#this? over someone they have not seen in years- i would be deeply hurt | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

netherfeildren · 3 months

Text

Honey, Stomach, Mine ; 2. More Intelligent Than a Face

Series Masterlist ; Part 1. ; Part 3.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics; Dystopian Society; Outbreak not Cordyceps AU; Angst & Yearning™️; Slow Burn; Sexual Inexperience; Cock Riding; Size Difference; Size Kink; Sex Ed for Omega’s 101; Power Dynamics; Creampie; Discussions of Heats and Knots and Slick, Oh My!; Virginity; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Young and Needy Omega; Possessive Behavior; Age Gap

A/N: FYI I do mention that she has small breasts in this one only because I usually write big boobs and thought it was time for some itty bitty titty committee representation.

Word Count: 13.9K

Read on AO3

Tip Jar

2. More Intelligent Than a Face

Existence is a strange thing, a needful thing. Something to be sated, filled, satisfied, this ordeal of being a living, breathing person. And to be an unusual sort of person, someone with needs extra to what the regular sort would require, doubly strange.

You had always thought, in different ways, that the mating program, although a choice thief, a freedom thief, was also benevolent in its control in some ways. After all, it gave those of you who were of the not usual sort, alphas and omegas, that such thing that you needed so badly.

Each other.

A bad, terrible, devastating thing that in turn gives you something necessary, life changing, life fulfilling, even, perhaps.

When your aunt had died and you’d been taken away and then put away and then shut away for what seemed would be forever, it had not, at first, in your child’s mind, seemed so terrible. But with the years, that existence you bore that needed, it began to hurt. It eventually became a very terrible thing that in turn, had taken away your ability to recognize yourself, as well. The reality that you’d been caged because of what you were, perhaps not particularly who, but certainly, what, was, at first, difficult to see. And then, when you did see it, even more difficult to look at.

A thing caged because of what it is. And again, existence is a strange and needful thing. Caged because of what you exist as; caged because of what you need because of what you are. Caged because they can give you what will sate you.

You open your eyes slowly, the bright, waning golden light of dusk shooting over the edge of the end of the world; bleeding pinks and violets feeding the fire. And he’s there, in a deeply set arm chair pulled up by the hearth, staring into the flames, and you realize, like you’d never truly considered before, that the cage was in part also his fault. That in ways, you’d been put away also because of what he is. You wonder if this should make you angry, resentful. If it should mean you should not want to be here, langoring so comfortably in his home that he’d brought you to. This man who you do not know, who does not so much even look like he wants to know you. In ways, your caging is his fault. And certainly, concretely, the prolonging of that caging was entirely of his doing. So why is there no resentment?

Once, one of the other omegas had said that they were brainwashing all of you. Preparing you, ripening you for slaughter. He’d come in later than the rest of you, when he was more grown, more mature, when he’d seen more things in his before life. He had lots of opinions, lots of thoughts, said that your before life, those ten years of living with your aunt, of only being a child like all the rest of them and not an omega, did not count. He said you’d been too young to understand all you’d lost. A boy named Leo. He was kind, but he was angry. And his anger frightened you. It was something you did know, in the sense that you could recognize it, for you’d seen anger before, but you could not understand it. For some reason, maybe you were built wrongly, and Leo was right, and you should have been angry like him, but you could never find it within yourself to muster it. Maybe there was nothing wrong about it. Maybe everyone was simply built and made and felt differently and that was fine too. But you knew that he was wrong on some accounts, particularly, that your before life had counted, that your aunt, who you remembered with so much love, had counted. And most of all, what he was most painfully wrong about, was that you did, and deeply, understand all you had lost.

After all, you could only see the sky for one hour a day, every other day, now, and that one hour made your understanding of everything around you, everything happening to you, keen and painful and humiliating in a very clear way.

The last rays of the sun wash Joel in vibrant orange reds now. A slash of glowing vermillion across his face, something almost violent about the streak of light, something possessive, and you focus your eyes intently on the sight of his face. This man, this alpha, who for all intents and purposes would or could own you as declared by the government or nature or even Leo and all he’d said would happen once you’d been claimed.

But there was one last thing he’d been wrong about, that young, angry boy, and what you felt was the greatest chasm between the way the two of you had existed within your new designations, which was that, at one very recent point in Leo’s memory, he had belonged to someone, to somewhere. He’d had a place and a home and a family, and he had belonged, and you had never had that. Your aunt, despite her love for you, had been too old and tired to want you, truly want you. You had never been wanted in any soft, true way by anyone before. And looking at him now, you don’t think Joel could ever be capable of wanting anything in a soft way, but you do think he could want something in a true way, and you’re certain that could be more than enough for you.

“Why didn’t you come for me?” Your voice, scratchy and small from sleep, floating away from you towards him. He jerks, the twitching returned, head snapping towards you, eyes wide, moving forward in his seat as if he’d spring out of it and towards you without thought. His scent seems to be heightened somehow now. As if your sleep had awakened your senses in new, keener ways. You can feel him tickling the back of your throat, threading his way through your hair, beneath your clothes, between your legs.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, ignoring your question. “When was the last time you ate? You need to eat.” And again that frown, too many fast words.

“Why didn't you come for me?” You press. “They told me you didn’t know if you wanted to come, that you wouldn't answer. I want to know why.”

He sighs a heavy, heaving thing, falling back in the chair, and turns back to the fire, and you want to whine and cry until he puts his attention back on you. You feel so… so– you don’t know. Little, unmade, with a need to be big, to grow and grow and grow so that all the things you feel and want might fit inside of you, so that he might fit inside of you. You feel hungry as if your gums ache and sting with a desire you’ve never tasted before. But also, and despite all of these conflicting, churning things, you also feel so inexplicably at ease. He’s just there, and you are just here, and you’ll make him answer, you know you have it in you to make him do the things you want, and you can’t say how, you don’t know how, but you understand that you do.

There’s power in that – even as you are, all you are not, you can see it – the ability something small possesses to make something big move, do, be. There’s power in that.

You whine low in your throat, and he turns back to you, something dark and tumultuous in his eyes, brow crooked sternly, but he opens his mouth. “I was going to leave you there,” he says, and you immediately wish he’d shut it. Never mind, you want to tell him, you say all the wrong things.

“But why? I was waiting for you.” Whine, whine, whine.

“I didn’t want this. I never have.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t want me?” You ask again, just to be absolutely certain you’re understanding that you’ve once again found yourself in a place where you are not wanted for, or despite of, the thing that you are. The logistics, the intricacies of it don’t seem to matter as much anymore, after everything, the before life, the not life, all that matters now is the yes or no.

But he goes silent again, attention back toward the fire, the sun set, no more glowing vermillion slash, very little hope now too.

He ignores your question again. “Tell me about the place they kept you,” he says instead.

“There’s nothing to tell.” You want to cry now, for the first time, besides the tears of initial happiness when he’d finally walked into your white box, you want to cry. You dig stubby nails into the round of your knee, hard as you can, trying to make it hurt and distract. “It was very calm and very quiet.”

“Did you have friends?” He won’t turn back to look at you, and it makes you feel very lacking. Very much like the nothing they tried to make you feel you were before.

“No. They wouldn’t let us.”

“They wouldn’t let you have friends?”

“No. They said it would agitate us – too much socialization. Really, they just didn’t want us realizing, becoming angry and aware”

This makes him turn, makes you feel, within yourself, the anger you’re telling him of, like oh, now, when I’ve been shocking and honest, you look at me – after I waited all that time for you. There is no resentment about the cage, only for the waiting. You should stick your tongue out at him, make him an ugly face, turn over and go back to sleep and ignore him the way he’d ignore you. But no, you think, let him see that you do understand, and you do know some things, that you are angry, and Leo was right.

“What did you do then?” He asks.

“I read. I learned about myself, about you. About what we are.”

His gaze is so intense now, a ricochet, a scream, something very persistently sad. “And what are we?”

“People just like all the rest of them. But with more necessity.”

“How do you mean?”

You tip your head side to side, bright fire eyed gaze to bright fire eyed gaze. Your cheeks feel molten, sweltering, sweat at your nape, the fire in the hearth so bright, but not as bright as you; your belly glows. This is what you are, this is what you’d been made into. “There is so much necessity in existing, don’t you think?”

He tips his chin, he doesn’t understand.

“We need so many things. We require so much to be alive, to be what we are, to be satisfied and content.”

“Do we?”

“The things we are, yes. I think so.”

“You don’t seem like you spent years in that place,” he says, voice slow, molasses in the notes. There’s something hypnotized slumbering in him that forces something satisfied to swell within you. Your belly glows.

“I had a before life. People forget that.”

“I read in your file — you lived with an aunt.”

You wait for the: only for ten years, but the diminishing does not come. “Yes. She was kind, and I remember all of it, even if the rest of the world forgets it happened.”

“Did they ever mistreat you? At the facility–”

“No. Never. There was nothing.” You’re the one to turn away now. The sun has entirely gone away, a single glowing sliver just at the drop off of the end of the world. You stick your hand out straight ahead of you, fingertip following that line of fading light through air and space and sea.

He watches you unblinkingly, and asks, “What do you mean?” The far off light glows through your skin, through your fingernail; he follows the path of your hand.

You can pretend in your mind that you feel the warmth of it against your fingertip, that it scorches the way it glows, heats the length of your limb, feeds the same glow in your belly, but there’s no more possessive streak of light to wrap around you; now, the heat only lives within you. This is what you are, this is what they said would happen, and now it’s finally happening. You let your arm fall back to your lap, limp, and turn to look at him again. He looks so angry, and you feel so incredibly sad for him. This cold perch, this cage that is not white like your box, but dark and struck right on the edge of peril, this place he chose to exile himself to. They were honest, in the things they'd told you all, the truth of the way alphas exist out in the world. Lonely and ostracized and feared, brainwashed to your reality maybe, sure, the way Leo claimed. But in certain things, they’d been honest, and you’re glad for it, that you have the ability to understand him now from this vantage point. The reality of how he exists, the reason for that look in his eyes, it all makes sense to you.

“I suppose that can be a kind of bad thing… a mistreatment. Making nothing of us, of our lives, taking the whole world away until someone chooses to come and give it back to us.”

He flinches, the look shutters, clicks and flashes, a camera capturing the truth of what the two of you have already done to each other without even really knowing one another at all. “I’m sorry I waited. I’m sorry I took so long.” The words cost him something the way all truths cost something. “That I wasn’t there for you as soon as I should have been.”

“Why weren’t you?” You ask, although you know.

“I couldn’t. I can’t. I’m not– I’m not right. I’m not well.” And this costs him more than the rest, you can see. The thump, thump, beat of his heart in his throat. You should tell him to stop, mercy is power, but you think, feel, that this pound of flesh you’re demanding via his truths is what you’re owed for your life and a year of waiting. And anyways, you’ll pay your own pound of flesh in kind eventually, and it’ll cost, even if it’s freely given, it’ll still cost. Everything is equal here, it’s only that it takes a certain kind of eye to realize the truth of that.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Everything, what I am, the whole thing of it and this. It’s all wrong.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t know.” And he looks suddenly angry, aged, wearing all his years and all his very obvious loneliness, teeth bared but on the verge of falling out.

“No…” you say slowly, thinking, rationalizing, a rolodex of truths in your mind. What you are, what I am, what we all are and all the honesties that compromise us. “I don’t, but I understand anyway. They make you all nothing, as well, don’t they? They take it all away, all nothing until you have one of us. It’s a terrible way to live.” And you don’t ask him, it’s not a question, only a very obvious thing.

Your words upset him, put him right at the mouth of madness, all those shakes and jitters returned, but you only lay your head back down on the soft pillow he’d tucked beneath you, hands folded undercheek to wait for the explosion that does not come. There’s something in you that wants to see him angry, angry like Leo, like the boy who’d said you didn't have to be what they told you to be, that reminded you that you could choose for yourself. One of the few things you’d agreed on, despite and inspite of the friendship that they would not let you have but that would have blossomed anyways if they’d given you the time. They wanted to make you nothing, but you didn’t want to be nothing. You wanted very much to be alive and to belong.

You realize, watching Joel muzzle his nature before your very eyes, wondering if the truth of him would have him springing up out of the chair to smother you with his weight and temper you with his knot, subdued with his teeth sunken into the gland at the back of your neck, that you want to see him angry. You realize that you want to see him break, that you want to hear that truth no matter what it costs the either of you. You want to see him honest.

He struggles, a dog fight right before your eyes, but when he wins, it changes the game, turns the truth chimeral. Makes you see him in a different way, and all at the same time, makes you aware and even more comfortable than you’d already been. You’re safe here. He is safe. Most importantly, you want to be here.

“Let me show you your room,” he says after a deep breath.

“My room?” A little seedling of dread and sadness and disappointment.

He shows you to a bedroom hued in soft blues. The sea when it is gentle, the sky when it’s joyous. Everything comfortable, nothing white, like he’d known already.

He stands awkwardly at the mouth of the entry, as if scared to step foot into this serene pool of azure and marr it’s peace. You watch him out of the corner of your eye as you move around, no shoes, no socks, slowly running your fingers over all the soft surfaces, sweaty little toes sunken into the deep pile of the rug underfoot.

“I wanted you to have somewhere to adjust– where you’d have privacy. I’m sure this– that I– that it’s all a shock…” he stutters.

One of his boots inches forward, snaps back, like he wants to follow, like he needs to follow, like nature is right here in the room with the two of you, but he wins that dog fight again, holds back. Frustrating.

“I’m not shocked. But I– I won’t stay with you?”

“No,” he says with a finality that makes that seedling bloom in full. “I also got you clothes. And– and soft things. I know your sort–”

You give a soft huff of air through your nose, my sort… our sort.

“Like things like that. And I also… I also put some of my own things in the drawers,” he nods towards a dark mahogany dresser shoved up against the wall; shy and boyish and hesitant all wrapped into a package that would seem to be none of those things. “They say that helps.”

“Okay… thank you.”

“Went into town to get it,” he says of the robin's eggshell blue duvet, a more dove gray blue wash for the silk soft sheets beneath. It’s all beautiful and delicate and lace trimmed and looking at him, huge and rough and something like a lonely mountain, you can’t believe he’d chosen this for you. “Lady at the store said you’d like it when I picked it out.” And that makes satisfaction smother the seedling, yes, he’d chosen it for you. A good sign.

“You went into town to get me things?”

“I told you I want you to be comfortable while you’re here.” Something about the sentence tickles your mind, but then you’re lowering yourself onto the cloud soft bed, cool silk and cotton beneath your skin, sliding against his clothes, your belly glows bright. You’re full of distractions and truth. “There’re a couple of young women that live down aways.” Young women? You perk up at the thought. Friends? “Ellie and Dina. Two young alphas, and they’re good people. I’ll take you down to meet them soon, when you’re ready.”

“Two alphas?”

“They’re a couple.”

“Like– like in love?”

He hovers at the edge of the rug with that strange look in his eyes again, the one from before – I’m only an omega, you don’t have to be afraid of me – and a palpable desperation to cross the border you don’t think he’s even aware he’s letting you in on, but that you can see nonetheless. Two fingers tucked into the line of his belt, twisted there as if grasping for restraint.

“Yeah, they’re together.”

“I didn’t know alphas could do that… that they’d let you.”

“Reckon it’s why they came all the way out here, to be honest, for freedom. But ‘course they can – be together, that is. We can do what we please, despite what they’d have us believe.” And Leo’s words ring in your mind again. Perhaps everyone sees the truth of what you are except for you. The seedling grows vines, suffocates. All the hope you’d thought would live here seems to have never even existed at all. You feel, for the first time, heavy with all the things you do not know, all the things you lack, all the inexperience and naivety like ignorance thick and cloying in your blood. “From what I understand, Dina presented late, after they’d already gotten together. And by that time it was a done deal, they were in love, no going back. And anyway, they make it work, make it look easy as nothin’, to be frank.” He runs a big hand over the back of his skull, and the way he lifts his arm has the thick of his bicep bunching, fat ball of muscle just there for your teeth to sink into. You shift restlessly on the bed.

“Easy as nothin’,” you say slowly, trying to imitate the dip and pitch of his drawl. Your fingertip follows the line of stitching in the duvet, petting at the seams holding it together. “Is that how we’ll be too?” And although you mean the words, intend the question, you’re suddenly awash with shy regret for asking, even though you can’t say exactly why. Probably for the look on his face, which goes immediately dark and serious, and even yet, you persist. “Will it be easy for us too?” And you’re sure your voice must sound like you’re begging.

“No. It won’t. It won’t be like that between us. You’ll stay here as long as it takes for you to acclimatize to being out of that place,” that place, he says like a curse, and it makes you angry, “To bein’ out in the world, and then we’ll find somewhere for you. Somewhere that’s safe and comfortable where you’ll be able to make your own life.”

“I don’t– I don’t understand,” you tell him, but it’s a lie. You do understand, you see, and very clearly, that all you’d waited for during your life, the before, the not life, the extra year, it had all been in vain, for nothing. It would not be given to you here.

“What don’t you understand?” And his tone is cruel and spitting, making you flinch. “I’m sending you away soon. This is what I’m saying.”

“But I don’t– No–” You’d waited so long. He’s being so mean, and you tell him so.

“Yes. You need to be with people your own age. You need to see the world and grow up,” and what a horrible thing to say, you think – to grow up. As if it were not a thing you’d been forced to do already all on your own, without anyone to help you.

“Well then what do you care about what I need? You make no sense!” And you bare your teeth at him. “If you don’t want me–”

But he cuts you off, broad palm held up in a staying gesture, and it’s so incongruous with all the rest of it, that you want to laugh in his face. “Didn’t say I don’t want’cha.” And that frown again, he makes no sense, the tip of his boot makes landfall in the high piled rug, halfway in, hypnotized and compelled in full. You settle on the bed and feel very calm despite the too fast beat of the thing that moves and lives within you, despite your anger and confusion.

