. “I guess technically Neptune is his Roman counterpart, but I’ve always been more of a Greek mythology nerd.”

“Of course you are,” she shook her head. You couldn’t help but laugh along with her, no one understood your fascination with the gods and Greek mythology in general, they always just gave you a weird look. Mabel might have thought it was weird, but she didn’t seem to be judging you for it. “What’s your favorite book?” You opened your mouth, but she sat up in her chair, “Let me guess,” she said holding up a hand to silence you. “Percy Jackson.”

You chuckled, shaking your head, it was a good guess, it was usually everyone’s first guess or what they assumed when they learned about your interest. “Percy’s great,” you admitted. “But actually, The Odyssey.”

“Really?” She raised her eyebrows clearly not having expected that.

“The story of Odysseus,” you let your head flop back onto the pillow, unable to stop smiling. “It’s just incredible.”

“I get that it’s a classic but what’s so great about it?”

A large smile broke out on your face, Mabel was going to regret that. “He’s just such a great hero,” you sighed. “He’s just a man but he fights all these monsters, he travels the sea, having to deal of the wrath of gods, he fights against all of it, all just so he can return home.” You paused, realizing you had been rambling, but then you caught Mabel’s eyes, seeing her leaning forward, you had her full attention. “Multiple ladies try and seduce him, he could just stay safe on an island with calypso, but he doesn’t, because he loves his wife. For ten years he fights to return to his family because he just loves his wife and son that much.”

“Okay, he does sound pretty cool,” she admitted with a smile. “Is that why you became a fisherman?”

You shrugged. “I’ve always loved the water and travel, plus didn’t have many options, couldn’t afford school,” you looked down in shame.

“And the drugs,” Mabel asked, seeming hesitant to shift back to that topic.

You refused to meet her eyes again. “Sometimes despite our best-efforts family just tries to drag you under with them.”

“I get it,” she whispered, you looked up, seeing her nervously playing with her fingers. “I get it.”

“Do you know what happened to the drugs? I know I was floating on a couple packs.” You held your breath as you awaited her answer, silently pleading they just left them in the ocean, destined to wash ashore or be pulled further out to sea.

“They’re on the boat.”

You let out a sigh. “They need to get rid of them, they should get rid of them. If anyone discovers they have them, they are screwed.” You stared Mabel in the eyes, trying to keep your voice from shaking. “I do not work for good people; they will kill everyone to keep the business running.”

“We’ll take care of it when they get back, it’ll be a few days, they’re out on a job.” You nodded, gripping the blanket around you tighter to hide your shaking hands. “Tell me more about Odysseus?” Mabel said softly. You scrunched your brow as you stared at her in disbelief, no one ever asked you to continue. “I’m serious, tell me more about this epic adventure.”

You smiled, your eyes shining as you looked at her. “Well, I consider it more of an epic love story.”

“But he fights monsters and stuff, right? How is that not an adventure?”

“It’s both!”

Mabel playfully rolled her eyes. “I’m serious,” you said, sitting up a little more. “The entire story is about him fighting against all odds to return to his love, despite all his obstacles and despite more than one lovely lady trying to seduce him,” Mabel silently chuckled. “His heart always belongs to Penelope.”

“Well, I’ve never read it.” You gasped in faux offense. Most people now and days hadn’t read it, they heard of it, they knew of Odysseus, but they didn’t know his story, not fully. “But convince me.”

Your eyes lit up, you had a soft smile on your face, you felt your cheeks heat up, here you were injured, a pretty girl taking care of you and asking you to tell her all about your favorite story. For a second you thought maybe you really were in Elysium, maybe you really died the other night. If this were your afterlife though, you couldn’t complain. “So, it starts off with Odysseus being away, off fighting a war for ten years…”

#mabel finestkind #mabel (finestkind) #mabel x reader #mabel x fem!reader #mabel x you #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #finestkind 2023 #luck runs out

[buck-up-buck]

Tommy pushed the door open and helped Evan into his loft, holding the majority of his weight, a pharmacy bag hanging loosely at his other side.

"Easy, nice and slow." He kicked the door closed behind them, dropping the bag to the floor and stopping so Evan could catch his breath. The trip from the car up to the fourth floor had taken its toll on him, his breath coming out in short pants against Tommy's neck. "Couch, or bed?"

