#the response is not to INSIST that you be allowed to use that damn number | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whiskey-tango-matcha · 1 month

Text

Hard to Shake (M, cold)

Woof, that was too long of a hiatus. I'm back with some Greyson sickfic! In this, Greyson has a one night stand and ends up 'running into' his hookup in a not-so-stellar way. This was a fun write, I'm feeling a little rusty after taking a couple months off writing but I hope you all like it. Please let me know what ya think, good, bad or indifferent! :)

CW: M snz, colds, contagion, coughing, some M/M romance but nothing above PG-13 lol. 5k words (it's a slow burn, shocker, I know)

Hard to Shake

The club was dark, humid, and loud as fuck - just the way he liked it.

“I’ll get us drinks,” Matt said, disappearing into the crowd to push towards the bar without waiting on Greyson’s response. Not that he would have stopped his counterpart; Matt had a boyfriend waiting for him at the end of this black hole of a night. Greyson, alternatively, was on the prowl for a bed, and someone to share it with.

They had begun the night at two pm, just an hour after brunch ended, since the only way to get a proper buzz on a Sunday was to start early as hell. Elijah had closed the restaurant early – “We’ve had ten guests all day. It’s too damn hot for brunch, and I want to go home” – and Mark was currently on a plane home from England after a week spent with family; it was like the universe was begging them to go out.

The restaurant’s reservations had been capped at a tiny number the next two days to prepare for their food writer dinner on Wednesday, and Greyson was so nervous about this career-shaping dinner that he could barely keep himself from lapsing into panic attacks at the slightest provocation; it was Matt who insisted on the bender.

“We haven’t gone on a good one since Mark and I got together,” the sous chef had said after service. “And you need a drink, you're acting like a psycho.”

Greyson, never one to deny himself a good binge drink, had taken the bait and allowed himself to be paraded through the city for the rest of the day. Now, at eleven pm and with Mark back at his and Matt's place safe and sound, Greyson could feel the night coming to a close. Time to round it out with a good old-fashioned one-night-stand.

Without waiting for Matt to return with the drinks, Greyson sashayed onto the dance floor and began grinding on whoever seemed the most into it – he ground on a group of drunk men, twirled between two gorgeous women who laughed giddily through the song, and put his tongue into so many people’s mouths that he lost count. Of course it was fun; it always was. But the hunt for a bed partner had proven, thus far, unsuccessful.

“There you are,” Matt slurred, coming up behind his boss and shoving a whiskey into his hand. “Why do you always run off? I’m about three seconds away from getting you one of those toddler-leash backpacks.”

“Makin’ friends, Matty boy,” Greyson said, chugging his drink and slamming the glass onto the closest table he could find. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of goin’ home to a warm, naked man in our bed.” Greyson elbowed Matt playfully and the younger man rolled his eyes.

“Fair ‘nough,” he said, sipping his drink. “Hey, actually, I saw someone who was exactly your type back near the bar. Talkin’ about food and everything.” Greyson raised his eyebrows, intrigued, and Matt looped his arm into his boss’s and led him back towards the horseshoe-shaped bar. “Let’s see if we can’t get you fucked to sleep.”

Matt pushed the two of them through the crowd, his head on a swivel, until finally he spotted the man he’d been talking about. “There he is,” Matt said, pushing Greyson towards the bar. “Do your thing.”

The sous hadn’t lied; this man was quintessential Greyson’s type. Shorter than his six-foot-three-inches by about half a foot, perfect skin, hair coiffed in a way that just smelled of total pretentious douchebag, and a full blazer and dress pants at the club. Oh yeah, Greyson thought, pulling the elastic out of his sandy curls and shaking them to fall around his shoulders, there’s the rest of my evening.

“Hi,” Greyson said, pushing himself in front of whoever the guy had been talking to before. “Can I buy you a drink?”

***

In his defense, he hadn't known the condition of the man he'd left with until they got to his apartment. The club had been dark; he could barely hear the sound of his own voice, let alone the wheeze of someone else’s. And he’d been really, really drunk.

“Hh-! EISHH-oo! ISHH-oo!” The man – Reed, Greyson had learned his name was – curled into his elbow to sneeze as he pushed open the door to his apartment. “Shit, pardon mbe,” he muttered, clearing his throat and beckoning Greyson in. The chef, blasted as he was, simply ignored Reed’s constant sneezing.

“Now, where were we?” Greyson purred, pawing the back of Reed’s head and pulling it into his own. The two stood in the entry of Reed’s apartment – a truly incredible fifteenth-story one-bedroom in the Upper East Side with its own doorman – making out until Reed had to pull away to catch his breath.

“Shit,” he said again, panting, “sorry. Thought the worst of this fuckin’ cold was behind mbe but – ISHHOO! Snrf. Apparently ndot.” He wiped his nose on the back of his hand and cringed. “I understand if you don’t want to stay,” he said, giving Greyson an apologetic look.

Greyson remained unfettered. “Reed,” he said, taking a step back towards the other man. “Stop talking. And get in bed.”

Reed’s face colored. He opened his mouth to say something, but Greyson cut him off with another kiss.

“What did I just say?” Greyson asked, taking off his t-shirt and unbuttoning Reed’s expensive-looking button down. “Get in the bed -” - he yanked the shirt off the smaller man and licked him, navel to collar bone, prompting a moan - “- and let me take care of you.”

To his credit, Reed did as he was told. He did as he was told all night long.

***

“Lij, I don’t want to alarm you.”

“Greyson, I don’t want to hear it. Zip it. I’m being so serious right now.”

“I don’t want to alarm you,” Greyson repeated, slamming the rest of the bottle of Pedialyte and holding onto the prep table as if for dear life, “but I think I may be dying. I think I may need you to call me an ambulance.”

Elijah swung his chair around and strode towards the chef. He took the sunglasses Greyson had placed on his face the moment he walked inside the bright kitchen and tossed them across the room. He regarded the chef with an annoyance usually reserved for parents of crying toddlers at Disneyland.

“Your drinking antics, Grey, are what most people would describe as ‘a you problem’. You decide to get unreasonably wasted and then come in to prep one of the biggest dinners of your career? That’s a you problem. I don’t want to hear it. The only thing I want to hear is your knife going into and out of different types of food.”

“Does that mean you don’t want to hear about the incredibly hot guy I hooked up with last night?” Greyson asked, a smile blooming at his lips. Elijah, despite himself, felt his eyebrows raise halfway up his face.

“But you haven’t slept with anyone in months,” he said, annoyed at himself for taking the bait but too curious to stop himself from saying anything. “I thought you were on a self-imposed time-out?”

Greyson shrugged, pushed his hair into a bun at the top of his head, and secured it with an elastic. “I was,” he said. “But - and you’re not going to believe this, but it’s true – I am finally feeling… I dunno. Healed?”

“Healed?” Elijah asked, snorting. “I think you’ve been taking too many hot yoga classes. Like, spiritually healed?”

Greyson tipped his head back and forth, considering. “Kind of,” he said. “Like… ready. Moved on from Collin. Prepared to get back out there for real, not in a self-punishing way.”

Elijah whistled, long and low. “Wow,” he said, patting Greyson’s back. “Well, congrats, man. A little over a year and you’re finally back on your feet. That’s actually quite impressive.”

“Thanks,” Greyson laughed, shoving Elijah playfully. “I was also really drunk and you know nothing stops drunk-Greyson when he decides he’s going to sleep with someone.”

“There it is,” Elijah said, rolling his eyes and laughing. “So… tell me about him. Did you get his name?”

Greyson dead-panned his boss as he pulled knives out of his bag and cracked his neck. “Yes, I got his name, Elijah. That’s what healed people do, they get people’s names before sleeping with them, and I am, as previously stated, healed.”

Elijah flipped the chef off lazily, non-committal. “Well, out with it then,” he said. “What’s his name? Tell me about the night.”

“His name is Reed Parker, and we fucked til the sun came out,” Greyson said simply, laughing at his own gregariousness. He looked up when he realized that Elijah wasn’t laughing – in fact, his face had gone stark-white. “What?”

“Reed Parker?” Elijah asked, pulling out his phone. “You’re sure that’s his name?”

“Umm, according to him at least, yeah,” Greyson said, unwrapping a pan with a cleaned striploin in it. “Why, do you know him?”

“No,” Elijah said, pushing his phone towards Greyson. “But if that’s him, we’re going to know him in two days.”

Greyson looked down at the phone and felt the wave of nausea he’d been holding back all morning wash over him – oh. Oh, no.

Pulled up on Elijah’s phone was an Instagram post from The Foodie Society – a group of well-acclaimed food critics and writers in the city. The group that was hosting a dinner at Elliot’s in two days. The group that would likely be the deciding factor in whether Greyson got nominated for a James Beard award this year.

We are so excited to announce Reed Parker, writer of the extremely popular food blog, ‘Eat Like You Mean It’, as our newest Foodie Society member! Reed has been a prolific writer and food critic in the city for nearly five years, and we are so delighted to have him aboard. Can’t wait to collaborate with you, Reed!

Above the blurb was a photo of – undoubtedly – the man that Greyson had slept with the night before. He looked markedly healthier in the photo, and his hair was a little longer, but there wasn’t any was it wasn’t him. Greyson swallowed hard.

“Oh… shit,” Greyson muttered, lowering himself to the floor. “Oh, no.”

“Maybe he was drunk, too?” Elijah said, the panic clear in his voice. “Maybe he won’t remember?” Elijah kneeled down next to Greyson, trying to console him. “Hey, Grey, it’s alright. Obviously you guys didn’t know who the other one was. It’s not like he’s going to think you slept with him to get the nomination. It was just drunk sex. Right?”

“He gave me an out,” Greyson muttered, shaking his head. He looked up at Elijah, eyes wild. “Maybe he did know, or maybe he figured it out on the walk back to his place, because he gave me a fuckin’ out.”

“What do you mean?” Elijah asked, pulling Greyson back to his feet. The chef stood, but placed his head in his hands and his elbows on the prep table, as if to steady himself.

“He was getting over some sort of sickness, and he said he’d understand if I didn’t want to stay. He basically told me to get out and I just… fuck. I told him I didn’t care, and I stayed the night. Shit. I’m never going to get nominated now. There’s no fucking way.” Greyson rubbed both hands down his face and shook his head in disbelief. “I fucked myself.”

“Greyson,” Elijah said, taking his friend’s chin and lifting it so their eyes met. “You didn’t fuck yourself. Okay? He didn’t know it was you. It was a mistake, and also he’s brand new there, it’s not like he’s THE deciding factor. Just – wait, did you say he was sick?”

Greyson, his chin still in Elijah’s fingers, looked away from his boss with just his eyes. “Uhh… I mean, yeah, kind of, I guess. He had some sort of cold, I think.”

“You purposely slept with someone who was sick three days before this huge dinner?”

“Umm… did I mention I was really drunk?”

Elijah sighed loudly and threw his hands in the air. “Never a dull fuckin’ moment with you, is there?” he mumbled, storming into the office and pillaging through their medicine cabinet. He returned a moment later with Emergen-C and Airborne in his hands. “Take those.”

“Yes, sir,” Greyson muttered, pulling them to his side of the table. “Sorry.”

“I think it’s crazy that out of all the millions of people you probably saw yesterday, the one you just so happened to pick is a food writer who could decide your future fate who also had a fucking cold. There wasn’t a single other person in the city you could sleep with?”

“Apparently not,” Greyson muttered, pouring Emergen-C into his water bottle. Elijah took a deep breath before continuing.

“Let’s just… let’s try to get through the next couple days,” he said, heading back to the office. “I am glad you want to get back out there,” he continued from afar, “just maybe give them a cursory Google before you bang them next time. Okay?”

Greyson, completely deflated, just nodded. He swallowed and thought he could already feel a twinge of a sore throat, which would just figure. His dick had sealed his fate. Fuck.

***

Tuesday, May 12

NEW MESSAGE

Matt

3:53pm

r u almost back??? idk how much longer I can handle them at each others throats.

Mark

3:58pm

On my way back now! Are they at each other’s throats again?? I thought they were over it..

Matt

3:59pm

has elijah ever REALLY been over smthn..? & greyson’s going down fast af so hes pissy.

Mark

4:02pm

It seemed like he was in the downward slide when I left...ugh. ok, I’ll be back in 15!

“We are ndot,” Greyson said from behind his sous chef, “at each other’s throats.”

Matt jumped at the sound of his boss’s voice and quickly clicked his phone screen off. “Don’t read my private texts, Chef, that’s rude.”

Greyson shrugged and pulled a tissue out of the box on the desk next to Matt. “Don’t talk shit about your boss and you don’t have to worry about mbe being ruuhh – huh! Hh...IGTSZHH-ue! Hh-NTSHZH-ue!” Greyson crumpled into the jacket he’d pulled over his chef’s coat to sneeze. His hair fell over his face, blocking the grimace he hid as he sucked in through his nose.

“Bless you, moron,” Elijah called from the dining room. Greyson rolled his eyes so hard he felt it splinter in his head. Matt winced when he saw Greyson shudder with pain, and stood from the desk.

“The prep sheets for tomorrow are all written, Chef, tell me how I can help you,” he said, guiding Greyson into the chair. Greyson allowed himself to be sat down, despite his better judgment.

“I feel pretty good about -”

“You feel pretty good? Is that a joke?” Elijah asked, pushing through the swinging kitchen doors and leaning on the office door frame. Greyson gave his boss the dirtiest look he could muster and turned back to Matt without a word to his boss.

“I feel confident about the first three courses for tomborrow’s dinner, but the steak and dessert I feel like we’re way behind. Plus I have ndo idea how the guys are looking for service tondight, so pick which one of those you’d rather tackle and I’ll – hhuh! Hh...HUHESTZHH-ue! Fuck, snrf.” Greyson grabbed another tissue and blew his nose before finishing. “I’ll do the other onde.”

Matt nodded while Elijah stood wordlessly in the doorway. “I’ll get with the guys and help them with tonight, make sure it goes smooth,” he said. Greyson nodded back and his sous looked away and scurried towards the line. Elijah, in stark contrast, pushed past Greyson and sat at the other end of their shared desk, unwilling to look away from the mess that was the executive chef.

“How ya feeling?” he asked finally. Greyson pulled another tissue out of the box just in time.

“HRTSHH-ue!” he sneezed into the tissue and let a tickling flurry of coughs escape as well. Elijah sighed, looked into the kitchen, and reached past Greyson to shut the door to their office.

“How are you feeling,” he asked again. “Seriously.”

Greyson sighed wheezily and pulled a hand down his face. “Honestly?” he said, looking Elijah in the eye, “like fuckin’ shit.”

Elijah sighed as well. “You seemed okay when you came in this morning,” he said, as though it mattered.

“I felt okay this mborning,” Greyson admitted. “I mean, I felt like it was coming but I definitely didn’t feel this… shitty.” He shrugged. “It just… I don’t kndow. Hit mbe out of nowhere.”

Elijah nodded. “I mean, if you want to leave so you’re good for tomorrow, you know I’ll understand.” Greyson just scoffed.

“I have so mbuch shit to do before tomborrow,” he said, sucking in through his nose and coughing again. “There’s ndo way in hell.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, until Elijah sighed. “Fuck, Greyson. I’m really sorry.” He looked up at his friend, the true pity evident on his face. “I know how important this dinner is to you. It’s still going to be great, okay? If you need to par it down, do it. It’s not like they know what’s on the menu til tomorrow. I’m cutting off reservations tonight so you can go home early, okay? We’re going to make this work.”

Greyson had to set his jaw to keep from tearing up. “It’s mby own damn fault,” he said. “Ndo need to baby mbe – hh...HTSHH-ue! HRTSHH! NTSHH! Huh! Huhhh-ETSZHHH-uee!” Greyson collapsed into his own lap, lapsed into coughs again. Elijah handed him a water bottle, which he took the cap off of while wiping his nose with the other hand.

“Can we go back to you being a dick to mbe?” Greyson asked, his voice rough. “That I can handle.”

Elijah pressed his lips together to keep from smiling. “Sure, Chef. Get your lazy ass up and start prepping,” he joked, pushing Greyson’s arm lightly. “Sitting is for the weak.”

Greyson smirked, an attempt at a laugh that wouldn’t make him cough. “Thanks, Lij,” he said. “Let’s get this stupid fuckigg show on the road.”

***

Course One

Compressed Cantaloupe

tarragon | smoked sea salt | brown butter crumble

Reed sat in the cushy, velvet chair and attempted to make himself comfortable. He hoped beyond hope that this dinner would go as quickly as humanly possible.

After their little rendevouz at the club, of course Reed had looked Greyson up; in this day and age, who wouldn’t look up their previous night’s partner, if only to make sure they weren’t some sort of psycho killer. And after he looked him up, of course he realized that oh. It was that Greyson Abbott. The same one whose food he was about to be poised in front of. The one who he and his fellow writers gathered around this table were tasked with deciding whether or not he was worthy of a Beard nod.

Of course.

Reed shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. The other writers had started talking immediately and, this being his first dinner with them, he was feeling awkward and left out. He really could have used the distraction of talking about their craft, but apparently he would have to earn a word tossed in his direction. This was going to be a long evening.

At least the restaurant is beautiful, Reed thought to himself. He’d never been to Elliot’s before, and now he was kicking himself for it. The wrap-around bar, the view of the park, the chandeliers… everything was gorgeous. He just wished he wasn’t here with these people, under the circumstance that his fling was in the kitchen plating up. That put a bit of a damper on things.

“Good evening,” a husky voice came from the head of the table, and Reed whipped his head to see a gorgeous plate of food placed in front of him, and the absolute god of a man he’d slept with a few days before standing just feet from him. Reed swallowed hard.

“I’mb Greyson,” Greyson said, and Reed immediately clocked the congestion in his voice. So you did give him that cold. Asshole, Reed chided himself. Greyson attempted to clear his throat before continuing.

“If you’ll excuse mby voice, I’mb at the tail end of a cold,” he continued, and Reed felt his face flame. Tail end, he thought. Yeah, sure.

“Our first course is compressed cantaloupe,” Greyson said. “I hope you enjoy. Pardon mbe, I have to get back to screaming at mby cooks.”

The group laughed in earnest as the chef walked away. Reed, too embarrassed to even look at the other writers, just picked up his fork and gathered a bite on it. He stuck it in his mouth and closed his eyes.

Christ, Reed thought, he cooks as well as he fucks.

Course Two

Hamachi

yuzu pearls | grapefruit | coconut crème

“I swear to God, Mbatt, what is goigg on?” Greyson yelled the moment he walked back into the kitchen. “We’re already behind, and none of the hamachi is on the plates yet? Can we please get it the fuck together che – ehh! HhITSZHH-uh! HRITSZHH-ue!”

Greyson yanked his chef’s coat over his nose and mouth and ducked away from the plates. The cooks called, “Bless, Chef,” and Elijah came up behind him with Sudafed – “The good shit, from behind the pharmacist counter,” he’d promised Greyson earlier, when he made an emergency trip to Walgreens for medicine – and popped two into his hand.

“I just took two,” Greyson croaked, sucking in through his nose.

“Well, it sounds like they’ve already worn off,” Elijah countered. Greyson swallowed the pills and coughed. “Is he out there?”

“Of course he’s out there, Lij, did you think he’d cancel because of mbe?” Greyson said, washing his hands and heading towards the pass to place hamachi on plates. “Like you said, hopefully he doesn’t remember.”

“Hard to forget a giant, loud, blonde buffoon who’s sporting the cold you just got over,” Elijah murmured, and Greyson flipped him off. “Just saying,” Elijah said.

“I don’t have timbe to think about him,” Greyson said, swallowing painfully. “I can’t think about anything but this.”

Elijah nodded. “You’re right,” he said. “Let me jump in with the pearls.”

Course Three

Lamb Lollipop

harissa | mint chutney | bbq ‘chip’

“Pretty incredible, right?”

These were the first words uttered to Reed all night, said moments after the third course was placed in front of him and seconds after Greyson disappeared back into the kitchen. Reed could see him dip into an elbow to sneeze before he made it back to the kitchen. He cringed; poor guy. This was all his fault.

“Reed?”

The writer who’d spoken to him waved a hand in front of his face to snap him out of his stupor. Reed pulled his head back to the table and smiled. “Really incredible,” he said. “I mean, this guy has talent.”

“For sure,” the other writer said. “I mean, he’s been hoping for a Beard nod for years.”

“Yeah?” Reed asked, hungry for any bit of lore he could get about Greyson. The other writer dug into his lamb as he nodded.

“About five years,” he said. “The menu is deemed as one of the best in the city, and he changes it every single day. I mean, the guy’s an animal.”

Reed nodded slowly. He could only imagine how hard Greyson had worked, how nervous he was, especially with Reed's stupid ass sitting here to judge him. Especially when Greyson was sick as a dog.

“That he is,” Reed said, and he took another incredible bite.

Course Four

Rutabaga Tart

fennel | feta | cured egg yolk

“Matt can put these on the plates, Chef,” Elijah said, putting a hand on Greyson’s back. “Take a quick break before you have to talk to them again. Drink some water. Blow your nose.”

Greyson shook his head, pushed the flop sweat off his forehead. “This is mby shot. These are mby plates,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. “I’mb here until the end.”

Elijah pressed his lips together and flashed Matt a look. The sous chef just raised his eyebrows and gave a little shrug. Once Greyson was like this… well, there was certainly no arguing with him.

“Okay,” Elijah said. “I’ll make you some tea, then.”

“Thank you, Lij,” Greyson managed, before ducking under the pass to sneeze into the collar of his chef’s coat. “God, fuck, I’mb gonna have to throw this thing away after this.”

“More like burn it,” Matt countered, prompting the first laugh from Greyson all evening.

“Burn it is right,” Greyson said. “HHITSZHH-ue!”

Course Five

Striploin

deconstructed bearnaise | white asparagus | duxelle

The fifth course was placed in front of them, and the writers looked up expectantly at Greyson.

“Forgive mbe,” Greyson said, his voice strained to a whisper. “I’ve yelled mbyself out in the kitchen, so mby number-two will introduce your last two courses.”

The writers tutted or laughed and looked over towards the sous chef – everyone except Reed. Reed was staring at Greyson, hoping he could hear his thoughts. I’m sorry you’re sick. I’m sorry I’m here. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

The sous finished the description and the writers began to eat once again. Reed was sure he could hear the younger chef say to Greyson, “Just one more, Chef,” as they walked back to the kitchen.

Reed sighed and took a bite of his steak. He closed his eyes; perfection.

He did not deserve to be here.

Course Six

Matcha Milk Bombe

coffee | pastry crumb

Greyson placed the final pastry onto the final plate and turned away to cough as the servers brought his final plate of food to the critics. He felt like he was attending his own funeral.

“I don’t think I can go out there again, Lij,” Greyson said, shaking his head and crouching down on the ground. “I can’t look at all of themb, I’ve embarrassed myself enough.”

“You haven’t embarrassed yourself at all, Grey,” Elijah promised, pushing Greyson’s sweaty hair out of his face. “But I understand if you’re too exhausted. I’ll go out for the last one, thank them all for being here.”

“Please,” Greyson said. Elijah nodded, stood, and left the kitchen to meet the writers, while Matt nodded towards the office.

“Go,” he said to his boss. “Sit. You did it.”

Greyson shook his head. “Gotta clean mbyself up first,” he said, standing and moving towards the kitchen doors. “I’mb using the damn guest bathroom, fuck those pretentious assholes.”

Matt laughed in earnest. “You’ve earned it for sure, Chef.”

Greyson slipped into the guest bathroom, hoping no one saw him, and locked himself in a stall. Finally, he sat down and let himself go.

“HITSHH-ue!” Greyson sneezed into the open, then quickly grabbed a handful of toilet paper to keep from becoming the restaurant’s biggest biohazard. “HTTSHH! IIITZSCHUE! Huh! Hh…. huh, huhhh… huhhETSZHHH-ue! Huh! HRRRSHHH! Fuuuck mbe.” Greyson blew his nose, beyond exhaustion. He felt like shit. He knew he looked like shit. He’d put out shit food, he’d been in a shit mood… this whole thing was just… shit.

Finally, feeling a little more cleared out, Greyson flushed the toilet paper and unlocked the stall. When he exited, he nearly jumped out of his skin. There, in the doorway, was his fling - Reed.

“Jesus,” Greyson said, placing a hand on his chest. “Give a guy a fuckin’ heart attack.”

Reed shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, then let Greyson by to wash his hands. “Sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to scare you. Bless you. By the way.”

Greyson huffed out a laugh. “Thangks,” he said, drying his hands. “Sombe cold you’re passing around town. Shouldn’t you be finishing your meal? Or was it so bad you’re here to hock it back up?”

“It was incredible,” Reed said earnestly. “Truly, Greyson. Thank you. I… I’m sorry. For being here, for getting you sick, I – I didn’t know that this place was… um… yours.”

“Mmm, more Elijah’s than mbine,” Greyson mumbled, looking away from Reed’s face. “But, uh… thank you. Glad you enjoyed. Hopefully it's ndot for nothing.”

"I don't think it will be. They all had nothing but good things to say. I'm just the grunt, but I mean...you have my vote. You're... You're incredible," Reed said, the words escaping his mouth before he could even consider what he was saying.

Greyson tried to hide a small smile by looking down. They both stood awkwardly until Greyson cleared his throat. “I, uh… better get back to mby guys,” he said, starting towards the door.

“I had an amazing time the other night,” Reed blurted out suddenly. “I, um… I haven’t stopped thinking about it, actually.”

Greyson smirked, the tension finally broken. “Yeah?” he asked. Reed nodded.

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “You’re… you’re hard to shake.”

Greyson took a step closer to Reed, looking him in the eye now. He sniffled, rubbed his nose, and crossed his arms, a smile dancing on his lips. “Who are you, Reed Parker?” he asked. Reed’s face flushed bright red.

“I – I don’t know what you mean. I’m a food writer.”

“Mmm,” Greyson nodded. “Well, Reed the food writer who can’t get mbe out of his mind, at the moment I’m a bit, uh… incapacitated. But,” Greyson pulled a Sharpie out of his coat’s side pocket and grabbed Reed’s hand, “if I’m still rattling around in your brain in a few days… give mbe a call.” Greyson coughed into his shoulder, capped the Sharpie, and gave Reed a little smile.

“I will,” Reed said, biting his cheek. “Thank you. For, um… dinner.”

Greyson paused, thinking, then took a bold step towards Reed, grabbed his chin in his hand, and planted a deep kiss on his lips. “It was my pleasure,” he said, and stepped out of the room.

Reed stood, flushed and breathless, for a moment. The kiss sat, swelling his lips, sweeter than any dessert he’d ever had; he looked at the number on his hand, felt his heart catch in his throat.

Greyson Abbott, he thought, looking towards the bathroom door. Holy shit.

#whiskeyswriting #snz #sickfic #snzfic #coldfic #snzblr #snez #male cold #male snz #ooo we have a new character hope you guys are into him bc i have ideas lol #im not a huge fan of the first part of this story but i really like the ending. whatever its fine #we're going with it. idk. i want to post it ive been looking at it for 8 hours so into the ether it goes #happy to be back :)

102 notes · View notes

irenadel · 1 year

Note

When Homelander comes home and finds you asleep on his sofa under one of his capes cos you missed him whilst he was away

By hour 40, you've called everyone. The phone number they gave you. Ashley. Your mother. Friends. Some of the other members of the Seven. When serious men in serious suits knocked on your door and told you there had been an accident, you had sat down, a strange, distorted ringing in your ears. Something about nuclear. Something about this being normal. Sometimes it was just communication that was cut off. No reason to worry, Vought had a policy of informing the emergency contact of any supe after 24 hours without contact during a mission... It had just never been implemented for Homelander. You didn't ask whether it was because he had never gone missing for 24 hours or if he had never had an emergency contact. There's an outraged, hysterical part of you that is just waiting to know so she can start screaming at anyone even vaguely responsible for this. For the callous disregard with which Vought treats the man you love.

But you didn't scream. You sat in your chair trying to breathe and started making calls. The first ones to friends and family because you DID need to calm the fuck down. Because you knew you'd be spending a sleepless night and would need someone to talk you through it. The next ones were to Vought officials, because by hour 35 you've gone beyond keeping calm to cold certainty that this isn't really the routinary scenario they've tried to feed you. You kept your cool. Years of customer service have taught you people respond better to weary, continuous insistence than to angry outbursts

It makes no difference.

So, by hour 40 you've dragged yourself to John's condo in Vought Tower. You've been talking for four hours straight and you've been awake for the better part of two days. You broke down in front of Ashley and she, half-terrified, half-pityingly suggested you come up here. She'd personally keep you informed, she assured you.

You stare at the cold, empty rooms. HIS cold empty, rooms. Not a single ounce of his personality in them. Not a single personal object to remember him by if... if this is it...

You storm into his bedroom, furiously rifling through his toiletries, his clothes, thinking of the many conversations you've had with him about privacy, not giving a damn about your own hypocrisy here. All his personal things, the books you've given him, civilian clothes he's bought at your request, the brush he uses when he's not being professionally styled... they're all at your place.

