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zaevauhm · 1 year

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Rain Drabble

you’re an f1 driver, partnered up with lewis, a crash happens that brings you close to your biggest rival

word count 1.5k

mentions of accidents + sex

sidenote: this was a dream I had a year ago, and my friend asked me to write it all out ahhahshs,

i am not a max fan (dont necessarily dislike him either) but yeah, enjoy my loves

Rain. Lots of it was pouring down, straight into the Red Bull Ring. Completely zoned out, you watched it pour down the windows, as the last fans with worried expressions on their faces were making their way out of the circuit. You were sitting in a conference room, Lewis to your left and Max to your right. Christian and Toto fighting each other right in front of you. What were they even yelling so hard for? And why couldn’t you stay with the medics for a little longer, again? It felt like your head was slowly being ripped from your body. The pain was starting to kick in badly, as the adrenaline wore off. Still, it felt like you would pass out any minute by now. It was so hard to keep your eyes open.

There had been an accident, either Max or Lewis, your teammate, had squeezed you into the wall at a certain point, without a thing you could have done about it. Numb and frozen in those milliseconds, you allowed the car to fly into the wall at 250 km/h, you in it.

Toto was furious, banging the table in front of you, having Lewis trying to calm him down. ‘’This is completely unacceptable! It is obvious that your boy is the one who caused it, Christian, just look at the fucking footage!’’ He ranted and ranted. You noticed an apologetic Max opening his mouth, before immediately being shut down by his team principal, with nothing more than a face that screamed thunder. ‘’That nearly fucking killed my driver, Christian. Measures need to be taken. It can’t go on like this. I can’t send her out again, risking her life in every lap just because your boy doesn’t know how to keep his distance.’’

It felt as if the meeting took hours, your pains only increasing. Lewis gestured for you to lean against him, but it was the last thing that you wanted. Your on-off relationship with your teammate was something you’d rather forget about, completely. He wanted to keep you a secret, so be it. As you stared back out of the windows, you noticed that Max caught your eyes. You stared him dead in the eyes, for a moment before he whispered to you softly. ‘’I’m really sorry.’’

‘’I know.’’ You gestured, beneath your breath.

Lewis noticed, as he was watching your every movement. He leaned back in his chair, obviously displeased by the fact that there was any communication between you and your rival. You couldn’t care less about his feelings at this point.

Finally, several hours later, you were released of everything. You had showered, changed, and took some more pain killers. It was nighttime by now, the circuit dimmed. Most drivers were inside of their motorhomes, resting or still having brief conversations.

You walked by yourself, keeping your eyes on the ground, holding a water bottle under your right arm, squeezing it against your ribs, as well as your medical files. You were feeling completely drained, tired, wanting nothing more than to lay your head down and sleep for days. The soreness in your back and neck was almost unbearable. You took your phone out, 11:39 PM. 8 Missed calls, Lewis. You locked your phone again and put it back in the back pocket of your jeans.

You got interrupted from your thoughts as someone bumped into you, quite roughly. ‘’Watch where you’re going you piece of…’’ You couldn’t finish your sentence as you noticed who was in front of you. Broad shoulders, a bit taller than you, piercing blue eyes staring you down. Max.

‘’You pushing me into the wall just doesn’t do it for you, huh? You had to make sure to knock me over here as well.’’ Your tone dead serious, although you didn’t mean to come across as angry, not necessarily. It was too late anyway, and frankly, he deserved it.

‘’I thought you weren’t mad at me anymore.’’

You raised one eyebrow at the Red Bull driver, utterly confused. ‘’Just watch where you’re going next time, you might actually keep us alive.’’ You spilled, before walking off towards your motorhome.

‘’Y/N.’’ A voice echoed right behind you, as you walked up the stairs, about to enter through the front door. It was almost completely dark at this part of the circuit. Without a single soul in sight, the familiar voice startled you. ‘’What do you want from me?’’ You looked over your shoulder, down at him.

You had never actually spoken to him, nor did he ever linger in your mind. You didn’t know him at all, why was he suddenly following you around? He had already apologized, after all.

‘’May I?’’ He asked, waiting for your permission to follow you up the stairs. You nodded, still zoned out, as he slowly walked towards you, before standing awfully close in front of you. Was he trying to intimidate you? If so, it was slightly working.

‘’I wanted to apologize.’’

‘’You already have, Max. It’s fine.’’ You tried to shake him, but he wouldn’t have it.

‘’Properly.’’

Your eyes widened, as you knew exactly what he meant. Was he being serious?

He took all of your stuff out of your hands and placed it on the table next to your door.

Slowly, he made his way back towards you. Step by step, you stepped back until your back was leaning against the glass window of your motorhome. His breath was awfully close to your neck now, sending shivers down your back. What was it about him?

You gasped when you felt his lips touch your bare neck, as if you hadn’t been touched for years. He took his head back, examining you, smiling at you devilishly. He was everything Lewis wasn’t. The polar opposite, in fact. Maybe that was it? Maybe you longed for something different, after years of being with Lewis in secret. Well, he was willing to give it to you.

He allowed himself to come close to you again. ‘’Does that feel good?’’ He whispers onto your lips, making you smile a little. ‘’Yes.’’ You just noticed how big he was in comparison to yourself, his body was blocking any view you had before by now.

He grabbed your waist and pulled you closer onto him, gently squeezing you in the process. He slowly made his way to your chest, leaving a trail of kisses as he went down, before releasing you from your jeans, your phone falling down with it. He looked up at you, asking for permission again before pressing soft kisses onto your thighs. His eyes sparkled something in you, that left you wanting him to do with you as he pleased.

He continued kissing your thighs, before gently pulling your string to the side, leaving you filled with anticipation. You were surprised to learn that he actually knew what he was doing. You felt his tongue drawing circles around your entrance, soft moans leaving your mouth as your hands were clinging to the glass behind you. Did you just hear something move inside of your home? He lifted his head up a little, licking you from entrance to top, making your legs weak. Suddenly, he got up, roughly turning you around and pushing your face onto the glass, pulling your arms behind you. You gasped. ‘’So this is what it’s like to be Hamilton.’’ His voice was filled with anger. You gasped within yourself. The fact that he knew, somehow, was something that couldn’t bother you at that moment. You wanted more. He entered you with two of his fingers, deeply, making you curve your ass up towards him. You moaned, leaning your head back against his shoulder. ‘’This is what he gets to taste, huh?’’ He whispered into your neck, making you even weaker. He stopped his movements, forcing you to answer him. ‘’Tell me.’’

‘’Yes.’’ You moaned, shyly. For sure your cheeks were bright red by now. The mixture of pleasure with the amount of pain killers and medication the medics had pumped you full of, left you in a strange, unknown state of mind. You loved being touched by him, somebody other than Lewis. He shook you from your thoughts as he sped up, getting you close to the point of orgasming right there. Your phone was staring right at you, lingering on the floor, as Lewis’ caller ID was shown on the screen. It just made you feel shyer than ever, the fact that two men wanted you more than anything, at the same time. And which men… They hated eachothers’ guts. ‘’Are you going to listen to me?’’ His voice filled the atmosphere around you. You nodded, slowly. ‘’I want to see you cum.’’ He whispered as you saw him looking down in the reflection, to your phone. You did, Max holding you firmly, feeling how weak he had gotten you. It felt as if you got your senses back, right there in that moment, leaving you confused and wanting to run. ‘’I’m sorry, I have to go inside.’’ You stumbled, as he grabbed you by your arms, making you face him. ‘’It’s okay, you don’t owe me anything. I just wanted to make you feel good. Also, no one is hearing about this.’’

‘’Okay.’’ You trusted him.

You opened your door; Max still right behind you, as your breath got stuck into your throat, almost bumping back onto him as you saw who was staring you down from behind the glass. Lewis.

#fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 #formula1 #lewishamilton #lh #lh44 #max verstappen #rivalry #sexualsuff #driver x reader #formula 1 imagine #thankyouforreadingloveyou #let me know what yall think #feedback is welcome #💗

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yujo-nishimura · 6 months

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The Escape - Part 26

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 - Part 15 - Part 16 - Part 17 - Part 18 - Part 19 - Part 20 - Part 21 - Part 22 - Part 23 - Part 24 - Part 25

After he ended this speech and the crew members were determined to not only escape Baroque works, but also fight them in case they would try to pursue you all again, Buggy stepped towards you, asking you to come to his cabin. You hoped he couldn't see from your face what you had been thinking the whole time.

The tension between you and Buggy was almost unbearable as he sat on his chair and you just stood with your back against his door. The sense of disconnection between the two of you lingered, and it seemed that every attempt to mend the relationship and create a healthier dynamic only served to reinforce its toxicity and strangeness. Each time you strove to bridge the gap and find common ground, one or both of you succumbed to the overwhelming power of emotions. "How is your hand?" the captain asks, his voice pulling you back to the present moment. You shift your gaze towards your hand, which is still wrapped in bandages, a reminder of the injury you had inflicted on yourself amidst all the chaos. “It is fine. I have forgotten that I actually had an injury.” You answer honestly. He seems to be satisfied with this and nods.

“Thank you for coming out and rescuing me.”

“I could say the same, Captain.” “May I ask now, why are the marines and Baroque works after you? I know we had this conversation before and you are somehow hesitant.. but I feel if I have a crew member on board where I am not the only one who considered her valuable I might have the right to know why others think the same,..”

"I believe the reasons why the Marines and an assassination syndicate find me intriguing might be quite different from what you perceive as valuable," you say, a playful tone lacing your words. Sensing an opportunity to lighten the mood, you decide to employ a flirtatious joke, taking a slow and deliberate step closer to the captain.

Buggy's eyes widen, caught off guard by your sudden approach. He quickly rises to his feet, his expression shifting from surprise to seriousness.

“Y/n. Please, just try to be honest here with me. Is this something you can share or shall I never ask again and just accept that I have a potential danger on board…?”

You sit down on his bed, the comfortable pillow and sheets push back against you, you crave for a comfortable sleeping place like this since your hammock is not the best place to get rest in.

“Sit down again and I will tell you.”, you breathe out heavily, looking into his deep green eyes, you want to feel these eyes on your forever and you want him to trust you and know more about you than anyone else. You feel ready to let him into your life. More than ever before. Buggy listens, sitting down, his face full of anticipation.

“When I was still in Windmill village and Luffy was still small and innocent, I was 5 years older than him and already in trouble with the world government and the marines.”

Buggy just looks at you, he does not interrupt you now, giving you the time to share your story.

“In fact I was the leader of a rebellious army, nothing serious, just the things you do as a teenager when you are charismatic enough to gather some people around you and if you feel like you want to make a change.”

You cannot endure his gaze any longer and you rest your eyes on your own bandaged hand for a while.

“We were unhappy with the tax collector in Windmill village. I had started a peaceful protest and a campaign against him, although he was sent directly by the world government we thought he was taxing us too much, he came too frequently and the people who had less always had to pay more. It was just a way of terrorizing the oppressed and poor…”

You sigh again, it seemed like this had happened a long long time ago somewhere else, not in the world you lived in now.

“One of my fellow revolutionary members took the whole thing too seriously. I think he also wanted to impress me. His own family was especially affected by this, he was one of the poorest kids in the village and his frustration eventually turned into rage. One day he decided to kill the tax collector in our name and as I tried to stop him, I realized that his anger was beyond my control.”

You gaze at Buggy once more, your eyes filled with sincerity and earnestness.

"He waited for the collector at his house and killed him brutally with a knife. We later discovered that he was not only dispatched by the World Government, but he was also a high-ranking Marine general. Once I learned of this, the World Government began to pursue me as well, as I was the leader of the entire movement," you recount, your voice carrying the weight of the injustice that befell you.

Buggy, with his head slightly tilted, has been attentively listening to your narrative. Now he quickly interrupts you: "But was there no trial? Did they not realize that you were not responsible for these actions?"

You let out a slow, weary sigh. "No," you respond, your voice tinged with sadness. "This individual left a note in his house, claiming that I had inspired him to commit this heinous act. They couldn't find him. Some speculate that he fled on a ship the same day, while others believe he took his own life. Regardless, it does not matter to the World Government who will be punished. They simply require someone to blame, someone to execute."

The absence of a fair trial, the absence of an opportunity to prove your innocence, highlights the unforgiving nature of the World Government's pursuit. You and Buggy both understand the unyielding determination of those in power to find a scapegoat and impose their brand of justice.

Buggy gets up from his chair now, walking towards you and sitting down next to you on the bed. You can feel the warmth of his body, being so close to you you start to feel dizzy again.

“This is why I decided to become a pirate. If I am an outlaw and wanted anyway, then…”

Your voice breaks because Buggy has put his hand on your knees, a very innocent gesture. He did not want to interrupt you, but he also wanted to show his support.

Curiosity fills his eyes as he gently asks, "But if you're wanted, why have I never come across your wanted poster?"

You take a moment to steady yourself, feeling the closeness between you making it difficult to find the right words. With Buggy being so near, you muster the courage to respond, "Different name, different hairstyle." It's a brief explanation, but in this intimate space, it is enough to convey the lengths you've gone to conceal your true identity.

#one piece #buggytheclown #buggy the clown x reader #one piece buggy #buggy x reader #buggy x you #long fanfic #long reads #nanowrimo 2023

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shewrites7 · 2 years

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Three Things I’ll Never Understand

ron weasley x fem!reader

summary - Valentine's Day has never been your favorite holiday. In fact, it was at the bottom of your list. You've never understood it. Just like how you've never understood Ron Weasley, a boy who'd once been one of your friends. Now, it's like he can't even look at you. What happened, those years ago? Will today, Valentine's Day, of all days, be when you finally find out? Do you really want to know?

type - one shot

word count [4.7k]

tags: Ron Weasley x f!reader, friends to strangers?? to lovers, confrontation, idiots in love, valentine’s day, arguing in the rain and a rain kiss. (no specific mention of appearance, race, etc.)

warnings: none

add. - originally posted to my ao3 on 6/25/22. enjoy!

No matter what anybody says, I've never understood the world's love for rain. For rainy weather. To have water droplets pelting down on you randomly while going about your day, with no warning except the gray tint of the day's clouds. All that rain has ever done for me is wet my clothes and leave me walking home with squelching socks. Again, I've never understood the appeal.

That was why just the thought of Lavender Brown's rant about the romantic flair of rain from earlier had set my feet ablaze as I quicken my pace into the Three Broomsticks, water splashing by my feet. The eagerly darkening sky had been practically taunting me all day, about to pour its rain all over Hogsmeade any second. Finally, just when I'd had enough of today, seeing couples left and right, it had.

The door opens with a heavy swoosh as I throw it open, already in a bad mood from the events of the day. How everyone at this school manages to constantly find love within Hogwarts' walls never fails to amaze me. Lavender Brown has been gushing all over this Hufflepuff seventh-year who she has plans with all week. Seamus Finnigan found a new love in a Ravenclaw girl I'd yet to know the name of. And, though she hasn't told me who with, Hermione most definitely has plans with a certain someone this Valentine's Day. Even Harry mustered up the courage to ask out Cho Chang, who he's clearly been fancying for almost a year now.

I'm happy for them; I always am. But that doesn't make the fact that I'm utterly alone any less unbearable.

As I stomp into the Three Broomsticks, my feet make a cringe-worthy gushing sound against the aged wood of the floor. I frustratedly wipe my wet hair from my face, allowing me to spot some of the names I'd mentioned before. Sitting at a booth farther down inside the inn, sits Harry, Hermione, and lastly, Ron, who looks utterly stressed, his hands gripping his hair as he speaks to the two across from him.

Now that I think about it, I haven't heard any mention of Ron having a date this Valentine's Day, but it isn't as if Ron is the type of person to talk to me about his romantic relationships anyway. Rather, talk to me about most things. He's always been more distant around me than any of the others. Whenever I sit with them, it's like Ron goes silent, as if some tension I'm painfully unaware of fills the air. The same thing happens now as I near the trio's booth.

"No, Hermione, I can't just-"

Ron's words die from his lips when he notices me. I just know that Hermione and Harry give him a confused look before they both turn around to spot me coming toward them. Hermione greets me with a kind smile.

"Y/n!" she calls, waving me over.

"Hey, you three," I say, mustering up as much of a happy tone as I can, feeling the way I am. Harry waves at me from inside the booth next to Hermione.

"Y/n," he says cheerfully. I greet him back and turn to Ron to greet him in the same way, and he offers a rather stiff nod and a tug of his lips in response. Nothing out of the ordinary from Ron, so I try not to mention it at all.

"Happy Valentine's Day," Hermione says, something playful sparkling in her eye in a very un-Hermione way. I chew on my bottom lip to keep from sighing.

"Yea, er-, Happy Valentine's Day."

Looking between the two of them, Harry and Hermione, I remember their supposed dates. "Aren't you two supposed to be off with your dates by now?" I can't keep the grim tone out of my voice. Harry and Hermione share a look I can't decipher before turning back to me.

"Yea," Harry replies, "We just took a pit stop to speak with Ron here." He gestures to the second-youngest Weasley, who still hasn't met my eyes. He looks to the two across from him, and they all seem to have a silent conversation amongst themselves. My awful mood today might have had an effect on my ability to pick up signals. Or maybe it's the rainwater still in my eyes that I still haven't blinked away.

"You're right," begins Hermione, "Harry and I should probably get going off to our, erm, dates." Hermione can't help but blush in an achingly adorable way that whoever she's seeing today must swoon over.

"Yea," I say, the hint of a smirk creeping up on my features. "Wouldn't want to leave Cho waiting, Harry."

A matching blush grows on Harry's face before he shoves me a little, scooting out from the booth behind Hermione. He turns to Ron one last time, who sits firmly in his seat still.

"We'll see you soon, alright mate?"

The redhead looks at him and nods tiredly, waving him off. Hermione shrugs on her coat.

"Try to have some fun in the meantime, Ron," pleads Hermione softly. "It's Valentine's Day, remember?"

Ron rolls his eyes dismissively. "Trust me, I remember."

Hermione looks as if she wants to say something more, but doesn't. Instead, she pats me on the shoulder affectionately before turning to leave. Harry follows her through the door.

Not knowing if I'd make this even weirder if I continue to stand, I decide to slide into the booth across from Ron. My soaked clothes squish from underneath me and I make a mess of the wooden bench I sit on. Merlin, help me.

"Sorry for the mess," I add if only to break the silence. "I'm completely soaked from the rain. I'd cast a drying spell but I left my wand back at the castle."

Ron replies, his eyes trained on my wet sleeves resting on the table rather than my face.

"I er... I left mine too."

I let out a chuckle that lacks genuineness. "Seems like a great day for both of us so far, right?"

Ron doesn't even allow for the hint of a smile to cross his face. He lets a breath out through his nose, toying with the hem of his sleeve. A beat of silence overtakes us before he finally meets my eyes for the first time in the conversation.

"Shouldn't you be off on some date like everyone else?"

I blink at the abruptness of his question. His tone was cold, almost detached. I don't even know how to respond.

"I ... I don't have a date."

He lets a breath out through his nose that almost sounds like laughter, clicking his tongue and shaking his head slightly like my loneliness was amusing. The nerve.

"Well it doesn't look like you've managed to find a date either, Weasley, if it's that amusing to you."

Whatever had gone through his mind at that moment was rich, considering the fact that it wasn't only me sitting here alone on Valentine's Day. He was here too.

Ron looks at me like I've snapped him back into reality. Maybe he didn't even realize I could see his amusement. It didn't matter though. My words were sharp, sharper than I meant.

"I-I'm sorry," I say. "I didn't mean that." Merlin, was this conversation draining. "I'm just in a cruddy mood today, that's all. This bloody holiday is... well you know how it is."

Even with my attempt to relate to him, to apologize, Ron doesn't seem able to find any desire to carry on the conversation. His eyes are trained on the wooden table still, regarding it as if he found more interest in the pattern of the wood than our conversation.

I let out a sigh before I leave my seat to sit in the chair in front of the inn's fireplace. My soaked clothes could use the heat and it doesn't seem like Ron would mind the loss of company.

I lean forward to rest my elbows on my knees, rubbing my hands together for the warmth that the fire can't provide. Today hasn't been my day; Valentine's Day never has been. And maybe it was just the gloominess of the weather outside, or the bad mood that the holiday has put me in, but Ron's permanent grudge against me has been annoying me more than ever.

The fire crackles in front of me, sparking like the frustration that begins to bubble inside of me as I imagine all the times Ron's acted this way around me. He has to know just how awful it feels to be ignored like this, to feel as if you're the reason for the end of a conversation, for words dying on people's lips whenever you came around.

My spiraling thoughts come to a stop at the sound of nearing footsteps, inching closer and closer before coming to a stop by my side. I notice Ron's red hair before anything else.

He sits down on the stool next to mine wordlessly. I want to ask what the purpose of him following me to the fireplace is, but it seems as if he doesn't know the answer to that question himself.

It feels like years go by before either of us breaks the silence. He stares into the fire, eyes flickering around as if he's deep in thought. I've never wanted to get inside a person's head so badly.

"What makes you hate Valentine's Day so much?"

His words come out so quietly that I'm not sure I'm even hearing him right. If I thought I knew what Ron might have been thinking before, now I know that I truly don't have a sliver of an idea.

"I don't ..." I trail off, deciding if I even know the answer to his question myself.

"I don't suppose I hate Valentine's Day as much as I just ... don't understand it. I mean, why should you have to use an official holiday as an excuse to be romantic? Can't people just appreciate love on any regular day? We all chase to find love on a single day of the year and you end up feeling like crap if you don't find any. It feels like I'm having everyone's relationship stuffed down my throat. Godric, I sound depressing. I swear I don't hate romance, I just-"

My rampage fades away once I realize how much I must be boring the boy beside me with the contents of my mind.

"Sorry," I say, internally cringing. "I'm sure you didn't need that much of an explanation, I-"

"Y/n, bloody hell," interrupts Ron. He manages to meet my eyes again. "Would you quit apologizing?"

I don't know what surprises me more: Ron's words, or the way he suddenly looks at me, determination lying behind shining eyes that seem to flicker with the shadow from the fireplace.

"Excuse me?" I ask, making sure I heard him right.

He runs a hand through his fiery hair. "I mean, seriously, Y/n, you've apologized to me at least three times in the past five minutes."

I let out a small scoff. "Well is it really so shocking that I feel the need to constantly be apologizing to you, Ronald?"

