#what if they don’t fix it before it festers | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whatsk-poppinhomies · 9 months

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Pairing : Dad!Kim Seungmin x F!Reader TW : pregnancy ; childbirth ; the pregnancy complications are finally announced ; Changbin is still the coolest best friend ; Seungmin trying to do better ; fluff at the end ; premature birth ; emergency c-section ; little bit of crack humor (i think it's funny) ; Word Count : 7.9k Request : so many people wanted part 2 to Seungmin Dad!Angst , and it won in the poll, so here we are! A/N : I hope this lives up to everyone's wishes of how they wanted it to be and how they wanted it to end! Also, I'm tagging everyone that seemed excited for part 2 and everyone who commented that they wanted to be tagged and the ones who said they wanted a part 2... I hope that's okay!

“You look like you’re waiting for a call from the president, calm down, buddy.” Hyunjin said as he sat on the couch, watching Seungmin pace the room back and forth. “Just talk to me while you wait… Did you get to see her? How big is she? Is the nursery set up? I can’t believe I get a little nephew, are you excited?!”

Seungmin stopped in the middle of the room, glaring at Hyunjin who seemed to be full of optimism while it felt like his own life was in shambles. He hadn’t exactly told Hyunjin what was going on though, mainly because he was so focused on waiting for the call from Changbin that he didn’t want to answer anything else unless it was his phone. “I didn’t get to see her at all… I don’t know about the nursery, I don’t know about anything, that’s why I’m waiting for the call from Changbin because he vaguely said that she wasn’t doing okay and I’m really scared right now. Does that answer all of your questions?”

Hyunjins smile fell immediately and he lowered his head. “Sorry… You don’t know what happened?” He asked, and Seungmin shook his head, dropping down into the recliner and throwing his head back with a loud groan. “I don’t know why he wouldn’t let you see her though… It’s your kid…”

While Hyunjin had a point, Seungmin couldn’t stop thinking back on what Changbin said. “Just the mere thought of me apparently makes her cry… And he said that she doesn’t need to be stressed right now… I don’t even know if I’ll be able to see her before the baby is born… I’m having a son…”

He was rambling now, not even caring that Hyunjin was in the room. “I know… You told me…” Hyunjin whispered, but Seingmin wasn’t listening. He shook his head as he continued to stare at the ceiling, his quiet sniffles filling the room. “Don’t cry… I’m sure that it’s not anything too bad. Maybe she just wasn’t feeling well and Changbin wanted her to rest. Maybe you’ll be able to see her once she’s feeling better… You need to be a little more hopeful.”

“It’s not just that though…” Seungmin debated, turning to face Hyunjin with glossy eyes and flushed cheeks. “What if she doesn’t want to see me at all? What if she doesn’t want me in his life? What if she ends up with Changbin at the end of all of this because he’s been there with her through everything? What if I was too late?”

Hyunjins lips pulled together into a thin line before opening with a small pop, and for the first time, he didn’t seem as optimistic. “You could have talked to them… You could have let her explain. You should have let her explain. You could have talked to Chan hyung… Jisung… You could have talked to any of us. You let your own thoughts get the best of you, and I understand where your worries came from, but you let them fester instead of trying to fix them.”

Seungmin nodded slowly, he had nothing to say to that… Hyunjin was right. He had been so wrapped up in his own thoughts, in his own worries that he never even took the time to try to sort them out. The silence was awkward because Hyunjin was waiting for a response that Seungmin didn’t have, and the only thing that broke the silence was Seungmins phone vibrating on the coffee table. “Hello?!” He rushed out the word as soon as he answered, not even bothering to check the caller ID, only hoping that it was Changbin on the other end.

“I can’t talk for long, she just finished her lunch and she’s resting again, I only have a couple minutes or so…” Changbin said as quietly as possible, and Seungmin wondered where he was right now. Why were you resting so much? What was wrong? “I’m gonna make this as short as possible. She started bleeding and I took her to the doctor. The doctor said it was partial placental abruption, but it’s too early for Y/N to deliver the baby, so she’s on bed rest. Her movements are very limited, she can only go to the bathroom and take a shower. I don’t want her to be stressed anymore than she already is, and I know that for some reason, you’re trying to come back all of a sudden, but she can’t handle that right now.”

Seungmin had no idea what the hell Changbin was talking about, he didn’t know what placental abruption was, he did understand that it was too early to deliver, but he needed more information. “Is… Is the baby okay? Is Y/N okay? Are they going to die?” He hated saying that word in any connection with you or his son, but he needed to know… The lack of information was killing him.

“I mean… I don’t know, Seungmin. I’m just going off what the doctor told me… And from what she said, it sounds pretty damn serious. You’d know if you had been here, but you haven’t.” Of course, another jab at his absence, and while it was to be expected, it didn’t change the fact that it pissed him off, especially right now when he was just trying to figure out what was going on. “Let me make it a little more simple for you… Your son's lifeline is slowly being unplugged, and we don’t know why, we don’t know how…. But if it completely unplugs, it could kill your son and really hurt Y/N… Okay? Does that help? Is that enough answers for you?”

“No… It’s not.” Seungmin retorted, and through his anger, he felt nothing but fear. He didn’t want to lose his son, not before even having the chance to meet him or see him in pictures. He sure as hell didn’t want to lose you… But Changbin was ticking him off. “Why are you being such an asshole? Shouldn’t it be enough that I’m trying to come back? It’s not like I waited until she had him…”

“Yeah, you waited until she was put on bed rest with 3 more months to go through this shit. You waited until she was at the most stressful and scary moment in her pregnancy just to show up at the door and almost stress her out even more. Why do you think I’m being an asshole?” Changbin argued back, huffing loudly. “You picked a really bad time to give a shit, and while I’d love to try to make things easier for you and make you feel better and help make up for the time that you threw away… I just think that the health of your son and Y/N is more important than your emotions.”

“Well maybe it would be less stressful for her if you stopped assuming what was best for her and my son and just let me go up and see them myself!” Seungmin argued back, jumping up off the recliner and throwing his free hand into the air. “What if she wants me back in her life and you’re the reason that she’s so upset because you’re keeping me from seeing her! You ever think about that or do you just think about yourself?!”

“Ohoho! That takes a lot of nerve coming from the guy who had to make up the most ridiculous excuse to get out of manning up and being a good boyfriend and a decent father! You basically accused her of being a whore and your son of being a bastard but sure, you’re the first person that she wants to see.” Changbin scoffed, and Seungmin hated the sound of it. “Stop trying to pretend that this wasn’t all your fault to begin with. Stop pretending that you’re some type of victim now that someone else decided to fill the gap that you left. I don’t have time for this, and neither does she. I’ll come into practice when I can, and like I said at the house, I’ll try to be cordial with you… But you just continue to piss me off.”

“We-” Seungmin began, but the beeping coming through the speaker let him know the call had ended before he could say anything else. “Fuck!” He shouted, throwing his phone down onto the couch beside Hyunjin and dropping down into the recliner once more, his hands running over his face as he sighed loudly. “What the fuck!? Who does he think he is? Huh?”

“I don’t know man, but… You both sound like you’re out of line and… The way that you two are acting, it’s not good for Y/N and the baby at all. You both need to put aside your bullshit and try to find a happy ground for her and the baby.” Hyunjin said, running his fingers through his hair and tsking his tongue. “That whole thing that happened right there… That was ridiculous and childish and if Y/N ever found out about that, she’d be so disappointed in the both of you. I actually feel worse for her and the baby than for either of you. Grow up… You’ve got a son on the way, start acting like an adult.”

///

“Who was that on the phone?” You asked when Changbin walked into your room, your head straining to lift just enough to look at him as he walked through the door. It was clear as day that he was annoyed, he wasn’t very good at hiding those emotions, he was like an open book.

He shook his head, giving you a sheepish smile as he sat on the edge of your bed. “It was no one important… How are you feeling? Do you need to go to the bathroom? Are you hungry?” He asked, trying to change the subject. It wouldn’t be that easy though, mainly because you had a pretty good idea of who he was talking to, you just wanted to see if he’d be honest.

“Binnie…” You murmured, reaching out and grabbing his hand to give it a soft squeeze. You knew that the only reason he was trying to keep it from you was because he cared and he didn’t want you to get hurt, but you were an adult, you were having a baby… “It was him… It was Minnie, wasn’t it?” You asked, and he rolled his eyes as his nose scrunched up in disgust.

“I hate it when you call him that… He doesn’t deserve the nickname… It’s too cute for someone like him.” Changbin grumbled, his thumb brushing over your knuckles lightly, something he often did to calm himself down. “Even if it was him… It’s not fair that he gets to decide when he wants to be in your life… I’ve been taking care of you and he still acts like I’m the one that took you away from him. I wouldn’t have to be here if he wasn’t such an idiot.”

You dropped your head down to the pillow, chewing on your bottom lip as you stared at the ceiling that Changbin had so generously decorated with little drawings from all of the guys and even a poster from the new album that he had unboxed with you… The poster happened to be one of him which only made him happier. “I know that you don’t like him right now… But I still love him… Even though you think I’m stupid for that…”

“I never said you were stupid for loving him…” Changbin cut you off, looking over at you with a small pout. “I just said that I didn’t understand why or how you could still love someone who assumed those things about you.” He corrected and you nodded your head along with his words.

“But you think it… Either way… I love him, and maybe it’s because he’s the father of this little guy… But I’m not going to keep my son from seeing his father, especially if Seungmin wants to be in his life. I can’t take that away from either of them…” You explained for what seemed like the millionth time, except this time, Seungmin had actually come back, and while you really understood Changbins reasons for keeping him away, you were still upset about it.

“What if he stresses you out… Huh? What then? You know that being stressed out isn’t good for you or the baby… Why do you want to do this to yourself?” Changbin tried to reason, but you only shook your head, already beginning to cry as you once again thought about Seungmin and the months that he had missed, the future he seemed so willing to give up on before. “Don’t… Don’t cry, you know I hate it when you cry… I… What… What do you want me to do?” He finally relented, his head hung low, and you could see it was killing him to give you this option because he knew what you’d say, what you’d ask for.

“Can you just… Call him… And ask him to come over? I want to see him… I really do…” You whispered, and Changbin looked at you, giving you one last chance to back out of this choice that he thought was quite dumb… But you nodded your head to emphasize and he groaned softly, getting up off the bed and walking towards the door. “Thanks, Binnie.”

As much as you would have liked for the call to be made in the same room, you felt like that in itself would be stressful for you. You didn’t want to hear them argue, and you had this gut feeling that Changbin would still be in his mood when inviting Seungmin over. That didn’t stop you from listening to bits and pieces of the conversation though, and you could hear Changbin being short with Seungmin… And truthfully, the only reason you knew it was Seungmin was because of the way Binnie was talking.

“No way!” Changbin shouted, and you wished that the phone was on speaker so you could hear just what was going on, but you were left to just listen to Changbins end of the call. “I’m not picking you up and taking you to the damn flower shop! That’s ridiculous! If you want to get her flowers, find someone else to drive you over here.” A moment of silence followed, and then you heard Bins agitated sigh. “Oh please, you should be happy that I even called you to let you know she wanted you to come over. I could have talked her out of it! It’s not like you deserve to see her anyway!”

Even without hearing Seungmins end of the call, you were already getting stressed. When he came back into the room after ending the call, you couldn’t even pretend like you hadn’t been listening. “I really do appreciate the fact that you care so much about me, Binnie… But could you at least try to act decent? I know you hate him, but you don’t have to fight my battles for me… Especially considering I don’t even want to fight… I just want to see him.”

“Yeah, that’s the part I don’t understand…” He mumbled, returning to his place on the edge of your bed. “You’re too loving… You’re too forgiving. If I don’t fight your battles, I sure as hell know that you won’t. You just let people hurt you and you pretend that you’re okay, but if you were okay, you wouldn’t cry so much.” His lips pulled into a thin line as he looked at you, noticing the way you wouldn’t even look at him, your eyes averted to the other side of the room. “Is it so bad that I don’t want to see you get hurt?”

“I’m not saying that it’s bad…” You muttered, fumbling with a loose thread on the blanket to keep your mind busy. “I’m an adult though, Changbin… I have a baby on the way… You’re not always going to be able to protect me. I’ve got to learn how to handle things myself, and… Even though I’m not yelling at people over the phone or threatening them with my nonexistent massive muscles… I can still handle it…”

He chuckled softly as the mention of the muscles, his hand moving to squeeze your upper arm. “When you have this baby, I’m taking you to the gym with me. You’re gonna start doing the Binnie workout.” He joked, earning a small giggle from you as you tried to flex what little muscle you had. “Gonna get you so strong, you’ll be lifting little dudes stroller with one arm and holding him with the other.”

///

Seungmin was shaking when he pulled up outside of your house, gripping tightly onto the gift bag that had a little outfit for his son and a bouquet of flowers for you. Hyunjins words had replayed in his mind the entire time he was browsing through the flowers, the fact that a bouquet of roses and apologies wouldn’t make up for what he had done… That’s why Seungmin didn’t pick roses, he had chosen your favorite flowers, something that he proudly remembered you talking about.

His feet could barely carry him up the stairs, his knees felt wobbly and his hands were trembling as he lifted one to knock on the door. He couldn’t hear you or Changbin inside, but he was pretty sure you both were there considering the fact that Changbins car was still parked right out front. He could have knocked again… He should have knocked again, but in his mind, you had already said you wanted him there, and you were carrying his child… He just let himself in, walking quietly through the living room and down the hall where he saw you and Changbin in the bedroom.

Seeing Changbin so close to you, touching you, making you giggle… It was infuriating, but he tried to bury that feeling as he rapped his knuckles against the bedroom door to let you and Changbin know he was there. “Wow… You don’t even knock, do you?” Changbin muttered when his head whipped around and he saw Seungmin standing there.

“I did knock… You were too busy touching all over her to answer the door.” Seungmin retorted, walking further into the room and freezing when he saw you laying in the bed. You looked just as you did when he had left 6 months ago, but he could see the swell of your stomach underneath the blanket, and there was a certain kind of warmth that bloomed in his chest when the realization hit that it was his kid in there. “H-Hey…”

Changbin might as well have completely disappeared, and in Seungmins eyes, he had… All he could focus on was you, the way your face contorted, and it looked like you were trying to smile, but there was a sadness in your eyes that he knew was also caused by him. “Hi…” You muttered back, giving a small wave of your hand before dropping it back down on the bed beside you. “I didn’t think you’d come…”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He quizzed, taking another step towards the bed. “I wanted to see you… I came to see you earlier today and Changbin said you were resting. He wouldn’t even let me inside. He made me stand out in the pouring rain while he told me basically how much of a piece of shit I was.”

“See!” Changbin screeched, pointing towards Seungmin as he looked at you. “He only agreed to come here because he wanted to start shit! Sure! Make yourself look like the victim even though you’re the one who left!”

Seungmin jumped up off the bed, his finger pressing into Changbins chest. “You’re just trying to keep me away from her! You say it’s because you want to make sure her and the baby stay healthy, but I saw the way you were touching her! You’ve got hidden motive and I’m not fucking stupid! Get away from my girlfriend and my kid!”

Changbins head fell back as he let out a loud, sarcastic laugh. “Oh!? You mean the girlfriend that you broke up with?! The kid that you denied!? Is that who you’re talking about?!” His chest puffed out and he pushed Seungmin away from him, causing him to stumble back against the nightstand. “I invited you over here because she wanted to see you and talk to you! If you’ve got a problem with me, we can handle it somewhere else. She doesn’t need your bullshit and your pity party act. No one here feels bad for you for what you did.”

“You said that you were gonna talk her out of wanting to see me! You’re trying to take over! Go find your own girlfriend and have your own kid!” Seungmin shouted back, his anger through the roof at this point.

“How about you both just stop?” Your voice came through all the noise, so soft, so timid, and they both paused to look at you. There were tears in your eyes and you were already beginning to sniffle as your bottom lip quivered. “You’re acting like idiots… You’re both making me regret wanting either of you around. If you’re gonna keep fighting, just… Go somewhere else.”

“No… No, I want to be here… I want to see you.” Seungmin quickly pleaded, grabbing your hand on instinct, and while he thought you’d pull away, your fingers slipped between his and you pulled him closer. “I won’t fight… I just want to be here with you… I’ll ignore him.” Your head nodded slowly, and then you shot a stern look at Changbin who’s hands flew up in irritation before he stormed out of the room. “Does he… Does he move a lot? How do you get to the doctors if you have to stay in bed all the time? How do you… How do you shower?”

You snorted softly, shaking your head. “I know what you’re thinking… It’s pretty obvious now… Changbin does not help me in the shower. I go by myself, he just has to help me get out of bed so I don’t strain too much.” That explanation in itself was relieving to hear, but you weren’t done yet, and Seungmin listened intently to everything you had to say. “He moves a whole lot, can’t get him to sit still, especially when I’m trying to sleep. He’s a menace… Just like you.” Seungmin chuckled lightly, already feeling so close to his son, he had never met him, and this was the closest he had been to you and your stomach since he had left, but he felt as close as ever to you and the baby. “The doctors have to come here to check on me every other day, and they call me daily just to see how I’m doing. It’s too early to have him, so they just have to monitor me closely.”

“If it’s okay with you…” Seungmin started, moving closer to you on the bed and letting his free hand move down to your stomach, smiling softly to himself when he felt a bit of movement beneath your skin. “I want to be here… I want to stay with you. I want to be here when he’s born and every single day after that. I’m sorry for what I put you through… I can’t make up for the time that I lost from being a total idiot… But I want to be in his life, and I want to be in yours.”

“Why did it take so long for you to figure it out?” Your voice was low, it sounded like your throat was closing up and Seungmins heart clenched hearing you sound so upset. “You could have asked… We could have talked about it… You missed so much.” He nodded to your words, he knew what he could have done, he knew what he should have done, but he hadn’t done anything. “I guess it’s… It’s too late to try to play catchup… It would be weird starting over from here though… Wouldn’t it?”

Your weak chuckle as you motioned to your stomach had him smiling, although it was more of a grimace. “I don’t want to start over.” He mumbled, absentmindedly playing with your fingers as he stared at your stomach, not willing to admit it out loud, but he couldn’t look you in the eyes, not without feeling ashamed for what he had put you through. He only felt worse for expecting you to want to pick up where you left off, and honestly, things weren’t so good then either. “I want to tell you that I… I love you…” Your eyes widened at those three words, and it was noticeable, and it made him feel like shit. When was the last time he had told you that? “I want to say it every single day… I’ll say it a thousand times a day… Just to make up for every single day that I didn’t say it. I love you… I’ll start now… I love you.”

“Shut up…” You mumbled, pulling your hand away from his, much to his disappointment, but he watched as you wiped your eyes, blinking them quickly, and a single tear rolled down your cheek. He quickly caught it with his thumb, his hand lingering on your cheek a little longer as he let himself really look at you. “What? I know… I’m not as pretty as before… It’s hard to brush my hair and do my makeup when I can’t move.”

A soft scoff blew through his nose as he leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead. “Hush, bubby.” He cooed, letting his fingers dance across your face ever so light and down to your stomach once more. “I think you look just as beautiful… Maybe even more now…”

“You weren’t even this sweet when we first started dating.” You commented, and he rolled his eyes. “You’re raising my expectations, Seungminnie. You better be like this all the time now.”

His nose crinkled in fake disgust as he let out a groan. “I have 6 or more months to make up for being a jerk, that’s the only reason I’m being like this. Don’t call me out on it though, I feel gross.”

Your tongue poked out from between your lips and his laughter, your laughter, it came out more genuine now. “I think it’s cute… You’re cute… Although I do miss you being the biggest tsundere in the world… Mr. I’m Not Soft.” You reached up to poke his cheeks, and while he’d usually pretend to be disgusted by it, he leaned into your touch now, pressing his lips against the palm of your hand. “I missed you…” You whispered, and he nodded his head in understanding, in agreement, because he truly missed you too.

“So… If you two are done being super sappy now… I feel like I’m next in line for an apology.” Changbin said, finally making his presence known in the doorway to the bedroom. “I put up with a lot of shit for you, buddy. I want an apology, a hug… And I want my friend back…” He pouted from his spot near the door, his arms outstretched towards Seungmin.

“I’m sorry… But ew. No… I don’t feel like doing all that right now. I am sorry though… For being an ass, and because I will not give you a hug right now. Maybe later though.” Seungmin teased, and Changbin slowly backed out of the room, and while he assumed that Changbin would stay a little longer, the front door opened and clicked shut, then the sound of a car being started up, leaving Seungmin and you alone in the house once again. “I guess I’m back for good now…”

“I guess you are…”

///

“How is she doing? Is the doctor still coming to see her? Does she have someone at the house coming to stay with her while you’re here?” Changbin asked as he sat on the floor beside Seungmin in the practice room. It had been almost two months since Seungmin had come back into your life, 7 weeks to be exact, and things were perfect. Seungmin couldn’t be happier, it was like he had never been gone, simply picking up at a time before his thoughts had gotten the better of him.

“You really are annoyingly protective of her…” Seungmin joked as he leaned his head back against the mirror. “My sister is going to stay with her until my mom can take over. I made sure all of her favorite snacks are in the house and if she has to use the bathroom, they both know what to do to help her get out of the bed. The doctor is coming tomorrow though, that’s why I asked Chan hyung if I could come in a bit later.”

“That’s all good but… How is she doing?” Changbin emphasized the very first question he had asked. It had been 7 weeks since he had last seen you, and while Seungmin had told him multiple times that he was still allowed to come over and hang out with you, Changbin didn’t want to cross that invisible line, especially so soon after things between you and Seungmin had just been fixed.

“She’s been complaining of cramps this morning…” Seungmin mumbled, and while he knew that Changbin would bring you up, he thought that he’d be able to come to work to escape the worry at least for a couple hours. “That’s why I called the doctor, and I wanted them to come in today but apparently they couldn’t, so she has to wait until tomorrow.”

The fact that the doctor thought it would be okay to wait made Seungmin relax a little though, if the doctor thought it was serious, they would have come in immediately to check on you… “Just let me know what’s going on, okay? Keep me in the loop, and if you two need anything… I’m here for you both.” Changbin sighed, drumming his hands on his knees. “Is she scared? Is she okay?”

Seungmin shook his head, tapping his phone and looking down at the screen to make sure there were no new notifications before answering. “She said she’s fine… That she isn’t worried, but I know she’s lying. I can see it in her eyes, she’s scared…”

“Oh I’m sure she is. You should have seen her when she first found out. She was an absolute wreck. I think she cried for an entire week. She was begging me to call you and get you over to the house the whole time, it was devastating.” Changbin didn’t mean any harm in telling Seungmin about the time, but he couldn’t help but feeling like absolute garbage hearing what you had gone through, knowing that he wasn’t around when you needed him most.

“Yeah.. Let’s practice again… Please?” Seungmin muttered, trying to change the subject so he wouldn’t get worked up. He and Changbin were on good terms now, at least, as good of terms as two guys can be on after what had happened. “I really want to get this choreo down, I’ll be able to make it to one of the comeback shows if she lasts until her due date.”

“Right… Right, you’re right.” Changbin pushed himself up off the floor, grabbing Seungmins hand and pulling him up alongside him. “Everything is gonna be fine though. Y/N was doing great, the doctor said that she would be just fine if we kept up with her bed rest, and… She’ll make it to the due date. Her and the baby will be fine, I’m like, 100% about it.”

The song ended for what felt like the thousandth time, the guys standing around the room sweating and panting as they held onto the water bottles that they could barely even lift to their lips at this point. “Yah… Seungmin!” Hyunjin called from the back of the room, his voice dry and sounding absolutely parched as he held up Seungmins phone. “Your things been going crazy back here, vibrating nonstop. It’s a bunch of notifications and calls from Y/N, your mom, and your sister.”

Now, there was absolutely no reason for the three of you to be calling at the same exact time, and Seungmin felt his stomach drop as he ran over to Hyunjin, snatching the phone out of his hand and looking at the screen. “Some of these calls are from 30 minutes ago…” Seungmin couldn’t hide the irritation in his voice. “You heard it going off… Why didn’t you tell me?! You could have stopped the music, you could have pulled me over!”

“I didn’t know! I thought they were just calling to let you know that everything was okay! I didn’t think you’d want me to stop practice for that!” Hyunjin snipped back, huffing loudly through his nose as his arms crossed over his chest.

Seungmin ran his hands through his hair, panic setting in as he looked around the room at all the guys who seemed just as confused as Hyunjin, maybe even more… Except one… Changbin was wearing the same mask of concern that Seungmin knew he was wearing himself. “Call…. Call my sister or my mom, call both of them. I’ll try to get a hold of Y/N…” Seungmin rushed out the order and Changbin nodded, running out into the hallway, his phone already held up to his ear. Seungmin started dialing your number, listening to the ringing that went on for far too long without an answer.