There's a couple of dirty super suits in his laundry hamper and you get it now. You get his Proustian obsession with scent, you get how one stoops to this, desperate measures and everything. You don't dare think you'll be able to tell him when you see him again. You give his bed a wide berth, because that you've shared, not a week ago. If you have to lay down on the bed you fucked in you'll start screaming and never stop.

Homelander suspects they've let him go because he looks PISSED. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't even have let them near him. He was long past the days when he would tolerate nervous people in lab coats prodding at him anxiously. He especially did not wish to tolerate them now, jittery and ready as he was to just go, get out of here, get to you and make sure you were alright. He was fine of course, of course. Nothing to worry about. These little medical cocksuckers should have taken the fucking hint on the first round of tests, but they had said contamination risk and he had, gritting his teeth, allowed them to do whatever needed to be done to keep you safe.

By the time he's done with the shower and tests and a fresh change of suit he's already worked himself up into fury. He is deeply considering who among the medical team is disposable and would have gone through with it for sheer stress relief if Ashley had not chosen that instant to break into the medical bay. Now THIS he couldn't be expected to put up with.

"No, no, no," he cuts her off, pointing at her warningly. "Whatever it is, it can wait. I've got, whatsit called, paid leave after an incident. It's company policy. Stop. No. I don't fucking care. Deal with it without me."

He takes off before he can hear Ashley's protests, already heading to your apartment. He knows he'll get some peace and quiet there at least. And he's positively itching to see you after your time apart. Who could have told him he'd become such a sentimental fool over you? He chuckles to himself and stays the course. All he needs is a hot meal, a good fuck and two or ten hours in your arms and he'd be good as new. You'd even be proud of him. First paid leave he'd ever demanded.

But you aren't home when he gets there. The place in disarray, the phone ringing, a cold cup of coffee and the faint stench of your fear around it. He's unprepared by how much this wounds him, like the bottom's dropped out from under him and he's been set adrift. He'd felt like that the first time he had flown, with how little control he'd had over it.

He stops himself dead, refusing to be this pathetic, and reaches for the old familiar anger. Ever ready for him to pick up and hammer you with it as soon as you deign to show yourself. He tells himself it is this, and a liberal dose of SPITE, that makes him leave (flee) this place before you make it back (not the hurt at your absence, the fear). A place, that for all its lack of luxuries, feels more like home than his fucking tomb of a condo ever did.

He's not crying when he makes it to Vought Tower. His eyes are defiantly dry. His hands hurt from being clenched so tightly (Homelander is routinely the only thing that can hurt Homelander). Oh you will hear him as soon as you show your face, oh little lady you've earned yourself a fucking problem, he thinks to himself furiously. (He refuses to glance at the mirror on his way in, refuses to even consider whatever he would propose he do about you.) He's more than enough to put you in your place, more than enough to make sure you never forget what you OWE him.

Your heartbeat hits him first.

Then the salty aftertaste of your tears.

He turns around, bewildered for a second, and is met with the sight of you, his dirty cape wrapped around yourself like it could protect you from the world (John knows, oh he KNOWS what that looks like). He freezes for a moment, mouth dry, the pit of his stomach clenching in some unknown but powerful emotion. He drinks in all the details (drinks them up like a man dying of thirst, consumes them before he can even react). Your little, white-knuckled hands clenched around the fabric. Your eyes, screwed shut as if sleep is a monumental task requiring all your effort. God knows how long you've been here, asleep, FINALLY asleep. He knows because of the coffee and the dark circles under your eyes, peaking from behind his cape, he knows from the sharp smell of your cortisol, pumping steadily through your sweet veins to signal stress, sleep deprivation, worry...

For him.

He feels himself smiling, the edges of his mouth tugging against the exhaustion (and fear, fear he will never admit to) of the last couple of days. He wants to watch you like this forever, wants to savor your anguish, your LOVE for him, so clearly delineated by the bittersweet taste of your despair.

But he also just wants you.

He gives you no warning, just gathers you up in his arms, and chuckles cruelly at the scream of fright you give out. He's kissing you with no time for explanations, licking the tears off your face, as you protest, as you cry again, relief coursing through you like a drug. You try to hold unto the cape slipping from your shoulders as he carries you with one hand under your ass while using the other to stop you.

"That's enough, little lady," he says through that too-wide smile full of sharp teeth you love so much. "You don't need that anymore, you've got the real deal. And the real deal is going to teach you not to worry your silly little head over me. Nothing can hurt me, remember?"

Nothing.

Nothing but himself... and now you...

#homelander #homelander x reader #homelander fanfiction #IreAsks #I made it sad because I can #Once more this is vaguely Pygmalion versey #No-emotional-regulation-lander

429 notes · View notes

ejzah · 3 months

Text

Collateral Damage, Part 4

***

Deeks paced the length of OPS, his hands crossed over his chest, fists clenching the top of his Kevlar vest on either side. He’d insisted on preparing for the moment Rountree found some hint of Kensi’s whereabouts so they wouldn’t waste any time. It also gave him a purpose when he was dangerously close to losing control.

In the last 20 minutes alone, he’d had to stop himself from throwing the empty chair next to Rountree’s desk or punching a hole through the sliding doors. Or fall into an inconsolable mess again. Neither would help Kensi.

“Deeks.”

Head snapping to the left, Deeks found Sam watching him from across the room. There was a worried, knowing look in his eyes, and Deeks automatically straightened his spin in response.

“You should conserve your energy,” Sam said with a hint of a smile. “You’re going to need it later.”

“Believe me, it’s better than the alternative,” Deeks replied tightly.

“I think the Rountree would forgive you if you smash a couple of tablets.”

“Please go with the ones in the cabinet cause those are technically out of date,” Rountree spoke up without looking away from the computer he typed at.

Deeks appreciated the attempt to the lighten the mood, he couldn’t bring himself to join in.

“I hate just waiting around here,” Deeks admitted softly, gripping a handful of hair in frustration. “I need to do something. I should have been there with them.”

“Deeks, this isn’t your fault. Anymore than it’s Fatima’s. Or any of us if we’d been in her place,” Sam said, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder. “Blaming yourself for this is not helping anyone. Least of all your family.”

“Hey guys, I got something,” Rountree announced excitedly. He stood up, almost tripping over himself as Sam and Deeks turned to face the main screen. “One of the neighbors saw a black SUV leaving the crime scene and gave Callen the license plate number. I was able to use that to track the vehicle—”

“Did you get an address?” Deeks interrupted.

“Yeah. It’s a foreclosed house.”

***

Kensi worked at the ties on her wrists until her skin felt raw and she felt a sticky trickle work its way down her hands. Unfortunately, they’d bound her in a position where she couldn’t get enough leverage to snap zip ties.

Maybe an hour ago, two of her captors had left. Based on the voices, she thought at least one of them had been the man who wanted to kill her. Kensi hoped to be long gone before he returned. Since breaking free on her own wasn’t working, she’d formed several different escape plans.

At the sound of heavy boots outside the door, Kensi slumped, keeping her tilted downward. She stayed in that position as the door swung open, more gently than the last time.

“Hey, you awake?” an uncertain male voice asked.

She looked up slowly through partially open eyes. The man standing in front of her was a couple inches taller than her, thin, and most importantly shifting uncomfortably from foot-to-foot. If she had to guess, he was in way over his head.

Good.

“Yeah.” Kensi forced a cough, grimacing, and saw the man wince. “My head hurts.”

“I’ll get you some water,” he offered.

“I don’t feel good. I need to use the bathroom,” Kensi mumbled. She winced again, and curled in on herself as much as her position would allow.

“I can’t do that. Maybe some food or something will help.”

“No, you don’t understand, I’m pregnant.”

“What the hell. I never signed up for kidnapping a pregnant lady,” he spit out, sounding scared and angry now. “Damn it.”

He backed up several steps toward the door, and in true desperation, Kensi hunched forward and moaned. “Oh my god, I’m going to be sick.”

“Fine, fine. Just hold on a second.” He pulled out a pocket knife, moving behind Kensi. It took all her effort not to move as he brought the blade up for her right wrist. Her breath caught with the feel of the plastic snapping on each limb. The second both legs were free, she swung her right fist upward, straight into his mouth and nose.

Kensi didn’t give him any time to recover; she stood and used her body to knock him to the ground, pressing her forearm into his throat with all her strength, and using the rest of her weight to hold him in place. He gasped, clawing at her arm as his eyes widened with panic. Eventually, his movements slowed, his gasping quieted, and he lost consciousness.

Rolling off him, Kensi wiped the back of her hand under her nose. Her wrists stung, but she ignored the slight pain, pushing herself to her feet. She retrieved the pocket knife from where it had fallen a few away, then ran from the room.

***

A/N: Ooh, whatever shall happen next?

#ncis la fanfiction #marty deeks #kensi blye #densi #Sam #Rountree #Kensi whump #Deeks wants to throw things #collateral damage #part 4 #post series finale #ejzah fanfiction

17 notes · View notes

melishade · 9 months

Note

Number 26?

This ask game

"You're allowed to need help. You know that right?" Optimus stopped his review of the Survey Corps report before turning the holoform's attention to Hanji. Levi didn't seem to care; however, and continued reading his own papers.

"I do," Optimus replied to them.

"Sometimes I don't think that you do," Hanji proclaimed.

Optimus narrowed his eyes at them, causing the Commander to continue. "Well ever since you've arrived you've taken on an inordinate amount of responsibility. I didn't know why until Megatron came into the picture. Your friend. Your enemy."

"Your possible ex," Levi dryly added.

"Point being!" Hanji raised their voice to tell Levi to stop, "We're worried you're taking on more responsibilities and burdens than you need to."

Optimus looked down at the papers he's been holding in his hand before setting it down on the table. "What is your recommendation?"

"Take some of your load off," Hanji explained, "Let the Survey Corps help carry some of your responsibilities. Hell." Hanji gestured to both them and Levi, "Talk to us about your day. We vent to each other all the time."

"Four-eyes vents. I just listen," Levi proclaimed.

"We both know that's not true." Hanji grinned at him.

"I will take your suggestions into consideration," Optimus told them, "But...there is much that I cannot discuss with you."

"Why's that?" Levi demanded. Both humans paused when Optimus stared at them, and the two of them say the briefest glimpses of vulnerability in those eyes. The Prime then sighed and rubbed his eyes with his fingers.

"Because I do not wish to put my burdens...or my failures on you." Before Hanji could even begin to prod him for answers, the Prime had merely deactivated the holoform.

"I told you it wasn't going to work," Levi informed.

"Well, I had to try," Hanji insisted.

"Hanji, he's told me personally some of the shit he's gone through," Levi reminded, "He does not want to share, and even if he did, I don't think you're ready for it. I wasn't ready for it."

"Well who else does he have to talk to?!" Hanji demanded, "Megatron?! Cause half the time it feels like they want to kill each other! If he tells anyone in the 104th, especially Eren, they are going to start panicking! We are literally the only ones capable of helping him, and he's acting like a self-sacrificing idiot!"

Hanji rubbed their eyes and slumped further in their chair. "Damn it. For all of his brilliant knowledge and wisdom, Optimus is just such an idiot."

"...He just cares too much," Levi proclaimed, "And sometimes it makes him do stupid shit."

(Two more to go!)

11 notes · View notes

mathcs · 4 months

Note

On this chilly Verius Evening, Jude happened to visit his villa at Victor's request. Inn rooms at holiday time were overpriced beyond belief, and Victor's house had the extra rooms for a night's stay. Elle offered to clean his old bedroom up so Jude could see the picture perfect Verius Evening image at night, so she'd be working when Jude arrived.

"Good evening, Jude. I'd say it's a pleasure, but partners should be honest with one another," In no existence would he ever be happy to see Jude's face again. But his goal needed allies; turning one down due to personal grudges wouldn't damn thing. " I didn't call you over just to avoid holiday inn fares. I wanted you have this."

Victor handed the young man a black box tied shut by a silver ribbon. Inside was the latest Spyrite GHS model, equipped with its own miniature Kudlak to allow connection between other dimensions. The custom case, at Elle's suggestion, was fashioned to look as if it were wearing Jude's old lab coat and t-shirt, including his glass ball necklace. He didn't get the motivation, but girl have better aesthetic tastes.

"Elle insisted you needed some appreciation for your work, even if she doesn't support it. So consider this a thank you for humoring me. My and Elle's numbers are already in it, so expect one of us to call sometime. I expect you to pick up--"

"Victor, the room's read--" Elle froze upon seeing they weren't alone. "Oh, Jude, you're here! Merry Verius Evening!" He might not want one, but Jude was getting a big fat hug from her. Victor wouldn't show Jude any friendliness if it killed him, so she'd pick up the slack! "Did Victor give you your present? I had to ask a thousand times for him to get you anything, but it was totally worth it! I hope you feel the same way!"

When she got her hug quota out of the way, Elle then scooted back to the door and opened it before a deep bow you saw butlers like Rowen do. "Ahem! Your room's prepared, o honored guest! I got a mutual friend to sew a wool winter blanket, so the bed'll be extra warm!" She almost said his name; would ruin Jude's mood. "We got cookies, eggnog, and your whole Verius Evening flair if you don't wanna sleep the day off! Just say the word, and I'll get it!"

"... Victor." And likewise, adding an additional dull chill to the evening air, Jude's response was equally as honest, complete with no less words than usual. Though, there was nothing particularly combative about it tonight.

His brows rose slightly when the black box was placed into his hands. The weight felt familiar, and yet notー he looked down at it as Victor explained the contents. When he got to the part about numbers, Jude glanced back up with realization and skepticism.

"Like a burner GHS...? I don'tー" With Elle suddenly appearing, the two of them had stopped short. "Wh...?!" Jude's surprise had barely formed when she suddenly went to hug him, leaving him awkwardly holding the box as she did. After that, he looked dumbfounded, only able to listen to her comically talk (a fountain of energy).

After Elle bowed, the extended pause Jude was responsible for was naturally awkward. Composing himself, he stared into the doorway. While he stood, cold air was being let inside. It was going somewhere it didn't belong...

Jude felt the same way.

"... I guess I still have to open this box." Despite that, he stepped inside.

#mail .#ofstarsandskies #merry belated verius in #bad!end shenanigans #the duality of goth dad and purple daughter in this LMAOO thank you again kika #jude vc: will stay until i open this thing.......

1 note · View note

goldenavenger02 · 2 years

Text

Whumptober day 29. Defiance

As Stiles held the cold ice pack on his throbbing hand, he couldn't help but let his swirling thoughts consume him.

'Cora's still dying, Melissa's been taken now too, Jennifer said that she's waiting for the eclipse, Scott went with Duecalion...my dad's gonna die.'

"Can I get you something from a vending machine?" One of the lone nurses tasked with storm first aid asked softly while gently examining his hand, renewing the throbbing with the intensity of a glare from Derek.

"No, I'm okay." Stiles insisted, half expecting her to ask for a phone number for her to call, but she just walked over to another family, allowing him to focus in on the blaring sirens and the task on hand to keep the cops away from the others. 'All you gotta do is stall.'

But the mild nerves from worrying about formulating a lie quickly turned to deep seated anger as he saw who was at the forefront of the investigation; Agent Rafael McCall. He couldn't stop the groan of "just perfect" escaping his lips as he approached with his smug face and a smile that always seemed to show up at the worst times.

"A Stilinski at the center of this whole mess, what a shocker. Think you can answer some questions without the usual level of sarcasm?"

"If you can ask the questions without the usual level of stupid." Stiles tried to get as much sarcasm into his response, but all it did was make that damned smile come back for a brief moment.

"Where's your dad and why's no one been able to contact him?"

"I don't know, I haven't seen him in hours."

"Has he been drinking again?" The sympathy in his voice made Stiles' blood boil under his skin, and if his right hand wasn't continuing to throb, he probably would have punched him right in the jaw.

"What do you mean, again? He never had to stop." He had to bite back the addition of 'unlike someone else I know.'

"But he did have to slow down. Is he drinking like he used to?"

The way he spoke to Stiles like he was a eleven year old kid, like the first time they had the drinking conversation even though the whiskey on McCall's breath was stronger then his dad's, filled with so much anger that he couldn't keep it to himself, probable broken hand be damned.

"How about this? Next time I see him, I'll give him a field sobriety test, okay? We'll do the alphabet, start with "F", end with "U"."

There was that damned grin again, followed immediately by "how about you just tell me what the hell happened here? And what happened to your hand?"

"I don't know what happened here. I was stuck in the elevators the whole time. I kept hitting the doors when I got stuck, that's what happened to my hand." Stiles explained, looking down at his bouncing leg against the tile.

"You're not the one who put the name on the doors, are you?"

Stiles' stomach dropped as he looked back up at the agent, seeing no sign of the signature grin. "What name?"

"Argent."

#whumptober2022 #no.29 #defiance #teen wolf #fic #mentions of alcohol abuse #stiles stilinski #agent mccall #season 3a

1 note · View note

loveindefinitely · 2 years

Note

I see you have your requests open! May I get some dom!TogaChako x sub!reader smut? With praise, body worship, biting (because Toga lol), and lots of kissing. Also, Ochako fucks Toga and reader with her strap~

stunning -- dom!togachako x sub!reade

ೃ⁀➷ note; so true anon... one serving of togachako x reader comin' right up!!

ೃ⁀➷ content warnings; smut, threesome (f/f/f), praise kink, dirty talk, body worship, marking/claiming, strap-ons, dom/sub undertones

REQUESTS ARE OPEN.

The three of you had a very... peculiar dynamic.

A villain, a quirkless civilian, and one of the top ten pro heroes. Girlfriends.

Very, very insatiably horny girlfriends, moreover.

"'Chako," you moan, her soft lips pressing into your neck, sucking on it like a damn vampire. Your hand clenches in her hair, and she exhales in encouragement. "Ngh, I have work soon," you protest, but it falls on deaf ears.

You didn't really need to work, but it kept you busy and allowed you to buy things from your own savings. Ochako made more than enough as the number five top pro hero, but it made you feel better to help.

Her soft, padded hands trail down your stomach, hiding underneath the fabric as she pinches at your nipple. Gasping in response, the woman chuckles a laugh under her breath.

"We have time, pretty girl," she insists. Making sure to leave her pinkie up, as not to send the two of you floating to the roof, she continues hardening your nipples.

The couch underneath you keeps you grounded, but only somewhat.

She kisses you gently, her cheeks flushed and her eyes the slightest bit glassy as she goes deeper, tongue flicking over your lip.

Your hands rest on her hips, pulling her closer towards you.

Giggling, she pulls away, helping tug off your shirt and then her own. She tries her hardest to keep close to you, passionate gasps and choked laughs filling the living room.

Her boobs -- god bless, they were heavenly -- press against yours, and it's the most perfect feeling.

"You two look like you're having fun!" Jumping a little in surprise, the two of you turn to your other lover. Her blond hair is pulled back into a messy bun, her make-up not yet done as she takes a swig of her -- wait, no!

"Stop drinking my water!" You yell out, but the woman merely eyes you cheekily and drinks more.

"Poor Ochako, darling girl can't seem to grab your attention!" Himiko calls out, and you look back sheepishly.

In apology, you bring her closer, your head fitting into her breasts. She gasps, high and breathy, pulling you closer to her as you lick, bite and suck.

The cushion sinks a bit further, and then you feel a cold hand against your upper thigh.

Himiko.

The blonde's voice is breathy as she leans into your ear. "Baby, you're pleasing 'Chako so well. So good for us, hm?" Nodding, you press further into the valley of Ochako's chest.

Himiko's hand rubs at your shoulder, before she leans in, biting at your neck.

Like an actual vampire.

Pulling away from Ochako, only a little dazed, you give Himiko an annoyed look. "Don't leave any scars."

The woman has the decency to look chastised. You all remember that one time she had gone too deep, and left a pretty gnarly scar. "'m kay," she relents, before continuing to leave small bites and hickeys over your neck.

Ochako grinds down, the heat of your pussy against hers as she gasps, a downright sexy look on her face.

The two of you remain in your bras, and Ochako's baby pink skirt looks so good with her black lace. You're completely naked down below, and the brush of her fabric against your folds is heavenly.

"Oh," Ochako gasps, high-pitched and wanting, pressing further against you.

Himiko smirks against your skin, looking up at Ochako, who looks down at her with clear desire in her chocolate brown eyes. "Get the strap," she breathes, and Toga keens. Nodding, the blonde leaves your warmth to head to the bedroom.

Moaning, you lean into a kiss with Ochako. Passionate, hot, but slow. Your tongues meet, and it's gentle but intense caresses, needy and so goddamn good.

Pulling away, a bit of saliva snapping between the two of you, Ochako says something that makes you halt.

"I know you were looking at yourself in the mirror too long." Your eyes flicker, but her gaze is unrelenting. "You promised you'd tell us when you doubted your appearance."

Gulping, you look away with conviction. "I'm fine."

Her hands grab your jaw, directing your gaze to her again. "Stop lying to us. You don't have to be fine all the time, and when you're not, you need to tell us. We can help you."

"How?" It comes out soft, quiet, broken.

Ochako brings up a hand, rubbing at your breast through the black fabric. "Like this. Can we worship you, beautiful girl? Please?"

You nod, and it's like the tension between the two of you wash away with the motion.

Moving off of your lap, the woman encourages you to follow her to the bedroom. You do, and when you walk through the door, you spot Himiko with the strap, readying it for Ochako.

"Good girl," Ochako praises, and Himiko leans up for a kiss. Breaking away, Ochako explains the situation.

"Aww, baby girl," Himiko pouts, pulling you into a warm hug. "We'll make you feel so much better!"

And they do.

----

i might add more if this gets enough traction!! friendly reminder; while likes are okay, reblogs, comments and followers are much more powerful!! don't treat this like insta, share creators' content around!! thanks, lovelies! <3

#togachako #toga x ochako #toga x y/n #toga x reader #ochako x reader #ochako uraraka x reader #my hero academia ochako #todoroki x reader #uraraka x reader #bnha uraraka #togachako x reader #toga x uraraka x reader #bnha smut #bnha x you #bnha x y/n #uraraka x y/n #togaraka #himichako

309 notes · View notes

seijorhi · 3 years

Text

Pretty Young Thing

A yandere Erasermic commission for an anon, I hope you like it bby!!

Aizawa Shouta x reader x Hizashi Yamada

TW non-con, breeding kink, pregnancy, surrogacy, pregnant sex, smut, age-gap, nsfw

“Don’t you think she’s a little young, ‘Zashi?”

“It’s up to you both how involved you are during the first stages and the overall pregnancy. Normally we suggest an initial meeting with the potential surrogate for all three of you to get a feel for one another and decide if you want to proceed with the arrangement, but should you wish, we can–”

“No,” he interrupts, sparing Hizashi a fleeting glance. “We want to meet her.”

Beneath the desk, his husband squeezes his hand.

Hizashi quirks an eyebrow, pausing midway through fixing his hair in the mirror. “Whaddya mean, babe? She’s in her twenties ain’t she?”

He’s not wrong, but that’s not the issue. They picked you, they both picked you, but there’s this lingering unease that he can’t seem to shake. It’s not so much your age specifically, he knows that you’re only a few years younger than the majority of the other women whose profiles they’d seen – you’re old enough to understand what you’re getting yourself into and agree to it, at any rate – it’s just that he doesn’t quite understand why somebody your age would want to do this.

And there’s something different about you, it’s just a feeling of course – he hasn’t yet had a chance to confirm his suspicions, but he wants to meet you and decide for himself.

“We do have a number of potential surrogates with promising Quirks if you’re considering pursuing that option for your child,” the Doctor told them, smiling as they flipped through page after page of profiles.

Hisako, 35, Quirk: Sun-flare

Nozumi, 26, Quirk: Mimic

Koharu, 28, Quirk: Seismic Wave

Chiyoko, 33, Quirk: Golden Whip

Yuzuki, 32, Quirk: Silencer

There’s dozens of them – which is more than he expected.

Aizawa knew coming in that this wasn’t normally the process, that this agency catered specifically to Heroes – was recommended by the Hero commission – but it still feels strange, just browsing through pages upon pages of potential candidates to carry their baby.

Was he supposed to be feeling some kind of emotion looking at these profiles? The women were all healthy, each of them attractive, in their own ways (nothing but the very best, the Doctor had reassured them with a smile). This woman, whoever they picked, she’d be carrying their baby, yes, but that was the extent of it. She wasn’t going to be a part of their lives beyond that, so what did it matter if she was nice or liked to cook or play tennis?

There were stats, of course. Their education and IQ’s and little snippets of history, but they were all impressive, otherwise they wouldn’t have been included. Were they supposed to choose based on their Quirk? One that might compliment his or Zashi’s? Quirks were troublesome things to begin with, and–

“Wait-wait, Shou, hold up,” Hizashi’s voice cut through his musings, long fingers wrapping around his wrist midway through turning the page. “Go back one.”

He does as he’s told, flicking the page back.

Y/N, 23, Quirk: N/A.

A lone eyebrow lifts. Quirkless, huh? A blank slate.

But that’s not what caught Hizashi’s eye.

“She’s kinda cute, don’tcha think, baby?”

It feels weirdly like a first date, nervous jitters and all – though he’d like to believe he’s better at suppressing that now then back when he was a teenager. Aizawa hasn’t bothered to shave, but his hair’s tied back in a loose bun and he’s pulled out a suit for the occasion – he’s even wearing a tie for fuck’s sake. Beside him, Hizashi’s ditched his usual leather jacket and ripped jeans for, well, nicer jeans and a button up floral shirt.

And then there’s you. Standing in the doorway of the cafe glancing around like a little lost lamb, he recognises you instantly from the picture on your profile, but the moment your eyes meet his he’s struck with the realisation that the picture didn’t truly do you justice.

Because you do look young (at least compared to their thirty odd years) and it might just be the hesitant smile adorning your face as you start to make your way over, or the charming little summer dress falling to your mid-thigh, swishing hypnotically with every step, but Shouta feels something catch in his chest the more he stares. You really are… what was the word ‘Zashi had used? Cute?

Yeah. You were cute.

The agency had offered to host this little meetup at their clinic, and while he hadn’t particularly cared one way or the other, Hizashi’d been insistent. He’d wanted this to feel ‘natural’.

‘I don’t really wanna meet our potential baby mama for the first time in some boring, sterile office, d’you?”

He’d only bitten back a sigh at the time, shaking his head. It wouldn’t have been worth upsetting him by reminding him that the girl was technically a glorified incubator. He had every intention of being involved in this process, but this initial meeting was to establish two things. Firstly, that after meeting them, you still felt comfortable with carrying their baby, and secondly, he wanted to make absolutely certain that you weren’t trying to get anything out of this.

Oh, he knew you were getting paid, handsomely, he’s sure, but the thought that you, or any of the women the agency had fobbed their way might not all be in this for altruistic reasons had crossed his mind.

You were just so young.

But he was more than happy to determine those two things in a ten minute meeting at the agency.

Hizashi was not, and so here they are.

Ten minutes in, and he finds himself glad of his husband’s insistence. Hands wrapped around your mug of coffee (you should enjoy it while you can) you chatter away with Hizashi, beaming and blushing, tripping over your own words in your nervousness.

You’re about as dangerous as a kitten, and he allows himself to relax enough in his seat to enjoy watching the blonde charm you.

“So why don’t ya tell us a little about yourself, songbird?”

“There’s really not all that much to tell,” you say with a sheepish laugh, but they listen as you talk anyway. It’s nothing the profile hadn’t already told them, nothing spectacular that would make you stand out in the crowd.

And yet, an hour and a half later, you’re trying in vain to distract him and Hizashi both so that you can slip your card in with the bill to pay for lunch, and Shouta finds himself oddly amused.

There were other candidates – ones with impressive Quirks, smarter than you, more accomplished than you, older than you–

“Ya sure you don’t want a lift, sweetheart? It’s no trouble.”

You smile again, demure little thing, and shake your head. “Oh no, really it’s okay. It’s not far and… I like the walk. Thank you, though.”

– but none nearly so endearing, he thinks.

And when they watch you disappear into the crowd, one final wave thrown over your shoulder, Hizashi’s fingers lace with his once more.

“So she’s our baby mama, huh?

He’s silent for a moment. “I suppose so.”

—

The agency recommended, at least in the initial stages before the implantation procedure took place, that any communication between the three of you should go through them.

Hizashi had your number programmed into his phone before you’d even left the cafe, and he’s been texting you every day since – to the point where it wasn’t unusual for Shouta to come downstairs and find Mic chuckling to himself, fingers dancing across the keyboard on his phone as he replies to whatever message you’ve sent.

Shouta, for his part, tends to message only to check in.

How are you feeling? Any side effects from the meds?

Your response comes a little slower than usual, and it’s almost an hour before finally he receives it.

Sorry they’re cracking down on us using our phones at work :(

Everything’s good so far! The doc said i should be on track for our appointment next week!

… is it weird that I’m a little excited haha?

His brow furrows at that. You hadn’t mentioned a job – at least not to him, he’d have to ask Hizashi later whether you'd said anything to him.