And through the beat and the heat and the sweat on your neck, despite the shyness you’ve forgotten is shyness right at this moment, but that you’re sure will return later because this is what you are and this is what you were made for: him. You ask, “Then are you going to knot me now?” Because if he’s going to send you away, then surely he’ll give you that before you go, surely he’ll still want that from you.

He splutters, going all red in the face as if the notion of a young omega asking the experienced alpha she’s been presented with to do that most basic thing his nature demands, is something out of the ordinary. “What? No– no.” But despite his supposed refusal, he takes two steps forward towards you. Venturing further onto the soft piled rug, leaving large crushing footprints in his wake.

“Later then?” You ask very pragmatically.

“No. Absolutely not. There will be no knotting.”

You shake your head at him, small frown between your brows, but still feeling calm despite the tragedy. Forcing that horrible seedling down into submission, the vines smothering all your hope. “But what do you mean?” And you feel like a child.

“I’m not going to fuck you. We aren’t doin’ any of that. You’re too– you’re too young, practically a girl.” A child. He has an accent that thickens with agitation, the ends of his words sluicing off between his tongue and teeth and anger while he hurts you.

“You don’t want me,” you say, and it isn’t a question anymore, only an obvious thing.

His eyes go very dark, and you want to turn away, look back at the edge of the world and the bright glow of the sun being swallowed by it. “I don’t want that.” And the way he spits the words hurts, making you a thing impossible to desire.

“You don’t want me,” again, repeated, so the both of you can bask in the truth of it.

But it snaps something in the room, or in him, or amidst the honesty being brought out here and now. He takes two ground-eating steps forward to loom over you aggressively, forcing you to fall back on your elbows, looking up at him wide eyed but still inexplicably not afraid, only a greater thing than what can be called merely disappointed. And yet, not disappointed enough to not notice the way one of his knees presses against the inside of one of yours. “I should get to have a fucking choice too, shouldn’t I? Like you, locked away in that horrible place–”

“It wasn’t horrible,” you try and say, but you don’t think he hears.

“The way you had all your choices and freedoms stripped. Shouldn’t I also be allowed to have one single goddamn thing?” Where else would I have gone if not there? “A choice – to say, no, stop, I don’t want this.” He’s so angry, and it is all suddenly so clear, and he finally grabs you, pulling you up by the bend of your elbow, the small joint almost crushed in his massive fist to pull you halfway up off the bed and towards him, getting in your face with all his anger.

Leo’s voice again, you don’t have to be what they tell you to be, you can choose for yourself. This is what Joel wants too.

“You can’t end up stuck out here at the end of the world with some washed up old alpha who can’t give you a quarter of what you need and deserve. I won’t let you. I won’t,” he snarls.

But despite your greenness, your naivety or your ignorance or your youth, you think: how dare he? “And what about what I want? What about my choices? Or are you going to be just like all the rest of them? Like the whole world telling me I’m too insignificant and too stupid to decide for myself? Just locked away in another cage–” You spit at him, trying to claw and shove at him, stubby nails digging at the sun pebbled skin of his throat, yanking at his too long hair and patchy beard, inadvertently pulling yourself closer to him. He grunts, struggling to take you in hand, slippery thing you can make yourself into when you really want, and you, trying your mightiest to hurt him any way you can as he’s already decided he’s going to hurt you with his rejection. “Is that what you are? Just like all the rest of them?” You cry amidst your struggle, choked with tears and being too little to be effective but too big for your own skin.

You shove at his jaw, trying to scratch at his cheek, but he grips you full around either arm, locking you in place and gives you a swift but measured jerk, jostling you into submission, trapping your hands bent as they are up by his neck so that one small palm is sliding to the back of his nape, over the gland behind his ear, at that soft vulnerable hollow, and coming to rest at the one in back, at the base of his neck beneath his collar. Both of you go still as stone, frozen by the truth of what you both are and how inescapable it all is, reality held in the palm of your hand.

Obvious: a designation is not a thing you can ever hide. Alphas and omegas wear it on their bodies like markers. Glands scattered at different places: behind the ears, at the base of the neck, inside the wrists and ankles; vulnerabilities that when acknowledged, bitten, seal a mating bond. Places that if handled properly, turn you into nothing but what you are at your basest nature. And you can’t help yourself – at the feel the spongy patch of skin, slightly raised and slightly rougher than the rest of him, a place that when in rut or in heat, would become, will become, extra sensitive, extra swollen, extra ripe – when you slowly slide your fingers against it, feeling the texture of it, the way it’s even hotter than the already sweltering rest of him.

He growls low and rumbling in his chest, that sound again, and he’s so angry, it’s painted all over his face in shades of defiance; coming off of him like radiation, angry at you, angry at the truth of what you both are, angry at himself and the world and all of it, but he pulls you closer anyways, tugging your forward by his grip on your arms which is starting to mimic the ache you’re suffering at that place between your legs you long to show him, pulling you in so that the tips of your breasts, covered beneath his thick sweater and the too thin, soft bra they gave all the omegas who needed them, brush against the thick of his chest, pulling a soft breath of a moan from your tongue.

“You’re being so mean to me,” you whisper. “And I don’t deserve it. And I waited so long for you and you never came for me, and now this is how you’re treating me,” you say with a hiccup and a tear, and you feel little and big and that place that calls for him pulses and hurts and leaks. He’s so mean and you’re so sad and you want him and you can’t understand why he’s being this way when you were made for him and he for you, and if nothing else was right in this world, then this was the thing that was supposed to be.

His eyes shift quickly back and forth between both of yours, that frown, mouth turned down, his mustache that connects to the patchiness of his beard showing how contrary he finds you. You frown back at him, trying to pull away, whining when he tightens, pulls you closer, right up to his face as if he needs to inspect you even more closely. Your toes aren’t touching the rug anymore, scraping against the thick round of his boots, and you won’t have it. You’ll give him a piece of your mind, you’ll show him. “You think that because I’m little and young and easily bruised that I’m not in control.” It’s not a question. If you could grow fangs, you would. If you could rip him to shreds, you would. “That I can’t control you. But I made you come for me, didn’t I?” Now you laugh at him, now you show him. “I knew if I wrote to you, you’d come, and you did. I made you come. I made you.” And saying it feels like victory, so you don’t care that it makes his face crack, you don’t care that he pushes away from you, letting you fall back onto the bed with a limp bounce, storming out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him. You don’t give a thistle for choices. You want to be selfish, you want to be alive, you want to see the sky. You have the sea now, and you want to be this thing you are because this is already you, this is what you were made into, and you have no choice but to bask in it, and you won’t bend to him or give it up for him only because he can’t accept the same of himself, only because he’s still trapped in his own white box.

He knows, as soon as you make whatever stupid decision it is that you’re making, that something’s off. A shift in the air in the house, his heart beating funny, his scent changing because his body knows you’re not in its immediate vicinity anymore, something that tells him off, off, off, be vigilant, she needs you so much, you can’t fail again. He reminds himself of all the decisions he’s already made, of what he knows he wants and does not want, of what he is and what he is not.

After he’d stormed out of your room – I made you – he’d retreated to hide in his own bedroom, to the other big chair by the fireplace in here, cowering like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, forcing himself to listen to you cry for hours, the whine and whimper of an omega in need of something he was made to give, and yet will not. As if a little thing like you could make him do anything. Him. He grits his teeth, chews on his own tongue, digs his fingers into the arms of the chair to force himself to remain seated in place, to not return to you, to not give you all the things he knows you need and want to be soothed by.

He can smell your scent changing already, reacting to him, reducing him to nothing, entirely effective in your conquering. And he’d stupidly thought that perhaps the heat, and the rut that it would yield, would wait, give him a moment of reprieve or compassion before it came for him. A moment to think. He thought he’d have more time, a chance to escape the thing he so desperately wants but cannot and will not let himself have, refuses to give in to. His body stirs and smolders, and like he’d done for eleven years and then one, he ignores it. He ignores the truth of who and what he really is.

He sits in his chair, head propped up against the back, and listens to your cries and mewls ebb and quiet until finally, he thinks you might have sobbed yourself to sleep. He doesn’t want to hurt you, he doesn’t mean to hurt you. It’s the absolute last thing he could ever, ever want. Everything, not only in his nature, but in his character, in the things that make him up as a man who’d want a woman like you, is clamoring within him to go to you, to give you what you want, to sooth you with his voice and his scent and his cock. To fuck you into your heat until you’re soft and slick and fevered enough to take his knot, to let him breed you, to let him mate you. His cock stirs and thickens beneath the rough confines of his jeans, that thicket of skin at the base where his knot waits in ready for you, simmering with heat and tightness. He digs his knuckles into his temple until it hurts.

You don’t want me… Of course he fucking wants you. He’d have taken your cunt for himself right there in that white box room, on your rickety little iron cot for all the surrounding omegas and witless betas to hear without giving a single shit what anyone said or thought if he had any sort of right or will or choice. If he had anything more to give you. And then watching you go right to sleep when he’d brought you into his home, the sight of you feeling so immediately safe and content, ready to nest amongst his things and his scent – that feeling of having within himself the things that he needs to be what he is – indescribable.

Pretty little omega – and truly, you’re so pretty. All he’d never let himself imagine or desire or hope for. He’s too old, past his prime and forgotten by the world, but he’s still a man with a working cock, still an alpha, even if only in the simplest of ways. Of course he wants you.

He lets himself languish miserably before the fire, eyes going hazy with exhaustion, the comedown of adrenaline, the presence of warm omega all around him, the taste of your pre-heat scent coating his tongue and throat. He pulls his socks off and lets the heat of the fire warm his feet and thinks he should’ve given you his room instead, let you sleep in his bed, near the fireplace, between his sheets and amongst his scent. He can sleep out in the dirt for all he matters as long as you’re comfortable. And the rational part of his brain wants to laugh at the thought, sitting here alone, realizing that despite his battling, his nature will always win out in the end, that all this fight really means shit. His cock gives a faint throb, his deflated knot rhythmically pulsing in time with his heart, ready to swell and claim what everyone including nature, but excluding Joel, has said belongs to him. Of course he wants you. And if he’s honest, or a fucking liar, he can’t really say which, all his truths and deceptions have become so muddled within his own mind, his past and his present and this future he’s never thought he wanted or had a right to, the year of waiting was more a form of self punishment, restraint as proof of fear, than anything to do with you.

Anger, yes, that everything had been decided for him for so long. That he isn’t even allowed to decide what he is, what he wants. But fear, more than anything, that interminable curse of failure he’s so haunted by and so afraid of. How could nature ever look at him and think him strong enough to take on the role of caretaker, protector, alpha – whatever it is that you need him to be, the whole world in the eye of a young and untried omega – when he can hardly stand the sight of his own face in the mirror? There’s nothing but tragedy setting the stage the two of you stand posed on.

Finally, your cries fade to soft hiccups, and then a peculiar silence he doesn't trust. He waits, ears peeled, his head turned slightly towards the cracked open door of his bedroom, sensing the shift in scent and after a few beats of too loud silence, a thud and a huff, the music of a little mind thinking too loudly and mischievously for its own good. Even the wind seems to blow differently as if it knows you’re scampering about amidst it now, vulnerable to its lashings, and he’s shooting up out of his chair and charging through the house. By the door, he realizes his boots are gone, stolen from where he’d dropped them discarded after he’d left you in your room to cry your salt tears. He forgoes a coat and his flannel, braving the icy wind in nothing but his white undershirt, stepping silent but no less frantic out onto the deck. The truck is dark and quiet, still in its usual spot, and this quells his fear minutely. It occurs to him that you likely don’t even know how to drive.

But when he comes around the western facing corner of the house, it’s worse than he could’ve imagined, and the scar slashed across his right temple suddenly zings like copper, burns like fire at the sight of you. You are, for some inexplicable reason, crawling on all fours, towards the edge of the cliffside. And he’s frozen solid for a second, shocked and terrified, and then moving forward like lightning, tripping over his own two feet and breath before he realizes you’re right at the very edge now, and he needs to move very fucking carefully to ensure he doesnt send you spilling in fright over the edge.

He alters his movements, continues forward slowly, his bare feet over the freezing ground and sharp bric-a-brac of the forest floor, the slabs of stone turning to ice as he nears the edge, and he watches the uncoordinated wallop of your movements, banging your knee with a small yelp, as you crawl like a slow and drunken spider in his too big clothes, dragging his too big boots around your ankles, to the very edge of the cliff side, slowly lowering yourself to plop down with your head and arms hanging over the edge.

He pauses about ten feet away from you and waits for your next move, but you lie still, quarter part of you draped over the edge of the cliff, and he realizes that you’re watching the water far below crash against the rocks.

“Sweetheart,” he calls slow and gentle, crouching down low so that his voice travels along the ground where you lay. “Sweetheart, what’re you doin’?” You start, turning back towards him, one palm coming to the edge of the rock to shove yourself up to peer back at him, rock pebble spraying out over the void with your movement, and his heart and stomach lurch to his throat, almost gagging at the terror. Your eyes are hazy and bright, and he recognizes the beginnings of the fever, it’s tendrils wrapping themselves around you, making you a little confused, a lot needy, and he’s so fucking stupid, he should’ve never left you alone. But he hadn’t thought it’d come on this fast, that you’d affect each other so.

“I wanna go down there,” you call over the small hill of your shoulder, turning back to peer down at the beach. You point down at the shoreline with your other hand, wagging your finger as to emphasize what it is you want.

Jesus fucking Christ, he’s going to have a goddamn heart attack. “Alright, baby. Come back here, I’ll take you down. Let’s go together.” You mumble something, arm flopping out, waving him away. “Please, sweetheart, come back here with me,” he begs, and there must be something in his tone, he’s sure, because you turn full back at that, looking at him suspiciously like you remember his earlier words of rejection and no longer trust him now.

“I’m glowing, sir. I need to feel the sea and the cold.” Your voice sounds not your own, like it comes surfing off the wind to his ears.

“Not, sir. Joel. Only Joel, remember?”

You push yourself up, moving to sit back on your knees, but still right at the edge, still too close. Sweat slides slick and frigid down his spine, the complete opposite of what you must be feeling right now. Only Joel. Only Joel, he hears you mutter at the sea. “There isn’t anything only about you. Leave me alone. Go away–”

“Please, baby. Come back here. Let’s go inside, I’ll give you the sea, I promise. Just come over here – with me.” You turn back at that, shifting on your knees to face him. If you lose your balance, stumble, you’ll topple back over the edge. He just needs to be good enough for you to want to come to him, convincing enough. He puts his palm out towards you, all supplication now. “Come here, sweet thing. I’ll show you the sea, I promise I will.” You start your slow spider crawl back towards him and his scar burns, a sharp pain through his brain, piercing behind his eye, heart beat to death between his ribs. As soon as he gets his hands on you, he’s going to fucking throttle you, he promises. But he’s almost got you, and he dares not move, barely even breathes, his hand is shaking so badly it interrupts his view of you on every other painful heartbeat, and he realizes his eyes are blurry with terrified tears, and suddenly, that anger doesn’t matter even half an ounce as much anymore because then you’re here and crawling into his arms, up into his lap so that he’s falling back onto his ass on the cold, hard ground. He pulls you into himself, clumsy little spider legs wrapping around his waist, your arms going around his neck so that you’re clinging to him.

One of his boots lies lost and discarded back by the edge of the cliff.

“Please, don’t ever fucking do that to me again.”

“I’m glowing,” you sigh into his neck.

“I know you are, baby. It’s okay, we’ll fix it.” He feels you nuzzle at his collarbone, his neck, the gland, already sensitive and swollen behind his ear, already, already, already, God help me, and his heart feels like it’s beating so hard he can feel it move through your chest cavity and reverberate against his hand on your back. Christ, it wasn't supposed to happen this quickly, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to have more time, more choices, more control. The wet of your lips mouthing at his skin, and then the peek of your tongue tasting his gland, and he rumbles deep in his chest, his mind going loose and slacken like an old rubber band, and then snapping back to clarity at your surroundings. Cold wind and now the beginning sprinkling of needle freezing rain, your shivers jittering into his chest.

“We gotta go inside – let’s get up,” he murmurs into your ear, unable to resist nosing at your hair, the small, freezing cold seashell hidden within.

Wait, wait– and then the scrape of small, blunt edged teeth just there at the vulnerable patch of skin. He swallows a scream, and the caged thing rattles and howls inside his chest, his arms going iron and binding around your back, pressing you to him, chest melded to chest. “Wait, please,” again, and now a tiny kiss. “If you don’t want me,” and he never should’ve even insinuated it, it’s the worst thing he’s ever done in his entire miserable fucking life. “Then will you please–” another soft press of lips to his jaw, the corner of his mouth. His hand slides down your spine, he can’t help himself, presses down on the base of your vertebrae, the heat of your cunt along the pulse of his cock, through cotton and denim and cold, just there, just there, he’s so fucking close. “Will you at least kiss me–” but you’re not waiting for another rejection, you’re just licking clean across the slash of his mouth, taking his bottom lip between both of yours for a shy little suck, unsure and inexperienced with desperation. And then there’s nothing caged about any of it, no more white box, no more perch at the end of the world, he squeezes you to himself so that it hurts, and he kisses you.

Hand twisted too tightly in your dampening hair, he pulls your head back, and with a rumbling grunt sends you deep and languid into easy submission, the steady deep timber of the sound wringing the desired effect on you. You twitch once, as if he’d tugged on your strings, his pretty puppet, and then go soft and open and easily penetrated, jaw hinging open so that he can lick inside of you, tasting all you have to offer which he refuses to accept he’s actually taking and which you’re all too desperately eager to give.