"Couch is fine." He huffed out, closing his eyes for a second before nodding, showing Tommy he was ready to start moving again.

"All your weight on me, okay?" They carried on the same way until they finally reached the couch, Tommy lowering Evan down slowly, making sure to keep his bad leg off the ground. Once he was sat down, he grabbed two of the cushions from the arm chair so that Evan could elevate his leg.

"Thank you." Evan sighed heavily, leaning his head back as he tried to get his breathing back under control, Tommy taking this time to head to the kitchen. Maddie had texted him before he picked Evan up from the hospital to let him know she had stocked his fridge and cupboards, so they should be good for a few days. He knew Evan was just about due another round of painkillers, so he grabbed an electrolyte drink from the fridge and then ran to the entryway, picking the bag up and depositing it on the kitchen side.

He chose for the time being to put aside the burn ointment, knowing he would need to redress Evan's bandages later on, but would wait until his pain had subsided some and he had at least had a nap. Taking out two painkillers, he headed back to Evan and knelt down next to his head, watching as he turned his head to the side, sending Tommy a small smile.

"Hi." He whispered, Tommy's heart fluttering.

"Hey. I have your painkillers and a drink for you." Placing a kiss on Evan's forehead, Tommy helped him sit up, leaving him to take the pills while he reached over the back of the couch for Evan's large throw blanket, draping it over his frame. "You should get some rest." Evan nodded and took one last swig of his drink before screwing the lid on and popping the bottle on the coffee table, staring up at Tommy who was standing at his head, arms hovering as if wanting to reach out and say something.

Buck knew he probably had somewhere to be, and was just making sure he didn't need anything else before he headed out for the night, but Buck was a pro at tending to his own injuries alone.

This, unfortunately, was not his first rodeo.

"I'm good Tommy, you can go if you need to."

"What? You want me to leave?" The frown on Tommy's face was adorable. Buck had grown to love kissing away his frown lines, using his mouth to literally turn his frown upside down.

"I mean, no, of course I don't want you to leave, but I'm home now. You don't have to hover, I'm more than capable of handling the rest on my own." Tommy crouched down near Buck's head and he chose now to pout, tilting his head up to try and catch Tommy's lips, but the man didn't move any closer, staying at arms length away from Buck which just would not do. "Babe seriously, I'm fine, but I won't be fine if you don't at least give me a kiss goodbye."

"I'm not giving you a kiss goodbye, Evan, because I am not going anywhere." Now it was Buck's turn to frown, his pout dropping off his face. "You really think I would just drop you off here and then head out for the night? You've just spent three days in the hospital, I'm not going anywhere unless you choose to kick me out your front door yourself."

"But- I'm fine?" His response came out as more of a question than a statement. Buck wasn't fine, he knew that. He had some pretty nasty burns, on his bad leg as well, and would probably be in a decent amount of pain for a while, but he was home now, and that was a start. He wasn't about to let Tommy waste away while he got better, Tommy didn't sign up for that. "You didn't sign up to be stuck looking after me, Tommy."

"And you didn't sign up for a crazy guy trapping you in a burning building, Evan"

"He wasn't crazy."

"Oh no, he was most definitely crazy." This got a laugh out of Evan, Tommy leaning forward to kiss his smile, before pulling back with a raised eyebrow. "Seriously Evan. I know we didn't sign up for any of this, but I am not going anywhere. We are on this recovery train together."

"So, me being injured on the job doesn't freak you out?"

"No more so than being injured in my own line of work does. It happens, but it doesn't mean you have to deal with it on your own." Oh, and if the heartbrokenly relieved look on Evan's face didn't shatter Tommy's heart. "Like I said, I am not going anywhere. Now, close your eyes, get some rest, and I will still be here when you wake up." Sniffling, Evan nodded, allowing himself to sink further into the couch, the soft sound of Tommy's breathing next to him lulling him to sleep.

@whollyjoly talking about parallels earlier inspired this so, enjoy!

#911 abc #evan buckley #tommy kinard #i will never forgive ali for leaving buck after the truck bombing #his little face in that scene breaks my heart #so here is tommy choosing to stay after his has been injured and healing some of bucks trauma #yes this is me foreshadowing a buck injury at the end of season seven #i need protective!tommy like right now #should i make this a full fic and post it? #maybe #maybe not #I don't know #but anyway until i decide #enjoy #talking about parallels with the clown car inspired this

[pascallllllll1]

Crimson Tide

Pedro Pascal x Reader

Summary: Reader gets her period and Pedro helps;)

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: blood, period talk, swearing, mentions over the counter pain medication, brief daddy kink(common this is about Mr “I’m your daddy” what do you expect?), unprotected sex, if you notice anything else that should have a warning just lmk!