I can tell that my temper is especially fragile on a day like today. Ron's freckled face goes paler than it already is. "What- what do you mean?"

"With the way you act around me, you'd think I killed your mum or something."

"Killed my..." Ron mumbled to himself in disbelief, looking completely and utterly lost. "Killed my mum?"

"No, I didn't kill your- Gods, we're steering away from the point here. What I'm saying is, I don't know what I did to make you act the way you do around me. To make you suddenly dislike me so much."

Ron's brows are furrowed, his lips slightly separated as he looks at me. His tone is laced with what sounds like genuine confusion and concern.

"Dislike you?"

I let out a puff of air. "Yes, dislike me. Is it really that far of a stretch?"

Ron shakes his head slowly, some color spreading back into his face. When a few seconds pass without him saying anything, I think he isn't going to say anything at all.

"I could never dislike you."

The sound of Ron's voice proves me wrong. His face is filled with sincerity, saying the words casually enough to make them seem like they lack any deep meaning at all. In reality, they leave me fumbling for an explanation.

"It's never seemed that way, Ron." I shift my body on my stool to face him. "You avoid me like a plague. When I come around, you clearly wish I were anywhere else, or that you could be anywhere else. Worst of all, Weasley, I don't even know what I did."

I breathy laugh escapes me, exasperatedly.

"The funny thing is, I can remember a time when you didn't act like this around me. A time when we'd both laugh together like normal friends, the same way I would with Harry or Hermione. But after third year it was like we'd never even known each other. I don't know what I did after that to cause this rift to form between us, but whatever it was, I'm sorry. I'm bloody sorry."

I'm practically out of breath by the time I finish. Surely I'm drawing attention to the two of us in the inn, but that doesn't phase me as I speak to Ron. Clearly, something's bothering him, though. He doesn't even make a move to face me.

"Well," I say, my voice beginning to grow louder. "Aren't you going to say something?"

Seconds go by.

"Anything?"

Even if Ron wanted to say something to me, I'm losing the patience to sit here and beg for him to utter strings of words to me. If it's that hard to talk to me, I'll put him out of his misery.

I stand from my seat. All the time I spent warming by the fire threatens to go to waste as I go to march right back towards the pouring rain, wandless with no umbrella in sight.

I turn to look back at the red-haired boy one final time to see if he was going to make any move to give me an explanation or even just say anything to me, but when I see him sitting on the stool still, his crimson locks covering his eyes as his head still hangs, I know there's no use.

I push the door open, rain instantly whipping onto my clothes.

"Happy bloody Valentine's Day, Ron."’

I've never thought of myself as a lonely person, but today I most definitely do seem like a bit of a loner.

Ever since my conversation with Ron, if you can even call it that, I've been going around Hogsmeade by myself for the rest of the trip, trying to avoid a certain redhead at all costs. I've been pretty successful, too.

That is until I leave Honeydukes and notice three full heads of red hair standing in front of Zonko's—an overwhelming sight for someone trying to avoid a certain ginger at all costs.

Ron stands in conversation with his two older brothers, Fred and George, or George and Fred, (I still can't tell them apart), leaning against the brick wall of the shop under the safety of the roof's overhang, protected from the rain that still hadn't settled completely. His head is hung low as the two speak vivaciously in front of him, hand gestures and all.

My heart practically stills for a moment as one of the twins spots me in the distance, stopping his rant with wide eyes and nudging his younger brother on the shoulder. I stupidly freeze in place as Ron turns to look at me, giving time for my eyes to meet with his, a fountain of emotion stored behind them threatening to spill over.

His cheeks flush almost as red as the hair on his head, and the sight of his twins shoving him a little in my direction sends my legs pushing themselves into the crowd of Hogsmeade as I head in the opposite direction.

What am I doing?

I don't even have an answer to that question as I bustle through the many people in the rainy street, trying to go anywhere that wasn't next to Ron.

Do I really want to speak to him again?

Is finding answers to my questions as important as I thought it to be?

Why do I care so much about what Ron thinks of me?

As much as I tell myself I don't know the answer to a single one of these questions, deep down, something tells me I do.

"Y/n!"

I heard Ron's voice calling my name over the ocean of voices between us. He was far enough away in the crowd that, if I truly wanted to, I could make a run for it and not have to face him and whatever he had to say to me. The next question I had to consider was, did I really want to do that?

"Y/n!" He calls again, this time his voice closer. I turn around to face him, seeing him shoulder through people at both sides to reach me.

That feeling deep down inside of me, the one that gave me an inkling as to what I truly wanted, was the same one that makes my feet slowly stop moving, finally stopping my steps. I dip my head down, building up the courage to turn around. Sure enough, Ron is behind me, much closer this time.

When he reaches me, he's practically out of breath. This time, I won't let it be me that has to speak first.

Some seconds go by with the only noises heard being the droplets of rain still falling and the voices of people passing by as they head inside to avoid the rainstorm approaching.

"Y/n," he breaths finally. "Can we talk?"

"I'm here, aren't I?" My tone is sour, and I feel bad. But I have to remind myself he's only ever treated me the same way.

"Don't you want to head inside?" Ron asks sheepishly, gesturing to the shops on either side of us. I shake my head.

"Not really."

Ron frowns. "It's clearly gonna storm in a few minutes, Y/n, c'mon." He begins to walk toward one of the shops, but I don't follow.

"I'm sorry if I don't want to sit down and share a conversation with you right now, Ron."

Instead of reacting how I thought he would, Ron begins to shake his head and chuckle under his breath. I cross my arms, both in confusion and because of the chilly weather.

"What's so funny?"

He looks up with a very much Weasley grin, with something meaningful behind his smile.

"Still, with the apologizing, Y/n."

I give Ron a warning look, but fight to hold back a smile. Something about Ron used to always leave this warm, fuzzy feeling in my chest. That is, before he decided to freeze me out the way he did.

"Gods," I say, shaking my head. I remind myself that everything can't just be okay with a single flash of a smile—not when this conversation has been years in the making. I hide the traces of a smile that I once had on my face before I address the boy in front of me again.

"We..." I begin, finding my ground. "We need to finish our conversation from before. But this time, you need to actually talk to me, Ron."

The humor leaves Ron's face, and he clears his throat. "I- I know. I know I do. I've never been good at ... at talking to you, Y/n." He flushes. "I always say the wrong things."

"Well, you've had almost three years to get better at doing just that. But you've never made any effort to talk to me until now."

Ron fidgets with the sleeve of his jumper. "You're right and ... I'm sorry. I should have apologized before and-"

"An apology isn't what I've wanted. I've just missed my friend."

Ron stops his fidgeting, looking down at me through slightly wet hair, damp from the rain that patters lightly on the two of us.

"I need to tell you, Y/n," begins Ron. He glances at my face with purpose. "You and I ... we could never be friends."

My lips part, brows pinching together in complete and utter confusion at the statement that just came out of Ron's mouth.

"We could never be friends?" I repeat slowly, in disbelief. Ron, looking at me with an almost hopeful smile, nods. His words were like a painful slap in the face.

"What the hell, Ron?"

I turn around, beginning to stalk off angrily. Who in their right mind tells someone that? If he didn't want me around this whole time, he could've just said so from the beginning and saved all of us the trouble.

I don't hear Ron's footsteps following me for a few seconds before he's chasing after me.

"Y/n!" he hollers. "Wait! I- I didn't mean it like that!"

I don't turn around, confused and completely over the conversation. The corner of the road approaches, but I feel a tug on my wrist before I can turn, whirling me around despite its light hold. A fiery warmth spreads through my arm from his touch for a reason I can't explain or make out and, when I meet his eyes, Ron's looking at me in an almost pleading way.

"You've gotta give me a second," he says, breathing heavily. "You just ... you make me so nervous."

My heart's rhythm feels heavier in my chest. Ron laughs under his breath. "I told you I always say the wrong things." He cracks his knuckles after he releases his light grasp on my wrist, a habit of his I've noticed that makes me cringe inwardly at the sound. The rain begins to fall faster, heavier. Neither of us moves.

"Just," he pauses, thinking, "tell me what you want from me. Tell me what I can do."

I begin speaking without thinking. "I just want an explanation. Something to make it clear to me why you just totally iced me out without a single warning." Ron lowers his eyes, but I continue.

"I mean, I get we've grown to be different people and all that but, when I see you with Harry and Mione, you're the same Ron I've always known. When you're with me, you're colder. Distant. It's a god-awful feeling, Ron. It's like you're a different person around me."

"I feel like a different person around you," Ron fumbles. "I can't speak around you ... it's like I can't even form a single sentence to explain myself without blubbering like an idiot."

My face doesn't mask my hurt well enough. "That doesn't explain why you just stopped being there for me after third year."

Ron must see the wounded look in my eyes, the one that reveals just how much I care about what his next words will be. He swallows.

"I guess I just ... I guess I just couldn't be around you anymore."

"What?" I ask. Nothing about this makes any sense. "Why not?" I look at him pleadingly for a clear answer. "What did I do?"

"Nothing!" He says, hands out in front of him like he's scared I'd run off again. "You didn't do anything."

My head spins with the words I know haven't been said, trying to think of what they may be—I have no idea.

"I don't understand it."

Ron frowns, confused as if everything he's been saying has been perfectly clear, even if it's been anything but. "Don't understand what?"

"You, Ron. I don't understand you." I run a hand through my hair. "You're the most confusing person I've ever met. Merlin, if I could just know what's going on inside your brain, everything would make sense."

Ron takes hold of the sleeve of my sweater, holding it like it was his lifeline. His words are rich, full with desperation. "You want to know what's going on inside my head?"

My heart beats fast, and my cheeks are flushed. The only thing keeping me sane is the cool rain pouring down on us, the very rain that I despised this morning. It picks up its intensity, but I manage to block it out and focus on Ron's waiting gaze behind wet hair. It's as if I nod subconsciously.

"Every day," Ron starts, letting out a breath, "I think about you. I think about this barrier between us and why I put it in place to begin with and, even though the reason is foolish and definitely isn't good enough, it's all the truth that I can say."

Ron takes a breath, preparing himself. "When I told you we could never be friends, I was telling the truth. I iced you out because I couldn't be around you without driving myself crazy. I couldn't pretend that I wasn't falling for you. That ... that you weren't the most stunning girl I'd ever seen."

We're standing close enough that I'm sure Ron can hear my heart beating out of my chest, even over the sound of the rain beating against the ground, and against us. Neither of us seem to care.

"Sometimes I- I can't even look into your eyes, Y/n, just look at your face for too long because I know that I won't be able to resist the urge to just ..."

Ron doesn't finish his sentence, trailing off, but he doesn't need to. Even if he tries not to, his eyes keep flickering down to where my lips are, drenched from the rain like the rest of my body. Heavy breaths escape them.

Even with my soaked hair hanging in my eyes, I can't help but feel like I've never seen Ron this clearly before. And, as I stare into his eyes, I can't help but think my thoughts aren't that different than his. The rain hitting my skin feels like boiling water, overheating me and making me dizzy. I swallow.

"Y/n?" Ron asks, breaking the silence I hadn't even noticed form.

"Sorry," I say, so soft I'm not even sure he can hear. "It's just..."

I look up right at him. This is the longest he's ever looked at me. And it's certainly never been in this way before, with the meaningful look he has behind his eyes.

"Why did u ever feel like you had to resist? Why didn't u ever just tell me?"

Ron laughs breathily, and the sound is like honey. "Isn't it obvious?" He asks, meaning all things. "You'd never feel the same."

Now it's my turn to laugh.

"Ron, you bloody idiot."

I tug on his jumper, standing on my toes to be level with the tall boy. Time freezes for a single moment that feels like dozens, as the sounds of rain and distant chatter fade out, and the only sound that reaches my ears is our breathing, in time with each other, and the heavy beating of my own heart.

With the courage that only Godric could have given me, I close the distance between me and Ron with an extra tug on the neck of his jumper. Our lips connect in a way that makes my head spin in every direction and my stomach flutter with butterflies that feel too real to be true.

Already addicted to the feeling of his lips on mine, a feeling so soft and sweet it almost aches, I run my other hand through Ron's bright hair, tugging slightly at the root. I can feel him grin that utterly Weasley grin against my lips as he kisses me, cupping his hand behind my neck affectionately. With the way he holds me so close, it's like he can't stand for a single inch of space to be left between us any longer. I absolutely love the feeling.

Is this why everyone loves Valentine's Day so much? If it is, I can say with confidence that now, without a doubt, I understand it completely.

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casspurrjoybellbittner · 12 days

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Taming Arrogance - Chapter 31

*Warning Adult Content*

Cade meets me at a sandwich shop just a few minutes past three.

He waves when I walk in, grinning from behind a pair of dark, square shades.

Unlike when I see Blake, there's no spark of emotion that takes a hold of my intestines and squeezes them into a tight ball.

There's no real connection, romantically speaking.

Instead there's a surge of foreign lust and desire that simply hasn't been quenched.

Cade stands from the table, wearing those ridiculous looking skinny jeans and a black t-shirt.

He wraps his arms around me when I reach him, his arms leaner and less muscular than the ones that were around me this morning.

"Fuck, I missed you," Cade says against my ear.

"I was beginning to think you were trying to wiggle out of seeing me at all while you were here."

I grimace and pat him on the back.

"Sorry. I've been busy."

He chuckles and pulls away, nodding for me to take a seat next to him.

"You hungry at all?" Cade asks.

"No."

"Well, I work late nights," Cade explains.

"So this is my version of lunch."

I take a seat and glance at Cade's half-eaten sandwich and unopened bag of chips.

Doesn't look very good but knowing his preference in pizza toppings, I shouldn't be surprised.

My cell-phone buzzes in my pocket and my fingers itch to read it.

I know it's from Blake, it has to be, I texted just a few minutes ago telling him where I'd be during my conversation with Cade.

"So what's going on?" Cade asks, pulling my thoughts away from the text waiting for me in my pocket.

"Your text was pretty elusive."

"Right. Well, here's the thing," my mouth suddenly goes dry, yet the back of my throat closes up with too much saliva.

My heart picks up pace and I can tell that this isn't going to be as easy as I originally thought it would be.

I wipe the palm of my hands down the leg of my pants and sigh.

"Is this a rejection meet-up? Is that what's happening right now?" Cade asks abruptly.

I glance at him, his smile vanishes and he sets his sandwich back on the plate.

He raises his eyebrows, waiting for me to respond, my voice tapers off and I swallow hard, then I nod.

Cade's shoulders slump and he looks away from my face.

An uncomfortable silence takes over the space between us, and I am at a loss of what to say.

'Do I apologize? Normally I apologize, claiming that it's not them, it's me.'

In this case, I would actually mean the apology and in this case it really isn't Cade and it really is me.

He did nothing wrong to cause this or to sway my feelings one way or another.

In fact, up until now, he's been the epitome of a good friend, trustworthy, reliable and understanding.

Plus, I'm attracted to him, it's not as if my feelings for Blake or my decision to be with him erases that.

Cade and I shared a few intimate moments and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't feeling the dude in those moments.

I'd also be lying if I claimed to not be attracted to him at this very moment, which is all the more reason to make a clean break.

"I'm sorry," I say, choosing to leave out the second line.

Cade sighs and shakes his head, then the silence continues picks up again for a few more unbearably long minutes.

He picks at his sandwich, pulling off a piece of bread before smashing it in between his fingers and dropping it back onto the plate.

"Well damn," he murmurs under his breath. "That sucks."

I rub at the back of my neck, hating the sudden tension between us. My brain isn't wired to deal well with this kind of shit.

I'm the one in the back rolling my eyes at this kind of drama or trying to find the hottest chick to take home with me.

Being the one front and center during an emotionally-triggered moment after years of avoiding it, well it feels pretty shitty.

"I'm sorry, man," I say again, as no other words seem to process in my mind.

Cade laughs under his breath but I've heard his genuine laugh enough to know this one is fake, forced, he shrugs and picks up his sandwich again.

"I won't act like I was playing the entire time, Callum. I have feelings for you and this isn't the news I was hoping for but I'll deal with it."

I watch him, my stomach tightening with guilt, his gaze ventures up to meet mine and from behind his shades, I can tell his eyes are now guarded when he looks at me, this just intensifies the guilt.

Cade shakes his head again and takes a bite of his sandwich.

"Relax, Callum. We'll still be cool. I'll still text you pointless shit at 3:00 AM when I get off of work and we'll still have Blake-bashing sessions whenever he does something to piss you off."

This time it's my turn to have my shoulders slump, a piece is from relief, the other piece is from a wistful regret that I can't undo.

I reach over and grab for his bag of chips.

"I'm eating some of these," I inform him and open them up.

A strong whiff of sour cream and onion fumigates my nostrils and I squint at the bag before setting the disgusting flavor of chip back on the table.

"You seriously have the worst fuckin' taste in food."

Cade laughs and it's genuine this time.

He swipes back his bag of chips and pops one into his mouth, chomping on it with an enthusiastic fervor.

"Hmm," he groans. "So good."

I roll my eyes.

"You're an idiot."

Cade takes another few bites and leans back in his chair.

"So, how'd it happen between you and Blake I mean? I take it he's the reason behind all of this?"

He picks up his napkin and hastily wipes his supple lips.

Then he takes a swig of water and holds up his hand as if to add a correction to his question.

"And please, keep in mind that while I'm still your buddy, my feelings haven't budged. Sexual details or overly romantic gestures can be side-stepped."

I inwardly cringe, forcing myself to look away from the blush now coloring Cade's cheeks.

"Right. Ah, we're not official yet but I got a note at the hotel yesterday from Phil..."

"His ex?"

"Yeah. Well, at least I thought it was Phil. Turns out it was really from Blake just trying to get enough of a rise out of me to get a second date."

Cade's eyes widen and he whistles under his breath.

"Damn. Dude is high-key jealous, huh?"

I roll my eyes, sometimes the 'hip' way he talks reminds me of Kansas whenever she jibber-jabbers to our fellow co-workers back at home.

Even my older brother, Jared, thinks it's fun to keep up with the verbiage trends.

"Wasn't the smartest move on his end," I agree, reiterating Blake's words from last night.

"But it kind of showed me all I needed to know regarding his feelings."

Cade takes another bite of his sandwich, mulling over my words.

"So let me get this correct. You two aren't technically a 'couple' and his last power move was one of jealousy?"

The edge of excitement in his voice gives me pause, I may not know Cade very well but I know him well enough to hear when an idea is on the cusp of forming.

True to form, Cade snaps his fingers in an 'ah-hah!' moment.

"I've got an idea."

Surprise, surprise.

"Give me your watch," he instructs.

"What?"

"Your watch. Hand it over."

"Why?"

Cade sighs and holds out his hand.

"Because I can tell you haven't gotten laid yet and believe me. If you told me you wanted a round of practice with me before going into bed with the big boss man, I'd be all for it."

A sudden image of Cade's naked body pops into my mind and I try to blink it away.

"But if his last power play was on the jealous front, I think you should bring it on home with one your own. It won't be anything too crazy, don't worry. Nothing that'll piss him off too badly or turn into a drama-fest, anyway but it'll be enough for you to get a rise out of him."

Despite my curiosity, I know that if this could end up hurting Blake, I'm out.

My boss is already on edge knowing I'm with Cade right now.

Whatever plan Francisco's hottest bartender has forming up his sleeve will only make that worse.

Then again, if it truly is innocent enough that it will lead to hot sex with Blake, I would be willing to spend the next three months making it up to him.

I weigh the options, thinking about that small tether where Blake's jealousy is anxiously chomping at the bit.

Then I think about him dragging me back to the bedroom, kissing me roughly and quenching a desire that's been growing inside me since the minute I met him.

"Keep in mind that I'll probably say no," I answer Cade, leaning forward with raised eyebrows.

"But go on. I'm listening."

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intofclklore · 5 months

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erin’s never been to a harrington family christmas party, nor would she like to attend one, but she can assume that they’re unbearable without something to drink to get through it. this is more or less proven as fact for her when a very drunk steve harrington calls her at the end of the night.

it’s around eleven, on christmas eve. she’d been in bed with a book, unable to sleep but knowing she should be trying. it’s weird being back in this bed, even though it’s only been a few months since she left for school. she’d just gotten used to her new room, her new mattress, and now she’s here again. steve’s voice is a welcomed distraction from that. she can hear the rustle of sheets in the background of steve’s slurred speech and knows she’s not the only one in bed.

“you could have woken my parents with the phone, steve,” she chastises him, but her tone’s not harsh. he didn’t, so it’s fine.

they don’t have a landline in their room. it’s just in the kitchen, and in erin’s room. ‘so you can talk to all your friends,’ her mother had said when she insisted they put the second phone in her room a few years ago. it had felt like a waste at the time since she didn’t speak to anyone on the phone regularly, and it felt like an even bigger one now that the phone occupied the room and she didn’t.

“‘m sorry… wanted to talk to you… wanted to say merry christmas…” even drunk, he manages to make erin’s stomach do flips.

she reminds herself she’s the one who had told him they needed to slow things down, she needed more time. a couple of good weeks weren’t going to fix everything between them. but she can’t deny… sometimes she really can’t remember why she’d ever make such a dumb decision.

“merry christmas, steve,” she says back to him. she’s whispering, both for the sake of her sleeping parents, and because she feels the need to match steve’s own soft spoken, low voice. it sounds particularly deep over the phone, she can almost feel the rumble of it. it makes her palms sweat.

she asks about his family’s party. he asks what her own plans are. he wants to know when he’ll see her, if he’ll see her, before she leaves again.

he has a gift for her.

more stomach flips.

“you don’t have to give me anything,” she insists. “i didn’t… i didn’t get you anything.” she tries not to remember the last time she gave him a gift, how things had fallen apart so quickly after that. no correlation, but she still connects the two things in her mind. it’s hard not to.

“that’s okay,” he says, and she believes him, but she still hates receiving presents if she’s not giving something in return. it leaves her with a sick, guilty feeling that lingers into the new year.

money’s been tight with the munson family. it always is, but the past year has been especially rough with everything happening in hawkins plus erin going off to school. her scholarship covers most things, but she’s still working a part time job in between classes and soccer, and her parents have been helping. her gift buying money wasn’t as much as she’d have liked. that meant homemade gifts for the girls on her team and her roommate at the dorms, thrifted things for her parents, and the one nice gift going to eddie. she thinks he deserves it the most after everything.