He takes it all regardless.

Slick mouth against slick mouth, out there in the cold rain and wind, rolling around in the dirt, he tastes you the way the two of you were made for. Pulling your hips closer, rolling his up to meet all the heat you have to offer which will only get hotter and hotter the more he continues down this path. You claw at his hair, the gland at your wrist rubbing against the one at his ear, marking him with your scent and pheromones, marking him as yours. And he swears he can almost feel that glow in your belly too, a little wriggling comet in his hands, set to burst. The crescendo of your whining climbs higher, your mouth hungrier, and Joel feels insane for a second, entirely outside of himself, lost to his senses. All he is, is what you need him to be, something hard and strong and solid for you to mold yourself around, and it’s so right it’s wrong. Not what he’d planned, not what he’d decided.

He rips his mouth away from yours, panting, forgetting his name and his sense and everything else he is besides a hard cock and a now equally smoldering belly. “Wait– wait,” he begs, burning comet, too willful to tame without teeth, surging in his arms. You rub yourself against his face, your hair sluicing through his, your soft tits against his chest, his neck, bumping his chin while you try to climb him perched in his lap like you are. “Wait, please–” he tries to sooth over your huffing whines, and then a sharp stinging little bite to his jaw line.

No, no.

“Stop. We have to stop, please. This isn't what’s supposed to happen. This isn’t what I want.” And you hear that.

The comet burns out, you go still in his arms, and it feels worse than anything. He wishes he could swallow the words back immediately because then you’re pushing back and away from him. Scrambling out of his lap, escaping his arms as fast as you can.

“You’re horrible! Get away–” He dodges a small, kicking foot – the bootless one. And you’re stumbling to your feet, tripping over the too big shoe wrapped around your too small foot. He pushes to stand, as well, gripping you about the elbow, avoiding a weakly punching little fist now. This is truly getting too ridiculous. The two of you need to come to terms with each other, meet in the middle, forgo the theatrics you seem all too desperate for. He ducks away from another ineffectual punch, grips you by the scruff of the neck, unruly kitten that you are, and pushing you forward, hooks you under his arm, lifting you clear off the ground and rendering you entirely captured, bent in half, a wilted flower over the strong of his forearm.

You squawk indignantly, kicking your feet against the back of his leg as he stomps over to his abandoned boot, slowly filling with rain now, fuck this shit, and trudges through the mud back to the house, ice cold droplets dripping off the tip of his nose. The two of you are well on your way to soaked, but he thinks it might not be such a bad thing, considering the ball of heat radiating from your belly, the one in his own mimicking you. It seems to pool in the palm of his hand, where he’s got you hooked and caught over his arm, honey collection of magma.

Let me go! You’re screeching. “Leave me alone! You don’t even care about me and I hate you and I want to see the water!” More kicking and clawing.

When he finally dumps you back onto your rumpled bed, undignified yelps and pathetic little growls, he’s at his wits end. Taking you firmly in hand, heavy hand back at the nape of your neck, thickly calloused palm scraping against the quickly swelling gland there, other pushing at your hip to drape you over the edge of the bed like a rag doll, he folds himself over you, smothering you with his weight and heat, forcing you into calm. You go shocked frozen, wracked with shivers and then finally, blessedly still and quiet. This was all you needed, for Joel to follow his instincts.

He presses you into the bed with his too heavy weight, thick arms caged around your head, pert little ass tucked up against his pelvis, and he breathes you in, lets you settle.

“You need to behave,” he rumbles, and all you do is sigh bleary eyed and exhausted by your own willfulness. “You’re not to go outside all alone at night like that again, do you understand me? And you are especially, never, ever, to go that close to the cliff edge again.”

“But the sea–” you whine and shift, rubbing your little cunt against his now fully hard cock, perfect position that he’s got you in, presented to him like this. He presses tighter against you, growling deep in his chest to shut you up.

“Promise me.” But you whine, shifting, starting to cry a little, too far gone to the start of the fever he’s done nothing to really sate. There’s still time yet, for your full heat, but these beginning symptoms, they need to be soothed just as well, tempered just as diligently as the full blown heat would be. If for nothing else, than for the sake of the omegas' comfort and happiness. He bends his knees, shoving the thick of his erection up against the apex of your thighs, pressing you further up onto the bed and tighter beneath him, and nosing through the mantle of your hair, he finds the gland at the back of your neck beneath the collar of his sweater and bites down gently. Not breaking skin, only giving you teeth to feel, to be soothed by, that blunt clasp that’ll dull your own sharp edges for now.

He laves his tongue along the scorching patch of skin, the texture different to the rest of you, different, even, to his own glands, like silk, like water, something liquid about the feel of you here beneath his tongue and teeth. You let out a terrible little sound that has the threads of his control snapping, providing cause for concern, and he growls softly, pleased, in response. It’s a sound of submission and acceptance and praise, from the both of you equally, all at the same time. He lets you settle like this, petting at you with his tongue, giving you the scraping edge of his teeth like a threat, every so often. Grinding, because honestly he can’t even fucking help it, against that scorching little cunt he knows would already, even now, be so soft for him. Perhaps, not soft enough yet, not ripe enough yet, to take his knot and everything else he wants to force on it, but soft enough for him to teach you how to take a good fucking.

A virgin, never even had a heat before, and trapped here between his teeth and beneath his cock. It would all be so easy, it would all feel so right.

But that is, Joel thinks, just the thing of it. It would feel right – but would it be right? He can’t yet tell.

You cloud his judgment, seduce his nature into wanting to give you everything and anything you could ever even think to ask for, and he can’t yet tell if it’s just you, that sparkle and that light and that heat like a comet that lives inside of you that he’s coming to suspect is wholly yours, nothing to do with biology or designations or markers that tell of what you should and should not be, that’s got him so desperate to please you. Or if it’s only nature, trying to force him into another choice he’s not made for himself.

You wake slowly, disturbed out of your sleep the way one feels when they’re being spied on by something too large and too scary to look at right in the eye.

You shift in the blue bed, cool and calm now, all that glowing heat from before that’d forced you out into the cold and the wind, hungry to throw yourself through space and time out into the sea, reckless and free, gone away now. All you feel as your eyes blink open slowly, is a shivery, damp cold rattling down the line of your spine. The room around you is dark, the glow of the slumbering fire out in the living room peeking in through the slightly left ajar door of your bedroom.

He’d stayed until you’d gone boneless and calm, trapped beneath his weight and between his thick strong arms, letting you suck on the gland inside his wrist as you’d pleased. And when finally, you’d been just on this side of awake, he’d changed your clothes and slid you beneath the soft sheets and weighted duvet, and sat in the cozy sofa chair by the window until you’d been too exhausted by the embers in your tummy and the tight want between your legs to fight sleep any longer.

The chair sits cold and empty now, and above it, the wide window, the pitch black of the world beyond is bright with unknown terrors, and you huddle into your nest of pillows and blankets, hiding beneath the edge of the duvet.

You’d never had a window in your bunk, had not experienced the night in years and years, and looking at it now, put on display as it is through the clear pane of glass separating you from all of that unknown, you feel suddenly terrified, nothing but little. It feels as if you were to look away from it, it’d reach through the glass and pluck you out of your bed, whisk you far enough away that he’d never be able to find you, come for you again, and also, like if you don’t stop looking, it’ll eventually begin to look back. You wiggle backwards, bum finding the edge of the bed, and then sliding out, feet first, gaze still peeled on the window and the night, walking backwards out of your room and pulling the door shut on your way. At the very last moment, you peek through the sliver of the door edge and frame, nothing but your nose remaining in the blue room, and you swear the night stares back now.

You shut the door with a snick, and turn to rush on tipped toes in search of his room.

He’s sleeping on his back, one thick arm thrown over his head, the other laying across his belly, and you peer over the edge of the bed, hands clasped beneath your chin, watching the up and down of his breathing, the flicker of his eyes beneath his lids. He has long eyelashes and funny whiskers and hair everywhere. Under his arms, and across his chest and his belly, leading down below the sheet covering him, to the thick lump there, that place you don’t know yet, but do understand. He’s hairy, and he’s big, and the aching place you want to show him comes awake in response to all this man you have before you. And although the house is warm, the fires stoked diligently to keep you as toasty as you need, another shiver runs its way down your back. So taking hold of one of his thighs, you hoist yourself up onto his too tall bed, knobby knee stabbing him in the side as you climb on top of him, planting yourself right in the middle of his broad expanse. He gives a rough grunt, shocked awake by the little creature climbing its way all over him, hands shooting out to steady you by the hips as he jerks startled.

“What in the Sam Hell–” You ignore his spluttering, rubbing your bottom against his stomach, finding a comfortable position to drape yourself over him, wilting like a felled weed snuggled up against his chest, tucked just below his chin, giving an entirely contented sigh when you settle. “What the fuck’re you doin’?” He has such a nasty mouth. Someone should wash it with soap for him.

He tries to roll over, but you cling, bearing your sharp little teeth to latch at his collarbone, holding tight, refusing to be shoved away again. “M’cold–” you fuss, chewing and slobbering all over him as you pull yourself closer, hitching a knee over his hip, burrowing your foot between the bed and his back.

“You have t’go back to your bed. You can’t sleep here.”

You whine, chewing harder, and he grumbles, but his hands slide from your hips to your back in a soothing pass and you slick your tongue against the flavors of his skin. He tastes so good, and he smells so good, and in a tiny voice you know will get you what you want, you say, “The window is too big and it’s so dark. I’m scared, alpha.”

He groans, grip going tight and strangling around you, fists bunching in the oversized clothes he’d swaddled you in after he’d dried the rain and outdoor chill off of you before putting you to bed. “Can’t I just stay here? I promise I’ll be good like you told me to,” and you nuzzle against him, making sure to thoroughly cover him in the headiness of your scent. Everything is so warm and right, and he’s so thick and comfortable and strong everywhere, perfect for laying on top of like this. The hair on his chest is prickly, tickling your face where you rub yourself against it, and he rumbles low, a deep sort of purring sound that you feel vibrate in your tummy, big wolfish man that he is, but his grip goes loose and soft after a while, stroking and soothing and petting along your slopes and planes. Convinced. Ha.

You hold very still, breathe very slow, make sure not to spook the beast while he accepts the fact of you here atop him until he finally says, already sleepy and relaxed again, “Alright… but you’ll behave like I said.” And eventually he rolls the two of you over, little omega barnacle that you’ve turned yourself into, and tucks you into his warm side.

The third time you wake to him, there’s fire everywhere. And an ache in your womb so sharp it sends shivers through your whole body. You cling and grind and tremble; forget your name, where you are, nothing more than that sticky throb in that place that you want to give to him so, so badly.

He’s draped atop you, heavy arm caging you in, thick chest covering your back, smothering you between incredible strength and, soft, Joel smelling sheets. You cup the ball of his bicep, it’s big and hard and hot, and drag your palm along the thick slope. He’s so strong, he could crush you, hurt you, make you into anything he wanted, and you want all those things, you think. You want him to do whatever he wants if only he’ll make the ache go away. Fire and glowing bright heat everywhere, most of all your belly, your heart, somewhere so deep inside you’d never known it existed until he’d come and made you aware of it.

Your fingers slide along his wide forearm, hairy here too, thick wrist, hard, strong bone beneath, and then the soft spot on the inside that belongs to you now. You stick your tongue out, tasting the spongy patch, scraping your teeth along it. If you bite him, you’ll be able to keep him forever, he won’t be able to send you away, but there still remains – even if just for a little bit longer, before the heat you’ve been waiting your whole life and a year for to finally take you – a part of you that’s still rational, head only halfway gone to the clouds. That part which reminds you that more than anything, you want him to choose you. Without the bite as a deal breaker, bond sealer, only because he wants you, only because he likes you.

But you can taste him, it doesn’t mean you have to bite him, and you the tip of run your tongue along the inside of his wrist, gently suckling at his gland, the flavor of him so much stronger here, as if his essence is more concentrated at this small place. And the ache between your legs, in your tummy, deepens, spreads and blooms and ravages. The inside of you feels sensitive and swollen and big and little all at once, and you shift your bottom, trying to rub yourself back up against him, your sucking mouth pulling sharper, a whine bubbling in your throat because you need something, something more, and you think you know, and you know you understand, but you’re not sure, and if he could just wake up and show you it would all be so much better.

You press back harder, arching so that the aching place feels the heat of him behind you, that hard ridge there that makes your heart pound all through your body. You’d shucked off your leggings and the sweater he’d put you in through the night, too hot and sweaty with the big beast smothering you as he’d been, so now you’re left in nothing but one of his too big t-shirts and the soft, cotton white panties all the omegas always wore. You whine again, gnawing on his wrist for real now, and a big paw of a hand comes up to wrap around your hip, stilling your wriggling. You feel him lean closer, burying his face in the back of your hair, groaning, hot bullish breath fanning across your nape. He rumbles deep and it only makes you feel worse, more desperate, more hungry for that thing you don’t know how to ask for. You want to cry his name, beg him, but your tongue feels fat and swollen inside your mouth, too full of blazing heat to form actual words. He just has to know, he just has to be able to tell.

“I know,” he mumbles against your nape, nosing around to your ear where he presses his mouth. “I know, it’s alright.” You gurgle again, pulling his wide palm to cover your face completely, nuzzling against his rough palm, muffling your pathetic animal sounds of supplication. It’s okay, it’s okay, you can hear him murmuring and you’re not sure who the words are for, but you feel certain they’re not for you. He’s scared, you know this. Between all the things you’re so uncertain of, this you’re sure of. He’s afraid, and it’s your job to reassure him, to show him how well it will all be once the two of you come together.

You push your face harder into his palm, and you feel him hook his fingers into the elastic of your panties, tugging the soft fabric wide, tugging them down your legs, and there’s that same need, yes, that comet bright glowing heat, but also, and something you can recognize as more your usual self, a desperate sort of shyness. Something coming unraveled and unspooled for the whole world, him, to see. You can feel the slick uncoveredness at the apex of your thighs, running down your legs, a blossom of heat and vulnerability there at that place, the core of you, and it doesn’t feel shameful, necessarily, but painfully exposed. Your softest place bared for him to see. And yet, alongside that, the knowledge that this soft place is only for him, that you only ever want it to be for him, and so this can, again, be nothing but right.

“Look at all this slick you’ve made for me, what a sweet girl you are.” There’s such reassurance in the timber of his voice, it makes the heat change, something swirling but steady, constant. You spread your own palm against the back of his hand covering your face, line your fingers along the backs of his, little and big, matched alongside each other, and you press his fingers against your forehead, squishing your nose against his palm, Hiding there in the cup of his hand from the whole world and him, waiting for this truth of yourself to finally be revealed to you.

His palm strokes along your bare thigh, I know, I know, he keeps saying, and they’d told you all that your alphas would know, that they’d show you, and there’s reassurance in this, that some part of what’s happening is unfolding as they said it would. It makes you feel not so small, not so untried and naive. You try and lay as still as possible, willing the flames into patience, breathing in your own hot breath from the cup of his palm. I know it hurts, we’ll make it better, I promise. He shifts behind you, the rustling of fabric, and then his hand on your bottom again, moving in a slow circular motion, steady and reassuring. He moves to your leg again, lifts it and then something hot and hard and big, coming to rest on your inner thigh, and he lets your leg down, starts the soothing rub of your bottom again.

“We’re gonna go so slow, alright. Only a little at a time and not the whole thing today. We gotta wait for your heat to settle in all the way, time it all right so that my rut doesn’t start before you’re ready to take me. How does that sound, sweetheart?” But your tongue is still fat, your words still jumbled and missing, and all you really want to ask is if he’s changed his mind now, if he’s finally decided he wants you, and you think you’re crying, sipping salt water from the palm of his hand. “I know I wasn’t how you needed me yesterday, and I’m sorry for that.” He presses his forehead against the back of your shoulder, hand sliding up your hip to your waist, dragging his shirt along as he goes, uncovering you for himself. And you feel so intensely, that you belong to him, and you can’t understand how he could have ever not felt the same way.

You hitch an agonized little sob, muffled by his hand, and he rolls slightly so you’re half draped atop his chest, his palm rubbing soothing circles low on your belly now. And forcing you out of your hiding place, he pulls your face back to look at him, gripped around your jaw. His face is very serene, and this settles you, makes the words he’s saying clearer, more meaningful. “Can you hear me silly thing, or can all you think about is taking a cock right now?” You scrunch your nose at him, you know that word, it’s his hard thing between your legs.

“It’s so heavy, alpha,” you sniffle, feeling the weight of it pressing against you there.

He nods, warm look in his eyes that crease at the edges. “That’s how it’s going to feel inside you, baby.”

“The knot?” A seedling blooms again, this one very different now, full of hope once more. You realize you’ve found your missing words.

He shakes his head, not yet, and drags his palm up the inside of your thigh, squeezing and kneading as he goes, and you want to complain that he moves so slow, that he needs to do something else, you don’t know what, but something. You want to click your teeth at him, bite him again, anything to make him go.

And then: “Drippy little girl,” and he’s finally there and a moan that’s almost a scream because he’s cupping a place that is so unbearably sensitive and raw and full of heat and wet like you’d never known was possible.

Oh, oh, ah, ah, ah. “It’s alright,” he says, rubbing gently back and forth, a slick sound that is loud and embarrassing coming from between your legs. “It’s alright. This’ll help for now. We won’t go inside.” And he grips the heavy thing, his cock, in his own palm that’s all slick from your leaking and presses it against you. He rolls over completely now, shifting higher in the bed so that you’re sitting full on top of him, back to chest, bum to belly, and he spreads your thighs wide with his other hand, pulling your shirt up to bare all your nakedness for him to see. You wonder if he can also see all that burning shyness you’re suddenly so chock full of.