Hi everyone! This was a requested and I hope I did the idea justice. Quick fyi this is my first time attempting to write smut so bare with me y’all!🤣 requests are currently open:)

Regret burned inside you fueling your already emotionally fragile state. The warning signs were right in front of you. First you noticed your breasts engorged this morning getting dressed before work, your nipples aching and chaffing against the rough fabric of even your softest bra.

Then there was the mental health break you had to take at work due to crying so much from the separation anxiety rippling through you because Pedro wasn’t present. In fact he was home working in his office. But the text you’d received from him about going to the gym later and not being home when you’d be arriving set off every panic alarm in your body at the thought of being away from him any longer than originally planned.

Finally, and what should’ve had you sprinting to take 2 blessed tablets of Midol, was the slight pressure building in your lower back followed by tight twisting tendrils of sharp pain wrapping around to cup your lower belly around an hour before you’d be heading home for the day.

The entire 30 minute drive home the pain only intensified with each passing minute causing you to grip the steering wheel so hard your knuckles turned white. After pulling up the driveway and into the garage to park the cramps had you doubled over kneeling on the ground the second you’d gotten out of your seat. You sobbed silently praying for the pain to ease up enough to allow you the chance to run inside quickly and down some painkillers, and as if mother nature heard your cries she relieved enough of your anguish for you to accomplish just that before starting up again.

Now, you lay naked curled in your fuzzy Sherpa blanket centre of yours and Pedro's massive shared bed in a nest of blankets, impatiently waiting for the pills to work their magic feeling trapped in your body. The world is so unfair.

***

A hand removes the blanket from over your head ruining your perfectly cocooned bundle of warmth and has your eyes hesitantly blinking open from your nap.

“Are you ok, pretty girl?” A deep angelic voice asks. You look up to see Pedro let out a sympathetic sigh before shedding himself of any clothing and joining you in your nest.

“It hurts so bad Pedro and I think I’m bleeding now.” The thought of getting up out of bed right now and away from Pedro’s safe embrace to put in a tampon has tears spilling all over again. Massaging your sore belly he shushes you and tells you to relax and let him hold you. After some time passed and you’d calmed, Pedro let his right hand travel between your sticky thighs tracing the wet skin closest to the source of your womanly problems.

“I can help you, let me help you.” He begs starting to suck and bite little marks down your throat while running his hands up and down your sides. Once he arrives at your chest he's wrapping his mouth around your pebbled nipple sucking on it before releasing the bud with a pop! He proceeds to kitten lick the sensitive area making your pussy clench around nothing. With your growing neediness you wrap your legs around Pedro’s hips locking him against you.

“Please, I need you.” You gasp. Lifting his head up Pedro lands both his hands on either side of you caging you in, you place one firm hand on his shoulder the other one weaves your fingers through his thick hair tugging hard earning you a throaty groan in response. Pedro then leans forward to capture your mouth in a sloppy kiss, his tongue fighting yours for dominance. One of his hands is moving to line up the fat head of his cock to your fluttering hole eager to welcome him home, the initial stretch of him filling you has your head falling back onto the pillow and crying out his name.

“T-take me so well.” He mutters, starting to slowly drag his cock back out and giving no warning before quickly burying himself to the hilt deep inside you then relentlessly begins pounding into you. If you weren’t so cock drunk maybe you’d be more embarrassed by the wet squishing sounds filling the room but at the moment your only concern was with how full Pedro made you feel.

“You feel so good baby-mmmphfucK. That’s right. Fuck your self on my cock princess.” His praise has you damn near strangling his cock from how tight you squeeze around him and being the good girl you are, you give him exactly what he wants, continuing to roll your hips meeting each of his hard thrusts.

“So close daddy.” You whimper to him feeling the pressure of your impending orgasm building ready to burst but needing just a little more to get you there.

“Sssh baby I got you. Daddy’s got you.” He coos at you as he reaches down to draw fast circles on your clit and sinks his face into your neck pecking soft kisses behind your ear.