“i’d feel bad,” she admits to him. then she pauses, curiosity getting the better of her. “what is it though?”

his laughter makes her heart race. “you’ll see,” he tells her.

and maybe it’s just because it’ll be an excuse to see him, but she doesn’t argue. she’ll steal something from the kitchen to take him in return. there’s nothing home baked, but the store bought christmas cookies are better than anything her or her family members could possibly make would be.

instead of telling him this, or saying anything else sweet, she tells him, “i’ll bring you the coal you deserve.”

it’s her version of flirting, but it’s not even true. steve deserves holiday cheer and gifts more than almost anyone in hawkins. in all of indiana, even. he doesn’t seem to take it to heart, laughing again.

but then, his tone shifts as he asks, “yeah? have i been naughty this year?”

something warm turns in the pit of her stomach, and she almost coughs into the phone, choking on her own breath. steve’s voice is low, almost… no.

she doesn’t want to say it’s suggestive.

but it kind of is.

erin absolutely does not know how to respond to this, not in the way to escalate something like this. he probably does, and thinking about him knowing how to do this makes her cheeks burn even more.

“erin?” he prompts, when she’s silent for too long.

her voice cracks when she speaks. “yeah?” she clears her throat. “yeah, sorry. uh, no. you’ve… you’ve been a really good guy this year.”

if she’s trying to have a touching holiday moment, steve isn’t picking up on it. “yeah? have i been a good boy?”

her eyes go wide. “steve!”

he cackles, sounding like he knows exactly what he’s doing to her.

“you’re drunk, go to bed,” she tells him.

“i’m in bed,” he replies, petulant.

“you know what i mean. go to sleep.”

he does, but not right away. neither of them hang up yet, erin managing to stumble through the goodnights and goodbyes while her face slowly cools. they make plans, for a day in between christmas and new years. and then for new years eve, too. steve knows someone throwing a party, and erin reluctantly agrees to go. it feels bizarre, thinking about showing up to a party where steve will actually not only be seen speaking to her, but be seen arriving with her.

if she thought this past year was wild, the next one is already shaping up to be something else.

#∘⡊ ☾・ﾟ writing #∘⡊ ☾・ﾟ steve x erin — ↳ writing #∘⡊ ☾・ﾟ erin x steve — ↳ inspo #∘⡊ ☾・ﾟ erin munson — ↳ writing #∘⡊ ☾・ﾟ of sapphire

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rogersstevie · 10 months

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yet another useless appointment, the doctor was nice but basically repeated the same things the np said, acts like my shoulder/neck pain is a muscle thing and it’s like i’ve had that kind of thing before it would’ve gone away if that were the case, and she thinks it’s possible i don’t really have an autoimmune thing bc the test can be wrong even though i said i have had some amount of joint pain. and talks about sitting at a desk and typing a lot and all that like that is not what this is lol and in talking about my symptoms said i should be eating fresh food and whatnot like girl be real who is gonna be cooking ALL their meals who has time for that. at least she said i don’t need to lose more weight unlike the np who was like “you’re not that bad” like girl be quiet, but i am a little less than i was a few months ago bc of the forced diet changes like i was not making any extra effort to lose weight lol like it’s just not my main concern at his point. and of course talking about stress like yeah my symptoms are clearly worse when i feel particularly freaked about what’s happening to me i can’t exactly avoid that and just be calm. idk it was just like yet another meeting where i feel not listened to like you cannot blame everything on anxiety!! i just wonder if things would be different if I’d gotten a primary care years ago so it would be someone who knows i have not had health concerns before everything went haywire this year. and it’s like every time i answer a question i don’t get to elaborate bc they’re moving on to the next thing like i just want to be able to explain everything in one go and THEN they can ask questions. i just really hope the rheumatologist is a better listener like yeah nothing is unbearable at this point but like that doesn’t mean i’m fine with the fact that i have felt off in some way or another every day for five months lol

#personal

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error404vnotfound · 1 year

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rant incoming because i am. so tired.

so. my best friend has had this crush on another girl from our high school friend group since forever. she told her about it like 2 years ago, not for them to start dating, just so she knew. no expectations no nothing. a few weeks ago they talked about it all again because the other girl had been saying some things and acting in a way that were upsetting to my friend. to no one's surprise, she likes my friend back. they agreed to stay friends tho

thing is, every time we met up before, be it us three or all five of us, it was pretty plain there was something going on in there. me and the other two guys had very third wheeling vibes on us.

after they talked this last time, it's gotten downright unbearable. if we hang all together it's just them two in their little bubble and count yourself lucky if they remember there's more people around.

I'm not very close to the two guys, and I don't particularly like the other girl either. so I've been declining to hang up with them all as a group more and more. I don't particularly like hanging out with more than one person at a time anyways, and I'm not gonna make the effort to be uncomfortable and sad because I can't even have one conversation with my friend

now, onto why I am. so tired.

the other girl wanted to go to a museum/exhibition/zoo in the city. they decided to go. I wasn't, at first, because I knew what it would be like. but then the other girl was like "no, you passed on coming last time we hung up, it's been so long since I've seen you!" and my friend told me that she wanted me to come because "we would have fun" and "it wouldn't be the same without me"

so I said I'd go. and if what I thought was going to happen, were to happen I could just be my little autistic self and wander around drawing animal skulls and turtles fighting

and yeah. it was as bad as I thought it'd be. on the bus they talked just them two, as we walked there, more of the same. as soon as we got in they both went off and left us three behind. if my friend by some miracle found me, the other girl would drag her away to look at something she wanted to look at, and even if my friend complained about it, she didn't struggle against being walked away

okay. well. can't say I'm surprised. I filled 4 pages of my sketchbook and talked to a polish family for a while (one of their kids saw me drawing and i showed him what I'd done. he then asked his mom for a notebook and pen and started drawing the fish and turtles I was also drawing. that little kid made the day worth it, ngl).

then we had lunch on a park. and yeah, more of the same. we almost missed the bus back because of them too. (and of course on the actual bus it was much the same as the whole day had been. worse even. I tried to drown the sound of their talking with my headphones and was half successful)

and it's like. look. date or don't, I couldn't care less, but if we hang up as a friend group, we hang as a friend group. it was just so uncomfortable when we were all together because it would be them two aggressively cuddling or hugging or holding hands and saying veiled comments to each other and just. deeply uncomfortable. third wheeling to the fucking top

and somehow. somehow. this wasn't the worst. I said at the beginning that I don't particularly like the other girl. I have some reasons which are a me problem, her personality just doesn't agree much with mine. fine, I'll live

but then I have other reasons, mainly that since forever she has been playing cat and mouse with one of the other guys (who very obviously likes her). she'll flirt and say things to him. and the poor guy tries and tries but it's a lost cause and we all seem to know it except him. but then, for the past two years, she has been doing the same to my friend. she'd flirt, or say things, or do things, that were obviously done in not a platonic way. (which upset my friend because she'd told her how she felt about her, and the other girl kept on playing with both my friend's feelings and the guy's). has she stopped? not at fucking all, with either of them

my friend and the guy can barely hold a conversation now without one of them provoking the other with annoying or veiled comments. for the guy it's embarrassing, and my friend is honestly behaving like a little shit (derrogatory)

there's no actual conclusion to this thing. im just tired of it all. as if friendships weren't complicated enough already now we gotta deal with this mess too. needless to say, I won't be saying yes to hang out as a group for a while, and certainly not for a whole fucking day

worst thing is, I think, that they both don't even realize what they are doing (to the guy, yes, I mean to me and the other guy). because the other girl hugged me goodbye and told me to hang up with them again (bestie you barely exchanged two words with me today), and my friend did say "it wouldn't be the same without me" but girl you didn't even bother to talk to me

they two probably had a great time, and like, good for them. just next time maybe don't drag the rest of us on your date

#long post #and on ace day #hope you enjoy the friend drama #vent post #en fin #v's misery

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lunaevangeline · 2 years

Text

Angst with Miya Atsumu

words: 1.2k+

warning: hurt to comfort and a little harsh words (bitch, hoe, jerk) -but not addressed to you-

You love Atsumu and maybe it's a little too much. A little too much than yourself and a little too much that it can feel unbearable.

It's been a month since the last time you met him in person. Atsumu has been so busy with his volleyball activities and on the other hand, you were also busy with college. Usually, the two of you would spend time at least once a week to go on a date or just lay around lazily in your/his apartment. Of course, the blame is not on him nor you, it's just the schedule won't make it. But since last month, his messages come less and less frequent, he did not even bother to call you. You had made an effort on contacting him, even scheduling a date. But he always says he won't make it and same as today, your chat was left on read.

You started to doubt, is this the price you have to pay for dating a pro athlete or it is just him who lacks effort. And so you sighed, choosing to watch a new series on Netflix. You originally intended to invite Atsumu to your apartment, just to hang around and cook his favorite dishes. But guess today is not the day (again). The series you try to watch turns out to be lame and boring, therefore you start scrolling through Instagram posts and instastories until one instastory catches your attention, it was Omi-kun's one hour ago at the nearby bar. There you can see your boyfriend hang out with the boys and some random girls. Not sure who they are, but guess they're an acquaintance because you can see one of them clinging too close to your boyfriend. You feel your chest is so tight and something warm trails from your eyes to cheeks. You realized how you just miss him so much and now you remember how he has been kept low maintenance to your relationship. "Why? Why is it so hard to at least give you a quick chat or call" "Does he just get bored with you?" Negative thoughts ringing in your head, breaking you down from inside. Hence to stop the commotion in your mind, you choose to sleep on the couch and forget it all.

You wake up from the sound of the opened door, open your eyes and realized it has been almost dinner time, the outside view has been getting dark. The second thing you notice is the presence of Atsumu, entering the living room and turning on the light. "Hi babe, I bought you cakes!" Atsumu greets you with his usual playful grin. "Oh.. okay thanks", you answered with empty eyes, still gathering your consciousness. He's still in the same outfit as on the noon, you assumed he has just gotten back from the bar. Atsumu still has no idea what happened to you. You look lost, eyes and head empty and he can't sense any excitement in you, for his presence.

He decide to approach you, embrace your frame like nothing happened "I miss u so much". But you don't reciprocate it but instead replying by "Having fun huh?", smiled but said it in almost a sarcastic tone. Confused Atsumu stared at you, "What do you mean? I've just gotten back from the MSBY meeting ya know?" "Yes, with a bunch of hoes", you rolled your eyes, remembering the clingy bitch from Omi's instastory. "Huh? They happen to be our fans and as a service, we decide to ask them to join us, that's all." "Yeah Yeah", you answered him indifferently although he has tried to explain himself. Atsumu grunts in frustration, "I'm so tired and just wanna see ya. Why are you treating me like this?", he raised his voice, almost yelling at you. But you countered him by the same question, "Then why are you treating me like this, Miya?" Never been in these 2 years you've been together, you called him by his last name, he sure it must be something serious then. the way you say it was not snapping but rather more like pleading. Your eyes feel hot just by staring at him, you can't endure your tears from overflowing for the n-times for today.

Atsumu panicking from the sight of you crying, he hurt and held your figure into his chest with hesitation, "I- I'm sorry I didn't mean to snap you, y/n". You shook your head on his chest, hands are now reaching his back to hold him with the same hesitation. "I just- I don't know if we can still work --if we can still work on us." You start to sob from your own thoughts, "I can't- continue like this. It was too painful and lonely for me. Is it too much to ask, to contact me for once in a while ?", words jumbled from sobbing and you still try to catch your breath. Your face now looks up for his. You looked miserable and the same goes with Atsumu, his face painted with remorse.

Looking into your eyes, there he realized how much he has been taking you for granted. You've always been supportive, one of the biggest mental support behind his successful career. Never protest for his tight schedule and for his bunch of fangirls, because you always trust him. Now he remembers how he neglects your call and chats, instead proudly saying that he has a very understanding girlfriend when his teammates mentioned you. But things are getting ugly and uglier when you realize you've been piling up things: your feeling for not being a priority and being neglected. "I'm sorry", is all that comes from his mouth. He knows it was unforgivable, he was being a jerk, and he couldn't fix it instantaneously. "I promise to work harder on this --I mean to put more effort on --on us", words trembling, Atsumu would fully understand if you choose to break up with him instead, but he can't imagine how his world going to be without you in.

"Okay", seeing his determination you answer him with your hoarse voice but it is enough to let Atsumu knows that you won't leave him -at least if he didn't mess up things again. So with a "Thank you" and "I love you", he promised to himself to treat you like you should be, to give you everything that you've deserved. The burden in your heart feels lifted and you caressed his cheek in the most loving way. His eyes look like he almost crying and you know now, it's going to be okay because you're not the only one who is willing to work on this relationship. You reach for his face with no hesitation anymore, hands hanging on his nape while he's securing your waist, you two locking lips with the same flutter in both chests just like years ago. "Then, please let me know what can I do to make up to you?", Atsumu holds you close like he doesn't want to lose you again. "Call me once a day" "Uhmm, then?" "Chat me about your day and your upcoming schedule" "Uhmm, any other things?" "I want kisses and cuddles", you give Atsumu a pout which he found really adorable. He peppered your faces with kisses, "Anything, anything you want princess" giggles following his words. The entire day is well spent by cuddling and kissing your boyfriend. And Miya Atsumu promised, the next time he makes you cry will be the happy one when he decides to propose to you, soon.

masterlist

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #miya atsumu #atsumu x y/n #atsumu angst #atsumu x reader #atsumu scenarios #atsumu x female reader #haikyu x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu drabbles #haikyū!!#haikyuu fanfiction

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provisionalsparkle · 3 years

Text

The Boy Next Door

Reader x Bang Chan (Stray Kids)

[Genre] exes-to-lovers au, smut, angst.

[Word count] 6.7K

[Warnings] Smut. Angst. Unprotected sex, voyeurism, ample description of bodily fluids.

[Note] This is my contribution to @feliix ’s Summer 2 Lovers collab! Check it out!

Summer.

The season of fun and sun, careless joy, long days and warm nights…

For most people.

For you, this summer is about change. It’s about the little town you used to live in, the quaint house you grew up in, the smell of your mother’s cooking or the breeze from the yard, the sound of younger kids playing in the street. It’s about the big city you will go to live in, it’s purple and orange twilight skies, black silhouettes reaching toward the skies beginning to twinkle with golden lights, the noises of the traffic coming from evening bustle, the scent of the delis and restaurants that line the streets.

You were stuck between these two places, university having been a four year long limbo of boundless sex mislabeled as self-discovery, and now visit your home one last time, reminding yourself of the life you had there before moving on to another.

You think of the past with nostalgia, yet also with a restlessness that makes you want to run from everything. The stillness, the silence, the unchanging landscape in this little town is too unbearable, too unsettling. But it’s familiar, and it’s comfortable. The life you’ll soon live promises excitement, autonomy, it’s the adulthood you’ve fantasized about. It terrifies you too, and you have these horrible dreams about missing the payment of the most insignificant bill and having the entire world collapse on you because of it. You still don’t know how to do your taxes.

College is over, a new life awaits you in a big city after landing a rather ideal job, but it felt like you were leaving things behind. Funny how, after so many years of fantasizing about this grown-up life you suddenly felt like a lost child, scared to forgo the familiar.

It’s these sort of almost-quarter-life-crisis thoughts that fill your mind on a particularly warm afternoon. You’re indecently splayed out on a couch with as little clothing as possible, the door to the backyard is wide open, letting an occasional breeze waft in to disrupt the stifling stillness of the heat. The lights are off, and you were too unbothered to turn them on as the sun set, preferring to stare at a darkening ceiling as the evening sky turned purple.

There’s a familiar jingle of keys from the front door.

“Honey? You home?”

“I’m here, Mom.” You lazily answer back. She wanders from the hall to the living room, you can feel the judgemental look she gives you.

“Have you been laying like this all day?”, indignation lines her voice. Was it so surprising to find you like this?

“Yeah…”

“You can’t just lay here all day. Go out! Get some sun! Go play with those kids you used to hang out with from school!”

“I can’t Ma, I’d rather just plank here.”

“Oh goodness, Y/n. Give me one good reason you shouldn’t go hang out with them!”

“I’ll give you two: either they grew up to be total bitches or they had kids and became a bore.”

“I didn’t become a bore when I had you!” She exclaims, although it’s not too serious and some playfulness hides beneath the surface.

“Yeah, that’s because you’re a cool mom. They don’t make those anymore.”

“Hmm… well, I think you should make a bit of an effort.”

“Mom… it’s my last vacation you know -”

“You know what?!” She suddenly exclaims, her voice brightening like a lightbulb just radiated in her thoughts. “Mrs. Carson’s son is here with her for the summer too! I bet you haven’t seen him in ages, and he’s gotten so handsome.”

“Mrs. Carson?” You didn’t have any clue who that was.

“Well… you might remember her as Mrs. Bang, but Jane changed her name when she married Norbert a few years ago. She still lives next door and Christopher’s in town spending the summer with his mother.”

Bang…

Christopher…

You hadn’t heard that name in years. It surprised you a bit actually, and a hint of a smile came to your lips.

“Yeah, yeah, Mom… I’ll think about it.”

You wouldn’t admit… something did grab your attention. A curiosity of sorts.

You were fifteen years old when you had your first kiss. He was a short boy with a kind smile, a bit awkward really, but you had a fondness for him. It wasn’t about looks at all, all boys at that age were hideous and nothing would change your opinion on that, but you’d swoon whenever you saw him. It was mutual, an icky teenage infatuation that had your friends poking fun at both of you whenever you’d become giddy at the sight of one another. Hot faces, nervous glances, trembling innocent touches.

He sat next to you in chemistry and you’d hold hands under the lab table while the teacher gave class. His left hand always felt soft in your right one. Cute. It’s a bit silly but you’re glad you had that sort of adorable and silly romance. While it lasted, that is.

Christopher wasn’t a bad guy. He was stupid, like all boys that age.

When you saw him kissing another girl, of course you cried, but you knew it had to do with him being stupid more than anything. This simple looking girl that you had been friends with in elementary school, you can’t even remember her name.

You know why he did it, beyond his stupidity. Your mom had let it slip long before - you knew it was coming.

“Honey, would you believe? Mr. and Mrs. Bang are divorcing!” Probably just some hot gossip from one of her PTA yoga groups, no ill intention on your behalf. She didn’t know you were seeing Christopher - over your dead body. You were fifteen and a horrible student, you didn’t need to give your mother yet another element to ground you with.

“Oh no…” You acted as normally as you could, your first thoughts went out to Christopher first though. “Do you know why?”

“Well… I’m obviously not going to ask, duh! But I do know that Mr. Bang is taking the kid with him abroad.” What?! What did she just say? Chis is WHAT?!

“I - uh, what?” Act normal, act normal, act normal.

“Aww… sweetie, was he your friend?” Goodness, parents can be so oblivious, but it’s beneficial in this case. She doesn’t pick up on the depression of your mood.

“I guess.” A sniffle is about to threaten your composure so, in your teenage arrogance, you leave before your mother can see your teary eyes.

The subsequent days were strange. You expected Christopher to tell you the news, you expected to comfort him, you expected to live out the rest of your young romance as best as you could. And then… you saw him.

And he said nothing. He was cold, pushed you away. He must be going through a lot of pain, you thought. More days went by and he still said nothing, and his demeanor grew worse, no affection, no smiles. He must be having a hard time, you reasoned.

Sometimes you thought he was on the verge of saying something to you, like he was about to say something and the words threatened to come out but he’d suddenly pull away and swallow them. You didn’t question it really, it was so confusing but you just went with it.

You never held his hand in chemistry again.

Time made you realize that Christopher didn’t want to be with you anymore. You weren’t sure if it was because he stopped liking you, and that hurt a little, but you knew what he was going through, and you stood by him in case he ever chose to open up and cry on your shoulder. You’d be there for him.

When he kissed that girl, it didn’t really surprise you. Damn it, what was her name? You cried, you thought it was because you were ugly and your boobs were still pretty small - stupid reasons.

It took a few months for you to understand the real reason.

He left without saying goodbye. You never spoke to him after he kissed what’s-her-name. Maybe he tried to do so a couple of times, but you ran away or didn’t let him. Or maybe you remembered it that way to comfort you, just so you’d live with the thought that he tried to apologize, tired to make things right.

But the fact of the matter is he didn’t speak to you and he didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t want to.

He didn’t want to say goodbye because it hurt.

He was trying to ruin your relationship so you’d break up with him and he wouldn’t have to say goodbye, so that he could kill the feelings you had for him to spare you from the pain of his departure.

Or maybe you were just imagining it like that to make it a cuter memory and think about it fondly.

Maybe in the end, Christopher was just a horny teenage boy that cheated on you. Maybe.

Regardless, you giggle as you think back on the silliness of it all, and how serious and life altering it all felt in your childishness. It seemed so long ago, so distant, and you were so changed that it felt like it had all happened to a different person. You wondered about the man next door, and the entirely different boy who had once been next door. What kind of person had Christopher become?

University did you well. It was four solid years of irresponsible drinking and uninhibited sexual exploration paired with relatively easy academics. You don’t know how it happened, but it had been like a transformation from one day to the next.

You, sort of, kind of, absolutely plain and normal girl that no one would notice lest you stepped in their line of sight. One day, there you were - normal.

Two weeks in - boom. Confident. Your roommate was an okayish girl, another plain one. Then you started noticing how comfortable you were undressing in front of her, to change clothes or whatever, as if it was the most normal thing in the world - which it was. Wearing shorts and skirts became less of a worry, just something that felt better. Sometimes you’d be thrown icky glances from some boys, which you hated, but others were acceptably flirty and you loved those. The best ones were the boys that would get shy and who would quickly whip their heads the other way once you caught them staring.

That definitely flipped the switch. It made you feel strong, it made you feel damn good. You, who at the most had dipped a finger into the world of heavy makeouts during high school, now became a seasoned seductress of all kinds of men. So long as you could wrap them around your finger with your demeanor, so long as you could prowl over them and take the lead.

Ah… the good old days.

What was going to happen now, though? Four years later, no slightly inexperienced men left to be wowed. Everyone you knew was turning into a bland and bitter office worker. Was this the end of it?

To think that you’d be ending this glorious chapter of your life in this tiny town, lounging on the same stuffy couch in the same hot living room every day, having your routine philosophical melodrama where you’d stare at the ceiling in the afternoons until your mother came in inquiring if you were alive. It was a terrible fate.

A few days after the revelation of Christopher’s presence, which you would never admit had been circling your mind nonstop, your mother returns with another piece of information.