Why on earth were you still working? He’d seen the contracts, he knew exactly how much you were getting paid for this little venture, wasn’t that enough to support you?

He makes a brief mental note to make sure that whatever job you were working at, you stopped long before the baby was due. You might just be a surrogate, but he’d be damned if his baby was put in jeopardy because you were needlessly exerting yourself.

Nevertheless, his expression softens somewhat as he reads the second part of your message. You were excited, hm?

Well, that made three of you.

Both he and Hizashi’d been willing to come along to the clinic with you – he’d even submitted a formal leave request to take the day off from UA, but the Doctor had assured him that it wasn’t necessary.

“The procedure is quick and relatively painless. She’ll be home within a few hours, and so long as she remains off her feet and doesn’t undertake any strenuous activity, she will be perfectly fine.”

It hadn’t sat particularly well with Hizashi who’d spent the afternoon huffing and complaining about the clinic trying to kick them both out of the process. That much, he expected – he understood it to an extent; the agency catered specifically to Heroes, most of their clientele probably had busy schedules (which was true in their case as well). There wasn’t a need for them to be present at such a minor procedure, even if it did hopefully mark the beginnings of your pregnancy.

What he hadn’t expected was the twinge of discontent he felt settle in his own stomach. The Doc might’ve preferred they stay out of this, but at the end of the day he really didn’t give a shit what she or the agency wanted.

So he messaged you.

Do you want us there with you?

He watches those three little dots bounce for almost a solid minute before finally your reply comes through.

No, it’s okay, you don’t have to come. The Doc said it wouldn’t take long and I don’t wanna be a burden for you guys

It’s not really an answer to his question, and he briefly wonders if Hizashi might be right about the agency interfering, but he’s not going to fight you on it.

At least, that’s his plan until Principal Nezu pulls him aside at the end of a staff meeting and tells him that he’s found somebody to cover his classes tomorrow if he still wants the day off.

“Ya gotta go, babe. One of us should be there for our ‘lil mama.”

He asks you what time your appointment is and there’s a surprisingly pleasant fluttering in his stomach when you walk through the clinic doors and catch sight of him sitting in the waiting room.

It’s a momentary surprise – you almost do a double take, but a smile lights your face and you ignore the receptionist in favour of racing towards him.

“Shouta, I thought you weren’t coming!” Your arms wrap around his middle, squeezing tightly.

He finds himself returning your hug – albeit somewhat stiffly – but he’s glad he made the decision to come. The Doctor wasn’t wrong, you’re only in with her for just under twenty minutes, and when you come out there’s a tremble in your legs, but you seem otherwise fine.

It goes without saying that he’s driving you home, though you try once again to beg him off.

Kitten, when are you gonna learn that so long as you’re carrying his and ‘Zashi’s child, they’re going to go out of their way to make things easier for you – whether you want them to or not.

Yet your quiet discomfort on the drive home doesn’t slip past his attention. Maybe it’s because he’s become accustomed to your nervous rambling, but there’s something odd about the way you’re sitting so quietly, fingers twisting in your lap as you stare out the window. He knows that if Hizashi was here, he’d be chatting your ear off, but he’s never been one to fill silence with unnecessary small talk.

Though he can’t exactly help the way his own mind drifts. Are you in pain? The Doc didn’t say anything about there being any pain, only that you should rest over the next few days, so it shouldn’t be that. Perhaps you’re just lost in your thoughts – it’s strange for them having a surrogate, he can only imagine what’s going through your own head now that it’s actually begun. He hopes that you aren’t having second thoughts, almost opens his mouth to ask before thinking better of it.

You’re entitled to your thoughts and feelings, whatever they may be, and if you wanted to talk to him about them, you would.

It’s not until the scenery outside starts to change and the fancy sky-scrapers give way to dingy apartment blocks and dilapidated buildings, crammed in together too tightly that he realises that it’s not discomfort that’s written across your face, but embarrassment.

This was your neighbourhood?

Shouta recognises it, and really he should have picked up on it earlier when you’d given him the address – he’s spent more than a few nights patrolling the area. It’s a hotspot, not for the high-class, dangerous villains plastered across the news every night, but thieves and murderers. Petty thugs who prey on the weak, those addicted, with nowhere else to go… you live here?

Surely with the money you’re getting from the agency, and your job on top of that, you can afford a better neighbourhood.

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, watches as you all but shrink into your seat, and when you speak, your voice is little more than a whisper.

“You can just drop me off at the corner here.”

He pulls the car to a stop by the curb, and for a moment neither of you speak. He doesn’t know what to say, and judging from the way you’re nibbling on your bottom lip and glancing up at him, you don’t either.

“I–”

“Thank you,” you cut him off with a tight smile. “For coming today, and for… this. I-I really do appreciate it.”

The words aren’t quite sincere, but he only nods – noting the miniscule sigh that escapes your lips at the action. “Of course. Anytime you need us, just call, okay.” He waits for you to nod before continuing, “Do as the Doc said, rest.”

You all but scamper from the car after saying another goodbye, though Shouta waits until you’ve disappeared into the crumbling apartment block before driving off.

Maybe the inside is nicer, but he sincerely doubts it.

—

“You should’ve seen it, ‘Zashi.” The two of them are curled up on the love-seat, half empty containers of takeout littering the coffee table in front of them. “I just can’t figure out why she’d be living somewhere like that.”

The blonde frowns. He’d been messaging you throughout the afternoon, so he knew that the appointment had gone fine. It wasn’t that he expected to come home and find the erasure Hero jumping for joy, but the subtle discontent on Shouta’s face had been enough to make him pause.

“You’re worried about our ‘lil songbird?” he asks, pushing away just enough so that he could turn to study his face.

The short nod says plenty. Of course he is – even if you weren’t potentially carrying his child, you’re young, beautiful and far too innocent for your own good. In places like that, you were easy pickings, and you don’t even have a Quirk to protect yourself. His job requires him to assess his students’ strengths, their failings and weaknesses and their progress. He doesn’t need to see you in action to know that you wouldn’t be able to hold your own in a fight.

It bothers him.

“She’s not safe there.”

Hizashi hums, but instead of settling back against his husband’s side, he straightens up further. “Well, why don’t we go take a look-see, huh handsome? Make sure our sweet thing’s pad’s all safe ‘n sound, put your mind at ease. Whaddya say?”

As he stares into those imploring green eyes, Shouta knows that he should say no.

Concerned or not, there’s still a line, privacy that should be respected. He’s tired and this is the only night that they both have off this week. Your place is almost twenty minutes from theirs, and it’s already late – almost midnight. The list goes on, there are a thousand reasons that he should say no.

“Fine. Just for tonight.”

—

Two weeks later, the two Heroes receive a call from the agency; the blood test came back positive – you’re pregnant.

In the blink of an eye, at least to Shouta, this becomes startlingly real. You’re pregnant. They’re going to have a baby. Boy, girl, it doesn’t matter… You’re pregnant, and as his husband ends the call and yanks him by his collar into a fierce kiss, he realises how important this is.

How important you are, just by the virtue of carrying their baby.

They invite you over for dinner to celebrate, and while he’s never been one to flaunt the comfortable lifestyle he and Hizashi have, he does find it strangely pleasing to watch you wonder wide eyed through their apartment. He’d be the first to admit it’s big – bigger than they’d ever probably need, though with the baby on the way maybe they’ll finally be able to make use of all that extra space.

Mic grabs you by the hand, eagerly dragging you towards the nursery he’s already begun setting up. “Once I heard the good news, I just couldn’t wait to get started! Our little rockstar’s gonna have the sweetest crib, don’tcha think? Ain’t it amazing?”

He’s already started painting and there’s a wooden cot halfway assembled and the beginnings of a musical mobile pushed off to the side waiting for him to return to it. It’s hardly close to being finished, but you just grin, gazing at the mural he’s started on the walls. “It’s amazing,” you say.

“I knew ya’d like it!” he beams.

Shouta hangs back as Hizashi guides you through the rest of the apartment, chattering excitedly away. He likes seeing his husband happy, and somehow you manage to bring it out of him without even trying. It’s still early days but Shouta has to admit that already you’re more to him and Hizashi than he expected, or even anticipated. You fit well with them, seamlessly, as if you’d always been a part of their lives.

After dinner, they drive you home despite your protests, and Hizashi insists they walk you up to your apartment. You’re no doubt under the impression that they’re doing it to be gentlemanly, missing the shared looks between the two men as they pass the out of order elevator and tread down hallways with stained carpet and peeling wallpaper, ignoring the leering yellow eyes of your neighbour, peeking out from the crack in the doorway as they bid you goodnight, ‘Zashi squeezing you extra tight.

There’s an uncharacteristic hardness in his husband’s eyes as they both slip back into the car, “No way in hell are we lettin’ her stay here.”

On that at least, there’s no arguments from him.

—

Hizashi, unsurprisingly, is the one to bring it up.

The three of you are grabbing a bite to eat after your first ultrasound. This time, both of them had been insistent on being there, and he’s glad they were. Seeing that grainy image of their baby, hearing it’s heartbeat – strong and steady – had filled him with an emotion he’d never felt before.

It was happiness and excitement and wonder and awe all mixed up and wrapped into a gut punch that stole his breath away, and while Hizashi had burst into a loud fit of tears, burying his face in Shouta’s neck while reaching for your hand, he’d managed to keep his own at bay.

Mostly.

Regardless, you have little choice but to indulge them when they drag you out to one of the blonde’s favourite restaurants – on the proviso that they had you home in time to get ready for work.

“Songbird, there’s something the two of us have been meanin’ to ask ya.”

You perk up a little, hastily swallowing down your mouthful of food so you can reply, “Oh?”

He wonders if you notice the way your hand already instinctively drifts to your stomach, your barely there baby bump.

“Why’re ya livin’ in a place like that, sweetheart?” You freeze, the corners of your smile slipping, but Hizashi continues, “Ain’t the money from the agency enough? We know you’re working that other job as well… we just…”

Shouta can physically feel you tensing like a bunny caught in a trap, and he doesn’t know what possesses him to reach out, sliding a hand across the table as you pale, but you take it regardless.

“Talk to us. Please,” he begs. “We just want to understand what’s going on. You have to realise that it’s not exactly a safe neighbourhood, and it’s not just you we have to worry about anymore.” Dark eyes flicker pointedly towards your stomach.

It’s a dirty tactic, but that doesn’t mean it’s not the truth. Did you realise how much danger you were truly in? Not just from the common street thugs – though frankly he thinks it’s nothing short of a miracle that you’d managed to get this far unscathed – but any number of villains with a grudge against either one of them, or Heroes in general. If they found out a pretty, quirkless thing like you was carrying their baby, how long do you think it would take before they tracked you down and kicked through your door?

Your eyes flicker between the two of them, and you swallow shakily. “I-it’s…” you break off, taking a deep, steadying breath, “It’s all I can afford right now.”

“But, hun, what about–”

“I know,” you say. “The money for the surrogacy isn’t for me. It’s money I owe.”

Neither Hero speaks a word as you talk, telling them about your uncle, the man who raised you, how his business went under a few years back and you both lost almost everything.

Shouta isn’t surprised to find out that your uncle turned to loan sharks when the banks turned him away and threatened to take your house. Alarmed at the man’s blatant stupidity, yes, but not surprised. Your eyes start to water when you tell them about how he died a few months back – a hit and run – and the visit you were paid only a week later, informing you that your uncle’s debts were now yours, and payment had better come through quick.

Your hand’s trembling in his by the time you finish. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t have any options, I didn’t know how else to get the money, and they said that i-if I didn’t pay up, they-they’d–” a sob catches you unawares, and once again it’s Hizashi who’s out of his seat and at your side in a heartbeat, sliding into the booth beside you, pulling you into a one armed embrace.

It’s his eyes that you meet, and Shouta understands. He doesn’t need you to explain what threats were made. You were scared, terrified probably, and you had every right to be.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” you sniffle. “I’m sorry for lying to you.”

Really, he should be furious. Disappointed at the very least.

“Move in with us,” he says instead, ignoring your sudden, startled intake of breath. “At least until the baby comes.”

He should be, but this works better.

—

It takes a little longer than he’d like to convince you, but the two of them wear you down and a few weeks later Shouta finds himself carting boxes of your things up into the spare room in their apartment.

Despite the fact that you’re pregnant with their baby, you’re terrified of being a burden to the two Heroes, but it’s because of the baby that you eventually relent.

They want to be close, involved. They want to know that you’re safe – and their apartment’s state of the art security system will make sure of that when they’re not home with you. They want to make sure that you’re not exerting yourself, that you’re eating the right things and not running yourself ragged at a job you don’t need, stressing yourself out needlessly and putting the baby at risk.

All of that’s true.

It’s just not the entire reason.

At first, he convinces himself that it’s for Hizashi, as well as his own peace of mind, but he’s starting to wonder if that’s the full truth of it. Because of course he wants to keep a close eye on the pregnancy – he knows that this can’t be easy on you. You have no family left, and if you have any friends then they’ve done an excellent job of keeping you at arm's length.

You have nobody but them, and it does bring him some modicum of peace to know that you’re just down the hall if anything goes wrong.

Hizashi adores having you there with them, having somebody else to cook for, somebody to come home to at the end of a long day. More than a few times, they’ve both returned from a night of patrolling to find you curled up on the couch, fast asleep with a blanket over your legs and a book slipping from your fingers, having tried, and failed, to wait up from them.

You tune into Mic’s radio show on the nights you can’t sleep, and on the odd mornings that you wake up before either of them, they come downstairs to find bacon sizzling away in the pan, a pot of coffee already brewing. There’s something oddly charming about the way you pout while you pour it for them, knowing you can’t have any yourself.

“You’re a special kind of masochist, ya know?” Hizashi teases, sidling up beside you to grab a cup.

You sigh dejectedly. “I must be,” you reply as he plants a kiss on your cheek and squeezes your side affectionately, but it’s impossible to miss the sparkle in your eyes. You’re happy here, with them.

Shouta warns you from pushing yourself too much, but even he can notice the apartment’s tidier when they arrive home than when they left, the freshly baked goods sitting on the countertop that weren’t there yesterday.

“I just… I know I can’t pay you back for all of this, I just wanna make myself useful,” you tell him one night when he asks about it. “I still feel like I’m taking advantage of the both of you, staying here…”

“You’re carrying our baby, that’s enough,” he reminds you, his calm, steady voice brooking no disagreement. And yet, as dark eyes study your face, he can tell that it’s not enough for you, so he sighs, and in a quiet voice adds, “We like having you here.”

He likes having you there. Sitting at the dining room table, helping him grade papers, lounging around on their rare days off together – helping Mic set up the nursery, volunteering to go shopping with them for baby stuff. He’s lost count of how many pregnancy books you’ve bought, pouring over them with a fine tooth comb late at night – often falling asleep in the process, leaving him and Hizashi to carry you off to bed with a barely there kiss to your forehead.

You fit between them in a way he hadn’t quite expected. Not a burden, not an interloper, but as if there was always a place carved out for you with them, and it’s only now that they realise that there was something missing to begin with.

It doesn’t quite click until he finds his thoughts drifting towards you at work, his fingers drumming along the top of his desk so he can stop himself from reaching for his phone. He’s not usually so distracted teaching, and as the hours drag he finds himself glancing towards the clock on the wall, counting down the hours, minutes, until the day is done and they can return home to you.

Shouta can’t pretend for much longer that there isn’t something oddly satisfying watching your belly grow and your breasts swell as your pregnancy goes on. You’re glowing, and soft and beautiful, and he could kid himself and say that it’s just the normal effects of pregnancy, but there’s some part of him that’s strangely proud when your shirt rides up and he catches a glimpse of your baby bump – knowing it’s his child you’re carrying. His and ‘Zashi’s and yours.

And oh, he wishes that it was only pride that burns through his veins at the sight of you, barefoot and pregnant, pottering around the apartment. Hizashi’s the one to hold back your hair and rub your back soothingly when your morning sickness hits, but it’s Shouta who takes care of you when you start complaining about aching muscles and joints.

He tells himself that it’s purely about comfort, namely yours, ignoring the way you flush and stutter when he drags you up the stairs and pushes you gently towards the bed, telling you to lie down on your side.

It’s just a massage, yet the moment his fingers run along your soft skin and a breathy moan slips from parted lips, the very last vestiges of the facade he’d built up in his head crumble into dust.

You’re perfection. Bared and beautiful beneath him, making the prettiest noises for him as he works away at your muscles, expertly releasing all of your tension. He’s glad that your eyes are shut and you’re lost to the bliss, you don’t notice the way his breath hitches and becomes rough and heavy, the way his cock twitches in his sweats, blood flowing south as you arc into his touch.

Such a responsive little thing, aren’t you?

“You’re amazing,” you moan, and though you can’t see that either, Shouta smirks. “Please never stop.”

It’s a good thing he has restraint, because it’s taking absolutely all of his to stop himself from taking more.

He wants all of you.

Wants to tease and taste.

Take.

Wants to hear those pretty fucking moans take the shape of his name… Hizashi’s name.

And maybe he might have felt guilty for those perverse thoughts, for the way he wants to tear the rest of your clothes off and fuck you nice and proper, breed you–

If his husband hadn't been standing by the door, watching the two of you for the last ten minutes. Shouta doesn’t need to look to know that it’s not anger or jealousy burning in his gaze.

He knows that his husband’s far from disgusted, knows it from the way Hizashi grabs his wrist on his way back down the hallway, pulling him instead to their bedroom and shoving him back onto the mattress with a wicked grin.

There’s something positively feral in the blonde’s expression as he hovers over him, forcing Shouta back down with a hand splayed across his chest, the other reaching down to his sweats to free his aching, needy cock.

“You’ve been holding out on me, baby,” he sings.

—

They have time.

Your due date is still months away, and you’re comfortable, here with them.

There’s no reason for you to consider leaving until the baby’s born, and Shouta is adamant about keeping it that way. Hizashi can huff and puff and moan all he likes, he knows that they have to take this thing with you slowly. He won’t risk spooking you and losing any chance they have.

That’s not to say that he doesn’t empathise with the blonde, what with all the affectionate hugs and touches you thoughtlessly bestow, the way you’ll plonk yourself down on the couch between them so they can feel when the baby’s kicking.

Hizashi’s gotten to the stage where he’ll drop to his knees to shower your stomach in kisses when he gets home of an evening before sweeping you up into a hug of your own, his face a mask of perfect innocence when he catches sight of his husband’s less than impressed expression over your shoulder.

Having you here with them, this little temporary faux family dynamic the three of you have found yourselves in is easy, domestic and nice. It should be enough, but it’s not.

“It’ll be weird, going home after this,” you hum absentmindedly one night.

Preoccupied with the noodles you’re toying with in your bowl, you miss the sharp look shared between both men.

“Whaddya mean, sweetheart?”

If you notice the odd stiffness to the words, you pay it no mind, simply shrugging. “I mean once the baby’s born. I dunno, I think I’ve become too comfortable here freeloading off of the two of you…” you glance up, smiling a little. “Going back to work and finding a place on my own again, starting fresh, it’ll be different, that’s all. Not bad different,” you hasten to clarify at the blonde’s nearly stricken face, “just… different.”

“Well it’s not like we’re gonna be forcing ya out, hun! You’re always welcome to jam with us for as long as you want.”

You shake your head with a rueful little laugh, “We both know I can’t do that. You’ll have the baby to worry about and the last thing I want is to feel like some awkward interloper, always getting in the way – especially after everything you guys have done for me.”

Hizashi’s fingers dig into the meat of his thigh, tightening with every word out of your mouth.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “I’m not saying I’m never going to come around to hang out or anything, but once this baby comes I’m gonna have to figure out what I’m going to do with my life.” Your eyes meet his, wide and hopeful, and Shouta’s reminded once again of just how young you really are. “I can go anywhere, do anything. It’s kind of exciting, don't you think?”

It was a mistake, to think that you’d come around to them on your own.

You were young and naive, still living out a rose tinted fantasy where the world was your oyster and all you needed to do was reach out and take it. And maybe he’s partially to blame for that, taking your problems and getting rid of them, making you feel safe and comfortable, not realising that that security didn’t extend outside of these four walls, outside of their protection.

They need you, but kitten did you ever stop to think that you need them, too?

Shouta had made the mistake of forgetting how this all came to be – you hadn’t wanted a family, you were just trying to save your own skin. You still think that you can make it on your own, without them.

He supposes he shouldn’t blame you for your misplaced idealism, it’s only natural after all. Some people just don’t know what’s best for them.

They need to be shown.

—

You don’t stir as your bedroom door swings open.

Not as Hizashi pulls back your sheets, groaning softly at the sight of your swollen breasts and precious baby bump, stretching against the confines of your silk pajamas. “Ain’t she a fuckin’ dream, Shou?”

Not as the blonde busies himself in carefully sliding your sleep shorts down your legs, or even as Aizawa gathers up your wrists, pressing a kiss to each one, and binds them to the headboard with his capture weapon.

“Gentle, ‘Zashi,” he murmurs when the blonde crawls up on the bed beside you. “Nothing too rough.”

You wake as long fingers caress your cheek, tilting your face towards him so he can kiss you properly.

Shouta hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights, but bathed under the soft glow of moonlight from your window, he watches your eyes flutter open, the momentary confusion that flashes across your face followed by realisation, horror, as you try to jerk back and cry out–

Only Hizashi doesn’t give you the opportunity, winding his hand through your tresses and anchoring you against him, forcing your lips open so that he can deepen the kiss and groaning appreciatively when a terrified whimper escapes you.

You still haven’t noticed Shouta kneeling on the bed between your legs, too preoccupied by Hizashi’s tongue sliding against yours. “Relax, kitten,” he says, laying his palm on your thigh, letting his thumb glide over the smooth skin.

“Let us take care of our cute ‘lil baby mama, yeah songbird?” Hizashi adds, breaking away from the kiss with a lovesick grin.

Tonight is solely about you. Your pleasure, whether they have to tease it from you willingly or not.

Your tears are kissed away, your broken little pleas swallowed under ‘Zashi’s greedy lips as Shouta shuffles down the bed, nudging your thighs further apart so he can lie between them.

The keening cry that leaves you at the first stroke of his tongue against your warm sex is a thing of beauty.

Blood rushes to his cock as you writhe, and he tightens his grip as much as he dares to keep you locked in place as he delves in again. There’s little finesse to the way that Shouta eats your pussy – it’s a simple study of reactions; the way you gasp and shudder when the tip of his tongue circles your clit, the way your pussy clench and quiver around the muscle when he eases it inside of you, massaging your spongy walls.

Never one to be left out, Hizashi decides that there’s a better use of his attention than just your lips. With your arms bound, he’s not able to take your top off entirely so he settles with yanking it down, freeing your breasts.

“Fuck baby, you’re so pretty. Look atcha!”

Your tits must be tender and aching, because the moment Hizashi’s mouth envelops one of your nipples, sucking at the pert nub, a fresh sob bursts from your lungs and you’re trying desperately to wriggle away.

Hizashi just frowns, breaking away for a second to brush a stray lock of hair back behind your ear, “Ah shit, sorry babe! I’ll be gentle, promise.”

Shouta’s far too preoccupied by the intoxicating taste of your sweet cunt to notice whether he actually does or not, but he trusts him not to push you too far. There’ll be plenty of time for that later.

Your baby bump is cute and all, but Shouta wishes that it wasn’t blocking his view of your face – he wants to watch every little expression as he slides two thick fingers into your dripping cunt and your hips buck up to meet him. It’s a twisted kind of pride he feels, pride fused with filthy, maddening pleasure as he pulls a string of choked moans from you with just a few shallow thrusts of his fingers.

His jaw’s slicked with your juices, your cunt sucking his fingers deeper when he turns his attention back to your poor, neglected clit. He can tell that you’re close, not just from the needy whimpers and the way your muscles are tensing beneath him, but the desperate canting of your hips, rocking up against his face even as you beg for relief.

“Shouta, Shouta, please– oh god, please stop, p-please!”

He longs to wrap a fist around his throbbing cock, desperate to help relieve the burning ache deep in his gut as you cum for the first time on his tongue. Or better yet, maybe have Hizashi wrap that perfect mouth of his around his cock and suck him off–

But now’s not the time for him to be greedy.

Rough fingertips prod at your walls, searching for that hidden little spot that’s gonna make you go wild–

You almost convulse when he finds it, and Shouta can’t help but smirk against your cunt as you tighten and quiver around his digits. With Hizashi playing with your tits, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses along your neck, Shouta’s lips wrapped around your clit, tongue flicking at the sensitive pearl as he suckles on it and long, thick fingers driving you to madness with each and every stroke, it’s too much for your poor, pregnant, oversensitive body to handle.

You cum with a strangled shriek, and Shouta almost moans at the flood of juices that gush from your trembling cunt onto his waiting tongue.

“How’s she taste, baby?” Hizashi asks, green eyes blown wide, his own erection straining against his leather pants.

Shouta doesn’t waste a beat, pushing himself up with one arm and grabbing his husband’s wrist with the other, yanking him into a fierce kiss – letting him taste your honeyed juices on his tongue.

Fingers tangle in dark locks, tugging him closer, and ‘Zashi lets out a low, throaty groan. It’s rough and eager, a slow burning frenzy that makes the blood in his veins sing with excitement. With their lips still locked, the blonde hastily yanks at the zipper on his pants, freeing the painfully hard member with a tight hiss.

But when he finally does break for air, it’s not Shouta that he addresses, but you, lying spent, crying and breathless between them, beautiful in your fucked out state.

“You can’t expect to put on a show like that and not get me all worked up, sweet thing,” he coos, taking his flushed, throbbing cock in hand and giving it a few slow, cursory pumps. “I’m gonna fuck ya so good, baby – have you singin’ like a little birdie for me,” his eyes meet Shouta’s, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips. “Nothin’ but the best for our cute ‘lil wife. Whaddya say, songbird? Lemme make you feel all nice and special, yeah?”

#yandere bnha #yandere shouta aizawa #yandere hizashi yamada #yandere erasermic #yandere shouta aizawa x reader #yandere hizashi yamada x reader #shouta aizawa x hizashi yamada x reader #tw non con #tw pregnancy #tw breeding kink #tw age gap #oh my god it's like 5am why do i keep doing this to myself

3K notes · View notes

live-the-fangirl-life · 2 years

Text

Cusco, Peru

A World Away Part 6

Aelin Galathynius x Rowan Whitethorn - World Travelers AU

Travel Tip #67: Be aware and respectful of the history around you—in the long-treaded paths, the ruins of lost civilizations, and in the people whose ancestry can be traced back to both.

Part 5 | Fic Masterlist | MoodBoard | Read on Ao3

Warnings: Language

11,091 words

*******

The weather was balmy, and Aelin could feel a rivulet of sweat run down the side of her hairline as she kept her phone pressed to her ear.

“I just grabbed my bag. Where are you?” She asked into the speaker, spinning in place as she scanned the small, bustling airport. Without waiting for a response, she followed the flow of people out of the building and towards the eager hordes of taxi drivers, all gesturing to travelers and calling out to say they could drive them wherever they needed to go.

Adjusting the strap of her backpack that was digging into her shoulder, Aelin kept her cellphone pressed close so she could still hear over the hum of chatter around her while she continued to look for a familiar face.

“Keep walking, I see you,” a deep, accented voice responded. “We’re at the end of the row.”

“We?” she asked, confused, carefully avoiding running into anyone’s bags and suitcases.

The sun and heat were welcome changes from the ever-too-cool airports and obnoxious fluorescent lighting that had defined her last day and a half. Not to mention how much she appreciated getting to truly stretch her legs. Navigating the maze-like airport terminals wasn’t as refreshing as stepping out from baggage claim and into whatever world she’d ended up in.

“Luis and I,” he clarified before saying something in muffled Spanish, “He’s the cab driver I got earlier—insisted on coming back when I explained you’d be flying in now.”

Aelin sped up to pass a family of slow walkers, and as she moved around them and back onto the sidewalk, she spotted a tall, silver-haired man with a cell phone pressed to his ear.

The small smile he wore widened into a grin when he caught her eye and hung up the call. Matching that grin, Aelin quickly shoved her phone into her pocket before hurrying over towards him.

Unlike last time she’d seen Rowan in person when he’d been taken aback by her unexpected hug in Dublin, this time he was the one to approach her, wrapping his arms around her before she could barrel into him. Aelin laughed into his shirt, suppressing her surprise at his unprompted show of affection as she returned the hug.

Her brain felt too tired from the exhausting hours it took to arrive in Peru—the flights, connections, and layovers—to think too much about why she suddenly felt so comfortable. She allowed herself another moment to hang onto him before pulling back and grinning again. “Buzzard! Would you look at that, we’re in the same place and not by accident this time!”

His face instantly morphed into that of long-suffering amusement. Rolling his eyes, Rowan carded a hand through his hair and Aelin had to use more restraint than she expected to not stare at the way his sleeves stretched over his muscled arms. Damned travel exhaustion. He chuckled, seemingly oblivious to her momentarily dilemma, “One of these days, I’m going to come up with a name for you that’s just as awful as Buzzard.”