“I-I-“ you gasp, unable to speak.

“That’s my good girl.” He groans out before asking, “you want daddy’s cum now?” You nod your head eagerly, mumbling in confirmation still too dazed out of your mind to respond with real words. He loves when you get like this, too drunk on him and his cock to form any thought or sentence your only purpose being to let him use you. His warm breath fans over the skin of your neck with each grunt and moan he blesses you with. Pedro’s thrusts become more erratic and sloppy as his high approaches before stilling inside you and shakily painting your walls with his seed softly reciting his love for you like a mantra. A peaceful quiet takes over as the two of you bask in the warmth and comfort of each other’s bodies.

A final kiss is placed on your lips before Pedro’s rolling out of bed to run you a hot bath, he’d planned to clean up and redo the bed while you soaked and unwind. He turns around to double check you’re ok before entering the attached bathroom and meets your tired regard with a sheepish grin admiring your fucked out current state;

“…No… prom..ises..” You hardly get out. Shaking his head, Pedro just lovingly laughs to himself before going back to his initial task of running you a bath.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader

[jadewolf22]

Her Darkest Night

Fem!Reader x Sub!Young!Larissa 

Warnings: Bullying, Attempted suicide, mentions of toxic parents (if you squint), smut, fingering, eating out, ect… 

Word Count: 1,755 

Prompt #2: “I’m begging you, don’t do that!” 

Summary: Larissa has always struggled with feeling confident in her body and you knew that. One night, after being picked on by a group of boys, she decides she can't take it anymore and you step in and show her just how beautiful she truly is. 

A/n: Reader is a 20 year old TA, Larissa is 18.  

“What a freak.” 

Larissa flinched as a small stone struck her cheek. Looking up from her book, she noticed a group of boys standing in the corner of the quad, watching her and snickering to themselves. She rolled her eyes and returned to her book, hoping they’d leave her alone if she didn’t give them a reaction.  

“Hey, giant, eaten any people today?!” one shouted as another stone struck her shoulder. The group laughed and Larissa sighed, closing her book and standing up. She began to walk away when a third and fourth stone struck her back, stopping her in her tracks.  

“What freak are you deaf now too?” another boy sneered as they surrounded Larissa, trapping her in the centre of their group.  

“Leave me alone.”  

Larissa’s tone was cold yet very shaky, causing the boys to only laugh harder.  

“What’s wrong, freak?!” one spat, pushing her to the ground from behind. Larissa fell to her knees with a small cry of pain, tears brimming her eyes, “There we go. Now you look normal.” 

Larissa screamed as the back of a hand made contact with her cheek, a harsh ‘crack!’ filling the still night air. One of the boys, the leader she assumed, knelt in front of her and grabbed her jaw harshly, turning her head to look him in the eye.  

“You’ll never be normal. No one will ever love you. You’ll always be the freak.” he growled, his grip on her tightening, “You don’t belong here.”  

Larissa whimpered and the boy smirked, tossing her away from him before turning and leaving with the rest of the group. Distraught and in pain, Larissa shakily pushed herself to her feet, making her way back inside, unaware that someone else had seen the whole thing.  

You and Morticia were sitting in your room chilling when Yoko burst in. “You guys need to check on Larissa.” she gasped, seemingly out of breath. 

“Why, what happened?” you asked, concern flooding your body. 

“The gorgons were messing with her again. It looked really bad.”  

That was all it took for you and Morticia to launch off of your bed and sprint towards Larissa and Morticia’s room.  

Entering the room, the first thing you and Morticia noticed was that Larissa’s miniature safe was open and her bottle of antidepressants was gone. This alone sent the two of you into a mad panic.  

“You search the lower floors, I’ll search the upper floors.” you said to Morticia, your heart pounding in your ears, “She has to be around here somewhere. She’d wanna be in someplace that relaxes her.” 

“I’ll start in the library.” 

“And I’ll start in the bell tower.” you said as the two of you dashed to the stairwell, heading to your designated areas.  

You bolted up the stairs, somewhat relieved when you saw the bell tower door cracked open. You pushed it open fully, gasping when the cool night air hit your face. You heard soft sobbing and quietly stepped around the bell, stopping in your tracks when you caught sight of Larissa. One of her cheeks was a bright red, there was a small scratch across the other. Every inch of visible skin on her legs was clawed up with small scratches, little beads of blood had dried to them. 