“You know, Jane and Norbert are having a get together of sorts next Saturday - just the usuals from the block.”

“Is that so?” You said with disinterest.

“In fact, I borrowed a baking pan from her last week… why don’t you go over and give it back to her for me? She might need it, and you probably haven’t left this house in days.” You didn’t reply, but you could feel her eyes on you, waiting for you to obey.

“Fine…”

The afternoon was enjoyably fresh, although your white t-shirt stuck to you like a second skin, the bikini top you wore underneath tracing its silhouette into the cotton. You lazily stomped your way to the house next door, admiring the tall window where you had snuck into Christopher’s room a couple of times during your short romance. A ladder was perched up against the exterior toward that window, they must have been fixing things up. The porch was full of cans of paint, tools, boxes. It was only when you rang on the doorbell, begrudgingly holding the large tray, that you realized that Jane might not be the one to open the door but instead it could be -

The door swings open and you gasp. Christopher.

Well… his face hadn’t changed much. But he was slightly taller than you remembered, far more masculine, oh, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Yeah, he was shirtless… jeans hanging low on his hips… shirtless… abs… fit waist… arms…

“Hi! Is Jane home?” Good… pretend you don’t remember him.

“I - Uh… no, my mom’s actually out right now.” He replied. His voice had grown deeper, and where did he get that accent? Wait - did he not remember you? Now, that just made you angry, but you wouldn’t let it show.

“Oh, well… my mother wanted me to return this.” You say handing him the tray, avoiding trailing your eyes downward.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll give it to her.” He says. He seems a little frozen, an expression between surprise and caution lingers on his face, but you don’t know if it’s good or bad.

There’s a moment of silence where you just stare at each other.

“Y/n…” He finally says. There’s hesitation in the way he says your name. He’s scared, not of you, but he’s scared about the fact that you’re on his doorstep.

You don’t say anything, calmly, almost coyly, waiting for him to continue. You’d gotten rather good at pretending you were calm, and the slightest tint of a smile painted your lips so you wouldn’t seem cold or ingenuine.

“Do you remember me?” He asks. You can’t help but huff, a tiny laughter really.

“Of course. You know, you haven’t grown much taller.”

With those slightly playful words, you turn to walk back to your home, and with each step your impression of the encounter with your childhood love became more bitter and less sweet.

It was strange how you thought about him, about it. The situation, that is. Seeing him, talking to him, both of you now being older. A few days of thinking now.

You don’t know why you thought about it so much, but you thought about it. You thought about it without knowing how you felt about it or what you thought about it. This man you had only gotten a glimpse of, too overwhelmed to take in his features properly, now walks around your mind freely. He wasn’t the boy you knew. He wasn’t the boy next door whose hand you’d once hold in chemistry, who you’d kiss before turning the corner towards both of your homes. The boy who left all those years ago.

No, it wasn’t that boy. It was that man, who kept perturbing you. What did you feel? Interest? Yes, there was something quite intriguing about all of this which sparked your curiosity. Lust? Of course, absolutely, the man next door looked divine. Suppose you could abstract the person from his body, so that you wouldn’t be so bothered by who he was and what he meant to you, and you’d easily bend over in front of him and invite him in.

You supposed a conversation was in place, though, because after all, he was still the Christopher. You couldn’t just go around fucking people like that anymore - unfortunately. That was something you got away with in college. It’s a shame college boys grow up to be boring men, sex gets more boring, they think they have all the authority… Maybe you should go back to school.

You’re sitting on the windowsill of your second floor bedroom, one leg hanging out and stepping onto the roof. Opposite to your window, beyond a neat shrub, is the window of the guest room of Mrs. Carson, formerly Bang, which seems unchanged from when you last saw it. You remember watching her from your room, also unchanged, using the TV in there to do some aerobics she followed along from a VHS… was it a VHS? No, that’s the machine. What were the things you used to put in the VHS? A cassette? No… regardless, eventually she must have started using DVD’s.

Damn it, it all seemed like thousands of years ago.

Damn it, you were still so melodramatic throwing around words like poetry over some Richard Simmons tape. Aha! It’s a tape!

Your crotch is being dug into by the window frame, and you let your weight rest on it, the slight grind tempting you to have a round of masturbation. But you’ll finish the cigarette you stole from your mother first. It tasted awful, it was another adult thing you couldn’t understand. Why did everyone at university smoke so much? It was just another thing their eager teenage selves did to emulate the adults in grown-up world, to feel a little more grown-up. Who the hell likes this stuff?

But you liked watching it burn, occasionally inhaling its airy and bitter smoke. It wasn’t your preferred type of smore. You preferred watching papers and matches burn, their sweet and rich smell, the warmth of the fire that would sting the edges of your fingers. Shame your mother only used a lighter, you didn’t like the smell of that fire either.

You just surrendered to watching the bright tip of the cigarette and the white streams that came from it.

“You know those are bad for you.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You exclaimed, your heart nearly jumping out from your chest. A man had sprung out from the window in the guest room of the Carson house, formerly Bang, and that man was Christopher Bang himself.

“Sorry I didn’t -”

“You almost gave me a fucking heart attack - what the hell?!”

“ - mean to startle you…”

“Damn it, Christopher!”

“Ah! So you do remember me?” He says with a bit of joy, but you just look at him, realizing that this is where the talk will come. His features grow a little more somber. He continues, “So… I guess I -”

“Where’d you get the accent?” You interrupt, genuinely curious. “You sound like the crocodile hunter.”

“Well… I was living in Australia with my dad.” He says it in a normal tone, but you make sure it doesn’t stay normal.

“Oh, so that’s where you went?” You both wince at what you just said. Yep, it’s finally time for that talk.

There’s a bit of silence, but you’ll let him be the one to fill it.

“I…” He sighs deeply. Uuhh… it’s quite a masculine sigh. “I didn’t know you’d be here. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again but I… there’s something I’ve always wanted to say.”

“I’m listening…” You say. It’s a flat tone, but it’s funny. You hope it’ll ease him.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry.” Some silence again, “I’m sorry for being an ass, I’m sorry for cheating on you -”

“Chris, we were like fifteen… you kissed a girl with braces, big deal.” You waved it off. Really, kissing that girl didn’t bother you so much, now almost ten years later.

“I left without saying anything.”

“Yeah, you did. Hard to not notice.”

“I was - I know it’s not an excuse, but I was going through a lot and I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“So you left without saying anything?”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok… we haven’t spoken in years. I practically forgot about it.” No you didn’t.

“Did you?” He says. Was he hopeful when you insinuated he hadn’t hurt you as much as he thought he had?

“No, not really. I mean, yeah, you kissing another girl was pretty insignificant, we were just kids. It did hurt that you left without… I don’t know… There wasn’t any closure. There wasn’t a goodbye. I felt confused for a while, I guess.”

“I’m so sorry about that. But my parents were splitting up, I was going to have to leave everything behind. You were the first girl I loved and I was going to have to say goodbye and I couldn’t handle it. I was too hurt and embarrassed to even tell my friends. I wish I had done it differently.”

“Yeah, I wish you had too. I wanted to be there for you, you know? I wanted to hug you, hold your hand, tell you it was going to be ok.

“I really messed up there…”

“It’s okay Chris, you were just a kid. We were just kids.” You offer your sympathy but he doesn’t soften.

“Mhmm. Doesn’t make me feel less guilty about it.”

“Can I ask you something?” He nods, “Did you do all that stuff… you know, treat me that way, for real or where you…?”

“I was hoping you’d break up with me, get over me. That way we wouldn’t have to say goodbye and we wouldn’t get hurt.”

“I got hurt.” You admit.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” You insist. “It’s fine. We’re fine. We’re old and grown and fine. All of that’s in the past, I can’t blame you for acting like a kid. It’s okay.”

“Well I can agree with you there. We did grow up, not kids anymore.”

“You didn’t grow that much.” You laugh, he laughs too.

“You certainly did.” He’s being flirty. It could have been bad timing, but the mood felt right.

“Oh, you noticed?”

“Hard not to.” Goodness was he being direct. “You were really cute back in school, I had a crush on you for like, forever.”

“Really…Plain old me?”

“Really. And now here we are and I think I could have a crush on you all over again.”

“So you can go off and kiss another girl with braces and leave the continent?”

“No, I’m a one woman man.” He says while making himself comfortable on his own ledge. It’s getting comfortable overall, like you’re talking to someone you’ve known for the longest time, like a decade of separation didn’t do much harm.

“Well, well. And who is that lucky woman now?”

“There’s no one at the moment. I’m in the middle of some life changes.”

“Do tell.”

“I’m moving back. Well, not here, just in the country again. A big city, big job, kinda scary.”

“Seems we’re on the same boat. I just came back to say goodbye to this place forever and I’m ooout.”

“Did you finish school already?”

“Yeah… I wish I hadn’t though.” You think back on your experience with longing, lamenting it’s end.

“Wow, can’t relate. I couldn’t wait for it to end. What’d you miss about it?”

“Well, I didn’t have to work, grades were good and easy. And I guess, it was tons of fun.”

“How so?”

“Being on a campus full of horny and stupid guys - it was open game.” Chan hisses at your admission.

“I wouldn’t have taken you for that type.” He chuckles, “You would stutter for like the first two months we went out.”

“We were just kids.”

“I guess we were…”

Another comfortable silence as you stare off at the sky, your cigarette burnt through with only the spongy bud left to pinch.

“Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m single too, you know.”

It might have been a bad idea, you said it on impulse after all, something quite instinctive having taken over you. Maybe you were just horny and Christopher was just hot, regardless, the conversation was over. Before he could even process what you said, and the implications to it, you had already slipped back into your darkened room and out of his sight.

Chan felt like a teenager again. Not in a good way.

Chan remembered your first kiss, holding your hand. He remembered your breasts being the first he had ever really noticed, your legs being the first he ever caressed. He remembers how you’d press your bodies together while you kissed, not really understanding what both of you felt, only understanding the urgency of it.

Now he can name those feelings, the ones that once belonged to an inexperienced boy, merely dipping his toes into the surface of that world. But now that he dove, and had dived into its waters several times, he knew how to swim in them.

Yet, seeing you made him feel like he didn’t. It made him feel like he couldn’t swim, like he couldn’t breathe. He felt like he was drowning.

The first moment he saw you on his doorstep he felt his stomach drop, a pang of guilt that had lingered on his mind during countless of sleepless nights hitting him with full force. He didn’t expect it. He thought he would never see you again.

And after taking another look, a longer look, it was like he was swimming in completely different waters. He felt submerged, and he didn’t know which way was up. He wanted to open his mouth and swallow it all up, let you drown him.

He hadn’t felt this raging feeling since he was a teenager. He certainly hadn’t had a specific woman make him feel like this until you.

It made him feel another kind of guilt. Shame even.

The following days he’d watch you, shamefully. His mother had him painting the house and when he stood on the rooftops he took his time to enjoy the view of you swimming in your pool, wearing tiny bikinis that stuck to your skin and showed the buds of your niples and the lines of your labia through the fabric. He would admit, shamefully, that he stopped watching from the roof because he needed to get closer to see these beautiful details.

He now watched you from over the fence in his backyard. Getting incredibly hard watching you swim, watching you oil your body down.

It was all horribly, horribly shameful.

But weren’t you the one that mentioned you were single? It had caught him off guard. He was being cheeky in that moment, but he didn’t know what waters he was testing then. Now he knew, and it was making him behave so, so shamefully.

Should he go over there, push you into a corner of the pool and pull your bottoms to the side? Should he kneel at your feet while your rubbing yourself with that golden oil, and beg you to let him fuck you?

It wasn’t just the thought of sex that drove him mad, it was you in general. How inferior he felt in front of you, like he had to prove himself. Every day he worked shirtless, hoping you’d get a glimpse of him, but you were just so unbothered by it all.

It was driving him fucking insane.

If only you knew.

Except - of course you did. Of course you did. This is what you craved, what you were best at. Driving boys, technically men but boys sounds tastier, to be absolute slaves to their desire for you. Christopher wasn’t doing a good job at hiding it. Did he really think that you would suddenly spend every day swimming in the tiniest bikinis after having not left your couch for over a week? They really are such stupid, fuckable animals.

And Chris was particularly fuckable.

Day four of his perverted project, he was hammering away at some boards in the back porch of his house. Your mother wouldn’t be home for hours, his parents were away for a couple of days.

Everything was perfect.

“Chris?!” You call loudly over the fence from your chaise lounge, carelessly flipping through a book. The hammering stopped, he had heard you. “Chris, it’s hot today. Don’t you think you should come over for a swim to cool down?”

Why on earth were you acting so damn unbothered and confident, he thought. Why on earth were you asking him over?

It’s only a matter of time before he circles his own house and slides in through the gate on your end. He’s still wearing jeans and a utility belt, gloves too. No shirt.

“You can’t really swim in those, take them off.” You hardly peered at him from over your sunglasses. He was just standing there, frozen. That’s usually a sign that you’re working your magic well. Good. “Come on Christopher, take them off.”

“I - uh, I’m actually not wearing trunks right now. Uhm… I’ll be right back.”

“Oh, you don’t have to go.” Insert unbothered page flip. “Why don’t you just undress and get in the pool so I can join you?”

“W-what?” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He genuinely thought he had imagined it, maybe all of his hornyness was driving him insane.

“Christopher!” You whine. “You’re ruining the fun!” You slam the book shut and throw it over to the side, taking your sunglasses and hat off. “Chris, I think it’s obvious. Do you think I haven’t noticed you being a peeping tom for the past half week? Look! You’ve already got a tent in your pants and everything!”

“Fuck.” Shit, you were right.

“This is like, hmm, like an open invitation to fuck me.” You say with an eye roll, but your eyes roll toward his abs because they are absolutely distracting you.

“Are… are you serious?”

“Well… You want to, I want to. You’re nice, look like you’ve become quite a decent man - and I’m not just referring to your physique Chris. Maybe, just maybe, it would be an excellent idea if we finally fucked this tension away.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. You’re here for a few weeks, so am I. Why not enjoy each other while we can? After that we can just go our separate ways, just like before except we’ll end it on good terms.”

Too many points for him to argue with - you were right on all of them. He couldn’t disagree. In fact, he eagerly agreed. Little did he know you had this pitch rehearsed to perfection, to your benefit, because he seemed to be completely subdued by it.

“Fuck.” He mutters under his breath. Fumbling with his belt, zipper, exposing the line of his abdomen down to his hardening cock. A fat, heavy cock that swung between his muscular thighs. He was fully nude now, standing in front of you, his tan skin glistening in the sunlight. You’re quick to urge him over with a finger.

He pounces, but once he’s crawling over you on that narrow chair, he becomes slow.

“Hi.” You manage to whimper out, now feeling a bit small beneath him, feeling nervous even.

“Hey.” He’s just as nervous but there’s an energy that goes beyond either of your wills pulling you toward one another.

He kisses you. It’s a kiss you melt into, and he sinks his body against yours, with you spreading your legs so he can slot between them. His cock rests against your lower abdomen, his body pressing further into you.

You can’t help but slide your hand between your two bodies in an attempt to finger yourself, prepare yourself, but he stops you and pulls back.

“No.” He growls.

“No?” Is he going to leave you like this?!

“Let me.”

And you do. Chan lowers himself, adjusting you so he can easily bend over the chair while kneeling on the ground, and his hands shake as he dips the tip of his fingers into the hem of your bottoms, just slightly tugging at the material, playing with it before he starts to play with you. You’ve got the perfect view of him basically drooling over you.

He slides the bottoms to the side, but you pull at the strings at your hips, so they come undone and he pulls them away completely. Your lips and the juices coming from between them are just as glossy than your oiled skin.

He can’t help but dig in. Fucking you with his mouth, jamming his fingers in you. It’s an animalistic frenzy and it’s hot and slippery and sticky. You cum and your fluids spill over the impermeable cushion below, pooling under your ass. He can see every sparkling droplet fall from you.

It’s just a haze, he nearly jumps on you, bending your legs nearly over your head, bouncing his pelvis on your cunt like a trampoline, smacking with every thrust. You’re completely glued to one another. If he’s not abusing your mouth with his tongue then he’s biting on your shoulder or grunting, growling, into your ear. It’s filthy. You’re absolutely sure you’ve never been fucked like this.

He cums, several times, as do you. He pulls out each time, jerks himself off on your body, although a couple of times you urged him into your mouth and face. He pulls the triangles on your top to the sides, so your breasts are exposed. He made sure to cum on those too. Semen, sweat, squirt, oil, spit, everywhere there are droplets of your fluids shining on your body like jewels.

It ends with him lying on top of you, nearly sleeping from exhaustion, and your lips feel deliciously sore and sensitive, almost ticklish as he softens inside of you.

It happens again. Several times in fact. Many, many times. When his parents are away, when your mom is away, you fuck all the time. Just a little call of his name over the fence or from your window and he’d be running to you. You were too comfortable with one another to bother with formalities, it was like you’d never been separated. You’d wait for him on all fours, wet cunt on display for him to dive in, but he’d always greet you with a gentle kiss.

Fucking each others faces, drinking eachothers fluids. You even let him fuck you in the ass, multiple times, and he was the first guy to make you cum that way. You were just as hooked and as desperate as he was.

Things started to change though.

The welcoming kisses became longer, you’d talk between the rounds…

You’d fall asleep in his arms, or he in yours.

You’d fuck slowly, deeply, staring into each other’s eyes.

You’d talk to him, tell each other stories of all these years, asi if you had been together the entire time.

You’d smile as you made love, gently. You’d let him cum inside of you.

He’d hold your hand again. They were as soft and warm as you remembered.

You were holding his hand on one particular pink evening, your head resting on his heaving chest, teaching circles into his pecs and nipples. On your bed, in your quiet childhood room. It was a painful silence now. It had been weeks, weeks closer to your respective departure dates.

“I wish I had never left.” He eventually says. You don’t know what to say. “I wish we could have stayed like this for longer.”

“Maybe we would have broken up eventually, or left for college.” You ponder.

“Maybe I would have taken you to prom, or we would have had sex together for the first time…” He returns.

“On this bed? Hmm? With my cute school uniform?” You tease. “Yeah, maybe.”

“But I guess this is what was meant to be.” He sighs, as do you.

“I’m sorry.” Is all you can say.

“What for?”

“I don’t know, I just feel bad. I started this and now we have to go our separate ways again.” You feel something sting in your eye. You can’t cry now.

“Shh…” He coos as he hears you sniffle and feels you twitch. It makes his heart ache like it did all those years ago when he left.

“I - I…” You cry. “I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to go.”

He pulls you into his arms, crushing you in an embrace. Your eyes are closed but you feel the tears fall from his face, he’s crying too.

“I know… but what else can we do?”

There was nothing left to do, other than fuck the days away, crying, holding each other until it hurt. It was a horrible, horrible thing to have fallen in love with Christopher Bang this final summer.

You didn’t go with him to the airport. You didn’t want to say goodbye, you didn’t want to see where he was going.

But he did slip into your room that final night. You made love quietly, he kissed you as you cried.

He said it was the second time he loved you, and the second time he had to leave you.

It hurt much more this time around. Maybe you shouldn’t have done it, maybe you shouldn’t have gone next door.

Being in your house was unbearable once Chris wasn’t next door.

A week later, you’ve arrived at your new place. It had been a whirlwind and you stayed at a hotel the first couple of nights while your new furniture got brought in, most of your personal belongings only fitting in a couple of bags.

It’s kept you busy. That way you think about him a little less. Crying into pillows that have that certain ‘brand new’ smell isn’t quite as comforting as you’d expect. Everything seems unfamiliar, strange, artificial. Nothing here reminded you of him - it was for the best and you hated it.

The place is nice, bright. It’s on the third floor of a small apartment building, a couple of other doors beside yours in the hall. You go downstairs to grab a few packages that have arrived, carefully treading up the stairs in a kind of balancing act once they’re piled in your arms. It’s a choreography you can dance to with expertise, always denying any help from your neighbors.

However, you do fumble with the lock and handle once you’re at your door, holding the boxes up by pressing them against the door with your body as your hands blindly fumble with the keys, nothing but cardboard in your sight.

Nothing you can’t handle, until they start to slip.

“Woah, let me help you with that!” someone says behind you, and in your complicated state it’s a bit difficult to process what happens but the boxes are soon out of the way, said someone pulling them from you and freeing you.

And then you see him.

Him.

Your him.

He says your name and you’re too stunned to react. He’s in awe too. He drops your packages, and you’re certain some of them contain some makeup palettes but you don’t give a damn at the moment.

“What are you doing here?” You finally ask, frozen in place.

“I… live in 304.” He says.

“You live in 304?” He nods. “You? You’re serious?” He nods again, eyes still wide.

You both stand there, processing it all. This can’t be real.

“I live in 302.” you manage to say, after some time. Your voice is weak, all the air has left your lungs. You shake.

“You do?” He asks. Now you nod.

This can’t be.

But he cups your face, holds it like you’re precious and delicate, he kisses you. It is real. You kiss him back, harder. Eventually you’re both clinging to one another, gripping each other’s clothes desperately.

“You live here.” He says, little tears sparkling in the corner of his eyes. You nod, the same tears coming to you.

“I do. Mm-hmm.” The sniffles you let out seem so sweet to him, he swoons with how happy you are to see him. Knowing you feel the same joy he does - it makes him feel complete.

“I live here too!” He cries, laughing, smiling, beautifully.

One more kiss, just to make sure it’s real. You pull him in and kiss him one more time.

It’s real.