“Look at these pretty little tits,” he murmurs, cupping one small morsel in his palm, squeezing so that you’re arching against him, mouth agape like a fish, trying to find sounds that seem to have suddenly gone missing once again. “That’s right, I know.” He moves to the other one, squeezes and pinches and shakes it so that it jiggles in the cup of his hand. All the while he strokes his cock between your legs, pulling his hips back every so often so that it slides against you, coating it in all that wet slick you’re spilling for him.

You look down at the place where it juts out between your thighs, and it’s so big. Dark and angry looking at the end, thick and covered in veins that make it look even angrier and about to burst. You ask him if it hurts him, and he laughs a little and says it isn’t anything you can’t fix which makes you seven different shades of pleased.

The hand at your breasts moves up to your face again, and he turns your head, searching for your eyes. “We started off badly yesterday, yes? But we’re gonna do better today. I promise.” He slides his hips back again and this time he presses harder against you, his hand flat against the underside of his cock so that the top is slicking all along you. Sensitive little cunt, he says when you tremble and shiver and keen, and that’s when you know that’s what it's called. Your cunt. That place that belongs to him, that you want to give him so badly, that you want him to want so badly but that you barely even know yourself. No more experience than the greedy, frantic digging at the soft, hot flesh beneath your hand in moments when everything had felt too tight and needy to do anything else.

“Gonna break you in so well, baby. Gonna teach you how to come, how to fuck, how to take a knot.” And now the wide head presses against you, against a place that is so, so incredibly sensitive it almost hurts. You suck in a sharp gasp, trying to jerk away from the hurt, but he holds you in place against him, presses again, yeah, I know, yeah I know, like he’s trying to put it inside you, and yes, you think that’s what it is, that’s what you need, even if it might hurt. “You’re gonna get everything you need jus’ from me,” and his words are slurred and dripping slacken from his tongue.

He starts to move faster, you think he’s swallowed the same stone of desperation you did, rough grunts and huffing pants, and “So fucking small, it’ll never fit.” Jesus fucking Christ. And on every slick slide forward that wide angry head of it, his cock, bumps the crest of your sex, catches at your hole. You watch it in shock as it presses in just a little, and it hurts and feels like you’re full of bubbles and everything is sticky and your tummy glows with heat.

“Your little cunt needs this,” he grunts, the head catches, he presses, presses, pulls away, you want to bite and scratch and demand he go all the way, and you’re nothing but a pounding heart and a clenching cunt and you want more, and when he slides again it notches full on at the tiny opening, he pauses, lets it rest there before he presses not even half a centimeter further, only giving you the wide stretch of it, letting your cunt flutter and grip around the very head.

“Look at that–” And he peers over your shoulder to look at what he’s doing to you. “Look at your tiny cunt stretching for me.”

You cry, trying to pull away, trying to shove yourself deeper, to take the whole of it like the greedy thing you are, but he holds you in place and lets you flutter and flutter and cry until something in your womb pulls tight, and with his fingers swirling at the apex of your sex, the little nub that is so sensitive it pulls a warbled, baying moan from your tongue, an ah, ah, ah, he gives you your first orgasm with him. A desperate thing, too much and not enough, and with his other hand he’s squeezing, shoving his fist along the rest of the length of his cock, pressing it hard where you meet, and then he’s feeding you a blazing heat, filling you with it, stirring your insides to flutter and shiver harder. Forcing you to cry and beg for more, “Please, please, please,” more.

“You’re not ready yet.”

And although you’re not entirely certain for what, you promise, “I am, I am, I can take it.” You know he’s supposed to put it all the way inside, that then, the knot will come. And although you’re unsure what it will specifically be like, what will become of you during or after, you know you’re ready to discover it all.

“Not yet.” And he’s grunting it through clenched teeth, his hips churning, spitting tip grinding at your hole, something hot and thick sliding wetly all over and between the two of you. “You’ll do as I say. Your little cunt needs this, needs me to be patient with her.”

He lets the slick weight of himself fall away from you, leaving you feeling stretched and bruised and all shivery on the inside, yet still hungry for more. And he pulls his hands along the slopes of you, leaving trails of sticky wet along your skin. The proof of all you are, invisible but tangible, with a taste and a smell and a feel.

You lay your head back on his shoulder, the heat swirls and simmers for now, and your cunt, your cunt, your cunt, you want to give it to him in full, it throbs and trembles against his slick cock. “I’ve never had a heat before,” you tell him although you know he knows. He probably knows everything there is to know about you, which, admittedly, is not much.

“That's alright.”

“It will come soon, yes?” You peer over your shoulder to look up at him, and he nods down at you, that warm, eye creased look on his face again. You like the sight of it so much.

“Will I go away from myself?”

“No,” he says gentle, “I won’t let you. I’ll keep you here with me. You have nothing to be anxious about.”

He rolls the two of you over, keeping you in the comfort of his embrace, and he’s huge and steaming and naked behind you. His hairy chest, his hairy legs all along the smooth and sensitive curves of you. And his thing, it’s still trapped between your thighs, heavy and sticky with your wet, and still kind of hard but not as much as before. You reach between your legs to touch it, and he jerks and hisses but lets you do as you please. Curious fingertips gently along the thick round end of it, down the long length to find two heavy and hot weights hanging lower.

“Where is the knot?” You ask uncertainly, shy with all the things you don’t know.

“Here,” and he grabs your hand, moving your fingers to the base of it where there’s an area of skin, of a different sort of texture, rougher, thicker, around the circumference of it. You prod gently at it, not understanding. “See, it’ll swell when it’s inside of you, and then we’ll stay connected for a time, and I’ll fill you, and that’ll help your heat. And after a while it’ll go down, until you need it again. Did they explain to you how it’ll happen?” His cock is thick between your thighs again, beneath your exploring fingers. A little harder and bigger than it was before. His body, something like a wonderful miracle you need to know everything there is to know about it.

“Yes, but not– not all the way, I don’t think. They said you’d show me.” You turn back to look at him, searching for confirmation, reassurance, but instead ask: “Why did you change your mind?” And finally, of his own choosing, he grips you by the throat, and presses a small kiss to your mouth. The greatest victory of the day, and it’s only just begun.

“It’s exhausting, not letting yourself have what you need.” Need, not want. He shifts over you, coming up on his elbow and rolling you so that you’re on your back and looking up at him. You bring your fingers up to explore along his face: the hooked nose, soft mouth, heart brandished beard. He sighs that bull sigh, and you giggle as it tickles your throat and cheeks. Need, not want. That stings. “Fighting against what you are constantly– and you reminded me that we still have control in what we are. That there’s still choice in this, decidin’ to be what we are without resenting it. And we need each other, after all.” Need, not want.

“I don’t think you need me.”

“No?”

“No.” The truth that you very much feel like you need him, you keep to yourself. And anyways, he knows. You know he knows.

“M’thinkin’ I didn’t know I did. Or couldn’t say it out loud.” And he mimics your exploring fingers: thumb against the fan of your lashes, up the slope of your cheekbone, prying your mouth open to catch the edge of your bottom teeth and look inside. There’s a warm look in his eyes, like he’s pleased with you, like you’ve done a good job. “Think I’m realizin’ how wrong I was. How I want this all too.”

Want, not need.

He bends his head and kisses your mouth, kisses your breast, shows you how much he wants it.

3. I Was a Child Once, I’m Not Any Longer

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog

#vic fic #HSM fic #Joel Miller #joel miller smut #the last of us #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us AU #pedro pascal characters

809 notes · View notes

starillusion13 · 6 months

Note

omg Hi! Im not sure if you’re still accepting requests but if you still do… I would like to request an ot8 ateez x reader where they all leave her because of a misunderstanding and then they chase her back after but she doesn’t forgive/give in so easily ? Thank you love ❤️

Lost you forever

Pairing: Ateez! ot8 x fem! reader

Genre: Angst, Mafia, Mature

Warnings: crying, mention of death, poison, mentions of mafia activities like shooting and deals in mafia, misunderstanding, pregnancy(?) [plz tell me if I have missed something] oc doesn't forgive easily coz she is deeply hurt.

W.C: 5.3k (i was so into it sorry)

Note: please I want to thanks to people for reading and reblogging. Reviews are always appreciated 😭. Applause to the ones who come up to me to interact and they know how friendly I am. Okay enough!

Network: @cultofdionysusnet @k-vanity

“I have found her.”

All the noise died down with just one sentence. The room is now pin drop silent with all the heads turned towards the same direction and eyes focused on one person. The one who has just entered through the main door and whose voice made everyone stop in their tracks.

The leader of the group with a blank expression, walks towards the said person and grabs the collar of the leather jacket, eyes burning with his creased forehead but somewhere he wants to believe the words he has just heard.

“You realize what you are speaking right, Mingi?”

Nodding his head, he stares right back, “Absolutely.”

“Are you sure that’s her? Maybe, you might have mistaken someone else.”

Closing his eyes for a second, he sighs, “I have seen her with my own eyes, up so close to realize enough that it was her. Her sweet smile and those soft hands, everything is same.”

The one holding his collar loosen his grip and walks over to the table to get back his drink.

“Hongjoong, stop drinking.” The eldest scolds the leader before turning towards the other, “Then where is she and why didn’t you bring back her here? Where exactly did you see?”

“She was working at the café, down the Ross street. The target’s location was last seen in that café and when I reached there, he had already left and then when I heard that sweet voice asking if I need something?”

“did she see you?” The youngest asks him with curiosity filled in his eyes.

“No. I ordered a simple coffee just to see her longer and when she handed it over to me, I felt her soft and innocent hands touching my rough and ruthless ones. I was wearing a mask so she didn’t notice me but she was hiding her pain really well with her sweet smile.”

“But her eyes were telling something else.” Mingi turns towards Yeosang on hearing his response.

Everyone is feeling guilty that they are the reason you are working all alone there and having the pain inside you which your eyes reflect enough to let them know how you are feeling. They have been with you long enough to know every detail of your actions, to read your emotions from afar, to know if you are happy or to realize that you are hiding something then why. Why did they misunderstood you back then and left you all alone helpless?

“I want to see her. Take me there, just tell me which café is that exactly and I will be on my way there.”

“San, calm down. Take it slow. I know that you are eager to meet her like we all are but we can’t just go there like this. You know what we did back that day. I don’t think, she would want to see us again.”

If they had this much power in their hand to erase that day or to change the situation that occurred that day then they would have done long way back but now its impossible to do so. It’s been three years that they have left you but when their mission in this new country led them to cross your path again, they are not going to leave this chance out of their hand. Searching you for so long and not getting any sight of you has made their life a disaster. Hongjoong has been drinking a lot since he found out that he had done wrong with you and not a single member of his gang can control his vigorous nature but being the leader of the uprising mafia gang, he has to control his limits to not let the opposition know his weakness. Yunho is not better than him here, being the fighter of the group, he is overdoing and exhausting himself just because he can’t get you out of his mind and showing his anger on others. Well, Seonghwa needs to be calm here as being the eldest, he finds this as his responsibility to check if his members are doing okay and him being the second in command has to be with the leader most of the time. But the question is how can he just pretend that he doesn’t think about you, his thoughts are always storming inside his head which are revolving around how to get you back. San is restless, he is almost every time being out of the house doing illegal shits without even informing the leader and just messing up things, which sometimes almost bring them to face a hectic situation but thanks to Wooyoung who is always there to save him but what about himself. He is the one who would show his emotions up his sleeves but when it comes to get you back, he is lost in a void. He doesn’t even know whether to be angry, upset, mad or just forget about you. Forget about you? Is it even possible? Mingi is always out of the base, he has taken upon himself to look out for the targets and engaging with the spies all around to know the motives of other gangs and be prepared but one thing is always flashing to him, thoughts of you. Jongho has kept himself silent for most of the times, away from his members and just trying his way to find out where you are. Are you even alive? He is always there to bug Yeosang to find you in every corner of their hometown but you were nowhere to be found and once they had lost all hope of you being alive. Yeosang has taken the job of being hacker too seriously and that just to find you till the last cell of his data but everytime, he is just getting disappointed.

🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚🐚

“Thank you for your order. Have a great night ahead.”

You smile sweetly towards the customer who just left the café and its almost nine at night so you should get prepared to leave for the night. You are always the last worker to leave on the busy scheduled day as you live just few houses away from here and the manager is too sweet to even let her guard accompany you to reach your house. She once requested you to do the extra night shifts on busy days as other workers live bit far away and you could be much helpful to her. She has this warm motherly aura and so you couldn’t reject her request.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry that you had to stay back late again. It’s Halloween season and you know how people are crowding over here.” Your manager having a guilty expression on her face approaches you.

“Oh no, it’s really fine with me. I can keep my mind off with some stuffs while working here so it’s not a big problem. I rather enjoy being here than staying at home and overthinking.”

“You are so sweet. You should take some leaves and rest for few days as I haven’t seen you taking leaves or going out with someone. Don’t waste your young age everytime working here. Have some enjoyment and refresh your mind.”

“Working here gives me the happiness. I don’t think being with someone can actually refresh my mind or rather haunt me…..Nevermind, you must go back as your son is waiting for you and after getting everything back to it’s place, I will hand over the keys to Mr.Lee.”

Nodding her head and waving at you, she rode back to her place leaving you and Mr. lee, who must be in the locker room getting his stuff and later waiting for you outside.

Arranging all the stuffs, it took twenty minutes as your other co-workers had almost done everything before leaving and the previous orders were simple so you didn’t have much to do. Picking up your bag from the counter, you give a final glance to the place to make a mental note if everything is fine. Satisfied with the result, you quickly went outside to see him already standing and waiting for the keys but he is looking impatient.

“Are you fine, Mr.Lee?”

“U-uh yeah…” sweats visibly lining the forehead and lips quivering. Why is he sweating in this cold night?

“If you need help, please do tell me.”

“Actually, I need to leave early… my daughter needs some help and she has just now called me so I think I cant go with you today.”

“Its fine with me. I can manage on my own, its just few steps and I will be home so don’t worry and leave. I hope your daughter is fine.”

He thanked you several times and left. Like always, your smile is still having that warmth even in this chilly night. Your hands rub your arms and you start walking towards your block. Everything is like usual until you start to feel someone is following you but waving it off as if it must be your fear of walking alone without him. Also, it’s Halloween and anything creepy can happen. Even the children’s pranks are creepier than ghosts. You quicken your steps, hands gripping the bag tightly.

You feel a hand on your shoulder and you almost had screamed when another hand pressed over your mouth, shutting you up and muffling your scream. Your eyes closed tight and hands trying to remove the palm from over your mouth.

“Y/N. Don’t be afraid, it’s me.”

You froze. Not due to the chilly wind just blew past you but because of the very familiar voice. Familiar? You don’t think it has that same familiarity like before. Every morning, this used to be the first voice you would listen while waking you up and engulfing you in a big bear hug. That’s past as now you are used to being wake up with your alarm or nightmares. Just a reminder, he is the part of causing that nightmare.

Parting your eyes, you can see the tall man standing in front of you. Looking down at you with a soft look on his face, teary eyes and hands slowly slip down from your mouth to your biceps to hold them firmly. The street is brightly lit due to the decorations for the occasion so everything is very clear for your eyes. You stare back at him and not knowing how to react as your body and mind is going against each other but you know a little part of your heart still beats for him, for them.

He is about to pull you in for a hug when you stop him with your hands pressed over his chest, preventing him from coming any closer.

“Y/N….”

“Stop it. You should not just hug randomly someone. You may know me but sorry I can’t really remember you.”

“Random? You are my angel. I want to hug you and say sorry for what I have done. Don’t pretend that you don’t know me, please tell me you have missed me equally.”

“Look, you must have mistaken me with someone else but I’m not her.”Pushing his hands off from you, “Even if I know your name doesn’t mean I know you, you are just like the rest of the customers in my daily life whose name I have to hear often. So it’s nothing special and as I don’t hear your name anymore maybe I would forget it forever.”

“Y/N!”

You make a ‘tsk’ sound on hearing him shout your name. Even if they pretend to be polite or gentle with you, they are the ruthless uprising mafia gang so what do you even expect less from them while controlling their aggression?

“This is you. Shout on me. Blame on me. but. Don’t show your kindness to me again. You have literally showed your true colors that day and look here we are. Standing face to face and you still shouting on me just like that day. You are still the same, Yunho.”

Hearing his name coming out of your mouth after three years is sending a wave of warmth to his heart. Atleast, you called him by his name even though your words are straight away piercing his heart like a sharp knife, you haven’t spoken to him like this ever but he knows he deserves it for leaving you that day.

A black SUV comes to a stop near to a side of you both. If it were any other time, you swear you would have got frightened but the raging veins with hatred towards him is not minding any danger surrounding you. You didn’t look at it’s direction but can hear several footsteps are nearing you. Why are you not scared? Is it because you are feeling safe in his presence? No, it’s just you don’t want to be saved or show your weakness, atleast in front of him.

“Doll.”

Don’t turn back. You are just imagining things. He can’t be hear even yunho is not here, right? You want to believe this but the presence behind you is too near you, his warm hands placed over your shoulder sending a jolt through your body. It may be warm but is lacking the warmth, you can only feel the coldness of feelings there. Turning around, you look into the eyes of Mingi, who just called you with the name he gave you on your first date with him.

Okay, so everyone is here. All the eyes are just looking at you, only you. If it was something back in those days then you would have become shy and hide behind Yunho and not look at them but this time, your daring eyes precisely staring back at them. Their eyes filled with regret meeting your eyes filled with hatred.