“Ris?” you said softly, drawing her attention away from the little bottle of pills in her hand.  

Larissa jumped, nearly dropping the bottle. Tears fell freely from her sapphire eyes, which were bright with fear.  

“Go away, Y/n.” she commanded in a trembling voice, turning away from you and looking out over the quad. As if you weren’t standing near her, Larissa popped the lid off of the bottle pouring all of the pills into her hand.  

“Larissa, I’m begging you, don’t do that!” you cried, tears slipping down your face as you took a cautious step towards her, “Please . . . Give me the pills.” 

“No.” 

Her gaze still on the quad, Larissa brought her hand up to her mouth and you sprang into action, leaping forward and knocking the pills out of her hand, scattering them down onto the quad. You grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face you, both of you crying steadily.  

“What . . . were you thinking?”  

“I can’t do this anymore,” Larissa refused to look at you, instead focusing her gaze on the floor, “I’m tired of being called a freak . . . I’m so tired, Y/n . . .” 

“I know . . . Believe me, Ris. I know . . .” your gentle tone was soothing to Larissa, who finally looked up to meet your eyes, “But don’t do this . . . Please, stay with me . . .” 

Unable to contain herself anymore, Larissa broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. Your heart shattered watching her and you pulled her closer, stroking her hair while you stood there, assuring her that everything was going to be alright. 

“My dad’s going to be so mad at me . . .” Larissa sobbed against your shoulder, clinging to you tightly. 

“Your dad doesn’t have to know.” you said gently, “I’ve got you . . . Come on . . . let’s get you inside before you freeze.”  

Never once letting go of her, you guided Larissa to your room, gesturing for her to sit down on your bed. You brought out a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and asked her to change while you went to tell Morticia you found her.  

“Morticia!” you found Morticia in the dining hall, still searching frantically, “I found her. She’s up in my room now.” 

“Is she okay?” even in the dim lighting you could clearly see the concern in Morticia’s dark eyes. 

“She almost wasn’t,” you said sadly, “I had to knock them out of her hand . . . They spilled all over the quad.” 

“I’ll get them picked up . . . Should we tell the Headmistress?” 

“No.” you shook your head vigorously, “If we tell the Headmistress she’ll tell Larissa’s dad and we both know how well that’ll end . . . He thought she didn’t need the pills in the first place, if he’s told that she tried to OD with them he won’t get her refills and she still needs those pills . . . I’m gonna keep her with me for tonight, see if I can do anything to help her . . .” 

“So, are we gonna just pretend she didn’t just try and kill herself?” Morticia asked with a hint of sarcasm, “We need to get an adult involved.” 

“I’m twenty, technically I am an adult. Until she gets bad again we won’t say anything to the Headmistress . . . Once you pick up the pills you need to find Yoko and see if she can name the boys that did this to her . . . If she can give you names let me know and I’ll take care of them tomorrow.” 

“ . . . Okay . . .” 

With a grateful nod to Morticia you turned on your heel, sneaking back up to your room.  

Entering your room you were relieved to find Larissa exactly where you had left her, staring at herself in the mirror. She’d taken her hair down and had changed, only she’d managed to find a pair of your sweatpants and had put those on instead of the shorts, though they just barely fit her long legs.  

“Hey,” you said, coming up behind her and snaking your hands around her waist, hugging her to you, “Wanna tell me what happened?” 

“The usual.” Larissa said coldly, “Only this time they threw stones at me, surrounded me, shoved me to the ground . . . One of them slapped me and grabbed me . . .” 

“What did they say to you?” 

“Called me a freak; like that’s something new.” Larissa scoffed, “Told me I didn’t belong here. Told me no one would ever love me . . .” 

That last sentence came out barely above a whisper as tears began slipping down her face again. 

“Ris . . .” 

You took her hand and gently pulled her over to your bed, pulling her down onto it with you. Hesitating for only a second you pressed your lips to hers, cupping her face in your hands. She kissed you back, her hands grabbing your waist and pulling you closer to her.  

“Can I show you?” you asked between kisses, “Can I show how much I love you? How beautiful I think you are?” 

“Yes, please yes.” Larissa whimpered against your lips.  