#bang chan smut #stray kids smut #skz chan smut #skz smut #bangchan smut

519 notes · View notes

jackrrabbit · 3 years

Text

open season thirsts [3/?] /// Dabi x f!Reader (18+)

Request: my darling sara dm’d me this request for halloween-themed dabi creeping on poor innocent reader <3

@printhes ily for getting me to make a halloween playlist in fucking september. your mind unparalleled. this is just a drabble but i’ll consider continuing it for real halloween…

Tags/warnings: stalking, mentions of alcohol/drinking, drugging, angel costume ok ok

everything seems a little more spooky on halloween.

your mouth tastes like cranberry juice and white rum and bacardi breezers and you wonder if it stained your lips red. the halloween party you were at was fun, but you shouldn’t’ve had that fourth drink…and you shouldn’t’ve said you’d walk home alone. it’s cold. you didn’t bring a jacket because you thought it would ‘ruin the outfit’, or something—and hey, 5-hours-ago-you has a point. this year you decided you were going to be an angel for halloween, and you don’t own anything that fits over the wings.

still. damn it, why didn’t you bring something to change into? sure, you’re probably not the only pretty girl stumbling down the sidewalk in a too-short costume and too-high heels past midnight on october 31st, but the stretch of pavement you’re walking down is weirdly deserted. no fellow post-party walk-of-shamers, no random teens in ribcage t-shirts smoking in huddles, not even the perpetual annoying men who seem to think yelling about your tits as you pass by should be taken as a compliment.

you don’t know this area of the city well—you took the bus here, and by the time you left the party the buses weren’t running anymore. according to google maps your place is less than a mile away, but everything around here looks unfamiliar. chain link fences, brick walls, rows of iron grating covering closed storefronts. you pass a club you’ve never heard of and hear a snatch of the music pumping from inside—‘this is halloween’, the marilyn manson version. so stereotypical...the clubs have to stick to the theme, right? they played this song at your friend’s party too, and now it’s going to be stuck in your head for weeks.

but the music’s fading into the background now, and the only thing you can hear is the clickclickclick of your shoes against the concrete and the buzzing of the streetlights overhead. mist is hanging low and thick in the air, seeping through the thin satin of your slip and lifting cold sweat onto your skin. the dark feels darker than usual. you check your phone for the dozenth time since you started walking…

no signal.

that’s weird, isn’t it? the neighborhood you’re passing through has gotten steadily more residential than urban, but it’s not like you’re in the middle of nowhere. you stop dead, hold up your phone and turn in a tight circle, trying to coax out a few bars of data.

nothing. damn it. well, you know you have to keep walking in this direction for a while. hopefully if you go far enough, you’ll get somewhere you recognize. you take a step forward, making for the next orange halo from the streetlight at the end of the block.

god, it’s so quiet. shouldn’t there be—like, a dog barking or something? a couple yelling at each other, crappy teen music from a house party, some kids snickering to each other while they TP their principal’s house—something. it’s halloween, for fuck’s sake. it shouldn’t be this quiet. it’s making you imagine things…

…like another set of footsteps behind yours.

click. the heel of your strappy white pump hits the sidewalk. click. you take another step. thud.

you’re imagining things. you stop in your tracks again and twist around to look behind you. there’s no one there, just the blue-black expanse of sidewalk disappearing between the trees. you’re just imagining it.

you start humming. just to have something to listen to that isn’t your shoes and your own nervous breath. as predicted, that fucking song is stuck in your head, so you start murmuring the lyrics quietly.

“come with us and you will see—“

keep going. keep walking. the house next to you is decorated like a 9-year-old’s halloween fantasy—big inflatable jack-o-lanterns lit from the inside, plastic bats hung on strings over the stairs, cotton batting stretched out to look like cobwebs. there’s even a hunched-over witch mannequin sitting on the porch swing with an empty bowl in its hands, the kind of thing you’re sure would bust out a terrifying animatronic cackle if a kid got too close. the next house has foam gravestones sticking out of the yard. the next house has gigantic purple-striped stuffed spiders twined into the trees near the entrance, and the next house—

“—scream in the dead of night—“

the light overhead flickers.

someone’s behind you.

you heard it for sure this time. footsteps, not yours. and the sound of someone flicking a lighter on. you’re not sure why that knowledge makes you shiver—weren’t you wondering why the hell no one else was on this street just a few minutes ago?—but you pick up the pace, almost skipping in the direction of the next light down the block.

don’t look back, you think. maybe you’re still imagining it, maybe the atmosphere is getting to you and you’re nervous for no reason. keep singing. “—everybody’s—everybody’s waiting for the next surprise—“

someone laughs—low, a man, mocking—but don’t think about that. your heart is beating like crazy, fuck, you’re an idiot, who walks home alone on halloween while dressed like the sluttiest angel since lucifer? damn it—your little white slip is riding up on your thighs and you smooth it down with cold damp palms. you can’t run in these shoes, not really, but you want to. he’s probably just passing by. he probably thinks you’re an idiot for running away. you’re being really rude, it’s really—you’re panting—

you hit the circle of light and the rush of adrenaline from being able to see around you makes you pause, turn involuntarily behind you to look for him. but once again, there’s nothing there. maybe you really were dreaming it up. maybe you’re too tired or you’re drunk or maybe you’re losing it.

either way, it’s time to call a damn uber. no more walking in the dark in a nightdress and fluffy white wings. you shrug your phone back out of your purse to check if you have signal yet—one bar, but the map isn’t loading. it feels quiet again and you realized you must’ve stopped singing so you pick up where you left off while you twist around again seeking a better connection. “something’s coming…no, what is it? something’s waiting now to pounce and how you’ll—“

“scream?”

weight on your shoulders. you whip toward the yellow streetlight and he’s in front of it. he’s dressed up, you think dazedly, he’s dressed up for halloween—dark eyes dark hair all those piercings and his face—but then your brain catches up and you try, you try to scream, except a hand is folding something over your mouth and pinching your nose shut and he’s squeezing around the grip you have on your phone until the pain is unbearable and you have to drop it—

you hear it hit the ground. your phone. it probably cracked. but you can’t look, can’t check, can’t bend down. how are you supposed to? a man, a man has you, he has you. the cigarette hanging out of his mouth glows blue and then a cloud of bitter smoke hisses out into your eyes.

his face. god, that has to be a costume, it has to. you need to breathe but he’s holding a damp rag over your mouth like some movie villain but you need to breathe. you shove a fist into the hard muscle of his torso and nothing happens. could you kick him? your legs feel shaky.

you make a whimpering sound and the corner of his mouth curls up into a smile. “are you trying to fight?”

your lungs are screaming. you need oxygen, your head is starting to spin. air rushes into your lungs before you even realize you’ve taken a breath and it tastes wet and warm and sickly sweet. he adjusts his grip so he’s holding you more securely, ready to lift you up when you fall. feels warm against him. you’re already getting dizzy but you shake your head, push weakly against the dark fabric of his shirt.

“save your strength, angel,” he laughs softly. one of those horribly scarred hands cups the side of your face where you’re staring up at him and he pinches your cheek. “…you’re gonna need it.”

386 notes · View notes

crossbowking · 3 years

Text

More Than Anything (Part 2)

(Click HERE to read More Than Anything Part 1)

Summary: (Set mid-season 6) The reader’s feelings towards the archer evolve, but a supply run that goes south threatens to destroy it all.

Request: “I’d love to see something w protective Daryl and some angst, maybe set at the start of their time in Alexandria w an established relationship?” - @pulplorrd

A/N: See, you'd think I would've learned after making you guys wait a year and a half for No Way Out Part 2, that I should probably FINISH my stories before actually posting the first part...yet, here we are, one month later lol I'm sorry for the wait but hopefully it's worth it!

Happy reading and let me know what you think :)

xx Jess

Masterlist

Tip Jar

Previously...

But as its grasp slipped away from around Tara’s arm, the walker’s deadweight, in turn, collapsed against you.

You lost your footing and fell backward.

Except the solidity of concrete never rushed up to meet you.

Instead, you were embraced by water, the tarp that’d laid across the motel pool coiling around your body as you sunk deeper and deeper into nothingness.

Now...

When the world ended, you’d accepted the idea of death — your death, specifically.

You knew that one day, your life would undoubtedly end — most likely at the hands of the dead, ripped to pieces, torn to shreds, the way so many others before you had been taken. But you’d always hoped your death would at least mean something — maybe laying your life on the line, sacrificing yourself so the people you loved could survive.

Something noble, something brave.

Not like this.

Before the fall, you’d managed to inhale a sharp breath — though once you’d submerged into the grimy pool water, the coldness, the darkness, the shock of it all, had zapped the air right out of your body. You were becoming increasingly aware of the tightness in your chest, the burning in your lungs as you struggled against the walker pressed against you, its weight sinking you further into the depths of the pool.

Then, the panic set in — your heart pounded against your ribcage, right alongside the immense pressure crushing your lungs. Glimpses of sunlight hung just above you, peeking through parts of the drifting tarp you frantically attempted to push aside. You were completely disoriented, your vision obscured by the murkiness surrounding you, floating specks only visible beneath the shattered light above.

When your back connected against the bottom of the deep end, you managed to wriggle out from under the dead’s listless body — though the tarp remained twisted around your limbs. No matter how hard you fought, how hard you struggled, you couldn’t free yourself from the suffocating material. You could’ve sworn you were caught in a dream, your movements lagging and sluggish as you thrashed beneath the surface.

It felt as though someone had reached their hand directly through the center of your chest, squeezing your insides in a vice-like grip. A tingling sensation crawled down your spine, settling atop your churning stomach as the throbbing behind your ears began to slow.

You were listening to your last heartbeats.

It became unbearable, the water threatening to force its way past your clamped lips, the simple need to breathe. A sharp stab of pain shot through you as the blackness in your vision intensified, pulsing reddish-white around the edges as the fire in your chest consumed you at last.

Then, with nothing else left to do, you inhaled.

You weren’t sure what happened next — everything felt faint and fuzzy and quiet. The darkness that lingered no longer struck fear in you — instead, it was warm, enveloping you in its arms like a long-lost lover. The silence was soothing as you drifted in the emptiness, like careless whispers and forgotten melodies. You were weightless, you were freed, you were everything and nothing all at once.

You were dying.

That you were sure of.

Yet much to your surprise, you weren’t afraid — no, instead…you felt at peace.

But the brevity of calm didn’t last as you were suddenly aware of a vague pressure, though it wasn’t all-consuming nor constant. It was distant at first, a feeling you could’ve easily brushed aside had it not begun to gradually grow in force, in vigor — a steady pounding, coming from the center of your chest, over and over again.

The warmth around you began to splinter, shattering like shards of glass, the fallout piercing your skin as it collapsed around you. The pain was deep and burning and you longed for just a moment ago when all you felt was the sweetness of oblivion. The pressure pounding against your chest increased, becoming the sole thing you could feel, the only thing you could focus on, the unwavering thuds drawing you back from whatever place you’d drifted off to.

In the next moment, you were awake.

Your body flailed, jolting upright, but you’d only managed to get an inch or two off the ground before water began to suddenly spurt from your mouth. Your eyes squeezed shut as you choked on the liquid, every nerve ending in your body red-hot. You were vaguely aware of hands, rough and calloused and familiar, gripping onto your arms and forcing you onto your side, the motion allowing the water leaving your lungs to flow easier.

You gasped a constricted breath, coughing harshly on the exhale, completely and entirely disoriented as to what in the fuck just happened. Your chest tightened as you spit up more water, your throat closing around the sensation as you fought for control of your breathing, the feeling of concrete against the side of your body grounding you.

When your coughs finally died down, the same hands from before grabbed onto your arms, pulling your deadweight upright, maneuvering your limp body as if you were a rag doll. You blinked your bleary eyes open, wincing from the sunlight directly above as you drew in shaky breaths.

And then you saw him.

Daryl knelt in front of you, his ragged breathing mirroring your own, soaking wet from head to toe. Strands of hair stuck against his forehead, droplets of water still dripping from the ends as he stared at you, wide-eyed, his expression a mixture of horror and shock — something you rarely witnessed when it came to the archer.

He was mouthing something — no, he was shouting something — but you couldn’t hear him. You couldn’t hear a damn word he was saying as you sat there, dazed and confused, wondering if what just happened actually happened.

His hold around your arms slipped away, his hands cradling either side of your face instead, tilting your head up and brushing your drenched hair back. He leaned forward a fraction, frantically studying your features, his haunted eyes bouncing back and forth between your own as though making sure you were there — really there.

The silence was becoming a little less resounding, the world around you gradually seeping back, though muffled and dull — but the way Daryl was looking at you, the apprehension in his gaze, shook something loose inside you. Your mouth opened, but no sound came out. You wanted to tell him it was okay — that you were okay — but damn it, why couldn’t you speak?

So instead, you slowly lifted your hands, weakly grasping onto Daryl’s wrists, the small motion all you could muster — you had to let him know you were here. He glanced down at your hands, a small huff of relief escaping him.

But when he looked back up, you noticed the moisture that’d built in the corners of his eyes.

Daryl’s hands slipped behind your head, holding you still as he leaned forward and pressed his forehead gently against yours.

You, on the other hand, silently thanked whatever God or higher power was out there for giving you one more moment like this.

When the archer pulled back, you spotted a red streak smeared across his forehead that hadn’t been there before. Your brow knitted together as he sat back on his haunches. You tried clearing your throat, the sensation burning the rawness that’d spread. “You’re —” you croaked, your voice sounding foreign. “— you’re bleeding, D.”

Daryl’s expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he lowered his gaze and unsheathed his hunting knife. “It ain’t mine,” he rasped, suddenly slicing a long strip of fabric off from the bottom of his dampened shirt and balling it in his fist, ringing out some of the water.

Before you knew what was happening, he was reaching forward, pressing the material gingerly against your forehead and wrapping it behind your head, tying the strip into a knot to keep it in place. You were surprised at the sting of pain you felt, unsure when you managed to cut your head open in the midst of what had happened — everything was still sort of…fuzzy.

The sound of a car door slamming drew your attention. You peeked out of the corner of your eye, spotting Tara jogging towards you, the car you’d driven to the motel running idle in the parking lot.

“They’re coming!” she called out, motioning towards something just behind Daryl.

You craned your neck, attempting to get a look, but before you could, the archer was looping his arms beneath your armpits and hefting you up to your feet. The world tilted unsteadily around you, and had it not been for Daryl’s hold, the ground would’ve surely rushed up to meet you.

“I got ya,” he rasped, slinging one of your arms across his shoulders, his grip snaking around your waist.

Tara appeared at your opposite side, slightly out of breath. “Welcome back, chicka,” she shot you a slightly strained smile before following Daryl’s lead and winding your other arm across her shoulders, keeping you propped upright between them.

You wanted to tell them you were fine, that you were more than capable of walking on your own — but your strength had depleted, your legs shook beneath you, and the shock was beginning to wear off, making all the little aches and pains in your body alarmingly obvious.

Then, you were moving.

They half-dragged, half-carried you across the stretch of concrete, hurrying towards the parking lot where Tara had left the car. You peeked over your shoulder, managing to get a glimpse of what you were leaving behind — the small herd from earlier had been taken down, their bodies splayed out sporadically on the other side of the pool. Some sporting knife wounds, others bullet holes. The pool itself was rippling, the water sloshing back and forth, air bubbles visible at the surface.

Some of the dead had followed you into the water.

Just beyond the pool, you spotted exactly what you were running from — another herd, three times the size of the first one, ambling in from the woods behind the motel, most likely drawn in by gunfire.

When you reached the car, Tara slipped away and jumped into the driver’s seat. Daryl flung open the back door and maneuvered you carefully inside. You grimaced as you inched further into the car, only stopping once your back was pressed up against the opposite door. The archer quickly slid in after you and slammed the door shut, grabbing onto the back of the driver’s seat as Tara peeled out of the parking lot.

The silence that followed rang heavy.

Your heart hammered against your chest, your breaths coming out slightly wheezy, almost like there was still some water left in your lungs. You met Tara’s eyes in the rearview mirror before she focused back on the road — you noticed then that the sleeves of her shirt, up to her elbows, were wet.

She’d helped drag your body out of the pool.

You glanced over at Daryl, the archer’s grip on the driver’s seat white-knuckled as he stared at the back of the headrest. Waves of tension rolled off him, the feeling nearly palpable. But his eyes flickered towards you a moment later, as though he felt you watching him, and some of the rigidity faded.

He wordlessly shuffled closer, grabbing your arm and pulling you away from the door you leaned against. You were too tired and too sore to object, your body slumping against his side as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders — you thought for a brief moment that he was hugging you.

But instead, he wound your seatbelt around your body and locked it in place.

Daryl fell back against the seat beside you with a huff, keeping his gaze focused ahead, staring straight through the windshield. He didn’t look at you again — he remained still, like he was carved from stone. You weren’t even sure he was breathing. His arm just barely grazed the side of yours, but despite whatever hidden turmoil was surely happening inside of him, he made no effort to move away.

He needed time to process what happened — what almost happened.

But so did you.

You shifted, closing the small gap between you and resting your head against his shoulder, ignoring the way he stiffened. The material of his shirt was still damp and smelt like a mixture of chlorine and mildew from the murky pool water, but you couldn’t find it in you to pull away either.

You hadn't realized you’d dozed off until the archer gently shook you awake, the car now parked outside Alexandria’s makeshift infirmary.

You still felt weak and lethargic, but you managed to make your way inside without any help — although Daryl, silent and stoic as ever, remained at your side, his hand hovering over the small of your back.

The infirmary was quiet as Denise checked you over — Tara had gone to update Rick and the others on what happened, as well as distribute the supplies you’d managed to bring home. Daryl, on the other hand, paced — back and forth, like a caged animal, on the opposite side of the room. Almost like part of him desperately wanted to run, but a bigger part of himself needed to be there.

“Are you feeling any nausea? Confusion? Loss of basic motor skills?” Denise suddenly asked, breaking the silence that’d stretched on, looking up from the textbook she was reading from. She’d never dealt with an ‘almost drowning’, but had been able to scrounge up some old medical textbooks for help.

“Uh,” you cleared your throat, shaking your head once. “No. No, nothing like that.”

“Okay, good. Yeah, that’s good…” she murmured, mostly to herself, before flipping to the next page and skimming the stretch of words. “Besides your forehead, any other lacerations?” she looked up at you once more, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“I don’t —” you shot Daryl a look, but he was too busy pacing to notice. “I don’t think so,” you shook your head again, your fingertips ghosting over the bandage Denise had patched your head up with.

“Good, good. We’ll want to keep an eye on that in case of infection,” she informed before flipping to the next page, mouthing the text to herself. “Okay, and any soreness?”

You grimaced as you sat up a little straighter. “Just — just right here mostly,” you admitted, motioning towards your center, below your chest.

Denise shut the textbook and placed it on the metal table you sat on top of. “Can you show me?”

Your brow knitted together but you obliged, sliding off the table and grabbing the hem of your shirt. You fought back a wince as you rolled the material up, stopping just below your chest, exposing your skin.

The first thing you noticed was the way the room suddenly stilled — you glanced up, spotting Daryl standing frozen across the way, pacing no longer. But he wasn’t staring at you — he was staring at your midsection, a look in his eyes you’d never seen before.

When you lowered your head, getting a good look at yourself for the first time, you realized exactly what he was seeing.

Bruises. Dark and discolored. Scattered down your sternum and along the center of your ribcage.

Your head snapped up at the sound of the front door slamming shut.

And Daryl was gone.

You tried to ignore the pinprick of tears that grew, the hurt that settled across your chest as you lowered your shirt back in place — but when Denise suddenly reached out and placed her hand on top of yours, patting it softly, your features crumpled.

Everything that happened seemed to catch up to you in that moment — the fear, the shock, what Daryl must’ve felt pulling your unmoving body out of the water. You’d nearly died. What would’ve happened if he hadn’t been able to bring you back? Would he have been the one to put you down when you undoubtedly turned? Or would Tara have done it — the act far too painful for the man you loved to follow through with.

The man you loved.

Denise wrapped her hand around yours, squeezing gently and drawing you back. “Hey, it’s okay,” she soothed.

You quickly swiped at the tears that slipped down your cheeks, huffing a hitched breath. “I know, I’m just —” you glanced up at the front door, hanging onto the foolish hope that it’d swing open once more. “I don’t know,” you finally mumbled, albeit defeatedly.

Denise followed your gaze, scoffing slightly. “Men suck,” she finally shrugged.

You sniffled softly before shaking your head. “Not that one,” you murmured fondly.

Denise squeezed your hand once more, shooting you a sympathetic smile before she pulled away. “It could’ve been worse — most people who have CPR done on them end up with broken ribs or punctured lungs. You, my friend, are one of the lucky ones.”

You inhaled a deep breath, fighting back a wince, the motion stretching your bruised body. “Thank you. For everything.”

Denise nodded before taking off her glasses, using the hem of her shirt to clean the lenses. “Y/N, I don’t mean to overstep my boundaries, but,” she paused, sliding her glasses back on as she regarded you seriously. “You smell like a sewer rat.”

You faltered, completely caught off guard by her statement before remembering that you were still wearing damp, swampy, pool water clothes. Then, despite everything, a laugh slipped past your lips, breaking the tension. You let out a hiss as the movement sent a wave of pain through you. “Ow, fuck, don’t make me laugh,” you bit back another chuckle, lightly swatting her arm.

Denise smiled before motioning towards the door. “Go home, shower, get some rest — Doctor’s orders,” she grinned, turning away and beginning to clean up her workstation.

You thanked her again before hobbling out of the infirmary.

As night drew near, most residents of Alexandria were already in their respective homes — you were grateful for that. You didn’t want to see anyone right now, their worry and endless questions something you were more than happy to put off until tomorrow.

When you made it back to the apartment you and Daryl shared, you were, yet again, fighting back feelings of disappointment — he wasn’t home. You felt a pinprick of worry, but knew he needed time and space to process whatever it was he was feeling.

And when he was ready, you would be too.

You walked through the kitchen, the morning you’d shared earlier feeling like a lifetime ago — the pan he’d used to make eggs, now dry, remained sitting on the counter. The bedroom was untouched, looking exactly how it had this morning, just the way you’d left it. You grabbed a fresh set of clothes before making your way into the master bathroom attached, ignoring the bone-deep tiredness settling over you.

Showering was a good call — the warm water rained down as you scrubbed your body of the muck that clung to you, being extra careful not to get the bandage on your head wet or make any sudden movements. When you were finished cleaning up, you stood beneath the shower head for a few minutes, eyes closed, inhaling the steam around you with deep, calming breaths.

You were okay. You were alive. You were here.

You shut off the water, stepped out of the shower, and dried yourself off, gingerly patting down your chest and around your ribs, before slipping into clean clothes. You wiped away some of the steam that’d collected on the bathroom mirror before hanging up your towel, combing out your knotted hair, and brushing your teeth — the same routine you did every night.

The normalcy was soothing — you were already beginning to feel better, more like yourself. You were ready to put what happened behind you and move forward, sure to never take another day for granted.

But when you opened the bathroom door, ready to curl up in bed and doze off, all of your feelings from earlier came rushing back at the sight of Daryl.

Once again, he’d been pacing the length of the bedroom, only stopping after you’d entered the room, his gaze snapping towards you. He shifted his weight back and forth, opening his mouth before clamping it shut. You could feel his energy, rolling off his body in waves — tense, rigid, wild. He was struggling to say whatever was on his mind, only furthering his evident frustration. He flicked his hair away from his eyes, turning to face you head-on, clearly gathering up the gall to speak.