“Why are you all here?”

“For you.” Hongjoong replies quickly enough and this made you raise your brow.

The scene is like a deja-vu, very similar to the last time you had seen them. Them circling you under the night sky and you are the centre of the situation but that time, they had that rage in their eyes for blaming you and hoping you to vanish from their eyesight but this time, they have the fear…of losing you again.

“it’s not funny. If you all are going to have some Halloween pranks on people then go somewhere else, don’t waste my time.”

“It’s really not funny and also not a prank. We are really here for you.”Hongjoong said calmly.

“And? You got to see me. You needed to know if I’m alive or not and now you might kill me as I already know a lot of your things and it’s dangerous for you all to keep me alive. Go ahead, shoot me.”

“Y/n, are you insane? How can you think like this that we will shoot you?”

“San, it’s very obvious from the way you were pointing the gun to my forehead with fire in your eyes.” You point to the middle of your forehead with two fingers. They would have found your acts childish but your tone is too harsh for their ears, making it obvious how much hatred you have towards them.

The said man fidgeting his fingers, looking down and a single tear escapes his eyes. The tear of losing you. You are so near to him, just few feet away where he can run to you and hug you tightly and pull you in for a kiss yet so far away because of the way, your eyes glaring at him.

Mingi moves aside when Hongjoong comes in front of you, “Princess-“

“Don’t call me that when you don’t know how to treat one. I’m not your princess. Well, I’m no one to you.”

No one to him and this word burns his heart. Not only his but others too. Still he tried to speak to you.

“Whatever happened that day, we are really guilty for that. We are extremely sorry to treat you that way. I don’t know what happened to me and I put the blame on you, thinking it was your plan, everything I had lost that day was because of me and I lost you but trust me, each day I have spent regretting for this. Please forgive me. Please.”

He is no more holding back his tears, being a leader is a great responsibility and controlling his emotions in every situation is the major part but you were always there with him by his side where he could express himself, to show his vulnerable self to you but this time instead of comforting him, you are mocking back at him.

“Are you crying because of regret or losing your mission that day? I’m sure it’s about the shitty mission or what else-”

Yunho turns you around harshly and this time you can see his flaming eyes, “Are you making fun of him? What happened to you really? You have totally changed. This is not Y/N, we knew back then.”

“Exactly, this is not your Y/N anymore. This is me. An orphan who lives alone in this block and works by the café down the street. Also, not nice to meet any of you.”

You give him a blank expression. His grip on you tightens and you just stare at the hold, hissing but not telling him to leave you. Why? Because you want to feel him. No. You want to see how much he can lose control on you and the physical pain is nothing compared to the mental pain, you have gone through the years.

“Please come back to us. We are here to take you back, to your home, our home.”

Seonghwa. Please don’t speak like that. He is a siren for this because even if you want to hate him, his voice is always as if lurking you to trust him, his words which are still soothing to your ears, remembering those feather kisses. No. They are pinching you like a thorn just like your words are doing to his heart.

“There is nothing called ours. My place is here and nowhere else. I guess you don’t know the meaning of a home. Home is somewhere you can feel warmth and comfort, a forgiving atmosphere to erase your pain into happiness. But the place you are mentioning is a prison to me, hearing the name suffocates me, the memories haunt me. Atleast, here, I’m okay by myself, far away from you all but still nothing is a home to me.”

“Why are you saying like this? Please don’t push us away when we just got you back.”

“So? I should forgive you all and get back to you. Never. This is not happening ever.”

You walk towards him, his ears perk up hearing your heels nearing him, Yunho has left his grip on you but his hands aching to touch you again. The memories of you both spending nights together with warm skin against skin, hushed promises surrounded by the burning love but now even if your skin is warm, the touch was cold with numb feelings.

You pull the strap of Seonghwa’s jacket and other hand block his hand which he was about to raise and swiftly pull the gun out, pointing it towards his forehead. Others come to a warned position.

“If I shoot you here and wait enough to bleed you to death.” You turn to look back at them, their surprise faces looking back at you but no one daring to step forward. “Then if I say, please forgive me. Will it be worthy?”

“But…but we didn’t hurt you. We…we just….” San doesn’t know how to complete his sentence. He is lost within his own words. Seeing you after years, your coldness towards them, even pointing gun towards one of their member and remembering how you and him were in the same position last time causing his hands shake. So ironic for a mafia member. No matter how strong they are, how ruthless they can be but when it comes to you, you are their weakness.

“It’s not always hurting someone physically. Their way of act towards you speaks volume and the words you told me while pointing the gun is way more painful than if you would have actually shoot me.” Turning, towards Seonghwa, “You have already killed me that day. I am dead for you.”

“Baby, please don’t say like this.”

“How many times do I need to tell you that I’m nothing to you all? Stop calling me names.”

Wooyoung’s eyes go wide on hearing your shout. He is so much taken aback by your outburst that he is almost looking helpless towards Mingi standing near him.

“I’m sorry…I mean…please don’t say like this. You are everything to me, to us. You don’t know how messed up we were when we left you. I’m so sorry to leave you but please atleast lets forget about that incident and please come back to us.” Wooyoung stutters but not again using the endearment.

Mingi chirps in, “Human can may make mistakes. Whatever happened that day, we know it was not your fault, it was a mistake and we really forgive you for that. I’m sorry for being harsh on you.”

“Yes. We are really guilty. We should have listened to you but rather we blamed you on the spot and said such harsh words which even if I want to take back, I can’t. I didn’t let you to explain but ended up on a conclusion.” Wooyoung ends the sentence with tears spilling from his eyes silently.

Do you forgive them? Yes. but Why? They are still telling you it was your mistake. You cant forgive them so. No.

“So you still think that it happened because of my mistake? It was an accident?”

“Y/n…”

“Stop it, Yunho. Don’t speak a single word. I’m getting annoyed with you.”

Your steps come to a stop in front of Wooyoung whose eyes are shining to get you so close to him. He raises his hands but got yanked away by you. Maintaining a straight eye contact with him, you grab his collar.

“look at me and say that it was my mistake. It all happened because of me.”

He remained silent. He parts his lips but nothing coming out and this is making you impatient.

“Tell me!”

Hot tears streaming down your eyes. Still your body is not getting enough warmth and craving for it during the cold night in that lonely street. Even if you are with all of them still you are feeling alone. Your vision is getting blurred but you roughly rubbed your eyes with the sleeves of the shrug. Your breathings are getting heavy and you are losing control.

The youngest pulls away Wooyoung from your hold and holds your red hands in his grip which are shaking due to the tight fist.

“Please, calm down. It’s me Jongho. It’s not your fault. No one is blaming you. Take deep breathes and calm down.”

He knows that you are hyperventilating and he still knows how your body is reacting and you hate this. You harshly pull your hands away from his hold.

“Don’t touch me. My body aches when I remember how I let you monsters to touch me, everywhere, every day. I’m feeling so ashamed of myself. Don’t make me regret more. I hate the fact how you still know this about my body and am beyond surprised that you still remember me. Oh wait, you have to remember every detail of your enemy before plotting a nice plan and attacking them, right? And today is the perfect day.”

“You are not my enemy. You are my-“

“Stop. Don’t complete that sentence, Jongho.”

“Don’t speak to him like that, he was not even there during the whole mission, he was in for a quick need for back-end support for Yeosang.”Mingi says in a moderate tone.

“But was there long enough to blame me.”

Hongjoong places a firm hand on Mingi’s shoulder, “No one is blaming you. It was an accident and you didn’t know what to do there.”

“I know that whatever you did was to save yourself and I’m glad that you are fine.”

You stare at Hongjoong for a few moments and then burst out laughing like a maniac. Any other person would have found you weird and commented that you have gone mad. Even they would have made fun of you and teased you that how foolish you looked like while laughing like this.

Frustrated groans and your hands raising to your scalp and you mess your hairs. You are totally acting like a drunk person.

“hongoong, did you hear what he just said? Did you hear everyone? He said that I did that to save me. Huh. To. Save. Me.”

You skip steps towards yeosang and slap him, “You think I have killed Mr. Kim to save myself?”

“Y/n!”

You could barely hear Seonghwa and Yunho’s shout when you grabbed Yeosang’s biceps and shake him. He is shocked not just because you have slapped him but seeing you losing your mind like this and having no control over your actions and he is still thinking that something like this might have happened which cause you to kill Mr.Kim.

“Tell me Yeosang. You think I did it for myself? Tell me.”

Nothing he said in reply, just stared right back at you, the only thought running through his mind is to hug you and say that he won’t be leaving you again. He would protect you from the whole world. His daily searching to get your location was always in vain and he still can’t believe his eyes that you are standing in front of him but your eyes showing the amount of hatred in you for him. a helpless cry audible to his ears to which he was deaf during last time.

“So, you do think it is.”

You take a few steps back, staring back at each of them. San tried to come near you but Yeosang stopped him and shook his head.

“I…I did it…I killed him…It was not an accident.” You look up to the sky and smile to yourself, “I did it to save my family. I shoot him to save you all from his evil planning. You all were my family and I tried my best to face him, my hands were shaking, head was spinning. I couldn’t place the actions and words right in place but I knew I had to do it to save you all.”

“save us?” Hongjoong asks you in surprise.

You chuckle sadly, “Your beloved dad had only invited you to the party so that he could destroy you and your gang. He realized that you are not his own son and Jungwoo is his real son so to give him all the power, it was a better option to erase you from the path. I got to know this because Jungwoo told me and he didn’t want to support his dad in this way and somehow mr.Kim tried to kill me when he heard that I wont let you join the party.”

“That’s why…that’s why…you were whining to spend time with us and cancel the schedule.”

You nod on Jongho’s statement.

“I didn’t know how to stop you so before I could come up with a plan, you were already in your way to catch your target at the party held by Mr.Kim. And…and…when I tried to follow you all, he caught me and poisoned me.”

“Why did he poison you?” Wooyoung almost shout hearing this.

“He wanted to see you all going down first seeing me die and then it would be fun to end you. He really succeeded here.”

“What do you mean?” Yunho asks you slowly. You glance towards him but nod a bit.

Picking up your bag which is lying on the floor because of the previous commotion, you look down and tears flowing continuously, “even when I was poisoned, I escaped from the room and when I reached the scene, you were already in the middle of the bloody scene with your target. He was going to leave the place and would leave you all dying in the bomb blast and that’s how I thought it was best to kill him.”

“You didn’t tell that you were poisoned, we thought you were acting of feeling sick.” Even though Seonghwa confessed what he did feel right back then still he is feeling guilty towards you. You stare right back into his eyes.

“When I shot him in front of you all, Hongjoong snatched the gun from me and you harshly pulled me towards the exit and then it went on with you all blaming me.” You cast a glance towards San, “you pointed the gun at me and threatened me to kill if I don’t spill whose spy I was. You even doubted me with Jungwoo that we were cheating behind you and it was our plan to destroy you.”

Huh. Such cheap thought they had. They all blamed you and called such names and even threatened to kill you. It was not enough that they even insulted you in front of everyone present in the party even tried to prove your imaginary relation with Jungwoo.

“I’m sorry…”

“Mingi. Say sorry to Y/N who was trying to explain everything to you all, who was enduring the pain of spreading poison in her body and was still trying to protect you. Go hug her and pull towards you and say everything is okay, whose hands were shaking because she never killed anyone in her life before despite you all trained her in every field for her self-defence. Go and listen to her and ask her. Are you fine?”

He can’t match your eyes so he looks down regretting his every move, you throw a dirty look at him yet somewhere your eyes showing a little bit of sympathy. Your body still reacting to their touch and wanting to run to their embrace making you hate yourself.

“You can’t go. She is dead. Your Y/N is dead. Congratulations, you have killed her that day. You have killed a new life with her as well. She didn’t even get to know who her father is. Mission completed Boss.”

You stare straight and boldly towards Hongjoong.

“Her? Father? What are you saying?” Yeosang is impatient on hearing such things from you. He is confused just like the others and their heart is racing whereas yours is calm but painfully beating.

“I have lost my first baby and one of you lost the honour of being the father for the first time. It was too late when I woke up in the hospital, the poison had already been spread too much. I don’t know how I am still alive but maybe atleast Jungwoo didn’t leave my side.”

It was a big storm for them. As if the ground disappeared from underneath their feet. You were pregnant and they were unaware of it. If only they had agreed with your warnings, then they would have been having a happy family time with you and their baby together. No matter whose baby she was, she would have been theirs, they all would have given their fatherly love to her.

Without saying any more word, you begin to walk towards your way and didn’t even look back for the last time towards them.

“Y/N…”You heard wooyoung calls you from behind and they might follow you.

Still facing your back towards them, you speak slowly but audible enough for them, “Don’t follow me or come to find me again. You have left me that day, helplessly crying in the garden. Don’t expect me to forgive you and go back to you again.”

You walk away, far away from them where your silhouette getting lost in the painful dark but they know atleast you are safe and alive beyond that darkness. Their eyes follow the last bit of your presence.

They won’t be giving up on you like this. They will get you back someday but they also know that they have lost a part of you forever.

“I love you but I have lost you.”

PART 2

Perma Taglist: @mymoodwriting @justhere4kpop @anyamaris @yeoobin @icchyi @jwnghyuns @piratequeen-queenofgames @dinonuguaegi @oreharuuu @eriny123 @sanwifesstuff @kiwiisnthereoops @kiwiraccoon [open!]

604 notes · View notes

elliespassagerprincess · 6 months

Text

Mary - (ellie williams x reader)

for @fleshunger ty for being patient, ily <3

This story is based off the song Mary by Alex G, if you can please listen to the song as you're reading! There is another version to this fic! You can read it here:)

Pairing: ellie x fem!reader

requests are open again! send me your silly thoughts

warnings: angst.

Summary: in which you left her to rot

authors note: lmao yall probably hate me for posting so much, forgive me pookies, I swear after tomorrow i'll post less....

Mary is the girl that I wanna kiss

She's got big red eyes and big red lips

She's got big sharp teeth and big fat hips

Mary is the girl that I wanna fuck

She's got leather heart and leather gloves

She's the only girl that I wanna love

"I wanna kiss her so bad" Ellie vented to Dina.

Dina rolled her eyes at Ellie.

She was in love. Really in love.

In all the years Dina has known Ellie she has never seen her this down bad.

"What's so special about this girl anyway?" She asked as she took a bite from Ellie's sandwich.

"What type of a question is that?" Ellie asked. She felt disrespected on your behalf.

"She's got beautiful eyes- and she looks good with red lipstick. Even without lipstick, her lips are so kissable"

A small smile appeared on Dina's face as she listened to her friend describe the girl she was so deeply in love with.

"She's got big fat hips too and I just want to eat her-"

"woah Ellie calm down, that's too much information"

Ellie's face went red with embarrassment.

"How'd you meet her" Dina asked.

"at a fruit Market" Ellie replied with a shrug.

Bananas or oranges?

Bananas?

Oranges?

Ellie was currently thinking about what she should get as she stood in front of the fruit stand. Since when was it so fucking difficult to choose fruit?

"If you think harder, much you might explode" she heard someone chuckle next to her.

Ellie turned to where your voice was coming from, her heart rate suddenly increased.

Angles are fucking real.

"um- yeah" Ellie responded awkwardly.

She cleared her throat and she fixed her posture.

"Bananas or orange?" She asked you.

What the fuck Ellie? Why would you fucking ask that?

You turned your head to look at the fruit, before you reached out to grab a banana.

"It looks fresher" you shrugged as you gave the banana to her.

Your fingertips brushed against hers, and a shock of electricity ran through Ellie.

Her palms felt sweaty, she couldn't breathe.

Focus Ellie. Focus.

"Thank you" You gave her a small smile as you started walking away.

'C'mon Ellie make your move' she thought to herself.

"hey wait!" Ellie yelled as you started walking away.

You turned around to look at her.

"Can I have your number?"

"That's fucking cliché" Dina laughed.

"shut up" Ellie muttered annoyed.

The two girl fell into a comfortable silence as Ellie's thoughts wondered to you.

Oh you would've loved this salad. You would've loved this ice tea. Maybe she should've asked you to come out instead of Dina

*ding*

Ellie reached down to grab her phone. It was you.

Her girl.

Not officially her girlfriend yet, but soon.

She clicked onto the notification with your name.

"Come over please"

fuck yes

Ellie jumped up, and she looked at Dina with a grin.

"My girl is looking for me"

Dina laughed at her friends excitement.

"go get her tiger"

Ellie gave Dina a hug as she ran towards your apartment.

Today she felt confident. Today she was the day she was going to ask you to be her girlfriend. You messaging her was a sign from the gods above.

Ellie's legs were hurting, and she was out of breathe but she was on her way to finally tell the girl of her dreams that she was the one she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

Listen to me, baby, I don't mind

I wanna be with you and waste my time

Give it to me, baby, I feel good

I wanna feel whatever you think I should

Sing it for me, baby, play my song

I wanna hear your daddy sing along

Mary is the girl that leaves you to rot

She says, "I am real and you are not"

Ellie knocked at your front door.

She kept knocking and she's been standing outside of your apartment for the last 10 minutes.

Where were you? Maybe you were laying dead on the floor?

Ellie knocked and knocked but yet you never came.

Was this a prank?

She held the doorknob as she opened the door.

It was open this whole time.

Ellie slowly walked into your apartment, and she looked around the place you called home.

It felt oddly empty.

The little trinkets you kept around was all suddenly gone.

The apartment filled with so much life at one point, suddenly dull and lifeless.

Ellie's eyes went around the room and her eyes landed on a white envelope.

On the front was your pretty handwriting and Ellie's name decorated the front.

With shaky hands Ellie picked it up, and she opened it.

Dear Ellie

Or should I say banana girl?