You pushed her down on the bed and climbed on top of her, slowly removing her clothing and then yours, kissing every bit of skin you could reach, making sure to spend enough time kissing every scratch that covered her legs. You kissed up her legs then pressed a gentle kiss to her clit before lowering your tongue into her.  

“Yes, Y/n, yes! Just like that– Oh!” Larissa moaned, grabbing your hair and forcing you deeper into her as her legs wrapped around your head.  

You smirked against her core, increasing your pace as you became addicted to her. Everything about Larissa drove you crazy, now you had something else to add to the list.  

“Y–Y/n can I–?” "Cum for me, Ris.” you whispered before inserting your tongue into her again, allowing her cum to flood your mouth. You moaned at her taste, licking her clean before moving up to kiss her, allowing her to taste herself on your lips as you gently grabbed her, flipping the two of you around so you were both sitting on the edge of your bed with her ass against your front. 

“I love you so much, Ris.” you whispered, sliding your hand down her body and inserting a finger into her dripping cunt as you planted kisses along her jaw, “So, so much . . .” 

Larissa whimpered, instinctively bucking her hips into your hand as you added a second finger, increasing your pace and intensity.  She cried and mewled as you worked her pussy, grasping the sheets and grinding her head back against your shoulder.  

“Y/n– Y/n please– Please, can I–?”  

Larissa let out a high pitched moan as you inserted a third finger, smirking as you whispered, “Cum for me, baby,” into her ear. With a guttural moan, Larrisa came, her juices coating your fingers and her thighs.  

Helping her down from her high, you removed your fingers and let her suck them clean before moving to lick the cum from her thighs, crawling into bed next to her when you’d finished.  

“You are absolutely stunning. Understand?” you whispered, toying with her hair. Larissa nodded, pressing close to you as you turned the lights off with a snap of your fingers, “Those boys’ll get what’s coming to them, I promise . . . For now, get some rest, Ris. I’ll see you in the morning.”

#wednesday #prompts #gwendoline christie #larissa weems #gwendoline is mommy #gwendolineuniverse #larissa x reader #larissa x y/n

[bucky-fricking-barnes]

Resolutions

Title: Resolutions

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Fluff, Kissing

Summary: Steve and Y/N recover from their night out for New Year’s Eve.

A/N: Happy New Year! Here’s some short fluff to kick off 2024, just in case you already need it. Thank you for supporting me all of 2023. I’m excited to see what this year brings!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

The soreness and stiffness of your muscles is the first thing you notice as you blink awake. The second is that Steve is no longer in bed. Slowly, you sit up and groan as you do. You grab the blankets from the inside and pull them with you, doing your best to stay covered by their warmth as you peer around the room and search for him.

You clear your throat, then call, “Steve?”

A moment later, he appears in your doorway, already dressed in his running gear. Steve smiles once he sees you staring blearily at him from under the covers.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks.

You sigh and snuggle back down in bed now that you know he’s okay. “Good. What time is it? Are you really going to run? We were up all night.” Yawning, you pull the blankets as far up to your chin as you can, and Steve laughs in response.

He closes the distance between himself and the bed, then sits beside your legs. You turn on your side and shift slightly towards the center of the bed to make more room for him. From under the covers, you reach out a hand, and he takes it. Steve’s fingers are warm, which more than makes up for the blankets you almost immediately miss once you stick your hand out. The room is far too cold for your liking.

“I promised Tony that I’d run with him,” he replies. “New Year’s resolutions and all that.”

You hum and close your eyes, enjoying the heat that radiates from Steve’s body and warms up your legs.

“Y/N?” he asks.

You peek open an eye.

“Are you going to fall asleep again?”

Grinning, you let go of his hand and stretch underneath the blankets, reveling in the way your muscles lengthen, then relax. After the long night of standing, walking, and dancing that you’d had the night before, it feels sublime. You let out a groan as you relax back against the mattress.

“No,” you reply. You flip onto your back, watching Steve as he bends over to adjust the laces on his shoes. “How long do you think you’ll be gone?” 

He sits back up. “Maybe an hour or so. I’m not sure how long Tony’s going to want to run.”

“Has he ever been running with you before?” you ask, tsking when Steve shakes his head. “That’ll be fun, I’m sure. He’s probably just gonna end up mad at you.”

Steve laughs and shifts so he’s facing you more than before. “That’s what I told him. You gonna be up by the time I get back?”