“Do you need me to drive you home to her? Maybe it’s not too serious? Did she answer?” Minho spoke up, and Seungmin shook his head fast, his chest tightening up as he tried to call you again. “She might just be in the bathroom…. Maybe you’re overreacting because you know that she’s not in the best of shape right now.” It wasn’t just that though. It was the fact that if anything bad did happen, you were still only 31 weeks pregnant. It was too early to have to baby, and there were major issues that you could face as well. There was a lot on the line here, and he needed to know that you were okay… He was furious with Hyunjin for completely ignoring the vibration, he was pissed at himself for even coming into work today when you were having cramps… He was mad at everyone.

“We need to go… Like now!” Changbin shouted from the door, his head peaked in just enough to call out to Seungmin. Those words were definitely not what he wanted to hear, but he was already in motion, running out the door and then sprinting down the hallway behind Changbin who was already slamming his finger against the call button for the elevator. “Your sister… She’s totally freaking out right now man… Y/N started bleeding again and they called an ambulance… And they rushed her in for an emergency delivery of the baby… Apparently the placenta detached completely.”

Completely… Completely? He had read about that happening, what would… what could happen if that were the case. His knees buckled as he stepped into the elevator, his back falling against the wall, his hand weakly gripping onto the side railing that wasn’t able to support him or help pull him up at all. “Who’s in the room with her? Is anyone with her right now? I don’t want her to be alone…”

If anything happened to you or the baby, he’d blame himself, he’d never stop blaming himself. He wasn’t there when it started, and he wasn’t there now either. He just continued to fail you and his son, and he was beginning to wonder if these things happened as a sign, a way of the universe telling him that he didn’t deserve either of you. “They wouldn’t let anyone in… Your sister said that she looked through the little window and the last thing she saw was the mask being put over Y/N's face to put her to sleep. The doctors had to move fast…” Changbin explained as calmly as possible, but it was obvious, they both were freaking out.

“Can you drive me… Can you get me to the hospital?” Seungmin asked, unable to get his heart to beat properly, the panic setting in full force now, his breaths unsteady as he looked up at Changbin from the floor. “Will they even let me in? Oh god… What if they don’t let me in? I need to be there with her… They can’t keep me out of the room, can they?”

He was full of questions, but Changbin wasn’t answering any of them, his eyes downcast as he chewed on his bottom lip. “I… I don’t know… I don’t know what’s going on… Your sister and your mom haven’t called in a bit…” Changbin muttered, looking at his phone that was free of notifications, as was Seungmins. “I’ll get you to the hospital though… Don’t worry… It’s gonna be okay.”

///

“Look! Look!” You cheered from the couch, causing Seungmin to look up from his phone. “He’s pulling himself up… I think he’s gonna do it this time…” Your voice softened, trying not to call the attention of your son just yet. Seungmin watched with wide eyes, his phone set down on the couch beside him, completely forgotten about as he looked on at his son who was now getting his balance on the side of the couch. “I think he’s gonna do it…”

“Shh…” Seungmin hushed you, leaning forward to fully focus on the little boy that was wobbling slowly across the floor, one hand still gripping the edge of the couch until there was no more cushion to hold on to, his arms shooting forward as he took one step, and then another, babbling to himself until he got to the tv, his chubby hands pressing against the screen that was playing the groups latest comeback. “He did it… He did it!” Seungmin shouted once it had fully set in that his son had not only just taken his first step, but he had taken about five just to slap his hand against his fathers face on the screen.

“My baby!” You cheered even louder now, jumping up off the couch and scooping up your son, holding him up that air and then bringing him back down to pepper kisses across his face. “You did it bubby!” You cooed, and while you sounded excited, Seungmin could also hear that you were choked up, on the verge of crying, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t too.

“We didn’t get it on video…” Seungmin thought out loud, looking at his phone and then back to you, but you didn’t seem to care. The important thing was that you both had been there to see it, neither of you had missed it. “Babe…” Your face was now buried against your son’s tummy, something you did often to blow raspberries, but this time Seungmin knew you were trying to hide the fact that you were crying.

Seungmin grabbed your son from your arms, pressing a kiss to the top of his head before carefully setting him down on the floor and then pulling you in for a tight hug, his hand rubbing circles against your back to try to calm you down. “They said… He wouldn’t be able to… That he wouldn’t be as quick to do these things as other infants…” You said shakily against Seungmins chest, and his hand moved to your hair to brush over it as he hushed you once more. “The doctors said he’d be delayed… And he isn’t… He’s so smart, Minnie… I’m so proud of him…”

He nodded understandingly, those fears had been there from the moment your son was born, and they were only ingrained further into his head after hearing the doctor talk about what it would be like to raise a child that was born so early. “Of course he’s smart… he’s just like every other child, babe… He’s fine.” He reassured you, slipping his finger under your chin to tilt your head up, his forehead resting against your own. “And even if he wasn’t… I’d love him just the same. I’m just lucky that you both are here, that you both are okay…”

You hummed in agreement, quickly wiping the tears from your eyes before peering around Seungmin to watch your son play with his toys. “I just want him to always be happy and healthy… I want him to always know how much we love him… And how proud we are of him…”

“And he does… He will…” Seungmin whispered, smiling softly down at you as he helped catch the tears that had already fallen. “There’s no one that will ever love him more than we do, no one that will ever be more proud of him than we are.” He kissed you gently before pulling you down on the couch beside him, his arm loosely draped over your shoulder as your head fell against his. “I gotta tell Changbin… He’s gonna be so mad that he missed it. I’ll have to record him when he walks again.”

Changbin, who had become closer to Seungmin than you ever imagined after they had rushed to the hospital together just a little less than a year ago. They had taken turns between sitting with you, and going to the NICU to check on your son and ask the doctors how he was doing. They both had cried at your bedside when they thought you were sleeping, and Seungmin had probably gotten more hugs from Changbin in that week than he had in his entire time knowing him.

Seungmin had been a wreck when he saw your son in the incubator, the billi lights glowing across your sons almost translucent skin, the tubes that were coming out of his nose and his mouth to help him breathe, the IV that was stuck in the vein in the side of his neck just to make sure he had enough nourishment. It was the scariest time for the both of you, and Changbin had been there through it all.

He had driven you and Seungmin up to the hospital every single day while you both waited those two months to finally be able to bring him home. He’d go through the hassle of getting a visitors pass just to be able to walk into the NICU and say hi to your son, to check on him and see how he was doing before leaving just to pick you both up a couple hours later.

Changbin was the one who held you and Seungmin together during those awful two months, when you both were emotionally drained, and he was the one who had made sure there was a carseat in the back of his car the day that you could finally bring your son home, working with Seungmin to make sure it was installed properly before excitedly standing off to the side to watch you buckle your son in.

He was the bestest friend, the bestest brother, and the bestest uncle that you, Seungmin, and your son could have ever asked for. “What do you mean you forgot to record it?! How could you not record such a pivotal moment in little mans growing journey!? You better record it next time… Actually… I’ll just come over! I bought him a new toy and I think he’s gonna like it. I’ll be over in an hour.”

“You tired of him yet?” Seungmin asked as he replayed the voice message that Changbin had sent, his chest vibrating with laughter at how dramatic he sounded.

“I could never get tired of either of you.” You cooed, looking up at Seungmin who was already ready to give you another kiss, his fingers lightly squeezing your shoulder. “Although…” You continued after his lips pulled away from yours. “I think he’s trying to outdo the other guys in the whole uncle thing… bubby has so many toys.”

“I think he already outdid them in the uncle thing.” Seungmin commented, leaning back against the couch and letting out a yawn. “I’m glad he’s here… I’m glad you two have him if I’m busy at practice… I never thought I’d say that…” Seungmin muttered, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m glad I have all of you…” You whispered back, kissing along his shoulder before looking up at him with eyes that looked too innocent to be believable, your lips pulling up at the corners and the expression screamed mischief. “I’m just… really happy that you two are so close… ya know… with another one on the way…It’d be nice to have Binnie babysit for doctors appointments and stuff…”

“Another one…?” Seungmin whispered, his eyes wide like a deer in headlights, looking between you and your son who was in his own world, surrounded by the multitude of toys that he had. “Are you sure…? I did that… Again? I made another one?”

You giggled lightly as you nodded your head, and then the front door swung open, Changbin loudly announcing his presence before pausing and then his mouth fell open as he pointed at you. “You already told him?!”

“You already knew!?” Seungmin shouted back, and then his eyes were back on you. “Why did you tell him first? Were you worried I’d be mad? I would never be mad at you about that… I love you.”

“Yah!” Changbin groaned, shutting the door behind himself before going over to pick your son up, ruffling his hair and saying hello before setting him back down and turning back towards you and Seungmin. “I’m always the first to know about your weak pull out game. Congratulations though, proud of you. Happy for you. Might need to upsize in the whole house department though if I’m gonna be the best uncle to two of your kids.”

“My pull out game is not weak!” Seungmin defended himself, his entire face turning a bright shade of red. “This was totally planned. I love being a dad so much, I thought… Hey… What if I could be a dad to two kids? That was the whole thing, definitely planned.”

Changbin scoffed and you even looked up at Seungmin with raised eyebrows. “Yeah… Okay.” Changbin sarcastically agreed, going over to the fridge and grabbing two beer cans and a bottle of water for you. “Just wait till the guys find out about this, you’re never gonna live it down. Not even a full ten months since little man was born either. You’re impatient.”

“Shut up, man…” Seungmin mumbled, grabbing the beer and chugging it quickly, hoping to hide his embarrassment under the guise of being flushed due to the alcohol. “I’m sure you’d be the same way if you had a girlfriend.”

And the bickering continued, so much that even your son ended up toddling over- much to Changbins excitement- and climbing onto Seungmins lap to join the conversation, albeit, in baby talk, but you all found it adorable. Your family was perfect, it surely hadn’t started out that way, and there had been many bumps in the road to get to where you were now, sitting in the living room surrounded by your favorite boys, another child on the way, and while none of this had been planned, you were happy. Sometimes it was the most spontaneous things, things that happened without a single thought… those things were what made life worth living, it made life perfect… and for you, it made life complete.

Taglist : @steviesbergthuis @lovesunshinefelix @0325tiny @dwaekkiiiiii @jihyun2monster @skzswife @saiko-skz @keylex @strawberry31 @turtledove824 @ladyofodaiba @klyde06 @jellyglly

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ieatangstforbreakfast · 7 months

Text

“Love you a little too much.”

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ Earth 42! Miles Morales x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ oof this one’s a rollercoaster

Chapter 4: Can’t Pretend

Warning ೃ⁀➷ Profane language, fighting, tiny bit suggestive, plot progression, reader can’t understand her own emotions, reader lore

FIC MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

“… Then, who– who am I to you?”

There it was. The question you feared the most.

You expected it somehow: Miles' confusion. What you didn't expect was for him to bring it up.

You were a mess, no matter how put-together you seemed to mostly everyone. You panicked too much; uptight, as your mother would describe you. A strange fear of being vulnerable. Your father always told Antonne that his vulnerability would emasculate him, and through that, you solidified a belief of being apathetic just to please your old man.

So your emotions and feelings were mostly caged inside you, festering like rotting meat with its stench lingering in your system.

But for Miles, it was nothing like that at all. It was a fragrant feeling, like flowers budding in the darkest corners of your mind. But you couldn’t pinpoint what the feeling was— like, favor, attraction maybe— but love?

“What kind of question even is that?” You try to laugh, swatting his shoulder teasingly. “You’re.. Miles Morales.”

“I’m being serious r’now, ma.” He deadpans, brows furrowed and jaw tense. You skip a breath, feeling your heart racing out your chest. You shake your head, looking away. “I-I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

You could sense it. His disappointment— without even the need to look at him.

You were too familiar with the glare.

It's like the question stripped you bare and dragged you through snow and ice. It was unfamiliar to you, who was always so prepared with a scheme behind your back to shield yourself. That was the real you; capable without the help of others, functional even in the worst moments.

But Miles was different, and that was the worst. You allowed yourself to fall, and it was so unlike you to feel the need to have someone— you were too used to being the one who was needed, not the one who was needy.

He calls out your name, and it echoed like a warning call.

"Please answer me.”

"Miles,"

"I just want the truth." He interjects. "I don't want to play these games no more. I'm sick of it. I always feel like I'm deluding myself into thinkin that something's there, that maybe I'm not actually being a dumbass, and that maybe, just maybe,"

He then pauses to look at you.

Don't say it.

"... Maybe—"

"Miles—"

"Maybe you might like me too." He cuts you off. “Because I like you. I really do.”

No, you don’t. Please don’t say that.

A silence. Deafening, striking, and nerve-wrecking. Miles watched you stare into the emptiness, yearning for an answer. He catches a flinch, a twitch of a brow, and a gentle gasp. Your pretty lips part, eyes narrowing as your jaw hung open.

You never cared for love, never once had a heart in need of mending. You believed it was incapable, entirely, for someone to genuinely love you— so before the start could even begin, you could already foresee the end. It always ended the same way: unanswered texts, undisclosed conversations, and blurred out endings you never really bothered to cleanly fix. You thought it would be the same for Miles. Your perfectionist nature never really had to second-guess the outcomes of such situations, yet now you were sitting there, without a plan in mind.

But it’s not like you wanted to fall for him— you just believed he wouldn’t fall for you back.

But why?

You’d always thought it’d be reasonable for you to be unlovable, but for the first time in your life, you questioned your own rationality.

Why do you think like that?

Why do you, the befitting epitome of a people pleaser, think you're unworthy of love?

It was like you were a seven-year-old again, tugging on your father's sleeve to show him a drawing, only for him to glance at it and nod before returning to his work; A twelve-year-old, bursting into tears at the sight of the large C scribbled on your exam— not because anyone was going to hit you, but because you could already envision your mother's unsatisfied glare burning into your skin; a fourteen-year-old, who was never openly praised by your parents once in your life, hearing your father say that he's proud of you for the first time.

Maybe you believed it when they told you that you weren't enough,

Or maybe you were raised to think that you had to work hard in order to be loved— so being loved unconditionally seemed unfair to you.

No. Nothing was yours for free. So this seemed like a trick.

“So?” He plucks you out of your thoughts. “Can you please say something– anything?”

You try to speak, but nothing escapes. Suddenly, all the wit you had was taken from you. Despite the whir of thoughts spiraling in your mind, all you could ever answer was a simple,

“I’m sorry, Miles.”

You hear him sharply inhale. “Why are you apologizing?”

Words are harder to find when even you don’t know what to search for.

“I—I don’t know.” You stammer anxiously. “I-I don’t know what to tell you— I don’t know what to reply. What do you want me to say?” He looked at you, indefinitely frustrated. You couldn’t pinpoint what it was, and it was messing with your mind. Though he stared expectantly, you had nothing on your lips, yet a million words in your mind.

“Aren’t we friends?” You stupendously replied.

“What was that?” Miles snaps. “What the hell are we? Friends?” He repeated in a whisper. “Is that all you think of me?”

Your eyes begin to burn as you looked at him, watching him frown and straighten his lips. You try to scoot closer, but he leans back, avoiding your touch. Though you call out for his name, he simply grimaces— like he was horrified of you.

Like your mother did that night. Wide-eyed, heaving. That night, you’d spent the hours getting an earful from your mother who’d shattered half the things in her room. It was always something about what you said.

There you realized, the coinciding looks of betrayal was the reason why your mother’s face was overlapping with Miles’.

“Well.. Aren’t we?” Friends..?

“Do friends flirt with each other?” Miles snapped. “Do friends sneak out on school days in the middle of the night just to see each other? Do friends dance tango together in sum abandoned subway?— do, do friends do all that shit?”

At the peak of his outburst, Miles wholly softens at the sight of your saddened expression.

Yes. Friends do all that shit, it just so happened that Miles fell for you. Hard.

You watched as he stood up to leave, leaving you bewildered. You couldn’t handle the sight of him leaving like this— it was beyond your sanity. Unconsciously, you reach out for the hem of his sleeve, tugging ever so slightly. Pensively, you managed to finally choke out a reply.

“Hold on.”

His silence plucks your strings. Slowly, you pull your fingers away, instead opting to stand up yourself to face him. Your gazes meet, his head ducked down to meet your height. “Why are you doing this, Miles? You’re being unfair.”

“Me?” He seethed. “I’m the one being unfair?”

“Yes, you’re being unfair.” Your teeth click from your grit. “Just because I can’t give you the answer you want means you can walk out on me like this.”

He scoffs, a smirk drawn on his lips. “Oh, you’re the one lying to yourself, but I’m the one being unfair?” Miles shakes his head in derision. You struggle to contend, faltering from his words. “Lying to myself? I’m not–“

“You’re lying to yourself.” He reiterates with much force. “You’re fuckin’ lying to me and yourself— and I literally just told you not to fuckin’ lie. Talkin shit about us just being friends— sure! Maybe I was just imagining shit, maybe I looked too much into it, and maybe you’re not actually all that into me, but, ma, I know you more than you think.”

The way his voice lowers into a whisper at the final sentence sets something aflame within you. Still, you swallow all what’s stuck in your throat, lilting your head back to heighten your chin.

“You think you know my feelings more than me?”

“You think you know all about your feelings?” He countered. “Friends my ass. You know all bout the kind of shit you pull, ma?” Miles steps forward, eyeing you meanly. “You’ll tell me we’re just friends, but then you’ll flirt and pull me closer like we’re not— and I’ll fall for it over and over again. Then, you’ll spit shit like this, tellin me that we’re only friends n all that, but when I get angry, you’ll tell me I’m being unfair.” With each step he takes, you find yourself further cornered into the wall.

“You think I’m being unfair?” He snickered. “If I’m unfair, you’re a fuckin’ liar, ma.”

Your brow twitches. “Oh yeah? If I’m such a fucking liar, then why the hell are you still here? I’m just gonna fucking lie anyway— why even bother listening to what I’m gonna say?”

His gaze hardens. “You still don’t get it, do you?” He skims over your expression in an attempt to read you.

“Don’t get what?”

Miles stares.

“Just tell me the truth.”

Your gaze narrows as you teemed. “I am telling you the truth.”

“What truth?”

This bastard and his smart mouth.

Miles’ fingers flicker over the tips of your hair, like he was trying to find the outline of your shape in an attempt to fathom if you were real, but it was enough to steal the breath off your lungs.

“Do you really only see me as a friend?”

Rather than a question, it came off like a warning.

“Yes.” You reply, but your head wagged in denial.

“… Tsk. I don’t believe you.”

You feign offense, rolling your eyes. “Then don’t.” You spit, turning to grab your backpack. “If you don’t want to believe me— then I’ll just leave.” And you begin to pack.

“Aight, leave then.” He provokes. You pause just to glare at him, but you start throwing your stuff inside angrily, flinging the strap over your shoulder.

“Keep playin’ these games, ma. Keep lying to yourself.”

You head towards the chain-link fence with a heavy heart.

But his words cling onto you like glue.

Am I lying to myself?

You wouldn’t risk your entire reputation just for one boy alone, nor would you go through great lengths just to see him over and over. From buying a burner phone just so you wouldn’t get tracked, to faking band practice just so you’d get to see him—

No. You wouldn’t do that just for any boy.

Before you could even open the door, your pace comes to an utter halt. With the air thick and cold, the floor beneath you seems to crumble while you take your time to decide. You pivot your heel and head back with a frown etched on your lips. Miles stood there, like he’d been expecting you to come back. It fueled this sort of unimaginable feeling within you— one you could now finally recognize. As you finally closed the inches between the both of you, you look up with dampened eyes.

“What?” He huffed.

“We’re friends.” You flatly state with a cautious finger. “Really, if you’re going to be upset about that, that’s your problem. Not mine.”

Miles wickedly smirks.

“Okay. Say that again.” He inches his head closer to yours as though to mock. “Look into my eyes and say that shit again, mami, say it with your full chest that we’re just friends.”

“We’re—“ You’re caught off-guard with the way he looks into your eyes. “We’re just friends.”

“Can’t fucking hear you.”

“You fucking—“

“Again, ma.”

“Fuck you.”

You latch your hand over his collar just to pull him down to your level, pressing your lips against his in the heat of the moment. It comes off rough, almost vicious, but the taste of his lips hooks you in entirely like an addiction. Miles inevitably melts into the kiss, hands ever-so-cautiously trailing up your waist just to hold you closer.

For a moment you pull away, gasping for air while murmuring something into the wind. With a single hush, Miles cups your cheeks and pulls you in once more, stumbling as you arch your toes, desperately reaching for him. Your lone finger trails down the nape of his neck, causing him to gasp in between the kisses. He leans into your height, bending just to prolong the taste of you.

And when the two of you part, the two of you gasp for air with simultaneous breaths.

An outcome of your irrationality. You’re bound to fucking die at this point.

That’s the thing about love. You can’t pretend.

You swallow, slowly retreating from what you’d done. You looked at him, wide-eyed, the realization hitting you hard like a truck. Though you falter away, Miles held onto your hand tightly. “Oh, fuck nah, you ain’t leavin' without us talking bout this.” Only then, he gently drags you close just to press his forehead against yours. “Please, please, please,” He starts. “Por favor, stop runnin away from me, [Y/n].”

You struggled with a whimper. “Miles, we can’t—“

“Why can’t we?” He whispers. “We ain’t friends no more. This makes us more than that— friends? Yeah, fuck that, and fuck you if you’re going to say that shit after kissing me.”

He’s right. You’re being unfair to him and to yourself.

It doesn’t make sense: your emotions as a whole. Your feelings were fighting against your rationality, your character, but in a sense, it was still too much like you.

In his desperation, he pleads. “No puedes comprender? Which language do I have to speak just to drive it into that damn head of yours? Mujer, moriría por ti. I would die for you.”

I would die for you.

You’d never once had someone willing to waste away their life for you just like that. Everyone’s too busy caring for themselves, and your world revolved around meeting the needs of others rather than your own.

Ah, now you’re a mess again, just like that day you met.

Beneath all that rain, when you first met him— Miles couldn’t see it at that time: the tears running down your cheeks and the smile you were faking. Then, you could hide it seamlessly, but now that mask was cracking like marble from the slam of a hammer.

How could someone be yours for free? Was the world fucking with you?

It was what you’d always wanted— but you couldn’t trust it so easily. You feared that all of what would follow after your happiness would be despair.

“Can’t you at least tell me?” He desperately pleads. “Why? Why? Por favor dime porque.”

“Miles— I,” You struggle to begin. “I-I don’t know how to do this. I’m a mess, and I’m not.. I’m not a good person, not as good as you think I am… I’m not the greatest person out there.”

“Do you have to be the greatest person out there?” He sighed. “The fuck am I going to like about the greatest person out there? I want you, and that makes you perfect enough.”

“But Miles, why?” You squeeze his hand. “Why me?”

“Why you?” He furrowed his brows. “The fuck you mean by ‘why you?’, you being you alone is the reason why I fucking like you.” Miles takes your hand, pressing his lips against the flat of your knuckles. “Who else can it be other than you? Dumbass. Yo soy tuyo, and even if you can’t be mine, I’m yours.”

A confession. His confession— and now you’re a gaping mess trying to process all of his words.

“Just answer me this one time, and on god, I’ll leave it alone.” He vows. Miles then placed his hand beneath your chin, angling you to look up at him.

“Do you like me, ma?”

You nod.

“… I like you.”

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lilacxquartz · 9 days

Text

Please, Don’t Go | One Shot

Fem!Reader x Yandere Shoko Ieiri

About:

Shoko has lost almost everyone close to her, so when you turn up half dead in the medical bay, she decides that she wants to keep you forever. Once she fixes you up, of course.

Tags/themes:

Mild yandere, she’s very protective. Oral sex, everything is consensual. Basically porn/smut with a little plot. Slight warning for light violence, but it was to set up the scene. Fem!Reader x fem!character.

Word count: 3k

***

“This is fucked up.” You said as you leaned against the rails, huffing out a puff of smoke—your eyes bitterly staring off into the distance.

“Right.” Shoko agreed, lighting up her own stick as she joined you. Her arm brushed against your shoulder, offering idle comfort as you both surrendered your gaze of the fiery red sky.

At least you were getting one last sunset out of tonight, before you’d have to assist on the mission. You didn’t want to go, you weren’t strong at all. But you were called in to fulfil your duty and you had zero rights to refuse.

“Think I got a chance at all?” You sighed, throwing the cigarette to the ground and rubbing it into the concrete with your shoe.

“I want to say you do,” she sighed, her demeanour stiffening just a little, she was tense and it showed, despite being neutral in the way she carried herself—her uncertainty was finally slipping through the cracks, “but who really knows.”