She chucked remembering your first interaction.

I'm sorry for what I'm about to tell you, please don't hate me. I truly never wanted to hurt you Ellie. But I know you have feelings for me. I don't feel the same way. I never wanted to reject you, because I valued our friendship too much. So for the sake of your feelings, I left. I changed my number, so you wont be able to message me. I'm sorry Els.

I love you.

Ellie didn't realize that she started shaking till she finished reading the letter.

She tore the letter apart and her knees buckled.

She fell to the ground sobbing.

You made feel so alive, but you just killed her again.

All the love Ellie had for you was rotting away into hated.

She loved you so much but you left her to rot.

541 notes · View notes

hariboz · 8 days

Text

“forget? you?” — shb x gen!reader

a little something i wrote to get back into my writing flow!

ex!hanbin has been plaguing my mind for a while now. the type to make the heart wrenching decision to break up with you to follow his dreams in hopes of finding what he wanted in the spotlight, ready to sacrifice the comfort of your embrace to chase what he has been dreaming of for years.

“thank you for always being by my side, but i don’t know if i can be happy if i don’t try one last time. i don’t want to break your heart, angel, but will you let me go?”

and you did. of course you did, how could you not? you could always see the sparkle in his eyes when he showed you a new choreography he made, the longing in his gaze when watching others dance on the same stages he could only dream of being on. you knew he was happy with you, you knew he loved you. he was happy, loved and comfortable, yet unfulfilled. because while you would give him every single star in the night sky if you could, no amount of your love would sustain his desire to become the shiniest star of them all himself.

so you let him go, gave him your blessing and told him to better make it to the top so your love was not given up in vain.

you had never seen hanbin cry so much before.

“i promise, angel. i’ll carry you with me in my heart.”

and truth be told, ex!hanbin held his promise. he made it. a leader, a highly sought after visual, a mc, a vocalist.

he’s not your binnie anymore. he’s not the one waking up an hour before your alarm to make you breakfast anymore. he’s not picking you up from work with that sweet smile and a smoothie in his hand. he doesn’t try to teach you his choreos anymore. he doesn’t giggle at you while fixing your hair anymore.

on days where it’s especially hard you catch yourself wishing you had refused, had kept him close to you. had begged him to stay back, to not sacrifice all the serene happiness you shared; but then you snap back to reality, the realisation that these selfish thoughts keep crawling their way up making you feel guilty.

it’s a sick twist of fate, you think, when you happen to walk past a wall of support ads for him plastered along your way. you don’t know whether to laugh or cry; whether you should be elated he is receiving an amount of love you could never have given him or whether you should be hurt and bitter that all this meant more to him than you seemingly ever did.

it’s not fair to compare like that, you know that, but it’s not like he’s there to defend himself. he’s never there anymore.

in your inner frenzy, the internal fight between wanting to support the man you still love oh so deeply and the selfish wish to have kept him for yourself, you bump into someone, misty eyes barely focused enough to notice the person in front of you.

you look up briefly to apologise, wanting nothing more than to get away from this overstimulating throwback to your better times, only to realise that the devil — angel — himself is standing right there.

right there, in front of you. sung hanbin. your binnie.

you know it’s him immediately despite the mask he’s wearing. the all too familiar sparkle in his eyes and his pretty lashes that you know all too well blinking back at you in shock, his eyes desperately darting over your face in an attempt to drink in every little change and detail.

you’re just about to speak when he turns at the sound of his name, which is when you finally realise the crowd standing not too far away, observing him like hawks and pointing their phones at him.

right. he’s idol binnie now.

so you bow politely and leave, trying your best to manoeuvre through the crowd. your heart is beating in your ears, your thoughts all jumbled and confused. you haven’t seen him in so long. not in person, anyways, and now you’re running away? what else could you have done?

it’s like you’re on autopilot, not even noticing you’ve made your way back home until you’re stood in front of your apartment. it’s then when you’re about to unlock your door, planning to crawl into bed and never come back out, that your phone vibrates.

first once, then twice.

“i don’t know if you want to talk to me anymore, but i was happy to see you today. even if it was really short.”

“i miss you.”

“you didn’t forget?”

“forget? you?”

“i could never. i love you.”

”did you ever think about dating an idol?”

ex!hanbin who, i think, would give it all up to follow his dream only to realise every single version of his future had you in it. and now he’s here, trying to win you back, hoping it’s not too late. because ex!hanbin is not only a romantic, but also in love. deeply, unabashedly in love.

212 notes · View notes

dwonfilm · 2 months

Text

There’s no life after you. | Dean Winchester x Reader (one-shot)

Summary: Dean felt like he had no other option than to push [Y/N] out of his life completely. When he and Sam find a case in her hometown, he’s hit with all of the emotions he’d tried for so long to bury.

Warnings: swearing, mild-angst, mostly sadness and ending with fluff.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Flashbacks are in bold.

Dean and Sam had found a case in Reno, Nevada—a city that had a lot of memories particularly for the older Winchester. Sure they’d worked a dozen or more cases around here over the years but that wasn’t the type of memories that kept playing on his mind. He only wished it was that simple. Sam had opted to take the backseat, needing some extra rest on the drive and Dean usually drove his precious ‘67 impala anyway. Ever since they’d found this case, the eldest Winchester was uneasy. Not because it was anything special, from the details online it seemed like it was just another vamps nest—maybe even just a handful travelling together.

No, what began to plague his mind was something that cut much deeper than that. All he could think about was you.

It had been roughly two years since he’d last seen you. Every other second of the last year and half had been him fighting the urge to reach out, knowing two things for certain. One: you’d be far better off without him holding you down. Two: even if that wasn’t the case, he’d really hurt you the last time you spoke and despite how much he missed you.. you’d likely never speak to him again—but that’s what he’d wanted right? You to move on, you to live a life that wasn’t plagued by the dangers of all things supernatural. Find a good man, a normal man, settle down.. get married and have kids. Not have to worry about tending to someone who had spent his entire life broken. Shaking his head to try and rid himself of these thoughts, it seemed the universe had other plans.

It seemed at some point in the drive his playlist had changed and delved into the ‘divorced dad rock’ side of things—the first few notes of what he recognized as a Daughtry song began to play. Seemingly just as they’d finally crossed the state lines into Nevada, the lyrics began..

“Ten miles from town and I just broke down, spitting out smoke on the side of the road. I’m out here alone, just trying to get home to tell you I was wrong but you already know. Believe me I won’t stop at nothing to see you so I’ve started running.”

Now Dean knew exactly what song this was and it damn sure wasn’t helping with his desperate need to stop thinking about you. He reached out to change the song but when the chorus hit, he stopped and his finger merely hovered above the button.

“All that I’m after is a life full of laughter, as long as I’m laughing with you—and I think that all that still matters is love ever after, after the life we’ve been through. ‘Cause I know there’s no life after you.”

It was as if the song was delivered down by the hand of God himself, which only made the ache in Dean’s heart that much worse. He’d been in pain ever since he left two years prior, but he had no right to be—he knew that. After all, the reason he didn’t have you by his side was because he left. It was because he walked away. Deeply he’d sigh as the next verse again would line up with the exact thought in his head.

“Last time we talked, the night that I walked burns like an iron in the back of my mind. I must have been high, to say you and I, weren’t meant to be and just wasting my time. Oh why did I ever doubt you? You know I would die here without you.”

Death had truly paled in comparison to how he felt seeing the look in your eyes. All of the pain, the hurt as he watched you break in front of his very eyes. You’d been together three years in total, but what you didn’t know—what he refused to tell you is that his worst fear was becoming a reality. Lucifer had threatened you in order to make Dean comply with his demand. He’d figured out the only way to get to the elder Winchester was through you, seeing as Lucifer himself needed Sam for his own personal vendettas. It wasn’t long after this that Dean knew he had to get as far away from you as possible. All the pain and suffering he’d endured in his lifetime would be nothing if your death was due to him. He couldn’t live with that and more importantly, you deserved more than that out of this life.

Sam began to stir in the backseat, which he’s caught sight of through the rear view mirror and so Dean quickly changed the station. He’d use Metallica specifically to shift the mood before his brother woke up and started asking too many questions. Questions that Dean wouldn’t have the answers to and he was already battling his mind to keep it all at bay.

Gripping Baby’s wheel tightly in his hands, he’d continue to path to Reno. About fifteen minutes later was when Sam’s eyes actually opened. “Mornin’ sleeping beauty.” Dean said with a (fake) smile on his face. “Ha-ha, very funny. Wait.. how long was I out? Are we in Nevada already?” He asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and noting their desert-like surroundings. “I don’t know, hours Sammy. Yeah we’re in Nevada—about an hour or two ‘til Reno.” Just saying the name of the city was enough to have him nervous again. There was a brief bit of silence between the brothers, Sam had a thought on the tip of his tongue but he didn’t know whether he should say it. Dean’s eyes had fixated on the road ahead and he sensed that his younger brother was gonna bring it up—bring you up, he’d always really liked you. Besides that, he could always seem to tell when things were troubling Dean despite his best efforts to hide it. “You know you could-“ Sam started but knowing it was coming, the elder brother immediately shut it down. “Sam, don’t. Please. I can’t and you know that.” Dean’s voice was shaky and that let him know that he’d already been thinking about things far too long. “You’ve been thinking about it. I know you, man. You think I didn’t see the look on your face when I told you we had something in Reno?” He sighed, knowing that his older brother was struggling with this didn’t make him feel good but he also knew it was making Dean feel worse. “Sammy, please.. I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”

Sam would shake his head but he let it go, rehashing this with Dean while he was attempting to drive wasn’t gonna end well for either of them. Not to mention an hour and a half of odd tension in such a small place wasn’t ideal either. Instead, the younger brother’s eyes averted from the front of the car altogether as he turned to gaze out the window next to him. Sighing partially in relief and partially from the lingering thoughts, Dean would fully place his attention on the road and on the directions to this particular motel. They needed to get in, solve this case and get out before he did something he’d been trying for quite some time not to do.

Surprisingly this case was a little more difficult to follow through on, these vampires were incredibly elusive and their nest wasn’t the easiest to find. However, after a couple days lingering around they finally located the nest and were able to kill the three vamps that had been killing the locals. As it had become part of the job, Sam and Dean went out to a local dive bar to celebrate the victory—but Dean was trying to do more than that. He was trying to drown the lingering thoughts of you with whiskey, swallowing the liquid and letting it gently burn his throat. This would end up having the opposite effect and only made him think of you more. Over the first hour and change the brothers spent at the bar, three separate girls tried to hit on Dean but he didn’t really pay them any mind. Around the two hour mark the elder of the brothers decided he needed some air, getting up and walking outside. Dragging his dominant hand over his face he was doing anything to cling to that last bit of pride that he had. You were better off and he knew that, but every day that had been lost it was eating at him slowly. He needed a distraction and so he walked over to his precious car, getting into the driver’s seat and sighing. One flick of the wrist and the lights would come on, the radio coming in clear as day: it was that goddamn song again.

“You and I, right or wrong, there’s no other one. After this time spent alone it’s hard to believe that a man with sight could be so blind, thinking about the better times.. must’ve been out of my mind. So I’m running back to tell you.”

Again it seemed like the universe had intervened and Dean Winchester was far too drunk to fight it. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes and right now, all that he needed was you. He opened up the driver’s side door and got out just to come face to face with Sam, who had been worried when he couldn’t locate his brother in the bar. “What is it Dean?” He asked, noting the emotional state it was clear he was in—confused but not entirely. It wasn’t like him to be so open with his emotions, but you’d helped him with that. “I need to see her, Sammy. I can’t do this anymore.” There was enough emotion in his voice for his younger brother to know what he meant. Nodding Sam would approach the driver’s side door. “I’m driving, we’re not risking it with you.” Dean normally would protest but right now? All he needed to do was get to you. It didn’t matter how, he just needed to fill the void that he’d put there himself.

“All that I’m after is a life full of laughter, without you god knows what I’d do.”

Dean’s eyes were technically gazing out the window, but that’s not what he saw. His mind was flashing different images in rotation—one happy memory with you followed up by something he’d done to chase your memory away after he’d run away.

“All that I’m after is a life full of laughter, as long as I’m laughing with you and I think that all that still matters is love ever after—after the life we’ve been through. I know there’s no life after you.”

It seemed fast, but it had probably been about thirty minutes of time that had passed. Not that you lived very far at all, if you were even still at the last address the Winchesters had for you—Sam took a longer route hoping that Dean would sober up a little more before talking with you. Anyone would be able to smell the whiskey on him at this moment, but his words needed to be coherent if there was any chance of you hearing him out. It seemed that he had sort of the same idea because even when the impala had pulled into the driveway, he just sat there. “What if she doesn’t wanna talk?” Dean asked, somber tone to his voice as his eyes remained fixated on the front door of what he hoped was still your home. Mind racing almost as fast as his heart. “Dean, if I know anything about [Y/N], she’ll at least listen—even if she’s incredibly pissed and still hurt.” Sam reassured his older brother. Dean sighed again, not wanting to waste another second and also wanting to see have some alcohol in his system for this conversation. Slowly he opened the passenger side door and stepped out onto the asphalt driveway. Gently closing the door, it had still alerted a dog inside the home who was barking just a little bit every couple of seconds. He carried himself up the few cement steps, turning to see the front door closer than ever. Now more memories of the last time he was here were coming back.

“Dean, please.. why are you doing this? You can’t possibly just have stopped loving me, that’s not..” Her sobs were breaking his heart but he knew this was something he had to do. “Why are you walking away from this? From us? After everything we’ve been through.. after the life we’ve built from the ground up.. you’re just throwing it all away.” She felt as if there was a fire in your chest, she’d been sobbing so intensely for what seemed like forever. Mascara and eyeliner were smudged and made a mess of the space underneath her eyes. “Say something, Dean—please.. why are you pushing me away? What did I do?!” Every word became far more intense and the actual words were hard to discern from the sobs. Dean had just been staring at the floor since the words left his mouth. Three years next to her and he never imagined this day would come, but if you died just so Lucifer could get one up on him? He’d never survive. He’d never be able to carry the weight of your death or your blood on his hands—so this was the only way you got to live a long and happy life without him putting you in harm’s way. “[Y/N/N] I.. I just don’t think we were meant to work out. I’m sorry, I just-“ he was cut off by her intense sobs hearing him saying it again. “Please Dean.. don’t do this.. whatever I did wrong, whatever’s not working we can fix it. Please..” She pleaded, voice already hoarse from the crying and the wailing. “Sweetheart you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s me, I’m just, not made out for this relationship stuff.” He’d barely lifted his gaze again to meet her own, but only for a second. Seeing her like that was too hard for his heart to bare. “Why Dean.. please.. it’s been three years. Three years of this and we can talk about it. Whatever it is we can move past it together, don’t you love me anymore?” She sobbed out, arms wrapped around her own chest as Dean looked up to her face and met her gaze one last time. “Honey, I’ll love you ‘til the day I die.” Sighing he turned to walk out the front door, closing it and never looking back. He couldn’t look—his heart had already shattered.

Now here he was again, roughly two years later, taking the last few steps to fully stand at your front door. Lifting his hand which had formed a loose fist, he’d knock three times upon the wooden material of the door. There was no answer and no sign that anyone was home other than the dog barking that he’d heard moments prior. Dean was about to turn and walk back down the pathway when he heard the doorknob turning after the lock clicked out of position. “Do you know how late it is, what do you nee—“ her eyes widened when she realized who had just knocked at her door. “D-Dean.. what are you..” she felt her bottom lip quivering. Dean could tell this was the last thing she’d ever thought would happen. “Hi, sweetheart. I-“ before he could get another word out of his mouth, he was met with a harsh slap to the side of his face. His eyes fell as he collected his thoughts, waiting before speaking again. “I deserve that. I deserve that and so much more. [Y/N/N] I’m so sorry.. I’m so fucking sorry.” He got out, not being able to look back up at her just yet. “You’ve got some kind of nerve showing up here, this late at night.. Dean you broke my heart and you stomped on it to boot. Why do you think after two whole years that I’d listen to whatever the hell you have to say?” It was obvious that there was sadness and hurt laced within her voice, more so than the anger she’s trying to push forward. Slowly his head tilted back into its usual position and his eyes found hers again. “I know there’s no life after you.” It was all he could say in that second and her expression softened, before she’d built the wall back up. “You came all the way to quote a Daughtry song?”

“No, I’m quoting that damn song because for the three days Sam and I have been in Reno I’ve heard it everywhere. My car, in a store, hell in my head—[Y/N] I’ve been trying every day since I left to push your memory from my mind. I wanted so badly to forget about you and know that you were free to have a normal life. I also know that I’ve got no right to stand on your doorstep telling you how much pain I’ve been in since the second I walked out this door two years ago when this whole fucking thing is my fault.” He paused, tears slowly falling as he tried to blink them away. “[Y/N] I was afraid. I was so afraid.. I couldn’t lose you like that-“ Again he was cut off but just by her words this time. “Dean you did lose me, you pushed me away—fuck you pushed me out of your life altogether. You’re absolutely correct, you don’t have any right to stand here talking about your pain. I didn’t eat, I barely slept, for weeks after you left. All I did was lay on that couch and sob. Endlessly. After I couldn’t physically sob any more I thought, there has to be some kind of monster or witch doing this and so I researched for weeks and still barely ate and slept only a fraction more. All I came up with was dead end after dead end and so I finally had to realize the truth.” She sobbed out, pausing to try and steady her own voice. “You chose to leave on your own.” She’d opened her mouth to continue talking but now it was his turn to sob out, which caught her completely off guard. “He made me feel like I had no other choice..”