You grin and he laughs again, knowing that you’re likely to stay in bed as long as you can. It’s not often that you have the day off work and have no appointments or errands to run.

Leaning down, Steve presses a kiss to your cheek. You tilt your head to the side and close your eyes when he does, reveling in the sweet gesture. As he pulls away, you open your eyes again and watch as he gets up to go.

“Run fast! Faster than Tony!” you call after him, and Steve shouts something you can’t quite make out in response. It makes you smile nonetheless, and you snuggle back under the covers once more, ready to doze until he returns.

When you finally do get out of bed an hour and a half later, Steve still isn’t back from his run. You don’t worry, but you do shoot him a text that you’ll know he’ll see on his watch, no matter how fast he’s running. He’s set up a special vibration pattern for the alerts when you text or call so that he always knows when it’s you.

FRIDAY picks out an upbeat, motivation-boosting playlist when you ask, and you get ready as you sing along to some of the high-tempo songs she’s gathered from your music library. You stretch, pop a pain pill to help with your sore muscles, and pull on your comfiest house clothes before you brush your teeth and wash your face. You’re just starting to make breakfast when the front door opens and FRIDAY alerts you to Steve’s arrival.

“Hey!” you call out, leaning back from the stove so you can peer at him past the fridge.

Steve’s kicking off his shoes at the front door. He’s drenched in sweat and is moving stiffly, and you have to suppress a wince. You know that whatever effects he’s feeling from the long run, Tony’s probably feeling them tenfold.

“How’d it go?” you ask.

He looks up and meets your eyes, and this time you let yourself wince so that he can see you’ve noticed the weary look on his face.

“That bad, huh?”

“It wasn’t bad,” Steve finally answers, panting slightly. He tilts his head back, then lifts his water bottle and shakes the last few drops into his open mouth. “Just long. I didn’t stretch as much as I should’ve, either.”

“Well, you haven’t run since before Christmas. Most people probably feel the same way you do today, too,” you say.

You flip the last protein pancake you’ve made for him, then go back to chopping up the fruit. Steve pads across the living room and into the kitchen. He immediately discards his water bottle into the sink and pulls a glass from the cabinet.

“There’s juice in the fridge,” you tell him, not glancing up from your work. “Or I can make coffee, if you want.”

“I just need water,” he replies. 

Steve fills up his glass three times from the water dispenser built into the Stark Industries mega fridge. You’re thankful that Tony had it built into your apartment. Otherwise, you’d have to go grocery shopping three or four times a week just to make sure that both you and Steve are well-fed. Between his high metabolism, the extra food he needs after his long workouts, and your own meals, you’re certain that the two of you go through several hundred dollars worth of groceries a week.

“Breakfast should be done once you’re out of the shower,” you say.

You look over at Steve then, and he nods as he finishes swallowing the water and sets the empty glass down on the counter. He leaves you to go shower then, and you finish cooking as you listen to the shower start.

Steve sings while he showers. It makes you smile, just like it always does, as you set the table and open the blinds, peering out at the city. The snow from Christmas Day has almost melted, and the cleanup from last night’s festivities is almost over. You’ve lived in the city for years and it still amazes you how quickly Times Square gets cleaned up, then the streets that surround it.

“What are you looking at?”

You turn to find Steve standing in the doorway to the kitchen, drying his hair with a towel. You hadn’t heard him stop singing, nor had you heard him finish up in the shower. He must’ve been quick today.

“Just amazed at how quickly everything got cleaned up, is all,” you say, moving away from the window. “The street was a mess when we got home.”

Steve chuckles and drapes the towel over the back of one of the wooden chairs at the table. “Well, Tony did host his own party last night, in addition to the one in the Square,” he replies.

You grin, remembering how you’d snuck out of Tony’s over-the-top party to take Steve to see the ball drop. Given that it was your first New Year’s Eve together, you’d wanted it to be special, and he’d confided just before Christmas that he’d never seen the ball drop. He’d never managed to see it in person before he went into the ice, and once he was back, he’d been too overwhelmed to bother watching it on TV. You’d held his hand the whole time, and once you’d gotten to the VIP spot you’d managed to reserve after some serious name-dropping, you’d stood in front of him so he could wrap his arms around you to keep you warm.