“Promise?” She winked, laughing.

He shook his head exasperatedly but smirked.

Aelin was thrilled at how natural it felt to talk to him. Despite their frequent conversations—after she’d given him her number, he quickly became the person she spoke to the most on a regular basis—it had still been practically four months since they’d seen each other in person.

She kept him updated on where she was headed next, and he told her all about his projects and where he’d be flying to on any particular day. Neither one could be counted on to be in the same time zone from week to week, sometimes leaving hours between the shortest of messages. But, in a way, their disjointed conversations were more reliable than those she had with her parents or friends back home, because she knew that despite unpredictable schedules, she and Rowan could keep a conversation going for days at a time.

“Buenos días, miss. My name is Luis.” The cab driver came around the hood of the car and greeted her warmly in an enunciated, Peruvian accent as he held out his hand for her luggage. “I can put your bags in the back.”

Noticing his dubious expression when all she handed him was her large backpack, she shrugged and explained, “I didn’t want to worry about dealing with a suitcase,” she shared an excited glance with Rowan, “with our plans and all.”

They slid into the back of the small car, Rowan wincing slightly at the way his long legs were squished behind the driver’s seat. Aelin leaned over and playfully knocked his shoulder with hers. “It’s good to see you, Rowan.”

His face softened a fraction, and his smile was small and genuine. “It’s good to see you too, Aelin. Even if you do ridiculously insist on naming me after a bird.”

Her snort was cut off by Luis grinning at them in the rearview mirror as he nodded to the land around them and began driving away. “¡Bienvenido a Cusco!”

***

The rest of the day was a blur. Between jet lag and the anticipation for their plans in the following days, Rowan didn't pay nearly enough attention to their exploration of the city center as he should have.

It may have also had something to do with the woman walking alongside him—and sometimes ahead of him, hurrying forward when she saw a shop or cart she found interesting, always waving him along to join her.

He and Aelin walked through the lively mercado, stopping to listen to music and maneuvering around locals and tourists moving from one garage-door storefront to the next. They ended up at a small restaurant half inside, half outside that gave them the perfect vantage point to people-watch.

“Are you ready for tomorrow?” Aelin asked him with an excited grin as she sat back in her chair and took a sip of her passion fruit juice, unable to keep the giddiness from her voice.

Rowan hated how infectious her excitement was as he forced his smirk not to blossom into a wide smile. He arched a brow and stretched his arm over the back of the chair next to him. “Am I ready to spend three days on foot hiking the Inca trail through the Andes mountain range?” he paused deliberately slowly to take a sip of his water before cracking a smile and nodding at her expectant look. “Yeah. I’ve always wanted to see Machu Picchu.”

She leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table. “I am so excited; it's gonna be incredible. I’m trying my best not to get my hopes up because I know it won't look like all the pictures online, but hopefully, it’ll be better.”

He chuckled as their food was brought out. “As someone who takes those kinds of pictures that end up online, I guarantee you it won’t look exactly the same.”

Aelin nodded as she took a bite of her ceviche peruano, startling him as she closed her eyes and moaned at the delicious citrusy fish.

Rowan cleared his throat and discreetly shifted in his chair as he tried to ignore the sound that just escaped her lips. Focusing on the people wandering past, he added, “But, uh, I’m sure it will be amazing, nonetheless.”

They spent the rest of their meal going back and forth between what they were looking forward to that week, and what else they’d been up to since last seeing each other—that the other one didn't already know. It was so easy to talk to Aelin that he lost track of how many hours went by, the time only passing by their desert orders and drink refills.

After her third yawn in as many minutes, Rowan looked at his watch and asked, “You want to call it a night? We have an early morning tomorrow.”

She nodded, finishing the last of her drink. It wasn’t a long walk from the café to the apartment they’d rented for the night, and the cooler evening air was nice. The apartment wasn’t huge, but it had a bed, a pull-out sofa, a small kitchen, and a bathroom. They were only staying for a night; it didn’t need to be luxurious.

Aelin insisted on taking the sofa, arguing that it was too short for Rowan and that she didn’t want to spend the next day listening to his old man complaints of a bad back. He took the soft bed and extra pillow without argument purely out of spite for that insult.

After double-checking his bags and triple-checking his chargers, Rowan fell asleep—excited for their trek and to be traveling with Aelin on purpose.

***

Normally, Aelin wasn’t someone prone to carsickness, but that particular day was proving her disastrously wrong. She and Rowan were two hours into a four-hour bus ride taking them from Cusco to the base of the mountain where their tour group would begin their trek to Machu Picchu.

In between the sharp turns and windy roads, she watched as they passed towns and villages nestled into the crevices of the mountains surrounding them, filling all the steep inclines and plateaus as if the buildings had been poured onto the uneven terrain like water to determine where the settlements ebbed and flowed. As they passed by a particularly steep mountainside of houses, Aelin had the brief thought of someone stepping out of their front door and falling down the face of the mountain.

Rowan sat in the seat across from her and was trying to take pictures of the scenery around them, cursing under his breath each time the bus jostled just as he set up a shot.

Aelin took a steadying breath as they took yet another turn and thought back to that morning before they got on this godsforsaken bus. She and Rowan had met with their tour group, bleary eyed but excited, before four in the morning to meet the dozen people who’d be traveling with them for the next three days. They piled into vans and drove just outside of the city to stop at a small, family-owned farm for breakfast.

While they sat near a large stone oven, getting to know some of their fellow trekkers, a short woman came around with a large, ceramic jug. Her skin was darkened and weathered from constant work on the farm, and the crinkles by her eyes deepened as she smiled at Aelin while pouring her a cup of tea.

“Please, if you’d like, drink some Coca tea before we get on the bus.” Their tour guide, José, encouraged in a lilting Peruvian accent. “It will help with the higher elevations.”

Aelin drank it without hesitation. She’d tried it before and despite its weak taste, she would take anything to help with the impending hike.

“Coca? Like cocoa—chocolate?” Rowan murmured, leaning closer to ask quietly as he sipped at his own glass.

“No.” She shook her head, finishing her’s and setting the cup back down on the table. “Coca, like cocaine.”

He sputtered, spraying a bit of his tea onto the front of his shirt. Chuckling, Aelin handed him a napkin and raised a brow in amusement.

“What?” he hissed incredulously.

“Don’t worry so much, Buzzard, it’s just from the same plant. You might feel a slightly more awake, but it’s so diluted that you can’t get high.” Aelin rolled her eyes, sitting back and watching as he eyed the glass warily. “Trust me, I’ve tried.” She laughed. “It will help with altitude sickness though.”

Despite his hesitation, he finished his tea by the time they were ushered onto the bus that would be taking them into the mountains.

Four torturous hours later, when Aelin felt like she wasn’t about to lose her stomach, she followed Rowan off the bus with their backpacks in hand.

They were near the middle of the Andes mountain range; the giant, snow-capped peaks reaching towards the sky and encompassing them within its walls. The air was chilly—and stayed chilly despite the sun arcing overhead.

One of their first pointers was about always remembering to wear sunscreen. For those not used to the sun exposure near the equator, it was important to take precaution or else you’d end up shivering with a burnt nose.

Just before they set out, they were each handed a set of walking poles. She was dubious about taking them, figuring they would just get in the way. Sharing a smirk with Rowan, she knew he thought the same, but they thanked their guides and took the poles anyway.

It was a good thing, too, because she used those damn poles every single moment of their hike.

“You holding up?” Rowan teased, smirking as Aelin huffed out another breath and drove her sticks into the ground at her feet. The group slowly separated, some people walking faster ahead and others trailing behind, but Rowan kept pace with her the whole way. Aelin wasn’t sure to be grateful for his company or bitter about how seemingly effortless he found it.

It seemed her proclivity for carsickness—and Rowan’s lack thereof—was also apparent in being affected by the increasing altitude. Coca tea be damned.

She blew a hair out of her narrowed eyes and shot Rowan a glare as he snickered at her huffing and puffing along the trail. She wasn’t out of shape, but godsdammed this altitude was making her struggle.

“Perfectly.” She answered, pointedly thrusting her stick in front of her next step. “Why the hell aren’t you out of breath? Totally unfair.”

He chuckled, lifting his camera towards his face. One perk, she decided, of having a professional photographer as a travel buddy, was that the pictures would always be perfect. Aelin managed to get Rowan to promise to be the photographer for both of them during this trek, but she suspected he’d already assumed that despite his exaggerated complaints every time she asked him to get a picture of some bird or view.

“My stamina’s never been an issue.” He smirked and tossed her a devilish wink.

Aelin snorted and almost missed her next pole landing, deliberately keeping her gaze straight ahead and refusing to glance over in fear that her flaming cheeks would be evident. After a few paces in mutual silence, she finally looked over and noticed the tips of his ears were a bright red and that he too was staring ahead of them, his eyes fixed on the path.

***

My stamina’s never been an issue? Seriously?

He’d said the words before his brain could process what he was saying. For a moment, he contemplated finding a way to hurl himself off the mountain but then Aelin laughed, and he decided he didn’t want to miss any of that, so he fiddled with his camera and kept his gaze on the trail instead of looking her in the eye.

Rowan deliberately shortened his stride so as not to get too far ahead of Aelin. Occasionally they would stop for a drink, pulling out one of many water bottles they had with them. Donning hiking boots, long fuzzy socks, leggings, jacket, hat, and sunglasses, Aelin had fully committed to the wear layers advisement. Her large backpack was almost as big as his—his only surpassing hers in sheer size because he needed his extra camera equipment.

As they followed their guides up, over, and back down the mountain trails, the clouds seemed to form around them, creating an unusual misty layer that lasted until they were closer to the base on the mountains.

They passed by a few farms sporadically set up near the path. They were small and very traditional; not a lot of modern technology, besides electricity, and most of the foods and plants were grown using older, passed-down methods.

The group stopped for lunch at one of these farms and Rowan overheard a couple whispering about the Andean people who lived out here in the mountains.

“Do you think they have Wi-Fi?” One girl asked her friend in a hushed voice.

“I don’t know. But you saw all the telephone wires out here.” The other said, shrugging. As Rowan sat down at the tables set up for them, he noticed Aelin’s lip twitching as she eavesdropped too.

The first girl gasped as if just thinking of something, turning to her friend and hissing, “Do you think they even know who Taylor Swift is?”

Aelin hid her snort in the cup of water she’d been drinking.

“Please tell me,” Aelin said to Rowan as they were all ladled out bowls of deliciously smelling soup, “that not all Americans sound that…” she paused trying to find the right word. “unaware when we talk?”

He flashed her a smirk, “How often do you tell people you’re from the States when you travel abroad?”

At her wince and shrug he laughed. Aelin mirrored his grin, lifting a spoonful of soup and pointing at him. “Touché.”

Once they’d finished their meal, Rowan took his and Aelin’s bowls towards the washing station. When he came back, she wasn’t in her seat at the table, but rather she’d gone to talk to the older couple who ran the farm. She was smiling and gesturing around her while trying her best to compliment their food and thank them in her less than perfect Spanish.

It amazed him sometimes how easy it was for her to strike up a conversation with anybody. Even the very first day he met her, nearly a year and a half ago—gods, had it really been that long? Seventeen months, give or take a week, he supposed. But that day when he’d blown her off in Florence, she’d made friends with the people standing in line behind them. Or in Marrakech how she seemed so at ease haggling and chatting with people in the bazaar.

But, maybe, that’s what all this traveling was for. Not just to see places and experience things, but to meet people. To live, if just for a day—for a moment—in someone else’s shoes. To try to understand how someone else lived. Someone who speaks a different language, who lives in a different climate, who eats and grows different foods than you do.

That was what Rowan had been missing.

He’d been hiding behind his camera, looking at everything through a screen. But that changed. He was changing. Rowan wasn’t sure exactly when it started but he was sure that the laughing woman ahead of him had something—everything—to do with it.

And gods be damned if that didn’t scare him.

***

By the end of the first day, Aelin wanted nothing more than to take off her backpack and fall asleep. The sun had set a few hours ago, and because they’d once again dipped between the mountains, the sunset was merely a fading blue sky rather than any reds or golds on an invisible horizon.

The group ended up at a little campsite that she was sure had been decorated with tourists in mind. Their guide had explained on the way in that the huts they’d be staying in were built to emulate traditional Andean tents…minus the modern mattresses, lights, and access to plumbing, of course. A series of stilted huts, their thatched straw roofs reflecting hints of moonlight shining through the trees, were arranged in a semi-circle surrounding a large fire pit.

She and Rowan found seats on a log as the rest of the group did the same until they were all sitting around the pit. There weren’t that many other people traveling with them—a few college kids on some study abroad trip, two older couples who seemed to be enjoying retirement and who hiked at surprisingly fast paces, and a few other travelers like them who just wanted to explore. Not to mention their guide and two cooking staff who had helped make their meals during the trek.

For dinner, they watched as roasted cuy was prepared over the fire—the guinea pigs larger than Aelin expected and spiced to deliciousness.

“Now that we are fed and happy, I have here the keys to the huts behind you.” José told them, thanking the cooks once again for the meal. “Let us see...”

Aelin scooted closer to Rowan so she could look over his shoulder as he scrolled through his camera at some of the pictures he’d taken that day. He tilted the screen so she could get a better look at the image of a colorful bird springing away from a branch. She leaned her head against his shoulder, pressing her cheek into the rough martial of his jacket. She felt him stiffen, but when she opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, their guide called their names and held out a key.

“Galathynius and Whitethorn,” he said, reading off a list. “Number four.”

Aelin got up from the log and walked towards José as Rowan turned off his camera and picked up his bag. When she walked back towards him, he was holding her own backpack out for her which she took with an appreciative nod. Without another word, and in an oddly awkward silence, they strode across the grass and towards the small hut with a carved number four on its door.

Why was she suddenly nervous? She knew she’d be sharing a hut with Rowan tonight—it was either that or bunking with a stranger and, really, there was no choice to it at all.

Aelin got to the door and used the key José had given her to unlock it. She shuffled into the dark room and chuckled, “Watch out for the door,” she warned, and laughed louder at the sound of a thud and Rowan’s cursing. “It wasn’t built for giants like you.”

Dropping her bag to the floor, Aelin blindly waved her arms out in front of her searching for the dangling chain to the single lightbulb they were told would be in here. She let out a quiet grunt of triumph as she found it and pulled to turn on the light.

Rowan’s bag hit the floor with a thunk, and Aelin was caught between laughing at the dumbfounded expression on his face or cringing at their apparent sleeping arrangement. Arrangement—singular. As in, instead of the two cots she’d been promised when they booked this trip, Aelin was staring at the singular bed that took up most of the space in front of her.

Well shit.

Neither spoke for a moment as they both stared at the bed. This was the exact opposite of what she needed. She was already struggling enough to contain her gawking every time Rowan’s sleeves stretched across his chest or arms, or control her amusement at nearly every rare joke he made. She did not need to spend a night mere inches away, wrapped up in the same blanket together.

Forcing a deep breath, Aelin told herself that one night sleeping together—sleeping; getting shut-eye; catching some Zzz—would be fine. Totally fine.

“Did you know there would only be one bed?” Rowan asked, breaking the silence in an oddly strangled voice, avoiding her eyes when she swung her head back to look at him.

For some reason, sensing that he was just as fazed by this as she was, gave her a sudden burst of confidence. Aelin snorted. “Oh no. You caught me” she deadpanned in a flat, unimpressed voice “I staged a transcontinental, isolated, mountain trek just to get you into bed with me. However did you figure it out?”

He jerked his head towards her and for a fleeting second, he looked like a deer caught in headlights, before raising a brow and silently questioning her.

“Oh my Gods,” she huffed and rolled her eyes, hoping that the heat in her cheeks wasn’t visible. “No. Relax. When I booked this trip, they told me there would be two beds in here.” Aelin insisted at Rowan’s still-flustered expression. “It must have just been a logistical mix-up.”

He still looked dubious, but she caught the way his lips twitched up in amusement.

She arched a brow and crossed her arms, slowly smirking at the way he was eyeing the bed as it personally offended him. Which it did, she supposed. “And, for the record: if I was actively trying to get in your pants, Whitethorn, it would take far less work.”

Rowan scoffed, finding snapping out of his reverie and scrunched his brows incredulously. “You think mighty highly of yourself, Galathynius.” He returned her smirk and carded a hand through his hair.

Pleased to have gotten some response out of him other than disbelief, she picked up her bag and approached the edge of the bed. Forcing nonchalance, she mused, “It’s not that big of a deal.”

He was nodding excessively, and she was trying not to just shout out Tell me what you’re thinking! Why do you look like you have to pep-talk yourself just for having to sleep next to me?

She could practically see the cogs in his brain spinning as his eyes darted around the cramped space. “If you’re about to volunteer to sleep on the floor,” Aelin rolled her eyes, walking around to one side of the bed while Rowan hadn’t moved from his spot near the door. “Then I’m gonna point out that there isn’t nearly enough room for your giant ass to lay down without contorting yourself around the bed posts. And I am not giving up my chance to sleep on a soft mattress after our hike today.” Sitting down on the blanket, Aelin began untying her boots. “So, unless you plan to sleep standing up, stop making a fuss and take that side.” She jerked her chin to the edge closest to him.

They got ready for bed in silence, taking turns leaving to go to the washing rooms on the other side of the campsite. She had crawled into the surprisingly comfortable bed by the time Rowan came back to the hut, flipping through her Spanish and Quechua translation book.

He wore a light shirt and shorts, not too unlike the outfit she had on—she had anticipated sharing a room with him, if not a bed, so she couldn’t very well wear her preferred nightgown unless she wanted to give Rowan a heart attack, but, gods, if one of her nightgowns would shock him out of his newly reserved self, she almost wished she’d brought one. He pulled the chain, turning the single lightbulb off and groaned when he realized how bright the hut still was.

“If a little light is gonna keep you awake, I hate to break it you about the clucking chickens and stray dogs barking at each other.”

“Just gets better and better.” He muttered under his breath, rubbing a hand down his face, and carefully lifting the blanket.

Aelin set down her book and shifted in place, trying to get comfortable which was more difficult than she thought it would be. After a minute of endless moving, she stilled when Rowan sucked in a breath and looked like he was about to say something.

“You better not kick me in your sleep.” He drawled, settling into his side.

Aelin could feel the heat radiating off his body across the short distance separating them. If she lifted her knee, she’d graze his leg; if she tossed an arm overhead, there was a good chance it would curve around and brush against his hair.

“No promises.” She quipped back, turning to lay on her side with her back facing him.

It was to the sound of his soft laughter that her exhaustion pulled her into sleep.

***

The first thought in her conscious mind was that she was exceptionally comfortable. And warm. Why was she so warm? Aelin squinted her eyes against the faint sunlight streaming in through the open seams between the walls and door. She tried to roll over but found she was stuck. Why was she stuck?

Oh, that was why.

The heavy arm thrown around her middle, keeping her in place.

Wait—arm?

Aelin’s eyes snapped open, and her head jerked around to see the sleeping face of Rowan Whitethorn behind her, his deep breaths floating over her exposed neck. At some point during the night—between the incessant animal noises and rushing streams—they’d become entangled, her back pressed against his chest with his arm banded around her waist and their legs intertwined together.

Her next coherent thought was: this is nice.

Aelin squeezed her eyes shut, allowing herself to savor the comfort of the moment. To allow herself to wonder if this might not be the only time she would wake up like this.

She wasn’t blind—or oblivious. It had crossed her mind that Rowan was attractive, and intelligent, and once you got past his grumpy, asshole-like first impression, a genuinely good guy. It also wasn’t lost on her how much she enjoyed their time together. The near-constant messaging between them had been something she looked forward to every day in the four months since she’d been in Ireland. He also understood her desire and need to travel, hell, he did the same for a living.

She knew in her bones that traveling was something she had to do for herself, but despite that…it got lonely traveling solo.

She was rarely alone. Always surrounded by new people and exploring new things, but…it didn’t change the fact that she always bought one ticket, asked for one single bed in a hostel, registered as one participant…

And then she met Rowan. And then she became friends with Rowan. And then suddenly she didn’t feel as alone. She had someone to talk to who understood—

Someone who would say yes to the chance to hike the Inca trail to Machu Picchu with her because she was gifted two tickets, not one.

It felt almost like a figment of her imagination to have this friend who she sporadically met around the globe. It felt unreal, but it also made the world feel not so big at times when all the travel became overwhelming.

So, selfishly, she didn’t want to risk that.

Selfish to who? Herself? It wasn’t her fault that the last time she met a guy at a bar and went home with him, her mind conjured up silver hair and pine green eyes.

A part of her wanted the possibility that was Rowan. She couldn’t lie to herself.

The other thought that had crossed her mind on more than one occasion was that she could always just fuck him. Make him her elusive, international fuck buddy. But that didn’t feel right. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—minimize whatever they had to whatever that was. Something told her if she tried it would only hurt them both in the end.

And…

It seemed special, their relationship. This unimaginable bond that formed because they were in the right place at the right time so many times. Was it bad that she wanted to cherish that for what it was and not push for more only to have it blow up in her face?

Life was so unpredictable. She took each day in turn, only planning as far to her next destination. It was exciting that way. It was also easier that way, to pretend she didn’t have to deal with life’s responsibilities. And Rowan, well, he travelled for work, but usually to places he was told to go. She didn’t think she wanted to put her own spontaneous traveling dreams on hold, and she hadn’t let herself contemplate what a worldwide long-distance romantic relationship might look like.

Would she be willing to commit to that? Catching spare moments between assignments and trips that could end up being months apart? A friendship like that was one thing, but something more…

Or yet, if she decided to offer that, would he really want to limit himself to something so distant?

Aelin’s mind turned over those thoughts as her body fell back into sleep.

***

Rowan woke up to the sounds of people milling about outside. Opening his eyes, he reached overhead to stretch only to realized one of his arms was stuck under a body and his legs were touching someone else’s. He sucked in a sharp breath as he realized he’d been spooning Aelin in his sleep. His brain may not have noticed, but some other part of his body certainly did.

Careful to make sure she was still asleep, he carefully extricated his limbs from her body and hastily grabbed a fresh change of clothes before awkwardly slipping out of the hut, pausing only to silently curse as he knocked his head on the beam over the door.

By the time he got back, as fresh as he could be from an outdoor communal restroom, Aelin was awake and packing her backpack for the day’s trek.

“We’re getting fresh coffee this morning,” she said in greeting, and Rowan hoped she had been completely oblivious to the fact that he’d been using her as a pillow last night.

“What?” he blinked in confusion, willing his brain to stop replaying that moment when he woke up with her in his arms. A fruitless effort, really.

“The coffee plantation, remember?” Aelin tied her shoes and hauled her backpack around her shoulders. “That’s our first stop today, and I don’t know about you, but I would kill for a cup of coffee right about now.”

He laughed, shaking his head and grabbing his bag, following her out into the crisp morning air. “Then let’s hope we leave soon because I’d rather not die on the Inca Trail.”

Rowan busied himself on the way to the plantation by taking an excess number of photos along the hike. As long as he focused on establishing the correct aperture and composition for his shot then he wouldn’t focus on where his thoughts had gone that morning.

Was he purposefully shoving himself back behind the camera? Maybe. Was it a complete waste of effort because he somehow always kept gravitating back towards Aelin? Absolutely.

Gods, get it together Whitethorn, he berated himself.

It wasn’t long before they arrived at the coffee plantation—a large, almost village-looking site with dozens of people milling about. Aelin kept throwing him odd looks during their presentation about how the beans were harvested and roasted.

“You okay, Buzzard?” Aelin whispered after having to nudge him to attention when they were each given cup of the roasted coffee.

He cleared his throat. He wasn’t going to spend the rest of their trip dredging up what ifs and maybes; he was here in Peru, hiking the Inca trail to Machu Picchu, with Aelin. That’s all he needed to think about. Rowan met her inquisitive stare and smirked down at her cup, “Dandy. Are you going to be able to drink that or do you need to drown it in sweetener? Because that might offend the nice people who spent the time making it for us.”

She looked at him for another second before rolling her eyes and scoffing, “I can drink this no problem,” she insisted.

He raised his steaming cup and inhaled the rich, acidic aromas of the brew. With a sardonic little grin, Aelin mimicked him and lifted her cup. She kept her gaze locked with his as she gulped down two, then three mouthfuls of the scalding coffee.

Rowan’s grin widened as he saw her noticeably try not to grimace. “Did that taste good?” he asked, amused.

“Delicious.” She hissed, gritting her teeth.

“Did you burn yourself?”

“I can’t feel my tongue.” Aelin admitted matter-of-factly.

He tossed his head back and laughed, leaning over to grab the water pitcher, and slid it towards her.

***

“Aw, Rowan, I think it likes you.” Aelin snickered, taking his camera from around his neck and stepping back to get both Rowan and the large parrot on his shoulder in the picture.

“Just take the damn picture, Galathynius, so I can get rid of this thing.” He grumbled, shifting on his feet as the bird settled more sturdily onto his shoulder.

“Hey, it is not a thing.” she mockingly scolded before grinning, “He’s practically family, so don’t be rude.”

He looked at her incredulously, trying to jerk his head away from the beak that kept snapping a little too close to his ear. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Parrot, buzzard…there’s some distant relation there.” Aelin explained, cackling as his face fell into a scowl.

“You’re a menace is what you are.” he grumbled, finally handing the bird back to its owner.

Aelin laughed, scrolling through the pictures she just took to show him. “I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you very much.”

After leaving the coffee plantation, the group hiked for another few hours before stopping at a small rest stop near the train station. There was a train from the city to Machu Picchu, which they would be taking the opposite direction on their way back, but at one of its stops there was a small market with souvenirs, easy-to-eat food, and a very popular parrot. Their trekking group actually followed the path of the train tracks for a while in the afternoon until they arrived in Aguas Calientes.

The town, commonly referred to simply as Machupicchu, came to life only a few decades ago as a tourist center when Machu Picchu was discovered and opened to the public. The town was the closest habitable place to the ruins—just a short bus ride away.

That night, she and Rowan bought their early morning bus tickets so they wouldn't have to wait in line the next day. Then they dropped their bags off in the hostel they’d all be staying at. Aelin kicked herself for the unwelcome wave of disappointment she felt when she and Rowan walked into their room and each had a twin bed on opposite walls.

Her disappointment was irrational. Impractical. Unnerving. She shoved it down.

Despite both their exhaustion, she and Rowan found a place to eat and enjoyed some chicharrón, washing down the fried pork rinds with a citrusy pisco sour. It felt weird to see restaurants and nightclubs after being in the isolated villages for two days.

“You get to add one more achievement to your list.” Rowan told her as they walked through the dark streets, tourists still wandering about despite the late hour and lack of sun.

“My list?” she asked with a single golden brow arched.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, blowing a stray strand of hair from his eyes. “Your ever-growing list of interesting and amazing things you’ve done.”

“If I didn’t know better, I would think you sound impressed.” Aelin grinned as she kept pace with Rowan who looked over his shoulder every few second to make sure he didn't run into anything.

“Do you? Know better?” The moonlight shining down highlighted strands of his silvery hair as he cocked his head to the side.

“I think…” she countered, pausing in her tracks as she scrutinized Rowan. He stopped walking too, not fidgeting as she contemplated, “you are a little impressed. Envious, too.” She said in a soft non-judgmental but simply matter-of-fact voice, lifting a hand when he tried to reply. “And I think you still roll your eyes at me a bit for being able to go wherever I want, whenever I want. Because that’s what you want to do. But you’re too good of a guy to outwardly resent me, at least not since Marrakech, I think. So instead, you mock my list when, really, you wish it was yours.”

She hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but she wasn’t going to apologize for being able to add to her list.

Rowan was quiet as he held her stare and she watched as something indiscernible flashed across his face. He stepped closer until she had to crane her neck up to continue holding his gaze.

“Maybe you’re right,” he murmured, and she blinked as his breath fanned over her face. “But you’re wrong about one thing.”

“Oh?” she breathed, overwhelmed by how completely he overtook her senses. “What’s that?”

Rowan lifted a hand and slowly, carefully, tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I haven’t felt like that since Santorini, not Marrakech”

Her eyes widened as she remembered that their meeting in Santorini was a whole seven months before they crossed paths in Morocco. More than a year ago.

“And,” he added, in a low voice, “I’m not impressed. I’m in awe—of how utterly, entirely, and unwaveringly you know how you want to spend your life. And every day, you keep finding new ways to accomplish it.”

She sucked in a sharp breath and he finally stepped back. Aelin didn’t know how to respond to that.

“Today, it was hiking the Inca trail,” he explained, beginning to walk again and she had no choice but to walk alongside him. “Tomorrow it will be visiting Machu Picchu.” He gave her one last meaningful look before turning around so she could no longer see his face, “I can’t wait to find out what comes next.”

***

It was another early morning as Rowan followed Aelin towards the bus station after picking up the packed lunches their guides had made for them. He tried not to think too much into it as she leaned herself against him during the bus ride as they passed hairpin turn after hairpin turn, barely avoiding the buses travelling back down the mountain.