“Encouraging.” Your response was sarcastic and you smiled, but you swallowed down dread as you did so. Your eyes watered just a little as you felt dizzied from the prospect.

Fighting a special grade cursed spirit? You didn’t stand a chance at all. Your presence to the scene was likely just fodder; a distraction to keep it at bay for a split second as those who could hold their ground on the battlefield scrambled to form a plan to contain it.

You felt sickness rise within you next, some type of festering nausea that swelled within your core. Your head hurt as you struggled to retain focus.

You really didn’t want to go.

You wanted to live.

“If you’re able to, try to survive at least a little.” Shoko spoke up after a painful moment of silence.

“Hm?” You hummed, suddenly grounding yourself.

“I can put you back together, I think, if you manage to keep your critical areas in tact,” she said, her voice ripe with care, “I’d really hate to lose another friend again. It’s just so… lonely.”

“I mean, I’ll try?” You half scoffed, half laughed. You didn’t want to die for certain, you’d do your best to be one of the lucky few who would only meet at the verge of death and not at their final end.

“Good.” She said in a somewhat scolding tone. “You’d better.”

***

By the time you got to the scene, everything was more or less in shambles.

You managed to make it through the waves of the dead, leading a trail as to where you had to go like a matted pile of flesh, blood and bone. You sighed as you knew that you were likely the next in line to be paved into that ill-fated road, your body shuddering as you approached a presence that you could even bear to witness.

It saw you from the very moment you entered the scene, a mile or two away. You could feel its invading eyes linger and seep into your soul as the stare pierced you, as if warning you to not take a step closer lest your life would end.

You dared approach it anyway, understanding your duty to fulfil as a sorcerer. Even if you were to topple and succumb immediately, then that had to be done—your life was only mere, slight in comparison to the others that you’d have to save in the surrounding area.

You thought back to Shoko’s request.

To your promise.

You’ll try to drag this one out, to buy the minds plotting for victory some time, but you’d also try to not meet your immediate end if you could help it. You didn’t want to leave her entirely and utterly alone, because whether or not she saw you as what you saw her back as, it felt all simply too cruel to condemn her to such a twisted fate.

The special grade taunted you from the moment you faced it, its eyes eluding contempt mocking you as it locked its sight onto your body. It was objectifying almost, his mouth—drooling, salivating at the sight; you felt hunted, like a deer walking into the belly of the beast rather than towards the forested horizon that promised safe escape.

Its voice deep and trembling, echoing within your body’s core as his words shook you, you could feel it vibrate against your throat as your skin prickled with goosebumps, enveloping your very being.

What happened next was quick—brief, sudden and swiftly done, you weren’t even properly conscious to bear witness to the horrors done unto you within the limited amount of time that you had. All you could understand was that you were standing at one point, then smeared against the asphalt the next.

Your body burned and it ached, bones stuck in unnatural places, bending as though to just barely snap, kept in by pure miracle alone. Your eyes felt dry, as if sand filled your waterline, to even blink, feeling as though you’d crumble.

It was a waiting game to bleed out, to wait for death to come and claim you. Your eyes darkened, your body numbed.

Your attempt didn’t even make a dent, but it wasn’t in vain.

You did your part, now it was up to everyone else.

***

You awoke some time later in a bed, so warm and plush and comforting—was this a hallucination? Perhaps your mind was allowing you to live out your final moments in a dream, how nice of it to do so, if it was truly that.

You felt everything you could, the smell of clean laundry and the sensation of cool air wisp against your raw skin, enveloping it with comfort. You laid against soft linen, hearing the gentle hum of someone familiar in the background, the smell of tea drifting to your senses as the comfort continued to build.

You pinched yourself to ensure this was real and much to your surprise, it indeed seemed to be. Every feeling was correct and your body was put back together, but how—and why were you back so soon? Were you really back so soon?

Your eyes drifted around the room again, scrolling from side to side as you tried to figure out where you were. You weren’t a corpse rotting outside against the pavement, but you weren’t quite back at the campus either.

This felt personal. From the scent of incense burning by the window, velvet smoke drifting into your nostrils as the wind carried the scent inside. Your body was intact, fingers clenching and brushing at the warm bedding that your body laid upon.

Through the door entered a familiar face; her eyes so worn and tired, dusty hues of exhaustion settling on her face. Shoko’s complexion wrinkled a little, the extensive work she put through to keep you in one piece likely taking a huge hit out of her very being.

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t wake up after a while.” She sighed, her hip dipping against the frame of the door. Her fingers latched onto the handle.

Just how long has she spent doing this?

“How long was I out for?” You croaked, your own voice surprising you. You sounded so stiff, so tense. Your words barely made it out of your throat.

“A week, almost.” She said, walking inside of the room and scanning your body on the bed. The way that she did so seemed expertly crafted, as if studying her own handiwork with fixing you back together.

Her eyes seemed dark though, there was something beyond that caring gaze, something not exactly sinister but not quite good either. It was all surely subtle though as she soon corrected her stance, relaxing her posture as she sat along the edge of the bed.

Her hand trailed over to you as you initially thought it was out of affection, only for her to tighten something that looped around your arms instead. Your eyes snapped to the confines she placed around you, realising that your ankles were bound too.

How did you not notice this?

You supposed that you were out of it when waking up. Your mind still wasn’t in a correct place.

“Hey…” You softly said, your mind finally catching up now that you didn’t feel so groggy.

“Don’t struggle,” she hushed you, her fingertips now dancing against your lips as though to silence you, “please, don’t struggle for me.”

“This your idea of being funny, then?” You asked, trying to keep things light in case that this was all some strange joke.

“It’s my idea of keeping you safe, be grateful.” She sighed, her body leaning in over yours as though to find comfort in your frame, you groaned just a little as you didn’t quite feel entirely healthy just yet.

“You’re serious?” You frowned in response instead, feeling her painful comfort as she refused to budge. You tugged along at the confines, finding that they were oddly strict and your body felt a little too weak to protest properly.

“Everyone just keeps dying. Do you know just how close you were to following them?” She simply asked, sitting back up once again. She wasn’t joking as much as usual, her words carrying extra weight as she stared you down with those tired eyes.

“But you’ve fixed me, so I won’t go anywhere-“

“Correct, you’re not going anywhere, but I’ve also done something stupid. Something I maybe shouldn’t have.” She said as her expression tightened, a look of pure regret.

“And what’s that?”

“You’re categorised as killed in action, I put the paperwork through to confirm it. You won’t be returning.”

“You did what?” Your tone shifted to something confused, you didn’t understand where this was going any longer.

Your mind reversed just a few seconds back—you focused on something small she just told you, it stuck out so painfully sore in the slew of words she otherwise fed you:

(You’re not going anywhere.)

You were supposedly marked off to be dead.

Her face and the way she looked so stiff told you that she was being serious, but even then, you refused to register it as such, maybe this was all elaborate. It wouldn’t be unlike her to be so deadpan and scarily authentic just for her to tell you that it was a joke all along—you begged for her to tell you it was one after all.

But the punchline never came.

“I don’t want you to go out there again and get killed.” She defended, immediately jumping on the backpedal.

“So you told them I died so that I wouldn’t go back?” Your voice raised a little.

“You were dead on the table when they sent an assistant, or close to it. Then I just… patched you up on my own terms once they were gone. Everyone’s too busy for a proper funeral anyway.”

“Shoko…” You sighed, your head falling back flat against the pillow. Your eyes glued to the ceiling above you as you processed her insanity.

“You’re not leaving me,” her tone darkened, her voice carrying something spiteful almost—you’ve never heard her speak this way, “you won’t be like them, you won’t die and leave me here all alone—but look, I’ll keep you safe.”

“And what about when I inevitably walk out of here alive?” You sighed.

“You won’t.” She hushed you. “You’ll be alive, I mean, obviously… but, you won’t be leaving.”

“So, your plan is to keep me inside forever then or what?”

“If I have to.” She seemed to conclude that this was it anyway, based on how she promptly sat up and got up to walk back out of the door.

“Shoko.” You persisted, feeling still weak from the battle, your body aching for recovery. Thankful that she brought you back, but otherwise wary of what she kept promising you.

“I’m bringing you something to help you recover, but only once, so be good for me and actually eat up.” She said, demanded almost. Her command was laced with utter care, her will begging for you to comply and live for her sake, if barely your own.

She came back after that moment, her hands cradling a tray as she slid it over to you in silence as you struggled to sit up to take it on. On it was a cup of steaming tea and some okayu to help you recover.

You weren’t all that fond of rice porridge, but you did suppose that you were her patient and you needed to eat something simple, something healing.

You ate it as you were told, your body yearning to recover as you did so. The warmth of everything settling in your stomach, keeping you warm and comforted and satiated to boot.

Her weary eyes watched you as you ate, as though relaxing at the sight of you replenishing your health. She held against your side of the bed, her eyes slowly closing as you finished up your meal—suddenly fluttering open when her ears met with silence, the sign of you completing your meal.

“Thank you.” You said, unsure what to say.

She didn’t respond, yawning as she carried the dishes out. You could hear her back meet the surface of the door, the dishes clanging against the tray as she settled against the floor, as though grounding herself right outside the room.

This wasn’t like her… to struggle at the sight of you. There wasn’t a single unserious thing about her going on for once and it was brutally striking to see.

Maybe you did need a break though.

Maybe you could give in for just a little bit.

Perhaps she would even heal too.

(But she wouldn’t. She refused to.)

***

It took about another month of soft exchanges between you and her gently protesting for your freedom. She’d let you use her shower—bathroom. She’d let you breathe fresh air on her balcony, to hold your hand when you’d stumble just a little, whatever damage that special grade did seemed to be permanent.

Something not even her reverse cursed technique could fix.

“You’re almost better,” she would say, monitoring your progress through it all, logging every single thing she possibly could to hurry up your recover, “but you’re still staying with me.”

“You’re never letting me go?” You would then ask, warming up to it just a little. You almost wanted her to promise you it, your mind surrendering to her will.

Her responses would be similarly rooted along the same vein, it would be either a never or some other long and distant time before she could let you out of her sight, always returning you to your confines when she had to go somewhere.

The aftermath of the fight left you permanently weakened, or at least that’s a state you assumed you took on after it—your mind lingered at the possibility that this was done on purpose, but that idea bordered on insanity so you let it go.

(Unless?)

You’d sleep with tight restrictions, the concept of freedom beyond the packed little flat a slowly fading pipe dream. She would often be back with takeaway or some booze, ready to share something familiar and comforting with you as you would slowly get better and better.

You’d watch movies with her on the sofa, be with her as she filled out even more paperwork for both of your slowly dying out allies, you’d sit there in painful silence as if to reminisce about the company that was no longer existent.

But as you got better, all your good health did was sicken her—you quickly understood it as obsession, a burning innate desire to keep your life ongoing and close.

Today was a day that Shoko finally allowed you a gentle freedom, the confines finally releasing from your slumber as she now felt confident with your loyalty.

“You’re staying for me, aren’t you?” She purred, her hands tracing lines against your wrist, leaving behind affectionate shivers.

“I suppose.” You finally warmed up.

“If you leave me like that again though, I’d just get you back in that little state.”

The threat was muffled as she had promised you such a thing in a hushed whisper. Just loud enough for it to register with you, but quiet enough for it to slip by you had you not been paying attention.

Your hunch was slowly being proven correct, even if she didn’t admit it directly to you. Your weakened state was likely a fabrication, an attempt of deception and dependency.

But you somehow didn’t mind.

The idea grew on you and you were tired of just barely surviving each and every single time. Whether it was cowardice to think in such a way or not, you didn’t quite care anymore.

“I won’t leave.” You promised her and slowly, her calmer and more carefree side seemed to show once more.

“Yeah?” Her tired voice asked.

“Of course not.”

“You’d better not.”

The silence that brewed beyond that point was almost loud, somehow. Your breathing meshed with her own as her tired eyes found comfort in your own—your state relaxed her, a piece of company that wouldn’t succumb to the unforgiving lifestyle you’d both found yourselves entangled in.

“So, let me take care of you,” Shoko said after a while, her voice suddenly relaxed once again, just like how she used to be before work got the better of her, “let me make you mine.”

You didn’t reject her this time, unlike the first time that you did so many years ago. You felt some sort of dependency linger, wanting for her to care for you and to give into her emotional demand.

After seeing near death so clearly, you wanted for her to promise you life again and again.

As such, you found your body feeling heavy as it relaxed, your heart rate fluttering as she crept closer, her soft hands pressing their palms and sweeping over your face, cupping your cheeks as her lips slowly moved towards your own.

She then connected the kiss, leaving an aftertaste of bitter coffee as she continued to press herself down, your tongue reacting to her own as it entered your mouth, pushing it from side to side as you exchanged a kiss.

Slowly, her hands brushed down your body, to your shoulders, neck and chest; her feel was intricate as the touch leftover lingered on areas you had a positive reaction on—nothing was forced, you wanted this, you wanted her back. Especially right now.

For her to comfort you, to soothe you.

Her lips trailed down as her hands explored your body, planting a path of kisses down your neck and past the middle point of your chest. Slowly, her hands slid down to your hips, her mouth following in pursuit as she made it past your stomach, down to your hip line and then just beyond.

“You’ll let me take care of you forever.” She said, not even asked. It was a demand.

You nodded as your breath shuddered, her eyes locking with your own as she received unspoken confirmation that it was okay for her to continue.

In her pursuit, she drew the fabric of your shorts off and slid your underwear off until you were completely bare. Her eyes scrolled around your sex, taking in the sight of you delicately and then drifted back towards your face, just as if to give you a heads up in advance—that this was going to happen, that she would make you feel good if she could help it.

Silence followed as yet another inaudible agreement was forged; her fingers parted your folds as her face pressed inwards, the feeling of her tongue immediately seeking out and meeting with your clit. The muscle flicked and circled the nub as you felt your thighs tighten, repeating only motions that drove out reactions. Slowly but surely, she got both a taste of you—and what you liked.

Your back arched in the bed as the pleasuring sensation began to build, feeling a rising wave of bliss that tingled within your stomach and finalised at a breaking point—your breathing shallow, your voice emitting higher pitched gasps caught on and off in the back of your throat.

Your hips rolled against her tongue with rising pressure, her hands holding against the sides of your thighs as she continued to feverishly suck on your clit—alternating between that and teasing the now swollen bud, sending you over the edge if she could help it.

The bedsheets tore as your nails clawed against them, ripping fabric in the heat of the moment—your body slowly beginning to tremble beyond a controllable limit.

You continued to rock on her tongue, grinding on pure instinct alone as the rising sensation now begged for violent release; you couldn’t hold yourself in any longer as your hands sought comfort as she offered you her own, interlocking your fingers into place as you squeezed—almost, almost—!

Shoko was nearly out of breath too as she brought you over your limit, your insides coiling as your peak neared its end, it was sudden and intense as the pressure reached its threshold and finally, your body succumbed to a final release.

Your breathing stifled, sharp breaths cutting through your lungs as the waves finally rolled through. Your inner legs tingled as your body finally gave permission for an end to manifest, toes curling and your grip relaxing, your mind blanking into bliss.

It was over—yet you felt it all linger after, your breath slowly coming back to you as you let the pleasure ride out a final time.

Her fingers trailed towards your warmth to play with you after, although gently as sheer delight formed in her eyes as she felt just how wet you were and just for her. She swirled two fingers inside as she finally pulled back and laid her head just outside your thighs.

It didn’t take her long to climb on top of you after, using your body as a source of comfort, making her bed right on your frame.

“You’re mine forever,” she whispered as she tightened her hold around you, her tired voice letting out one final yawn, concluding her intentions, “I’m never letting you go.”

It was then that you didn’t mind all of a sudden.

You wanted to stay, after all.

With her. For her.

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sunshine-and-moonshine · 3 months

Text

Why?

Requested: No

Warnings: Light angst, Robot!Reader

A/N: Wow, two preferences in one day? What the hell was in my chocolate this morning?

You couldn’t fathom it. Couldn’t….couldn’t understand it. Comprehend it. Accept it. That this person, this living breathing human being, was really treating you like this. That they seemed to….value you in some way. At first you had thought of it as a joke, a cruel one that they shared amongst themselves. Tease the bot, remind them of their place. It was a game you were all too familiar with, and always ended up with a pain in your chest, right where a beating heart would be for a human being. But this person….they were so nice. So genuine in their actions, so unlike all the others you had met over the years. And they had taken care of you, patched you up and repaired you, given you a purpose in this life after you had been tossed aside like common trash, left to rust and deteriorate in a scrap pile, barely clinging to that last bit of battery life, to consciousness. You remembered exactly what you thought of before the lights inside you dimmed.

I don’t want to die.

And you hadn’t. Something that had been quite a shock to you when you woke up in a dark room. The rust scrubbed from your plates, your gears and joints oiled, your battery in the middle of a long recharge. By a cable no less! You couldn’t remember the last time you had been charged by one of those instead of the wireless charging that had become common over the years.

You were alive. You had been given a second chance. And you were determined not to waste it. But that doubt lingered in you, festered like infection in an open wound. And one day, you couldn’t stop yourself from asking the question that plagued you since the day you woke up in their home.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Treating me like a person.”

Price

Price hummed softly, the question not entirely unexpected. It’s likely that he was already questioning that himself for some time now. Ever since he brought you into his home, started fixing you up, growing so attached to you so quickly. Sitting by your bed as he waited for your servers to turn on, replacing your batteries so many times he lost count. So gentle whenever he had to open you up to fix something. Even giving you your own room, and a bed to lay on. And complete and utter freedom to do…whatever you wanted. Sure he’d always been a bit kinder to bots everywhere, some part of him unable to separate their human faces from their mechanical insides, but with you it was like it was dialed up to a thousand. He looked at you, and he couldn’t see anything but a living breathing person.

“....Dunno, Love.” He’d say, tilting his head as he met your eyes. The clear crystal blue soft and shimmering under the moonlight that shone in through the kitchen window. “You want me to stop?” He asked, seeming pleased when you shook your head. “Good. That’s all that matters then.”

Gaz

“You get bonked on the head again, Love?” Gaz would ask in return, arching his brow at you before bending over to pick up a box left at the front door. A new cooling fan for you, since yours was starting to malfunction. “That’s about the dumbest question I've ever heard. You’re a person. Course i treat you like people.” He says, cutting open the box before pulling out the small fan. “Don’t matter that you need things like this. That your insides are different then mine. You’re a person all the same. And I'd bet my last pound that, if such a thing as souls exist, you got one just like me. One much shinier and brighter, all good and perfect. I just know it.” He tells you, a bright sunshine-like smile crossing his face, and you could feel your broken whirring to life as your circuits malfunctioned and started to burn molten hot, heating up your whole body until your systems had to do a mandatory shut down just to avoid melting anything. Leaving Gaz to panic and damn near tear the house to pieces looking for the tools to open you up and replace that damn fan.

Ghost

A slow blink, a tilt of the head. Cold eyes raking over you in thought. Thinking through every word meticulously, making sure nothing left his mouth until he knew exactly what he wanted to say to you. It took a few minutes, anxiety inducing silence that would have you sweating if you were capable of such a thing. Until finally, blessed finally, he graced you with a soft response.

“You are a person.” He whispered, so soft that you almost didn't hear him. He repeated it, a bit louder when you tilted your head in confusion. “You are a person. To me at least. Maybe not to all those bellends outside, but to me. I’ve seen you laugh, get upset, excited, curious. I’ve never met someone who has so much personality to them before. And it doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks, because they don’t know you like I do. They haven’t seen every beautiful part of you that you try to hide behind a disguise of being just a bot. I know. And I’ll make sure that you know it soon enough to, so you don’t ever ask any daft questions like that ever again.”

Soap

“Watcha mean, Love?” Soap will ask, head tilted in utter confusion. Like you just asked him something in gibberish, brows scrunched together and mouth twisted in a little pout. “Tha’s a dumb question. You are a person. Course I treat you like one.” He says, shrugging his shoulders before turning back to your dismantled arm piece, adjusting some of the little screws and oiling the gears. It was almost funny how he could say that so casually, as if he wasn’t fixing your mechanics right this instant, his fingers tenderly stroking over metal and silicon, like he was scared he might hurt you if he pressed too hard. You didn’t even get the chance to protest his statement before he was opening his mouth again, effectively cutting you off. “I dinnae wanna hear anymore ah that talk, Lovey. You’re a person, my person. Simple as that.” He says, turning to give you a soft smile, hand reaching out to touch your cheek. His hands calloused and rough, but oh so warm. You could feel your motors backfiring, sensors heating up beneath his touch. And that grin on his face took a mischievous turn when he noticed, leaning in to whisper in your ear. “Glad we had that chat then, Love.”

#cod #call of duty #john price #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mactavish x reader #robot!reader

112 notes · View notes

just-a-creep-babe · 9 months

Text

A Demon’s Ache — Part 15

Eyeless Jack x Reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14

Commissioned by @cookiereblogss — thank you infinitely darling, your support has allowed me to do something I could’ve previously only dreamed about, I appreciate it so very much ❤️

Requests are closed but commissions are open!

Masterlist: x

The mission is tonight

He doesn't know how long he has to leave for, which means he doesn't know how long he'll be away from you, which means he's absolutely not looking forward to it

He debates whether or not he should tell you, whether or not that would make it too obvious he’s into you beyond the fuck buddy arrangement you have

But it’s still relatively early in the afternoon when that familiar homesickness settles in the pit of his chest, and he thinks, does it really matter, either way?

There’s no way you don’t know he’s hopelessly in love with you, and sure, there’s still a chance he might scare you off by being too clingy, but he just can’t help it

He’s itching to see you

The only thing he needs to take care of, before he can allow himself the unbridled pleasure of seeing you, is none other than dealing with Jeff

Smiley knows what happened, and he knows the kind of medical attention Jeff will be needing over the next few days, but Jack promised he’d look over him one last time before leaving

Even though he’s just about the last person he wants to see right now

But alas, always a man of his word, Jack makes his way down to the infirmary, encouraged solely by the idea of seeing you afterward

Like you’re his special little treat

The human in question is awake when he checks up on him, which almost surprises Jack

Despite everything, he can't deny how tenacious the guy is

Neither of them speak, but Jeff knows to move from the bed to the table when Jack walks in

He’s so used to being stitched up that the whole thing is basically routine, by this point

Jack checks him over, makes a mental note of what needs to be fixed up, and then he wordlessly gets to work

The silence between them stays unbroken, even as Jack finishes changing the bandages and starts reworking some of the stitches

Jack’s work is by no means sloppy, but Jeff somehow always has a way of always tearing through stitches like it’s nothing

It’s that damn thick skin of his

In and out, he sews Jeff’s open wounds closed

He wonders if the raven-haired killer remembers the brief conversation they had the night BEN brought him in, but despite his curiosity, he doesn't ask

It’s only when the needle digs a tad deeper than it’s meant to that Jeff hisses, finally interrupting the silence

“Watch it,” he growls, and it’s obvious he’s trying to sound tough, but he's very much so weak

Jack sighs

As much as he absolutely despises the bastard sometimes, he knows it’s never a great idea to let grudges fester

Whatever’s going on, they’d probably both benefit by sorting things out

And so, even if he doesn’t want to, he forces himself to speak

“So, what’s the deal,” he starts, his focus never once faltering from his task, “you don’t get the girl you want, so you go out and try to get yourself killed?”

Jeff rasps bitterly

His voice is raw and gravelly, and Jack reminds himself to let Smiley know about Jeff’s fluid intake

“As if...” Jeff coughs, “as if you wouldn’t do the same if you could"

When Jack doesn't answer, knowing he has a fair point, Jeff continues

“I bet you think you’re fucking invincible… just because she chose you… don't you?" he grunts, "Well, you’re not"

Knowing he’s just trying to get a rise out of him, Jack doesn't give him the satisfaction of a reaction

But that only aggravates him further

"I know what (y/n) wants," he claims, "and it’s certainly not what you’re thinking”

“You don’t know what I’m thinking,” Jack’s answer is immediate, his voice low and composed as he sews flesh back together

“Oh, but I fucking do,” Jeff laughs—or, at least, he tries to, but it ends up in another racking cough

Maybe he should administer more sedatives

“You want some bullshit happily-ever-after with her," he continues, ignoring the way Jack’s stabbing the needle deeper into his skin than it should be going, "That’s not fucking happening, she’s not interested”

Jack takes a deep breath, trying to cool down the burning swell of anger in his chest

“You know, all she wants is to get fucked”

It's the last straw

Jack snaps

Without thinking, he grabs Jeff, pulls him up, and slams him back down against the table

The demon savours the dazed pain registering on Jeff’s face

“Listen,” Jack growls as he yanks him back up, not even bothering to conceal the demonic lilt to his voice, and he adores the flash of fear in Jeff’s eyes at the sound of it, “you’re going to stay the fuck away from (y/n). You’re not going to hang out with her unless there are other people around, you’re not going to talk about her—you’re not even going to think about her—you understand?”