Now you stood with a perplexed look on your face as tears were streaming down your cheeks. “What.. who-“ before the question could even fully leave her lips, the man she loved began to speak again. “Lucifer. He needed Sammy, you know all that one true vessel shit, so he couldn’t hurt me that way. He knew any threat he put to Sam wouldn’t stick because deep down I knew that Lucifer needed Sam alive and well to complete whatever sick and twisted plan he had thought out.” She felt both her heart and her stomach drop, figuring out exactly where this was going. “[Y/N] he said he’d kill you and not think twice. I couldn’t.. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you died all because I love you. I wouldn’t be able to breathe knowing that your death was my fault and I’d never get your blood off my hands.” His confidence had wavered, the alcohol mostly wearing off. You sighed, a silence falling over the two of you as you attempted to process what he’d just said. “Dean.. why didn’t you just talk to me? Tell me what he said and we could’ve talked about it.” She asked, the venom gone from her words and a sadness settling over them. “I was scared. I didn’t know how to admit that I was scared especially to you, I’m the one that was supposed to keep you safe. I know that’s not an excuse and I’m not trying to excuse me hurting you like I did—that image of you hugging yourself and crying the hardest I’d ever seen someone cry has haunted me all this time. I never wanna hurt anyone but I damn sure never wanted to hurt you.. at all—let alone like that..”

Again a silence fell between them, it felt like a lifetime between their words and the action she’d finally take. Stepping forward she used both of her hands to cup his face, both having glassy hues due to all the tears. “I forgive you, Dean.” She said almost in a whisper. He felt his heart racing and he eyes searched hers for any sign that this might not be true. Seconds felt like hours but he couldn’t find any sign of deception and instinctively, he plunged forward to connect his lips with her own. It had caught her off guard but she was returning the kiss with an explosion of passion. They chased the other’s lips in a back and forth motion until they both couldn’t breathe. After pushing the limit a little further they’d separate but remain forehead-to-forehead. “I know there’s no life after you.” She spoke in a soft tone before pulling Dean inside of her home and re-locking the door.

#dean winchester #dean x reader #fanfic #supernatural #dean winchester imagines #spn #spn imagines #dean winchester x reader #fanfics

223 notes · View notes

mercurianchild · 3 months

Note

hey beautiful,

could you make a post about Venus in 8th house? You’ve mentioned you have this placement and I do too! Thank you very much for your time. 🩷

🖤Venus in the 8th house🖤

TW: mentions of death and s*x

The most common thing I have seen is that this placement (along with scorpio Venus and Venus-Pluto aspects) is s*xualised and glamorised a lot. While it is true, that this placement gives an alluring and interesting aura, it’s not just that. Venus 8th house people have to offer so much more!

A lot of my friends and family members share this placement and we all share one thing: the ability to love so deeply that it hurts. This ability can also turn toxic or even turn into obsession if this placement is underdeveloped.

A lot of 8th housers also stay with people for longer than they should. Most of the times they have outgrown some situations or people, but they refuse to let go because of the feelings they feel. I’ve also been trough that many times. In hope that the spark will come back or that the people involved would change.

A common thing I’ve seen is that it is really hard to let go of people they love. I’ve seen this in friends AND family members that they just can’t let go of certain people where love was involved. For me, it’s still that one guy who I haven’t talked to for 5 months now. In the end, he hurt me. But he showed me what it’s like to be loved. I am still not over him and I know it will take some work to let go of him. With him, I experienced what I envisioned as love between two beings.

Venus in 8th house people are (like other 8th house placements) able to read people like a book. The gut feeling about others is never wrong. Intuition is high.

Could be more into trying extreme and intense things in bed like bdsm or playing with knives. 🔪💀⛓️

Very much into occultism and practising it. All my 8th house friends, for example, are in coven or practices witchcraft. Very into herbs and Hollis tub healing methods.

Which leads to the point that people with this placement are natural healers (if developed).

Natural understanding for psychology. Like really!!! Not just theoretical, but also being able to apply it in real life!

Constantly going through death and rebirth moments in life. A lot of ego deaths will happen.

On the other hand, this placement can bring a lot of hate and resentment from women (no matter if the individual is male or female). A lot of jealousy from other woman which makes it hard to find out who will stab you in the back when you’re not around. This can also lead to trust issues in friendships!

Feeling emotions so intense that it may be difficult to word them. Something that helped me was to find a creative way to let them out. Writing, painting or creating music are wonderful activities.

Red and darker colours look wonderful on these individuals (yes, this can vary depending on the rest of the chart and genetics)

Underdeveloped Venus in 8th house can make someone prone to be a pick me or a real meanie.

Either these individuals had some point of being bullied in teen years or them bullying others.

Constant feelings of so much depth. Whenever I’m around other 8th housers I feel so understood. It’s like a warm hug. We just know what you’re feeling.

I said it before, but the ability to heal… just by being there. Just the presence of these individuals is so intoxicating and loving!

Tend to have very dark humour and make jokes about inappropriate things.

Knack for taboo topics. No fear in discussing them.

Love to keep things private or even a secret. Like being involved in affairs just for the sake of it being a secret thing. I feel like some may enjoy something like that just for the thrill of it.

A lot of secret admirers!!

Can have issues with s*xuality and some may not be s*xually active until their late teen years or early adulthood. From what I’ve seen in friends, read online or even experiences myself, there can be also some unconscious trauma relating to one’s s*xuality.

Last but not least: these individuals are hard to forget, as they carry so much depth, magic and power… once they recognise their potential, it’s over for all them bitches trying to put them down!!

#astrology #astro notes #astro observations #zodiac #astrology community #astro placements #8th house #venus #venus 8th house #Scorpio Venus #Venus-pluto

195 notes · View notes

takeme-totheworld · 4 months

Text

You Can't Go Home Again

I'm someone who walked away from my childhood religion almost twenty years ago, and I'm very firmly at a place in my life now where I am very happy to be through with it and have zero lingering desire to go back. I've also been out as some kind of queer person for the same almost-twenty years, and I've been out as trans for almost fifteen of those years.

If you knew absolutely nothing else about me or my life except for those major plot points, and the fact that I'm a Good Omens fan, it would be reasonable to assume that I would identify with Crowley far more than Aziraphale. At least at this point in my life. And in fact, I've seen many fans with backgrounds similar to mine say that they used to be much more like Aziraphale when they were younger, but nowadays they see far more of themself in Crowley. Which makes sense, as a trajectory for people who grew up in controlling religions and then left!

I've been trying to figure out what it is about me that makes me so automatically take Aziraphale's perspective when watching this show, even though the most aggressively Aziraphale time of my life was literal decades ago now. And I think that's probably a very complicated answer, but I realized today that I see an emotional struggle happening in him that I still wrestled with for years and years after leaving the church before I was finally able to completely put it to rest—the struggle to accept that some things can never go back to the way they were.

I seriously suffered so much over this for so long after I left the church. Despite all the damage it had done to me, my entire life had been intertwined with the church and a lot of things that were good—or at least deeply comforting in their familiarity—had also been a part of that. I had plenty of genuinely happy memories all mixed together with the harmful ones (which, in case you were wondering, is confusing as hell). There were fundamental human needs that I had only ever gotten met through the church, and as double-edged as what the church provided was, it was all I knew. Learning to get those needs met in new ways was much healthier, but it wasn't what I had always known growing up and it was a loss.

And I spent a long time refusing to fully accept that going back to any version of Christianity or the church just...wasn't ever going to be in the cards for me.

That is in the cards for some people, I know. Some folks who leave or get kicked out of ultra-dogmatic and controlling churches eventually find new homes in much more progressive and nurturing ones. And that's great! But that was never going to be my path. The process of seeing my childhood religion for what it truly was, losing my beliefs, leaving everything the church was to me further and further behind, and gradually learning who I was without it, changed me too much for me to ever be able to go back again.

I am fine with that now. More than fine. I'm healthier and happier now than I've ever been. Over time I grew into a version of myself that no longer has a church/religion/faith-shaped gaping wound in my life I'm trying to fill. But it was hard and painful and it took a really long time for me to get there. I spent a lot of my twenties and even a bit of my early thirties trying to find something...some new church community that I could be connected to in some way, that would give me back some of what I'd lost when I left my childhood church. But none of them ever did. I was never going to get the same things out of belonging to a church again, because I wasn't the same.

You can't go home again.

I see Aziraphale on that same journey and that's part of what makes my heart automatically go out to him and hurt for him, over and over again. He's still desperately holding onto the idea of a hypothetical version of Heaven and being an angel that can be home again one day. One where all the good things he remembers are still there, and still every bit as good, and all the bad parts have been fixed or gotten rid of, so that being there will be like the old times, only even nicer.

Except that even if he actually succeeded at somehow making Heaven the exact flavor of like-the-old-times-only-even-nicer that he is imagining, it wouldn't matter. Heaven is not his home anymore. He's already changed too much to be able to go back. He just hasn't accepted that yet.

#good omens #good omens meta #good omens 2 spoilers #aziraphale #the final fifteen #religious deconstruction #personal

245 notes · View notes

anthurak · 10 months

Text

One detail I really like about ‘Queen Bee’ is how it essentially provides a ‘missing piece’ of Loona’s character development, and in turn makes Seeing Stars an even more impactful episode for her.

Because Queen Bee gives us a first-hand look at Loona’s attempts to make friends, and by extension shows us why that is so hard for her. This episode showed us that Loona’s extreme awkwardness around Vortex back in Spring Broken wasn’t just a case of ‘not knowing how to talk to your crush’ awkwardness but rather how she acts in just about any social situation. As it turns out, Loona is a lot more socially awkward and introverted than a lot of us probably guessed. Which probably shouldn’t be all that surprising in hindsight given what we saw of her background before Blitzo adopted her in Seeing Stars.

With this in mind it’s pretty easy to guess that Loona’s normal response to this social awkwardness is to fall back on her tried and tested psychological defense mechanism of getting sarcastic/abrasive/angry and possibly hitting something or someone in order to get herself to a safe distance. Something we both see inferred with the ‘Lunatic Loona’ comment and see in action with Loona’s response to the poodle who brought it up, and later when Loona gets angry at Bee. In hindsight, Loona acting super shy and awkward in Spring Broken is the result of her for once not being able to fall back on getting angry to avoid an awkward or uncomfortable social situation because she actually wants Vortex to like her.

As an aside, I think this is something many people don’t recognize about Loona. That her general abrasiveness and ‘anger issues’ are almost certainly a defense mechanism that she’s developed over what clearly seems to have been years of trauma and likely abuse before being adopted by Blitzo. It’s a way for Loona to protect herself by keeping anyone who could possibly hurt her at a safe distance. A defense mechanism that’s become so ingrained for her that it’s pretty much reflexive at this point.

For example, this is why I think all the claims that Loona is somehow ‘abusive’ to Blitzo are seriously missing the point: It’s pretty clear that Blitzo has little to no respect for personal boundaries, as we see with both his stalking of the M&Ms and showering Loona with overcompensating affection. So is it really so surprising that Loona would be beating the crap out of him so often when Blitzo is likely constantly triggering Loona’s deeply engrained and reflexive defense mechanism? All while Blitzo himself is entirely oblivious to what he’s doing because as we’ve seen, Blitzo would sooner chew off his own leg and arm before confronting emotional/psychological problems/baggage, ESPECIALLY his own.

Which of course is not to say that I think it’s somehow a good thing or justified when Loona beats the crap out of her father. Rather, that ‘Blitzo constantly invades Loona’s personal space and Loona responds with a brutal ass-kicking’ is a symptom of their respective issues and dysfunctional relationship. Not some banal ‘Blitzo is a poor helpless victim and Loona is a terrible person’ excuse.

Going back to Loona’s development in Queen Bee that leads into Seeing Stars, all this demonstrates to us that Loona doesn’t really have any friends and why that is the case. Like at the start of Queen Bee, we can’t even really call Vortex a friend to Loona, at least from her perspective. For Loona, Vortex isn’t so much a friend as he is a crush. It’s clear that Loona’s initial reasons for coming to the party were mostly just to hang out with this one guy she has a crush on. As evidenced by how Loona immediately wants to ditch the party upon meeting Bee-lezebub, and by extension, realizes that she has absolutely ZERO chance with Vortex.

Now of course, by the end of Queen Bee, we see that Loona seems to have at least started making a few friends among the other hounds at Bee’s party. It’s clear that getting invited back into the party by some friendlier hounds and imps as well as, ironically enough, Blitzo’s presence did help Loona get past some of her social awkwardness. At the same time though, we don’t see enough of them with Loona to really call these much more than ‘good acquaintances’/cool-people-she-met-at-a-party-once.

Which, going into Seeing Stars, is what makes Loona’s scene with Octavia so MASSIVELY important for her.

As I discussed in a previous post, Loona didn’t need to put in effectively ALL of the legwork in finding Octavia. We see that she was at first perfectly content non-verballing telling Blitzo to fuck off and just chilling out around L.A. Instead, it seems that the real reason Loona decided to track down Octavia was because she related to what Octavia was probably going through, which spurred her to go and help her.

Octavia is so much more than just some guy Loona had a crush on or someone Loona had fun with at a party once. This is someone that Loona clearly relates to on a very personal level. Someone that Loona clearly sees a lot of herself in. And because of that, for the first time we see Loona let down all the guards and defenses she normally puts up and really connect with someone else.

A connection which is clearly something special. Loona, who has spent the whole show making it clear she does NOT like people getting in her personal space, and proving she can, will and has beat the utter crap out of anyone who does, offers Octavia to take her hand. And when Octavia goes for a full-blown hug instead, Loona is only briefly surprised and clearly not uncomfortable in the least, even returning and enjoying the hug herself.

I’ve stated in the past that I don’t particularly like how much of the HB fandom has really latched onto treating Loona and Octavia as sisters. And one of the big reasons is that I feel like it rather cheapens the bond and connection these two are actually forming. It paints these two more as kids whose relationship is simply an extension of their fathers’ relationship, brought together simply because those fathers became are a couple.

When what we’re actually seeing is Loona’s and Octavia’s friendship developing largely independent of whatever Blitzo and Stolas have going on. I mean let’s not forget that Stolitz as a relationship is nowhere close to even dating, let alone marriage. Blitzo and Stolas never encourage their daughters to spend time together either, the closest thing to that we see is Blitzo telling Loona to go find Octavia while everyone else is getting sidetracked by shenanigans, which Loona initially blows off completely. Instead, Loona and Octavia clearly seem to be becoming friends due to shared interests, likes and a deep understanding and empathy to the problems the other is facing. And is really in no way dependent on Blitzo and Stolas being a thing, again considering the fact that Stolitz could at this point be charitably be described as a ‘vaguely-defined and very shaky fling’.

Moreso than Vortex, Bee or any of the hounds Loona met in Queen Bee, Loona’s friendship with Octavia feels like something very significant and special for both of them.

#helluva boss #helluva boss analysis #Loona #Blitzo #Vortex #queen bee-lzebub #Octavia Goetia #getting back into my helluva boss analysis

567 notes · View notes

void-wolfie · 3 months

Text

heartbeat

summary: when family gets rough, Jenna knows just the way to calm you down. [request]

pairing: jenna ortega x gn!reader

tw: mentions of abuse (not detailed), some tears, but otherwise that's about it (if I need to add something let me know)

words: 1.26k

a/n: it's been too long since i've last posted lol. anyways, hopefully this is what you were hoping for anon (i would've tagged you but wasn't sure if you wanted that lol - you know who you are). anyways, enjoy guys :)

You tapped on the window, trying not to wake the whole house while doing so. You bounced up and down on your heels while you waited, the cool air of the night sending chills up your spine.

No response. You tried again, knocking softly on the glass.

The window finally slid open. Jenna stood on the other side, her hair pulled up into a messy bun and wearing the oversized hoodie she stole from you.

"Can I stay, please?" You didn't have to say anything else, Jenna understood.

For most of your life, your house had been a toxic environment. When it all became too much or something bad happened, you'd escape. More often than not, you'd be at Jenna's house. Thankfully, her family welcomed you with open arms.

Jenna helped you climb through the window, smuggling you into her bedroom like some kind of behind-the-scenes drug deal.

The second you were through the window, you collapsed into Jenna's arms. You held her tight, nestling as close as you could to her and not letting go.

Jenna was a bit surprised; you normally weren't fond of physical contact. She didn't mind it though, she was more than happy to comfort you however she could, even if it was nearly three in the morning.

"It's ok," Jenna whispered, figuring whatever happened had to be pretty bad for you to act like this. "You're safe, I promise."

Six little words. That's all it took for you to break down. You started bawling.

Nowhere else in the world had you ever felt safer than in Jenna's arms. You were safe. No one could hurt you here. And yet, that wasn't entirely true either. Memories of your parents, the things they said and did always managed to stick with you. You would never be able to escape the storm that raged on inside your mind. Wave after wave, each memory worse than the last. Thoughts and images flash in your mind like lightning in a storm.

The more you thought about them, the worse it got. The realization that you'd never be able to escape hit like a ton of bricks...

Your breathing became shallow and ragged, hiccupping through the tears. Jenna could feel the way your heart thumped in your chest. You were going to have a panic attack if she didn't do something.

“Shhh, it’s okay, love. You’re okay.” Jenna wasn’t sure what else to say. Jenna had comforted you many times before, but this felt different, she’d never seen you so distraught.

Jenna slowly brought you down to the floor with her, setting you in her lap as she leaned against the side of her bed. She rubbed circles across your back as you held her tightly, your face nestled into her shoulder, your breathing becoming more erratic with each second that passed.

With one free hand, she tugged open the drawer of her nightstand. She blindly felt around before finally grabbing what she was looking for. A stethoscope. The one her mom had given her for her birthday last year.