After his unrehearsed speech to her last night, they had walked the rest of the way to the hostel in silence. If he wasn’t focused on how his heart was beating out of his chest and the way blood was pounding in his ears, he might have noticed how Aelin’s hands kept accidentally brushing his.

It also didn’t help that when he woke up this morning his immediate reaction was to look across the room at a still-sleeping Aelin and come to the inevitable realization that the previous night’s sleep, the one where he’d woken up with her in his arms, had been one of the best night’s sleeps he had had in a long time. Definitely better than this one, in a twin bed across a room that could’ve been an ocean for how far the distance felt from her.

When the bus dropped them off, they were lucky to be one of the first groups of people to arrive at the site that morning. It gave them almost unbothered access to the sights.

Cresting the hill, he and Aelin got their first true look at the ruins of Machu Picchu. They had climbed and climbed, and yet more mountains rose above them.

“We made it.” she breathed, stepping up beside him and beaming as she rested her hands on her hips as she surveyed the view before them.

Masses of walls and building foundations stretched across the terraced ground. The structures were in remarkably good shape, their window openings mostly preserved, and their angled walls still prepared to hold up roofs. The layered stone features were clustered together around a wider central green space. From the way the settlement was built, it felt like they were all perched atop these mountains, protected from the world.

He and Aelin walked through the pathways between buildings, stopping to take pictures every few minutes. The morning soon became lighter, and by nine am the sun peaked out above the mountains and they saw their first true sunrise in days.

Rowan had done a fair bit of travelling in his life, but he’d never seen anything like this. The ruins were a glimpse back in time—wholly different from the way those in Europe felt. Anytime he set foot in a long-abandoned civilization, whether it be in Greece, Italy, Egypt, or in this case, Peru, it was entirely surreal.

They took their time walking through the terraced levels of grass and crumbling stone. The mountain surrounding the site was actually a mass of mountains that transitioned from one to another. At one end of the ruins was Huayna Picchu mountain, taller than Machu Picchu mountain and on the rightmost side of the formation. It was a climb they paid a little extra to take.

The pair kept towards the mountain’s face as they ascended the steep staircases both carved into and placed along the natural rock.

“Whatever you do,” Aelin twisted around to say to him while they paused and let a few people pass them back down the stairs. “Don't fall.”

Rowan scoffed and rolled his eyes. “No shit, Sherlock,” he replied, but kept a firm grip on the ropes drilled into the sheer surface of the rock. They were the only support to hold onto walking up the uneven steps; the other side had nothing to prevent someone from falling off the edge and down the steep drop.

He could hear her snickering as she resumed walking, and Rowan tried not to feel like a total creep with the way his eyes unconsciously kept straying to her ass. In his defense, she was walking ahead of him up a set of stairs, so he was really just looking forward and it just so happened that she was wearing fitted athletic leggings that hugged her round cheeks with every step she took.

“Shit!” he cursed again as his toes hit another of the mismatched stairs, making him stumble, and thankfully pulling his thoughts in another direction.

“I was serious about the not falling thing, Whitethorn.” Aelin said as she waited for him to right himself before she started walking again. “I don't want to explain to your friends back home how I lured you to a different continent and somehow you ended up dead. That's not a good look on me. When I get accused of murder it’ll be for something I actually did.”

They hiked up a few more stairs and past the wary eyes of someone walking the opposite direction who overheard their conversation before Rowan stopped her. “Can we address how you said when you get accused of murder?”

Aelin laughed and wiped the sweat from her forehead, shooting him a wink. “Don't get your feathers all ruffled, Buzzard.” Her grin widened as he rolled his eyes. “I have too many things I still need to see before I risk jail time.”

“That makes me feel so much better.” he deadpanned, trying and failing to suppress a smirk.

***

Aelin was surprised at how many people could fit on the top of a mountain.

She and Rowan walked around to the different lookout points, finally being able to stop and enjoy the view. They’d risen above most of the ruins, now able to see the foundations from a new perspective.

She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, allowing the sounds of voices behind her, the smell of the rocks and earth, and the feeling of the person standing beside her to ground her in the moment.

Aelin could see the mass of ruins perched onto of the mountain crest, its layers of terraces and structures casting shadows throughout the site. It was easy to understand how it had been hidden from the outside world for so long. As she lifted her face to bask in the heat of the sun, she felt, now for another instance in her life, the pure magic that encompassed her with the understanding of where she was and how fortunate she was to be there.

It took a couple of nudges from Rowan to bring her back into the moment and notice the people behind her, eagerly waiting their turn to see the lookout. She stepped aside and followed Rowan slowly around the viewing space.

“One thing I’ve noticed,” Aelin pointed out, “is that there are no such things as universal safety standards.”

“What do you mean?” Rowan turned to face her, lifting a hand to help block the sun.

“Like, if we were in the States, so much of this would be roped off with security watching and we wouldn't be allowed within five feet of any of these ledges.” she glanced pointedly down to the staircase they’d come from. “A lot of places I’ve seen, like the cliffs of Moher,” she nodded at him, “are all ‘proceed at your own risk’ without any other ropes or guardrails.”

He leaned against the post beside him, crossing his arms across his chest. “I can't tell if you’re excited or disappointed by that?”

Rolling her eyes, Aelin looked back down the sheer side of the cliff face. “Mildly intrigued. But, unlike some people, I don't trip when I walk up stairs.” She laughed when he discreetly flipped her off.

“Come on,” he suddenly urged, grabbing her hand, and leading her back towards the stairs.

“What are you—”

“Just trust me, I saw something on the way up.”

Her curiosity won out and Aelin allowed Rowan to pull her along. There, down a few steps and off to the side was a flat, slanted rock that jutted up and out from the side of the peak. It looked like it aimed for the clouds because from her perspective, she couldn’t see any of the ruins or mountains beneath them beyond the tip of the rock.

“There’s no one over there, let’s check it out.” She jerked him back before he could hop over the jagged crevice between the stairs and the rock.

“Rowan, there’s probably a reason no one is there. It doesn’t look like we’re supposed to go out onto it.” She reluctantly reasoned because the longer she looked at it the more she wanted to see what the view was like from the edge.

“If that’s the case, then someone will tell us, and we’ll get down.” He argued.

Blinking up at him, it took her a second to comprehend that it was Rowan suggesting it while she was trying to be the voice of reason, and not the other way around. The Rowan she met a year and a half ago would never have suggested it. A wide smile stretched across her face until her cheeks hurt, the look of happiness and excitement mirrored on Rowan’s as she realized how far he’d come out of his shell.

She was nodding before she realized she was doing it. “Okay. Wait! Give me the camera and I’ll get some pictures of you on the rock from here.”

Handing over the camera, Rowan rolled his shoulders back and jumped over the crack between the rocks.

“It’s steeper than it looks.” He muttered, crouching down to crawl on his hands and knees up to the top.

Aelin swallowed her giggles as she got shot after shot of Rowan crawling up the incline. She also quickly deleted the photo where she’d zoomed in on his ass.

Pausing at the edge, Rowan took a few steadying breath before pushing himself to his feet. Aelin brought the camera back up to her face and watched as Rowan stretched his arms out wide, the light silhouetting him against the blue and white sky. Very carefully, he shuffled around until he was facing Aelin with a broad, unrestrained grin.

After a few more pictures, he walked back down and rejoined her at the base of the platform. His hair was tousled from the breezed and he clamped his hands on her shoulders as he insisted, “You have to go up there.”

She mimicked his jump and crawl up the rock until she began to see the mountains beneath her. Like Rowan, she stayed kneeling on the edge as she looked around. Knowing he was staying quiet so as not to startle her, Aelin slowly stood up, keeping her arms out for balance until her legs were straight and she was staring out over the mountain range.

Uncontrolled laughter rose out of her. It was stunning. Terrifying—but oh, so worth it.

She understood how people worshipped these mountains—named them their gods. She felt like she was on top of the world, standing on the highest peak of a mountain that itself stood atop another mountain, and yet…she looked around and saw more peaks around her, reaching even closer towards the sun and sky.

Aelin knew she would never forget that view.

She insisted on getting a photo of her and Rowan in front of the rock.

He happily obliged.

***

When they made it back down the mountain and through the ruins once more, they ended up off to the side in a small patch of grass overlooking a section of building foundations.

Rowan watched as Aelin flopped down onto the grass and batted away the blades that tickled the side of her neck. He sat next to her, cross-legged with his hands braced behind him, and was already looking at her when she peeked an eye open to glance at him. She arched a brow in question, waiting for him to speak.

After opening his mouth and closing it, not quite sure what to say, she urged him on with the tilt of her head. “Thank you,” he told her before shifting his gaze towards the ruins, “for inviting me here.”

She shrugged. “I was given two tickets,” she laughed, sitting up. “And after that trek, I'm sure as hell glad I had a walking buddy.” Aelin smiled at him and bumped his shoulder.

Rowan nodded, bringing his knees up and crossing his arms on top of them. “I mean, you could have invited anyone.” A look he couldn't understand flashed across her face before she schooled it into neutrality.

She watched him for another second and then followed his gaze towards the mountain peaks and crumbling walls. “I’m not sure I know anyone else who would appreciate this in the same way you and I do.” She finally said.

He loosed a slow breath. There it was again—that notion that he and Aelin were connected. That they were similar in ways he hadn’t anticipated all that time ago.

“For what it's worth,” he said, “I don't think I could’ve come here at any point since meeting you and not have expected to see you pop out from behind some ruined wall.”

She snorted, tossing her head back and whipping her hair behind her. “I really kept you on your toes, didn’t I?” she teased.

He nodded, glad to see her smiling again and rid of that faraway look she’d worn a minute ago. Knitting his brows together in mock distress, he confirmed, “For a while, every time I saw some blonde woman, I thought it was you.” Truth. “And each time I had a split second to prepare myself for my trip to be ruined.” Lie.

“Ruined?” she scoffed, looking outraged. “I made each of those experiences wonderfully unforgettable.”

You have no idea.

At his shit-eating smirk, she rolled her eyes and huffed an annoyed laugh. They lapsed into silence once more, enjoying the breeze that swept through the mountain side.

“I have something for you,” Rowan broke the silence and Aelin’s gaze on him as he turned towards his backpack and reached into the protected inner side pocket. His fingers caught on what he was looking for and brought his closed fist around towards her. At her questioning look, he unfurled his fingers and sitting in his palm was her Claddagh ring

She sucked in a sharp breath and her eyes flew between the ring and his face.

“I—” she stammered. “What—”

“I found it in my car after you left at the airport.” he picked it up and held the small, silver ring between two fingers. “I thought you might like it back.”

Aelin blinked again at the ring, snapping her jaw shut that had dropped at the sight of it. “I thought I lost it…” she trailed off, slowly taking it from him. “I was so upset with myself because I wanted something to remember that day—” she abruptly cut herself off and cleared her throat. “Thank you, Rowan.”

He watched as she toyed with the ring, shooting him another quick glance before hesitantly asking, “Are you familiar with the meanings behind these rings?”

“Shit. That's what I was going to do.” he hissed, shutting his eyes as he remembered what he’d wanted to figure out before returning it to her. “Uh, no, I don't.”

She laughed softly and spun the ring in her hand before slipping it onto the middle finger of her right hand with the heart facing out. At his expectant look, she merely shook her head as a small, secretive smile appeared on her face.

“I believe this is a sufficient thank you for the invitation.” she decided, grinning at him, and gods be damned if that smile alone wasn't reward enough.

Their gazes held, unwavering, neither adding another word to the conversation. Something passed over her face as the rest of the world seemed to fade. Aelin opened her mouth to say something—

“Ah! There you are!” José exclaimed, walking out from behind a staircase, and gestured towards where the rest of their tour group were huddled around a small stage.

He and Aelin both blinked back to reality. With one last glance in his direction, Aelin sprang to her feet, grabbed her bag, and hurried off towards the group.

***

Try as she might, Aelin couldn’t pay attention to their presentation about the history of Machu Picchu. José’s words went in one ear and out the other. Each time she tried to focus, she would immediately become distracted by the way Rowan’s arm brushed her every time either one of them made a minuscule shift. Or the way her finger now felt unfathomably heavier. She had to tell herself it wasn’t an illusion, that it was real that she had her Claddagh ring back. That Rowan had given it to her.

Gods, if she had ever asked for a sign…

“I hope you all enjoyed your time at Machu Picchu and had enough time to see all you wanted to see.” José’s voice cut through her jumbled thoughts. “The bus will be here in a few minutes to bring us back to Aguas Calientes.”

Somehow, they cut it too close to the train departure from the tourist town at the base of the mountain, and she and Rowan found themselves running through the streets of Aguas Calientes, laughing, with their bags bouncing on their backs towards the crowded train station.

The train ride itself flew by. She and Rowan found seats in the viewing car so they could watch the scenery go by through the massive windows nearly stretching form floor to ceiling. It was interesting to see it from a different, and much faster, point of view than when they hiked through it.

After the train, it was another bus ride back to Cusco. With the seats fully booked, they squished their backpacks into the available storage space and found seats beside each other towards the middle of the bus. During this ride, thankfully, Aelin didn't feel the overwhelming carsickness and even ended up accidentally falling asleep on Rowan’s shoulder. The next thing she knew, he was gently shaking her, telling her they’d arrived in the city.

Deciding to forego rest and push through until later that evening when Rowan had to catch a flight to Lima, they walked from the bus station towards the city center, taking their time to look at the architecture, art, and sights.

As soon as they got with three blocks of the Plaza de Armas, Aelin spotted half a dozen different men and woman waving tourist over, enticing them with the chance to see and pet baby alpacas. After the third invitation, she looped her arm through Rowan’s and followed the colorfully-dressed older woman down the street towards a small group of children huddled around two fluffy crias—the little alpacas happily nuzzling the giggling kids.

“Adorable,” she gushed, carefully crouching near the animal so as not to startle it. Without warning, another woman, dressed in a similarly bright outfit, picked up the alpaca and handed it off to Aelin. Her eyes flew wide as she hastily fixed her grip on the calm creature.

“They love the attention,” the first woman insisted upon Aelin’s hesitancy. As if understanding what she said, the alpaca turned its fuzzy head to nestle against her neck.

Rowan stood a few paces away, insisting on getting a picture of her with the animal. He argued that she got one of him with the parrot—but she didn’t protest as he captured the moment the alpaca opened its mouth and tried to eat a strand of her hair. Laughing in shock, she gently set the animal down and thanked the women before she and Rowan headed back towards the mercado.

They took their time wandering down more streets of vendors and souvenir shops. Aelin hadn’t bought anything yet, but she kept eyeing the beautifully woven scarfs, each more vibrant than the last.

“How much?” Rowan asked one vendor, a middle-aged woman sitting on a stool and reading a book. He held up a dark wool blanket.

“One hundred fifty soles,” she answered, not bothering to looking up.

He had barely gotten his wallet out before Aelin pulled him aside, flashing the vendor an apologetic smile.

“Are you not even going to try to barter?” She whispered incredulously.

“What? No. Not a fan,” he grumbled. “Consider the higher price I pay the fee for not having to.”

She rolled her eyes, already toying with another scarf she was interested in, this one a tapestry of greens with golden embroidery. “That’s stupid. It’s basically expected for people to barter for a better price, that’s why all of these are marked up.”

He raised a brow but stood his ground. “You can barter for me if you feel so inclined, but I’m not going to try.”

She snatched the blanket he’d picket out from his hands with a satisfied nod. “Fine. I will” And then Rowan got to watch Aelin haggle down the price, finally only having to pay a fraction of the soles she was originally charged.

They were looking for something to eat when Aelin tugged him to a stop, telling him, “Hold on a minute,” as she darted into the nearest shop. Two minutes later, she came back out trying to stuff a bag into her backpack.

“What’s that?” he asked, trying not to sound too curious.

Finally managing to fit it in and zipping her pack back up, she smiled up at him, “A book. I buy one—”

“Each place you go.” He finished, remembering how she told him about her souvenir of choice while they had eaten dinner at O’Neill’s

“Right.” She nodded, surprised that he remembered that detail.

Mindful of how their new purchases were weighing down their backpacks, they soon found a few food stands surrounding a couple of open tables. Rowan walked towards the fresh acai bowls while Aelin opted for a bowl of hot shambar. She picked out a table and carefully set down her golden-yellow soup, its meaty aroma set her mouth watering.

They ate slowly, each letting the other try spoonful’s of their dish. She thought, maybe, they were both trying to draw this out as long as possible.

Rowan walked with her towards where she’d be staying that night, figuring that because he had everything with him that he could just call a taxi from there to bring him to the airport. Aelin was glad, she wanted to savor every last second until his taxi showed up. Which it did, far too soon for her liking.

“You know,” Rowan said, frowning as he hovered halfway between her and the taxi idling in the street, “I was so caught up in this week that I never asked you where you’re headed next.”

Her brows shot up she leaned against the door frame of the house, crossing her arms to shield against the sudden breeze. A small smile played on her lips. “Oh, you know,” she waved a hand around, “Here and there. I haven’t decided yet. Maybe I’ll head east towards Bolivia and check out the famous salt flats. Or down to northern Chile towards the Valle de la Luna.” She shrugged thoughtfully. “But next month I’ll be heading back home for a little while.”

“To New York?” He asked, having stepped closer to the taxi.

Aelin nodded, watching as he hoisted his bag into the open truck. “Yeah, I have some things I need to do there, and see some people who I haven’t seen in a long time.”

He walked back to the side of the car. “Until next time?” Rowan opened the back door and rested one hand on the roof of the car as he looked at her, waiting on her answer.

Aelin smiled, hoping it didn’t waver with her sudden rush of emotion; her feelings of disappointment at Rowan leaving were at least soothed by the knowledge that he was looking forward to their next visit as much as she was. Nodding without hesitation, she answered, “Until next time.”

The air between them was charged as their gazes held. Then he nodded and slid into the taxi, pulling the door shut behind him. A moment later, Aelin watched as the car turned down the road and vanished from sight.

She’d barely walked back into the building behind her when her phone buzzed in her pocket. Aelin pulled it out and felt her heart flutter as she opened the text from Rowan. There were no words, only a picture. It showed her and Rowan standing in front of that jutting rock atop Huayna Picchu, her arm was around his middle and his draped over her shoulders. They both beamed at the camera with overflowing exhilaration and adrenaline.

Noticing it was a live photo, she pressed down and waited. The clip began with Rowan grinning at the camera, but she was looking up at him with her face alight with happiness. Then the in-between moment captured in the still photo with them both staring at the camera. And then, finally, a moment later showing that while she didn’t move, Rowan glanced down at her with that same look she snuck of him the second before.

Until next time.

***

Part 7

*****

Special thank you to my amazing friend/roommate who allowed me to interrogate her about her time in Peru. This ch would not be here without her

Taglist:

@acourtofsnakes @allthebooksunderthemoon @astra-ad-mare @becarefuloflove @booklover41802 @charlizeed @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @danibutterr @doubt-less @emily-gsh @enormousbooklover @foughtconquered @fromthelibraryofemilyj @hakunamatatazz @i-have-but-one-brain-cell @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jorjy-jo @lemonade-coolattas @mariamuses @mayhemories @midsizewitch @rowaelinrambling @morganofthewildfire @nerdperson524 @rowaelinismyotp @rowansfirebringer @sayosdreams @sheharahu @sleeping-and-books @stardelia @story-scribbler @superspiritfestival @themoonthestarsthesuriel @swankii-art-teacher @tomtenadia @westofmoon @whimsicallyreading @moodymelanist @realbookloverproblems @gracie-rosee @julemmaes @yesdreamblog @the-regal-warrior @rowanaelinn @thestoriesyoutell @autumnbabylon @sunflowermoonshinewrites @maastrash @annejulianneh111 @the-lonelybarricade

170 notes · View notes

aemonds-sapphire · 3 years

Text

Slow Down — Hawks x Reader (Smut)

Summary: Hawks was known as “the man who’s too fast for his own good”. Unfortunately, he lived up to that title in nearly every aspect of his life. Even during sex. So when he asked for your help, you just couldn’t say no.

Warnings: NSFW. Needy!Hawks (hints of sub!Hawks AND dom!Hawks). Premature ejaculation. Edging. Orgasm denial. Masturbation. Overstimulation. Vaginal fingering. Blowjob. Breathplay. Cumplay.

Word count: 2.6k

“You need to relax, Hawks.”

The muscles on his toned thighs quivered lightly before loosening up under your palms. Beads of sweat pooled along his brow line and heaving bare chest. His golden eyes would settle anywhere but on you.

You two had been at this for only five minutes, but doubt started brewing inside you as to whether or not he’d last much longer than this.

As the young hero visibly calmed down, you decided it was time to resume resume what you had been asked to do: help pro hero number two Hawks from busting his load too quickly.

Your fingers curled around his cock once more, gaining a hiss from him as his hips lifted from the couch.

He was extremely responsive to your every touch, and while that might do wonders to anyone’s ego, it would all be over too soon if caution wasn’t exercised.

See, Hawks would often joke around with “the man who’s too fast for his own good” title that had been given to him. But the joke would fall flat now that he had realized his performance in bed was hindered.

A few more slow tentative pumps along his cock and you saw him balling his fists.

“Hawks... you need to look at me while I do this.”

An exasperated groan. “I can’t.”

“You have to,” you insisted, rubbing your thumb across his leaking tip. “Otherwise, you won’t make much progress.”

“I’ll fucking cum if I look...” he rasped through gritted teeth.

His scarlet wings twitched momentarily as you leaned in to place a butterfly kiss on the tip, gathering a few drops of precum on your lips as you did so.

“I wanna...” Hawks’ deep voice suddenly emerged. “I wanna fuck your mouth.”

You licked your lips and tasted him for the first time in a while. In all honesty, you yourself weren’t sure of what you’d call whatever this was. Friends with benefits was an overkill, but calling him just your friend didn’t fit either.

So you remained stuck in this limbo.

“Look at me first,” you told him, tightening your grip around him. “Keigo!”

The young man’s eyes finally locked with yours at the mention of his real name, and you seized the moment to drag your tongue along the underside of his cock.

“Fuck... you’re the best at this... your tongue...” he started off well, but his eyes quickly fluttered shut as one hand reached out to grip your chin tightly.

You yanked away from his, chuckling at his failed attempt at asserting dominance. “Flattery will get you nowhere, bird boy. You were the one who asked for my help, so do as I say.”

You had gone as far as to look up a few methods to extend his endurance, and this was the one you ended up choosing for convenience purposes. Hawks could just easily drop by your place for a quick session.

And even though the extent of your sexual experience with Hawks was limited to a few making out sessions, some blowjobs, and him eating you out from time to time, you knew from the get go that this cock wouldn’t last long inside a pussy.

But it was never your issue; at least he never made it to be, until he asked for your help, since it proved to be quite damaging to his male ego.

He was growing impatient by the minute, but you didn’t waver, even tough the growing damp spot in your panties served as a reminder of how badly you wanted to heed is request and just suck him off right then and there.

“You’re a meanie,” he pouted as he glared at the hand pumping him. “Fuck...”

Your lips curled into a devious smile. “You’re doing great, pretty bird.”

Praising Hawks was definitely the way to his heart — and apparently to his dick as it twitched under your palm.

Seeing that he was enduring your touch without breaking eye contact, you brought your lips to close around the head of his cock; his hips immediately jolted upwards, catching you off guard as he let out a sigh of pure bliss once he was halfway buried inside your mouth.

You promptly raked your teeth across the sensitive skin, which had him sliding out at lightning speed.

“Are you serious?” You scolded his boldness.

A boyish smile curled his lips. “100%.”

You smacked his thigh. Hawks and his damn percentages.

“No teeth!” he then protested, his beautiful features twisted into a deep frown.

“Then behave.”

He merely nodded, eyeing you eagerly as you wrapped your lips around him once again. The hand you had on his thigh felt him tense up, but he was definitely getting better at controlling his instinctive reflexes. You decided to take it up a notch and stare directly into his eyes as your lips parted to take more of him. Just as you’d expected, he bucked his hips into you, but this time you let him set the pace.

“Deeper... you can take more than that,” he said in between moans, pressing his thumb on your chin to have you open your mouth wider to take his thick cock.

You decided to indulge him for a while, testing his limit. Slowly, you allowed him to guide you all the way down on him with thumb now caressing your skin as his other hand clasped around your nape to keep you in place.

Thankfully, your breathing was trained enough to have him balls deep and grazing your throat without taking a toll on you. Your nose grazed the base of his cock briefly, and you swallowed.

Hard.

“Fuck-fuck-fuuuck!” he growled, wrapping his fingers around your neck to feel the faint bulge; his hips rising from the couch to make sure he remained buried deep inside you.

That was your cue. You instantly had both hands on his thighs and pulled away, earning a disappointed cry from him.

“Fuck no! I was not even close!” Hhe whined childishly, his back slumping into the couch in defeat.

You arched an eyebrow, noticing a string of saliva dangling between your owner lip and his tip. “Yes, you were. Stop trying to dom me and just let me help.”

It was in his nature, you figured. He had been raised by the commission to be one step ahead and not let anyone take advantage of him, so you weren’t at all surprised that this translated to his intimate side as well. But for someone who was so used to being told what to do and taking orders, Hawks sucked at doing so even when it was in his best interest.

He huffed in annoyance, but remained silent.

You glared at his cock momentarily, not being able to keep your pussy from clenching. This man was annoyingly pretty. Even his long and hard cock was pretty, having a slight curve to it and a nice and round bulbous head. Your eyes then shifted to his full balls, and you brought your fingers to fondle each one carefully, drawing delicious moans from him.

“You gonna keep staring or are you gonna suck it?”

You offered a teasing smile. “You shouldn’t make demands when I have you in my hand. Literally.”

Hawks’ eyes widened slightly. “Just let me cum.”

“You sure?”

He nodded before motioning you to shift closer with his index finger. “C’mere...”

Your panties were fully soaked by now, and as much as you wanted to resist him, it was getting harder to pull away from having him coming undone because of you.

Slowly, your tongue darted out to give his tip a short lick, but this time you let his cock slide all the way in without letting go of his balls.

He stuttered incoherently. “S-Slow... go—go... slow...”

You twirled your tongue across the protruding veins, letting his shaft reach your throat easily, strings of precum mixed with your saliva began pooling around the corners on your mouth and soon started dripping down your chin. Not wanting to go overboard, you stilled, not even daring to swallow.

His hands were gripping the edge of the couch so tightly that his knuckled were turning white; it was rather obvious that he was fighting off his impending orgasm with determination.

But as soon as you started swallowing around him, allowing your throat to ripple along his cock, Hawks’ mouth fell open in a profound growl.

“I’m... I’m gonna...” his wings were stretched all the way up to the ceiling, his long red feathers vibrating rhythmically with each roll from his hips.

Yes, he was going to.

His hips jerked in a broken rhythm as he attempted to fuck your mouth, nearing his orgasm rapidly. Once he started panting heavily and his moans became ragged, you slid off his cock.

“FUCK!” Hawks yelled in sheer frustration as his hips were left bucking against nothing but cool air.

You sat back, admiring how annoyed you’d left him yet again. It was always fun to tease him like that. He wasn’t used to not having things go his way, so you made it your mission to humble him down every once in a while.

The young hero groaned through gritted teeth, burying his face in his hands. “This is evil!”

“Deep breaths,” you chose to ignore his remark, placing your hands on his quivering thighs. “Calm down, Keigo...”

His entire body was shaking from the pent up tension. He might be a pro hero, but he was still human after all; even though he wasn’t used to being edged and overstimulated, you had to admit he was doing quite well.

Except for the strangled sobs that erupted from his throat and the few tears that slid down his flushed cheeks.

“Just... let.... me... no more....” he pleaded sheepishly, wrapping his own hand around his cock and pumping it a few times in desperation.

“Keigo... deep breaths,” you said, unhooking his fingers away from him.

He shook his head, eyes closed shut. “No... let me cum... please...”

“Hands off your cock,” you told him, placing them on the edge of the couch. “Don’t touch it. You need to cool off.”

This side of him proved to be unexpectedly alluring and empowering. Having a pro hero squirming and begging and completely desperate for release was something that you didn’t know you needed to witness.

A few long minutes rolled by.

Hawks’ breathing became more even and his beautiful face was no longer contorting from the pain of having his orgasm denied for the first time ever.

Your hands caressed his relaxed thighs with every ounce of affection you could muster. “See? You did so good, baby...”

Hawks brushed sweat-damp locks of golden hair away from his forehead, his eyes fixed on yours. “This hurts... real bad...”

His hard and veiny cock was slapped flat against his lower abdomen, precum still dripping from the tip.

“I think it’s time for you to cum,” you suggested with an understanding smile.

“You think?” Hawks chuckled sarcastically, his voice filled with annoyance.

Not wanting to summon a very angry Hawks, you massaged his sack for a few seconds, enjoying how his cock twitched with each stroke.

“Go on. Fuck my mouth.”

As soon as those words left your mouth, he lunged forward to grip his cock and have his hand grasp the back of your head.

His predatory instinct finally took over. “Open.”

You promptly complied, and he wasted no time shoving his cock inside you.