You took a small step forward. “Daryl —”

“Ya were blue,” he suddenly rasped, a fire in his gaze that wasn’t there before. “Tara was shoutin’ for ya an’ I — when I went in an’ pulled ya out, there wasn’t — I didn’t —” he huffed a breath in frustration, his face tinged red. “God, damn it, Y/N, ya were fuckin’ blue,” he finally growled, chest heaving, hands balled into fists at his side.

His anger wasn’t directed at you, but the situation itself, you knew that. But still, his words — or more so the emotion, the truth hidden behind them — had you recoiling from him, your heart breaking at the thought of what he’d seen, of what had run through his mind when he realized you weren’t breathing.

You couldn’t imagine how scared he must have been.

And that was what was beneath his outburst — not rage, but fear.

But he wasn’t finished with what he needed to say — if anything, he was just getting more and more worked up as he began to frantically pace once more. “This is why — I fuckin’ told ya — I didn’t need ya comin’ out there. I didn’t need ya on that run but ya — ya didn’t listen ta’ me an’ then —��

“I love you.”

Daryl stilled, mid-stride, his gaze widening as if all of the air had been sucked from his lungs.

You felt your face flush, the air between you so thick it could be cut with a knife. You hadn’t meant to say that aloud, but the words just sort of…tumbled out? And now, there they were, hanging between you. Part of you wondered if the archer could hear your heart pounding from where he stood — or maybe it was his heartbeat, synched up to yours.

You sputtered a soft breath, shaking your head in disbelief, trying not to panic because the last thing you wanted was for Daryl to look at you the way he was looking at you after telling him you loved him. “I’m —“ you took a breath, regarding him earnestly. “I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable. And I promise — I promise — you do not have to say it back. Hell, you don’t even have to feel the same way,” you huffed an awkward laugh, but the noise hitched somewhere in your throat, betraying your words. You grew serious once more. “I just — I couldn’t have another night going by without you knowing. Not after what happened today,” you swallowed the lump in your throat, shrugging a shoulder up meekly. “So, I love you — I love you more than anything.”

You weren’t sure what sort of reaction you were expecting from him. But you absolutely refused to acknowledge the tiny part of you that secretly wished he’d swoop you into his arms, pull you close, tell you he loved you too — because that wasn’t Daryl. That wasn’t the type of man he was — and you were okay with that.

Because you hadn’t fallen in love with that type of man.

You’d fallen in love with the man standing shell-shocked in front of you.

You cleared your throat and stepped forward, moving away from the bathroom doorway. “The shower’s all yours,” you murmured, needing to break the uncomfortable silence that carried on.

You sidestepped around his frozen form, ignoring the way your legs shook like jelly beneath you as you made your way towards the bed. You took a seat on the edge of the mattress, keeping your back towards him, staring ahead at the blank wall in front of you instead.

After what felt like forever, the floorboard squeaked beneath the shifting of his weight, his footsteps growing faint as he slowly walked away and entered the bathroom, closing the door shut after him.

You strained your ears, listening for any movement beyond the door he’d disappeared behind — but you heard nothing. It was like you could feel him through the panel of wood between you — you could almost picture him, just standing there, trying to process whatever the hell was going on inside that mind of his.

A moment later, the shower turned on.

And you released the breath you’d been holding.

Exhaustion swept through you, the day’s events wearing you down. You carefully maneuvered yourself into bed, pulling a thin sheet over your body and settling onto your side. Your eyelids grew heavy, the sound of the shower lulling you to sleep despite the strange, sort of freedom your admittance had brought you, the feeling buzzing through your veins.

You didn’t regret your vulnerability — he needed to know he was loved, damn it.

When you heard the shower turn off, you snapped your eyes shut. You listened to the archer move about the bathroom until the door finally creaked open. He seemed to be just standing there, and you could’ve sworn you felt him staring at the back of your head as if he was gauging whether or not you were actually asleep. But a moment later, you heard his footsteps padding across the bedroom before the mattress dipped beneath him.

You held your breath, covers drawn to your chin as Daryl shifted in bed, eventually lying down beside you. Another beat of quiet passed, neither of you moving, nor breathing it seemed.

But then suddenly, you heard him speak, so softly you almost missed it. “I know ya ain’t sleepin’,” he rumbled.

The corner of your mouth quirked up — because of course he knew.

You sighed, shifting gingerly onto your back, the sheet pooling at your waist as you looked over at him. He laid on his side, facing you, propped up on his elbow. He was dressed in clean clothes, his hair still wet from the shower, pushed back out of his face.

He really was rather beautiful.

“Busted,” you smiled, though the archer’s expression remained solemn.

Ever so gently, he reached towards you, his fingertip grazing the material of your shirt, over your ribcage, below your chest, hovering the bruises that lingered. “Does it hurt?” he rasped, the mouth turned downward into a small frown.

You shook your head. “Not really.”

Daryl’s eyes met yours, his expression skeptical and knowing.

You never were a good liar.

“At least you didn’t break a rib?” you offered sheepishly, your lame attempt at a joke falling flat given the current audience.

But when Daryl’s features fell, a flash of what looked like guilt settling over his face, you placed your hand on top of his, resting them against your stomach. “Don’t do that,” you murmured, reading him like a damn book as you rubbed circles with your thumb over the back of his hand.

The archer grumbled something indistinct, staring down at your intertwined hands.

Your grip tightened around his. “I mean it,” you spoke, an edge to your voice, only softening when he looked at you instead. “You saved my life, D — that’s it. You can let go of anything else you’re holding onto.”

Daryl’s lip twitched as he chewed on the inside of his cheek, seemingly mulling over your words.

You were sure he’d hang onto whatever unnecessary guilt he carried — because that was just who he was — but eventually, he nodded once and settled down on his back, staring up at the ceiling. You were too tired to press the subject further so you curled into his side and rested your head against his chest, winding your arm across his midsection. His arm automatically wrapped around you, his fingertips trailing absently up and down your spine, sending shivers through your body.

You weren’t sure how long you laid like that, melting into the warmth he exuded, the steady pounding of his heartbeat easing you to sleep.

You’d nearly faded away when Daryl suddenly spoke.

“Did ya mean it?” he rumbled, the noise vibrating from deep within his chest. “What ya said before?” he grunted, his hand pausing at the small of your back.

You could’ve imagined it, but you almost felt the slight tremble of his fingertips against your skin.

You slowly pushed up onto your elbow, your faces mere inches apart. You searched his uncertain gaze, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Of course I meant it,” you whispered. “Every damn word.”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed, as though not entirely believing what you said could be true.

So you leaned forward, closing the remainder of space between you, and pressed your lips gently against his. He returned the kiss, a quiet desperation growing as one hand came up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb sweeping back and forth across your cheek. You broke away from the kiss, brushing his hair back before meeting his lips once more, settling your hand on his chest, feeling his heart racing beneath your touch.

When you pulled back, you noticed his skin flush, surely mirroring your own. He looked up at you, slightly breathless, a fondness in his gaze that sent your stomach somersaulting. He cleared his throat, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face. “Well, alright,” he finally resigned, accepting your answer to his question.

You snorted a breathy laugh, leaning forward and kissing his cheek before burrowing against him. A soft sigh slipped past your lips as Daryl’s hold tightened around you, as though afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t.

You closed your eyes, reveling in the feeling of contentment, unsure how many more moments like this you, or anyone else for that matter, had left in this kind of cruel and harrowing world.

But for at least tonight, you could be at peace.

“I love you,” you murmured groggily, beginning to sink deeper into unconsciousness.

Right before sleep came, long after Daryl thought you’d drifted away, you heard him whisper three, simple words.

“More than anythin’.”

Then he pulled you closer and the world dimmed.

A/N: Aw...a happy ending! (I figured I owed ya after putting y'all through Honey & Whiskey lol)

P.S. Feedback is incredibly important. I write for my own happiness, but I also write for YOU. So don’t be afraid to shoot me an ask or leave a comment with your thoughts! It truly motivates me and helps move along the writing process. Also, please consider donating to my Tip Jar. Every little bit helps!

P.S.S. I can no longer tag people on this account, so my tag list has been transferred to my side blog @crossbowking2. If you’d like to be added/removed, please let me know!

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

Nie Huaisang and Jiang Cheng start hooking up post-canon and Wei Wuxian assumes it's part of a scheme on Nie Huaisang's part. Possibly it was actually a scheme but Nie Huaisang got into it anyway. Or if sadness is more your thing, he didn't, and Wei Wuxian is left being like "see Jiang Cheng? I knew he couldn't have been hanging around with you for fun!"

ao3 (short)

“You need to stop,” Wei Wuxian said, his eyes narrow and expression fierce.

It was a lot less effective on Mo Xuanyu’s face than it had been on his original features. No one had yet told him, presumably out of a desire to avoid being murdered by Lan Wangji for making his lover sad.

Nie Huaisang frowned at him. “Stop…what?”

“Whatever it is you’re up to!”

Oh, were they doing this again?

Nie Huaisang opened up a fan and hid his face behind it in a single movement – he’d gotten really good at it over the years – and started idly fanning himself. “Wei-xiong, really, you’ll need to be more specific. I’m up to so many things, don’t you know…?”

Normally Nie Huaisang wouldn’t bother playing along, but he could see Jiang Cheng coming down the hallway at an angle that put him directly in Wei Wuxian’s blind spot – if there was one thing Jinlin Tower was good for, it was not seeing people – and he could already see Jiang Cheng starting to smile at his nonsense, which was obviously far more important than whatever it was that Wei Wuxian thought he’d figured out.

Hmm. Maybe Nie Huaisang was being too hasty in judging Lan Wangji’s rudeness – love really did make you do the stupidest things…

“I meant in relation to Jiang Cheng.”

Nie Huaisang stopped fanning and stared blankly at him. A few steps away from the turn, he saw Jiang Cheng come to a halt as well, already scowling.

“Jiang – Cheng?” he said hesitantly. “What exactly does Wei-xiong think I’m doing with Jiang-xiong?”

Wei Wuxian crossed his arms. “I’m not sure,” he said. “What are you doing?”

Nie Huaisang blinked at him. “But if I knew that, Wei-xiong, I wouldn’t have asked you, would I?”

The main problem Wei Wuxian had with confronting Nie Huaisang about anything, really, was that he genuinely found Nie Huaisang terribly funny. The twitching lips made the glaring more difficult.

(Behind him, Jiang Cheng was rolling his eyes, a full-body production that involved a great deal of heaving of shoulders and clutching at his head at the rampant stupidity on display. Nie Huaisang appreciated his lover's dedication to the art.)

Still – and this part was worrisome – Wei Wuxian’s smile faded away soon enough, replaced by a solemn expression.

“We may not be on the best of terms right now,” he said. “But he’s still very dear to me. I won’t put up with you using him as part of one of your schemes.”

“I don’t actually have any schemes,” Nie Huaisang said, mostly because Jiang Cheng was frowning now and Nie Huaisang did not want Wei Wuxian to mess up his budding relationship. “Really, Wei-xiong! I had one scheme, and it took me over a decade – I’m hardly the shadowy puppet-master mastermind you seem to sometimes seem to take me as. Why would you think that I’m using Jiang-xiong?”

“You’re deceitful,” Wei Wuxian said. “You made Jin Guangyao think that you were weak and dependent on him for years even as you plotted to bring him down. And now you’re pulling the same thing on Jiang Cheng – what am I supposed to think?”

Wei Wuxian must have seen them in the market, Nie Huaisang thought. He’d been carping around, playing up his good-for-nothing self – Jiang Cheng liked it when he did that. Mostly because Nie Huaisang really was a bit of a good-for-nothing, his one scheme claim to fame being firmly in the past; his cultivation was weak, his achievements few, his personality…questionable…

(Jin Ling had, upon discovering them spending time together, told Nie Huaisang that he fit everyone one of the criteria that Jiang Cheng had set out for a wife, right down to the weaker level of cultivation and the proper family background. Nie Huaisang had bought him some candy on the basis that ‘be nice to Jin Ling’ was on the list, and told him to think about the type of mileage he could get out of something like that. Jin Ling had looked appropriately thoughtful, after.

Nie Huaisang was a very good influence – or possibly a bad one, he wasn’t sure.)

At any rate, Jiang Cheng liked indulging him, liked and was reassured by the contrast between them. No one looking at them would ever put Jiang Cheng second – Nie Huaisang wasn’t even prettier! – except maybe in terms of insults, and even Jiang Cheng had to admit that he didn’t really want the privilege of being called the worst Great Sect leader, even if it was a superlative.

Wei Wuxian must have seen.

Wei Wuxian must have totally misunderstood.

“Jiang-xiong was at the Guanyin temple as well,” Nie Huaisang pointed out. “It’s not like er-ge at all.”

Wei Wuxian frowned. “Do you really have the right to call Lan-da-ge that?”

“My brother’s no less my brother because he’s dead, and he kept his oath to the end,” Nie Huaisang pointed out. “Why should the other two be released from the obligations of their oath just because they chose to foreswear their side of it?”

“Stop getting away from the point,” Wei Wuxian said, probably because Nie Huaisang was right. Bitter and mean and resentful, but right. “Whatever you’re scheming that involves Jiang Cheng, stop it.”

“No.”

Wei Wuxian blinked.

“I’m not scheming, but even if I was, the target would be Jiang Cheng,” Nie Huaisang explained. “You don’t understand, Wei-xiong. You see, I like Jiang Cheng.”

“I’m sure you do,” Wei Wuxian said. “But I also think you liked Jin Guangyao, a bit.”

Maybe he had. A bit.

But it wasn’t the same at all!

“I especially won’t tolerate you using him for sex while also –”

“Wei Wuxian!” Jiang Cheng bellowed, and Wei Wuxian jumped a chi into the air.

Nie Huaisang fanned himself. “Oh good,” he said. “I was about to be worried that you’d misunderstand, Jiang-xiong, but luckily Wei-xiong decided to take all the awkwardness onto himself.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Jiang Cheng snarled at Wei Wuxian, who blanched but scowled back.

“I was just trying to help –”

“By embarrassing me?”

“How is it embarrassing to you?!”

“You think I’d be – what – led around by my dick like some new model Jin Guangshan –”

“Oh, that’s a good insult,” Nie Huaisnag said approvingly. “I’m going to need to use that in the future. What do you think the odds are for Lan Wangji biting me if I said it to him?”

That got both of them to stop fighting and turn to look at him.

“What? Does he only bite people he likes now? He used to bite everybody.”

Blank staring.

“That was back when he was five,” Nie Huaisang allowed. “It’s been a while.”

“You have stories about baby Lan Zhan?” Wei Wuxian said at once, as one might’ve expected. “I want them. All of them. Now.”

“Weren’t you threatening him a moment ago?!”

“That’s different! That was for you!”

“Right, because you don’t think anyone would actually like me,” Jiang Cheng said.

He sounded hurt.

Unacceptable.

“I’m sure Wei-xiong just meant that you were so unbearably attractive that people would compete for the opportunity to manipulate them into your bed,” Nie Huaisang assured him while Wei Wuxian was still trying to find words. “And since Wei-xiong thinks I’m the best schemer, obviously I won hands down, and secretly eliminated all my love rivals to boot. It's all my fault. Alas! I've been caught red-handed!”

“Are you actually capable of saying a single word that isn’t complete nonsense?” Jiang Cheng asked him, his tone having returned to exasperated and fond, which was worlds better than hurt.

Nie Huaisang considered the question seriously and then shook his head.

“You…! Good-for-nothing!”

Nie Huaisang nodded happily. “Your good-for-nothing,” he said cheerfully. “I’m going to make you do everything for me from now on.”

He was, too.

Wei Wuxian looked between them. “Wait,” he said. “Is this – a thing?”

“If you mean Jiang-xiong and I, yes,” Nie Huaisang said. “He’s been courting me for years, and I refused.”

“Only on the basis of a secret murder plot which you didn’t want to get me involved in.”

“How was I to know that everything would turn out well in the end? I thought there was every chance san-ge would find a way to drag me down with him. I couldn’t let that happen to you, of course.”

“Of course,” Jiang Cheng jeered, but he looked pleased and smug the way he always did when Nie Huaisang admitted to having been won over by the very first day of his courtship, years ago. He liked being successful at things.

“No,” Wei Wuxian said. “Not that. The – good-for-nothing thing. It’s a thing. For you two.”

“Fighting words,” Nie Huaisang remarked, even as Jiang Cheng flushed red. “Coming from the dreadful Yiling Patriarch that needs to be defeated by the mighty and righteous Hanguang-jun and then taken away for a good ravishing –”

“Wei Wuxian!”

“Uh - listen – I can explain – actually, no, I can’t. Nie-xiong, you have my blessing, just don’t break his heart, bye.”

“Come back here you -!”

Yes, Nie Huaisang decided, watching Jiang Cheng chase Wei Wuxian. This was the best possible result.

#mdzs #nie huaisang #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #my fic #my fics #yes it's a thing

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marycecilyy · 3 years

Note

Hey could you do headcanons for the mcl guys (or if not all of them castiel, armin, and kentin) when their S/O is a famous singer? Thank you❤

Oh god this turned out so longer than I expected huahahushaushu

First of all, these are too long to be headcanons, all three of them have more than 1k words each. Also, I changed a bit the prompt. It's more like "Candy has the dream of becoming a famous singer". The rest you'll see... I'll only say that I'm very proud of this one ;)

Castiel, Armin and Kentin with a Candy that wishes to be a famous singer

Castiel

Castiel wasn’t one to be friendly to new students, but he knew you weren’t like any other when you came to him and asked if Winged Skull was one of his favorite bands too. He was shocked to know that there was another person at Sweet Amoris who enjoyed the same bands as him. Yes, bands (in plural). After he answered that, yes, Winged Skull was his favorite band of all times, you started talking about your common interests and discovered that there were many.

He was a very closed off guy, but somehow you managed to break into his skull in a short time and, in a few months, you turned into best friends.

When Debrah came back and that whole situation happened, your fight with Castiel had a lot of impact over you. In your head, you had just lost your best friend forever. Fortunately. Lysander not only helped you recover from the blow and gave you energy to gather your friends and expose Debrah, but also helped you admit to yourself that, you did have feelings for Castiel.

Once she was unmasked and ran away like a coward, things quickly came back to normal. In less than one week, you had restored your reputation, your friends apologized for misjudging you, Castiel and you were once again friends. The only difference was that you knew that you were in love with him.

You didn’t tell him about your feelings right away, you decided to keep your friendship and focus a bit on your lifelong goal: become a music star. You started learning how to sing properly and doubled the days of your guitar lessons. Castiel even helped you get into the music club (they were full when you got into Sweet Amoris, but he found a way to enroll you).

You knew that your chances of actually becoming famous were pretty low, the market was difficult and depended a lot on having the right contacts. That was why, while you tried putting your name out there, your plan was to get a degree in music as soon as you finished high school. Antheros Academy offered a good education and was close, it was your best option.

As you channeled your energies towards your goal, Castiel started to acknowledge his own sentiment towards you. He liked to watch your focused face as you tuned your guitar and your singing voice earned a sweet accent all of the sudden. He always considered you a special girl, but, to his surprise, feelings were starting to develop inside his closed off chest.

That was why, as soon as he won those concert tickets on a raffle, he knew he’d take you there as your first date. Luckily for him, you accepted right away. Castiel had a feeling that night would be something else.

And it really was, as he kissed you, without even thinking it through, when the vocalist sung what he knew was your favorite tune. When you kissed him back, he wrapped his hands over your waist and lifted you up, feeling your warm lips open up for him.

The months that followed were full of bliss. With you and Castiel officially dating, the school had a lot to talk about. Amber pestered you quite a bunch of times, but that didn’t mess with your relationship at all. Everything was perfect, as it was supposed to be.

But that didn’t last long. Right after you finished high school, your dad had to move to another town because of his job and you had no choice but to go too. You were sure that your relationship would survive the distance, after all, you were in love. This situation would be worked out.

Castiel came to your new house a couple of times and you two called frequently, but in the end distance started to grow between the both of you… and it hurt. Knowing that Castiel was sad made you miserable and you decided to break up before it became unbearable.

You lost your count of how many nights you cried thinking about him.

4 years later.

You were zipping your jeans up when you heard a knock on your dressing room’s door. Who could it be? Your parents had already congratulated you over the phone, there was no one supposed to come that night. Did your manager schedule a press interview for after the show?

You put on your shirt and told whoever was on the other side to wait. When you finally opened the door, your jaw almost fell. You couldn’t believe he was there.

He looked exactly like in the magazines, (a bit less photoshopped, but that was to expect. You went through that as well and it sucked). His hair was shoulder-length and he wore a black shirt that showed off the tattoos up to the middle of his arm. He wore some light makeup, most on his skin, which you deduced his manager made him put on. Castiel looked like you expected him to after all those years, but one thing about him surprised you.

His eyes, although more mature and serious, had the same brightness as before.

"Are ya going to keep staring like that?” He asked and you noticed you had just been looking at him for a solid minute.

“Sorry. Come in.” You said and made space for him to enter the room. For your luck, there was nothing private to be seen, you had the habit of leaving your clothes and personal belongings messy and only cleaning up the second you had to go.

Castiel cleared his throat. An awkward silence hung between you. You hadn’t been alone with each other ever since the breakup. You two were two of the biggest stars of nowadays rock music, but you barely had any opportunity to talk. Not that you haven’t tried, it was the opposite. You avoided contact. Your fans knew you had dated in high school (you used to have pictures on your personal instagrams and fans were quick to dig over old accounts to find information about their idols), so they never expected a feat or any kind of collab. Everyone knew that you weren’t on best terms.

You remembered just a couple of days ago, when you were interviewed for one of those talk shows. The host made a lot of personal questions about Castiel and even asked if you would get back with him if you had the chance. You tried to avoid answering, but the public instantly read your unconscious signs: yes, you would.

That was why, you assumed, he was there. To make things clear. After all, because of you yours and his fans started shipping you two and got you on twitter’s trending topics. He probably was pissed. There was also a possibility of him wanting to take advantage of the situation, maybe propose a fake relationship? No, that wasn’t like him. Or was it? You barely knew him anymore.