She gently took the two earpieces and settled them over her ears. Then she took the chest piece and held it up to your chest. It wasn’t long before the sound of your erratic heartbeat flooded her ears. It made her wince. It was loud, louder than it should be. She couldn't even imagine what your parents did to hurt you so deeply, just seeing you so upset broke her heart...

You could feel the cool metal on your chest as Jenna's hand slipped underneath your shirt, her touch leaving a trail of goosebumps as she went.

You could never understand why Jenna and her stethoscope brought you so much comfort. You'd think someone having their hand up your shirt in the middle of a breakdown would feel like a violation, and yet, it didn't. Her hand on your back rubbing circles, and occasionally slipping up to the nape of your neck to play with the ends of your hair, was comforting. The cool metal drum of the stethoscope against your chest gave you something to focus on. And the sounds of her reassuring you, reminding you that you were safe in her arms, helped to drown out your torturous thoughts.

It was ten minutes before you finally calmed down. Ten agonizing minutes of Jenna worrying sick over you. Wondering if she was doing too much, or maybe too little. Wondering what happened that hurt you this much, did they say something? Do something? Ten long minutes of wondering if she was even helping at all, or just making everything worse?

It wasn't until your crying had finally faded into sniffling that she realized how much calmer you were. It was only a few more minutes after that when she noticed your heartbeat finally return to its familiar steady rhythm.

Your face was still buried into Jenna's shoulder, your arms tightly wrapped around her, when you felt her shift. The two of you hadn't moved from your position in ages, the small shift felt jarring.

Her hand left from under your shirt, and you felt her put the stethoscope off to the side somewhere.

"You okay, baby?"

Despite how Jenna was whispering, it sounded loud in the quiet room. You buried your face further into her shoulder, shaking your head no.

"Do you wanna move to the bed or stay down here?"

You shook your head no once again. You didn't want to move. You just wanted to stay like this forever.

She was silent, she didn't move or say anything. You started doubting your decision. What if she wanted to move? What if she was uncomfortable? The two of you hadn't moved in ages, what if she was hurting or-

"It's ok, we don't have to go anywhere," it was as if she could read your mind. Putting you at ease before your thoughts could eat you alive.

Before your mind could wander anymore, she shifted again, stealing your attention from any stray thoughts. With one arm she reached up to the bed behind her, grabbing one of the blankets and yanking it over the edge. The soft mass landed on the tops of your heads. It was only there for a second before Jenna pulled it down, wrapping it around your shoulders to keep the two of you warm.

Jenna grabbed the stethoscope, she took the two earpieces and gently set them over your ears. She grabbed the drum and put it under her shirt. It took a second, but the sound the Jenna's heartbeat quickly flooded your ears. It was quiet and calm, the familiar rhythm quickly putting you at ease.

It was sweet. The way Jenna just knew how to comfort you. Even on your worst days, she always knew what to say or do to get you feeling better. Anything and everything from midnight fast food runs to ice cream and movie nights, Jenna always made your days better.

“I love you; I’m always going to be here for you,” She kissed the top of your forehead before wrapping her arms around you, “Try and get some sleep, ok? I’m right here if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” it was barely even a whisper, you weren’t even sure if she had heard it. It didn’t really matter if she had or not, the way she held you in her arms told you everything you needed to know.

You would always be safe with her.

You drifted off to sleep with a smile as Jenna's soft heartbeat thumped away in your ears.

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x gn!reader #void-wolfie

377 notes · View notes

creedslove · 1 year

Text

BETRAYED - PART FIVE

Pedro Pascal x f!reader

Summary: Pedro invites you to be his plus one for the night but his attention is caught by another woman and leaves you with a broken heart

Warnings: angst, age gap, established friendship, unrequited love/one sided feelings, fluff, glimpse of Pedro being a great (silly) dad, and more angst of course

A/N: I really don't know what you guys will think of this part. It is longer than the others and for those who don't want Pedro to be forgiven, you can consider this the ideal end, though this is NOT the last chapter. I still have some ideas for this story but their development will go according to what you guys want, especially because due to all the feedback I've received over the last week (yes today marks one week I posted the first chapter) things are pretty divided between who wants a happy ending and who wants a sad one, lol!

A/N Part 2: I still can't manually tag people on the works because I use the app and it won't let me do it, that's why I don't have a tag list at all!

3.2k words

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR

Your heart clenched the moment you heard Kate's words. Pedro was there. After months pretending not to know each other, after not seeing him nor listening to his voice, months after the horrible argument you two had, where you both said horrible things to each other, words that hurt you two deeply, but also needed to be said. So you two could break free from what was holding you back. You and your mindless passion for Pedro, and him and his incapability of letting you go.

You realized you went silent for several seconds and Kate was staring at you with a worried look on her face, so you gave her a nervous smile and nodded "there's no problem, really. We are not making a scene or anything, I mean, we didn't have that much of a fight, it wasn't that serious"

"Yes, it was, Y/N" Kate said in a low voice "you completely fell out with each other, you have never been apart from long and honestly, he seems the saddest I've ever seen, and you don't seem like you're in a picnic either" she placed her hand on your shoulder reassuringly and looked down, excusing herself as she needed to attend the other guests.

You didn't like to be read like that, yes, you missed Pedro, in many ways you were still broken hearted at everything that went on, it's very hard to just let go of a person you were so invested in for years. It leaves an empty spot in your chest, even when you get over whatever happened, your mind always comes back to a bunch of might-have-beens. And though you and Pedro hadn't been away for that long, that's exactly how it felt. You walked out the kitchen and realized you were getting anxious to see him. He was there, it was a stated fact. It wasn't like when you went to the gym and very often looked over your shoulders, in hopes he wouldn't show up at the same time you kind of hoped he would show up. Internally battling with the relief of not running into him and also the disappointment of not seeing him. Once again, you had to remind yourself to act rationally, you didn't want to be shaken to the core when you saw him, and you definitely wouldn't make a scene at a princess' party.

When you reached the living room, he was the first one you spotted and for a few seconds he was the only thing you could see. There he was, Pedro, your dulce Pedrito like you used to call him and make a soft reddish color spread through his cheeks. He looked the same as always, the same as always made your heart race and you hated that. Your heart beat faster, your palms suddenly got a little sweaty and you were sure you'd stutter if someone asked you any question. You cursed yourself under your breath, months of self care and you still acted like a high school girl around him. The sadness Kate had seen your ass, you mentally rolled your eyes as you saw how he was still the life of the party, how he laughed and made everybody laugh. He wasn't sad, and why should he? Maybe you did hurt him in your argument, in fact you did hurt him as he left with tears in his eyes, but he probably got over you, he had done it so many times before, times where you still were friends and you loved and cared for him, so now what was stopping him from just forgetting about you?

Pedro finally eyed you, he knew you were coming and he tried his best to look good for you, he had a nice outfit on, his hair was messy like you always said you loved and God, he felt like time had stopped when he saw you walk into the living room. Hermosa, princesa, linda, mariposa, all of that crossed his mind once he saw you. He hadn't seen you in what it felt like forever, and now you were there, standing a few feet away from him. His desire was to rush to you, ignoring everyone else there, and wrapping his arms around your waist. If he could, he would let out all those Spanish words you loved roll out of his tongue before he could touch your skin and make you his. He chuckled to himself just to picture what you would say if you knew his heart raced when he saw you, how he wanted to take you into his arms like you had dreamed about it for so long. Life sometimes is truly a joke.

He didn't understand how you managed to become more beautiful since the last time you saw each other but you did it, and he couldn't take his eyes off you. He had no idea if you'd even want to talk to him, give him some of your time, but he was going to try.

Before you could greet everyone who was sitting closer than him, Flora and her big brother came running to you. If someone thought Flora was sweet, they hadn't met her brother yet. Wyatt was a five year old who seemed to be obsessed with you. Out of all his mommy's friends you were definitely his favorite. He was sweet to you like he was with no one else, and the fact he still had some trouble pronouncing his 'R' made him even cuter to you.

He immediately jumped onto your lap, snuggling you as tight as he could, he was overly excited at the sweets he'd eaten and the fact some people who brought his little sister presents also brought him presents!

Pedro's heart dropped to his stomach the moment he saw you surrounded by Flora and Wyatt. He wasn't sure he was strong enough to watch that, but he couldn't look away either. It all brought him back to the dreams he constantly had about you, the dreams where he always got to a happy, crowded home, where you were his and only his, in all the ways you dreamed of for long and now he longed for it as well and you two had built a beautiful family. He was always happy in these dreams, only to feel empty when he woke up.

One of the things he always loved about you and that one he made pretty clear throughout your entire friendship, was how good with kids you were. Of course Pedro had earned the cool uncle status, but he just admired how natural you were, how kids simply wanted you to be around them and how happy you got with that. It quickly drove him back to the night of your argument, and how you threw it on his face he was nearly 50 without a family. Yes, he knew you were right, but it still hurt him anyway. When he was younger, he wasn't sure if he was going for the traditional stuff but he assumed good old marriage and kids would happen to him, after all it happened to everyone. But as the years went by, he just focused on his career and he was pretty happy that way, apart from all the loneliness he felt, loneliness that was soothed by your company during the day and some other female company at night, sometimes even more than one at the same time. Until those stupid dreams began, every single night he would have a family with you and love every single part of it just to be taken back to reality where he was alone and all he got was his career.

"Did you really think I'd forget about you?" You whispered to Wyatt as you very discreetly handed him a small basket with his favorite chocolate. You didn't have enough for all the kids, so you hoped he wouldn't make a big fuss about it, but the moment he squealed in happiness and hugged you, you felt so lucky to be there. You quickly helped him open his present and watched as he ate one piece after the other. Kate would probably kill you the next day, but you didn't care at all, seeing his true happiness.

"Pedwo, come play please!!" He asked the man, waving his hand at him and inviting him to the empty seat next to you. You saw when he smiled at Wyatt and moved closer to you. His cologne was intoxicating and for a moment all you wanted to do was to rest your head on his shoulder and have his arm around your body.

"These are my favorite too, you gotta share" he frowned playfully at Wyatt and looked at you

"Hey Y/N" he said shyly and looked down clearing his throat before looking into her eyes again "you look very beautiful, muy hermosa como siempre" he said and saw the familiar blush spreading through your cheeks adding a cute look to your face. You still reacted the same, maybe you were still his muñequita?

"Hi Pedro" you said softly and smiled politely at him.

"Come on Pedwo do the voice!!! Do it again, fow Y/N to see!!" Wyatt begged excitedly and pointed at his brand new Grogu doll. Once again you felt the urge to roll your eyes mentally, of course that was Pedro's doing and it was so predictable. Cute, but predictable. The little boy however, was mesmerized as once more Pedro sat up and made his Mandalorian voice. You didn't know exactly how it was different from his regular voice, but it was and you couldn't explain. He said whatever Wyatt liked to hear and gently tapped the doll's head, making Grogu cooed and blink his eyes, lifting his little arm gently which caused Wyatt to squeal in happiness again.

You both felt pretty good at that, no matter what happened between you two, you were really good at handling kids together and your chest ached to wonder if the same would apply if you ever had children together.

•••

After singing Happy Birthday and serving the cake, Rob, Kate's husband, asked his kids to go to the backyard. Pedro grinned at the interaction and placed his plate down, taking your hand in his and pulling you "come on Y/N, you'll want to see this" he said happily and you had no other reaction than follow him. The kids were so excited when their daddy asked them to close their little eyes. They peeked all the time, not being able to hold back how eager they wanted to see the surprise. Pedro looked at you and smiled sweetly "I don't mean to brag, but it was my idea, so you're not the only one who is great with kids, you know" he winked at her.

You swallowed and looked down at your hands, fingers entwined and how softly Pedro caressed your hand with his thumb. You immediately let go of his hand and blushed, which wasn't unnoticed by him, who sighed and stared into your eyes "I know you're still hurt about everything that went on and we need to talk, I owe you an apology for what happened and-"

Pedro was cut off by the kids' screams of happiness and pure excitement when their daddy revealed their mysterious present: a bunny. A real life bunny, you stared into Pedro eyes and chuckled "that was your idea, right?" You asked and couldn't help but smile a little "I bet Kate is thrilled" you both burst out laughing and for a moment everything was alright between the two of you again.

He only laughed softly but gently took your hand in his once more, walking towards some trees, away from the fuss the kids were making and once you were both hidden enough from anyone else who might bother you, he finally gathered the courage to speak.

"I screw everything up with you, Y/N. I know I did, in fact I knew it from the moment it happened but I was too proud and stubborn to admit it" he sighed "and then it all got worse and worse until that horrible episode at your place. I deeply regret everything that went on" Pedro looked down, and then back at you again, being puzzled by how indecipherable your expression was. You watched him apologize without really apologizing, you just hated how he asked for your forgiveness without acknowledging anything at all.

"The reason why I didn't want to talk to you anymore was because I'm tired of being your doormat, Pedro. You know how much I love you" you bit your lips "how much I loved you" you corrected yourself and continued "but you only took advantage of it, and you know it. You know how many times you've hurt me, how many times you flirted with me, you kissed me almost on the lips, you sweet talked to me, the times you had your hands on my body not in an erotic way but definitely more intimate than a friend should ever do, you know how confused it left me, and you kept doing it"

Pedro knew it was all true, but he had decided to ask for your forgiveness and to be honest, he looked around embarrassed and nodded

"I-I know that, Y/N. I know I was a real shitty friend, always teasing you, playing with your feelings… I am really ashamed of it and if I could turn back in time, I'd never act that way. I had only one glimpse of what you must've felt all this time… when I saw you with that guy from the gym and it felt like my heart had shattered into a million pieces"

You had to admit you were not expecting that, at first you thought it would be just some more of his usual bullshit, but it seemed Pedro really meant what he was telling you.

"And I know the last straw was that night at the gala. It should've been about us, after all, you were my plus one because I wanted to have you there, and I loved every minute we spent together, you looked gorgeous, muy hermosa mi cariño, but then I was just terrible to you. I don't know why I left with that woman, I mean, I don't know why I just gave in to that impulse and I know I tried brushing off as if you were exaggerating but these past months I was finally able to be true to myself and admit you were right. I was a dick, I not only humiliated you and broke your heart but also put you at risk by letting you go home on your way"

His voice had a sad tone and he didn't look away for a split second, showing he meant all that.

You began tearing up, as those were the words you waited months to hear. You wanted him to apologize, to admit what he'd done and now it had finally happened, you couldn't help but feel sad as it came too late.

"Pedro, I-"

"Please, Y/N, let me finish" he asked and took another breath "that day at your house was completely unacceptable, I know it, and we both hurt each other, I snapped because I saw you with another man and told you to leave me alone, and I didn't understand why I had such a childish and reckless attitude, until I realized I didn't know how to act on my feelings for you, which takes me to the very painful words you told me, which unfortunately, were also true. I left that night hating myself, I didn't know what to do or what to say, so I looked for help, I went back to therapy and I was able to see all the things I was doing wrong"

You saw when he took a step closer and you could smell his cologne, you had no idea what he was going to do, but your heart pounded into your chest as his big hands cupped your cheeks so gently, stroking them and staring into your eyes "and after all that self-analysis I came to the conclusion that I love you" he bit his lips and a light blush spread through your cheeks "I mean, I already did, as a friend, even if I was a dick, I truly loved and cared about you, but it changed, Y/N, it got more intense, you're the only thing that crosses my mind the whole day, the only one I want and crave, all I can think of is your body against mine, your beautiful voice singing while you make breakfast, the way you light up a room when you step inside, how the kids love you because they see how incredible you are" Pedro took another deep breath "I'm in love with you, Y/N" he finally admitted out loud and it felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He leaned in and touched your lips with his very softly at first, ghosting over them, appreciating how perfect they felt against each other. One of his hands went for your waist, wrapping his arm around it and gripping your body in a desperate need. He was so close you could feel his strong chest against your soft breasts, so pressed up against his body it was really hard to remind yourself that wasn't right. The moment you felt the man deepening the kiss, you couldn't hold back a soft moan. You decided to enjoy that moment, something you'd craved for so long, it almost felt like your heart was bursting out of your chest. Your hands gripped his hair, pulling it softly as you kissed him back as eager as he kissed you. You felt like you could be trapped in that moment forever with him, it felt right, even if it was wrong.

When Pedro broke the kiss looking for some air, you still gave him a last peck on the lips, gently stroking his cheek and taking a step back.

"Wow" you whispered and smiled shyly "I've dreamed about that moment for so long. God knows how much I daydreamed that one day this exact scene would happen, now it did, it feels unreal" you looked at him and took his hand, gently squeezing it "and that's why it breaks my heart to see it happened too late. I'm sorry Pedro, but we can't do this. I'm really sorry that I don't believe you, I don't think you love me, I think you love the fact I was in love with you and that stroke your ego like nothing else, I was young, devoted, I would do anything for you and would take anything you had to offer, but we can't do this anymore. I can't do this to myself, I love myself more than I love you now, and I won't let anyone get in the way of that, not even you" she said and let go of his hand "I'll always love you and cherish you Pedro, but it's time to say goodbye"

_____

A/N: any feedbacks, let me know! Also, you guys have just met Wyatt! He is pretty much my OC and for the years I wrote for/roleplayed Victor Creed/Liev Schreiber he was always my character's son, and I developed an emotional connection with him even if he is not real, so I thought to myself, why not show the world what a ray of sunshine my fictional son is, right?

And yes, the bunny thing I got from Narcos because I thought Pablo Escobar had no right to be that cute while gifting his daughter a bunny, the way she got happy when he gave her su conejito just made me go all aww 🥰

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal headcanons #pedro pascal headcanon #male actors #hot actors #betrayed #betrayed series

1K notes · View notes