“Wider,” he grunted, forcing your chin down with his thumb. This sudden shift in his demeanor caused you to struggle to taking in all of it while trying to control your breathing through your nose.

Big mistake.

Hawks quickly caught on to what you were attempting to do, and he pinched your nose with his index finger and thumb.

“Told you,” he growled in satisfaction, watching you swallow his entire cock. “Deeper.”

Your eyes were stinging with tears from and you felt your swollen clit throb as he kept himself lodged in your throat. His other hand wrapped around your throat once again.

“Swallow.”

Your vision began to blur, but you told yourself to relax even though you struggled to breathe.

You swallowed once before he finally let go of your nose, fully enjoying how you were gasping around him and feeling his cock swelling up your neck through his fingers. You had tried breath play with him once, but this time it felt rougher an aroused you far more. He wasn’t usually this hungry, but then again you had never taunted him this much.

His hips rose at a fast pace as he fucked your mouth mercilessly, grunting and praising you. You weren’t able to keep the drool from spilling out and down your chin with each thrust.

“Touch yourself.”

You looked up in surprise, but readily slid one hand downwards and shoved it inside your panties, so you could finally relieve some of the tension that had built up in your swollen clit.

A low moan rippled through you throat as you rubbed yourself.

“Do that again... do...” he panted, completely lost in pleasure as his wings quivered around him steadily.

Sliding one finger inside your drenched pussy, you started fingering yourself, eyes fluttering shut from the overwhelming sensation.

“I’m gonna... fuck....”

Your other hand was gripping his thigh to keep yourself stable, and as he quickened the pace, you found out that he was defying your gag reflex.

“You gonna swallow all of it...” he grunted with a final jerk of his hips, burying himself so deep inside you that your nose was fully pressed against the base of his cock.

Tears streamed down your face as hot sprays of cum started spurting down your throat, and you struggled to keep it all down, the excess mixing up with your saliva and dripping from your mouth.

Hawks let out an animalistic growl as he emptied himself inside you, and you found yourself facing yourself with two fingers, riding after your on high as he massaged your throat.

“So pretty...” he panted, pulling his cock out and pressing your head to rest on his thigh. “Wanna cum, too?”

You nodded tiredly, feeling your spit running down the side of his thigh, but you just couldn’t help from keeping your mouth open as you gasped in pleasure.

“C’mere.” He ended up saying, helping you to get on your feet and to sit on his lap. “I’ll do that.”

He brushed his thumb across your chin to wipe off the mixture of cum and spit and brought it to his lips to taste it.

“Good?” You smiled in surprise.

He flashed you his trademark wide grin. “Amazing. Now, let me help.”

You welcomed his invitation, and lowered your head to rest on his shoulder, his hot body fully pressed against yours.

Two long fingers slipped inside your pussy and he started fingering you rapidly, making sure his palm rubbed your swollen clit. It didn’t take you long to get washed over in your own orgasm. It probably had something to do with how good he was with his fingers, but also because you had managed to edge yourself from edging him. How ironic.

Hawks planted a kiss on your forehead, enveloping both of you with his large wings. “That was quick. Maybe you need some help too, eh?”

A low chuckled rumbled in your chest. “Don’t flatter yourself, Keigo. It was like 70% built up tension from edging you.”

“Just 30% from my fingers?” He feigned hurt.

You paused for a few seconds. “Maybe 20%?”

“And the other 10%?”

“From my fingers,” you shot sticking out your tongue to him teasingly.

He clicked his tongue. “So my fingers are better than yours. Noted.”

“That was not what I meant!” You laughed, not at all surprised by his deduction.

“Math never lies,” he winked adoringly.

Yes. You were definitely going to stick around to help him with this.

Masterlist

888 notes · View notes

sugar-petals · 3 years

Note

can you give us more thoughts about domestic yoongles? the taemin's one (wich I love) just made me miss the cat boy so much ;o;

i have a phd in househusband yoongi so let me fire out some ideas for ya.

myg at home headcanon

🐱 word count. 1.9k | fluff, slice of life, slight nsfw mentions, x reader, bullet points

The doorbell sound is a recording of Yoongi imitating a doorbell. He’s such a meme. Ceci n'est pas une pipe.

Seemingly, he teaches himself a new recipe every week. To perfection. Yoongi is very particular about sticking to the recipe and wielding his kitchen tools in the right way. He collects knives, olive oil, and still hates cutting onions.

He separates sleep time, work time, and couple time as the holy trinity. For each, he switches his mood.

Blushes easily no matter for how long you’ve been together.

Establishes his own radio show where he DJs at one point.

Yoongi keeps an extreme track on the garbage schedule. He knows exactly what is due when. Separating the trash is a must. That includes sorting out fake friends trying to get between your relationship. Your social circle as a couple is extremely deliberate.

Yoongi deems himself a terrible host for guests. Unless Hoseok is there to drag him out, it's true he rather stays in the kitchen or at the barbecue preparing the menu courses rather than making small talk. He leaves the hospitality bits to you, however you want to go about it.

What he lacks in conversing with guests, he makes up in bed, God is absolutely fair.

He sings and hums pretty often and has his own vernacular of extraterrestrial uwu noises. It's an alphabet that you have to yet decipher but it's incredibly cute.

Self-made paintings everywhere around his house.

Yoongi hasn't gone clubbing since grammar school. The most he does is going to a restaurant at lunch with very close friends. And always in a work context. His private life is so secluded from everything else and paparazzi just don't spot him anywhere, Dispatch thinks he must live abroad.

Very well, he does consider his big ole house a separate country. It's a living organism with a studio, gym, trophy room, small-size basketball court, and vastly equipped kitchen. A home theater as well, he likes American movies (like Inception) and Korean action genres, and you can stream whatever you fancy in there whenever you like.

Yes, he has underwear with cute little bears on.

There's even a little pond in the backyard. Yoongi, Pisces he is, likes fishes after all. Sometimes he sits at the edge of the 'Little Ole Min Lake (LOML)' and stares into the water for literal hours with his chin parked on his palm.

His fridge is so high-tech and futuristic, even Yoongi is rendered clueless by its AI sometimes. The washing machine, too.

Yoongi watches RuPaul’s drag race. What did you expect? He finds it so humorous.

Owns lord knows how many comic collections.

Favorite holiday destination: New York.

Christmas is basically 50% you unveiling new music equipment to him in the garage and Yoongi almost fainting at the sexiness of it. The other 50% is spent holding hands and orgasm after orgasm until the new year since you loose track of time.

Goes on long rants why he’d marry you again every weekend.

Making you presents is his specialty. Always accompanied with a hand-written note. He writes a lot of things by hand for you in general. Texting, basically never. Always on paper.

No sex without a blanket and socks on. Yoongi gets cold very very easily and just doesn’t like showing skin. You buy him a heated blanket for his birthday, he even uses it in his studio chair.

Chronically addicted to making out.

Matching black outfits and glasses.

Laughs at even your worst jokes or phrases you didn’t expect you even uttered.

Yoongi owns the phoniest, most secretive-looking black car ever and nobody knows about it. Even he forgets he owns it, in fact he genuinely acts like it just doesn’t exist. Hilarious. And that guy has a level 1 Korean driver's license. Which allows him to drive trailers and busses and fucking trucks, and construction machines, let that sink in.

It's really a genius curse. Yoongi being put to the test will always deliver but he won't choose to execute his full skillset if he doesn't have to. Well, pragmatic. He's not as phony as he thinks he is, which is even more hilarious.

He uses that behemoth of a car so scarcely because he'd rather have things delivered to his doorstep and he's stingy with gas. Also, he doesn't like traffic and driving because of the traumatic shoulder accident and his tendency to space out. Translation: You drive that thing... that monster... it really is an impressive, fast, and scary machine.

If someone devious ever even remotely manages to invade his privacy and get past the doubly-installed security system, he has enough money to deal with it no matter what.

If it concerns your privacy, he's a red belt. And owns Jin's number if a taekwondo master is required. Jimin's if it needs someone with kendo skills.

If Yoongi needs someone to go on a complete rampage, Jungkook lives just down the block. He can sprint to Yoongi's bunker I mean mansion within 45 seconds. 30 if it's very urgent. 20 if the reward is an instant ramen splurge with Yoongi's black card.

He has a sexy, glamorous sword collection hanging on the living room wall anyways, so. Who the hell is dumb enough to mess with him and his expensive lawyer in the first place.

But just in case, who knows... Yoongi settles matters shruggingly, anonymously, and with cash and he's too exhausted for violence, but don't underestimate his deter-min-ation and network for emergencies. Also, he is Agust D after all.

He will bonk a naughty burglar or kidnapper across the head with a wooden cooking spoon or take him down by throwing a basketball if the situation requires it. Damn, his reflexes are so fast, a feral cat in motion. So, lean back and sip on your drink of choice. Things are cared for.

If Yoongi is the one being kidnapped or a highly skilled stalker invades the property at night when he's fast asleep (nothing can wake this man during certain hours, strong REM right here): Don't forget that honeyboy is a Dodgers fan. There are signed baseball bats everywhere in this damn house.

In that sense, your parents visiting you here for the first time thought you were an undercover thug couple. Not to worry mom and dad, you both just like sports very much okay.

Yoongi walks around in all black clothes and the rooms are all seemingly dark. Even if you live together, you don't know his skin care routine. It's clear to you he's some sort of vampire.

Since Yoongi always forgets to remove his makeup, you made it a habit to wipe it down when he's about to pass out. He won't lie, he enjoys that kind of affection.

Holly is your resident child. You're essentially a family.

He insists to tackle this by himself, Yoongi sees his therapist monthly. Not shifting responsibility is something he's stubborn about and he pours his emotions into writing. You will do conversation about deeper stuff, but he says it's mostly up to him and his own mind. He dislikes burdening you or opening up too much and it's something to respect rather than force him about. If he wants to share a thought, he will. It doesn’t mean he can’t trust you or sucks at communicating (we know that he’s direct). Yoongi simply can’t put that much pain in such few words nor should you alleviate it for him.

Calls from the manager faze Yoongi as much as Jimin is bothered by gravity. If he’s busy kissing your body slow mo, who the hell dares to disturb his worship.

This man had so many let-downs and interpersonal catastrophes in his life, he's super discerning with people. Because he rolls that way, during their first meeting Yoongi uses his psychology certificate on your friends. You see him squint at them, he listens very closely. After they pass the vibe check aka meow radar, he befriends them, too.

Yoongi doodles Grammy trophies everywhere to manifest them.

Yoongi shaves his legs.

All the sex toys he’s ever bought are black. Gotta vibe in style.

He spends ridiculous amounts of time in the studio but he's yours for the remainder of the night, breakfast, and he makes a lavish lunch and dinner.

Um, consider his head parked between your legs. The Hongkong line was not a joke.

Doesn’t mind you squishing his cheeks whenever and for how long you like.

Every other weekend he gets flowers, vouchers, and gifts — not because of fans, they don’t know where his house is, but because he donates so much.

Namjoon often drops by and cleanses the area with his crystals.

Yoongi is a photography major so you can ask him to take professional, ceiling-high black and white shots of you.

Feeding each other food lovingly. Man, this guy got lips.

He set up a library just for you, in the exact historical aesthetic you like the most. Send him the link to any book you want, it's basically in the online shopping cart already. As I said, he wants to make you presents like every week.

Sometimes he sits on the other end studying English videos and vocab while you read. And yes, he's already 95% fluent but pretends being merely intermediate. He knows technical terms even native speakers have never heard of.

He collects pajamas and earrings.

Swears on the phone.

Namjoon being the horniest member is a cover-up story. Yoongi masturbates almost unreasonable amounts of times, by himself and in your arms when going to bed. Not gonna lie, it’s a sight to see his hands at work. He’s almost equally obsessed with fingering you once you ask him.

Yoongi was the one asking you to move in and almost had a nervous meltdown before meeting up with you to tell you just that.

He’s the little spoon and of course a sleeping burrito to hold tight.

Finds you equally attractive in any state or styling. Yoongi practices what he preaches, he always reacts the same and says the same.

Jams out to outrageous beats Namjoon sends him by dancing in the studio. You walk in on him every time. Was embarrassed at first, now you dance along.

Has bought you a life-sized Yoongi pillow and customized you a giant Shooky to hug when he’s not at home over night.

Owned a wine cellar until he quit drinking. Turned it into a piano room instead.

Only you know Yoongi has a serpent and dagger tattoo.

Scrubs the bathroom religiously.

The house smells like restaurant food and his extravagant perfumes half of the time.

Sometimes he has to remind himself he’s married to you and not his coffee machine. He shall be forgiven. You can’t complain that he doesn’t love you enough, nor is he ever not adorable when drinking his latte.

Never wears short sleeves. It can be scorching and he’ll wear a jacket.

Tell him and the cap stays on during sex.

He grows his hair out and puts it in a low bun. The bangs remain.

Yoongi has installed the most fire-proof building in the entire city it seems. That he wanted to be a firefighter when he was young definitely shows. Figures the house has to be protected from heat: His blasting studio music and Yoongi himself are just way too sizzling.

Still melts into a puddle when you kiss his nose.

Couple sunrise watching.

#yoongi #yoongi hc #yoongi x reader #bts #bts x reader #bts hc #yoongi scenario

516 notes · View notes

daryl-dixon-daydreams · 3 years

Photo

Words: 8714 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: the Greene farm Warnings: Language, violence, gore, blood, severe injuries, fear, anxiety, death of a character A/N: This is the FINAL part of a miniseries! You can find the other chapters on the Masterlist! Summary: Y/N and Shane go missing.

Your name: submit What is this?

Two weeks later

“I can actually do it myself,” you insisted, feeling a blush in your cheeks as Daryl pulled your hand over onto his lap and bent over it, luckily oblivious to the pink glow now filling your cheeks.

He huffed at you. “I’m sure ya can,” he drawled, “but it’s definitely easier for someone with two hands, don’t ya think?”

You watched as he methodically and carefully snipped the stitches in your hand and pulled the sutures away, apologizing if they tugged at all. A lot had happened in the last two weeks. Pretty much everyone had come around to the fact that Shane had hurt himself in an attempt to get the group to abandon you. There had been a massive fight between him and Rick and since then Shane had been confined to his tent while he healed. When Hershel found out what had happened, he told Rick that Shane couldn’t stay, but Rick had already decided that he had go. His best friend seemed to be growing more bitter and more unstable by the day.

But Shane was still around temporarily, and because of that Daryl had refused to leave you to sleep unguarded at night. You’d argued that it would be fine and that you didn’t really think Shane would try to pull anything else, but the archer was insistent. Eventually, you caved. Daryl had hauled your cot and bedding to his tent and set them up along the opposite wall from his, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck at the strange nervousness and yet gratitude he felt knowing you’d be so close.

You both fell into an easy routine together. Your physical closeness may have been borne out of necessity but the other growing closeness developed organically. Spending time with Daryl was easy. He didn’t mind when you were quiet for hours on end, lost in your own head as you aimlessly tossed twigs into the fire. He didn’t mind when you wanted to talk about something specific or nothing at all, and you felt the same way about him. The silences didn’t bother you with Daryl and every time he did open his mouth it was either to make you laugh or to say something you were genuinely interested in hearing. He was constantly checking on you over the smallest things. If you shivered in the evening as you spent time around the fire, he’d insist that you moved closer to the flames or he’d go get a blanket from his tent and toss it down on your lap without a word before he took his place again. He’d make sure you were eating and would refill your canteen whenever he thought about it. You did what you could to return the favors but he usually seemed to beat you to it.

“I guess with these out I can finally start hunting again,” you said. “And going out and gathering stuff.”

“Mhm,” Daryl hummed, his eyes narrowed as he focused on removing the very last stitch. “There.” He straightened up and looked at the slightly raised pink scar down the center of your palm. He wasn’t sure what made him do it, but he ran a finger lightly down the length of it.

You startled at the unfamiliar sensation, a little strange due to the altered sensation along the length of the scar, but even more so because of the way your heart jumped at the touch of Daryl’s fingers so light on your palm. You involuntarily pulled you hand back and your eyes shot up to meet his.

He gave you a sheepish look. “Sorry. Did that hurt?” He regretted it the moment he’d done it, worried about your reaction.

You shook your head. “No, it just—”

“Hmm?”

“Nothing,” you finished quietly, chewing on your bottom lip a little anxiously. He quirked an eyebrow at you but simply stood up.

“Alright. Well, couple more days and that asshole will be outta here,” he growled, glancing over in the direction of Shane’s tent. He wasn’t yet allowing himself to acknowledge that he was worried things would go back to the way they were before once Shane was gone. That is, you’d retreat back to your space and back to yourself. He was really liking his time with you and he didn’t want it to end. The archer shook his head and glanced back at you. Your eyes were now on Shane’s tent, too but your expression was fretful. “S’matter?” he prompted you.

You sighed. “I just feel like it’s my fault he has to leave…”

“Nah. Nah, it ain’t. Y/N, if it weren’t you it’d be somethin’ else. He’s been spiralin’ down since Rick showed up alive and took his family back. It ain’t got nothin’ to do with ya, not really.”

You still looked unsure but the worry lines in your forehead eased a little. “Yeah. I suppose so.”

“Listen, I told Carol I’d go help her with that new tent. Ya gonna be alright over here?” he asked.

You nodded. “Mhm. I’ll be right here. Andrea gave me a new book.” You did glance a little longingly over your shoulder at the far tree line and Daryl was always amazed that even after the traumatic incident in those very same woods that you still wanted to be out there almost every minute of the day.

“Hey,” he said, calling your attention back to him. “We’ll go out and hunt tomorrow, alright?”

You nodded. “Tomorrow.” You watched his broad shoulders fade toward the main camp.

Carol was waiting when Daryl arrived. Her old tent had started to leak and Daryl had promised to help her get the new one they’d found set up. She stood up as he strode over, already flustered by the number of pins and ropes and metal poles. “If I’d known I’d be living out of a tent I definitely would have stuck with the Girl Scouts when I was a kid,” she said, giving Daryl a helpless look.

He let out a gruff laugh. “Ya got that the wrong way around,” he said, pointing to the pole she’d already slipped through the tent. She stared at it and sighed. “S’alright. That’s why I’m here right?” he said. “Gimme that,” he said, grabbing the bundle of poles in her hands and setting to work. In no time they had the tent upright and were going about staking it down. Carol handed Daryl another stake and he pounded it into the ground securing down the corner.

“So… what’s going on with you and Y/N exactly?” she asked him.

The archer froze and shot a look at her before returning his eyes to what he was doing, grateful for a task to focus on even as he felt his ears growing red. “What’d ya mean?”

“Well,” Carol continued, “you’re sharing a tent,” she said with a smile.

Daryl scoffed. “So? I shared a tent with T-dog once. Ya gonna ask me if we held hands?”

Carol laughed and smirked at him. “Well, did you?” Daryl rolled his eyes at her and she laughed harder.

“We’re sharin’ a tent cuz there’s a psycho that probably is blamin’ all his problems on her. And I don’t want shit to go sideways.”

“So, that’s it? You’re just sharing a tent for purely practical reasons,” Carol said. Daryl could hear the skepticism in her voice and he straightened up after tying off the knot to the stake.

“The hell are ya on about?” Daryl growled. But even as he tried to act gruff and brush her off, he felt that heat growing in his chest that was becoming familiar when he thought of you.

“You two just seem to get along,” Carol said. “That’s all.”

“Mmm,” Daryl hummed, moving to the next corner of the tent. Something about that response made Carol laugh again.

“You’re so sensitive,” she murmured, eliciting an eyeroll from him. “Daryl, I just like to see you happy. And lately, since you’ve been spending so much time with Y/N, you’ve been happy,” she pointed out.

He couldn’t deny that. She was right. He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, his hands still on the last length of cord before he tied it off and pounded in the stake. He stood up and stepped back, taking in the structure. “Alright. All done.”

“Thanks,” she said gratefully, surveying it. She gave his shoulder a friendly squeeze and smiled. “Do me a favor?”

“Hmm?” he hummed, chewing on the side of his thumbnail, glancing up at her.

“If you really like her,” she paused and shrugged, “tell her. Life is short these days.” She knew that as well as anyone. A husband, abusive asshole or not, and a precious little girl were gone to this world.

Daryl only ducked his head and lazily twirled a piece of grass between his fingers. “I’ll see ya,” he murmured, turning and heading back toward his tent. He was expecting you to be sitting beside the fire where you’d been when he left, but that spot was empty. He approached the tent and stopped outside the door. “Y/N? Ya in there?” When there was no answer, he unzipped it and peeked inside. No sign of you. The book that had been in your hand was on the tent floor and he bent and picked it up, setting it on the upturned box that was serving as a nightstand next to your cot. That’s when he realized your knife was there. He’d been thinking maybe you had to go use the bathroom, but you never left camp without your knife at your hip, whether it was for two minutes or two hours. And it wasn’t like you to leave a book on the ground. You treated the damn things like they were some sacred tomes. He felt panic start to grow in his chest and left the tent in a hurry, his blue eyes scanning the area where everyone else was set up and the tree line. He didn’t see you anywhere.

Daryl grabbed his crossbow and took off running toward the main camp. He found Lori and Carol preparing some food for dinner and stopped beside them. “Hey—have ya’ll seen Y/N anywhere? She come through here at all?” He directed the question at Lori since Carol had been busy with him getting the tent set up.

She stood up and dusted her hands off on her jeans, shaking her head. Her eyes went a little wide with worry as she registered the deep concern on Daryl’s face. “No, I—I haven’t seen her. You can’t find her?”

Daryl didn’t even stay to answer. He just tore off in the direction of the farmhouse and bounded up onto the front porch. Glenn and Maggie both stood up at the expression on his face. “Ya’ll see Y/N? Did she come up here?”

Maggie shook her head. “No,” Glenn answered, immediately worried. “What’s going on?”

Daryl swore under his breath and paced a restless circle, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “I—I was gone for maybe an hour helpin’ Carol and now I can’t find her anywhere. She wouldn’ta gone off without her knife or nothin’,” he said. His jaw clenched and Glenn watched the muscle twitch. Daryl’s eyes quickly landed on the tent Shane was confined to and he took off at a full sprint toward it. Glenn was on his heels now.

“Daryl! Daryl, take it easy!” Glenn yelled after him. It drew the attention of the rest of the group and soon Rick and Andrea were standing beside Glenn as Daryl ripped back the entrance to Shane’s tent.

Daryl’s stomach twisted. Shane’s tent was empty. He kicked out at a milk crate that had some of Shane’s things on it and it toppled over. “Shane’s gone and Y/N is missin’!” he roared at Rick.

Rick gulped. A hard pit formed in his stomach. “Daryl—Daryl, just calm down,” Rick said.

That had the opposite effect. “Calm down? Calm down?!” he roared. “This ain’t no coincidence! I told ya he didn’t deserve to stay here to heal up, and now look what’s happened!”

“We’ll find them! We’ll find them. We will. Just—”

“Nah. I’m gonna track that fuckin’ prick and if he’s laid so much as a finger on her, he’s a dead man.” Daryl took off without another word, racing back to the last place he’d seen you, his eyes scanning the ground the whole way, hoping for a track, a trail, something.

“Dale, get the guns,” Rick said. “Lori, you and Carol take Carl up to the house and see if you can wait inside with Hershel and the girls.” Lori nodded and gave Carol’s arm a gentle squeeze. Rick rubbed a hand over the stubble on his face.

Andrea was stunned. “What do we do?”

Rick shut his eyes for a moment and pulled in a breath. “We get our guns and we look. We hope Daryl can pick up a trail and we hope we aren’t too late.”

You had been sitting contentedly by the fire reading when you decided you wanted some tea. You knew there were still some dried spicebush leaves in your pack from your last foraging trip and you went in to get them. You were crouched beside your pack, digging in the pocket when you heard a metallic sound that was easily identifiable. It was the slide of a pistol being drawn back and released, a bullet moving into the chamber. You froze with your hands in your pack and slowly turned. You could see Shane outside the window netting and his gun was aimed right at you.

“Get up. Slowly. Leave all your shit.”

You gulped and did so, replacing your pack against the wall and abandoning your book on the floor.

“Come over here. Zip the tent up and don’t even think about trying anything because I will kill you right here,” Shane growled, and you believed him. “Let’s go. Now.”

Again, you complied. You glanced desperately toward the main camp, hoping with every part of you that Daryl would be headed back or somehow happen to look over and see what was happening, but you knew you didn’t have any options except to comply. Comply and hope for an opening to save yourself.

Shane’s gun was still trained on you as you stepped around the outside of the tent. He was gritting his teeth in anger as you stared back at him. You were determined to remain calm and in control.

He nudged the barrel of his gun in the direction of the tree line. “Move. Let’s go.”

You felt sick, knowing that once you went into those trees the chance that you would ever come back out was low. But what choice did you have? He had a fucking gun on you and you had nothing.

You made your way toward the woods. Shane pressed the muzzle into your back. “Faster. And don’t even think about making a fucking sound. I will shoot you right here. I don’t even care. At least then I wouldn’t have to worry about you going all psycho-killer. Wouldn’t have to worry about Lori anymore. Or Carl.”

You bit your tongue to stop a retort.

Soon, you were under the dark canopy of trees, cloaked in shade and moving further in with Shane’s gun at your back. He was nervous, on edge, and understandably so, because you knew if Daryl caught him… he’d be dead in an instant. You decided your best course of action was to try to reason with him. You really did believe that he was just fucked up from being in love with a woman he couldn’t have. This was all misplaced blame and aggression. He really wanted to fuck Rick up, but that loyal part of him, that police partner, wouldn’t let him. Some part of him couldn’t bear to do that to Carl and Lori, even while another part of him was desperate to. You were an easy target, the next best thing to blame for his failed attempts to get back into the place he wanted to be, to regain some control, to prove he knew best and was still The Protector. If he had been able to show everyone that you were really a threat and that he and not Rick had taken care of it, he really thought maybe that would win Lori over. But that had all backfired. Now you were just easy to blame for all his problems.

“Shane, I know this isn’t really what you want,” you said quietly.

“Shut the fuck up. You don’t know a goddamn thing about me,” he growled back, nudging you sharply with the muzzle of his gun again.

“I don’t want you to have to leave either. I know it isn’t fair,” you continued. “You took care of everyone for a while before Rick showed up.”

“I said shut up!” he spat again through clenched teeth. “Ya know what? Sit the fuck down. Right there, against that tree.” He shoved you hard and you stumbled, barely catching yourself with your hands on the large oak before your face would have collided with it.

You obeyed and sat with your back against the tree, gulping at the dryness in your throat, and turning to stare directly at the gun pointed in your face.

Something about how calm you were being, how steady, was completely freaking Shane the fuck out. He wanted you to snap. He wanted to be able to say that he was right about you and you were a danger to everyone in camp, like you were some unpredictable monster. But you just sat there looking up at him, now completely silent, your eyes flickering between the muzzle of his gun and his face. Shane swore under his breath and paced back in forth in front of you. Your eyes followed his movements. You bided your time, trying to come up with something that would defuse this whole situation.

“How is this going to fix anything?” you asked him. “This is only going to make everything worse.”

He didn’t stop pacing and occasionally shooting a look at you that made your blood run cold. You were starting to think that maybe there was no reasoning with him…

“You can just let me go. I’ll just tell everyone I needed to get out of camp for a bit. You can wander back in like nothing happened,” you said.

He pointed the gun at you again and his lip curled. “There’s no going back from this. No going back from everything that’s already happened. And I know there is something wrong with you. I know it. If I’m not going to be here to keep an eye on you, I need to end this now so you can’t hurt anyone. Because I know you will snap eventually. I saw what you did to those men.” Shane got right into your face, poking you in the shoulder with the muzzle of his gun.

“I was defending myself,” you said quietly, feeling guilty and horrified at yourself even as you tried to justify it to Shane.

“So you say,” he growled, his pistol now aimed at your forehead.

“If I was going to snap like you’re saying, wouldn’t now be a good time?” you said quietly. “Obviously you’re a threat to me. But I’ve done everything you’ve asked.”

He scoffed and straightened up again, resuming his pacing. “What—what the hell happened to you, huh? What fucked up thing twisted you to the point where you could do what you did to those men? Do you even remember it? Do you even know how many times you stabbed them?” he pressed. He was trying to agitate you, but it didn’t work.

Your stomach was churning with the foggy memory of being covered in their blood, of seeing their corpses on the ground, but you only stared back at Shane. No way in hell you were divulging what you’d been through to Shane, gunpoint or not.

He ran his tongue over his teeth and you watched as the muscle in his jaw clenched. He charged toward you again. “You know what? I’m done with this,” he growled. He pressed the gun to your forehead, aiming at a downward angle. The metal bit into your skin. You stared up at him briefly, eyes wide but surprisingly calm, and Shane watched in some disbelief as you finally just shut them and seemed to resign yourself to the fact that you were about to die.

That hesitation was all you needed.