Jeff can be—and often is—an asshole; there’s no denying that

Knowing this, Jack knows not to expect too much from him

He knows that some of the things he says, some of the things he does, are just meant to piss people off—just to get a rise out of them

And Jack usually knows to ignore it; letting it get to him just encourages Jeff

But he refuses to ignore it when it comes to you

There’s no way he can let him get away with saying that kind of shit about you—his perfect little (y/n)

When Jack releases his hold on him, letting him drop back down onto the cold, hard metal of the table, he hopes that it registers in Jeff’s stubborn little head not to fuck around when it comes to you

No one can mess with you

And, judging by the way Jeff is quiet for the rest of the time he’s working on him, he can only assume he’s gotten the hint

Sooner rather than later, Jack’s finally done and out of there

He immediately makes a beeline for your room, not even pausing to consider how early it is and the fact that you’re, very likely, probably still sleeping

Guilt twinges in his chest when you answer the door, looking not quite completely awake, but the way you smile at him, all cute and sleepy, almost makes him happy he came so early

“Hey,” he says

“Hey,” you answer

Your voice isn’t warmed up yet, and you sound so peaceful and relaxed

“I just came by to let you know I’m leaving”

You blink, like his words don’t register at first, and he realizes how strange this whole thing must be all of a sudden

He wants to kick himself

Why is he always so weird in front of you like this?

“Leaving?” you repeat, your brows stitching together, “What? Where? Why??”

“I have a mission,” he awkwardly clarifies, “I, uh, I don’t know when I’ll be back, so I guess I just—I guess I just wanted to, like, say goodbye before going”

He rolls up the sleeves of his hoodie, because god damn, the room somehow feels ten times warmer all of a sudden and he’s about to start sweating

“Oh,” you answer, “Alright… How long are you leaving for?”

“I’m, uh, I’m not sure,” he pauses for a second to think, then adds, “I guess I also just wanted to say, like, if any of the guys give you trouble—like Hoodie or Jeff—you can let me know, yeah? I’ll make sure to sort things out”

What he says makes you crack a smile, and he genuinely can’t believe how perfect that smile is

“Don’t worry about me. It’s fine, I’ll be alright. I’ll survive,” you laugh

Oh God, he wants to kiss you so badly again

Just one parting farewell kiss—surely, that’s not too much to ask for, is it?

In a spur-of-the-moment decision, he leans in, and even though he’s still wearing his mask, he’s desperate to feel your lips above his

He gets so, so incredibly close to you, to the point where he can hear the hitch in your breath as you realize what‘s happening

And then, all too quickly, you stiffen, thank him for coming to say goodbye, and next thing he knows, he’s facing the door you just abruptly shut on him

It takes a second to process what just happened

And as soon as the realization hits, he’s filled with shame, humiliation and regret

He wants to dig himself a hole six feet deep and never crawl out

He almost wants to knock again, apologize for overstepping your boundaries, but he just doesn’t have it in him to confront you, and he doesn’t wanna bother you even further

He turns away, like a dog with its tail between its legs, and retreats feeling like one of the most pathetic excuses of a person ever

Maybe it’s a good thing he’s leaving, he thinks

Maybe he’s too comfortable with you, and he needs some distance so that he stops confusing how close the two of you really are

The more he thinks about it, the more he wants to curl up and whither away

Because not only did he really just do that, but then he also acted like a moron for mentioning Jeff and Hoodie—as if he’s a knight in shining armor and you’re a damsel, which you by far aren’t—and he’s leaving you with a bad impression, which is just basically begging for trouble with the other creeps

Jeff and Hoodie might as well just swoop in and take you now that you’re available and turned off from him by now

God, he’s such a fucking idiot

The day can’t pass by soon enough

He hides out in his room, counting down the hours until he can finally leave, until he can finally stop worrying about running into you and humiliating himself again

Eventually, the day does pass, and he ends up in the woods with Toby, the two of them walking on the dirt trail that leads into the city

He doesn’t know what’s going on with the other proxies, but as far as he can tell, it seems like it’ll just be him and Toby to kick things off

They were given very vague instructions about meeting with a driver in a black van, who’s meant to drop them off at a hotel, and once there, they’re meant to do some sort of stakeout until a new set of instructions come in

Jack’s always disliked the whole secrecy surrounding Slender’s plans, but he supposes there must be a reason for it

All par for the course considering The Operator’s reputation

There’s already a car waiting for them as soon as they step out of the forest’s entrance, and as they both climb in, Jack can smell the driver’s fear

There’s a divider between them, and Jack can see who’s at the wheel, but judging by the way their eyes nervously flicker in the mirror without landing on either of them, he can only assume it’s a one-way blacked-out divider

They can see the driver, but the driver can’t see them

“So, where to?” they ask nervously

“Just drive,” Toby answers

The ride is deathly silent the whole way there

Jack looks out the tinted window as the various neighbourhoods pass them by

It helps keep his mind busy, until he inevitably can’t avoid thinking about you, as per usual

He’s an idiot

He almost still can’t believe that happened

You didn’t want to kiss him

When is it going to sink into his thick, stubborn head that you’re not into him like that?

Every time he gets close to you, he fucks something up, driving you away, and it’s a repeating cycle of trying to win your favour back

When is he going to learn?

He’s distracted the whole drive to the hotel, which he supposes is both a blessing and a curse, because the ride feels like it’s at least two hours long

Slender could’ve at least given them a warning

When they finally get to their destination, him and Toby step out into the darkness of the night, and the driver rolls away behind them

They’re left in front of a shabby-looking building on a street that’s basically abandoned

There’s no one at the front desk when they walk in, but there’s a single key with a room number on it waiting for them

Toby grabs it, cracking his neck as he does

“O-one fucking room? You—you shitting me? H-how—how fucking, how fucking long are we gonna have to—have to room together? What is this—this crap?”

Jack doesn’t say anything

He lets Toby lead the way down the dingy halls, which are completely devoid of any human presence

The wallpapers are yellowed and peeling, and every step they take releases a musty odour into the stale air

There are only two floors, and their room is on the second one, with a single dusty window looking out into the desolate street below

The two drop their bags onto the beds, which there are, thankfully, two of

“J-jesus FUCK—thank god!” Toby exclaims, clothes spilling from his bag as he throws it over, “I got-got worried we’d have to share a bed or something”

He jumps onto the bed he’s claimed as his, the mattress squeaking in protest, looking entirely uncomfortable—but the way he lies down and rests his hands behind his head, you’d think it was the most comfortable thing ever

“N-no offence, dude, I’m just—I’m just not into you like that,” he adds, and there’s a wide grin on his face as he ticks his head to the side

“…None taken,” Jack answers dryly

He finishes unpacking his basic necessities, then walks up to the window to look outside at the night sky

He wonders if you’re back at the mansion, also looking at the same stars, and he feels that sad numbness blossom in his chest once more

It’s going to be one long mission, he thinks

#creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #eyeless jack #eyeless Jack x reader #EJ x reader

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notjustjavierpena · 10 months

Text

Three Times You Didn’t Kiss Joel - And One Time You Did (Part IV)

A/N: A cute summer romance culminates! Enjoy chapter four — the last one! See my masterpost for all chapters.

Summary: Sarah invites you over for a family barbecue.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader/You (No y/n)

Tags: +18 no smut but mature thoughts (minors DNI), fluff, pining, summer romance, DILF Joel, sexual tension, idiots in love, mentions of death, loss of family members, cancer, mentions of pregnancy, kisses, making out!!! Domesticity!!!

Word count: 3.3k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47914783/chapters/121073659

Chapter Four: Kiss

The house comes along nicely during the next few weeks, but after the night at the bar, Joel has been too busy with his job to help you, so Sarah has hung out with you after school for most of the week. There’s a nagging feeling in the back of your head, telling you that he is voluntarily staying away from you, but you don’t let it fester into obsession about whether he likes you back or not. You’re not a kid.

It is Saturday now. A radio plays music quietly from a garden table. The sun hangs low on the sky as it is late in the afternoon, illuminating your white house in orange and pink colors. There are no clouds in sight, and you can smell people barbecuing in the air, making your stomach growl with hunger.

Sarah and you have just finished making the garden look presentable with repotted flowers and herbs. She had picked out sunflowers at the garden center and paired them with a pink blanket of primroses, which you had enthusiastically praised on and on as you had planted them in the backyard. It looks even more beautiful with the sun shining down on them.

“Did you know sunflowers follow the sun?” You ask as you dust dirt off your knees.

“What do you mean?” She asks, walking to get the garden hose and turn on the tap. She works efficiently, interested and determined like her father.

“That they face east in the morning, then turn as the sun crosses the sky,” you explain and manage to turn on the water before she does.

Sarah goes to water the plants, “I knew I liked them so much for a reason.”

“You can like something for just being pretty,” you note, scratching through your scalp. You feel sweaty and tired, desperate for a shower to rinse off dust and dirt but for now, you’ll manage by putting your hair up.

“Is that why you like dad?”

Sarah’s nonchalant comment makes you choke on your own spit. You look at her with horror, eyes nearly bulging out of your skull at being called out so mercilessly by a 14-year-old, who just starts giggling in a way that puts you instantly at ease.

“Not just ‘cause he’s pretty,” you reply with a blush, feeling a giggle bubbling up in your chest too. It may have something to do with relief as well.

“Mhm,” she hums, finishes what she’s doing and then goes to turn off the water again, “You should come over for dinner in half an hour. Uncle Tommy’s coming over for a barbecue, and I want to bring someone too. Be on time though, Tommy always is. Somewhat.”

“Are you sure Joel will be okay with that?” Your concern is genuine.

“Dad woulda invited you himself but he isn’t here,” she reassures and you nod, “Besides, I can hear your stomach growling… I promise, it’s fine. It’s just an extra plate.”

“Can I shower first?” You turn off the radio.

“Don’t overdo it,” she mirrors you, and fixes her own hair by ruffling it slightly and putting it into a bun on top of her head. You only now notice her butterfly earrings.

“Better hurry then,” you start to head inside, and Sarah waves at you before leaving.

You arrive at the Millers’ doorstep about half an hour later, the smell of the barbecue having gotten more intense the closer you got. You should have been here ten minutes ago, but you wanted to wear the perfect dress for the occasion, and it took you a few more moments than planned to choose a light blue one that stops mid-thigh.

You knock carefully and hear Sarah come running up to the door on the other side. She opens the door and throws her arms around you in a tight hug, says your name so sweetly and loudly enough for her father and her uncle to hear.

Joel and Tommy’s heads pop out from the doorway to the kitchen. Joel’s eyes briefly go to his daughter, making him look like he is about to protest (like always), but Tommy pushes through the door to greet you. He is nursing a beer.

“So, this is the mystery woman that Joel won’t shut up about,” he says with a boyish grin, stretches out a hand, which you take, “Have you learnt how to use a paintbrush now or?”

He is the little brother without a doubt. You laugh, but mostly at the idea of Joel having come home to complain about you.

Joel visibly cringes, earning a giggle from Sarah, then mumbles a shut up with pink cheeks and says hello as well. He pulls at the dish towel, which has been resting on his shoulder and heads back into the kitchen.

“Come on!” Sarah drags you by the hand, through the house and out the back door to a little covered terrace with several plants hanging from the wooden posts. There’s a table in the middle, but there’s only three plates; Sarah really hasn’t told her father. You feel blood drain from your face.

“Sarah,” you say, but she’s already gone inside again. When she returns, she is carrying an extra set of cutleries and an extra plate. Neatly, she sets the table for an extra person.

“Don’t worry about it,” she tells you and heads to the corner of the small terrace, pulling the lid off to check the ribs, “He does want you here.”

It goes a lot better than you expect. You find that Tommy is very much Joel’s little brother, and you enjoy the intimacy of witnessing how he and Sarah team up against her poor father, who looks to you every time he cracks a joke back at their faces. You notice how Joel’s eyes change every time that you laugh, going softer as he hears you giggle at his demise.

On your plate are spareribs, coleslaw, mashed potatoes and corn. The only thing made by Joel are the ribs, whilst everything else is cooked by Sarah and, to some extent, Tommy. Joel doesn’t cook much, you note, because he seems to enjoy the homemade food more than anyone else.

“Did you know that Joel plays guitar? Wanted to be a singer when he was a kid,” Tommy says with a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

“Watch it,” Joel tells him, embarrassment visible on his face. He takes a large gulp of his wine, looking down at his plate to avoid your gaze. Though when you start laughing, his eyes immediately shoot up again, “Why is that so funny?”

“Joel Miller, country superstar. Hits like just a contractor or in the arms of a construction worker,” you say with the most affectionate smile. Sarah starts laughing, Tommy follows.

“You’re not any better than them, are ya?” Joel rolls his eyes but chuckles too. Tommy and Sarah share a look.

“Oh, but you’d be a sensation,” you take a sip of your red wine, looking at him over the glass and smiling so hard that it becomes difficult to concentrate on swallowing down your drink, “Just need a hat.”

Joel gets up from the table without a word. He wipes his fingers on his napkin before going inside of the house, leaving you a little speechless, but Tommy runs a hand over his face to soothe the laughter that’s bubbling up in his chest.

“He must really like you,” he says with a smile, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Joel Miller, country superstar, returns a moment later with a Stetson Western style hat on his head. He has angled it to look more ridiculous, and Sarah is almost on the floor with secondhand embarrassment but simultaneously, she’s absolutely howling with laughter.

“No!” She yells.

“Just let him have this,” Tommy says to Sarah, but you don’t notice him nodding towards you.

“Alright alright alright,” Joel says with an exaggerated Texan accent. You don’t think you have ever felt like this before, but your cheeks are red as evidence of a crush turning into being head over heels in love.

“Very stylish,” you praise sarcastically, “I admire your commitment to the character. Why haven’t you pursued that life already?”

“Why would I give all of this up?” Joel takes off the hat. He places it on top of your head before he moves to sit down again.

When Tommy has bid farewell, Sarah has gone to bed and the house has gone quiet, Joel starts clearing the table without saying much. He moves around you with a gentle giant nature, reassuring you that you don’t have to help him when you get up from your seat. Though he stops insisting when you start stacking glasses to take them into the kitchen sink, letting you sip your wine and scrub the cutlery.

“More wine?” Joel asks as he finishes clearing the table by getting the empty and the half-empty bottle of red wine that Tommy, him and you had shared during dinner.

“Sure, I’ll take some if you do,” you stop doing the dishes and reach for your own glass and the glass that belongs to him, holding them out for him to pour into. Joel follows through, takes his own glass after putting down the bottle.

You clink your glass against his and talk as he sips, “Thanks for having me over and saving me from cooking dinner. Despite Sarah being the real schemer here.”

“Yeah, no problem,” he replies and stares into his wine. You can see the cogs turning inside his brain as he pieces together a sentence, causing you to step closer in a way of telling him that it’s okay, that you’re listening, “She likes you, you know, thinks you’re cool or whatever. It’s been real nice that you’ve wanted to spend some time with her the past few weeks.”

“It’s no problem, Joel,” you give him a tiny smile that he doesn’t see from the way that he avoids your gaze. You have a feeling that this is special; that he doesn’t usually have conversations like these.

“I just mean… There’s only so much I can offer being her old man,” he continues, finally looking up at you with eyes that make you feel like all wind has been knocked out of you, “The flowers and dresses and—“

“Boy trouble,” you tease, taking a sip of your wine.

Joel furrows his brow but then smirks, nudges you with his foot, “Hey. Watch it.”

There is a bit of quiet laughter from the both of you but when it dies down, you brace yourself for what’ll come after you ask a question that’s been playing on your mind since you found out that he was single: “Where is she, if I may ask? Sarah’s mom?”

You watch how his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” you start to reel in the words, but Joel holds up a hand to stop you. He puts his now-empty wine glass into the sink and holds out his hand to take your empty glass too.

“There’s no story, if that’s what you think,” he tells you with his back towards you as he opens the tap to soak the glasses, “Sarah’s mom died when Sarah was barely a year old. She was sick, didn’t want to get chemotherapy during pregnancy and then after… you know the rest.”

“Jesus, I’m so sorry, Joel.”

It is all you can say, because you’re suddenly busy with calculating their ages in your head. If you’re correct, they would have been around twenty-three years old, which most likely means that they were high school sweethearts. This is not what you expected, but it is enough to make your stomach drop as you keep wondering about it. You don’t know if you regret asking.

“S’alright,” he reassures you. He shakes his hands and dries them in his jeans, then turns towards you again. He leans back into the kitchen counter and crosses his arms over his chest to protect himself, “It’s been almost fifteen years but now that she’s a teenager, I’m a little nervous that I won’t be able to act as a double parent. I’m just an old man who doesn’t know shit about NSYNC. Jesus, it’s the wine talking.”

You watch as his arms tighten around his chest a little more, guard even further up. You want to tear it down, open his arms and squeeze between them to make sure that he knows that he doesn’t have to apologize.

“Are you kidding me though?” You look at him with disbelief at the way that he is tearing himself down. You take a step closer to him, “Sarah talks about you like you’re the freaking sun or something.”

Joel’s eyes change when you say that. They go softer in a way that you cannot describe other than relief, telling you ‘thank you’ or ‘I needed that’ without words.

“Do you need more help around here?” You ask when he doesn’t say anything in return. He still looks a little stunned by your words but eventually snaps out of his trance.

“I can handle the rest, if you promise to help me and Sarah out with leftovers tomorrow.”

“I promise… Well then. Think I’ll head back home, let Sarah sleep undisturbed and you relax,” you give him the softest smile, hoping to let him know that you’re here if he ever needs you.

“Lemme walk you home, repeat the success,” he insists.

“Here we are, ma’am,” he jokes as the two of you reach your front door. You can feel him stopping right behind you just like last time, sending a tingle down your spine.

“Nice of you to follow me home,” you say sweetly. You turn on your heel and he nearly bumps into you with how close he is. This time around, neither of you step away from each other’s personal space. It raises the question if he is craving to be in yours as much as you crave to be in his?

You stare up at him, mouth falling slightly open because he stares down at you so intensely that you can’t even think before you reach out to touch. Carefully, you place your hand on his cheek where he had a nasty bruise some weeks ago. It’s completely healed despite its severity, “And no cuts or bruises this time.”

Joel exhales through his nose in a laugh, and his eyes flutter closed for the briefest moment as you touch him. The next exhale becomes a sigh of relief. You blame his confidence on the several glasses of wine as he reaches up to brush a strand of stray hair behind your ear. Then, he dares to rest his forearm above your head against your front door.

You swallow thickly, but cannot stop yourself from making yourself taller by getting up on your toes. Joel is looking down at you still, but he isn’t intimidating at all as he dips down, something in his eyes telling you to take the hint. You try to signal back that he needs to do something about the weeks of frustration that has had your head spinning to the point of nauseating butterflies. If the idiot doesn’t do something tonight then you might as well give u—

And then he kisses you. All soft and sweet, closed eyes, quiet sighing and intoxicating summer air.

Your hand on his cheek drops down to grip at the front of his t-shirt, clutching a little to hold yourself steady as you are still on your tippy toes. You lean into his mouth and feel your bodies press against each other, your stomach doing somersaults whilst you feel his mouth on yours and the slight scratching of his beard. You cannot believe this is happening.

Joel keeps his arm above your head but only for a moment. He reaches to cup your face, calloused palm the size of your whole cheek, and gently guides you to tilting your head, so he can deepen the kiss just a bit. His other hand moves from his own hip to slide around your waist, hand sprawling across the small of your back and pulling you closer into him.

He takes half a step closer too, planting one foot between yours. You feel yourself bump into the front door, accidentally whimpering at the thought that flashes through your mind of him having his way with you right here. You don't think that you could have imagined him being a better kisser in your head.

But he is still human, and humans need to breathe. Reluctantly, he pulls away to suck in a breath. He is panting like you, lips swollen from meeting yours and his expression is mixed; something between shock and desire. You are not going to let him speak yet, scared that he will accidentally ruin this by overthinking it. There’s a lot at stake for him, you figure, amongst others is a kid who he needs to protect and love.

You rest your head against the door and pull him in by yanking at his shirt, brushing your lips against his in what is close to another kiss, keeping it slow and sensual. It is in no way innocent though; it screams for him to make another move, demanding passion and softness at the same time.

When you feel him give in, he makes it safe to let go of his t-shirt as he holds you with his body. You link your arms around his neck and shoulders, clinging to him as if you are afraid that he’ll disappear and never talk to you again if you let go. You’ll take the consequences of kissing the gorgeous neighbor later — not now.

It is Joel’s turn to make a noise now. Your legs nearly give out underneath you as you hear him growl slightly, a dull aching sensation starting between your legs. Your instincts tell you to invite him inside, but you can’t have everything all at once.

“Joel,” you say softly into his mouth as you give him a string of kisses. He responds without a word by the hand on your cheek going down to rest on the side of your thigh and daringly sliding up underneath your dress’ skirt.

“Joel,” you shake your head no, pulling back until your head rests against the door again. He removes his hand again, lets it hang along his side, and steps back so your hands fall to your sides too.

“You don’t want—?” He trails off.

“I don’t think you know just how much I do want it,” you tell him with a still ragged breath, “But not on my front porch with wine in my system. I like you.”

“I like you too,” it sounds like the confession of a teenager. You cannot help but let out a little giggle that makes Joel frown, “What?”

“Nothing. I just haven’t been in love with someone like this since high school,” you confess shyly, looking up at him innocently. The butterflies in your stomach are having a field day, causing almost motion sickness.

Joel says nothing but just makes a noise of approval and agreement. If the sun had been out, you would have been able to see the redness on his face.

“I’m going to go inside,” you inform him but debate whether to kiss him again or not, “And we’ll talk tomorrow. Is that okay?”

“Sure,” he says quickly, suddenly crossing his arms over his chest again like he had in the kitchen, “Yeah. Of course, yeah. Sure.”

“No, no. Look at me. I mean what I said; talk tomorrow. It’s healthy to miss each other, you know,” you add as you unlock your front door.

“Shut up,” he says with a hint of a smile, “Do you have plans for Sunday?”

“No, why?”

“Sarah isn’t home. Do you want to come over and do nothing?” Joel looks at you shyly.

“Sure. Then talk Sunday.”

You step inside, close the door and wait. You let out a breath that you’ve been holding when you hear him step off your porch. Then, you do a victory dance and go to bed.

Taglist: @casa-boiardi

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joel x you #the last of us #joel miller x you #my writing #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #dilf!joel

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merakiui · 1 year

Note

That ruggie thought about him getting you pregnant 👀 u always leave bangers in yhe tags

Putting bangers in the tags is a merakiui speciality. :D

(cw: slight yandere, nsfw, pregnancy, female reader, mentions of abortion)

Ruggie is a sneaky hyena, so naturally you shouldn’t have trusted him when he said he’d pull out before he cums. The two of you are just friends, yet one thing leads to another and the both of you agree to a night of mutually beneficial affairs. School is stressful! Running errands for Leona is stressful! If anything, the both of you deserve to unwind with one another. Ruggie makes it very clear that he will pull out. There’s no way he can risk cumming inside, and neither of you have any condoms on hand either. His pull-out game is elite; don’t worry. You’re in good hands.

Until you aren’t and you wake nauseous weeks later. You’re quick to get a pregnancy test and when it comes back positive and you realize that the only one you were intimate with was Ruggie... Now things are complicated. The both of you sit in his dorm room on his bed, staring at the test and then at one another. It’s so awkward; the silence is stifling. He’d promised he’d pull out and he fully intended to, but in his defense it was warm and snug inside and you’d wrapped your legs around him and!!!! Excuses, excuses, excuses.

Ruggie offers an awkward apology that sounds insincere, but the truth is that he’s never been in this situation before and he has no idea how to smooth-talk his way out of this. So he tells you very bluntly that he can’t afford to take responsibility. He can get Leona to pay for any fees that might crop up if you don’t want to keep the child. He just can’t balance a fussy prince, academics, part-times, and a child. That’s way too much. Not to mention children are expensive and he’s very tight on money. He wouldn’t want to subject a child to a poor life because he isn’t financially stable. You understand where he’s coming from because with your monthly budget there’s no way you can afford a child either. But all of this is so...real. It’s one thing to entertain ideas like pregnancy, but it’s another to actually be pregnant.