“So… you probably guessed why I’m here. I saw your interview” You were right, then. “And I want to make things clear.” Ouch. You should prepare for the blow. “Look, we both know time has passed and we’re not the same as before. You broke up to avoid more suffering, and I get that. I really do.”

Castiel crossed his arms and glared at you. You looked back at him with fear, fear of knowing what his next words would be. “But...?” You asked.

“Tsk.” He huffed. This would be more difficult than he thought. “Look, little girl…” You felt a shiver run through your spine at the sound of the old nickname he gave you. You had always loved it, even though you didn’t say it out loud. After what felt like hours, he continued. “I don’t want to be cheesy, that’s not like me. So I’ll just say that if what all of the fans are theorizing is true.... If you do want to try again....”

Castiel took your hand and you jumped in surprise. He turned your palm to him and grabbed a pen from his back pocket. He wrote down a phone number on your hand and let go of it, capped the pen and turned around to go.

"That's my personal number. It’s pretty useful if you wanna call me without having to schedule an appointment with my manager.” You managed to laugh. You knew exactly how these things were annoying.

Inside, you were bursting with excitement. However, you answered playfully “Hm…. I’ll think about it, mr. Rockstar” Castiel chuckled and excused himself, saying that his manager would get pissed at him if he took too long. You smiled.

Maybe it was not over, after all.

Armin

When you told Armin, very early on your friendship, that your dream was to become a famous singer, he got so excited for you. He already knew that you played the guitar and was good at singing, but he had no idea that you wanted to make this your career path.

You couldn’t have chosen a better partner. Being the tech nerd that Armin was, he helped you a lot in recording your covers with the best quality possible considering the amateur camera and microphone you had.

However, the times that his presence most comforted you was when you showed him your new songs. He was always eager to see your composing progress and gave you pure honesty in his feedback, keeping in mind that he was no expert but still wanted to help you.

You always asked him for a way to return his favors, but he always said that it was his duty as your best friend to support you and that it was more than enough having you to talk about all his geek interests.

As time passed, you started to notice that you liked him way more as a friend. Without an idea of what to do, you asked Rosa and Alexy for advice. They were your closest friends apart from your crush (and you couldn’t run to him in that situation, duh)

After a dozen pro tips and date ideas from them, you decided to take Armin to the movies (basic, you knew, but couldn’t go wrong).

When you asked him if he was available Saturday night, you didn’t say properly “Hey, we’re going on a date”. Actually, you didn’t mention the word “date” at all, hoping that he would read between the lines.

And he did, because as soon as you sat and the film started, Armin grabbed your hand that was resting in the armrest and entwined your fingers. You couldn’t pay attention to what was going on screen at all and your attention was completely drawn from the movie when the boy grabbed your chin and brought your lips to his.

You only stopped kissing when the lights went on and the credits started scrolling.

“Hey…” You asked as soon as you two left the place, holding hands with him. “What was the movie about again?”

Armin laughed out loud. He teased you about it a lot before you made him confess that he didn’t know either.

A few days later, it was him who asked you out. You kept going on dates for the next week, all of them simple but interesting at the same time. However, you two weren’t dating. The whole school knew there was something going on between you two by the chuckles and timid kisses when you thought nobody saw them, but you didn’t make things official… yet. But that was about to change.

It was friday and you invited Armin over to “study” (he was sure that the afternoon would be spent between videogames and kisses, but if you wanted to call it a study session, it was okay for him).

As he comfortably sat on your bed as if it were his own, you told him to wait as you brought him some juice. When you came back, he was already grabbing his nintendo switch from his bag.

“What makes you think that we’re here to game?” You teased, handing him the glass.

“Come on, Candy, we both know that none of us are interested in learning orbital hybridization…”

“Maybe I am. I really need a good grade on those tests.” You approached him and held his jaw up so your foreheads touched. With a trailed voice, you continued. “Unless you have something more interesting to do in mind...”

Armin opened up that playful smile of his. “Oh, I do, actually.” In a quick movement that caught you off guard, he threw you in bed and started pampering you with kisses all over your face. You couldn’t stop laughing from how his hands tickled your belly, but you managed to stop him. “W-Wait, Armin!”

He looked at you, confused. “What?”

As you caught your breath, you explained that there was something you wanted to show him first. You got off the bed and went to grab your guitar that was hung up on the free wall of your bedroom.

“Did you compose a new song?” Armin deducted as you sat in front of him again, this time with your guitar in hands.

“You’ll see.” You tuned your instrument under his curious gaze. When you felt satisfied with the sound, you looked back at him. Armin didn’t miss the blush that coloured your cheeks. “I know you’d never do it, but I have to ask even so: promise you won’t laugh.”

You started playing the first chords of the song you had finished composing just a few days before. Usually, you composed simple songs that anyone could identify with, songs about friendship, inspiration, changing the world. You never wrote about your personal feelings. The notes never made you cry.

This song was special, though, because it was about him.

The day it hit you that you had feelings for him, you had the idea of writing random verses that could one day fit into a new song. After your first date, you felt so overwhelmed that, looking at the words, you decided to turn them into a song. You didn’t think it would turn into something so personal and emotional. Every note, every word, everything was clearly about him, that dorky geek you had fallen in love with.

Falling deeper every time

I can’t help but think, oh my

I’m through, but I don’t mind

Would you trade you 2D girls

For this hopeless lover

That just wants your heart?

I’ll just say that he got the message very clearly and, as soon as you finished playing, he practically jumped on you, kissing your lips with such tenderness that you almost teared up.

Of course, he asked you to be his girlfriend XD

Kentin

The first time he heard about your dream, he was still little Ken. It was one of your first days at Sweet Amoris and you two were eating cookies in the staircase. You were ranting about how sad you were that the music club was already full and you couldn’t join. Ken asked you the reason why you were so upset.

“Well… There weren’t those kind of classes in our old school. Learning how to play an instrument and sing, even during extra classes would be so cool! If I went well, maybe I’d be able to convince my dad to pay me for some private classes and then I’d be one step closer to my dream!”

“Your dream?” Ken muttered.

“Yeah! I want to become a famous singer in the future! I know that it’s impossible and even kinda silly, but-”

“No, Candy! It’s not silly at all!” Ken said. Learning more about you made him happy and he didn’t want you to think for even a second that your dream was worthless. “You shouldn't be ashamed of dreaming big. You’ll have a long, difficult path to walk through, but when you get there - and you have my word on that - I’ll be cheering for you!”

“Ken... “ You flashed your best smile at him. It meant a lot to you to have his support, he was a kind person and a very good friend (he did cross a few limits with his adoration for you, but you weren’t bothered by it). You liked being around him a lot.

-x-

“Kentin!” You threw yourself in his arms and gave him a tender kiss. “Good morning.”

Your boyfriend chuckled and held your hand, walking with you through the hallway. You talked about how your weekend had been and, between light smiles and sweet kisses, you thought of how quickly things changed between you two.

When he came back from military school, a lot of things had changed in him, including his nickname. You were facing a new person and it had been a challenge discovering Kentin and building a new relationship with him.

Even though he was a different person from before, one thing didn’t change at all and you noticed it clearly: he still liked you. Obviously he was no longer that guy who professed his feelings to everyone and followed you everywhere, he had found new ways to show you his love. You enjoyed that more mature version of him, but wished he had the opportunity to grow into a man without all the trauma he went through. You knew that most of his growth had been through suffering, and that upset you.

You didn’t know when, but somewhere into your friendship you started to grow feelings for him too. After some coaxing from Rosa and Alexy, you managed to ask him out on an official date.

The whole school already knew that Kentin was head over heels for you, but everyone was shocked to know that you loved him back as your relationship became official.

“Hey, love.”

“What?” You asked your boyfriend back as soon as you got in front of your lockers. You started looking for your books, checking that day’s classes.

“I really liked that video you posted on youtube yesterday. I never heard that song before, did you compose it yourself?”

The book you held in your hand fell to the ground. “What video?” You whispered, eyes wide.

“What do you mean, babe? That video of you singing and playing the guitar. You uploaded it yesterday night. I saw right away, you know I have my notifications turned on to all your videos. I got surprised that you decided to finally show your face and sing something of your own and- Candy? Is everything okay?”

Kentin noticed your face and got worried for you. You looked absolutely terrified.

“That video… How did you see it? I posted it as private”

“No, you didn't. It was public.” Kentin was starting to understand why you were so surprised. He put one hand on your back as you blushed and hid your face on his chest in embarrassment.

“Oh god, I can’t believe I did that! I’m so stupid! The first time I record something like that, I accidentally post it for everyone to see! Dumb, dumb Candy! Dang, now everyone’s gonna know I’m bad!”

“First of all.” Your boyfriend frowned, bringing you close to him. “You’re not dumb, you just made a mistake. And it’s okay, probably just a few people saw it. Last time I checked was before I went to sleep and it only had 20 views. But why are you so upset, Candy? Didn’t you tell me a few days ago that you were finally ready to show your face along with the covers. Did something happen to change your mind?”

“Well, I was not ready to show right away, especially not in a video that I looked terrible in. And it’s not just that. It was my first original song. I never showed it to anyone, what if it sucks?”

Kentin held your chin up and looked you in the eyes. “Candy, it doesn’t suck and you look great in the video!” You closed your eyes and snuggled close to him. “But I understand your concerns. Luckily, that can be solved if you delete the video. You’ll have other opportunities to get famous, and with better videos.”

“Yeah, I can do that.” You reached for your phone and went to your youtube page. “Fu... No way…!”

Your hands trembled. Kentin was right, the video had few views (which was good). Only 50 people had seen it, but the problem wasn’t that. For your bad luck, one of those people had been Amber. You knew that because she had left three comments on your video.

AmberOfficial: lmaooooo

AmberOfficial: Thank you for the laughs. That’s hilarious

AmberOfficial: Just give up already, looser

“That girl....” Kentin grunted, looking at your phone screen. “I swear to you, Candy, I’ll make her regret this. I’ll-”

“You don’t need to, I’m fine.”

You untangled your arms from his torso and started walking away, trying your best to hide how upset you really were. Amber was right, your music sucked. You should give up on your dream of becoming a famous singer, not only because you were bad, but also because you could barely show your face to a few people without feeling like shit. You wouldn’t be able to deal with fame.

Kentin tried to call you, but you didn’t answer. He figured you needed some time alone. He could use that time to think of something to support you and get back at Amber.

-x-

You walked out of the bathroom, your eyes red and swollen from crying. You had already deleted the video, but you couldn’t stop feeling stupid for getting so upset by a few bad comments. And feeling stupid made you even more upset.

When you got to the hallway, it was empty due to classes having already started. You probably spent half an hour locked up, but at least no one would mess with you.

You went to the garden to get some fresh air and wait until the next class started. You sat at the bench, breathed in and finally calmed down a bit.

“Candy.”

You turned around, surprised to see your boyfriend. “Kentin! What are you doing here? Classes have already started.”

He just waved his hand in a “don’t worry about that” way and sat beside you. He kissed your cheek and took your hand, checking how you were. Seeing that you seemed to be more calm, he smiled lightly at you. “So… I talked to Armin. He already found out Amber’s password and he’ll hack into Amber’s youtube account. He’ll just mess with it for a bit, delete some videos and upload some random stuff. Nothing too bad, I promise, just some memes and rickrolls.”

“Hmm…” You muttered, thinking about what he said. It wasn’t right, for sure, but you didn’t feel like stopping them. You were still hurt. “Okay. Just promise you two won’t do something serious, okay?”

He agreed. You felt a bit better, but that wasn’t enough to lift your mood and Kentin knew that. That was why he also had something else prepared. "That 's not all. I did some quick search for places where you could record that music of yours with its deserved quality. You are a good composer, Candy, believe it. Your talent doesn’t have to stay hidden in a dark room with only you, a guitar and your cellphone recording it.”

“Kentin…”

“If you want to, I’ll help you rent a studio and record your song. That would be very useful for your portfolio. I know that’s expensive, but we can find ways to-” You cut him off with a kiss. He cared about you so much, to the point of skipping classes to think of ways to make you feel better. You loved your boyfriend so much…

Lucky. You felt lucky to have him.

“I love you. Thank you for taking care of me... “ You kissed his cheek, happy to have his support. That was more than enough at that moment, Amber’s words were far behind you. All that mattered was that you could go through this.

You had Kentin, and when you had him, you had your whole world holding you so you wouldn’t fall.

#my candy love #mcl headcanon #mcl hcs #my candy love headcanons #mcl writing #writing #my writing #my candy love writing #castiel #my candy love castiel #mcl castiel #mcl armin #mcl kentin #my candy love kentin #fluff #mcl #2nd person pov #headcanons #hcs

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mygodyouredivine · 3 years

Text

Something About You

Summary: After you joined the Avengers, you had quickly bonded with all the team members and accepted even Loki. Loki finds himself drawn to you and develops a begrudging fondness for you. He doesn't realize just how deep that affection was rooted until you are injured on a mission.

Characters: Loki Laufeyson/(f)Reader

Warnings: mostly none, minor injury (nothing graphic), minor angst

Word Count: 2965

Notes: Hi! This is my first ever fanfiction and the first time I’m posting on tumblr! I’ve read many (many, many, many) Loki/Reader fics and I wanted to give it a try to see if I could write a short interaction between Loki and the reader. Please forgive me for any spelling/grammar mistakes, and if you enjoyed, any feedback/comments would be much appreciated. Thanks for reading!

Loki despised the Avengers. It was impossible to miss the distrustful looks thrown his way, the way the air shifted uncomfortably when he entered a room, or the thinly veiled jabs at his loyalty despite him living in the compound for well over a year. However, their treatment of him wasn’t the source of his contempt. It was you, and for all the Norns he couldn’t determine why.

You had moved into the compound a few weeks after he had and every single occupant of the tower had been immediately infatuated with your charm. Not that Loki could blame them. You maintained a sense of innocence he could hardly believe, especially due to your history. He didn’t know much about you, but you had been rescued - and then recruited - into the Avengers after all. A tragic backstory was practically a prerequisite. You were also contradictory; for though you exuded innocence, there was also a complexity and rage that simmered underneath your skin. During missions, you were a force not to be underestimated - you stuck down enemies with a certainty and ease that even Loki respected. But in the safety and comfort of the tower, you were, for lack of a more eloquent term, adorable . Walking around in oversized Midgardian articles of clothing and fuzzy socks that often sported cartoonish designs of various animals, you almost appeared soft. Paired with your bright, but not blinding, personality, it only made sense that the others warmed to you so quickly.

Stark was the first to fall under your spell, pampering you with his latest inventions before showing anyone else. Loki supposed it had to do with your genuine enthusiasm when Stark talked, and the team had quickly learned that besides Pepper, you were one of the only people who could persuade Stark to venture from his lab to get the rest that all mortals needed. Rogers had been next. It wasn’t hard to see why the Captain had taken such a quick liking to you. Loki personally believed Rogers only saw the innocence and not the complexity, but that innocence had apparently activated his protective mode, for the Captain was oh-so-careful whenever he reluctantly sent you on any missions. Next, it had been Banner. You and the shy doctor had bonded over your shared love of quiet relaxed conversation and he could often find you in Banner’s labs, assisting him with various mundane tasks. You had even swayed the ever-suspicious Widow. How you did so, Loki had no idea. Even now, months later, the Widow only gazed upon him with open hostility. Finally, his oaf of a brother Thor. Thor had loved you from the first time he met you, but that was no surprise. What was surprising was how you tolerated his boisterous brother’s extroverted and often over-enthusiastic nature with a never ending well of patience. He could see how you flinched when Thor would sometimes talk too loudly, but you were always quick to cover it up with a smile and a hug for the oaf.

Loki noticed that like many Midgardians, you seemed to crave touch. Even among the highly suspicious Avengers, they all seemed to trust you intimately. Stark, who, putting it lightly, was not a hugger, seemed to enjoy the occasional brush of your fingers across his arm. Rogers loved to ruffle your hair whenever he saw you, his large hand continuously running through your soft locks during meetings. Loki wondered briefly what it would be like to feel your silky strands of hair between his fingers, to have you sigh contentedly and close your eyes while he wove intricate braids into your hair. He didn’t know. The only one besides Rogers who touched your hair was the Widow, and you could both often be found brushing and braiding each other’s hair. With Banner, you seemed to be fond of side hugs, quickly smooshing the entire side of your body against his, and with Thor, well, you seemed to be the most comfortable with his brother. Your customary greeting was a hug, and it often annoyed him when his brother would abandon whatever interaction he was having with Loki to embrace you and spin you around while you giggled with a childlike glee. During the weekly movie nights, you could usually be found next to Thor, curled next to him with one of his arms thrown haphazardly behind your shoulders. Loki hated it.

When you had first moved into the compound, you had been cautious around all of your new companions. Slowly, that careful apprehension had faded away, and you had become an integral part of their family, while Loki had remained an outsider. He had tried to hate you, and for a time, he was successful. He looked down upon your openness, your softness, and categorized it as a weakness. Over time, he began to see your courage and ability to trust as a strength and as a sign that you were truly comfortable with all the occupants of the tower, and he admired it, rather against his will.

Though Loki refused to admit it to himself, his fascination with you had nothing to do with how the others saw you; Loki couldn’t care less about the opinions of Midgardians. Except you. There was something about you that drew Loki to you, for when he noticed you were relaxed with all of your roommates, he was startled to see that it included him. Not to say he was your favorite by any chance, or that you paid special attention to him, but he was excruciatingly aware of your perfectly average treatment of him. The way your eyes met his without flinching and how your body refused to tense when he entered a room and the way you didn’t hesitate before contentedly dropping into a seat next to him made him feel accepted. Though his pride prevented him from acknowledging it, acceptance was one thing Loki strived for but could never reach, regardless of his Silvertongue or magic, charm or tricks. But with you, Loki didn’t have to strive for acceptance, he simply was. As uncomfortable as it made him, Loki begrudgingly began to develop a fondness for you.

Not only did your laid-back treatment of Loki prompt him to lower his defenses around you, your complete and inherent trust in him pleased him immensely. He wasn’t talking about you sharing all your deepest and darkest secrets with him, but rather the way you trusted he wouldn’t hurt you or betray the Avengers. Occasionally Loki would unintentionally hear snippets of conversation between ‘Earth’s Mightiest Heroes’ making jabs regarding his ability to be trusted and simply at his expense, but you were never a part of the unpleasant discussions. In fact, Loki would often see you frowning disapprovingly at whomever had made the disparaging comment, and while the others’ opinion of Loki did not matter to him whatsoever, seeing your discontent had him appreciating you even more. More than how you acted when Loki wasn’t present, Loki still mostly enjoyed the interactions you did have with him. Loki typically hated movie nights as he was forced to suffer through the combined presence of all the people who disliked him crammed into a single room. He constantly craved to distance himself from everyone, including you, until he had experienced your closeness for himself. Though it was unbearably harder to see you interacting so affectionately with Thor after he knew just how intoxicating you were, the times you would touch him always kept his negative feelings at bay. On the rare occasions when you weren’t glued to Thor’s side during movie nights, you opted to sit next to him. More often than not, you ended up falling asleep, either right next to him, or on him, though that seldom ever happened. The few times it did, Loki found himself paying even less attention to whatever repetitive and predictable Midgardian film was playing and focusing on you. The steady rise and fall of your breaths against his skin, the warmth your body radiated, contrasting deliciously with his own icy interior, and the unpredictable actions you took in your sleep, such as the occasional tightening of your fingers on his chest or the charming way you enticingly nuzzled your cheek into him. Whenever you feel asleep on him, Loki would take extreme care to keep his breaths as even as possible to not disturb you. He once mustered up the courage to drape his arm across your slumbering form, and you had sighed ever so softly and only burrowed deeper into his side. When you woke up, you always looked mortified and apologized profusely, as if Loki could ever be displeased by your actions. Unbeknownst to you, the moments you spend curled up next to him warmed him during the days you were absent or off on missions.

He doubted you knew how much you mattered to him, and he himself didn’t understand just how deep he cared for you, until he almost lost you. You were on a mission with Thor and the Widow and were supposed to be back a week ago. Various complications had arisen, and while worry grew within Loki, he pushed it deep within himself as missions rarely did go completely smoothly. However, his sleep quality, while usually less restful when you were not within the compound, deteriorated at a rapid pace, and he found himself in the kitchen making tea when the Quinjet returned, announcing your return. Loki immediately knew something was off, for he did not hear any quiet chatter or soft laughter that usually accompanied you, Thor, and the Widow. Convincing himself that he had nothing better to do, Loki had gone up to the roof with the intent of offering his brother tea as a guise to check on you. The sight Loki was met with had his fingers tightening on the mug and his teeth being grinded so hard he could almost hear it. For there Thor was, leaving the Quinjet with you held in his arms and the Widow prancing along behind. A concoction of emotions began boiling within Loki: confusion, hurt, anger, disgust. As Loki continued to watch from the shadow of the roof, his revulsion only increased as Thor lowered his face to yours in a disgustingly sweet manner and whispered in your ear. However, as Thor and the Widow drew closer to where Loki was standing, he began to pick up on the oddity of the situation. Why would Thor be carrying you in his arms? The Widow was not prancing, she was running. Why was she running? Why were you still limp? Was that blood? Loki quickly emerged from his corner and walked forward towards you. The sight he was met with had the tea in his hands dropping to the floor and shattering with a crash that Loki couldn’t hear. In fact, he couldn’t hear anything but a distant buzzing surrounding him, for you were there, lying in Thor’s arms with your eyes closed, skin sickly pale but shining with sweat, hair matted, and coated in blood that seemed to ooze from your body. Without a word, Loki had teleported all of you into the doctor’s lab.

As Thor positioned you gently down onto the bed and the Widow ran to summon the healers, Loki could only focus on you. Your breaths, so solid against his side a few days ago, were erratic and thin, your chest barely rising at all. Your fingers twitched, not in the peaceful way they had against his chest, but painfully. Your brows furrowed and you whimpered pathetically. Loki’s heart shattered. Under any other circumstance, he would have immediately demanded what had happened, but he could not tear his eyes from you. Oh, you precious little mortal. Loki had forgotten how frail Midgardians were and how easily you could break, how utterly short your existences were. He reached towards your fragile form, carefully brushing your tangled hair away from your face. He poured his seidr into you, praying to all the Norns - Hel, even to Odin - that you would survive this ordeal, all the while cursing himself for not going with you, for allowing you to become injured to such an extent, and for not practicing healing magic when he had a change. His desperate attempt to heal you and self loathing was cut short by the arrival of doctors, nurses, and the other Avengers, all wildy alert after receiving news of your injury. Loki allowed himself to be jostled away while medical personnel surrounded you as the others began questioning Thor and the Widow on how you had arrived in this condition.