You shoved Shane’s arm away and the gun with it and snatched the knife at his hip, ripping it free from its sheath and slashing at him, leaving a good gash on his arm. But a knife wouldn’t be any match for Shane with a gun. He was a firearm instructor and you knew his aim was deadly accurate, so before he could entirely recover from his surprise you ran at him full force and the two of fell to the ground hard. The pistol flew from his hands and landed in the leaf little a few feet away. You began to crawl desperately toward it, trying to put distance between you and Shane as quickly as possible, but you let out a yell as you felt him grab hold of you and pull you back.

The next thing you knew he was over you, trying his hardest to get the knife from your hand. You were slashing at him desperately, catching him on the forearms as you struggled beneath him. You caught him with a particularly strong slash but the next moment he had your hands pinned in his and he wrenched the knife from you. The rush of blood was loud in your ears and now you were on the defensive. You shielded yourself with your arms as best you could and continued to struggle beneath him, but his weight was too much.

Shane suddenly managed to push your arms out of the way and you saw the knife coming toward you as if in slow motion. It was heading straight for the center of your chest. You thrust your left arm out and felt the blade pierce it deeply before ripping clean and lodging in your left shoulder. You let out a scream of pain, but as Shane was now leaning over you, you managed to get your knee up underneath him and thrust it as hard as you could into his groin.

He let out an agonized yell and rolled off you, abandoning the knife that was still lodged deeply in your shoulder. You gritted your teeth and were vaguely aware of tears streaming down your face and the fact that you were trembling. But there was no time to stop. You couldn’t stop if you wanted to live. You clutched at the knife in your shoulder, staring briefly with shock at how deeply it was embedded, but didn’t dare to pull it out. Rolling over and holding yourself up on your lacerated forearms, you fixed your eyes on the gun and made a desperate lunge for it. You felt hands on your legs again, dragging you back.

Back toward the edge of the tree line, Daryl had picked up the trail easily and was frantically tracking. Rick and the others were on his heels, glancing around nervously, straining their eyes in the veiled darkness beneath the canopy and their ears in the closeness of the trees. But it wasn’t long that they had to trail behind the archer because soon a strained yell made it to their ears. Daryl felt his blood run cold.

He paused hardly for a moment before he tore off through the trees in the direction he’d heard your voice echo from. “Y/N!” He wanted you to know he was on his way. He needed you to just hang on. He pushed himself to run through the nausea that had risen when that sound, your pained voice, had met his ears. He tore through the foliage, the sound of pounding boots on the soil loud behind him as the others followed.

“Daryl! Daryl, slow down! We can’t just—” Rick paused as he had to bust through some shrubs. “We can’t just barrel in there!” But it was as if the archer hadn’t heard anything. He just continued running, trying to listen over his own gasping breath and pounding pulse but simultaneously afraid of what he would hear.

Crack.

The unmistakable sound of a gunshot.

Daryl skidded to a stop, frozen. His face blanched, almost ashen as Rick caught up and glanced over at him. Sweat was pouring down from their foreheads and running down their necks, soaking the thin cotton of their shirts. A small strangled noise escaped Daryl’s lips as he searched the ground frantically again for the trail, needing to know he was running in the right direction. He spotted it. Direction confirmed, he took off at an even madder pace than before. “Y/N!” There was no answer.

But he couldn’t allow himself to think the worst. He couldn’t. That couldn’t happen to you. After everything you’d already been through… how could he have let this happen? Why had he turned his back on you for even a minute with that prick still around? He felt shaky and weak even as he ran.

The group had just pushed through another thick swath of understory when Daryl saw a bundle ahead, lying motionless on the ground. His breath caught in his throat and his boots rooted into the soil for a moment. But he pushed himself to move forward again.

Behind him he was vaguely aware of a gasp from Andrea and some murmur from Glenn.

As he moved closer, he realized there was a second shape ahead and as his eyes refocused, he saw that it was you. You were leaned up against a big oak tree, propped up against the rough bark, your head lolled toward your chest. Some pained gasp or muted scream, catching mostly in his throat, left his lips before he tore off toward you again. As he fell to his knees beside you, he took in the soaked crimson of your shirt. Your arms were cut up and absolutely covered in blood. Then Daryl’s eyes landed on the hilt of the knife still embedded in your left shoulder. His hands shook as he hesitated before lifting your chin, terrified that your skin would be cold and lifeless. You were bruised and battered, bleeding from a swollen and split lip and a gash near your hairline, but there was some semblance of warmth still in your skin, though you were pale. More miraculously yet, when he gently lifted your chin, you started to stir and Daryl watched in desperation as you struggled to open your eyes, eventually succeeding.

“Hey, hey. S’alright. I’ve got ya. I’ve got ya…” He could hear his own voice shake as he spoke.

You gulped, wanting to clear the taste of iron from your mouth. “I had to,” you managed to croak out. “I had to.”

Daryl knew you were referring to Shane’s lifeless body behind him on the ground. “S’ok. It don’t matter. Don’t talk now, alright? Just rest. I’ve got ya.”

Daryl felt someone behind him and turned to see Glenn just behind him. His face was pale as he took in your condition. “Her shoulder... Oh my God,” Glenn gasped.

“She’s gonna be fine,” Daryl said forcefully. He carefully slid his arm behind your back and another underneath your knees. You were fighting to stay awake. “Daryl…” you murmured. You felt so small in his arms as he lifted you. Daryl was vaguely aware of your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, gripping it hard before you fell unconscious again, going limp in his arms. He turned and started heading back to the farm, moving as quickly as he dared with you in his arms, conscious of the knife still wedged cruelly into you. The sight of it protruding from you made him sick with rage. Rick was kneeling beside Shane, his face downturned, as Daryl breezed past. Andrea stood just behind him with a hand pressed over her mouth, watching as Daryl carried your bloodied body past her.

As Daryl’s broad shoulders disappeared, Glenn bent and retrieved the pistol lying on the leaf litter among streaks of your blood. It felt like a lead weight in his palm.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl sat slumped in a chair beside your prone form laid out on the bed, covered over in the blankets. He was leaned over forward with his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped so tightly that his knuckles shone white.

After days of agonizing waiting, there was a soft noise from you and his eyes shot up urgently to see you stirring a little on the pillow. He rocketed to his feet so fast that the chair he’d been in clattered backward loudly to the floor. “Doc!” he yelled out. Hershel rushed in a moment later.

You dragged your eyelids open with a great amount of effort and the first thing you saw were Daryl’s piercing blue eyes looking down at you with immense concern. You moistened your lips with your tongue and cleared your throat, which felt dry and scratchy, preparing to speak. He watched as your expression melted into a veil of confusion. “I’m not… not dead?”

Daryl felt a painful pang in his chest as he watched you spinning with disbelief.

Hershel leaned over you with a kindly and somewhat sad expression on his face. “You most definitely are not. Though you surprised all of us after what you went through,” he said putting a gentle hand on your uninjured shoulder.

Your eyes turned back to Daryl’s. “Shane—” His name seemed to strangle and catch in your throat. “I—”

“I know. Ya had to. S’alright,” Daryl drawled, his brow furrowing low over his eyes.

You mouthed wordlessly for a moment, your eyes brimming with tears. “Is he—did he—?”

Daryl nudged his nose up in a nod, his expression full of concern. “He’s gone.”

You felt that you already knew the answer but it still made your stomach churn. You laid more heavily into the pillow and shut your eyes, a pained expression crossing your face. When your eyes finally fluttered open again they were still a little glassy. Daryl wondered at this display of remorse, of regret you had for a man who had clearly taken you into the woods to kill you.

But what Daryl saw next was you clearly struggling against some flashback. You squeezed your eyes shut and your breathing quickened. Beads of sweat broke out on your hairline and your face tensed.

Daryl’s hand shot out to gently grab yours before he even knew what he was doing. “Hey.” He gave it a gentle squeeze. “Y/N. S’alright. You’re safe,” he drawled.

Your eyes opened and you glanced down at your hand in his. Daryl withdrew, suddenly self-conscious. You nodded and seemed to come back to the present.

You reached across yourself to grip your left shoulder, a wave of pain running through you and a grimace tightening your features. You felt thick gauze beneath your fingers. As you moved you became aware that you had many little rows of stitches on your arms and a few gashes wrapped up in bandages as well. Even your hands were cut up from your attempts to defend yourself. You extended your arm in front of yourself and took in the damage done by Shane’s knife.

“I don’t understand,” you said softly. “I thought for sure I was going to die out there.” The way you said it was so matter-of-fact and Daryl felt a rush of anger overwhelm him for a moment. Shane was lucky he was dead when Daryl had gotten there… He’d gotten off easy with a single round to the chest.

Hershel nodded. “You have a lot of strength in you. Rest. Everything is going to be just fine. You’re going to heal up and be back to normal before you know it, though that shoulder may need a little extra TLC.” The doctor took his leave and your eyes found Daryl’s again. He read worry on your face.

“What is it?” he drawled.

You gulped. “I’ll leave as soon as I’m healed up,” you said, now avoiding his eyes.

Daryl’s brow furrowed more deeply. “Why the hell would ya do that?”

His tone was forceful again and drew your eyes back to his. “The others—after what happened, I can’t imagine they want me around anymore.”

Daryl sighed heavily and righted his chair again, sinking down in it close at your bedside. “For once yer wrong about somethin’,” he said. “Nobody wants ya to leave. Ya didn’t do anything more than defend yourself, just like ya did with those men before. Anyone can glance at ya for one second and see that.”

You shifted in bed, trying to make your injured shoulder more comfortable, laying your other hand over it absently, and you chewed on the inside of your cheek. You still looked unsure.

“Y/N, when we found ya you had a damn knife sticking out of your shoulder.” He paused and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck a little anxiously. “I—” his voice seemed to catch in his throat. “I thought we lost ya.”

You peered at him curiously.

He leaned forward. “Listen to me, if anybody even so much as looks at ya like ya shouldn’t be here, they’ll have to deal with me.”

Daryl watched, a little anxiously, as your lips parted softly. “I’m not sure I deserve that from you,” you finally managed quietly. “You’ve already done enough. Daryl, I suspect you saved my life.” You gulped and stared down toward the edge of the blankets. “In more ways than one…”

The archer averted his eyes down toward his boots and chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, nervous and wavering between his insecurity and need to reassure you, not allowing himself to really think on what you’d just said. “Hey. Yer a part of this group, even if ya ain’t always felt like it.”

You studied him for a long moment before you spoke again. “So are you,” you said perceptively. His blue eyes shot up to meet yours and you gave him a weak smile. “Can you do me a favor?”

He nudged his nose up in a nod. “’Course.”

“Can—can you help me take a walk outside? I need some air,” you said quietly.

“Are ya sure yer up for that? Ya had surgery on that shoulder. Ya lost a lot of blood. Ya just woke up after bein’ out of it for three days. I don’t think it’s—” Concern creased his forehead.

You nodded. “I’m sure. You won’t let anything bad happen to me. I’ve at least learned that by now.” You felt a bloom of warmth in your chest as you spoke those words, coupled with the realization of their truth almost at the same time as they left your lips. That burst of heat you felt was reflected in a pink hue in the archer’s face and the tips of his ears.

He looked a little bashful but nodded and acquiesced to your request. “Alright. C’mon,” he said, gently taking your hand, avoiding the injuries carefully, and doing his best to ignore how nervous he felt when his fingers closed around it. He helped you out of bed and steadied you as you got to your feet. You glanced up at him, and your expression was so open and earnest he was frankly shocked by it. Could it really be that you were looking that way at him? His fingers were light under your elbow and his other hand was ghosting behind your back, centimeters away from making contact if needed as you started toward the door. “Ya alright?”

You nodded and gulped at the rush of feelings his hand around yours had brought, trying your hardest to ignore it. All you could do was nod. The two of you emerged onto the porch and Glenn and Maggie stood up immediately from their place nearby in the seating area. Both of them were all smiles to see you on your feet.

“You’re up,” Glenn said, looking at you with a bewildered smile. “This is amazing. It’s so good to see you awake!” His expression was nothing but kindness.

“How are you feelin’?” Maggie asked.

You nodded, glancing back over at Daryl and relaxing some as you saw one corner of his mouth was twitched up. His blue eyes were fixed on your face and he couldn’t look away. Seeing you actually awake and already on your feet was a huge relief after many days of sickening worry. “I feel alright. A little tired,” you admitted. Almost as if one cue you wavered a little on your feet, your knees feeling suddenly weak.

Daryl’s hand landed flush against the small of your back, immediately steadying you. “Easy,” he rumbled. “Ya alright?” You nodded, quite sure your cheeks were pink, and when you glanced back at him and mumbled a small “thanks” you thought maybe his cheeks were pink too. You turned back to Glenn and Maggie and your eyes drifted to all the numerous stitches on your arms. “I’m definitely a little worse for wear. But could have been worse…” you trailed off.

“Definitely,” Glenn said, giving you a sympathetic look. “We’re all just so glad you’re okay.”

Just at that moment you heard boots on the stairs and you looked up to see Rick, thumbs slung into his pockets as usual. Your heart rate increased with anxiety and you gulped at the sudden tightness in your throat. You’d killed his best friend. You’d pulled the trigger and killed Shane. “I’m sorry,” you said to the Sheriff.

But Rick was smiling at you with tears in his eyes, shaking his head slightly. “This is my fault,” he said suddenly, a rasp in his voice from emotion and your eyes widened in surprise. “This is my fault and I am so sorry. Daryl told me—and I should have listened. Shane was way more of a threat than I was willing to admit. This should have never happened to you,” he drawled. “And I hope you can forgive me at some point.”

You stared at him for a long moment, blinking in the sun and breathing in the freshness of the outside air. “It’s already forgiven,” you said softly, nodding at him.

Daryl stared at you in awe of how, despite everything you’d been through, you still could extend that forgiveness so easily.

Daryl sensed some shift in you and his brow drew down low over his eyes. “Let’s get ya back to bed. C’mon.”

You allowed him to help you back through the farmhouse and even into bed as you struggled not to put any weight on your left shoulder, wincing as you moved. Daryl watched you settled in and stood a bit awkwardly at your bedside. He nervously ran a hand back through his hair. “Well, I’ll let ya get some sleep,” he drawled, turning to leave.

“Daryl.”

He turned back to glance at you and your expression was a bit hesitant. “Hmm?”

“Would you stay? …please?”

He didn’t need to hear anything else. He planted himself right back down in the chair at the side of the bed and watched as some of the tension on your face eased.

“Thanks,” you said quietly with a sigh. Daryl watched as you closed your eyes and shifted, trying to make your shoulder more comfortable, but a moment later your eyes fluttered open again and met his. “He put the gun to my forehead,” you suddenly said quietly.

Daryl’s stomach plummeted and then swirled with anger. He stared back at you, incredulous with rage easily readable on his face.

“I made my peace with the fact that he was going to pull the trigger.” Your voice was somewhat disconnected, distant. “But then… he hesitated. And I took the chance and I fought.”

Daryl gulped. “Ya made it. Yer alright.”

You nodded and looked at him for a long moment, seemingly on the edge of saying something else, but you finally just sighed and your eyelids, now heavy with exhaustion, closed again. Soon, you were asleep. And Daryl stayed at your bedside and drifted off himself. _ _ _ _ _ _

Some time later You tossed down the game stringer, loaded with squirrels, in front of Daryl. “Ten,” you said, a wide grin spreading across your face. “What’d ya get?”

He looked up at you and affected an unamused expression. “Nine,” he drawled, pointing to his harvest waiting to be cleaned.

“Ha! I win again,” you said, absolutely brimming with joy. “I thought you said you were good at hunting?” you teased him.

He rolled his eyes at you and looked over as you sank down beside him. “Ya beat me by one. Ain’t exactly a landslide, is it?”

“A win is a win,” you announced with satisfaction.

He rolled his eyes again, but his expression quickly turned to concern as he caught you rubbing your shoulder. “Sore?” he asked you, his brow drawing down. “Maybe ya shouldn’t be hunting with that bow again yet.”

Your face softened as you caught his blue eyes. “I’m fine. It’s just a little tired, that’s all. Hershel says I need to build my strength up again.” Daryl’s eyes caught on the scar where the knife had been lodged into your shoulder. It was matched by many smaller ones on your arms, all with the same pink hue due to their newness. He could also see the brand on your arm, 1048, the remnant from your time under The Copperheads. Before, you would wear long sleeves in the height of the Georgian summer just to avoid anyone seeing that mark. Now there were a lot more scars added to it, but you didn’t seem to care. It was like you finally had a weight lifted off your shoulders and you felt free for the first time in a long time, unencumbered by your past.

“We should get ya a crossbow, like mine. Then ya wouldn’t have to hold the draw with that shoulder.”

“I like my old-fashioned recurve bow,” you said, pulling it over onto your lap and looking down at it fondly. “Especially because I can still beat you with it,” you smiled at him.

Daryl seemed suddenly fidgety and you picked up on it immediately. His eyes turned down and his expression was suddenly serious.

“What? What is it?”

He shrugged, still seemingly avoiding your eyes. “Can I ask ya somethin’?”

“Mhm,” you hummed. “Always.”

He flicked his thumb along the sharp edge of his knife. “How—with everything that ya’ve been through, how come ya ain’t just angry? I’m angry just thinkin’ about it. And it didn’t even happen to me.”

“Mmm,” hummed thoughtfully. Your eyes turned out across the verdant pasture, toward the trees you’d spent the day under. “I am angry sometimes. But,” you shrugged, your right hand shielding over the scar on your left shoulder absently, “being angry doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t fix it. It all still happened.”

Your eyes grew a bit far-off, a bit distant. Daryl took several forced, deep inhales and gathered his courage before reaching over and taking your hand in his, pulling it away from your shoulder.

You looked over at him in surprise. Your hand felt small between his. Your gaze was questioning. Daryl’s heart was pounding so hard in his ears he couldn’t hear anything else. He gulped, trying to clear his throat so he could talk. “‘M gonna make sure nothin’ else bad happens to ya. As best I can,” he murmured.

You nodded almost imperceptibly, your eyes still a little wide from the unexpected action of him taking your hand in his. “Only if I can do the same thing for you.”

You saw him gulp nervously before he nudged his nose up in a nod at you. “Yeh, I think—I think that’d be alright,” he said.

You gave him a half-smile that he found incredibly endearing and his nerves finally got the better of him and he released your hand, clearing his throat and awkwardly rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I’m, uhh, just gonna go grab some more firewood,” he drawled, standing up abruptly and internally cursing at himself as he left you sitting alone by the fire. Fuckin’ coward. Despite all his attempts at denial, Daryl had realized over the last couple weeks that he couldn’t ignore how he felt about you anymore, but now he was stranded in this place between where he was and where he wanted to be with no idea how to bridge the gap. He wandered back with an armload of firewood, internally frustrated and kicking himself, but his frustration vanished almost immediately when he had dumped it next to the fire circle and glanced at you again. You were looking at him with that open expression, this time with a little inquisitive lift in one of your eyebrows.

“Hmm?” he hummed, pulling his bottom lip back in between his teeth and worrying it anxiously.

You tilted your head toward the place he’d previously been sitting and he gulped as he sat down, still feeling your eyes steady on him. He thought that now you looked a little nervous. “Can I ask you something?” you said quietly.

The archer nodded, nervous flutters flitting to life in his stomach.

“Umm… is it just me, or have you slept like shit, too, since I moved out of your tent?”

Once you were no longer staying in the house healing up, Daryl had moved your things out of his tent for you since there was no longer any need to worry about Shane. It wasn’t that you had asked him to, or that he’d even wanted to, it just seemed like he should…Afterwards, you’d actually moved your whole campsite closer to his, directly next to it, but you still found yourself tossing and turning on your cot, unable to fall asleep or stay asleep.

Daryl stared back at you for a moment in disbelief. He’d slept like garbage since you’d moved back, and he hadn’t even had the heart to fill the cleared space you’d once occupied with the stuff he previously had kept there. Now the emptiness loomed, drawing his eyes, the physical manifestation of how he felt something was just missing. When you slept on your cot across from him, he’d wake up in the middle of the night and look over at the shadow of your sleeping form. He always felt some swell of relief and maybe something else he couldn’t quite identify… Something about listening to your calm breathing always relaxed him and he found himself able to shut his eyes and drift off again. Maybe he’d gotten used to it. Maybe he shouldn’t have. But since you’d left, he’d been restless and anxious at night, wishing the material of his tent and yours would vanish so he could check on you.

Your nerves were growing with each moment of silence as you anxiously watched him, waiting for him to say something. “No, I—“ he had to clear his throat, nerves making his voice come out strangely strangled, “I’ve—” he let out a scoff of a laugh, almost incredulous he was about to say it to you, “I’ve slept like shit since ya left.”

“…really?”

He nodded, finally meeting your eyes again. “Mhm. Can’t fall asleep, can’t stay asleep, just feels like I lay there all the time w—”

You grabbed him by his lapel and pulled him toward you, pressing your lips softly to his, your eyes shut tightly, overwhelmed with nerves even while you melted into him. Your fingers cupped his face gently, like he was something fragile and Daryl was reeling.

By the time he reached back for you and got over his surprise you were already withdrawing and he blinked, bewildered, as he took in the wide-eyed expression on your face and your partially parted lips.

“Uhh—was that—okay?” you breathed, anxiety ratcheting up with each passing moment of uncertainty.

“Ya,” he drawled. It spilled from him like warm molasses. He watched as your face broke into a relieved smile and your cheeks burned pink.

“Good,” you murmured, unable to look at him any longer.

“Only I—I wasn’t ready,” he murmured. Your eyes flickered up to his again. He gulped nervously and reached out to move a strand of hair out of your eyes before clasping your face. His blue eyes were flickering between yours and then down to your lips. You could tell he was nervous and it brought a small smile to your face. Your eyes fluttered closed and you leaned toward him, only having to wait a second before you felt his lips crashing against yours.

This time the kiss was heated and urgent and he pulled you into him gently with his hand at the nape of your neck. You happily leaned in, smiling against his lips, your hand pressing flush to his strong chest and the other landing lightly on his side, driving him crazy. Daryl’s hand smoothed over your shoulder and down your bare arm, electricity rising in its wake.

When you broke apart this time, you were both all stunned smiles again, though now you couldn’t look away from each other.

“So, uhh—ya wanna stay with me tonight? Sounds like we both need some real sleep, ya know, and I dunno…” Daryl wasn’t used to asking for what he wanted so blatantly, or making himself vulnerable, but somehow you brought it out of him and he was willing to jump off that ledge if it meant he got to kiss you and touch you and hold you all night… things he had thought about plenty when he was lying on his cot, unable to sleep, but never saw as a reality.

You nodded, that same smile you always gave him glowing on your face. He was constantly amazed by the light you exuded; despite everything you’d been through… everything you’d shared with him.

He needed that. He needed the light. He needed you. You gave him hope.

That night you settled in against him, nervous but melting into the safeness of his arms around you. Daryl worried he was too overwhelmed to sleep, but moment by moment he realized how natural having you against him felt, how safe, how perfect, and before either of you spoke another word you both drifted off in blissful silence.

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon twd #the walking dead #twd fanfics #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #daryl dixon x reader #fanfics #writers of tumblr #twd drabbles

721 notes · View notes

armitageshux · 2 years

Text

sksksksk they literally banned a graphic novel educating children about holocaust bc there’s a naked mouse in it and someone says the word “damn” like

when I say that the vocabulary of people who use “but the children!” on this site is the same as the vocabulary of people who use the nudity of cartoon mice to encourage ignorance and promotion of holocaust denialism, this is what I’m talking about

people throw around phrases like we shouldn’t “enable” and “promote” so-called “problematic” themes but what they really want, is to be steeped in absolute ignorance when it comes to subjects that make them uncomfortable, subjects they find disturbing, subjects that they, themselves, prefer to stay ignorant about, and in order to do so, they have to insist on imposing the same ignorance onto everyone else

you want to censor a picture of tits on a mouse, so you eliminate education about holocaust altogether. sound familiar?

if people don’t see the parallels between this nonsense, and how the statement “children shouldn’t read about suicide” has resulted in a tumblr tag full of articles, tips, and emergency help numbers about suicide being completely erased, therefore denying everyone else crucial, sometimes even lifesaving information they need, then those people are as fckn dense as this Tony Allman dude pretends to be

because nothing that happens in social media spaces, regardless of whether they’re “frivolous fandom spaces” as some people prefer to think of them, exists in a fckn vacuum

you, personally, want you child to know nothing about holocaust? fine. idgaf. you can keep your own children as ignorant and uneducated as you please, at least until social services come knocking at your door. people know this, and this is why the argument is never “I don’t want my child to see this.” because then, the responsibility falls on the parent. the parent, who has an infinite number of tools at their disposal, from home schooling, to a child lock on their tv, to a kid filter on the websites they allow their kids to access, to every aspect of that child’s life. and if they choose not to use those tools, then it is their choice, and their failed responsibility

that’s why it’s always “but the hypothetical children shouldn’t see this,” and why it rarely ever comes from people who actually have children

it’s not actually about children at all, but a means of justifying and promoting ignorance, and worse, creating an environment where this ignorance can be held up as some ideal of moral superiority

the post I made about censorship and banned tags on tumblr is still making the rounds, and there’s at least one person a day, some individual who has no reading comprehension, who feels the need to defend the purity and content censorship police in the notes

no, you can’t blame the apple policy on the tumblr purity police. the idea that these ignorant children are influencing anything on a large scale, except maybe each other, is as preposterous as the insistence that 2% of content on ao3 can somehow influence norms and customs of a few billion people

but their mission statement, and the mission statement of Mr. Tony Allman we-should-keep-children-ignorant-of-holocaust-bc-a-mouse-has-tits-and-some-mice-die, are the same fckn thing, coming from the same place, armed with the same arguments

and whether the subject is keeping hypothetical, imaginary children “protected” from knowledge about the holocaust, or “protected” from knowledge about anything else the purity police finds “problematic,” their purpose is the same

to censor and eradicate and impose ignorance and claim moral superiority while doing so

#maus #art spiegelman #censorship #purity police #tumblr tag ban #text #it’s a very simple fckn concept #you have the right to your willful ignorance #you even have the right to impose it on your own children #within the boundaries of the law #but your freedom to do so ends where mine begins

82 notes · View notes

jisungsmochi · 3 years

Text

traitor - lee jeno

starting my SOUR series !! based on songs by olivia rodrigo, here is the first installment.

player (?) jeno x female reader // friends to lovers but then goes all downhill from there

word count: 7.1k

summary: “god i wish i had thought this through, before i went and fell inlove with you”

you were more than aware of jeno’s inability to keep it in his pants, but after a reckless one night stand, you finally understood what it was like to be on the receiving end. but when jeno slips back into his old habits, will you have the heart to move on? i mean how could you get over somebody you didn’t even date...

a/n: sorry for any mistakes as usual oop

tagging bestie: @skrtbabe <3

Brown guilty eyes, and

Little white lies, yeah

I played dumb, but I always knew

“god what did you do now?” you shook your head at the raven haired boy with a blank expression. he shrugged his shoulders, eyebrows perking up,

“i just decided we were better off as friends” ah yes, lee jeno’s code for ‘she was just a fling, i couldn’t care less’. you only nodded, how else were you supposed to respond? you weren’t exactly his closest friend, but he considered you enough of a friend due to your closeness to jaemin.

you knew that he was a player, finding some sort of entertainment, getting girls to fall for him. you couldn’t really blame them, he was strikingly handsome and had his way with words. the only reason he hadn’t tried anything on you yet was because you didn’t exactly “fit his type”. also, jaemin pleaded him not to, in order to avoid any awkward situations within your friendship. jeno was occasionally playful with you, but you viewed it more of a sister-brother type thing, rather than him trying to flirt.

jaemin has introduced you to jeno near the end of high school. the three of you attended plenty of parties together ( well as many as you could before college started ). your first semester of college consisted of intense study sessions with jaemin in the library, jeno occasionally tagging along. you were both sure he was failing his classes but he didn’t seem to care much. his main focus consisting of getting wasted at as many frat parties he could.

finals were done and dusted so after your last exam, you got ready for some random frat party being held tonight. you were meeting up with jaemin prior,

“time to party or what?” you gleamed at your best friend, jumping onto his bed as he curled into a ball. you frowned at the sight,

“i’m not feeling so good, you should go without me! go with jeno” jaemin groaned, his stomach pains getting the best of him.

“oh damn, want me to keep you company tonight instead?” you sat next to him, forcing him to sit up with you.

“no no, i’m probably going to take some meds and then knock out for the rest of the night. just go with jeno, it won’t be so bad! i’ll tell him to take care of you” jaemin assured, making sure you were on board. you let out a soft sigh,

“it’s so awkward between jeno and i, right? does he even like me, as a friend?” you lay your head on jaemin’s shoulder, feeling him softly chuckle at your words.

“jeno just thinks you’re really sweet. like you have this innocence to you. he doesn’t wanna be a bad influence or anything, that’s all” you just nod, that was somewhat comforting to know. before you could respond, there was a knock on jaemin’s door. the one and only, lee jeno was standing there in all this glory.

“yeah y/n, i don’t wanna be a bad influence” he smirked as he entered the room. you felt slightly embarrassed he had eavesdropped on the conversation but jaemin decided to interject.