So you tell Ruggie you need some time to think things through before you make a decision and he offers his support. After all, it was technically his fault that the both of you are in this predicament. He is genuinely sorry! He really wouldn’t dream of stressing you out with this. If he was rich, it would make your lives so much easier. Leona won’t provide any help because it isn’t his problem to solve. The way he sees it, Ruggie shouldn’t have had such a weak pull-out game. Ruggie’s humiliated that that’s what Leona decides to comment on. Leona does, however, wish you the best of luck. He does care for you in his own gruff way, but don’t expect him to bow to you just because you’re pregnant.

Time passes and with it a dozen decisions fester. No one could tell you’re pregnant because it doesn’t show, but Lilia has popped in to gift you a pair of baby booties he’s crocheted and Malleus has started to visit more often to wish you well and check in. Some of the beastmen seem to perk up when they’re near you, as if they can sense the change in hormones, and the merfolk exchange sly glances. Everyone’s starting to wonder.

When you finally, after much debate, decide to visit the doctor and Ruggie accompanies you (for your sake, he claims. He’s not a deadbeat, so wipe any of those ideas from your mind at once!), the doctor informs you that you’ve waited much too long and that now you ought to focus on preparing for the baby. You and Ruggie die that day in the pristine office, and you leave hollow and nervous. You knew you should’ve gone sooner, but you were never afforded a break. With Grim’s nonsense and then trying to scrounge enough money to fix a hole in the wall (thanks to Ace and Deuce’s foolishness) to managing your own academic schedule, you pushed pregnancy to the back of your mind because you were so certain that you had time.

You try to look on the bright side, but Ruggie’s a realist and there’s absolutely no way the both of you can afford this without having to take out a loan or sign one of Azul’s contracts or work more jobs or... It doesn’t look good, but he wants to try to figure out a solution. So when Ruggie starts working more to afford pre-natal care (Leona’s wallet is always missing Madol, but he never notices, certainly not when he has a habit of leaving his valuables out and about), you try to do your part by looking for work as well. The both of you spend nights in either his dorm or yours (mainly yours, though. Ruggie doesn’t want any of the guys getting any funny ideas) and you’ll read up on pregnancy and parenthood together. You haven’t decided what you’ll do once the child is born, considering neither of you have any romantic feelings for the other and you’re not too keen on forcing a relationship that’s bound to fail.

Despite the initial fears, all poorly concealed, you and Ruggie slowly relax as the weeks go by. The both of you are saving up to afford everything needed for a healthy pregnancy, but there are certain factors that get in the way. Nausea is your enemy. You’ve had to excuse yourself from your shift more than once to vomit, and Ruggie’s started staying in Ramshackle with you and Grim to cook and care for you. He rubs circles into your back when you spill the contents of your stomach into the toilet every morning, sometimes right after your meals. You caught Grim sleeping on your stomach one morning, to which he will adamantly deny it and scoff about how you’re just delusional and trying to spin a lie.

When your baby bump finally starts to show, it becomes harder to hide the obvious. You’ll receive some support from Crowley because he’s so very kind, but you’re still expected to attend classes and such. Although the professors are admittedly a little more lenient with you now that they know of your situation. Ruggie wishes they’d be more lenient with him. Trein advises Ruggie to treasure the blessings that come with children. As noisy and troublesome as they are, it’s so very worth it in the end. His daughters mean the world to him; he’d do anything for them. Ruggie thinks this conversation got weird fast because since when does Trein get sentimental one-on-one like this? But...he’s grateful for the advice. He confides in Trein that he has no idea what he’s doing, but he’s really trying because... Because. He doesn’t have an exact reason, but he’s just doing it.

Trein smiles at him and simply says that trying is better than nothing. Ruggie feels like this was the strangest pep talk he’s ever gotten, yet somehow it’s cleared his head a little.

When your belly is more rounded and you’re a few months in, Ruggie suggests you stop working. Even Azul insists you ought to take leave; the lounge can survive without you. “It better be paid leave,” Ruggie threatens, to which Azul grins and says that a little signature can solve all of his issues.

Every single Madol counts. He’s filled jars and jars with bills and coins and he’s stowed them away in a locked space in his room. He’ll check the days off on his calendar as the both of you get closer to your supposed due date. He’s not sure why, but when you insist that you can work a little longer for his sake he doesn’t like that. He’ll work for you. He’ll do all of the heavy lifting and physical labor. Just relax and let him massage your shoulders or feet when they’re sore. Let him rub lotions and creams into your belly. Let him cook healthy, safe meals for you. Normally, Ruggie would let you do your own thing, but this time he’s a bit more forceful with his insistence. He doesn’t want you to hurt yourself or the baby, and he definitely doesn’t want you around those slimy Octavinelle students.

For the longest time, Ruggie was so certain that there was nothing between the two of you. You’re not in love, you never kiss or hold hands, and you don’t even sleep in the same bed. You’re really just two friends trying to get through a tough situation. But lately he’s felt different. These feelings surface when he’s rubbing a soothing gel into your belly and he feels the slightest kick, and he freezes up and looks you in the eyes and both of your stares seem to say, You felt that, too, right? It finally occurs to him that there’s life inside you. That the little movement within your belly is the result of you and him. That, had you never waited in the first place, he wouldn’t be here with you, feeling a restless baby kick and squirm within. Ruggie finally understands what Trein meant all that time ago. Moments like this—the ones in which he’s reminded of the bond the two of you share, that this child is the one who tethers you and him together—are so very special. An important thing that only he could experience with you.

Ruggie’s been feeling for too long and so he tries to back off, suddenly embarrassed, when your hands cover his. You smile at him and for the first time in his life he thinks that this isn’t a bad situation. Sure, it’s stressful and he’s exhausted every single day, but it’s a situation he doesn’t have to face alone. He’s together with you. With someone who is not quite a friend but not quite a lover either. Somewhere in between all of that. What does that even make you? He has no idea, but deep within his heart he wants you to be more than just a friend.

He’s never had anything that is remotely his. He’s always had to fight for his things. For food. For clothes. For money. He only knows survival because he’s never been granted the luxury of an easy life. So when you smell of him and you’re carrying his child and there are just so many traces of him on you it makes him realize that he wants this relationship. He wants to be your lover and future husband. He wants to be a father. He wants to be yours, and he wants you to be his.

Ruggie’s not sure what will happen after the baby is born and if the two of you will even stay as close as you currently are, but when he discusses potential names late into the night with you he pushes thoughts of the future aside. It’s important to plan ahead, but right now all he wants is to admire the way the moonlight frames you, the way you light up and laugh when he playfully suggests the name Ruggie Jr., and how warm you are. How welcoming your scent is. How comforting it is to know that it’s just you, him, and a precious miracle growing within you. (And a snoring Grim, but he’s too deep in sleep to be woken.) How perfect the two of you are, even when you’re struggling to make ends meet. Even then, he’s happy because you’re really all he needs to get through tough times.

He can’t let you go. He loves you too much, and hopefully by the end of these nine months you’ll love him, too.

#twisted chit chat #yandere twst #tw: pregnancy #not to put more thoughts in the tags but #this concept with jack #omg he would not leave you alone once he finds out #he’s even more loyal to you now #let him help you let him carry heavy things let him take responsibility #he would be so genuine about everything #OH OMG OR THIS CONCEPT WITH RIDDLE AAAAAAA #he would panic so much because his mother would absolutely throttle him when she learns her golden child got someone pregnant #when he’s meant to be focusing on his studies #not bringing shame to the rosehearts name by sleeping around!!!#the leech twins are a fun case because their parents find out #and mr. leech is like 'it's about time!!! my boys aren't cowards' and mrs. leech is so happy she'll have grandchildren to spoil #most supportive parents <3

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dapandapod · 7 months

Text

Bruises

I realized I forgot to post this on Tumbl! It's about 8,5k and written in one day in a fit of inspiration (helppppp) because I needed that sweet sweet Jaskier whump. Please enjoy this emotional hurt/comfort ish-fix-it of season 2. On Ao3 here

Jaskier never expected to see Kaer Morhen, especially not in the way he ended up seeing it.

The dwarves lead him and Ciri as far as they can, banter and cutting remarks following Jaskier at every step.

Sure, he gives as good as he gets; whatever he is dealt he makes sure to give back, if he can get away with it.

But you can only be hit so many times before it becomes a bruise, no matter how lightly.

And Jaskier is already sore, from years of barbs, from years of being told to “fuck off, bard” or “shut up, bard” or “you are so fucking loud,” and well. It hits harder when it is someone you consider a friend.

Especially when it turns out that friendship was one sided.

The little princess is full of resentment and anger, but trading banter puts a small smile on her face, so he lets her.

If the way to get friendly is to let her tease him, so be it. He knows she needs an outlet for her inner turmoil so it doesn’t fester, so he turns up the dramatics and plays along.

The second to last eve they spend with the dwarves, it suddenly becomes too much. He knows Yarpen isn’t a fan, he knows there is some truth behind his name calling and swearing.

Ciri is sitting across the fire, sharpening a stick with the knife from her boot, looking for all the world like she isn’t paying attention to the conversation around her.

But then one of the dwarves calls Jaskier an ignorant, lazy, useless human, wondering what the fuck he is doing here anyway.

Maybe it is the ale, maybe it is the smoke stinging his eyes, or the years of putting up with it.

Jaskier doesn’t remember which one of them it was afterwards, and it doesn’t matter. His anger flares. He stands up, and the group goes very quiet.

“Have any of you asked me anything of my life? Have any of you bothered to ask what I was doing in a fucking prison cell, why I don’t have a lute, or where I went after you left that fucking dragon hunt with Geralt?”

There is complete silence, only the crackling of the fire and the night sounds of the forest.

“You might think I’m useless, and that I am lazy, and that I’m ignorant. But I don’t have to be here. I have people depending on me, yet here I am. Giving up responsibilities and comforts alike, all for someone who can’t even call me a friend, surrounded by people who clearly don’t want me here.”

He flexes his hands, feeling the blistered and burned skin strain, the pain clearing his head some.

“I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow.” He finishes, picks up his bedroll and his pack, and settles on the outskirts of the camp, by the wagon.

Close enough to be safe, far away enough to get some peace.

It takes a few minutes for the muttering to begin, a few more until Ciri stands up too, and gathers her bedroll.

Until now, she has been distant, and he can’t blame her in the least. Now she settles down just a few feet from him, alongside the carriage.

It is colder here in the north, and neither of them had any kind of proper gear packed for their journey, unplanned as it was. He still drapes his leather jacket over her when he hears her chattering teeth, and settles on his bedroll with just a thin blanket.

Kaer Morhen is all big halls, high ceilings and hairy men. Hairy witchers. Lots of them too, and Ciri runs to greet them with a big smile.

They had found Eskel along the path, guiding them the rest of the way up. Ciri knew some of the way already, but only the paths closest to the keep, so it was a great relief having someone who knew what to avoid and what trails led them past ancient traps and monster dens.

The road was long, and Jaskier can’t believe Geralt thought he would make it here unscathed. Eskel seemed a little concerned as well when Jaskier explained his task, but said nothing.

Still says nothing, now that Ciri is surrounded by witchers, and Jaskier is left just standing there at the edge of the room. He is usually not one to hesitate to introduce himself, but he is tired, hungry, and frankly feeling rather neglected.

Eventually Ciri introduces him to the group, and it takes about three seconds after that to figure out who Lambert is.

Ah, ‘Lambert, Lambert, what a prick,’ indeed.

He is given dinner, a place to sleep, and is shown to the room where they keep a myriad of bathtubs. Lucky for him, there is already a fire going, making the room warm and toasty, and making it considerably easier to warm the water without any signs.

Jaskier can’t lie, he had been picturing hot springs, or anything pre-heated really, especially the shallow pool that had been built in the floor.

A quick toe dip later, and he is never stepping foot in that pool, ever.

His fingers ache when they come in contact with the heat of the fireplace, and he flexes them in an attempt to dispel the discomfort.

Sinking down into a tub at long last is heaven.

Dirt from far more than the road to the keep has had his skin itching, his hair stuck in a permanent curl around his ears, and he longs for his artistic dishevelment once more.

Sharing breakfast with the witchers of Kaer Morhen enlightens him about the many odd manners of Geralt of Rivia.

Watching the other witchers mess with each other explains so much. Unguarded food is immediately stolen, and if given the chance, someone will increase the temperature of their tea all the way to boiling, and then challenge each other to drink it, and so on, and so forth. Brotherly pranks, clearly, but the kind you need a certain set of mutations to deal with.

Jaskier only has his mixed heritage to keep him out of the worst of troubles that technically would be bad news for full humans, but nothing to keep him safe from this, so he steers clear.

Yennefer and Geralt join them that same afternoon.

Ciri runs into Geralt’s arms, and Jaskier remains at the table where he is challenging Coën with loaded dice.

Not until most of the others have gone to bed does Geralt finally approach him.

“Thank you for bringing her safely here.”

Jaskier looks at him for a long while, before replying.

“You’re welcome.” He says finally, and Geralt pats his shoulder. Weird.

After that first day, Jaskier approaches Vesemir while the others are busy.

The way he left things in Oxenfurt doesn’t sit right with him, and he is pretty sure Pricilla is going to assume he is dead if he doesn’t get a message to her soon.

He still has no idea how long he is supposed to stay in the keep, but he writes a carefully worded letter, assuring his safety and asking her to keep singing the Song of the Shore.

She will know what the coded song title means, and he has enough funds squirreled away to keep the entire Sandpiper operation going for a while longer, before he needs to find a way to beg his benefactor for assistance.

Vesemir gives him a long look, and Jaskier offers the letter he is holding, stifling a frustrated sigh.

“You are free to read it. I’m not trying to give away your location, just assure my safety of me and those I left behind.” He says, because he knows.

He spent years in the library of Oxenfurt, and he has read the old tomes that contain what little witcher history there is to find, as poorly depicted as it is. He knows about the sacking of the keep, understands the fear of it happening again.

It still stings.

Vesemir accepts his offer, and opens the letter, reading it over. His eyebrow climbs up his forehead, and he looks at Jaskier before putting it back into its envelope.

“I’ll have it sent.” He says, his mustache twitching when he makes a considering face. “Do any of the others know?”

“About the Sandpiper?” Jaskier asks, and Vesemir nods. “Yennefer knows. She was a part of the last group I sent off, before…” Jaskier stops and takes a breath. “Before. I know how and when to keep things to myself.”

Vesemir nods again approvingly, and takes the letter with him.

No one seems to have noticed the exchange, and Jaskier is left wondering if that is a good or a bad thing.

Things are a bit tense in the keep. Geralt still hasn’t seemed to forgive Yennefer for her betrayal, and Ciri seems to be more withdrawn lately.

Between witcher practice and chores, Jaskier tries to make himself as useful as he can be.

Which is not very, as it turns out, since he is not trusted to be in the lab anymore because of a tiny little tasting incident. Nor is he allowed to help with the patching up the keep. The library is Vesemir’s baby, and Jaskier is sure he is safeguarding secrets of the past there.

So Jaskier just… hangs around. Without a lute, he can’t play, and he probably wouldn’t be able to just yet anyway with his fingers still in their sorry state. The blistered skin has started peeling now, and new soft pink skin has started to show underneath.

He and Yennefer are getting closer, both of them evidently outcasts of a sort.

Especially since none of the other witchers make an effort to get to know them, nor is Geralt paying any kind of attention to either of them. She is the only one who really knows about the firefucker, and nobody has bothered to ask about the bandages.

If she had her chaos, she could have healed him, but she doesn’t, so instead she makes what ointments she can and watches him like a hawk to make sure he doesn’t eat it instead of applying it.

Late summer is slowly becoming early fall, and Jaskier realizes that his window for leaving is ever shrinking.

He doesn’t want to leave, not really, but he has no idea what he's doing here. Geralt hasn't asked him to leave, but neither has he asked him to stay.

Their interactions are short and rarely between them alone.

A lot of it consists of Geralt being nearby when Jaskier is retelling funny stories of their travels, making Ciri smile and the other witchers roar with laughter and the corner of Geralt’s mouth twitch in an aborted smile.

They don’t treat him like the dwarves did, but they clearly don't know why Jaskier is here either, and it is frustrating to say the least.

They seem to appreciate his singing more than Geralt ever did, sure, but sometimes it feels like they use him to annoy Geralt, and sometimes Jaskier thinks it’s working…

Lambert is probably the worst. He is an asshole and excuses it by calling it honesty.

He picks up where Geralt left off after the mountain, poking at every visible sore spot until Jaskier is stinging. Jabs and jibes, poking fun at Jaskier to make the others laugh. Nothing he isn’t used to, but something that makes Jaskier feel uncomfortable when nobody steps in to stop him.

Ciri sticks close to his side after those nights.

She doesn’t say much, doesn’t try to defend him, and he would never ask her to, but she glares at Lambert and asks Jaskier to tell her another story, which he gladly does.

It’s been two weeks since their arrival, and he, Lambert, Coën and Geralt are gathered around the dining table. Most of the others have filtered out to their own tasks or downtime activities, but they linger, chatting and playing dice. Coën stays out of it, still not trusting Jaskier since the loaded dice incident, which Jaskier is immensely proud of.

For the first time in a long time, Jaskier is actually enjoying himself, and enjoying being next to his friend. Maybe, after all this time, Geralt has started to think of him as a friend too.

Until Lambert opens his mouth and ruins it all.

“You are not half as bad as Geralt made you out to be. Or maybe it’s because he made you leave your lute behind at the bottom of the mountain?”

Next to him Geralt stiffens, and Jaskier feels his jaw working.

“Thanks,” is all he says, shaking the dice in the cup one more time before slamming it down on the table a little harder than strictly necessary. Then he stands up and climbs over the bench, very fucking done with the entire conversation.

Behind him he can hear Coën berating Lambert, who pretends he has no idea what he said wrong.

Fucking asshole.

He doesn’t hear Geralt say anything, nor ask about the missing lute.

It’s not that cold out yet, but the air is fresh and crisp on his face when he steps out through one of the side entrances to the courtyard. Here and there witchers are milling about, but Jaskier wants to be alone.

He hurries to the main gate and across the bridge, seeking his solitude amongst the trees on the other side. Technically, it is a bit dangerous to go out alone, but Jaskier is pretty sure no little beasties would dare come close to a monster hunter’s keep in broad daylight.

“Jaskier.” Geralt calls after him, and Jaskier stifles a long line of swears. Still he lets Geralt catch up to him, even if he is decidedly not looking at the witcher.

“Lambert can be such a prick.” Geralt says when he has caught up. “He only wants to rile you up.”

Jaskier notices the clear lack of an apology in there.

“So I’ve noticed. And he succeeded,” Jaskier says shortly, flexing his fingers again.

A bad habit now, but it is better than picking at the sharp, hardened edges of skin that still cling to his fingertips as they heal.

Clearly, Geralt hadn’t thought through what he wanted to say, or he had expected this to be enough. It isn’t. He lingers, still standing there, waiting for… something.

“What do you want from me, Geralt?” He asks when Geralt isn’t saying anything, and turns to look at him. His… friend. The man he has spent far too many years believing he meant something to.

“... I wanted to see if you are alright.” Geralt says haltingly, and Jaskier finally snaps.

“Oh yes, I am clearly alright after being told time and time again that I am annoying, unwanted, useless, loud, and being told by your family that you had made me out to be all those things too, before they even met me.”

Geralt looks taken aback, but Jaskier is not done.

“I’m tired of this, Geralt. I am so fucking tired of this. Not once have you come to my defence, not once have you told them to fuck off.”

“You can hold your own.” Geralt says, frowning, and Jaskier spreads his arm in frustration.

“I can, of course I fucking can! I have to, since not even the man I thought of as my best friend considers me a friend enough to have my back!”

Again, the witcher doesn’t have a reply to that. Fucking figures.

“Leave me alone, Geralt. Before I say something I’ll regret.”

“...Don’t wander.” The witcher cautions him hesitantly, and thankfully returns towards the bridge.

Jaskier stays longer than what is probably advisable. He is just fuming, and he kicks a young tree, making yellow leaves fall down around him.

He could technically blow off steam by sitting down to write, but there would be an audience no matter where he goes in the keep, and he is also not very much in the mood for another Burn Butcher Burn.

That one has done enough damage already.

In the end, it is Ciri who ends up fetching him. She doesn’t say anything about his red eyes and tousled hair, nor the bruises on his knuckles.

“Dinner is ready,” is all she says, and waits for him to join her back across the bridge with the others.

Jaskier takes his dinner and chooses another table far from the big group. Predictably, Ciri joins him, but he didn’t expect Eskel to sit down with them, too. Nor Yennefer. Nor Geralt.

They talk amongst themselves, even if Ciri and Jaskier are the only one replying to Yennefer when she says something.

It makes him feel weird, considering their rivalry all these years.

He knocks their shoulders together and teases her, calls her the worst wife ever. It is worth it for the smile he teases out of her, but he notices Geralt pull in a sharp breath of air.

“What?” he asks, but Geralt says nothing, just stares down at his food.

That evening, Geralt walks Jaskier back to his room.

“I’m sorry,” the witcher finally says after a long stretch of silence that Jaskier refuses to fill. “For what Lambert said. And for what I made Lambert believe.”

Jaskier blinks in surprise. When there is nothing else, he turns towards his door.

“Sure. See you around, Geralt.”

But Geralt stops him with a hand around his wrist.

“Are you and Yennefer… really married?”

Of course. Of course that is what would be on Geralt’s mind. Another sore spot amongst the others on his bruised heart.

“Fret not, witcher, the sorceress is still unwed and free for the taking. She did get me out of a rather sticky situation, though, so if it’s all the same to you, I do consider her my friend and platonic wife.”

With that, Jaskier turns and closes the door behind him.

Fuck, that was not how he wanted this day to go. His eyes sting and he swallows many times and he clenches his fists to keep his emotions in line.

Maybe it is time to leave.

Maybe it is time to go back to where people need and want him. Where he can make a difference. Where he can matter. Where he is enough.

His eyes sting once more, and with a great sigh he heaves himself from where he was leaning against the door and pours himself a cup of water.

He’ll talk with Eskel in the morning. Or Vesemir. Find a way to leave that won’t inconvenience anyone any further.

Leaving is harder than he thought, mainly because now, all of a sudden, people seem to seek his company.

Yennefer keeps appearing, asking him for help with stupid things. Some of them, he realizes, might be a way to regain the trust she broke between her and Geralt, but he appreciates her company it all the same.

Especially since most of it includes making Ciri smile, some other parts of it to make Lambert’s life a little more shitty. Something he is all for, to be honest.

Jaskier is petty when he wants to be, and right now he is the Prince of Petty.

Geralt too, seems to have come to some conclusion. He bites back faster when Lambert becomes too much, or Eskel, or Coën for that matter. In Jaskier’s defence, even.

It’s… weird. Nice, but weird.

And it is tearing at the walls that he spent all summer building.

Jaskier writes another letter to Pricilla.

Vesemir had told him that he will accept no return letter, but there are some strings he could pull if it were really necessary. Since they are hiding from Nilfgaard in a keep deeply hidden away by time and nature, Jaskier respects the need for it, and continues writing his one sided letters.

He is rather used to one sided communication, after all.

When he finally thinks he is about to get Eskel alone, it is not by his own doing.

“I’m sorry, I found a journal without a name, and I looked through it to see who it belonged to.”

Well, fuck.

“Jaskier. You are putting yourself at great risk.”

“And others even more so, if I don’t.” Jaskier replies, knowing exactly what he is referring to. Eskel blinks, then nods.

“I need to go back, Eskel. Before winter comes.”

“It’s too dangerous. The pass will be open for a few weeks more, but you are a wanted man.”

This is news.

“What do you know?” He asks quietly, accepting his journal back.

“I have no idea how you got into the prison cell, but word’s spread that the White Wolf busted you out.”

Fuck.

“That’s not good.”

“I’m sorry.” Eskel says, and Jaskier pats his shoulder, but he immediately pulls his hand back with a grimace. How can one see the spikes on his shoulders, and forget that they are, indeed, spikey?

“Shouldn’t have done that. Why do you keep wearing spikes?” Jaskier says. “ Also, no fault but my own, I suppose, with the jailbreaking and all that. Actually, scratch that, are all witchers allergic to just bailing someone out? Or is it just a Geralt thing?”

Jaskier tries to lighten the mood, but his stomach is sinking and his hands feel clammy. Time to write another letter or three.

“Witcher’s are all cheapskates, I’m afraid,” Eskel grins, but then sobers. “Do the others know?”

Jaskier shrugs.

“They didn’t ask. Nobody asked.”

At the same time, Geralt comes around the corner and spots them, a frown forming on his forehead. Of course.

“Right. Well, if you would keep this to yourself, I’d be immensely grateful.” Jaskier says quietly, and this time Eskel pats Jaskier’s shoulder.

“I got your back, bard,” the scarred witcher says, ironically, and now there is a lump forming in Jaskier’s throat.

Great. Fantastic. Splendid. Amazing.