Steve had been amazed by all the technology involved in the performances and the actual ball drop itself. He’d asked a billion questions during the show, enough that you’d spent more time explaining who Miley Cyrus was than you did actually watching her set. You didn’t mind, though. You’d answer Steve’s questions for a thousand years if it meant spending time together.

“Which one was your favorite?” you ask as you pull out your chair to sit at the table. Steve does the same.

“As much as I liked the one here, I liked the one in the Square.”

You heap pancakes onto both of your plates. Once you do, Steve starts dishing out toppings.

“Yeah?”

“I got to be closer to you.”

Heat flames in your cheeks and you mutter something about liking the same thing as you dig into your food. You know that Steve is smiling to himself as he starts to eat too—he always grins like a little boy who’s just kissed a girl for the first time whenever he successfully flusters you. It’s endearing.

The two of you eat, talking about the parties and his morning run in between bites, and Steve cleans up while you queue up the most recent episode of your show. Once the last dish is on the drying rack, he takes up his normal spot beside you on the couch. He drapes his arm behind your shoulders and stretches his legs out in front of him as you press play and set aside the remote. You pull a blanket over your laps, the massive fluffy one that Clint had bought you for Christmas.

Halfway through the episode, Steve looks over at you and asks, “What’s your New Year’s resolution?”

You glance in his direction, then scoot closer so you can cuddle against him. “I don’t know. I don’t think I really have one this year. After everything that’s happened, I guess my goal is to have a calm year, but that’s not really something I can control, you know?”

He hums in acknowledgement and shifts his arm so his hand is resting on your shoulder. His thumb rubs a steady back and forth movement as you continue to watch the show, but after a few minutes you tilt your head back to look up at him.

“Do you have one? A resolution?”

“I do,” Steve says. He looks away from the screen to meet your eyes, and he smiles a little. “Maybe it’s a little old-fashioned, though. Tony said it was, at least.”

“Oh yeah? What is it?”

“I want to spend more time with you. And when I’m with you,” he adds, “I want to be fully focused on you, not thinking about whatever mission they might send us on next or whatever’s happening halfway across the world.”

Smiling wide, you reach up with one hand to touch your fingertips over Steve’s cheek, turning his face more towards you, and then you pull him down for a kiss. His free hand moves to cradle your face as his lips move against yours. 

“That has to be the sweetest, most romantic New Year’s resolution I’ve ever heard,” you murmur.

Steve chuckles. His breath is warm as it fans across your face. “Yeah?”

“Did you practice that this morning with Tony?”

He bursts into laughter and pulls away. You’re grinning and watching him as he tries not to seem flustered by your seemingly innocuous question, and you have to force yourself to hold in your own laughter so you can pretend to be serious about it.

“I’m just saying, he’s more of a ladies man than you,” you continue, “so it only makes logical sense that you’d try to convince him to teach you some moves!”

“Teach me some moves?” Steve repeats, smiling wide. He shifts from his spot on the couch, easily moving until he’s stretched out across it and you’re on your back underneath him. The blanket falls to the floor and one of his legs is braced on top of it, because you haven’t been able to order a couch that’s wide enough for him to lay on comfortably. 

“Yeah, you know. Flirting! Did you forget what that is?”

He rolls his eyes and leans down to kiss you, but it’s sweet and cut short because you’re both smiling too much. You give in to the laughter. He rolls his eyes, though he still smiles even as you throw your head back, your whole body shaking.

Steve presses another chaste kiss to your lips when you calm down enough to breathe properly. “Do you really think I need help flirting with you?” he teases.

You shake your head and pull him down to lay on top of you, then wrap your arms around him. One hand goes to play with the hair on the back of his head while the other rubs up and down his spine, and you feel him practically melt against you a few moments later.

Smiling to yourself, you answer, “You know I don’t, lover boy.”

He falls asleep sometime during the next episode, but you don’t mind. You turn your head to watch the show as you continue to rub Steve’s back, and every once and a while you close your eyes just to soak in the moment. It’s the perfect, most peaceful start to the new year. You want to relish every second of it.

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Steve Rogers: @lipstickandvibranium​ @delicatecapnerd

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x plus size reader #steve rogers x plus size!reader #steve rogers x female!reader #steve rogers #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers reader insert #marvel #avengers #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel fic #marvel reader insert #marvel fluff #avengers reader insert #avengers fanfiction #avengers fanfic #chris evans #happy new year