“take her to the party tonight, she needs to have some fun” jaemin shoved you towards jeno, causing you to bump into

his shoulder. he just smirked, nodding along to his friend’s wishes.

“come on, i’ll show you a good time” jeno practically dragged you out of the room. his grip on your wrist was quite firm, he didn’t let go until you both reached his car. jeno opened the passenger side door for you, gesturing for you to enter. jeno made his way to the driver’s side, a constant grin on his face.

“surprised to see you so dressed up” he started the car. you were taken back at first, but this was just part of your usual banter.

“so glad you noticed, i did this all for you” you grinned, feeling quite flushed in the face. jeno just let out a soft chuckle, finding your confidence amusing.

“you’re not drinking tonight?” you questioned, looking over to him.

“nah, kinda trying to cut out alcohol from my diet if i wanna have a healthy liver you know?” his eyes flicked towards you, watching as you started fixing your makeup using your phone camera.

“but don’t worry sweetheart, i’ll take good care of you so jaemin doesn’t beat my ass. don’t get too wasted or you might do something you regret” jeno warned but his words went in one ear and out the other. you knew he was going to ditch you midway through, probably off with another one of his hookups. you didn’t need a babysitter, you were perfectly capable to party on your own.

long story short, you got bored after a few drinks, now sitting on a swinging hammock on the porch of the house. as expected, jeno had left your side a while ago, off to greet his own friends. you were scrolling on your phone, thinking of texting jaemin about how he wasn’t missing out on much. but you were interrupted when jeno sat down next to you.

“bored already?” he snuggled a little too close to comfort, softly swinging the both of you in the hammock.

“you could say that” you shrugged, switching off your phone, giving him all your attention. he looked really handsome in this light, strands of his hair sticking in random places, a slight flush to his cheeks due to the cold.

“wanna get out of here then? i’ll take you home” he stood up, offering you his hand.

“wow you’re being such a gentleman tonight” you snickered, taking his hand in yours as you strolled to his car.

“i’ll always be a gentleman for you”

why did he keep saying these things?

the ride to your apartment wasn’t as awkward as you initially thought. jeno insisted you play some music, his fingers lingering near your knee, tapping ever so softly on the surface of your skin. you held your breath at the touch, he was just being a good friend...right?

as jeno pulled up to your apartment building, part of you didn’t want the night to end. he looked over at you with his glorious brown eyes and you were mesmerised. jeno noticed the way you were looking at him, feeling quite giddy with himself. he had always thought you were pretty, in a cute, dorky way. but tonight, you looked electrifying. he was in awe.

as you looked into his eyes, you felt yourself lean closer to him. jeno couldn’t hide his grin, leaning to meet you in the middle.

“may i kiss you?” you asked nervously, which only added to how adorable jeno found you. his hand met your cheek, softly stroking your skin before nodding,

“don’t even need to ask me, love” he quickly pressed his lips onto yours, giving you instant butterflies.

it finally hit you, holy shit, you were kissing lee jeno right now.

you allowed his tongue to enter your mouth, deepening the kiss. it felt like his lips were meant for yours, in a non-cliche way. he was so gentle, yet so passionate with you. he pulled away, leaving you feeling empty inside.

“how far do you wanna go tonight?” that question had you stunned. you weren’t the type for one night stands, but this was jeno. it was like second nature to him. you almost didn’t even have to think twice, you just needed his lips on yours again.

“all the way” you bit your lip anxiously, awaiting his response. jeno’s eyes widened, taken aback by your new found confidence.

“say less, but we should probably get into bed or something” he chuckled, giving you a warm feeling in your stomach. you could practically hear jaemin’s warnings going off like a siren in your head. but when jeno pulled you into your apartment, gently placing you on the bed, lips constantly attached to yours, you drowned out any other thoughts that were occupying your mind.

college was all about new experiences. so naturally, having a random hookup with an attractive guy would be on the list. just for once, you wanted to know what it was like to hookup with lee jeno, even if you were just another number to him.

the very next morning, your eyes fluttered open, taking a few moments to fully immerse yourself in the new day ahead. your gaze finally drags over to the sleepy boy next to you. you couldn’t help but admire his side profile, especially his plump lips.

“stop staring, you’re making me shy” he suddenly grumbled, pulling you closer to him, nuzzling his face in your chest. you immediately froze, of course he was awake.

“last night was fun” he mumbled into your skin, softly smirking to himself. you just sighed, he wasn’t wrong per se, you just weren’t sure what this meant for your friendship.

“y-yeah, it was” was all you managed to say, jeno felt there was something off, moving his head to face you. he pulled your chin to meet his face, placing a gently kiss to your lips.

“did you like it?” you knew he was just being cocky right now, but you couldn’t help but engage in his banter.

“nope, worst hookup of my life!” you exaggerated before burying your face into his chest. he shook his head playfully, stroking your hair as you wrapped your arms around his torso.

“what will happen once jaemin finds out?” jeno started to worry, the last thing he needed was jaemin beating his ass for hooking up with his best friend.

“he’ll be mad for like five seconds and probably scold you too” jeno raised his eyebrows, preparing himself for the confrontation.

“there isn’t much he can do about it though” he placed another gentle kiss to your forehead, continuing to stroke your hair.

“let’s do something today, just you and me. you can pick what we do” jeno suddenly offered, causing you to perk up and sit against the headboard.

“well i need to do some grocery shopping, and some chores around the place, it’s kinda messy if you haven’t noticed. but that’s gonna be so boring-“

“i’ll keep you company”

“come again?”

“i’ll help you go shopping and clean, it’s no biggie” jeno smiled softly at you, making your knees go weak. you hoped he wasn’t just been nice because you had slept together...

your trip to the grocery store was surprisingly fun. jeno pushed the cart as you mentally ticked off your list of items to buy. he would make small conversation, giving his opinion on which brands were better. he always made sure to walk very close to you, despite pushing the cart. it was like he never left your side the entire trip. and once you got back to your apartment, jeno offered to carry all the bags, making you flustered. he didn’t have to be so...nice?

“you can just leave the bags on the bench, i’ll unpack” you smiled at him, gently tapping his back. jeno nodded, quickly pulling you by the waist, your breath hitched as he placed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“i’ll make some brunch” he smiled softly, pulling away, starting to heat up a pan on the stove. you were still in shock by his display of affection. is this what he did with all his hookups?

you didn’t have the heart to tell jeno to go home, but he seemed to have understood that he had overstayed his welcome.

“i should probably get going, you know, to

shower and all” he had a smug look on his face that you couldn’t help but giggle at. you led him to the door, the sun having just set.

“i’ll see you around i guess” you tried to make this send off as normal as possible, but jeno had other plans.

“no goodbye kiss?”

“huh”

“ah i see, you’re just shy, see you around y/n” he pulled you in for a side hug, waving softly as he made his way out the door. this had to be a one time thing.

it had been over a week since you had last seen jeno. and naturally you filled jaemin in on all the events of that night. to say he was shocked as an understatement,

“i cant believe YOU slept with HIM. you’re gorgeous, the prettiest best friend ever, but really? jeno?” jaemin shook his head. you weren’t sure if he was disappointedly or just surprised.

“i-i know. it didn’t mean to play out that way. he’s just really charming. and he’s kind of a gentleman” you couldn’t help but feel some heat rise to your cheeks. jaemin picked up immediately, of course you were already smitten.

“i say this in the most loving way possible, don’t get too involved with him. yeah you guys hooked up, but he is not the relationship type. at all. i don’t want to see you hurt” jaemin pulled you to his side as you both sat with your backs against the headboard of your bed.

“yeah, i’ll be careful” you say out loud...‘or atleast i’ll try to be’ you thought to yourself. this was going to be harder than you anticipated.

seeing jeno around campus was bound to happen. you assumed he would just shoot you a wave or a head nod to greet you but you were wrong. he would offer to walk with you to your classes, even hold your bag for you. he’d even ask if you wanted to go off campus to have lunch. you didn’t exactly reject any of these offers, but you couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy. did he suddenly like you? or is he just trying to not make things awkward between you both? whatever it was, it wasn’t helping your growing crush on the dark haired heartthrob. you were in trouble.

one day, jeno had invited himself over to prepare for his upcoming economics quiz. you tried your best to help him study, but then you remembered...lee jeno doesn’t ‘study’, he winged almost every exam and barely passed. C’s get degrees (atleast that was his mindset).

“i’m tired, let’s pick this up again tomorrow” jeno yawned, pushing his textbook to the side as he sprawled his whole body onto your bedroom floor. you were seated on your bed, looking down at the hopeless boy.

“are you sure? we only have one more set of practice questions to go through” you pout, actually finding enjoyment helping him study. jeno shook his head profusely,

“no i’d rather hang out with you” he jumped onto your bed, landing right next to you, wrapping you in his arms.

“i mean, if that’s okay with you” you just nodded, feeling yourself relax in his embrace. jeno gently pulled you down so you were both laying down, facing eachother.

your eyes flickered over his features, his structured nose and jaw, his glimmering eyes and his soft lips. your fingers made their way to graze over his lips, causing him to pout.

“you’re so cute” he mumbled. you moved your hand to hide your face, feeling more flustered than ever.

“why are you getting all shy with me now? did you forget that we had sex? or was that just a really good dream?” he continued to tease, poking at your sides, causing you to let out a loud laugh. you immediately placed your hand over your mouth, feeling embarrassed by the sound that had just left it. jeno raised an eyebrow at you, slightly frowning.

“hey i like making you laugh, so i expect to hear it!”

“s-sorry, i really don’t know why i’m being like this. i-i just, it’s all catching me off guard you know?” you sighed, allowing jeno’s fingers to intertwine with yours.

“it’s alright, i find it endearing” he smiled as he started stroking your hair with his free hand.

“c-can you spend the night?” you suddenly asked, feeling his hand stop in your hair.

“i was hoping you’d ask me that” jeno ducked his head to press his lips against yours. you didn’t want to admit how much you had missed that feeling. but something about the way he kissed you, washed all your cares away. even if there wasn’t any romance behind it, it still felt electrifying.

this was how most nights were spent with jeno. some light studying, some making out, dinner, cuddling, and then more making out before you fell asleep. it was a constant cycle that you didn’t want to stop. he would always compliment you, whether it was your hair or your makeup or your outfit. practically anything he thought you should be praised for, he would compliment you. his words held greater meaning to you than they did to him. you could feel yourself getting flustered each time you received a compliment, while jeno seemed nonchalant. maybe that was just how he was.

one night, jeno decides to stay over, claiming that his heater was broken at his apartment and your bed was warm. but it was code for ‘let’s hook up and fall asleep in eachother’s arms again’. you laid beside him, wrapped tightly in your blanket as jeno pressed soft kisses on your forehead. you started tracing random figures on his chest as he quietly hummed random tunes to get you to sleep. but something was keeping you awake. jeno was hard to read, he never truly expressed his honest feelings towards people. maybe that was just his way of not having to cope with drama. but the constant push and pull between you two had caused many sleepless nights and constant doubt for you. confessing to jeno never crossed your mind prior, but it was the only thing occupying it right now. if you kept it to yourself any longer, you’d probably explode.

you had noticed that jeno’s attendance at frat parties had declined, opting to either hanging out with you or jaemin. he had already quit drinking, not finding much enjoyment anymore. he had also been trying to get above a C average in his classes. you’d say something switched in him, so could it be possible that he may like you too?

“what’s on your mind, pretty girl?” jeno suddenly snapped you out of your thoughts, causing you pull your fingers from his chest.

“nothing” you whispered flatly, but jeno was not convinced.

“come on, something is going on in that

pretty little head of yours, i can see it on your face” he smirked.

“what do you mean?”

“you have this cute frowning face whenever you’re over thinking” you suddenly changed your expression, pulling

yourself to side up as he remained still. you let out a deep sigh, knowing that your next words will change everything.

“i think i like you”

you felt jeno stiffen under the covers, his demeanour suddenly becoming cold. of course you had expected this type of reaction, but seeing it right infront of you, made you want to cry.

“y/n, i don’t think you mean that”

your breath hitched, your throat felt tight.

“i mean, i just- i think you’re amazing. of course i do. but i don’t do relationships. i don’t do feelings or love and that bullshit. atleast not right now, i don’t think i can handle it” each of his words felt like a stab through the heart. how did you misjudge this so badly?

“i fucked things up, didn’t i?” jeno looked you in the eyes sympathetically. of course he felt pity for you.

“no you didn’t. i’m still going to be around. i just can’t be the guy for you” why did you have to go and make things so complicated?

jeno senses you were still overthinking, he smoothed bits of hair from your face, gently tucking them behind your ear.

“don’t frown, pretty girl. i’m not going anywhere” he pulled you closer to him, making you lay down, face to face with him. you wanted to avoid looking into his eyes but he maintained the intense contact with you.

“i’m tired” was all you could think of saying. jeno just nodded,

“rest well” he pulled you into just chest, softly stroking your hair as you closed your eyes. you felt a singular tear stream down your face, landing on jeno’s forearm. he sighed, knowing he hurt you. but he was selfish, he just couldn’t let you go. he wouldn’t let you go.

You talked to her, maybe did even worse

I kept quiet so I could keep you

jeno hadn’t been around lately. it was probably for the best, you guessed he just didn’t want you to get attached.

you were walking to your final class of the day, passing by multiple students rushing off in different directions. you were careful not to bump into anything or anyone, but you had the worst luck, feeling yourself slam into a firm figure. your eyes focused on the boy infront of you.

“jeno” your eyes lit up unknowingly, as he greeted you with a smile.

“oh hey, careful there” he helped you remain stable, placing his hand on your shoulder.

“it’s been a while, i was thinking you could come over tonight and we cou-“

“there you are! been looking everywhere for you!” you watched as an unfamiliar girl came up to jeno, leaning into his side. her gaze waved over you, a slight scowl forming.

“y-yeah i’m just talking to a friend, uh this is karina” he introduces to you. what the hell was this? a new girl already?

“i’m y/n, jeno may have mentioned me before” you kindly smile, or atleast you tried your best to.

“oh he’s never mentioned your name, but nice to meet you” she looked over to the boy next to her, “jeno, can you walk me to my class? i’m still kinda lost” she frowned. jeno just nodded in compliance, leading her through the hallway as he sent you a small wave. so this was how it was gonna be.

“i mean, who the hell is she? how does she just waltz up in here and suddenly have jeno’s attention like that?” you frustratedly rant to jaemin, who was innocently eating his lunch as you approached him. he practically saw smoke coming out of your ears from how annoyed you were. he had never seen you like this before,

“hey, back track. explain properly” jaemin sighs, pulling you to sit down next to him as he continued eating. you finally got a hold of yourself, taking a few deep breaths,

“her name is karina or something, she’s suddenly hanging around jeno now. and he’s been avoiding me lately” jaemin’s eyes widened slightly, sirens going off in your mind.

“what do you know that i don’t?”

“it’s not my place to say” you scoff,

“not your place? since when have we kept secrets from eachother. i admitted to you that i’ve been having sex with jeno yet you can’t tell me this thing?” jaemin knew you were partially right, but he didn’t want to crush your spirit more than it already was.

“fine, karina was jeno’s first girlfriend. like first love type bullshit. he never really got over her, even when she moved away. i guess she’s back for good” your heart started to ache. gosh, this stupid infatuation with jeno was getting out of control.

“you think he still loves her?” jaemin looked at you with solemn eyes,

“i don’t know, he doesn’t really talk about her much. if anything, i sort of want him to choose you. i think you’re good for him, even if he doesn’t see it yet” you took this as jaemin just trying to cheer you up, you didn’t believe a single word he said. how well did you really know jeno? he had never mentioned karina to you before, nor that she was his first love. i mean, why would he? you were barely friends...right?

And ain't it funny how you ran to her 

The second that we called it quits?

And ain't it funny how you said you were friends?

Now it sure as hell don't look like it

jeno was at your apartment once again, his legs dangling over yours as you both typed on your laptops. your mind was trying it’s hardest to focus on your assignment that was due in less than five hours, but you were too distracted by jeno’s presence. it wasn’t unusual for him to hang out with you, but you felt slightly uncomfortable, knowing he had also been hanging out with karina more often. maybe you were just being paranoid, but how could you not be?

“quit staring and finish your work” jeno poked you playfully, shutting the lid of his laptop before moving to lay next to you. he leant against your shoulder, making your heart flutter.

“i-i am. why would i want to look at your gross face anyway?”

“stop denying it” he just snuggled closer to you. of course you couldn’t deny it. before you could respond, jeno’s phone started ringing. he quickly jumped out of your bed, hoping you hadn’t seen the caller ID. but you did. it was the one person you were hoping he had stopped talking to.

“sorry about that, it was uh just jaemin” jeno walked back into your room, acting as if nothing happened. you pierced your eyes at him, was he really going to lie straight to your face?

“i know it was karina. you don’t have to hide it from me” you shrug, pretending to type on your laptop.

“o-oh uh sorry. we’re just friends, you know. incase you were worried” was he being for real?

“why would i be worried? just because i confessed to you doesn’t mean you’re entitled to like me back. if you wanna see her then go see her, don’t use me liking you as an excuse” you felt pure frustration take over your body. you had never experienced this feeling before, even jeno was shocked.

“it’s not like that, i swear. i don’t want stuff between us to...end” jeno moved closer to you, placing his hand to your cheek, gently stroking the skin. there he goes again. these small gestures had you swooning, you just couldn’t help it.

you scrunched your nose at the contact, causing jeno to smile softly.

“so cute” he tapped your nose before engulfing you in his embrace. your assignment was long forgotten once he started kissing you. this was all too overwhelming emotionally, but physically, this felt just right.

just when things were beginning to feel normal again, jaemin had a few words for jeno.

“you can’t keep playing her, it’s time to come clean”

“give me time, y/n’s sensitive, i don’t wanna hurt her too bad” jaemin rolled his eyes.

“you’re being a real dick about this. if you have feelings for karina, end it with y/n now, or else i’ll tell her myself” jeno grabbed his arm, pleading him to hear him out.

“please don’t. promise me you won’t. i know it’s going to hurt her, but i want to do it on my own” jaemin wanted nothing more but to call you right now and have jeno confess over the phone. but he knew you deserved to hear it from jeno in person. all that the two boys could think about was how crushed you’d be after hearing the truth. but the truth will always come out one way or another.

y/n: hey jeno, i’m officially assignment free! come over and hang tonight :))

jeno: hey sorry, hella swamped with a group assignment at the moment. will make it up to you tomorrow!

you nodded to yourself after reading his message. you were proud of him for working so hard in his studies nowadays, it really seemed like he was improving. you opted to spend a night to yourself, switching on the television and eating an excessive amount of snacks from your kitchen cabinet. as usual, you were on instagram, wondering what others were up to now that most assignments were done and dusted. lee donghyuck had the most wild and sometimes, disturbing, instagram stories but you were always curious as to what he was up to. but this time you regretted it greatly. seeing a video of jeno making out with karina against the wall shattered you. you immediately locked your phone, switching the tv off completely. your body felt numb, why weren’t you reacting? why weren’t you crying? or even mad? how could you be mad...you weren’t even dating him. how pathetic of you to believe he would be loyal after practically rejecting you. you felt like a fool for falling for him. there was no way he could sweet talk his way out of this. the pain was too much for you to bare, resulting in you deciding to take a social media detox...well a detox from everyone really. you became more sheltered and isolated than ever. it was just too good to be true.

You betrayed me

And I know that you'll never feel sorry For the way I hurt, yeah

You talked to her when we were together

Loved you at your worst, but that didn't matter

“y/n, honey, you need to come out and eat okay?” you regretted giving jaemin a spare key to your apartment. he would enter as he wished, cooking you a warm meal before sitting outside your bedroom door as he begged for you to come out. you hated making him worry like this but you physically couldn’t get yourself to leave your bed. the same bed you and jeno had slept in together many times. you swore you could still smell traces of his scent on the pillow sheets.

“please just go home, jae” you groaned.

“no, i’m your friend and i need to see that you’ve atleast showered and taken care of yourself” his words made you want to cry. he cared for you so much, but he wasn’t the one you wanted to hear these things from. for the first time in what felt like weeks, you stood up from your bed and shuffled towards the door. you turned the door knob slowly, gaining jaemin’s attention. he immediately stood up, eyes scanning over your state.

“oh honey” he pulled you into his chest, gently stroking your hair.

“has he said anything?” you manage to murmur, catching jaemin off guard.

“n-no. atleast not to me. i’m sorry”

“why the hell are you sorry? he should be sorry. he should be grovelling to me to forgive him. but now he’s off, with some other girl. like i never meant a damn thing to him” you scoffed, pushing past jaemin as he trailed behind you with the tray of your now, cold, meal. you sat down on your couch, wrapping yourself in a small blanket.

“do you think he liked her this whole time and just didn’t tell me?” jaemin’s eyes shifted from left to right, which he only did when he withheld information.

“y-you knew?” he slowly nodded, the guilt eating him up inside.

“i wanted to tell you, i promise. but he insisted that he would let you down in person” jaemin tried to explain. you couldn’t even be mad at him. it must have been so obvious that jeno was into karina the whole time. you were just another name to his list. nothing more.

“am i pathetic for still liking him?” jaemin let out a sigh, unsure of how to answer. but that reaction was a good enough indication that you were indeed pathetic, for wanting a guy that didn’t want you. lee jeno was a traitor.

another night was spent alone. you were simply catching up on your usual shows, using it as a distraction from the pouring rain. what you didn’t expect was a series of loud knocks on your front door. who the hell wanted to visit you in the early hours of the morning? you proceeded with caution, twisting the door knob, allowing the door to slowly swing open. your eyes met those of the boy who broke you. you wanted nothing more than to shut the door right in his face, but he stopped you before you could even move.

“i-we need to talk” he slurred his words. he seemed drunk, but you weren’t fully sure. you could have sworn he quit drinking months ago, but the sight infront of you was telling you otherwise. jeno suddenly slumped towards you, his weak figure now latching onto you. you quickly shut the door, dragging him to your couch.

“i cant believe you’ve been drinking again” you felt disappointed. he was doing so well.

“couldn’t help myself, life is shitty. i lost you, karina and i are fighting. jaemin is giving me the cold shoulder. oh and i failed my last assignment, guess i can’t even finish the year” you had never seen him so defeated like this, you started feeling pity for him.

“but that’s no reason for you to drink yourself to this state. i’m really disappointed in you. i know you can do better” you sighed before rushing to your kitchen, grabbing him a bottle of water. jeno took slow sips from the bottle, eyes avoiding yours. there was still one question lingering in your mind,

“why are you even at my apartment? don’t you have your own?” you didn’t want to come off as rude but jeno couldn’t deny he felt a pang of guilt in his chest.

“i-i don’t know. i just feel comfort whenever i’m here. y-you gave me comfort. and i messed it all up” you felt tears begin to swell in your own eyes. why was he saying these things now? the timing was terrible.

“you’re babbling nonsense. just go to sleep, i want you gone in the morning” you grab him an extra blanket and pillow, watching as he slowly started drifting to sleep. you weren’t sure if he really meant the things he was saying, but you’d rather keep it that way. you didn’t need any more reasons to hold onto jeno. this was just a one time thing, you weren’t completely heartless. this was the night you saw jeno at his worst, and if you were being honest, you couldn’t be with him like this. you now knew, that you deserved better than lee jeno.

as expected, he was gone by the time you woke up, leaving you a small note,

“thankyou for everything”

you quickly scrunched the piece of paper, tossing it into the bin. you felt slightly relieved, this was a sign that you were finally starting to get over him.

Now you bring her around just to shut me down

Show her off like she's a new trophy

And I know if you were true

There's no damn way that you

Could fall in love with somebody that quickly

“hey so there’s gonna be a bonfire tonight, wanna come with me?”

“i don’t know, jaemin. not really up for hanging in big crowds at the moment” jaemin frowned, wanting nothing more than to see his friend happy again.

”i’ll be next to you the entire night, if that gives you more ease” he pleaded with his big eyes, rubbing his shoulder against yours. you eventually gave in, wanting nothing more than for him to stop giving you those creepy eyes. maybe something good will come from the bonfire.

you spoke too soon, the moment jeno and karina showed up, it was like somebody was impaling you with a stake to the heart. you physically couldn’t move, eyes avoiding having to meet those of jeno’s. you felt someone’s eyes on you, but refused to look up from your feet which were buried in the sand. soon enough, you felt the gaze escape, along with the two people you wanted to avoid the most. jaemin awkwardly coughed,

“this is going to be harder than i thought” you sighed, causing jaemin to press his lips together in a tight line.

“i know, but it’s not the end of the world” he shrugged, pulling you closer to him as you both soaked up the heat from the fire. you hated how jeno was showing her off like his new trophy. he constantly had his arm around her, laughing with his friends loudly, pressing soft kisses to her forehead. it made you sick.

your mind drifted to the conversations where jeno insisted he was not the ‘relationship type’. you remembered how he avoided your confession, how he only wanted your company when he felt alone. how he always interrupted you with a kiss when you would ask about his feelings. it all felt like some sort of sick joke to you. if you knew jeno the way you thought you did, there was no way he could fall inlove so quickly.

but you knew that he was inlove, or atleast falling inlove, because he looked at her the way you used to look at him. you couldn’t help but laugh at yourself, you got played. plain and simple. lee jeno was never meant to be a permanent figure in your life, he was a lesson to be learnt. you had to let him go, no matter how much it hurt, you knew it would be for the best.

it was finally summer break, instant weight lifting from your shoulders as you handed in your final paper. although this year had its ups and downs, you were beyond proud of how you managed to stay on top of your school work, and shove any thoughts regarding jeno, from your mind. it had been radio silence from

his end, not having reached out to you in weeks, until some of your classmates invited you to some drinks at a local club. you couldn’t pass on a night to finally let loose, so you gleefully accepted their offer. it was also nice way of making new friends for the following year to come.

“hot damn, who the hell is that?” your newest friend, minjeong, swooned. you shifted your eyes to the figure in question. jeno stood there in all his glory, leather jacket hung loosely on his shoulders as he greeted your classmates one by one. he was slowly making his way to you and minjeong, you wanting nothing more than to rush to the bathroom. but he definitely would have seen you,

“long time no see” he grinned, taking a seat on the bar stool next to you. minjeong noticed that you were beginning to feel uncomfortable. she tapped your arm gently, asking with one simple gaze if you needed her with you. you shook your head in response, this was something you needed to sort out, once and for all.

“it has been a while” you sighed, turning to face the boy who tore you to pieces. jeno stiffened at your tone, part of his heart aching to hear you speak to him in such way.

“how have things been? i-i kinda miss hanging out together-“

“are you serious right now?” you practically scoffed, taking a large gulp from your drink. you needed some liquid courage for the speech you were about to give.

“who do you think you are to come up here and act like everything is all good between us? i know that jaemin has told you how hurt i was over you, gosh, it was probably one of the most painful heartbreaks i’ve ever experienced. can i even call it that? a heartbreak? i mean, we never dated so technically we never even broke up” jeno slowly gulped at your words, hoping no one else was eavesdropping on your conversation. but he allowed you continue,

“we hooked up, i confessed, and it all went to shit. once something new and shiny came by, i was old news. i really thought we were going to be something. how naive i was to even believe that someone like you could be with someone like me. i guess you didn’t cheat, but you’re still a traitor, lee jeno. and i hope you never forget it” you could barely look at him, feeling hot tears fill your eyes. you clenched your fists as jeno cleared his throat before speaking.

“i-i’m sorry okay? i didn’t mean for things to go so far with us. i never want you to think that you aren’t important to me. at the time, you were one of the best things that had ever happened to me. but we just weren’t right for each other, i told you that from the start” you finally built the courage to face him, his gentle eyes meeting your pained ones.

“god i wish you had thought this through, before i went and fell in love with you” those words hit him like a truck. he knew he had messed up, there was no going back from the damage he had done. he broke someone that he truly cared about. he hurt one of his only friends. he could never forgive himself for that.

“y-you’re going to find someone. someone way better than me. someone who sees how beautiful you are, someone who will hold on for dear life because they’re scared of losing you. i’m sorry i couldn’t be that guy for you. i am so sorry” you could sense the sincerity in his voice, but there was only so much an apology could fix.

“may i ask, are you happy?” he already knew his answer, and he knew it would hurt you if he answered truthfully. but he was done with lies,

“yeah i am, are you?” you pondered for a moment,

“i will be” you firmly answered, feeling a small grin grow on your face. although this entire interaction was pure torture, you were glad you were able to air out your conscience to the one person who was filling it. you and jeno agreed to cut contact for the time being, wishing each other the best. of course you would think about him every now and then, but you were onto bigger and better things. lee jeno was just one chapter on your book of life. there was so much more out there for you, and you couldn’t wait to experience it.

#lee jeno imagine #jeno imagine #jeno fic #nct jeno imagine #nct jeno fic #nct dream imagines #nct dream fic #nct dream writing #jeno angst #jeno fluff #nct dream fluff #nct dream series #jisungsmochi masterlist #jisungsmochiimagines

250 notes · View notes