Without waiting, Jaskier takes off towards his room to hide his journal again. Not to avoid Geralt. Not at all.

The letters he puts together are swiftly given to Vesemir. His eyebrows shoot up again when he spots one of the names addressed.

“Not a friend I would have expected of you, Pankratz.” Vesemir says quietly. “I hope you know what you are doing.”

Jaskier knows. It is a high risk game for everybody involved, with him in the direct line of fire.

“They will have to make do without me for a while.” Jaskier says quietly. “Or so Eskel tells me.”

“Ah, yes. Might be good to lay low for a while. You are welcome to stay the season with us, if you don’t have anywhere else to go, but we expect you to pull your weight.”

Does he have anywhere? Is he really welcome here?

The way Geralt looks at him sometimes, he is not so sure.

“Thank you. Though I might need to make a trip down to civilization soon. Some more clothes, paper and a lute. What kind of bard am I without a lute?” He asks, half joking.

“It’d be better if we sent down one of our usuals.” Vesemir says, scratching at his beard. “A man like yourself is sure to stand out anywhere in these small settlements.”

Was that a complement?

“Was that a complement?” Jaskier says, smirking, and Vesemir huffs goodnaturedly.

“I can see them looking, bard. I have eyes. And ears.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jaskier asks, frowning, but Vesemir turns to go.

“Write me a list of what you need, and I’ll see what we can do.”

Aubry and Coën leave only a few days after Jaskier had written his list. He doesn’t really expect them to find him a lute, but something stringed to play would be nice. It’s rather likely they would find a 4 stringed lute at most, nothing like the one he smashed over that guard’s head, nor like the one he got from the Elven kind that he keeps safely in Oxenfurt.

Frankly, he’s glad that he couldn’t bring one of his nicer instruments.

The temperature changes could crack the wood, if not treated carefully, and it would be hell to keep that many strings tuned. He is pleasantly surprised when there is a knock on his door, and Geralt steps in with a leather case.

“The boys found you something,” he says by way of greeting, and Jaskier stands from his desk to accept the offered case.

He can feel the corner of his mouth tick up, and he wipes his hands on his trousers first to rid himself of stray ink before he dares touch it.

He grips it by the neck, feeling the smooth wood even through the leather of the case, and the gentle sounds of the strings as they are pinched in his grip.

“Oh, hello there,” he whispers to it, and opens it reverently.

She has six strings and a little care package, and she is terribly out of tune. The wood is old, loved, worn out, and he can see clearly where her previous player liked to put their fingers, the lacquer worn or marked to help the unpracticed one.

“What a beauty you are,” he tells her, and from the corner of his eyes, he sees Geralt leaning against the door frame, arms crossed. It almost looks like he is smiling, but Jaskier won’t turn his head to look.

There is a nervousness in him, like when you get to know a new lover. Excitement, fondness, curiosity.

He sits down on the bed, lute perched in his lap, and attempts to tune it. He fishes out the little tuning fork around his neck, raps it on his knuckles, plucks the matching string, and starts adjusting it.

Geralt makes a face; it’s probably not a nice sound to sensitive ears, but he remains.

“Did you know, it's common lutes have as many as 12 courses?” Jaskier says, turning the peg until it feels right.

“Courses?” Geralt asks.

“Strings. Oh, I might need to get this little darling some new pegs eventually, and that string looks a little worn out. We will fix you up, love.” He coos at the lute, and he hears Geralt huff.

“Doesn’t yours have 13?” Geralt asks, and Jaskier looks up, surprised.

“They do, yes.” Jaskier looks down, and his hands suddenly feel a little clammy, his cheeks warm. “The most I have ever heard of is 35, which is ridiculous. One of my old masters in Oxenfurt has one with 19, but I find those are best suited for academic music, rather than music for the masses.”

Geralt doesn’t say anything else, and when Jaskier looks up, Geralt is smiling.

“What?” He asks, but Geralt just shakes his head.

“Just haven’t talked like this in a while. It’s nice.”

That… is not what he expected him to say. Truth be told, he is still a little hurt. He still hasn't received a proper apology from that outburst from Geralt on the dragon hunt, nor any kind of thanks for just dropping everything to come with him again.

“This is going to take a while,” Jaskier says hesitantly, when Geralt doesn’t say anything else, nor move. “Technically, I should look her over first, then tune, but ah, can’t blame a man for being excited, can you?”

Jaskier looks down, puts his tuning fork back inside his shirt, where it clinks against the ring, and puts both hands on his lute.

“I don’t mind. If you don’t mind me staying.”

This is so weird.

Geralt stays, and listens to Jaskier tuning his new treasure. It takes him almost twenty minutes to see that Geralt is holding another bag, most likely one with the requested clothing.

They will have to wait a little more, as Jaskier is getting into position and putting the lute strap over his shoulder.

His right hand already stings a little, the new skin not used to the sharpness of the strings. Jaskier plays a few scales to get to know her, and to get back into it. He plays a little ditty from his past, humming the familiar nonsense words of the warm up song of his early days in the academy.

They don’t know each other yet, but it feels good to play again.

Just because he can, and because he wants to show off a little, Jaskier decides to test her limits. An old lullaby, embellished by the academics and time, harmonies and contrast ringing out in the room.

He smiles, until his index finger stings, and he hisses and puts it in his mouth.

“You alright?” Geralt asks, sitting up straighter from where he finally was sitting on the chair by Jaskier’s desk.

“‘m good,” Jaskier says around the finger in his mouth. “Just a cut. New skin’s not tough yet.”

He takes the finger out, and inspects it. His fingers are red, and the small cut is bleeding a little more than it should. Even his cuts are dramatic, he hears his teacher say, an echo from a distant past in the back of his mind.

“...New skin?” Geralt asks, face blank, and Jaskier looks up at him. The good atmosphere in the room is changing, and for some reason Jaskier feels like it is his fault. It makes him feel a bit defensive.

“Yes, you know, after the old skin blisters after a bad burn? Haven’t played in some time either, so that probably makes it worse, I suppose.” Jaskier can’t help but prod, to see if Geralt will take notice.

“You didn’t tell me about the burn,” Geralt says, his mouth a thin line.

“You didn’t ask.” Jaskier says, laying both hands flat over the strings, looking at Geralt challengingly. Good mood is all but gone now, and he feels that old bruise makes itself known again. This time he is the one poking it.

“Usually don’t have to.”

“Maybe I got tired of our one sided friendship,” Jaskier says before he can stop himself. Fuck, that is not how he meant to say that.

By the looks of it, Geralt doesn’t take it too well either.

He stands up, staring at Jaskier as if he grew a second head.

“Tired?” He says, hands clenching and unclenching against his sides.

“When was the last time you called me your friend, Geralt?” Jaskier says, starting to get agitated. “When was the last time you asked me something, anything that didn’t directly relate to Yennefer, Ciri, or you needing me to do something? When was the last time you apologized, for anything you have said to me?”

Jaskier stands up and puts the lute down on the bed, lest he does something he regrets too. All the words are pouring out of him now, why risk breaking anything but his own heart?

“Maybe I grew tired of being the only one trying.” He grabs his handkerchief to stop the blood from his finger, clenching his hand hard around it.

“Why are you here then?” Geralt spits, and it’s like a slap.

“I ask myself the same thing every day,” Jaskier shoots back, finding himself taking a step forward. “Why am I here, when clearly nobody wants me to be?”

Geralt stares at him, and Jaskier can’t really tell what that expression is.

“Are you leaving?” Geralt asks through clenched jaws.

“Can’t. Apparently there are consequences for being broken out of jail. Especially when it happens to have been by someone like the White Wolf.”

This time, Geralt visibly flinches.

“Didn’t think about that, did you?” Jaskier says. “I was so glad you found me again, I didn’t give a damn about the consequences. I pretended we could start again, maybe you would want me by your side, walking next to you for once, not just trailing behind like some forlorn fucking puppy.”

Jaskier looks at his bed, looks at the oh so loved lute, that had seen so many sets of hands, every scratch and tear a part of a journey.

“Vesemir has allowed me to stay through the winter. Unless you’ve all got something against that. Let me know, and I’ll be on my way.”

Jaskier wishes he wasn’t in his room. Wishes he could just leave. Instead, he has to stand there like an idiot and wait until either Geralt does, or opens his mouth, for once.

“I didn’t realize…” Geralt begins but trails off.

“That actions have consequences, Geralt? That words do damage too? Did you learn nothing from your entire Butcher experience?”

That is a low blow, and he knows it, but he doesn’t feel like being nice right now.

It’s remarkable that Geralt hasn’t blown up at him yet, which in itself is probably not a very high standard to hold anyone against.

“You are still bleeding,” Geralt says eventually, and Jaskier looks down to see that he’s dropped his handkerchief. The witcher bends down and picks it up, grabbing Jaskier’s hand along the way.

Jaskier is too stunned to protest, and Geralt lifts his hand enough to inspect the cut. It’s not bleeding much anymore, but from where it’s placed, it is likely open easily.

Geralt pinches the tip of Jaskier’s finger with the handkerchief, and Jaskier suddenly flashes back to another room, another time when someone held his hand.

It takes effort not to just yank his hand back, his pulse rising and his palms getting clammy again. Geralt looks at him from under his brow, concerned, but Jaskier pinches his lips shut.

“Will you tell me about it?”

“About what?” Jaskier manages when Geralt breaks the stare to reach for some linen Jaskier has been using as bandages every now and then.

“What I missed this past year. How to be your friend. Where we go from here.”

Geralt makes a tight wrap around his finger, to the best of his ability. Not the best place for a bandage, but at least Geralt has experience.

“I can’t tell you where we go from here, Geralt. If you ask, I can tell you about the months since the dragon hunt, but the rest, you will have to figure out along with me.”

Geralt holds Jaskier’s hand in his for a moment longer, neither of them looking at the other. The witcher’s hand is not much larger than his. With a gentle thumb, Geralt moves Jaskier’s fingers, allowing him to see what the firefucker did to him.

“You and Eskel seem to get along,” Geralt says carefully. “Does he know?”

The corner of Jaskier’s mouth tugs upwards in half a smile. Geralt is fishing, but Jaskier won’t say unless there is an actual question.

“Some. He found a journal of mine that I thought I had hidden.”

Geralt frowns and releases Jaskier’s hand. It drops to his side, and they both just stand there in the middle of the room, looking anywhere but at each other.

“You don’t usually hide your songs.”

“It wasn’t a song book.”

“... Can I see?”

Fuck it, why not. Whatever is happening in this room tonight will change things either way.

The new hiding place isn’t really a hiding place, just the drawer in his desk. He hands Geralt the leather bound pages, and Geralt opens and looks through it.

At first glance, it looks like his economic books. Taking stock of things bought and sold, to who and where.

Geralt glances up at Jaskier, who just nods at the book again.

Flipping a few pages, Geralt starts to make connections. When he looks up at Jaskier again, his face is carefully blank.

“You are the Sandpiper.”

“I am.” Jaskier agrees.

“You smuggled elves out of the big cities.”

“Indeed. Don’t worry, I have taken precautions for if I’m not around.”

If he should be discovered. If he were not to come back.

“Jaskier, you are putting yourself at risk.”

“And so are you, every time you take a contract. Don’t you dare tell me it’s not the same.”

“So it’s for the money?”

Jaskier sniffs, glaring at the witcher.

“No. It’s for the people who don't have anyone else to turn to. Because when they run out of elves, they will find new targets. You can’t tell me you took every contract for the coin, I have seen you accept contracts for half of your rate if they can’t afford it.”

“Is that why your fingers were blistered?” Geralt asks.

“No. That’s… something else. Something I’d rather not talk about tonight, if you don’t mind.”

Jaskier knows that if he does, he will spend the rest of the evening wondering if he gave anything away, wondering where Rience is, who else he is burning because Jaskier got away.

Geralt gives the book back, and Jaskier places it back in the drawer.

“Rest your hand, Jaskier. Heal before you play again.”

The room is strangely empty when Geralt has left.

Jaskier sits on the bed, staring at his hands for a long while, until he finally decides to look at what was in the bag of clothes that Geralt brought, and Jaskier promptly forgot about in favor of the lute.

Looking through it,it seems like Geralt might have added a shirt of his own to Jaskier’s new wardrobe.

He shoves it to the bottom of the pile.

Jaskier doesn’t make it down to dinner that night.

After that day, things slowly progress in small steps.

Everything goes to shit, however, when Voleth Meir makes herself known.

Ciri’s body moves at the possessing demon’s will, and she manages to stab three witchers badly before the alarm is raised.

Yennefer wakes him up, pulling him from a dream into a nightmare. She needs him.

Somehow they always need him.

The powers channeled through Ciri’s small body are strong, destructive.

Jaskier is hiding under a table when a large creature steps through a portal, a creature he has never seen before. It sweeps at the witchers, and Voleth Meir laughs with Ciri’s mouth.

It takes Yennefer tearing open her veins for Voleth Meir to finally let go, for Ciri to free herself from the snares her mind had been tangled in.

With a scream, Ciri, Yennefer and Geralt disappear from view through a portal.

Jaskier sees Lambert land on his back, leg bleeding badly after a swipe from one of the creatures still roaming. He pulls him to the relative safety of his table, and tears his tunic enough to wrap Lambert’s leg.

“Thank you,” Lambert grumbles as he gets his bearings, the commotion in the room making it hard to hear. Jaskier just nods, tying the makeshift bandage off.

Finally, it’s over.

And somehow, Yennefer got her powers back.

The days after are a mess. One of the stabbed witchers doesn’t make it, and Ciri has been hiding in her room, guilt ridden, making herself as small as physically possible.

Geralt tries to coax her out, but he still has too little time, too many things to sort out. With her newly regained magic, Yennefer heals who she can, focusing on major injuries until she almost exhausts herself completely.

All the while, Jaskier is left to his own devices. Again.

Not that there is anything he can actually do for them. He isn’t medically trained, nor does have magical abilities.

It leaves him wondering how he survived the whole ordeal at all, and while he feels lucky about it, there is also a morsel of guilt.

So Jaskier finds himself knocking on Ciri’s door. She is reluctant to let him in, but with some honey cake bribes, she finally relents.

This, he knows. This, he can help with.

A young girl, plagued with guilt and fear, struggling to get a hold of herself and what she did, he knows how to help her.

“Not what you did. What your body did, under someone else's control.” Jaskier reminds her between bites. “I might not have gone through what you have, but I know what it is like to feel helpless. Fear and expectations don’t mix well, especially not when a murderous witch is involved.”

They talk a lot, mostly Ciri actually, and maybe they cry a little. After they finish their stolen cakes, and Jaskier has sworn not to tell Lambert, Jaskier brings out his lute to let Ciri play.

It seems she has a basic knowledge, plucking out the chords of a famous love song.

Sadly, not one that Jaskier had written, but at least it wasn’t one of Valdo Marx’s. Which he tells her.

And then she proceeds to play one of Marx’s love songs.

When Geralt finally joins them, Jaskier is chasing a giggling Ciri, who is hugging the lute close, calling her a traitor and a terrible little child, cursing Valdo for tainting her poor, innocent ears.

The first day Ciri dares to join them for breakfast, she hides behind Geralt. Both Yennefer and Jaskier hover, ready to step in between if anyone has anything to say.

They don’t.

Lambert is the first one to approach, bandage and limp both gone, Jaskier notes. He sits opposite of Geralt and Ciri, slamming his plate down, his fork rattling down across the table.

“Hey, it happens. What is a little mind control between friends?” is all he says, then digs into his food with the worst table manners Jaskier has seen in a while.

The tension breaks when Jaskier starts berating him for it, and is met with a mouthful of food telling him exactly where he can stuff his manners.

Ciri smiles when Eskel settles next to her, bumping their arms together.

The others make a toast to the lion cub among the wolves, the one who finally found a way to shut Lambert up. Even if it was by challenging him to stuff his mouth full enough to almost choke.

The first snow falls not long after.

The last letter has been sent, the last visit to the village by the foot of the mountains has been made, and those witchers unwilling to be stuck for the season have left.

It is colder than a grave hag’s asshole, as Eskel declares one day, with Coën immediately wanting to know why he knows that piece of information.

“I am a man of science,” Eskel grins and winks, and Lambert almost spits out his mead.

Ciri and Yennefer are slowly bonding, their first lessons taking place by the giant lake below the keep.

Jaskier takes care of his lute, works on new material, and with Vesemir and Eskel’s help, looks for new routes for the Sandpiper to take.

Geralt finds him more often now, seeking out his company rather than just tolerating it.

For a moment, Jaskier had expected him and Yennefer to fall back into bed as soon as the air was cleared, but if they have, they never said.

Instead, Yennefer spends more and more time with Ciri, trying to work out ways to control her power when they realize just how strong the young girl already is.

Sometimes they all do things all together.

They go ice skating.

They lose a snowball fight, pelted until they yell for mercy.

Jaskier finally learns of the hot springs, much to his outrage.

“You mean I could have dipped into preheated water all along?!” he yells, waving his arms around dramatically, and is rewarded when Ciri snickers, and Geralt bites down a smile.

It makes something in his chest soar.

The walls from the past year are slowly being torn down.

Deliberately so, in fact.

Piece by piece, Jaskier decides to let Geralt in.

It’s not perfect. It’s painful and it’s terrifying to let himself be open to hope again, to trust that there is friendship this time.

When Geralt learns about the firefucker, he is gone for an entire day.

Jaskier has no idea where he went, and he is feeling terribly vulnerable after talking about it, hands shaking and heart racing. Yennefer finds him outside her workroom, and she pulls him inside, cursing Geralt all the way.

“Let him sulk,” she says. “If he can make a hardship his fault, he will. When he gets his head out of his ass, he’ll come back.”

Later that night, Jaskier hears Yennefer rip Geralt a new one for leaving like that, when Jaskier clearly was shaken up and shouldn’t have been left alone.

Ciri learns about the firefucker days after, and angry tears roll down her cheeks when she realizes what Jaskier went through for her, even before they met.

They sit on the bridge outside the gates, feet dangling over the edge. The air is cold enough for their breath to fog, and Ciri’s slightly damp hair to freeze.

Jaskier thumbs her tears away and presses a kiss to the top of her head.

“The whole world could be at my heels, and I would do it all again to keep you safe.”

“Sometimes, I just want the world to burn.” Ciri whispers, and Jaskier tucks her into his side.

Geralt calls him his friend now.

It’s good.

Jaskier gets to borrow a horse, and they go out riding in the snow around the keep. They argue about whose turn it is to do the laundry, and who is the worse cook.

When the window to Jaskier’s room breaks for reasons Lambert and Ciri swear up and down they know nothing about, Geralt simply moves him into his own.

The bed is wide enough for the both of them, which makes Jaskier think of who else might have shared it before him, but he pushes that thought down.

It has no place here, nothing to stand on.

They actually interact less after sharing a room, both of them needing their own space during the day.

They learned that after a vicious fight, where Geralt found all Jaskier’s sore spots once again and pounced.

“Do you ever tire of your own voice?!” he asked nastily, and that shut Jaskier right up.

He slept in the main hall for three days, until Geralt actually apologized.

After that first apology, the rest came a little easier.

They talked about what happened on the mountain. They talked about Jaskier’s past, and Geralt confessed that sometimes, since way before the dragon hunt, he thought Jaskier was only following him for the stories, for the fame it brought him.

It was Jaskier’s turn to apologize, for not seeing that, for not respecting privacy and boundaries set. He realizes he might have been blind to Geralt’s reactions to his songs, distracted with the fame their association granted them.

“But,” Jaskier says,”Not once would I have left you, even if you never lifted your sword ever again.”

To this, Geralt admits to how he always expects to be abandoned, or to be left behind.

“The thought of you leaving, or dying, it’s terrifying. I don’t think I could piece myself together again. So I left first.”

It’s like a kick in the chest, when Jaskier realizes.

That is the first night they actually sleep close on purpose. Geralt is a nasty little blanket thief, but Jaskier makes due by simply curling in close.

Midwinter comes, and a new year grows on the horizon. Darkness grants them a perfect view of the stars above, and the snow a blanket to let the world sleep.

Jaskier still is not allowed to join them on hunting trips, but he is getting good with a bow, under Vesemir’s sharp eyes.

Another sleepless night, another early morning, at the first light of dawn, when the first rays find their way through the dirty windows of Geralt’s room, that is when Jaskier dares to press a kiss to Geralt’s forehead.

Convinced that the witcher is asleep, he leans on his elbow, tracing a wild strand of hair behind his ear. It’s a quick kiss, dry lips against warm skin, making Jaskier’s entire body ache.

This is why he feared bringing down those walls. This is why he withstood the bruises, an armor to keep his heart at bay.

He doesn’t expect Geralt to open his eyes and gaze up at him. Doesn’t expect Geralt to wrap a hand around his neck and pull him down, pressing a kiss of his own to Jaskier’s forehead.

Resting against Geralt’s chest, Jaskier draws in a shaking breath.

“Ask me, Geralt.” He whispers into the dawning day.

“Do you love me?” Geralt whispers back, arms tightening around Jaskier’s back, pulling him closer.

“I do.” His voice wavers, eyes stinging. “Where do we go from here?”

“Wherever we want to. We’ll figure it out.”

“Geralt?”

“Hm?”

“Do you…?”

Jaskier doesn’t dare ask. Too scared of the question, even more scared of the answer.

Instead of replying, Geralt rolls them over.

Now he is the one leaning on his elbows, hovering inches from Jaskier. They are so close, he can feel every breath Geralt takes, see the pulse jump in his throat.

Instead of replying, Geralt kisses him.

A surprisingly chaste kiss, lingering and soothing and earth shattering and heart wrenching.

“I do.” Geralt whispers finally, lips brushing together. “Whatever that will do to us, I do.”

Come spring and the first visit to the village below the mountain, Vesemir finds him with ten envelopes and a small box.

The box is a set of strings and pegs and lute varnish they couldn’t get before the pass closed this winter. Most of the letters are from Pricilla, updating him on what is going on in Oxenfurt and the Sandpiper network, all well coded.

Jaskier realizes he can’t stay anymore.

The world around them is growing ever more restless and chaotic, and the only way to be prepared is to be out there.

Parting with Geralt is harder than it ever was before.

Being alone is dangerous, but being with them is even more so.

He has an organization to run. Stories to tell. Lies to spread.

During the winter, Jaskier came to realize how he can make a difference. On the road, with a lute on his back, in inns and taverns, the way he always did.

As they part, on a crossroad that finally will lead them to part, they stand next to new Roach and Pegasus, arms wrapped around each other and foreheads pressed together.

“Ask me,” Jaskier whispers.

“Won’t you tell me?” Geralt whispers back, making Jaskier huff and smile.

“I won’t make it that easy for you, witcher.” He teases, and Geralt steals a kiss, humming softly into it.

“So I’ll have to come find you then, and ask you to tell me again.” Geralt mumbles against his lips.

Jaskier will hold him to that.

Words held back until they meet again.

The road is long, and full of dangers.

Jaskier hopes it will lead him to Kaer Morhen once more.

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nataliasquote · 2 months

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I Know What You Are (teaser)

I apologise for how long it’s taking me to get a new fic out. I’m so bad with procrastination that I’ve left all my university work until the last minute so that’s taking up a lot of my time. In the meantime, here is a sneak peak at my next post… enjoy

500 words

-⧗-

“I thought interrogations were supposed to be your thing, Natasha.” The way her name dripped off her tongue was like sweet honey and Natasha clenched her jaw, eyes fixed on the woman prowling in front of her. Sure, she could get out of the ties around her wrists, but something kept her there. A desire to learn more about her. “You gave up pretty easily.”

“You know damn well I didn’t give up,” she spat, glaring up at the woman who was now standing so close their legs brushed. “I came willingly.”

“Oh I know,” the woman said with a smile, tracing the sharpness of the redhead’s jaw with her knife. “You can’t resist me.” Her Russian accent was thick and had Natasha completely transfixed. The tip of the knife trailed down to her collarbones so gently. “I didn’t think it would take years though.”

“I knew where you were.”

“You break my heart.” There was a mischievous sparkle behind her eyes and it frustrated Natasha to no end. “Guess you thought you were too good for me now, huh? All caught up in your Avengers business and no time left for me.” She pouted like a child.

Natasha looked up at the dim light above her head before answering. It was cliche really, tied to a chair in the middle of a damp room with only a single string bulb as a light source. But the woman before her was far more calculated than she ever let on, so Natasha knew it was part of some much bigger plan.

“Well I can’t exactly have a coffee with the enemy,” she said sarcastically. “The Avengers would take you in if you stopped murdering people for no reason.”

“Ha!” She spat out, turning back around to face Natasha, her knife spinning casually between her fingers. “Avengers. What a pathetic excuse for an organisation. You think they mean well, and that’s just adorable really.”