Now, Loki sat by your bedside, where he had resided ever since they had stabilized your condition. He refused to budge, plainly ignoring anyone who tried to take his place and brushing off Thor’s half-hearted attempts to get him to eat. No, Loki spent all his time here, watching you for any sign of recovery and ensuring that your breaths kept coming. Your clothes had been changed. You were no longer wearing your bloodied uniform, but a set of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt taken out of your bedroom. Your body had been cleaned and hair had been brushed. You looked so peaceful, just laying there on the crisp white sheets. Your eyelids fluttering randomly and the occasional wince and groan were the only signs of life you exhibited. Your body convulses, and your face tenses as sweat begins to bead across your forehead. Loki recognized these symptoms all too well. You were having a nightmare.

“Darling? Darling do you think you could wake up? I know you can. Come on, you can do it.”

Loki whispered encouragement into your unconscious body, hoping he could rouse you from whatever torment your subconscious decided to inflict upon you. Surprisingly, you do awake, though it was not with the grace he typically saw from you. Instead, your eyes jolted open with a start and you immediately attempted to sit up, falling back down onto your back as your injury took over you. Your eyes were clouded as a result of the medication the doctors had pumped you with and your lips were chapped. Your hair framed your face haphazardly as a result of your incessant twitching from the nightmare. Your eyebags were prominent and half of your body and face still swollen. Norns, Loki thought he had never seen anything so beautiful.

Seeing him, your half alert face breaks into a genuine smile and Loki hands you a glass of water, prompting you to greedily gulp all the liquid down.

“Loki?” , you croak. “I'm cold.”

Loki’s relief at your awakening is palpable, and he immediately shrugs off his hoodie and bundles you up in the dark green (and insanely soft) fabric. His heart seems infinitely lighter as you look up at him wearing his ridiculously large hoodie and softens when you lay back down and burrow yourself into the fabric. You looked so small there in the hospital bed, your body still recovering and drowning in dark green cotton, and Loki has a sudden desire to brush his lips against the top of your head. Justifying his actions of simply that of a concerned friend, Loki gives into his want. The instant his lips come into contact with your skin, Loki never wants to let you go. The warmness of you seeps into him and fills a void within himself he didn’t even know he had. But Loki lets go, and you sigh happily. Looking down at your now sleeping figure, Loki decides to alert the others. As much as the Avengers dislike him, he does not take joy in witnessing their restlessness as they wallow in guilt. Moving away from you, Loki is stopped by your voice.

“Don’t go.” , your sleepy voice whispers, “Please don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

Though he wasn’t sure of the exact details of your past or what experiences prompted you to ask him to stay, but in that moment Loki vowed to completely annihilate not only those who put you in your current state, but also any being who had ever dared to harm you in any way, even if he had to track down the man who had cut in front of you when you were in line getting coffee for the team a few weeks ago. Your eyes look at him with sadness and pleading within that whatever miniscule amount of conviction within Loki dissipates. He quickly returns to your bedside, dragging the chair closer to you. Selfishly, Loki wants to touch you again, so he reaches out a hand to close your eyelids.

“Shh. It’s okay love. I’m not going anywhere. I won’t leave you. I promise. Try to get some rest. I’ll be right here.”

“Thank you. You’re the best you know. You’re my favorite,” you mutter almost incoherently as you doze off again. As he moves his hand away from your face, you grimace and grab his hand before he can pull back entirely. Your fingers intertwine with his as you bring it back to you. Turning onto your side, you pull your connected hands back up to your face and cuddle with it. You. Cuddling. With him. “Thought you said you weren’t going to leave,” you mutter as you frown, “Lokiii” you drawl. You smile then, and truly drift off.

Something inside Loki cracks. He had been suppressing and denying it for weeks, months now even, but he could no longer run from the realization that his heart belonged to you. Looking at your sleeping form, willingly grasping onto him even though you knew his history and all that he had done, Loki finally let himself believe he might not need to run anymore.

#loki #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #reader insert #soft loki #feelings realization #protective loki #jealous loki #loki x you #loki fic #marvel

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witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 3 years

Text

Like Sparks Against My Skin

on ao3

When Geralt sets out down the pass, nothing is out of the ordinary. The path is clear enough that he can ride most of the way down and they make good time coming into Kaedwen. He'd written to Jaskier over the winter for the first time this year and he's antsy to make it to their meeting spot along the Pontar. It feels like something has changed over the winter and while it's not a bad thing, Geralt still lays the blame on Jaskier and his soft, longing letters.

Usually, over the winter, Geralt spends most of his nights with Eskel, but it felt wrong to be sleeping with one man during the night and writing to another during the day, so he's spent the entire five months alone. And more than once, the letters he received seemed to have been written when Jaskier was drunk, and the content edged toward something much more suggestive than either of them had ever discussed. Not that anything had been discussed prior to the letters.

And Geralt had started thinking about things he's been burying since he first met Jaskier so many years ago. Like the sound of his voice while he's being railed in the room next door, or the way his trousers fit just right to display a shapely ass and thighs - or that stupid fucking bow that sits right between his hips and haunts him. Surely it's just a frivolity and it's not actually holding Jaskier's trousers up, but Geralt wants to find out, wants to tug at it and see what happens. And maybe, when he meets up with Jaskier, he will be.

He travels harder than he probably needs to, hurrying to get to their meeting spot and see Jaskier and find out where exactly they stand with each other now. It's unnecessary because Jaskier is still travelling on foot and while he has less distance to cross, he's still going to be slower. So when Geralt stops in town to rest for the night, Jaskier is the last person he's expecting to see.

But there he is when he walks into the tavern, lute in hand and singing melodiously and- Geralt's brain stops functioning when he looks at Jaskier's face. Because he's never had a beard before. And something hot and urgent settles low in his gut and Geralt barely holds back a groan. Whatever changed over the winter, he doesn't suspect Jaskier is prepared to be jumped the second they see each other.

But it's a tempting prospect, pulling him into an empty room and kissing the confusion from his lips. He thinks back to the one year Eskel decided to grow a beard, to the scrape of his between his thighs and against his ass. The roughness of it all over his skin and- fuck. He's still in public, he shouldn't be thinking these things.

So he quickly diverts his attention from Jaskier and orders a pair of drinks and supper for the both of them before discussing available rooms. By the time he and the innkeeper have come to an agreement (Jaskier's portion of the room has been paid for already, but Geralt is to pay for his own) Jaskier has finished his set and slipped up silently.

"It's good to see you," he says, "I didn't expect you so soon."

"The path was clear," Geralt explains, "quick riding down. Didn't see any point to delay after that."

"Certainly not, and we are glad to have you. Drinks?”

"Already coming," Geralt smiles and Jaskier beams at him.

The beard, Geralt discovers, is shorter than it appeared, thick stubble more than a full beard, but it doesn't stop the thoughts whirling in his head. If anything, it encourages them. Stubble is rougher than long hair and would be sure to scrape delightfully against his skin. Geralt has to shut his eyes for a moment and compose himself and when he does, Jaskier is looking at him oddly.

They turn in after supper and for the first time since knowing him, Geralt is nervous to share a bed with Jaskier. He's hesitant even about undressing in front of him because he's been half-hard since he walked into the inn earlier that evening. And he's had more to drink than is probably advisable, even if it doesn't affect him that much.

But in the firelight in their room, Jaskier looks unbearably beautiful and Geralt has to hold his tongue to keep from saying something he'll regret. Because Jaskier hinted and nodded at something more, but he hasn't said a word about it now that they're back together. And Geralt would be devastated to lose him over something so trivial as a quick fuck. So he shucks his clothes quickly and lays out his bedroll on the floor. Jaskier gives him an odd look but doesn't question it. It's not the first time one of them has slept on the floor of an inn.

But even when the candle is blown out and Jaskier is snoring softly in bed, Geralt can't sleep. He usually sleeps best the first night they're back together because they're always at an inn and Jaskier's soft breath and snoring lull him, but tonight he's wound too tightly to rest.

He gets up more than once and tries to meditate but being on his knees only brings to mind the image of a cock in his mouth and he's sorely tempted to see if the brothel is still open. He can't keep on like this. Jaskier stretches in his sleep, letting out a soft, happy moan and Geralt's cock twitches against his thigh. He shuts his eyes tightly, focuses back on the sound of Jaskier's breath, but there's nothing for it.

After an hour or more, Geralt shoves a hand down his shorts, taking his cock in hand and jerking himself quick and hard. There's nothing elegant about it, but he thinks of Jaskier, imagines him rubbing his cheeks between his thighs, and he comes hard after only a few strokes.

It's stupid, he thinks, to let himself get worked up over a little hair along Jaskier's jawline, and he resolves to ignore it.

Only the next morning it already seems thicker and darker and, like every other part of Jaskier, it's actually rather a lot of hair. A lot of short, prickly hairs. Geralt's cock stirs as he saddles Roach and he firmly shoves the thought aside. He's spent one too many rides hard and rubbing against the horn of the saddle and he doesn't need to repeat that.

They're not headed anywhere in particular, so he lets Jaskier lead the way, happily strumming and chatting or singing as he goes. They head in a general northwestern direction, toward Vizima and Jaskier seems perfectly unaware of Geralt's new fascination with him. But Geralt can't stop looking, hyper-aware of every little thing Jaskier does from the way he scratches absently at his jaw to the way he stretches it when he's not singing. Geralt doesn't know how he's never noticed all these things before, but they're doing their damndest to drive him out of his mind now.

He spends three days riding uncomfortably because he can't keep his prick under control, but it's better than walking and letting Jaskier see how fucking hard he gets thinking about his stupid scratchy face.

They stop early to make camp just outside of the city and Geralt has barely dismounted - thankfully not currently afflicted - when Jaskier drops his things and sighs.

"What is it?" he asks abruptly and Geralt just looks at him.

"What's what?" A million things run through his mind, but Jaskier looks far too exasperated for this to have anything to do with the recent state of Geralt's dick.

"You keep staring, looking at me funny. Why? Did I grow? Do I have something in my hair?" he reaches up, brushing long fingers through his hair and Geralt swallows hard. "And you're so solemn. What happened to looking forward to meeting me this spring."

Geralt says nothing because he doesn't know what to say. The truth is clearly out of the question, so he's fully out of options, the beard having turned the majority of his brain to soup. Then Jaskier's shoulders slump a little and he gives Geralt the most ridiculous look.

"The beard?" he asks and Geralt's eyes widen without his permission. Jaskier huffs. "I should have fucking known. Okay, get it out, tell me how awful it is."

"It's fine," he mumbles and Jaskier laughs.

"No, no, no, Witcher, you're not getting out of this that easily. Why do you hate it so much, hm? I'll have you know it was quite popular in Oxenfurt." Geralt doesn't need full brainpower to know what that means and a nasty jealous feeling twists in his gut. "So?"

"Told you," Geralt shrugs, "it's fine."

"Fine," Jaskier repeats mockingly, "fine."

He hates to lie to Jaskier, but he doesn't know what else to do and he doesn't want to ruin whatever softness they found over the winter, providing Jaskier is willing to stretch that into the rest of the year.

"It's… good," he says the words so quietly he can barely hear them and Jaskier comes right up to him, getting right up in his face and Geralt can smell him and he shuts his eyes, trying to settle his mind.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"Nothing."

"No, I think you said it was good. Do you- do you like the beard, Geralt?"

He's so close now and Geralt's eyes open when he feels Jaskier's hands on his chest. He's right there and Geralt can't think of anything but biting his jaw, running his tongue along the rough line of it and he nearly groans out loud. He has always, regrettably, found Jaskier attractive but something about the beard is unbearably sexy and Geralt is barely holding it together already when Jaskier grins at him.

"Oh," he breathes, sliding one palm down Geralt's stomach. He leans in so close that his stubble scrapes against Geralt's cheek and Geralt lets out a soft, shaky moan, barely clinging to his self-control. "You do like it, don't you? Is that why you won't sleep with me? Why you can't stop staring at me?"

He leans in again, purposefully this time and Geralt inclines his head so Jaskier's cheek is closer to his neck.

"Shit, Geralt." He nuzzles into his neck, pressing his cheek against Geralt's throat and follows with soft kisses that make Geralt's knees weak. "You like the way it scratches, hm?"

"Yeah," Geralt admits breathily, "Jask-"

"Shh," Jaskier hums, "I know. Fuck, I know." He presses his nose to Geralt's, sighing softly. "I was afraid I overstepped this winter," he whispers, pressing a light kiss to the underside of Geralt's jaw. "Thought you were trying to figure out how to send me away after that first night back."

"Not you," Geralt mumbles, tipping his head back, "didn't want you to know-"

"How much you like the beard?" he nuzzles under Geralt's jaw again and he groans in response. "So you still want-" he doesn't finish his sentence before Geralt slides a hand around the back of his head and holds him there, eyes locked on his own.

"Of course I do," he breathes and then Jaskier's mouth is on his own and he's not sure which one of them moved, but it doesn't matter. Jaskier kisses him like he's been deprived for months and Geralt knows that's not true, but he's happy enough to be the recipient.

Jaskier's lips are soft, but Geralt can already feel the burn of his beard on his upper lip and he moans softly as Jaskier pulls away to nuzzle at his neck again. Geralt shuts his eyes, rolling his head back and biting down on his lip. His cock swells quickly under the touch and then Jaskier's wrapping his arms around his thighs and lifting him off his feet. It catches him off guard, but then they're moving, and Jaskier sets him down on a shelf of rock, smiling slyly up at him.

Geralt's high enough that it takes nothing for Jask to bend and kiss him, fingers reaching in to unbutton his trousers, and Geralt can't keep himself from pushing into the touch, pressing his clothed cock against Jaskier's hands.

Heat rolls through him and he's a little embarrassed to be so hard already, but Jaskier doesn't seem to mind. He wraps his fingers around him and Geralt groans softly as Jaskier plays with him through the fabric of his trousers. He tips his head back as Jaskier gets his trousers undone and then he's shoving them down far enough to get his cock free and Geralt can feel the rush of cool air against him.

"Lift your hips," Jaskier says and Geralt does as he's asked, shifting with him as Jaskier pulls his trousers down to his knees.

He grins at him, then pushes his thighs apart and presses his face between them. Geralt groans immediately despite himself, torn between letting his thighs fall further apart to give Jaskier better access to his cock and just letting him rub his face between his thighs all afternoon.

Because he would. He'd be happy to let Jaskier nuzzle between his thighs for hours without even touching him. He could probably come like that, just with Jaskier's scruff rubbing against his thighs.

"Feels good?" Jaskier asks and Geralt nods. "You like the way it scratches, hm?" He presses closer and Geralt's eyes flutter shut. "Oh, you really like that. Is that what's been bothering you this whole time? And here I thought you hated the beard."

"No," Geralt gasps and Jaskier surges up to kiss him again, groaning against his lips. He fumbles with Geralt's trousers, not pulling away as he pulls them off his legs and throwing them to the ground, then he's hauling him forward so he can fit between his thighs.

"I want you," he breathes, "Geralt, can I fuck you? I'll make it good, love."

"Please," he whispers, "Jaskier, please-"

"Shh," Jaskier hums, running a hand down his chest, "I've got you, darling, I'll take care of you."He presses forward, guiding Geralt onto his back and then he's ducking down to take his cock into his mouth. And the rumours of Jaskier's talents have not been exaggerated.

Geralt has to struggle to keep his hips down as Jaskier draws back and when he sinks back down on him, he makes a point of rubbing his cheek against his hip and the pleasure burns through him. Jaskier's tongue wraps around him and Geralt rocks into the touch, but he just groans when Jaskier holds him down. Then he's pulling off altogether and lifting Geralt's knees over his shoulders.

He keeps his eyes on Geralt's as he pulls him forward and then he's ducking down, pressing his nose behind Geralt's balls. The first flick of his tongue has Geralt groaning and then he's sliding over him, licking over his hole and Geralt shuts his eyes and gropes at the rock for something to hold on to.

Jaskier doesn't waste any time settling him, just gets straight to work, pressing his face in and pressing at his hole with his tongue. The scratch of his stubble drives Geralt insane and if he wasn't already hard, it would take nothing else to get him there. And Jaskier, the fucker, knows this and uses it to his advantage. He alternates actually touching him with the rough scrape of his beard until Geralt needs the touch, until his cock aches for something more, and his cheeks burn with the roughness of it.

It's just this side of painful, but he loves it and when Jaskier finally presses into him, Geralt goes limp, whining as he throws his head back. He gropes blindly at Jaskier, gripping one arm where he braces himself and Jaskier just hums as he pushes his tongue inside him, barely acknowledging Geralt's whimpers.

"Fuck," he groans, "oh, fuck jask- please, yes."

When he pushes further, he adds a finger and it's a little dry, but Geralt has needed this for so fucking long he doesn't even care about the burn. It feels good, even, like a mirror to the stubble burn now marring the insides of his thighs and ass. And Jaskier is gentle despite his own eagerness, only pushing in when he knows Geralt can take it and then starting slow.

But when he knows Geralt is comfortable, he fucks him hard with his tongue and finger, working up to two quickly as Geralt gasps and groans under him.

"Jask," he groans, "needed you- wanted you all winter. I haven't-"

"Haven't what, love?"

"Haven't come since the summer-" he cuts himself off with another groan as Jaskier's fingers nudge against his prostate for the third time in a row. His eyes roll back and he bites his lip. "Not gonna last like this."

"'S okay," Jaskier says, dipping down to kiss his cock, "I wanna make you feel good, I wanna watch you come. Then I'll fuck you and you can come again."

"Melitele," Geralt groans, but Jaskier leans low over him, quieting him with a kiss as he plunges his fingers into him again.

The pressure rises as Jaskier seeks out that spot, aiming for it again and again until Geralt can barely breathe. And he knows he can't hold back anymore, but he tries. He shuts his eyes and focuses and tries not to think about how fucking good it feels to have Jaskier's fingers inside him, but they bump against his prostate again, just as Jaskier mouths at the underside of his cock and he can't.

"Fuck," he cries, "'M gonna come." Jaskier doesn't say anything, but he licks up the length of Geralt's twitching cock, just slipping over the head and sucking it into his mouth before he's coming.

HE clenches one hand at his side, the other flying up to the back of Jaskier's neck as he sinks down on him and he rocks gently into his mouth, pressing the head of his cock against the roof of Jaskier's mouth. It feels like ages that the pleasure washes over him and Jaskier just keeps bobbing on his cock, fingers still working into him.

When he finally comes down again, Geralt sighs and reaches down, tugging Jaskier on top of him to kiss him. He can taste himself on Jaskier's lips and it sends a bolt of possessiveness through him. He's never been one to consider anyone his, but knowing Jaskier tastes like him is incredibly arousing.

Jaskier appeases him for a few minutes before pushing himself up again and fitting himself between Geralt's thighs, running his hands along them.

"Feel better?" he asks and Geralt just hums softly. "Think you could come again for me, darling?"

"Yeah," Geralt rasps, "yeah, for you."

"Oh, Geralt, you're so sweet to me." Jaskier kisses him softly, then straightens up, reaching down to undo his own trousers.

Geralt watches as he shoves them down, then takes himself in hand, stroking absently, as he looks at him. Jaskier's already hard, the knowledge of which only makes Geralt's need stronger. But Jaskier doesn't make him wait long before he's pressing in, teasing his rim with the head of his cock.

He pushes in slowly, giving Geralt the chance to adjust, but he doesn't want it. He wants Jaskier inside him as quickly as possible, wants to feel the stretch of Jaskier's cock and the burn as he fucks him. He rocks his hips encouragingly and Jaskier seems to get the message, thrusting deep into him with a groan.

"Fuck," he mutters, "you feel incredible, Geralt." He rocks his hips, groaning on the forward thrust, and pulls Geralt's hips against him. "Can you come just like this?" Jaskier asks and Geralt nods.

He's already feeling the urge again, even as his cock swells against his hip. He wants to come on Jaskier's cock, wants to kiss him while he fucks him, wants to touch him. And Jaskier does his best to provide that. He leans over, wrapping his hands around Geralt's hips and pulling him down to ease the motion of his thrusts. He gets one hand around him, stroking in time and pressing his thumb against the slit of his cock, rubbing gently as Geralt squirmed under him.

Jaskier is soft where he touches him, but he fucks him hard and Geralt is already slipping before he's even touched himself. Jaskier's hands on him feel too good and he reluctantly pushes him away, slipping his own hand around the base of his cock.

"Okay?" he asks.

"Gonna make me come too quick," Geralt mumbles, "not yet."

"How come?" Jaskier asks, but his voice is rough, shaky as he fucks him. "This doesn't have to be the only time." He leans over him, kissing Geralt sloppily as he jerks forward. "I've wanted you forever, darling, if I knew all it took to get you into bed was growing a beard, I would have done it years ago."

He smiles and winks and Geralt can't help but kiss him again, tangling his fingers in his hair to bring him close. Jaskier's a flirt and a tease, but Geralt wouldn't trade him for anyone.

He kisses him hard, even as Jaskier pulls him down again, so only his back and shoulders rest on the rock. He slams into him again and again, dislodging him as he kisses him, but it doesn't matter because this is Jaskier and this has been a long time coming.

But Geralt's cock throbs against his hip and he's so close he can practically feel it and one well-timed thrust is all it takes to have him spilling all over his stomach and Jaskier follows with a loud moan, pressing his head into Geralt's shoulder.

For some time, neither of them moves, Geralt with his legs wrapped around Jaskier's waist and Jaskier just barely holding him up as the rush of his orgasm passes. Jaskier is the one to move first, pulling Geralt from his spot on the shelf to set him back on shaky feet.

"Gods, Geralt," he breathes, "who knew a little bit of facial hair could get you going like that." He huffs a soft laugh and kisses his chest, but Geralt ignores it. "If I'd known, I would've let it grow out ages ago, I bloody hate shaving and now that I know what that look means," he grins, leaning in close enough that he's breathing against Geralt's lips, "I think I'll wear it long like this all the time, what do you think?"

"I think," Geralt says, choosing his words carefully, "that next year you're coming to Kaer Morhen with me so I can take full advantage of that threat without worrying about having to ride in the morning."

"Fuck," Jaskier breathes, "deal."

#the promised beard fic!!#geraskier #spicy #rex writes #the witcher

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