“They’re not pathetic.” If there was one thing Natasha was protective about, it was her family. “Take a look at who you work for, you’ll find some pretty pathetic business going on there.”

Y/n’s eyes darkened. “Hydra is not stupid. At least our scientists actually do something useful instead of pottering about building metal suits.” A jab at Tony Stark. Classy.

“Yeah sure, if you call illegal human experimentation ‘useful’.”

Y/n let out a soft laugh. “Don’t get all big and bossy with me,” she replied, watching as Natasha’s stony expression cracked slightly. “The twins signed themselves up, I did nothing.”

“You lured them in.”

“What can I say, I’m irresistible.” She winked at Natasha and disappeared into the shadows, leaving a very disgruntled redhead alone.

To say she was the most annoying person Natasha had ever met was a severe understatement. That woman got under her skin and just festered there, and no amount of focus would ever make her go away.

#natasha romanoff #fanfic #marvel #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #avengers

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wildemaven · 8 months

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fall apart, again : chapter three | joel miller

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC!Genevieve

WC: 4322

Warnings: 18+ Blog; Loss of child, Talk of death, anxiety, panic attack, heavy emotions, grief, Ellie’s wild mouth, reader has a name but has zero descriptive features/is a blank slate

A/N: I don’t have a ton to say. It’s all just heavyX and I didn’t anticipate to feel so many things when I started this fic. But I think things will feel less heavy moving forward. I’m going to take a small break from this, just to let it be for a minute. There will be a small interlude I’ll put out before Chapter 4. I appreciate all the love and support through this! Big thanks to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for being the best and constantly helping me work through things when I was feeling stuck.

Series Masterlist / Inspo Board / Playlist

Previous / Next

You’re frozen, standing in front of the man you had come to accept was gone.

Your life. Your husband.

You mourned him. Cried for him— for years while navigating through a post apocalyptic world.

The grief ate away at you as the years ticked on, further and further from that September day, where you both stood together in front of the home you had built a life in. The pain festered at the fact that you were alive and your family was not.

A selfish twinge of guilt swirled, so deeply embedded within, the shame you felt by allowing yourself to fall in love with another man, a man who was not your husband.

But now you’re here, safe with the confines of this settlement, no more threats to out run or hide from.

Here, in this home that is unfamiliar to you, your husband, Joel, standing merely feet away— alive.

Joel is alive.

“Joel?”

“Eve?”

Your movements are slow, borderline hesitant, as you take the few short steps needed to bring you closer to him, your brain still registering this new version of him— seasoned with many years, years that lacked your existence.

A single tear cascades down his face, sadness and surprise cloud his features. Breathing becomes difficult, his chest tightening with each passing moment, lungs constricting with each pull of air— vision beginning to blur as he tries to focus on you standing in front of him. You’re alive.

The first touch is surreal, the cool-wetness of the tear beneath your thumb as you wipe it across his warm cheek— his eyes closing as he leans into your hand.

A sob wrecks through your lips as you throw your arms around him, chests knocking against each other as you scramble to get as close as possible, gripping him tightly— the proximity not enough to elevate the fear of him disappearing the moment you let go.

Words fail you.

Joel tucks his face into the curve of your neck, his arms securing you to him, body vibrating as he weeps along with you.

“Wow, that’s quite the welcome you're giving her there, Joel. He threw me against a wall and pointed a gun at me the first time we met.”

A low chuckle ripples through his chest, unwrapping himself from your arms, using the sleeve of his green plaid shirt to wipe his watery eyes, then taking it upon himself to wipe your face— his callused hands rough to the touch, but forgiving in their efforts.

“Ellie, this is Eve—.” His eyes are fixed on you, a smile slowly emerging on your face.

“Got that, already been introduced— Genevieve, Eve or whatever. By the looks of it, you seem to know each other pretty well. What— are you guys, ex-lovers or something? Clearly something more than whatever Tess and you were.” Ellie snarks.

There’s a pause, Joel wincing at the mention of Tess. “Whatever Tess and you were.” Even now he doesn’t think he can find the words to define what they were to each other, never feeling like he could fully give himself to her the way she wanted, needed or deserved.

You were his wife—then, now and forevermore.

Joel reaches for your hand, still wet from your tears, wrapping it around your own.

“Eve— Eve is my wife.” He notices the ring still on your finger the minute he says it, the pad of his finger smoothing over the small diamond, you never took it off after all this time.

“No shit! Can’t believe you convinced someone to marry your grumpy ass. Ha! Wait, when did you have time to get married?” Ellie’s brain is already working through the timeline of events to see where she missed this union between Joel and you.

“Umm… before, everything— Eve and I were married before the outbreak.” He feels a knot forming in his throat, thinking back to that last time he had seen you— the last goodbye that turned into the last time he’d ever hear from you again.

You squeeze his hand, pulling his attention back up to you. Knowing Joel, you can only imagine the amount of anguish he dealt with over the last two decades.

“Dang! And this whole time you thought she was dead and she probably thought you were dead— fuck.”

“Ellie, don’t!” Joel sees where her thought process is going.

“Wait, so that makes you— Sarah’s mom? Oh, damn!”

“Ellie!”

Sarah.

You were so caught up with seeing Joel alive after 21 years, it had slipped your mind to ask where Sarah was. Your heart skips at the thought of being reunited with her, your sweet little girl now a grown woman.

It’s been a never ending stream of tears today, the thought of embracing your daughter only adding to your endless weeping.

Breathing her in, reacquainting yourself with an older version of her, being on the receiving end of that bright smile, again. Your mind runs through every single thing you wanted to say to her, ask her so many questions, just sit and listen to everything she has to share.

You want your daughter.

Sarah.

“Where’s Sarah?” Your eyes scanning the rooms, how could you have missed seeing her?

“Eve—“ Joel barely manages to get your name out.

Every turn you’re met with an empty couch, an empty kitchen, Sarah nowhere in sight. The staircase catches your attention, another floor of rooms, Sarah must be tucked away and unaware of your presence.

“Sarah! It’s me— mom! I’m here!” You shout up to the second level of the house.

“Eve—“

Your heart is pounding within the confines of your rib cage, ready to burst the second she reveals herself.

As the minutes continue to pass by, the silence becomes deafening. Your vision begins to soften, it’s a battle to try and pull air into your lungs, tiny little tingles dance across your skin

“Sarah— J-joel, where’s Sarah?” Stammering over your words, staring dolefully at the top of the empty staircase.

“Eve, we should talk about everything— about Sarah.”

He didn’t need to say anything more. You don't need a slew of words and sentences to confirm what you already know.

You can feel yourself slowly breaking, piece by piece your heart shattering at the realization that Sarah isn’t here— not just in Jackson.

You need to be alone, to process through this loss— again.

“Is there a shower in the garage? Or is there one in here I can use? I’d like to freshen up…” You ask as you turn to Joel, his eyes filled with tears again knowing you have already come to the conclusion on your own.

“Uh, yeah— upstairs. The room on the right is mine, you can use the shower in there. Do you need me to get you anything?” He remembers how you always used to say a hot shower always made you feel better after a shitty day, this felt like one of those days.

“Just— just my bag. Maria said she was grabbing it for me.” You say flatly before heading up the stairs in the direction of Joel’s bedroom.

“Okay.” He utters at your retreating form.

It’s a quick journey from the living room to the bathroom tucked in the corner of Joel’s master bedroom.

The minute the door clicks closed, you steady yourself against the bathroom counter, knuckling tight against the cold tile as you try to muster up the energy to move.

You’re met with your reflection again, the second time in a 24 hour period. Puffy eyes staring directly back at you, taking in your worn appearance, in desperate need to wash the grim and sweat, hoping it will wash the despair and heartbreak right along with it.

It’s a fumbling mess as you try to rid yourself of your clothes, the fabric feeling claustrophobic and uncomfortable. Your hands work against each other as you attempt to undo each tiny fastener of your top, resulting in tearing it off as quickly as possible and buttons flying across the room.

Boots, jeans and undergarments thrown off in an arduous mess.

Goosebumps litter your arms and legs, the cool air of the stale bathroom wrapping around your exposed skin.

Bare.

Your mind. Your body. Your heart.

Flashes of light prick at your sight, narrowing your vision, a dizzying feeling as you stand in the small room unable to move as your mind wanders through the darkness that’s haunted you— that small voice that has never been kind, a relentless force that creeps in when you’re at your lowest.

This is your fault. You should have never left. You tore your family apart. If you were there you could have saved her, she would still be here. Sarah would be alive. This is your fault!! Sarah! Sarah! Sarah!

The walls groan the second you turn the shower on, steam looming over the plastic curtain. The water stings as it hits your skin, just the right amount of heat to wash away the pain that began to settle in your body.

Your gaze fixed at the ceiling of the shower, blinking away the tears that so desperately need to be shed, your lips trembling as the memories begin to fill your mind.

First cry, so tiny and beautiful tucked into Joel’s strong arms.

First steps, her little legs waddling across the living room floor to you and Joel.

First day of school, so eager to meet her teacher and new friends as she bounced into the classroom, leaving you and Joel, both a mess, at the door.

First concert, singing at the top of her lungs as Jewel sang her top hits, Joel standing behind you with his arms wrapped around your shoulders quietly serenading you throughout the show— You were meant for me, And I was meant for you.

First day in middle school, a teen waving you both off as she walked towards her first class located across campus, your little girl no more.

It’s the final memory that wreaks havoc on your already depleted soul, eyes closing as a surge of tears cascades down your face merging with the scalding water, shoulders shaking with each choked sob, head falling into your hands— finally allowing yourself to fall apart, again.

Last goodbye, her not so bubbly self annoyed at her parents for their lack of communication, trying her best to put on a brave face when the separation had been secretly affecting her, a goodbye hug and kiss with a promise to see her in a weeks time, her reflection the last image of her as you drove away.

Joel finds himself frozen in place. Tears crystallized and his heartbeat slowly returning to a normal state. He’s staring at the top of the now empty stairs, muffled sounds of the shower pulsating through the air.

He’s still processing the events since walking through the front door. Seeing you alive has him stunned. Spending the last two decades broken and marred over the loss of his family— his life. A pain so deep, it’s forever etched into his fractured heart.

A part of him wants to run up those stairs, pull you into his arms and never let go. The rational part decides he should let you ease into this space, the less overwhelming the better. He knows a talk will have to happen at some point, one he’s not sure he’s ready to endure, but you deserve to know everything.

“Well, that was fucking awkward. Geesh! Like your past is coming back to haunt your old ass or somethin’?” Ellie stated, breaking Joel from his growing thoughts.

“Ellie, knock it off.” He spits out, knowing she means well, but her timing is usually off.

“What? It’s not everyday your wife shows up, her husband gets shot and dies—“

“Her husband?” Joel says in disbelief at Ellie mentioning that you had come here with a husband.

You weren't alone? Your Husband?

“Only to find he’s not her husband or he is, but you are too? Then she’s wandering through the house calling for a ghost!” Her filter is doing a terrible job as she continues to push his buttons.

Joel turns, brows pinched and eyes boring at where she’s still sitting at the dining table, smirking to herself at how wound up he’s getting.

“So, I’m assuming she put two and two together about Sarah then?” Ellie adds, her tone less nagging than earlier, sensing Joel isn’t in the mood for her antics.

“Yeah…” He breathes out, his fingers pinch at the bridge of his nose, he feels the slight twinge of a headache beginning to settle in.

There’s a knock at the front door that grabs Joel and Ellie’s attention. Joel opens the door to find Maria standing on the front porch with a canvas backpack in her hands.

“Hey, Joel. I’m just dropping off Genevieve’s things.” Handing the canvas pack to Joel. “There’s a letter in there you should probably read— I didn’t mean to snoop, it had fallen out. Tommy read it too— he told me, she’s your wife. Once things have settled a bit, he’d like to come say hi. Maybe we can do a family dinner or something— if you’re up for it.”

Joel hears a mention of a letter, the rest of what she says blends together, he’s too focused on the bag in his hand. It’s not heavy in weight, filled with pieces of you and your life that you carried around, a burden he wishes he could have taken on himself.

“Yeah, sure. Oh, umm— no need to worry ‘bout setting up another house, she’ll stay here in the guest room—“ Joel explains to Maria.

“What! Why can’t she just shack up with you, she’s your wife? That’s my room— where the fuck am I gonna stay?” Ellie’s chair scrapes across the floor as she stands up and shouts to Joel and Maria.

“You can stay out in the garage, plenty enough space for ya. I'm not gonna force her to do something she might not be ready for just yet. We’ll see how things go.” Joel tries to reason with her.

“This is bullshit! She shows up and gets the royal treatment and I’m kicked out like I’m nothing!” Ellie blurted as she side-stepped between him and the front door, passing Maria to make her way out of the yard.

“Ellie! Where are you goin’ kid?” Joel protested.

“Out!” Ellie doesn’t look back as walks further away.

“Shit! Sorry ‘bout that. I should have waited until and talked to her about it first before makin’ that call myself. After everything we’ve been through— this is all a lot to deal with.” Joel apologizes.

“Give her some time. I’ve never raised a teenager, yet, but I come from a family of girls and we always needed a little reassurance when it came to change or major life events. I wouldn’t worry too much. Plus, teenagers love their own space, she’ll come around to the idea.” Maria tries to make him feel better about his decision. “I’ll get out of your hair. Don’t forget— dinner in the next day or so.”

“Got it. Thanks, Maria.” Closing the door hastily.

Joel sits on the couch, your bag resting on the coffee table in front of him, chin propped up by his hands with his elbows on his knees. He can still hear the shower going, making the house feel less empty than it should.

He cautiously opens your bag, the letter Maria had mentioned is sitting on top of your other belongings. As he carefully pulls the folded paper out, he notices a picture tucked into an inside pocket. An old faded Polaroid, it sits heavy between his fingers. He stares at the image, a distant memory of him and Sarah on a summer afternoon trip for ice cream— you had insisted on taking their picture. It was your favorite and you always carried it with you in your purse. A soft whimper falls from his lips, eyes welling up as he takes in the worn photo— it’s been so long since he’d seen her smile.

Joel reads your words through his tears. The lump in his throat building with each word, thick with a longing to be close to you, hold you in his arms, make up for lost time and lost intimacy you once shared.

My Sweet Joel,

I hate that this is the only way I can talk to you. You’d think it would get easier as time goes on— it probably would if I allowed it. But I can’t seem to let go of you and how much I love you, no matter how many years have passed— you’re too ingrained within me.

I miss our mornings together, quiet sunrise talks in bed were my favorite way to start my day— even if it took us forever to untangle from each other. What I wouldn’t give to be in your arms right now. I miss your warmth, always so warm.

I miss the way your eyes lit up when Sarah would finally join us for breakfast. I think we spent most mornings missing her when she was only down the hall from us. She was such a light, gentle and loving— she got that from you.

Her birthday is in a few weeks— her 35th. I wonder what she would be into now? I’m sure she would still hate the way we always tell the restaurants it was her birthday, those cheesy songs always embarrassed her so much.

I miss her so much Joel. I miss our family. I miss you.

Sometimes I wish I could start this life over. A redo. I’d still choose you. But we’d do things differently— no stress, no fighting, no separation. And there would be no fucking apocalyptic bullshit to tear us apart. Live somewhere in the country, away from the busy world, just us— our family.

We passed what looked like it was a small farm at one point. It made me yearn for normalcy. Where we could settle into the small farmhouse, drink our morning coffee on the wraparound porch while we watch the sun rise…

It’s a blurred rush of movements as he fumbles up the stairs to his room. Your bag tossed into a corner of his bedroom, items spilling out onto the floor, a problem for a later time.

He runs through the reasons why he should wait, giving you space until you’re ready to talk as he stares blankly at the closed bathroom door. It’s when he hears a muffled cry coming from the other side of the door that his vow to protect you from any harm physically or emotionally, to keep you safe from all the things happening in your mind.

Joel is grit and determination when he needs to be, a hard exterior presence that has been a staple feature of his, especially in the midst of this apocalyptic world. But even with his austere backbone, he’s an equally broken and fragile man.

When he pulls the shower curtain back and sees your grief-stricken body, he’s immediately stepping into the shower with you, fully clothed and shielding you from the hot spray of water as he wraps himself around your shaky frame. Your hands instinctively grabbing onto his drenched flannel for support as your knees give out and he slowly guides you both to the shower floor.

“It’s okay— I got you sweetheart— y’er okay, I got you!” His hold on you is unwavering, keeping you tucked in close to his chest, doing his best to lessen the impact on your heavy heart.

“I-it’s my f-fault! I-I s-should have n-never l-left!” Your words thick with guilt and gasping for air as you weep against Joel’s sodden shirt.

“Shhhh— none of that. I won’t let you do that to yourself!” He says between pressing purposive kisses to the top of your head.

“I s-should h-have b-been t-there! I-it s-should h-have b-been m-me!”

A pair of heavy wails crash into the air, your bodies convulsing against each other, no longer suffering in a grievous purgatory alone.

Your lashes flutter over your cheeks, eyelids heavy and swollen. Tears dried long after the shower had run frigid prompting Joel to turn the water off, a respite from the sadness—but too weak to find the strength to remove yourselves from the cramped cold space.

Joel shifts his body, the rubber sole of his boots squeaks against the porcelain tub as he tries to alleviate the pressure of his worn knees. He adjusts his grip on you as he moves, his hands brushing across your skin sending shivers down your spine.

“You’re shakin’. Let’s get you outta here— you can borrow one of my shirts. We can go down to the mercantile and pick up some new clothes tomorrow.” Joel manages to get you both to your feet.

“Joel, your clothes— you’re soaking wet.”

“S’fine. Need to get you warmed up. I’ll worry ‘bout myself afterwards.” He says rubbing his hands over your shoulders, hoping it’s giving you some sort of warmth.

Your hands tremble as you begin to slowly pluck at the buttons of his shirt, his large hands halting your movements wrapping around your wrists, pulling your attention to where he’s already looking at you.

“Let me— let me help you, please.” Your whispered words float through the air, and he lets you continue to work your way down the line of buttons, sliding the flannel off his broad shoulders on the floor.

Gathering the hem of his drenched white undershirt, you peel it up and off his body, his now exposed upper half littered with faded markings. Each scar is a new layer in his story, an indication of risks and challenges he faced.

Your fingers trace over the ridges of what you assume is his most recent one on his lower abdomen, no desire for the details of how he got it or how it almost cost him his life, at least not right now, grateful that the bunched and distorted skin is proof of his survival.

“I missed you so much, Joel. I’m scared this is all a dream, that I’ll wake up and none of this was real.” You say with your lips pressed firmly over the space where his heart lives, its thrumming cadence a calming force.

“This is real, very real. I thought I lost you, but you’re here, we’re together, again.” He murmurs softly, cradling your face in his hands, his gaze consuming your hesitant eyes.

His eyes land on your lips briefly, the gesture feels so natural, he doesn’t want to pressure you, he’d wait forever— he already has. For you it’s an easy decision, closing the distance between you, your lips slotting over his, in no real rush to make up for lost time at the moment, just needing to convey your love for him.

“I love you so much, Eve. I never stopped.”

He kisses you now, a little deeper and a little more confident and all-encompassing.

“I didn’t think I’d ever get the chance again to tell you how much I love you, how much you mean to me, Joel— and now that it’s here, words don’t feel like they’re enough. I love you!”

Once in his room, Joel finds a shirt and a pair of boxers for you to wear, promising again to take you to find some new items tomorrow when you’re ready.

“Umm, I guess I’ll head into the garage then.” Your fingers play with the hem of his shirt, a musky scent of him already drifting from the woven threads, eliciting a nostalgic fluttering.

“No— you sleep here tonight. I’ll go sleep downstairs tonight, then Ellie can get off my back for volunteering her room to you.”

“It’s fine, I don’t want to be a bother—“ You protest.

“Eve, you’re not a bother. And I’m not arguing with you over it. I would feel better if you were here, so stay— for me.” His protective side takes over, asserting that this isn’t up for debate.

“Okay. I won’t argue— I’ll stay here.” Sitting yourself down on the edge of the bed, you look up to where he’s standing in the doorway still only in his boxers, hands secure at his waist— his features soften at the way you agree to stay.

“I’ll be downstairs if you need me—“

“Joel, stay— here with me. I don’t want to be alone.”

“Are you sure? I can wait until you’re—“

“Joel, please stay with me.”

“Okay.”

It doesn’t take long for your body to find him once you’re both tucked under the sheets, nestling into his side. Your head resting on his shoulder, fingertips slowly draw shapes over his bare chest as he stares up at the ceiling.

Sleep feels close, the long day catching up to you as you relax further into Joel’s side, but there’s so much you want to say, not really sure how to approach any question you have for him, knowing he probably has an array of his own.

“You’re thinkin’ too loudly.” The low husk to his voice interrupts your busy mind.

“I just— there’s so much to talk about. Things I want to ask, things I know I’m not ready to hear but need to know.” There’s a slight wobble in your throat. “And I’m sure you have things you want to ask too. It feels like I have to learn so much about you, while I’m still trying to cope with this still being real and true. That you’re alive and I’m lying here with you—“

His lips on your forehead soothe your bubbling anxiousness, a warmth washing over you instantly.

“How ‘bout we don’t talk about any of it tonight. We save all that for tomorrow— we’ll figure it out then.” You’re grateful he makes the decision for the both of you.

“Okay— tomorrow.”

#Joel Miller #joel miller x original character #joel miller x ofc #the last of us #tlou #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #pedro pascal #wildemaven writes #Joel Miller x ofc!genevieve #pedrostories

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dragon-of-the-soutn · 1 year

Text

I desperately want season 2 of HOTD to be the season of the Greens.

But not in the ‘I want to see Aegon on the throne’ kind of way. More in the ‘I can’t fucking wait to see these people become the worst versions of themselves imaginable’, kind of way.

I want to see Aemond HAUNTED by Luke’s death. I want him to see Luke in every shadow, his voice in every breath of wind, his eyes in every brown eyed boy that walks by. And I want it to drive him batshit. I want to see Aemond losing his mind over the fact that no matter how many people he kills, how much blood he coats his hands in, that not even killing the entirety of House Strong, can remove the guilt and the boy that haunts him. The one act of violence he never meant to commit. I want to see him try so hard to become a monster so he can stop feeling, but even then it’s not enough. Not enough for him to free himself, or to prevent him from sparing the life of the woman with Luke’s face.

I want to see Aegon come to realise that no amount of love will ever be enough. Not the love of his subjects, not his people, not his mother or his siblings. How could it ever be? And so he will crave more and more of it to desperately try and fill the pit of self hatred and guilt and doubt that forever eats away at him. A festering wound. And I want to watch as this need, one not even the Iron Throne can fill, consumes him. To watch as the throne itself consumes him from the inside out and rips what’s left of him apart. I want to see the death of his children break him in a way he never thought it would, and to go from the apathetic boy he was to a man who will match Rhaenyra and Daemon in violence, done for the love he never showed his boys. For him to never let Jaehaera out of his sight again. For this new love and responsibility to crush and consume him.

I want to watch Alicent wallow in a pit of self loathing and hatred. The guilt of what she’s done to her Rhaenyra, to her children and her grandchildren rip her apart. To watch her truly come to hate her father and what he has made her. I want to watch her fight tooth and nail to get to Halaena and her grandchildren as she hears what Blood and Cheese are doing to her family through the locked door. I want it to make her truly vicious. Truly cruel. I want Alicent and Rhaenyra to desperately try and despise one another when the Blacks take Kings Landing and still fail. Even with the bodies of Lucearys and Jaehearys between them. I want Alicent and Rhaenyra to see what one another have become and actively try to fix each other and simultaneously try to make one another so much worse. To desperately recreate parts of there girlhood, expect instead of Rhaenyra gifting Alicent a new book or a cake she gifts her Otto Hightowers head. I want them to NEVER be able to let one another go. For them to hold one another as Rhaenyra’s rule crumbles and they keep losing there babies. For them realise they have only ever had each other.

Halaena’s dreams and predictions will not be enough to save her children or her brothers. Because no one will ever listen. Not even her mother, the woman willing to do battle with Daemon Targaryen himself for what he had done to her and her babies. I want to see Halaena Targaryen go apeshit and as soon as she is brought before Rhaenyra and Daemon and channel her mother, to wake the dragon and attack them with the nearest weapon available. For her sweet Jaehaerys. To kill them for what they have done and for what they will do. She must stop them, can no one see?

And oh sweet Daeron. All he wants is to defend his family. The one who abandoned him in Old Town. And what that love will do to him.

And don’t get me wrong Rhaenyra deserves to become monstrous as well. After everything she’s suffered, after Luke, heads deserve to roll. And personally I can’t wait to see it.

#house of the dragon #hotd #alicent hightower #aemond targaryen #aegon targaryen #helaena targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #alicent x rhaenyra #rhaenicent #aemond x lucerys #aemond x luke #lucemond

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floatmeintothesun · 1 year

Text

Stood Up

Summary: You’ve been ghosted and the pretty barista decides to take things into his own hands when he sees your sad state (Diluc x reader)

Tags: mild angst, fluff, gender neutral reader

tw: none

an: I wrote this out of pure spite since this happened to me and I’m salty

—

Maybe you should stop getting your hopes up, you think to yourself numbly, watching the warm drink in front of you slowly go cold. You check your text messages, praying that he’s just late and he hasn’t ghosted you.

There’s nothing. At all.

You curl your hands mechanically around the small cup, taking a sip of your beverage silently. It’s delicious, but the fact that you were stood up makes it seem bitter. It’s been at least 2 hours, and he’s still not here. You don’t even know why you put your hopes on this guy.

It’s almost closing time and you glance dejectedly at the already cold drink on the table across from yourself, wondering why you even spent the time to get dressed up and everything. You have half a mind to just run your hands through your hair and mess it all up, but you don’t want to ruin your hard work.

The quaint little coffee shop you're sitting in is devoid of customers and you find a small level of comfort in the fact that there isn’t anyone to see you in this miserable state.

Well…there’s the barista, but you barely take notice of him when he slides into the seat in front of you, too absorbed in staring blankly at your phone. He’s probably just going to tell you that the shop’s closing anyways.

“Hey. What’s…up with you?” A slightly awkward but ultimately kind-sounding voice makes you raise your head upward. The barista you had seen earlier is now seated across from you, his arms folded loosely across his chest and his ruby-red eyes glimmering faintly in the light. You blink when he raises an eyebrow, clearly expecting a response.

(You can’t help but analyze his appearance; Now that he doesn’t have an apron on, you can see how the black long sleeve he has accentuates the hard ridges of his muscular body, and you wonder where he’s managed to build up that physique. His hair is tied in a loose but secure ponytail, framing his unfairly handsome face…)

“O-oh, I thought…” You trail off for a second, realizing that the shop is empty, and he literally could not have been talking to anyone else. “...Nevermind. Can I…help you?” You ask tentatively and he examines you carefully.

“Why are you here?” Ouch, you think faintly, feeling a small pang of hurt. Even the barista doesn’t want you here anymore, you’ve long overstayed your welcome.

He blinks, registering how offensive that sounded, and runs a hand down his face, sighing. “No…Wait, I said that wrong…I mean, are you okay?”

You stare at him, making him squirm internally, although he stays cool and calm on the outside. He only relaxes when you choke out a small laugh.

“Hah…I don’t think so…” You chuckle, your tone turning somewhat bitter at the end. He hums.

“You can tell me if you’d like. I don’t mind.” He says, his eyes fixed on yours intently. You wonder if it’d be fine to say anything, before your gaze lands on the cup of ice-cold espresso, sitting on the opposite side of you. The sight of it makes angry resentment well up in your chest, almost swamping the dark festering hurt in your chest.

Might as well, right?

“Well…I got stood up.” You laugh mirthlessly to yourself, staring into the beverage clenched tightly between your hands. The barista--Diluc, you notice the badge on his chest--only nods, his eyes donning a sympathetic look. “I don’t know why I thought that he’d actually be here”

You sigh quietly, and Diluc huffs, showing clear disapproval.

“We were talking for a week or so…and we got the date set up and all he had to do is meet me here.” You sigh heavily. “He seemed like a pretty cool guy, and I genuinely wanted to know him better. Heh, I even got all dressed up and shit.” You gesture to yourself, smiling vaguely at your own idiocy.

Diluc’s eyes narrow and his lips twist into a disgusted expression.

“He doesn’t deserve you anyway.” The barista huffs, leaning back in his chair. You chuckle a little and he relaxes a bit.

“You don’t even know him.” You say lightly and he shrugs.

“I know you enough to see that whoever stood you up is a complete fool.” He says confidently, not a single drop of doubt in his voice. You blink, when his eyes rake your form. “Don’t focus on that idiot. Spend a night on yourself--you deserve at least something for putting all that effort into looking good.”

You smile at him, your eyes curving into crescents, feeling your cheeks burn because Oh gosh, this handsome guy just indirectly complimented you.

You chuckle weakly, trying to will away your blush, although you think that the barista has already seen it, judging by his pleased expression.

“You’re right. I should go and enjoy myself instead of feeling sorry and sulky.” You agree, feeling your spirits lift and Diluc nods. “He doesn’t deserve to be on my mind.”

“Trash like him is better in the dump.” He sniffs, putting his hands on the table and folding them together. You laugh, a genuine one at that, and his lips curve up in a smile. He reaches over and pats your hand comfortingly, and you try not to think about how big his hands are in comparison to yours.

“...And you do look amazing, by the way.” He comments, somewhat shyly. “If that guy was even here, you’d be too good for him.” He coughs lightly into his fist, his cheeks lighting up with a lovely faint hue of pink. You swallow thickly, trying to stop your heart from beating too hard.

“Ah…thank you.” You say, certain that your face is the same shade as his brilliantly colored hair. Both of you share tentative smiles, and you make no move to take your hand away from his.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, and you sigh, leaning back in your chair quietly. He watches your facial features for a second, his brow furrowing slightly, thinking deeply. You glance at your phone quickly, finding it to be past closing time.

“Oh--I think I stayed too long, I’m sorry.” You say in surprise, seeing as your conversation with DIluc only seemed to last a couple of minutes. It’s way past when this little shop is supposed to be open.

He only shrugs unworriedly.

“I own this place, it’s fine.” He says offhandedly and you stare at him.

“You do?”

“Mhm. It’s alright if you want to stay longer--I don’t mind.” He says cooly, and you might have believed his unbothered exterior if it weren't for the faint blush adorning his ears.

“I think I’d like that.” You say, grinning warmly at him. “Thanks for making me feel better.” He smiles back, and you can’t help but think that it makes his whole face glow with beauty.

(If only you knew he thought the exact same of you.)

“Anytime. Oh…I never got your name, did I?”

Your phone has a new contact in it when you leave, hours later. Maybe getting stood up wasn’t all bad, since you’ve got yourself another date coming up soon as a result.

#genshin impact x reader #fluff #diluc x gender neutral reader #diluc x you #genshin diluc #diluc x reader #diluc modern au #Im putting this out there: if u don’t want to be with the person you’re scheduled to have a date with #at least tell them so that they aren’t awkwardly sitting at some random location waiting for you

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f1nalboys · 6 months

Text

Simple Pleasures - Chapter Nine

>:) this was a lot of fun to write!!!! it took a Long time so my bad but :p enjoyyy this part 2!

WORD COUNT: 3814

WARNINGS: smut, cheating, unprotected sex, oral (amab and afab receiving,) virgin!randy, accidental (and then not-so-accidental) face fucking, multiple orgasms, cumshot, drama :p, proofread but a long time ago so who knows <3, sorry about formatting issues i’m posting on my phone D: will fix it later

“Lock the door.” You say quietly, grinning as Randy’s eyes widen and he jumps up, rushing to the door and fumbling with the lock. There’s the distinct click of the lock turning and he’s turning back towards you. You can tell he’s nervous already, his cheeks a bright pink as he sits back down beside you.

“So…” he starts, cutting himself with an awkward laugh. “Uhh… what should I do?” Your head tilts to the side, motioning for him to sit down on the bed again and he does so, folding his hands in his lap. “Right. Okay, so now… we…?”

You laugh. “C’mon, Ray, it’s not like you’ve never hooked up with someone before, right?” He nods and laughs, looking around the room. Your laughter dies down, eyebrows stitching together as it clicks in your head. His awkwardness, his anxiety, the fact that in your entire friendship you had never seen him with another girl. “Are… are you a virgin?”

“What? No! Of course not! Why would you even ask that?” He says nervously, meeting your eyes and instantly sighing, his shoulders sagging. “Don’t laugh,” he finally says after a brief pause, closing his eyes as he waits for it to come. When it doesn’t, he opens his eyes and looks at you through the corner of his eye. “I thought you’d laugh.”

Something about Randy has always interested you. Honestly, before you and Billy had begun to date, when he was still in the process of wooing you, it was Randy you had a crush on. He was sweet and funny, down to earth, and not to mention cute. He was the awkward, nerdy, boy next door; the complete opposite of Billy. But then Randy had never made a move, never once showed an interest in you past friendship, and Billy was there, actively trying to be with you. So, you tucked that small sliver of a crush away and there it sat, festering.

“Why would I laugh?”

“Because I’m a loser?”

“You’re not a loser,” you say with a shake of your head, chewing at your bottom lip. You couldn’t blame anything past the kiss on the beer you had drank hours ago. This was all you. “What if I said I thought it was sexy?” Your voice is quiet and he laughs, shaking his head. “I’m serious. Look at me.” He does so and you can see his face falter. Reaching out, you place your hand on the side of his neck, leaning in until your lips were hovering just in front of his. “You want me to take your virginity, Randy?”

His eyes flutter shut and he breathes out, his pulse picking up under your fingertips. “Really?” He questions, his voice barely above a whisper. When you hum in response, his eyes open again. You can feel the heat in his face and you can’t help but smile. You nod. “Fuck. I-I… yes, please?”

His question comes across as a whine, low in his throat, and it’s like a switch is flipped. You lean forwards and kiss him hard, slipping your tongue into his mouth. Your hand slides up the nape of his neck, nails lightly raking along his scalp before you tangle your fingers into his hair. He moans into the kiss as it deepens, getting heated, and the two of you maneuver until you’re on your back, head against the pillows.

“God, you’re a great kisser,” Randy says, breaking away from the kiss with a grin. His pink lips are swollen, his pupils blown with lust. “Like… fuck, you’re so fucking perfect.” He wets his bottom lip, eyes trailing down your body slowly. Neither of you think about Billy. Randy’s hand drags down your neck, down your chest, cupping your tit. He squeezes roughly, experimentally, and you let out a soft sigh at the feeling. “And your tits, I mean… I knew they looked good, but…”

You let Randy babble on, biting at your bottom lip as he grabs ahold of both your tits, squeezing them in his hand. His fingers drop down and tug your shirt up to your neck, goosebumps raising on your skin from the cold air as he palms you over your bra. He grunts, leaning down and tentatively licking a stripe along the curve of your tit. “Shit,” you murmur, looking down at him as he does so, his eyes closed and eyebrows stitched together in focus as he begins to suck and nibble at your flesh. “Randy, c’mon, please?” You whine, wiggling your hips.

“Shh,” he whispers, eyes opening, a shade darker than normal. “I’m enjoying myself, alright?” Despite this he sits up, swallowing heavily. “Can I…?” He sucks in a breath as his hands drag down your side towards your hips, his fingers brushing along your waistband. You nod, sitting up to pull your shirt off and tossing it over his shoulder as he unbuttons them, pulling them down your legs slowly. “Holy shit.”

Randy’s eyes don’t move from your underwear as he tosses your jeans behind him, his hands on your calves. You let him stare in awe for a moment before you wiggle your hips a little, feeling your face heat up from the intensity of his stare. “Randy,” you hum, sitting up onto your elbows. “Stop staring.”

“I can’t.” He says with a small grin, briefly glancing up at you before returning to their original place. His hands push your legs apart a little further and he moans at the sight of the small wet spot on your underwear. “Fuck. I mean, I didn’t think you’d look this good.” His face flushes. “I mean, I knew you would look good, obviously, I’m not saying I thought you would look bad with your clothes off! I thought about it a lot, but not in a creepy way? I just knew you’d look beautiful but this is blowing my fucking mind-”

“Randy?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.” He nods, using his fingers to mimic zipping his lips and throwing the key out. You hook your fingers around your underwear as you laugh softly, moving your legs to take them off. Randy watches in awe as you part your legs again and this time he doesn’t admire for long. Instead, he settles onto his stomach, ignoring the ache in his cock as it presses against his jeans, and gives you a shy look just before his tongue dips out. “Fuck!” You moan, laying back down against the pillows at the feeling of his tongue swiping through your folds.

Randy lets out a noise at your taste, leaning in even closer, his tongue flicking up and down your slit. “God, you’re so wet,” he says against you, the vibrations sending a shockwave of pleasure up your spine. Your back arches slightly as he experimentally dips his tongue inside your hole, his nose bumping against your clit. “And you taste fucking amazing.”

“Randy, fuck, j-just like that.” You moan, doing your best to keep your eyes open as you look down at him. His hands squeeze your thighs, grunting against your cunt as he eats you out. His tongue moves sloppily, pausing and moving again at random intervals as he gets used to the movement, but the one thing that doesn’t stop is the pleasure building in your gut. “Fuck, I’m close already,” you say and Randy’s eyes pop open, narrowing slightly.

“Yeah?” He asks, moving his head side to side, tongue lolled out of his mouth like a dog. “Please cum, baby, fuck, I need to feel it. Cum on my tongue, please, Y/N?” His movements speed up ever so slightly and the look of pure fucking need you can see in his eyes sends you over the edge.

Crying out his name, your hand slides through his hair and grips it, keeping him pressed close against your cunt as you grind your hips against his face. He moans against you, letting you use his face until you collapse back against the bed with a sigh. When he pulls away, he seems more dazed than you, your wetness coating the tip of his nose and the lower half of his face. He smiles at you with a hazy look that clouds his blue eyes. “That was good,” you say with a grin and his smile widens ever so slightly. “Now get your pants off and fuck me, alright?”

“Okay,” he says, sitting up and fumbling with his jeans. The bulge in his pants is evident and his cheeks are a shade of dark pink as he pulls them, and his boxers, down to his knees, shuffling awkwardly to do so. You let out a hum and he pauses, glancing up at you. “What? Is it… okay?” Randy asks awkwardly, glancing down at his dick. He thought he was average size, nothing to go crazy over, but he figured when the time came, like right now, it would get the job done.

Your eyes are wide as you stare at it, wetting your bottom lip at the sight of the bead of precum at his swollen tip. “Y-yeah, it’s more than okay. You’re big, Randy,” you hum, eyes flicking up to meet his own. His cheeks darken again and you watch his adams apple dip as he swallows. “Can I suck it? Just a little, yeah? Before you put it in?”

“Y-yeah, if you want,” he says, stumbling over his words as you move around, your hand wrapping gently around his shaft. “Fuck me,” he whispers, head tilted down to watch you. You stroke him twice, feeling his cock throb in your hand, before you lean forwards, looking up at him through your eyelashes as you lick a long stripe up the base of his cock before you let it rest against the middle of your face, an easy grin on your lips

Randy grunts at the sight, hissing as your tongue peeks out, lightly flicking along the bottom of his shaft. “See? Told you you were big,” You grin. He bites at his bottom lip as you lick alongside the vein on the underside of his cock, swirling your tongue around the tip of his cock and smearing the precum over your lips. “You taste good too,” you tease, eyes flashing with mischief before you take him into your mouth. Randy’s head is thrown back, his hips jutting forward harshly.

His cock, which had been resting comfortably halfway inside your warm mouth, heavy on your tongue, is forced into the back of your throat. You gag just as you feel the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat. “Fuck!” Randy moans before his head clears a little and he pulls out of your mouth, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his shaft, and he begins to stammer out apologies. “Holy shit, Y/N, I’m so sorry! I-I didn’t mean to do that, your mouth just felt so fucking good, it just happened, I swear! Are you okay?”

“Randy, Randy, relax,” you say with a laugh and a shake of your head. “I’m alright, I promise. You’re sweet, you know that?” Your voice is soft, your hand wrapping around his cock again. “Asking if I’m alright after I gag on your cock… most guys don’t care about that sorta thing. They care about how good it feels. How tight my throat gets around their cock. How they could just cum from my tongue.”

He swallows heavily, tips of his ears bright pink. “I-It did feel good,” he clarifies, a playful smile on his lips. “Really good, like, best thing I’ve ever felt kinda good. But, you know… I don’t want to hurt you.” He notices something flash across your face, a look of acknowledgement, but then it’s gone with a twist of your hand. “A-And I’ll definitely cum if you get your mouth on me again.”

“Maybe I want you to.” Is all you say before you’re taking him back into your mouth, your hands on the back of his thighs as you urge him to go even further. He holds back for just a moment, a twitch of restraint on his lips, but then you’re gagging around him and not moving off, and then you’re moaning around him and that restraint cracks.

Randy plunges his cock down your throat only to snap them back. His pace is brutal and sloppy and you only gag three times before he’s settling at the back of your throat and cumming. “Fuuuuuck,” he groans, eyelids half closed with pleasure as he forces himself to watch you swallow around him. You slide off his cock with ease, sticking your tongue out and cleaning up the small amount of cum that you had missed. “Y-you really liked that?” His voice is quiet, his breath ragged.

You nod, licking your lips. “I loved it. Your cum tastes so good, Randy, you know that?” He shakes his head and you grin, sitting up and kissing him. He kisses back. For a brief moment you let yourself think of Billy, how he never let you kiss him after a blowjob, how he barely ever went down on you, how he treated it more like a chore. You think about his rough touch and degrading words, his sheer lack of interest in your own pleasure.

Randy was the opposite. He worried about hurting you but indulged in your rougher side when given permission, touched you softly like you might break, looked at you like he actually gave a fuck. You pull back from the kiss and look into Randy’s eyes, see his waiting and eager face, and all thoughts of Billy are gone. He watches you as you fixate yourself, leaning back against the pillows, legs spreading once more.

“Shit, baby,” he says quietly and you’re not sure why the pet name coming from him has you squirming, but it doesn’t go unnoticed. He grins, deciding not to tease you. “You’re even wetter than before.” Randy says simply, gulping as he grabs ahold of his softening cock and swipes it through your folds. You and he hiss in unison at the feeling, you from excitement and him from overstimulation. “Fuck. O-Okay, I’m… I’m gonna push in, okay? Just tell me if you need me to stop, promise?”

You nod but he doesn’t move, cocking his eyebrow at you. You roll your eyes. “Really? You need me to say it?” He nods. “Fine. I promise I’ll tell you if you need to stop. But I don’t think that’ll happen.”

“I hope not,” he mutters, swallowing as he eases the head of his cock inside you. Your eyes squeeze close at the stretch, a low hiss spilling from your lips. Randy whines as he pushes in another inch, feeling your walls clench around him pathetically. “Fuck, you’re tight. It’s so fucking good,” he moans, pushing in yet another inch. “Like, really fucking tight, Y/N. You sure Billy is fucking you right?”

The offhand comment has you gasping slightly, clenching around him tighter. His hips snap forwards, plunging the last few inches of his cock inside you until his pelvis is pressed flush against yours. “Fuck! Oh fuck, Randy!” You moan, your voice an octave higher. You lift your legs slightly as Randy begins to pull out, ever so slowly, whining.” F-faster, please? Harder! I need it!”

Randy listens instantly, his hands coming to rest on your hips as he sets his pace. His movements are inexperienced, a far cry from how Billy would strategically thrust inside you, but he was loud, moaning and grunting with each pump of his hips as if it were the only thing that he could think about. It was better than anything you had ever felt.

“You n-need it?” He asks as he grunts, fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to leave a bruise. “You need my dick in you, right? Not Billy’s?” You whine but that is response enough for Randy. He grins, a sinister smile you’d never expect from him, and one hand begins to rub against your clit in a sloppy attempt at keeping pace with his thrusts. “I felt you get tighter, Y/N. It’s true isn’t it? Billy isn’t fucking you right, not like how you need. Not like how your pussy needs it.” He groans, panting in tune with you as the pleasure builds in your gut. “Fuck me, I felt that. Your pussy is begging me to keep going.”

You nod your head quickly, eyes popping open to stare up at him as you wrap your arms around the back of his neck. “I-I need it, Randy,” you say quickly, beginning to babble, stumbling over your words as you cut yourself off with loud cries and moans. You can feel your thighs begin to shake. “Holy shit, I need to cum, please let me cum, okay? Please don’t stop, I fucking need it, I need you.” You bite down on your tongue hard enough to draw blood as his face twists into pleasure. You want to tell him that Billy never fucked you like this, that Randy was blowing your fucking mind, that he owned your pleasure.

“Cum for me, please? Please, baby, I know you feel good, okay, now just prove it to me. Prove that my cocks the best thing you’ve ever had, okay? Fuck, I’m gonna cum too. You’re so beautiful, holy shit.” He says, forehead pressing against yours. Your legs wrap around his waist loosely, his cock rutting against the spot inside you that had you seeing stars, and you cum just before Randy does.

He pumps inside you a few times, shuddering as he feels how tight you feel, before he pulls out, wrapping his hand around his shaft and stroking it quickly, roughly. He cums with a loud groan, eyes squeezing shut as he tilts his head back, his cum covering your pussy. You watch through heavy lids as you catch your breath, humming at the feeling. His fist finally slows, twisting at his tip to make sure he gets out every drop, before he takes a moment to admire his work.

You take a moment to admire him.

His eyes flick up towards your face and his gaze softens, his eyebrows relaxing as he smiles. “You alright?” Randy asks, leaning over you and planting a soft kiss against your lips. You hum, exhausted. “That good, huh?” He teases, laughing when you swat at his chest. He moves, standing up to pull his pants and underwear back up before he grabs your discarded clothing and brings it over to you. “Here you go. Oh, wait,” he looks around the room, grabbing a small piece of cloth and gently cleaning you up. You can’t help but smile slightly at the sight of his tongue poking out of his mouth as he makes sure he wipes away it all. “Better.”

“Thanks, Randy.” You say, sitting up and taking your clothes from him as he discards the cloth. You stand, shimmying your clothes back on, and just as he walks back over and wraps his arm around your waist, the realization of what you had done settles into your stomach. “Fuck.” You say, resting your head against his shoulder. He doesn’t need a verbal confirmation to know what you were saying, but he holds you tighter, afraid to let the moment end. “We shouldn’t have done that.”

“But we did,” he whispers, running his hand up and down your back. His touch was soothing but you knew it shouldn’t be. “And it was good, right? I-I mean I liked it. And I felt you, Y/N, I know you liked it too. Didn’t you?”

“I did, but-”

“No buts. Can’t we just… keep it between us?” He pulls back from the embrace, eyebrows stitched together. “You weren’t going to tell Billy about the kiss already, right? Why not just add this onto the list?”

You shake your head. “This is so much worse than you kissing me, Ray. We fucked… I can’t hide this from him.”

“You can! It’s honestly really easy to not tell people stuff.” He says, a weak attempt at lightening the mood, but his usual humor falters when you try to get out of his arms. “Hey, hey, I’m sorry, it’s not funny, I know.” He sighs, resting his forehead against yours once more, his eyes closing. “Just… all it’s gonna do is hurt him, right? If you tell him?” You nod. “Then don’t tell him. We won’t talk about this again, I’ll never bring it up or anything, I swear. We’ll chalk it up to a drunken mistake, okay?”

He waits with bated breath for your answer. It seems like hours pass before you nod. “Okay,” you say softly, forcing a small smile as you step away from him, his arms falling to his side. “We won’t talk about it. And it won’t happen again.” He nods, not trusting his own voice. This isn’t how he imagined his first time with you would go. Randy thought that he would tell you about his crush on you after you and Billy broke up and you’d fall into his arms with a smile, whispering sweet nothings into his ear as you grew old together.

You glance into the mirror of the dresser that was in the room and fix your clothing and hair, trying to look presentable. Deciding that it was good enough, you flash Randy a weak smile before heading to the door. Your hand wraps around the handle when he calls your name. You turn and he gives you an awkward smile. “I know we said this wouldn’t happen again… but if you change your mind, I’m down. I really like you, Y/N. Not just for sex stuff… for all of it.”

“Thank you, Randy.” You say, your smile twitching into something a little more genuine as you open the door. “But it can’t happen again. I’ll see you around.” He watches you leave, shoulders slumping as the door shuts behind you.

You called him a week later.

----------

The sun shines in through the window, waking you up gently. You’re under the covers, his arms wrapped around you tight, and all you can do is snuggle in closer. His head was in the crook of your neck and he was so damn warm. You want to stay here with him forever, and you know you can. He knows that too.

Your phone rings from the nightstand and you groan, blindly reaching over to grab it as he stirs in his sleep. You smile, answering the phone as his grip tightens around your waist. “Hello?”

“Y/N?” The voice on the other end causes you to stiffen, the hair on the back of your neck to stand up. “It’s Billy. I… I really need to see you.”

#f1nalboys masterlist #f1nalboys writing #f1nalboys works #scream #scream 1996 #randy meeks #randy meeks x reader #randy meeks x y/n #scream 1997 #scream 2 #simple pleasures masterlist

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